Wicked Love

if you can’t handle this.”
She turns on her heel and re-enters the house.
What the hell?
I’m confused again - but not for the same reason as before. My curiosity trumps any fear or apprehension I have about not witnessing all of this in full. So I head back inside to see that others have joined the circle of light.
I squeeze through the onlookers so I can get a better look at the activities taking place. Burba is now wielding a leather flog, which he is putting to use on Nydia’s ass. She squeals in pain with each slap of the leather on her tender skin. Several of the lash marks are oozing drops of blood. But Burba continues as he watches Owletta, who is now on her hands and knees, getting fucked anally by The Marquis de Sade. His grunts of pleasure and her squeals of delight seem to propel Burba to continue the whipping of the slave Nadia.
And then I see newcomers to the limelight. It’s Shelby, excuse me, I mean “O” from The Story of O, and none other than Peter Pan. Shelby is wielding a leather crop, as she stands with her legs apart, Peter kneels in front of her, his shirt removed, as she lays the crop across his bare back. He flinches just a bit, as she continues using the crop, and then suddenly, he lets out a low, primal growl; his hands shoot out and grab her boots, pulling her legs out from under her. She lands with a thud on the floor, and the attention of Burba is now on ‘O’ and Peter.
He drops his flog, and brings Nydia to her feet, releasing her ankle shackles, he drags her over to where ‘O’ and Peter are now coupled up. She’s still in her leather skirt and boots, and he’s relieved her of her bustier and is sucking on one of her tits.
I admit, I’m transfixed with seeing this weird sexual show play out. Someone from across the room yells out, “Let’s see some fucking and sucking!”
Owletta is up for that challenge as she struts over to Peter, pushes ‘O’ aside, and unceremoniously squats down in front of him, her hand reaches out and takes his cock, fisting and jacking it. Burba now joins in, shoving ‘O’ onto her back, pushing the leather up to her belly, and ramming his hardened cock into her pussy in one hard thrust. She screams at his girth, but within moments, her pointed leather boots are digging into his buttocks with a vengeance as he continues to pump in and out of her without a condom. The Marquis has now moved over to the couple, straddling ‘O’s face, his dick shoved halfway down her throat as she gives him head.
Soon, it all becomes a frantic frenzy, of fucking, slapping, flogging and switching partners. It’s too much for me when in one haunting moment, I see Nydia, the slave girl, pass out after being put in a choke hold by the Marquis de Sade, and my first instinct is to pull out my cell and dial 9-1-1. But as I start to do just that, Nydia’s head rolls to the other side, and she vomits.
I’m in shock. The players continue as if nothing has happened. I walk closer to where Nydia is now sitting up, and removing the leather straps which were criss-crossed around her hands, wrists and forearms. That’s when I see it.
On the inside of her wrist, I see the heart tattoo with the initials “JW” in the middle. I recognize that from my visit to The Sanctuary. The hand from the glory hole.
She works at The Sanctuary.
Nobody seems to notice that Nydia is leaving the circle, which now some of the bystanders have joined for a mass orgy. I feel sick to my stomach, but I know I have nothing left to heave.
I watch as she limps out of the room, and I follow her to see if she’s okay. She removes her mask as she heads into the downstairs bathroom, but I can’t see her face as she closes the door behind her.
So I wait. I need to know she’s okay.
Ten minutes later, she reappears. Her face has been scrubbed, and she’s clothed herself in jeans and a sweater, from where, I’m not sure. Unless this is all part of a routine that she’s used to, that she plans in advance knowing she’ll be needing to re-dress herself later, after ‘the show.’
She sees me and immediately a look of alarm crosses her young face. She can’t be over sixteen. I gasp as this registers in my mind. “Are you okay?” I ask her, going to stand close to her.
She nods tentatively. “I’m fine, really. It’s all good.”
“But . . .” I stammer, “You were bleeding, you were practically strangled, I mean, I don’t understand?”
She looks at me as if I’m an idiot. “What don’t you understand? This is how I make a living. It’s none of your fucking business.”
“Wait,” I call after her as she heads into the kitchen and grabs a jacket that’s on one of the chairs. “How old are you?” I blurt. “Fifteen? Sixteen? Look, I can help you out of this shit. You don’t need to do this to survive.”
She turns to look at me with tired, soulful eyes, “Look,” she says, her impatience surfacing, “My ride is outside. I’ve gotta go. What do you know about survival? What do you know about me? It’s best you don’t ask questions I won’t answer. It’s safer for both of us, trust me.”
And with that, she’s out the back door to where a dark sedan is indeed waiting for her in the alley. As she gets into the car, another girl gets out and heads into the house, carrying a backpack. I duck back into the hallway near the bathroom and wait for her to come inside.
As she comes down the dark hallway towards me, she doesn’t notice I’m there at first, she’s tapping