With two snips at each hip, the man cut free Kelly’s panties. He tossed the shears back onto the table where they rattled a hollow sound. Kelly’s ass was bared to them all, her shorn panties stuck between her thighs. The man flossed them through, purposely tugging them upward so they threaded over the woman’s sex and between her ass cheeks; one of the women in the room groaned, and Angel chewed her cheek too hard. Kelly shifted uncomfortably, hips going side to side, trying to get her legs apart so the panties could come free.
When she was stripped naked except for the heels, the man touched down her back, Kelly’s beautiful mane of ginger hair tucked down her front side over one shoulder, baring her back. He stepped rearward, quickly snapped the crop tip against her ass cheek making Kelly shoot a sharp shriek, jumping in place. Her flesh shuddered, and slowly on the pale white globe of one ass cheek a red coin blossomed.
The man ran the crop tip around that rosy spot, teasing Kelly, putting it between her cheeks, slipping down to touch where she was a woman. When he withdrew the crop tip, he turned to show the gathered crowd the glistening leather; indicating this redheaded woman he’d dragged in here for their entertainment was wet.
The sexual cruelty squished and squirmed in Angel’s stomach. This was far more than she could ever have anticipated. This wasn’t dinner theater, some murder mystery production, this was bizarre and serious, and deeply frightening. The urge to flee sizzled through her but she fought it. Curiosity kept her, for sure, but also some measure of support for Kelly. Their interaction in the ballroom had been brief, but the way Kelly’d been dragged in here, and had asked for Angel’s witness, had bonded them. She couldn’t leave.
Her mind went into panic mode and she imagined possible escapes. How bold could she be? Could she interrupt, take away the man’s riding crop, stare them all down as she helped Kelly get dressed so they could leave together? Would she end up on the table? Could she call for help? No one would come—by the looks of things, similar sadistic rituals were happening in the rooms she’d passed. She could run and find her friends, act casual, get outside, free her phone then call the police for help . . .
The man leaned against the table by Kelly’s side, his gold demon face studying her, Kelly’s face turned to the side and looking back at him. He caressed the back of her head, stroked her hair, ran his middle finger down her spine then spanked her bottom. He heaved off the table, pushed his foot down on a lever that ran below the table’s edge. The table tilted forward like it was on hydraulics, Kelly laying across it now, the whole thing looking like some sort of magic trick, Kelly this evil magician’s assistant. And here, ladies and gentlemen, is where I saw this beautiful woman in half . . .
The table not quite flat, but close, Kelly spread on it, he heeled the lever again to lock the table, moved to the bottom where Kelly’s feet dangled off the edge. Kelly didn’t fight, didn’t kick, just allowed the man to remove her shoes. He dropped one to the floor, took the other and studied it, ran the heel point along the soles of her naked feet, getting her squirming on the tabletop. She complained, and when she did, he spanked her dead center on the cheek he hadn’t struck, her shoe’s heel-point tapping the curve of her rump, getting her bouncing on the table.
Shoe tossed aside, he spread Kelly’s legs, putting each ankle toward the corners of the table. Dangling below were more shackles hanging by chain, he dragged them up and locked her ankles in place, Kelly now pinned to the table hands above her head, legs spread.
The man looked at the gathered crowd, gesturing toward the woman he displayed on the table like she was his presentation. Like Mr. Fairbanks, this was the project the demon man was working on. What would Abby have thought, entering one of these back rooms with Mr. Fairbanks to see a display like this? Would she complain to the manager? . . .
The room was way too hot, the air thick and moist, and she struggled to take deep breaths as she watched what this man would do to her. Why wasn’t Kelly protesting? She allowed the man to treat her this way . . .
He moved to the side of the table, began to knead Kelly’s bottom, digging his thumbs into her soft curved flesh. He peeled apart Kelly’s ass cheeks to show everyone that hidden part of her. There was a brief glimpse of Kelly’s bright pink anus before Angel whipped her head away, feeling her cheeks, neck, collar, and ear tips blazing. Wooziness took hold of her, and she worried now she would stagger aside and collapse on the dictator’s lap. She leaned forward and put her hands on her knees, forcing herself not to hyperventilate. If she fainted, who would watch out for Kelly?
Her lightheadedness attracted attention. Someone approached behind her, putting a hand on her back. She stepped forward, shaking off whoever it was, turning to see the older gentleman who’d ushered them in. His face was worried, he leaned close and whispered, “Would you like to sit or have a glass of water?”
She shook her head no, stood upright again, only now to see worse things happening to Kelly. She’d raised her ass in the air, her profile humped in the middle like an inchworm, and the man’s black leather thumbs were opening her sex for everyone, showing Kelly’s salmon pink insides to these well-dressed spectators.
Angel gasped, clutched the medallion hanging between her breasts, pulling downward and feeling the black ribbon strap cutting into the back of her neck. All she wanted to do was get out. Get the hell out. This was not for her. Kelly was on her own. This was all too crazy; she wanted to be home, not the dorm, not Vermont, but hiding under her rose pink quilt her mother’d made when she graduated from elementary to high school. Her big girl quilt, double padded, made with love . . . She sniffed, the noise wet and mucus loud. She wiped at her eyes that had begun to tear then looked aside hoping the butler man wasn’t hanging around, relieved to see he’d left her alone.
Kelly mewled catlike, shimmying her hips, ashamed she was being presented to everyone, that most secret and intimate part of her being displayed—but not once did she tell the man with the golden demon mask to stop.
The urge came again, for her to brace hands on her knees and double over, a pose she sometimes assumed after a hard sprint, trying to get her heart level with her brain so she wouldn’t pass out. If she were wearing her Fitbit, she wondered what her heart rate would be . . .
No one else seemed as perturbed as her, just watching this woman being humiliated and exposed on the table.
The man withdrew the crop from under his arm again, and as Kelly lowered her hips out of that uncomfortable inchworm position he snapped it against her bottom, getting her to yelp. She raised back up, sticking her ass in the air, her naked interior exposed to everyone . . .