The Muse's Undoing

“Welcome home,” Gibson says.

“Thanks. It’s good to be back. Good crowd tonight,” I say.

He gives my face a friendly pat before stepping away. “What are you in the mood for?”

I shrug, not sure yet. “How’s Marianne?”

“Beautiful. Brilliant.”

“Indulgent.”

“I have no idea what you mean. Join me a minute. Take in the revelry.”

Revelry, debauchery… Semantics.

I sit in the adjacent chair as he reclaims his seat. His hand moves to stroke his redhead submissive’s hair. She’s between us now, and she leans into his touch like a needy cat.

A drink is delivered to me by a young, beautiful Asian man in a shoulder harness and a leather jock. He has the face of an angel—flawless, pale skin, large dark eyes, and a jawline that could cut glass. But the rest of him is even more distracting. Every body here begs a second glance, and this man’s is no exception. He’s scarred with rope burns on his arms, thighs, and back. My cock gives an uncomfortable twitch, but I chalk it up to the charged sexual atmosphere rather than this one specimen in particular, pretty as he is.

It’s been a decade since I’ve been with a man, and I didn’t like the person I was then. With effort, I avert my gaze from the server’s bare, sculpted ass and turn toward the main attraction.

The focal point of the club is a sunken area in the center. Rectangular in shape, the size of a small swimming pool, it’s ringed with three, wide steps that form a sort of arena—an amphitheater. It’s all ancient times in here. Caligula would approve.

A huge, custom-made leather cushion creates the floor of the “pit.” At the moment, a middle-aged man is receiving a flogging from a masked Dom in latex pants. Directly in my line of sight, a woman I know quite well is splayed on the steps. Her red dress is hiked up to reveal parted legs and a bare pussy, which she’s masturbating sensually. I stare at her a moment—she hasn’t noticed me—her focus clearly on the flogging.

Several other couples and groups are also gathered around to watch the show which will change as the night goes on. Someone will eventually start fucking either in the pit or on the steps, and then, likely an orgy will ensue. Every night I’ve ever been here ends in an orgy.

Gibson is the Dionysus of the Upper East Side. I’ve never understood what he gets out of it since I’ve never known him to participate. The pet is the closest thing I’ve ever seen to him showing a particular proclivity—but I know better than to ask. He’s notoriously tight-lipped about his own preferences. All I know is he loves his wife, and he appreciates kink.

I’m not one to judge. The last few times I’ve been to town since Nicole and I separated, I’ve spent more evenings here than not, gorging myself on sin and sex—just like old times. I’m not proud of it, but it is what it is. Loneliness is a a special kind of torture, and being touched—even by someone being paid to do it, goes a long way to keeping me sane.

“Nicole took the TV for some reason,” I tell Gibson as I scan the room again.

“Ah. Well, I have a few shows you could watch…”

“Ripped it right out of the stud.”

“Are you still looking to hire an assistant? I may know someone.”

When your entire existence is basically a favor someone did for you, you might get a complex about asking for favors, taking handouts, or receiving gifts of any kind. So, I doubt I’ll take Gibson up on his offer, but I can’t deny I’ll need an extra set of hands and another twelve hours in my day with this new anchor job and a son to make up for lost time with.

“Are they good at social media and picking up dry cleaning?”

He grins. “Of course. Among other things. Would you like me to send him over, or will you want to interview him first?”

“I’ll let you know.”

The woman in red orgasms with a sharp cry, and the man being flogged seems to like it, a shudder overtaking him before his load hits the mat. He’s been watching her, too, which has me wondering if they came here together. The Dom moves around him, allowing the sub to kiss his feet.

The woman in red lives in my building, and last I knew, she was still a close friend of my ex. I watch as she scans the other couples on the amphitheater seats. The same waiter I’d checked out passes her, and she takes a glass of champagne from his tray.

Gibson goes on, “You sound tense. And you look like you need to get your dick sucked.”

I glare at him. “Did you want to watch?”

“Would you mind?”

“I think I might.”