The Muse's Undoing

She nods her discreet nod and opens the door to the club.

Matthew steps inside and utters two words: “Holy shit.”

12

MATTHEW

It’s a lot to take in, but the spotlight in the center of the room has me watching the man who lives in 1004 being pegged by a woman in head to toe latex. And I’m not the only one watching. So is his wife. Holy shit.

I don’t recognize anyone else right away, but I’m immediately flooded with the sense of being somewhere I don’t belong.

“We need to say hello to Gibson,” Fischer leans in tell me.

“Hold up. What?”

“My friend? Gibson? This is his place.”

“Gibson’s my boss,” I remind him.

“Oh, that’s right. Well…you filled out the paperwork. He knew you were coming. Now you have to behave yourself like you promised.”

“I was planning to.”

“Right, but now that we’re here…”

He makes a good point. The pegging is one thing. The people masturbating to the scene are another, but there’s so much more going on.

Doors line each side of the space, some solid, some glass, all, I’m assuming, enclosing people fucking or—who knows? It’s a lot to process. I have the urge to hold Fischer’s hand, but then he’ll make some dig about my being a child, and it’s not about that. It’s about having something to ground my thoughts. His hands are good at that.

To our immediate left is another open space partially hidden behind a transparent black veil. A bed is at the center, and men are lined up waiting to take a turn on the woman lying on it. She’s face down with a man’s hands on her hips as he pistons into her. She offers no resistance, and the expression on her face is nearly angelic. Like she no longer exists on earth. Fischer turns to watch with me. “She’s been here every time I’ve come.”

“Have you…”

He doesn’t say anything, and I assume he has. “Is that like…her full-time job?”

“I think so.”

“Wow.” And I thought I had a lot of sex. “She almost looks like she could be asleep,” I say, fascinated.

“You want to get in line?” he taunts.

“No. It’s just…wild.”

He leads me across the space that seems to encompass the entire top floor of the building toward a raised lounge area. I peek inside the glass rooms as we go. Most, to my surprise, contain same sex couples, usually one in leather and one who probably makes million dollar deals while they’re having their morning coffee. Lots of impact play. “Have you always been this kinky?” I ask Fischer.

“I’m not particularly, no.”

“You ever go down there?” I ask, pointing at the sunken stage.

At that, he chuckles. “No.”

I spot Gibson Hayes, the owner of The Eastmoor. He gives Fischer a big grin and a quick half-hug in greeting. To me he says, “Enjoying your night off?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Drinks?”

I don’t drink much, but Fischer does, so I have what he’s having, a dirty martini, and we sit on a black, tufted leather couch a few feet from Gibson’s armchair. He’s speaking with another man who looks to be around sixty.