The PUGH Society | Part 2
Playing The Card
My footfalls felt heavy on the stairs, loud in my ears, echoing ahead of me into nowhere. Cool air around my ankles, a damp, musty smell invading my nose. I shuddered when my feet hit the floor. I grabbed the handrail again to steady myself, staring ahead at the scene that unfolded before me.
A dozen men -- more, many more, a crowd of men standing in groups under dim naked bulbs in the middle of a cave-like basement room. Rough brick contrasted against sharp suits and manicures. A low ceiling, black with tar or paint, the floor unfinished concrete. Crisp haircuts. Elegant ties, each gleaming with a symbol in the center -- a dull silver circle enclosing an eight-armed octopus. I didn’t have to get close to see it. The image itself was already burned into my mind. PUGH.
A man looked away from his conversation when I took the first step, the click of my heels cutting through the low rumbling thunder of their chatter like lightning. Another head, and then another, turned, and I felt their gazes locking onto me like a pack of wolves eying their prey. The chatter died away, one or the other gesturing now, pointing. Was that for me? Was I to…?
And then I noticed the other side of the room and the box. It was more than a box though, I realized as I stepped closer, my gaze now riveted on the odd-shaped form little more than a shadow in the low light. Behind it, two figures in black stood, their eyes on me, but the feeling different. The men in suits had a nervous energy. I could see them shifting, moving around, maneuvering to watch me, while the two men near the box stood easy, waiting, as if they were expecting me.
What was this? Not a wine cellar. There was nothing in the room besides the men and the box. No elegant basement club where men made deals and sealed it with a cigar. This far into the room, all I could smell was sweat and cologne. The three naked bulbs hanging from the black ceiling overhead were the only fixtures in the room. No seats. No tables. Just twenty or so men waiting…for something.
The shorter of the two men near the box gestured me over, and I followed, my legs moving of their own accord away from the others, open the space between prey and predator. What were they waiting on? It couldn’t be me. There was no way for them to know I would be here. If Robert hadn’t -- but where was he? I’d followed him here, and even if I hadn’t seen him descend the stairs, he had to be one of the men here, a face in the shadows, watching. Watching? For what? Did he recognize me? Would he come over and explain himself? All this?
The short man in black didn’t speak. He simply held out a gloved hand.
I stared, searching his open palm and his face. And then I knew -- ‘Welcome,’ the man had said. The octopus in the circle on the ties. It was there on this man’s shirt, too -- black on black, so subtle I almost missed it. The card. I had it in my hand still, and I let my eyes drift over it again, searching if for some answer. What was it? What did it mean? Who were these people, and what did they do here? Was I about to find out?
I swallowed, feeling the rush of adrenaline as I contemplated turning and walking away. I could still do it. I held the card between my index finger and thumb, and the man here hadn’t insisted. He hadn’t made a move or a sound to intimidate or force me. Would he simply let me leave? Would the wolves? I could feel their energy growing, the air in the room warmer now. If I looked back at them, what would I see in their eyes? Indifference? Impatience? Hunger? But they hadn’t made a move either, not a single step in my direction. They would let me go. The men here in black would let me go, too, I decided.
I would walk up the stairs and out into the sun, drop the card on the street for someone else to find. Let these men stand like two-legged creatures in their subterranean lair. I would grab a cab, sit back and watch the city go by on the way to our old brownstone. And then I would…do nothing.
Ellis wasn’t there. No one was there. Not a child, a pet, a single living thing beyond the plants in the sunroom. Just a widow sitting on her cushions with a pinot noir and the handkerchief she gave her husband on their fifteenth wedding anniversary. The summer sun would stream in, warming her feet and legs, and she would drink the bottle down and wipe her lips and eyes until the handkerchief was a rosy pink on yet another corner. And then a second bottle in the bath, the TV on silent, her eyes looking through it as she remembered Ellis walking into the bathroom just four days ago on his way back to the office for “a late meeting with the shareholders in Tokyo,” he’d said.
On the way back to her. Her young body. Her heaving tits and long legs and breathy gasps when she came. He would suckle her nipples and lap at the sweat along her collarbone while she stroked him hard again, the pills he took allowing them to couple again and again, fuck over and over, until she was satisfied and he was exhausted, coming home to bed. Fast to snore with little more than a peck on her lips, his breath her cunt.
The words from his texts to her played over and over in my head, and then I blinked, finding the man in black still standing and waiting, his hand outstretched and unwavering. I dabbed at my eyes with a fingertip, and then I handed the card over. Whatever it was, did it matter? Did it matter at all what this was? I was here, now in this room, with these people. I’d found my way here to whatever was about to happen. It’s all I had because there was nothing for me at home, and I couldn't go back.
The man took the card and slipped it into his sleeve, then he reached out and took me by the elbow, pulling me forward. The other man was in motion now, neither of them speaking, their faces as blank as masks, unremarkable. They were everyone and no one, and both of them had me by the elbows now. I let them pull me, guide me around to the back of the box, the rest of the room, the pack of wolves out of sight.
I felt a sudden relief then, suddenly lighter, letting this happen -- whatever this was. Let them do their thing. A game. A puzzle. The larger man spun me around while the smaller of the two gently pulled my clutch out of my hands, his finger lifted to his closed lips in the universal signal to be quiet. A moment of terror, and yet, a thrill. I swallowed again, licked my lips and shifted nervously, wondering and yet knowing somehow what was about to happen. What would Ellis think if he could see me now? I didn’t even react, barely even registering that the larger man had bent low and taken the hem of my Alice Vega and pulled up, lifting it over my head. My arms went up with it, and a moment later, the dress was gone, and the warm, damp air of the basement teased goosebumps over my flesh. My mouth opened, then closed, the shorter man gesturing again to stay quiet while hands crept high and low, and suddenly my bra was gone, and I was stepping out of my panties.
I felt my nipples harden when their oiled gloves slid over skin, drifting left and right, up and down, front to back. They worked methodically, systematically, rhythmically, hands down my back, over my breasts, my ass. I shifted, giving the shorter one access to my inner thighs down to my knees, my calves, and then my feet as he pulled each foot out of the heels. Naked, I panted, letting them work their magic, the feel of their hands caressing and massaging. I blinked, realizing I’d stood there with my eyes closed, letting them touch every inch of my body, everywhere but the place I needed their touch most.
And then the moment was gone, the teasing. I was spun round, I faced the back of the box, for I could see that’s what it truly was when the taller one opened a small door in the back wall and they drew me through it. Were they going to fuck me? Was that what this was? A show for wealthy men? Had lewd basement activities taken the place of the two martini lunch? I didn’t have time to contemplate it, my eyes blinking against the darkness of the box as they pushed me down to my knees. I felt hands on my wrists and ankles, and then the cold of metal enclosed each.
‘Shhh,’ whispered one of them. “No words. Just perform. Ten completions. And show evidence of completion. This is not about you.”
My mouth worked, sounds failing me as I felt their fingers securing me into place. Something cold was fastened around my neck, and between my legs, the feeling of that same cold material over my pussy, pushing against my clit. I moaned then, unable to control myself, and before I knew what was happening, the metal plate against my pussy began to vibrate.
“Ten completions to complete Cycle One. Show evidence of completion. You have one hour.”
And then the hands were gone, and so were the men, leaving me there in the dark.
Suddenly I missed them, their gentle touch, the man’s voice in my ear, the way their hands felt on my body, something I hadn’t felt in so long. Ellis’ hands always elsewhere. A quick kiss. A half smile. A hug that left me feeling empty and alone. And then him gone again, and again, and again.
With her.
If they weren’t going to fuck me…if I pleaded? Would they? Would the men in suits watch? Is this what they wanted? Is this what this was?
The vibrations against my clit pulled me back to the moment, and I jerked against my bonds when the delicious pleasure sputtered and stopped, then suddenly started again. Over and over, a stop and a start. A tease, and then, just as that long lost feeling in me began to build, the thing went dead. The vibrations teasing, hitting me full force, then fading, then back again gently, barely a tingle between my legs. A long hard rumble against my clit, leaving me panting when it stopped. I yanked on my bonds, felt them hold, and then the vibrations started again.
On and on in complete darkness, I battled the tease, moaning, crying out when it stopped. Ten completions? What did that mean? Ten orgasms? I was so close to the first. Just a little more, a little more. My hips rocked when the vibrator hit me like an earthquake, ripping a long, low wail from my lips when it stopped abruptly, then repeated.
“No! Please!”
I cried out, angry, needy, the desperation flowing over me. The men in black — their hands. I needed them on my breasts, my nipples. I needed them there, between my legs.
“Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me, please!”
Then the box exploded in light. I blinked, tried to reach up to block the light, but my hands were bound behind me. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to adjust, a moment of panic as I reached again and again for my face, to push my hair away, to cover my eyes. But I was held fast on my knees, and when I opened my eyes again, all I could see was a naked whore.
The wall right in front of me was a mirror, and for the first time I saw everything. Naked, bound on my knees by metal manacles on my wrists and ankles and a larger manacle around my neck. My whole body glistened with oil, and between my legs, a metal belt of some sort snug against my bare pussy. I stared, my eyes roaming, looking for the panic button, the release, the door, anything that would allow me to escape. And then there was a noise on either side of me, my eyes grew wide as I watched them emerge, a cock to my left and a cock to my right through holes in the wall.
The man’s words played over in my ear as I knelt there, looking left and right. “Ten completions to complete Cycle One. Show evidence of completion. You have one hour.”
A glory hole. My god! I was a whore bound in a glory hole.
The two cocks stood at attention inches from my face as I stared at myself in the mirror. My hips rocked with the pleasure of the vibration, and when the strip of metal clamped against my pussy went silent, my hips rocked still. So close. So close. Please.
“Ten completions to complete Cycle One. Show evidence of completion. You have one hour.”
I heard the words again, and suddenly I understood. Ten cocks. One hour. So many standing there in the darkness, waiting for their whore to arrive, and I was that whore. Ten cocks. I looked right, then left. Were they watching me? The mirror — of course, they were all watching, seeing me squirm, seeing me beg, seeing me naked and bound. Will she comply? Suck off ten faceless men? But what choice did I have? My clothes, my purse and phone — everything taken. When I handed over the card, I’d handed over myself to be their glory hole whore.
Ten cocks. Fuck you, Ellis.
I ran my tongue along the length of the thickest of the two. It had been so long, and I leaned in, running my face along the length of the shaft with my tongue tracing the smooth, warm flesh, my eyes fixed on the mirror. They were watching, but I could watch, too. The strip of metal between my legs came to life, and I moaned as I swallowed the first cock.
