The PUGH Society | Part 3
Darkness
Lights blinked into darkness, and the sobs broke through. Hot tears down cheeks smeared with cum. I coughed, feeling my stomach churn, the pain in my knees from the hard wooden floor. My shoulders ached, and my neck was raw from rubbing against the manacle.
The mirror was gone to the darkness, and for that I was thankful. Staring at myself after I swallowed the first, the cum dribbling down my chin and onto my breasts after the third. The fourth I couldn’t swallow, gagging at the continuous flow, and on and on, the mirror betraying my self-degradation when I stopped trying to give them their last moments of pleasure. Hot, sticky ropes of cum hit my face, shot up into my hair, laced my shoulders and tits like a shower of bittersweet honey, leaving me staring at the dirtiest whore I’d ever seen before the lights went out.
Quiet now, save my own muffled sobs. Deep breaths, trying to let it all go.
The door behind me opened with a muted creak, and I felt the hands again, gloved fingers on my ankles, then my wrists. The manacle around my neck disengaged last, and I dropped down to my hands and knees when the device between my legs began to pulse again. All that cock sucking, the fucking thing on and off and on and off, teasing endlessly, driving me insane, a sexual frenzy, leaving me completely out of control. And now, here I was, the deed done, naked on my knees, covered in cum, and the bloody thing was still going.
I moaned, barely aware of the hustle and bustle around me, the footsteps of the two men.
“She fucking loved it, didn’t she?” It was the shorter guy. Different voice I’d not heard before. He stepped by, a low rumble of laughter in his belly. “I love these whores. Where do they find them?”
“Shut up and finish the breakdown. We’re out of here in five,” said the larger of the two, who’d given me the directions, and then I spied his boots stopping in front of me.
I looked up, and then sat back on my heels, eyeing him through the river of cum. What now? A shower? A wet wipe? An escort back home, or was he here for his turn? Of course they’d expect me to suck them off. I’d sucked every dick in MidTown, hadn’t I? What was two more? I shook my head and moved my mouth, testing my jaw. Everything was sore from my lips to my throat. But he stood there, waiting patiently for my attention. When I looked up, he held my phone to my face, then turned it back to him.
“Won’t work. I need your passcode.” He turned the phone around, and I shrugged and tapped it in. He spun the phone around again, and snapped a picture before I could even open my mouth. “Shhh,” he said, his voice calm and quiet, commanding but with an easy composition. “This is necessary to complete your enrollment. You’ve given us the card, and now --,” he hesitated, clicking something on my phone with his big thumbs, “--and now, you’re in the system.”
“What?” I couldn’t even begin to form a sentence.
“In the PUGH system. Listen carefully,” he started, a single finger raised for silence. “You failed this cycle. I gave you clear instructions, but you did not pass. Ten completions. Show evidence of completion. You had one hour. You failed.”
I knelt there, confused, looking like I didn’t know what, and feeling like -- like I’d never felt before. More than confused. In shock? It was as if I was just finding myself again, discovering myself in a dream. And yet I’d seen it all happen, felt it all happen, watched it all happen in the mirror as if it was someone else. I’d seen porn before; Ellis and I had watched some in the early years. But to be… But to have some part, like… I couldn’t even put it into words. I just wanted to go home. It was over, and in the moment, I had to admit I’d enjoyed it in some sick, daredevilish way. It had been so long since I’d done anything foolish or anything as deviant and sexual as that. So much of who I’d been in the years past had faded away. So much of who Ellis was had ceased to exist long ago. He’d have been mortified to see this, how I’d opened myself to this raw lust and the shame that now washed over me.
What the death of a loved one can do to a person, I thought. Would I even recognize myself when I got home?
“Your phone will alert you to additional cycles,” said the big man. He just kept going, as if I understood, had enrolled for a pottery class or a series of lectures at the library. “You may attend any cycle. Just show them the app when you enter, and they will put you into play. You must complete five cycles to complete the initiation. Each one with the same expectations -- ten completions, show evidence--.”
I cut him off. “What do you mean? Show --?”
“Dumb whore,” said the smaller of the two, stopping next to me with the manacles and the short pole I’d been attached to. “You volunteered for this, and you don’t even know the rules.” Then, he turned and walked away, and I watched him stuffing the silver bracelets and the neck collar into a black bag. “Almost done, mate. Finish with her and lets’ go.”
I knelt there, my mouth moving, waiting for the words to form in my head and make their way to my lips. The vibrations hit my clit again, and I moaned, doubling over, down on my hands and knees again. “Get this off me,” I groaned as my hips rocked, trying to fuck anything, apply pressure to my clit, get over the hump. I needed to cum. I needed to get home and get my vibrator and some wine, and fucking hell, I was going to cum a dozen times thinking about this moment. And then I’d never seen any of these people or any place like this again.
A moment. A lapse? A dare? I couldn’t even fathom it just then, my clit vibrating and screaming my name.
“Sorry, lady, the belt stays on. You’re committed. Five cycles. Ten completions each. Check your phone for pop-ups, and don’t be late.” He set my phone down in front of me, face up, the picture of me on my knees, naked and covered in cum, staring up at me as I humped the air, trying to cum. “Good luck.”
And then he was gone with his friend. Everything was gone, the room empty as if no one had ever been here, but me. I ground my hips against nothing, then reached back, feeling the metal strip over my pussy, digging at it with my fingers, trying to pry it off. But it just kept buzzing, on and off, again and again, tease after tease. I dropped to my side and rolled over onto my back, pulling, tugging, groaning with the effort as it buzzed on. So close. Please. I can’t. “I can’t!” I screamed into the darkness, and then I fell back against the floor, feeling the tears flowing again.
Naked, trapped in this device, covered in cum, and crying in the basement of some strange bar. My god, Madison, I thought, my god.
I couldn’t even look at them when I walked back through the bar. I’d cleaned up as much as I could in the shitty little bathroom in the back, slicking back my hair with water to hide the streams of stickiness. My panties were gone, as was my bra -- bastards, leaving me walking out in just my Alice Vega. It fell at mid-thigh, and if there was a brisk wind, Marilyn Monroe would have nothing on me. They stared. I could feel their gazes, but I pressed on through the door, sunglasses in place, just another sunny day in Manhattan.
I clutched my hands together in the cab, exiting with little fanfare and dropping a hundred dollar bill through the slot. He would remember the tip long after forgetting my stifled moans and the way my legs were pressed tightly together.
My dress and shoes fell by the front door, my clutch on the table, but my phone with me right up the stairs. I couldn’t look at it again. The bastard had changed the welcome screen to the picture he’d taken, and the buzzing between my legs hadn’t let up for a moment. There was no escaping it, although I would try in a blazing hot shower, letting the day's frustration and the river of cum wash away, if that was even possible.
Lying naked in bed, the ruby red silk of the sheets wrapped around me, I realized there was no escape. My eyes were heavy, exhaustion closing in, but every time I felt the pull of sleep, the buzz of my clit brought me back. Again and again. I screamed, launching my water bottle and my phone across the room, kicking off the comforter, the sheets, digging my nails into the delicate flesh between my legs, drawing blood at one point, and then falling into the pillows in a long, wailing cry.
“Five cycles. Ten completions each. Check your phone for pop-ups, and don’t be late,” he’d said.
I didn’t even know his name. I hadn’t known…and then I froze there, my face buried in pillows as the vibrator clicked on again. Robert had been there. My god. Had he seen me in the box? How could he not have seen me? Had I sucked his cock? There were still line-items to complete for the company directors, and I would have to go into the office tomorrow. If I ever saw him again, what would he say? “I know what you did?” Would he whisper in my ear that he’d loved cumming on my face?
He was at the funeral. It was weeks ago, but... He was such a good friend of Ellis’, and just weeks after my love passed, here I was on my knees sucking off strangers in a basement, maybe even him. How could I possibly — how could I ever face him again?
I rolled over, holding the oversized pillow to my face, until I gasped for breath and it fell away, leaving me lying there, legs open, feeling the buzz and suddenly wishing I was getting fucked right then.
My phone dinged, and I scrambled after it. Dropping to the floor, I crawled across the room, groaning and moaning as the buzzing between my legs roared to life. The screen flashed, and there I was, naked, a cum-covered glory hole whore, and just above to the left of that whore, a notification for a symbol I hadn’t seen before. For a moment, I wondered if it would be Robert. He’d always been a bit a of a lech, in a playful way, jokes when he came around the house that if Ellis ever tired of me, he was available. I could see him staring at my breasts, especially when I paraded around in those workout outfits I’d gotten over on 7th Avenue at the little boutique. They’d been meant to entice Ellis to come home early, but the only one that seemed intrigued was Robert when he’d popped by for a little happy hour whiskey in the garden.
But not a text, or a notification I recognized. I slid my finger down on the phone and saw the symbol in the little window -- the encircled octopus. A rush of adrenaline hit me, and I almost dropped the phone. A message from PUGH? Could I ignore it? I didn’t need -- but the buzzing kicked in again, and I dropped my phone then, falling on my side from the intense pleasure that rippled through my entire being. My hands reached instinctively for my breasts, and I was pulling on my nipples before I could even take a breath.
If Robert had rung the door just then, I would have greeted him on my knees and sucked his cock. I needed something, anything just then.
My hands trembled as I picked up the phone again. And this time I tapped the icon, watching the screen flash black with the octopus emblem, and then a quick message and a link.
Pop-ups available. I read the addresses, my mouth moving, trying to focus, to unfeel the vibrations that threatened to derail every thought. 117 Ludlow. 592 Smith. 941 Croes Avenue in the Bronx. The man had said there would be more pop-ups, and I could attend any of them. Not a pottery class. A pop-up glory hole -- my god. PUGH. It was a what? A scam? Trafficking? Extortion? He’d taken my picture. How many men had taken my picture while I sucked cock after cock? How many had taken video? Was there a website now populating with my face, my breasts, my performance? A fail, he’s said. All that, and I’d failed.
Five cycles. Ten completions. Show evidence of completion and my initiation would be over. Over. Done. This belt off. Would it mean that? And then what? What did it mean to be initiated?
I tapped the first link, but it flashed back at me: “Event fulfilled. Please choose another.”
No. No. Fuck no.
I tapped the second link, and the same screen was returned. No, fuck. How many women had they ensnared in this trap? I didn’t care that I’d handed him the card. I didn’t care that I’d followed Robert and the other man down into the basement. I didn’t care. I just needed this to be over. Five cycles to completion. Would there be cycles all through the night? Could I handle one night and day of total debauchery and be done with this whole thing?
I tapped the third link, and quickly tapped the ‘Register’ button. “Welcome, Madison Adler. You have registered for the midnight session. You must arrive fifteen minutes early for preparation or your cycle will be cancelled. Failure to appear will result in a penalty.”
I stared at the words and swallowed, closed my eyes and laid back on the hardwood, letting the late afternoon sun warm my body. I could do this. What choice was there?