Shadow & Vixen

Raven regarded the office building from the bus stop across the road. Night had set in, and the streets were busy in the pleasant weather. Friday night, ten pm, everyone had finished dinner and were out for a night of drinking and dancing in their sexiest best wear. Except him, he thought ruefully. And, presumably, Vixen.

The foyer of the building was lit, the sort of after-hours lighting designed to discourage vandalism or break ins, but the rest of the building was dark. Not a single light on. No late-night workers, no night shifts, no dedicated, trying to earn a promotion, die-hard showing their determination at their work desk after everyone else went home. No sign of espionage.

There was a steady stream of cars into the underground carpark, however, and every now and again, people would approach the side door tucked into the pedestrian-only alley between skyscrapers. Usually in one, or twos, they rang a bell, and there was a pause, before the door was opened to admit them.

Raven had a strong feeling he was about to enter an exclusive club, the sort of club that needed a password to get into, that set up in unusual places, hidden behind secret entrances… There were a few types of such clubs that came to mind, but he was betting on a sex club from the name Vixen. Sex worker, perhaps, he thought.

Did Gregory have a regular date who was ready spill the beans on his business?

He had debated long and hard about coming to this meeting, but a phone call from Victor had decided it. They had received a phone call from Gregory Holmsworth’s assistant indicating that Mirage was now safe, but they did not trust the information. With Award season coming, Mirage could not stay in the safety and seclusion of their house indefinitely, nor could she live her life in Alexei’s shadow. They needed to know whether they could trust that the problem had been resolved and that Mirage could move around freely without fearing abduction.

Shadow had never been into a sex club before. His PI work had never taken him there and it was way off the straight and narrow of his private life. Well, there was a first time for everything, he told himself as he crossed the road and picked his way down the alleyway. The door was typical of its kind. Grey, and solid. There was a security camera set above the door, and an intercom next to it. He pressed the button.

“Password?”

He leaned towards it. “Decadence.”

There was a pause and a click. He pushed on the door and stepped into a landing. There was a red light that glowed just bright enough to make sure he did not fall down the stairs. He closed the door behind him and took the stairs down because there was not any other direction to go in.

As he descended, he gradually became aware that there was music in the distance. The stairs finished at another door. He pushed it open, and stepped into a long corridor, the walls industrial concrete painted in greys or so he guessed as the pulsing red light overhead threw the colours into pink shades. There were a lot of doors to either side, and a big double door at the end guarded by two big men in black.

Alright, Raven thought. He knew where to go, at least.

The sultry, dangerous beats of the music came from behind those big double doors.

The smaller doorways were interesting. He could see along the hall that some were open, whilst others were closed and there was a sign on each of the doorhandles. He paused to read one, trying to get an idea of what he was walking into. “Private”. Well, that was not helpful.

The next door was open, and a sign on the handle. “Guests welcome.” The room was small and the large central, vinyl draped bed took up most of the space. It was occupied by an uncountable amount of people.

He gaped as he came to a standstill. More of a hesitation, really, he told himself defensively. A reaction of surprise to the sheer quantity of limbs visible, rather than interest in the activity within. He was, after all, there on business.

Another room showed a sign: “Watch Only”. It had a woman bound onto the table. Her full-face mask attached to a device that remined him of some type of f-ked up scuba tank. Two women in latex stood to either side of her head, reminding him of nurses in horror movies, and they looked up at him as he paused in the doorway.

One smiled. “Do you want to play, pretty boy? We can schedule you in in about half an hour.”

“Thanks, but not tonight,” he replied.

Shouldn’t have looked in, he reprimanded himself. He passed a man being whipped, two men with a woman in a suspended harness, puppy play… His steps slowed at the last. The human imagination when it came to sex and gratification never failed to fascinate him. He shook his head in bewilderment as he continued down the passage.

He was a vanilla guy, through and through, he told himself. One man, one woman, one bed, skin, and organs, done. That was enough. It was what the body was designed to do. Of course, there was skill involved, and finesse, but, despite his penchant for leather jackets, his sex did not involve it.

The music grew louder as he approached the door. One of the two burly men took the cover charge, before opening the double doors, admitting him into a den of sensuality. He paused a moment on the threshold to take it in, his eyebrows rising. Red, black, metal, and bare skin was a dominant theme, he noted, and he was definitely overdressed in his jeans, shirt and leather jacket.

A man danced on the stage, in nothing but a few well-placed strips of leather and a vinyl mask that covered his face from collar bones up, except for his mouth. His lips looked redder, lewder, exposed against the black vinyl backdrop. Raven paused again to consider the amount of pain involved in such total removal of body hair as the dancer had undergone.

There were curtained booths around the room. As with the rooms on the way in, some were open, some closed. A woman was spreadeagled in one booth, a naked man served as a table in another.

Raven swallowed hard.

The dance floor was full, and clothing seemed to be entirely optional by the vast amount of near naked bodies gyrating with apparently no concept of personal space and several movements that were just shy of openly f-king.

He would be a priest or a eunuch, he told himself, if the atmosphere of the room did not affect him in some way, but man, he had to adjust his jeans, as he was straining the fly in a way that he was sure was going to do him some damage.

The area he approached was roped off. The sex club’s version of a VIP lounge. He contemplated how he was meant to meet Vixen when the rope so expressly said not to cross. He was not much of one for following rules, but it would be counterproductive to get himself kicked out for crossing the rope, before he got to the meeting that was organized.

A woman’s laughter lifted over the music, standing the hair along his arms on end. Sexy, he thought, and damn it, he did not need further stimulation.

“Can I help you?” A woman stood before him, on the other side of the rope, her red hair bound back severely in a bun, dressed in black from throat to ankle. There was an utter primness to her that contrasted brilliantly to the room around him, and he knew without a doubt that she was staff, and that she was challenging his presence.

He imagined he looked out of place to her, overdressed and fidgeting with his groin at the edge of the VIP lounge like a lost, horny puppy.

“I am looking for Vixen,” he said.

“Are you a guest of hers?” Her attitude shifted from reprimanding to welcoming.

“I guess. She told me the password, and to meet her here.”

“What is the password?”

“Decadence.” That, at least, was easy.

She unclipped the rope, admitting him, before turning slightly and gestured to the partially curtained booth where the sexy laughter had originated. A raven’s luck, Raven thought ruefully as he approached the curtain.

The woman within was a stunner, but he had known that already, as it went with the laughter. A man in leathers was between her legs, his face hidden between her thighs, and one of her legs – one of her divine legs he noted, with excellent muscle tone and killer stiletto heeled boots - was draped over his shoulder.

Her eyes met his, and she took a drag on the hookah on the table and blew a smoke ring his way. “Like something that you see?” She asked him, with open invitation. The man between her legs did not look up. He just lifted her other leg over his brawny shoulder and increased his efforts.

There was a mask over half her face, something made to look like the skull of an animal complete with curling horns, but it did not disguise her beauty, and her eyes fluttered as her hand clasped the man by the hair, directing his attentions. Her own hair was fake, Raven noted, one of those realistic mesh wigs that mimicked the fall of natural hair, but the colour was a bright purple that either required frequent visits to a hairdresser or a wig to maintain.

Raven was staring and couldn’t stop.

She wore a leather bra and some sort of leather shorts that were zipped impossibly open to allow for the man’s attentions. Her moan as she neared release, and her unsteady drag of breath was overloud in his ears. It was like he was there with her, he thought, his heart pounding violently against his ribs, as if he were the man between her thighs. F-k, he wanted to be the man between her thighs.

She came, and Raven felt the throb of it as if it were his own orgasm. “F-k,” he cursed under his breath.

“Raven,” she said, her voice still hoarse and heavy with pleasure. “I presume?”

“Yes,” he paused, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Yes. I am Raven.”

“You look like a Raven, all sharp beak and black feathers,” she purred, swinging her legs off the shoulders of the man, and zipping up her shorts as she stood, showing just enough skin that he knew that she was as thorough with her hair removal as the dancer on the stage. “You are early.”

“I am sorry?” Raven was not repentant at all. If he had been late, he might have missed the show.

The man on the ground remained there, his head bowed, on his knees.

“Come, Shadow,” she took a chain that was attached to the collar around his neck and paused to let him stand.

The man was huge, Raven thought, impressed, looking up and meeting golden brown eyes behind a half mask that matched hers. Square jawed, and movie star handsome. And not, evidently, adverse to being led around in a leather gladiator skirt and collar and going down on the ground to pleasure the purple haired Vixen. The leather skirt tented over an impressive hard on that the man was absolutely unembarrassed about.

She strutted. There really was not any other word for it, he thought watching the twitch of her arse in the leather shorts. Not thin, by any means, she had a body than made a man want to explore the curves and valleys, and she worked it with confidence, holding the leash to Shadow loosely in her hand, as she sauntered around the room.

Shadow followed meekly, his eyes fixed on her arse, totally comfortable in his position at the other end of the chain. Raven trailed behind, less comfortable with his role at the rear, and sporting a hard on that threatened to burst his fly.

Vixen paused against a heavy velvet curtain and threw a glance over her shoulder, accompanied by a smouldering grin, before pushing it aside and stepping through a hidden side entrance.

They entered an underground car park. The shift from the throbbing red room, into the bleak concrete of the carpark should have been anticlimactic, but there was a rawness to the space that made it seem an extension of the interior. Plus, Raven added, there was a scantily clad woman chained by her wrists to a concrete pole, who looked at them with doe eyes and licked her lips.

“Someone’s been naughty,” Vixen giggled as she passed.

The woman slid Raven a flirtatious smile as he gawked. He wondered if the crosses taped over her nipples would hurt when removed.

He should not have been surprised by the Ferrari, or that its custom purple paint that matched her wig perfectly. Whatever role she held with Gregory Holmsworth, it was evidently well paid to afford that car, he noted.

Shadow slipped into the back seat, and Vixen paused by the driver’s side.

“Well?” She asked him.