The Obsidian Vault never truly slept.
Even in the quiet hours after the frenzy, the air remained thick with the scent of sweat, leather, and s*x. Low amber lights cast long shadows across the black marble floors, illuminating faint streaks of dried c*m and the occasional discarded piece of lingerie.
The distant echo of moans and rhythmic slapping still drifted from other chambers, like a living heartbeat beneath the club.
I lay on a wide, silk-covered platform in one of the private alcoves, my body heavy and humming. Every inch of me felt claimed. My inner thighs were sticky and tender, my n*****s sore from constant attention, and a deep, satisfying ache pulsed between my legs.
Cum had dried in flaky patterns across my stomach and breasts, and I could still taste the salty mix on my t
