They didn’t waste time once they saw how often I showed up.
It was maybe my tenth night—maybe twelfth; the days blurred into one long, throbbing ache. I’d just finished in an alcove: bent over a low bench, skirt hiked to my waist, one masked stranger pounding into me from behind while another fed his c**k down my throat. I came twice—once from the deep, bruising thrusts stretching me open, once from the way the second man groaned and spilled across my tongue when I swallowed around him. My knees were weak, lips swollen, thighs slick when the lace-wearing woman from my blindfold night approached.
She handed me a small black envelope, sealed with a wax “N.”
“Read it when you’re alone,” she said, voice low and amused. “But we both know you won’t wait.”
I tore it open right there on the pl
