Chapter 38: The Big Reveal
The world was a symphony of disorienting sensations. Rupert’s universe had shrunk to the crinkling sound of Georgina’s PVC hip shifting beneath his palm, the profound and unsettling fullness inside him, and the blind, trusting shuffle of his feet. Each step sent a fresh jolt through him, the curved silicone plug a relentless reminder of his predicament. He could hear the ragged breathing of Henry ahead in the chain and Paolo’s steady, almost amused presence behind him.
They moved from the quiet plush of the living room onto a harder, cooler surface—flagstones, perhaps. The air changed, losing its intimate warmth and gaining a vast, echoing quality. A low hum of conversation and the clink of glasses grew from a murmur to a distinct atmosphere. They had arrived.
“Stop,” Georgina commanded, her voice cutting through the din which immediately hushed. “Arms behind your backs.”
Rupert’s free hand was released from her hip. He fumbled, his arms complaining as he repositioned them behind him. Cold, familiar metal clicked around his wrists—the cuffs from Julia’s initial collection. He was secured once more.
Then, the blindfold was untied and lifted away.
Light, colour, and a wall of faces assaulted his senses. He blinked, his eyes watering as they adjusted. They were in a vast, rectangular space, a converted barn with high, vaulted ceilings from which three strange, ball-shaped cages hung on thick chains. Beneath them ran a long, elegantly set dining table. But his attention wasn’t on the architecture.
It was on the women.
They stood in a loose, glittering semi-circle, every one of them a figure from his village life, transformed. Margot, his wife, was resplendent in a blood-red corset that amplified her voluptuous figure, a mischievous and proud smile playing on her lips. Julia stood like a general in severe black leather, a riding crop tucked casually under her arm. Dolores smouldered in a flamenco-inspired outfit of black lace, and Felicity, the farmer, looked powerfully earthy in a studded leather harness over her bare skin. Karen, very pregnant, glowed in a shimmering green silk robe that did little to conceal her condition. Agnes, the retired schoolteacher, wore a surprisingly chic grey catsuit, her eyes sharp and interested behind her glasses. They were all there—Brenda the baker, Henrietta the pub landlady, Libby, Ingrid, Elizabeth—a constellation of familiar faces made alien and powerful by leather, latex, silk, and knowing smiles. They held flutes of champagne, pointing, chatting lightly amongst themselves as they examined the three men on display.
“Ladies,” Julia’s voice rang out, clear and authoritative. The remaining chatter died. “Thank you for your patience. The final pieces of our evening’s entertainment have arrived.”
Rupert felt a hot flush of humiliation creep up his neck. Entertainment. He was a exhibit.
“You’ve met them in their other lives,” Julia continued, pacing slowly before them. “But tonight, they have new identities. Simpler ones.” She stopped first in front of Henry, who trembled under her gaze. “This is Number Two. Plump, submissive, and desperately in need of instruction.” A few of the women tittered.
She moved to Paolo. “Number Three. Confident, experienced. I suspect he’ll require a more… creative approach.” Paolo merely smirked, the jewel at the base of his plug winking in the light.
Finally, Julia stood before Rupert. Her eyes, cold and appraising, travelled from the number on his cheek down his bare, vulnerable body, lingering for a moment on the obscene shape of the large black plug within him. He wanted to curl up and disappear.
“And this,” she said, her voice dropping to a intimate, carrying murmur, “is Number One. Our accountant. A man who deals in order and control.” She reached out and traced the number on his cheek with a single, leather-clad finger. “He is about to learn how little control he actually has.”