Page 8 of Shameful Addictions

The girls on either side of her paid no attention to her yelling and writhing, all of them locked into similar experiences. The screaming and moaning was so loud, Charlotte had no idea how it couldn’t be heard from outside. How could no one know about this? How could this be kept a secret?

Suddenly, Katerina snatched another vibrator that lay on the couch and turned it on, bringing it to her swollen nub. Now she was being vibrated from the inside and out, and there was no way her body could withstand the onslaught. The powerful lights in the room allowed for every moment of her orgasm to be seen. Wetness flowed over her lower lips, and a burst of her juice spattered against her inner thighs, dripping and smearing all over her smooth skin. Then, Katerina collapsed onto her back with her mouth open. She whimpered and squeaked as the vibrator inside her continued to work on her sensitive flesh.

Charlotte was shaking almost as much as her. She found the power button and pushed it.

Katerina finally lay still, limp, emptied.

For the first time in the past several minutes, Charlotte breathed, exhaling raggedly.

Katerina lifted her head and smiled at the crowd, a big and bright smile that showed she was so proud of herself for what she had done. It had to be a lie, a façade, but she was smiling anyway and it killed Charlotte’s heart to see. “Who’s turn is it now?”

Charlotte stood up, holding the remote control, thrusting it out at every man she saw. “Take this. Take this away from me. I can’t do this any longer.”

One of the men eagerly took it, turned it on right away, which made Katerina cry out with the joy she had been brain-washed into feeling.

Charlotte grabbed for the door, pulled herself to it and threw it open. She left it open behind her, the screams and moans from the room following her like she was escaping hell. She ran down the hallway and threw the second door open, and fell out into the main section of the club.

“Here,” she said, and threw the silver V.I.P. card at the bouncer running over. He ignored her and dashed down the hall, shutting the door to the secret area. The voices of the oversexed girls were cut off in an instant.

There must be some insane soundproofing back there. My goodness.

Had she come on another day, she might have seen things even worse. Animal sacrifice.An orgy.

Charlotte got out of there as the bouncer headed back in her direction. This time, she had no qualms about leaving Lollipop, bursting out of the club and into the summer night. The air that touched her skin was thick, sticky, reminding her too much of the atmosphere in the secret back room. Shuddering and rubbing her arms, she ducked her head and went around the building to the back parking lot.

Finding her car, she pulled her keys out of her pocket and jammed them into the ignition. The entirely-innocent act now felt very sexual, very suggestive, and she hated it more than she could even express.

Charlotte turned the air-conditioning to full blast and leaned back in the driver’s seat. The cold wind banished the disgusting warmth and helped her feel less flushed. Out in the dark, in the stillness of night, things felt more real, more solid. What had happened in the club already took on the haze of a nightmare.

She believed in privacy, as a rule. Certain things shouldn’t be shared on for the world to see, and what happened in the bedroom between a couple should stay in the bedroom. Dreams and nightmares belonged in that category. People liked to talk about them, which forced others to listen out of politeness. No one cared about dream symbolism, or the funny thing that had happened, and no one wanted to hear about nightmares. Knowing what a co-worker feared was knowing too much about them, crossing a professional line.

However, this nightmare was an exception.

Her boss had wanted her to come out here and take a look around to see how things were. Oh, she had learned how things were, and she needed to share what she now knew with the world. She had to piece together these fragments of bad dreams and narrate them, because this fear she had gone through was one shared by many others. Only by starting a conversation about it could a solution be found.

Charlotte shifted her car into drive and pulled out–another suggestive action–of the parking lot. She drove onto a quiet side street and followed it until she came to the main road. Like most cities, this one was just as active at night, perhaps even more than during the daytime.

She joined a line of other vehicles at a red light, breaking a little too late and then really having to slam them on before she rear-ended the car in front of her. Her head snapped forward on her neck, snapped back. She rubbed the back of her neck with her hand and shut her eyes tight.

“Get it together,” she whispered to herself, and smacked her own cheek lightly.

A car honked behind her. Opening her eyes, she saw the light had changed to green. She stepped on the gas and got to driving again, heading for the several skyscrapers in the near distance. Her company’s building was part of that cluster.

She couldn’t wait until tomorrow to go to her studio and make this video. Bad dreams faded. She couldn’t let this fade. This warning, this call to action, it had to happen now while the memories lingered fresh.

What she would say or do, she didn’t have figured out. All she knew was she couldn’t settle for a simple fix, a treatment of the symptoms. No warm glass of milk or nightlight could banish the monster under the bed that was Mamba.

This required a direct attack.

Chapter four

On the attack

ChampionMedia,thecompanywhere Charlotte worked, looked much like any other office building on the outside. The difference was internal, both where the equipment and the employees were concerned. CM touted itself as a news source, an outlet for the unconventional. Where television news programs talked about politics and news websites touted the same boring articles over and over again, CM discussed the important things. Rights. Equality. Current Events across the globe.

The discussion didn’t come just in the form of written words, or from people sitting down in front of a screen to recite from a teleprompter. Of course, CM also did those, but CM was on every platform: quick video, photo-sharing, and short messaging included. CM had its own publishing department, where books could be printed, and an art program. CM had everything.

Charlotte had everything at her disposal to take down Mamba, and she planned to use all of it.

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