Page 67 of Repluse

Mila’s knee bounces all through dinner, the same way it did on the drive over here. The way she picks at her food reminds me of the way a sparrow eats, quickly forking up tiny little pieces of the pasta she ordered, then she stops, puts her cutlery down, and talks animatedly about something random, then picks up her cutlery, and takes another couple more bites.

It’s making me want to fuck the nerves and anticipation out of her, and I have a feeling, if watching from the viewing platform gets her going enough, that’s exactly what’s going to end up happening. I’m hopeful, anyway.

We all decline dessert, and once the table’s been cleared, and I know from the updates I get on my phone that the club is almost full, I raise my chin to Frankie, who’s been unusually quiet, telling him it’s time to go.

To reach the gantry that serves as a viewing platform, we have to head back through the club to our offices, where we have a lift to take us up a level. Unless there’s someone we’ve had a complaint about, and we need to keep an eye on them, the platform is strictly off limits to anyone but Frankie and me.

The street frontage, reception, and main bar areas are the only original parts of our building. The back half was a car park when we bought it. We added a huge, warehouse-style building, then partitioned it to create a large club area, then the smaller playrooms. None of them have ceilings, allowing us a bird’s eye view down into each space. The sound system from the main club is blasted throughout, drowning out the noise coming from each room. Although, if you walk along the long hallway past the playrooms downstairs, it’s pretty obvious what’s going on inside them.

We get the usual stares as we pass through the bar and reception area, and peace descends once we hit the hallway to our open plan office space. The lift is over in the corner to the left, and as with all the off-limits areas, a code has to be put in for entry. Frankie taps in the numbers, the door slides open, and we stand back to let Mila enter first.

“This thing is tickling my face. Can I take it off now?” She moves her hand in front of her mask.

“Go for it,” Frankie tells her.

“And my phone. I don’t want to keep carrying it.”

I take it from her hand and place it on the nearest desk before we all step inside the lift.

“Anything you want to see first?” I ask.

She stares straight ahead, her leg still bouncing as Frankie and I watch her chew on the inside of her lip. She looks like she’s about to vomit.

“Stop staring, you pair of weirdoes,” she says without looking at us.

The doors slide open, and Frankie gives a chuckle, which in turn makes me smile.

“Left is the main club where anything goes. Right are the speciality playrooms: bondage, Sub/Dom, flogging, group, and wet play.”

“Right,” she says. “But not the wet play or flogging. That’s, no.”

“Tell you what,” Frankie steps in. “Let’s go watch what’s happening in the main club. If there’s anything there youdon’tlike, there’s enough going on that you’ll find something youdowant to watch. If it’s something that happens in any of the rooms, we can go to that room and watch. That way, you’re not gonna leave here traumatised.”

She smiles and looks between us. “I’m okay, I promise. Thank you for worrying. I think I just overthought what went on here. Now I’ve seen the place, I’m a little calmer.”

She’s so fucking cute, I want to kiss her fucking face off right now. We turn left, each of us holding a hand. Chaka Khan’s “I’m Every Woman” is blasting, and Mila’s shoulders move to the music as she walks.

From where we’re standing, we can walk a complete circuit around the perimeter of the club and look down on it from behind mirrored glass. We can see out, but the people below can’t see in. She pauses and looks down. I follow her line of sight to the dance floor. Much like the bar earlier, there are bodies in various degrees of undress, touching, grinding, sucking, and fucking. It’s all happening on the dance floor, at the high-top tables, and in the booths around the edges.

My attention goes to a booth, the overhead pendant illuminating a woman being held down on top of a table. Her knees are bent, legs and arms spread wide and kept in place by at least six blokes. They’re jerking off over the top of her. Some have already finished and are rubbing their come over her skin. Some are still going. At the foot of the table is another woman, with her fist buried inside the woman on the table, who’s playing with her own clit. Back arched, mouth open, it’s hard to tell if she’s feeling pleasure or pain. For many of our clients, one induces the other, so there’s a good chance it’s both.

Not wanting her to feel self-conscious, and without making it obvious, my eyes slide to Mila’s when I feel her shift beside me. She’s transfixed on the scene I’ve been watching, which is now drawing a large crowd.

My gaze continuously shifts from what’s unfolding in the club and back to Mila, and I watch as the woman on the table is flipped over and pulled up on all fours. A man at one end climbs up onto the padded seat and sticks his cock in her mouth. The other woman is now fisting her arse. Mila frowns, her head pulls back, and she wrinkles her nose.

“How does… So tomorrow, when she needs the toilet, does everything just fall out?” she asks, tilting her head from side to side while she takes in what’s happening. “I mean, I know I’ve had you two all up in there, and your dicks are generously sized?—”

“Big, Mila. Fucking huge are the words you’re looking for,” Frankie corrects her with a grin. She finally take her eyes off what’s happening in the club and narrows them on him.

“Whatever,” she says with an eye roll. “Anyway, she’s in there up to her elbow. She must be able to rearrange her internal organs. Tickle her tonsils, even. It just makes me worry that her insides will fall out if she coughs, sneezes, or…”

Her face is so serious and concerned, it’s fucking adorable, and I instantly wrap my arms around her. Pulling her back to my front, I kiss her neck.

“I love your concern, but she’s here nearly every week, so she obviously has a way of surviving the trauma her body takes.”

As I’m talking against Mila’s ear, Frankie pulls his phone from his pocket and swipes to answer a call.

“H, everything okay?” His eyes come to me.

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