Page 53 of Caged
Before I can stop myself, I blurt out my biggest concern. “And you’re okay with the brand?” I ask, touching the circle of raised skin on my derrière. As soon as the question leaves my mouth, a sense of guilt consumes my thoughts. I shouldn’t have asked. I’msupposed to be Kieren’s ambassador. I can’t let my hesitation and insecurities show. I’m supposed to make these women feel at ease.
“Maybe it was because I was really fucked up, but honestly, I didn’t even feel it,” Kasey says, rolling her eyes mid-sip, and I exhale my relief.
“Andre said I screamed, but I don’t remember,” Morgan adds. “That’s probably why they did them upstairs in the bedrooms.”
“Mine’s totally healed,” Lilly says. “I catch myself touching it all the time. It’s so cool. It’s like this secret thing I have that no one else can see unless you’re one of us.”
‘One of us.’I mentally chew on Lilly’s words, at the pride in her voice to be part of an elite secret society, even if it’s rooted in sin.
“Do you have a lot of friends who are abroad?” Kasey asks.
“All my close friends are, yeah,” I say. “It’s hard. I miss them, especially Gabi.”
Light floods the room as the door opens, and everyone looks up with attention.
“Monroe,” one of the goat men calls. I’m pretty sure it’s Jace, but he’s backlit from the light in the hall, so I’m not entirely sure. “Kieren’s ready for you.”
I reach for the hand extended in my direction and grab on. I turn to look at the three women, unsure of what to say. It seems inappropriate to tell them I’ll see them inside the Ceremony room, since anonymity, even if partial, feels important. Telling them I’ll see them later also feels… weird. I settle on, “Have fun,” and give them a wink I hope they see through my leather mask before finding Kieren waiting for me in the hall.
I watch as the procession of women filters into the blood red Ceremony room, kneeling in two parallel lines. Anxiety churns in my stomach – a different anxiety than I felt at the beginning of the last Ceremony. Something tonight feels off balance. Men wearing different masks sit on cushioned chairs in the back of the large room, partially hidden by a curtain hanging from the ceiling. These masks are markedly different from the demonic goat masks worn by all the other men in the room outside of Kieren. They are full-faced, completely black save for the same gold Sigma symbol in the middle of the forehead, with longer, black, demonic horns. Maybe the different masks are meant to signal a different status of fraternity member? Maybe they are worn by other seniors? But why then, wouldn’t Jace, Barrett and Harrison – Kieren’s core group of henchmen – be wearing them as well?
The last woman in line enters the room and kneels. Kieren, in all his glory, stands from his elevated position on the dais to begin his opening address. I remain kneeling beside the ornate throne as his voice booms over the otherwise silent space. The straps of my own mask feel tighter tonight, digging into the back ridge of my head. I fight the urge to fidget as Kieren speaks.
His words sound similar to the proclamations said at the last Full Moon Ceremony, but this time, he acknowledges the return of already initiated Sinners, now called Sigma Little Sisters. We repeat after him in a cohesive mumble, agreeing to never spill Sigma’s secrets, and if we do, to accept we must pay for our sins with blood. I wonder, is there any weight in these words? Kasey and the other two women admitted that people outside these walls are aware of the Sigma Little Sisters tradition, and even ifone of the women did talk, what secrets, exactly, are we keeping? I keep coming back to the notion that the word ‘tradition’ is just a glamorous title for ‘massive orgy.’
Kieren ushers in the start of the night, and, like last time, the lights dim, drinks circulate, and the room transforms into an underground sex club. I can tell improvements have been made to the setup of the basement. Curtains hang with purposeful organization from the ceiling, partitioning off sections and areas to create semi-private rooms within the room. It’s difficult to discern exact detail from where I kneel, but I think I see beds, cushioned chairs, and various BDSM props tucked within each alcove. My vantage point affords a direct line of sight into one of the nooks.
A woman wearing a blood red silk bra and matching underwear straddles a masked man sitting in a chair. She writhes seductively on his lap as he fondles her breasts. Adjacent to the chair, a woman’s torso hangs half off the bed, the tips of her fingers skim the floor. Her legs are spread impressively wide as another woman feasts on her pussy while simultaneously getting fucked from behind, doggy style, by a man in a mask. Both women, especially the one hanging off the bed, moan loudly enough to be performative. A semi-circle of voyeurs has formed around the bed, some stroking themselves, some with a partner.
My own arousal pulses between my legs, and I look up at Kieren, wondering if I can go ahead and climb onto his lap or if I need to wait for his signal. To my disappointment, his gaze appears fixed on the hedonistic entertainment. The last time I touched myself without his permission, I was bound, chained, and edged until I almost passed out. Not that I didn’t love every second of it, but I prefer to receive that type of punishment in private, and it doesn’t seem like leaving to go upstairs is an option.
The sight of two women being led to the last partition, where men with the special masks sit, catches my eye.
“Monroe,” Kieren barks. I crane my neck like a servant looking up at her king. “Get up here,” he commands without turning his head. I climb onto his lap, facing him, but I can’t shake the icky feeling occupying my mind.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, stroking the side of my ribcage with his thumb. His gravelly voice is as intimidating as it is provocative, yet I can’t seem to jumpstart my body.
“I don’t think the molly you gave me is working.”
Kieren calls the name of someone I don’t know, and seconds later, a masked man is at his side, handing him a small cup that reminds me of the ones used for mouthwash.
“Put this under your tongue,” Kieren says, placing the small lozenge in my hand.
“What is this?” I ask.
“It’s safe, just take it.”
“Kieren…” I protest.
“Now is not the time, Monroe.”
His dark eyes, the only part of his face not concealed by his terrifying, god-like demon mask, are cold and unforgiving.
“Fine,” I mutter, and put the tablet under my tongue.
“Let it dissolve,” Kieren instructs as he tucks two fingers under the base of my thong. I exhale a soft moan and will the tension in my shoulders to slacken. I swivel my pelvis in small circles, feeling myself grow wet.
“Good puppy,” he praises. I increase my pace when a commotion directly at my back thwarts my progression.
