Page 42 of The Daddy’s Girl

After the exhibit, Freya heads home to be with her fiancés. Weston calls it a night, and I head back to the club. I could easily go home, which is probably what I should do, but I have this sense of unfinished business that’s been bothering me.

Once I get to the club, I tell myself I’m going to head upstairs. Naturally, that’s not where I go. Why? Because tonight is not like every other night in the club.

It’s Friday, and one Friday a month, we have masquerade night. It’s something we’ve been doing here since Matis owned it. I think it might have even been a tradition from Salacious, but we try to provide our members with a chance to be more anonymous in the club.

It allows for more liberation. Gives people courage they might not have otherwise.

How do I know this?

Because tonight I am one of those people.

Heading down to the lower level, I snatch a free mask from the bowl by the entrance, and I slip it on. Then I enter the club with the intent to only watch.

I won’t touch anyone tonight. I won’t do anything but what Matis encouraged me to do. He told me to explore this newfound part of myself, so that’s what I’m doing.

The club is packed tonight. We hand out extra day passes on nights like this to bring in potential members. The lights are very low, and the music is bumping. It feels more like a regular club tonight, so I have to squeeze through the crowd as I make my way around the space.

I prepared myself for this. Timing my Adderall dosage today, I knew that between the exhibit and this, I would need to be leveled out in order to endure it. Something about the masquerade mask helps too, though. As if it separates me from the room, puts me behind a wall that’s quiet, dark, and all my own.

If all else fails, I’ve got a gummy in my purse and an exit strategy.

When I reach the VIP booths, I lean against one alone and keep my eyes glued on the dance floor. There’s a horde of people moving to the music, and it appears to be only dancing.

With a little disappointment, I make my way toward another part of the club.

And that’s when I see them. It’s nobody I know, only strangers, but it’s a group of people taking up one of the large booths in the corner. These tables are designed specifically for group activities. The surface height is low, and unlike other establishments, it’s encouraged for guests to climb, stand, sit, dance…and, well, get screwed on top of them.

Which is exactly what they’re doing. There’s a woman lying across the center with her legs draped over someone else’s shoulders—man or woman, I can’t tell, because its dark and they’re currently so far between her legs, they are indistinguishable.

There’s a woman leaning over and kissing her so passionately it’s hard to look away. It appears to be four—no, wait, five—people, and seeing them completely indulge in each other is exhilarating to watch. They are so liberated. So fearless.

The two men at the back of the booth are kissing as intensely as the women, both of their hands moving and groping the other.

I’m currently hidden in the shadows as I watch them, and I think back to what Matis said. They want me to watch. That’s why they are doing it in the open. They could easily get a room if they preferred privacy, but that’s clearly not what they are going for.

So I watch.

My mind quiets. My heart rate picks up, but instead of getting swept up in a panic, I let it wash over me, focusing more on my body than on my mind. There’s something about the effect it has on my nervous system that keeps me locked in. The arousal brewing in my core drowns out the noise.

How have I never discovered this before? Why have I spent so long brushing off this part of myself instead of embracing it?

I’ve never liked porn much. I always find it too intense. The perverse vulgarity of it is an overload for my system.

Reading erotica usually works, but I’d often get too distracted, and much like porn, it always feels like too much too soon.

But this…this is real. These are real people, and they like to be watched—judging by the other people lingering and letting their gazes flash back to the table. But the group is not performing. They are doing what feels good. Indulging in what they were created to do.

My core aches to be touched, but I won’t do that here. Besides, that’s not why I’m doing this. I just wanted to experiment a bit.

Just as I’m about to turn around and head toward the exit, my gaze locks with a pair of eyes at the table. Blood rushes to my cheeks as one of the girls waves me over.

“Join us,” she calls with a flirtatious smile.

I wave a hand at her to politely say no. Then I quickly turn away and rush toward the exit.

I don’t stop as I dash up the stairs. I continue toward the stairwell that leads to the offices above us.

My feet carry me in a rapid pace all the way down the hall to my studio. Once inside, I slam the door closed. Without even ripping my masquerade mask off, I lie back on the long white table.