The city’s morning buzz was a distant hum as I approached the grand entrance of Heaven’s Feel, its sleek black doors frad by polished gold. My white sneakers scuffed the pavent, my long black shirt and t-shirt swaying, my jeans heavy from the walk.
Jonathan’s call had dragged out of bed, his voice sharp with the promise of a client, and now here I was, ready to slip back into the world of money and pleasure, my secrets buried deep, at least for now. I gripped the ornate door knob, the tal cool under my palm, and pushed, the soft *chi* of a hidden bell announcing my arrival as the heavy doors swung open.
Inside, the air was warm, scented with jasmine and a faint trace of expensive perfu, the lobby a vision of luxury—marble floors gleaming, crystal chandeliers casting soft light, velvet curtains framing tall windows. Two girls in bunny dresses greeted , their outfits hugging their curves, cleavage and ass curves on display, their smiles bright.
"Good afternoon, Ezra," they said in unison, their voices sweet, their eyes flicking over in a playful manner, their bunny ears bobbing slightly as they leaned forward, trays of drinks balanced in their hands.
"Good afternoon," I said with a nod, my voice flat, my face neutral as I kept walking, my hands in my pockets.
The main dance hall stretched ahead, its space still quiet in the afternoon, workers setting up for the evening’s guests—polishing the mirrored bar, testing the stage lights. The place scread money and pleasure, every detail designed to seduce, from the gold-trimd walls to the soft jazz humming through hidden speakers.
I reached the elevator, and pressed the button for the fourth floor, where Jonathan had asked to et him. The doors slid shut with a soft *ding*, the cabin humming as it climbed, and I leaned against the wall, my hands still in my pockets, my brow furrowing.
....The fourth floor? I thought, sighing to myself, the sound heavy in the quiet. That floor was for the red rooms—private suites for bigger gas, darker fetishes, where clients with deeper pockets and wilder tastes played.
Jonathan usually kept on the lower floors, where the work was straightforward, so why here today? The question gnawed at .
The doors opened, and a wave of sweet, hypnotic scent hit —rose, musk, sothing heavier, designed to pull you in. The fourth floor was quieter than the lobby, the afternoon light streaming through tall windows, casting long shadows across the crimson carpet. The red rooms’ doors lined the hall, their polished wood gleaming, each one hiding fantasies played out behind them at night.
In the daylight, with the soft glow of wall sconces, it felt almost normal, just another big room. At the end in one of the room, Jonathan’s sat.
"Hey, Ezra, my friend!" Jonathan called, his grin wide as I stepped into the office, his beach-vibe open shirt—floral, unbuttoned to his navel—revealing a hairy chest, a cigar smoldering in one hand, a wine glass glinting in the other. Papers and a phone were scattered across his desk.
"Hello," I said, nodding, my voice calm.
"Co here, sit, sit!" Jonathan said, waving toward a plush leather couch. "Let tell you about the client." His grin widened, his eyes glinting with the promise of sothing big.
I sat down, sinking into the couch, the leather creaking under . "What’s the deal?" I asked, my tone flat but curious, my eyes eting his.
"Want a drink?" he asked, his voice bright, holding up his wine glass, the red liquid swirling.
"No, thanks, I am good." I said, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
"Haha, usual Ezra!" Jonathan laughed, loud and booming, his hand clapping my shoulder, his grip firm, his cigar smoke curling around us. "Drinks on the job, never drunk, always sharp!" He leaned back.
"Yeah, so let’s get down to business," Jonathan said, clearing his throat, his voice shifting from its usual cheer to sothing more serious, his cigar puffing smoke as he set his wine glass down. He leaned forward.
"I’m already expecting sothing unusual because we’re eting on the fourth floor," I said, my eyes flicking to the door, the red rooms—fetishes, dominance, submission.
"Sighh," I added, my breath heavy.
"Hehe, yeah..." Jonathan said, sipping his wine, his cigar trailing smoke, his grin widening but his eyes darting away, like he was easing into sothing big. "So, as you know, we’re on the fourth floor, which is reserved for red room activities." His voice was casual, but there was a weight to it, his fingers tapping the desk, his hairy chest heaving slightly, the papers under his hand catching my eye—my na, my details, a contract signed by so client.
"Yeah, I know," I said, my voice flat, leaning forward to glance at the papers, my eyes scanning the fine print, the client’s signature bold but unfamiliar. "So, I have to do the dominance..." I said, assuming, my tone steady, my hands resting on my knees.
"Umm, nope," Jonathan said, his voice flat, cutting through my assumption like a knife, his grin fading into sothing more serious, his cigar pausing mid-air, his eyes eting mine, steady but cautious.
"Ehh, then?" I asked, my eyebrow raising, my hands tightening on my knees, my heart picking up, a flicker of unease creeping in as I watched his face, his hesitation telling more than his words.
My eyes widened, realization hitting like a cold wave, the pieces snapping together
"Yes... you guessed it right," Jonathan said, nodding slowly, his voice low, his cigar tapping ash into the tray, his wine glass forgotten, his grin gone, replaced by a careful intensity, his eyes searching mine for a reaction.
"I have to submit, and the client wants to dominate," I said, nodding, a small, sarcastic smile tugging at my lips, my voice steady but laced with disbelief, my hands clenching, my sneakers shifting, the idea of yielding in a red room—a rare role for —settling like a stone in my gut.
"Yes!" Jonathan said, his voice brightening, but his grin was forced. "That’s exactly how it is."
"Whaa—" I exhaled, leaning back into the couch, the leather creaking under , my hands raking through my hair, my breath heavy, the reality sinking in.
Submission, in a red room, was no small thing—not just the act, but the client, the stakes, the intensity of the fourth floor’s gas. "This is gonna be a lot," I muttered, my voice low, my eyes flicking to the papers, the contract’s weight suddenly real.
"Yeah, so... it might take the whole night, too, so be prepared," Jonathan said, his voice careful, sipping his wine again. "You’re the best for this, Ezra. Client asked for you specifically." His grin returned, smaller, his hand waving, trying to reassure .
"Yeah, that’s not a problem," I said, my voice steady, nodding, knowing Aeri would be with Sara, tied up with wedding prep, giving the night to dive into this, to lose myself in the job. "I can handle it," I added.
"Cool then, that’s my boy. You won’t say no to anything heheh." Jonathan said, his grin widening, his tension easing, his cigar back in hand, puffing smoke as he leaned forward.
"So..." I said, leaning forward, my hands on my knees, my eyes narrowing, my voice calm but pointed, curiosity and caution mixing. "Who’s this client who’s hiring today?" I asked, my gaze locking onto his, the red rooms’ exclusivity flashing in my mind. "The cost of a red room isn’t cheap enough for just anyone to afford." My eyebrow raised, my sneakers shifting, the weight of the client’s identity suddenly critical.
Jonathan’s grin faltered, his eyes darting away, a faint sweat glistening on his brow, his cigar pausing mid-air, his shirt creaking as he shifted, his nervousness clear despite his attempt to play it cool.
"Yeah, and the client is..." he said, his voice trailing, his fingers tapping the desk, his wine glass glinting as he stalled, his hesitation spiking my pulse, the room’s musky scent heavier now.
"Yeah?" I pressed, my voice sharper, leaning closer, my hands tightening on my knees, my eyes boring into his, his sweating grin setting off alarms, the question hanging heavy.
"Who is the client?" I asked again.
Jonathan swallowed, his grin tight, his eyes eting mine, his voice low, almost a whisper, the weight of his words landing like a bomb.
"...The First Lady."
My breath caught, my eyes widening, the room tilting slightly, the crimson carpet and cigar smoke blurring as the identity of the client sank in, the red room’s stakes skyrocketing.
The night ahead a plunge into sothing far bigger, far darker, than I’d ever imagined.
.....
The silence that followed was deafening. Jonathan and I stared at each other, blinking in confusion. His innocent smile t my blank, overwheld expression as the weight of the revelation sank in. No words were exchanged, but the mont was heavy—his calmness clashing with the storm of realization that had just hit like a wave.
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