“Figured as much. How about this function?” He taps on the toy, and instead of blowing, its soft surface sucks me in.

I can’t help wiggling, attempting to close my legs and move, for all that I know it’s pointless.

“Fuck, you’re drenching your panties already. Are you going to be a good girl, Claire? Or do you want your dear nana to see you just like this? Say cheese, you’re on camera. Here,” he says, pointing to a feeble light flickering in a corner. “And here. These two will stay fixed on you until we’re done.”

It’s strange that these people are allowing themselves to be filmed. But then again, it occurs to me that all of them, all of us, wouldn’t want the events of tonight to be released to the public. By filming every participant, they’re ensuring no one will ever say anything about tonight. It’s certainly efficient. I can already say I’ll take everything to my grave, although I’ve just arrived. The thought of anyone I know seeing me like this is horrifying.

Grandma. Noah.

Oh god, Noah. My boyfriend, who hasn’t so much as touched my bare skin under my clothes, or even seen it. And here I am, legs spread and locked in place, a guy I’ve met this week, masked, shoving a clit suction toy between my legs.

The most shameful thing about this is that I like it. I like it so much. I don’t want it to stop. I already know I’ll do this again. I’ll get myself one of those toys and press it right there, every day and night. This just feels so damn good.

“I think you might just come already. Fuck, it’s been, like, three minutes. If you don’t brace yourself, darling, tonight is going to be exhausting for you.”

The gentle advice is completely useless. There is no holding back, and I don’t even try. My body is on fire, racing towards an overpowering climax.

And then he withdraws his hand.

The asshole just stops.

I stare at the mask, speechless. The nasty smile doesn’t shift, but I can imagine Keller smirking underneath.

“I said brace yourself, Claire. We wouldn’t want you to pass out.”

I am speechless.

“Just look at those puppy dog eyes. You’re adorable,” he says, with no small amount of condescension.

A chorus of chuckles remind me we’re not alone. Most of our audience is occupied by their own games, but a few watch me, and apparently find the whole thing amusing.

I can’t explain why, but spotting their eyes on me only increases the hollow, numb, deep need growing in my core.

“I’ll tell you what. Just because you’re so cute, I’m going to let you come.”

I heat up at the compliment, lifting my head hopefully.

“But only if you ask nicely.”