Sympathy For The Devil by Asha King Page A

below. Her eyes trailed from the large bar area, over the unoccupied dance floor of mirrored tiles on a raised platform, just a black barstool in the center. A handful of small round tables and chairs were around it, and beyond them dark red booths with tables. Another half-wall topped with frosted glass boxed in that area, and beyond that, couches against walls and dark red curtains that led to other areas.
    All that she took in swiftly; what drew her back was the people. Some wearing black suits or short skirts, often in leather. Occasionally all but naked. Some openly made out in booths, hands running up legs, between thighs, and mouths sucking breasts. In one case, two men and a woman in suits sat around a table, in discussion as any businesspeople would be, but each had a person sitting on the floor at their sides, collars , of all things, at their throats, with their eyes turned downward. Her eyes widened as she spotted Mr. Parker, principal of Stirling Falls High, necking with some dude off in the corner.
    Jesus, it was...some kind of fetish sex club? Just outside of Stirling Falls? Tash had never heard of it, and while she saw her fair share of things she didn’t want to see around town, she’d never seen this .
    What she expected to be revulsion turned out to be an odd curiosity as she crept around the perimeter of the mezzanine level. A handful of steps led to a small level overlooking the club, a couple of antique-looking divans empty of people, reminding her of boxseats at the opera.
    The lighting was low and she had a decent view of the club from here—specifically a man and a woman on a couch below. The woman reclined in a blindfold, her head tipped back and lips parted as the man peeled her shirt back, exposing her breasts. His hands parted her thighs, fingers sliding up and up, beneath her skirt and as she writhed, it left little doubt as to what he was doing.
    A clap and a moan caught her attention next, a woman in a booth lying face down over a man’s lap. Her skirt was hiked up, revealing her bare ass and a scrap of a thong between her cheeks. His hand came down again on her flesh, leaving a red handprint.
    Warmth pooled low in Tash’s belly and between her legs. Though she might not consider herself a voyeur by any stretch of the imagination, she also didn’t get out much, didn’t have much of a sex life, and the current environment sent a rush of arousal through her. A blush bloomed in her cheeks, spilling down her neck to her chest. She was practically glowing with a mix of embarrassment and arousal.
    “You know you’re pretty when you blush.” Devin Archer had said.
    Oh, if you could see me now.
    And he was who she was there to find, so she snapped her focus back to scanning the room and not looking directly at those engaging in intimate acts.
    Eventually her gaze snagged him sitting alone at the end of the bar. He had a glass of honey-brown liquid clutched in his hand, his head bowed and broad shoulders hunched. The bartender paused across from him, leaning over the counter with what seemed like miles of pale cleavage exposed, and said something to him, but he didn’t glance up or speak. Eventually she grew bored with the lack of conversation and moved on to take another order. And it didn’t end there; a petite blonde woman with a red cocktail, wearing a tiny white tennis skirt and short pink top that exposed the underside of her breasts and taut stomach, sidled up to him next. Tash knew she shouldn’t be surprised—he was possibly one of the only single men present and he was extremely attractive at that—but she didn’t like it, nonetheless, these women throwing themselves at him. The blonde touched his shoulder, leaned in deeply so her chest crushed his arm, and whispered something in his ear.
    Whatever Archer responded with, she didn’t like—immediately she backed away, cocktail in hand, hips swishing as she went in search of someone else to play with. He took a drink and then