JUSTIN’S POV
As the room is being transformed, you’re watching Brian out of the corner of your eye. He’s not assisting anyone, but that’s probably because he has a boner the size of Texas that he’s stroking in a rather clandestine manner, his hand in his pocket. He has the other arm draped over your shoulders and sometimes it scoots back a little so he can play with the back of your hair. You decide that this is the right moment to tell him, “I’ve got to pee.” He smiles and points you to the door, “In the lobby, I presume. Do you need me to go with you?”
“No, I’m fine. Just don’t come before I get back, okay?”
“I never come without you. You’re the one who’s cornered the market on that,” he says with a sly look on his face. So while all that wine from lunch was making a dash for your bladder, you walked the edge of the room, found the door and opened it. The man working the front desk looks up and over his shoulder, his brow furrowing once you’re all the way in the lobby.
“Where’s your Master, Seventy-two?”
You immediately put your head down because the guy gives off a weird alpha vibe, “I need to use the restroom. Brian said it’s okay.”
“You can look at me when I’m talking to you. I’m not a Master when I’m working the front desk,” he informs you, laughing a little. “Bathroom is down the hall to the left.” He points the way and you smile and thank him. The bathroom looks way too upscale compared to the dungeon you were just in. Whoever designed this place, you decide, is completely schizo. Finally emptying your bladder gives you a bit of courage so once again, you approach the front counter, re-earning the attention of the attendant. “Yes, Seventy-two?” he says.
You take a deep breath, “Um, I was wondering…what do I do if I want to not be an observer anymore and, you know, participate?”
His eyes narrow and seem to slice you, “Are you actively disobeying your Master? Because no one here will tolerate that; I promise you.“
“No, no, not at all. I mean, I didn’t ask him, but he’s about to come in his pants in there and I don’t want him to decide to….you know…without me.”
The man grins, “Okay, okay. Calm down. Get undressed. I’ll unlock your room for you so you can put your clothes away.” By the time he’s turned around and gotten the key for room four, you’re already naked, like it was a race or something. You feel ungodly stupid standing there in nothing but your brand new collar when he lets out a big laugh, “Jesus. You didn’t have to strip down in the lobby. You need to chill a little.”
He opens the room for you and watches as you set your clothes on the weird bed. You should feel nervous being all naked in front of this guy, but you don’t for some reason--maybe because he doesn’t seem that affected by it or something. “Can I ask you a question, sir?” you ask.
“Why not? You’re on a roll here.”
“How come there are only like eight rooms but there are like fifty guys in there?”
He locks your room as he answers you, “Because the rooms are just for new slaves. Sometimes they need a place to regroup after everything. The old-timers, they don’t.”
“I thought it was for people to fuck,” you say wondering why you seriously can’t just keep your mouth shut.
“I’m sure fucking goes on. Everybody regroups in their own way, Seventy-two.”
“What do the numbers mean?” you continue, secretly blaming your loquaciousness on the wine.
He steps back behind the front desk and lifts up a big leather book with a burgundy ribbon marking the open page, “It’s just a roster. Seventy-two was the next slave number. You’re our newest one. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” you say like an idiot.
“Seventy-two?”
“Huh?”
“Why don’t you rejoin your Master? Social hour is over.”