Paper plates and cups started to fill a large trash can beside the kitchen island and expectant faces turned toward Damian.
“Go on downstairs. Start without us. We'll join you in a few,” Damian said, waving them off so he could eat his own food.
The guests made their way to a door at the far end of the open space, closer to the living room area. Shannon could see the stairs to the basement through the glass, but she couldn't see what was down below because the floor underneath her feet was gray granite.
She took in Damian's house, as she ate. It was a large open floor plan. All the walls were glass. Large steel support beams held everything together, securing it all into one structurally sound whole.
Being able to see through every wall meant there were no secrets. Except for whatever was downstairs. And she was pretty sure she knew what was downstairs. She'd lived at the house long enough to always suspect a dungeon.
Just behind where she sat was an exterior wall that gave a clear and terrifying view over a cliff to the dark swirling and crashing waves hitting the rocks below them.
Damian tossed his plate and cup into the trash. “Ready?” he asked.
“Ready for what?” Shannon asked.
“The after party.” His voice held gentle teasing and dark delicious promise.
She glanced at Lindsay who smiled his own dark smile that mirrored Damian's. He took his and Shannon's empty plates and cups and tossed them in the trash. “Let's go join the rest of the party,” Lindsay said, extending a hand to Shannon.
Damian was already at the basement door, heading downstairs. She took Lindsay's hand and they got up to follow but stopped short when the front door opened, and in walked the artist and his pet. Hunter carried an easel and a canvas. Saskia carried a large tote bag with art supplies poking out of various pockets and openings of the bag.
“Let me get the door for you,” Lindsay said, holding the basement door wide.
“Thank you,” Hunter said, his eyes on Shannon until he had to turn to go down the stairs.
When Shannon and Lindsay got downstairs, almost everyone's clothes were off. The people who had seemed so casual and respectable upstairs were engaged in an orgy. The sounds of fucking and sucking and moans and whimpers filled up the space. Several of them were together in a small group, hands and limbs entangled, mouths grasping for each other on a giant bed at one end of the dungeon.
The rest of the group were scattered throughout the room in couples, experimenting with various bondage equipment and whipping implements.
Shannon's attention was focused on the artist. Hunter spoke with Damian in hushed tones. A chair was brought for him for his approval. He nodded. Then the easel was set up, the canvas placed upon it. A small table was brought down for Hunter to arrange his brushes and paints and rags and a pallette and jars with unidentifiable liquids inside.
When he opened the mason jars, no smells of turpentine filled the air. Shannon couldn't smell anything at all. That was curious, because even from this distance at the other end of the room, she could see he painted with oils, and she knew oil painting usually had lots of smells. Maybe the space down here was just very well-ventilated.
Shannon eased closer, intrigued. It was about an hour until midnight, and this man was going to paint something?
Saskia leaned against Hunter.
“Pet, you're about to fall over. Do you want to lie down?”
“I'm fine, Master,” she said.
He pressed a kiss into her hair. “No, you're exhausted. You've had a long day. You should take a rest.”
“I don't want to leave you,” she said, guessing correctly that she probably would, because the large bed down here was currently very occupied.
“The sofa behind you pulls out into a bed,” Damian offered, pointing to an overstuffed black leather couch that blended unobtrusively against the wall.
“Thank you,” Hunter said. He and Lindsay worked together to pull the sofa out while Damian disappeared up the stairs.
Damian returned a few minutes later with pillows and fresh sheets and a quilted cream-colored blanket. This man didn't skimp on the bed linens. Even in the lower light, Shannon could tell it was very nice bedding.
When the bed was made, Hunter said “Turn.”
Saskia turned around and pulled her hair up out of the way, as if she knew him so well by now there was no question what he intended. Like this was a private and well-worn ritual between them. It felt almost wrong to watch it unfold.
That was when Shannon noticed Saskia's long black evening gown had what seemed like about a million buttons going down the back of the dress. Hunter carefully unbuttoned each one until he reached the last button at her lower back, then he pushed the straps off her shoulders and let the dress fall.
She wasn't wearing a bra or underwear. She stood now in only a collar and glittering silver strappy high heels.
Hunter knelt to unbuckle and help her out of each shoe. She gripped his shoulders for support. Even though about twenty people fucked in about a dozen lurid displays at the other end of the room, Shannon couldn't take her eyes off the interplay between Hunter and his pet.
He rose and kissed her softly on the mouth. “Go lie down. I'll wake you when it's time to leave.”
Saskia got in under the sheets and laid down on the pillow, but she didn't close her eyes. She just watched him. Hunter's gaze and attention went to Shannon.
“I want her under the spotlight,” he said.
It was only now, in this moment that Shannon realized all of this was being set up for her. The her Hunter wanted under the spotlight, was Shannon. She took an unconscious step back, right into Damian's arms. She hadn't even realized he was behind her or standing so close.
“Be a good girl,” Lindsay said. A warning.
Her heart hammered in her chest. There were so many people down here. The lighting was... strategic. It wasn't stark and bright, but it wasn't like the black lights. Would she be naked down here? The people from the exhibit all seemed wrapped up in their own thing around the room. Maybe they wouldn't pay attention. And Damian and Lindsay had already seen her.
Why would Jacob Hunter want to paint her? What did he see that had made him cart around and unload all his art supplies in the middle of the night to set up this ambush?
Shannon gripped the wrap tightly around herself. She hadn't taken it off once inside Damian's house. There were too many people. She didn't want them to see. She wasn't sure what she was so afraid of. People had seen her back. No one had recoiled in horror or outright rejected her over it.
But still, she was sure they judged, or pitied. And she worried and waited for the moment someone would see them and make her feel broken.
Lindsay held his hand out. “Give me the wrap, Shannon.” When she shook her head furiously, he added, “Now.”
Damian was still at her back. He could rip it off her, but he remained still, waiting, letting Lindsay handle this.
Damian leaned in close to her ear and spoke low. “None of them are paying attention. They're too busy fucking. If you don't make a scene, no one will notice. You notice the scars more than anyone else does.”
Shannon finally nodded and loosened her grip. She took a deep breath and took off the wrap and handed it to Lindsay.
“Good girl,” he soothed. “Now, the dress and panties.”