Naughty 3

The librarian didn’t smirk this time; she just nodded like she’d been expecting me. “Welcome home,” she murmured as I passed. I didn’t flip her off. I didn’t speak. Just took the mask, descended, let the cool tiled air wrap around me again.

The platform was alive—same chandeliers, same echoes, but the crowd felt familiar now. I spotted the broad-shouldered man from my first night leaning against a pillar, chatting with two others. He caught my eye through the mask and lifted his chin in quiet recognition. No words. Just that small acknowledgment that made my stomach flip.

I didn’t approach him. Not yet.

Instead I wandered to the far end, where a low blackboard had been set up under an arch—“Fantasy Claims.” Handwritten notes pinned or taped, some typed on small cards. People browsed like it was a menu.

One card caught me:

“Newcomer’s choice: Blindfolded. Tied lightly to the brass rail. Let the platform decide who touches first. Safe word whispered only to you. No penetration unless you ask. Observe or join.”

My pulse roared in my ears. I tore the card down before I could think.

A woman in lace lingerie and a half-mask appeared beside me almost instantly. “You claiming?”

I nodded, throat dry.

She led me to a quiet section near the curved wall—old brass handrail still polished, cool under my palms. She tied soft silk cords around my wrists, loose enough I could slip free if I panicked, then slipped a fresh blindfold over my eyes. Darkness swallowed everything but sound and touch.

“Safe word is ‘exit,’” she whispered against my ear. “Say it anytime.”

Then she stepped away.

For a long minute, nothing. Just the distant rumble of a late-night 6 train overhead, the low hum of voices, wet sounds from other corners.

Then fingers—light, curious—brushed my cheek. Another hand traced my collarbone over my shirt. Someone tugged my jeans open slowly, zipper loud in the hush. Cool air hit my skin, then warm breath against my stomach.

I trembled. Not fear this time. Anticipation.

A mouth closed over my nipple through fabric—teeth grazing, tongue circling. Another set of hands slid up my inner thighs, parting me gently. Fingers found me soaked, stroked in slow, teasing circles around my clit without pushing inside.

I moaned—soft at first, then louder when a third person joined, kissing the side of my neck, murmuring, “So wet already… good girl.”

The praise hit like a spark. My hips rolled forward, chasing the touch. Someone knelt, tongue replacing fingers—slow laps, then sucking gently on my clit until my knees buckled against the rail.

I came hard, sudden, crying out into the mask. Body shaking, wrists tugging the silk just to feel the restraint.

They didn’t stop. Another mouth took over, hungrier; hands pinched my nipples, rolled them until I whimpered. Someone pressed against my back—hard cock sliding between my thighs, not entering, just rocking, teasing.

“Please,” I gasped. “Inside… please.”

A low chuckle. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

He entered slow—thick, stretching me open again. The blindfold made every inch feel bigger, every thrust deeper. Someone else sucked my clit while he fucked me, the combination ripping another orgasm out of me so fast I saw stars behind the fabric.

When he finished—pulling out to spill across my stomach—I sagged against the rail, panting, slick and spent.

The woman who’d tied me returned, untied the cords, removed the blindfold gently.

“Welcome back,” she said with a small smile. “You did good.”

I looked around. A small circle of people had watched—some touching themselves, some each other. No judgment. Just heat. Appreciation.

I pulled my clothes together, legs weak, and walked out under my own power this time.

The next night I came again.

And the night after.

I learned names I wasn’t supposed to know—whispers only. I learned which alcoves were best for quiet scenes, which pillars gave the perfect angle. I claimed more cards. I let strangers touch me. I touched them back.

Every time I left, I told myself: This is the last night.

Every time I came back faster.

The secret is meant to keep.

But God, it’s so good.

And I’m already counting the hours until tomorrow.