Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.
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**This is Room 6. You may wish to read Rooms 1 through 5 to follow Jay's journey through the Institution. I welcome feedback and ideas so feel free to get in touch.**
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Jay concluded whatever toxic concoction his whisky had been spiked with had worn off - his cock more or less behaved itself as he shook himself awake and walked back into the foyer of the institution, leaving the four sleeping and serviced girls behind him in Room 5.
As he pushed open door back to the foyer, he was greeted again by the Institution matriarch, Mariella.
She thrust a lounge suit on a coat hanger in his direction.
"You'll need this," she said. Jay took it, dropping his jeans and tshirt to the floor to and put on the black Gieves & Hawkes suit. He noted Mariella's appreciative gaze as he pulled his shirt over his head.
"And this," she said, and held out a glass mirror with two white lines of powder on them, and a rolled $100 note. Jay raised an eyebrow, and took note. His mind cleared as the last of Solution X wore off and the power did its work.
Mariella straightened the suit jacket on Jay's shoulders, turned him around and pointed him in the direction of the door marked "6".
Jay pushed the door open and found himself facing a steep downwards escalator. It led to a
pristine, white-walled futuristic-looking train platform populated sparsely with other passengers who also looked like they were dressed for a cocktail party.
The train pulled up and a door thrummed open immediately in front of Jay. He stepped inside the railcar, which was a white, chrome and grey lounge with a bar at one end. He went towards it with the intent of another whisky - but instead ordered absinthe, recalling his most recent experience.
The train thundered through a sub-tropical landscape with impressive speed and offered an almost impossibly smooth ride. Jay lingered over the absinthe and stood staring out the window as it made another two stops to collect more well-dressed clientele. The lounge was by no mean crowded, but there was a hubbub of conversation around him now.
A woman in a sheer black mesh floor-length gown, half-face masquerade mask and hair coiled in Victory rolls approached him. Through the dress, he could see her half-height bra and that her thong puckered into her slit. She was slight and her tits were small, she was clearly not a graduate of the Institute.
"Buyer?" she asked.
Jay was non-committal: "Mm," he murmured.
She raised her martini glass and clinked it against the absinthe. "Good luck, I hope you find what you are looking for," she said, presumably realising he was not a conversationalist.
The train came to a halt Jay joined the disembarking passengers who laughed, talked and greeted each other like old friends. The short walk brought the crowd to a set of heavy, wide and tall oak doors, where each person was scanned before heavily-armed security guards allowed them to pass.
Jay pressed his thumb on the scanner and looked into the facial recognition camera. He saw his particulars pop up on the screen of the security guard who waved him through.
The entrance hall of the venue felt like a nightclub: it was hot, quite dark, noisy and heaving with bodies drinking, fucking and partying. Jay saw a wall against which a line of men were standing, so close their noses touched it. As he passed he realised it was a thin plywood-width construction with holes at crotch height. On the other side a line of women - wearing the ubiquitous e-collars Jay had seen so many times - were busy servicing the holes. On closer inspection, he realised the wall contained more than just glory-holes: two women were positioned through a larger hole in the wall, with their legs and buttocks on one side, and their upper body on the other prone on a vaulting-horse like platform to help them remain in position. Their arse and cunt could be fucked from behind and they'd have no idea by who. Anyone watching from the other side would now know which woman was being serviced, and which was not.
Following along with the crowd, he passed giant wine-glass shapes that sat about 2m off the floor, each with a naked woman in them. Jay recognised the two women from Room 1 who had been bound together on either side of a double-edged dildo.
The bull Jay had seen fucking a woman across the floor of the foyer with the thick rubber sheath over his cock also appeared. He was still wearing the sheath, which was designed to stop him reaching climax yet still maintain an erection. The woman Jay had met on the train connected a leash to his collar and he fell in step behind her.
In the middle of the club Jay saw a runway not unlike a Manhattan fashion show. The runway was lit up, and along either side were rows of luxurious seats and booths. On its shining surface were 12 floor-to-ceiling poles, each bearing a number from 1 to 12. As he approached the runway, a woman handed him an ipad-style tablet and showed him to one of the booths in the front row.
He took a seat and inspected the tablet. It listed lot numbers for an auction. Selecting a lot number would allow him to see an overview of the product, and he could then deep-dive into any aspect of the summary he wished. The file on each lot number was extensive: For those born in the institution it dated back to birth, for those brought in from elsewhere, the information pre-training still sowed remarkable sleuthing skills.
There were 12 lots up for auction.
Lot 1 was Clio, who had sucked Jay dry in David's plush apartment when she had been released from the cage she slept in. Jay recalled David had reported her training had gone well and she had not been problematic.
The lights and music dimmed, and Jay watched as Mariella walked along the catwalk, microphone in hand. He realised she must have also been on the train, or perhaps had choppered in.
"Fellow Doms, daddies, mummies, masters and mistresses, welcome to our monthly auction, and thank you for attending. We have a full lot today and it includes some of our most advanced graduates."
