An Unhappy Halloween

October 31st current year

If Keith Harrington felt any emotions, he was sure he would feel something about the absurdity of his part in the pantomime that was being played out, and had been played out over many years. The sixty-seven years that had passed since his birth left him feeling old, as old as Father Time himself. The years had not been good to him, not since that night. And yet... here it was again. Another night to spend with his ugly but beautiful wife. He had long given up any notion that he could stop this, not unless he chose to pay the ultimate price. But that was the point. He had once tried to pay the price, only to be given a refund, with strings attached.

Strings that nobody except him understood.

Despite the lack of feelings, at least yet, the first twitch down between his legs should have sickened him, but how could it? He could easily sit and watch school children being slaughtered, a tsunami washing away thousands of souls, or a husband watch while his wife slipped from his grasp, and he would feel nothing. But now, at eleven forty-five at night on the 31st of October, his wife, and only his wife, could make him feel things, both physically and emotionally.

He lived in a paradox of his own making, where desire would soon consume him, and each year that passed, he lived for the morsel he would be offered. It would not be long before the coiled snake of lust deep in his belly would wake from its slumber, because it needed her more than life itself.

At eleven fifty, the handle of the door moved, followed by the familiar click when the latch cleared the locking plate. The door opened, and in walked his work colleagues; the wolf pack, laughing and joking but lost in another world that he was not part of. She was near now, the first sensations pricked at his heart. Love and hate, entwined and inseparable.

Next, the leader of the wolf pack, Peter, walked in, wearing that smirk that said it all. Following behind him was Keith's wife, Denise, the woman who made the endorphins that had lain idle with no outlet until now flood his body. Her shadow danced on the carpet, it felt cruel the way the hallway light illuminated her; he still shuddered each and every time this happened. She walked in with her head held high, showing no shame and glowing with pride.

He hated her and loved her in equal parts. She smiled while she walked past him, intent on showing him the depths she was prepared to sink to because she believed that love knew no boundaries. But it did have a boundary, and once upon a time, she crossed it and paid the price.

His soul broke into a million bits, like it did the time before, and the time before that. It pained him that this precious time, where his soul mattered, was consumed with need and desire for this woman, when he should be turning to flee the room and not looking back.

What man wants to see his wife looking so well fucked, coated in cum, and glowing from something that he alone could not give her? Not now, not then, not ever. The first time she'd done this, he collapsed to the floor, on the very cusp of asking to be left to die, to grant him peace. Then the second time, he openly wept and asked her why. Each subsequent time still ripped his heart to shreds, but he revelled in the chance to feel, to experience something long lost to him. Even today, breaking the norm that should play out tonight couldn't prevent the unashamed shedding of tears at a love lost and a lot more that had to be endured to be allowed to be here today.

"Baby, what's wrong? Please don't cry, don't be sad, you should be happy. Look, I have it right here, they signed it, you've got the job, no more days and nights slaving to climb the corporate ladder. It's here in black and white, baby. Director of the newly formed North Korea business segment. They all signed it, I made sure they all signed it."

The disgust he felt had never abated. Each time, she bought his promotion by giving herself to others, both physically and spiritually, and that was something he would never have willingly consented to, not for the joke of a piece of paper she held in her hands. In the past, he had taken the papers from her and ripped them up. But not tonight. Instead, he remained seated, because the pantomime was coming to an end, the curtains would drop for the last time. Then it hit him. Her perfume, like it did every time. The one he had bought her for their first Christmas once they were married back in the 1980s. Before the final curtain came down, he wanted to take in everything she could be and look through the rose-tinted memories of the past.

The mid 80's

He heard her giggling, the rustle of paper that had made him curious while he poured drinks in the kitchen, the clock on the wall heralded the coming of a Christmas day. Walking back into the lounge, he saw her in the dimmed light, the little coloured lights of the Christmas tree twinkling brightly because she had turned the main light off and stood next to the tree, the small pile of presents hugging the stem below. Initially, they both laughed while he stood with the two glasses of eggnog. The laughter shifted from humour to something else; that of want, the need to express their love for each other.

He put the glasses on the coffee table, noticing the red heel of a shoe through a tear in the wrapping paper. By the time he turned to look at her, the atmosphere had changed, charged with an unexpected need to show each other how deeply they were connected. She stood with a bashful grin, her long blonde hair loose, her cheeks blush-red partly due to embarrassment and partly because of a base desire for her husband.

"Denise, what's this?"

He was breathing heavily but wanted to let this play out. Despite her being wrapped in Christmas paper, he could see the outline of her chest rising and falling with each deepening breath, her voice breathy and full of sexual intent.

"Happy Christmas, baby. Unwrap your present. I'm yours, forever yours."

With shaky hands, he picked a corner of the wrapping paper close to her neck, pulling it away. Even now, the memories of the paper tearing to reveal her angelic, blushing body, the red underwear trimmed in white, and the stockings and heels remained, all in contrast to her heavenly features. Once she was free of the paper, he remembered ravishing her, the memory fading as the twinkling lights dimmed away to nothing along with the recollection that stayed, but had no right to, because of tonight and all of the ones that had gone before this one.

October 31st current year

Tonight, she stood, glowing in the receipt of pleasures provided by men who were not her husband. It had been at the summer social event, a boat trip of decadence belonging to a time where greed was to be worn like a badge of honour, and it was every person's right to flaunt it.

A summer's Day, Mid 1980's

Today, she had worn a white cotton dress, and she was standing on the deck watching the city of London pass by when she saw true greed shining in the men's eyes. It wasn't money, just the mechanics of the world around them that dictated everything, and everyone, be allotted a value that could be traded as a commodity.

She had decided not to wear a bra, the light breeze making the material ripple, tracing over her body, allowing more than a hint of what lay beneath to be present. A little later, when darkness came, the onboard disco lights pulsed and flashed, making the dress appear transparent to the naked eye. The value, driven by the need of greed, increased. The beautiful, rare, and angelic Denise Harrington, wife of Keith Harrington, became a commodity that the right price could buy; only the currency for the transaction needed to be ascertained.

The wolf pack knew how to work. Separate the lamb, Denise, from her shepherd, Keith. That fell to Colin; keep him side-tracked with talks of the ever-changing world of business, where people like Keith were noticed, a chance to climb out from the mediocre and be a somebody, not a nobody.

And while the shepherd sat imagining things that would lead to greater things, the rest of the wolf pack engaged with a planned efficiency to make it look like randomness. Instead, it was just a well-worn path of material acquisition.

"Hi, Denise, isn't it? Married to the man who is going to be more than just a blip on the radar. Your husband Keith is a man who has what it takes to run with the pack; you know, the big dogs like me."

Denise looked at Peter Tomsett-Arnold in awe. Keith had pointed him out, not that he had needed to. He walked around like he owned the boat, carrying an authority that both intimidated her and made something inside her shift. A new sense of pride because she was standing on a deck outside with him alone. It took a few moments to notice that several of his colleagues had held an impromptu gathering, plugging the doorway, which explained why nobody else had come out onto the decks.

"Denise?"

Her mind had drifted off, imagining a world where Keith grew in stature to be a man like Peter. Hearing her name brought her back to the present. He had stepped closer somehow, close enough for her to smell his exotic cologne, and though she was unable to decipher individual elements, the mix was not without effect. Man. Power. Wealth. And...

Attraction.

As quickly as it entered her brain, a pang of horror quickly pushed it aside. She had made vows, and there would always be men like Peter to try and test her resolve. Trying to process so much conflict allowed the wolf to circle the prey. With her mind elsewhere, his fingers lifted her chin to allow his piercing grey eyes to chew on her soul. It was a long second before he spoke.

"Do you know what really makes a man tick, brings out the best in him?"

Her reply came quickly, the obvious one.

"Hard work and dedication."

He smiled, his perfect white teeth adding to the attraction.

"No."

Suddenly, she felt flustered by the one-word answer.

"N.. n.. no?"

The silence remained; his gaze hardened.

"Hard work and dedication... that's the very minimum we expect from our workforce. Are you telling me your husband doesn't even meet that basic requirement?"

Her heart pounded; her legs grew weak through the fear that her husband was about to lose his job because of her. Her teeth bit into her upper lip, a tear pooled in each eye, and she could no longer shoulder the blow that she had mistakenly dealt to ruin her husband's future. It made her look towards the deck in shame, eyes now closed.

The touch shocked her. Opening her eyes, she felt fingers lift her chin back up to look into the face of the man who had absolute power.

"Why so sad? You should be smiling. Your husband has what it takes to succeed because he has you standing in his corner, and every single one of the men that matter to me has a woman like you that will do everything within their power to make sure they succeed."

Focusing on the words, she was too slow, too naïve to sense what was happening. His fingers kept her face angled just so; his head dipped until their lips met. The kiss was not frantic; it was soft, seductive, and without pressure. His tongue probed at the gateway, and her lips parted to welcome the intrusion. Her heart pounded; something deep inside writhed in sinful pleasure. Her mind shuddered because it was wrong, so very wrong. He pulled back, and for a fraction of a second, she remained frozen in time.

Opening her eyes, she found his fingers no longer tilted her head, his tongue no longer invaded her mouth, and yet it remained open...

The smile lessened, as if whatever came next depended on her response.

"But what about you? Keith told me you were single. Where is the woman behind you?"

Leaning forward, he whispered into her ear. Her insides churned again because it felt like he had an invisible hand that had reached inside to touch a part of her that had never stirred like this. Never in her adult life had she felt the pull towards it. It wasn't him, as in a man with a name, it was the power. A man with power had filled her body with the same buzz that was there when she first gave her body to her husband. Each controlled breath of his made the hairs on the back of her neck tingle, and some unbidden pleasure pulsed between her legs.

"I'm too much to just have one woman stand behind me. No, I rely on my pack's women to support them, and occasionally... me. Exactly like you just proved you are capable of doing."

He stepped back. A quick nod towards the blocked doorway made those there shift and make their way towards the couple, stepping straight into an innocuous conversation. But she saw it or, more explicitly, felt them. Their eyes wished it was them that had stolen the kiss--the look of men filled with desire. It was just moments before Keith joined the group, brought over by the diversion.

"Keith! I have just been telling Denise that as a married couple, you embody everything the business expects from those at the heart of it. On Monday, Martin here will give you a nice little bit of business to prove that I'm putting this into the hands of those that deserve it. Isn't that right, Denise?"

Peter had pulled Denise in tight against him. During his little speech for Keith's sake, his hand had slid down her back, cupping an arse cheek and giving it a playful squeeze. With a face flushed red, which Keith mistakenly believed was because they had both been thrust into the limelight, she stammered an answer.

"Yes, sir. Thank you for giving Keith an opportunity."

With another playful squeeze of her backside, he started to walk away with his pack.

"Looking forward to bringing you into the fold. You've proven that our faith in both of you may be correct."

Keith felt positively giddy with the prospect of being part of Peter's wolf pack, as they were known. He kissed Denise and tasted... whisky. Pulling back, he put his hands on Denise's shoulders, giving her a puzzled look while she went scarlet and failed to look directly at him.

"Denise?"

"He said he expected you to go places, but each one of his trusted inner circle had a woman that stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her husband, and he needed commitment from both of us. He kissed me; I think it was a test on my part."

The euphoria Keith felt took a hit. Denise was his wife, and he didn't believe that a man should share his wife. Looking was one thing; touching was something else. Sensing the dilemma, she looked at him with the hint of a smile.

"It was just a little kiss, nothing more. We need to let this slide, Keith. He had been drinking for most of the day; there's a happy, buoyant mood here. He didn't mean anything by it. I think he was happy because he sees you as a valuable asset, and I'm happy to support you. Don't do or say anything, honey. You'll never get another chance to climb the corporate ladder."

Keith remembered the couple of months that followed. Martin Draybourne became Keith's coach, handing Keith some deals to complete that were, to all intents, done and dusted bar some final bits of paperwork. Keith felt somewhat embarrassed when Peter came by one afternoon, making sure that all within earshot heard how Keith was a rising star. For a clever man, Keith thought that Peter would have had enough acumen to know that Martin had done all the hard slog before Keith's involvement.

In early October, Peter was there, yet again, singing Keith's praises, but this time, he hinted heavily that Keith was ready to step up with a new portfolio, his own portfolio. Keith smiled and thought that the kiss on the boat was a small price to pay for what was coming his way.

Keith received an invitation to the annual senior management team's War Days, held annually in a top London hotel over the 31st of October and the 1st of November, where they would look at the strategy for the coming year. Martin had already told Keith he was going to get his own international portfolio to manage, and reap huge rewards if he made inroads to generate business.

Both Keith and Denise were amazed at the opulence of the hotel suite given to them. The bed was so big that if they lay on the outermost edges, they couldn't actually reach out to touch each other. The shower itself was bigger than their bathroom at home, and they had never had used a sunken bath. While Keith was getting ready for the first day of strategizing, he caught a glimpse in the mirror of Denise unpacking some sexy lingerie from her case that she must have discreetly packed. He was looking forward to enjoying seeing his wife draped across the bed later tonight, feeling sure she would bring her A-game to their bed.

During the week leading up to the meeting, she had wanted to make love to him every night, except for the night before they left. Her words were;

"I want to make sure a day's abstinence will make the overnight stay something we could cherish,"

Keith felt confident that he would get his rightful fill, both as a newly recruited wolf and laying in his wife's arms later.

The first day's meeting left him feeling somewhat downcast. Sure, they asked for his opinion here and there, but he felt more like a spectator rather than a cog in the machine. On more than one occasion, he felt like the looks cast his way made it feel like there was a joke in play at his expense. But he had yet to figure out what. To add to the peculiarity of the circumstances, Peter was not present, which made no sense at all. He could only figure he was the new boy and had yet to prove himself to the pack, and that Peter was proving he had faith in his management team to be here.

When the meeting wrapped up, Keith started to walk towards the elevators, but Martin's hand fell on his shoulder.

"Where are you trying to sneak off to? Come on, we've an extravagant dinner along with plenty of drinking to sit through!"

"I was going to see Denise, she's been on her own all day."

Martin pulled Keith in against his own shoulder and offered a crumb of comfort.

"I wouldn't worry about her, Peter will have arranged for her to be entertained in style."

This was the first time he'd heard anything about it, and looked somewhat puzzled at Martin.

"Come on Keith, what woman doesn't like a nice surprise!"

"What sort of surprise, like a spa day?"

"Sure buddy, I bet she's had a relaxing day being pampered, you know, covered in all those sensual oils that women love to have massaged into their skin. When I was in your shoes years ago, my Missis said it was one of the best facial treatments she'd ever received. So relax, come and join the pack for dinner, don't go alienating yourself, it won't be good for you, trust me."

Keith walked with Martin, and sure enough, the food lived up to the hype, the alcohol flowed like the Thames, but... something nagged at him, it was little glances cast his way, like there was a joke he wasn't party to, like he was actually part of the joke himself. He heard rumours that their humour came straight out of the public school system, maybe that's what this was.

The wolfpack all took turns engaging him in conversation, initially as part of the group, then it felt like he had been pulled aside for little one-to-ones. The drinks kept coming, enough for him to not be fully focussed. Suddenly, there was only him and Martin left in a conversation. When he thought about it, after the one-to-one's, his counterpart seemed to drift off and disappear from the room.

Needing to empty his bladder, Keith left Martin at the bar, when he returned, there was a whole new group of people in there. The barman said the bar area was now open to all, it had only been booked as a private event until ten-thirty. Feeling shocked that so much time had passed, he made his way to the suite, expecting to find a very unhappy Denise waiting for him.

Denise was not in the suite, but what was present was a large television inside a cabinet, sitting in the middle of the room, and a chair, a small table had been repositioned along with a bottle of whisky and a tumbler with added ice cubes that sat on the table alongside two remote controls. The ice hadn't really melted, so somebody had been in the room recently. Assuming that the others were in their own room, he went to find Martin, only to find the electronic lock of the door was jammed, he couldn't get out. He called the reception desk, asking that someone come up to the room urgently to let him out, and to fix the door. The response he received, was somewhat odd.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir. Sometimes these new electronic doors fail and can't be opened. I'll send someone up from maintenance to look at it right away, sir. Please don't panic, sir. Can I suggest you pour yourself a drink, maybe turn the television on? We have some great films that are worth watching."

Keith put the receiver down, his hands now shaking with the feeling that he, and possibly Denise, were being set up. Whoever had answered the phone had to be clued in to know this television was here in his room. He sat in the chair, poured a drink, and picked up the remotes for the television and VCR attached to the television. Once the TV was on, he pressed play on the VCR remote, only to see Peter sitting in a chair of an opulent room far bigger than the suite he was in himself.

"Keith! Congratulations, you are now officially one of my pack. I have seen a whole new level of dedication today that has taken me by surprise. So, without further ado, bear witness to the level of dedication Denise has shown earlier today to make sure you can run with the pack."

The screen faded to black, and he closed his eyes. How had he been so stupid, so gullible! All he could hope was that whatever had happened was quick and Denise had managed to lock her mind away. The audio faded in, the sound of Peter's voice growing louder, accompanied by something else.

"Yes, you little slut, just like that, just like that. Show me how much you want to see Keith make the grade. If he doesn't, he'll be relegated to the post room starting tomorrow."

He opened his eyes when he heard Denise coughing and spluttering on the video. She was on her knees, dressed in the very lingerie he had spied earlier, a black basque and stockings, whoever held the camera was standing in front of her.

Coughing up spit and flehm, a decent sized circumcised cock head was inches from her mouth, rock hard, bubbles of spit and drool covered it. He could see a different Denise from the one he had left in the room this morning. Despite the teary eyes, smudged mascara, her lips had been painted with a bright red lipstick, her make-up made her look like a page three model, as did her restyled hair.

Peter spoke again.

"Tell Keith what you're doing."

She took a breath, and looked directly into the camera.

"Peter said you've done well, really well so far, but he isn't sure you have that ruthless streak to succeed in the pack. He told me that you need to learn a lesson, a valuable lesson. You need to understand how the underdog feels, how much it hurts to have something taken from them. Once you see, feel it in your bones, then you'll come to understand you have to make a choice: Be a wolf, or be a lamb. I have chosen to be the sacrificial lamb; Peter said that it will make or break you."

She wanted to say more, but the girthy cock was being pushed at her lips. She smiled at the camera, opening her mouth, letting her tongue slather the cockhead, and either side of it. A hand came into view, gripping the back of her head, holding her still.

"Now, hands down on your knees, keep looking directly up at me and no teeth this time. Show your husband what it means to be a bitch in my pack."

Keith retched, he could see no dissent, nothing that screamed out she was being forced to do that, at least physically. He watched in horror, her pink tongue wormed around the seeping eye, the clear pre-cum stranding when she pulled back slightly. The hand holding her head let go, a light tap to the side of her head.

Without shifting her gaze, he watched her mouth open slowly, her head move forward to take the head in a smooth almost graceful action, her lips stretching to accept the girth. Stopping part way, for a moment he thought the tape had paused. That was until she blinked, the tears in her eyes proof she wanted to please this man, the alpha of the pack. With a look of determination that made Keith look away momentarily, her head moved, her jaw looked like it would dislocate to take the monster. Keith didn't retch, he threw up on the very expensive carpet, before hitting pause.

Praying that would be the end, just this one act, he hit the fast forward button, picked up the bottle and took an unhealthy couple of slugs of the liquid that burnt as it went down. When he hit play, the scene was totally different, Peter was laying on a bed, she was crouching over him, pumping up and down, his cock disappearing through a white frothy mess that had formed at the juncture of her legs, white lines stuck to his cock changing slightly each time her body rose and fell.

Her lipstick now a smeared mess, like she'd feasted on a bloody steak without a care, her hair mussed up, matted with sweat and clinging to her neck. The muscles in her thighs juddered, the strain of still being in heels dropping up and up and down, Keith thought the burn of her thighs must be sheer agony. And yet... she did not stop, there were no signs she wanted to stop, her head thrashed back and forth, her mouth forming a perfect 'O', her eyes partially closed.

"Come on my bitch, bounce harder, there's still a couple of inches to take. You can do it, show Keith how dedicated you are, show that you can go the extra mile." Peter laughed momentarily before continuing. "Actually, don't think about going the extra mile, just take my full nine inches. Do it, take all of me, then you can cum."

Keith watched horrified, as she redoubled her effort, her whole body quivered, the grunts and groans were something he had never heard from her, he had never seen behave in this way, not once. Before he could stop the tape, she cried out, a deep shudder that passed through her whole body, the disgusting sound of fluids mixing in and out of her body, the most shocking thing was the line of fluid that squirted up Peter's midriff. Not once, not once in their lovemaking had she ever done something like this, was it pee or something else, he didn't know, and didn't want to acknowledge why either.

He had to know, had to know how deep the depravity could sink. Fast forwarding, he hit play. She was on her knees, backside in the air, face turned and pressed into the sheets of the bed. Peter was walking around her, filming her like the prize he felt she was. Her stockings were torn, her hair a mess, Peter zoomed in to show the sticky congealing mess that bound a clump of hair together. Dried cum flaked from her face, again, the camera zoomed in catching her closed eyes, the look on her face not of shame, the smile spoke of being fulfilled, sated in a way that told Keith he would never be enough for her after today.

When the camera shifted to her rear end, he heaved again, the whisky mixed with bile burnt more coming up than it did going down. He had never been near her backside, he felt it was an unnatural act and far too dirty. Back then, she had agreed with him, vowing that she had no desire whatsoever to engage in anal sex. And yet here, caught for all posterity, the brown starfish winked at the camera obscenely, white froth dribbling down and through her vagina, or at least Keith believed that was what he was looking at, He did not recognise the wrecked, gaping mass of pinky red flesh, that gaped open in a way that made him feel certain it could never return to its former beautiful state. Her backside cheeks glowed red, the handprints from being spanked several times looked like they'd stung. Peter smacked her left cheek hard, making her body jump.

"Right, no time to lie around. Go and use the shower, put those rags you're wearing in the bin, and there are fresh clothes for you to change into in the other bedroom. You have thirty minutes to get cleaned up and changed, and then the hairdresser and makeup artist will be back to turn you back into the pretty little angel that caught my attention."

Keith watched as Denise slid from the bed, staggering towards what he assumed was a bathroom. Every piece of lingerie was torn and ruined, leaving Keith feeling thankful he hadn't watched the entire video. When he picked up the whisky bottle, over half of it was gone; it had numbed some of the horrors he'd witnessed on the TV screen. His attention came back to the screen when he heard Peter's voice. He had turned the camera to film himself.

"Keith, you have one hell of a firecracker there. I can't remember the last time I've had a pussy and arse as tight as that, although she may not be quite the tight little thing she was. You're one of us now. Your beautiful slut-wife has played her part so well... in fact, my gut feeling is that she has hidden that slutty side away, just waiting for the right alpha male to come along and bring her to life. Oh wait... that's got to be me!"

Peter laughed, shaking his head.

He picked up some papers and turned the camera towards them.

"This is your contract. Your wife has earned you a place in my inner circle. I am going to send it down to you. Read it, sign it, and then it's done. Now, don't get any funny ideas. Each member of the wolf pack has gone through this initiation ceremony. It's important to understand that you need to swallow loss with dignity, because if you let others see just the slightest hint of failure on your part, it'll be a feeding frenzy at your and, possibly, my expense. You absorb tonight with your head held high, like a true professional. If you can't do that, then this will have all been for nothing, at least for you."

The film didn't stop, Peter put the camera down and walked out of the frame. Moments later, Keith heard a squeal. He kept listening, turning up the volume to hear what else might be said. He felt disgust when he heard his wife starting to moan, meaning that Peter must have joined her in the shower.

Something then struck him. The windows of the suite Peter was camped out in. There were no blinds, no curtains, and it was daylight. It had gotten dark around five o'clock, which meant this had happened earlier in the day, giving Peter sufficient time to have the video transferred to the VHS tape. Looking at his watch, it was now eleven thirty. Where was Denise? Her ordeal must have long been over. Just then, there was a knock on the door. It had to be her!

The door opened, and he was surprised to see a small group of hotel employees, all carrying various items, enter the room. They ignored him, walking around him and avoiding the area of carpeting he had puked on. They set up eight heavy brass plinths in two rows facing each other from the doorway to the bedroom doors. At the top of each plinth was a horizontal rail, onto which the staff placed a rectangular object that he assumed was a picture. Each canvas was hidden under a black velvet cover with an eyelet at the top. Moving towards the nearest one, planning to look at whatever was being hidden, he quickly found two of the burliest hotel employees blocking his way.

"My sincere apologies, sir, but we have strict instructions. You may not view the artwork until we depart. You will shortly be receiving the contract you are expecting, and you have until midnight to sign and accept it, or it becomes null and void. Now, if you do not mind, sir, I have requested a maid come to clean up the unfortunate mess on the floor. Sometimes, sir, the food here can be rather rich for some people to stomach."

Keith saw the slight, knowing curve of the man's lips. He knew what was going on. The hotel had a hand in all of this, because power and money can manipulate and buy people who once felt they were immune to it. Within ten minutes and with ruthless efficiency, the room had been cleaned, the television cabinet removed, and the chair and table moved from the centre of the room. The two employees who stood close to his side departed, leaving only the head of the little entourage.

He smiled at Keith, bowed, and handed him a metal keyring, which jangled because of the numerous keys attached to it. Keith looked at the plinths; an uneasy feeling had seeped deep into his bones as to what lay below the velvet covers. Looking at the keys, he saw they were numbered. Walking up to the velvet cover with a gold-embroidered number one, he used the key to unlock the padlock and pulled the cover free.

For a moment, he thought they were stills from the video he'd partially watched, or that there had been somebody else in the room taking pictures when Peter had fucked his wife. There were twenty-five Polaroids in total, carefully pinned in a five-by-five grid onto a cork board. But Denise was now in white, not black, lingerie.

The photos started with her on her knees, looking up and smiling, seeming sickeningly happy. The next one showed the tip of a cock in her mouth. From there, he scanned the others, each Polaroid providing evidence that showed Keith that not one sliver of the woman who had entered the hotel with him that morning existed. His wife was demure, angelic. She enjoyed lovemaking, they had been adventurous together. But this? No. He could see it in her eyes; she was so into this, except in the shots where the cum stuck her eyelashes together, that he wondered why it had never surfaced. Had she always had a deep, dark desire to be a whore for cock?

By the second set, there was nothing left in his heart. In fact, his heart might function physically like an organ, but emotionally, it had been burned away by the video and pictures. With each velvet cover removed, the true horror of the day became apparent. The alpha had taken her first, earlier in the day. He noticed that the photos showed it was dark outside, meaning they had been taken recently. And there were more men, more cocks with each unveiling of the next batch of photographs. By the third series of photos, Keith understood. The alpha had had his fill of Denise; it was now the turn of the wolf pack to use his wife for their pleasure. That was why they had engaged him one-by-one, before disappearing off to use his wife, it would remind him where he stood in the pecking order.

The canvas of the last plinth was empty save for a mass of drawing pins. The sound of the door lock operating made him turn, and in walked the men who had recently defiled his wife. Shocked by their presence, he remained frozen to the spot. They were laughing and smiling, just as they had been down at the meal earlier in the evening. There was no guilt, no fear that they had taken something from him. All of the wolf pack entered the room, standing by the plinths that bore evidence of the depravity in which they had all participated. Peter walked in last, looking into Keith's eyes while he took sure-footed steps toward Keith, thrusting his hand out once he reached him.

"Welcome onboard! Your wife sealed the deal; now it's time to celebrate!"

The wolfpack started to clap, Keith looked at Peter's dreadful smile, catching the twitch at the corner of his mouth along with the coldness in his eyes. Unsure what he could, or should do, he slowly put his hand out to shake hands with Peter. The pain was immense, Peter gripped his hand almost vice-like, crushing Keith's fingers. This was obviously a trick he had learned to make lesser men know he was above them. Peter stepped aside, and started to clap with his wolf pack.

Then Keith saw why. Blushing, dressed in the remnants of the white lingerie, Denise entered the room. Her hair was matted, make-up destroyed, bloodshot eyes with numerous globs of sticky white cum clinging to her body or staining the lingerie. Between her breast a shiny sheen glazed her skin, a hint of pearlescent white. He tried, he really tried to not lower his eyes, but he had to know, he had to see with his own eyes. A slick stream of gooey whiteness made snail trails down her inner thighs, with no knickers the redness and distended sex made him want to hurl again, but he couldn't. Mentally he was destroyed, and his brain started to pull him from the room to try and keep whatever was left of his sanity in check.

She stepped up to him, handing him some papers. He expected her to look lost, like someone who should be filled with trauma. Instead, she smiled at him, the smile that he saw at that special Christmas, the holidays... any time they were happy and together. She had not suffered; she had revelled in the attention.

"Look, you have your own business territory! You've made it into the big league!"

On autopilot, Keith scanned the opening part of the document. He read the words outlining his territory: North Korea, a country already steeped in geopolitical isolation, which had recently officially defaulted on its debts. He was being paid a pittance over what he was currently earning, with the promise of huge bonuses based on the business he would drum up.

He looked up to see the silly, almost schoolboy smirks of the men in the room. This was never about bringing him onboard; it was just a ploy to make it acceptable for his wife to consider parting her legs, believing it was setting them up in life. Yes, they had been set up--her as the company slut and him as the company fool.

Keith stared at the paper that was less useful than toilet roll. She walked past him, crawled up onto the bed, lay on her back, and spread her legs. He dropped to the floor on his knees.

"Keith, baby. You're the least senior wolf in the pack; now it's your turn. Come show the pack that you're one of them. Come and show me how much love we share."

Glancing up, his sight was level with the bed, looking horrified at the disgusting mess leaking from her well used holes. She was ruined, not just for tonight but for ever more. Peter moved to the end of the bed, then took a polaroid photo of her laying and basking in her slutiness. He turned, and spoke to Keith as he handed the camera to his number 2 once the photo was in his hand and developing.

"Stand up Keith, Pin this on your board then get to it, prove your worth, make her cum, everyone else has. Each one of us will capture an image to pin to your board."

Peter held his hand out, waiting for Keith to get up and take the photograph. He thrust his hand towards Keith.

"For Christ sake man, get up! Do want all these photos to accidentally spill out of an envelope on the office floor where they'll be passed around for all and sundry to see? Put this on the board, then fuck the slut."

Getting up on unsteady feet, he took the photo with a shaky hand, pinning it to the board, noticing that her abused vagina seemed to be the first thing that was recognisable as the picture continued to develop. No, this was not him; he would not stand to be the man they wanted him to be, not in a million years. He spoke to himself, uttering barely a whisper that the others caught.

"God have mercy on their souls."

The rage; the terrifying rage that had grown exponentially deep inside gave him surreal power and speed. Before anyone could react, he grabbed the brass plinth with both hands and swung it in an arc toward Peter's smug face. He saw the heavy base hit his jaw, his face shifting into an unearthly shape, his whole head twisting beyond the scope of normal human movement.

????

Keith stood slightly bowed, hands on his knees with his eyes closed. The only sound was his heart beating and his ragged, deep breaths. Once his breathing became more regular, he opened his eyes to see the brass plinth lying at his feet, the heavy foot now coated in a deep, wet crimson. Raising his head slightly, he saw Denise lying on the bed, her mouth partially open, one side of her face pressed into the bed with a bloom of red like an oil slick spreading through the sheet. The eye that he could see was open... and very still.

His last clear memory was pinning the sick photo to the board, and then... nothing, until he had just opened his eyes. Looking around him, everybody was still. Crimson was splashed and streaked across the furniture, the carpets, and the men's bodies that lay where they fell. He realised his life was over; the thought of a life behind bars was too much to bear. So, he picked up the whisky bottle, smashed it, and picked out a jagged piece of glass before sitting in the same chair where he had sat in to watch his world start to fall apart on the television screen earlier.

With his eyes closed, the cold, jagged glass touched the skin of his wrist, the alcohol making each cut sting. He didn't open his eyes; the sound of dripping fluid told him he had made his mark on life and damned himself to hell. Drip... drip... drip... silence.

????

"Keithy, Keithy, Keithy. Just look at this photo of you. I'm pretty sure it's an international winner. Look at you, all hate, a man driven by loss. And now look at you. What a waste. Interesting fact: Had you knuckled down, swallowed your pride, and sat it out, a couple of things would have happened. You'd be a lucky boy. Denise would have developed a thing for all things kinky; she would have grown to dress and look the part... And men... they would have envied you, who would have thought it? A hot wife, plus becoming the new alpha male after the financial world goes to shit in a year or two.

"You blew it, Keith. Instead of manning up, you had to throw a wobbly. Now look at you. Your loss, my gain."

Keith felt dizzy, disoriented. He felt sure it was the lack of oxygen making him imagine things. To be sure, he opened his eyes, expecting there to be no living person, but there was. The hotel employee who was in charge from earlier was standing over him, looking far too happy.

"W.. who are you?" Keith could barely rasp.

"We're buddies now; you can call me Nick. Now, Keithy boy, you're in a bit of a corner, aren't you? Don't speak. Your time is short; save your energy. What if I told you... I could put the world to rights? How does that sound?"

Keith tried to laugh, becoming more and more disoriented.

"Oh, come on, Keith, I'm being serious. Tell you what, how's this for a little faith?"

The sound of flesh sizzling made Keith open his eyes, looking at the source of the noise and pain in his wrist. Nick was slowly running an elongated fingernail down the deep cut on his wrist, making it disappear as if it had never happened. Keith was still raspy, but less disoriented.

"Who the hell are you?"

Nick chuckled. "I think you just partially answered your own question, don't you? Here's the deal."

He swept his hand around the carnage within the suite.

"All this will go away, at least from your point of view. Nobody will know your wife had more pricks than a porcupine, nobody will point fingers at you, and, over the next couple of years, you will become numero uno, the alpha boy."

Keith looked at Nick, sensing there was a heavy price to pay.

"You don't have to ask, Keith. I know what you're going to say, the same old boring question. What's the cost? Simple exchange, your soul. But it doesn't work like the story books; no sir, it does not. I get to hang onto it. Think of it like a rental agreement. You get to live, I bury what's gone on here, and then you get your soul back when you've had enough. It doesn't mean you'll get to stay with me at the end; you may go upstairs. It'll depend on the life you lead."

"What about Denise?"

He watched Nick stroke his chin for a moment.

"Yes, okay. I'm sure we can make that work somehow. Now, by my reckoning, you have less than a minute before you bleed out. Deal... or no deal?"

Keith closed his eyes. "Deal."

For a second, he felt a searing pain in his other wrist, and then...

"... We're going heavy into the London property market; the growth has no indication of slowing down."

He was sitting on a stool back at the bar, talking to a man who he was sure was there when he left. He looked at his wrists, expecting to see cuts and blood-soaked clothing. There was nothing, not a scratch, not a mark.

"Sorry, mate, I think you nodded off back there. My missus is always telling me that most of the world doesn't care about how money people grease the wheels to keep the economy afloat. Look, it's midnight; I'm clearing off to bed. It was nice talking to you, Keith. I hope your wife crops up soon."

Keith nodded as the man walked away. Had he been dreaming, nodding off for a few seconds where the nightmare had felt like hours? It had to be. He was still concerned about Denise's whereabouts. Perhaps she had been looking for him in the vast hotel and they had just failed to connect. He smiled, imagining that she had probably gone to their suite, had dressed herself up for him, and was lying in bed watching television, awaiting his return. He hoped she would understand and not be too cross.

Walking back to reception to use the lifts, he was shocked to see blue lights dancing crazily around the hotel. Outside, several emergency vehicles were there, or were arriving. Police, ambulance crews, and firemen began to pour into the hotel, to be met by ashen-faced staff. He then saw that the lifts had been barricaded off, and that was where the emergency services were all heading. He stood watching the lift indicators as they went up and down between the ground floor... and the floor of his suite.

Nothing made sense to Keith. At the desk, he explained which was his suite and asked when could he go up there. Within minutes, he found himself in a room with two plainclothes policemen asking plenty of questions and answering none.

666

Three months later, Keith returned to work. Quite quickly, Martin's wife cracked, explaining how she had been coerced by Peter's predecessor into having sex with him to cement her husband's promotion. Similar stories emerged from the other wives, but the game had shifted with Peter's arrival as the top dog, with the wolf pack all partaking in what was declared a repetition of sexual assaults each time someone was promoted into his pack.

Sometimes, they just wanted to use a pretty young wife, elevating an employee to join the wolf pack, then to discard them further down the line, when some new, unattainable toy came along. Someone like Denise. In court, when questioned, some admitted they found the whole experience stimulating once they accepted it, and, of course, there was the primary reward of the husband's new found work status.

Officially, Peter had invited Denise to dinner, then to his suite. It came to light that she had met him for dinner three times prior to the fateful night. That matched the experiences of the other wives. But something went wrong. For starters, Keith was supposed to be in their suite when the wolf pack returned Denise to the room. The conclusion was that Peter had flown into a rage and used a brass plinth to start a brawl that claimed all of their lives once they all became involved. But Keith knew different.

☕

The first clue was when he asked for a cup of coffee during the lengthy interview on the night of the tragedy. When he took a sip, it tasted of grey. By grey, he meant of nothing distinctive. When they determined that the woman in the room was Denise and they told him, he felt nothing. No regret, remorse, pain, or joy. Within a day, he understood that the dream was not a nightmare. It was real, and he had done a deal with the devil. He felt nothing emotionally. Whatever he ate was tasteless; whatever he drank or smelled was what he called grey. It wasn't that things didn't prick at the sensory part of his brain; it was just that there was a blandness that couldn't be associated with anything, like a faint hint of ash.

With a new upper management team in place, the company offered Keith two choices: a substantial payoff or an opportunity to fulfil the role he had been given, but with a viable market to work in. Taking that option, and without a significant other, he dedicated all of his time to succeeding in business.

Six months later, after a meeting with a client, he returned to his hotel suite to find an attractive blonde woman in his room. "Compliments of the client," she said. Despite having no urge to engage in any physical intimacy, he felt duty-bound to do so. His body reacted mechanically to her presence, and they went through the motions of an intimate encounter. But he felt nothing--just the fact that his body had gone through the motions, completely devoid of emotion.

He couldn't explain why, it was the last place he really wanted to visit, but he felt compelled to return to the hotel on the 31st of October. At ten p. m., he was standing at the reception desk, looking at the man who had called himself Nick.

"You did this to me, didn't you? I never signed anything. How can it be a deal, Nick?"

The man behind the desk looked confused.

"I'm sorry, sir. I think you are getting me confused with somebody else. My name is Paul; there is nobody who works the desk called Nick, sir. Can I be of help to you?"

Keith looked at Paul, studying him for a moment. He was the man called Nick, but there was something about him that said the man standing here wasn't really the man he had met last year. He couldn't pin down why, but his brain knew different. His mind had an overwhelming desire to continue with one particular task.

"I'd like to book a room overnight, please."

"Let me check, sir. We are heavily booked; unless we have a cancellation, I don't think I can help you. Can I have a name, sir?"

"My name is Keith Harrington."

Keith watched as Paul froze momentarily, before quickly regaining his composure.

"Erm, sir. You have a suite booked with us. It was made a week ago. It's for Suite 666. Are you absolutely sure you want that suite, sir? I can try to change it for another. We have a penthouse available; I can swap it free of charge in this circumstance."

"No, I'll take that room. Who booked it? Who paid for it?"

"Sir? The booking was made by yourself in person, paying cash according to the records. Are you sure you are okay, sir? Is there someone you'd like me to call?"

Keith shook his head, took the keycard, and headed to the suite. He should have felt something; rage, anger, fear, loss. But still, there was nothing there. Inside the suite, it looked exactly like it did when he was here before it all went south, except it had been deep cleaned. The small table next to the chair had a bottle of exactly the same whisky as before; the tumbler next to it contained some ice cubes. He sat and poured himself some whiskey, then sat and waited.

At eleven forty-five, he felt compelled to stand and move to the centre of the room. The door opened, ghostly apparitions appeared: the plinths and photos pinned to the boards, including the empty board. Reaching out to touch them, his hands passed through them, leaving just the hint of a chill that ran up his spine.

At eleven-fifty, the door opened. The wolf pack walked in, exactly as they did a year ago. Except they made no noise; their mouths may have been moving, laughing like the time before, but there was only silence. Like the plinths, they were not solid bodies; a slight blue light surrounded them. Peter walked in, followed by...

Denise... and something changed.

Unlike the others, she was not ghostly; her form was solid. She walked to the bedroom, turned, and spoke.

"I need you, Keith. I always did, and I always will."

With that, she continued to the bed, lying down and waiting for him.

The still air of the room took on the hint of perfume. The perfume favoured and worn by Denise on that fateful night. Keith inhaled it, the first time in a year that he sensed anything other than the grey. Moving to the doorway, he felt disgust and arousal in equal measure. The physical reminders of her betrayal were visibly apparent, clinging to the woman he once felt was incorruptible. How wrong he had been. Like the year before, he dropped to his knees, the ghost of Peter looking down, filled with contempt. Denise's sing-song voice drew his attention.

"Please, Keith. I'm still your wife; nothing has changed. Bring yourself back to life."

He stood back up, tears rolled from his eyes all while he removed his clothes. The ghostly figures of the wolf pack were ever-present; he witnessed the first Polaroid snap being taken of him undressing, with Denise waiting impatiently on the bed. He continued to take deep breaths, her perfume a deadly, intoxicating mix that made him want and hate her all at once. Kneeling beside her, he found her skin warm, human warm. Now there was something else mixed in with the perfume: the smell of her, her when she was riding the wave of passion that they once shared, mixed in with the presence of men who were not him.

"Please, fuck me, hold me. I've missed you and I need you."

Her expression was one of need, her body covered in signs of sexual wantonness already delivered. With no control over the function of his body, he lined his cock up to the gaping entrance, and slid through the mess of other men. Immediately, her body shuddered, her back arching, thrusting her bust out which quivered showcasing the orgasm that washed through her.

The memories came flooding back, once he closed his eyes to not see the physical stains upon his wife. He focused on the romantic nights, candles, silk sheets, making love with grace in a tender and loving fashion. He tried to keep those images in his mind, but something kept burning them away, to leave the picture of the cum soaked woman laying beneath him. Her arms reached up to pull him down, their lips collided, the taste... the taste after so long of tasting grey was overwhelming. He recognised her, but felt ill at the after taste of them, and yet he could not pull away. After a year of nothing, no sensation or emotions, they were here in abundance.

Her legs locked him in place and he quickened the pace, the gloopy slick sounds generated by his cock sliding in and out of her willing cum filled hole could not stop him. Something inside was making him keep going, despite the internal battle taking place in his mind.

She came again, then again, she pulled back and sucked on his collar bone, a whorish moan he had never heard her make reverberating though her mouth and his flesh. When he reached the point of no return, she didn't just shudder beneath him, she shook with enough force to be unnatural. Keith felt drained, in every sense. Rolling from her, he lay next to her, noticing the ghostly audience clapping. He watched the last polaroid capturing his unholy coupling get pinned to the board. Despite fighting it, he struggled to keep his eyes open. Sleep came not by stealth but a full frontal assault, he could still taste her in the air, feel her warm body, her fingers trailing back and forth across his chest.

"See, that wasn't too hard to bear, was it. You're one of them now, and I'm fully yours again. Now go to sleep, then fuck me again just like that when you wake up."

Keith went to speak, tell her she's nothing but a tainted whore but the words froze in his throat. Sleep washed over him like a fog.

????

When he awoke, he was alone. The grey, was back. Looking around, there was no Denise beside him, but evidence she had been there because of the wet patch matched by the congealed mess in his pubic hair.

What stood out, was the single pedestal that had remained, still with a ghostly hue. Getting out of the bed, he went and looked at it. Twenty-five photos had been taken capturing him having sex with his wife. Nothing made sense, it defied the laws of nature. In the bathroom, he had bled during the night, the red angry marks where her teeth had sunk into his flesh.

Keith checked out in morning, vowing never to come back, never to repeat that night. And yet...

He spent a year yearning for an experience. To taste, smell, experience any form of emotion. He had risen through the ranks to be number two in the organisation. He dated women, kind of. He could go through the motions of all types of sex, take recreational drugs that did nothing to heighten the thrill, learn to skydive. But nothing. By early October he wanted to make sure it would happen. He went in person to book suite 666 on the 31st of October.

It was a repeat of the previous year, until it wasn't. This time, instead of laying on the bed, she sat on the end, beckoning him to come closer. He undressed, then stood as she wished. Looking directly into his eyes, she opened her mouth, spit, drool and cum dripped down onto her body. He wanted to look away, but couldn't. Once again, she was real, all the things he had missed experiencing were welling up inside him. The lust, the need to cum and feel it roll through his body like an invading force took over. Leaning forward, her tongue probed at the leaking eye, probing savouring the clear leaking fluid of her husband that flowed freely.

"Mmm, I fucking need this baby, I need your cock so badly, let me show you."

He looked down as her mouth worshipped his cock like never before. It was a cruelty that a man should not have to endure, to see his wife totally ruined by others, but for just a fraction of time in a life resigned to greyness, he was allowed to have access to his soul, via this night of pleasure gifted by his wife.

Her lips ran up and down each side, she kissed every millimetre of his cock and balls, and showed off a skill that never existed before. Her head bobbed up and down with relentless, timed precision, to take him to the very root. He felt angst, knowing it was something she had learnt on this very day two years ago from with the ghosts that stood, watching and taking more of the photos to pin to the board.

Eventually, he could not hold back. Gritting his teeth, he held her head still and exploded into her throat, her lips mashed against the base of his cock. He felt her struggle to swallow, but she never pushed back, never tried to stop him from having his release. He held her there, he could hear her breathing hard through her nose, matching his own deep breathing as he came down from the sexual high. He looked down at her, tears ran from her red eyes, further smudging the mascara and washing some of the man-gunk from her eyelashes.

She pulled back slowly, corkscrewing her mouth letting his slime-coated cock escape her mouth. She set about using her lips and tongue to lovingly clean it him up, until the wetness was all that remained. Engulfing his cockhead one last time, her tongue probed around the eye again, pulling back the tip of her tongue held the very last remnants of his cum, stringing out while she pulled back until it broke away to land in the vee between her breast.

"I can do that for you every day baby. I'll be kneeling on the floor by the door, my slutty painted mouth waiting for you, and only ever you."

Keith closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"You know you're dead don't you?"

She laughed.

"Don't be silly, feel."

A hand took his hand and placed it on a breast, forcing it to kneed the supple and perfect fleshy globe.

"See, it's real, quite real. We have made it, we have both done what we needed to do. Now tomorrow, you show them your worth, make me proud, like I'm hoping you are proud of me, what I've done to play my part."

She stood up, took his hand, and they lay on the bed. Like the year before, the ghosts of the wolf pack stood smiling, their lips moving to speak words he would never hear. He fought it, really fought it, because he didn't want Denise to go away.

It was an impossible task.

He stayed in the room throughout the year for odd days, and even for two consecutive weeks. His world remained barren; the grey stayed with him.

By September of that year, he had booked the suite for the night of the 31st of October for the next fifty years. He discovered that it was becoming a ghoulish attraction; not just for him, but for other people who wanted to stay there, in the room where so many had died. He did consider booking the room for every night, but he realised that Nick had played him. He had left him in the world of grey, forcing him to suffer the agony of desperately wanting to feel alive, even if it was for only one night with a temporary reincarnation of his wife. But he could not stop himself from returning.

Over the years, the only thing that changed was the intensity of their physical encounters, always led by Denise. As time went by, Denise never aged, remained perpetually desperate for her husband, and stayed completely convinced she was alive and that all was well in the world and their marriage. That brought Keith to tonight.

He had spent the year teaching himself to focus on certain things, things that would be important, and yet he could not discuss them with a single soul. He entered the room at eleven-thirty: The whisky bottle, ice in the tumbler. All the props were there, plus the ones he had brought to the room himself. Pouring some whisky, he slugged it back, then opened his bag to pull out the fifteen feet of chain and a padlock. He sat, then threaded the chain around himself and the chair, which stopped him from moving with the exception of his right arm. When the circus started, he repeated the words to himself:

It stops tonight. It stops tonight.

He watched them walk past him; the ghosts seemed unaware he was in the chair as they stood where they normally stood. Peter, followed by Denise, came in, looking like the whore she'd become many years ago. She moved toward the bedroom but stopped and stood still for several seconds before turning to look at the chair.

"What are you doing, Keith? We need to celebrate; you have made it to the top. Don't let my sacrifice be in vain."

Keith laughed.

"Your sacrifice? Look at the photographs. I've seen the video from earlier. The only thing you sacrificed was us. You should have said no, spoken to me. I would rather have worked in the mailroom than come to witness my wife turned into a cock-loving whore."

She walked over to him. He had to fight to overcome the sensations and emotions that he craved because of the greyness he was imprisoned in. She touched him, and he felt his will starting to crumble. She pulled gently at the chain; the links came away in her hand. She was freeing him, when he wanted to remain captive by his own hand. He took a breath, reached for the whisky bottle, and smashed it against the table. Without flinching, he pressed it against one wrist, then managed to repeat the same action against the other. Denise spoke hurriedly, panic in her voice.

"What are you doing, Keith! Don't throw our future together away like this! I love you; I did it for you, for us!"

To make sure he had succeeded, he looked at his wrists. Nobody, absolutely nobody, would stop him this time. Denise stood shaking her head, her hands covering her mouth as tears fell in what Keith read as disbelief. Then, he noticed she started to change. A blue hue grew around her, and she began to dim, beginning to look like the others. The pack now stood in a semicircle, looking at him in a disapproving manner. He noticed that Peter was taking photos of him and pinning each one onto the blank board.

"No, no, noooo! What have you done, Keith! What's happening to me? I feel strange... cold..."

Keith closed his eyes and smiled, asking himself why he hadn't done this years ago. Denise's whimpering diminished until the room was silent, except for a steady dripping sound--until that stopped, too.

????

"So, you've finally had enough then, Keith? I'll give you credit: you lasted longer than I thought you would. Don't worry, I'm not going to touch you; that was a one-and-done thing. You haven't got long to wait."

Keith opened his eyes to see Nick, looking exactly the same as he did all those years ago.

"You said that once it was all over, then I'd know where I was going. I've tried to help others, giving large sums to charities, not abusing anyone like they abused me and Denise."

Nick laughed, shaking his head.

"Come on, Keith. You killed people. Not saying they didn't deserve some sort of punishment, but you know how this works."

Keith looked at him. "Is it as hot as the books and paintings show it down there?"

Nick looked rather bemused at Keith's comment.

"There's no down there. Never was such a place. You're free to walk out of that door anytime you want."

Keith suddenly felt better, a lot better. He stood up and walked toward the door, deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Pulling on the door handle, he looked back toward Nick to wish him a good life, but the words never came. He was looking at himself sitting in the chair, by the looks of things, quite dead.

He went to speak, but a noise from the other side of the door in the hallway distracted him. Opening the door confused him. There was no passageway; it was the suite he remembered from the video and photographs that Peter and his pack had taken. The noises he heard were coming from his wife and the wolf pack.

She was straddling Peter who was on his back on his bed. Keith had to assume he was fucking her vagina, but he couldn't be entirely sure. Denise was partially leant over Peter who was greedily sucking on a nipple, Martin was directly behind her, hands gripping her hips thrusting back and forth. He had to be buried in her backside. One of the others knelt on the bed to her side, her mouth greedily slurping on his cock, grunts and groans from all the participants felt amplified.

Keith could hear the individual heartbeats, the murmurs and words spoken buried in a breath, even the click of the camera and the motor whir while it ejected each sick photograph.

Just like all those years ago, rage filled him, an emotion that he felt so strongly now that he was surprised how good it felt. In the room was a free-standing light, a brass base with a thick column in the same design as the plinth he had used so many years ago. Stepping fully into the room, he didn't pay any attention to the bluish hue of the light or the fact that they all ignored him. His hands reached out to grab the shaft of the light, and...

Nothing. His hands passed straight the shaft. He tried again, then again to grab the shaft, then a chair, and still the same. Rushing at the bed, his goal was to push Denise aside, stop the sick show. His ears captured the sound of the cocks sawing in and out of her body, the salacious sounds of fluids mixing and shifting inside her body. What hurt most of all were the growls of lust reverberating from her throat, the final betrayal that she had been, and was still, fully into this.

After several minutes of trying to interact with those in the room; by pushing, punching, shouting at, and even biting. He realised he was not there in the physical sense, and yet everything that was happening from sight, sound, and smell was amplified to taunt him. To get away, he rushed back through the door, the one thing he could still feel and interact with. Instead of the corridor, he was back in his own suite, but things had reverted to what he had been experiencing for years. He and Denise were solid entities, while the wolf pack were once again the ghostly apparitions. Denise was on the bed, legs spread wide, fingers pushing in and out of the sticky mess leaking from her well-used hole.

Come on Keith, you haven't gone down on me for while... mmm yesssss. Please, be a darling, go down on me, then I'll give you a blowjob you won't forget."

Keith flipped out, storming across the room to straddle her chest, wrapping his hands around her neck with every intention of causing her harm. But he couldn't apply any pressure.

"Ohh yes baby, it's about time we tried some kinky stuff. Now slap me, make me your bitch just like Peter and the pack have made us their bitches."

He tried to slap her, punch her, but something took all of the energy out of each swing so the impact caused her no harm whatsoever.

"Stop messing around Keith, I need you to fuck me... no I really want you to go down on me... please baby, I'll make it worth your while."

Keith jumped off the bed to find Nick still standing next to his dead body. He went to grab him by the throat, but the moment his hands touched him, they felt like he had grabbed hot coals, and he let go in agony. In desperation, he went through the door, hoping it would be the corridor; instead, he was back in Peter's suite, the scene from before being replayed yet again. Holding the door open, he stood between the two rooms--half his body in one, half in the other. One half of him had the eerie blue glow, while the other was solid. He stepped back into his own suite and closed the door.

"Keith please baby, I need you to lick me out, come on I gave you a blow job earlier, then you fuck me, let the pack watch you try and reclaim me."

Keith pulled his head down to his chest, trying to use his hands to cover his eyes and block his ears. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. He went to move, but found he couldn't. Instead, Nick opened it, letting Keith catch a brief glimpse of freedom: the passageway!

Two solemn men entered the room. Nick started to speak.

"Thank you for being discreet, detectives. The hotel... this room... it's taken years to let what happened become almost irrelevant now, and we really don't want to stir things back up if they can be avoided."

The older of the two detectives shook his head.

"I don't get freaked out easily, but being here... My first proper day as a rookie cop saw me enter this room to see a scene I have never, ever witnessed again. I never fully subscribed to the story. This man's wife was supposedly raped, but the old hands at the time said the scene was more akin to her being a willing participant. With nobody else in the frame, it went down as a gangbang rape that went wrong.

"

The detective looked at the lifeless body in the chair.

"I never thought I'd see this man again. I sat in on part of his interview that night it happened. He had spent the whole night in the bar, completely unaware of what was going on. He could never explain why he didn't go looking for his wife, said he just got carried away talking to people downstairs. Most bizarre. He sort of became famous, not because of this, but because he ploughed all of his energy into work. He made his company and himself a bloody fortune.

"Then, about ten years ago, he gave away his entire fortune. Setup funds for kids schools where violence had prevailed, funds for natural disasters around the globe, abused spouses, irrespective of sex, all manner of good causes. About ten years ago, there was a newspaper article about him. He was a tramp, living on the streets and yet here he is, back where his life fell apart.

"And for my last day at work, I've gone full circle: back in this hotel, back in this room, and back with this poor guy. All those years he hung in there. Guess the memories pushed him too far. All those millions he amassed... he was poorer than me in reality.

"It looks pretty clear-cut; a suicide. I'll call it in, talk to the big guns, I doubt they want this blown up. We'll keep this one discreet, I think it's best for everyone."

Keith stood screaming in their faces. When he tried to touch them, his hand went through them; they were not aware that he, or even Denise, was present. The detective turned and spoke to his younger colleague.

"This room gives me the heebie-jeebies. Do you feel that draft coming and going? Let's go and grab a coffee downstairs and wait for the uniformed boys, doctor and ambulance. I'll start writing this up, and then it's goodbye from me and hello retirement. I'm looking forward to heading out to my apartment in Spain. Imagine spending the rest of your days in a room like this? Fuck, that thought makes me shiver!"

Keith tried to follow them when they walked from the room, but found he couldn't lift his feet. Nick was the last to leave. Just before the door closed, he looked into Keith's eyes.

"Welcome to hell, a hell of your own making."

Keith couldn't move, the sound of Denise calling him over to fuck her was like a needle in his brain. Then out of nowhere, a knock on the door.

"Room Service."

The door opened, a middle aged Hispanic woman came in.

"Do you mind if I carry out some house keeping sir?"

Keith couldn't believe what was happening.

"Are you talking to me, can you see me?"

"Yes sir, and yes to the second question. Now, I need to tidy up in this room. Do you mind leaving me to get on with the task?"

Keith was shocked.

"Y.. you mean leave this room?"

She nodded, her smile most infectious.

"Ideally sir, but if you insist, you can stay."

Without any hesitation, he opened the door, and walked out into the hallway, then down to the lift. He pushed the button, the door opened and he walked inside. He wasn't even sure the lift moved, but something had definitely happened. When the doors opened, he was at the entrance to a park, lush green lawns covered by a brilliant blue sky. A gardener was tending a flower bed.

"Ah welcome Keith, make yourself at home. Most of the residents are down at the bandstand, some decent music and a waltz or two is the order of the day. And before you ask, this is exactly where you think it is. You saved more, infinitely more than you destroyed, and there is a special clause that allows you entrance to the park. No go, they are expecting you."

Keith strolled along the path, enjoying the warmth of the sun, and the smell of freshly cut grass. He was saved, when he thought all was lost. Suddenly, all those years he had to endure the pain, they grey, felt like they had worth, because it made him the man he became, before he was reborn, yet again.