Eyes Wide Shut (III)

[mjartrod]

Title: Eyes Wide Shut
Author: mjartrod
Pairing: Belldom /??
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Voyeurism, group sex, S&M, het, various pairings, religious themes
Disclaimer: All characters and events in this story are fictional, even those based on real people and material (having been altered, added or left out for dramatic purposes). I do not own Muse.
Summary: Matt receives an invitation for a party he will not want to miss.

Muchas gracias to my beta, rockstar Anya for doing an awesome job as always!

I'm sure this chapter won't be everyone's cup of tea, but well, the warnings are all up there :p



EYES WIDE SHUT
Chapter Three


Matt’s hand moved of its own accord to scratch at the back of his head, his hair damp and scalp itching. Sweating again. He rolled over and bumped into something solid, which complained. He scooted away and opened his eyes at the delightful surprise and... ah, shit, it was just Dom.

As his mind slowly began to function, memories of the previous night came back to him. Out of nowhere, it had all turned to weirdness, to what Matt would consider the very definition of a bad idea. Sure, he’d been pissed; but not smashed to the point of having no control over his own actions. By the time he had registered what was happening, it was too late. It had been a very satisfying wanking session, though, he had to admit as he observed the drummer sprawled next to him with his face hidden in his pillow. And despite his throbbing head and the predictable hangover from hell, it was reassuring to Matt that he still felt so incredibly light and free.

He couldn’t really remember getting to bed and he felt silly for needing to wriggle a little to confirm he still had a layer of clothing between his bum and the bedsheets. Raising the sheet slightly from where it fell at waist level, he ventured a glance at Dom as well. Both still covered. Not that he'd expected anything else, however...

“Hmmm... was that your elbow connecting with my ribs...?” Came a sleepy murmur near Matt.

The singer leaned on his side, pouting slightly. “Dunno, but there’s going to be something connecting with your face if you’re not up and out of my room in the next thirty seconds. The fuck you doing in my bed?”

Dom turned his face to Matt, a mocking smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, eyes still closed. “You’re hurting my feelings, Matt... How could you forget?”

“Get out of my bed, you tit. No wonder I’m sweating like a pig, with you literally breathing down my neck. Christ!” He got up himself, padding to the bathroom in desperate need of a cold shower. Before he smacked Dom - the cunning bastard who ate, drank and breathed sex.

“So you finally admit I make you hot?”

Matt banged the door shut with a tad more hostility than required, Dom’s soft laughter following him. Once locked in the privacy of the bathroom, though, the front man couldn’t help but smile to himself.

***

They decided to go fishing after a chat with the affable lady who owned the hotel and ended up spending the whole day by the river with a few six-packs of beer and some snacks, just bantering back and forth and having a laugh. That they didn’t catch any fish went almost unnoticed by both of them.

They hadn’t crossed paths with anyone, tourist or local, that struck them as being in the area for the same reasons they were, and they had an inkling that the residents would be nothing short of sickened and horrified if they knew what was about to go on right under their noses.

Nic had already informed Matt via text how it was all set; the password would be sent later that night.

“Password,” Dom had snorted, after Matt had put the phone down. “Like the Kubrick film.”

“Bollocks, that one was.”

“As usual, the sophistication of subtlety escapes you," Dom grinned. “You wanna be Cruise or Kidman?”

Matt gave him a two-fingered salute, but then chuckled. “Maybe I was just invited to play the piano. Blindfolded. But please don't make me be Cruise the Scientology Psycho.”

There was a package waiting for them at the hotel reception when they returned, a large box, which they immediately guessed contained their attire for the evening, sent by Nic. They ran upstairs and into Matt’s room, almost giggling with excitement and elbowing each other in a tussle to be the one to open the box. The singer’s eyes glinted as he pulled out two long, black hooded cloaks, while Dom beamed at the sight of the masks resting at the bottom, two simple black pieces outlined in sequins that were designed to cover the upper half of the face and finished just above the nose. They'd seen more elaborate masks at the parties they'd thrown over the years, the Venetian or the Japanese springing to mind, but this was exhilarating nonetheless. Dom couldn’t resist putting one on, adjusting it over his face, and when he turned to Matt looking for a reaction, he saw the brunet was already donning a hooded cloak, the tip of his pink tongue darting out of the corner of his mouth as he struggled with the ribbon at the neck.

They observed each other with interest, taking in each other's accouterments until their eyes met. And then broke into sly cackles.

***

“Overture?” Matt read Nic’s text message, scoffing. “That’s the password.”

The password came exactly one hour before the party was scheduled to start.

Again in the singer’s room, the two friends stared out the window, trying to spot any shenanigans, or at least a sign of life, at the distant spot they had identified as the hill where the church was located. Dom wore all black, skinny jeans and dress shirt, and Matt all white, trousers and button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It had been specified in the invitation that Matt was to wear white, while his guest would have to be clad in black, but apart from the contrasting colour of their garments and the necessity of a cloak and a mask, no other demands had been made regarding their outfits. Matt had opted to go for a clean-shaven look (regretting not having had a haircut, as he checked himself in the elegant antique mirror) but Dom kept the casual stubble he’d been sporting.

At nine forty they went downstairs, each carrying a cloak with a mask hidden in its folds.

Across the river into Spain and towards Arbo, they quickly reached the rusty gate they had seen the previous day on top of the small hill. But unlike before, this time it was open, welcoming them into the church grounds. Lingering for a moment in the BMW at the small church’s entrance, they studied the very ancient looking staircase that led to the imposing main doors, which seemed securely shut, and the high bell tower. The stone walls appeared almost medieval and they guessed the building was probably several hundred years old at least.

Matt took the car around the structure and at the back they found an area near a cemetery which had been turned into a car park for the night; there were dozens of vehicles there, most of them clearly luxury models. Hopping out of the car and putting the black cloaks and masks on, they walked along the edge of the hill, the breeze billowing their cloaks behind them. The view down into the valley was exquisite.

“So which way to go now?” Dom stopped for a moment, looking around with his hands on his hips when they reached the building.

But Matt kept walking and quickly found a side door with a small window carved into the stone above in the shape of a star; dim yellowish light flickered behind it.

“Has to be here,” Matt breathed when Dom joined him. He knocked on the heavily decorated metal door.

The scuffing of feet on the other side reached them, before the voice of a woman came through.

“Buenas noches, señores.”

“Good evening,” Matt replied to the greeting, waiting for the inevitable question. There was only silence. “You um, want the password, yeah?”

“If you must.”

“Overture.”

The door scraped open and an old, hunched woman with a crocheted shawl over her shoulders and grey hair in a bun bowed to the two friends. Locking the door again after they walked in and paying no more attention to the two men as they surveyed their surroundings, she sat on a small stool in the corner and resumed what Matt and Dom presumed was her activity of the evening, knitting.

Exchanging a look underneath the black masks and hoods and feeling oddly misplaced for a minute, the two Englishmen decided to focus on the many small candles placed on the floor. They seemed to form a path towards the interior of the building; the path they were obviously supposed to take. It was slightly unnerving to see no one else there. Why did it seem like they were late, although the clock in the car had said otherwise?

The chilly air inside overtook their senses as they walked, the two friends unable to avoid the shivers running through their bodies despite the overwhelming heat during the day. A male voice not far away suddenly reached their ears, the words unfortunately indecipherable with the echo, and they exchanged yet another look. Soon they reached an open door at the end of the trail marked by candlelight - they were in the centre of the small church.

The appearance of abandonment and decline from the outside was deceptive; inside, the stone walls and floor were clean, the ornate, golden altar gleamed, the dark wood pews seemed recently built and the chandeliers suspended from the high ceiling provided dim but adequate light. The carved figures of saints in niches in the walls were also pristine and, together with the images depicted in the stained glass windows, they seemed to act as silent, judgemental observers.

And then there was the group of people clad in black cloaks, facing the altar in an open circle.

A bulky man (a guard?) was situated close to the side doorway to the nave where Matt and Dom were standing. He had a mask on himself and after giving a curt but polite nod of the head towards the two Englishmen, he stomped his feet, military style, and everyone assembled suddenly turned, the air filled with the sound of cloaks whooshing. There were dozens of people there, forming a semi-circle two, perhaps three rows deep. Tall, short, male, female, some skinnier, others larger - everyone wore similar masks and long, black hooded cloaks, and they all bowed to the new arrivals, Matt and Dom bowing back. A section of the group parted then, making room for them, and the ‘guard’ extended an arm indicating they should join the congregation through the aisle beside them.

Everyone’s eyes were on the pair as they walked side by side with timid steps at first, then more confidently. Despite the dim lighting, it only took two seconds for Matt to realise that everyone wore black beneath their cloaks - except him. His stomach lurched apprehensively.

Discreetly absorbed by the group, the two friends were finally privy to the scene in front of the altar that had enraptured everyone’s attention before their arrival.

“Fuck. Me,” Dom mouthed at Matt’s side.

A woman was tied spreadeagled, hands and feet, to an upright diagonal wooden cross; save for the blindfold covering her eyes, she was completely naked. Strands of long brown hair fell over her shoulders and back and her breasts jutted proudly out, her amazingly fit body sheened with sweat.

A masked man was standing near her, and although he had his cloak on, it was clear the black piece was all he wore. Despite their proximity, only when he moved did they notice the whip he held. He circled his prey a few times, the woman’s chest rising and falling more rapidly at the obvious realisation he was perusing her. He finally came to a stop behind her. And whipped her, hard.

The crack of the whip hitting her flesh, echoing loudly against the church's bare stone walls, made Matt flinch, but she didn’t let out a sound. Whipped again, and then again, it was only at the fourth strike that the woman cried out, a piercing sound that cut through them. When the man came in front of her, Matt discreetly elbowed Dom, who visibly swallowed, both noticing the same thing - the small beads of blood which had dripped from the whip to the floor.

Resuming his ministrations, the man struck the bound beauty on the chest, a deep red mark instantly etched across her tanned skin, and Dom nearly jumped from the combination of her scream and Matt’s fingernails digging painfully into his wrist. They watched in fascination as the large man threw the whip and his cloak aside, revealing a hairy body and a very hard cock. He reached his hand between her legs, her previous squeals of pain turning into moans of pleasure as he worked her pussy and then untied her from the wooden cross, the woman immediately slumping to her knees. Gripping her by the hair, he held her still to shove his cock into her mouth, while her hands clambered to his thighs to support herself. The man thrust hard in and out a few times, making her gag at first but then she began to suck at him in earnest, until he pushed her away and forced her onto her hands and knees. She bent submissively and he penetrated her ruthlessly until they were both spent in a heap on the cold stone floor.

Matt let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He’d been left on edge at the initial violence and even now, as he watched the two of them getting up from the floor, embracing and smiling, he felt his clothes sticking to his damp skin. He was also hard as a rock.

“When’s the last time we saw something this hardcore?” Dom whispered at his side. The blond’s face was shadowed by his hood, but Matt could still make out his grey eyes behind the mask, dark and intense.

People were removing the saltire and sweeping the floor and there seemed to be some hushed conversations taking place. Mostly, though, it was rather quiet, anxiety and anticipation filling the air, as if the main event were still to come.

Matt took in the ornate golden sacristy and the sacrarium, and stared at the small figure of Christ on the cross on the altar surveying all. It had been awhile since he had been to a ceremony in a church, the last time probably some wedding in Italy, and he’d never have guessed that the next time would be for something of this nature. It disturbed him slightly, that witnessing these sorts of activities in such a place didn’t bother him in the slightest.

“You think they do volunteers?” Dom asked, when a new item was brought out - a large bed without a headboard, made up with only a white sheet which hung down the sides. It seemed tremendously heavy from the way a pair of broad-shouldered men carried it, and it was placed in the centre of the clear area between the participants and the altar. It reminded Matt of a sacrificial bier.

“To handcuff or to be handcuffed?” Matt observed, noticing the two chains dangling from the end of the bed closer to them.

For his first time there, he would be perfectly content to just hang around and watch. Though if all the women looked like the one who had been whipped and mercilessly fucked, perhaps he’d have to reassess his position.

The quietness returned as a slighter man slid from the middle of the group to take centre stage. Pulling his hood down, he looked straight at Matt and Dom, who recognised him instantly even with the mask. Nic Cester.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he began, addressing the crowd in his unmistakable Australian accent. “I hope you’re all having a good time, I certainly am. As you all know, we have a new member to our community.” Everyone looked at Matt, who continued to stare at Nic. “I’m sure he will fit right in and I have no doubts everyone will want to give him a very warm welcome...”

The crowd around Matt parted, a hand pulling Dom aside as well, and the singer realised with a jolt that he was expected to go up front. Surely they didn’t want him to make a speech...? He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the Australian, who suddenly had the most mischievous smirk on his face. Matt was starting to think someone had conveniently forgotten to tell him something.

Nearly tripping on a raised flagstone, Matt walked towards the Jet front man, if not a little awkwardly. Wearing a hooded cloak and a mask in a church after watching an exhibition of BDSM by members of a club that seemed to get off on questionable rituals - and now expected to do who knew what with a load of strangers - Matt suddenly felt a little ridiculous, not to mention somewhat apprehensive. But then Nic pulled Matt’s hood down and after cupping his face in his hands, pressed a chaste kiss to the singer’s lips.

“What’s going on?” Matt hissed urgently. “I’m going to kill you, Cester!”

He turned Matt so the blue-eyed man faced the crowd and then leaned against him as if to kiss his cheek, but spoke softly in his ear instead. “You’re going to thank me for the rest of your life. Chill out and just go with the flow.”

Go with the flow? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Nic had barely left his side to rejoin the crowd when another figure stepped up. A smaller one, barefoot, long red hair peeking from under the hood. She pulled it down, big green eyes sparkling behind the mask, and smiled up at Matt. He took a long look at her, head to toe. He could see her sheer, black lacy dress and the small nipples that pushed against the material. She reached out to untie the ribbon of his cloak, pushing it over his shoulders until it dropped to the stone floor and he couldn’t help but steal a quick glance in Dom’s direction. The drummer was leaning to the side, whispering something to a person with blonde hair next to him when he caught Matt’s eye. It appeared he'd already made a lady friend...

The redhead had let her own cloak plunge to the floor around her feet and Matt bit his lip as his eyes roamed over her perky tits and curvy body. She lifted her hands to rest them on his chest, her fingers boldly scraping at his nipples through his white button down shirt, and she smiled up at him, a naughty little smile.

He swallowed, finding himself hesitating at the undeniable invitation. Maybe it wasn’t so unexpected, he’d felt it before, after all - guilt. A series of images flashed through his mind, all of his time off in recent months. But then contrasting memories from the year before were added; and finally earlier moments on tour sneaked their way in.

The smiley redhead cocked her head to one side, as if sensing his conflict, and she ran a red fingernail down his skin, from his collarbone to the centre of his chest, where it was caught by the first done up button of his white shirt. But Matt met her gaze evenly.

Well. It would just be rude to turn down her kind invitation, wouldn’t it?

She steered him backwards to the bed, where they sat, and began to slowly remove each other’s clothes, black and white fabric intermingling on the stone floor. And finally, she kissed him.

Matt was no stranger to having sex in a room full of people, though it wasn’t exactly a common occurrence these days, but he'd never been in a situation where he was the centre of everyone’s attention as he ravished a woman. And it was a fucking huge turn on. This was probably the closest he would ever get to the one fantasy he knew he’d never be able to fulfil - doing it on stage in front of thousands, in front of Muse's own audience.

When they were both undressed, hands touching nude skin only, the redhead reached for Matt’s mask. He grabbed her wrists.

“You first,” he said.

“I can’t take it off,” she said half-apologetically, a hint of a Scandinavian accent noticeable in her words. “And you can’t leave it on.”

Matt didn’t argue, but when she made him stand from the bed to face the dozens of mysterious strangers and removed his mask, for the first time that evening Matt felt truly exposed and a tiny prickle of self-consciousness assailed him.

She placed a final kiss on his lips and then backed away with a grin, leaving him standing by himself in utter bafflement as she was swallowed by the crowd. Should he go after her? At that moment, another female, an Asian with short, sleek black hair, advanced. Matt quirked an eyebrow with interest as he caught sight of the leathery get-up underneath her cloak. She was decidedly more aggressive than her predecessor and after striding over to him, she looped an assertive arm around his neck to pull his head down to hers, her small mouth eager for his.

From the corner of his eye he spotted yet another figure stepping forward: a very tall, athletic man with curly brown hair. He only had the mask on; no cloak. Momentarily giving up on trying to lure the Asian bird to the bed, Matt nearly froze when the guy stopped beside them and, without asking, dipped down, his lips coming in contact with the side of Matt’s neck. Oh, fuck.

If either person felt him tense up, they obviously didn’t care. The Asian girl was still all over him and the man had now placed himself behind Matt; a large hand landed on his hip and the motion was followed by a delicate kiss to the back of his neck. Instinctively glancing over, the singer observed the crowd - it was obvious everyone was waiting with bated breath for more. The girl snaked an arm around his flank and, after giving him a twisted little smile, lifted her hand and brought it down hard, slapping Matt’s bottom.

“Cheeky bitch,” he hissed. She grinned in reply.

The three bodies were soon flush against each other in a sensual dance as they touched, with Matt in the middle of the masked couple. The man’s stubble grazed his skin from behind, as he showered him with kisses across his neck and shoulders, and Matt could feel the man’s cock hardening against him, pushing into his lower back. A small hand, hers, squeezed his arse cheek again, hard, and Matt’s eyes widened in shock - but not at her actions. There was another hand, a larger one, reaching between his legs.

A bold finger was trailing up his inner thigh, leaving a moist trail on his skin. It made Matt’s knees quiver as it travelled upwards and his heart was racing uncontrollably by the time it touched him intimately between his cheeks. Up and down the crevice of his arse it moved, teasingly, the man’s knuckles rubbing on his flesh. A warm fluid dripped down his lower back without warning, flowing directly to the divide of his buttocks; it cleared the path for the finger to follow, sliding with ease on the lubricated skin. And then it stopped at his entrance.

“Oh, fuck...”

Matt’s forehead fell to the shorter woman’s shoulder when the probing finger prodded and pushed inside, his heart skipping a beat.

There was a distant awareness of his hair being stroked by one of the woman’s hands, the other sliding on his slippery skin as she groped his buttock, squeezing and releasing repeatedly. But all of it came to him as if he were a spectator, not a participant. He felt overloaded with sensation, caused by a finger alone, which was seemingly managing to alight every nerve ending in his body. The man’s free arm held Matt tight around the waist from behind, the palm of his hand burning as it landed flat to grasp his protruding hipbone, and Matt’s breathing hitched, his stomach fluttering when the finger twisted inside him and curled.

A second finger joined the first, slowly stretching him, the obscene slurping noises as the woman sucked on his neck nearly stifling the man’s gentle voice in his ear.

“You are magnifique, so tight... I wish it could be me and not him...”

Matt couldn’t even be bothered to wonder at the meaning behind the man’s words. The French accent coupled with the knowing manner in which his fingers rubbed and stroked, finding his prostate and stimulating him to the limit, rendered Matt’s brain useless. He’d bite down on the woman's shoulder to contain any embarrassing moans, he’d kiss her so her mouth would swallow his gasps... Wrapping one of her hands around his cock when he couldn’t take it anymore, Matt made her stroke up and down and surrendered to them both, cleaving to their combined touch.

But then the fingers slid out of him, her body was separating from his and the man was spinning him around, open mouthed as if to devour Matt whole. The singer responded without thought, light headed and with shaky knees. In a matter of seconds, he had been laid on his back on the bed and the tall French speaking man was holding his hands down next to his head, teasingly caressing the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrists with his thumbs. Matt stifled a gasp when a long, wet stroke of tongue ran up the inside of his wrist to the heel of his hand. A loud metallic click was heard - his arm had been shackled. The masked man repeated the action with Matt’s other arm, the singer’s chest rising and falling faster as he allowed himself to be handcuffed to the bed.

But then like the redhead had done before, he left.

Abandoned with a raging hard on to face the golden, sacred altar, the crowd so near but out of sight behind him, Matt flexed his fingers and tugged on his bonds, testing their resistance. He was well tied down and clearly at the mercy of the entire club. Was this how the rest of the night would unfold? One member after the other having a taste of him? Was he going to be the evening’s plaything for everyone there?

There was some sort of commotion within the crowd, a mass of whispering reaching his ears, and Matt let out a frustrated sigh. Why did they have to place him in a position where he couldn’t see anyone? He arched his back off the bed, scooting up the mattress so that he could let his head dangle back over the edge and perhaps catch a glimpse of something, even if it was upside down.

His eyes instantly met a grey pair behind a mask, unexpectedly close.

Dom was right behind him, staring down at his bandmate with a cheeky grin.

“Hello, there.”

Comments

[muse-manticore.livejournal.com]

:-O

Oooh naughty.
Raunchy, I'm off to get a cold shower. I may be some time.
*waggles eyebrows*

[mjartrod]

LOL!
thanks for reading!

am working on the next part now :-)

[muse-manticore.livejournal.com]

I can't wait. :D

[tamarelmensdorp.livejournal.com]

The beginning of the party is a bit scary ... but probably only because neither of them knows what's going to happen just yet.

Guess Dom is the one 😁.

[mjartrod]

Creepy is good. Creepy can be erotic. HA ;)