A deal with the ... seller?

The night air was thick with anticipation as Jack pushed open the heavy door of the Red Ears Bar, determined to get the answers he needed to continue his experiments. He'd been holed up in his apartment for the past two days, keeping a low profile until he could find out more about the potential danger he was in. Eager to finally do something again, he braced himself for what he might find here.

He entered into a space that felt like a fever dream. The dim, pulsing lights painted every surface in a lurid red glow that made everything feel surreal, casting long shadows that danced across the walls, jagged shapes bouncing along with the oppressive music that thumped through the air. As he stepped deeper into the bar, the atmosphere seemed to close in on him, thick with the scent of ****, sweat, and a hint of something more primal—the sweet, unmistakable smell of sex. Heavy bass notes pulsed in his chest, in sync with the rhythmic sway of the bodies around him. It felt as though the entire room was alive, breathing.

The bar was packed, but the usual sense of chaos was missing—there was a controlled wildness to the scene, like every patron knew exactly what role they played in this depraved symphony. At the edges of the room, slutty performers swayed seductively, some on stages, others in cages, their near-nude bodies glistening under the dim red lights. They moved sensually, deliberately, as if every shift of their hips, every flutter of their eyelids, was choreographed to draw in the eyes of the men surrounding them.

Jack’s gaze roamed, unable to settle on any one sight for long. His eyes darted from a topless woman serving drinks to a group of leering men, to another bent over a table, giggling as she was pulled into the lap of a customer, his hands moving freely over her body. None of the women resisted. In fact, they seemed to encourage it. Their smiles were customer-friendly, as usual for waitresses, but their eyes betrayed something else—a flicker of understanding, of twisted excitement that underpinned their subservient roles.

Jack's stomach churned, though he couldn’t tell if it was revulsion or fascination. The staff didn’t just serve; they were objects of entertainment, meant to be ogled, touched, played with at will. One of the patrons grabbed the waist of a passing waitress, pulling her close as he whispered something lewd into her ear. She laughed, a soft, airy sound that didn’t quite reach her eyes, before leaning in to press her lips to his neck, going on to plant kisses down his shoulder, as if it was part of the service. The man’s rough hands roamed across her bare back, sliding lower, kneading her ass over her tiny, skin-tight shorts, as if no one was watching.

On another side of the room, a rowdy group of men clinked their glasses together, roaring with laughter as one of the women—completely nude—climbed onto their table, shaking her tits provocatively. They threw cash at her feet, but it was more for sport than admiration. She winked at them, lewdly bending down low to collect the bills, her body on full display, apparently reveling in the attention. There was something in the cheerful way she moved—like this was her role, her part in the coordinated dance of the bar, and she performed it flawlessly.

Jack watched as one of the bartenders, a lean, beautiful woman wearing nothing but a bright red thong and cute, heart-shaped pasties over her nipples, served a group of rough-looking men. One of them slapped her ass as she leaned over to hand him a drink, hard. She straightened, smiled sweetly at him, and said something Jack couldn’t hear over the noise, but it must’ve been enough to elicit a roar of approval from the group. She stayed a moment longer than necessary, her body brushing against the man’s arm before she finally sauntered away, hips swaying in exaggerated, rhythmic movements.

The patrons—mostly men, but a few odd women too—treated the staff with a mix of indulgence and entitlement. Every touch, every comment, felt like a transaction, an unspoken agreement that in this place, boundaries didn’t exist. The staff was there to please, and the patrons to consume. It wasn’t just the drinks they were served; it was the women, the atmosphere, the entire experience of decadence and submission.

The music, slow and throbbing, wrapped around Jack like a blanket, each beat seeping into his bones, relaxing the apprehension he didn’t realize he was carrying. There was something comforting about it, a tempo that matched the sway of the performers and the flow of the night. The more Jack lingered, the more he found himself giving in to the pull of the place. His initial revulsion began to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of belonging. This was a place where inhibitions dissolved, where rules no longer applied, and where everything could be indulged, if only you let yourself go.

And yet, as much as the women seemed to be at the mercy of the patrons, Jack could distinguish something deeper. Some of them seemed to be playing a game, toying with the men just as much as the men toyed with them. They leaned in when asked, responded to every demand with eager compliance, but there was an edge to it, a knowing gleam in their eyes that said they thrived on the shameless attention they commanded from the men who thought they were in control.

Jack moved over to the bar to order himself a drink. Behind it, another woman, this one naked save for an abundance of shimmering gold chains crisscrossing her chest, poured drinks with practiced ease. She barely acknowledged the men’s leers as she served them, her face calm and unreadable, as if she were a statue in a museum. One man, clearly drunk, tried to grab her arm, but she deftly moved away, handing him his drink without a word. Her movements were fluid, almost hypnotic, as she slipped through the crowd, untouched despite the hands that constantly reached for her.

The patrons, though brash and disrespectful, had a strange reverence for the space. As crude and vulgar as their behavior was, they respected the rules of the bar, the unspoken agreement between those who served and those who indulged. There was no ****, no overt aggression—just an endless push and pull of desire, power, and submission.

Sipping on a cocktail he barely remembered ordering, Jack drifted around the bar. His head swam with the sights and sounds, a mix of arousal and discomfort swirling in his chest. Part of him wanted to turn away, to leave, but something deeper pulled him further in. He could feel it in the music, in the way the women moved, in the way the patrons let themselves be led by the rhythm of the night. It was intoxicating. Besides, he hadn't yet found what he came here for.

One of the performers danced on a raised platform, right in front of him. She was topless, wearing a green snakeskin microskirt, her upper body elegantly decorated with matching snakeskin straps that only served to focus more attention on her bare breasts. Her movements were slow and deliberate as she undulated to the music, her gaze locked on the men below her like a predator. Jack couldn't tear his eyes away as she deliberately let him catch naughty glimpses under her skirt. The longer he stood there, the more he could feel the depravity sinking into him, washing over him, as if the atmosphere was a living, hungry thing, pulling him in. Something about the music—it reverberated inside him, a deep, primal thrum, urging him to let go, to indulge.

And then, from across the room, something out of corner of his eye finally caught his attention, snapping him out of the haze.

It was a sight that starkly contrasted the rest of the bar—a sharply dressed, older gentleman calmly lounging in a leather booth, looking almost civilized, though he was surrounded by beautiful women in various states of undress. The white-haired man looked straight at him with a grin that seemed too wide, too knowing, and an air of complete control. The women clustered around him, bodies pressed against his, their gazes locked on him as if he were the sun itself. They giggled, whispered in his ear, and laughed at every word, though Jack hadn’t heard him say a single thing.

Jack's curiosity piqued. He walked over, threading his way through the bouncing mass until he stood before the man, who was still grinning, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Aha! Jack Dover,” the man said, his voice a silken purr, as though they were old friends. “I was wondering when you'd find me.” He gestured to one of the women, and she immediately rose, her eyes sparkling with devotion, emphatically leaving an empty spot on the dark leather couch where she had been sitting. “My name is Samuel. Please, take a seat.”

Jack blinked as he took the newly available place in the booth, right across from the old guy, who was apparently named Samuel. The name tugged at something deep in his mind, something vaguely familiar. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being in the presence of someone he should know.

The woman who had gotten up to make space—a stunning blonde, wearing a tight, black-and-white bunny suit—now stood at Samuel's side, looking at him expectantly. He gave her a lazy flick of his wrist. “Get us another drink, sweetheart.” The girl scrambled to obey, her eagerness striking. “Yes, sir. Of course.” Her voice was soft and compliant, a bright smile on her face.

Jack sat there for a moment, taking in the scene. There was something profoundly disturbing about the level of control Samuel held over these women, but at the same time, it intrigued him. The women weren’t just submissive; they seemed to relish in it, their eyes filled with adoration for the man who commanded them so effortlessly. Samuel leaned back in his chair, grinning as if reading Jack’s thoughts. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” he asked casually, his hand reaching out to stroke the inner thigh of a woman sitting beside him, before giving her a gentle slap. “Total submission. Complete devotion. And all it takes is a little… guidance.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, starting to feel lightly annoyed by the nonchalant show-off. “How do you know me? My full name, my phone number... you seem to know a lot about me,” he said, changing the subject, forcing his voice to remain steady.

“Oh Jack, I do,” The white-haired man replied with a slow, deliberate smile. “I sold you your favorite device, after all.”

Jack’s blood ran cold. This was the mysterious seller. He had been right about him and the unknown texter being one and the same. Suddenly the enthralling quality of the background music made sense. He needed to be careful, to keep his exposure short.

Samuel chuckled, his fingers drifting lazily through the hair of one of the women draped across his lap. Jack glanced at her as she studied him, unbothered, her deep red lips parted slightly in an expression of curiosity. “But the version of the Cue Mixer that you have, well… not to be rude, but it was calibrated for animals. You’ve been doing quite well with it, all things considered, but I have something far more interesting now,” Samuel continued.

Jack’s eyes narrowed, an inquisitive expression on his face. “Calibrated for animals? What do you mean?”

Samuel's grin widened. “The original prototype was designed to affect lower-level creatures, Jack. Rats. But also dogs, cats, things without the same… complexities as humans. Didn't you find the presets... limiting? Nonetheless," his eyes gleamed with amusement, "you’ve managed to use it on people, and rather successfully, I might add. Very surprising. That’s why I’ve been following your progress with such interest.”

“You’ve been following my progress?” Jack asked, a hint of disbelief cutting through his words as he fought to maintain composure.

The man across from him laughed, a sound that felt wrong in Jack's ears. “Of course. I’ve enjoyed your experiments. Though, you should know,” his voice dropped, “I’ve recalibrated the device. Made it more effective—on humans.” He gestured at the ladies around him. “This is what is possible when the device is properly calibrated. You’ve been playing with scraps, but with the new drivers, well… you could be having so much more fun.”

Jack’s eyes followed the gesture, watching as the women nodded back at Samuel, seemingly in agreement, each movement intentional, sensual, as though they existed solely for his amusement. One of them, a brunette with dark eyes, playfully nuzzled against his neck as she purred. The others watched enviously, sipping drinks, awaiting their turn. Still, they seemed completely at peace with their subservience, almost proud of their role in his life.

Jack’s brow furrowed, still cautious. “And what’s this supposed to be? A pitch?”

Samuels grin widened. “Not a pitch, Jack. An offer.” He gestured again, and one of the girls spread her legs, pushed a hand inside her tight, black panties, shifted around a little, and finally pulled out a sleek, silver flash drive. “You see, I am retiring. I'm getting old. But you, you have potential. I'm prepared to give you the recalibrated drivers, with instructions on how to continue my research. With that, you’ll soon have the power to shape anyone to your desires. Jack—You’re already halfway there. But you’ve been holding back. Let loose a little. Revel in it. Have some fun. Hell, expand your reach.”

Jack’s eyes locked on the flash drive. Nestled between the girl's slender fingers, it gleamed under the bar’s red lights, practically calling to him. He swallowed hard, still wary. “Wasn't I right to be careful? What about the women who came looking for me, who broke into my apartment?”

Samuel's expression darkened for a brief moment, but then rolled his eyes dismissively, waving his hand as though they were insignificant. “Ah, the Zhou sisters. They’re upset because they lost the device. Bah, they only wanted to use it to make money, can you believe it? Bitter, angry women, those two, but ultimately powerless. I’ll warn you if they come sniffing around again. Don't worry, Jack, you've earned my protection. For now.”

The nonchalance in the man's voice did little to ease Jack's nerves, but his heart raced, butterflies in his stomach, a cocktail of fear, desire, and temptation swirling inside him. These Zhou sisters had clearly seemed dangerous, but what Samuel was offering was something else entirely. He glanced again at the scantily-dressed women around them, their complete devotion radiating a twisted sense of freedom. Many looked right back at him, awaiting a response, eager to hear his choice. They were all beautiful, one by one, and in this space, they seemed to exist outside of all moral constraints. They seemed happy, fulfilled, thriving on their own surrender.

“All I ask,” Samuel continued, “is that you enjoy yourself. Indulge. And when you're ready, return the favor. Simply by bringing out... the best, in those around you.” His smile darkened, but the temptation in his words felt tangible. “Is that too much to ask, Jack?”

The weight of the offer hung in the air. Jack was torn between his rising fear and the undeniable curiosity that pulsed in his chest. The vision of total control, of indulgence without consequence, was becoming too seductive to resist. He looked at Samuel again, the man’s constant grin unwavering. “You in?” he asked, his voice dripping with anticipation. The girl with the flash drive stuck it out at him encouragingly, her head slightly tilted, a warm smile on her face.

After a tellingly short pause, Jack reached out and took the flash drive. Samuel’s smile widened, a glint of dark triumph flickering in his eyes. “Good choice,” he purred, voice dripping with satisfaction.

Jack's gaze lingered for a moment on the visual feast that the women draped around the well-dressed, white-haired man provided, their pliant forms a testament to the power that could be his. He decisively pocketed the drive. He wasn’t sure what he had just agreed to, but this power, the unspoken possibilities, were too appealing to pass up. Still, beneath the excitement was a creeping unease. He had stayed too long already. The music, insidious and intoxicating, gnawed at the edges of his mind, and he feared subliminal messages might sink their claws in permanently if he didn’t leave soon.

Without a word, he abruptly stood, nodding to Samuel in lieu of a farewell. In turn, Samuel raised a hand in a calm, almost dismissive gesture, and leaned back, clearly pleased. “Enjoy, Mr. Dover. You’re in for quite a ride.”

Jack didn’t waste another second. He turned and moved quickly toward the exit, the old man's parting words ringing in his ear. His heart pounded, the lure of the place pulling at him even as he **** himself away. By the time he reached the door, the air outside felt like a splash of cold water against his skin. He inhaled deeply, putting a hand in his pocket to feel the cold metal of the flash drive, and stepped into the night, wondering what kind of game he had just entered.