Waiting for a waitress.

Alan had a spring is his step as he hurried up the stairs to the bedrooms, a key clutched in his hand. He was excited at what would happen tonight, in that room, with Julia. Obviously, he had never been in this situation before—going somewhere with the clear implication of sex. His experience with Luna had been only brief and unexpected—it was all her doing, it just happened to him, he had no real agency there. But this time the anticipation was making his heart beat and brow glisten with sweat. It was his decision now. He pondered whether he should turn and find the two other guys, see where Luna had run off to, press onward.

He had already made a promise to Julia, though. At the very least he should wait for her—whatever happened after, he’d decide then.

He made his way down the doors of the many rooms, looking for his destination while fidgeting with the key between his fingers. Number nine, number nine, he repeated in his head. When he came upon the door that read “IX” in red letters, he froze for a moment. The young noble steeled himself and made a small nod to himself. He unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The room was lavishly decorated. A four-poster bed with red sheets and curtains dominated the far wall. The floor was covered by a bearskin at the foot of the bed and beside the rug a table with two wooden chairs waited for their patrons. A small tablet with goblets were readied on the table. He cursed himself for forgetting some wine for them, but it was too late to go back now. He sat in one of the chairs as he waited for Julia to arrive, he didn’t want to appear too eager by sitting on the bed.

His mind was still colouring all the possibilities of that night could bring but the one that did happen certainly did not come to him.

The walls seemed rather thin as he could hear the moans and cries of pleasure as he had gone down the corridor. Curiosity got the best of him, he stood up and stepped up close to the wall to his side. He became very quiet as he tried to listen.

He heard nothing at first, but soon he made out faint whimpering. Then suddenly a loud whack accompanied by a cry of agony. Anger quenched his lust, whatever was happening did not sit well with him. He may have been naïve about what happened in brothels, but causing pain to elicit such cries could not be part of it, right?

He was standing frozen for a long moment, listening to the sounds of what must surely be a whip and the cries of a young woman in severe pain. What should he do? Barge in and put an end to it? What if this was normal and the patron paid good coin for it? Wait for Julia and ask her about it?