To the basement.

As Quentin slipped past me, seeming to shrink down into himself as he did, I caught a whiff of him, and wondered if Megan hadn’t made the wrong choice. Stan was obnoxious, but this guy was kinda foul. As I followed him downstairs, not having the first idea what to expect, I heard some kind of cheerful pop music sung by a high-pitched Japanese woman coming from below. As I reached the bottom of the stairs I blinked my eyes in confused disbelief at what I saw.

The room was a shrine to anime girls. Brightly colored banners, display cases of models, figurines, holographic toys, action figures, body pillows, and related paraphernalia dominated the room, mostly somewhat sexual in nature, and interspersed throughout were mannequins displaying elaborate costumes, bondage gear, and S&M tools in a rack on the wall. Photography equipment and a laptop were set up with professional lights, all pointed at the center of the room where Megan was clearly in the starring role.

There was a blow up mattress, but she wasn’t on it. Instead she was on some kind of saw horse, a triangular contraption with a cruel metal rim that she straddled, splitting her pussy and with her legs pulled taught by restraints in the floor. Naturally her feet never touched the ground, and she was being pulled down painfully by her own weight. Her arms were bound behind her by leather straps, hand to elbow. I could hear the buzzing of a “butterfly” vibrator strapped over her clit over the music.

She was sweating straight through her ridiculous outfit, an undersized sailor outfit of some kind with a gold tiara. The shirt was too small for her tits, which were not only on display but were pointing out like reddening cones due to the three rubber bands wrapped around each. Metal alligator clamps bit into her nipples which were swollen and red from the rubber bands. Menacing red and green wires were attached to them leading down to some kind of box on the floor covered with meters and dials.

A low groan seemed to continuously escape her mouth through the ring gag placed there as her hips rolled on the triangular device and she seemed insensible to us coming down the stairs. Drool freely flowed in a string down to her misshapen tits and her eyes were rolled up to the ceiling. Yet despite all of this, the thing that I was most disturbed by was somehow the incredibly lifelike sex doll that was similarly strapped in directly opposite her on the bench facing her. Like Megan, it was blonde and busty, and like her it was dressed in a ridiculous sailor outfit. Like her there were rubber bands on its tits and a butterfly vibrator on its clit. They were not identical by any stretch, but seeing them arranged like this was clearly intended as a kind of mirror image, save for the fact that the sex doll was not moving, and the alligator clips on its nipples were hanging loose and not attached to any device.

“What. The. Fuck,” Was all I could manage.