The door opened. Warm air and the low murmur of male voices spilled out. Someone took my coat. Cool hands guided me forward, then pressed me down onto what felt like a padded table or low platform in the center of the room. Leather cuffs buckled around my wrists, not tight enough to hurt, just enough to remind me I wasn’t in control anymore. My ankles were spread and secured next. The position left me open, on display, the cool air kissing every inch of exposed skin.

I could hear them moving around me.

Four distinct sets of footsteps.

Four different breathing patterns.

One of them spoke first—voice deep, older,...