Me: Hi Sonja. Can I reserve a room for this evening?
Sonja: Hey handsome. Of course you can. Your favorite?
Me: You know it.
Sonja: Will you be requiring someone special?
Me: Actually, will Florencia be in tonight?
Sonja: She is. I’ll let her know. She’ll be very excited. She talks about you often.
Me: Great. Can you remind her of my no talking rule when we’re in the room?
Sonja:You got it.
Me: Thank you. See you tonight.
Iwalk down the long corridor and step up to my favorite room. Number 13. My lucky number. Sliding my gold key into the lock, I push the door open and find it prepared just as it should be.
Bed with satin sheets, cuffs attached to the headboard, jumping bat whip and anal plugs. All varying sizes and material laid out for me and ready to use for tonight’s play. I step further into the room and run my hand over everything. Soft, cool, smooth, hard. All of my favorite things.
The light is dim but that only adds to the experience, and it guarantees that my face can stay hidden. I’m not worried about members telling the media about me, because they’d be exposing themselves and no one wants that. But it’s the extra layer of anonymity during playtime that gives me a little more comfort. Especially in this room.
A wall of windows sit across from where the bed and bench are placed, allowing voyeurs to peek inside our world. They’re one way, so we can’t see who is watching us, but we can definitely feel the eyes on our every move.
I like being the center of attention, be it on the field or in this room. Watching is pleasurable as I’ve done it a time or two, but being the object of desire is a hunger only satiated by admiration.
Back in college I shared my secret with one friend, Soba, and convinced him to join me. I was new to it myself, but the longing to be a part of something like this was always there. I loved watching wild girls go at it on crazy nights at parties. It progressed into orgies and couples watching each other. And once I moved to Houston,I knew I’d need to keep feeding the beast that I woke.
I eased Soba into it, showing him the tamer side of the club, before pushing him further and further. As many times as I asked him, he would never join. But boy did he watch. It was almost as if he were taking notes, studying all the moves like a good student.
I walk over to the door in the corner and open it up. Empty hangers sway on the rod and a mask sits on a hook against the door. I won’t be needing that, but I strip down to my boxer briefs and hang my clothing on the hangers, shutting the door and stepping over to the bench.
My fingers dance along top of it and thrill courses through my veins. Images of what I plan to do tonight swirl in my head and in my stomach. The high I get when inside one of these rooms is inexplicable. Only those who crave more than the mundane can understand.
I remember something and rush over to the closet, retrieving my phone from the pocket of my jeans. I usually like a little soundtrack to go along with the moans and screams of my night. Last time was unusual. I had plenty of noise occupying my mind, so music wasn’t necessary.
I open my bluetooth connection and click on the room number. A high pitched beep sounds and I know it’s synched up. I scroll through my playlists to find something that will fit the evening. A particular one makes me smile and I know it’s just what I need.
I tap the playlist andSkinflowersby The Young Gods blares from the overhead speakers. I click the button on the side of the phone to lower the volume just as the door opens. I toss my phone on the bed and eye thewoman who stands in the doorway, waiting for me to invite her in.
Florencia is tall and slender with long red hair down to her waist, most of it fake I presume. She speaks with a thick Italian accent –also presumed fake– but that doesn’t matter. All I need from her tonight is her permission. And by the way she smiles, I’d say I have it.
I lick my lips eyeing her up and down, knowing what lies beneath that short black robe but still wanting to take my time in unwrapping my delectable treat.
“Come in, Florencia.” I curl my finger at her, beckoning her inside our lair for the evening.
Her red heels –a requirement of all the ladies who “work” for Lascivious– click against the shiny black tiles and she shuts and locks the door behind her. She walks towards me until I hold up my hand, silently telling her to stop.
I circle her, inspecting every line of her body. Her eyes watch me, looking over her shoulder, as I go. When I stand in front of her again, I slide my hand under her robe, pushing one shoulder down. Her bare shoulder sparkles with a hint of glitter and it shines when the light hits just right. I let my hand fall to cradle her heavy breast and pinch her pink nipple. She gasps and I see the way her body rolls and shivers.
“Are you wet already, Florencia?” She opens her mouth but quickly closes it, remembering my rule on not speaking. “You may answer.”
With a bite of her lip and a smirk she says, “Why don’t you find out for yourself.”
She tilts side to side, spreading her legs wide, allowing for me to dip my fingers into her slick, bare pussy. Running them along her seam, I feel how she drips for me. With one last swipe, I bring my fingers tomy mouth and lick them clean. This is the only taste I will have of her tonight.
It’s a silly rule I have, but I never eat any woman out, here or at any other club I’ve patronized. I’ve done it plenty of times with women I’ve hooked up with, but in the last year I’ve decided it’s too intimate to be shared with anyone but the woman who I claim as mine. It may seem a little hypocritical because I will let any woman choke down my cock, but it's their right to do so and not mine. I want the next pussy I eat to lay between the legs of the woman I love. Or at least like enough to keep around for more than a few weeks.
