I expected its black, red, and gold gleaming decor. The low music, thrumming. The dimly lit rooms, with an amber scent wafting through the warm air. I thought we’d be the only two wearing our masks tonight: mine, white lace; Loch’s, black spandex.
But I didn’t expect the guests he invited would be wearing them as well. They sit, hiding behind masquerade ones, with half their faces covered.
It’s so chic, it’s taboo.
My teeth grab my bottom lip, not sure what will happen, but very ready for it. I trust Loch.
“Good evening,” he greets our secret guests.
“Good evening,” they softly murmur, but I heard an accent, French, I think, from the elegant blonde in a white bunny mask; her Bordeaux lips smiling.
She’s draped across the lap of a mammoth man wearing a gold mask, his whiskers dark, his smile soft, his jaw chiseled.
They grab my attention first, then it slides to the seven others in the room, reclining on black leather sofas. Two couples, suited men with their arms around scantily clad women, greet us with intrigued smiles, while one woman sits alone, and two large men loom, sitting solo in shadowed black leather chairs.
I’m struck speechless, my skin prickling with excitement as Loch guides me to stand in front of them. Like they’re the audience, and I’m the show.
Because I am.
It’s my fantasy.
At first, no words are spoken. It’s part of Loch’s seduction. The anticipation. As if he knows how the ambient pounding beat from the speakers matches the cadence, throbbing in my wet sex.
I’ve been waiting so long for this. I glance down to see if I’ve already stained my white silk slip again.
I haven’t… but I will.
Good god, remembering the dirty fantasies I’ve confessed to Loch. All the questions he’s asked about my boundaries and desires, my feelings and fears, my wishes for our fantasy night together. It’s as if he’s been preparing me, and this is my test.
That awkward woman at the Slurpee machine feels so long ago because this one feels beautiful. She senses Loch’s heat, standing behind her, wearing the same suit from our polite engagement party.
His breath steams over my ear as he asks, “You warm enough, Babygirl?”
As always, he reads my flesh like I’m the only story he wants to consume.
“Yes,” I whisper. “It’s perfectly hot in here.”
It’s not just the temperature, which is intentional. It’s the heat from the two red neon bunny lights illuminating the sex swings, swaying from the ceiling corners. Low, clear tables gleam with bowls of condoms, packets of lube, and new boxes of sex toys. A black leather platform has been pushed against a mirrored wall, as if someone wants to highlight the lone leather chair, looming like a black throne at the center of the room.
Vale would be so proud.
In a way, I wish she were here.
Then again, I’m not attracted to my best friend.
Besides, there’s a taboo thrill to the anonymity of our guests, though they’re not complete strangers. Loch vetted a small list of our OnlyFans, inviting them to join us live to celebrate our engagement.
But there’s a lingering disappointment. I’d love to match the masked faces to the usernames I’ve known for years.
Is the lone woman @ProudWhoreinDC? Are one of the couples @JuicyLips with her kinky date? Did they fly here from London? Just to see us? Are the other couple @SilverZaddy and @CherryGirl? Even under his mask, I can tell the Zaddy is bald in a sexy way.
The live audience makes my breath hitch. It’s been my kink for years, with @LuvPounder helping me explore it, and now I feel so safe, beautiful, and confident with Loch. But in my head or online are different. In the flesh? This is deliciously prohibited, making the room palpitate with passion.
Loch hears me, fingering the thin strap to my dress. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just curious who everyone is.”
Reaching for my nipple, circling it, he challenges with his gentle pinch. “You really want to know, DirtTGirl?”
