I leave therapy with my mind feeling steadier than it has in months. My heart feels free and ready to love.
Not heavy. Not conflicted. Just aligned.
Tonight isn’t about serious talks—it’s about lust. It’s about being present and blowing a bag on Lena and Zaria.
I pull into my driveway and head inside to get ready. If I’m stepping into their world, I’m stepping in correctly.
The linen suit hangs perfectly tailored and freshly pressed in my closet. Camel brown tailored close enough to suggest strength without screaming for attention. The fabric breathes, relaxed but refined. I button the jacket once, adjust the collar ofthe soft blue shirt beneath it, then slide the gold David Yurman chain over my head. The matching bracelet catches the light when I fasten it.
The Rolex settles heavy on my wrist. Gold. Black face. Clean.
Brown leather Gucci Jordaan loafers with the matching belt.
Prada Paradigm at the pulse points.
I glance at myself one final time in the mirror.
Hair freshly cut. Waves sharp enough to make a barber proud and ocean jealous. Gold canine fronts on top and bottom catching the light just right when I test a grin.
I’m not flashy by nature.
But tonight?
Tonight, one of the women I love is my private dander and the invited me to witness it—while she serves me.
It was a go hard or stay home type of night.
Provocateur sits quiet and discreet from the outside. The unassuming eye wouldn't know what it becomes after dark. Valet handles my car. The host is waiting to escort me inside. I sign the paperwork and hand my phone over to be locked away before surrendering to the rules of the space.
No recordings. No evidence. Only an experience Provocateur can bring.
The air inside smells of sweet perfume. The anticipation has me in a holding pattern. Low lighting washes everything in a shadow. Velvet couches. Mirrored walls. Bodies moving in fluid silhouettes.
I take a seat at the main bar first. I'm not in a rush. Tonight is for being intentional and unhurried.
Eyes find me almost immediately.
Women glance. Then glance again. A few linger. One bold brunette bites her lip and lifts her glass toward me.
I give a polite nod but nothing more.
I’m not here for the room.
I’m here for them.
Finally, a staff member approaches. “Your private section is ready.”
The space is partitioned off by dark drapes. It’s intimate without being hidden. Plush seating. A small, raised platform. Ambient light low enough to feel exclusive.
And behind the bar inside the section?—
My Z Baby.
Her long, bouncy curls spill over her shoulders in soft waves. She’s wearing a fitted black uniform that hugs her waist and hips—structured and intentional. The neckline dips just enough to be suggestive without being vulgar. My eyes move to the stockings I can wait to rip. Then the garter I can't wait to have stuffed in my mouth along with her panties. Control. I want them to take it from me.
She looks up.
Her eyes drag slowly over me. Her gaze moves from my loafers to my suit to my gold canines.
