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“It’s exclusive and private. Caters to those with…unusual proclivities. It’s easier to understand if you experience it.”
Experience it. What in the world was I supposed to experience?
A part of me was shying away from that. The other part of me wondered just how kinky was Maximus?
Spinning back around in my chair, I went online, then typed Fetish Club into the search bar. The first result to come up was for a movie shot in the early 2000s. I skipped it and several other suggestions that were clearly porn.
Eyes landing on a link to a fetish event, I clicked.
I braced myself, half-expecting the cheesy music of a porn flick blasting out at me.
But there was no music.
The images featured two blindfolded women dressed in lace body stockings. Bracketed between their bodies, as if they were presenting the slideshow, was a picture. Above that picture, in a large, elegant font, it read: Step into the Garden.
The image in the box below faded away, replaced by another. A silhouette of a woman kneeling in front of a man, head bowed, arms pulled behind her back—either tied or cuffed. He stood in front of her, still dressed. But he had his trousers open, and his cock was out, one hand holding it. Although it was a still image, I could almost see him stroking up, then down. The way his free hand cupped the woman’s cheek, his intent was apparent.
“Open for me, Tina….”
I sucked in a breath as my vibrant imagination filled in the rest of the picture, placing me in the woman’s position while the man standing before me was Maximus.
Between my thighs, I was suddenly wet, and an aching, empty need had me clenching my thighs.
Was this what he wanted me to experience?
“No way,” I told myself. But I didn’t sound convincing.
Uncertain if the knowledge embarrassed or encouraged me, I grabbed the mouse and went to the menu at the top, selecting the About the Garden tab.
Maximus hadn’t told me where he was taking me.
This…Garden was not in Houston—it was in San Francisco. Was it a fetish club like this he had in mind?
If it was, how did I feel about that?
“Well, you haven’t run away screaming yet, have you?” I muttered. Despite my nervousness, I clicked on the photo gallery instead of leaving the website, curious to see what else I could learn.
* * *
It wasn’t evenfive when I left the office. I couldn’t accomplish anything with the state of my mind.
I was almost glad for the usual rush hour traffic. If I focused on traffic and the surrounding drivers, I had less time for my mind to wander.
I arrived home and pulled my phone out to call him, but I stopped.
My nerves were in an uproar.
“It will not get better until you decide.” The sound of my voice was deafening in my empty apartment, and I groaned, pressing my fingers to my temple. It did nothing to ease the headache coming on.
Not giving myself any more chance to procrastinate, I grabbed the phone and opened my messaging app.
Hello James. I’ve decided to join you tomorrow. Did you have a time in mind?
My phone chimed before I could put it down.
Around 8:30, if that works.
I blew out a nervous breath, and I told him that was fine, then put the phone down. Five seconds later, I grabbed it.