Page 25

Once we’ve turned in our paperwork and handed over our credit cards, the fun is set to begin.

“Mr. Bodine is your host this evening,” Heidi tells us, and I wonder for a second whether Heidi is a member here or if she’s just the face of reception.

Does this mean I can have sex with her up on the third floor so long as she consents to it?

Do I even want to have sex with anybody?

I’m not sure, but I’m leaning toward no.

For one thing, I like the idea of an exclusive place to hang with my buddies where the others in attendance share a similar mindset. I want to play pool without feeling like every shot I take is going to end up on social media. And that is what convinced me to submit my membership…not the sex club part. The sex club is only one-third of the action that takes place here.

And aside from that, I sort of enjoyed just watching last time, and after doing a little research, I discovered I might be a voyeur. I also looked a little more into aftercare. I’m not sure what it says about me that watching that part of it hit me in a different way than the actual act of a cock sliding into a pussy or a face eating one out, but it is what it is.

I guess what it comes down to is that everybody likes different things, and that diversity is what makes life exciting. But what’s also exciting is when you find your match—the one who complements your preferences with the opposite.

If I like aftercare, she should like being cared for.

If I like watching, she should like performing.

If I like cramming my cock in her mouth, she should be thirsty for it.

As it turns out, Mr. Bodine happens to be Troy Bodine—the legendary baseball player who played shortstop for the Rockies for fourteen years.

Football was always my sport, but I played baseball in the spring during my high school years. I love the game, and even though I’m five hours from Minneapolis, I was raised a Twins fan—mostly because my dad was born and raised near Minneapolis.

He greets us and welcomes Travis and me as new members, and then he leaves us to our own devices. We follow Jaxon into the nightclub and then the lounge, and it’s much the same as last time, except this time there are some couples dancing on the stage, and it seems more crowded than last time. We head to the second floor, and we each grab a drink, sit at one of the tables, and watch.

A woman plops onto Jaxon’s lap, and he runs his fingertips up her spine.

I can’t help but wonder what he’s like with her. Has he been with her before? Why meet here? Why not at a regular club without a steep membership fee, or at a hotel…or even at his house?

I try to keep an open mind.

Two women walk over toward our table. One kneels beside Travis while the other slides into the chair beside mine.

“Tristan Higgins,” she says, and she shakes her head a little like she’s in awe of the fact that I’m sitting here.

My eyes meet hers. She’s gorgeous—there’s no doubt about that. Silvery blonde hair that frames her face. High cheekbones, full lips. Tits that are pushed up over the top of her short, tight dress.

“I saw you here a few weeks ago and was hoping you’d come back.” She giggles a little, and the rum on her breath tells me she had a drink or two of liquid confidence before approaching me.

She’s hot.

But…

She’s not my type.

My heart sinks a little.

She’s not Tessa.

But Tessa isn’t mine.

It’s time I move on.

“I’m back,” I say with a grin. “Tell me your name.”

“Brandi,” she says.

“Tristan,” I say awkwardly. “But you already knew that.”

She giggles and touches my arm, and my eyes go to where her hand is.

None of this feels natural. None of this feels right .

I’m technically still legally married, even if it’s in name only and I hate my wife and we’re only married because she’s blackmailing me. But from everything I’ve heard, Nevada is a no-fault divorce state, which means the judge will not listen to information about bad behavior from either party within the marriage. So if I do something here tonight, and it gets out, or it’s publicized, or whatever…it shouldn’t really matter.

Still, my lawyers have advised me to stay out of trouble, to lay low, to keep my name out of the media. I should be fine here…right?

“What do you do, Brandi?” I ask, trying to get to know her before I decide if I’m going to… explore her upstairs when in my heart, I already know the right answer.

“I’m a local singer-songwriter. I work in a show on Fremont Street,” she says. She raises a brow. “And I’m trained in acrobatics, so I’m extremely flexible.”

Okay, then. So we’re going right for it.

“I do a lot of agility drills myself.” Jesus Christ, I sound stupid.

Have I ever spoken to a woman before? It’s not clear based on the words coming out of my mouth.

She leans in close to my ear as she starts stroking my thigh. “I bet you’re pretty flexible, too,” she murmurs, and her hand travels from my thigh slightly upward. “I’d love to find out.” She brushes my cock with the side of her hand, and my eyes meet hers.

Hers widen just a little as she feels my length, and I grab her wrist in my fist, halting her progress.

I’m hard, of course. I’m talking to a beautiful woman, there are naked dancers up on the stage in front of me, and I haven’t had sex in nearly two years. I think I’ve been hard for the last six months.

But also…one of the rules of this place is being able to explore sexuality in a safe space, and every act must be consensual. Having Brandi here feel me up before I’ve even finished my first drink doesn’t feel very consensual.

Even in the very few one-night stands I’ve had, I’ve gotten to know a little something about the girl first. One was a friend from college, and we got a little drunk, slept together, and realized we’d be better off as friends.

Sex effectively ruined our friendship.

Another was a random girl at a bar, but we talked for hours before we went back to her place.

This…this just feels weird.

I know her name and what she does for a living, and that’s it. I don’t know if she’s an Aces fan or what kind of music she likes or if she’s my age or just really good at covering up aging skin beneath all that make-up.

It feels like I should be here with someone, like if I had my girl with me and we were going through the rooms, she’d get turned on watching the different acts and I’d lean into her and whisper dirty things in her ear, maybe slip a finger under her skirt or let her palm my cock in a dark corner, and then we’d take it to a private room and do what we wanted or we’d wait until we got back home to unleash the dirty beasts inside.

I’m just not a sex in public sort of guy, I guess.

Come to think of it…I’ve never actually had sex in public. Houses, bedrooms, hotel rooms, even in a pool, sure—but it was in a private backyard, not in the middle of a sex club. I’ve never done it in a club bathroom. Never in a darkened alley. Never anywhere someone might catch us in the act.

Brandi starts licking the skin just below my ear. “Want to go upstairs and get a room?” Her voice is warm against my ear.

I raise my brows at her boldness then offer her a smile that I hope comes off as sly as I shake my head. “I’ll go upstairs with you,” I rush to say before she feels rejected. I don’t want that, but I’m not sure I want to give her false hope, either. “But I want to watch.”

“Watch…me?” she asks, not hiding the hope in her tone.

“Maybe the night will lead us there. But first I want to go to the viewing rooms.”

She tilts her head as if she’s studying me. “You’re a voyeur?”

I shrug. “I’m new to all this. I’m more of a first and second floor kind of guy, and I guess…I’m not sure what I am yet when it comes to the third floor.”

“Allow me to help you on the path toward discovery,” she says, standing. She grabs my hand, and I try to shoot Travis a helpless look as she drags me away, but he’s busy making out with Brandi’s friend as he palms her tits for anyone in the room to see.

I think he might be just a little braver than me.

Brandi opens a door leading to a stairwell, and we make our way to the top. She leads me to one of the viewing rooms. She moves quietly to an empty loveseat in the back, and she pulls me down with her.

It's the same viewing room that was overly crowded last time with all the dark red décor and mirrors, but this time I can see in. I spot Troy Bodine in the room. He wears a suit and stands at the foot of the plush king-sized bed, and he appears to be calling out orders to three naked women on the bed who seem to be enjoying themselves. We’re clearly coming into the party mid-scene, and I wonder what we missed.

“This is the owners’ suite. If they’re here and want to play, they automatically get first dibs,” she whispers.

I bet that’s why there was standing room only the first time I came here. Victor Bancroft was here that night.

I can’t help but wonder what he did in here and who he was with.

I also can’t help but wonder who else owns the place, so I ask. “Troy, Victor…are there any other owners?”

She nods. “James McKinney—the bassist for Vail. He owns a bar, too, which is why Victor wanted him to be involved.”

So a movie star, a rock star, and a retired baseball player?

“Troy’s a voyeur—maybe like you,” she whispers. She sets her hand on my thigh again, and it doesn’t feel as threatening in here. It’s darker than the second floor in here, and everyone’s so focused on watching what’s happening in front of us that nobody’s looking over the arms of each loveseat to see what’s going on beside them.

I allow my fingertips to find Brandi’s leg, too, and she settles in a little closer to me. I rest my hand on her thigh, and she slides her hand up mine.

My eyes are on the three women on the bed. One is crawling in circles around the other two, who are kissing and touching each other. All three are in different states of undress. The crawling woman wears some sort of leather contraption, and I can’t quite figure out its purpose since her tits and pussy are on display. It doesn’t seem very functional. The two on the bed have some lingerie on but it looks like one is in a very slow process of undressing the other.

“Jazz, suck Amber’s pussy,” Troy says, and it’s almost as if there’s no glass between our room and theirs since his voice comes out loud and clear despite the soft music playing in here to drown out the whispers.

I get in my head again.

It’s weird being here.

It’s weird that I’m watching a live porn right in front of me.

It’s weird that I’m sitting on a couch, and I have no idea who was doing what on it before I sat on it, though I spot a hand sanitizer dispenser in the corner and I see someone wiping down the loveseats in the room across the hall.

It’s awkward that a girl I don’t know at all is touching me, that she wants to fuck me. I’m starting to think I can make it weird-awkward or fun-awkward, and I’m not sure which way I’m leaning. I paid for my membership, but my expectation was that I’d spend most of my time on the first two floors. I’m starting to wonder if I might as well find a way to embrace it all.

I lean in toward Brandi. “What do you like to do here?”

She looks a little too excited as she turns toward me. “I like being submissive. I like being told what to do. And most of all, I like to be punished when I’ve been naughty.” She catches her lip between her teeth.

“What do you do that’s naughty?” I ask.

She chooses that moment to slide her hand a little higher, and she squeezes my cock. She moves her hand down until she has me literally by the balls.

My eyes are wide as they move to meet hers. “I think I get the idea now,” I manage to choke out in a whisper as she lets go. “So how would you be punished for that?”

She shrugs. “Depends on the dom. Some will tie me up and blindfold me. Others will whip me. Sometimes it’s just a spanking, or sometimes they’ll choke me with their cock.”

“Oh.” Maybe I should stop asking questions.

My eyes are on the scene in front of us, and my mind starts to wander.

How will Troy provide aftercare when he’s with three different women? Is there even a way to do that?

His voice is loud, pulling my attention from our conversation. “Sapphire, on your knees,” he demands.

She does it. Eagerly.

She sits back on her heels, her head down and her hands on her thighs as she awaits her next instruction.

“Good girl,” he says, and he brings his fingertips gently to her jaw, as if touching her confirms his words.

Something shifts in my chest as I watch them. The other two women are doing things to each other on the bed…but my eyes are glued to what’s happening closer to the window.

“Take it out,” he demands.

Sapphire scrambles to unzip his pants, and she pulls his cock out of his pants. My instinct is to look away, but I force my eyes on them as I study the way he is with her.

It seems counterintuitive given everything I’ve ever learned about being equal in a relationship, but somehow they’re both getting what they need from this arrangement.

“Did you behave this week?” he asks Sapphire.

She looks up into his eyes, and I can see a touch of regret in them as she shakes her head and looks away.

“Eyes on mine,” he demands, and her head jerks up to meet his eyes again. “Should you be punished for what you’ve done?”

She nods again, this time keeping her eyes on his.

He moves his fingertips to her chin, and he taps once. “Open your mouth.”

She does.

“Put my cock in your mouth and suck it,” he demands. “Drop your hands.”

She does.

This is a punishment? She seems to be enjoying it as much as he is.

He thrusts his hips into her mouth as he places his hands on the back of her head to hold her in place, and then he starts to hammer away, fucking her mouth. She sits there and takes it, which is my first clue that she’s done this before.

He pulls out of her mouth and jerks off onto her tits. A little shoots off near her mouth, too, and she’s frozen into position as he finishes, his grunts filling our small viewing area.

“You may taste it,” he says, and she does. “That’s enough. You will not pleasure yourself until you are back in this room with me next week.”

He tucks himself in and zips his pants back up, and then he walks out of the room.

The two women are still on the bed doing things to each other, but he leaves Sapphire alone there on the floor.

The room goes dark, signaling that the scene is over. The viewers in our room stand to leave, but I don’t move.

“What about the aftercare?” I ask.

Brandi shrugs. “Some doms do it, some don’t. He chose that as his form of punishment for whatever Sapphire did. Well that and withholding her pleasure.” She tsks under her breath. “For an entire week. Damn. I can barely go half a day without an orgasm.” She laughs.

My brows dip. Withholding aftercare just seems…wrong. “But the aftercare—isn’t that the most important part?” From what I’ve learned during my very brief research, it’s the part that makes everyone feel good about what just happened. I wonder how Sapphire feels right now—if she feels left alone or tossed aside, or if she knows he did it because he’s punishing her.

I mean…she’d have to know that, right? It’s a mutual understanding between two people, of course.

“For some couples, sure. But for many, the scene is the important part, or the physical act of sex is the important part. It’s different for everybody.”

“What about you?” I ask.

“As long as I get mine, I walk away a happy girl.” She winks at me, and I think this is the part where she expects me to give her hers , so to speak.

But I’m more concerned about the women in the scene we just watched and whether they’re going to get the care they need after what they just did.