My Boyfriend's Brother

by Cassandra Dee

  I think it over for a moment before replying, “It sounds like you need to make peace with that lifestyle just as much as you need to make peace with my brother. You’re conflicted, and something’s bugging you. But have you considered that it could be the nature of the photos themselves? That it’s not even Patrick so much, but what he was doing in those images?”

  She starts, looking at me with big eyes.

  “You think?”

  I nod thoughtfully.

  “It could be. I think you may be confusing two things: the shock of Patrick cheating, and the shock of learning about that type of lifestyle. The cheating is one thing, and it sucks, I’ll give you that. But if I had to guess, you’re already over it. What you’re not over could be the fact that people engage in such depraved play.”

  Two spots of color appear on her cheeks, and I know I’ve hit it on the head. Then I lean forward and speak in a low voice. “Maybe it would help for you to visit the club yourself. Have you thought about that, Libs? Just to see what it’s like?”

  “To the sex club?” Libby blurts out, looking around with flaming cheeks. “No, I can’t! Frisco, that’s insane. Why would I-”

  “Honey, I’m not asking you to participate,” I assure her, holding up a hand. “But I think it could be good for you to explore a little, just to get a sense of where my brother was coming from. You’ll see that the people who go to these places aren’t freaks. They’re perfectly normal in fact.”

  “You think I should try to see things from his perspective?” Libby asks, sounding incredulous. “But it’s wrong! And crazy!”

  I shrug.

  “It was wrong of him to cheat on you,” I say, “there’s no arguing with that. But sex is a complicated thing, and all humans are complicated people. It sounds like your religion is conflicting with your perception of a particular lifestyle. What you need isn’t to keep judging it from a distance, but to see it up close and make your own, unbiased conclusions. The people who go to clubs are humans, just like everyone else, no matter what kind of kinky stuff they’re into.”

  Libby gasps, already balking. “No, Frisco, that’s… I can’t. No way.” She shakes her head adamantly. “I mean, you didn’t see what they were doing in those photos! People were hanging from hooks, and getting slapped around hard. They were strapped to all sorts of contraptions. There was this one that looked like a giant X-”

  I nod. “A Saint Andrew’s cross,” I say. “I know the one.”

  She stares at me, eyes wide. “You do?”

  I shrug my broad shoulders. “I try to keep an open mind. I think it could benefit you to see what the club’s about. Again, you don’t have to participate.”

  Libby chews her lip, looking visibly confused. “I can’t, Frisco,” she murmurs. “I can’t just show up at a place like that. I would be too intimidated. Besides,” she adds, “I don’t even know the name of the place.”

  “You’re in luck,” I reply with a game smile, “because I do.”

  Her eyes look as big as dinner plates. “You do?”

  I nod. “It’s a place called Club Om. I haven’t been there in months - years, actually. I took a step back from that life back when I stopped drinking. But I used to go, and Club Om is the best of the best when it comes to this type of place, so I suspect it’s the one Patrick was frequenting too,” I reveal in an even tone. “Are you surprised?”

  She takes a sip of water before putting the glass down slowly.

  “A little,” Libby admits. I nod with understanding.

  “I’m actually pretty good friends with the owner, Bo,” I explain. “He’s a great guy, he just has some unusual interests, as do most of the people there. That’s the thing I think you need to realize, Libby: there’s nothing wrong with having diverse sexual interests. Maybe if you see first hand yourself, you’ll be able to let go of the trauma that happened more easily.”

  I can see the gears in her head turning as she mulls it over, conflict written on her beautiful features. After several long moments, she finally replies, “I guess if you were coming with me…”

  “Of course I will,” I say with a smile, even as my heart races. “I wouldn’t let you dive into that culture by yourself. Think of it as an experiment. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  That seems to do the trick, and I watch Libby’s shoulders relax as she finally nods. “All right,” she says, taking a steadying breath. “I can’t make any promises, but… okay. Let’s do it. Let’s go to this club and see what it has in store for us.”

  Libby doesn’t realize it, but a flame flares in my eyes when she says those words because there’s nothing more that I’d like to do more than to sample my curvy girl while she’s screaming with pleasure.

  9

  Libby

  * * *

  What have I done? That seems to be the only thought running through my mind as I stare blankly out the car window. What the hell have I done? OMG, I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. It’s always easy to talk about something in theory, but it’s another thing entirely to put your money where your mouth is. The thing about Frisco Arrington, however, is that the handsome CEO always puts his money where his mouth is.

  Right now, I’m sitting in the passenger seat of his Ferrari as he deftly navigates the streets of downtown Portland. We’re heading in the direction of the city outskirts, and my thighs tremble in anticipation. It’s been a week since our date at the restaurant, and even though I agreed to give Club Om a try, I can’t help but wonder if it’s not too late to back out now. I’m not the kind of girl to do things like this. I’m Christian. I go to Bible study, for goodness sake! The idea that I’m about to go to an underground BDSM club clashes so much with my lifestyle that my brain can barely process it at all.

  “You okay?” Frisco asks lightly, glancing at me as we pull up to a red light. “You look a little pale.”

  “I’m low-key freaking out,” I reply in a voice that doesn’t sound quite like my own, and glance down at my outfit, still in disbelief. It’s a skin-tight, black latex catsuit that took me almost an hour to get into. The neckline plunges, and the material clings tightly to every curve of my body. Even my nipples are visible through the latex, and my self-consciousness is at an all-time high. After all, Frisco took me to a specialty store to find this catsuit, and even just looking around at the bondage gear was enough to have me gasping with nerves. Wearing this outfit makes the situation feel more real somehow, and I’m not sure I’m cut out for it. I try to remind myself it’s just an experiment, like my boyfriend said, but I’m having a hard time convincing myself.

  “What are you freaking out about, exactly?” he asks gently, sensing my nerves. His voice is calm and reassuring, and that’s about the only thing that keeps me from having a full-blown anxiety attack. Of course, my boyfriend is also dressed to the nines. He’s wearing a tight white shirt which highlights his broad shoulders and muscular chest, and leather pants that leave little to the imagination. I swear, his bulge is growing even as we drive.

  “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” I whisper, swallowing hard. “I mean, what’s going to happen to us in there? What are they going to think?”

  “Hey.” He reaches over to put a hand on my leg. “I promise, Libby, nothing bad is going to happen to you. I’ll make sure of that. I’ll be there the whole time, and you have my word: I’ll take care of you. You’re safe.”

  “Promise?” I whisper again.

  Frisco doesn’t miss a beat. “Promise,” he growls, looking deeply into my gaze.

  I close my eyes and nod, taking a deep breath. You’re going to be fine, I tell myself. It will be an adventure. Frisco’s here. You’re in good hands.

  Those affirmations are what help me keep it together as we leave the city center while heading into the edgier, alternative outskirts of Portland. At last, we pull off a side street and into the parking lot of what looks like an abandoned warehouse. The only giveaway is the low sound of bass music pulsating across
the parking lot, making the asphalt throb. When we get out of the car, I can see other people heading in, decked out in gags, straps, leashes, and chains. This is so far out of my league that I could almost swear it’s some kind of fever dream.

  Frisco puts his hand protectively on my waist, and I cling to that solid bulk as he leads me up to the front entrance, where a bouncer dressed as a leather daddy greets him with a smile. “Long time no see, Mr. Arrington,” he says.

  “Indeed,” Frisco replies with a smile. “Is Bo around?”

  “Just inside,” the bouncer says. “Last I saw, he was in the main room.”

  Frisco thanks him as the bouncer swings open the door for us. In spite of the neon lights, there’s a bit of smoke swirling about, and I can’t see very far. “You ready?” the handsome man murmurs in my ear.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply, and we walk forward. No going back now.

  We emerge into the dimly-light main room, which has massive concrete walls and no windows. Side rooms are visible, some blocked off with curtains for privacy, and some in full display for the other patrons. Before I can get a good look around, a huge, dark-haired man materializes in front of us. He’s shirtless, displaying an impressive six pack, and wearing only a tight pair of black leather pants.

  “Frisco Arrington, is that you?” he growls, blue eyes flashing. “Here I was thinking you’d gotten tired of this scene.”

  “Hardly,” Frisco grins, clasping his arm firmly about my waist. “Bo, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Libby Rain. Libby, this is Bo, the owner of Club Om.”

  “A pleasure,” Bo nods my way, his piercing gaze scorching my curves. But then he smiles like a gentleman. “I’d like to be the first to welcome you to my little club. Any questions, feel free to hit me up. Or if you need any assistance while scening, I’m more than happy to come to the side of a beautiful woman like yourself.”

  I’m not sure what to say, my throat going dry, but Frisco tenses with possession.

  “Thanks but that’s not needed,” my boyfriend growls, taking my hand in his big one. “Come on, sweetheart. I’ll show you around.”

  Shrugging helplessly at Bo, I turn with Frisco and we stroll a bit. I wish I could say I walk with confidence, but the butterflies in my stomach are in full flight as we start our tour, and they only get more intense as we go. The fact that it’s so dark in here doesn’t ease my nerves, either. The only light sources are glowing neon signs and occasional flashing strobes, which illuminate all kinds of kinky activity going on. It’s astonishing.

  “They really don’t mind other people watching?” I ask Frisco as we pass a set of sawhorses. Men and women are bound to them, bent forward so as to be fully accessible to their leather-clad companions, who stimulate their partners with everything from feathers to riding crops. Dark techno music fills the air, but it’s not loud enough to drown out the throaty moans and delicate whines rising from the crowd.

  Frisco nods. “It’s a power thing,” he rasps as we walk past a blindfolded woman on her knees in front of a large man dressed in latex. She’s giving him a blowjob in full view of the others, who are watching the action with avid interest. “I know it’s hard for people new to the scene to understand, but this is what BDSM is all about. Power dynamics. That’s why people enjoy it.”

  I look up at him, but my boyfriend’s composed expression doesn’t give anything away. “What about you?” I ask cautiously. “Did you enjoy it?”

  Frisco gazes down me, a little surprised. “Of course,” he replies. “I didn’t come here just to hang out with Bo, if that’s what you’re asking. Shit, I would never let that motherfucker touch me. At the same time, though, I’m not someone who needs kinkiness to have a fulfilled sex life. I’m good with what we have together, sweetheart, don’t you worry.”

  I nod, squeezing his hand.

  “Patrick, on the other hand…” I say, my voice trailing off. It’s strange being right in the middle of all this, and even stranger to see it from my ex’s point of view. But there’s something interesting about the openness of the club members, and I can’t help but feel a little curious.

  We continue to work our way through the main floor, Frisco pointing out the various contraptions and devices and patiently explaining what each of them do. In one of the rooms to our left, with the curtains drawn back, I can see a topless woman splayed out on a table. Her companion is whipping her with a multi-tailed whip. “A cat o’ nine,” Frisco murmurs, and I watch with wide eyes as the leather flicks across her bare skin.

  What would that feel like? I wonder.

  Past a lineup of dominatrices, we come across a blindfolded man on his hands and knees. The woman standing next to him, looking a lot like Raina Peterson come to think of it, is holding a lit candle in her hand. I gasp, but then watch as she allows a droplet of the hot wax to fall onto the man’s lower back. He jerks in pleasure and pain. More wax trickles down, and I watch the man writhe under the stimulation, crying out with unabated ecstasy.

  I’m suddenly very aware of Frisco’s tall, muscular form next to me, and an image momentarily crosses my mind: me, on the floor of his apartment, as he does the same thing to me. How long would I last before I begged him to take me? Would he listen, or would he draw out the titillation until I explode with need?

  That’s when it finally hits me. Oh my god, I think, my mouth dropping open. I’m not disgusted by this stuff. I’m actually getting turned on by it.

  And it’s true. Under the tight-fitting latex, I can feel a familiar heat creeping into my pussy, and the feeling of Frisco’s hands on me is only making it stronger. It’s a side of sex I’ve never given much thought to before, but now I wonder how that was possible. The realization that I like this is both scary and liberating. “Wow,” I breathe. “Who would have thought?”

  My boyfriend turns to me, his blue eyes gleaming.

  “What do you think?” he asks, his tone deceptively casual as we come to a stop outside one of the private rooms.

  I pause for a moment.

  “It’s different,” I reply, my cheeks growing hot, “but not as bad as I was expecting.” I hesitate for a moment before adding shyly, “I could actually maybe see myself trying something like this sometime.” With the confession out, I balk, my face heating up again. “I-I mean, maybe,” I stammer.

  Frisco’s laugh comes out more like a bark, and the sound makes me squeeze my legs together in need. “That’s normal, Libby,” he growls as he pulls back the curtains to the private room. I see that it’s empty inside, and my boyfriend ushers me inside. There are all sorts of weird contraptions scattered about, but Frisco instead leads me over to one of the couches near the back, where I sit down and relax a little. He takes a seat beside me, his hand gently caressing my curves, but there’s no judgment or pressure in his eyes.

  “Is it really normal?” I ask, hardly daring to believe it. “Are you sure?”

  The handsome CEO nods. “It’s understandable to be scared at first,” he says, “because that’s how human beings are. People are naturally frightened of what they don’t know, especially after a religious upbringing. But it’s like anything else that you don’t understand,” he goes on, rubbing his hand persuasively over my thigh. “Once you experience the taboo in real time, you see that it isn’t something to be afraid of or disgusted by. It’s just another facet of sexuality, and anyone should be allowed to enjoy it, if that’s what they want.”

  “I guess you’re right,” I reply wonderingly. It’s not something I’ve ever thought about before, or even let myself think about. Seeing it from this perspective is different, though, like one of those optical illusions that only makes sense when you look at it from a certain angle.

  Not scary, I remind myself firmly, purring a bit under Frisco’s touch. Just different.

  “So?” my boyfriend growls, eyeing me. “Not so bad, right?”

  “Right,” I reply, and mean it. I turn to face him, and when I speak again, I’m painfully honest - n
ot just with him, but with myself, too. “I get it now. It’s still new, but I get it.” Then, I smile up at him. “Thank you for bringing me here, Frisco. I needed to see this more than I ever realized.”

  “I hope this has helped you make some sense of your feelings,” Frisco replies. “You’re special to me, Libby.”

  “So are you,” I whisper back, and reach up to touch his face with my hand. It’s funny. We’re in the middle of a darkened sex club with loud techno pounding around us. Wails, moans and shouts rise up from unseen couples, and yet this is one of the most intimate moments of our relationship. As I caress his cheek, he looks at me with glowing blue eyes, and I can’t resist anymore. I straighten up to press a kiss to his lips before whispering, “I love you, Frisco.”

  That does it. The alpha male’s lips come crashing down on mine, his strong arms wrapping around my torso like steel bands. Yet he feels so perfect against me, like we were made for each other, and in spite of the sexual chaos going on around us, I haven’t felt this comfortable in a long time. Everything is finally starting to make sense. There’s no guilt, no anxiety, and no shame to cloud my thoughts. This is what the beginnings of closure feel like in the arms of a man who cares deeply for me.

  10

  Libby

  * * *

  My experience at Club Om plays over and over again in my mind over the next few days. Part of me still can’t believe I actually did it! Not only did I go to the club, but I enjoyed my time there. Sure, Frisco and I didn’t “perform” for other people, the way exhibitionists do. In fact, we kept to ourselves, and yet our lovemaking was more intense and more passionate that night than it’s ever been. I felt cleansed, like a phoenix rising from the ashes as my lover came hard in me. The low growl of his release mixed with my moans of pleasure, and now, I am reborn.