“Has to be discussed beforehand.”
I went through it so often that JC’s responses became rote, basically repeating whatever I’d said with a nod of his head. The more he parroted what I said, the more I feared he wasn’t really listening to me, that he wasn’t authentically committing, and so I’d go over it again. It was a vicious cycle that had both of us snapping at each other by the end of the second week.
Then it was Saturday, the day we’d decided to attend, and instead of being the anxious ball of nerves that I’d been winding toward, a charged calm settled over me. I was excited and tranquil all at once. I’d researched as much as I could, and still had no idea what we were in for, and that was okay. I was going to let it be fun.
The party this week was an hour outside Manhattan in Greenwich, Connecticut. Normally we used public transportation and Ubers for our day-to-day travel needs, and while we did seriously consider taking an Uber, JC ended up pulling our rarely-driven BMW out of the garage for the journey. I’d saved putting on my makeup for the ride so I’d have something to focus on, something that wasn’t wondering what the hell we were in store for. It was a well-thought-out distraction, for the most part, despite the dwindling daylight. Thank goodness for lighted mirrors.
The sun was completely gone when we pulled up to the address indicated on the GPS, a two-story manor house with a stone wall and plenty of acreage.
“I’m going to park down the road a bit,” JC said when he saw the lavish circle driveway packed with cars. “In case we need to make a quick getaway.”
I laughed but was glad we were on the same page.
He parked and got out of the car, hurrying over to help me out of my side. Once I was standing next to him, my stiletto heels bringing me nearer than usual to his six foot height, he drew his eyes over me, slowly. I’d chosen to wear a ballet pink midi dress with a draped skirt that knotted at the neck. I hadn’t wanted to be too exposed on my first visit to the club, but I’d simultaneously worried I hadn’t dressed sexy enough.
JC’s heavy gaze convinced me I’d chosen just fine.
“You look stunning,” he said, almost surprised, as though he’d just looked at me for the first time that night. It was a very real possibility considering the hustle and bustle there’d been turning the kids over to my brother and getting out of the house.
I hadn’t really looked at him, either, and I did so now, giving him as much attention as he’d given me as I took in his dark blue Armani suit. The jacket was double-breasted and tailored, but he’d paired it with a multi-shaded blue button-down that gave him a casually classy look. He’d always been able to wear a suit like a god, and this occasion was no different, but I was taken aback by how long it had been since I’d noticed that. When was the last time I’d truly looked at this man? Truly appreciated him? I sort of took him for granted these days, and the realization stung.
“What’s the matter?” he asked when I’d stared too long without speaking. “Should I have worn something else?”
I blinked out of my reverie. “Nope. You’re perfect.” Before I could get too sappy, I grabbed his hand in mine and started tugging him down the street. “Now let’s get inside so I can show you off.”
We walked a total of two steps before a terrible thought occurred to me, bringing me to an abrupt halt. “Titus! Is he going to be there? Is that going to be weird?”
JC’s expression, which had gone into worried mode when I’d stopped, relaxed. “No, thank God. He left last week for Europe for a big project for a year. There could be other people we know, though…”
“I know.” I’d tried not to think about it, and still didn’t want to now. “We’ll deal with that when we have to. I’m just glad I don’t have to worry about Titus trying to get his paws all over my man.” Like, what if he thought our acceptance of the invitation was an acceptance of something more? What if he thought we owed him?
“Not happening,” JC reassured me. “Even if he were here. Let me go on to assure you that no man is getting his paws all over your man.”
That mollified me. Though I didn’t miss that he hadn’t said anything about the paws of women.
The house was in one of the wealthiest areas of the country, and, if the myriad of Jags, Cadillacs, and Porsches in the driveway indicated, the members of The Open Door were equally of means. We had money because JC had been born with that privilege, but I’d come from poverty and was still a penny pincher. I had simple needs and even the most extravagant of my wants could be afforded on my salary alone. That aspect of the current environment made me feel out of place, and for the first time since I’d said yes, I started to doubt myself.
“It’s not too late to turn back,” my intuitive husband said as we reached the top of the front steps. “Last chance.”
I considered for the length of a deep breath. “I don’t want to turn back. I want to see what this is all about.” The sign posted on the door invited members to just walk in, and JC reached his hand out toward the knob, when I added, “And remember―”
“No touching of others, no touching of us. I got it, babe. Trust me.” He kissed me on the side of the mouth then opened the door, and there we were, guests at our first sex party.
Immediately, it was like no other party I’d been to. A man in a butler’s outfit―a man I was pretty certain wasn’t actually a butler―checked our names and ID to be sure we were members then sent us to a table that had been set up in the foyer where a woman in a French maid’s outfit took our cell phones.
“What color?” she asked, gesturing to three separate colors of paper wrist bracelets in front of her.
Shit if I knew.
I looked to JC. “What does each color stand for?” he asked, somehow managing to sound like we’d just forgotten rather than like we were clueless.
“Red means you’ve already consented to physical compliments and non-sexual touch as a means of initiation. Black means that verbal consent is required before anyone touches or compliments you. The white means you’d prefer to initiate any interaction.”
“White,” JC and I said in unison.
With a bored sigh, she tore off two white bracelets and wrote a number on one of them before she handed them to us. “That’s your claim number for your cell phones. If you’d like a guided initiation, talk to Ang over there.” She nodded toward a transgender woman down the hall who was dressed like an angel, complete with wings and a halo.
“Thanks.” JC grabbed the bracelets and put his hand to the small of my back, ushering me away from the maid. “We don’t need a―?”
I answered before he finished asking the question. “No. I’d prefer to initiate ourselves, I think.”
“Same.” He took my hand and placed the paper wristband around it before bringing it up to kiss my palm. “So let’s get initiating, shall we?”
I waited for him to put on his own band then linked my arm in his, urging him to lead the way.
Without a guide, we couldn’t know for sure what areas were off limits, if any, but there were several rooms accessible from the foyer that appeared to be available. JC chose to steer us to the right, into a formal living room. There was a sofa and loveseat that I imagined were permanent fixtures as well as several mismatched chairs circling the perimeter, like it was book club night and the owners of the house needed to accommodate the extra guests. In other words, very ordinary.
That was where the ordinary stopped.
The space was filled with people in various states of undress. Some were making out. Some were humping with all their clothes on. Some were naked but just talking. The group sitting on the floor in front of the couch were in a massage line, each rubbing the back of the person in front of them. One man was doing a striptease for the three onlookers sitting on the loveseat. Next to us a foursome tickled each other with long peacock feathers, and, in the corner, a large group sat in a circle, masturbating.
A queen-size mattress had been placed in the center of the room, and a trio of women
dressed in burlesque outfits were kissing and petting there. We watched them from the doorway until a couple nearby vacated the armchair and gestured to JC for us to take it.
“Was that…?” I whispered, my eyes following the tall dark-skinned male half of the pair.
“Pretty sure, yeah.”
I didn’t know sports figures by name, but this one was familiar enough that I recognized his face. And frame. And those perfectly sculpted biceps. And his tight, tight…
JC tugged me sharply down onto his lap. “Would you rather follow after them?” he whispered in my ear.
“Uh…” Yes? Was that an option? But also, no. Because I was already on the verge of being overstimulated. “I’m happy right here,” I said, not quite sure happy was the right word. Intrigued was more appropriate. Fascinated.
We sat together, watching the women as they shed their clothing and moved past foreplay to breast play. Or I pretended to watch them. While I caught the gist of what they were doing, I snuck more glances around the room, blushing and turning quickly away every time someone caught me staring. It felt wrong. Naughty. Yet, a few seconds later, my head would twist again and my eyes would fix on something new and exciting and taboo.
There were so many sights to behold, so many images. The man with the penis pierced in not one, but two places. The woman treating the man at her feet like he was her dog. The man at her feet who kept barking and panting. There was no way I’d remember everything to be able to report back to Alayna. Some of it was sexy, for sure―the two men going down on the woman on the couch was pretty hot. A lot of it, though, was just too...different.
One of the women on the mattress had just (incredibly) orgasmed from having her tits sucked and nothing else when JC nuzzled my ear. “I’d like to try another room when you’re up for it.”
“Ready now.”
The next room seemed to be a toy room of sorts. There were spanking benches and rings hanging from the ceiling with ropes threaded through them and one of those X shaped crosses. An assortment of riding crops and whips were laid out next to a basket of wet wipes, condoms and lube. In the center of the room was a gadget that looked a lot like a saddle except it had a remote control that made it vibrate in different ways. A gray-haired woman sat on it while an equally elderly man played with the dials, changing the speed and rhythm of the vibration of the saddle. A second, younger woman stood behind the contraption, striking the older woman repeatedly with a flogger.
It took exactly two minutes before JC and I turned in unison and walked out. Apparently neither of us were into pain with our sex.
“Maybe it’s something that you have to really try to understand? Maybe it grows on you.” I thought I should at least give it the benefit of the doubt.
“Not interested,” JC said with finality. Well, now I knew.
The next room we walked into was dark, the only light coming from the hallway. I could make out a naked man lying face down on a massage table in the middle of the space, and an Asian woman standing to the side. A crowd of people were gathered so, out of curiosity, JC and I joined them. After a few minutes, it appeared that what we were witnessing was a simple rub-down.
Except then the masseuse picked up a wand with a handle on one end and some sort of cloth ball at the other. She dipped it into a bucket of what looked like water, which I realized was really alcohol, because when she brought a lighter to it, it lit up with fire. She then took the torch and swiped it over the man’s back. Her other hand followed the path of the torch, rubbing the heat into his skin. The fire didn’t last long, but as soon as it went out, she repeated the process.
After this went on for awhile, with me flinching the entire time, the masseuse brought a second wand out. This one she dipped in the alcohol, but she didn’t light it. Instead she drew a shape on the man’s back with the alcohol, then, with the first wand, she lit the shape on fire.
“Oh, my God,” I gasped, clapping my hand over my mouth too late. A few people near us chuckled at my reaction. I could feel my cheeks heat like they were the ones on fire.
We stayed for a little while longer, but then the therapist started lighting glass cups and putting them rim down on the man’s back, and I was ready to leave.
“They offer cupping at my day spa,” I said as I tugged JC out into the hall. “If I decide I want to do it one day, I don’t need a bunch of strangers watching.”
We stopped at the bottom of the stairs. There was another room on this floor, but we could hear noise coming from above us as well. JC gave me a questioning look.
I was torn. It seemed quieter upstairs, which made it appealing, but also scarier. I had a feeling it was a whole other level up there, literally and figuratively. Excited voices coming from the next room provided the deciding factor. As much as I longed for a less crowded space, I was drawn by curiosity.
This room seemed to be a library with bookshelves along three of the walls. It wasn’t lined with chairs along the perimeter like the first room. Instead, it had pillows. Stacks and stacks of giant pillows. In the center of the room, a woman in a wrap dress and heels stood with a man wearing black dress pants and a black sweater who was holding a small tool bag and a roll of duct tape in the other. He held the tape up and addressed the audience.
“I prefer something softer for beginners―neckties or satin scarves,” he said. “But if you and your partner are ready to push to the next level, duct tape and zip ties can offer another level of realism to the fantasy.”
A binding demonstration sounded kind of hot. I’d daydreamed about being tied up before. This was definitely interesting.
We found an unoccupied spot on the floor and settled in to watch whatever was about to play out, expecting the man to show different methods and materials to use when binding someone else.
Instead, when he’d finished talking about the tape, he dropped it in his bag, hiked it up over his shoulder and said they were ready to get started.
The room fell to a hush as the man came and crouched in the corner near us. The woman took a book off the bookshelf and began walking around the space, pretending to be reading as she did. Without a glance toward her scene partner, she passed by us. I was so distracted watching what she’d do next, I didn’t notice the man leave us to stalk behind her until he’d grabbed her.
Instantly, she screamed. A real-life blood-curdling scream. The man clapped his hand over her mouth. She struggled―really struggled. She kicked and bit and flailed. But he fought just as hard. Convincingly hard. She was going to be bruised when this was over. Was that sexy?
When he slapped her hard across the jaw, I started to wonder if someone should stop him. I looked from JC to the people sitting next to us to the people sitting across from us.
“It’s rape play,” said a voluptuous woman at my side.
“Oh.” I wasn’t so naïve as to have never heard of the thing, but I’d always envisioned rape play as frisky struggling in bed. Where the woman would say, “Stop,” and “No,” and then giggle because they both knew she didn’t mean it.
I hadn’t expected there to be an actual physical altercation.
I couldn’t decide how I felt about it, watching this man literally hold her down, binding her wrists and covering her mouth with duct tape from the tool bag―his “rape kit,” apparently. All the while, she screamed and wailed as he said things like, “I only like it more when you cry,” and “If you bite my cock, I’ll break your neck.”
It was too real. Disturbingly real. Make-my-skin-crawl real.
And yet, it was also arousing.
I was keenly aware of the dampness of my panties and my beaded nipples brushing across the material of my dress as my chest rose and fell with jittery breaths.
I couldn’t even look at JC. I didn’t want to know what he thought about the display. And there was absolutely no fucking way I’d let him know I was turned on.
Once the woman was sufficiently bound, the man literally tore her dress off her, the ripping sound causing someo
ne next to me to let out an awed gasp. I didn’t know who. I couldn’t tear my eyes off the scene to look as he forcefully fucked the woman, smacking her when she tried to claw at him. Holding her in place when she tried to get away. Putting his hands around her throat when she screamed too loud behind the tape.
Somehow, despite her protestations, the woman managed to orgasm. Not once, but three times, from what I could tell. Though that didn’t necessarily mean anything since I had learned once that women could get wet and sometimes even orgasm from real rape, despite not wanting it to happen to them. Nevertheless, when the scene was over and the audience applauded, this woman appeared so satiated that she glowed.
“Whoa,” JC said quietly behind me, a single syllable that didn’t give me any indication of whether it was a good whoa or a bad whoa or a what-the-hell-did-I-just watch whoa.
“Whoa,” I repeated with the same ambiguousness.
We continued to watch as they cleaned up. JC winced when the man pulled the duct tape off her mouth. She got out of the bindings at her wrist by herself, which was oddly fascinating. I’d always thought duct tape was the impenetrable fix-all, but all she did was raise her arms above her head then drop them really fast, shooting her elbows to the side, and the tape broke clean through.
At that, I finally looked at my husband, “How cool was that?” poised on my lips. The words stuck in my mouth, though, when I saw the uneasy look he wore and the pale color of his face.
“I’m ready to leave,” he said, pulling me up with him as he stood. “If that’s okay.”
“Yeah. Okay,” I said, not quite certain this was the note I wanted to end the night on.
On the other hand, the rape scene had been the most intriguing portion of the evening, and it had also been the most discomforting. If there was anything left at the party to pique my curiosity, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
Chapter Six
Without a word, we headed back to the foyer and collected our phones. We didn’t touch or speak as we walked back to the car, the weight of everything we’d just seen and experienced pressing heavy between us. There was so much to process. So many kinks I’d only ever read about. So many more I’d never heard of at all.
The Open Door: A Found Duet Novella Page 4
