The Black Door
Page 8
“You shouldn’t let that girl rattle you like this.”
“You’re right, but you should’ve seen her, with her perky tits on display for the world to see. And Preston focused on business as usual, like she didn’t faze him in the least.”
“I know Preston has been emotionally detached lately, but you don’t honestly think he’s sleeping with her, do you?” Meri asked, trying to be the voice of reason.
Ariel dabbed her eyes with the tissue. “He must be getting it somewhere, because he sure hasn’t been making love to me lately.”
“Darling, you have to let go of the paranoia and relieve some of that pent-up frustration. I thought that’s why you were going to The Black Door.” Meri gave her a questioning look. “You did go, didn’t you?”
Ariel’s mouth began to curve up at the corners until a smile brightened her face, erasing the remnants of her sadness, and her mind drifted from the present to the infamous Black Door. “Yes, I went.”
“And?” Meri asked, anxiously awaiting every scintillating detail.
“And . . .” She fanned the damp tissue across her face. “It was amazing. I couldn’t believe all of the activities going on under one roof,” she said excitedly.
“Did I not tell you that it’s the ultimate playground?”
“Playground is an understatement! The Black Door is like Disneyland on Ecstasy. Everybody was so touchy-feely”
“So, tell me, missy who did you touch and feel?” she asked sarcastically.
She thought about the woman who felt her up, and though she did touch the woman’s boobs, it wasn’t by choice. “Nobody,” Ariel said quickly, darting her eyes to the floor, preferring not to go into detail.
Meri put her index finger to her chin. “Hmm, you answered that question just a little too fast. I’m sure somebody turned you on.”
“Well, there was this one guy who—”
Meri cut her off midsentence. “Did he have on a cobalt-blue mask?” She bit her bottom lip. “The last time I was at The Black Door, he took me down to the dungeon, blindfolded me, tied me up between two pillars, and took me from behind like a Mandingo warrior. I’m telling you, it was the most erotic sex of my life.”
“Dungeon?” Ariel looked shocked. “There’s a dungeon?”
“Oh, yes, darling.” Meri grinned, as if recalling the experience. “And it’s chockful of all kinds of toys, from sadomasochistic whips and chains, to sex swings, to orgasmic hot wax. I’m surprised you didn’t explore the bowels of the club. Didn’t you take a tour of the place?”
“I went upstairs, but only ventured halfway down the hall,” she admitted.
“Why only halfway? What happened? I thought you were going to get an eyeful, and possibly get a little more.” She winked.
Ariel looked sheepish. “That was the plan, but I got nervous. I’ve never experienced anything like that in my life. Men and women were coming on to me right and left. It was a little overwhelming.”
“Ah, yes, the women.” Meri arched an eyebrow. “They can be aggressive, but all you had to do was say no and move on. That’s the beauty of wearing a mask; you’re totally anonymous and can do and say whatever’s on your mind.”
“At times I forgot that my face was concealed.”
“Next time you go back, just remember that your identity is totally safe. Besides, you can be as freaky as you want to be; after all, you are wearing my mask, and we both know how much I enjoy sex.” Meri chuckled.
Meri’s words resonated loud and clear, and Ariel knew without a doubt that she would cross The Black Door’s threshold again, if for nothing else than to experience the energy she felt with the black-masked server. She needed to get a healthy dose of self-esteem, and he was just what the doctor ordered.
AFTER RUNNING AN important errand, Trey was back at the club, locked away in his office, up to his eardrums in paperwork, poring over vendor invoices. As he sat crunching numbers on the calculator, his mind drifted to the woman he had encountered on the steps the other night. There was something about her body language that turned him on, causing his dick to rise to new heights. He couldn’t get the sensation he felt out of his mind. Trey had an advantage over the members; though they didn’t know his identity, he had their complete profiles on record.
Recalling the red patent-leather mask she wore, Trey abandoned the boring paperwork, walked over to the file cabinet, and retrieved a thick manila folder labeled “Client/Mask.” He opened the folder and scanned the long list of masks that he had designed. Alongside each client name was a picture of her identity-concealing mask.
“Meri Renick,” Trey said aloud, reading the name next to the Polaroid of her mask. To refresh his memory, he read her profile, which included a physical description. The file described her as being five five, but the woman he vibed with on the stairs was much taller. “Maybe she had on stilettos,” he reasoned. The file also said that she was forty-something, but the woman he encountered was more youthful. Though he couldn’t see her entire face, he was an expert on bodies, and her body was that of a younger woman—ripe and voluptuous. Again he tried to reconcile what was on the paper with what he saw with his own eyes. “She’s probably had some work done.” Though he met with each woman during the initial phase of membership, he couldn’t recall his meeting with Meri Renick, which wasn’t unusual, since she had joined a few years ago when the club opened and he had met with a ton of women since then.
Trey had a self-imposed “hands-off” policy and didn’t get involved with the members, but maybe he’d have to make an exception this once and bend the rules to satisfy his mounting curiosity. After all, rules were made to be broken.
“I wonder if she’s here tonight.” Trey paced back and forth, his brain racing, trying to decide whether or not to walk through the club to find Ms. Renick or whoever was behind the red mask. Older women were not his preference, but she was different somehow, and it made him want to find out what made her tick.
Finally his inquisitive nature and his libido won out over his common sense. He wasn’t dating anyone seriously and hadn’t been laid in about a month. He went to the private bathroom inside his office, changed from blue denims and a white cotton shirt into his signature black wife-beater, which accentuated the ripples across his taunt midsection, and a snug pair of black jeans, which hugged his thick dick. Trey opened a bureau drawer, took out his onyx-embellished black leather mask and put it on, and sprayed his neck with Bvlgari, his favorite scent. After making his transformation from club owner to club stud, he left his office on the third floor and ventured downstairs in search of the woman behind the red patent-leather mask.
The second floor was pulsating with a hedonistic energy that was contagious, and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. Trey walked into the Game Room, with its purple leather-paneled walls and floors, and observed two members playing Naked Twister with two house hulks. The women were bent over with their legs spread wide across a colorful mat with red, blue, green, and yellow circles, while the men lay flat on their backs in the buff, strategically close underneath the women’s exposed clits. There was also a game of Dominatrix Dominoes being played, with human dominoes, dressed in spikes and chains, lined ass-to-ass, posed to topple one another with the slightest touch of one’s opponent. Trey scanned the masks of each member in the room, and when he didn’t see his mark, he moved on.
The Tantalizing Toy Room was where members could choose vibrators, heat-sensitive gels, edible panties, butt-plugs, and fur-lined handcuffs to enhance their pleasure. Trey noticed two women wearing only their masks and high heels, bending across the glass counter pointing and oohing and aahing over a flesh-tone, fifteen-inch dildo.
“Hmm, I could take every inch of that fake dick,” said the blonde.
“Plastic ain’t nothing like the real thing,” responded the brunette.
“I could take a plastic cock up my ass, and the real deal in my pussy, all the while sucking you into a frenzy,” challenged the blond
e in return.
The brunette grabbed the blonde’s ass and said, “Come on; let’s go into the Pink Room and find a big-dick server; then you can put your tongue on my sweet spot.”
On the way out, the two women looked Trey over thoroughly, sizing him up, trying to decide if he fit their requirements. But they brushed past him clinging to each other, leaving him standing in the doorway. Obviously, he wasn’t their flavor.
Trey drifted from room to room looking for the woman in the red patent-leather mask, but his search came up empty. Feeling deflated, he sulked down the darkened hallway toward the stairs. As he navigated the narrow steps, his mind flashed back to the heated encounter with Meri Renick. He hesitated, closed his eyes, and relived their brief moment together. His breath became shallow as he gave into the memory He didn’t know her, but she had his senses wide open, and he was more determined now than ever to find out why.
10
WORK WAS Ariel’s antidote for what ailed her. It was the one constant in her life; in school it was homework that kept her preoccupied. She welcomed the distraction from her daydreams. She would sit for hours and fantasize about her birth mother coming to rescue her from foster care. In her dreams her “real” mother was a beautiful Hollywood movie star who had to put Ariel up for adoption until her career took off. Now that she was a megastar, she’d come back for the baby that she abandoned. Only her mother never came. Now Ariel counted on the myriad cases that she presided over to keep her mind preoccupied. Since Preston was absorbed with his career, Ariel thought that she could find solace in hers, instead of focusing on The Black Door. But she couldn’t stop thinking about the man that she had met on the steps. Well, it wasn’t like they had had a formal introduction; nevertheless he remained a formidable fixture in her mind.
Ariel picked up a file, flipped it open, and read the intimate details. The client was a well-known sportscaster who was being sued for divorce. New York was one of the toughest states in which to dissolve a marriage, since no-fault grievances existed; you couldn’t claim irreconcilable differences. The case before her cited adultery for the breakup, and went on to describe how, during their two-year marriage, the wife had cheated over six times with six different men. She had cleverly hid her infidelity by making calls to her lovers on a second cell phone that her husband was unaware of, since the bills went to a secret post office box. Five of her lovers were athletes; she would interview them in the locker room and after seeing their “equipment,” she knew exactly what they were working with, and if well hung, she’d schedule a horizontal interview in her hotel suite. The sixth man was a coworker, whom she had dated for several years before she was married. After the honeymoon years faded and the marriage had lost its lust, she got antsy and rekindled the relationship with her ex-boyfriend, with whom she had always had sizzling hot sex. They fucked in the control room of the station after hours; she sucked him off in her office, and even humped him in one of the stalls in the men’s room. Ready to take their relationship out of the shadows of deception and come clean about their affair, her lover insisted that she make a choice—him or her husband. When she didn’t choose him, he became enraged and sent a series of anonymous notes to her house. She adamantly denied the allegations to the point of tears, and would’ve gotten away with the extramarital affairs, until her lover overnighted incriminating pictures directly into the hands of her husband. In the eight-by-ten glossies, she was on her knees giving her lover a good old-fashioned blow job at the job. With the mounting evidence, her husband hired a private investigator, who gathered enough dirt to bury her in divorce court and walk away with a hefty settlement.
Ariel closed the manila folder and sighed. “This is a tough one.” She leaned back in her chair and shook her head in distress. “How am I supposed to countersue with all the evidence in his favor?” Ariel repeatedly drummed her pencil on her desk, trying to think of a solution. She had never lost a case, and didn’t plan on losing this one, even though the evidence against her client was incriminating. “I need to follow suit and hire a private investigator of my own to find something damaging against the husband. I’m sure he’s been creeping around with someone since his wife hasn’t been sexing him up; that’s the only chance I’ll have to keep him from getting half of her assets.
“JoAnne, can you ring Tim Anderson’s office?” Ariel asked her assistant.
After a few minutes, JoAnne spoke through the intercom. “Ms. Vaughn, he’s in the conference room.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll walk down there and speak to him in person.” Tim Anderson was a criminal attorney who had a roster of the best PIs in town.
As Ariel approached the conference room, the door was ajar. She could hear voices corning from inside.
“I just love going to Baltimore for depositions.” It was Bob, one of the managing partners.
“You mean, you love ‘The Block.’ “ Tim chuckled.
The Block was a strip of triple-X clubs near the harbor catering to men of all classes and ages. After a long day’s work, out-of-town businessmen ate a hardy meal of Maryland crab cakes at some of the finest restaurants along the harbor, and then got their freak on with some of the raunchiest dancers in the state.
“Yes indeed, I do love The Block!” She heard the smile in Bob’s voice. “You should’ve seen the redhead who took me into the VIP room.” He whistled. “She had the biggest tits and ass I’ve ever seen. I slipped the bouncer a hundred-dollar bill to turn his head while I sucked her nipples and played with her pussy, as she grinded that big ass on my cock.”
Ariel couldn’t believe buttoned-up Bob was talking T&A instead of billable hours. Then again, thinking back to the Lancaster benefit, she remembered how he ogled her boobs. He’s just a big old freak, she thought.
“Well, she must’ve had a twin sister, because the stripper I played with all night had the same assets.” Tim laughed.
Ariel could hear them slapping five and enjoying the camaraderie that men shared while discussing the female gender. Men, she huffed and rolled her eyes. Why is it that they get kudos for fucking as many women as they can slip their dicks into, while we get judged for enjoying the same pleasures?
“Excuse me,” she huffed loudly, while pushing the door wide open, purposely disrupting their bonding session. She gave them both the evil eye, letting them know that she had heard every single word. “Am I interrupting an important meeting or something?”
Bob cleared his throat and changed his tone from that of freaky frat boy to high-powered attorney, and asked with an air of superiority, “What can I do for you, Ariel?”
She couldn’t believe his arrogance; she wanted to call him on the carpet and ask, “So did you bill your little outing to the company?” But she knew the truth, and the truth was that the receipts from “The Block” would get billed to the client as a simple travel and entertainment expense, and no one would be the wiser. Ariel ignored Bob’s question, refusing to be talked down to, and turned toward Tim. “What’s the name of the PI you used on the Collins case?”
“Mac Davis,” Tim answered sheepishly.
“What’s his number?”
“His card is in my Rolodex. Can I e-mail it to you in about five minutes? Is that okay?” he asked, trying to accommodate her.
“Sure,” Ariel said, and walked out, leaving them to their fantasies.
Back in her office, she couldn’t help but think about the interchange between Bob and Tim, and how comfortable they were sharing their exploits at the strip club. “Why am I being such a prude? If they can get their freak on, and then boast about it later, why can’t I?” With that thought in mind, she knew exactly what her plans were for the evening.
ARIEL RAIDED THE liquor cabinet as soon as she got home, mixed an extra-dry martini, and tossed it back within seconds, then poured another. She planned to arrive at The Black Door free of any inhibitions, and vodka was the lubricant she needed to loosen her self-imposed restraints. Tonight she planned on doing more than just looking.
“Perfect,” she said, holding up a red corset with garters, matching thong, and a pair of silk stockings.
Ariel gingerly slipped into the delicate ensemble, looked into the mirror, and smiled at her reflection. Gone was the conservatively clad attorney in a navy-blue suit and white blouse, replaced by a vampishly dressed vixen all decked out in red. The bustier portion of the corset pushed her large boobs so tightly together that they nearly spilled out of the top. She turned around to get a back view and gasped; her butt cheeks were totally exposed with only the thin strip of the thong peeking out from her crack. “I need another drink,” she mused, after looking at her nearly naked body.
After draining the last of the cocktail from the V-shaped glass, she put on a nondescript tan trench coat and tied the belt snuggly around her waist. She put the mask in her briefcase and headed downstairs.
The doorman greeted her with a smile and a tip of his hat, “Good evening, Ms. Vaughn.”
“Hello, Pete.”
“Heading back to the office?” he asked, looking down at her briefcase.
The plain coat concealed her secret perfectly. “You know me, Pete.” She almost snickered. “Always burning the midnight oil.”
“I’ll hail a taxi for you,” he offered, holding open the door.
“Thanks.”
Inside the cab, she removed the mask and put it on. Since it ended just below her nose, she took out her compact and gloss, and applied a thick layer of Mac’s ruby Lipglass. Her lips were now inviting and matched the mask to a tee. A vision in red from head to toe, Ariel felt extremely sexy and totally relaxed, thanks to the cocktails.
Pulling up in front of the club, the driver turned around and said, “That’ll be twenty-two fifty.” At first a look of shock registered on his face when he saw Ariel’s mask-clad face, but the expression quickly faded. This was New York, after all, and you were bound to see any- and everything in the course of a day.