The Black Door

by Velvet

  She paid the fare and got out of the cab. From the outside, the club resembled the other brownstones on the block; there were no overt signs to give away its true identity.

  Unlike before, Ariel knew what to expect and eagerly awaited the doorman’s greeting, and he didn’t disappoint as he “juiced” her up after she had given him the secret password. She stopped by the vodka fountain for another drink before heading upstairs to find her intended target.

  A bald, bare-chested, vanilla-colored man wearing a redleather codpiece and fire-engine-red mask strutted toward Ariel as she walked down the long hallway. Once he was within two inches of her, he stopped and slowly circled her like a tiger inspecting his prey. He rubbed the hard codpiece against her butt before whispering in her ear, “I love red.” He fingered the ribbing of her thong. “I could bend you over right now and fuck you without taking this off,” he said, snapping the elastic waistband.

  Ariel flinched slightly. She was wet and ready, and tempted to comply with his demand, but the only dick she wanted inside of her belonged to the man in the black leather mask. She shook her head. “No.”

  He rubbed his massive hand over her ass. “Come on, baby, let me make you cum.”

  His hot breath tickling her ear and his hand massaging her butt

  made her tingle all over. She was close to taking him up on his offer, but walked away instead. She was on a mission and refused to be sidetracked.

  Ariel walked by the Voyeurism Room and glanced through the glass. Inside were three couples having group sex. Limbs were intertwined; she couldn’t tell where one body part started and where one ended. Instead of lingering at the window, she kept walking down the darkened corridor in search of Mr. Black Mask.

  Fuchsia lighting spilled out into the hallway from the Pink Room. Ariel peeked her head inside looking for the man, but he wasn’t there. Inside were a group of nude women all wearing various tones of pink masks, from hot pink to Pepto-Bismol pink to cotton-candy pink; they were lounging on salmon-colored sofas, drinking pink Cosmos and playing with one another’s pink clits. With one look, Ariel knew why it was called the Pink Room; everything from the drinks to the lighting, to the furniture, to the exposed sexual organs was pink! Ariel kept walking before she was lured into the sordid soiree.

  She roamed through room after room, and saw everything from human board games to a boutique stocked with a cornucopia of sex toys. She saw everything but what she was looking for. Frustrated, Ariel entered a quaint, dimly lit bar area. The walls were draped in leopard skin, as were the bar stools and booths. The bartender wore a black and brown leopard-print mask complete with long whiskers.

  “What can I get for you, lovely?” he growled in a husky, animal-like voice.

  Ariel didn’t want anymore vodka; she was in the mood for something stronger. Her spirits were fading and she needed a jolt of adrenaline to keep up her pursuit. “Hmm.” She bit her bottom lip. “Do you have a drink menu?”

  He handed her a rectangular card with leopard print on one side and a list of cocktails on the other. She scanned the menu and couldn’t believe some of the names and descriptions:

  Cumtini Fresh cum, shaken with gin and a splash of grapefruit juice, served on the rocks.

  Pussimo Vodka, cranberry juice, essence of pussy juice, and triple-sec, shaken and served straight up.

  The Black Door, champagne with a splash of iced-cold vodka, garnished with a black Chilean grape, served chilled in a handblown flute. Though Ariel wanted a pick-me-up, her taste buds were not up to experimenting, so she chose something a bit more familiar. “I’ll have The Black Door.”

  “A classy drink, for a classy lady,” the bartender responded.

  Ariel sat on the stool and sipped her drink. Everyone in the room was getting her groove on, except her. There was a woman in one of the back booths sitting on the table with her legs spread wide open with a buffed hunk buried between her thighs. The way her head was thrown back, and the way she was moaning, it wasn’t hard to guess that he was noshing on her pussy.

  Ariel felt left out. I guess he isn’t here tonight I might as well go home and masturbate. She finished her drink and moseyed out.

  As she was walking down the hallway toward the stairs, someone grabbed her arm from behind, forcefully pulled her into an empty, closet-sized room, and locked the door. Ariel nearly stumbled, but the firm grip held her upright. She couldn’t see her abductor because he had her pressed face-first against the wall, but she could smell his cologne and it was intoxicating. Her body broke out in goose bumps the moment his hand rubbed her ass. He didn’t say a word as he ripped off her thong and fingered her clit. Ariel gasped as his fingers plunged deep into her vagina. Once she was dripping wet, he spread her cheeks, bent her over, and then filled her void with his throbbing cock.

  “Oh, yes, yes . . .” she moaned, as he moved his dick in and out rapidly.

  He grabbed her by the waist and nearly lifted her off the ground with each thrust. Ariel bucked back until they were both on the verge of climax. He quickly removed his dick and came all over her back, then massaged the creamy hot cum into her skin. She shivered with excitement. She had never been fucked so hard before, and it felt good.

  Ariel straightened up and turned around to face her seducer. Her knees buckled when she saw the black leather and onyx mask staring back at her. Neither one uttered a sound, just gazed into each other’s eyes through the slits of their mask. They were caught in a trance and seemed to be reading each other’s minds. She had no idea who this man was, but whoever he was, he not only had her body, but was capturing her mind with his intense stare.

  Ariel opened her mouth to speak, but he touched her lips with his index finger to stop any unnecessary dialogue that might ruin the mood. Her inner thighs quivered; she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and got lost in the smell of sex and his cologne. When she opened her eyes a few seconds later—ready for more—he was gone. Ariel wanted to go after him, but she was paralyzed from the alcohol and the fuck of her life.

  11

  PRESTON’S SECRETARY poked her head through the door and said in a low whisper so as not to disturb his telephone conversation, “Senator Oglesby is on line two.”

  Preston held up an index finger and mouthed, “Have him hold for a second.”

  Anna nodded her head okay, and backed out of the office, leaving her boss to finish his call.

  “Son, I hate to end our conversation so abruptly, but I have to take this call. But before I hang up, tell me, have you made a date with Michele yet?”

  “I’ve been so busy studying that I haven’t had a chance to call.”

  “The only reason I’m asking is that I’ve got to make amends with Ariel. She has it in her mind that I’m having an affair with Michele and if I can tell her that you’re dating my assistant, she’ll probably let me out of the doghouse.” He chuckled slightly, but was serious nonetheless.

  “Taking Michele out will be my pleasure. Consider it done. Who knows, maybe we can double date,” he joked.

  “I don’t think Ariel would be thrilled with that idea. Anyway, let me run. I’ll talk to you soon,” he said, and hung up.

  Preston clicked over to his second line. “Senator, sorry to keep you waiting. Did you have a chance to look over my fax?”

  “Yes, I read all thirty-two pages, and your dossier reads like a John Grisham novel, minus the murders and espionage, of course. Your legal career is stellar, and you should have no problem securing the nomination. There’s only one issue,” he said mysteriously.

  Preston thought for a minute, and mentally scanned the last twenty years of his professional life, but he could think of no embarrassing blemishes, no payola for favorable judgments, and no turning a blind eye in the face of corruption. “Sorry, Senator, but there isn’t one case that I’ve presided over, or any of my private cases, that would jeopardize my chances to sit on the Supreme Court,” Preston said with conviction.

  “Yes, that’s correct, but I’m not s
peaking of your years on the bench, or your years in private practice,” he said.

  “Well, what else is there?” Preston asked, totally baffled.

  “Your personal life.”

  Preston was shocked at his response. “My personal life?” he asked, not quite sure where this conversation was heading.

  “Yes, your personal life. The Judicial Committee not only scrutinizes your career, but they’re also interested in your life off the bench. They want a well-rounded candidate with a stable household.”

  “Excuse me, Senator, but my household is more than stable. I own a multimillion-dollar town house in one of the most expensive areas in Manhattan where I’ve lived for years. If that’s not stable, then I don’t know what is,” he said defensively.

  “I’m not talking real estate, Preston. I’m talking family. I know from your file and the society pages that you’ve been dating Ariel Vaughn of Yates Gilcrest for a number of years.”

  “Yes, that’s true. Ms. Vaughn is not only an attorney, but a senior partner with the firm and a fine woman,” Preston said proudly

  “I’m well aware of her background. Can I speak frankly?” he asked rhetorically, not waiting for an answer. “The committee is looking for a family man, someone who is settled in a stable relationship, not a single man with a string of girlfriends.”

  “Senator, I may be single, but I’m no playboy Ariel and I have been committed to each other for years,” he explained.

  “Committed, but not married,” he said curtly

  Preston was taken aback. “Excuse me?”

  “Of course, I can’t tell you how to live your life . . . but if you want to be a serious contender, you have to play the game according to their rules. And character is at the top of that short list of qualifications. We both know that character can make or break your chances. Remember the Thomas confirmation hearings, and how that alleged harassment incident in his past almost cost him the judgeship.”

  “That’s apples and oranges. You can’t possibly compare my martial status to an accusation of sexual harassment.” Preston was stunned. He had spent years building a career that would one day lead him to the Supreme Court, only to be told that that might not be enough to land the nomination. As a child he watched helplessly on television as grown men and women were attacked by dogs, beaten unmercifully, and jailed all in the name of equal rights. And he vowed that one day, he’d be in a position to make a difference, that he’d use the law as a weapon against discrimination. To Preston there was no better position to be in to institute change than sitting on the Supreme Court.

  “Of course there’s no comparison; all I’m saying is that marriage bodes well for a nominee’s character. It demonstrates stability. Your background will be dissected underneath a keen microscope and one possible red flag will be your long-term relationship; having a ‘girlfriend’ at your age, instead of a ‘wife’ shows fear of commitment,” the senator said, carefully spelling out what was expected of a viable candidate.

  “This should be a moot point since I’ve been married before,” Preston shot back.

  “That’s the past; we’re talking about the future, and to be quite honest, it’s high time you made an honest woman out of Ms. Vaughn,” he said candidly.

  Preston had planned on spending more time with Ariel, not proposing, but now he’d have to rethink his strategy. “Senator, I appreciate your candor and will take your suggestion under advisement.”

  “Trust me, Preston, I know what the committee is looking for, and that’s the complete package.” After making his point he quickly shifted gears. “I have to go into a meeting now, but I’ll speak with you soon.”

  “Thanks for your advice, Senator,” he said, and hung up.

  Marriage was the furthest thing from Preston’s mind. His first marriage had been a nightmare. His ex-wife turned out to be a psychotic, self-centered, money-grubbing witch. Preston worked day and night to pay the bills for her outrageous spending habits. And to make matters worst, she brainwashed their son into believing that his father was a lowlife adulterer. She would tell the boy that Preston was never at home because he lived across town with his other family Preston spent years convincing his young impressionable son that his mother had made up the entire story, but it was too late. The damage had already been done. Preston had asked her why she would tell their son lies, and she simply said, “You have your precious career, and I have nothing but our son. I’ll be damned if you’ll have him too.” At that point Preston realized that she was unstable, and that he really didn’t know her at all. He was tempted to leave but he didn’t want to abandon his child, so he endured the torturous marriage until his son went off to college, then he promptly filed for divorce.

  Though he truly loved Ariel, he had not planned on getting hitched anytime soon, if ever. During his first marriage, Preston had sacrificed his happiness in order to stay under the same roof as his son; now was he willing to sacrifice his freedom in order to nail the nomination? The senator made a strong argument; having a high-powered attorney as a wife would definitely strengthen his chances of securing the nomination. The more he thought about the idea, the more appealing it became; he was willing to give marriage another shot, especially if having a Mrs. on his arm presented a stronger image. The only problem he could foresee would be convincing Ariel to accept his proposal. He had been holding her at arm’s length lately, while he focused on his career, and the divide between them was growing wider with each passing day. He would have to do some serious backpedaling to convince her that his proposal was sincere.

  No time like the present, Preston thought, as he picked up the phone and dialed her office. “Hi, JoAnne, may I speak with Ariel?”

  “I’m sorry, Judge Hendricks,” she said, instantly recognizing his distinctive voice, “but she’s not in today.”

  “Is she in court?”

  “No, she’s out sick.”

  “Oh, okay. Thanks, JoAnne. I’ll call her at home.”

  In all the years he’d known Ariel, Preston could rarely remember her calling in sick, and he began to worry. He quickly dialed her number. After four rings, she picked up.

  “Hello . . .” Ariel answered, sounding foggy and far away.

  He softened his normally loud booming tone and asked in a low, caring voice, “Hey, honey, what’s the matter?”

  “Who is this?” she asked, not recognizing the compassionate voice on the other end of the phone.

  “It’s me, honey. I just called your office and JoAnne said you were sick. What’s the matter?” he asked again.

  “I have a slight cold.” She coughed. “Nothing serious,” she lied. Ariel didn’t have a cold; she had a serious hangover. She had staggered home from The Black Door at three in the morning and passed out across her bed. When she awoke that morning, she still had on her red, come-hither outfit and her head was pounding like a giant tom-tom. She popped two Tylenols, called in sick, took off the incriminating negligee, and crawled under the covers.

  “Can I bring you a bowl of soup from the store?” he asked, totally out of character. In all of the years that they had been dating, he had never brought her anything from the grocery store.

  “No, I wouldn’t want to take you away from your busy schedule,” she responded, getting in a little dig.

  Preston was silent for a few seconds, noting her sarcastic comment. “Ariel, I know I’ve been preoccupied lately, but I want to make it up to you. I promise that from here on out, things are going to be different,” he said, using his most convincing tone.

  Reflecting back on her tryst at The Black Door, Ariel thought, Things are already different. Her confidence was back, and now she didn’t need Preston to satisfy her sexual desires; it felt liberating. “Whatever you say, Preston,” she muttered nonchalantly.

  “This isn’t some empty promise.” He raised his voice a decibel. “Ariel, you mean more to me than you’ll ever know.”

  “Yeah, I just bet I do,” she said casually

&nb
sp; Preston was baffled. For weeks Ariel had been practically begging him for attention, and now that he was pouring his heart out to her, she sounded like she could care less. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear there was someone else in the picture, but he knew that she would never cheat on him. “Why don’t I come over tonight and bring you soup, a big box of Kleenex, and some Thera-Flu.”

  “No, thanks. I’m really not feeling up to company,” she said, putting him off.

  Preston was offended. “Company? Since when did I become company?”

  “Preston, don’t be silly. You know what I mean. I’m feeling lousy, and just want to veg out in front of the television; besides, I don’t want you to catch my bug.”

  “Oh, okay,” he relented, knowing that he couldn’t afford to be ill now that he was embarking on such an important venture. “But, I’m taking you to dinner as soon as you feel better. We haven’t been on a date in weeks and . . .” He paused for a second, waiting for her to express her delight; when she didn’t, he continued. “I miss you, Ariel.”

  She fake coughed again. “I’m going to take another dose of NyQuil and go back to sleep. I’ll talk to you later,” she said, dismissing his sentimentality.

  “Feel better, honey.”

  After Preston hung up, he put his head in his hands and sighed. Their relationship was in worse shape than he had thought, and it was going to take more than a romantic dinner and a few sweet words to win Ariel over. But he wasn’t going to let her attitude dissuade him from his mission. Being a Supreme Court justice had been Preston’s dream for as long as he could remember, and one minor issue—being single—was not going ruin his well-planned agenda.