My Bestie’s Dad: A Forbidden Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  Between the drive-thru cups in my car and the excessive ice cream pints in my shopping cart, I practically scream single. I don’t have a cat yet, but it could happen. I could become that old lady knitting afghans with fifteen felines strolling about the place. God. So depressing.

  I enter my bedroom and strip. It’s time for a long, hot shower so I can contemplate my evening. What should I do?

  It’s Friday night, I think as I shampoo my hair. I could call the girls from work and see if they want to meet for drinks. Or I could ring up Alina, Dave, and Bella because Friday is their usual karaoke night. That could be fun, and I know they’d love to have me along.

  But there’s a tingling in my breasts and a soft looseness between my thighs. My body is telling me to go elsewhere tonight, and that elsewhere is the Cube.

  2

  Jane

  * * *

  The Cube is my deepest, darkest secret. Sex clubs are something where only depraved people go, but for the last year, I find myself in their ranks. I was freaked out that I would stick out like a sore thumb, but now that I know what to look out for, they’re a place to meet new people, maybe join in the fun, and go home with a hell of a grin on my face. To be clear, I don’t go to find love; I go to have a good time. Which is why I can never tell Harlow. My best friend would never understand my desire to engage in something so dirty and salacious.

  It’s my filthy once-a-month secret.

  I pin my curly brown hair into a high ponytail and apply special makeup as I stare in the foggy mirror. I keep wiping the mirror clean and cursing myself for splurging on makeup instead of a can of defogger. But quality cosmetics won’t run, and after researching the varieties of makeup porn stars use, I only use the good stuff. No one wants to fuck a girl with raccoon eyes and lipstick halfway up her cheek. I line my eyes in jet and my pout is viciously red. I’m not going to the Cube to be invisible, after all.

  As much as I bitch about bills and all that, if I’m honest with myself, some of my money issues stem from the Cube. It’s not the price of membership though because for a single woman, membership is free.

  The issue is that I dress to impress, and for a girl my size with large tits and a big ass, that gets expensive fast. I slide on my crotchless panties, carefully tug my fishnets up, and fasten them to the garter belt. Then, I wriggle myself into the corset. It’s a tricky one, with lacing down the back, but a secret side zipper for easy on/off capabilities. It cost a fortune, which is why I’m eating ramen for the next two weeks. Hopefully, it’ll be worth it.

  Then, I step into my heels and get cozy in my trench coat. Every piece is black, and when I look in the mirror, I feel powerful and sexy. Even though I don’t pay for admission to the club, the cost of my outfit is the price of admission to this version of myself, and it’s worth it. Like this, I’m ready for the night.

  I drive out to the club obeying all the speed limits, stoplights, and other road rules. I do not want a run-in with the cops while wearing this outfit. Of course, if the officer is cute, that could lead to all sorts of interesting fun with handcuffs, but that’s me getting ahead of myself. First things first, and that means arriving in one piece.

  The Cube is on the outskirts of Denver, so it’s almost an hour’s drive from my apartment. The scenery changes as I leave the city, with fewer and fewer lights. It’s more of an industrial area now, and sure enough, I pull into a dark parking lot surrounded by drafty-looking warehouses. I check my phone, and then leave it in my car. No phones are allowed in the club because they don’t want candid photos finding their way to the web. Who has time for pictures when you’re at the Cube anyways?

  The final piece to my outfit is a black glitter mask, which I tie around my head with lacy straps. The Cube is a full blackout club, with neither names nor identities. Everyone there is anonymous, and that’s one if its biggest draws.

  I walk up to a set of double black doors at the nearest warehouse. Sexy electric lounge music slinks around me, and the camera seems to blink as I approach. I knock and wait. Then, a voice pipes over the speaker by the door and says, “The hopeful man seeks freedom.”

  “But the wise man seeks knowledge,” I reply immediately. They change the passcode every night, so I always check the app before I leave my phone.

  The door unlatches and swings open. A woman in a tight black dress and a clipboard greets me.

  “Good evening. Come in.” As I step in, she speaks again. “I’ll take your keys, and please extend your arms for me.” I follow her orders and she waves a metal detector wand over my body. Then, I peel off my trench coat and another woman appears silently to take it to bag check.

  Immediately, I feel frisky and sexy. The corset and garters are working their magic, and my heart pounds in anticipation of what’s to come. But security at the Cube is ruthless.

  “Thumb print for the key tag and coat, please,” the hostess says before holding out a digital pad. I press my thumb to the smooth surface and the screen blips. It’s an efficient way of assuring our identity. She smiles and says, “Enjoy your evening, Miss Cuesta.”

  “Thank you,” I murmur, and then the double doors behind the reception area open. Music wafts out, and I look around. The room is ornately decorated with gold chandeliers, red velvet sofas, and an old-timey bar in back with a dark wood surface. I mince over to the bar in my heels and order a red wine. The bartenders nod courteously, and within minutes, I have my drink. There’s no need to pay, and in fact, I wouldn’t be able to because my outfit has no pockets. Nonetheless, I understand that membership at the Cube is extravagantly expensive, and that many of the men are ridiculously rich.

  But that’s not on my mind at the moment. I turn to scan the crowd and sip again at my wine. To the right of the entry is a hallway leading to ten bedrooms, each one more lavish than the next. My visits to those rooms are always sensuous and lovely, and my thighs clench with the memory. To the left is the entryway, and beyond that is a warren of rooms filled with delicious toys. I’ve been there a few times, and the depravity always astonishes me anew. I didn’t know that people could be like this.

  But right now, things are relatively calm. A few couples linger nearby with their drinks, the women dressed in nothing but lingerie and heels, and the men in dashing black tuxedos. Everyone has on masks, but here’s the kicker: even though we’re supposed to be anonymous, as a regular, I can recognize some of the other regulars.

  For example, near me stands a handsome blonde man who looks like a Viking. He and his wife, who’s equally blonde, murmur to one another. I know she likes to watch him with other women, and they sometimes cry out in some Scandinavian language when they’re having fun.

  Then, a woman slinks in wearing furry brown lingerie that somehow manages to be cute and sexy at the same time. But she’s got a collar around her neck, and a man holds the leash, his blue eyes fixed on her curvy figure. Exhibitionists, both of them. Dog Girl and her owner are furries, and sometimes they copulate in the middle of the room, as if they’re real animals. It sounds disgusting, but it’s actually quite sexy to watch.

  Meanwhile, I scan the room for a so-called “friend.” There’s a woman who wears a pink flower mask, and she’s as close to a friend as I have at the Cube. I hope she’s here tonight. She calls me Sparkles for my black glitter mask and always has a tip for me about the other members, since she’s been coming here for years.

  A man in a feather and horn mask approaches me. As he draws near, I realize it’s a horned owl design. He is already missing his shirt and he has the right to walk around without one because he clearly lives at the gym. His shoulders are broad, and his stomach is toned and flat with visible six pack abs. He has a strong jaw with high cheekbones.

  “You seem to be looking for someone,” he says, his voice low and rough.

  “I might be.”

  “Might I be that someone?”

  I giggle. “Not unless you’re a young woman who usually wears a pink flower mask.”

  He
laughs. “Not usually. You’re here for the ladies, I take it?”

  “No, she’s just a friend.”

  His eyebrow quirks.

  “Then you’re here for a different type of fun.”

  I smirk, “Are you trying to ask if I’m a lesbian?”

  “Yes.”

  I smile.

  “No, I’m not.”

  He bows. “Then allow me to lead you to the dance floor.” Together, we make our way to the polished center floor, and he holds me tight. He’s good. Owl moves well, and he slides himself around until he’s pressing against my backside. He’s hard, even as his hand snakes around to my stomach to hold me close. We sway as he whispers into my ear, “Do you come often?”

  “To the Cube? Yes, now and then.”

  “Not what I meant,” he spins me, then holds me close. The move catches me off guard and I’m a little breathless when he asks, “When’s the last time you came?”

  I giggle.

  “That is an awfully personal question, Owl.”

  “This is an awfully personal place, Glitter Girl.”

  I nod with understanding.

  “This morning. How about you?”

  He turns me again and subtly grinds up against my ass, “I’ve been saving myself for someone special. I haven’t come since last weekend.” Then, he licks up my neck and I get goose bumps. He whispers, “Would you like to be that someone special, my love?”

  It’s a valid question in such a place, but I turn in his arms and give it to him straight, albeit with a smile.

  “You look like a fun place to sit, but I’m not looking to have a seat just yet.”

  His eyes try and fail to hide his disappointment. He smiles, “Until then, Glitter.” Then, he kisses the back of my hand and drifts elsewhere.

  I don’t know. Owl was cute, but I just wasn’t feeling it for some reason. He seemed more of a Casanova type than what I typically like. I prefer my men dark and dangerous, not poetic and on the sappy side.

  I wander to the hallway to see what else is happening. The hallway is dark, but leads to a number of playrooms. But these aren’t regular rooms because each one is themed, and has a glass window for people to watch. I peek into the first one on my left.

  A fully nude woman has her hands on the glass and a man is behind her, drilling away. They’re enjoying themselves, and her curvy body leaves sweaty imprints on the plexiglass. I can’t help but get needy at the sight and sounds of them together because they’re so loud and clearly loving their time together.

  “Having a good time?” a man in back of me asks.

  I look up at him and his mask is unusual. It looks like a swirling water pattern, with coral at the sides. His vinyl shirt catches the blue light from the nearby playroom, and he’s tall and built, wearing a cape and a pair of tight shorts also emblazoned with the blue water pattern. I tell him, “Yes, thank you. Yourself?”

  “I always have fun when I’m in Denver,” he smiles.

  “Lucky for you,” I say playfully, while looking into the next playroom. There are three people inside. There’s a lush woman who’s bound, her hands tied behind her back while also simultaneously being bound to her feet. Two gorgeous men with masks and black speedos take turns flogging her as she cries out into the gag in her mouth.

  “Does that look like fun to you?” The man in the ocean blue mask asks. He toys with a cat o’ nine in his right hand and catches the tendrils in his left.

  “It does.”

  “There’s a free playroom, if you’d like to try it,” he offers in a suggestive voice.

  I know what this means, and merely smile.

  “Maybe later. I’m still getting a feeling for the evening.”

  “Life is short, pretty woman. Have all the fun you can, while you can. Enjoy your night,” he winks before moving on.

  I sigh and step forward. The man in the mask was obviously built and hung, but I’m not looking for a caped crusader. Nor am I looking to be flogged. What am I looking for, in fact? I’m not even sure. Maybe it’s time for another drink.

  3

  Jane

  * * *

  Another red wine, and then I see him. Tiger Mask is a newcomer to the Cube, and I watch as he stops for a moment in the doorway, scanning the scene. Tall with a granite jaw, he exudes confidence as he looks around. His outfit is a black leather shirt and matching trousers. Both fit him perfectly, with the shirt hugging those wide shoulders as the trousers showcase his package. My mouth goes dry and I swallow, trying to moisten my throat.

  He moves like a jungle cat as he enters the lounge, and I’m not the only woman to notice him. A number of ladies pick their way to him, cooing and smiling, so I stay put. To my surprise, however, Tiger Mask doesn’t seem too into the ladies. He looks at them dismissively, nods, and then turns to the room at large again.

  Am I reading things right? The women who approached him were thin and pretty, and not a few with enhanced assets. Most guys would eat that up, and have three women swinging from their arms by now. I’m at a loss. Maybe he’s gay?

  That would certainly explain his eye for detail. His stubble is perfectly imperfect, as though it just grows that way. His chocolate brown hair is stylishly rough, yet smoothed back without looking too done. He has nice lips for biting, not too big, not too small, yet perfectly sensuous. I can’t see his eyes because of the mask, but I can sense their heated stare.

  To my surprise, that heated stare surveys the room once more, and then lands on me. A jolt rockets up my spine, and I force myself to stay still even as my heartbeat accelerates. Is he looking at me?

  Sure enough, the man nods, and his eyes sparkle behind the mask. I smile faintly, nod, and try to hide my surprise. I’m a bigger girl, and this corset only emphasizes that. Is he really attracted to me?

  But then, we’re interrupted by Red. She comes up next to him and puts a red-manicured hand on his forearm. I sigh. Red is red because she has perfect long auburn hair, always wears red, and is a vicious flirt. Right now, she has on a crimson negligee that really shouldn’t even be called a negligee. It’s more like a handkerchief that barely covers her lush assets.

  I sigh and turn away. I don’t stand a chance because Pink Flower once told me Red has been a member of the Cube since forever, and that she always gets what she wants. I mentally shrug and try to contain my disappointment. My night just got a thousand times worse, but oh well. Suddenly, a low voice sounds to my left.

  “Come here often?”

  I bite my lip and roll my eyes. I don’t really want to be here, and I don’t want to talk with Owl or Caped Crusader again.

  “That’s such an old line,” I say before turning. But then my heart stops because it’s not Owl nor is it Caped Crusader. It’s Tiger. His lips turn up at the corner, and he smiles a bit.

  “Well, I’m an old guy so I use old lines.”

  I bite my lip and let out a giggle.

  “You’re not old!” I titter.

  He shrugs and quirks another smile at me.

  “Some say I am. My daughter, definitely. Can I buy you a drink? Shaken or stirred?”

  “Hold on now,” I say. “Are all your lines from old movies?” I tease.

  “No,” he smiles, and then leans in as if he wants to confide something to me. I lean close to him too, and breathe lightly of his cologne. It smells like wood and water, very fresh. He quietly admits, “You see, I get nervous when I’m with a beautiful woman, and I tend to fall back on the basics when that happens.”

  Is he joking? The twinkle in his eye tells me that he doesn’t get nervous around women. This man knows exactly what he’s doing. Heat rises from my chest and I smile. “Okay, that is a good line.”

  “So, can I buy you that drink?”

  I tilt my head.

  “But you know the Cube is all-inclusive, right?”

  He laughs. “That’s the joke, sweetheart. I assure you that for men, the Cube is not free at all.”

  I smile.

 
“Then I’m glad I’m with you. I’ll have what you’re having.”

  He orders two bourbons and we find ourselves a quiet corner booth in the back of the lounge. I take a sip of the amber liquid and it burns while going down my throat. He grins.

  “Too strong?”

  I gasp a little.

  “Maybe.”

  He laughs, making me shiver a bit. “So tell me. What’s a gorgeous woman like you doing in a place like this?”

  I arch an eyebrow

  “What’s a handsome guy like you doing in a place like this?”

  “Touché,” he grins. “I find that places like the Cube scratch an itch. You?”

  “Same,” I sip my bourbon gingerly again. “It’s freeing for me because it’s anonymous and safe. I don’t have to worry about who sees because they’re here for the same thing.”

  “And the masks help,” he growls in a low voice.

  I nod. There’s something about his voice that renders it oddly familiar but I can’t put my finger on it. It must be nothing, and I shake away the thought. “Indeed.”

  “How long have you been coming here?” he asks, sitting back with one strong arm slung over the back of the booth.

  “Just over a year. You?”

  “Just over a month.”

  I laugh. “Still getting used to it all?”

  He nods. “But I like getting to meet people like this too. Private, discreet, and even consequence-free, in a manner of speaking. Like you say, it’s liberating.” He leans close to me, and his cologne catches me once more. Again, there’s a strange familiarity about him, but I brush it off. There must be millions of men who wear this particular scent. “I like being free to do what I like,” he adds with a quirk to his lips.