Husband Dot Com (2 page)

I was blissfully oblivious to
how the night would unfold prior to stepping inside of the daunting domain. That was a world that I had no idea existed prior to meeting Lane. I always knew of the S&M section of the "sin" store, but this night was way beyond my realm of sexual awareness. I had always considered myself free spirited and flirty, but it was overwhelmingly apparent that in the atmosphere of obedience, I simply didn’t know what I didn’t know.
Buff-bodied men wore black leather thongs or nothing at all. They were carrying whips and dangerous-looking gear, as if to say, “Inflict pain on me right now—bitch!” The fetish party was the “grand ball” of sex and deviant behavior. I wanted to taste every one of the partygoers as if they were dew drops of delicious kink-flavored candies. My reality was cracked open to a new and somewhat painful world that only existed for the few privileged guests who received the top-secret invites.

For some demented reason, I do recall thinking that the dark party was the perfect place to show up and learn a crash course in becoming a professional dominatrix
. It did cross my mind that maybe it’s possible to have a bright future in the art of pain if you have a natural way with a whip. At least the tortured men do all the work. There is nothing wrong with being the number one gal who cracks the whip and calls the shots. My man slave could clean my entire house wearing a spiked dog collar, and all I would need to do is shove my metal heel in his back to jump-start his man-engine. So, maybe I’d need to spank him, or even call him a few derogatory names. No biggie! Not a bad way to clean my house and vent a little frustration at the same time. What a stimulating way to kill a couple of hours. The bonus is that as the boss lady, I can keep my black rubber pants on the entire time. Sounds like a good enough deal to me. Could it be that those dark divas are really onto something my tame behind is utterly oblivious to?
A few fetish followers had on leather pants with cutout behinds. The exposed butt-cheek-pants left many a bare behind walking around adorning red whip marks and welts. I must say that the scary face masks were a bit dissuading at first sight—nothing I couldn’t handle. I found it to be a bit frightening in a ghoulish “boo”, who's in my closet sort of sensation? I would have much preferred a do-me right now, you dangerous stranger, or “oops,” my bra accidentally fell off—kind of feeling.
Being the new kid on the block, I found myself titillated and intimidated at the same time. I experienced a beguiling blend of wonderment and mixed emotions inside that shadowy den. It took a few laps around the nightclub to become acclimated to my new primal surroundings. I was a fetish virgin, coveted fresh meat in the underground playground’s sandbox. 

The darkly
clad club patrons found extreme pleasure in their brand of personal pain. It was quite a juicy experience to watch the live danger-swapping connoisseurs in action. Very much like finding the perfect bottle of champagne, it took exactly the right amount of hurt to “pop” the quintessential cork. The entire time I kept thinking,
I can't believe that I am on a second date with Lane and we are here of all the freaky places.
In my wildest of dreams I could have never conjured up the wicked scene that we were playing around in.
Submissive players were everywhere and they had their fetish game down to a science. The fetish fans were very serious about their metal chains and handcuffs. The corporal punishment theme did not really make my girl-turtle stand at attention and salute. Oh, what the heck, I did have the slightest bit of a tingle. Soreness swapping was really never anything I aspired to in the sexual arena. That was definitely a situation of different strokes for different folks. But, I did enjoy seeing how the torment enthusiasts spanked their pain loving asses. Don’t get me wrong, I am, and always will be a purely hedonistic pleasure seeker.

The big red ticket for me was spending time with Lane. The part about being dressed up like a naughty school girl gone awry did earn a few stars on its own accord. But, my flesh colored carpet was rolled out for the main star of the evening, Lane. I viewed the fetish party as an overblown, over-the-top, Halloween-inspired party with a sexual twist. That event was definitely sans the pigs in a blanket and mini quiche. Although, there were many other skin-flavored appetizers at that adult get together.

A Domi
nant Mama or a Submissive Sally, I clearly was not. Although, I still held my ground and got my groove on in a sultry, come-hither way. The hedonistic pleasure zone had sure beat the heck out of a PG-13 movie, or a yawn-infested Saturday night surf and turf dinner at some local chain restaurant.

I found myself to be a willing and read
y spectator at an extreme mating game—the creamy icing on my red velvet cake just so happened to be that I was lucky enough to have an Adonis of a man by my side all night. The “cave of darkness” had a very outside-of-normal, sadistic and sex-filled theme that was crackling all around us. With my girl-shelf hanging out every way but Sunday, it made me think maybe that way of life was something I could dabble in every now and then?
The crowd kept growing more and more amplified as the evening went on, and so was I. A glammed up sex kitten is what I became in the midnight hours. Lane’s spell had seduced me to stay longer than any guy-spell that had ever fallen over me before. I followed Lane around like a hungry alley cat on the hunt for her prey. Anything and everything was on the menu at that party—especially Lane. My feline blue eyes were locked on him. I was ready to pounce at a moment's notice.

Lane firmly grabbed my hand and whisked me into the bathroom. I quickly realized we were in a unisex bathroom, not that it mattered anyway, because the building was filled with every sexual situation known to mankind. There were many daunting
figures standing around inside of the creepy bathroom. They were making out and doing a laundry list of dirty deeds—things that only super-charged fiends could muster up.

Lane pulled me into a
bathroom stall with him. I thought that he wanted to protect me from the crowd, but he really wanted to keep me all to himself. We were standing inside the stall and I turned away from him. I thought that I should at least play fake hard-to-get for a few hours. Forget it, his forcefulness overtook my lofty intentions, and I soon got the drift that it was not even possible to play fake anything with that man. So, in the dirty lair, I abruptly threw caution to the wind. Feeling the strength of his manhood growing in his pants as he brushed up against my honey bucket did not help matters either.
He grabbed me and kissed me with a force so powerful, it was as if he owned me—and I wanted to be his. The second Lane’s lips grazed mine; I felt such an enormous surge of electricity between the two of us that it overtook me. Lane pressed me against the stall door and grabbed both of my hands. I wanted him so intensely that I felt an ache burning deep underneath my skin for him. Before I knew what was happening, he threw a pair of handcuffs on me and said, “Hold still, this will only hurt a little, I want to run my fingers over every inch of you.” That did it—I wanted all of him right then and there in that very delectable moment. I had an extreme flash of heat that ran up and down my aroused body and my girl-nectar started flowing.

His hands forcefully examined
my entire body. Lane tugged my hair and I felt deliciously dominated by him. I stood there helpless with burning thighs that were overpowering my senses. We soon realized that the tiny stall was quite a tight fit. The thin walls shook each time we bumped around. Lane nibbled on my ear and whispered to me that we needed to wait until later. Needing a timeout and some fresh night club air, we ran out of the water closet, gasping for a few cold cocktails.
Lane pulled up a seat for me at the bar and we continued our kissing frenzy with wild abandon. His tongue tasted like warm mouth-watering bourbon. I had never locked lips so hot and heavy in public before. When Lane kissed me I melted right into him. I had throbbing surges inside my wet butterfly every time his skin touched mine. Lane reached in his pocket and pulled out a tiny key to unlock me. He teased me and said that he wanted to save the cuffs for later—but only if I behaved badly! That was a public display of affection that was light years beyond “get a room."
A pretty, half-naked girl walking by us had a burning hunger to get in on our lip action. The sultry looker slithered up and asked me to kiss her. I had never been asked that question by a woman before. She had long black hair and extremely white skin. Lauren was her name and she wanted me. Lane remained calm and watched how I would handle the tricky situation. I caught glimpses of him watching us from the corner of my eye. I felt flattered and yet intensely uncomfortable at the same time. As she leaned in to kiss me, I held my breath.  Her lips were soft and her crimson lipstick tasted unusually sweet. Kissing Lauren felt dangerously erotic. It had the sensation of biting into a sticky caramel apple on a smoldering hot August afternoon.
The forbidden sensation of tasting another woman turned out to be an unexpected turn on for me. Lauren pulled me on top of her and grabbed my cleavage as she gently played with my hair. She ran her tongue down my neck as if to leave her scent on me. After kissing Lauren, I was ready to be set free from her seductive spider’s web. A quick taste of her was enough to make me realize Lane's lips were all that I needed. Lauren whispered in my ear that she wanted to be our love slave and follow us around all evening. Lauren begged me for a minute or two, thinking that I’d cave in to her soft lips. She was extremely alluring and I could tell she was used to getting her way. I politely said, "No" in a kind, but firm tone. I had only kissed the girl after all. Lauren pouted and stormed off, annoyed that we did not invite her inside our inner sanctum of private delight.

A gent like Lane was a rare shooting star that only happens once in a silver-glitter-moon. The thought of sharing him with some random club girl was simply not happening on my watch. The arrows of Lane's affection were pointing solely in m
y direction, and it was my burning intention to keep it that way! A few moments later, Lane glanced over at me and smiled with a mischievous grin over our threesome near miss.
 

There were dusky, cavernous rooms with various domination artists performing their strong-armed skills upon their willing and submissive slaves. Those club goers put the “kink” in kinky without any hesitation. My curious side wanted to have a peek and personally check out the evil-doings stirring in every dark room. I was a total fetish pa
rty rubbernecker! A deer in headlights had nothing on me that night.

Lane was the owner of an international surfboard company. He started his career as a pro-surfer, retired
at thirty, and became a sought-after surfboard designer. Lane was the type to have Miami social climber cling-ons dangling by his side like shiny, skinny ornaments. Everything about him was dripping in sexiness. Lane was so copacetic that he couldn’t care less about the abundance of flesh that performed all around us. Lane had a relaxed demeanor and was not at all impressed by the many shocking acts fluttering about. He was a guy who was shaken, not stirred, with a dash of sinister. My date had just enough roughness to make him over the moon scrumptious—yet, he balanced it flawlessly with his wholesome good looks.
The sexual tension could have ripped my fishnets to smithereens all over the sticky dance floor!  We spent most of the night dancing with an overabundance of groping and intense kissing. I kinesthetically sensed that Lane’s intensity would boil over between the sheets. The music was smashingly loud and the heavy techno sounds completely filled the smoky air. Lane and I danced right in the middle of the packed dance floor. We focused only on each other's grinding moves. We were booty dancing to the ninth degree. The dance was on the verge of being X-rated and I licked it up like a bubble gum lollipop.

It was full-
on sexual seduction in the middle of the cold, concrete dance floor. Our sweltering dance was made up of a dash of rum, a heaping helping of butt shaking, and a salt-shaker-mix of crotch grinding. We put all the ingredients in a passion blender and it was pure dirty and
delicious! I wanted to wrap my ankles around his sweaty neck and make him press my “down-button” with his chin.

Just as my legs were starting to give from all the dancing, Lane took my hand and dragged me out of the club. By that time
, the crowd was finding their own hidden dwellings to retreat to. It was way past the darkest hour, and we were ready to find out what really turned each other on. The fetish party was a long evening of luxurious foreplay, but I desperately needed something more to bite into. For me the fetish party was a giant sex appetizer. Lane, my main course of the evening, was as ready as I was to take it to the next level. Just to be a tease, I had taken off my sopping wet panties and stuck them in Lane’s pocket at the bar earlier in the night. It was finally time to get more organically acquainted with each other in our own private place.

2).
Orchid

Lane and I made out at every red light on the way h
ome. I gave him a seductive rub down—all over. Lane gave the speed limit a run for its money. We hardly made it inside the front door with our clothes intact. The smoking, late-night scene must have resembled a low-budget porno. The only thing we needed was seventies music to make it truly authentic. We stumbled all over each other, as we ripped our clothes off in an overheated race toward the back of his house. Lane's bedroom was an island man cave with an ocean breeze blowing through the windows. He had a massive king-sized bed right in the middle of the invitingly serene room. Above his bed he had a giant blue surfboard suspended from the ceiling. His room was filled with bamboo plants and exotic trinkets from his travels. He even had an entire wall that was a saltwater aquarium “with vividly colored fish and aquatic creatures that softly lit up the dim room.”