The Open Door: A Found Duet Novella

by Laurelin Paige

  “That could be nice.” He splashed water over my shoulders, rinsing off the soap lingering there, then bent down to kiss a spot just behind my ear. “Though I actually had something else in mind.”

  I couldn’t see his face with him behind me, but there was hesitation in his tone, so slight I almost didn’t notice it.

  “Lay it on me,” I said, curious now but ready to be annoyed.

  He set the sponge down and wrapped his arms around me, just under my breasts. “Well, I was thinking…” He paused to nibble at my lobe. “What if we go back to The Open Door?”

  My pulse quickened at the suggestion and muscles that had been relaxed just a second ago tensed up.

  Always aware of my body cues, JC was quick to reassure me. “We don’t have to. It’s just an idea.”

  “I know.” What I didn’t know was why he’d want to go back. It had been a fun experience. Eye-opening, for sure. It had definitely given me some excellent stories to share with Alayna and my sister.

  Of course when I’d told Norma the more shocking parts of the evening, hoping for some perspective on kinks I didn’t understand, she’d only wanted details so she could tell her husband. Kink was such an intricate part of her life, and she was a big executive at a major company plus married with two kids. She seemed to be comfortable living her life her way.

  So why did the thought of going again give me pause?

  JC was quiet while I considered, letting the idea settle in, exploring my hesitancy surrounding it. There hadn’t been anything there for us was my first reaction. But that hadn’t been true. We’d found plenty of things that had aroused us. Aroused us enough to fuck like mad right there in our car. It had also carried into our life for weeks after. Carried in a very good way.

  Did that mean we needed it now? Were we only able to get to that height of excitement with help? Did it matter if the answer was yes? We sometimes used toys at home. Wasn’t a party just another useful prop?

  I turned in JC’s arms and fingered the dates tattooed in four lines on his left forearm. December 19th. March 7th. January 27th. November 18th. He hadn’t had any of them when I’d met him. He’d only had one on his opposite arm, the date his former fiancée had died. The day, he’d told me, he’d died too.

  Then he’d met me.

  And he’d tattooed that date on his skin and told me it was the day he’d started to live again. As our boys were born, he’d added their birthdates as well, saying they were as much his reason to live now as I was.

  This was my foundation as well. The five of us. The family we’d made, and the love that we shared. It was sturdy and strong and nothing was going to change that. Whether we used sex parties to make our lovemaking more thrilling or not, what we had at the base was what mattered, and it was solid.

  With that understanding firm in my mind, I thought about our night at The Open Door. It had been astonishing, but it had also been fun. It had been exhilarating. It had been arousing. Even without everything that had happened once we’d walked out.

  I twisted to look at my husband and brought my hand up to the back of his neck so I could pull his mouth closer to mine.

  “I think that sounds like an amazing idea,” I said, my lips grazing his. “How soon can we go?”

  Chapter Eight

  Going to The Open Door was a much different experience as a second-timer than it was as a newbie. There was less trepidation, more excitement. I didn’t spend the ride worrying about my clothing―I’d chosen a leopard printed silk midi dress that was easy to move in―or my makeup, which I’d done before we left.

  Instead, I imagined all the possible scenarios we’d encounter this time. Would there be another scene acted out? Another toy room? Maybe there’d be games―naughty, erotic games that involved intimately touching strangers. Or perhaps there’d be body painting. Or something crazy and weird like naked karaoke.

  I was sure every idea I came up with would pale in comparison to the real thing, even though I was much better at fantasizing now. The one thing I’d definitely gotten as a result of our first go-around was inspiration. I’d never realized that struggling could be such a turn-on. Or how much I enjoyed voyeurism. The things I’d witnessed had been planted inside my mind like seeds, and now they’d sprouted into a garden of debauchery that I’d never been able to imagine before we went.

  Once again, the party location for this particular Saturday was outside of Manhattan. Way outside. Two hours away in Darien, Connecticut. The trip had sounded so daunting, we’d almost selected to go another weekend. But the website indicated this event was a club annual highlight, and that was too intriguing to pass up.

  There was no parking away from the house this time. The residence was located more than a mile down a private drive. As instructed beforehand, we provided a code word to the guard at the gate―lubricious―and were only let through once we did. Even in the dark, I had a feeling the grounds were spectacular. Trees lined both sides of the twisting road, and when I rolled down my window, I could hear the crash of ocean waves nearby.

  I’d thought I’d prepared myself for the grandeur of the house at the end of the drive, but the air was knocked from my lungs when it came into view. House wasn’t even the right word for it. It was a modern interpretation of a waterfront grand estate situated on the Long Island Sound. One of those country residences I’d only seen the likes of on the big screen. I’d definitely never been anywhere so luxurious.

  “The house I grew up in looked a lot like this,” JC said as he helped me from the car.

  My jaw fell slack. I’d known he’d come from wealth, but his parents had died a long time ago, and there had never been a family for me to meet, let alone a family house to visit. “We’ve been married how long, and I’m just learning this now?”

  He shrugged. “I guess it never came up.”

  Almost eight years together, and he still could surprise me. I loved that about him.

  We were greeted with the same sort of check-in process as we had on our previous visit, but this time we could also hand over keys and purses and our items were locked into a large safe, and, instead of a choice of colored bracelets, we were given a string of beads to wear wherever we chose. Like the last time, we chose white, which meant no one could touch us or give us physical compliments unless we instigated it.

  We’d just finished adorning our beads―I’d put mine around my neck while JC had chosen to wrap it around his wrist―we were approached by a gorgeous masked woman wearing a Victorian gothic white and red dress.

  “First time?” she asked.

  JC and I exchanged glances. We’d managed to keep to ourselves at the last party. We hadn’t tried to engage with anyone, and, for the most part, no one had tried to talk to us. I’d liked the ability to be cocooned in our own adventure. But perhaps we would have gotten more out of the whole thing if we hadn’t been so reclusive.

  JC must have come to the same conclusion, only faster than I did because he answered first. “Second time. Is it that obvious?”

  She laughed. “Not necessarily. I’m just what’s known as a frequent flyer, and I didn’t recognize your faces. Glad to have you both. I’m Miss T.”

  JC opened his mouth, presumably to give our own names, when I interrupted. “Should we have code names? Is that a thing people do at these things?”

  Again she laughed. It wasn’t a patronizing sound, but a light, friendly tinkle. “Not at all. It’s one of my personal rules. There are others who prefer not to use names here, just as there are people who never take off their masks―I’m one of those, too. I see too many of these people at the office, and I don’t think my boss would be too happy knowing what his clients are doing with his secretary on the weekends. It’s much better that none of them recognize me. But there are just as many people who are happy to share everything. And I mean everything.”

  “Ah,” I said, imagining circumstances where I might feel the same. Since we were really only here to watch, it didn’t seem like a big
issue for us. And JC was already known for showing his fellow investors a good time as part of business procedure. “Then I’m Gwen.” I looked to my spouse for permission before adding, “And this is my husband, JC.”

  “Good to meet you, and welcome! Have you been out back yet? Would you like me to take you to the grounds?”

  “Out back?” Once again, JC and I exchanged a glance. “Is the party outside?”

  “It is! This estate is one of the few locations that is private enough to allow frolicking outdoors. It’s the only reason most everyone would drive all the way out here, including me.”

  “Then frolicking outdoors is a major draw?” Maybe I needed to frolic more to understand.

  She seemed about to answer, then changed her mind. “I think it will be easier to show you. Come on. I’ll take you.”

  With a shrug, I took my husband’s hand and followed after our mysterious new friend.

  “The two parties we’ve been to now have been outside of New York,” JC commented as T led us through a nearly empty sitting room. “Is that common?”

  “In the summer, more often than not, the club moves out to the surrounding suburbs. Most people are glad to escape the city heat. After tonight, though, the events mainly take place in Manhattan.”

  It seemed like a waste not to take advantage of T’s knowledge so I asked my own question. “The check-in was different too. Last time we were given bracelets. Are the beads new?”

  “Those vary per the host,” T explained. “All depends on who’s in charge, so make sure to always carefully read the instructions for entrance on the website. Sometimes there’s a code word to get in, sometimes there are bracelets, sometimes there’s glow-in-the-dark body paint. Personally, I like necklaces best, because then you can leave them on a door handle if you decide to use a room. Lets others know if you want anyone to join you or not.”

  People just walk in and join strangers who are already having sex?

  My face went red as I thought about it. I didn’t know why that was any different than half of the stuff we’d already seen. I’d just figured that the guests who used the rooms were specifically looking for privacy and had already chosen who they wanted to be messing around with.

  JC must have been equally surprised by the notion because he gave my hand a solidarity squeeze.

  “I should let you know, too, that most of the events aren’t this extravagant. They’re all different in their own ways, but this one is something special.” T took us around a corner, and now we were in a great room with large windows overlooking the landscape. The ocean stretched across the background like thick black ink, but the grounds were completely lit up, and the reason this particular party was special became clearly evident.

  Because it wasn’t just a party―it was a full-blown festival.

  The yard was completely filled with people―dressed-up people, skimpily dressed people, people wearing masks, people wearing couture, people wearing outrageous costumes and plumes, people wearing nothing at all―more people than had been in all the rooms combined at the last event. Some lounged on the grass or in deck chairs, fooling around like they had at the first party, but most of them were clustered around various areas of activity, like they did at a circus or a carnival. What those activities were, exactly, was difficult to discern from where we stood.

  “Whoa,” JC said, staring wide-eyed at the scene in front of us.

  “Whoa,” I echoed, not knowing where to look first.

  “Come on outside. You can’t tell what’s going on from here.” T had apparently continued walking without us and now beckoned to us from an open set of French doors.

  “I’ll let you explore on your own,” she said when we were all outside. “But if you need anything, please come and find me. I know the club can be a bit overwhelming to newbies, especially on a night like tonight. I assure you, though, there’s something for everyone.”

  With so much going on around us, I could believe it. Now to figure out what the party had for us.

  “To the right then?” JC asked after we’d thanked Miss T for her guidance.

  “It seems as good a place to start as any.”

  We headed past a small clump of guests making out on the lawn to the first group gathered to the right of us and found a trio of artists. One of them drew art with henna on guests’ bodies―anywhere the guest wanted it. Another painted kinky drawings on people’s backs. The last one was a sketch artist, the kind found at any state fair who would quickly pencil portraits, the only difference was that this one drew his subjects naked.

  “I’m not comfortable taking off my clothes,” I said when he offered to draw me.

  “You don’t have to take off anything,” he said, reassuringly. “If you stay dressed, I simply have to use my imagination.”

  I was sure that wasn’t something JC would go for―another man openly picturing his wife naked―but when I looked to him, he surprised me. “Go ahead. I’d love to see this.”

  I sat down in the provided chair, nervous to see what the artist came up with. “But what if he draws me better than I look?”

  “Impossible,” JC said, amazing husband that he was.

  He was wrong, in the end, because the Gwen that was in the sketch that I was handed twenty minutes later had a decidedly flatter stomach and firmer thighs.

  “I have better boobs,” I said. “Or I did. They’ve sort of deflated since I stopped nursing.”

  JC studied the portrait. “Nah. You still have better boobs.”

  We continued around the yard from there, finding a myriad of sinful distractions and erotic pleasures. One area had vibrating saddles like we’d seen at the party before―Sybians, I learned they were called. After that was a naked limbo competition and the human carousel where people rode other people rather than painted horses. We skipped the Tent of Torture, but everyone who walked out seemed more than a little bit happy about whatever they’d seen inside. We saw another fire massage then watched an erotic massage that was basically the same as a regular massage except the masseuse didn’t shy away from the woman’s tits or ass, and in the end she fingered her to orgasm.

  There was also a bunch of things that could be found at most festivals. There was a juggler and a man on stilts and a knife thrower. There was a variety of clowns, some with their outfit painted on, some with no outfit at all. The contortionist was also naked, which was more awkward to watch than sensual. The bouncy house looked fun, but I’d gone braless and the idea of jumping around without one just made my boobs hurt. I did appreciate the very large belly dancer who was amazingly flexible and could shake her hips faster than Shakira.

  Then there were the games―Twister, Spin the Bottle, Strip Jenga. There was a game where people had to pass a dildo from person to person without using their hands and another game where they had to put a condom on a long balloon only using their mouth. We watched for a while, cheering one couple on in the balloon game until they were named the champions.

  After that, we wandered over to watch the acrobats on the tightrope that had been erected over the pool. Some of the spectators watched from the water itself, others from the lawn, still more from lounge chairs. As many of the people gathered were distracted with their own erotic gymnastics as they were in watching, which added to the entertainment. We enjoyed that for quite a while before tiring of it.

  We’d practically made it around the whole yard when we got to the kissing booths. One was manned by a young, gorgeous Latina brunette with large eyes and plump lips. She was dressed, though barely, with her petite breasts exposed to the nipple. The other booth featured an equally beautiful man with dark chocolate skin and a sexy bald head that I itched to rub my hands over.

  “Your turn,” I told JC, nudging him toward the female. “Kiss her.”

  “Uh, yeah. I don’t think so. Our rules were no sharing, no touching―”

  “I know what the rules were. This is different. It’s a kissing booth.” Not that I had any misconceptions that th
e kissing that happened here would be as tame as any other kissing booth I’d encountered. But I knew it would stop there, and, in the safety of this environment, I wondered what JC looked like kissing another woman. I wanted to watch it.

  He was hesitant. “Are you sure?”

  “Very. Besides, she’s hot. I’d kiss her.”

  “Okay, I’ll do it. But only if you do it too.”

  I glanced over at the other booth where the beautiful man was currently tonguing a man old enough to be his grandpa.

  “Not him,” JC said, obviously not as comfortable with watching his wife kiss another man as I was with him kissing another woman. “I meant only if you kiss her.”

  Goosebumps ran down my arms. I’d never kissed another girl before. I wasn’t exactly against it, I’d just never had any interest. Or maybe never had the opportunity.

  But now, the idea of kissing this gorgeous woman, particularly right after she’d kissed my husband, particularly knowing my husband was getting off on our kissing, made me wet between the legs.

  “Sure,” I agreed.

  JC stepped up to the booth, and I scurried to his side where I could have an up-close view. The woman―almost a girl, she was so young―initiated the act, reaching behind his neck to pull my husband down to her mouth. She was somewhat aggressive, kissing with more confidence and prowess than I’d ever had. Her mouth was open from the very beginning, and I could see when her tongue slipped in between his lips.

  I studied them with interest, trying to decide if I was at all jealous. I focused on the worst about the situation in my head, too, just to really test the idea. She’s younger than you, I told myself. Her boobs don’t sag even a little bit. I bet she’s more adventurous in bed. JC would probably love that.

  Even though JC kissed her back, even though I caught a glimpse of his tongue coming out to meet hers, the only emotion I could identify feeling was curiosity. It didn’t mean anything. She didn’t mean anything, and he proved it by being the one to pull away first.