But this showed real effort. He must have checked her size, right down to the dainty strappy sandals on the carpet.
“It’s beautiful.” The dress was black velvet, soft beneath her fingers. She was touched.
Then she thought she was having an attack her heart pounded so hard. Her breath choked off in her throat.
An envelope lay on top of all the pretty lingerie. A cream-colored envelope with curlicue font spelling out the name Regina.
“I was there.” He was beside her, a warm presence.
She turned. “Brett, I—”
He covered her lips with his fingers. “You don’t need to explain. Just indulge yourself.”
She searched his eyes for something. A spark of spite. Condemnation. There was only the same warmth as when he’d told her to put her parents’ china wherever she wanted. And beneath that, a flare of heat equal to that when he’d opened his robe on the terrace and began stroking his cock.
He leaned forward, sucked her lower lip into his mouth, then kissed her hard. Finally he whispered, “Think of it as an invitation to pleasure. Get dressed. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Then he backed away. She was still staring at the envelope when she heard the front door of the condo close.
She’d gone to a sex club, for God’s sake, and he actually encouraged her to go again. He’d bought beautiful clothes for her to wear, and he’d said he’d be waiting for her.
Virginia was suddenly dying to explore a few more of Brett’s hidden depths.
* * * * *
The dress was sexy yet elegant. A scooped cowl neck draped her bosom, revealing nothing unless she leaned too far forward, yet it offered the promise of what lay beneath the velvet. Sexy and decadent. Only Brett would know about the lace-trimmed openings of the bra through which her nipples fit perfectly. The subtle shift of the holes with her every movement made her feel as if a warm mouth sucked at her constantly.
He’d provided a garter belt and stockings but no panties. Her pussy was bare beneath the elegant velvet dress, wet before she even stepped through the doors of The Sex Club.
Brett had created a fantasy for her. How sweet. Maybe a little strange, but somehow the atmosphere at the club bothered her less than his seduction on the terrace. He was giving her a kinky fantasy, nothing more.
Being later in the evening than she and the girls had arrived last week, and also perhaps because it was Saturday night, she had to wait in line to submit her invitation. A waiter, dressed in a black tuxedo, offered her champagne to sip as the line moved forward. Tonight, everyone dressed as if they were attending a black-and-white ball.
Virginia smiled to herself, wondering how the men were going to find their way beneath the long ball gowns. Her dress was cocktail short, the full skirt resting midthigh. Brett wouldn’t have any trouble finding the tops of her stockings.
Her turn, but when she handed over the envelope, she was given another in return and told to open it as she stood at the bottom of the stairs.
Formal skirts brushed her legs as she set her champagne on a table and moved aside to read Brett’s instructions. A hand lightly caressed her bottom, but when she turned, a sea of faces floated by. Anyone could have touched her.
A key fell out of the envelope into her hand, and the accompanying note was written in Brett’s neat script.
“Up the stairs to the third floor, turn right, and enter the fourth room on the left.”
The third floor. The private rooms. Stacy had told her about them.
She floated up the stairs with the crowd. Unlike last Friday night, she didn’t notice anyone having sex in the halls or the alcoves, just couples in their fancy dress.
Unable to contain her curiosity, she tapped a woman on the shoulder. “Is there a party I didn’t hear about?”
The woman laughed beneath heavy makeup applied to hide her age, which had to be over fifty. Her skin was a tad too yellow against the whiteness of her dress. “Oh my dear, it’s the Swingers Ball. Every dance, you have to partner with someone new, and it can’t be the person you came with.”
Virginia raised a brow. “You just dance?”
“Now that’s a foolish question, dear. This is a particular kind of club, you know.” She brushed a hand down her abdomen to the skirt of her ball gown. A slit had been fashioned up the center almost to her pubic hair.
“Of course.” Virginia kept a straight face. “Silly of me.”
“And there’s a prize at the end of the ball. It goes to the couple who...” She paused, smiled, then winked at Virginia. “To the couple who enjoyed the most partners. After every...dance you collect your partner’s card.” It sounded like some sort of tag team wrestling match. “Don’t you think it’s a divine idea?”
The woman delved into her evening bag and pulled out a gold card holder filled with turquoise cards, the number sixty-three printed on them. The stack must have been at least thirty deep.
“The couple with the most cards at the end of the night wins a Hawaiian vacation.”
For that much activity, the couple deserved a six-month trip around the world. The candy dishes filled with condoms, which were all over the club, would certainly need refilling often.
Virginia realized now why the line in the lobby had been so long. Everyone was getting their numbered cards.
Did Brett have a set of cards for her upstairs?
She hoped not. The Swingers Ball seemed so...impersonal. She’d be one of at least sixty-three, and probably double that number by the feel of the crowd. That certainly wouldn’t make a woman feel special. How could a man have a chance to want any one woman desperately if he had to work his way through every female in sight?
No, no, no. The Swingers Ball wasn’t for her. And obviously not for Brett either. He’d ordered a private room.
And she needed to get up to it right now.
“Good luck.” Despite the peculiar circumstances, she smiled as politely as possible at her informant. Then she climbed the second flight of stairs and left the crowd behind, though the voices, the merriment, and the strains of a waltz drifted up from below as she reached the third floor.
Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to see what Brett had planned just for her indulgence. Oddly, knowing what would occur in the ballroom enhanced her private surprise party.
She fumbled at the door, got the key in, then rushed into...an empty room.
Where was Brett?
The room was done in soft gold tones. A king-size bed stood on a pedestal in the middle, with two steps up. On the left, four steps up, was a sunken tub, steam wafting off its surface. The mirror behind it tilted slightly to reveal a froth of bubbles in its reflection. A bucket held an uncorked bottle of champagne, and on the table beside it, a glass had already been filled. Cheese and fruit graced a crystal platter along with strawberries dipped in chocolate. All within reach of the bath.
On the corner of the porcelain tub sat another envelope. Stepping up, she saw that this time the note had an instruction on the outside.
“Indulge yourself, take your pleasure, then open the envelope when you’re done with your bath.”
She tingled with anticipation. Turning back to the room, she noticed the mirror along one wall. It reflected the bed and beyond that, the tub. The room and the mirror were designed to produce the maximum view. Someone was behind that mirror, which she was sure was two-way. Maybe more than one someone.
Brett was giving her what she’d had last Friday all over again. But this time with more luxury.
Her heart beat faster. He’d chosen what he thought would most tantalize her. His actions the night of their wedding now made perfect sense.
Brett had masturbated for her. He’d asked her to do the same. Instead of freaking out like a normal husband would over the knowledge that she’d performed for a crowd at a sex club, Brett condoned and encouraged with his every action. The man had a delicious streak of kinkiness she could never have imagined.
Virginia suddenly wanted to drive him
wild, and she’d do it by driving herself wild.
First, a striptease. Her back to the mirror, she unzipped the dress slowly, exposing herself to her audience inch by inch. A chair sat by the door ready to receive her cast-off clothing. She tossed the dress, then stretched her arms over her head, naked but for the lacy underthings he’d bought her.
Then she turned. God, she looked hot. She saw what he saw, the tight beads of her nipples burgeoning from the black bra, the blond thatch between her thighs, the stockings’ lace borders flirting with her curls, and the garter belt high on her hips.
She palmed her breasts, plumping them for the mirror, then stuck one finger in her mouth. Circling first one nipple, then the other, the peaks ached. Moisture coated her inner thighs, and her clitoris throbbed. She slid a hand over her belly to her mound but didn’t slip inside to caress herself.
He’d indicated she should take a bath first. Then there was another note to read.
She lifted one foot to the bed frame, spreading her legs a little wider than necessary, then removed her shoe and unclipped the stocking. Sliding her hand between her legs, barely brushing her clitoris, she rolled down the stocking. After a long, slow caress the length of her leg, she tossed the stocking across the room, missing the chair. She repeated the procedure, this time rubbing her clitoris a little before removing the stocking. Then the garter went the way of the silk and velvet. Finally, she turned back to the mirror, pinched each nipple, then undid the bra, tossed it aside, and stood naked a moment.
Her bath awaited her, and if she preened for the mirror much longer, the water would cool. She hated a lukewarm bath.
She’d worn her hair down for tonight, but she wound it on top of her head and secured it with clips she found in a little dish. She smiled to herself. Whoever had prepared the room thought of everything. Once she was beneath the water, soothing bath salts tenderized her skin, and they’d even provided a bath pillow to cradle her head. A sip of champagne sizzled on her tongue, and the chocolate strawberries dazzled her taste buds. The cheese was light and tangy like Swiss but with more subtlety.
The thought of Brett on the other side of that window heated her in a way the tub of steaming water and bath bubbles couldn’t.
Brett alone in an empty room watching her. For tonight, she didn’t need other men. It was enough that he’d brought her here. It was enough that he would enjoy her performance. This was pure sex, her husband’s invitation to pleasure.
Sinking down until the bubbles covered her to her throat, she let her knees fall apart and stroked a hand between her legs.
Show time.
Chapter Four
With a cock the size of the Washington Monument and just as hard, Brett salivated over his wife in the steaming water. The mirror next to the tub was angled to give a tantalizing view.
And Virginia tantalized him in every way. The bubbles obscured her actions, but her expression gave away exactly what her hands did below the surface. She’d closed her eyes, and the ripples of her pleasure lapped against the sides of the tub.
He wanted to taste the champagne and treats on her tongue. He wanted to savor the confection between her legs. He wanted to suck the cherried buds of her nipples through the slinky bra.
She was like the lady of the manor performing her evening ablutions. A hot bath, sparkling champagne, and a little play to help her sleep. She fluttered under the water, preparing herself but not coming. He felt like a kid in a candy store waiting for the patron in front of him who just could not make up his mind.
The wait made her actions all the more sexy. She arched, moaned softly—the room was wired for sound—then relaxed again, lifting an arm to snag another piece of cheese and a champagne chaser. Is that how women masturbated when no one was watching, stretching it out, rising to a heated level, then backing off to relax and sip champagne, only to start all over again?
He’d never asked, never even wondered about it. It hadn’t mattered. Playing his share of sex games, he’d also done his share of watching a woman make herself come, but what did they do when they didn’t have an audience? Yes, Virginia knew the mirror was two-way, but still, this was different from her pre-wedding sojourn. Perhaps she was already so hot and wet that night after wandering the halls of the club that she’d gone at herself in a frenzy, even if she had been able to hold off her orgasm for an extraordinary amount of time.
He gripped the window frame as her hips arched and rose from the water, bubbles popping, her fingers working. The mirror revealed the bliss on her face, her lashes fanned below her eyes, her teeth worrying her lower lip.
She moaned again, but she didn’t scream, and he knew she hadn’t come. No matter how languid she appeared, she was well aware of him behind the window, well aware of his reaction.
Just as before, he didn’t take his cock out of his pants. For now, it was all about her pleasure. He watched and waited, his balls tightening all the while.
He’d thought of parading her through the party throng. He’d even changed into a tuxedo for the occasion. The club had a locker room, perhaps for those who wanted to wash off the night’s revelry or change their debauched clothing. But doing what everyone else was doing didn’t appeal. In the end, he’d gone with his original plan. A private room, a private show.
Then she rose from amid the dying bubbles. Water streamed down her body as she poured soap into her hand. He’d made sure the attendants left her favorite scent. She washed, her hand delving into her mound. In the mirror behind her, he watched her fingers peek from between her legs, then she soaped her ass, spreading her cheeks, teasing. Pinching soaped nipples, she caressed beneath her breasts, her throat, arching her neck.
She was dazzling. He’d always appreciated her beauty, her elegance. Now he craved the passion he’d seen beneath the surface the night he’d followed her here.
Drying off, she stepped from the tub, then finally, finally, she opened his second instruction. And smiled.
She dropped the towel and began a slow, sultry application of lotion. Her flirty movements drove him mad. Then she left her champagne behind and mounted the bed, tugging her hair loose at the same time. The pins she’d used to secure it flew in all directions.
If she’d been alone, she probably would have climbed under the covers, snuggling into the warmth. Instead, she crawled across the mattress on her hands and knees, her eyes on herself in what to her was a mirror. Then she swung her legs around, pulled a pillow beneath her head, and lay back.
Her gorgeous bush faced him, showing him a hint of warm, wet pink. He wanted, needed to bury his face in her. A door, disguised to look like another wall panel, was set to one side of the window. He could enter her room any time.
She spread her legs and wiggled her ass on the bed. In the note, he’d told her to indulge herself on the bed in any way she liked. She wanted to tease. He passed a hand over his erection, squeezing through the cloth. It wasn’t enough to relieve the ache. But he didn’t pull out his cock. He didn’t open the door.
She slid her middle finger into her pussy, over her clit. Her heels planted in the coverlet, she suddenly plunged deep, arching her hips off the bed. She fucked herself with two fingers as he died with desire.
Then she settled once more, stroking her clit with a slow hand. He couldn’t say how long she touched herself, how many times she plunged, squirmed, circled. It went on forever until he thought he’d go insane. Until he wanted to grab the only chair and throw it through the glass so that he could get at her.
Her gasps filled his small compartment. Her moans echoed all around. His heart raced, the sound pounding in his ears, and his breath timed itself to her rhythm. And when she finally let loose and orgasmed all over her fingers, he almost came with her as she screamed out her delight.
Primitive instinct urged him to rip the door off its hinges and have her. To bring her more pleasure than she’d known just moments before. He almost gave in to the force.
His intent to wait until they got home wa
s dying a fiery demise. He was sure he didn’t retain enough control over his impulses to make it far past the front doors of The Sex Club.
* * * * *
If that didn’t make Brett come in his pants, nothing would. She’d climaxed imagining him jerking off in his hand, unable to stop himself, overcome by the sight of her. Wanting her desperately.
Virginia lay on the bed recovering her breath. Her spread legs faced the mirror. Her hot, wet pussy lay open and exposed. A shiver traveled her arms and legs. Goose bumps rose. She hadn’t married Brett because he wanted her desperately. She didn’t want him desperately either.
What they’d done tonight was about kinky pleasures, not messy emotions. And that’s the way she wanted to keep it. Fantasy. Sexy games. Nothing more.
She rolled to her stomach and languidly rose to her knees, this time exposing her ass. Since they were playing sex games, she would enjoy every minute of it.
Virginia followed her last set of instructions, dressing as slowly as she’d undressed, petting and stroking for the mirror. As he required, she stood for a time clothed only in garter, stockings, and the tantalizing brassiere with its tight nipple holes. The light flush of her climax still suffused her skin, and her clitoris throbbed delicately as she contemplated whatever else Brett had planned for the night.
Finally, dressed, she exited the room. The lacy underthings caressed her as she took the stairs to the second level.
She’d never seen so many couples engaged in sex. It was beyond even her first foray to the club. On the floor in the middle of the hallway, for God’s sake, a man mounted his partner, taking her with deep strokes. Against the banister, the wall, on the stairs, more couples. She negotiated the carpeting as if it were a minefield, careful not to step on anyone’s dress.
It was almost amusing, yet the scent of perspiration, perfume, and sex laced the air with an aura of decadence and abandon. The hot and heavy atmosphere stole her breath and increased the throb between her legs.
Invitation to Pleasure: Open Invitation, Book 2 Page 4