Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
She lived out in Englewood in a massive six-thousand-square-foot house. She was married, she and her hubby were swingers, they liked to watch other people going at their spouses, among other things, and even though she was a Domme (so she rode the other side of my fence), we got on and I liked her.
We had a lot in common. And I admired the fact they were in that six-thousand-square-foot house not only because her husband owned a mortgage company that specialized in jumbo loans, but mostly because she was an attorney that specialized in kicking ass in the courtroom.
I found her address in my GPS, scheduled the route guidance to GO, and pulled back out onto the street.
It was late, but I hadn’t received the text the doors were closed, and with functions like these, they didn’t start getting really going until midnight or later, so I thought the party was not over.
But when I arrived, there were only five cars in their massive drive.
It happened that people connected and took off to do their thing elsewhere.
Corinne had a playroom where she allowed multiple-person play, so it also happened that folks connected in her basement and, when they were done, they’d come back up to the common areas to have a drink.
She further had a guestroom where she allowed private play, and ditto with the done and drink.
The previous parties I’d been to at her pad had ended in Corinne laying out an expansive breakfast for stragglers, of which there were several, including me, and I hadn’t left until nearly 10:00 in the morning.
True, it was 3:30 in the morning now, but all the lights were on.
As I was sitting in my car, I saw the front door open, Corinne silhouetted in the light coming from the house behind her, and she was giving me a beckoning gesture.
Okay.
Weird.
She was a friendly person and I hadn’t seen her as a Domme (I didn’t do the multi-player gig), but even though I RSVPed earlier that day, it seemed strange that she was waiting on me.
Being hostess and participant, even with only a few guests left, I couldn’t imagine why she was looking out for me.
Maybe it was because she’d scoped out the new Doms and she thought one of them would suit me.
On this thought, suddenly, I wanted to put the car in reverse and go.
This wasn’t right.
Because it wasn’t Boone.
And that thought was just plain stupid.
He wasn’t mine.
He would never be mine.
And after that morning, I wasn’t even sure I liked him.
And he was less and less sure he liked me (buh).
What I knew, though, was I no longer felt like getting laid.
I didn’t feel like socializing either, going in for a drink, getting looked over.
This was a bad idea.
I didn’t even know what’d I’d been thinking.
But there was no getting out of it now. I’d RSVPed, Corinne saw me and was waving me in.
It’d be rude not to go in for a drink.
I’d do that, then I could go home to my vibrator and later, get my ass to a kickboxing class and work the rest of it out of my system.
I got out and walked up the winding flagstone walkway.
“Hey there, I think I texted this, but had a shift at the club, that’s why I’m so late,” I greeted when I got close.
Corinne opened the door further, and I wondered if she’d done her thing with whoever she’d chosen, because she was not in her normal, classy, form-fitting dress and heels. She was in lounge pants, a tank and a fashionable, zip-up sports hoodie, with bare feet.
“Not a problem,” she muttered, looking down at her toes.
Weird again.
Doms, and Dommes, were all about eye contact.
It was a sub who often wasn’t allowed to look their Dom in the eye, depending on their instructions.
Though, Corinne had a rule that her common space was free space. Getting-to-know-you space. You slipped into your scene only when you were in her play space.
I stopped in her foyer with its enormous chandelier, looked into her brightly lit, humongous, but vacant great room, and turned in confusion as she closed and locked the door.
It was when she caught my eyes, a chill trailed down my spine, and she whispered, “I’m sorry. He’s a client you don’t say no to.”
“What?” I whispered back.
And that was when I felt a cold press of steel against my temple.
My eyeballs shifted left and I saw the gun.
My first inclination was to freeze, which I did.
The second was to run, which I did not.
What was happening?
“He’s in here and he’s waiting,” the man holding the gun stated.
“He…who?” I forced out.
He (thankfully) took the gun from my skin and used it to indicate a direction.
I looked in that direction.
There were double doors that had always been closed when Corinne had parties.