Seth’s Doll – A Kinky Married Couple Read Online KD Robichaux

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Dark, Erotic Tags Authors: KD Robichaux Advertisement

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I trail my fingers over the buttery-soft leather of the chair they set up, meant for Seven to sit in and watch the moves I’ve been practicing with Crystal for the past several days. We didn’t have time to come up with anything too crazy or lengthy. Not that I’ll ever master anything more advanced than the simple beginner moves that took me days to conquer, when it only took my sister and girlfriends that one hour we spent together at the beginning of the week. But I’m hoping the fact that I’m putting on any sort of performance at all will have him in such a state of shock he won’t notice the pole is merely a pretty banister, there for me to hold on to so I don’t fall over in the heels I’ll be wearing while I essentially just wiggle around a little.

The thought of those heels snaps me to attention. I still need to change into the outfit Astrid helped me pick out and quickly put on the makeup she taught me how to apply to give just the right effect for what I’m about to do. I glance over at the trunk against the wall near the curtain. There’s one in each playroom, somewhere for the play partners to store their clothes and other personal belongings while they occupy the room. I hurry over to it, open it up, and pull out the bag that was thankfully left inside for me. I couldn’t drop it in there yesterday when I met up with the guys, because someone would most likely use the playroom that night, so I put it behind the bar and asked Dixie, one of our bartenders, to stick it in here after the club shut down.

I close the trunk and set the bag on top of it, carefully removing the makeup pouch and setting it to the side so I can start changing. Quickly, I step out of my flip-flops, shuck my skinny jeans and cotton panties in one move, then tug my shirt over my head as I attempt to yank my feet out of the tight denim around my ankles. In my rush though, I forgot to take off my glasses, and not wanting to break them by forcing the neck of my shirt over them or risking them going flying, I try to reach down to my face buried deep inside the now inside-out material. Unfortunately, my feet just aren’t pulling loose from my skinny jeans, and I’ve basically bound myself with my arms above my head, completely blind, and my equilibrium is being thrown off because my glasses are no longer on my nose, so the world feels like it’s tilting.

I’m twisting and turning, growling and grunting, trying to free my top-half and my feet at the same time, and I’m about to truly send myself into a panic attack, because I will absolutely die if my husband has to come freaking rescue me from my own goshdamn clothes like a toddler who hasn’t learned to dress herself. When, finally, one foot pops free, knocking me off balance with the sudden loss of resistance, my body spins on the one foot still on the floor, before I topple backward. I scrunch my face and close my eyes, even though I still can’t see a darn thing, as I brace for impact.

But a painful crash to the floor never comes. Instead, my butt lands on a soft cushion not even close to the ground. I sit there a moment, assessing the damage to my body in my head, my arms still trapped above me, but other than my heart racing and feeling a little nauseated from not being able to see during all that chaos, everything is fine. Carefully, I reverse the situation with my shirt, setting my glasses down beside me, and then look down at my naked lower half. And I realize I’m sitting on the stack of clothes on top of the trunk—the cushioned seat I landed on instead of the floor.

Thank you, sweet baby Jesus.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing myself to undress the rest of the way calmly and with measured movements so nothing else goes wrong. I stand up, turn to face the trunk once more, and glance up into the huge mirror on the wall behind it. When I reach out and touch the glowing button on the right side of the glass, I blink a few times as my eyes adjust to the bright light that now frames the mirror.

I’m flushed from the exertion, my hair wild, but I don’t have time to pick apart anything else. I don’t want him out there waiting any longer than necessary. I certainly don’t want to take so long he comes looking to make sure I’m all right. I practiced getting ready with my sister several times until I was confident I could do a full wardrobe and personality change within fifteen minutes, hoping to cut that time shorter when my adrenaline would be rushing and I didn’t have her distracting me.

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