Total pages in book: 206
Estimated words: 192184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 641(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 641(@300wpm)
I looked to Tommy, wide-eyed, and he gave me a little shrug with a half a smirk. I couldn’t see the reactions of John or his Katie Cupcake because they were sort of sitting closer to the stage and had turned so we saw their backs, mostly.
I glanced over to the next table to see Leo Denarda was grimacing at Ben. Olive was amused. Leo’s date was watching with rapt attention, chewing gum with her mouth open. The audience evidently approved judging by show of their applause.
The next act consisted of two nude women doing acrobatics from long ribbons that came down from the ceiling. It was beautiful and artistic and dirty. Way dirty. Their boobs defied gravity, were so obviously fake. I spotted Mrs. Katie Cupcake reach and grab her husband’s bulge and then she leaned in and whispered something into his ear. Oh. Okay, then… Mrs. Katie Cupcake Soccer Mom was clearly pretty kinky.
And I was feeling a little bit tipsy. I’d had a few glasses of wine with dinner, wine in the limo, and now had almost a whole Cosmo into me. I was about to break the seal and needed the restroom. As the curtain opened and an upbeat song I didn’t recognize started, I leaned over and whispered to Tommy that I needed the ladies’ room.
Katie Cupcake heard me and piped up with, “Me too!” and she linked arms with me and led me away before Tommy could do more than purse his lips.
“Your fiancé is so tall, dark, and hunky, Tia. I’ve met him several times. I bet he’s a handful in the bedroom,” Katie Cupcake said to me while washing her hands.
She was definitely tipsy, or more than tipsy.
I smirked. “Oh you have no idea…” I almost flashed my throat at her, but changed my mind, logic winning out over my own slight tipsiness.
“I’d like to.” She fluffed up her hair while looking in the mirror and then puckered her lips and put lip gloss on. “You two into group play?” Her eyes darted in my direction.
“Uh, no,” I said flatly, my eyes wide as I tried to de-clump some of my eyelashes with my fingernail.
She shrugged, reached into her purse, and pulled out a little marijuana box-shaped pipe.
“Pity. My Johnny doesn’t mind sharing as long as he can watch. I feel the same. If you change your mind, I bet Olive would be interested, too. She’s had her eye on you all night.” Katie Cupcake took a haul off the pipe and then motioned to offer it to me and I waved my hand. I didn’t need to be high right now. I was having enough trouble holding my alcohol.
I winced at the swap / group sex bit. Olive wasn’t unattractive, if you liked the curvy pin-up shaped accountant type, which many would, but I wasn’t in the least bit bi-curious. What was with this group? Clearly Ben put it together well. Tommy was into kink, too; he’d introduced me to it. Were his dark sexual tendencies common knowledge?
We walked back to the table amid heavy bass that thumped in my chest, it seemed, and there were fresh drinks there for me and Katie Cupcake. The curtain closed on whatever act was ending, and a moment later rose again.
I recognized the beginning of the song Wicked Game. I knew the Chris Isaak version, but this was arranged a bit differently. This guitar-playing singer sat in the corner in the dark on a stool while he sang and played his acoustic guitar. This acoustic arrangement seemed much more powerful than the version I knew, the singer so very soulful.
A second set of curtains opened and revealed a spotlight-drenched four poster bed that was artfully unmade. A screen behind it played images of a bi-racial couple in a collage that flashed through a slideshow of their life together, living a happy-looking life, walking a Border Collie, eating dinner together, staring into one another’s eyes, and another, snuggled with a bowl of popcorn.
Then another light shone down on the couple themselves. He was a tall and muscular attractive bald Black man with a chin strap beard. He stood on the stage in just a black G-string and towered over her, a petite woman with a blonde pixie haircut dressed in leather pants and a black corset with platform boots. She was the woman in the images, but she looked almost nothing like her. She looked like she’d transformed from kindergarten teacher to Dominatrix.
He had a long braided black leather whip in his hand. I felt sick for a second and then confusion set in as he handed it to her and got down to his knees and bowed into a stretchy yoga-looking pose, his gaze directed at the floor.
She circled him and then lifted his chin with the toe of her boot. He looked up at her lovingly. Then she lifted her chin toward the bed and he climbed on and laid flat on his stomach, spread eagled. She cuffed him to all four posts with handcuffs that were already attached and then proceeded to sweep the whip up and down his body gently. The screen went from pictures of them licking ice cream cones, feeding baby ducks at a pond, riding on a Ferris wheel smiling together, and then zoomed in to a live stream of his face and he was still looking at her lovingly.