“Your nipples are staring at me,” Brandon says. “Anyone who cares to can see them.”

On instinct, my eyes lower to my chest, to my nipples stretching against the gold, thin strap satin gown I am wearing. I flash him a smile, cover the distance between us to smoothen the invisible creases on his tuxedo. He growls and grabs my wrists to stop me from palming his growing bulge, I giggle and throw my head back, he snickers. I love the effect I now have on him, it almost feels surreal to know that he hated me at some point.

“When you walk, everyone will see your thighs,” he murmurs as my hands reach up to adjust his bow tie of the same colour with my gown. He frowns. “I don’t like that.”

Pulling his lower lip between my teeth, I let go and cock my head. “Are you jealous?”

He answers without hesitation, “Yes.”

Taking a step back, I twirl, leaving my long legs on display. The slits at each side end a few inches below my crotch, every little movement calls attention to the lower part of my body. The gown was a gift from Clarissa on my first night out to the club and tonight feels like the perfect occasion to show off my curves with my husband in tow.

“You don’t have to be. I’m all yours, baby, I’m all yours,” I reassure him as I close the gap. The lines marring his forehead remains, I sigh and straighten up to place his hands on my chest. He offers me a weak smile, I ask, “Do you want me to change?” I pull him by the wrist and start for the wardrobe. “You can pick something out for me, is that okay?”

A yelp escapes my lips at the sudden shift in our positions. My back connects with the wall, his breath fans my face and he backs away with narrowed eyes to scan the length of my body. I gulp, my chest rises and falls at the intensity of his stare as he inches closer to me and my mouth dries up. At a loss on how to react, my fingers splay on his solid chest and I gasp when he rotates his bulge against my crotch area. My teeth sink into my lower lip, I cup his butt and knead them with a sensuality that has him grunting.

One of his hand comes to rest on the space beside my head. “Dear wife,” he starts and my movements cease to allow me to focus on his handsome face. “You are too beautiful.”

A lump lodges in my throat at the sincerity in his words, I place a kiss on the top of his head which trails down to his nose and pull him in for an embrace. My love. I have been complimented a lot of times but he does it different, better, with a grace that has my insides melting into a puddle of affection for him and he doesn’t even try so hard.

“Do you want to change?” he asks. His teeth graze my neck, I moan, my eyes partially close and I shake my head without meeting his gaze. I don’t want to ruin this intimate moment but I love my dress. “Then, it’s fine, you don’t have to. Wear whatever you want,” he takes a step away from me to pout and I giggle, “I can deal with it.”

“I love you.” At the contorting of his face, my heart picks up speed, I ask, “You don’t like it when I say that, right?” My heart sinks to my stomach when he frowns. “I will stop.”

His arm circles my waist, I sigh in content when he nuzzles my neck. “It’s not that that,” he murmurs against my skin, “I am not used to people being nice or saying that to me.”

“I can stop,” I volunteer and offer him a grim smile when he raises his head to stare at me with a strange expression. “I will stop. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

My train of thoughts evaporates as his lips descend on mine briefly, he peppers kisses on my jaw and I gasp when he pinches my nipples. His knee comes to separate my legs, I wince in pleasure when he interlaces our fingers above my head and grinds against me.

“You didn’t hurt my feelings, it’s strange, that’s all. It makes me feel funny.” Some of my excitement wears off, my heart constricts and my eyes waters. He takes my clenched fists in an attempt to pry them open. “El, it’s a good kind of funny. I don’t want you to stop, I like hearing you say it.” I start smiling when he averts his gaze, I have never seen a shy Brandon until now. “You make me happy,” he sighs, “do I make you happy too?”

I take his hand to place above my galloping heart, warmth radiate through me, causing my lips to pull into a big smile. “It’s beating for you. You make me the happiest woman.” He lifts me, my legs go around his waist and I whisper into his ear, “Guess what?”

He spares me a side glance. “What?”

“I’m not putting on any underwear.” Laughter spills from my lips when he staggers, I stick out my tongue and bop his nose when he frowns. “I’m naked underneath. Naked.”

“Naked?” I nod and pull one of my straps down. “You will be getting punished for that.”

Tingles spread all over my body at the threat in his voice, a throbbing starts between my legs and I run my fingers through his hair. I place a wet kiss on his lips, I might have to tease him more often. “Really?” I scatter his hair to allow a few strands fall over his face, he lets out a low hiss and I giggle, my arms returning to wrap around his neck. “When?”

* * *

Brandon is evil. I squirm in the car seat as the balls inside me begin to vibrate, he spares me a glance and chuckles. Evil. Evil man. I don’t like him again. The vibrations cease, I let out a sigh of relief at the few seconds of repose and my head drops to his shoulder. His scent welcomes me, he caresses the side of my face, I smile and snuggle closer to him.

“What if it falls off?” I ask again as the car slows to a stop. “I’m not sure I can keep it in.”

He slides me a mask. “You can, I believe in you.” I scowl as he reiterates the lines I told him and slap his arm when he chuckles. Evil. My brows furrow when I lift the mask to eye level and he answers my unspoken question, “Tonight is a masked event.”

The driver zooms off immediately we step out of the limousine, Brandon and I sashay into the club with my hands tucked in the crook of his elbow. There is an indescribable shift in the atmosphere once we step foot into the large room with seats arranged in front of a raised podium hidden behind thick curtains. I look to Brandon who doesn’t seem to notice the change and gulp as he guides me to the long couch in the front row.

Girls in unbelievably high heels and spiky collars strut about the room carrying trays with wine flutes in one hand. I feel choked from looking at the contraptions around their necks, my fingers tentatively reach for my necklace and I fiddle with the name pendant.

Their outfits leave little to the imagination, the most they are wearing is a tiny G-string and a piece of shiny material to cover their nipples, plus the masks to protect their identities. A few of the ladies have on colourful net meshes with no underwear, I cringe and bile rise to my throat at the sight of pointed nipples and clean-shaven vaginas. My eyes flit to Brandon whose attention is on the stage and my heart swells with pride.

I squeeze his hand as we settle on the couch with the best view of the stage and a round table in front of it. “What’s this place?” I whisper as if afraid to speak up. “This is not a club.”

Lights dim enough for us to see beyond our fingers and locate our seats but too dull for my eyes to fully explore the room surround us. My jaw drops when the curtain goes up and I see a blondie kneeling on stage with her back to the audience I am certain are behind us. I squeeze Brandon’s hand, he runs his fingers up my arms and I shudder.

He replies me in a whisper, “It’s a BDSM club. If you are not comfortable we can leave for somewhere else.” I gulp as a man with a fat whip comes to stand in front of blondie, Brandon pulls me to sit on his laps and I tuck my head into his shoulder. He chuckles at my obvious discomfort, inserts his index finger into my mouth and I suck on it eagerly, wishing it was that bigger part of him. “We’ll leave if you want us to, just say the word.”

His wet fingertips start a sensual journey down the plunging neckline of my gown, I shiver when he flicks a finger over my taut nipple nearly poking out of my dress and shake my head. This is different from the clubs I have been to but I don’t want to leave.

“We’ll stay,” my eyes wander to the stage, “this is my first time here.” The adventurous part of me is excited to know what will happen next. “I have never been to a BDSM club,” I palm his face and peck his plump lips, “thank you for bringing me. When does it start?”

Brandon gives a subtle nod to the man with the whip. “Anything for you, wifey.” I giggle and he shushes me with a finger pressed to his lip. In response, I lean over and lick that finger. “Wifey,” he whines and I giggle again, I love the new pet name. “You might want to pay attention to the stage,” I nod, he smiles, “I am right here if you need anything.”

One of the half-naked servers approaches us, I cover my husband’s eyes as she bends to drop a bucket of wine and empty glasses on our table with her bouncing breasts in our faces. My hand lowers as soon as she leaves, I don’t give Brandon a chance to complain before sucking on his lip long enough to make him forget. I want to be the only woman he sees in that state of undress, I know it is stupid of me to think that since he owns and frequents this place but it doesn’t stop the thought and it won’t stop me from trying.

“Why do you have so many naked women?” I ask as he laces our fingers, bringing it to his lips for a peck. A part of me expects him to reprimand me for displaying my insecurity with the server and the weight on my shoulders vanishes when he doesn’t.

“Are you jealous?” he asks in a bored tone. I nod and fiddle with his tie, thankful for the mask hiding his disappointment in me. “Don’t be. Think of them as well-paid, walking aesthetics, they are meant to please the eyes. Our clients find them attractive.”

The comparison to aesthetics annoys me but my jealousy overshadows it, I understand what he means but I don’t like it. The pad of his thumb brushes my upper lip, I suck in a sharp breath when the vibrations take over my body and he grunts in satisfaction when I am rendered momentarily speechless. I frown and hit him on his chest when it ends, I don’t like this punishment, it is only good for sexually active couples, we are not.

“Can’t be me,” I mutter when I find my voice. “I don’t find them attractive one bit,” I touch his mask which covers only the upper half of his face, “do they please you?”

“I have eyes only for you, now pay attention.”

It’s easy to ignore the tone of his voice, he doesn’t allow me to bask in the euphoria of his reply before redirecting his gaze to the stage, I pout and my eyes mimic his actions, focusing on the entertainment for the evening. The girl is still on the stage, this time, she is on her feet, hands tied behind her with a rope connecting to a hook on the ceiling.

She is naked.

Faded marks cover her skin, her buttcheeks are red, showing today is not her first time of doing this. I grimace, my arms hurt from looking at her, I can’t imagine how bad she must be hurting. He spreads her feet apart, she bucks without falling to her knees. The man rubs her backside, a groan escapes her lips when the man whoops her ass again and the audience, including Brandon, erupt in satisfied chuckles. I don’t find it funny.

The guy takes off his shirt, a half-naked girl comes in pushing a table with whips, cuffs and other items similar to that in Brandon’s playroom. I gulp when he cracks one of the whips in the air, my heart skips a beat and I grab Brandon’s hand in a death-like grip.

Shivers trickle down my spine when he swipes the whip against her creamy skin and a red mark appears on her back. I whimper and hide my face in Brandon’s shirt, my teeth dig into my lip and I don’t look at the stage until I hear the whip drop to the ground.

Slow, almost inaudible music plays in the background, I hear murmurs of people, no doubt, enjoying this. I don’t get how they can enjoy this, she looks to be in agony. Her asscheeks have turned a faint red and her cries echo as the guy inserts a tiny object into her anus that causes her to go slightly crazy with pleasure or pain, I will never know.

“What’s that?” I whisper.

“A butt plug.”

The clips on her nipples strain when Blondie is forced into a kneeling position, the man snickers and slaps her sore breasts with his meaty hands. On instinct, my hand goes to cover my breasts, I hear Brandon chuckle and I let out a low hiss. For some reasons, I am disappointed in him for enjoying it. This is painful, torture, no one should relish it.

“Why’s she still letting him do this?” I mutter when the man separates the girl’s legs to cuff her ankles to the long-chain connected to the wall. My muscles tense when no one stops him from helping her into a muzzle gag or cuffing her hands behind her head. How is he supposed to know she has reached her limit if she is gagged? “Baby, she’s hurting.”

Her master squats in front of her, they converse in low tunes and he pats her head the same way I will if it is a pet. He pushes her to her stomach, I let out a shaky breath as her forehead presses to the ground and her butt sticks into the air. Her cries are muffled as he inserts a wand into her vagina and pulls out the butt plug with lightning speed. I wince, he could have pretended to care, tried to be gentle. She is a human with feelings.

Moans from behind floats to my ears, I cry out to Brandon, “People are having sex.” He shrugs and I try to remind myself that he isn’t an awful person, he, like the other people in this room have a fetish for sadistic sex. “How can they do that? She is in pains.”

“Yes, but she can take it, she has her safe word.” I sigh. No more, I am done. I adjust on his lap so I can straddle him, my forehead touches his, his hands snake inside my gown to cup my buttocks and I mentally reprimand myself for moaning. “El, consent is of utmost importance in our sex world, she agreed to it, if she didn’t, she won’t be here.”

“But I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to,” he replies and I sigh. “She likes it, she enjoys it.”

Grinding my pelvis against his groin, I sigh and nod in partial understanding of his weird fetish. The vibrations resume, his mouth covers my nipple and I whimper in pleasure at the combination. I feel my juices slide down my thighs, I gasp at the increased intensity of the vibrating object inside me and Brandon’s mouth covers mine to stop my moans.

“I like it when you call me wifey or dear wife,” I state when I get off my orgasmic high. Tuning out the muffled sounds from the girl on stage as I adjust the strap of my gown, I settle in my former position beside him. My chest rises and falls, I spare the stage a glance to say, “It looks too painful to watch and there is nothing enjoyable about that.”

His hand rubbing my cheek brings my attention back to him. “It’s all part of the thrill and excitement, like having the balls inside you.” I scowl. “The pain and pleasure are what makes BDSM what it is.” A long pause ensues, he adds, “You don’t like it here.”

The mask prevents me from gauging his reaction, my eyes lower to his chest, I fiddle with his tie and shake my head. “Not so much,” I sniff, “I don’t think you should too.”

“We won’t come here again.”

Tension hangs in the air, I gulp and peck his lips, trying to diffuse the awkwardness. It might have been my ears but he sounded hurt and the thought tugs at my heartstrings.
“Lovemaking can be exciting too,” I say seconds after. His lips purse as if he changed his mind on his response, I tug on his lower lip and pout. “I want to make love to you.”

* * * * *

A/N: Someone made aesthetics for Elna and Brandon. Do check it out on my Instagram@maramarthaa