“Bubala, get that one,” says a petite silver-haired lady standing next to me. She’s got to be in her eighties and looks familiar—like maybe she’s on TV or something. I’m sure I’ve seen her photo in one of those gossip magazines. She blabbers on in what sounds to be a Yiddish accent.
“Trust me, the other ones are feh. My Luigi loves using this vun. OY! Vee have so much fun. He loves to vatch me come! He says it’s so sexy shmexy.”
Her adorable bluntness cheers me up a bit. I have to bite down on my tongue to stifle laughter. “Thanks for the recommendation,” I say while she throws a couple of vibrating eggs into her shopping basket and sprightly heads down the aisle.
I follow “Grandma” down the next aisle, where she loads up on blindfolds, paddles, handcuffs, and whips. Everything you need for the total BDSM experience. “Have you ever tried these?” she asks me, holding up a small package. Nipple clamps!
“Don’t they hurt?” I reply.
“I don’t know, bubala. Ve’re going to try them out tonight. Surprise your boyfriend.”
She takes off while I continue to explore the various accessories. Rhinestone-studded cuffs with a leash? I have to admit I’m as aroused as I’m awed. Kinky eye candy.
My inquisitive mind wonders—what kind of toys does Brandon use? In my wildest fantasies, I’ve never imagined him using any. But now in my mind’s eye, I picture him totally naked, wielding a whip. Handcuffed to a bed, I’m on all fours, wearing nothing but the skimpiest leather thong. My ass is in the air.
“You’ve been a naughty girl, Zoey.”
Oh have I! I nod my head feverishly.
“And do you know what happens to naughty girls?”
I flinch and squeak out “no.”
“They get punished.”
On my next harsh breath, he growls and strikes the leather against the flesh of my ample ass. I wince in pain. And then another lash and yet another, not stopping until I’m screaming out with erotic sobs. Satisfied, he sits down on the edge of the bed and flips me over his knees, He caresses my fiery ass. The pain dissolves into exquisite pleasure but not for long. Whack! A paddle crashes down on my sore ass.
“Do you like being spanked, Zoey?”
“Oh yes!” I moan out.
Whack! And then another and another. I lose count. My moans morph into whimpers that get louder with each strike.
In my mind, I feel the sting, but in my core, I feel hot tingles. Fire and wetness co-mingle between my legs. I have the burning desire to touch myself, to make myself come. A hand reaches down, but just as my fingertips crawl to my hot, throbbing center, a voice sounds in my ear. My hand flies off my crotch.
“Can I help you find anything?” An androgynous, spiky-hair male in leather fetish attire faces me. A salesperson. Piercings dot his nose, lips, and ears, and tattoos glove his upper limbs.
Mortification races through me. “No, um, I’m good. I’m just here to pick something up. Where might I find my order?”
The young sales associate tells me it’s probably at the cashier. Sheepishly, I turn in that direction.
The inky hair girl behind the counter could be the twin sister to that kinky sales dude. She’s similarly clad in black leather with an abundance of piercings and tattoos; maybe it’s The Pleasure Chest employee uniform. I ask her if she has a package for someone named John Steele. It doesn’t surprise me Brandon used a pseudonym. The last thing he’d want would be for it to get out that he’s some kind of pervert and frequents this place.
She smiles, revealing a tiny ring on the tip of her tongue. “Yeah. I have it right here.” She reaches below the counter and produces a surprisingly small bag. I have no clue as to what might be inside. There’s a part of me that wants to ask. And there’s a part of me that wants to flee and leave the package behind. And tell Brandon that they misplaced whatever he ordered. Or didn’t have it in stock so I can ruin his night with Katrina. But my loyalty to him and work ethic triumph over deceit.
“How much?” I ask with hesitation.
“It comes to forty-three fifty. Would you like me to charge it to Mr. Steele’s account? He’s on file with us.”
I blink hard. Brandon has an account here? Does he know this, or is this something he’s forgotten with his amnesia? Either way, the shocking news feeds into my wildest imaginings. Gah! Maybe he’s like one of those men I’ve read about in my erotic romances who has a secret playroom where he stashes all his toys, fetishes, and gizmos. In my head, I picture a dark dungeon filled with spanking benches, ropes dangling from the ceiling, and racks of whips, paddles, and floggers. I inwardly shudder, but to say I’m not aroused would be a lie. A new tingly sensation invades my inner thighs.
Asking me again how I wish to pay, the cashier breaks into my deviant thoughts and causes me to startle. I just can’t get over the possibility that Brandon is into kink.
“Cash,” I stammer. Brandon was insistent I pay with cash and not use any of his credit cards. And maybe he doesn’t want me to know he has an account here if, in fact, he remembers. Understandably, a mega-star like Brandon has to take extra special precautions to guard his identity at a place like this. I can only begin to imagine how far the tabloids would take a story about his secret kinkery.
At under fifty dollars, whatever he’s bought here for Katrina isn’t too expensive—certainly not some diamond-studded leash to latch on to her new necklace. I do a little math in my head. There’s enough money for me to buy something. My mind lands on that pink vibrator with the cute rabbit ears that “Grandma” recommended. Why not? A job perk. Make that a necessity. The next time I get jealous or angry over Brandon and Katrina—or just plain horny—I’ll use it and get off on myself. It beats smashing things. I may even start tonight. On the way back to his house, I’ll stop off at an ATM machine and get some money to pay him back. While I’m sure he wouldn’t miss the money, stealing from someone is not a value I was raised with. I can easily afford to put the charge on one of my credit cards, but just like Brandon, I don’t want my name affiliated with this store in any way. In this town, word travels fast and with the Internet, even faster.
“Hold on, I’ll be right back. I want to get one more thing,” I tell the cashier. I dash back to the aisle with the toys and make a beeline for the vibrator. Just one left! I grab it and then run back to her. She’s patiently waited for me despite the long line of vexed customers.
“Thanks for waiting. I want this too, but please put it in a separate bag.”
“Sure. Good choice. You’re going to love it.”
Not as much as I love him.
She rings me up again. The total now comes to a little under a hundred dollars. Wow! That vibrator was expensive; it better work wonders. With a shopping bag in each hand, I head back to my car, in a much better mood and eager to find out what Brandon bought for Katrina. I’m so bad. The minute I get into my Mini, I look inside the bag. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
A dozen packages of mega-size condoms and a little toy. The Magic Cock Ring. Taking the toy out from the bag, I read the label on the package: “Guaranteed to make your erection bigger, stronger, and last longer.” God, knowing the size of Brandon’s cock, I don’t think it can get any bigger. And for sure, he doesn’t have a problem getting it up. But I’m shocked at the possibility that he needs help in the endurance department. Are he and Katrina having problems? My mind flashes back to that deep tissue massage I gave him. He hinted at ED. Maybe Katrina’s birthday won’t be so happy. Whoo hoo! With renewed optimism, I take one more look-see at my new toy. I love it and can’t wait to try it out. While they’re struggling, I’ll be coming. I insert my car key into the ignition and whip out of the parking lot.