Surrendering to Innocence Page 4

  Perhaps if I answered the door naked, he’d just take that as a clue? Oh, god! What if it’s a different guy today? Or a female!

  I heard a door slide shut and the crunching of footsteps up my driveway. Hurriedly, I stripped down naked—for lack of having any other last-minute bright ideas.

  Running toward my front door, I passed the hook that held my cooking apron. The words A Spoonful of Sugar and Mary Poppins’ face caught my glance, and I slipped it over my head with my heart racing. Just as I was tying it around my waist, I opened the door in a rush, and the regular delivery man was standing with a small brown box in his hands.

  He stood about six feet, with a receding hair line. His nose was slightly crooked and his brown shorts hung loosely over his lanky legs. My guess was he was around forty, give or take. One eyebrow shot up when he got a better look at me, and I quickly leaned against the frame of the door, exposing the side of my breast. Involuntarily, my arms swung up over my head as I arched my back and slid up and down, moaning.

  Yes, it sounds just as awkward as it looked.

  After a brief moment, the brown-clad gentleman sucked air through his teeth, using his tongue as a toothpick. He shrugged. “All right. But let’s make it quick.” He pushed passed me and walked into my living room.

  Setting the box down on my coffee table, he then unbuttoned his shorts and pulled them down to his ankles along with his white underwear. “Here?”

  That’s it? Oh, god! Does he do this often?

  I closed the front door and looked around the room, as if the answers I was searching for would suddenly appear.

  But they didn’t.

  “Oh, uh…sure. Here works fine.”

  He began tugging on his—oh god!

  Poor soul.

  This man had nothing to show for from the waist down. I slouched, defeated, and walked toward him. Well, I suppose it’s been almost a decade since I’ve done this—makes sense to start small.

  I got down to my knees and attempted to remove the soured look from my face, but only managed to lift one corner of my mouth into a smile. Slowly, my tongue darted out, as it made contact with his tip, and he groaned.

  “Oh, yeah,” he muttered, and ran his hand through my hair. He bent over slightly as I sat back on my heels. One of his hands reached down underneath my apron, rubbing my breast, while his other managed to assist with his erection.

  Okay, now I have a little more to work with. I fumbled with his penis, trying to grab hold of it and lick it at the same time. But it didn’t seem to be working out too well.

  He forcefully grabbed the back of my head, pulling at my hair while his other hand gripped his semi-erect cock. Slapping it against my face, while I tried not to flinch, he spoke softly, “Yeah, Chupa. You like that? You like it like that?” and followed it up with a strange purring sound.

  Chupa?

  I opened my mouth while he continued thwacking it against my cheek and occasionally grazing the end of my tongue, gaining lubrication.

  “Yes, Chupa. My beautiful Chupa. Just like that.”

  What. The. Fuck? Is this what men do these days? Have I really been out of practice for so long that I’ve missed an entire revolution of sexual practices? What does Chupa mean?

  Fully erect now, he shoved his dick in my mouth as I attempted to sheath my teeth with my lips. With both hands on the side of my head, he began thrusting himself in and out, keeping my head as still as possible.

  "That's it, my little chupacabra. Tuck in those teeth, like a good chupa."

  I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or simply gag.

  His pace increased and I braced myself by grabbing hold of one of his legs—otherwise he was going to fuck my head so hard, he’d knock me down. And just as he was coming, his bitter spray hit my gag reflex and I dry heaved repeatedly, trying my best to hold the contents of my stomach down.

  “Hmph,” he mumbled and pulled up his pants. After shivering momentarily, he headed for my door.

  Just before walking out, he paused without turning around. “Thanks for using Fast Ship.”

  I wiped my chin and rolled my eyes. And after locking the front door behind him, I made a note to research Mexican folklore on my to-do list.

  That was the strangest, most awkward, and dumbest sexual experience I’ve ever had.

  Chapter 8

  “I just don’t think it was the best idea,” I shouted a whisper into the phone.

  “What do you mean? What happened?” asked Mona.

  “It was a disaster, Moan.” I buried my face in my arm, slouching onto the kitchen island.

  “Ha! Come on, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

  “He was tiny! And…weird! And…smelled like burritos.”

  “Was he Hispanic?”

  “No. At least, not that I could tell. But he did seem to have a fascination with the chupacabra.”

  “What the hell is that?” Mona asked.

  “I Googled it after he left. The translation is… No, no, no. It’s too embarrassing,” I cried, pounding my forehead against the counter.

  “I’ve got it up on Wiki right now. It’s uh, um… Goat sucker? Christine! That’s just—”

  “I know,” I snapped. “Beyond disturbing.”

  Mona laughed hysterically into the receiver, which made me thump my head back down. After her laughter subsided, she chimed, “Okay, Christine. I think it’s time I take you to the club.”

  “No. No more of your suggestions. I’ll just go to the rectory on Bingo night and find a good man there. As it is, I’m pretty sure the eighties haven’t come full circle yet. People were staring at me on the street—”

  “Chris. No. What were you wearing?”

  “I’m not telling. I’m just gonna—”

  “Meet me at the corner of Columbus and York tomorrow night, wearing something simple. We’ll go to a club called The Black Orchid. Plenty of men our age willing to show a girl a good tim—”

  “A good time? Mona…” I said, accusatory.

  “No, no, no. It’s a totally legit thing. No prostitution. No bondage. And no small mythical creatures with large teeth.”

  We laughed, and wrapped up our conversation after agreeing on eight o’clock the next night.

  #

  “Whoa!” Jake whistled. “Where are you off to?”

  I giggled, trying not to make eye contact with Watson stirring next to Jake on the couch. Both boys looked me over, and while Jake looked proud and happy, Watson’s face was harder to read.

  “I’m going out with an old friend.” I blushed. “But I’ll be home early. Just an hour or two.”

  “Is this old friend…a guy?” His eyebrow quirked.

  Watson hung his head low, keeping his ear slanted in my direction, anticipating my answer.

  “No, honey. Just an old girlfriend from high school. I’ll be back before eleven.”

  I saw Watson sigh and his shoulders drop. After giving Jake a kiss goodbye, I got in my car and headed downtown.

  #

  I stood in the long line that traveled around the corner of York Avenue. When I looked around, there were several middle-aged, good-looking people standing in line, waiting to get in. But the club must’ve been at capacity, because the line was delayed in inching forward.

  I glanced up at the large, dark building. It stood about four stories, with more doors than windows. Made entirely of black brick, it loomed over the city street, begging for you to stare at it; and the neon sign on the corner was classy with an elegant script.

  Peeking down the alley, I saw a bouncer standing at an alternate entrance into the club. Score! I casually looked at the people around me and snuck out of line, padding my way toward the back of the building.

  It’s gonna take Mona forever to get into this place, but at least I can get good seats. The bouncer was a large man, with a graying beard down to his chest. He looked at my attire and scratched his chin. “Have fun,” he mumbled.

  “Thanks!” I replied and found m
y way through the dark hallway into the bar. It was a lot smaller inside than it looked outside, and I quickly understood how this place could’ve been at capacity already. Pulling up a stool against the bar, I signaled the bartender and he walked to me.

  “What’ll it be, beautiful?”

  I giggled. “Um, white wine spritzer, please.”

  A loud laugh bellowed from his chest. “Sorry, beautiful. It’s beer, tequila, whiskey, or rum. Take your pick.”

  That’s disappointing. “Oh. Hmmm. Well then, do you have any Coke?”

  “Yes, but that’s in the back room.”

  “Oh.” I looked toward the back hallway and saw people flowing in and out, laughing and having a good time.

  “Just give me a shot of rum then, and I’ll get my Coke back there.” I smiled as he nodded. After setting a full shot glass on the counter, he winked. “That’ll be four bucks.”

  I put a five on the counter and told him to keep the change, after stealing a wedge of lime from his stash. Just as I was about to go into the back, a large leather-vested chest appeared to my right, startling me back to my seat. I would’ve spilled my shot, but I was able to balance it bringing my other hand underneath it.

  “Hello,” the man said. His voice was deep, guttural, and oozed out from his throat like Sam Elliott’s. To look at him, his voice didn’t match his body. In his late fifties, he was tall, but seemed to have a fetish for leather, as his entire body was covered in it. The smell was pungent, that smoky aroma that accompanies a new Coach purse or pair of boots.

  I smiled and glanced around at the other patrons, now realizing that most of them had some sort of leather garb on. Some it was just a black hat, but others were draped in it from head to toe.

  Mona didn’t tell me this was a biker bar.

  “Whatcha doin’ here, sweetheart?”

  “I just noticed…” I began, looking down at my pink cardigan and black jeggings with a nervous smile. “…I don’t exactly fit in, do I?” Laughing nervously, I stood, feeling suddenly intimidated by his height—not to mention the oil that he’d used to polish is outfit was making my head spin a little.

  “No worries, sweetie. We get a lot of newbies curious about our club here. Would you like the grand tour?”

  “Well, I’m waiting for a friend. But I’d love some Coke.” I raised my rum, smiling.

  His eyes opened a little wider. “Well, the Coke is back where the parties are at.” He nudged his chin toward the back hallway.

  “Yes! I hear that’s the place to be. Seems as though people are really enjoying themselves back there.”

  He scratched his chin, looking down at my clothes again. “Well, the heels can stay, but we’re gonna have to get you a costume if you want to fit in back there.”

  “A costume?” I asked. “Like, a nurse? Or Princess Leia? A cat?”

  “The tiger costume might be available, but I think we might have something else back there that you’ll feel comfortable in. I’ll have Shelly help you out.” He winked. “I’ll send her out.”

  While he walked away, I looked down to my phone. No missed calls. Technically, Mona was only seven minutes late, but since I knew the line was long, I figured she was still waiting to get in. Sucker. She’s gonna miss the party.

  Wanting to tell Mona of the back entrance, I began texting, but was interrupted by Shelly.

  “Hey there. I’m Shelly.”

  I canceled my text and shoved my phone in my purse. Shelly was interesting, indeed. She had enough metal on her face to be stopped at any airport, and the ink on this girl was amazing—a bit much for my taste, but the flower artistry was beautiful.

  “Hi, Shelly. I’m Christine,” I said, smiling.

  “Of course you are. Gary told me to give you the full tour.” She eyed me suspiciously and jerked her head, signaling me to follow her. “Come on. What size are you? About an eight?”

  “Good guess! How’d you—”

  “I do this all damn day, sweetheart. So, what’ll it be?” she asked, turning toward me before we entered a room in the back. The sign on the door said Dressing Room. “Furries, Leather, Superheroes, Celebrities…” She continued, counting each word on her fingers. “Ghouls, Vampires, Fairytales…”

  “Why don’t we just go with leather? That seems to be pretty popular,” I said.

  “You got it.” She opened the door and there were racks of different costumes on display. She quickly grabbed an outfit from the size eight section and threw it down on the couch.

  “Here you go. Try this. When you’re ready, you can go to suite 104. That’s three doors down the hall on your right. Understood?”

  I laughed, still holding the rum in my hand. “Good. Where’s the Coke?”

  “It’ll be in suite 104.” She sighed and shook her head, tugging at the three steel rings poking out of her bottom lip. “Good luck. Oh, and you can put your purse and other clothes in one of the lockers over there,” she said, walking out the door.

  #

  I twisted and contorted my body, trying to squeeze my hips past the reigns of the corset, but once I secured it in place I was feeling great. My breasts were lifted, firm, and I thought it was a shame I hadn’t thought about using one of these until now.

  Oh, how fun! A costume party!

  I slipped on the black fishnets and pleather shorts Shelly had provided me, and slipped on my black heels. Giving my reflection a wink, I shuffled out the door with my shot glass and wedge of lime in tow.

  I knocked once on the door to suite 104, but no one answered. I slowly turned the knob and peeked in, hoping to see the room filled with others ready to show off their costumes, but the room was empty.

  Hmmm. I must be early. Ah, just the way I like it.

  The small room was barely lit. The lighting source was unidentifiable, but it seemed to bounce from the ceiling, giving the room an ambient glow. Two couches, two chairs, a black rug, and a coffee table sat in the center of the room. The walls were concrete, giving it an edge—like The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air meets The Addams Family.

  I heard shuffling outside the door, and the knob began to turn. Setting my glass on the table, I parked my butt on the sofa and crossed my legs.

  A man walked in slowly and shut the door behind him. When he turned, I was pleasantly surprised with what I saw. In his mid-thirties, he stood about six feet. His hair was dark and disheveled, and his face was young and clean shaven. He also chose to go with a leather costume. No shirt, but leather chaps and a collar.

  I can work with this.

  “Hello, mistress.”

  I laughed. Mistress?

  “Hello,” I said, setting my elbow on the couch’s armrest.

  “Shall we begin?”

  I looked around the room, not sure what he meant. My brow puckered and I scratched my forehead. “Ah, um…”

  “Oh, good.” He sighed. “You’ve never done this before, either?”

  “No! But I’m having a lot of fun! When do the others get here?”

  “Others?” he asked, the corners of his mouth turning downward.

  “Well, this is a party, isn’t it?”

  He walked toward me, stopping a few feet from the couch. “Well, it can be.” One eyebrow rose. “But I didn’t pay for a ménage session.”

  “Pay? What?”

  “Here.” Throwing something on the couch next to me, he winked and turned around, fumbling with items on the table in the corner.

  I studied the object in my hand. The handle was thick and porous; the leather looked old and worn, but the dangling strings and crusty feathers at the end were darker, with a sheen to them. I wasn’t sure what to do with it, but all I could think it might be used for was a flogging.

  Oh, shiiiit.

  I looked back up at the man, who was now draped over the edge of the couch, with his bare ass sticking up in the air. I could see his scrotum squishing against the arm of the couch and his eyes were fixed on mine. In his mouth was a red rubber ball that he had securely fast
ened around the back of his head.

  I stood, recklessly knocking my shot of rum over onto the rug.

  “Arg we gekking don to bidness?” he tried to speak with the ball invading his mouth.

  “What! No!” I threw the whip thing back on the couch and marched for the door.