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Dirty Filthy Fix: A Fixed Trilogy Novella by Laurelin Paige (1)

I drew Andrew’s fingers into my mouth, pressing my lips past his knuckles, all the way, until I couldn’t take them in anymore. The whole time, my eyes watched his, taking in the dilation of his pupils as my tongue ran along his digits.

He moaned in ecstasy and my stomach fluttered.

“I’m imagining that’s my cock,” Chuck whispered in my ear. I was sitting in his lap—my ear was easy access. “I know how good your mouth feels. I’m imagining it on my cock right now.” He did know how my mouth felt; I’d had my mouth on him before. Not tonight. At previous events.

Chuck’s hands gripped my waist and moved my ass so it would rub against his erection, giving him some relief. I squealed, even though it was somewhat forced. The guys liked it when I squealed.

For that matter, so did the women.

“You’ve inflated me like a balloon, T.” Andrew was on the floor in front of me, his jacket off and his shirt unbuttoned.

“I’ll take care of you, baby,” a pretty woman I’d never met before said, crawling up to him to undo his pants. At least he had somebody taking care of him. Not that I was going to feel responsible for the condition he was in.

Kennedy laughed as he stroked himself through his boxer briefs. The tip of his dick poked out above the waistband, and I could see a bead of pre-cum gathering on the top of his crown.

This was the crowd that had gathered around me tonight. This was what I dreamed about all week, every week. This was my idea of a perfect Saturday night.

The rest of the party had divided itself into the normal cliques and circles of activity. I scanned the penthouse apartment. The layout was open and the party guests took up every bit of space they could. In one corner, a bunch of men were having an orgy, classic Greek style, on the divan. In the center of the room, a beautiful woman was stripped and tied up in Shibari style, with plenty of spectators watching. To our left, a dominatrix in a black gown and leather boots had not one, but two gentlemen on their knees in front of her.

Most of the faces—and bodies—were familiar. They usually were. We were a club of sorts, after all. But there were always those I didn’t recognize. Like the gentleman who’d been watching the activities surrounding my group for most of the evening. Green eyes, six foot tall at least. His face had a naturally rough look to it, even though his beard was trimmed and cleaned up well. His eyes had wrinkles around them, his lips as well. He was probably older than me by a decade, but he wore his age well. Probably even better than he’d worn his youth, if I had to guess. The biggest tell about him, though, was his tux. It was pristine, not a button undone. The party had been going on for three hours now, and he’d first caught my eye at least an hour in, and he still wasn’t even ruffled. Obviously he was strictly a voyeur.

Too bad. He was hot.

“Come home with me, T,” Chuck pleaded as he nibbled on my neck, distracting me from the green-eyed stranger. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked this evening. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked me ever.

I wiggled on his lap, trying to make myself more comfortable without further arousing his already hard cock.

“You know that’s against the rules,” I murmured. I was good at that, I had to admit. It was one of my talents. To be flirtatious and uncommitted all at once.

Your rules,” Chuck said. His grip tightened on my hips. I stiffened ever so slightly.

“But my rules count.” They weren’t new rules. I’d had them the whole time I’d been coming to these parties. The whole time I’d been a member of the Open Door. They weren’t hard to remember—there were only four of them. Never go home with anyone. Never take off my mask. Never give any personal info besides my first initial. And no penetration. I’d been coming to these events for almost ten years, and these rules had been the only thing that kept me safe and STD free, not to mention partner free.

And honestly, it was probably the thing that kept the parties so interesting.

If Stanley Kubrick hadn’t been a member of the Open Door, he’d certainly attended one of their events. The parties themselves only had one official rule—even the masks were optional and most people took them off after a few minutes. What wasn’t optional was the rule that a password was required to attend. The words and location were changed every week, and only people in the club were informed. The password and location was emailed out immediately after the last party to every member of the Open Door, and if you neglected to RSVP that you were attending any events for three months, your name was purged from the system.

I wasn’t in the club officially. I wasn’t wealthy enough. It was too hefty a fee to join. I’m talking a membership cost well above my annual salary. No, I got the password from my best friend, Rebecca. If anyone ever discovered that she was sharing it with me, we’d both be kicked out. Hence the reason I never took off the mask.

Nowadays, since Rebecca had graduated from mistress to wife of the senator that had introduced her to the club, I attended more often than she did, which was fine by me. The parties had always been more important to me than to her. They were one of the most exciting parts of my life. They weren’t something I could live without, the way Rebecca could. She was completely content to find a single person who would play, give good sex, and also a home and babies. Once she got those things, she had no reason to come out.

I, on the other hand, would never settle. Could never settle.

I loved sex.

Kinky sex.

All kinds of dirty, filthy, kinky sex. I liked to watch. I liked to participate. Every weekend I could, I attended the Saturday night parties the Open Door hosted out of one of the members’ fancy penthouses or mansions in the country, decked out in one of my gowns, my mask hiding my features. I saved all my money for those dresses. I made it through the long hours at my fast-paced desk job at Pierce Industries only by looking forward to these nights at the Open Door.

This was the best part of my life. By far. And I never intended to give it up.

Chuck Richard was one of the gentlemen who attended these parties as often as I did, and he was well aware of my rules. We’d played plenty of times in the past, and he’d never minded my strict adherence to these self-imposed ordinances. We’d had fun despite the no-penetration rule. He was great with his mouth, and generous too, and I could give a hand job better than anyone in the room.

Chuck was also very into exhibitionism, which was one of my favorite kinks. He’d let anybody watch or touch me, while he sucked on my tits and fingered me to orgasm. That was why we had a small audience tonight as I sat on his lap, his hand under the silk of my gray gown so he could fondle my breasts.

There were reasons I never wore a bra to these things, and Chuck Richard’s gifted hands were reasons number one and two.

But tonight his hands weren’t doing it for me. I was feeling antsy. I was having fun, and I was also…bored. Despite my love of the parties and the sex and the company, I just couldn’t quite get into the groove. It was probably a hormonal thing. Or a weather thing. Or a too-preoccupied-with-work thing.

Whatever it was, Chuck’s insistence that I go home with him meant that it was time for me to go. On my own.

“It’s getting late.” I began my exit routine.

Chuck rocked his hips against my ass. “Oh, baby. Just this once. If not my house, let’s go into the bathroom. I want to know what it feels like to be inside you.”

Nope, nope, nope. I wasn’t breaking my rule. I’d never been tempted—not since I’d made it, and if I was ever going to be tempted, it wasn’t going to be by Chuck Richard. The only reason I was even the slightest bit aroused tonight was because of that green-eyed stranger. He’d also been the only reason I’d stayed as long as I had. That chiseled jaw. His manicured hands. Right now he was watching the Greek lovefest going on in the corner. Earlier he’d been watching a petite masked vixen getting spanked by a guy I knew as Rudolpho.

I wondered what it would be like if it were the stranger doing the spanking instead.

If I were the masked vixen in his lap.

I really had to get out of there.

“Sorry.” Not sorry. “But I’m out for the night. I’ll tell you what, boys,” I said as they collectively groaned. “I will give one of you a kiss goodnight. All you have to do to earn that kiss is whisper in my ear. Whichever one of you makes me wet will get the honor.”

Whoops. I realized only after I’d announced the contest that I’d just admitted that Chuck’s fondling hadn’t done the job already. It was clear he’d gotten the point since he changed tactics and one hand was now stroking my thigh at the slit of my gown, creeping higher along my skin, trying to tantalize me.

“I’ll go first,” he said, not letting go of me.

“It’s only fair you have the first shot.” Since he was the reason I was leaving, after all.

“I’m so fucking hard for you right now,” he whispered. He rubbed his length between the cheeks of my ass. “Can you feel me? I’d make you come. So fucking hard. If you let me be inside you.”

“Oh my!” I fanned myself, feigning interest in his remarks. On another night they might have done the trick, or at least earned him a blowjob. Tonight they just felt crude.

“I want to try next.” Kennedy was already inching toward me. That was all I knew of him—his last name, I believed. He wore a mask as well, one of the few men who kept his on. Most of the men who didn’t take them off were politicians hiding from the limelight, or husbands afraid of their wives catching them out.

If I had to place a bet, I’d guess Kennedy was the latter. But with a last name like that, he wanted us to believe he was the former.

“What have you got, Kennedy?” I didn’t get up off of Chuck’s lap. Kennedy rose up to his knees to whisper. Chuck continued to caress me—a move that wasn’t in his best interest, considering that if he got me wet while Kennedy was whispering, it would be Kennedy who earned the kiss.

“You’re really pretty,” he said. All the confidence he’d had on the floor in front of me was fading into shyness. “I want to see under your mask.” I should have seen that coming a mile away. He asked me at least once every time I saw him.

Pretty ironic for a man who never shed his own disguise.

“Aw, well, that’s not up for grabs, sweetheart. But if you’re a good boy, maybe you’ll win the contest and get a kiss instead.” I’d kissed him before. Plenty. He was a good kisser. He smiled up at me, excited by the offer.

“Hold on a second, doll,” Andrew said, gently pushing his lover off his cock. “Don’t go anywhere with those lips. I definitely want more. But first I’m going to try to earn a kiss.”

Andrew maneuvered over to me, awkward as it was with his erection hanging out. “T, I want you to kiss me while I come in Betsy’s mouth. You gotta let it happen.”

I rubbed my thighs together. I wasn’t quite wet, but the idea was actually a turn-on. Kissing a guy while another woman sucked him off…

Yeah. That was the kind of kinky shit I was into. Andrew was definitely in the lead.

I glanced around to see if there were any other entrants, ready to announce him as the winner, when another voice piped up.

“I’d like a try.” It was the stranger with the green eyes.

Hot damn.

Of course the night would ramp up right when I announced I was leaving. I looked up at him expectantly, but he didn’t approach. I realized he was waiting for my invitation. He was definitely new. Everyone else knew Miss T was one of the most ready and willing participants in the room—to the point where some tried to take advantage of it. I never needed to issue invitations, but I often needed to reinforce boundaries.

“What are you waiting for, then?” I sat up straighter, ignoring Chuck’s grunt of complaint.

The stranger came forward with slow, swaggering steps. When he reached me, he loosened his bowtie a little before lowering himself to one knee at my side. He placed his arm next to mine on the chair, his fingers barely grazing my skin. Goosebumps sprouted up my forearm all the way to my neck, and he hadn’t even bent in to whisper yet.

And then he did. His breath skated over the shell of my ear, and my heart tripped unexpectedly in my chest.

How long had it been since that had happened from just the feel of someone breathing against me?

“I’m going to kiss you one way or another tonight,” he said, low and with such surety a shiver ran down my spine. “It’s your decision whether it’s now or later.”

So. Not just a voyeur then.

He sat back to study my features. My jaw was slack, and I scanned his expression, searching for a hidden motivation. My body tingled from head to toe. I was used to men—strangers—wanting me. I was used to them approaching me. I was used to them telling me how much they desired me.

Why was this man so different?

Maybe it was because those other men always looked everywhere in the room. When their eyes landed on me, I knew I was just one of many options.

This man…

He’d looked around the room. I’d watched him throughout the night. But nothing had interested him. I could tell by the way he was still wearing his jacket, by the way his eyes were only now beginning to dilate as they stared into mine.

He’d studied the room and decided nothing here had interested him but me.

That was definitely not the kink that usually got me off. That was Cinderella-story kind of kink. The fairytale kink with a happy ending was traditional, but a kink all the same—being chased. Being placed on a gilded pedestal. I never wanted to be somebody’s Only One in the Room. I liked having my own space. I liked being able to disappear when I wanted. I liked not having chains or boundaries. I was turning thirty-five soon. I wasn’t a starry-eyed teenager anymore. I knew what I wanted from life and love and relationships and sex. And it wasn’t a pedestal.

But the stranger whose lips were just full enough to nibble on... Fuck, he was so damn hot.

And I was entranced. Because he wanted me.

Somehow he knew that, knew that he’d won, even without me announcing it.

Without me delivering the proclamation, he bent forward. Eagerly, I tilted my face up toward him.

Our lips met.

And though I’d been the one who’d offered the kiss, it was the stranger who gave. Slowly introducing himself, he pressed his upper lip between mine. He tasted me, as though he were deciding if I were poisonous. And then, when he determined I was safe—or perhaps despite determining that I wasn’t—he moved in more aggressively, his tongue sliding into my mouth as his hand reached behind my neck and pulled me closer to him.

I grabbed the lapels of his tux and pulled him closer to me as well, wishing I could be pressed tighter against him, wishing I could feel his chest against the tight beads of my tits, wishing it were his hands stroking my thigh and my breast instead of Chuck’s, wishing it were his erection I felt pulsing against me instead of the man whose lap I was sitting on.

He tasted good. Like all the other men in the room, he tasted like money and secrets. Like power and sex. But he tasted like something new too. Like fresh air and California. Like a salty breeze. Like the deep of the jungle. Like places I’d never been, but somehow recognized.

We kissed for what felt like a long time. I could have kissed him for hours. I could’ve stretched my body long against his and made out with him like I had back in high school in my father’s Chevrolet, when I’d been content to just kiss and fondle, never taking off a bit of clothing.

I could do that with this man—just kiss him.

That scared me.

I broke off the kiss abruptly, moving my face away from his. Only then did I register the calls that had come from the men around me.

“I guess he won,” Kennedy complained. He was jerking himself off through his briefs, obviously too turned on and too frustrated to wait any longer for someone else to help him with the situation. Or maybe that’s exactly what he’d wanted all along this evening—to whack off while watching.

“Yeah, kiss him,” Andrew directed. “Kiss him, but let me touch you.” Betsy was now sucking him off again, and I knew he was enjoying watching me kiss the stranger while she did.

Chuck was moaning as he kissed along my neck. Had he been doing that the whole time I’d been kissing this man? I hadn’t even noticed.

The stranger was still on his knees beside me, still staring at me. “Let me walk you out,” he offered quietly.

An innocent offer, but I knew where those offers led. He’d take me to the door, and then he’d stay while I waited for my cab. Soon he’d offer to drive me home, and the next thing I knew I’d be waking up in his bed. I’d been going to these parties for a long time, and I had my rules, but they hadn’t been born from nothing. I’d made mistakes in my younger days.

I knew exactly the answer I had to give, though I’d never been as tempted to give a different one than I was at that moment.

“Let me just get my coat,” I said. It was code for I’m slipping out while you’re not looking.

The sexy stranger stood first, offering his hand to me, which I ignored.

Chuck, as preoccupied as he was with his aching hard-on, laughed quietly behind me. He was familiar with my tactics. I guess I was a bit into the fairytale kink after all—and the clock was striking midnight. Only, I didn’t ever want the prince coming after me.

It was the first time in a long time, though, that I gave the prince a second glance before slipping away into the night.