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Casey and Brit, two of the girls who live at Woodbridge Hall where I do, were dressed for a formal Saturday night, and one of them dropped an invitation on her way through our residence hall lobby. I picked it up, thinking I might actually have a fun weekend diversion instead of just studying or training for my next swim meet.
Except there was no address on the thing.
But I’m resourceful. It took quite a bit of internet searching, but I finally found myself in the ballpark. Most of what I found about Whitewood Club was from a smutty romance novel that features the place, but evidently the author is also a member who lives nearby. She wrote it as if it was made up, which most of the info online suggests is true—that it’s pure fiction—but the fancy engraved invitation I found suggested otherwise.
I wound up borrowing my rich roommate’s car and driving to one of the swankiest neighborhoods outside the city, where every property sits behind a wall with a dedicated guard at the gate. One in particular had two cars waiting for entry. Since I had the invite in hand, I took a chance and pulled in right behind the second car. To my surprise, the guard actually let me through.
When I parked and realized everyone heading inside was wearing a mask, I wasn’t sure what I’d do, so rather than enter through the front, I snuck around in the shadows to the back of the house where I found a staff entrance. All the staff wore black dress clothes, and I was fortunate to be wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt, so I blended enough to go unnoticed.
I headed for a stairwell, stopping inside when I heard the unmistakable sounds of a pair of people passionately screwing on the landing. Rather than interrupt, I waited, and moments later a man and woman rushed by and out the exit. I found both their discarded masks on the landing, snagged one, and put it on.
I’m not sure what I expected, but definitelynota full-on sex club complete with viewing rooms where couples and trios—and more—were performing for an enraptured audience. Everyone was wearing colored arm bands, though, and I wanted to blend in. After wandering around the second floor for a bit, I finally found a counter near an elevator with an array of ribbons hanging on the wall behind a voluptuous woman in a striped satin corset.
“What’s your flavor tonight, sir?”
“I’m not sure what I’m in the mood for.” It was an honest reply. The whole scene was a little overwhelming, and I’d been fighting a hard-on since I walked in.
She gave me an understanding nod, then handed me a laminated menu. An actualmenu. Except the items listed weren’t food, butkinks. Or rather, a variety of sexual acts and fetishes. I tried not to gawk and scanned it like it was just an average night out for me.
“I think I’ll keep it simple tonight. Light blue.”
She reached for a light blue roll of ribbon and snipped off a length. “Nothing wrong with that. Giving or receiving?”
Both, I thought, but since I was just dipping my toes in, I figured I’d be less likely to blow my cover if I wasn’t just taking.
“I’m a giver,” I said with a grin.
She laughed. “That’s what I thought. Left arm, please.”
She hummed in appreciation when she gripped my bicep so she could secure the ribbon around it, then patted me gently on the shoulder and winked. “Have fun tonight.”
I headed back the way I’d come, people-watching as I meandered. Most of the partygoers were in formal wear, but not all, so I didn’t feel too out of place with the mask and ribbon. I didn’t see the two girls from my dorm among them, which was probably fortunate, because there’s a chance they would have recognized me even with the mask.
Every room had a large window for viewing the performance going on within. One contained a naked, masked woman trussed up in ropes with two men circling her, touching and teasing. I stood at the back of the onlookers and watched for as long as I dared, because it was so goddamned hot it was better than watching porn. Probably because this girl actually looked like she was enjoying being lightly whipped with a leather flogger while clamps were attached to both her nipples and labia.
She slowly rotated in her bindings, and when she turned to face the window again, I did a double-take. It wasCasey. Holy motherfucking fuck. That was when I turned on my heel and moved on, hoping my eyes hadn’t popped too far out of their sockets, not because I didn’t want to watch, but I didn’t want to risk being recognized.
But the next room held a similar shock, because within it, Brit was on her knees beside her boyfriend Adam, both naked and bound with collars around their throats while a man in a tuxedo murmured low commands to them, which they enthusiastically obeyed.
I nearly choked when Brit buckled on a strap-on harness while Adam went down on hands and knees, but recovered with no more than a soft cough into my fist. A nearby woman turned to look at me, then scanned me from head to toe, gaze lingering on my armband before drifting to my mouth.
I turned away quickly, moving on and hoping the next room didn’t contain anyone I actually knew. I was not so lucky.
I have zero regrets, except for the fact that I can’t stop thinking about both my teacher and her assistant now. I get hard remembering the taste of her, but the memory of the blowjob he gave me puts every other blowjob I’ve ever gotten to shame.
By the time class is over, I’ve barely taken any notes, so I’m glad I recorded the day’s lecture to listen to later. Hopefully the sound of Dr. Brennan’s voice doesn’t set me off as much as looking at her does.
I wait a few moments for other students to leave, giving myself a chance to cool down before I stand. I’m packing my notebook into my backpack when I overhear a couple of the dudebros at the back of the lecture hall chatting.
“I heard someone broke into her office a few months back and assaulted her. That’s why she’s got that muscle-head shadow now.”
“No shit?” another says. “Like, as insexualassault?”
My nostrils flare and I go still, glancing over at them. There are three guys who I recognize as members of the golf team—a bunch of privileged white assholes.
“Not sure, but she didn’t look injured or anything in class the week after, so probably,” the first guy says.
They push through the doors as they talk, and I fall into step right behind, glaring at the backs of their heads, but not engaging. Is what he said true?
