Chapter 3 Chapter Three - Gabriella
I am so freakin’ bored.
I never in my life thought I’d be bored watching a bunch of people getting hot ‘n’ heavy in public. Maybe I’m desensitized because I work here, and so when the club hosts a Mystery Sinner’s night, I’m usually working the bar and helping clean up the aftermath, which is fucking nasty by the way.
The interior of the club has been decked out like a BDSM sex den with black satin drapes hanging from every fixture and erotic red lighting to set the mood. Sex toys ranging from playful to hardcore, line the walls to give the guests a visual thrill, but they’re only decorative. The club doesn’t supply toys to the guests for health and safety reasons. The music is blaring with melodies to get your heart racing and panties dropping, and there’s a live wax play show happening on stage. There’s plenty here to capture my attention, and yet all I’m doing is tuning them out. Maybe Mitchell killed the fun side of me.
I take a sip of my cocktail and glance at myself in a full-length mirror across the room. To my credit, I look fantastic. My long blonde hair is up in a high pony and flowing down my back, but ain’t nobody going to be pulling on it tonight. I’m wearing my tight little black dress with ultra-thin straps and ruching down the front that dips into my cleavage. The fabric clings to me like a second skin and accentuates my curves to perfection. My ass is lifted and ready to be admired thanks to my black 7” peep-toe platform ankle strap stilettos. I’m a respectable 5’9” but in these heels, my legs look long enough to reach the heavens, and the body oil glistening off my skin doesn’t hurt either.
Since the theme of the evening is Mystery Sinners, that means everyone is expected to wear masks. I think it’s more to set a mood than create anonymity, because unless your face is completely covered you’re not masking much. I don’t need anonymity, so I’m wearing a beautiful black lace eye mask with intricate detailing and rhinestones around the temple. I am, however, greatly underdressed compared to my partners in crime this evening.
I smirk into my drink as Derrick unashamedly sucks the neck of his partner of three years, Wyatt, eager to leave his mark for all to see.
“Are you trying to give him a hickey or drink his blood?” I tease as I lean against the table we’re standing at.
Derrick withdraws his mouth from Wyatt’s neck, “I’d rather be drinking something else of his, but all in good time.”
“You’re going to give me blue balls,” Wyatt says in a muffled voice from behind his mask.
“What was that?” Derrick asks, feigning ignorance.
Wyatt lifts his mask onto his head and glowers at Derrick, “You heard exactly what I said.”
“I did, but now I can do this,” says Derrick, capturing Wyatt’s face in his hands and kissing him deep and possessively. Wyatt circles his arms around Derrick’s waist and pulls him close returning his kiss. As happy for my friends as I am, I can’t help but envy what they have.
Wyatt is 6’2” with soft, very light caramel skin, and piercing blue eyes that are hidden by full-black contacts. The contacts, paired with his prominent eyebrow bones covered in thick eyebrows, make his eyes look like two black holes. His cheekbones and jawline rival Derrick’s and look even more pronounced with his smouldering black eyeliner and bright ruby-red lipstick. He has shoulder-length blonde frizzed curly hair with dark roots – courtesy of his Zimbabwean mother – and is toned from top to bottom. Wyatt identifies as male but lives for androgyny. He loves dressing to reflect his mood and personality and not his gender, which is something I love about him. Tonight he’s dressed in a tight black mesh top that criss-crosses across his chest leaving his ribs and obliques exposed and leaving hints of his chest uncovered to Derrick’s eyes. He’s also wearing black harem pants with caped fabric around the back and shin-high black leather boots covered in straps and buckles, but it’s the mask that really pulls the look together. It’s a white ceramic mask with black metallic veins protruding from the eyes creating veins along the forehead and catching the light. The carving detail of the mask makes it look ominous and sinister, and when he wears it over his face, the black contacts really make the overall look, demonic. But sexy demonic, like you’re not sure if he’s there to bring you pleasure or pain.
Derrick on the other hand is a very cliché sexy devil, but fashionable as always. He’s decked out in a bright red leather suit jacket with matching pants, a sheer white shirt and a black leather tie. He’s given himself a little more height today by wearing black leather chunky 3” heel ankle boots, and of course, the look wouldn’t be complete without his mask. They’ve really gone for the devil and his demon slave look tonight, so Derrick’s mask is a distressed red leather mask that covers the top of his face with two very large red horns pointing to the ceiling. I think they look amazing and put most of the people here to shame, even me. I mean, sure, I could have come dressed as a dominatrix, but I wouldn’t want to give all the submissives around here the wrong idea.
Derrick manages to come up for air long enough to look at me, and even through his mask I can see the concern, “Ella? You okay?”
I give him a reassuring smile, “I’m fine, but I think I’m going to have one more drink and then call it a night.”
“No, don’t go,” Wyatt whines, “This is the first time you’ve been out in ages because that cockroach wasn’t keeping you cooped up in that loft as his live-in maid.”
“I know, and I really thought I’d enjoy tonight, but I’m just not feeling it,” I admit.
“Are we being too into ourselves and ignoring you?” Worries Derrick, “You know I would never want you to be a third wheel,” he says, reaching out and placing his hand on mine.
“Stop your fussing, you sound like your mother,” I say playfully.
Derrick gasps dramatically and clutches his chest.
“If I had said that I wouldn’t see action for at least a whole day,” says Wyatt in faux horror, making me snigger.
“Hey, I can withhold sex way longer than that,” Derrick protests.
“Remember the other week when I accidentally ruined the dress you were going to wear for that Gloria Gaynor number you were planning, and you told me you were so mad you wouldn’t have sex with me for a week?”
“I’m still trying to fix that dress thanks to you,” says Derrick in irritation.
“Not the point. What ended up happening later that night?”
“I don’t remember,” says Derrick evasively, glancing away.
Wyatt captures his face turning it to face him, “So, you don’t remember waking me up in the night so we could go a few rounds?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.
I burst out laughing, “You couldn’t even last a full day? That’s just pathetic.”
Derrick narrows his eyes as Wyatt then me, “Well, if you had a decent dick at home like I do, you wouldn’t be able to go a full day without it either,” he says defensively.
I smile and raise my hands in surrender, “You’re probably right.”
“Anyway, back on topic,” says Derrick, bumping Wyatt with his hip, “If you want to go home we’ll get you to a cab, but we really hope you stay.”
“I’ll stay for one more drink, but as much fun as watching you two make out is, maybe this was just too soon for me.” I shrug.
Wyatt moves around the table, pulls me into a tight hug and kisses my cheek as I happily return his hug.
“We won’t push, but we’re here for you no matter what. You deserve way better than that asshole, and if I was a straight man, there’s no way in hell I would let you get away,” he says while caressing my cheek affectionately with a warm smile planted on his face.
I smile touched by his gesture, “Keep that up and you’re going to make me blush.”
“I’m with Wyatt, if I was a straight man I’d be all over you like glitter on a drag queen,” adds Derrick.
I throw my head back and laugh, “Oh please. Wyatt here has at least taken a few dips into the pussy pool, but you? You wouldn’t even eat a pussy if it was deep-fried.”
Derrick stares at me, his mouth agape and Wyatt quickly lowers his mask over his face to hide his laughter.
“I feel like I’m being ganged up on tonight,” sulks Derrick.
“It’s a mystery sinner’s night, someone’s getting ganged up on,” I deadpan.
This time Wyatt can’t hold back his laughter and raises his hand for a high-five, “That was a good one.”
I smile and return his high five just as Try Me by The Weeknd comes on and immediately Derrick and Wyatt lock eyes with one another. Wyatt holds out his hand as a silent message passes between the two of them. Derrick takes his hand as if in a trance and the two make their way onto the dance floor; their eyes never leaving one another. The two of them get lost in their own world as they move like a single organism; their hands roaming each other memorising every bump and curve like brail. I can’t help but sigh at this beautiful love and passion they have for one another.