Hallelujah Ch 02 1

( A special thanks to my editor, without you luv, this would only be a passing fancy!)

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I read back over the chapter I had written. "Not bad," I thought to myself. That didn't stop me from staring at the screen, wondering whether or not I should click the terrifying little button that would send my words out to god knows how many viewers, open for their comments and scrutiny.

"What the hell," I say aloud to myself. It's the internet, and therefore it's mostly anonymous.

I sit back in the over-sized chair that is the focal point of Nick's room. I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of leather that carries with it the hint of male he inevitably leaves behind.

Damn, I do love the way he smells. I smile to myself. So he wasn't dark and handsome; didn't keep me from thinking he was the most beautiful creature I had ever had the pleasure of being touched by. And he made a great muse.

Not that I am exactly like the female in my story either. My hair is far more of a light topaz color than scarlet. I tried scarlet once, and like everything else I try to do to my unruly hair it rebelled. Two weeks later it was back to it's natural glory. In the wisdom of my advancing age I have finally decided to stop trying to curl, color, perm or tame it. So it sits, mostly straight and long since it seems to like it that way.

Sigh. I need to get in the shower if I plan on making it on time for my sister's birthday gathering this evening. The images from my story still run rampant through my head. I can't stop thinking about what I know I want to try, how it would actually feel to be so dominated...

Okay, so I got myself a little worked up writing such sordid tales. Two clicks and the site and my story were safely hidden. Well, not really hidden. I knew he never opened the program I used to write, and it wasn't likely he would find my first chapter any time soon.

Time for a shower. Leaving the door open so I can hear the music I left playing constantly I make my way into the bathroom. Slipping out of my clothing felt liberating. I study myself in the mirror. "Yeah," I think. "Keep up the yoga." I was getting older, for certain. My looks were not gone yet, but I notice little signs of age starting to set in.

I look at the clock, figuring he wouldn't make it home for at least another hour. Good. Plenty of time for a quick orgasm and some gratuitous singing at the top of my lungs before he arrives.

For a moment I stand under the hot water, letting it fall over my hair, enjoying the way it drips down and finds all those little places like only water can. Oh yeah, time for that big O.

Even though I am right handed I always masturbate with my left for some reason. Leaning back against the shower wall I open myself with my right hand, spreading my own lips open so I can stroke myself. Water is not the best lubricate but it's no matter, I am so hot from penning my own fantasy that anything would work right now.

I start massaging, tugging, teasing my own clit. The walls of the shower melt away as I enter my own mind, imagining the finer details, thinking of the things I want him to do but can't seem to let him know. Closing my eyes I lean into my hand, as though I were begging a partner. That warm feeling starts to grow as I rub faster and harder.

It doesn't take long, and I nearly regret that I can't hold off any longer. The ache that is an itch to be scratched overwhelms me. Arching I hear my own moans as the sudden rush of fluid from inside escapes. I insert a couple of fingers, tapping that little ever-so-popular G spot to prolong the moment. I can feel the walls contracting around my fingers, soft and wet.

Sighing in contentment I remove my hands, letting the cleansing water wash away the moment. Perhaps it's just me, but a woman going through her sexual peak reminds me of a teenage boy going through his. I love to get off and get me off. I am usually irritatingly horny and sometimes long for the age where this ends.

For the moment I relax and let the soap do it's thing. One thing I know is that I don't want my story to be only one little blurb. I need a chapter 2. What in the heavens am I going to do with my lucky, enamored pair?

I hear the music change to his station as I step out of the shower, marking his early arrival. Okay, so I was off by half an hour. It happens. "Hi honey, how was your day?" I ask, smiling at him. "It was a day," he replies.

Man of many words, that one. He sits in the aforementioned leather chair and starts to peruse the internet. The small bachelor pad he has chosen is not bad, perfect for him in fact. His huge 60" TV screen makes for a pretty computer monitor. It's why I like to write when I am here.

I am not paying much attention as I slip into my robe. Eventually, I glance at the screen. "OH FUCK!" I think loudly. I left the story in the background. The icon at the bottom of the screen glares back at me like a zit on prom night. I hope he doesn't notice. He hasn't yet, perhaps that will continue.

Finally! He gets up to get something cold and refreshing. Thank goodness. I hurriedly close the program, saving as I do. Whew. Dogged a bullet there. One day I want him to see it, just not today.

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"Leigh, tell me, where are we going again?" he asks in that tone which suggests he'd rather be anywhere else than in this car headed to my darling sister's house. "Some Goth slash fetish club I went to with Kat back in the day, Masque. You know, she has strange tastes."

He groans deeply and dramatically. "Oh, get over it. Patrick is paying for everything anyway. And it's her 30th. He's getting a limo and hotel rooms for them and us tonight so that no-one has to be the DD. Really, I know the music won't be to your taste, but I am certain you can suck down enough alcohol for it to be tolerable for this one night."

"I still don't know..." he protests. I lean toward him from the passenger seat, sliding my fingers up his thigh towards his crotch in the most seductive manor I can manage and say in my best bedroom voice "I'll make it up to you in the room."

"I know you will. I had already planned on you doing just that" he says darkly.

I grin and turn up the radio. Damn he looks good all dressed up. Simple dark slacks and a sateen shirt the color of blood I picked out just for the occasion go well against his pale features and dark hair. I breath in deeply, letting his delicious scent linger in my nostrils. Even if he hates it, I am determined to have fun tonight.

We arrive at Kat's house around 6 pm. She is letting me borrow an outfit since I long ago grew out of my goth phase. I remember just how much I love my sister when she comes bounding out of the house towards me. Kat and I have similar features, but her hair is darker and naturally curly. Pretty curly, not that frizzy hideous variety. She's taller too, a fact which she loves to torment me with on a regular basis.

"Happy Birthday, Sis" I tell her while she is attempting to squeeze the life out of me in one of her famous bear hugs. I finally get her to detach so I can breath.

"I have the perfect outfit picked out for you! You are going to love it I promise it's going to look so wonderful with your hair and skin and I am just so excited I can hardly stand it!" she says about the same speed a machine gun spits out bullets.

"Okay, okay" I laugh. "Let's go get ready and leave the boys to their beers. I know you got us a bottle of pre-dinner wine right? We should get into that too."

"Yes! I got us a bottle of bubbly. Now let's get it and get you into something a little less comfortable" she teases. Well, it's mostly teasing I find out soon enough. I see that she has out a massive pile of clothes, a total Kat trait. If her bed had been visible I would have questioned whether or not she had been replaced by some alien doppelganger.

I soon find myself admiring my squished stomach and breasts in her lengthy mirror. I have always loved her satin, emerald, whalebone corset and now it's on my body. She has a new favorite in what is best described as shocking blue. The skirt she has loaned me is long, long enough to drag the floor. It's made of satin too, but much heavier and midnight black. It's a nice contrast to her ballerina poof of a skirt and knee-high boots.

We hug and laugh, looking at our reflections.

"Hungry yet?" she asks. "I'm not sure I can eat in this, but I guess we should be off to dinner." I joke, hooking her arm into mine. "Let's go show the boys what we've been stuffing ourselves into."

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As per usual my stoic love gives nothing away about how he feels about the way I look. Dinner I discover is at a little hole in wall place that is quite used to the crowd of the Masque stopping in for a gourmet bite before some guilty pleasure. The food is light but perfect for lining the stomach for a night of debauchery.

I notice Nick looking at my cleavage periodically, which sends little shivers down my spine. I can't help but to be anxious for our little hotel vacation. We take our time with dinner, drinks and dessert, arriving at the club around 11 pm.

I had forgotten how dark and smoky and loud the place is. I smile as the ambiance washes over me.

Male and female alike dressed and strutted like peacocks here. Every color of the rainbow could be seen just in the hair of the patrons, and this was no exaggeration. It was a splendid place to people watch, dance, drink, and my favorite, the shows.

I hadn't set foot in the place for five years or more, but not much had changed. Kat and I took seats at the bar, the only two available, while Nick and Patrick stood near us. We ordered a round of Electric Lemonades to celebrate our passing youth. I took a long sip of mine and let the sound of dark techno flow over me, smiling.

Kat and I danced while the boys watched laughing at our antics, some serious, some playful mocking of the culture, to the sound of Wolfsheim and KMFDM. Finally, the part I had been looking most forward too, the show.

The stage lit up, revealing the players for this portion. A robust blonde woman in raunchy, red lingerie stood on stage with a riding crop in one hand and a leash in her other. On his knees was an innocent looking man in his boxers. The overhead announcement told us it was his birthday.

He looked at the crowd as she lead him to a nondescript wooden chair, and faced him away from the crowd. He was wearing plaid boxers, and nothing else. She teased him a little, running the crop over his backside, and between his legs. The music was far too loud for the audience to hear the crack of the first blow, but I swear I could hear it.

She continued to swat him, making his whole body jump. After a few minutes of this, she pulled his boxers down, revealing the welts already rising on his tender flesh, yet hiding his sex. The blonde ran her fingers over his skin, making him shiver noticeably.

She walked with careful deliberation to a table filled with every implement imaginable. She chose a flogger, heavy and black from the collection. She seemed to snicker to herself as she teased the poor, lucky boy with it, caressing his skin before landing a series of criss-crossing blows across his already wounded body.

I stood en-rapt, enthralled even. I had forgotten how it felt, watching this art. Yes, art. There is something amazingly beautiful about these exhibitionists, and the thrill I felt watching them.

Suddenly, in my ear I hear a voice- his voice. "So which one do you want to be" Nick asks me, with a deep, knowing tone. I look at him, shocked and embarrassed that he has noticed. I was so into the display on the stage that I never noticed him watching me. My tale-tell blush gives me away, and he laughs, a great hearty laugh, then turns back to the stage.

The hotel room lingers in my mind, the birthday skit forgotten. When the stage darkens I make a b-line for the bar. I need a refill, stat. The four of us continue the celebration, watching the performances come and go. The rest of the evening is a blur to me, the upcoming silence of the room making me curious and nervous.

At 2 am, Kat declares she is finished, as is her birthday. We climb in the limo, popping another bottle of bubbly and sing our way to the hotel.