My limousine pulled up outside the gated, Spanish colonial mansion in the Hollywood Hills just after 8 pm. I was a little early, but that was fine with me.
"Alicia, hold on a minute," I said.
"Take your time," responded the young black woman in the chauffeur's cap.
I checked myself out in the mirror admiringly. If there was another like-minded, disinhibited woman dressed like this at Club Orquieda, I'd be in luck tonight.
I reapplied my red lipstick and added some eyeliner for a heavy, sensual look. I relished the thought of how shocked everyone back home would be if they knew how I'd spent my day here in Los Angeles...and how I planned to indulge myself until the wee hours here in the California swingers scene.
For the second straight year, I'd been invited by German fetish photographer Ute Freiberg to participate in a shoot for her annual coffee table book published by Taschen, "Latex and Leather: A Celebration." I'd picked up a copy at a San Francisco sex toy shop called Babes in Toyland back in 2007, and eventually Googled Ute. We exchanged explicit photos and she eventually invited me to come to Los Angeles.
She told me that what convinced her was a shot I did with a friend in a local chapel I rented out. In the photo, I crouched, nude except for a black leather mask, red elbow-length gloves, and a realistic strap-on cock between my thighs, over a bound and gagged Hispanic woman in her early 40's. I was meticulously dripping hot wax from a church candle on her rope-entwined tits as she moaned and writhed in bondage. In the background, you could see a crucifix on the wall and the blurred figure of a nun with her habit pulled up high and one hand frigging.
Today, I'd been supposed to dominate Ute's cousin Anja in an outdoor forest shoot about two hours outside the city. I'd worked with Anja the year before -- young, blonde, cute gap between her teeth, very submissive and svelte. The plan had been for her to kneel amid the tall ferns and for me to whip her with a flogger while wearing silver-framed sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat. Then Ute would photograph me leaning back against an giant redwood, legs in a wide V, as Anja submissively ate me out. I was especially excited to hear that the area we were shooting in attracted a lot of hikers, so there was a good chance I'd be seen showing off and receiving worship.
But Anja's flight out of Frankfurt had been canceled due to a wildcat strike. So instead, Ute took me shopping for fetish clothing at the sleazy boutiques on Hollywood Boulevard, and we took some stills for another section of the book at a recording studio owned by a friend of hers.
Gazing in the limo mirror, I adjusted my top to emphasize my cleavage. I was still wearing the full latex dress I'd donned nearly eight hours ago. The feeling of the black rubber on my skin was just indescribably good. My nipples had been so hard when I first put it on at the studio, and reclined across the top of the Steinway grand piano, lifting up my leg to let Ute photograph my hairy cunt in full, explicit detail. We did some very graphic insertion shots too: I particularly enjoyed one where I pulled the latex panties aside and inserted a full bottle of Chardonnay up my slit as deep as it would go, my mouth grimacing with pleasure beneath the masquerade half-mask I wore.
The only frustrating part was that Ute had instructed me not to come during the shoot. I'd been dying for an orgasm since I was profoundly aroused the whole time. We even went out for dinner afterwards at a small Italian restaurant off Hollywood Boulevard, and I wore the same dress. It was exciting to see the men -- and many of the women -- checking me out with lustful eyes, and to get dirty looks from conservative wives who could easily sense, as they passed by our table, just how aroused my cunt was.
Ute had to work late and do a conference call with her German layout designers.
"But Frederika, I have now a membership for a swingers club not too far from here," she added. "Give them my name. It is all taken care of. Perhaps you will find what you need?" She kissed me on the lips and hustled off down the street. Moments later the limo arrived.
And now I was here. I tipped my cute young driver with a crisp $20 bill (Ute always paid me cash, new notes) and got out of the limo to press the buzzer at the gates.
I felt confident, powerful, and seductive as I strode up the stone steps and knocked on the thick oak door. "Ute," I told the doorman, and he stepped back to let me pass.
Gripping my handbag, I strode into the intimately main room with a circular bar beneath a crystal chandelier. There were people here, but no action yet. I sat down at the bar on a stool, ordered a glass of water, and purposefully positioned myself with my legs in a wide V.
Everyone was welcome to look up my skirt and see what Mama had to offer. But I wasn't here to service flakes, fuck-ups, or losers. I was here to get my needs met. To get off hard with another woman, or maybe in a group if the opportunity arose.
But it wasn't looking good early on. Two middle-aged guys in suits made separate timid approaches toward where I was sitting, but I shook my head and waved them off without making eye contact.
I scanned the room. There were two tall blonde women sitting on a chaise together, but they appeared to be glued to their husbands. What was I going to do.
