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Sitting in the passenger seat of Shyla’s sleek black, pimped out Shelby Cobra Mustang, I craned my neck to look through the windshield at the gorgeous and massive Mediterranean style mansion hidden behind some imposing gates deep in the hills north of LA. Big cypress and towering palm trees lined a long black asphalt drive that led to a regal looking three story sprawling orange tile roofed style mansion. Elaborate black wrought iron decorated the lower-level windows, obscuring the view of what was going on inside while the windows of the upper story were blacked out. The roof went perfectly with the cream stucco exterior and the grounds looked like something out of a movie. Beautiful plants and flowering vines and bushes grew everywhere, along with a few dimly lit fountains that I caught a glimpse of in the distance as we drove past.
“This place looks like something out of a movie,” I mumbled as I tried to keep from pressing my nose to the window like an eager little kid.
“It was. Back in the 1940s, the pool out back was used in scenes for a couple different movies and the ballroom was featured in a musical. Club Wicked L.A. was founded back in the 1930s by a very wealthy, if somewhat eccentric, movie mogul we’ll call Raul. He and his fellow founders of the movie industry decided they wanted a place where they could be themselves, where they didn’t have to worry about the public following their every move. Paparazzi was a problem even back then, and even one whisper of sexual perversity could make the morality squad nail you to the proverbial cross and sink your career.” Shyla said in a very tour guide voice as she slowly drove forward, waiting for a limo one car in front of us to pull up to the ivy-covered arched entrance. “So, he and his buddies built this place. Raul actually lived here in what is now the Chairman’s quarters, and his buddies had guest suites, but the rest of the mansion was devoted to every carnal delight you could imagine. After Raul passed, he willed the land and house to Club Wicked, set up a bunch of legal clauses so no one could ever try to sell or steal the club, and it’s been here ever since.”
“Wow,” I managed to whisper as I shifted in the deep bucket seat of her car, the big engine rumbling like a beast. “Remember the first club we went to? The one that was just a warehouse with some blowup mattresses, dirty sofas, and an X-frame in the corner?”
“I remember that place. Ahhhh, fond memories of wondering if anyone ever cleaned those couches.” Shyla cackled, the silver jewels on the black leather mask that covered her upper face glittering. “You’re gonna love Club Wicked, trust me. Now, remember, no real names inside, and you must always wear your mask in public areas. I know it’s a pain, but those are part of the rules that have kept the club and its members safe all these years. So, keep yours on!”
I touched the thin, hot fuchsia pink, silk-covered foam mask that concealed my upper face, leaving my nose, lips, and chin bare. There were no ties or ribbons holding it on, just this neat reactive foam that kept the mask in place. It was embellished with hundreds of tiny champaign pink and white crystals and had a very feminine and girly feel that I loved. Instead of a pretty dress like some littles enjoyed, I’d donned a pair of booty shorts—that made the most out of what butt my running had left me with—and had the word ‘Princess’ written across the back in sparkly, silver letters. I’d paired the shorts with a white half t-shirt that had a sparkly unicorn on it but left the lower half of my belly exposed. My hair was in a ponytail tied with a big fuchsia bow that matched my shiny booty shorts. A pair of frilly socks and some white sneakers completed the outfit, and I really enjoyed feeling cute and desirable.
Shyla, by contrast, was in head-to-toe black latex with her wild black and brown streaked curls braided back into a fishtail braid. She was feeling ‘large and in charge’ tonight, so I took that to mean she’d be indulging her Domme side. My best friend was a switch, which meant she could be either Dominant or sub depending on her mood. Shyla wasn’t big on labels and neither was I.
I’d been nervous while selecting my outfit, knowing—or maybe hoping and not hoping?—that I’d see Tyler tonight. The instant attraction I’d felt for him, the way he’d stepped up and not only protected me but been a total gentleman about it, had already caught my interest. And that was before I’d accidentally seen his gorgeous, pierced cock and his big, solid body. He wasn’t cut, but he had a nice line going down the middle and his shoulders looked broad enough to support the world. If he did happen to be here tonight, I wanted to be honest with him about who I am and what I like.
