Hastily, Valerie held up her hand to stop her. “I’m not a member of any clubs.”
“No, no, that’s not what I mean. So, this place, it’s not a swinger’s club where there are people watching and jerking off. This one is supposed to be classy, like, in a mansion, and all BDSM. It’s really private and exclusive, but they’re having a night when visitors can see what it’s all about. Even get a kind of sampling of what they do.”
“Like a taste test?”
“Exactly.” Queenie waggled her eyebrows. “Don’t you think visiting a BDSM club sounds interesting?”
More like avoid-at-all-costs. In a way, BDSM had destroyed her marriage. Or maybe it was merely the final blow.
“A club, hmm?” She and Barry had considered trying a club, but they were all expensive. Instead, they joined a small group who played in one guy’s house. And it’d been fun, at first. Especially when one Dom showed Barry how to spank her…
No, don’t think about that.
After Barry brought in Alisha, they’d quit the group. Probably because someone had criticized Barry’s techniques and offered pointers.
Barry didn’t take criticism well.
“What do you think, Valerie? I really don’t want to go by myself.” Queenie gave her an appealing look.
“No, going alone wouldn’t be wise.” They were friends…well, lunch friends, anyway. And Queenie had gone out of her way to introduce Valerie around on campus, show her where things were, and generally help her figure things out. Teaching in a small community college had been quite different from being a university professor.
Valerie pursed her lips. “I’ll admit, I’ve never been to an actual BDSM club.”
“See? I’m really curious. Most of my hookups are jump on, pump away, jump off. A BDSMer must have a more extensive repertoire.” Queenie wrinkled her nose and made Valerie laugh. “Although I’m not exactly a nubile young thing anymore.”
Queenie was only around forty. Valerie shook her head. “Try being fifty.” Probably no one would even notice her.
Barry had certainly lost interest.
But this wouldn’t be like a real BDSM night. How could she turn Queenie down?
“All right. Let’s do it.”
Later in the afternoon, Valerie slid out of her car and faced the house where she’d lived for twenty-five years. On each side of the entry, bird-of-paradise plants stood as sentinels. Vibrant pink flowering azaleas were bright against the white front. Butterflies danced above the white flowers of the viburnum.
When they’d moved in, the front yard had contained only grass. She’d worked hard to make the yard colorful. Welcoming.
But there was no welcome here for her.
Not my home. Not my house. Not my family.
Despite the painful squeezing in her chest, Valerie repeated the words under her breath and pushed the doorbell on the ranch-style house.
“A Country Boy Can Survive” rang out. Barry had been so pleased when she had the new doorbell installed with his favorite song. It’d been their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.
Their marriage hadn’t made it to the twenty-seventh.
The briny air from the Gulf of Mexico swept through the small residential neighborhood, making the palm trees sway, easing the warmth of the March afternoon. Not having gone home to change after her last class, she was still in khaki pants and a button-up shirt.
Footsteps sounded inside.
Relax. I’m only here to pick up boxes, and I won’t let their snarking get to me.
Alisha opened the door. “Oh, it’s you. Come for your shit?”
“I did.” Valerie walked past and flinched at the sight of the filthy carpet, dirty dishes on side tables, and dust everywhere. Even when the children were small, the place had never been such a mess. She’d been gone for only three and a half months and…
Not my home. Not my circus. Not my monkeys.
Alisha’s expression turned ugly. “Master Barry doesn’t care what the house looks like. He wants other things from us. It’s a shame you never figured that out.”
Valerie smiled politely in response.
Because she had figured that out. Dabbling in BDSM had briefly invigorated their dull sex life. The couple of times he’d spanked her before sex, they’d both been surprised at how hard she’d climaxed.
But Barry wasn’t into exerting himself when it came to the bedroom. Especially when he’d found two submissives who hung on his every word and serviced him without him having to do a thing.
Valerie was no young babe. And being a slave? Not my thing. “Where are my boxes?”
“Against the wall there.” When Alisha turned to point, vivid scratch marks on her neck were visible. Kahlua had probably been drinking last night.
Valerie shook her head. Even her peacekeeping skills weren’t up to dealing with the belligerent drunk. Thank goodness she didn’t live here any longer.
Six boxes were stacked against the wall, more than she’d figured. Family albums, baby books, the kids’ precious art projects. Probably even some stuffed animals to hand down to Luca. Valerie’s heart turned mushy. Her two-year-old grandson was the smartest, sweetest, most adorable child in all the world.
Valerie picked up the first box and suppressed a grunt. Not stuffed animals in this one. What had Hailey packed—rocks?
She carried it out to the car.
Returning, she heard a long groan from the master bedroom to the right. Undoubtedly, Kahlua had pushed Barry to have sex right when the ex-wife was scheduled to show up. Because that was how Kahlua operated.
Alisha smirked.
Don’t react. Let the ugliness simply pass through into the floor. She picked up the next box.
Back when Alisha became Barry’s slave, Valerie had been jealous—oh my gods, she’d been jealous. And felt so cliché—the older wife whose husband was chasing after a younger woman. But she’d tried to overcome her feelings, only Alisha had been even more jealous.
Then, when Barry brought in Kahlua, the two slaves had joined forces against Valerie.
Valerie took the second box to the car and drew in a long breath of the sultry Florida air, cleansing her lungs of the toxic stench of the past.
Back inside, there was Kahlua, naked and stinking of sex. “Hey, it’s our pal, Val. The ex who never gets sex.” She ran her hands over her oversized, abnormally high breasts, gifts from a previous lover. “I’m sorry. I should have dressed. I know it bothers you to see someone getting some when you can’t get anything.”
Responding to nitwits is an exercise in futility.
Valerie picked up the next box and carried it out. Three more to go.
Kahlua and Alisha were talking amiably when she returned, obviously having united against a common enemy.
“So, Val, babe. Got any since you left?” Kahlua asked in a simperingly sweet voice.
Valerie picked up the next box, her arms aching.
“Please. You know no one would want her if she even had a sex drive left.” Alisha shook her head in pseudo pity.
Valerie carried the box out. Returned. Two left.
“You should take that paycheck you’re so proud of,” Kahlua sneered, “and buy yourself a fun night with a man. Man-hos aren’t picky.”