As odd as all this seems, the promise of having her bent over the sofa in an hour decides my fate. I pull the T-shirt over my head, stopping midway to watch as Lena unzips her dress. The black fabric falls to the curve of her hips, revealing her ripe, plump breasts in a black lace bra.
“Put on the shirt,” she instructs.
Obliging, I pull the t-shirt over my chest. Lena arches her eyebrow as she observes the tightness of the shirt against my frame. Taking a step closer, she runs her hand across the small section of my stomach that the cotton fails to cover. Her fingers graze the waistband of my briefs - damn, that drives me crazy.
“Now your jeans,” she orders.
Taking a step back, Lena unfastens her bra. Fuck, it’s one of those bras with the hook in the front - like a package concealing a wonderful present. The tightness of my jeans against my erection is infuriating, knowing I have to wait an hour before I can play with her tits.
“Jacket,” Lena instructs.
As I reach for the tweed jacket with suede elbow patches, Lena fondles her nipples. Her skin is so flawless and delectable - I want to nibble and suck every inch until she moans in pleasure.
Pulling on the jacket and exhaling in agony, I ask, “One hour?”
Lena smiles. “Yes, Professor.”
***
9:40 p.m.
We stop in front of a walkup somewhere in SoHo. I pay the driver and then help Lena out of the cab. She pauses on the sidewalk to reapply her red lipstick - slowly and methodically, just to torment me.
“Is this a costume party?” I ask, still unsure of what I’m about to encounter.
“I suppose.” Lena takes my hand and earnestly adds, “Don’t be afraid to let your inhibitions go. It’s more enjoyable for everyone involved when guests are comfortable and open to new things. Role-play can be liberating, especially when encountered with people that share the same objective.”
No way. No fucking way - I’m on the cusp of my first swinger party! I shake my shoulders and roll my neck. “I’m ready, Lena.”
The palm of her hand moves to my cheek. Her thumb glides over my scruffy stubble, grazing the edge of my mouth, as she whispers, “Don’t forget your pipe.” Lena’s other hand slides into my jacket pocket to remove the smoking pipe. I smile as she tries to position it between my lips. “Hurry along, Professor,” she instructs.
If she wants me to act like a professor, I’ll do it. I know a lot about military history, and I can fake my way through a few conversations before the orgies commence. I need a back story - I’m a professor at a college on Long Island. I teach four graduate classes, and I’m currently writing a book on the JFK assassination. This is good!
Mission Three: Accomplished.
I follow behind Lena, watching as her ass shimmies when she climbs the steps to the front door. She presses the buzzer and I quickly pinch her ass. Lena shoots me an annoyed glare, but I simply smile.
A man decked out in a black tuxedo with tails and a tight frown opens the door. “Good evening. I’m Wadsworth, the butler.”
“Hello, I’m Ms. White,” Lena replies.
Wadsworth switches his attention to me as I chew on the pipe. “And you, sir?” he asks with a strained British accent.
Lena places her hand on my arm and answers. “I believe this is Professor Plum.”
“I wasn’t aware you two knew each other,” Wadsworth states.
“We only met today - we received similar invitations to a dinner party at this address and decided to share a taxi.”
Oh, so that’s our story. Hot.
“Very good. Follow me and I will introduce you to the other guests.” Wadsworth sharply turns toward the entry hall, so we obediently follow him. “Everyone is in the dining room,” he adds over his shoulder.
That’s weird - I guess swinger parties start with a nice meal so everyone can get acquainted. Like a potluck dinner that turns into potluck sex.
Whispering into Lena’s ear, I ask, “Why are we eating dinner?”
“Shh, just play along,” she scorns.
Fine. I’ll play along. I’ve read that Manhattan sex clubs have crazy memberships and vetting processes, but so far, this all seems like a silly game. Nothing like that movie with Nicole Kidman and the mask-wearing sex cult.
“Ladies and gentleman, may I present Ms. White and Professor Plum,” Wadsworth announces.
Wadsworth - where have I heard that name before?
Wadsworth extends his arm in a presentation gesture, and then pulls out a chair for Lena. I take the last available chair on the opposite side of the table between two attractive women.
Placing my pipe on the table and checking out the hot chick to my right, I ask, “What’s for dinner?”
She leans into me and smirks. “Mrs. Peacock revealed a few minutes ago that we’re having one of her favorite recipes prepared by the cook.”
Huh.
“I’m Miss Scarlet, and I love a man in tweed.” She pinches the fabric of my sleeve between her fingers and winks.
I wink back at her and then study the guests slurping bowls of soup around the table, none of which are wearing an actual Halloween costume. Across from me is dark and sexy Lena, dressed in black and going by the pseudonym of Ms. White. Miss Scarlet is wearing a revealing burgundy dress and staring at me with lust. Mrs. Peacock is to my left, drinking wine and nodding goofily at the table conversation. A dude next to Lena is dousing his hands in hand sanitizer and squirming in his seat.
“Do you like Kipling, Miss Scarlet?” asks a man with a fake mustache.
In a seductive voice, Miss Scarlet replies, “I’ll eat anything, Colonel Mustard.
“Colonel Mustard, are you a real Colonel?” Lena asks between slurps of soup.
White. Mustard. Peacock. Scarlet.
“Yes, of course. Retired and presently working in Washington,” Colonel Mustard adds.
“And what about you, Mr. Green? What do you do in Washington?” Miss Scarlet asks.
Green. Oh shit - Professor Plum.
Nervously, Mr. Green stands from the table and throws down his napkin. “I work for the State Department and I’m a homosexual,” he recites.
What the …
“Everyone, please follow me to the study to meet our host, Mr. Boddy,” Wadsworth instructs.
I watch in confused horror as the cast of Clue obediently rises from the table and follows a fictional butler through the entry hall.
“I’d like to know why we’re here, Wadsworth,” Colonel Mustard shouts.
Yeah, me too.
“I invited you - please follow to me the study and I will explain …” Wadsworth’s voice trails off.
I try to get Lena’s attention but she patters off ahead of me. Miss Scarlet on the other hand, gives me all her attention - pressing me against the wall outside the dining room and running her hand over my chest.
“I hear you do things to lady patients that doctors aren’t allowed to do,” she whispers while grabbing my junk. “Nice boots, Professor,” she adds in a breathless pant.
Miss Scarlet pushes off me in slow-motion but then she turns sharply and dashes off in front of me. As we make our way into the study, the guests disperse. Miss Scarlet chooses the antique desk to sit atop while I cozy up on the sofa next to Mrs. Peacock. Lena is seated in a wingback chair with her legs crossed. I stare feverishly at her body while placing my pipe in my mouth - this game better hurry up so I can get her naked.
A man in a dark suit and carrying a duffel bag moves swiftly to the fireplace. He looks at me like he’s confused and then shoots Wadsworth a nasty frown. No worries, because I’m soon distracted by a scantily dressed French maid with a huge rack.
“Would joo like some brandee?” Her French accent is terrible, but the view down her cleavage is awesome.
“I’ll take one,” Mrs. Peacock answers.
The maid continues to pass out the drinks to the guests and then places the tray on a table. She leaves, shutting the door behind her.
r /> Wadsworth moves to the center of the room and nods to the man in the dark suit. “Very well, we’ve all been called here for one reason … blackmail!” His face becomes animated and excited as he addresses the guests. “Our host,” he points to the man with the duffel bag, “is blackmailing us.”
Mrs. Peacock fans herself with her purse and whines, “I’m not being blackmailed! I’m an open book. I have nothing to hide!”
The man against the fireplace laughs maniacally as Wadsworth reveals seven envelopes. “In my hand, I hold the only evidence of our government indiscretions. Including you, Mrs. Peacock.”
“I’m not ashamed of my dirty secrets,” Miss Scarlet declares with a devilish grin.
“Give me those envelopes,” Lena demands.
Colonel Mustard approaches the mystery man and claims, “So you’re Mr. Boddy?”
The man leaning against fireplace smirks. “Yeah, so what? There’s nothing you can do - I’ll be leaving now.”
Wadsworth puffs his chest and smiles. “Not so fast! I’ve called the police and locked all the doors. They will be here in thirty minutes. Once the police arrive, we can explain that we’ve been blackmailed and Mr. Boddy will be arrested.”
Mr. Green stands from his chair and moves toward Wadsworth. “We? Are you being blackmailed as well, Wadsworth?”
Wadsworth lowers his head and sighs. “I’m afraid so. My late wife befriended the wrong kind of people.” He raises his head and fakes a cry. “They were socialists. But I didn’t have any money so I was imprisoned as Mr. Boddy’s butler.”
“What exactly is a butler?” Colonel Mustard asks.
“I buttle.” Wadsworth deadpans.
Lena steps forward and asserts, “We should wait for the police and then we can forget about this horrible night.”
“Do you want the police to know about all your dead husbands?” Miss Scarlet quips.
“Enough!” Mr. Boddy opens his duffel bag and delivers a black box to each guest, excluding Wadsworth. I stare at the box in my lap, wondering how long this game plays out before the actual sex party begins. Talk about prolonged foreplay…
“In your box you will find a lethal weapon. The only person preventing us from leaving is Wadsworth. Murder Wadsworth and we can walk out of here and continue our monetary arrangements.” Mr. Boddy pauses by the light switch and waits for us to open our boxes.
Mrs. Peacock holds up a lead pipe and says, “But I’m not a murderer!”
Lena moves to the arm of the sofa where I’m sitting with her gifted weapon. She looks down at me and gives me a tiny smile. I glance at the nylon rope in her lap, imagining all the creative things that could be done with a rope and a naked Lena White.
I open my box to find a dagger. Unsure if it’s real, I carefully pick up the handle and examine the blade. Plastic.
And then the lights go out.
Thump.
Bump.
Crash.
I hear Mrs. Peacock moving from the sofa, but I stay put. In the darkness, I feel Lena’s nails combing through my hair, and then her hand grabbing the back of my neck. She kisses me. With her lips parting and her mouth accepting my tongue, we make out in the blackness like two teenagers.
Bang!
A gunshot pops through the silence forcing Lena to break our kiss. And then the lights come on.
“He’s dead!” someone shouts.
“There was a gunshot - who has the revolver?” Colonel Mustard demands.
Everyone turns their heads toward the desk where Mr. Green is shaking nervously. “I didn’t do it!” he shouts, dropping the gun on the floor.
Wadsworth kneels near the body, Mr. Boddy, and rolls him over. “Professor Plum, there’s no gunshot wound. Is he dead?”
“I’m just a teacher,” I say with a smile. I rise from the sofa and walk over to the body.
“No, you’re a psychologist with the W.H.O. - surely you can take a pulse,” Wadsworth insists.
Oh, right. I kneel next to the man on the floor and pretend to take his pulse. “Yep, he’s dead.”
“Then who killed him?” Lena asks.
With a trembling voice, Mrs. Peacock shouts, “This is just too much. I need a drink.” She picks up a glass of brandy from the tray and throws it back in one swallow.
Mr. Green points at the glass and yips, “Maybe it was poison!”
Mrs. Peacock launches the glass at the wall and wails. “I don’t want to die!”
Picking up the empty glass, Colonel Mustard states, “Now we’ll never know if the brandy is poisonous.”
Placing his arm around a faint Mrs. Peacock, Wadsworth adds, “Unless she, ya know.”
“Aaahhhhaaaa!” A scream resonates outside the study, forcing everyone to exaggerate a panic attack and rush out the door.
“Yvette!” they shout in unison.
Fuck. For a sex party, this is more elaborate and kinkier than I originally thought. Not wanting to stay in the study by myself, and wanting to know what’s going on, I dash out into the hall. I catch Wadsworth darting behind a door with my dagger.
I find the other guests standing inside a room with a large billiard table. On top of the pool table is the maid, Yvette, fingering a lace handkerchief.
“Why did you scream?” Lena asks on cue.
“I was frighteened, mon dieu,” she explains in her horrible French accent.
“Tell us what you heard, Yvette,” Colonel Mustard orders.
Glancing from Lena to Miss Scarlet, and finally to Yvette’s large chest, I eagerly accept this silly charade on the pretense that there will be a buffet of breasts in my near future. Even Mrs. Peacock, as quirky as she is, has a nice rack.
Crossing her legs and revealing a lace garter, Yvette mutters, “I heard a gun in the studee. I don’t want to be all alone so I scweamed.”
“Aaaahhhhaaa! Help!”
“Who’s screaming now?” Mr. Green asks, running in the direction of the yelp.
Following the other guests’ lead and plodding off toward the kitchen, I place my hand on Miss Scarlet’s back. She stops, takes my face in her hands, and kisses me. I run my hands up and down her body as Lena bumps into us.
“Shall we go to the kitchen?” Lena frowns.
We move quickly to the kitchen to find a large woman dressed as a cook draped on top of Wadsworth. He’s squirming beneath her dead weight until Colonel Mustard and Mr. Green heave her body onto a nearby chair. Obviously, she’s not really dead, and the blood stain on her back looks incredibly fake. I also catch her breathing but decide to just look away in fear that I may laugh.
“Another murder!” Mrs. Peacock screams.
Wadsworth stands inches from my face and says, “If I’m not mistaken, Professor Plum was given the dagger used to kill the cook.”
Everyone gasps.
Shrugging my shoulders, I say, “Uh, yeah. But I left it in the study.”
“So anyone could have taken the dagger,” Lena adds in my defense.
“But we were all in the billiard room with Yvette,” Mr. Green protests.
Actually, no. I saw Wadsworth carrying the knife and sneaking off somewhere.
Colonel Mustard wipes his brow and exhales. “That can only mean that there is someone else in the house.”
In unison, the women flutter and flail and Mrs. Peacock even loses her balance.
“We need to search the house - it’s time for everyone’s favorite part.” Wadsworth removes some long matches from a drawer and begins to cut them into different lengths, a pair at each size. “We’ll pair off and then decide what to do as a group. Bedrooms are on the second and third floor. Each pair can take a room.”
Finally! I wonder what Mr. Boddy and the cook do during the sex portion of the party.
Wadsworth distributes the matchsticks as I move closer to Lena - I want her to know that I want to be with her. Colonel Mustard and Yvette pair up and leave the kitchen in a hurry. They’re probably heading straight for the biggest bed. Next, Mrs. Peacock and Wads
worth tap their matches together and join arms. Wadsworth gives me a sly smile as he passes me on his way out of the kitchen. My odds are awesome, and hopefully Lena won’t be upset or jealous if I end up with Miss …
“You’re with me, sister,” Miss Scarlett teases. Holding their matchsticks together, Lena and Miss Scarlett acknowledge their matching pair.
But?
That leaves …
“Let’s go, Professor - I know where we should start.”
Nope. No. Nada. Uh uh. Never in a million years.
Full of frustration and nursing a bad case of blue balls, I shout, “Lena, I’m not fucking a guy. You’re welcome to stay and have your fun, but I just can’t do this.”
Mr. Green’s eyes widen as he frowns in horror. Worried that I may have offended him, I quickly add, “Bro, it’s not you. I’m into women.”
Breaking character, Lena stomps toward me and barks, “Chris, what in the hell are you talking about?”
“The sex party. Hey, I’m okay with being paired with a stranger, but I’m not comfortable with a guy.”
“Sex party?” Miss Scarlet snickers.
“Chris, if you haven’t noticed, this is a group of intellectuals that meet once a month for Clue reenactments. We needed a Plum … wait, why on earth would you think I was bringing you to a sex party?”
If I really think long and hard about her question, I will just end up embarrassing myself further. So instead, I simply place my hands on Lena’s shoulders and kiss her cheek. “I should probably go.”
I make my way through the entry hall and straight toward the front door, secretly praying that none of the others follow me. Placing my hand on the doorknob, I glance at myself in the entry mirror. Shit! I’m such an idiot. And I can’t even open the door. What the actual fuck?
“Chris,” Lena’s voice rasps.
I turn to face her and force a smile. “Lena tonight has been equally intriguing and ridiculous. I think I enjoyed some of it, but it’s just not my thing.”
“I’m really sorry I gave you the wrong impression about the party. When I met you today, you seemed like a guy that would be laid back and fun. It takes a certain kind of guy to put up with my little hobby.”
And maybe I could make it work - her hobby in exchange for kinky sex. “I’ll call you next week,” I say. And I will. I can take her to dinner on my own terms and bring her back to my own apartment.