I Bet on losing Dogs

“Are you serious? I thought all those disappeared like ten years ago?” You whisper back and she laughs. 

“I went in!” She giggles like a teenager discussing her first kiss. “I got some things to spice it up with Andrew,” she goes into details about some things she got for herself and for her husband. 

“I can’t believe you went in!” You can’t even imagine what all those types of stores house, let alone going into one. “What is it like?” You lean forward over your untouched dessert. 

“It’s standard, I suppose,” she giggles again. “The cashier or owner or whoever works there is really hot though.” 

“Amanda!” You scold her. 

She waves you off laughing. “Should we get another bottle?” She lifts the empty one from the ice bucket. 

“We shouldn’t,” you grin and she nods and waves the waiter over to order another bottle. 

– 

The hangover wasn’t as strong as you expected. Your husband is gone by the time you rise from bed, a few tylenol tablets and a glass of water beside the bed. You take the tablets, swallowing slowly before getting up and getting ready for the day. 

As you brush your teeth you check the calendar for anything your husband might have going on, but nothing pops up until after 6PM. There's dinner with his coworkers and boss, but that’s it. The day is yours. 

After carefully applying makeup and styling your hair for the day, you dress in a matching pink set, the skirt flowy and blouse form fitting. The shoes you pick have the same pink accent shade. You head out to go get coffee at a new place on the East Side. 

As you’re driving through town, you can’t help but keep your eyes peeled. It’s difficult with the mid-morning traffic but you eventually make it to a parking lot near the coffee shop you found online. It’s busy, but not overwhelming so you eventually place your order and sit down at a table alone. 

People come and go as you enjoy your bagel sandwich and latte, scrolling through social media and responding to a few comments on your latest pictures from a dinner with your husband. A few friends from where you used to live are begging to come visit, but you know the house isn’t ready for guests yet. 

By the time you leave, you’re ready for something to do. You can’t help yourself, your fingers typing in Pleasure Lane in the GPS and finding the sex store Amanda told you about. It's only a few minutes away and there’s a parking garage far enough away it won’t look weird for you parking there. 

The street is unkempt like most of the city, but not very many people walking around. You’re grateful for that. You see the store a few steps away as you approach the front entrance. It’s unassuming, just a white building with a sign above it with a pink flamingo and pineapple on the sign. A neon pink sign reads “OPEN” on the front door. 

28 Pleasure Lane 

You feel your cheeks warming as you grab the door handle and push inside. A small bell rings, your heart races as you hear it. No one is in the store but the man sitting at the register. Amanda was not lying. 

He’s blonde and wearing sunglasses that hide his eyes. He’s in a white t-shirt and jeans, nothing flashy at all compared to all the things surrounding you. He doesn’t look up from his magazine as you start to wander around the store aimlessly. 

There’s toys of every kind on the racks on the wall, things you’ve only heard about or read about in books. You’re biting your lip looking at the little rose vibrator you’ve heard good things about. You reach up and touch the box then pull away. 

Sex was good for the first part of your relationship. Hot and romantic and full of fun. After nearly a decade together, it’s lost its touch. You’d heard of that happening, so you’re not upset but you’re definitely needing something to give and for it to pick back up again. It’s been a month since you’ve been more than kissed. You impulsively grab a remote controlled vibrator, thinking maybe this could be fun, hoping anyways. 

The man at the register looks at you over his glasses, and you swear he rolls his eyes. You frown but shake it off and pay for the toy. He doesn’t thank you or anything as he bags up the toy in a brown bag with no logo on it. 

You take it and leave, looking back once and seeing he’s watching you walk out. 

–

How you ended up back in this store, you’ll never be able to answer clearly. The door swings as you take a step in. The cashier watches you this time, and you think he shakes his head. You can’t confirm it because you looked away the moment you caught his glance. 

The vibrator has sat unused in your drawer for weeks now, your husband completely uninterested or “tired” as he claims every day after work. So maybe something else would help, you thought this morning. So, here you are. 

There’s a back room full of lingerie, so you stroll through the racks. You find a pretty pink set with white bows in your size, grabbing it and holding it as you look through the other merchandise. There’s nothing here you can really see yourself using, other than the rose toy, so you grab one of those as well… if this doesn’t work then maybe this will be your only chance at an orgasm tonight. 

The cashier rings you up, this time he doesn’t have sunglasses on. You notice he has deep blue eyes, looking away the second he frowns at you for looking at him too long. Clearly, he shouldn’t be customer facing. 

“Thank you,” you say kindly as he hands you the brown bag with your lingerie and toy. 

“Whatever,” he sounds uninterested, which doesn’t surprise you. 

–

The lingerie did work, but either your husband has lost his touch or he was too tired to care about your pleasure. The next morning you’re pissed off and hot. The rose toy does its job perfectly as you lay in bed alone, trying to picture something to keep your imagination going as you close in on your orgasm. 

Biceps you’ve seen before pop in your mind, hands you can picture but just barely pushing your thighs up towards your torso. The face that pops up to match the rest of the image is a surprise. The man you’ve only seen twice, at the sex shop. He’s spoken one rude word to you and you don’t even know his name. 

You stop, throwing the toy across the room and groaning. 

You can’t have anything good. 

You get up, dressing in a black skirt and pink blouse, slipping on shoes that match and get ready for the day. You try not to think too much about what you’re going to do about your dwindling sex and love life. 

Once you’re ready, you leave to meet Amanda for lunch. She tells you in depth about how she and her husband tried the same toy you’d purchased, but you don’t mention him being uninterested in it. You’re too new of friends and frankly you’re embarrassed. 

After lunch you find yourself in the parking garage on Pleasure Lane once again. You lay your forehead between your hands on the steering wheel, squeezing it tight and bouncing your forehead on it a few times. 

Drive home. 

No, stay and go buy something else. 

No, drive home. 

With each bounce of your forehead you change your mind. When it starts to hurt you stop, settling on going in one more time. There has to be something in there that can get you off, there just has to be.

The doorbell rings as you step in, the gaze of the hateful cashier following you in again. You frown at him and he laughs, going back to his magazine. Why does he have such a problem with you? 

You come here and buy something each visit and you don’t bother him with questions. There clearly isn’t a lot of clientele, so you can’t be bothering others. What is it about you that bothers him so badly? 

You grab something you’ve only heard about: anal beads. Your fingers shake as you grab the package. They’re hot pink, with four, no, five beads on them going up in size as they get to the base. Your husband is never going to want to use these, but maybe it’s something you can learn yourself. Plus, you just want to get something and get the hell out of here. 

You place them on the counter and the cashier laughs. 

“I’m not selling you these.” 

“Excuse me?” There was shock on your face. 

“You heard me, you’re not taking these back to whatever fucking suburb you live in with your husband.” He tells you, tossing them into the return bin beside his stool. 

You fiddle lightly with your engagement ring and wedding band. Then clench your fists together. 

“I don’t think that’s very fair, I’m paying for them and I-” 

“I said no.” 

“I-” 

“You’ve had no discipline your whole life, that’s clear to me. This lifestyle you’ve been given by your husband gives you routine, but that’s it. I’ve seen you come and go for weeks and you keep getting more and more desperate. You’re bored, and probably in need of a good fucking which he can’t provide.” 

“You need to shut-” 

He raises his finger, "Discipline. No one told you to speak.” 

Your face is hot and contoured uncomfortably at this point, you’re furious and lost for words. This is the first time in your life you’ve been stopped from speaking and refused service. 

“Long story short, sweetheart, I’m not selling you those. Your husband doesn’t have the know-how to use them on you or himself, and I’m not going to be responsible for some fucking lawsuit if one of you gets hurt. I’m so sick of the bored housewives coming in here thinking this is fun and games all the time.” 

“It’s a sex toy store-” 

“Yes, and some people take this seriously. You don’t. Go home.” He picks his magazine up and leans back onto his stool to flip through the pages. 

The conversation is over. 

You storm out and attempt to slam the door, which won’t let you since it has hydraulics on it that won’t allow it to. You frown, looking back through the frosted glass, then back at the street. Going to your car, you can’t help but feel shame. 

Shame for this morning. Shame for coming here over and over. Shame for letting someone you don’t know talk to you the way he did. 

You sit in your car, the air running and music playing distracting you from the patheticness you’re feeling. An hour passes and you leave the parking garage, knowing you need to be home in time for dinner tonight. 

Whatever, you’ll forget about this in no time. 

–

You don’t forget about it. You’re left disappointed by the boring sex you do get to have occasionally. The rose toy only does so much until you get distracted by that annoying sex toy shop owner popping into your mind and making you so angry you can’t finish. 

Weeks pass and your frustration has started to bleed out into your relationships. You snap at Amanda when she talks about her sex life and you stop initiating sex with your husband, faking orgasms when he does initiate it. 

After an awful lunch where you spent the majority of it apologizing to Amanda for being rude and snappy, you find yourself in the familiar parking garage on Pleasure Lane. You lay your head on the steering wheel, feeling a sense of regret but you need something else. You need something to get you off and the rose toy just isn’t cutting it anymore. 

When you walk in and hear the doorbell ding, you look over to the shop cashier, who looks annoyed to see you again. You see no one else is in the store, so you walk over to him. 

“Why are you here?” He looks at you over his sunglasses. 

“Why won’t you let me make my own decisions?” You drop the niceties. “I want those anal beads.” 

He laughs, closing the magazine. 

“Fine, tell me how you use them then.” The grin on his face pisses you off, but the question has thrown you. He takes his sunglasses off, placing them on the counter. 

You’ve never looked it up, planning to after you got them. You’ve never even seen them in the porn you’ve watched. So you stare at him, your eyebrow raised like you know. 

“I don’t have to explain myself to you. Just give them to me.” 

“They’re on the shelf; I restocked them.” You turn, but he speaks again when you’re at the shelf. “I’m still not selling them to you.” 

“Yes, you are.” At this point you don’t even know if you’re interested in them, you just want to win.

You slam them on the counter and he rolls his eyes. “What’s your name?” 

“-----,” you tell him. 

“Well, —-- I don’t think you’re welcome in this store anymore.” 

“Oh what the hell? Let me talk to your manager,” you feel like your mother asking but it slips out. 

He cackles, actually cackles. “I own the place, princess.” 

“Whatever, asshole. Just sell me these fucking beads and I’ll never come here again.” 

“Promise?” He asks, with a shit-eating grin. 

“Promise.” 

“Even when your husband tells you he’s not going to use those on you? Even when you’re still frustrated?” He leans forward, his face close to yours. “You swear you won’t come back?” 

You let out a shaky breath, him being so close to you after all these last few weeks fantasizing about him to get off. You bite your lip, knowing you can’t promise you won’t come here again for another desperate attempt of attention from your husband. 

“Stop biting your lip,” he tells you and you release it from your teeth. 

Is it a desperate attempt for attention from your husband? You reconsider that thought as you watch him smirk at you. No, it’s not for your husband at all. 

The pink skirt you chose this morning, the white tank top with the lace back, the white heels… the makeup you did today… the way you have your hair styled. None of it is to your husband's preference. It’s all for you and for you to look attractive for one person. 

“Do you actually want these?” He holds them in his large hands. 

You inhale shakily, the exhale even more rough. “I-” 

“Yes or no, sweetheart.” 

“Y-yes.” 

He rips into the packaging, taking them out holding the latex beads in his hands. “These are cheap, but I guess for your first time they’ll do.” 

He walks around the counter, locking the front door and turning the neon sign off. He pulls the door, confirming it’s off then crosses the store, briefly passing by you as you turn your head to follow his steps. He pulls a key from his pocket, opening the door to your left. 

“You have a decision to make, it seems.” He takes his glasses off, folding them and hanging them from the neckline of his black shirt. 

You turn to step forward, but you hesitate. If you go through that door you know there’s no going back to your old life. There’s no going back to a home you no longer feel at home in. There’s no going back to a sexless marriage… so, you step forward. 

The room is a stairwell, basic grey steps leading up to another door that's unlocked. You push it open and step inside to a modest, but extremely clean apartment. Looking around, you take in the room. It is modern with art that you’d describe as subtly erotic. Most of the furniture is white or black with some warm wood accents. It feels entirely different from your home full of similar colors. It feels lived in and thought out, and not designed by the local interior designer who only listened to your husband. 

He comes in behind you, shutting the door behind him and placing a head on the small of your back. He guides you through the living room to an open door to his bedroom. You sit on the edge of his bed as he stands towering over you. 

“I have a few rules.” 

You nod. 

“You will start by agreeing to this relationship.” He waits for you to answer, you realize. 

“I agree to this relationship.” Your voice is steadier than you expected. 

“You will keep an open mind. You will communicate honestly. You will use your safe word the second you feel you’ve been pushed too far.” You nod with each one. 

“What is my safe word?” 

“Pineapple.” 

“Got it!” 

You can’t help the excitement that flows from your words and reactions. He raises a light blonde eyebrow, looking down at you. You hadn’t noticed he had any before, but the lighting in his room makes it easier for you to see them. He takes his glasses from his shirt, placing them on a dresser behind him where a small television sits. 

“Spread your legs, lean back and support yourself on your elbows.” 

Your heart races knowing what he’ll discover. He drops to his knees in front of you, grabbing your hips and pulling you forward. The motion pulls your upper body back and you do as he says whether you intended to or not. 

He grins when he pushes your skirt up your thighs. “Of course,” he licks his bottom lip. You didn’t wear underwear today. “Are you sure you want this?” 

Clear, and honest communication. 

“Yes,” you breathe out, anticipation killing you. “I need this.” 

As pathetic as it sounds, you don’t care. You haven’t had an orgasm that felt good in months, and now… now you know you’re going to have one. You’re desperate, truly. 

He chuckles, “Alright, sweetheart. Lay back and behave.” 

The first feeling of his tongue on your slit makes you whine louder than you thought capable. You’re embarrassed but not enough to care after you feel a finger prodding at you before slipping in and curling up. The combination of his tongue on your clit and his finger fucking you, you’re whimpering and whining. 

As he sucks on your clit you feel your body giving you the signals you’ve been desperate for. It’s only been a few minutes and you’ve made your mind up: you’ve never been eaten out this well in your entire life. You squeeze his head with your thighs, moaning and gripping the comforter on his bed. 

“I’m-” the words escape you as the knot snaps in your lower stomach and your thighs shave as you cum on his tongue and fingers. 

“Going to cum?” He asks as he lifts his head up and you laugh. 

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Fuck,” you rub your hand across your cheek. 

He stands up, pulling your skirt back over your thighs. He crosses the room to the bathroom behind you, the sound of water running filling the silence. Is he washing his hands? You sit up, turning your head and seeing you can’t see what he’s doing. When he comes back in, he’s holding the latex anal beads you tried to buy. 

“Do you want me to use these on you?” 

You nod. 

“Tell me.” 

“I want you to use those on-” 

“Use a better vocabulary.” 

“I want you to use the anal beads on me.” 

“And?” 

You frown. “What?” 

“You need to learn how to be polite.” 

You scoff, that’s rich coming from him. “Would you please use the anal beads on me?” You ask as politely as you can muster, batting your eyelashes for good measure. 

He rolls his eyes. “I will. Lay on your chest, grab a pillow to hold onto.” 

“Why do i need-” 

“Do what I say or this ends now.” 

“Fine,” you grab one of his pillows, tucking it under you as you wrap your arms around it. You angle your head just so you can watch him behind you. He lays the beads down on a clean towel laid beside you on the bed. 

“Whats your safe word?” 

“Pineapple,” you reply. 

“Use it if anything gets too overwhelming for you.” 

You nod and he frowns. “I will.” 

“Better, you’re learning.” He grins and you feel irritation run through you. 

“You need to relax your body, this isn’t something you should be tense for.” He tells you as his hand rubs your right ass cheek. “If you want me to stop, use your safe word. If you want me to pause, say pause. Got it?” 

“Got it.” 

He sighs but doesn’t say anything. “Okay, are you ready?” 

“Yes.” 

He uses his hands to spread your cheeks. He spits on your asshole, using his thumb to massage it in, the sensation foreign but surprisingly pleasureful. He pushes his thumb inside of you lightly, making you gasp. He leans over, his breath against your neck. 

“You like that?” 

You nod and he slaps your left ass cheek with his free hand. 

“I like it,” you whimper. “A lot.” You squeeze the pillow as you say the words, glad he suggested it. He swaps his thumb for a finger, fucking it into you slowly as you moan and get used to the new sensations. 

“Relax, you’re tensing up,” he tells you as he rubs your ass cheek and you feel the latex press against you. “Breathe,”he reminds you as one bead pushes in, followed by another. 

You moan as you adjust to the fullness. 

“Good fucking girl,” you can’t see him but you’re certain he’s grinning. You smile too, then the third bead pushes in. 

“Two more,” he tells you and you whine, not feeling overwhelmed yet. 

“I can do it,” you tell him and you hear him chuckle. 

“I know you can,” he replies.

He pushes one more into you, your body feeling a fullness you’ve never experienced before. It’s a lot, but it’s not too much. You feel yourself still dripping down your thighs from your orgasm before and swear you’re wetter now than you’ve ever been. 

The final bead pushes inside of you and you let out a sound you’re embarrassed to hear. It’s a mix between a moan and a groan with a bit of a whimper. It was fully carnal. You whimper as he kisses the skin between your shoulders just above your lace back of the tank top you wear. 

“I’m going to slowly pull them out now,” he tells you and you feel hot all over. 

You’re soaking wet, sure you’ve stained his bedding by now. The knot you’re used to getting before you cum has formed again, something you weren't sure was possible from your ass. You feel so uneducated in this moment, but so enlightened all at once. 

As the first bead comes out, you feel an intense wave of pleasure different from when they filled you up. The second and third nearly undoes you. When he pulls the fourth, you cum, crying out and whining as he pulls the final one out at the height of your orgasm. 

You breathe heavily as you squeeze the pillow you’re hugging tight and curl your legs up into yourself. He disappears into the bathroom for a few moments, the sound of running water focusing your attention back to reality.  

He pulls you into his body as he sits on the bed, stroking your head and shoulder with his hands. He asks how you feel, you mumble something in response, unable to put it clearly into words. 

“Um,” you realize something horrifying. 

“Yes?” 

“I don’t know your name,” you admit, quietly. 

You’ve just cheated on your husband and you don’t even know the guy's name. 

“Doflamingo,” he tells you and you frown. 

What a strange name.

--

taglist: @a-girl-cant-decide-on-a-name @startcarvingdarling