Otto links his hand in mine and leads me toward the Banana Peel.
Even the small touch of his fingers sends small tingles of excitement through me. One kiss from him and I’m already reeling.
I can’t shake the feeling. Tonight is special.
I don’t know how or why, exactly; there’s just a different energy around tonight. It’s got me on pins and needles in a good way.
I live for the thrill, after all, and Otto is nothing if not thrill incarnate.
We approach the building, and a familiar figure gets to his feet. Diego looks fresh, cleanly shaved in a nice, fitting sweater. My heart warms when I see him. “Diego!” I shout. “I didn’t know you’d be here!”
“Oh,” Otto says, realization suddenly dawning. “Yeah. I invited him. I forgot to tell you. Sorry.”
By which he means sorry I forgot to tell you, not sorry he’s here.
Diego’s eyes widen at that. He looks at Otto, then at me, then back to Otto again. “Is it okay?”
“Of course,” I laugh and wrap my arms around him. “It’s good to see you, buddy.”
“You too.”
I’m surprised but also not surprised. Wherever Otto goes, Diego is his shadow and vice versa.
I met Diego on my second date with Otto. Looking back on it, it’s a miracle Diego didn’t show up to my first date with Otto. For as long as I’ve known them, the two men have been joined at the hip. They shared childhood memories. Inside secrets. They had an entire language of eye contact and raised eyebrows that I could only try to decipher.
I’ll admit, I was afraid Diego and I wouldn’t hit it off. I didn’t know what to make of the clean-shaven, handsome Brazilian man at first. He was quiet, reserved, and what I like to call an angel boy. He buttoned his shirt up to the top button. He carried a bottle of water wherever he went. He didn’t do drugs—not even weed—and I caught the distinct, judgmental downturn of his lips when I offered him a toke from my one-hitter.
So, yeah. For a while there, Diego and I went together like peanut butter and queso.
But eventually, somewhere in the silent spaces when Otto left us alone, we got to talking. It turns out, we have more in common than we have dissimilar. We’re both horror-movie fanatics (James Wan is a genius, and no one can convince me otherwise). We both come from immigrant parents and know full well the complications that can come along with that. We both agree that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and brunches are mandatory on Saturdays. And, most importantly, we both love Otto.
But the thing we bonded over—and I mean, really bonded over—was when we showed up at Otto’s family Thanksgiving table in November. Otto is lucky. He has a big, loving family—one mom, two dads. It’s an unconventional relationship, but the three of them have been together since Otto was twelve. Donovan, CEO at Lighthouse Medical. Jason, surgeon and TV personality. And Kenzi, record store owner and life of the party. The oddest part is how not strange it is. They did all the “normal” family things—Donovan snapped at Jason when he nearly burned the stuffing. Kenzi told Otto’s kidney-transplant story and called him “the bravest boy,” which made Otto turn red. Jason added songs that no one wanted to the Thanksgiving playlist, which caused a row.
But it was their quiet moments of intimacy that really punched me in the chest. I was helping clear the table, Jason stationed at the sink, and I caught something I wasn’t supposed to see: Donovan slipping behind Jason, murmuring an I’m sorry into his ear and then softly kissing the back of the other man’s neck. Jason just smiled. When Donovan saw me watching them, he’d pulled away, thanked me for carrying in the dishes, and then went to where Kenzi was sitting on the couch and laid his head down in her lap.
It hit me suddenly, out of nowhere—this pain in my chest that knocked all the air out of my lungs. I excused myself and slipped outside the sliding glass doors to the patio.
Their family house sat right on the beach. It was a dark night, the moon hiding behind thick clouds, and I could barely make out the black sea, but I could hear it softly lapping at the shore. I took out a cigarette, lit it up, and watched the ember burn in the dark.
I hadn’t thought this plan all the way through, and I was freezing in my camisole. But I needed the silence more than I needed warmth, so I toughed it out.
The sliding door opened and shut behind me. “Hey. I thought you might want this.”
Diego had come out to check in on me. Of course he did. Angel boy.
He was holding my leather jacket. I took it and slipped it on. “Thanks.”
He stood beside me, and for a minute, we just lingered in the dark. The warm lights from the house backlit his face, and I could see him leaning on the railing with me, watching the outline of the ocean.
“Are you okay?” he asked finally.
“Yeah. Holidays can just…get a little hard.”
I felt him staring at me.
“Who’d you lose?” he asked.
I rolled up my long sleeve to show him the date I have tattooed on my wrist. “My dad. Lost him five years ago.”
He nodded sympathetically. Then he unbuttoned his shirt—that top button, down his chest. He peeled his collar back to show me the angel tattoo printed on his shoulder. “My mother,” he replied. “March. Cancer.”
After that, we were thick as thieves.
I love Otto. I love him to the moon and back. I love him in ways I never thought I would ever love anyone. But losing my father was the hardest pain I ever had to go through. That’s something Otto—who has not one, but two living fathers—can’t understand.
Diego gets it, though. It’s something we share, a bond of grief that goes deep.
So it’s genuinely good to see him tonight. The night wouldn’t feel right without him.
I release Diego from my hug and hook one arm in Diego’s, the other in Otto’s. “Alright, guys and geeks,” I tell them. “You ready to rock the fuck out?”
Otto lets out an affirmative whooping sound, and Diego just grins.
We join the long line of people shivering while they wait to go inside. Otto flashes his tickets from his phone, and the bouncer stamps the backs of our hands. It’s a monkey in a Santa hat inked on the back of my hand, and it makes me smile.
“Next tattoo?” I ask Otto, showing him the stamp.
“Definitely,” he says.
I’m feeling goofy and light.
The second we go inside, we’re met with a toe-tingling heat. It’s the warmth of bodies pressed up together, moving like a wave on the dance floor. I’ve only been to this venue a couple of times before, and I marvel now at the color lights that flicker across the intimate space, illuminating the crowd below.
They’ve decked it out for the holidays. Giant, multicolored Christmas balls hang from the ceiling. The walls are strung up with wreaths and twinkle lights. Everyone is wearing something festive—Santa hats, ugly sweaters, and I even spot someone with a Menorah ornamenting the top of their head.
The opening band is wrapping up now, and they’re blaring their final song. I can barely hear Otto as he steers both Diego and me through the crowd. We move to the back, which is blocked off with red velvet rope and a frightening-looking bouncer. He checks Otto’s tickets once more and then grants us access.
It’s a little calmer back here. There are a few tables and booths, and the bouncer lifts the “reserved” sign off one of the red semicircle booths. The first thing I do is shimmy out of my jacket, and the three of us make a pile of winter clothes on the far side of the booth.
I scoot in beside Otto. A waiter with a red Rudolph nose comes over, and he can’t hear Diego, so I yell out our drink orders for all three of us. Jack and Coke for me, IPA for Diego, and seltzer water for Otto.
“This,” I say, leaning back against the booth, “is too cool. These tickets must’ve been insane.”
Otto shrugs. “Worth it.”
Knowing Otto too well, I lean across him to look at Diego and say, “Thanks, sugar roomie.”
That gets a little smile from Diego. “My pleasure. Really.”
Otto winds his arm around my back. I feel him grip my hip, and his thumb slowly rubs and up down my side. “Having fun?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Because the night hasn’t even gotten started.”
With that, Otto pulls out his phone and starts flipping through it. I know what’s coming next, and the anticipation makes me dig my heels against the floor. He starts me off slow, a low humming, like butterfly wings beating against my cunt. I’m so sensitive that even the light tickle of the vibrator forces me to bite the inside of my lip to keep from moaning.
“Did you have to work today?” Otto asks Diego. Casual as anything.
“Yeah,” Diego says.
“Anything fun?”
Diego starts to recount a story—something about a guy with what he calls “a bad case of too much Christmas.” But I’m having a hard time concentrating. Our drinks come, and I wrap my hands tightly around the glass. I try to focus on anything else—the coldness of the glass, the pounding of the music, the soothing timber of Diego’s voice as he talks. But my body has other ideas. I find myself squirming in my seat, half grinding against the toy. If I push my ass back in the seat, I can rock forward with small, imperceptible movements and grind my aching clit against the teasing toy.
Otto can feel my movements, though. I can tell because he gives my hip a small squeeze, encouraging.
“Hey,” Otto says, and his voice breaks me out of a particularly good rut. I’m short of breath, and I blink upward to see that he’s lifted his glass, “to my favorite people.”
I hold up my drink as well. “And a great fucking night,” I add.
“I’ll drink to that,” Diego says.
We clink glasses and take a sip. I’ve only just swallowed when the toy suddenly ramps up. It feels like a hand stroking my inner walls and rubbing my sensitive nub.
I yelp without meaning to. Otto snickers and cuts the vibrations completely.
Now, I’m just panting, my heart pounding, and Otto looks far too pleased with himself.
Diego glances between us. “Am I missing something?”
Otto turns to me. “Can I tell him?”
I blush. It’s embarrassing…but not for the right reasons.
I’m embarrassed to confess the truth…I want Otto to tell Diego. I want him to know. I want everyone to know that Otto has my pleasure completely and utterly locked under his control. I want them to know that he can bring me to dizzying heights with a single swipe of his finger.
I want everyone to know that I’m Otto’s good girl. Otto’s perverse little slut.
The thought is so erotic that, even though my little friend is dormant for now, my pussy throbs around it.
I nod, giving Otto my consent. He puts his phone on the table in front of Diego and says, “Watch this.”
He touches the screen and draws his finger slowly upward. I gasp and clutch at the seat as the vibrator jumps to life. As he traces his fingertip upward, the vibrations grow more and more intense. My thighs clench together, my hips push forward, and my head drops back as I’m unable to hold back a moan.
“She’s wearing a vibrator,” Otto explains. “It’s wirelessly connected to this app. I can turn it on, turn it off, increase the vibrations—it’s even got rhythms. Check this out.”
He presses a couple of buttons, and suddenly, the vibrator starts pulsing. I gasp and lean forward, gripping the table so tightly, my knuckles go white. The pulses are intense, and they rub against a sweet spot inside of me that makes my body go tight.
“Otto…” I whimper in warning. I’m getting close. Really close.
He cuts the toy, and I gulp in a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. But my body is still buzzing, and I wiggle in my seat, finding it hard to come down from the edge.
“Jesus,” Diego says, and his voice has gotten deeper, a little hoarse. “You’re like an evil Steve Hawkins.”
Otto laughs at that. He slips his hand to the back of my neck and gives me a squeeze. I lean into his grip, needing his touch, melting into his hands.
“Poor thing,” Otto says, but his tone is mocking, merciless. “I’ve had her worked up all day. Every time I flick it on, she’s like, seconds away from busting.”
I shiver in his touch.
What is wrong with me that it turns me on when they talk about me like this?
Why does that darkly mischievous look in Otto’s eyes make me flood my panties?
The truth is—I’ve dated mean guys before. Been fucked over by them.
Otto isn’t a mean guy. Otto is a good guy. He just likes playing mean, because it turns the both of us on.
And at the end of the day, it’s not the vibrator, or the degradation, or the role-play that arouses me. It’s the trust. Every time he looks at me or touches me, I know his eyes are asking—is this okay?
And every time I bite my lip or meet his gaze, I’m replying—yes, please. More, please.
We know each other so well at this point, sometimes, that’s all it takes.
Over the roar of the music, Otto shifts to press his body against mine. I lean into the strong warmth of him. He tilts toward me, and I can feel his breath on my ear.
“I want to give Diego my phone, and I want to take you dancing,” Otto says, loud enough so I can hear it, but only me. “What do you think?”
The thought sends a shiver through me. I didn’t think it was possible, but I can feel myself getting even wetter in response.
I bite my lip. “Yes. Okay.”
He takes my chin, forces my head upward toward his, and kisses me. It’s a slow, possessive kiss. It says, Don’t forget who you belong to.
I don’t. I never could.
Otto leans over and murmurs to Diego. Diego’s eyes go wide, glance at me, and then he nods. Otto pushes his phone across the table, takes my hand, and drags me out of the VIP lounge and into the throng of bodies. I glance over my shoulder and see Diego with his head down, already tapping away at Otto’s phone. Inspecting the app, no doubt.
Diego is a bit of a technology whiz, so it’s very possible that this is dangerous in his hands. The thought makes me shiver.
Otto draws me against his body and holds me. The opening act came and went, and now Crystal Savage is on. His hands slide down the small of my back, and as I sway against him, I start to feel the vibrations pick up between my legs.
I moan. My cunt is wound tight. Diego is, as I expected, having too much fun. Vibrations turn into pulses and then into waves of unending pleasure.
I can barely stand upright. I fall against Otto and envelop myself in him. His crisp, smoky cologne. His strong, powerful arms.
The music surrounds me like a hug. I feel like I’m high—falling, tripping into sounds and sensations.
“I love this song,” I whimper into Otto’s shirt.
“I love this song, too,” he murmurs into my ear.
His voice is heady and deep, and I can hear his smile.
It’s like he’s not talking about the song.
It feels like he’s talking about me.
And maybe that’s what does it—the pulse of the music, the intensity of the toy, and the warm affection in Otto’s voice.
I hit my crescendo.
I shout and cling to Otto. I can’t keep my composure anymore—I fall apart on the dance floor. He holds me, kissing my throat, my face, as I throb and pulse, the toy pulling my pleasure from me over and over again.
The song ends, and the crowd goes wild. It feels like they’re cheering for me.
“Good girl,” Otto murmurs. “Give me everything.”
I whimper and shiver and ride out my orgasm, swaying in his arms.
