3. Kadence

I knowmy friends are worried about me. If I'm being honest, I'm worried about me, too.

Logan McKenna broke something in me that night. Something fragile that I've clung to throughout all the bullshit with my family. Since Stanley unceremoniously dumped me.

The timing is spectacularly bad as well, that's easy enough to see. Now that I'm done with college, I no longer have an aim or a purpose. I envy people like my friend Harper, who so clearly has a career goal in mind. I've started this menial office job, and my only motivation is the paycheck, so I don't starve or get kicked out of my new apartment.

As I drive along the interstate, I smile ruefully to myself in the dark. My apartment has an additional perk in the form of Erika, my friend and now housemate. She's the reason I dragged my sorry ass out of bed, found some clothes and makeup, and eventually hauled myself on the road in the direction of this party.

Erika is a pretty dyke a couple of years older than me who I met on the scene a little while ago. Our mutual disdain for bullshit drew us together, and when her former housemate moved out, she offered me the room first. I jumped at the chance, knowing it would be much easier to live with someone who was already well aware of the side of myself I keep hidden even from my friends.

She's recently become a Dommy to a newly divorced woman in her late thirties who's trying out being a little—not to mention a relationship with a woman—for the first time. It's all incredibly adorable, but much like with my other friends, nothing I want to play third wheel to. I mentioned this party to Erika sometime last week, so she knew full well what she was doing when she announced that they were having a playdate at the apartment tonight and that I needed to make myself scarce.

Stupid friend making me leave my stupid home for my stupid mental health.

Yeah, okay. Maybe there have been a few days since The Incident when I didn't feel like showering. And maybe I've been late to work most days, but I was still there, so I'm not sure what the big deal is. And, okay, maybe living off ramen noodles and cherry cola was making my tummy hurt.

Maybe…just maybe…I needed some help to snap myself out of that shit.

But it's as if Logan and Tara found my Achilles heel and not only slashed it, but they laid my mangled body out for everyone to laugh at. Every time I think about all those people seeing me crying and shaking, it's like I'm back in that moment all over again, belly exposed and begging for mercy that doesn't come.

It still doesn't make sense to me. I feel like I've had bigger traumatic events than that in my life. But something about Logan's words, in particular, has just left me feeling so completely out of control that I figuratively curled up into a fetal position and haven't left it since.

Until now.

Knowing I had no choice but to leave the apartment and having this party dangled in front of me, it forced me into the shower where the pettiness grew as if fueled by the hot water blasting against my skin. Why should I be the one cowering? I am phenomenal. I am independent. I am going to this kink event and have any man I want wrapped around my finger.

As I had all day to get ready, I luxuriated in pampering every inch of my body. Luckily, I'm up to date with all my waxing, but I had a proper shave of my face complete with a hot towel treatment first thing in the morning to give my pores time to recover. I then took the time to scrub and moisturize my skin until it glowed before styling my permed curls to perfection. Sometimes I think about growing my hair long enough that I could play with extensions when I feel like it. But I like the juxtaposition of my shorter cut with my hyper feminine doll looks. It makes me feel powerful.

That's what I need tonight.

My manicure is still fine from my last appointment, so I spend the evening focusing on my makeup. Contrary to what a lot of men might assume, just because it's not a drag look doesn't mean I don't take just as long to appear this naturally flawless. When I'm being fucked senseless later, I don't want a single smudge on this beat mug.

The best thing about house parties is that I can drive right up to the front door, so there's almost no worry about getting exposed in public with what I'm wearing. It's not that I'm ever ashamed or think that I don't look stunning. It's more that other people are ignorant jackasses, and I have no interest in getting a beating.

Pain isn't my kink.

So I might have sensible shoes on right now to make managing the pedals easier, and I'm also wrapped up in a long coat. But underneath is pure sin, and once I get through that front door, nothing is going to hold me back.

I deserve this. I'm a good person. Okay, I'm not a bad person, not really. I'm owed a little fun for the shit sandwich the universe dealt me last week. Once I've got my head screwed back on, I can stop moping around, and my friends will no longer be calling me every hour to make sure I haven't done anything drastic.

As soon as I'm myself again, I can start working on how I'm going to make Logan McKenna feel as horrendous as I did. The universe will then be back in balance, and I can get on with the rest of my life.

And that all starts tonight.

I am going to go to this party and be so unapologetically myself that it rattles me back to my senses. I can't let some fuck boi strip me of my identity, especially one I'm not even fucking anymore. It was only ever a casual thing between us, and if Logan couldn't cope with me ending it, that's his deal. Perhaps if he came out of the closet, he might be a bit less tense all the damn time.

I am fully aware that I'm a walking contradiction. It was supposed to be casual and no strings attached, but him ignoring me—or worse, sneering at me—was dehumanizing. I didn't want him to put a ring on it, but that didn't mean I wasn't looking for a little respect. I only wanted to be dehumanized on my terms.

Laughing ruefully, I take the turn my app tells me to. My friend Jessie is a kitten, and I can understand that mentality quite well. I'm like a cat that wants to be let outside only to immediately turn around and complain that it's too cold and I want back in.

That's just who I am. I doubt I'll ever find anyone to put up with my contrariness long term, as Stanley so cruelly pointed out to me. But it's not like I'm even looking for that. Especially not tonight. No. Tonight, I just want to escape my own head and have some hot guy fuck my brains out. Is that too much to ask?

I've been to parties at this place before. I like the couple that both run the events and own the mansion that I'm pulling up to. They're in their fifties and don't take part in the sex themselves. I think they get off on watching their guests a lot, but there's also a sweet side to them that tells me that they genuinely enjoy facilitating people getting together.

I find a space to park where I hopefully won't be blocked in later when I want to leave, then kill the ignition and take a deep breath. Still inside my car and away from the house, it's nice and quiet. I'm not sure I could ever live in the countryside, but I do appreciate the tranquility of a place like this.

Not to mention it makes having big orgies a lot easier when there aren't any nosy neighbors around.

As I exit my car, the late spring air has a slight chill to it, but not enough to deter me from changing out here so I can make a proper grand entrance at the front door. I don't want to be holding a coat and looking for a cloakroom. I want to sweep in there like the belle of the ball that I am.

So I swap my sensible woolen outer layer for a gauzy black robe with a feathered collar and cuffs and kick off my sneakers to trade for a pair of satin pumps. On my body I'm wearing baby doll lingerie, specifically designed with a flat bralette for people who don't have boobs. The skirt skims my thighs, and the black gauze has colorful flowers embroidered all over it. My lacy jockstrap hugs my cock and leaves very little to the imagination, not to mention gives extremely easy access to my hole.

People could accuse me of being many things, but subtle isn't one of them.

As I walk confidently toward the house, gliding over the gravel like a pro in my heels, a small, fluffy black purse swings from my wrist. It contains my car keys, lube, condoms, lipstick, and gloss.

Everything a girl could possibly want.

The drive has spotlights to illuminate the way, and the house itself has warm light glowing from every window. I see several shapes moving behind the blinds, giving me a glimpse of what's about to come. My heart beats faster, but it's a good kind of adrenaline.

It might seem strange to some people, but I feel at home in places like this. I'm slightly nervous because I want to have a good time, especially after the atrocious week I've had. But I'm not afraid of rejection or humiliation here. It's more like anxious anticipation of who I'm going to meet and what might happen rather than feeling worried about being exposed and then getting hurt while I'm vulnerable.

One of the husbands, Jason, opens the door and immediately looks me up and down with hungry eyes. "Well, aren't you just the tastiest treat?" he purrs as he ushers me inside.

"I like to think so," I agree, fluttering my eyelashes. "Are there any Daddies here tonight you think might gobble me up?"

Jason snorts. "Plenty," he says with a wink.

Good. I've had it with scared little boys. Time to find myself a real man for a night of fun.

One of the distinguishing features of Jason and Markus's parties is that they're for everyone. That's a double win for me. I hate going to ‘male-only' spaces and then getting treated like shit for being too fem. Equally, parties like tonight's keep away the kind of ‘gold star' gays who want to toss their cookies at the mere hint of a vagina or some boobies.

It not only makes the events trans inclusive but also accepting of people of any orientation, even straight people. All kinksters are welcome under this roof. I'll be honest, I'm almost always looking for a more masculine energy to dominate me, but I know there are those who get confused by my vibe.

There are those who think someone this pretty shouldn't have a big, juicy cock. They would be wrong.

As usual, there's a table in the entrance foyer with several glass bowls. Each has different colored rubber bangles inside, although some of them are looking a little diminished. Good. That means lots of people are already here. I wanted to be fashionably late. No point putting this much effort into an outfit if I can't parade through the house and show it off before I start getting ravaged.

The colors each mean something different, like that you're looking for a specific gender to play with or you're open to anything. That you're a Dom, sub, top, bottom, or again, open to anything. Water sports, bondage, pain play. There's even one if you're not here for sex but perhaps some age play or humiliation, or perhaps you just want to be petted and told you're pretty.

Looking at all the labeled options makes me smile as I think of all the people here tonight feeling free and living their best lives. It makes me proud to be alive in a time and place where we're able to express ourselves like this without fear of getting arrested or worse. It really wasn't that long ago when queer people had no rights at all, and there are plenty of places on this planet—hell, in this country—where it's still dangerous.

Rather than ponder on that sad truth, I select a few bangles and head straight to the kitchen for a refreshment. I'm not drinking alcohol as I want to drive home and, besides, the highs I'm planning to chase will be intoxicating enough. But I do want to stay hydrated for all the wild sex I'm hoping I'll be having shortly, so I fetch myself a cup of the fruit punch and take a handful of grapes.

I had food before I left the apartment, but I find grapes are perfect for encouraging people to look at my glossy mouth as well as helping keep up my fluid levels. Not to mention making me feel like a cherub from ancient Greece on his way to partake in some debauchery with the god of wine and ecstasy, Dionysus. I smile to myself, secretly thanking Professor Knight for my classics education, which I'm obviously putting to very good use.

The kitchen is off-limits for sexy times for hygiene reasons, but as soon as I start wandering through the rest of the enormous mansion, I'm quickly surrounded by people in various stages of undress, passion, and wickedness.

It's magnificent.

My cock thickens right away as I watch a veritable feast of fucking. People lying back in seats as they receive oral. Group activities. Bondage and discipline displays. Sweat dripping from skin and moans slipping from throats. The air is thick with sounds and smells, and it feels so alive to me.

Not everyone is taking part. Plenty are watching, either resting between fun times themselves or taking in the sights like the hosts themselves. There are no rules against drinking, although there are volunteers helping Jason and Markus keeping an eye on everyone to make sure nothing unsafe happens. One of the downstairs rooms houses the main bar, where there are more people relaxing in the shadows than engaging in activities. That's not to say there isn't anything delicious happening in here. It's just a little more chilled.

It's a perfect place for me to take a turn about the room like a real Jane Austen heroine and survey the scene, scouting for potential playdates. My gaze is immediately drawn to an older gentleman in what my gut tells me to be an extremely expensive suit. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot him walking across the room, and I look over my shoulder just in time to see him take a free seat in a plush armchair, sipping on a crystal tumbler of an amber liquid I assume to be whiskey.

He seems like the kind of man to drink whiskey. I can't say I like the stuff, but I know I want to taste it on his lips.

Then I study his face a moment longer, and my heart more or less stops altogether.

I know this man.

And not as in I've seen him around parties like this before or even met him in real life. As in I've seen his photo in news articles. As in he was at that protest outside the former mayor's house last summer.

As in he's Logan's dad.

My initial knee-jerk reaction is to flee. The idea of anything to do with Logan being here in my safe space makes me panic. But before I can take more than three steps, I stop myself, frowning and moving into a more secluded corner of the room.

Why does this feel important? What's stopping me from getting the hell out of here?

Because Logan's father is extremely wealthy and famous. If it came out that he's going to parties like this and he's into kinky shit, surely that would cause a scandal, right?

The kind of scandal that might ruin a man…his family…his son…

Am I seriously considering this? In all my hours of moping over the past week, I've been so fixated on how it would feel to get the revenge I promised against Logan. But in my mind, I always skipped past the pesky ‘how' part. Could it really be this easy? Do opportunities like this actually fall into people's laps?

Apparently so.

Okay, if I go ahead with this crazy idea and throw myself at this man—who to all intents and purposes I believe to be straight—will he even be interested in me? And how would I prove anything actually happened? There are no cameras of any kind allowed in here for precisely that reason.

So I need to prove he's a deviant outside of the party.

My heart is still banging in my chest, but for different reasons now. I'm excited. I move in the shadows, stalking my prey from afar. I can see where Logan gets his good looks from. If anything, Daddy McKenna is even hotter. A real silver fox. It's a little difficult to tell through the suit what his body's like, but he's no couch potato, that's for sure. His salt-and-pepper hair is thick and just the right length for pulling on. He's got a strong, clean-shaven jaw and sparkling eyes and…yep. If I'm seriously thinking about seducing him, the physical attraction won't be a problem.

At least for me. I can't see his bangles with the way his suit jacket is currently sitting. He might not be into men. In fact, I know for a fact he's married to a woman. Does that mean anything, though? Countless powerful men throughout history have married conventionally so they'll be accepted by society and then spent their lives fucking men in secret.

Is that why Daddy McKenna is here?

I force myself to take a deep breath, then drink my punch and discard what's left of the grapes along with the cup into a trash can. Re-applying my lip gloss, I think if this is really what I want to do. I'm talking about getting compromising photos of a man who technically hasn't done anything wrong to me.

But he's sure raised a rotten son. Logan hurt me. Worse than that—he almost broke me entirely. He's morally bankrupt. If that's anyone's fault, it's got to be this man's as Logan's parent, right? Logan is a cruel bully, and I can't let him get away with this.

Do I care about my own reputation? I could destroy my future prospects as well if I splash myself all over the internet.

Not if I blur out my face. Or turn my back to the camera. Or stay out of the photos altogether. Maybe all I need is to truss up Daddy McKenna in a fun outfit, stuff something ridiculous up his ass, then video what comes next.

Now that would be powerful.

Logan's family name would be disgraced. He thinks he's untouchable, but no one is. Not if you're vindictive enough. Besides, men like his father don't get that rich without fucking other people over. I'm sure this guy has it coming to him and then some.

In fact, if I bring him down a peg or two, it'll practically be a noble cause. I'm sure I'll be doing plenty of people a favor. Maybe even his wife. Does she know he's here?

Probably not. Like father, like son. I think of Tara laughing at me and how she had no idea just how many times my pretty, tight hole had made her boyfriend come his brains out.

At that moment, Daddy McKenna's gaze flicks my way. Even in the darkness, it seems he could tell he was being watched. Our eyes meet.

I guess this is it. Now or never. Decision time.

Revenge? Or live and let live?

Ultimately, it's not even a hard choice to make.

This is going to be fun.