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Every Friday at six, Lydia went to a club without her husband. This week was no different. She slid into her leather thong and corset before putting on her fishnet stockings. Surveying herself in the mirror, she decided that everything was in its proper place. Yanking and tugging on a black leather dress, Lydia needed to jump and wiggle until everything was comfortable, yet tight. Finally, her thigh length black leather lace up boots were next. They were her favorite part of the outfit because of the lacy white silk laces. They screamed frivolous in an otherwise risqué outfit. After a quick trip to the bathroom, she was ready to go. Her heart was skipping like it always does before she leaves the house to go to the club called "Dirty Laundry". On her way out of her house, she glimpsed at herself in the mirror and couldn't believe her eyes. Every Friday it seemed like, if for only a few hours, she went from quiet, respected clinical research assistant to a dominatrix bitch. Her long, wavy, red hair flowed past her leather clad shoulders to the tops of her curvy bosom. Pale ivory skin and Atlantic blue eyes complimented the darkness of her outfit. Her final touch, however, was the white lace masquerade mask. Its what made her unique in a sea of leather, pleather, latex and fishnets. Not that there was anything wrong with being one of the crowd, but for Lydia she preferred to be different. The regulars at the club knew her as Lacy.

As the limo outside beeped, at the last moment she almost ran up to her room and through herself under the covers. But of course she wouldn't. Her "Club Buddies" would want to know why. She never touched a man at ...

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