I make it to The Silo only seconds after she does, and she’s still walking toward the circular bar in the middle as I enter. My Silo here in Vegas is very similar to the one in Wyoming, except for one huge difference. The Silo in Wyoming is well lit, and there’s no mystery to the fucking that goes on there. The glassed rooms are bright and so is the circular interior.
I had this room decorated in black and deep purples with incandescent lighting. There were spotlights to showcase the action in the glass rooms, but there were also the curtains for privacy. And in the interior away from the circular bar, there was plush seating—again in a washable vinyl—where patrons could make out, fondle, or fuck. It’s not overly dark, but it is dim, maybe even a little romantic feeling but for all that highly kinky shit going on in those rooms, and still completely rocking a sinful vibe.
Trista walks up to the circular bar, which is outfitted with stools, unlike the other bars, to encourage people to move around. The Silo is a bit different as it has more of a show quality since most of the action goes on inside the glass rooms with the people on the exterior watching so they should be able to do so comfortably.
I come up behind her just as she orders a glass of white wine, then perches that phenomenal ass on a stool. The one to her right is empty and I slide onto it, and the movement gets her attention. She turns to look at me, her eyebrows rising in surprise.
“Oh, come on now,” I admonish her with a smirk, and then let my eyes slide to the bartender who walks up. I place a quick order as I feel like a good scotch tonight. “I’ll have a Laphroaig, and put her wine on my tab.”
The bartender bobs his head and I turn back to Trista. She still has that same stunned look.
“You can’t be surprised to see me in here,” I tell her casually. “I do own this place.”
Her facial muscles relax and she gives me a hesitant smile. “Of course I’m not surprised. I’m just… well, I guess I’m a bit nervous to be in here and was hoping I could just observe unobtrusively.”
“Ah,” I hazard a guess. “You’re a voyeur. You like to watch.”
The bartender returns with the drinks, and Trista immediately picks hers up to take a sip before giving a shake of her head. Those honeyed lengths fall over her golden, bare shoulders. Her eyes peek up to mine, her smile sheepish. “I have no clue what the hell I’m doing here. Curiosity, I guess.”
This was even better than I anticipated. The signs are all adding up.
Her increased comfortability the last three days. The way she watched more of the action and was clearly affected by it. And finally… having the actual guts to come in and watch some more. Watching Trista fidget in her seat, seemingly needing more wine to calm her nerves, I realize she wants something from this club, but she has no clue how to go about getting it.
Her sexual curiosity has not only been awakened… it’s been poked and prodded. Now she wants to know more.
And I’m just the guy who’s going to do it for her.
The only guy, I decide.
My entire body feels as tight as a rubber band, and I have the feeling that Jerico is intent on making it snap. I can see it in his eyes… The calculation, the challenge, and deep within those green irises, I clearly see lust.
What does he see when he looks at me?
Can he tell how nervous I am to be sitting here?
Over the last week working at The Wicked Horse, I have learned something incredibly important.
Sex is not what I thought it was.
I’ve had sex. Lots of it. Most of it has been very good, while some of it has been mediocre.
None of it, though, has been like what happens inside The Wicked Horse. As I’ve watched couples, triples, and hell, even groups of people with so many arms and legs sticking out I had no clue how many were participating, I realized my sex life has been utterly lacking. I’ve never screamed like some of the women I’ve seen here, and I’ve never had a man take hours with me just to see how many orgasms he could wring out. That’s right… I’ve seen some men spend hours on just one woman, working her over until she was nothing but a pile of goo.
The question remains, however…do I really have the guts to give this a try?
I’m quite sure the answer to is “no” as long as Jerico is sitting beside me. While he may be the epitome of my fantasy man, he intimidates the shit out of me. I could never relax around him.