Ann: The Married Years Ch. 47

It was five-foot-wide and ten-foot-deep, filled with all things erotic. The walls were lined with a high-end pegboard, and it was just as organized as Darren's garage. Or Neil's for that matter. Ann gasped, her hand going over her mouth as she walked inside. It felt like a miniaturized version of The Leather Door, her friend Missy's adult store in California. And it was now actually part Missy's, her having become an invested partner earlier that year, proud to be a co-owner.

High on the back wall there were several shelves, holding different sizes and shapes of dildos and vibrators. Underneath those was a five-drawer chest, holding smaller items, like butt plugs, anal beads, lubes and such.

Along the left and right walls hung all kinds of paraphernalia, almost all of it bondage related. Whips, restraints, paddles, clamps... it was every bit as well stocked as Ann's huge toy chest at the foot of her bed.

Along the left wall she spied several different strap-on harnesses, a couple with huge rubber cocks already attached. A rather menacing big black one caught her eye and had her pussy dripping.

The right side had a couple of special apparatuses that could be assembled, designed for one to be tied to and used.

"Damn, Mom," Ann sighed, her hand going over her heart.

"Too much?" Betsy replied, worried that she'd gone too far.

"Remember the trunk Neil and I brought at that auction before we were married?"

"Yes... the one at the end of your bed."

She turned, staring wide-eyed. "It's this closet. That's where I keep most of our stuff. The dungeon has the things to tie me to. And the guest bedroom... oh my God, the next time you come out," she giggled. Then she launched herself at Betsy, hugging her tight as tears rolled down her cheeks.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I just can't believe how lucky I am to have you in my life. I've always said that fate brought me and Neil together. I don't think I realized until just now how much more I got in you and Dad."

"Neil would say the same about your parents, Anna."

"Yes. They're more sexual than I ever gave them credit for. But this," she said, pointing at a set of nipple clamps hanging on the wall. "I have these, Mom. These exact ones. I don't think I've ever..."

She hugged her again, the bond between them growing by the second. "I know, sweetie. I feel the same way about you. Come with me. This isn't even the reason I brought you back here."

"It isn't?" she sniffed.

"No. But I needed to show you this. God forbid if anything were to happen to me and Darren, someone needs to know this room exists. And the other one."

"Wait, you have two sex closets?"

"Uh huh," she winked. "This one is hard-core. The other one is... well, let me show you."

There was a second secret chamber built into the walk-in closet of the master bedroom. It was actually larger. The main closet, the one that everyone would see if they walked in, was still very elaborate. And ridiculously organized. The shelving along the back wall was designed to open up, like swinging double doors. It didn't have an intricate lock, mainly because the things she kept inside weren't as kinky. There were two bolts that were hidden in the framework above, you simply had to twist and pull them. But you'd have to know they were there in order to realize there was a hidden room behind it.

That room was ten-foot-wide and fifteen-foot-deep, almost as big as the walk-in closet itself. Betsy called them her secret sex closets. The one in the walk-in held a lot of her risqué outfits and lingerie, along with some of her more benign bedroom items. She often used it during times when Darren was getting himself ready in the bathroom, having everything she needed inside to do her makeup and hair. It was one part salon, one part boutique, one part sexual nirvana, designed specifically for her to transform into the sensual temptress she liked to become for her husband.

"I am so jealous of you right now," Ann laughed as she looked around at the options her mother-in-law had at her disposal to play with Darren.

"Don't be. It all belongs to you," Betsy offered, much to the shock of Ann.

"What are you talking about?"

"Not now. But you'll inherit it all some day."

"Again, what are you talking about?"

"Anna, you're already in our will. I'm not letting anyone else have this but you."

"How could you have possibly known I'd... really?"

"I knew we were alike the day I met you. I'm serious about that. That's why I needed to show you this. It's really a weight off me. Can you imagine this house being sold someday, and no one knowing what's hidden behind the walls? Now I don't have to worry about that."

"You have my word, Mom. I won't tell a soul."

"You can share it with Neil when you're ready. Now that I know he's exactly like his dad, it won't come as much as a shock."

"Oh, I think it'll still shock him, but I'm also sure he'll find it enlightening. Just like with all the stuff you've shared with me that last couple of days."

"Well, time to share some more. Come here. Let me show you the reason I brought you back here in the first place."

Ann gazed at the perfectly organized room, amazed at how big it was. "I'm in awe, Mom... and like I said, a little jealous. I think you're more organized than I am."

"Anal is more like it. I can't stand not being able to find something," she said as she reached for a pretty cardboard box; one of several together on a shelf.

Thinking of how she imagined her different personas kept in boxes in her own closet, Ann inquired, "What do you have in there? Your own version of Annabelle?"

Betsy knew what she meant, having heard Ann's incredible description of each alter ego and the make-believe cartons she stored them in when they talked two nights before. "No. These cartons are filled with my magazines," she smiled.

Taking the carton into the bedroom, she sat on the king-sized bed, patting the mattress for Ann to join her. Opening the lid, she pulled out the top dozen magazines, each in its own sealed protective plastic sleeve. Ann wasn't sure what surprised her more; the fact that they were so carefully packaged and labeled or that they were all Penthouse magazines.

"What the hell, Betsy," Ann laughed.

"What, you can't call me Mom anymore because I have some smut in my closet?"

"Sorry... I'm just a little shocked, although I'm not sure why anymore. So you're telling me Darren had a subscription to Penthouse."

"Not Darren. Me. See?" she said pointing to the mailing label carefully preserved from the package the magazine originally came in. "He subscribed to Playboy. Mack got him a subscription for his birthday a few years after we all went to the club, but he's been renewing it ever since then."

"I'm not following, Mom. He gets Playboy and you...."

"Get Penthouse. I have for years. You know, it's funny, because Neil thinks all the adult magazines he'd find not so hidden in the house over the years were his brothers. They actually belonged to his parents."

"Oh my god... that IS funny!" Ann laughed, her hand covering her mouth.

"There was a young girl that worked at the 7-11 in Virginia. Her name was Janine. I'd bought a Playboy for Darren a few hours before, and I went back to buy some flowers. One thing led to another, and she convinced me to take a Penthouse home. It was eye opening. I started buying them and Playboy every month. Then Paula actually got me hooked; sent me a subscription the same time Mack got Darren the one for Playboy. She said she didn't like the fact that Playboy didn't show all of a woman... the pictures in these are more graphic, but still tasteful. It was easy to see her point. It was why Janine wanted me to try one to begin with. But what had always caught my eye was this," she said, pointing to the Penthouse Forum; the part of the magazine where readers could submit letters, which were really stories of their sexual escapades.

"I'm familiar with the format," Ann nodded. "I had a boyfriend once who had them in his place."

"Have you ever read them?"

"No, not really. I might have skimmed over one once. To be honest, he wasn't that good of a boyfriend. Come to think of it, he might have been better in bed if he'd used the magazine as research instead of something to jack-off to."

"I see your point there. But we all masturbate Anna. Anyone that says they don't is either lying or they're so pent up with someone else's guilt it messed with their head."

"O... kay," she replied, wondering what Betsy meant by that tangent.

"I'm just saying that we all do it. And we should... because it's fun, and it's healthy. That's why I never cared if Neil found these. In truth, Darren actually reads Playboy for the articles. It sounds cliché, but they really do have some good stuff in there. It's a very well written magazine. The humor is hilarious. Plus, the girls are gorgeous. But if he were honest about it, he'd tell you that if he wants to jack-off, as you put it, he's picking up one of mine. So was Neil."

"I can't believe I'm asking this, but why's that?"

"Men are visual. And like Paula was quick to point out, the women in Penthouse show more. They show it all actually. Add to that the letters to Forum and it's a man's heaven. For me, it's the letters that do the trick. Most women are more cerebral when it comes to their fantasies. We're attracted to the idea of imagining it. Of course, the women are gorgeous too, and since you already labeled me as being bisexual the other night... well, there's that," she giggled.

"Funny."

"And true. I love naked women."

"Not men?"

"Well you know I prefer men. But I've seen Playgirl, and it's really a turn-off for me. No matter how they pose, the guys always look staged to me. You can put a naked woman anywhere and she can look natural. But a guy? I don't think so. Not that I don't mind looking. I think it has more to do with them not being able to have an erection in the photos. That's a pretty stupid rule."

"Well I can see your point there," Ann nodded, recalling the time she was tied to a chair and forced to watch what she called 'imitation porn'. She got to see a lot of flaccid cocks in those soft-porn videos, but never a hard one. And while all the sex was hot, it was simulated. As much as it had turned her on, it left her wanting more.

Betsy picked up on the thread in Ann's head, saying, "After seeing a couple of porn movies in that theatre, what Playgirl had to offer really didn't do much for me. That's where the letters come in. That's why I think we're the opposite."

"You and me?"

"No... you and I are exactly alike. I know that now more than ever. I was referring to Darren; and men versus women in general. He reads the letters first, and then he looks at the pictures of women when he gets really excited and he imagines one of them is in the story... and he gets off. I tend to look at the pictures to get me in a mood, and then find a letter that takes me where I want to go mentally. It's like a little erotic road trip in my head."

Shaking her head, Ann softly smiled. "I can't believe you subscribe to Penthouse."

"Why?"

"I don't know, really. It shouldn't surprise me anymore. Not with all you've been telling me. And what you just showed me. I guess it's the idea of a subscription. Don't you worry about people finding out?"

"Not really. I don't broadcast it, but it's not a secret. Your father knows it."

"MY Dad?"

"Sure. He delivered it to our house when he was still carrying the mail instead of working inside the post office. In fact, I was standing at the mailbox waiting for him when he handed me this one," she said as she removed the magazine she was holding from the sleeve protecting it.

"Holy shit. Really?"

"Uh huh. I was excited about it coming, that issue more than normal."

"Why?"

Betsy opened the magazine, carefully flipping the pages, quickly coming to the one she wanted, knowing exactly where it would be. Laying it on the bed, she pointed to the end of a letter. Most of the time, the italics would note that the author's name and address had been withheld upon request, the person submitting wanting to remain anonymous. But this particular letter was different. It was signed, in a manner of speaking. At least, it gave a hint as to who wrote it, like it always did whenever someone wanted to take responsibility for the words on the page.

Ann read that last line, her eyes widening.

B.T. -- Fort Wayne, Indiana

"That's YOU!" she exclaimed, her heart suddenly pounding.

"Darren wouldn't let me use the name of our town. He was too worried it could be figured out. He even made me mail the letter from there so the post mark would be the same."

"Mom... I... I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. Read," she said as she turned back a couple of pages to the beginning of the letter, the title in bold print.

Husband Needs Help With The Sale; His Wife Knows Just The Trick

"Love the title."

"I had nothing to do with that. That was the editors. The letter is all me though, word for word."

Ann read with vested interest, the words popping off the printed page like they were somehow electric.

The setting that was being painted was vivid. It was August 1972, in steamy Las Vegas. While she'd changed their names, she might as well not have. Every time Ann read 'Beverly', she knew it was Betsy, the two being so similar on purpose. And 'Darold' might as well have been Darren for the same reason. Every time she read them, Ann would automatically make the switch in her head, bringing to life a story that almost everyone that read the magazine would think to be a made-up couple in a made-up fantasy. After all, weren't all the stories in that magazine fake?

Well this one wasn't. Ann knew it to be true, because the alluring woman so meticulously described in the magazine was sitting patiently across from her on the bed. From the start, she was captivated by what was unfolding on the pages.

Betsy and Darren were staying at the Sands, just down the road from where the convention was being held. They arrived on a Thursday at night, and spent the first couple of days doing the tourist thing before the convention started, while having at each other in their hotel room at night. But things changed once the actual convention started on Sunday. By Tuesday his mood was noticeably different.

He had been struggling to make any new footholds in the market he was trying to break into, namely companies from New England. The overwhelming playground that was the Vegas Strip detracted from the boring manufacturing conferences and displays that had been organized.

Ann began reading aloud, allowing Betsy to follow along in her mind. It also allowed for a broader understanding of what was going, as Betsy provided more details behind the narrative. That offered Ann a chance to grasp more fully the depth of Betsy's writing. After all, the letter itself was a documentary of sorts; a titillating account of what happened for the erotic enjoyment of others. But there were things that played out behind the scenes; ones Ann knew existed, because the main characters were real people she actually knew, and loved.

"Someone didn't think the convention out very well," Betsy told Ann at one point. "Darren was busting his ass twelve hours a day at his booth, and he hadn't gotten one new piece of business in the first three days after it opened. I'd never seen him so depressed. He wasn't even any fun in bed... and that was saying something."

"So this was all because there were too many other things to do in Vegas?"

"That was a big part of it. They'd held the conventions for years in New York City. I'd gone to one there too, years before, just after we moved out East. And we had a blast. He'd work the convention floor all day, making contacts, securing new clients, while I shopped and went sightseeing. And then we'd hit the town at night. We went to Broadway shows, and ate at fancy restaurants. It was all so heady for me. I thought that was living.

"Until you went to Vegas, I take it."

"They call it Sin City for a reason, Anna. Look, I would have loved to go to more conventions in New York, but it wasn't practical with the kids in school at the time. But the trip to Las Vegas was definitely different. Then again, I was a much different woman... and a much different wife by the time we went there. I'd done a lot of... things," she laughed. "Who's to say what I would have done in New York if the timing were different?"

"So, what was it that you were saying outside about you going the 'other direction'? What did you mean by that?"

"You said I had to act like a naughty wife instead of a naughty slut because we didn't go on our yearly trip with our friends. It turns out I went dirty whore instead."

"Uh... that's a literal description, I take it?" she asked, seeing the look in Betsy's eyes.

"Very. The play on words is subtle in the title, until you remember the type of stuff you're reading. Remember how you told me about you've been Barbara for Neil? Well, I went by Nicole. And it was more real than pretend."

"You're kidding."

"Keep reading," Betsy shrugged with her grin.

The layers of the story kept building, but the premise became quite clear to Ann, not that it mattered. It was never supposed to be a mystery novel, so while the spoiler Betsy shared obviously gave away the ending, that didn't change what she was reading, or how well it was written. In fact, it was turning her on more than she cared to admit.

As she read aloud, Betsy closed her eyes, taken back to not only the time when it happened, but also to when she typed out the story years later. She could practically recite it by heart without benefit of the manuscript. Her mouth even moved with Ann's when a quote was read aloud.

The storyline could be considered cliché in some ways. Ann was certain she'd read something similar before; a housewife pressed into duty as a prostitute to help her husband out of some dire circumstance. But in reality, it seemed dirtier than that; or rawer. She was certain that had everything to do with actually knowing the author, and that she was the one willingly telling the story.

While it wasn't that long, it was filled with so much. And yet there was just as much left to the imagination, which somehow made it even hotter. There was no blow by blow detailing of every second. Instead it was the capturing of a moment in time, told by a woman proud of her accomplishments.

Reading that final line, Ann filled in the blank left behind. She didn't say it was simply two initials that had penned the work. She gave the proper credit, which resonated with Betsy.

"Betsy Thomas. Fort Wayne, Indiana," Ann read, a tingle running up her spine.

"Wow, I've never read it like that before," Betsy sighed. "Then again, I've never had anyone read it to me."

"It's... it's remarkable, Mom. Really. I can't get over how eloquent you write. I'd never expect something like that in Penthouse... from a reader, anyway."

"I was an English major in college," she replied proudly. "But now I'm proud to say I'm also a published author."

Ann giggled at that idea, but she also added "Well now I know where Neil gets it."

"Gets what?"

"His command of the language. He's a pretty good writer too. Much better than I am."

"Some people paint with a brush, Anna. Other's do it with a pen. Or in my case, a typewriter."

"I... I have so many questions."

"Well I have the answers. So, fire away."

The basics were clear to Ann. Darren wasn't landing any new clients. He was depressed about it. Betsy asked what she could do to make things better. Darren said he didn't know what it would be. All he knew for sure was he needed to land at least one big client, or he would be in trouble because of all the expenses he'd dished out for the booth, the flights, the stay, the food... it would look to the company like he went there to party.