Glory, p.1
Glory, page 1
Glory
A SPICY NOVELLA
RHIANNA BURWELL
Copyright © 2024 Rhianna Burwell
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Contents
Content Warning
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Books By This Author
14. About The Author
Content Warning
The main plot of this book is Kendall getting strapped into a glory hole and being fucked by strangers while her husband watches. It's 90% spice with very little romance, and there are non-con elements within. If these are themes you aren't comfortable with, this may not be the book for you. Take care of your mental health first, that's what matters.
Chapter 1
Kendall
“Oh my god, did you hear what happened with Natalie and Henry?” my best friend Sasha asks, the glass of wine in her hand sloshing as she speaks, her entire body swaying in front of me. She has always done that when she’s a little too drunk, gotten a little too loose when her limbs. It’s something that used to annoy me, but now that I don’t have a white couch, I just find it endearing.
“No? What happened?” I ask, my interest piqued. Sasha always has all the drama in the neighborhood. She always knows exactly what is going on, everyone trusting her with their secrets and it’s with good reason. I’ve never met someone as trustworthy as Sasha. She has never been one to spread gossip, or air someone’s dirty laundry, at least until it comes to me.
Our newest favorite thing is to sit with a bottle of wine on Friday nights and talk about the neighbors. It’s called bonding.
“So you heard about that new place opening in Roseville?” she asks, her eyes wide as she speaks, telling me everything I need to know. This is going to be a juicy story. I settle a little closer to her, wanting every detail.
“No?” I ask, on the literal edge of my seat.
“Oh my god, you need to keep up,” she chides, looking at me with shock. I giggle, suddenly aware of how drunk I am. “There’s this like sex club opening up in Roseville, but it’s like rentable,” she says, and I cock my head to the side, looking at her, trying to understand through my drunk haze what the fuck she is saying.
“A rentable sex club? What the fuck does that mean?” I ask, not understanding. Isn’t the whole point of a sex club that you can go there and have sex? Or see people having sex? Now that I think about it, I’m not even sure if I know what the point of a normal sex club is.
“I guess they have like rooms that you can rent out, and do nasty group play and stuff. Anyway,” she exclaims, finally getting to the good stuff. “Natalie and Henry went there last week, I guess. They have a bar and a stage for strippers and stuff. So I guess they were sitting by the bar, watching the strippers together, as like a cute couples thing,” she explains, both of us making faces at each other, our eyebrows raised like there’s more to the story there.
“Are we sure Henry didn’t just want to see the strippers with his wife’s permission?” I ask, not fully believing this. Natalie has always been a bit gullible, and it doesn’t sound like something Henry would do. He is the shyest man on the block. Although it does seem like something a man would do, so maybe I’m giving him too much credit.
“That’s what I said,” Sasha says, leaning back, a smirk on her face as if she knows this next bit is going to excite me. “Then, guess what he did? Fingered Natalie while they sat at the bar!” she says, her eyes wide, a smile on her lips like she can’t believe it.
“Henry?” I exclaim, not fully believing it either. He is the normal white picket fence kind of guy. He BBQs on the weekends and walks their dog every morning. I always imagined that he was the kind of guy to have normal, safe missionary sex, so something like this seems so unlike him, unlike the image I have of him inside of my head.
“Yes! Mr. irons-his-jeans, Henry,” she says, and we both giggle. We love Henry, love most of our neighbors, actually, but we have little nicknames for most of them, enjoying making fun of them when it’s only the two of us. It’s all in good fun. “He got down and dirty in public with her,” she says, both of us in a fit of shock and giggles.
“Okay, so I have to know, are they going to rent a room?” I ask curiously, the idea of a place so close, of a sex club just a town over, makes my blood run hot.
My husband and I have always had a normal sex life, nothing too insane. We married young when neither of us seemed to know the kinkier side of the world, and he was always just happy if I fucked him, never wanting anything more than me. It’s sweet and makes me feel loved beyond belief, but honestly, the older I’ve gotten, the more I want some of that excitement and fun. I want to start to explore things together again as a couple.
“I doubt it. I think they just went to check it out and see what all the fuss is about. I’m shocked you haven’t heard about it. I feel like everyone has been talking about it,” she says, and I take a sip of my wine, enjoying our time together. The reason I haven’t heard about it is because I don’t hang out with the rest of the people on our block like she does. Sasha is so social, getting along with everyone, and I’ve never been like that. I’m not shy, not scared to talk to strangers, most of the time, but honestly, I like to be alone, like to spend long nights with my husband in our house. I like to read, and he likes to watch sports, both of us enjoy being around each other in comfortable silence. That is where I feel safe, where I feel secure, and so we tend to keep to ourselves.
Sasha and I finish talking, finishing our bottle of wine in the process. Sasha hugs me as she heads toward the door. She promises that she will be back, will come over again and drink more of my wine, and I know she will. We have been friends since I moved here, and I’m grateful for her. She makes me get out of my shell and forces me out of my cute little comfort zone. Sometimes, I need that.
I shut the door with a click and put my back against it, our conversation still ringing through my head, not leaving. I think it through, go over every word that was said again, my nerves ringing with curiosity, with desire.
I take just a second of hesitation and then grab my phone from my back pocket, moving toward the couch and searching for the place she mentioned. She didn’t give me a name, but when I search “sex clubs near me” a bunch pop up. I browse for a little while, looking for clues, passing by the obvious strip joints, trying to find something specific.
One location has a new review, and it says, “this place just opened up and it’s fucking sick. You can rent out rooms and do practically whatever you want in them. You have to sign about a hundred papers, but after that, let the fun begin.” I read it again, slowly, knowing that this must be the place that she was talking about.
Cloud Nine
It looks just like any other bar; nothing interesting about it, but it comes up under sex clubs, so I wonder if they are going for a discreet thing, not wanting people to know just from looking at the building. That would make sense, based on what Sasha said, that it has a bar and stuff, too, not just sex rooms.
I click on the website, my curiosity getting the better of me, wanting every bit of information I can get. The website seems pretty normal, with its menu and hours lining the front page. The colors are sexy, red and black filling my phone screen, but nothing screams sex club right off the bat. But then, I click on their about us section, and a pop-up window invades my screen, asking if I’m eighteen years old and forcing me to click the box if I want to continue. I do, a little thrill going through me.
When the pop-up disappears, I see the information I have been looking for, the information that isn’t hidden from the public but just a little harder to find. It describes the rooms, telling you exactly what you get when you rent one. There are ones with beds, ones with tubs, and ones with sex swings. Then, one of the rooms catches my eye: a picture showcasing what a specific room looks like, and this one makes my skin turn hot.
I watch as my fantasies come to life. I’ve watched porn on these kinds of things, places where men can go and fuck women, just their pussy and legs hanging out, the rest of their bodies hidden. Their legs are always strapped up in little cuffs, chained to the wall, and I feel my body react to the sight, the image of one of these contraptions sitting in front of me.
It’s like a little window that you put your body through, little plastic flaps hanging down to cover you, and then you lay down, you bring your ass to the edge, and put your legs up, having someone lock you in.
The idea is that you can lay there and get fucked, used until whoever is standing on the other end, this person you don’t know, is done with you. You don’t know them; they don’t know you. You are just a pair of legs sitting on a wall, a means to an end.
I feel my pussy throb, my entire body coming alive at the fantasy, at the idea of something like this so close.
This feels like something I shouldn’t want. I’m married, happily married. I love my husband and love everything about our relationship, but I can’t help but admit the idea of this, of having unknown people fuck me while I lie there and take it, does appeal to me.
I’ve always had a kinkier side. I love being in love. I love having one person to rely on, to snuggle with at night, to go to when things go wrong, and have come to me for comfort, too. I would never want to break up with my husband. Our sex life has always been good, always been adventurous. I think the problem… is me.
I’m just a fucking whore.
I want to be covered in cum from eight different guys. I want to be gang-banged and tied up and used until everyone is out of cum for me. I want to be traded like an object and denied orgasms until I am a writhing fucking mess. I want it all. I want to be treated like the slut that I know I am in the back of my mind.
The problem is, I don’t know how to tell my husband that. I have never opened up about these things, about the nasty things I want to do, about the disgusting things I watch on my phone while I play with myself. I have no idea how he would react, if he would be open to something like that, if he would offended if I even asked. I don’t know where that would put us, and that scares me.
Something about this, though, having it right here, the possibility in front of me, makes me want to find out. I’ve never even thought about asking my husband about these things. I have been content keeping it to myself, never giving him a clue, but now, it could be mine. It wouldn’t just be an idea, something we talk about doing but never actually get around to. I could do these things, could have him with me too. We could do them together.
I feel like we could figure out a way to make these fantasies come to life, and although the idea kinda scares me, I think I may want to tell him about this and at least see what he has to say.
Chapter 2
Kendall
I listen as the door opens and closes with a small click. I wait, sitting on the couch, another bottle of wine empty next to me, alongside the one Sasha and I finished off. I didn’t expect to finish another one by myself, but once I started drinking, I couldn’t stop. I needed the courage because I’m not sure how I’m even going to have this conversation with him.
I’m oddly nervous. He’s my husband, the person in this life I am the closest with, so I shouldn’t be nervous. Yet, it feels so vulnerable. It feels so scary to open up about these things, to finally let them see the light of day. What if he doesn’t understand? What if he is repulsed by me? What if he hates that I even ask, or if he is offended that I would think of such a thing? I can imagine so many ways it can go wrong, but I know if I don’t at least try to trust him with this, we won’t move anywhere, won’t be fully open with each other, and that’s an idea that I can’t stomach.
“Hey…?” Nate says, taking me in, his tone changing as he looks at me, sitting on the couch, stiff, two bottles of wine on the coffee table next to me. Maybe this wasn’t the best way to start this conversation, but time got away from me. I got lost in my own head, and before I knew it, I could hear his keys in the lock, and he was standing in front of me.
“Hey,” I say nervously, my heart thumping in my chest. I stare at my husband as he takes off his coat, leaving him in a dress shirt and slacks, and I feel my mouth water at the sight in front of me. I have always been insanely attracted to him and enjoyed staring at every inch of his skin and his muscles. His hair is a dark brown, and I love the way it looks in my hands as I wrap myself around every piece of him, begging for more. I’m obsessed with my husband, so deeply in love that I can’t believe it. I just hope he understands that I’m in love with him while also having these dirty fantasies. It doesn’t take away from him. It's just… something else.
“What’s going on?” he asks, turning his deep brown eyes at me, finally finished setting his stuff down. He always comes to see me first since I’m usually home before him. I start earlier and get off earlier; usually. The bank I work at opens bright and early. Today was a little different, though, because he had a meeting with a financial client for dinner to discuss this month’s expenses, giving me far too much time to think, giving my mind enough time to convince myself that telling him this idea is a horrible plan.
But, even though it might backfire, I want him to know. I want him to know every thought inside of my head, no matter how scared I am for him to see them, for him to look at them up close.
“I have an idea, and I’m worried you are going to think I’m crazy,” I say, my voice a wobble. The booze and the stress have gotten to me. I wanted to have this conversation with a bit more tact, not drunk on the couch, unsure how my husband was even going to react, but yet here we are. And like the angel he is, he comes to me, taking me in his arms and pulling me into his lap, instantly soothing away my anxiety, reminding me exactly who it is that I’m talking to.
We have been married for five years, together for eight, and I have yet to find a person who fits me better than he does. He is my best friend, the person I go to when anything happens to me, the person who makes me laugh the loudest, and the person I trust the most. We have had our hard times, had trouble communicating in the past, but we always seem to come together, remembering that we are against the problem, not each other. He is my safe space, and if there is anyone I can talk to about this, it’s him. That is what I need to remember right now.
“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice light and soothing, and he rubs circles in my back, the physical touch making me shiver.
I scootch away from him, giving us a little bit of space, and I shake myself, needing to get myself right in the head for this conversation. I push down my insecurity, and I look my husband in the eye, trying to be the goddamn adult that I know I can be.
“Okay,” I start, taking a deep breath, giving myself just another moment. “This is weirdly embarrassing, and it probably shouldn’t be. We have been together for so long, but we’ve never really talked about this,” I say, knowing I'm probably not making sense, knowing that I'm probably just making him worry, but I can't seem to get the words out. They are stuck in my throat, not wanting to come out, not wanting to confess my secret to him.
“What is this about?” he asks, his eyes wide with concern, and I know I need to get this over with. I need to save my dear, sweet husband from having a heart attack right now.
“It’s sexual,” I say quietly, my face tinting red. I can feel the heat rise to my face, my embarrassment starting to kick in, and I do my best to push it away.
“Is this about anal? Because I’ve told you, I’m down for anything. I’ll put my dick anywhere you want it,” he says lightly, probably trying to lighten the mood, and I smile, a laugh leaking out of me. I lean toward him, placing my hand on his arm, smiling up at him, and I feel my anxiety melt. This is my husband, the one who has been by my side through everything. He wouldn’t judge me or make me feel bad. We are just going to have a conversation, and if he’s uncomfortable, we will just move on, no harm done. “I’m serious,” he says, a smile taking over his face too.
“I know you are. That’s the best part,” I say with a smile. I lean back again, forcing myself to sit up and face this with courage. “Have you ever wanted to do anything extra kinky?” I ask, wanting to gauge where he is at, what his level is with these things. I’ve had these fantasies for years, thought about how hot it would all be. I’ve masturbated to the thought probably a hundred times, but I don’t know if he has the same tendencies.
“Uh… I don’t know…” he says, his sentence trailing off. He looks around the room for a second, thinking. I give him a moment, wanting him to answer honestly, wanting to hear exactly what is going through his mind. “Of course, I have fantasies but doesn’t everyone?” he asks, looking back and me. When he looks at me, his brown eyes looking into mine, I feel safe, comforted.
“I don’t know,” I reply honestly. “I know that I do. I have a lot of dirty fantasies, but they have just been that, fantasies,” I say and take a deep breath. “I was talking to Sasha, and she told me about this sex club, and I can’t get it out of my head. I keep thinking that my fantasies could become reality, and I can’t stop thinking about it or imagining how hot it would be,” I say, getting carried away, rambling now. I clear my throat, trying to recenter on the conversation. “Do any of your fantasies…ever have other people involved?” I ask timidly, not knowing how to ask my question without fully asking the question. I know this would be easier if I didn’t dance around it and I just came right out with it, but this feels so personal. It feels like baring my soul to him, and although I have done that before, this feels different. I want to tell him what I’m thinking, but I want him to bare his soul, too.
