Ex-Files 4: Vicky the Vixen
Dakota Cassidy
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2006 Dakota Cassidy
An Authorized Excerpt

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Victoria Rawlings gulped and fought back another round of nervous giggles as she wandered through the Bondage Fair with her sexually challenged fellow road trip companions, trying not to gawk at the latex lover's booth. Somehow, she just couldn't summon up a single tingle over being covered in plastic.

What about this particular fetish spoke romantic? Personally, Victoria rather thought one could find the same effect if you wore a pair of rubber gloves while washing the dishes. Speaking of rubber gloves, she wished she'd brought a pair… that way she couldn't get a disease of some kind from all the sweaty exhibitions going on around her. Victoria shuddered just thinking about how unprotected she was from icky germs.

She closed her eyes and breathed, once, twice. Ahhhh… When the need to wash her hands or clean anything overwhelmed her, her sex counselor said she should breathe and get a grip on what really bothered her. Not being in control of her environment was her real problem, especially considering she was at a Bondage Fair. This was about as uninhibited and out of control as Victoria ever hoped to get. Her nice sex teacher said that all inhibitions were to be left at the door.

Or your clothes, whichever you could dispose of first, it would seem.

Victoria chose to keep both, thank you. There were some things one just shouldn't do while prancing about in what looked a great deal like the black plastic bags she used in the kitchen garbage can. However, in the spirit of vive la difference Victoria passed each exhibition booth with feigned interest.

Martin bumped into her just as they were passing the rows of floggers. Victoria pondered the floggers' far reaching leather strips and figured she could probably nail a cobweb or two on her cathedral ceilings with one of those bad boys.

Martin leaned over her shoulder and snickered, "I like the purple ones myself."

Yes, darling and you also like a good high heel Prada Popsicle… "They are pretty colors, Martin," Victoria murmured, admiring the detailed braiding on one. She almost reached out to touch it when Martin put his hand on hers and she froze.

"I like you, Victoria…"

Victoria fought a shudder and breathed again. This was a situation she could control. "No, Martin, you like my shoes. Now what did our nice therapist tell us about invading fellow members' personal space? If it's not my kink then you must respect that, right, Martin?"

Martin heaved a sigh and let go of Victoria's hand. "You're right. I'm sorry, Victoria, but they're soooo pretty," he said as he pointed to her perfect black heels.

Yes, yes, they were pretty and she didn't want Martin drooling on them. Martin had a shoe fetish and that was becoming okay with Victoria just so long as they weren't her heels he was frothing at the mouth for.

Victoria strolled along as leisurely as one could with all the thwacking of floggers, panting and eyeball popping exhibitions. This was so totally out of her realm of thinking that she didn't even have the wherewithal to be as shocked as she supposed she should be.


Victoria really just wanted to have sex. Was that too much to ask? She wanted to roll in the sheets of lust, coming up only for bouts of air and nourishment. She'd even be up for some sweating if it meant she could have what her friends from Divorcees' Anonymous had. Maddie, Maxie and Katy all had men in their lives now. Each had completed a journey that left them with the man of their dreams.

When they gathered once a week for their informal meetings at a local bar, Victoria listened with envy to them talk of all this warm fuzzy nonsense that had them gushing and having sex.

Gak. Victoria hadn't ever gushed about any man. That could explain why she was divorced, but she'd sure like to have that glow the girls' faces had.

Her cell phone rang from deep within her purse, interrupting her gloom. The theme to The X-Files' eerie music was a welcome distraction in light of her surroundings. Victoria chose the tune because that's what her friend Maddie called their group of friends -- using her standard, wise cracking play on words. "The Ex-Files." Suitably dubbing what each of the divorcees were -- ex's. Victoria flipped open her cell and answered, "Victoria Rawlings."


"Hi, Maddie. It's me."

"How ya doing?"

"Well, darling, as well as can be expected if one takes into account the germ-laden -- sweat-riddled -- kinky, freaky goings on at a Bondage Fair." Victoria wrinkled her nose as if she could show Maddie how distasteful she found this event.

Maddie barked a giggle. "Oooh, Vic, didja do the nasty yet? I mean, have you found a kink that will really make you lose control?"

Victoria eyed the booth where two women catered to men in oversized playpens. Each were handed bottles and wore diapers.

Attractive indeed. Very appealing on many levels.


"Um no, darling. Absolutely not."

"Viiicky!" Maddie chided, "are you giving this your best effort, or are you silently mocking them in your head. Not everyone is like Victoria, you know. Different strokes for different folks and all."

Victoria sighed. Different was one thing, but diapers bordered the nut-house if you asked her. She'd overheard someone say it had to do with reliving your childhood or something therapeutic like that. "Well, I really don't think I'm comfortable with the idea that someone wants to have sex with a hefty bag on and I don't know about you, my little sex fiend, but the idea of having someone put one of those -- ball -- er -- ball --"

"Ball gags?" Maddie filled in the blank for her.

"Yes! That's it. I can't even begin to imagine how one would disinfect after use." Victoria groaned. This just wasn't for her. What had begun as a superhuman effort on her part to gain control of her compulsive behaviors was turning into germ-fest two-thousand-six. Victoria shuddered. This was just so not her. She wanted to go home to her immaculate condo and her bacteria free shower. At least she thought it was bacteria free.

Oh, shit, had she forgotten to spray it down before she left? Oh, God only knew the fungi that might grow while she was gone. Simmering like a pot of pasta sauce just waiting to nail her with an infection.

Using the pamphlet from a nearby booth, she fanned herself. Victoria needed a shower.

A long, germ reducing shower.
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