‘You’re fine,’ Davian said, his voice low. ‘No one’s in there right now. They close the viewings between shows.’
‘They do not,’ I said. My voice echoed in the mostly empty room, coming back to me with my denial.
He nodded. ‘Yes. So they can clean. Take your time. Sit.’
In the middle of the room, a single chair. The same, or same enough, chair as the one I’d watched last time I was here. I ran my finger along the back of it, having a flash of remembrance. Davian in the pool of light. Surely it had been him. Now I was almost certain.
I sat in the chair, feeling its hard coolness against the heat of my body. I was facing the room where I’d sat last time, sat and watched and got off. The thought clenched my thighs, made me utter a single gasp of fear and want. But that was all I had time to do before he deftly slipped a gag into my mouth and tied it firmly at the back of my head.
‘Good?’ he asked.
Oh, my fuck. I was not good. None of this was good. My pulse was thumping my throat so hard it felt like someone’s fingers playing a drumbeat on my neck.
Yet when he knelt in front of me, his hands on my knees, looking up at me, everything stopped. First it slowed and then it stopped completely. Everything went still. Except Davian’s eyes. That heated caramel. The promise of his gaze. Safety and danger both. He lowered his face until it was just between my thighs. I could feel the heat of his palms through my stockings, heard him inhale softly as he closed his eyes and breathed me in.
I nodded and shook my head, both. All in one gesture. A totally incoherent response.
‘Focus on me,’ he said. ‘On the sound of my voice. On the touch of my –’ he turned his head and kissed the inside of my thigh ‘– mouth. Focus only on me. Can you do that?’
I nodded, this time a real nod. No denial in it this time. I wanted to do just that. Forget all the people who would be watching. Forget what this was truly about. Focus on his mouth, that beautiful mouth that was planting soft kisses along my skin.
‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘Such a good …’ Each time he said good, he followed it with a kiss that climbed higher up my thigh. ‘Good.’ The hem of my skirt. ‘Good.’ He pushed it up slightly with his cheek, letting his face rest against me. My body responded each time, a tiny shudder of want sliding through me. ‘Good.’ Catching a piece of stocking in his teeth, he gave a growled tug. ‘Girl.’
My hips arched up involuntarily as he pulled away. If I could have talked, it would have sounded something like pleasetouchme pleasetouchme pleasepleaseplease but the refrain was only in my head. And I didn’t think it would have mattered; he’d made it clear he was only going to touch me how and when he wanted.
‘They’re here,’ he said.
As if his voice had brought them, I could suddenly imagine all of the people watching. Men, mostly. Couples. Maybe some women like me, women who liked to be in the dark. Hidden. I imagined them settling in, beginning to touch themselves, the lazy slow strokes of a body warming up for pleasure. A pleasure that was based on me, based on watching me sitting in a chair, gagged, about to be exposed. I closed my eyes.
‘Open,’ Davian said. ‘Keep them open. On me.’
With a deep breath, I opened my eyes again. I found Davian in the room, tracked him. Moving slowly, he picked the scissors off the floor, then walked around me, twirling the blades lazily in his hand. In and out of my view, the soft sound of his footsteps marking the unseen orbit of his path. Every once in a while, he’d touch me in passing, an unexpected connection in the brush of fingertips to the back of my neck, the tug of his hand on my hair, his breath along my ear. The people outside faded away with each touch, became less real as my desire rose and blotted them out.
Davian talked as he circled me. ‘I’ve been wanting to cut these stockings off you since I first saw them on you. I’m going to try to go slow. I’m going to try to be very, very patient, but I make no promises.’
I wanted to tell him that I didn’t want him to go slow, that I wanted every piece of clothing off me so I could feel him against me, so my skin would stop aching with want, but the words wouldn’t come out. I could only make a sound, somewhere between a whine and a groan, muffled and aching with need.
He stopped in front of me. I remembered him from before – clearly it had been him and not some figment of my imagination – the way he’d stayed hidden, out of the light. I thought it had been for show, for mood setting, but I realised that he probably hadn’t even noticed how he’d appeared. He was so focused on what was happening between us that it was clear he didn’t care about the audience. They were negligible to him. So why do it then? Why fuck in front of people if it didn’t get you off? Maybe it was just the way he was able to interact with his partner, to bring her fears to light. I wanted to ask him what the appeal was.
‘Stop that.’ His hissed voice right at my ear, followed by a nip of his teeth.
My eyes widened involuntarily.
‘Stop thinking. You’re escaping into that pretty little head of yours. You’re smart, Janine. Too smart. Stop using it as an escape. Be here. Now. Or I won’t do this. I’ll just leave you like this, alone in this room, and everybody out there on the other side of that wall can jack off to you sitting here by yourself.’
He waved the scissors at the walls around us to make his point. It was entirely possible that there was no one out there. But I wasn’t willing to take that chance.
I shook my head at him. He wouldn’t leave me here, would he? That was more than I could take. Way more.
‘Going to stay here with me then?’ he asked.
I nodded.
He stopped in front of me and pushed my thighs open so he could kneel between them. With the scissor blades still closed, he dragged them up the inside my thigh, catching my stockings, starting small runs like fires along their surface. Where the fabric broke, I could feel the cool metal of the blades against my skin. He pressed the closed blades against my pussy, pulsing them hard against me in time to my own flickering desire. I ached to push back, to feel their firmness against my clit, but somehow I knew I wasn’t supposed to react. At least not externally. That was part of the game we were playing, wasn’t it? All the heated want that threatened to spill over inside me, and trying to keep myself in check, trying so very hard to do as he asked.
‘Sit very, very still,’ he said.
The blades of the scissors slipped open, found their way into one of the holes he’d made in my stocking. The fabric cut so easily, as if it had been made for nothing more than this moment. I watched my leg begin to appear, the skin so pale beneath the black. When he’d cut all the way around the first one, he did the same to the second.
He took hold of the top of one stocking and slowly began to roll it down my leg.
‘You have the hottest legs,’ he said. ‘Everyone out there watching, they’ve been thinking that since they walked in. They’ve been just waiting for me to cut these stockings off you, so they can catch a glimpse of your soft, pale skin.’
I shook my head, trying to deny what he was saying, even as I knew it was true. Even as I grew wet thinking about it.
‘They think about being me,’ he said, his gaze hard on mine as he rolled the second stocking down by feel. I thought he’d take my heels off, pull the stockings from my skin completely, but he left them on, pooled at my feet. Somehow that made me feel more exposed, more vulnerable. The pale length of my legs so naked between the two edges of black.
I tried to clamp my legs shut. Davian’s hand was already between my thighs, keeping them apart.
‘No,’ he said.
He didn’t have to say any more. He’d already said it. If I was going to do this, I had to do it fully. On my own. My choice.
I relaxed my thighs, forcing a soft breath between my lips. He ran a couple of fingers down my calf, stroked my ankle through the stocking fabric.
‘I was going to bind you with these,’ he said. ‘Tie you to the chair. But I think that would be too
easy. I think you’ll just have to keep yourself still for me.’
He put his hands on either side of my skirt and slowly slid the fabric up. Past the black cut edge of my stockings, past the black line of lace that marked my thighs. Exposing me to the world. Or at least the world watching through L&L’s one-way glass.
‘Now this,’ he said, ‘is the important part. This is the part where they’re going to pay such very close attention to your beautiful pussy.’
He pressed the very ends of the scissors to the seam of my pantyhose. I suppressed the hot shudder that rolled through me, but just barely. Even so, he must have felt it because he waited until it passed. When I was still again, he cut the crotch of the pantyhose in a long slit. I hadn’t worn panties, and my pussy flared at the influx of cool air. I was hot where the air was cool, wet where the air was dry.
My gasp felt like it echoed inside the large room. But it was nothing compared to his intake of breath.
‘Beautiful,’ he said. His voice was gravel and lust. His eyes never left the cleft between my legs. ‘Such a beautiful pussy, Janine.’
Suddenly, the roles switched. He was as enamoured of me as I was of him. I swelled with my own power for a moment. Watching his face, I opened my legs wider, exposed a little more of my pussy. I knew it was wet, pulsing, the lips plumping up the way they did when I was aroused.
His gaze rose to meet mine, a warm smoulder of want that forced me to grit my teeth to stay quiet. It was clear that he was working hard to hold himself in check. He had the look of a man who was trying very very hard to behave himself. It was a look that nearly threw me over the edge.
Slowly, I reached down and brought two fingers along the cleft of my pussy. I was wetter than I’d expected, my desire coating my skin so that my movements were slippery, my body spreading easily at my touch.
Davian watched me, that first slow stroke of my fingers up to the point of my clit, a half-circle around the tender bud.
Before I could make another move, his hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist, stilling me. He leaned down, the heat of him looming over me. His breath was tight and harsh, and when he exhaled it was with small groans of want.
I thought he was going to kiss me. I ached for it. That and more. If he let go of my wrist, moved his hand, his fingers would touch me. I wanted to feel them against me, to know what it felt like when he ran his thumb over my clit or slipped a finger into me.
He didn’t do any of those things.
‘I believe you’re getting the hang of this,’ he said. ‘Do not get out of that chair until you come for everyone who’s watching you. Do not close your eyes. Do not close your legs. I want to see you fuck yourself to orgasm so that all these men and women watching come from the sight of you.’
And then he let go of my wrist and walked out of the room.
* * *
Despite the fact that he’d given me specific instructions, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I was sitting in a chair, exposed, by myself. I’d just touched myself in front of a bunch of strangers. Davian had walked out on me, telling me to keep going. By myself. That wasn’t part of the deal. Was it?
I could just leave. Get up and walk out. Concede defeat.
But I’d asked for a second chance. Not only had Davian given me one, he’d offered to help me make it work.
If this was a test, I wasn’t going to fail this one, damn it.
I closed my eyes. And then opened them. That was part of the test too, wasn’t it? What had he said? Don’t close your eyes. Don’t close your legs.
I couldn’t hide. Not even behind my own eyelids.
I wouldn’t think of the people behind the windows.
Spreading my legs slightly wider, I swirled my finger around the point of my clit. It was still pulsing and greedy from Davian’s work, taking as much pressure as I would give it and asking for more. I imagined that it was Davian touching me, finally, finally. That he was on his knees in front of me, spreading me with his fingers, dipping the point of his tongue between my folds.
In my mind, he slid a finger inside me, then another, his mouth suckling at my clit while his fingers curled into my g-spot. I wanted him to thrust into me like that, a perfect mimicking of what he’d be like with his cock inside me. Images of his cock – which I hadn’t seen yet, but oh, God, I wanted to, so very much – made my mouth water.
And among those faces in my mind, pleasured, orgasmic, I saw Davian’s. Could he see me too? Was he even now standing somewhere against a one-way window, breathing hard, watching intently? Was he stroking himself?
Fuck the other people watching. I’d give them a show if that’s what they wanted. I’d give Davian a show, because that’s what I wanted.
I needed both hands. I spread my legs to give myself more access. One set of fingers worked my clit, the other curled tight into my g-spot, thumbing the tender circle with a rhythm that pulled moans from low in my throat. I wanted Davian everywhere. His cock buried deep in my throat. His tongue in my pussy. His fingers nudging the tight circle of my ass.
My orgasm toyed around the edges of my pleasure, promising, teasing. I shifted in the chair, straining for leverage, trying to find the movements that would get me off.
I groaned aloud as my fingers found that perfect rhythm, as I imagined all the things I wanted Davian to do to me. As I imagined all the people watching, stroking their cocks, sucking each other off, kissing and biting and grinding their bodies together. I pictured Davian watching me with that caramel gaze, stroking his cock, bringing himself to orgasm at the sight of me masturbating.
My orgasm hit me fast and fierce, hard enough that the chair scraped along the floor. I cried out, something that would have sounded like Davian’s name if I hadn’t bitten my lip at the last moment, turning it into a wordless cry of pleasure. A second orgasm, small but fierce, shuddered up my body, until I slumped on the chair, breathing hard.
My body felt limp and wracked, my stockings were pooled around my calves, who knew how many people had just watched me fuck myself to orgasm. But all I could think about was Davian, and whether he’d seen what I had done.
* * *
Somewhere in the back of my brain, I heard the sound of a door closing. A sound from the outside world.
Blinking, I came back to reality fast and hard.
Davian aside, I’d just masturbated myself to orgasm in front of all these people. Oh, my God. My face flushed hot. I touched my cheek, realised my hands were still wet with my own arousal and then rubbed my fingers over the fabric of my skirt to dry them.
How did one elegantly leave a room where one had just brought herself to orgasm and was now sitting with her pussy wide open and her stockings sliced off her and the man who’d turned her on nowhere to be found?
I had no idea but I certainly did not leave the room with any sort of elegance or decorum. I just ran.
I bumped smack into Davian, who was standing outside the door, his arms crossed, looking both bemused and something that I couldn’t quite read. I had no idea if he’d just seen my … performance … and I wasn’t sure I cared. Now that my orgasm was over, I just felt freaked out. And a little dumb. And scared out of my mind. Don’t forget scared out of my mind.
‘Come with me,’ he said.
He took my hand, first surprise, and then led me back to the dressing room where we’d started this whole venture. He shut the door and flipped the lock with one hand.
‘Fuck,’ he said. ‘This isn’t supposed to be happening.’ He tugged a hand through his curls, and my clit did a little pitter-patter of want.
‘Which part?’ I said. ‘The part where I’m getting off in front of a bunch of strangers or the part where you abandon me in the midst of it?’
I sounded angrier than I actually was. I was shaking, my teeth clacking together. Part post-orgasm, part panic, part that thing I always felt when I was around Davian. Some force greater than me, pushing me in a million directions.
He crossed the room in a moveme
nt that seemed to take less than a single stride, closing in on me. I stepped back to get out of his way, but he stopped me with his hands on my shoulders.
‘The part where I’m falling in lust with you,’ he said. ‘That part is not supposed to happen. But fuck, Janine. You’re just…’
He held me at arm’s length, his gaze raking over me so hard I thought I could feel it. ‘So fucking hot. All curvy and warm, and you smell like caramelised butter and I just fucking want to lick you all over.’
‘Which is …’ He pulled away, stepped away, did the hair thing again that always sent my insides flip-flopping. The lack of his touch so suddenly left me feeling dizzy, breathless.
‘Which is not supposed to happen.’
I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to tell him to stop talking, to get over here and shut up and kiss me, please, for the love of all things, kiss me, but whatever he was working out in his brain was his to work out. Why I was off limits to him I didn’t know. But I understood the struggle. Hadn’t I been having it myself, although for different reasons? How many times had I reminded myself that he was my client, that I needed to keep things professional?
‘I’m going to need some clothes,’ I said.
With a sudden growl, he turned and came at me, moving fast. His mouth opened on mine before I could get another word out, his tongue finding the heat of me. I met him before I could think, groaning against the press of his lips.
He kissed so well, the kind of play that forced my body to arch against him, seeking other points of heat. His teeth tugged at my bottom lip, sucking so hard I felt pain bloom, followed by a sharp pleasure.
I couldn’t resist anything. I needed more, more, more. Ideally now. My hands slipped along the muscles of his hips, up the width of his lower back, urging him harder against me.
He complied, his body melding to mine, the hardening length of his cock pushing into me. I wiggled against him, my body doing everything it could to get as much of him as possible. A voiceless begging.
The kiss broke, leaving us both panting harshly. He dropped his mouth to the side of my neck, kissing along it, leaving little fires on my skin every place his lips touched.
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