by Joey W. Hill
Returning to the table, Tony donned a rubber glove. Dipping the rose in the nitrogen, he pulled the blossom free, pivoted and slapped it hard against her back.
The rose exploded, leaving a red mark on her skin and showering frozen petals around her. Charlotte clung to the post, shuddering from the cold. He rolled another fire wand over her skin. He began to alternate the two stimulus, fire and ice, making it a dance, her body moving in reaction to the two sensations, him moving with her.
Then he brought her to stillness as he jerked her up against him, turning her toward the audience. Producing a short curved blade that looked like a bird’s beak, he ran it along her throat, under the curve of her breast, harrowingly close to her nipple… Charlotte was motionless against him, a moan caught in her throat, her eyes glazed.
Julie suspected very few in the audience were still seeing an obese woman or a white-collar man in his fifties, past what most would consider his sexual prime. They were seeing a Master and sub engage in an intimate, fascinating power exchange. The energy of it changed their lenses, let them see the beauty of two souls struggling to connect with one another, taking joy in one another. Charlotte was immersed in everything her Master did to her, and he in turn was ensorcelled by her response.
For the same reasons, Julie knew the moment Desmond was standing behind her. She knew his energy, and didn’t know how to explain that, except to know it was true. He gripped one side of her podium, propping himself behind her so he bracketed her body, his other hand caressing her waist. He didn’t speak, the two of them watching the scene progress. He was still a little sweaty from helping with the prop and scenery rearrangement. He was also still shirtless.
His hand slid up to cup her breast, cloaked in shadows. Fortunately, no one like Billie was keeping her company now.
“God, I want you,” he muttered against her neck. “I’d fuck you right here if I could get away with it. You’ve been amazing tonight. Watch this next part.”
Tony had returned Charlotte to the stake. Picking up another rose, he dipped it. This time he didn’t use it like a flogger. He smashed it against Charlotte’s ass using his hand, rubbing the coldness in and making her squeal. He picked up a bouquet of daisies, and struck her with them, one by one, after he treated them to the same nitrogen dip. They left more red marks on her, and Des whispered that flowers with thin petals felt like tiny bee stings.
Tony had one rose left. He turned Charlotte around, guiding her to lean back against the stake as he handed her the flower to hold. He coated his hands with alcohol, so he could put fire on his palms and run that flame over her breasts, her arms. Dousing them against her flesh, he retrieved and lit a fire wand. Dropping to his knees before her, he blew its heat between her legs with pursed lips. The flame was inches from her and didn’t touch her tender regions, but the rippling effect was clear. She pressed harder against the stake when he exhorted her to stay perfectly still. As he blew that heat against her, over and over again, her cheeks began to redden, her nipples hardening even further. She had the rose clutched hard in both hands.
“Come, witch,” Tony ordered, and Charlotte climaxed, her orgasm gushing onto her thighs in small, trickles. Tony never touched her between the legs, merely letting the manipulated fire create the magic. In the aftermath, she was so sensitive that when he pressed his mouth to her cunt, she cried out in erotic agony.
He took the rose from her hand, pressed it between her legs, and kissed it. “A gift from God is what you are, witch,” the Inquisitor said. “I will be glad He made you mine for all my days.”
She dropped to her knees, pressing her forehead to his boots, ending the skit the way it had begun.
As the curtain closed, there was a harrowing pause, the audience digesting the scene. Then the applause began, continuing and building into a strong response. Julie let out a thready sigh of relief. While the enthusiasm might be heavily salted by the BDSM community members in the audience, Julie predicted the rest had been swept up in the approbation.
Curtain calls began. The first set of performers, the priestesses and their chained sub, took the stage for a bow. As they stepped back and the next cast members entered from the opposite stage wings, Julie’s body was matching the audience’s fervent response, because Des was paying no attention to anything but her.
“I want you to stay after everyone goes home tonight,” Des said against her ear, both hands kneading her breasts in those useful shadows, his pelvis firmly against her ass. “I have something I want to do to you, and I want to do it here, while all this energy is still pouring through the place.”
After a performance, she was temporarily euphoric, followed by exhausted. Yet she wanted him with a throbbing fierceness that wouldn’t be denied.
“Okay.”
“It wasn’t a request,” her Dom said, nipping her ear and sliding his hand down between her legs behind the podium as the cheering built with each performer. Billie Dee-Lite was doing a sashay and pivot to wild cheers.
“Des…” She caught the edge of the podium, shocked when the tiny, intense orgasm rolled through her from the demand of his fingers. He carried her through it, even as those on stage motioned to the wings, calling his name, wanting him to come out and take a bow. Missive appeared at his side a mere heartbeat after he took his fingers away from Julie. It told her he’d stayed aware of their surroundings and protected her privacy. Though Missive pulled on him with a smile on her face, he held onto Julie an extra second, making sure she was okay on her feet.
“Go on,” Julie said. “Take your bow. You deserve it.”
Her breathy voice earned her a cocky grin and she snorted. “Not for that, you ass.”
“Could have fooled me.” He winked, but his eyes conveyed a lot more than casual humor as he slid away. His hands left behind burning needy sensation, not just where they’d touched, but all through her.
Julie heard the cheers swell to a roar comparable to that for Billie. Des had been their unexpected star tonight. Yes, Missive was part of that. But it was the young woman’s utter trust in him that had made it all work, and that trust had to be earned.
Was there anything about Des that wasn’t going to rock her world, take her by surprise?
Then they were yelling for her to come out, and for Madison to come up on stage. Julie did a quick check to make sure there was nothing inappropriately disheveled about her, though the madness of intermission had probably made a wreck of her hair and outfit. But to hell with it. She trotted out on wobbly legs to meet Madison and waved Harris out of the wings so he could take his well-deserved bow. Madison hugged her, squeezing the life out of her.
“I love you,” the Naughty Bits owner said. “You did this.”
“We all did it,” Julie said. “To many more successes. Long live Wonder.”
“Long live Wonder.” Madison threw up her free hand and shouted it. The cry was immediately echoed by the performers, and Tony and Billie’s booming voices carried it across the audience. In one of those magical, spontaneous moments that only the theater—and love—could provide, the audience answered in a roar.
“Long live Wonder!”
Julie was sure they’d just birthed the closing tradition for their new theater. She loved it.
As she took her bow, she caught Des’s eye. The possessive heat, the knowledge that he’d just brought her to climax, was there, but it was mixed with something even more distracting. Maybe she was riding a performance high, but she’d always believed she saw things most clearly in moments like these.
He was genuinely happy for her success. In his countenance, she saw not only desire, but awareness of who she was down through every layer. He wanted everything there. She wanted all of him, just as badly.
The smile died from his face, as if he sensed how overwhelmed she was by those truths. His expression shifted, reflecting the powerful intent she’d felt from him when he’d pressed against her at the podium.
I have something I want to do to you, and I wan
t to do it here, while all this energy is still pouring through the place.
He didn’t break eye contact until she and Madison separated to sweep their arms out to encompass all the performers and crew, and offer them another ovation.
Julie made her own silent offering to the stage.
Thank you for giving me this so many times. No matter what happens with him, whatever I’ll end up screwing up, or whatever shoe will drop, I am always grateful to have this.
She wished that comforted her as it normally did. But she didn’t want a safety net when Desmond Hayes inevitably disappeared from her life.
She wanted him. Now and forever.
Chapter Nine
Julie drew in a deep breath, let it out. It had been a success. Consent had worked out better than even Madison and she had anticipated. She grinned, remembering Madison rushing up to her after the reception in the lobby, where they’d served sparkling water and hors d’oeuvres.
“Oh my God, reviewers from the Charlotte and Greensboro papers were both here. The one from The Charlotte Observer asked me a bunch of questions and seemed personally excited about what we have coming up. I’m half sick and half exhilarated about what kind of review she’ll write. But she didn’t act like we were some kind of sleazy sex club. She said…”
Madison paused, closing her eyes to recall it. “’Tonight’s performance is evidence of the growth of erotic performance art as a legitimate cultural offering to the mainstream.’ Freaking amazing. She sounds like she’s already composing her review, right? At least that’s what I think, and Logan agreed with me.”
While Julie didn’t doubt Logan’s concurrence with his wife’s opinion, she’d be surprised if he’d been able to wedge in more than a nod of agreement. Madison was running wide on all cylinders.
“I reminded her a play is the next thing on our schedule. Monday we have to start planning with Lila. She says her script is all finished…”
That had been several hours ago. Now the theater was quiet, everything put away, the doors locked. The cast and crew had enjoyed a small but enthusiastic after party and then headed home with or to family.
Julie stood on stage. She was elated, content. She spun in a circle, tipping her head back. Nothing brought her the sense of satisfaction a good performance did, the culmination of weeks of hard work, coordination and creative talents coming together. Having shared that with those like Harris, Billie and Madison, who understood the significance, added to the lovely sense of fulfillment.
But tonight there was another component to her happiness, taking it to an even higher level. Des. The single person’s mantra that career could fill the hole where a significant other should be was crap. At least for her. Career could be a nice, thick curtain over that empty space and, as long as she hadn’t looked behind that curtain, happiness was possible. Some people were eventually able to turn that curtain into a wall, and maybe for them the mantra became truth. But Julie’s life was all about what happened when the curtain rose, so she’d never been able to shut down that possibility.
Which was why she’d reached this spot. She’d found someone who awakened the longings inside that empty space, and he’d pulled back the curtain. She remembered watching him walk onto the stage, hand in hand with Missive, and take a bow, the other performers urging him forward for a second ovation, generously acknowledging that his segment had taken the whole show up a notch.
Loving performance art as she did, how could she resent his expression of it with another performer, capable of showcasing his talents as brilliantly as Missive had done?
He was an artist, as much as Thomas was. She wished she could figure out the magic spell necessary to instantly get past all her fears and hang-ups and truly believe Des could distinguish between the art he made with other subs, and what he made with her.
She was getting there, though. As she’d watched him elevate and felt him inspire the audience, she’d known then she was falling in love with him. There was no chance of scrambling back up that slope, because it wasn’t the fleeting stage adulation that such brilliance commanded. No, she loved the man who’d offered to share his carrot sticks and who had an aversion to talking about his health because too much of his early life had focused on it.
Except for the day at Bob Evans, he hadn’t spoken about not having a family. She’d asked him during that meal if he had any memory of his mother. He’d said no, but he’d had a peculiar look as if that wasn’t entirely true. Maybe he had some sense of her, a scent, the sound of her voice, buried in an infant’s subconscious.
She wanted to know more of his story. She wanted to be part of his story. It was time to stop fighting it and resign herself to future heart-pulverizing pain when he turned out to be an ass, as they always seemed to be. But he felt so…not like that.
She moved to one of the front row seats, propping her tired feet on a crate she dragged over. As she loosed her hair and ran her fingers through it, she tipped her head back to study the rafters. They still had to repaint the ceiling inside, obliterate the water spots, but that was a chore for another day.
At the creak and rumble of a wheeled something coming out on the stage, she tilted her head down. Des was pushing a rack of long, formal dresses, raising her curiosity. But he wasn’t ready to explain them yet.
“I just walked Missive and Billie to their cars,” Des informed her. “I told Harris we’d lock up. I also told him the boss lady said they could all take the day off tomorrow.”
She smiled. “You walked Billie to his car?”
“Her car. ‘She’ was still in character, so psyched about the show the only thing she’d changed was her shoes, because she said her arches were killing her. Linked her arm through mine and said if I was giving ladies escorts to their cars, that would include her tonight. The way she was working that dress, I wasn’t disputing it. I don’t dispute much of anything with her, since she could bench press my truck. Plus, I don’t argue with a lady. Unless she’s being stubborn.”
He winked at her, and she tucked her tongue in her cheek. “You protected yourself pretty well on that one. Clever guy.”
“Guy has to be clever around intelligent, attractive women, of any gender variation.”
”Hmm. Where did you meet Billie? You never said.”
“I first met him at Frolicon, down in Atlanta. Billie’s a top who loves to Dom men or women. I’ll take you to see him perform in Fayetteville sometime. The military guys there adore him.”
“Really?”
“Really. Billie has a remarkable way with a crowd. Well, you saw it tonight when he was doing the emceeing. First time I met him and I remarked on his build, he batted his lashes and told me he’d been born in Belhaven.” Des affected Billie’s tone and cocked a hip as he propped against the rack of dresses. His deep voice and complete inability to emulate a woman made Julie giggle.
“’Honey-chile, let me tell you something about being gender queer in rural North Carolina, particularly around a bunch of the brothers. White people may have their hang-ups about it, but they’re all rainbow flags and ‘woohoo to diversity’ compared to how most black men react to it.’ He said he started pumping iron and learning how to fight as soon as he could lift a barbell and form a fist. ‘Which is dreadful for a manicure, by the by.’”
Des sobered. “When his mother kept catching him trying on her dresses and wearing bras under his clothes to school, she bought him a burial plot. He was fourteen years old. He said she didn’t know what to do with him and figured it was the only way she could show her love.”
“Wow. He didn’t try to hide it much, even then.”
“Yeah. It’s kind of a miracle he survived, and survived to be as cool of a guy as he is. Or woman. Or both.”
“You should stay away from a drag queen career, by the way,” Julie advised. “You couldn’t do female if you tried.”
“Well, I am a roofer. Not a lot of room to explore my feminine side around the guys at the job sites.”
H
er lips curved, but she was thinking about Billie’s mom, and Des’s. “Do you ever feel sad about your mom? Lonely, from not having a family in the traditional sense?”
He left the rack of dresses and sat on the edge of the stage, swinging his feet. He was back in his jeans and one of his quirky T-shirts. King Kong held a voluptuous Jessica Lange in his palm while he screamed his rage from the Empire State building. She noticed Des hadn’t tied the laces of his thick-soled work shoes.
“I guess I was sad at the beginning,” he said. “But I think it’s harder to be a kid who knew his family and lost them, rather than one who never had them at all. It’s easier to make your own family as you grow up. I’m fairly tight with some of the guys on my crews, and the rigger and BDSM communities are close knit, if you fall in with the right group. Come Christmas or Thanksgiving, I’ve never lacked an invitation to join someone at their table.”
He fell silent, watching her with those brown eyes that contained so many things she wanted to know as much as they scared her. He knew it, too. She felt it, in a waiting, coiled energy from him. It was a different version of a wolf patiently stalking a rabbit, but not one he planned to kill. He simply intended to catch it and never let it go. At least that was what she hoped—and feared—in that perverse conflict she had inside her.
“Did you have girlfriends as a kid? Before you went on your dating dry spell?”
“Some.” He left the stage and straddled the crate, picking up her foot to put it in his lap and massage her stockinged toes. She barely swallowed a moan of bliss. “What are you after, love?”
“Loneliness, I guess. It’s a powerful word, and I think it affects some people more than others. Maybe becomes an obsession.”
“Or a pit they can’t climb out of,” he said bluntly. “They keep waiting for someone to reach in and pull them out. Yeah, I went there a couple times, before I had a get-over-myself moment. You have to crawl out of that pit yourself. When you do, you realize there are six billion people wandering around, six billion chances to form connections, friendships, shared experiences.”