by Logan Fox
8
The Unmasking
The thumping music was her only companion for three tracks. Pearl tried to not let her anxiety ramp higher than a little extra sweat and quivering hands, but the longer she waited, the longer that room remained empty, the more dismal the thoughts were that gnawed at her mind.
When Greg arrived, striding into the room as if he’d just wrangled the title deed from Tanner himself, Pearl had to force her legs to straighten from their dip before she fell flat on her face.
He’d come.
But he didn’t look happy to see her.
His face, hidden behind that featureless mask of black velvet, wasn’t what tipped her off. It was the set of his shoulders, the stiffness in his legs as he came up to the stage. He stared at her for a few seconds — making her heart pump explosively in her chest with worry that he would try and speak to her right then and there — and then he turned and sat on the couch.
The same spot as last time. When they’d—
Pearl broke off the thought. The music was accelerating, bass lines thumping hard and fast toward a swiftly-approaching drop. She concentrated on dancing, keeping her face free of frowns, and giving him the occasional, timid smile.
Two tracks after he’d arrived, Greg flicked his fingers at her.
Pearl did another twirl around the pole, dropping to all fours and crawling toward him. Yes, it stuck her ass in the air like she was begging for it, but it gave her a few precious seconds to think. She turned, planting her ass on the edge of the stage and toying with the laces of her corset as if intent on taking it off.
Luckily, Greg didn’t tut-tut her like last time. But his unblinking stare was making her feel incredibly uncomfortable the longer her dance continued.
She spread her legs, running her palms up the inside of her thighs before sliding off the stage.
The music seemed to sense their proximity: the hip-hop tune of before melded into a soft, melodious deep house track that perfectly suited a languid lap dance and some low, conspiratorial whispering.
“You came,” Pearl murmured into Greg’s ear, immediately rolling her eyes at the idiocy of the statement. No, this wasn’t Greg: it was in fact his clone.
“I got your voice mail. You look… are you okay?”
Greg’s voice was rough. Perhaps it was just the strain of keeping it to a whisper, but he sounded as if he was holding back a fuck-ton of emotion.
“For now, anyway.”
Pearl rolled her spine toward Greg, breaking off their conversation for a brief moment. He shifted under her, dropping his eyes. She spun around, grinding her ass into his lap so she could lie over him and whisper in his ear.
“There’s a cop—” She broke off with a quick shake of her head. “There was a cop here. Undercover. Something about a bunch of murders he was investigating.”
Greg’s muscles tightened beneath her. “Fuck, Pearl. I have to get you out of here. You can’t—”
Pearl took his hands and laid them over her ribs. “Get into it, Greg. They’re watching.”
Greg gave a short, frustrated sigh and slid his hands up to her breasts, cupping them. He shifted under her again, and she felt a pulse, as if he was growing hard. Well, at least that would keep up the pretense, right?
“I can’t think how to get you out,” Greg said, the next time her ear was within whispering distance. “I saw two guards at the gate where we came in.””
“Was there a fountain in front of it?”
“Yes.”
“Damn. I was hoping there were—” Pearl paused, brain scrambling for a moment. “Wait… what type of fountain?”
“I dunno, man. A fountain.” Greg’s voice was growing tight, and so was the soft fabric of his pants. Pearl hurriedly carried on with her slow grind, eyes fixed somewhere far ahead as she tried to picture the fountain Henry had driven past when they’d first arrived at the Fox Pit.
“A woman,” Pearl said. “Like Aphrodite or something. She’s feeding a fox.”
“Seriously—” Greg began, sounding irritated.
“It’s important, Greg.” Pearl hoisted herself to her feet, and spun around to face the man.
His chestnut eyes blinked at her a few times. She leaned closer, her hands going automatically to the clasps at the back of her corset. “Think.”
“It could have been…” Greg began, but then he shook his head. “No, wait. It was a bunch of foxes tackling a reindeer. Something with big-ass horns.”
“An elk?” Pearl prompted. Her corset sprang free, and she let it fall to the floor.
Greg made a noise, but she couldn’t decipher whether it was in agreement or not.
“Hey, focus,” Pearl said.
“You’re making that incredibly fucking difficult, man.” Greg forced his eyes to hers with obvious effort, blinking rapidly. “Yeah, foxes and an elk. Why?”
“Then there are two entrances. And the one I came through when I got here didn’t have any guards.”
Greg managed a small shrug, his eyes sliding down to her breasts again. “Even if…”
“If I can get to the gates, can you pick me up? If we set a date and time?”
“I could… I think I know how to get here by now. They took a different route this time, but…”
Pearl rolled herself forward, jerking when Greg reached out and grabbed her breasts.
“Hey,” she said, having lost Greg’s gaze to her breasts again.
“Getting into it,” Greg murmured.
“As long as we figure out a way for you to get me out of here, you can do whatever you want to the girls. Now can you collect me?”
“Yeah,” Greg leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Damn mask. I could be really convincing if I could—”
“Hey!” Pearl leaned back, the movement grinding her pelvic bone against Greg’s bulging mound.
His eyes flickered as he groaned. “Yes, I can pick you up.”
“Good. I’m thinking two days from now. Should give me enough time to figure out my escape.”
“Day or night?” Greg asked, voice rough.
She could feel him growing harder the longer she ground against him, but she couldn’t get off him… not yet.
“Night would probably be better. Or early morning. Like, just before dawn.”
“Sure, sure.” Greg had accepted her earlier invitation with vigor: he kneaded her breasts in his hands like play dough.
“You’ll need to find the second gate.”
“I’ll make a plan,” Greg said. “I’ll backtrack after they’ve dropped me off, try and figure out a route.”
“And if you can’t?” Pearl lay over him, her breasts against his pecs. “How am I supposed to know?”
“I’ll come back, ask for you again. That same day. I can confirm everything.”
“And if you don’t show?”
“Why wouldn’t I show?” Greg’s eyes flicked up to hers. When she said nothing, his eyes widened. “Why wouldn’t I show?”
“Anything could happen,” Pearl whispered. She bent over him, resting her forehead on his shoulder. “I need to know I can count on you.”
Her hips were still rocking to the beat, but they were a distant part of her now. She was putting her life in this man’s hands, this childhood friend. Not that she had anyone else, but… what if she made her way out and he wasn’t there? What if he left her stranded?
She could feel eyes on her. Not Greg’s. Seth’s?
“Two days,” Pearl said, pushing herself away.
Greg grabbed hold of her ass. Pearl winced, managing to hold back a pained gasp. He didn’t seem to notice: his eyes were fixed on hers, wide and intent.
“Two days.” He gave a small nod. His hands tightened, drawing her hard against his dick. “You can count on me, Pearl.”
The music changed again. This time, it slid into the opening chords of a rock song.
Tainted love. Marilyn Manson.
Pearl jolted as soon as she heard that familiar song, her he
ad turning to the dark mirror as if on rusting hinges.
“What is it?” Greg sat forward, his hands sliding up her back. “Pearl?”
“Nothing,” she murmured, shrugging off those unseen eyes and turning back to him with a smile that felt too rigid. “Just… act like you’re enjoying it, okay?”
“But I—” Greg began.
Pearl rose, and took a step back. Her hips began to sway as she hooked her fingers behind the hem of her panties and tugged them down. His eyes widened: perhaps he’d noticed she’d tamed her bush into nothing more than a line that ended just above her clit.
She sank to her knees between Greg’s parted legs.
“Hey, uh—”
Pearl tugged down his pants, freeing his cock. God, it was just as enormous as she remembered. She shoved away the urge to straighten and carry on with her dance, instead leaning forward and drawing a quick, wriggling line from the base of Greg’s cock to its tip with her tongue.
Greg’s head fell back with a groan. His hands found her arms, slid up them, and glided over her shoulders. He fisted a hand in her hair, the other cupping her face as she went down on him with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.
And, after half a track, that enthusiasm wasn’t forced anymore.
The hand in her hair guided her. The one cupping her face became a gentle, caressing touch. It brought wave upon wave of shivers through Pearl. She could taste the salty precum that Greg’s cock had oozed during her dance. As if the substance had triggered the release of pheromones, her body began to respond… seemingly unbidden.
She glanced up. Greg’s fascinated, lustful gaze made her shiver.
Pearl let his cock slip with a pop from her mouth, her hands massaging his balls and shaft as she grinned up at him.
“You like that?” she asked.
Greg swallowed, gave her a quick nod. “Who wouldn’t?”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. That was his response?
Pearl slid her lips along the side of his shaft, letting her tongue wriggle against his velvet skin. She could feel every throb of his pulse through his dick as she folded both hands over his shaft and slid the tip of his cock into her mouth. She sucked at him, eyes fixed on his, demanding him to buckle.
And he did.
His fist tightened, urging her to take more of his cock into her mouth. The hand cupping her face drew away and wrapped around her hands, squeezing them. Squeezing his cock. His thumb touched the side of her mouth, where her lips stretched over his girth, stroking her lips.
Pearl shuddered at the sensation. Her sex had been aching since she’d started the dance — a side effect of lap dancing she had no control over — but now it throbbed with a pain that she yearned to extinguish.
She had just over half of his dick inside, filling her mouth and slamming into the back of her throat with every bob of her head. More, she couldn’t take without gagging.
Perhaps he realized.
Or perhaps he was just as eager as her to end his own hedonistic suffering.
Greg jerked her head up. He held it, an inch from the tip of his quivering dick, as he stared into her eyes. An unfathomable expression filled those chestnut eyes of his.
“Why did you think I wouldn’t come?” Greg asked in a hoarse voice.
She licked her lips, buying a few microseconds to think.
“I have to be sure. I can’t fuck this up.”
“You mean I can’t fuck this up.” Greg’s hand tightened to the point of pain. She winced, releasing his dick. The hand wrapped around hers relaxed, allowing her to slip her hands free. She pressed them instead to his thighs, steadying herself as he forced her head up another inch.
“Why would you think that?” His eyes flickered between hers — left, right, left again — as he waited.
“It’s been forever, Greg. We were never… I don’t even know you.” The words tumbled from her mouth before she could clamp her lips closed.
He was still holding his cock; still had a fist in her hair. Twisting her hair, Greg brought her up off the floor. He sat forward, perching on the edge of the couch, that spike of a dick poised as if he was considering whether he wanted her to give it another long, hard suck.
Pearl stood in a half-crouch, legs trembling at the awkward angle, lips parted in uneasy anticipation as she waited for Greg’s response. His gaze was making her sweat. And the hand in her hair had her dripping wet.
“If there’s one person in the world you can trust right now, Pearl, it’s me.”
She should have taken that unreadable gleam in his eyes as a warning, but she’d never made good grades in high school.
“How? How do I know?”
She could hear the smile in his voice. “You’ll just have to trust me.”
He used his fist to draw her closer. Her knee slid onto the couch beside him. His eyes mesmerized her; those gold flecked irises so warm and inviting, his pupils large in the dark room.
Another tug at her hair.
Her other knee slid onto the couch.
He had her sex an inch above his cock.
The Manson song had ended. Another deep house track had replaced it, something with a bass line that vibrated through the floor and couch. Pearl swung her hips in a wide circle, mimicking the flowing sounds mingling with that thumping bass.
“I don’t get it, man,” Greg’s voice sounded strained again. “I don’t come here wanting to fuck you. I really don’t. Not even today. But… after five minutes with you—”
He broke off, his eyes flicking down and scanning her body. The stage lighting silhouetted her. Straddled as she was, legs parted on either side of his, he had an uninterrupted view of her curves, her thighs, and her sex.
“What?” Pearl prompted, her own voice coming from somewhere far away.
“I feel like I’m going to tear apart if I don’t.”
He drew her closer still, until her face was close enough for her to see the thin ring of black around his irises.
“Get rid of the mask.”
“I don’t think—”
“Now.” The hand in her hair twisted again. Another jolt of pain shot through her. Pearl stiffened. She took hold of the velvet mask with trembling fingers and lifted it free of Greg’s face.
Pearl’s shoulders tightened. She expected a voice over the sound system; Seth, demanding to know what she was doing. But none came. The mask slid off, unveiling Greg’s face. His slack, parted lips. The tiny frown between his eyes.
His gaze flashed to her mouth. He gave her the smallest of smiles, and then darted forward. Their mouths crushed against each other, driving the air from Pearl’s lungs. Her sex began strobing with heat, shooting aching tentacles of lust through her. She moaned against Greg’s mouth, leaning into him so her breasts were pressed against his chest.
Something touched her sex — the side of Greg’s finger, lifted from the stranglehold he had on his cock. Pearl gulped for air when he broke off their kiss seconds later, that finger still caressing her wet folds as gently as his hand had cupped her face.
“Do you have any idea how this feels?” Greg murmured, his breath warm against her mouth. She could still taste him in her mouth; a testosterone-laden mint.
“Of course I do. What do you think they have me doing here?”
“No.” Greg shook his head and ducked forward, touching his lips to her collarbone. She could barely hear him over the drumming music. “You don’t. Not even close.”
His mouth brushed against her throat, her chin. All the while his finger did a languid dance over her sex. Thrilling her. Frustrating her until she felt ready to savage him.
“The aching?” she murmured, wondering if he could hear her. “The… wanting? I feel it. I feel it every—”
“I thought I’d never see you again,” Greg said. He hadn’t heard her, then. It didn’t matter: nothing mattered except the butterfly kisses he lavished her neck with. “That day of the graduation party.”
When she’d kissed him in the al
ley outside the club? Pearl squirmed, moaning as his lips touched her ear. She’d been drunk and high. He’d said he’d make sure she got home okay. And then she’d looked into his eyes, and seen… what? His concern? That knight in shining armor visage he donned around her?
And then she’d kissed him.
Roughly. Hungrily.
And then she’d gone home by herself. Because she didn’t need him to look after her. Didn’t need anyone to look after her. She was all good in the looking after herself department. Well endowed.
“Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to call you?”
“Tell me,” Pearl whispered.
“I’ve lost count. A hundred? Maybe more.”
“Why didn’t you?” She ran her hands over his stomach, up his chest. “Why didn’t you, Greg?”
“Because of what you said. I kept hearing it—” he nipped at her earlobe “—every fucking time I picked up the phone.”
“What I said?” Pearl’s hands grabbed his shoulders, digging into the muscles. “I don’t—”
“You don’t remember?” Greg’s teeth grazed the side of her neck, her jaw line. He held his lips against hers, his fingers pausing as he stared into her eyes with a sudden ferocity that made her breath catch in her throat. That teasing hand slid up her back and gripped the back of her neck.
“What?” The word was a breathy whisper.
“You said I could get right back on the horse I rode in on and leave.” His eyes flicked left and right, searching hers. “That you didn’t need a fucking knight. That you were up to your eyeballs in knights already. That the position had already been filled.”
Pearl’s mind scrambled for thought. Why couldn’t she remember anything except the kiss? Had they even kissed? She opened her mouth, about to blurt out some kind of apology—
Greg drove her down.
She gasped; a rough, rattling sound.
He filled her in an instant, stretching her, numbing her.