by Twyla Turner
He sends me away every night when he is finally ready for bed with a different woman on his arm to join their fun. At the rate he is going, he’ll make his way through all the women in Paris.
Winter had said that she didn’t want to be with him, but if what Ivan said was true, and I did not know him to be a liar, she was happily sleeping with him.
I watched her at the club, and she didn’t seem to pay him much attention. She often looked at me during her performances. I figure it’s more out of sympathy than anything else. We’d had an amazing night, but if she is getting what she needs with Ivan, there is no cause for her to be looking at me for any other reason than pity.
Of course, she takes that moment to reach out and clasp my pinky finger with hers as we ride down in the elevator behind her styling team. Luckily the team blocks our entwined fingers from the camera positioned in the corner.
I want to pull away, and at the same time, I want to pull her into my arms.
The elevator reaches the first floor, and our hands break away as the doors open, and we step off. I lead her back to the stage as I did every Friday and Saturday night. But this time as she passes me to walk on stage to her birdcage, she strokes her hand down one of my ass cheeks.
My ass instinctively clenches in surprise. I look at her through the darkness, but she doesn’t even turn or miss a beat.
Something seems different about her today. Something that I cannot place or put a finger on. All day she has been that way. Every time I have brought her a meal and when we came down to the club. There is a calmness about her. And maybe a type of confidence that wasn’t there before.
Like a butterfly that has emerged from its cocoon.
I am not sure what caused the transformation, but I have a feeling whatever it is, it is going to change everything.
I walk to the side of the stage where I stand every time she performs. Sometimes, Ivan gives her a slightly different set of songs to sing, but it does not matter how often she sings a set. I am captivated.
The new dancers that Ivan implemented a few weeks ago were another added element to her performance. The way they touched her was hypnotic. She had been furious about the dancers at first, but eventually, over the past two weeks, she seemed to reluctantly accept her plight.
The music begins as the cage lowers and the curtains rise. Winter sings all of her songs beautifully as usual. The audience is either held captive, or her voice provides the soundtrack to their lovemaking. It is not unusual to find male hips rolling deeply into supple thighs in time to the music.
The second to the last song ends. Those who have seen the finale before, lean forward. Ready. Excited.
Two masked stagehands in tuxedos help Winter out of the cage. But this time, instead of blindfolding her, they place a black mask over her face that emphasizes her deep red lips and pale skin, and then one ties it behind her head with the attached ribbon.
I look over to Ivan, and he’s sitting forward. Suspicion is written all over his face as he squints up at the stage. This was not his idea. Sitting at his table is a group of dignitaries from around Europe. Those with a taste for the erotic and who wanted to keep it a secret. They also look intrigued.
The rhythmic beat of a song that she has never performed before thumps through the room. The erotic sound fills the club as the scantily clad dancers move across the stage to surround her. They stroke and pet her as she walks towards the chair in the center of the stage. Worshipping her like she is their queen.
I know the feeling.
The old-fashioned, chrome microphone drops from above and stops right about her eye-level. Winter seductively clasps the mic and opens her plump lips. The first lines of Criminal by Fiona Apple pass her lips, and it has never sounded sexier. She purposefully lowers her voice a few octaves to sound raspy and sultry. The audience notices.
Her range is mind-blowing. It is what has brought her fame so early in her career. But now there is something else. From what I could tell, she was always confident in her ability to sing well and on stage in front of thousands. Now she seems confident and comfortable in her own skin.
The dancers flank her as she sits and they slide and slither around her, rolling their hips towards the floor. Emulating sex. But this time, Winter moves too. Dancing in her chair. Rolling her hips up and off the chair as she sings.
I am so distracted by her surprise performance that the words to the song almost pass my notice. The words and her golden eyes behind the black mask continually glancing my way, I realize is a silent message to me.
An apology.
She’s wearing an emerald wrap dress, similar to the one she wore the night Ivan broke her. Slowly she undoes the tie that holds it together. It is usually the dancers who strip her bare. It is obvious that Winter is taking her fate into her own hands.
This will be her moment. Her night. She is taking control. Ivan or anyone else be damned.
She slowly slides one side of the dress from her body revealing a heavy, bare breast and long pale leg. She reclines back in the chair. She rolls her shoulders from side to sides as her hand caresses her naked flesh.
The other half of her dress falls away, leaving her completely exposed.
My breath is erratic. I feel sweat on my brow. My mouth pools with saliva with the thought of tasting her. My hands shake with the need to touch her. My dick is rock solid, longing to be inside of her.
It’s been weeks since we were first together. Too long. I have never used drugs, but I feel as if this is what it would be like if I did not get my fix. My body is experiencing withdrawals.
I watch in awe as she strokes her hands down her breasts and stomach to her closed legs. As she caresses her inner thighs, she slowly opens them wide. Exposing her pink, wet pussy.
I hear myself groan involuntarily.
There’s something incredibly sexy about watching someone pleasure themselves.
Winter’s hands slide back up her thighs until she reaches the apex. Her fingers stroke up her cleft. Then dip inside her dark recesses. She pulls them out, and they glisten with her arousal. I assume the thoughts of getting herself off in front of a room full of people watching has stirred something in her.
I know for a fact it has stirred something in me. I can even feel the pre-cum that has dampened my briefs.
I glance quickly around the room. Everyone is captivated. Fire burns in their eyes. Of those who are not fucking, the women are crossing their legs, and the men are adjusting the crotch of their pants. Some men have pulled out their dicks and are stroking themselves off as they watch her with (as American’s would say) zero fucks to give. For those who are fucking, they do it while they watch her. The men thrust a little bit harder. Tongues lick in time to her fingers.
Winter is the orchestra conductor. And everyone in the audience are the players, following her lead. A sexual maestro.
It is the most erotic shit I have ever seen.
Ivan and his special guests are mesmerized. I see Ivan’s jaw ticking furiously. I can usually read him pretty well, but this time I cannot tell if it is in anger or barely restrained need.
Either way, Winter continues her sensual game. Caught up in her pleasure and her power over everyone. Her white hair is out in its stunning curly afro. One side covering one of her eyes alluringly. Only adding to her sexual appeal. Her red lips are parted as she sings and pants. Her fingers dance over her plump clit. Her hips rock against her hand in time to the music.
As the song gets to the end where Fiona does the melodic run in the original recording, Winter finds her release and instead does her own version of the ending run. A combination of moans and cries that are equally lyrical.
The music dies, and Winter leisurely sits up. Slowly removing her hand from her drenched folds. The crowd explodes with applause as she seductively licks her fingers clean with a sensual, yet artfully bashful smile.
She bows and then the spotlight fades, leaving the stage in darkness. I quickly stride to the stage, and s
he walks towards me as she ties her dress once more. In the shadowy darkness of the stage, she caresses her hand over the obvious bulge in my pants.
“Woo! I need a drink.” She says flippantly like that performance wasn’t the hottest thing to ever happen on a stage anywhere before. And like she hadn’t just stroked my dick that was fighting a losing battle to burst through my slacks.
I want to grab her. Touch her. Kiss her. Fuck her.
I can’t do any of that though. Definitely not when Ivan is striding towards us with purpose.
Chapter 21
I had almost changed my mind as the cage descended. And again as the stagehands helped me out of the cage and tied the mask around my head. And once more as the dancers led me to the chair in the center of the stage.
I thought, You’re out of your mind, Winter! Over and over again. My stomach churned, and I could’ve sworn I was going to puke. The idea had seemed great as I pleasured myself in the privacy of the bathroom. As I surrounded myself with the bliss of my liberation. But the closer I’d gotten to executing my surprise performance, the more I’d started to shake in my proverbial boots.
But then as the cage descended, and again as the stagehands tied the mask, and once more as I walked to the chair, memories of Ivan controlling my pleasure, of Yury ignoring me because I had been turned into a reluctant concubine, and every offense done to me in between flooded my mind.
I’m done. I am the keeper of my body. Of my pleasure. I’d had enough, and I was ready to fight back.
At that moment, calmness and confidence washed over me that I had never experienced before. Of all the times I stood on a stage and performed, I never felt anything like it.
A person’s sexuality is a huge part of their personality. Of their existence. Mine had been repressed. Locked away. How could I be me, if part of my personality has been trapped my whole life? Especially when my sexuality, in particular, is so very…colorful?
I hate to admit it, but being kidnapped and brought here was like being forced into a cocoon. Inside of the cocoon, I was pressured to confront my sexuality and what I like. What brings me pleasure. All in a controlled situation.
As a teen who loved to perform, I had to come out of my shell and find confidence in myself and my beauty, despite or maybe because of my albinism. But this…this was different.
Tonight, I finally emerged.
Tonight, I became a sex goddess.
It. Feels. Glorious.
I grin as I pass Yury and take the stairs down to the bar. His face was priceless as I patted his hard-on through his pants.
I only get as far as a few steps when a hand clamps around my arm. I know the hand that’s clutching me before I even turn. The pulse of heated, negative energy radiates up my arm. I turn and see the intense fire in Ivan’s eyes. He’s turned on and pissed about it.
“What the fuck was that, Winter?” Ivan asks sternly.
He’s lost control. He knows it. And it scares him.
“I thought I could add something to the show.” I shrug. “It seems to have gone over even better than your previous ideas.”
“I’m the one who makes those decisions. This is my club.” He grits out, gripping my arm a little tighter.
I feel rage bubble to the surface, and I stand to my full height. I rip my arm out of his grasp.
“Every fucking member of your precious club will pay you twice the membership fees you already charge to get the chance to fuck me after tonight. I just made you hundreds of thousands in the span of a five-minute song.” I sweep my hand out towards the room. “Look.”
I watch as Ivan turns to gaze at the room at large. Almost every eye was on me. Men and women alike. Lust the overriding emotion in their eyes.
He turns back to look at me, his eyes wavering. I see a glimpse of doubt and maybe even insecurity. Checkmate.
“That’s what I thought. Now back the fuck off.”
I turn and head for the bar. If I know Ivan, he’ll come up with some way for me to pay for disobeying him tonight. He’ll construct another game of chess that I’m not ready for. But for now, I’m gonna bask in the glory of my small triumph.
“What can I get for you, Winter?” One of the bartenders wastes no time asking the moment I step up to the bar.
He flashes a pretty smile and winks at me flirtatiously.
I can’t even describe the amount of power I feel coursing through me at this moment.
“Hmm…a vodka cranberry, please.”
“Coming right up, mademoiselle.”
As he makes my drink, I glance over at Yury, who has been standing guard a few feet away. I’ve felt his eyes on me this whole time, and I finally give in. So many emotions are flickering across his face, I can’t even keep up. He’s angry, aroused, unsure of himself…lost.
I look away because I also see love there. The intensity of it shakes me. I don’t want it to sway me. I’m still mad at him for treating me like a leper when none of this has been my fault.
My eyes land on Ivan. He looks between Yury and me. He must have seen the heated look between the two of us. He clenches his jaw and gives me a calculating look before walking out the door towards the elevator with two women on his arm.
At least he’ll be busy for a couple of hours.
I turn back when the bartender places my drink on the wooden bar. I nod my thank you and take a couple of deep swallows to calm my nerves. I’m still on an incredible high. The euphoria makes my stomach flutter, my skin flush, and my hands tremble.
“You. Are. Magnificent.” A deep voice says next to me.
I turn and see the man who has been at the club every night since my first night here. The handsome man with the chiseled jawline. The same man who had wielded that vibrator with such precision when I was tied to the cross that first night. The man who’d asked Ivan if he could have me like I was nothing more than a shirt he wanted to borrow.
“Hmm…” I hum noncommittally as I continue to sip my drink.
He is beautiful. But obviously an entitled asshole. And he thinks he’s entitled to my body. Another Ivan.
He proves my point a second later when I feel the back of his fingers stroke down my arm. I immediately slide a few inches away from him.
“Aww…come on, Winter.” He eases closer once more and leans into my ear. “You’re made to be fucked. And I’ve come here every weekend since that first day in the hopes of being just the man to fuck you so good. Ivan has nothing on me, doll. I would’ve made you pass out on the swing the night he fucked you in the viewing room.”
“No, thank you. Not interested.” I grit out through my teeth.
“Don’t pretend like you’re a cold bitch now. Not after what I just saw on that stage.” I feel his hand on my exposed thigh peeking through my dress. “Don’t be a cock tease.”
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I shout in his face.
I try to push his hand away, but he grips me tighter. Bruising my thigh. Then he tries to slide his hand up to my bare sex. I fight him, but I’m losing to his strength.
My drink is there one second, and it’s gone the next. I hear the crash of glass as my burgundy filled tumbler is smashed into the side of the man’s head. A beefy hand grabs him around his neck and slams his head against the bar. I watch my would-be assaulter crumple to the floor in a heap of useless limbs wrapped in a three-piece suit.
It all happened so fast, I could barely process what had just transpired. My eyes shoot up and see Yury standing there. Chest heaving. Eyes blazing with rage at the limp man at his feet. They almost seem inhuman, uncaring whether the man is dead or alive.
I see it. For the first time, I see the beast. I see exactly why Ivan has kept him around. He is an amalgamation of trained killer and animal. No one has treated him as anything else.
I reach a shaky hand across the space between us. My fingers lightly touch his chest, until my hand lies flush against him. I feel his heart pounding harshly.
The fire in his eyes is immediately dous
ed. The soft, brown puppy dog eyes reappear. The harsh lines of hatred on his face, smooth out. The angry red in his face that had made his scars stand out and look more sinister, fade away.
Yury is back. The man I’ve come to know is back. Though a second later, I see anger flash in his eyes. The same anger he’s been showing me for the past two weeks. His full lips set in a firm line before he grabs my arm and pulls me from the now silent room filled with shocked and curious onlookers.
I have no choice but to stumble after him. I’m really getting tired of being manhandled.
Yury hits the call button on the elevator when we reach the atrium. After a few minutes the doors open to a woman in an expensive dress kneeling in front of a man in an impeccably tailored suit, giving him a blowjob. Club members.
The man reaches down to cup the woman’s chin. He gently pulls himself from her lips.
“You lost, my love.” He says as he looks down at her.
She stands as she wipes the corners of her mouth. He tucks himself away as she turns to see us standing there.
“Oh, sorry. I bet my husband that I could make him come by the time we reached the first floor. I guess I lose. Although I have to admit, I can't wait for my punishment.” She says conspiratorially as they step off the elevator.
We move to replace them, but she places a hand on my arm, stopping me. “By the way, you were phenomenal. We couldn’t even wait to get home like we usually do. We like to build up the sexual tension and then fuck like rabbits when we get home. But this time we were so turned on, we had to go upstairs to one of the private rooms. Great job.”
She winks and then takes her husband’s offered arm. They disappear out the front door.
I realize I want that. They are my relationship goals, and I had only been in their presence for a few moments. A blink in the span of a lifetime.
The way his tan hand gently touched her ebony skin. How his eyes worshiped her. The way she knew he’d be there to give her his arm. Their sexual confidence with one another. They were fluid. And they loved each other. It was obvious in the way they were with each other.