by Kitty Thomas
She swallowed the man's spendings, moaning as her hips bucked against Damian's hand.
The man's cock went soft in her mouth and Damian pulled her away, removing his hands from underneath her dress. She stumbled off the platform into his arms and stood unsteadily looking around. A silent crowd had formed around them, watching the show she'd just put on.
Hunter stood off to the side, watching her with amused interest. He nodded at her as if he appreciated that bit of performance art, as if he couldn't have come up with better entertainment for the opening himself.
Then he turned and disappeared into the dispersing crowd.
Chapter Eleven
Shannon sat silently in the passenger side of the car. It was only nine-thirty. When the show had closed for the night, there had been a long lull where the participants quietly met up with the others who'd been on display, rubbing kinks out of shoulders and soreness out of wrists, searching for chafing or other damage. The care for each other, the focus only on the others that had shared this experience with them was somehow strangely erotic.
Shannon had felt like a voyeur watching this private exchange in the open space.
She'd blushed in the darkness when the man she'd given the blow job to was free to look around the room, his eyes briefly meeting hers. He couldn't have known it was her, but she felt exposed anyway. She felt like he somehow knew.
“Are we going home now?” Shannon asked.
“No. We're going to a little after party,” Lindsay replied.
“Who will be there?”
“The art. The artist. His pet, Saskia. Us. And Damian.”
Shannon tamped down the thrill she felt at the guest list and instead changed the subject. “I'm starving.”
Lindsay chuckled. “There will be food. Damian brought in a catering team. They'll leave as soon as everything is set up.”
She didn't want more fancy food. She wanted something normal. But she didn't want to be rude.
So they were going to Damian's house? Had Lindsay already made these arrangements? She found herself nervous at the prospect of seeing Damian again. Wetness flooded between her legs thinking about the way he'd touched her at the gallery—the proprietary way he touched her. The way Lindsay let him touch her. There had been no awkward vibe, no hostile static seething between the two men, no posturing like with Lindsay and Mr. Graysen.
It seemed understood that Damian could touch her however he liked, whenever he liked. The thought should unsettle her, but it only excited her. The bank president may have stroked her back but he wouldn't have dared to touch her as intimately as Damian had.
When they got near the coast, Shannon lowered her window to breathe in the salt air. And then she started to cry.
“What's wrong?” Lindsay asked not taking his eyes from the road.
“I just haven't seen the ocean in so long,” she said softly.
He placed a hand on her knee. “You could have gone to the beach on your day off. You had plenty of time. You should go next Friday. Spend the afternoon. There's a public beach about 3 miles back. You could get one of those tropical fruity drinks with an umbrella and ogle the lifeguards.” He turned and winked at her.
“Okay.” She smiled weakly and wiped the tears off her face, feeling foolish for the outburst.
Of course she could have gone, but for some reason it hadn't occurred to her. Being at the house so long she'd forgotten the real world. She'd forgotten the city. It was only being inside the city that had brought it back into existence. Even then that was the only place that seemed real. She was embarrassed to admit she'd forgotten the edge of the city sat twenty minutes from the coastline.
They'd left the main highway several miles back, moving to increasingly intimate side roads until they were driving down a long private drive lined with tall trees hovering above them on either side.
After another mile, they came upon a high stone wall with flickering oil lamps attached at the top to light the way. A large reinforced steel gate stood open to let them pass onto what was clearly the property and their destination. Finally the path opened out to reveal the most magnificent thing Shannon had ever seen.
“What is this place?”
“Damian's house,” Lindsay said. “What do you think?”
She wasn't sure she could form full sentences. It was such a stark contrast to the white columned and somewhat old-fashioned mansion she'd lived in for the past eight years.
Damian's house was a mansion just as grand, but it seemed to be made entirely of glass. The impressive structure stood at the edge of a rocky cliff overlooking the sea.
Before she could say anything, Lindsay had parked the car and came around to her side, opening her door and helping her out. She didn't take her eyes off the house, her mouth gaping open.
Damian greeted her at the door with a kiss on each cheek, holding both of her hands in his as if she were a long-lost friend. He stepped back still holding her hands.
“Let me look at you.”
Shannon blushed under his scrutiny as the wrap fell from her shoulders onto the floor. Lindsay bent behind her and picked it up. She was grateful when she felt the silk caressing and covering her back once more. Damian let go of her hands, and she gripped the wrap tightly around her.
He didn't comment on that. He just led them into the house. The other guests had already arrived. They all stood in a large industrial-sized kitchen, eating what looked like mini cheeseburgers and fries with all sorts of different dipping sauces—not the snotty pretentious food Shannon had dreaded having more of tonight.
Everyone drank soft drinks out of plastic cups. It looked like a combination between a frat party and a Sunday afternoon luncheon.
Damian filled a plate of food for Shannon. “Here, sit,” he said, guiding her to a chair at the end of a table that was just out of the way of all the activity, like she was the only one who rated the privilege of sitting. Soon Lindsay joined her at the same table with his own plate. Damian got them both soft drinks and then went to mingle with his guests.
It was strange seeing all the people from the art exhibit wearing normal clothes and acting like regular people, as if they hadn't just spent three hours naked and bound under black lights being touched and licked and kissed by people they would never see.
Most of them had several orgasms over the course of the evening, and yet now they wore jeans and T-shirts of various types and styles, looking like theater majors and eating mini cheeseburgers like none of it had happened. And like it wouldn't continue to happen day-after-day for an entire month.
Paper plates and cups started to fill a large trash can beside the kitchen island and expectant faces turned toward Damian.
“Go on downstairs. Start without us. We'll join you in a few,” Damian said, waving them off so he could eat his own food.
The guests made their way to a door at the far end of the open space, closer to the living room area. Shannon could see the stairs to the basement through the glass, but she couldn't see what was down below because the floor underneath her feet was gray granite.
She took in Damian's house, as she ate. It was a large open floor plan. All the walls were glass. Large steel support beams held everything together, securing it all into one structurally sound whole.
Being able to see through every wall meant there were no secrets. Except for whatever was downstairs. And she was pretty sure she knew what was downstairs. She'd lived at the house long enough to always suspect a dungeon.
Just behind where she sat was an exterior wall that gave a clear and terrifying view over a cliff to the dark swirling and crashing waves hitting the rocks below them.
Damian tossed his plate and cup into the trash. “Ready?” he asked.
“Ready for what?” Shannon asked.
“The after party.” His voice held gentle teasing and dark delicious promise.
She glanced at Lindsay who smiled his own dark smile that mirrored Damian's. He took his and Shannon's empty plates and c
ups and tossed them in the trash. “Let's go join the rest of the party,” Lindsay said, extending a hand to Shannon.
Damian was already at the basement door, heading downstairs. She took Lindsay's hand and they got up to follow but stopped short when the front door opened, and in walked the artist and his pet. Hunter carried an easel and a canvas. Saskia carried a large tote bag with art supplies poking out of various pockets and openings of the bag.
“Let me get the door for you,” Lindsay said, holding the basement door wide.
“Thank you,” Hunter said, his eyes on Shannon until he had to turn to go down the stairs.
When Shannon and Lindsay got downstairs, almost everyone's clothes were off. The people who had seemed so casual and respectable upstairs were engaged in an orgy. The sounds of fucking and sucking and moans and whimpers filled up the space. Several of them were together in a small group, hands and limbs entangled, mouths grasping for each other on a giant bed at one end of the dungeon.
The rest of the group were scattered throughout the room in couples, experimenting with various bondage equipment and whipping implements.
Shannon's attention was focused on the artist. Hunter spoke with Damian in hushed tones. A chair was brought for him for his approval. He nodded. Then the easel was set up, the canvas placed upon it. A small table was brought down for Hunter to arrange his brushes and paints and rags and a pallette and jars with unidentifiable liquids inside.
When he opened the mason jars, no smells of turpentine filled the air. Shannon couldn't smell anything at all. That was curious, because even from this distance at the other end of the room, she could see he painted with oils, and she knew oil painting usually had lots of smells. Maybe the space down here was just very well-ventilated.
Shannon eased closer, intrigued. It was about an hour until midnight, and this man was going to paint something?
Saskia leaned against Hunter.
“Pet, you're about to fall over. Do you want to lie down?”
“I'm fine, Master,” she said.
He pressed a kiss into her hair. “No, you're exhausted. You've had a long day. You should take a rest.”
“I don't want to leave you,” she said, guessing correctly that she probably would, because the large bed down here was currently very occupied.
“The sofa behind you pulls out into a bed,” Damian offered, pointing to an overstuffed black leather couch that blended unobtrusively against the wall.
“Thank you,” Hunter said. He and Lindsay worked together to pull the sofa out while Damian disappeared up the stairs.
Damian returned a few minutes later with pillows and fresh sheets and a quilted cream-colored blanket. This man didn't skimp on the bed linens. Even in the lower light, Shannon could tell it was very nice bedding.
When the bed was made, Hunter said “Turn.”
Saskia turned around and pulled her hair up out of the way, as if she knew him so well by now there was no question what he intended. Like this was a private and well-worn ritual between them. It felt almost wrong to watch it unfold.
That was when Shannon noticed Saskia's long black evening gown had what seemed like about a million buttons going down the back of the dress. Hunter carefully unbuttoned each one until he reached the last button at her lower back, then he pushed the straps off her shoulders and let the dress fall.
She wasn't wearing a bra or underwear. She stood now in only a collar and glittering silver strappy high heels.
Hunter knelt to unbuckle and help her out of each shoe. She gripped his shoulders for support. Even though about twenty people fucked in about a dozen lurid displays at the other end of the room, Shannon couldn't take her eyes off the interplay between Hunter and his pet.
He rose and kissed her softly on the mouth. “Go lie down. I'll wake you when it's time to leave.”
Saskia got in under the sheets and laid down on the pillow, but she didn't close her eyes. She just watched him. Hunter's gaze and attention went to Shannon.
“I want her under the spotlight,” he said.
It was only now, in this moment that Shannon realized all of this was being set up for her. The her Hunter wanted under the spotlight, was Shannon. She took an unconscious step back, right into Damian's arms. She hadn't even realized he was behind her or standing so close.
“Be a good girl,” Lindsay said. A warning.
Her heart hammered in her chest. There were so many people down here. The lighting was... strategic. It wasn't stark and bright, but it wasn't like the black lights. Would she be naked down here? The people from the exhibit all seemed wrapped up in their own thing around the room. Maybe they wouldn't pay attention. And Damian and Lindsay had already seen her.
Why would Jacob Hunter want to paint her? What did he see that had made him cart around and unload all his art supplies in the middle of the night to set up this ambush?
Shannon gripped the wrap tightly around herself. She hadn't taken it off once inside Damian's house. There were too many people. She didn't want them to see. She wasn't sure what she was so afraid of. People had seen her back. No one had recoiled in horror or outright rejected her over it.
But still, she was sure they judged, or pitied. And she worried and waited for the moment someone would see them and make her feel broken.
Lindsay held his hand out. “Give me the wrap, Shannon.” When she shook her head furiously, he added, “Now.”
Damian was still at her back. He could rip it off her, but he remained still, waiting, letting Lindsay handle this.
Damian leaned in close to her ear and spoke low. “None of them are paying attention. They're too busy fucking. If you don't make a scene, no one will notice. You notice the scars more than anyone else does.”
Shannon finally nodded and loosened her grip. She took a deep breath and took off the wrap and handed it to Lindsay.
“Good girl,” he soothed. “Now, the dress and panties.”
Damian still stood at her back, shielding her even though no one was directly behind her. Shannon glanced over to the sleeper sofa. Hunter's pet watched her with curiosity, though she seemed like she might drift off at any moment.
She seemed so sweet and vulnerable. And Hunter seemed to adore her. Did other people see that dynamic when they looked at Shannon and Lindsay? She wasn't sure.
“Kitten, do you trust me?”
“Yes, Master.” She did trust him but that didn't make his request any more reasonable.
“Take off the dress and panties,” he said, his voice becoming more stern.
She couldn't bring herself to do it. There were too many people in the room. Someone would gasp when they saw her back, and then everything would stop. She just knew it would. And then she'd have all the wrong kind of attention.
She felt Damian's hands move to gently caress either side of her throat above the collar. Then he'd pushed the straps off her shoulders. The dress fell to her waist, exposing her breasts. Nobody stopped the activities they were engaged in. The only eyes on her across the room now were Lindsay's and the artist's.
Damian stroked and cupped her breasts, his mouth finding the curve of her neck and placing a kiss there. His hands slowly trailed down her sides until they reached her hips and he pushed the dress the rest of the way down until it pooled at her feet.
She wore a delicate black thong made of sheer, barely-there material. The scrap of lingerie was held together by ribbons that had been tied into very small bows, so small they hadn't shown through the dress. Damian didn't carefully remove these like he had the dress. Instead he ripped the panties off her with one quick jerk, exposing her bare waxed pussy to Lindsay and the artist's gaze.
Hunter's pet watched as well, but Shannon didn't concern herself with the woman. Something had passed between her and the other woman, and she knew that girl would never judge her for anything. She felt safe under her gaze. But not so much under Hunter's. Or even Lindsay's. Not in this moment. Both men were far too intense for safety.
Da
mian took her hand and helped her out of the puddle of red fabric. He led her over to stand under the spotlight where the artist wanted her and then he fell back to stand next to Lindsay, both of them now still and quiet, waiting on the artist.
Hunter approached her slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. When he reached her, he closed his eyes and ran his hands over her face as if a blind man seeking to see her in a different way. His eyes remained closed as he stroked her hair, her throat, her shoulders, her breasts, her belly, and hips, between her legs. He worked his way down the entire length of her until he'd touched every inch of her front.
She squeezed her eyes shut as his fingertips grazed the scars that wrapped around to the front.
He righted himself and opened his eyes as if he'd unlocked her innermost secrets with this tactile exploration of her body. Then he drank her in visually. Every inch of her. He stared so hard into her eyes that she flinched and had to fight not to take a step back. Suddenly this man seemed terrifying, and she wondered if his pet had seen this dark side of him. This greedy side that wanted to possess and own everything his gaze fell upon.
That hungry dark gaze drifted down to her breasts and lingered there for a long while as he tweaked her nipples into erect points. He tasted her there, running his tongue across each nipple, sucking first one, then the other into his mouth.
Shannon had forgotten how to breathe and took in a sharp gasp of air when she remembered again. No one had ever looked at her in this way before. The intensity of his eyes upon her felt like a sharp searing burn against each inch of her flesh he memorized.
His gaze fell to the spot between her legs.
“Hold her open for me.”
Damian was the one who moved to answer that command. He stood behind her, spreading her legs and angling and holding her open in a lewd way so that Hunter could see every line and curve that had previously been hidden from him.
The artist pressed a finger inside her and she moaned, her head falling back as she forgot for a moment the all-consuming way he'd just looked at her.
He withdrew the finger and she whimpered at the lost contact. He held her gaze trapped in his as he tasted her, sucking the finger that had just been inside her into his mouth.
