Intimate Exposure

by Portia Da Costa

  Her name was a whisper…and a warning. Of what, she wasn’t sure, but the worst thing she could imagine was that he’d tell her to forget it and that the game was over.

  Nervous and hungry to please him, she strummed her nipples slowly with her fingertips, immediately gasping at their heightened sensitivity. Each light touch was a tongue licking her clitoris. Each light touch brought her dangerously near to orgasm.

  What am I doing? I don’t even think I actually like you, Red Webster, yet you can make me do anything. Make me want to do anything. Everything. Just to please you.

  Red tried to relax, to sit back, watch the show and be the master. It had never been more difficult in his life.

  Desire whirled up in him like a rampaging wind, rattling against the railings of his control as Vicki’s fingers danced. He wanted to plunge at her, man as savage. Take her, have her, punish her, savor her like the fine wine in his glass and drown in everything about her. Her pain. Her pleasure. Her growing enlightenment and her instinctive grasp of everything about the game.

  But he couldn’t do that. For all her obvious affinity for the dance of power and punishment, she was still a novice and he couldn’t go roaring wild with her in the way his body wanted to. He couldn’t grab her and haul her across his lap and smack her bottom until she sobbed, racked by the same lust that tormented him, unable to keep still. He couldn’t arrange her somehow, anyhow, across the limousine’s broad, comfortable seat, then plunge his agonized cock deep, deep into her and fill her up with his hard aching flesh. Fill her and fill her again until they both overflowed into a hot red orgasm.

  As Vicki watched Red’s eyes track her fingers, her mind spun. This strange man and the hold he had over her intoxicated her body and her senses. And yet, rationally, she knew he was the same person who’d annoyed and teased back at work.

  How could that be? Had her mind shut off all that and left just her body and her libido in charge?

  Her circling fingers moved with barely any conscious volition. They glided. They squeezed. Faster and faster, locked in an irresistible vortex. Tension and arousal gathered between her legs, creating a sensation that wasn’t pain yet which gouged at her all the same. Unable to control herself, she shifted her bottom about on the leather, the sticky slide of her pussy unbearably lewd.

  Lost in dark enchantment, she closed her eyes and listened to her own moans and grunts, harsh and wild.

  “Sublime, Vicki…just sublime,” Red whispered. “Now, lift your skirt and part your legs. Show me your pussy, and show me how you play with yourself. I want to see everything.”

  Some last vestiges of rationality finally stalled her. Vicki’s eyes flew open. Oh no, not this…not her most private pleasure.

  “I can’t…”

  “You must, Vicki. Part of the game is that you can’t deny me anything.” His voice was stern and thrilling. “If you want this to end, we can stop right now. I’ll get out here, get a taxi home…and you can have a quiet weekend all on your own.”

  A quiet dull weekend, he seemed to be saying.

  The last vestiges of stubborn, annoyed Vicki wanted to say, “Right. Fine. Fine by me.”

  But it was impossible. It’d be like stopping breathing to refuse him. With trembling hands, she hitched up her skirt and parted her legs.

  “Here, let me help you.”

  Putting his cool hands on her, Red positioned her body, making her lean back against the deep upholstery, one leg stretched out into the footwell, the other across his own lap, her thighs stretched achingly wide and her pussy completely exposed.

  But even that didn’t satisfy him. After a moment’s perusal, he slid his hand beneath her and tilted her pelvis even more, so she was even more open and displayed.

  The smell of sex filled the car, and Vicki prayed that the car’s tinted glass was truly one-way. If it wasn’t, anyone could look in and see her stretched out with her sex on show, pink and moist and glistening.

  “Now continue.” Red’s gaze held hers, his fierce intensity hypnotic at such close quarters.

  Trembling, Vicki cupped her breast with her left hand and slid her right hand between her legs. Her own swimming wetness amazed her, appalled her. She’d never been like this before. She always enjoyed sex but had sometimes been slow to manifest the physical signs of arousal.

  But not with Red Webster. He’d never even touched her clit, and yet she was running like a river for him.

  She began to masturbate, feeling both shy and brazen. It was like being a novice, a virgin, almost, yet at the same time a queen of voluptuous lust. Red’s presence seemed to somehow warp reality.

  She could barely think, only revel in her senses.

  Red himself didn’t touch her. All he did was observe, his unusual eyes glinting, his mouth curved in a slight, sensual smile. And yet as Vicki fingered her clit and twisted and tweaked at her nipples again, she was connected to him, deeply and directly. Despite her initial embarrassment, now she couldn’t look away from him. She just went on slicking, slicking, slicking at herself, her eyes locked with his.

  The slight smile widened, and in her head she heard the words, Good girl. Good girl.

  You bastard! You bastard! You bastard!

  Silently chanting, she glared back, feeling their wills lock and mate with each other. She could taste the sensual wickedness and devilment that drove him. It was what she felt too. They were matched, a complementary pair

  I bet you think you’ve seen everything, don’t you?

  His dark head tilted, as if he’d heard her unvoiced taunt.

  Well, watch this!

  A sudden, outrageous inspiration flashed across her mind, dredged up from some dark, perverse corner she’d never reached before. Aware of Red’s eyes glittering behind their lenses, she reached for the small champagne bottle, put it to her lips and upended it, swallowing all that was left of the superb wine but barely tasting it.

  When the bottle was dry, she reversed it in her hand and, tilting her hips even more, positioned the glass neck of it against the slippery entrance to her sex.

  Red gasped. Triumph surged through Vicki so powerfully that she almost came instantaneously. But somehow, she managed to control the intense waves of pleasure, and slid the neck of the bottle slowly into her body.

  “Oh Vicki, Vicki, Vicki,” Red breathed as she began to pump her makeshift dildo in and out. And as her hot flesh clenched hungrily at the cool, silky glass, her elation soared and rocketed with the same intensity as her pleasure.

  There was nothing impassive and detached about Red Webster now. He was lit from within by lust, and across his cheekbones there was a high flush of arousal. He swallowed, and his white teeth flashed, his smile not mocking or amused anymore but shot through with wonder.

  And it was that expression, that dazzling glow, that tipped her over into an immense wrenching orgasm. Her flesh pulsed deep and hard around the intrusion, and her hips worked so furiously that it almost slipped out of her.

  As she almost blacked out, the pleasure too intense to be borne, a big, strong hand closed gently around her smaller one.

  Red steadied the bottle to keep it safely in its place.

  Chapter Four

  Reclining back in the bath, up to her chin in bubbles, Vicki smirked as she brought her mineral water to her lips. It was going to be difficult looking at any kind of bottle from now on, after what she’d done with the champagne bottle in the limousine.

  Look what you’ve done, Red Webster. You’ve made me into a wicked degenerate.

  Setting her Evian aside, she floated in the scented water, just letting herself null out rather than analyze what was happening to her. She’d had the most magnificent orgasm, lolling across Red’s lap like an odalisque with the neck of the champagne bottle inside her, and now she was relaxed and full of delicious well-being.

  After she’d come back to earth, she’d fully expected Red to demand some kind of quid pro quo, but again he’d surprised her. He’d been erect—his co
ck like an iron bar against her thigh—but all he’d done was give her one of his perplexing smiles and murmur, “Later.”

  He’d helped her dress again, straightening her cardigan and skirt once she’d wiggled into her knickers, then handing her the ruined remnants of her bra and her camisole so she could hide them away safely in her bag.

  After that, it’d been barely ten minutes’ more drive before they’d arrived at their destination.

  Ah yes, their destination. Vicki glanced around happily.

  She was in a beautiful Art Deco bathroom, in possibly the best suite in one of the most gorgeous hotels in the country.

  The Ivory Pavilion, yet another Shanley holding, stood on a high promontory, commanding its own private bay like an ocean liner from the golden age of glamour, frozen in time and set on dry land. As Red had helped her from the limousine and led her into the lobby, a delicious air of luxury and sophistication had seemed to reach out and envelop her like a vintage satin wrap.

  The entire atmosphere of the Pavilion was hushed, rarefied and discreet. Drifting around the lobby while Red dealt with check-in, she’d formed the impression that it was a place where anything was possible. A magical aura hung in the air, like an external embodiment of the secret realm she enjoyed with Red in their sexual dealings.

  Everything was tasteful. Everything was immaculate and stylish. Yet every sense in her body told her she was in a den of erotic decadence. It was like being in a thirties movie—all it lacked was a hawkish Sheikh with his hand up the skirt of a promiscuous Good Time Girl in the shadows.

  And I’ve just let my own Valentino bamboozle me into sharing a suite with him?

  Red had definitely tampered with the bookings. She hadn’t been able to make out what he’d said to the receptionist, but there had definitely been complicity in their hushed voices and the woman’s faint smile. Vicki had no idea if this sumptuous suite was actually part of their sweepstake prize, but she didn’t care. The take-charge woman she usually was had somehow got left behind at Wickham-Drake.

  Is this part of the sex? The submission? It could be, but it also felt suspiciously like having finally found a man she trusted to take care of her.

  Unsettling thoughts began to stir and turn over in her mind, their tricky undulations disturbing her relaxation. Suddenly, she didn’t want to be in here, lolling around in scented foam all on her own. She wanted to be out in the sitting room, trying to understand the complex and mysterious man with whom she’d become so inextricably involved.

  As she toweled herself off and applied moisturizer to her face and body, she became aware of voices in the room beyond. They were muted, indecipherable, but the quality of the sound suggested that Red was watching television.

  Slipping on her kimono, Vicki decided to join him, and as she turned the cut-crystal door handle, her heart fluttered dangerously.

  A unexpectedly domestic scene met her eyes, despite the high-glamour décor and the luxuriousness of every fitting and item of furniture in the room. Red was sitting in one of the capacious Lloyd Loom chairs, wearing a white toweling dressing gown, sipping a cup of tea, his long legs stretched out in front of him, utterly relaxed.

  We could be an old married couple. Missus having a bath while Mister watches the telly.

  The bizarre thought rocked her. She tamped it down immediately, but a vague sense of unease told her it was only banished to her subconscious.

  Don’t be silly, Vicki. He and I are nothing like that.

  Turning his attention from the screen, Red set aside his cup and stood, the looming quality of his imposing body not in the least diminished by the soft fluffiness of his cuddly robe. It was the first time Vicki had ever seen him in anything but dark, sober clothing, and it was a shock to the system. Yet even in a perfectly normal, if high-end, bathrobe, Red still retained his pervading aura of shadow and mystery.

  “Enjoy your bath?” he inquired.

  Vicki nodded, trying to work out if there had been any kind of innuendo in the question. Any implication that she might have been touching herself while she soaked. But it seemed there was none. It’d just been a companionable enquiry.

  “Tea?” He nodded towards the chic white tea service laid out on a black lacquer tray on the small table beside his chair.

  “Yeah, that’d be great,” she answered, suddenly feeling nervous and awkward. How could things be so…so…ordinary between them? After what had happened in the car. With the bottle.

  Red stared at her steadily, his curious eyes assessing behind his spectacles. She could almost feel him monitoring her every thought and reaction. It was obvious he was a uniquely empathic man and that he understood before she did what she wanted and needed. He was the one who’d suggested she take some “me” time for a long soak in the bath.

  “Don’t worry, Vicki,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper as he took the two long paces that brought him to her side. Looking down on her, he stared into her eyes, his own warm and startlingly kind. “There’s no pressure on you… Just relax. Let’s see what happens.” His large hand cupped her cheek, the gesture so tender that she couldn’t help but sway into it.

  “We’re on holiday. We don’t have to do anything we don’t want to, do we?”

  “I suppose not.” The tremble in her own voice was quite alarming.

  What is he doing to me? How can this be happening? Only a few days ago I hated the sight of him, and now, oh God, now, everything’s changing.

  Had she made a huge mistake? Agreeing to a no-strings weekend to explore her secret sexual urges had seemed great in theory, but what would happen if she suddenly started to want strings? And a bond that was nothing to do with BDSM games?

  Don’t be a fool, Vick. All he wants is couple of exciting erotic days, then it’ll be “So long, it’s been fun, good luck with your life.”

  Stiffening, she drew away from him and his broad brow puckered, as if for once, he was wondering if he’d misread her.

  “How about that tea, then?” she prompted, flashing him a smile to defuse the moment, then nodding towards the tray as she pulled forward a second Lloyd Loom chair and set it adjacent to the small table.

  Red tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Of course,” he said, his voice vague, unsettling. He seemed to be watching her closely as she flopped down into the woven chair.

  Stalemate. Red’s hands were quick and deft as he prepared her a perfect cup of tea without even asking how she took it. His wary composure troubled her and she suppressed a sigh.

  Not playing elaborate sex games with Red Webster was as tricky and potentially perilous as playing them was.

  But a few moments later, as she sipped one of the most delicious cups of tea she’d ever tasted, Vicki’s disquiet faded. The large widescreen television, which had previously been concealed in a rather magnificent inlaid cabinet with a stylized sunburst design, was showing the most distracting video.

  It was a scene that could have come straight out of one of her favorite fantasies.

  Seen from above, a young woman was standing in the center of a circle of chairs. Interested observers lounged at their ease, appraising her as if she was the prize exhibit in a sophisticated slave market. She was naked, save for a tiny tightly laced corset that barely covered anything but cinched in her waist to an almost impossible smallness. A black leather collar circled her throat and she was teetering on a pair of impossibly high black patent leather high heels, her feet tilted at a precarious angle.

  The expression on the woman’s face was hard to fathom. Her eyes were very bright, anxious but excited. She kept glancing around, then suddenly and very studiously staring down at the toes of her absurd shoes.

  It’s difficult, isn’t it? Being a good submissive.

  Vicki’s sympathy reached out to the woman on the screen. Would she herself be able to maintain the correct decorum? That’d always been in her mind as she’d read O and other such material. The idea of being under a man’s control, and punished by
him, thrilled her, but she was a strong-minded person too.

  Stealing a quick glance at Red, she caught her breath. He was watching her, not the screen. Was he wondering if she could ever be an ideal slave? Would he be disappointed when it turned out she was just too stubborn? She wanted what she wanted, and she couldn’t suppress her own will.

  Returning her attention to the corseted woman, Vicki saw that a man had joined her in the limelight. He was lean and blond and wore leather jeans, a heavy belt and high boots, but nothing else. With almost languid assurance, he reached out and roughly handled the woman’s bare breast, twisting and tweaking the nipple just as Red had handled her own. Unsurprisingly, his victim wriggled, and Vicki’s own hips were suddenly energized too. She shifted her thighs uneasily in her chair, acutely aware that Red was still watching her. It was difficult to tell which was most arousing—observing the video or being observed herself.

  Feeling those demonic eyes track her every move, she set aside her cup. She might as well have been drinking pond water now.

  The slave must be moaning. The young woman’s lips were parted, but there seemed to be no soundtrack. The loaded silence only intensified the action. It also meant that if Vicki made even the slightest sound herself, Red would hear it.

  More men now moved forward, fondling and groping the submissive en masse, their greedy fingers cruising all over her body and slipping into the most intimate areas, making her rise even higher on her toes.

  The young woman was being handled like a stock animal. She ought to be experiencing the depths of shame, but the expression on her face was rapturous. Her painted mouth was slack with desire, and she was slowly tossing her head from side to side.

  “Would you like that?”

  Vicki’s gaze flew towards Red, a hot flush staining her cheeks. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be felt up by a whole tribe of men, but her body still reacted, heating up and stirring.

  “I don’t know.”