by Deena Ward
“Lilly,” he said, “It’s good to see you again.” He smiled when he said it. He had sexy lips, well-defined.
Lilly squirmed in her seat next to me. She made a jerky sort of nod then looked down at her drink and began playing with the swizzle stick.
“Who’s your friend?” he asked, then he turned to look at me.
He had the most stunning blue eyes. They were that uncommon light blue, like wolf eyes. I felt a tiny curl of movement in my lower belly. It wasn’t at all like what I had felt the first time I saw The Businessman. But it was something. It was most definitely something.
I smiled at him while Lilly made an awkward introduction. His name was Michael Weston. He asked if he could sit and I nodded. I scooted over toward the center of the booth to give him room to sit next to me, of course.
I wanted to talk to Michael, but not so much that I hadn’t noticed Lilly’s discomfort upon seeing him. Quickly, before Michael was settled, I whispered to Lilly, “Is he the one who stood you up tonight?”
“No, he’s not,” she said, her voice clipped.
“An ex?”
“No.”
“Oh,” was all I said, then dropped it.
Michael leaned back in the booth beside me, his arm draping casually on the top of the back cushion. He was a man who knew how to be at ease.
“So, Nonnie, how do you know Lilly?” he asked me.
I told him how we had met that night, and that we had decided to come check out this place because she had been here before, and so on. He listened with interest and kept a friendly smile on his face.
“And what’s your verdict?” he asked. “Do you think this is a sex club?”
“I have no idea,” I answered. “Maybe you could tell me.”
“Better yet,” he said, “Why don’t you tell me what you hope it is?”
I smiled. I couldn’t help but be flattered that such an attractive man was flirting with me. “Well, I guess I hope it’s a sex club. If it’s a regular club I won’t have a good story to tell my friends when they ask me what I did tonight.”
“Ah, I see. Then you’re more interested in a story than in the truth.” His natural charm and easy grin took the implied sting out of his statement.
“I wouldn’t say that. I was just being flippant, really.”
“You’re attractive when you’re flippant.”
Oh my. Lilly interrupted the exchange, saying in a jumble that she had to go to the bathroom, and then she was off in something of a rush.
Michael and I didn’t even glance at her as she left. We chatted and lightly flirted for a few more minutes, mostly talking about the decor of the club and our fellow club-goers. Soon the conversation turned back to the true nature of the nightclub.
He leaned toward me and said, “Flippancy aside, tell me, what really does interest you more? Fantasy or reality?”
“I have to think there’s a place for both, depending on the circumstances.”
He gave a quick glance down at my hands which were holding my drink, then back up at my face. “What if I were to tell you that this place both is and is not a sex club?”
“I’d say I don’t know what you mean.”
His voice was smooth and deep. “It is a sex club in that some people come here to find others of a similar mindset, and to engage them sexually. For them this is real. They live a certain kind of life. Other people come here out of curiosity and find that they’re unprepared for the reality of their fantasies. For them, this is not a sex club; it’s a place of titillation and dreams.”
“In other words,” I said, “some are tourists and some are locals.”
“Exactly. And you can’t tell which is which by what they’re wearing.”
I looked back out into the crowd. A woman in skintight leather pants and a leather vest three sizes too small tottered around in a pair of six-inch-high heels. Tourist or local?
“What about her?” I asked. “Which is she?”
He glanced at her for a moment then back to me. “She’s a local,” he said with no hesitation.
“How do you know?”
His eyes bore into mine, as if he were contemplating his next words. My stomach gave a little flip-flop.
Finally, he said, “I know because several months ago I took her into one of the rooms in the back. I stripped her naked, chained her to a rack and whipped her until I didn’t feel like whipping her anymore.”
Good God. My stomach clenched tight. Was he serious? He was serious. No one could look at his face and not know he was serious. I looked back into the crowd to find the woman he had whipped. There she was. She seemed fine. She was flirting with an older, grey-haired man wearing khaki pants. Would he be the next man to whip her? Would he do it tonight? Would he wear those pants?
Good God.
I suddenly found it impossible to look at Michael. I had no idea what to say.
I jumped a bit when he touched my hand, but I didn’t pull away.
He said, “It’s okay that you’re a tourist ... for now.”
I shook my head. No, I was neither tourist nor local. I was just out on a lark. “I’m just ... you took me aback is all. I didn’t ...”
“Don’t deny your curiosity,” he said, his tone soothing my discomfort. “How can you ever know what you want if you don’t ask yourself what it might be?”
He held my hand in his large, tanned one. “Look at that lady over there, the one wearing the green dress with the sequins.”
I saw her. I couldn’t miss her, actually, what with the sparkles and all.
“She is a tourist,” he said. “There are some things we might know about her. Maybe a boyfriend once gave her a playful swat on her butt while he was fucking her, and she felt a little thrill, and she wondered what it would be like if he had struck her harder.”
He continued, “Or maybe her husband once tied her to the bedposts, lightly of course, so that she could easily free herself if she wanted. It was exciting for her, but she wondered what it would be like if he had bound her to those posts so tightly she would never be able to free herself on her own. She wondered what it would be like to truly be at someone else’s mercy, someone who could and would do as he pleased.”
At some point while he spoke, I had turned my eyes to his. Beautiful blue eyes. Wicked blue eyes making sensual promises to me that I was certain he could keep. And I thought, he could be right. Maybe I am like the woman in the green dress. But he didn’t know it all. He couldn’t know about the dark corridor and a silken tie.
Michael said, “I think you may have had such moments, or something like them ... and I think that’s what brought you here tonight. You didn’t want a story to tell your friends. You wanted an actual experience.”
Maybe he was right about that. I said, “Perhaps.”
He grinned an evil little grin. “We could find out, you know.”
I drew back, “Nooo, not a chance. You’re not strapping me down and whipping me. Hell no.”
He laughed and took my hand. “You misunderstand me. My mistake. I would never treat a visitor in such a way, unless, of course, she begged me.”
I gulped, “Yeah, well ...”
“No worries. I know I’m moving fast for you, but that’s just how we are here.” He shrugged. “We’ve learned not to beat around the bush and waste our time on small talk, or at least not much of it. Whether you’ll say it or not, you know why you’re here. Everyone knows why they’re here, so why pretend otherwise?”
I shrugged, wondering. There was an honesty that I couldn’t deny. I mean, I had gone out this evening seeking a man who would probably be right at home in this sex club. So what did that say about me? When Lilly offered to bring me here, I didn’t say no. I wanted to come and see, and not because of some silly reason like entertaining my friends.
So yes, there was truth in what he said. But there was also a coldness, a lack of concern, a something that was too casual for me, nearly anonymous.
At last I only said,
“I understand what you’re saying.”
“Good,” he said, squeezing my hand. “What do you say we try an experiment?”
“What kind of experiment?”
He laughed at my expression, which I’m sure was the definition of skeptical. “Just a little something,” he said, “to help us begin to know what it is you want.”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Hear me out,” he said. One of his fingers lightly stroked my palm. I enjoyed the tiny shivers it sent up my arm.
“Okay,” I said.
“I find you very attractive,” he said. “I think you know this.”
“I guess ... yes.”
“And you’re attracted to me.”
I smiled a bit and admitted that yes, clearly I was.
He said, “I like many things that I can see of you, but right now, there are two things I would like to see more of. One is here.” He released my hand and ran a feather touch at the base of my throat, near my collarbone. I let him touch me.
“You’re so beautifully delicate right here. Many women are. It’s one of my favorite spots on a woman’s body. It’s the hollow between your bones.” His fingers slid gently over my shoulders.
He continued, slow and sexy, “I like to imagine I have poured a spoonful of honey in that delicate hollow and that I’m going to lick it off of you.”
Mmm. I could practically feel him doing it as he spoke.
“That is one thing,” he said. “The other thing is cleavage. Your breasts seem to be lovely from what I can see. They suit your frame. I would like to see more, but not all. Not yet. I just want to see the top of your bra, to see the upper curve of your breasts and the valley in between.”
He leaned back into his former leisurely recline picked up his drink and smiled at me.
“So,” he said, “the experiment is this. Right here, right now, I want you to unbutton three buttons on your shirt and then pull it open far enough that I can see your collarbones and the tops of your breasts. Sounds like a fair beginning.”
“But there are people everywhere. They’ll see.”
“So? It’s not like you’ll be naked in front of them.”
“Well, no but ...”
“Many of them are wearing practically nothing and no one’s fussing about it. I can assure you that revealing your bra will not get you arrested for public indecency. Not here, anyway.” He grinned.
“What about Lilly?” I asked, disconcerted and then guilty when I realized I hadn’t given a single thought to the girl since she left. Where was she? Good grief. I was as bad as my friends. “She should be coming back soon. How long has she been gone?”
“Lilly already came back,” he said to my surprise. “She took a look at us, knew she shouldn’t interrupt and went elsewhere. Where she went, exactly, I don’t know ... or care.”
“Really? I mean about Lilly seeing us and leaving?”
“Lilly isn’t as innocent as she appears. Like you.”
I had a passing thought that he and Lilly must be more than casual acquaintances, but I had other concerns at the moment. Michael’s tourist test.
“Okay, I’ll forget about Lilly for now. But look, I don’t know what to do ... about this idea of yours, this test,” I said, being as honest I could.
I really didn’t know. I wanted to do it, deep down I knew I did, but I also didn’t want to. The idea made my heart beat a little quicker. It also made me afraid. I don’t think the fear was of Michael or other people seeing me in my bra. It was a fear of something more than that.
“No problem,” said Michael. “I’ll make it simple.” He slowly looked down at my breasts then back up into my eyes. “You can say no and I’ll shake your hand and leave you in peace. Or, you can do as I’ve asked. It would please me to see more of you. It would also please me for others to see more of you.”
He paused a moment for that to sink in, then continued with, “If pleasing me is appealing to you, you’ll take this opportunity to do as I ask. By pleasing me, you’ll please yourself, or at least, that is one thing we might discover, yes?”
I nodded.
“No rush,” he said. “Think about it.” And he sipped his drink as he looked away from me, his gaze wandering out into the club at large.
I reached for the top button of my blouse and held it. It was only three buttons. Just three. What would it be like to do this? It was nothing. Practically nothing anyway. I wanted to know what it would feel like, to do this little thing he asked. To please him. To please myself.
I unbuttoned the top button. No harm in that. It showed nothing. Then the second button. I revealed some cleavage. Nothing much. But the third button ...
I couldn’t look up to see who might be watching me. I wasn’t even sure Michael was watching, I was so focused on that third button. Heat rose in my face as I considered what I was about to do. That button seemed a long way down my shirt. Well below my breastbone. If I undid it I’d expose more than just the top of my bra.
I took a breath, and I unbuttoned the third button.
Michael said, “Excellent! Now spread your blouse open so I can see what I wanted to see.”
I looked up at him, but he was looking at my hands. Slowly, I opened my shirt, revealing my chest to him. I laid the shirt back and down, creating a long deep V that basically showed everything. My bra was a demi-cup, so if it was cleavage he had wanted, he certainly got it.
A lazy smile played across Michael’s face as he perused my shoulders and breasts. “Beautiful,” he said. “And a relief. I’m glad to see it’s all you filling up those cups.”
My face grew ever hotter. “God, that’s embarrassing. You wanted to see if I stuff my bra?”
“Yes, that’s what I wanted. And I don’t care if it’s embarrassing.”
I felt a lurch between my legs. I asked, “How long do I have to stay like this?”
“You can stop whenever you want, but if you want to please me, you’ll leave your shirt open, drop your hands to your lap and leave them there until I tell you otherwise.”
It was the casual way he said it. Casual, yes, but with an undertone of command. It reminded me of my time in a dark corridor with a different man. The trembling sensation in my stomach grew. I did as Michael asked.
He said nothing to me. He just looked. A leisurely exploration of my shoulders and the rounded tops of my breasts. It was thrilling and embarrassing all at the same time. He was pleased. I could see that. And he was right, in that his pleasure was clearly doing something for me as well. I felt strung tight and my heartbeat was picking up tempo.
The rest of the room had faded away, and it was only me and Michael, but then he said, “I want you to look into the crowd out there and see who’s looking at you.”
Of course, I thought. The crowd. The people who might be watching. He had wanted them to see me. I moved my eyes to look at the rest of the room, but I didn’t actually look at anyone. I cheated, basically.
He wasn’t fooled. “Look at them. You aren’t looking. I can tell.”
I wanted to diffuse the sexual tension between us by challenging him, lying and telling him I was too looking at the people. Cowardice on my part. I took a breath to ready myself, and then I looked, actually looked out into the club.
“Many people are looking at you,” Michael said, his voice like a stimulant to me. “The people who know this is a sex club are thinking I’m a lucky man to have found someone with potential.”
I looked. Though there were at least several hundred people in the club, no more than thirty or forty of them were in a position to see me, and not all of them were looking in my direction. Still, it seemed an enormous number of people.
I saw them, the men and women looking at my breasts. But they weren’t just looking there. They looked into my eyes as well. As I met one person’s eyes then moved to the next, I saw that they already understood what I was just beginning to understand. A feeling pulsed inside me. It shortened my breath and my blood began to thr
um through my veins. It was a luscious wave of sensation that I would never stop of my own will.
I knew this thrumming in my body wasn’t caused by my embarrassment that strangers were looking at my cleavage. I knew it. And I knew that Michael and the people in the crowd, also weren’t solely turned on by the display of my breasts.
It was sensual and thrilling not just because of the result, but also because of the action. I had done what he had asked of me, and I had done it because it pleased him. I had done it even though I was embarrassed. Even though a big part of me didn’t want to, I had done it anyway.
I had put myself on display because it pleased him. And the unasked question in the air was, what else would I do to please him?
I think Michael must have sensed my revelation. He reached out and ran a finger along the edge of my bra, tantalizing the tops of my breasts along the way. I didn’t stop him. I wanted him to do as he pleased, now, to keep the thrum rushing through my body.
He hooked a lone finger under the filmy lace at the top of my bra. Pushing his finger farther down under the fabric, the back of his fingernail rubbed against my nipple. I didn’t need to look down to see what he was doing. I watched the crowd, like he wanted me to do.
He made a sound of enjoyment as the back of his finger stroked me and my nipple grew harder, an animate tingling thing. The people watching me were no longer looking at my face. They watched what Michael was doing to my breast, under cover of white lace.
Some of them smiled idly, some leered, some might have been jealous, and some of them wanted to be Michael, or to join Michael. The thought didn’t frighten me. It excited me. I was with Michael alone. The other people could take only what he gave them.
Michael’s touches had raised the game to a different level, I suppose. But I wasn’t thinking about that at the time. I was in the thrall of this new thing, this new experience. My senses were on full alert. I heard the driving beat of the dance music. I smelled Michael’s cologne and the sweetness of the remains of my cocktail sitting on the table, the sharp scent of my aroused and heated skin. I felt every millimeter of Michael’s finger, the smooth arc of its rise and fall over my breast, the curious pressure of his touch, the tweak of a fingernail’s scratch as it passed the sides of my nipple.
