Not that it would have mattered if I did use it in the stall, because I wouldn’t have been heard over the crashing din that occurred outside as the toilet’s flush dissolved into the silence. I was just about to slide open the deadbolt on my stall door when I peered through the slit to see two bodies, joined at the tits, tumbling to the couch.
Terrific. Blondie and her lover had decided to blow off their steam, and each other, right here. No doubt the sofa had weathered more explicit use over the years, but this was the not the kind of spying I was being paid to do. I could take pictures of the tryst, yes, but the result would more than likely end up as printouts tacked to the bulletin board in the break room than on the front page. And I wouldn’t get credit, or a raise.
So there I stood, like a perverted idiot, watching these two women kiss and paw at each other. Soon a flash of white covered my vision, and I realized the blouse had come flying off of Blondie. Her back was to me, obscuring the other woman, whose nimble fingers tapped a happy beat along the back bra strap before undoing the hooks. Lace cups slid away, and Blondie’s back arched to accommodate her lover’s face between her ample, heaving breasts.
And I looked down at myself to discover that my hand somehow slipped under my skirt and now stroked my pussy. My forefinger breached the crotch of my panties and scraped at my slick labia.
Then came that all-too familiar commercial jingle, pounding in my ears. Libby’s, Libby’s, Libby’s, on the something something something...
Shit! What was wrong with me? This kind of shit wasn’t supposed to turn me on at all. I fast-forward the obligatory girl-on-girl scenes in porn, so why was this happening?
Muffled endearments interrupted me, and I tried to right myself. I adjusted my skirt and wiped my fingers clean across my backside. I had to get the hell out of here.
Question was, should I make myself known, or try to slip away unnoticed? Various reactive scenarios rotated in my mind. It should be simple to just leave the stall, wash my hands, and walk away without saying anything. I didn’t know if stuff like this happened all the time at Club Virgo, but I hoped there was some precedent set as far as bathroom protocol was concerned. I hoped for another patron to happen upon the scene and provide me with some guidance, or even a disruption, so I could leave.
Of course, if a third person did arrive and decide to join in on the fun, then what? Don’t mind me, just passing through. Oh, if you use that stall, you need to jiggle the handle...
On the couch, the darker woman’s head lolled back and forth, eyes closed, the corner of her smile barely visible as she nipped at Blondie’s breasts. A faint zipping sound told me neither was in a rush to leave, but as Blondie stood, allowing her jeans to slide to the floor, I was told something else entirely, that kept me quiet and rooted to the spot.
This Blondie was a different woman, as was her partner.
Her partner, though shadowed in the dim of the lounge area, was not a young, raven-haired woman. This woman was older than most patrons I’d seen tonight, and definitely not a butch.
This woman was Ellyn Grizzard.
Chapter Five
She must have come in just as I entered the ladies’ room, which was situated on the far end of the building, past the dance floor and away from the entrance. Entirely possible to show up in the brief time I had my gaze turned away, especially if she had enough clout to bypass the bouncer or come in through some private back entrance reserved for celebrities. Who knew?
She wasn’t one to waste time, either. Ellyn and her playmate attacked each other with all the enthusiasm of drunken participants in an exploitation video advertised on cable television at one in the morning. I caught a flash of silver hues as Ellyn’s head bobbed briefly forward under the lights; her partner raked eager fingers through the pouf, bouncing as Ellyn’s tongue flicked at a nipple.
Squeamish to witness, yes, but strangely erotic at the same time. Ellyn hardly looked the amateur, the coquettish older woman seeking the pleasure of a first lesbian experience. Here she was a master, playing the young blonde’s body like a finely tuned violin. She plucked at the strings of her lover’s thong with one hand while the other disappeared before the blonde’s abdomen, presumably to strum a melody on her clit.
Given the way the blonde’s face contorted and her body tensed, I could easily discern that Ellyn hit all the right notes. My blood pulsed and quickened in my veins, my hands twitched and my pussy contracted. Every nerve screamed silently in envy, so rapt with voyeurism that it was a wonder I didn’t expire from a heart attack when I felt a hand brush across my waist.
Wha—? I nearly orgasmed by default. My skin erupted in fresh goose flesh. Dry lips brushed my cheek, and Mark’s voice tickled.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he whispered.
“Wha...?” How in the hell did he get into this stall without my knowing? The building had no windows, and I know I didn’t see him slip into the ladies room, period. How did he get into the club, for that matter? Surely a testosterone alarm would have sounded.
But his right hand snaked around to clamp my mouth before I could ask. “I’ll explain later,” he said. “Don’t blow our cover.”
Our cover? Like hell was he getting credit for this story. Of course, I hadn’t planned on making noise. I was a seasoned enough reporter to keep my cool, even in the presence of people who could allegedly materialize out of thin air. But, one story at a time.
Thankfully, Mark hadn’t restrained me, so I could reach for my purse...
But Mark swatted my arm away. “Not yet,” he whispered. His voice caressed my ear. The heat shot straight down my chest and radiated through my limbs, pooling in my belly and spilling into my pussy. I threatened to melt right there and mess this club’s nice clean bathroom floor.
Ellyn and her playmate carried on, oblivious. As I wavered side to side in Mark’s loose grip, I caught snatches of the scene through the slit separating the door and stall.
“What do you see?” he asked.
I tested my voice in the confines of the stall with a light gasp. When Ellyn and the blonde didn’t cease, I turned to speak directly into Mark’s ear. He smelled of soap and mint gum, and his touch was pure fire that I didn’t want extinguished.
“Ellyn Grizzard’s making out with some chick,” I hissed. “I need to take a picture so I can get this over with.”
“No, wait.” Mark gripped my waist and pulled me closer to him. I fell against hard muscle, and pointed, rock-hard nipples brushed my shoulder blades. I shivered. The way his hand felt, sliding up and down my waist, made it difficult to protest. What I couldn’t understand was why Mark was holding me back. Despite our good-natured rivalry at the paper, he supported my writing, and as such should have wanted me to reel in these fish. He did well enough on his own landing stories. I couldn’t see him trying to take this byline from me.
“No.” Every nerve in my body cried for more attention, every shred of common sense fought the desire. Amazing that a simple stroke to the arm could render it useless. I hadn’t the strength to lift my hand and get my purse.
So I waited, and watched. At least, I tried to watch but my eyes misted over with unshed tears. I couldn’t decide if they were borne of misery, watching what could have been the beginning of a legitimate career in journalism dissolve as Ellyn tapered off her passionate kisses. I had to admit the ache of sexual want was also a possibility for my clouded vision. Hormones quickly usurped common sense. I should have been fighting Mark and reaching for my cell to take pictures. Instead, all I could think about was that deliciously hard cock rubbing against my ass as Mark shifted behind me. All I could think about was whether or not there was enough room for me to lift my skirt, brace the stall, and have Mark fuck me from behind.
Well, I could add extra-sensory perception to the growing list of his otherworldly talents. His fingers stretched and spanned my abdomen, then slid slowly down the front panel of my miniskirt. “Like what you see?” Mark’s low, husky tone grazed t
he outer shell of my ear, and his tongue quickly followed. It dabbed my earlobe and traced the inner curves. I felt the sensation pool in my belly and swell in my pussy. Thankfully, Mark quietly slid his hand under my skirt to rub away the throbbing ache.
“Like what I feel,” I murmured back. The scene inside the stall trumped anything happening elsewhere in Club Virgo. Let the old preacher lady get her jollies, it couldn’t be entirely unbiblical. If the Lord helped those who help themselves, He’d have to be extra generous to Ellyn, who sounded as though she was helping herself to her lover’s pussy, if the other woman’s orgasmic cries were any indication.
A thick finger breached the tight elastic of my panties and gently stroked my inner pussy lips. I spread my legs further apart to allow him better access. Mark, exhibiting that great journalistic instinct, delved deep to scrape my spot. What little I could see through the slit in the door faded to white as the orgasm hit.
Good thing I had Mark’s free hand to muffle my cry. I bit down so hard I thought my teeth might meet and take away a good chunk of flesh. It surprised me to hear no cries of pain from Mark. Either he was a pain slut of the highest order or a master of restraint.
Blondie Two, clearly, was not. Her hollow moaning rang throughout the ladies’ room and faded quickly into the quieter squeaking of the sofa springs underneath the two women. Spent, I closed one eye on the slit and caught the last bounce, the last wave of orgasm, and a sticky yet satisfied grin on the preacher’s face.
Blondie Two righted herself—clothing, hair, and shoes—and wobbled to a standing position as Ellyn merely crossed her legs and straightening her posture. The older woman took on a sudden professional air, as if she had been merely counseling the girl.
“How about a drink?” the blonde purred.
“Give me a second,” Ellyn said politely, “order whatever you want on my tab.” She reached for her purse and plucked a wrinkled cigarette pack from it. Lighting one, she waved the girl away with it. Wispy gray lines of smoke circled Ellyn like a fallen halo as she enjoyed a few good post-coital puffs.
Damn it. No point in taking pictures now. Ellyn Grizzard with a cigarette pinched between her lips was hardly as news making as a stranger’s pussy half-obscuring her face. I leaned back and settled myself in Mark’s embrace, hoping the old woman’s afterglow would end quickly so I could leave undetected.
Mark bent close to my ear and whispered, “She’s waiting for you.”
What? I looked down at my shoes. Shit. All this time, I hadn’t given thought to crouching on the toilet so I couldn’t be seen. Surely the woman wasn’t expecting me to come skulking out of the stall like a guilty child finishing confession. Now there was an image, considering...
Mark nudged my neck, and indication to keep quiet. I did, and soon Ellyn enjoyed a last long drag, ground the cigarette into the coffee table, and left.
I watched the tiny glowing pinpricks disappear into the dim. “Now that wasn’t very nice,” I said.
“Did you see how Ellyn tilted her head back, to be better seen under the lights?” Mark asked.
I turned as he released his hold on me. I still couldn’t believe he had managed to slip into the stall without my knowing. I checked the wall behind him. True, it was possible he could have been hiding in another stall and slipped underneath to catch me, but how would he have known I was in here. Had he been hiding out in this bathroom since before it opened?
The questions echoed in my head, but my heart didn’t seem to want them answered. The smoldering look on Mark’s face was hypnotic, turning the questions into jumbled nonsense, rearranging the words in my mind to ask instead when he was going to touch me again.
“Did you see?” Mark repeated, urgent this time.
“I’m lucky I can see you right now. My head is spinning.”
Mark tilted his head back in demonstration. “She wanted to be seen by you, Lib.”
“Really?” I couldn’t stifle the smirk. “So she’s into being watched.” Made sense. A woman on national television probably couldn’t shake the desire for an audience.
Mark wasn’t as amused. “Not exactly. She wanted to be seen by you in particular.”
“What?”
“Observe.” And Mark led me by the hand toward the exit.
“Observe,” I snorted. “I’ve done plenty of that for one night.” Another thing I observed was the overall lack of reaction among Club Virgo’s patrons upon seeing a man threading through the crowd toward the front door. Even the pit bull guarding the door didn’t flinch.
“Later, Diane,” he told her.
“Uh, sure, Mark,” she said, sounding uneasy.
“You know her?” I asked, bewildered.
“Yeah, I’ve been here before with Alissa.” He turned back to me with a smile. “Research.”
Uh-huh. Maybe he knew Lana, too. That would explain the possibility of sneaking through a back door so he wouldn’t be seen. Maybe a girl as desperate as the mythical Lana would switch teams if the opportunity came along.
The parking lot was bumper to bumper with parked cars, yet nearly empty of people. A lone figure beat a hasty retreat toward the back, her head bowed. Her familiar pouf of silver hair glowed in the stale light of the few surrounding lampposts. I tried to quicken our forward pace, but Mark’s lead was too strong. He pulled me to one side and we circumnavigated the lot, crouching behind cars until we found the perfect shield in a minivan.
Ellyn Grizzard stood five cars away alongside a sedan that was not her signature ride, fumbling inside her purse. She produced a cell phone, punched a few buttons, and stared up into the nearest lamppost as she waited for the other end to acknowledge. Her words were inaudible, but I could detect a change in her voice that definitely wasn’t affected by the weather.
I turned to Mark to say something but he put a finger to his lips. With his other hand he pointed at my purse, slung around my shoulder. Cell phone, he mouthed.
I got out my phone. “Just watch her,” he hissed. “And record everything.”
I did as Mark requested. I held the camera before me and through the lens I watched Ellyn hang up her phone and take a deep breath. What breath I had in my lungs escaped in shocked silence as the reed-thin woman wavered then expanded in form. She was morphing into another shape, another person!
Gone was the pouf of silver cotton candy, the sticky fingers, and pointed features. In their place were the pudgier digits and balding melon of Yale Barnes.
“Fu—” I had to cup my free hand underneath the phone to keep it from falling to the ground, I nearly dropped it in fright. How in the hell did that happen—Ellyn Grizzard turning into my boss, like she was some kind of alien? My jaw remained locked in place, gaping wide open as Yale calmly slipped inside the car and puttered away.
Neither Mark nor I said a word until Yale’s car turned a corner and disappeared. “Did you get it?” Mark asked.
“Oh, yeah.”
“The shift,” Mark urged, “did you record the actual shift?”
“Huh?” I checked my phone and there it was, playing back like a blockbuster movie trailer downloaded from the Internet. I hadn’t imagined it.
Gently, Mark approached and took the cell phone from me. Good thing, too, as I think I truly would have dropped it and lost the evidence. “I’ll send copies to my private e-mail just in case. This doesn’t get to the Spectator’s servers because we don’t need Yale finding it,” he explained.
“Sure. Can’t have that.” Soon, though, Mark was going to have to explain much more.
My eyes narrowed. “How did you get into the club?” I asked. “The bouncer might know you, but she was really surprised to see you tonight. So you couldn’t possibly have entered past Checkpoint Charlize.”
Mark flashed a goofy smile and crooked his head to where Yale’s car had been. “I told you that everything you saw was meant to be shown, for you.”
“You did. You’re saying I was set up?”
“Exactly. What Yale Barnes wan
ted you to see was a well-respected nationality in a compromising position, so you could discredit and embarrass her. What I showed you was Yale Barnes’ attempt to discredit Ellyn Grizzard by pretending to be her. He’s a shifter, Lib.”
“A what-er?” How was it that I was having this conversation?
“A shape shifter. He can assume any form he wants, to suit his needs.”
I felt numb. That made no sense. If Yale Barnes could shift into any shape, why choose to go through life looking the way he does? Why not assume a permanent set of washboard abs and Brad Pitt’s chiseled features?
Mark correctly read my skepticism. “I know what you’re thinking. Shifters can only hold shapes for so long before having to change back to normal. I’m sure Yale doesn’t choose to be Jabba’s twin, but that’s just how it is.”
I kept my eyes on him. I could only imagine that Yale shifted certain parts of his body to suit certain needs. “So, he’s from outer space?”
Mark shrugged and handed back the phone. “Far as I know, he’s from New York. Shifters are everywhere, Lib. Every bit as human as you are, just a bit...ah, gifted, is all.”
Gifted, right. I attended gifted classes in high school. Taking on forms of famous people was never on the curriculum. “Every bit as human as me,” I echoed. “What about you?”
A burst of laughter, and the crunch of gravel startled me. I ducked low behind the minivan’s hood and peered slowly past the antenna to see two women heading toward us. Arms wound tightly around each other the couple stumbled to the car next to the spot vacated by Yale, shrank inside, and took off.
I turned back to Mark, but he had disappeared. Where he had been standing, I saw instead, a thick rod. Closer inspection revealed it to be the same one I had shaped from what I had thought was the scientific, orgasmic wonder soap Mark had left in the exercise room for me to enjoy.
Apparently, Mark was the scientific, orgasmic wonder.
Under Covers Page 3
