by Jamie Knight
It’s almost as if fate has brought us together tonight, and I intend to take full advantage of whatever else it might have in store for us.
After Lily disappears from sight, I take up a concealed place at the bar. It’s filled with other men, but they quickly make a space for me. I double-check with the bartender that every girl at that table has been put on my tab.
“Yes, sir,” he says, and I quietly get back to observing the table.
Lady White has just said they must participate somehow in the club’s activities to earn their place at the club. Briefly, the little fashion designer spots me at the bar. I can tell by the way her cheeks flush.
Her eyes try to escape drinking me in, but it doesn’t work. She can’t quite pull her gaze away completely.
I watch her squirm in her seat, looking at the various stages, various rooms, and activities that Lady White points out. Some of the fashion designer’s other friends chime in about what would be enough to count as participation. Lady White says that it could be anything, but that you must fit in with the clubgoers. You must partake in the cultural and experience somehow.
Even wearing those clothes you think don’t have any business on that beautiful body, I think, watching my girl of interest play with her wavy, brown hair. She has a seventies’ styling job she is quickly unraveling. I also see a smartphone perched inconspicuously on her lap.
And if you’re going to take pictures, I’m going to enjoy punishing you for each and every one, before taking some of you.
With that, I watch as Lady White dismisses herself from their table and retreats back to her loft. The rest of the girls in the party disperse to various corners. My fashion designer, she gorges herself on the outfits on various people traveling by.
There are definitely a lot of colors and styles and designs in here for her to work with. It’s almost like a fashion designer’s paradise. I would know.
She takes more pictures, writes down notes as if this world might disappear forever if she doesn’t. I admire her dedication and passion.
She reminds me of me. I’ve been accused of having a big ego before, but I can’t help it. I approach life with zest and zeal. And it’s obvious that my little fashion designer does, too.
I just have to make sure to get with her.
Something in my gut tells me that this is my chance.
And I always listen to my gut.
Sliding from my perch at the bar, I settle the bulge growing in my pants, and approach her, ready to see how easy or hard it’ll be to make her mine.
Chapter Four
Britney
I’ve definitely fallen down the rabbit hole, I think, enjoying all of the outfits I’ve gotten to see — dresses, leather suits, corsets, and very short skirts. I love every minute of it.
I’m playing my other favorite game now: taking down notes on each outfit and writing the ways I would improve them. By that, I mean the ways they could be reworked to further enhance the wearer’s beauty, not just show off more skin.
But I’m not scared by any of this.
I love the new vibe.
I just wish there wasn’t so much emphasis on – Before my eyes, yet another person comes into view covered in tatters of clothing, designed to show off everything but the barest tip of the nipple, and sometimes even that is on display — showing so much skin.
I sigh, telling my face to cool off and my pussy to do the same. I’m here to get ideas and inspiration, not to get flustered and distracted by my wet, virgin pussy. My other friends can go off and lose their virginity (if they haven’t already), but I’m in working mode. I’m in fashion designer mode, and I’ve already taken notes on my phone.
Now, I’m taking pictures again, though on the sly. My focus is on one particular clubgoer, this woman, in the most interesting “coat” I’ve ever seen. It’s down to her calves. It’s made of velvet, but almost like the woman in the fancy corset from earlier, it’s covered in belts. Although this one has more embroidery and more stitching and gem work than that one had.
I feel someone draw up beside me, and before I can hide my phone — and the fact that I’ve taken so many probably-illegal pictures on it — I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn, quickly trying to tuck my phone away.
The moment I take my eyes away, I recognize the tall man who’s come to stand next to me. He is the same dapper-dressed individual who gave us all the invitation into the club. He smiles at me, seeming to ignore my discomfort — the blush of embarrassment I have on my cheeks — and points to the woman in the coat I’ve been studying.
“What do you think of that? Do you like the coat?”
For a moment, I’m not sure what he’s asking me. My brain is so overwhelmed by the idea that I might be in trouble for having my phone as I do, that I can’t speak.
I can’t answer him immediately, so he elaborates.
“You seem intrigued enough. I’ve been watching you check out the various fashions displayed on the floor, and I’m interested to hear what you think. You’ve been writing enough and taking enough pictures.”
He gives me another sly smile.
“Which I will keep any mention of to myself. Normally, they would be prohibited and get you kicked out, of course.”
Now I’m not sure what I’m feeling. His thinly veiled threat is somewhat frightening to me, but it is also oddly turning me on. My pussy is now warming from the gruffness in his voice and the warning reverberating in my ears.
I turn away, trying to get my mind back on fashion.
“Well, for starters…” I quickly find the coat in question and fix my eyes on that, and on the notes I recorded on my phone. “For starters, I would make sure that the belts are wider in some places. Like around her hips and backside. They can still be there, but the amount of flesh, the amount of skin showing… I don’t know if I would make something like that and then expect someone to walk around in it. Especially not out in public, not if they are planning to get somewhere.”
I look at the coat again, realizing that the revealing quality is not just on the backside of the coat where it drapes down, but along the wearer’s front. Her nipples are pretty much fully exposed. Her breasts are allowed to push through and in between some of the belt work.
“That goes for the front of it as well. If it’s a coat it should cover something, not just drape around her like that — it’s like my grandmother’s embroidery kit got in a fight with my dad’s belt collection.”
I fall silent after that, not sure if these were the kind of ‘thoughts’ he was looking for or not.
I’m thinking probably not at this point. He looks serious, troubled, and not in a good way.
“That coat is an Ainsworth. Most people can’t afford a coat like that, let alone suggest changes to it.”
I laugh at that moment. I’m not sure whether it’s out of nerves or genuine humor. The man said that so seriously, with so much defensiveness, I can’t help but feel uncomfortable.
“Sorry. I’m not meaning to laugh at you, but it’s what I do with designs and people in them. I think about how to make changes, make them reflect more of the wearer’s beauty, not just the designer’s whims. I can’t help it. I’ve always been that way. It’s the reason I decided to go to NYU for fashion design, and why I have big plans to learn everything I can. Especially any and all designers I don’t know much about.”
“Such as Ainsworth?”
I blush again, smiling sheepishly. “Yes,” I admit.
“Well, miss, then tell me…”
He pulls his attention away from the coat and begins to point out dresses, more corset and skirt combo’s like the one I saw earlier in the evening, and then a strange harness-like thing. It’s made of just belts, buckles, and straps.
Intricately carved metal pieces hang off it at various points as if it’s designed to attach to something. The woman wearing it has everything exposed in between the buckles and straps. Her breasts are out on display, along with her inner and outer thighs.
“What do you think of all those, then?” the tall man asks.
I start at the top of my list, the first one he pointed out. I tell him that while I like the buckle and stitch work, I want less revealed. I want more modesty in all of them, with a focus on making some of these designs wearable in real life, not just rebellious and shocking. I explain that I like how the belts and straps emphasize the curves and womanly features of the wearer, but that I’d like to see more class and more dignity added in.
“I would want to make women feel like they could wear these kinds of things, even if they weren’t going to a club like this.”
As I’m speaking, the gentleman nods. I can see him truly thinking about what I have to say, not just politely listening to me because I’m a woman, and he might have some interest in fucking me.
Some guys at the college tried that, and I’ve seen right through them. It’s why I am still a virgin and plan to be until I find the right man. I want a partner who actually cares to listen to what I think, someone who actually understands why my field of work is so important —before I take that leap.
“I would want women to be able to embrace this vibe of rebellion, sexual liberation, without necessarily feeling like they might be on someone’s menu.”
There is more nodding from the gentleman. Finally, I get to the strange harness. As I’m looking at that and giving my feedback, the only thing I can think is much more modesty. I would pull back how much skin is showing, especially the fact that I can see the woman’s pussy and ass as she turns around. It’s so exposed, I swear I can see the shine on her lower lips under the lights.
“It’s designed to be that provocative,” he says. “Aside from the fact that it was designed that way, what do you think about it? Would you wear something like that?”
I find his eyes again, feeling shocked and intrigued. I feel myself blushing and my own pussy twitching, but I tell both to calm down.
“I think it’s very sexy. I think it looks very good on her.”
I’m blushing so hard that I can’t speak for a moment.
“I would wear it. I would try something like that, I suppose.”
I duck my head down.
“But I just don’t know if it would look good on me. I’m not really that type, and it’s not just about the body. It’s about personality, and I’m quite shy. I am not like my friends. I barely even like to show cleavage, let alone all that.”
I look up at him, feeling my heart race.
“But yes, I would try it.”
The gentleman smiles and puts his hand on my shoulder again. As he does, I realize just how devastatingly handsome he is. His muscles seem to only add to his charm and mystique, his refined and noble quality, not take away from it. And I wouldn’t have thought someone with muscles could ever pull off a suit.
But he definitely can. And I definitely would… pull off his suit, if I got to see what else was underneath there.
Surprised and shocked by my thoughts, I tell myself to knock that off. That I’m here for information gathering, not for losing my virginity.
But he might be just the kind of guy I would lose it too. He seems as interested in fashion as much as I am. He seems to actually care what I think. He’s not just listening to patronize me.
“If you’d like that harness, I could get one for you to try on. And if you try it on and you like it, I could let you keep it.”
“Really?”
After that word’s out of my mouth, I quickly clamp down on any more excitement. I don’t want to seem too eager or too ready for free clothing.
He laughs good-naturedly. “Yes, really.”
“How can you arrange something like that?” I’m speaking through my hands covering my face, blushing even harder.
“I can do anything I want with clothes like that. I designed them, after all.”
I breathe in, shocked, and further embarrassed. But, before I can say a word, he just grins and says.
“Yes, you’ve been critiquing Ainsworth clothing to the one and only Kace Ainsworth.”
He begins to lead me with him toward another part of the club.
“I will get us a private room, and then get someone to fetch you a harness of that same design.”
He pauses, looking to me.
“Is that something you want?”
I nod before I’ve even had time to think about it.
After critiquing him so harshly, the least I can do is try on one of those outfits — those harnesses.
I blush again, watching as we approach a waitress.
Even if he decides not to let me keep it, I’m going to do it for him anyway. Anything to make up for how ruthless I was. Even if he did seem to like what I had to say.
Chapter Five
Kace
The look she has on her face — the one of bewilderment and shock when I admit who I am — that makes me even more intent on having her and making her strip. I want to punish her for some of those things she said about my work, even though I am inspired by her criticism.
The next expression on her youthful face — the one of mischief and wonder that comes over her as I begin to lead her to the part of the club with private rooms — that one has me itching to put her in one of those harnesses.
I want to watch her strip and put it on, before making her helpless in addition to completely and fully exposed. She will be at my mercy, exactly as those harnesses were designed to do.
I see a waitress up ahead. Pulling her aside, I say that we are interested in renting a private room for the night. I asked for a specific one, knowing that there are more hooks and similar devices built into the walls there than in others.
When the waitress returns with the keys (they have a small charm in the shape of a ball gag attached to them), I make a second request of her.
“Have someone bring my car around. Have them also get one of my harnesses, one exactly like that.”
Taking the keys from the waitress, I point out the harness in question, making sure there are no mistakes.
“Yes, of course, Mr. Ainsworth,” she says. “Please go ahead and get yourself and your lady comfortable in the room, and I will get someone to deliver the suit to you.”
“Very good,” I say, and begin walking my little fashion designer with me toward the room I’ve reserved for us.
It’s away from the main area, but so are the rest of the private rooms. This one, however, is one of the biggest in the entire establishment. It’s designed to house multiple playmates if necessary. But for tonight, it’s just going to be her and me.
I’m in love with this girl’s face, the way her eyes widen from behind her boxy glasses as she takes everything in. Even in a 70s’ styled dress, like she is, she’s gorgeous to me.
Even if those clothing items cover up so much of her skin, I’m intrigued by her willingness to try on something she’s uncomfortable with. All her critique about my designs had to do with their risqué quality. How much flesh was on display in what she called “unnecessary” and “unusable” in daily life.
I didn’t think she would go for wearing something like that. I didn’t think she would take me up on my offer.
As we get to the door and I put the keys in the lock, I study her. She’s blushing again, looking down, and fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. It’s excitement and fear moving through her, but she doesn’t move to take it back.
She doesn’t move to back out like some of the other women I’ve been with. She stands firmly by the door, waiting patiently to be directed inside.
Whether it’s because I told her she could have the harness after or not, it doesn’t matter. She gets points for being so willing to do this for me, even though she has no idea what more I plan to do to her once she is inside — if she thinks to critique me in the same way, once that item is on her, not on someone else.
“Go on in, miss,” I say, gesturing her inside the door I’ve opened.
She moves quickly and obediently. It’s s
omething not lost on me, and something I will be eager to take advantage of in a moment.
“Get comfortable. It may be a few minutes we have left yet to wait.”
I follow in after her, closing the door. It’s not enough to lock it, but enough to create a private space. My little fashion designer occupies herself by looking around the room, studying the bed and the other furniture in this place.
There are chairs and couches with extra leather attached. I then notice her studying the walls, the fancy hooks, and clips along multiple surfaces. They’ve been carved to look like they belong in the room, not as though they are relics from a dungeon.
While we wait for the delivery, I decide to strike up small talk with her.
“So, miss. Since you have so graciously decided to try on something I know is out of your comfort zone, I’d love to know the name of my model for the evening.”
She turns away from her study of the hooks, comes toward me.
“Britney,” she murmurs.
“Nice to meet you, Britney. You can call me Kace. All my models do. To them, I’m not just an Ainsworth.”
Britney nods, fixing her big beautiful eyes on me.
“Kace.”
She doesn’t say anything else after that. She seems to be content to savor my name on her tongue, behind her lips.
Right around then is when there is a knock on at the door.
“I’ve come with the harness you requested, Mr. Ainsworth,” says a voice.
It’s not the same one from before, but it doesn’t matter. I go to the door, open it, and take the suit from the staff member.
“Thank you,” I say, and close the door.
Now the locks are engaged, and we are truly alone. I approach Britney, unfurling the harness from my arms, preparing to be put on her, and to tease/torture her a bit with what exactly she’s agreed to do for me.
“Here is the harness, Britney. As already explained, if you put this on for me, and if I like how you are behaving for me in it, I will let you keep it.”
I see her startle and shiver a bit. Yes, I hadn’t said that exactly before, and she knows it. But she’s not about to object, either. If she does, I have ways of correcting that.
