by JR King
The waiters returned to clear the table, and I looked at my watch. It was almost midnight. We walked back to the east wing side by side, past the Grand Meeting Hall and its staircase, past hallways and lounges. In the Grand Hall, a Depeche Mode song was blaring. One that I liked, Enjoy The Silence.
Precisely at midnight, the room went dark and Aerosmith’s Love In An Elevator started playing.
“I feel drunk with excitement.” Elena said this close to my ear so I could hear her.
Our bodies drenched in darkness, I pulled her backside against me and wrapped my arms around her waist. “You okay, pet?” My hands pressed flat against her stomach. “Can I still call you that?”
“Yesyesyes. With grandma’s struggle, the medical room set my teeth on edge. You understand why I couldn’t bear watching it, right?”
“I sure do.” Listening to one of my favorite songs, I closed my eyes and focused on Elena to banish the cold spells of uncertainty. The rhythm throbbed through my veins, the lyrics making desire pound through me. “I love you so much it hurts.”
“Hmm.” Her head fell back against my shoulder, her behind grinding against the hard ridge of my erection.
Achingly, I became aware of her appetite for sex as it poured off her like heat waves. Like the aftereffect of a summer heat distortion, it made me feel cranky and whiny and so good I might have fucked her right here if she’d asked me. Heck, she could ask me to be her pony and I would do it.
Spotlights cut through the darkness and illuminated a girl in the center, spread-eagled on a portable St. Andrew’s cross. A heated applause followed. The white lace of her Zuhair Murad catsuit contrasted agreeably against the black cross. She had all the makings of a nymph, and wore little makeup, just light touches around the eyes. Her olive complexion didn’t need cosmetics to enhance its God-given glow.
Anticipation wore the crowd down.
From the left entranceway, mistress Sasha made her appearance, carrying a black flogger. She stopped before the submissive and bowed her head a little, then shrugged the floor length medieval gothic coat she was wearing off her shoulders, making it drop to the floor in an inky puddle. The applause was plentiful, again, as mistress Sasha stood proudly dressed in a wine-colored corset and a bejeweled pannier-style skirt from John Galliano’s Marie Antoinette inspired collection. Her hair was done up in a frothy, pouffed hairstyle. She looked delicate and strong at the same time. Turning to the crowd, she loosened her shoulders with a few whips through the air.
Now, pay attention. When the song ended, she turned back, the flogger in her hand swinging in a side-to-side motion. As if in trance, she faced her subject, her movements laconic, almost lazy. Her arm swayed like she was using a hose to water a garden. To start off, the flogger’s handle was held low and perpendicular to the ground, and moments later, the swish, swish, swish of the flogger was the only sound in the room.
At first sight, this looked more like a fashion show than a flogging session, yet it wasn’t. A sheen of perspiration was visible in the lights reflecting off the women, one was incredibly aroused while the other brazenly climaxed. Erotic flogging was intoxicating to watch—it really was. My cock stiffened so much so that I had to adjust it down the leg of my trousers.
On and on it went, with careful aims and irregular pauses in between. To finish the submissive off, mistress Sasha caught the tails of the flogger in her hand mid-swish. She lifted it up like a slingshot then flicked it at the girl, hitting her squarely between the slopes of her breasts.
The lights went down, and Horehound’s Hang You From The Heavens came on. A couple of quiet minutes passed, then everyone applauded as the room lit up and a radiant mistress Sasha and her plucky submissive joined us.
“The girl looks…,” it was a soft mewl, the kind that told me I had to enlighten Elena.
“She’s in subspace, baby. She’s high on happiness. Do you still, er, want to fool around in a glass room?”
“Show it to me already, sir.”
Out of the twenty private rooms upstairs, five were dubbed glass rooms. Thoughtful details cradled the atmosphere; the warm room had D. Porthault linens, red roses, candles, chocolates, Riedel stemware and liquor-filled decanters. It resembled any other luxurious suite, except that one sidewall was made of glass tinted reversely. Patrons could look inside, and we wouldn’t be any the wiser.
“I’ve never been in here…Elena?”
“Alex, it’s perfect.” The feathers of her mask brushed against my cheek as she nuzzled my neck. Taking her hand, I placed it over the front of my trousers. Instantly it spread open, palming me. I looked over her shoulder at the left wall. Outside it, someone might already be sitting in a wingback chair and watching, curious about what would happen. Men might be waiting for her to turn around, sipping their whiskey and puffing on a cigar. Or maybe we were all alone and safe. Yet, the idea that we weren’t alone, the sheer possibility that patrons could see how her hot little hand stroked my cock…Jesus.
That’s all I have to say.
For the first time, I understood how and why any of this excited Elena. She could play. She, in fact, was playing on a higher level. From our exertions in my playroom, I’d learned she was adventurous and took risks. She was evolving…and so was I.
“Alex? Don’t come in your pants.” Elena laughed. “You’re very hard. I love it.”
“I wonder why.” I bent to kiss her neckline, and reached for the fastening of her Oscar de la Renta gown. “What do you imagine when you think we’re being watched?”
She toyed with my jacket tails. “I imagine someone seeing your face and how you look at me.”
“Yeah?” I sucked on her neck, tickled her abdomen. “What else?”
“I imagine a man wanting to take your place and a woman who wants to be me. Both would get insanely jealous because they’d see I only want you, and you want me.”
I hummed against her skin, pushing her dress down her waist and reaching around to pull down her panties. “Tell me more.” Kissing her neck, I felt her swallow against my lips.
Her voice came out hoarser when she suggested, “I imagine members wanting to touch themselves as they watch us make love. I imagine them fucking the nearest person because they have to or else their heart might give up—a heart that’s tired of a love life of mediocrity.”
“Elena, that’s fucking…Jesus, fucking Jesus! You’re gonna make come.”
She dug her fingertips into my groin and pulled me closer as if I were a trophy possession. “I imagine people fucking because our lovemaking smears the pollen of depravity over their sweaty, glistening bodies, infecting and corrupting them to their core. Restricted to touch, scent, taste, and sounds, they’ll only drink in our sight. It won’t just be gravity defying, more than anything else, the vision of my bare skin, and your caresses and squeezes and grips and slaps and fucks will make them go wild.”
“Holy fuck, this sounds hotter than potty-mouthed filth.” I paused my ministrations, hoping she would do the same.
She leaned back, and looked up at me. “You’re mine, Alex. Any girl, any of your exes can come here and see that you’re mine.”
I couldn’t hold back my grin. “Yours too.” I frigging loved the idea of Jax seeing me fuck her senseless. Show him how it’s done right.
“Enough talking. Kiss me,” she laughed, licking up my throat. “I want a French kiss, chéri.”
“Non, chérie, oublions cela. Ever had an Aussie kiss?”
“Aussie what?”
I led her to the bed, sat her down, and kneeled on the floor between her legs. “You may touch me.”
As her hands laced into my hair, someone knocked on the door. Thrice.
Elena looked down at me, her eyes wide, the bubble above her head saying, “What’s that?”
I switched the lights off and unlocked the door so Tony could come in.
“Alex?” Elena’s voice was disquieting.
“I won’t touch you, Elena,” Tony explained. “I’m not
gonna stand outside like a stranger. Yes or no?”
I heard her swallow. “Okay.”
“Do you realize that after this you’ll have dinner with me in colloquial environments? Family events? Dinners with shared friends? It’s a whole nother level of game.” The shadows on the walls suggested he was shaking his head. “I’m too fucked up. I should go.”
“Wait. Last I checked you are the one who has a penis, so stop acting like a stupid bitch.”
His silhouette froze.
“Try to understand,” I heard myself say, as if she’d directed the statement at me.
“I’m going to go ahead and consider you just left the room, Mr. Elliot. I better not hear anything as you sit, sip your pricey drink, and watch me get pleasured. If I see you at Sunday Brunch this weekend, I presume I’ll receive the same courtesy and respect. Clear enough for you, my beau?”
Tony never answered back. I never interfered. He was educated enough to recognize a rhetorical question and, this young girl was through and through dominant at times.
With him—theoretically—gone, I switched the lights on and resumed my position between Elena’s legs. I had to show her that for every predator, a bigger one exists. “I’ve changed my mind, kitten. Hands on your sides and open up.” I leaned forward, pressing my mouth between her legs.
She lifted her legs higher, spreading wider, giving me better access. Her smell dizzying, she tasted like a drug, the noises she let out tailored entirely for filthy copulation. As I focused on making her come, I imagined how she looked from outside. My profile hid everything but her masked face and tanned calves. I dipped my fingers in her, my mouth devouring her until her back arched up from the bed. I was so used to seeing her masked that it wasn’t jarring or distancing.
“God, oh yes, Alex,” she began to beg quietly, instructing me to move faster and not to stop suckling her clit as my fingers fucked her.
“The Lord does work in mysterious ways.” That was Tony’s lowest chuckle yet.
“Touch yourself, pet,” I ordered Elena. Someone other than Tony was watching us, I’d felt it, but Tony watching us was special.
Elena’s hands moved up her torso, over her breasts, playing with them. When she came, she looked at the corner of the room where Tony sat. To let her taste herself from my mouth, I kissed my way up her chest. Beneath me she felt warm and pliant, her arms curling lazily around me, her laugh fading into my neck.
“How’s my Australian?”
“Damn fine, mate. You’re full of surprises. I think it was the best oral sex I’ve ever had.”
“You like being watched, Elena.” My eyes narrowed. “Fess up.”
“Time to go,” we suddenly heard Tony say. I saw he started to walk to the door, then stopped and turned, looking at us. “I’m really envious right now.”
We all went back to my Beacon Hill house afterward, and we all took long hot showers to wash the dirt of the sex club off before treating ourselves to nightcaps.
Elena Anderson
The Zürich Contemplation
I woke up with a start. Poked my head out from underneath the pillow-fortress and took in my surrounding. How long had I slumbered? It felt like days later. In the wee hours of the morning, it was in the warmth of our bed I woke, a heavy counterpane that smelled of Alexander draping me. There was no sign of him. Feeling blah, I dug my head back underneath the mound of pillows.
Threads of sunlight that shone pale-turmeric filtered into the room when the curtains slid open. Wide-awake by the sudden animation, I struggled levering myself up on an elbow to reach for the glass of water on the nightstand. I sluiced all its contents, in the hopes of cleansing the dry taste of my mouth. Sitting upright, I was on the alert as soon as I saw him talking on the phone.
Alexander was lounged against a windowsill, damp from a shower, hair tousled like never seen before, no dark smudges or deep grooves around his eyes. He was bare except for a towel around his waist, which hung so low from his hips that I couldn’t take my gaze away from the insistent triangle forming at the low of his underbelly. His deep exhalation was sigh-inducing as it pulled the rock solid slabs of his muscles with weeping grace.
“Tony’s on the line.” He must have noticed me twisting my hands in my lap. “Breakfast?” His smoldering, grey-eyed stare had me pinned. I had no defense against this man. Did I want any?
I gave him a brisk nod.
“Can you handle it?”
That’s a yes, out of hand. “Poor Tony. Ask him if he knows what YOLO means.” I slid my hands underneath the sheet and let it pool around my waist.
“He can hear you.” Alexander’s fingers drummed on his middle, the corners of his sensual mouth kicking up in a cocky smirk.
“Which is to say the old man gets it?” With arms folded behind my head, I surveyed him like an emperor might have inspected his latest slave conquest.
“Go get ready, you tease.”
I donned a Missoni prism print shift dress and made my way to the sunroom that was built off a living room almost the size of a football field.
“Haven’t burned any bridges, I hope?” Tony asked me.
The nervousness I was feeling faded away and was replaced by equal parts of excitement and amusement. Throughout the breakfast, none of us were walking on eggshells.
For Flag Day, we went back to Martha’s Vineyard. I wore a strapless silk taffeta gown done by Christian Lacroix, lined with a ruched corset and fuchsia roses, proper makeup and such. Alternating layers of satin underskirts gave it incredible volume; the whispering sound of taffeta surrounding me was elating.
I listened to the dull bass of music coming from the back garden. As we got closer, the sound of the music amplified, and so did the tenfold of voices in the background. A malachite carpet ran from the entrance area to the back of the house where a white pagoda marquee erected in the middle of the garden, decorated in red, white, and blue tones and whatnots. It was full of gorgeous people, and someone was playing a harp in the back.
The event was shaping up. Guests were chatting and laughing over glasses of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Alexander was quiet and held a protective arm around me. His scent, his warmth, everything about him sheltered me. Whenever I was in his orbit, I became more graceful, more woman, more confident. I enjoyed his presence so much that I forgot about my insecurities.
When Christopher walked into the tent, gravity shifted. Women held their breath, staring at the athletic man enveloped in a tuxedo, while men watched in sorrow. It’s hard to say how old he was. Perhaps forties, perhaps fifties, he looked youthful, no grays, and barely had any wrinkles.
Avoiding the hoi polloi, he walked toward us.
“Champagne, kitten?”
I nodded appreciatively at Alexander.
A firm hand squeezed my bare shoulder, and I felt the cuff of a shirt brush me. “Enjoying yourself?”
“I am.” I smiled up at Christopher.
“You and I need to talk.” His mouth firmed.
“About?” I sipped at my newly delivered champagne.
“Zürich.”
“We’re done here,” I announced hastily. I simply didn’t want to relapse into the mists of my past.
It looked like my answer had thrown him off the track. He frowned, making a disapproving sound in his throat, but his expression remained civil.
“Would you excuse us, uncle Chris?” Alexander linked his right hand with my left and kept the enjoined fists to his chest. Dragging his eyes away from Christopher, he asked, “Penny for your thoughts, love?”
“Did you tell him?”
“I might have mentioned Zürich because he looked into your past. He’s a better businessman than I’ll ever be, Elena. He’ll persuade you to sign those papers.”
I wrinkled my nose at him. “Wanna bet?”
He met my gaze with cold eyes, his lips a little south of a warm smile. “No question about it. I’m betting on him.”
“You’re a fat lot of use.” Feeling malle
able, I started hiccupping. I pressed the palm of my hand with the thumb of my other hand, and took a deep breath and held it.
“Relax, concentrate on me.” With the balls of his thumbs, Alexander pressed a soft spot behind my earlobes.
While it’s understandable that Christopher would want to inveigle me into investing my father’s money, in my mind, it was dirty money—too unclean. It seemed like I’d be taking advantage of my mother, betraying her trust and her honor. To be clear, I’m not saying the money had been acquired illegally, or that my mother had no blame, I’m just saying it rubbed me the wrong way. The entire evening, even during sex.
“Come back. You’re still thinking about that goddamned thing,” Alexander gritted out through clenched teeth.
He pulled out, stroking himself for a few seconds. I licked my lips when he harshly stroked the heavy length of his cock. His hand was beautiful against the slick smoothness. He pointed toward me, shook once, twice, until long white ribbons of semen flew out, decorating my lower body. His low, drawn-out groan was delightful. I didn’t try to decipher his words because I was too distracted by the sight of his head thrown back, the muscles in his forearms and neck contracting, his cock twitching with after surges of ecstasy. He wasn’t even soft when he knelt down and proceeded to kiss my sex.
The vibration of his tongue on my sensitive flesh was enough to send me into orgasmic spasms. He took his time, however, tonguing my wetness until I begged him to stop. He moved his mouth away from me, kissing my stomach. His lips were wet. “Give yourself to me. Stop thinking.” Then he plunged his fingers back into me, taking my clit into his mouth with an almost painful force. I lost count of my orgasms.
