Dirty Bad Wrong(52)

I finished my scotch as Raven whispered in Lydia’s ear, pointing over in my direction. I stepped into clear view, sinking right into those jade green pools as I made my way over. I took a stool to her left, close enough to breathe her in. Amber and Rose, and something else. Some kind of body scrub, Cherry Blossom. My knee pressed into hers, the simple contact buzzing like static.

“Good evening, Cat.”

“Good evening, Masque.” Her hand dithered nervously between her leg and mine until I made the decision for her, snaring her delicate little fingers and pulling them to rest on my thigh. She smiled, edging her way closer. “I was worried you wouldn’t be here.”

“It would be a rude host who’d put a name on a guest list and not arrive to greet them.”

“You know what I mean. I’m really glad you showed.” She squeezed my thigh through my jeans, eyes finding mine in the shadows of my mask. “You look so different.”

Cara caught our attention with a shrill little squeal. Raven was twisting at her nipples through her crop top. I watched Lydia’s breath quicken, a tense little gulp of air.

“Are you sure you want to be here?”

“Dead sure.” She jumped as a trio of regulars took up position behind her. Tyson leant to the bar across her shoulder, dazzling her with a smile.

“A new face,” he said. “Hey, pretty lady.”

“Cat,” she said, smiling.

“Tyson. So, you’re here with Masque on this fine evening?”

“She is,” I replied.

“Don’t start without me,” he grinned. He ordered his drink and resumed conversation with the women at his rear. Lydia’s hand clutched at my thigh for dear life. She waited until they were out of earshot.

“Does he want to join in?” she whispered, voice croaky.

I revelled in her awkwardness. “He’s a watcher. He’ll be at the window, you can count on it.”

“The window? You mean when we...”

“When you’re bound at my mercy and I’m pounding your tight little snatch, yes, he’ll be watching.”

I waited for her reaction, for her to wimp out and walk away, but she didn’t move a muscle.



***



I let her relax, but not for long. The place had filled nicely; the main floor busy enough to thrum. Just as I was debating my next move, the spotlights struck up. Perfect timing. Lydia looked over my shoulder, straining to see who was on stage. I watched the rise and fall of her chest, her adrenaline starting to flow.

“Shall we?” I asked, rhetorically. I helped her down from her stool, leading her over to the main floor. People made way, letting us straight through to the front; a benefit of being so well known in this place. I found us a decent vantage point, taking a seat on one of the benches and pulling her down onto my lap. We were on the edge of the spotlight, visible to anyone who cared to look. Many did, curious as to the new, beautiful lady-friend I had in tow. “Keep your eyes on the stage,” I whispered. “It should be a good one.” I ran my fingers down her bare arms, enjoying how she shivered at the contact. She reached back for me, gripping at my hips.

“You were amazing up there last week,” she murmured. “I loved it.”

“You’ll love this one, too,” I said. “That’s Cain, and his girlfriend Vix, they really know how to play.” They took up position, Vix submitting meekly to the cuffs above her head.

“Is he going to cane her?”

“Would you like him to?”

“I think so.”

I kissed her neck. “More likely the flogger, the cane is too harsh for a lot of tastes.”

She squirmed as the scene started up, making herself comfortable. I held her close, my hand on her ribs to feel her breath. The flogging was a good one, nice and hard and really fucking thwacky. Vix lurched forwards in her chains, howling with every lash, while Lydia watched, transfixed, gripping hold of my thighs underneath hers. I felt her breathing turning shallow.

“Horny isn’t it?” I whispered. “So fucking horny.” I ran my fingers down the smooth line of her throat, across her collarbone to the strap of her dress. She tensed as I slipped it from her shoulder. “Relax, Cat, don’t fight me.” I slid my fingers inside the fabric, smiling to find she was naked underneath. Her nipple was already hard, a little bullet crying for my touch. “Keep your eyes on the stage.”

I freed her from her other strap, warm lips against her neck. She let out a squeak as I pulled the fabric down, offering the perfect white swell of her tits to anyone who cared to look. She let go of my thighs, hands flailing against the exposure. “No,” I whispered, firmly.