I think I hear laughter in the singer’s melody but it could be my imagination. I lean forward, let my tongue dip into the salt on his throat. “Get every grain,” Genevieve coaxes. “It would be a sin to waste it.” She watches and continues to whisper encouragements as I seek out the grains of salt that have fallen behind his collarbone. When I finally lean back, it’s Genevieve who reaches for the shot glass. She holds it over his shoulder, urges me on with a raise of her eyebrows. I glance back at the singer and bass player. The music continues with the casual smoothness you would expect from professionals but their eyes are on us. The blush starts in my cheeks and spreads with the speed of a five-alarm blaze. This has been my fantasy, being watched, but I never dreamed I’d have the courage to actually act it out. It’s too scary.
But fear can be thrilling and so I stand up, step between Robert’s open legs, press my body into his as I reach my chin over his shoulder. Genevieve brings the glass to my lips, tipping it back, letting the alcohol trickle rather than stream into my open mouth. Finally she pulls the drink away as I take the lime from Robert. His hands move down my back, to my ass, through my legs, pressing upward. I take in a sharp breath, murmur his name.
When I pull away I’m shaking. I stare at Robert as he puts the lime down neatly on a cocktail napkin. Genevieve stands behind him, her eyes sparkling with hints of danger as she places her hands on each of Robert’s shoulders and leans in to his ear. In a stage whisper she says, “It’s your turn, Mr. Dade.”
Robert stands up and makes a vague gesture that Genevieve seems to understand. She quickly clears away everything on the bar.
“Lay down, Kasie,” he says, his voice quietly authoritative. I stand, a little agitated, a little scared. I glance at the musicians again. They’ve moved on to a quieter piece; their music offers no distraction from what is happening. Not for me, not for them. I think I see the bass player wink at me but I’m not sure.
“I don’t think I—” I begin, but Robert stops me by pressing his finger against my lips.
“You can make the fear your lover.”
The words means nothing, but I’m compelled to acquiesce. I let Robert lift me until I’m sitting on the bar. I pull up my legs, lay back, feeling completely vulnerable to the others in the room. Genevieve is behind the bar; Robert, in front of it. I feel her hands on the hem of my shirt as Robert works to unfasten the buttons on the waist of my skirt.
“What are you doing?” I whisper but Robert hushes me. “You’ve taken the power; now is the time to submit.”
Genevieve pulls my shirt from me; I feel my skirt sliding down my legs. The music stops and I hear the whispered voices of the musicians as they discuss what they’re seeing.
From the corner of my eye I see Genevieve pour another shot. I feel the cool glass as she drags it along my thigh.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“Kasie,” I murmer. “Kasie Fitzgerald.”
“Well, Miss Fitzgerald, I need you to spread your legs, just a little, that’s right; you’re not going to be a good girl tonight.”
Robert chuckles softly and I can feel the coldness of the glass through the fabric of my panties. “Hold this in place here, please,” Genevieve instructs as Robert smiles down at me.
“Submit,” he says again. “For me.”
I squeeze my thighs together holding the glass in place as he caresses me with a lime, along my stomach, to my chest, along the outline of my bra. The lime is then placed between my teeth and I feel the salt as it sprinkles down on me. My skin is so sensitive now, even this light touch is startlingly seductive.
Robert leans down, tastes the salt that lines my bra, reaching inside to pinch my nipples as Genevieve tastes the salt on my stomach; she’s moving lower, dangerously lower. I see the musicians moving in closer.
I think of protesting, of spitting out the lime and telling them that this takes more audacity and courage than I have.
But I don’t. I’m not pulling away. Genevieve moves even lower, kissing the edge of my panties and then the fabric until she gets to the glass. She laps the tequila up as if she’s a kitten tasting milk.
I feel a new shot of coolness as Robert pours a thimble’s worth of tequila into my belly button. It spills over, runs down to my panties, which are already wet.
I don’t protest this time, not even as he removes my bra from me, runs a lime over my nipples before coating them with salt. Genevieve straightens her posture and watches as he drinks from my belly button, follows the stream down.
Carefully, Genevieve pulls the glass from between my thighs, making sure her fingers touch more than they should as she drags the glass along.