But I wouldn’t abandon her just yet. She isn’t confident enough. She’d like to believe that she is, but I would feel the trepidation beating from her chest. So I’d ease that hand to the apex of her thighs, to that humid space that aches to be touched. She’d want me to do it, but I wouldn’t, and that would frustrate her. So, I’d tell her again, this time my voice gruffer, more commanding. “Touch your pussy, Lacey.”
With embarrassed tears in her eyes, she’d sink her fingers between her folds, teasing her clit just as we had teased her jeweled belly button. She’d be humiliated and somewhat disgusted with herself, but she would moan and let her head fall back on my shoulder. She wouldn’t be able to help it. Because as mortified as she’d be, she’d be doubly turned on. And I’d stand there, a satisfied grin on my face, because I broke her. I’d unleashed the deviant that had been lying dormant within her walls of inhibition. And when she’d sink the first finger deep inside herself, while me and ten awestruck women watched on in wonder, she’d feel it too. And she’d know that she could never be caged again.
That’s what I’d do under different circumstances. It’s what I’ve done countless times before. But the thought of touching Lacey doesn’t excite me. It doesn’t make the little devil in me rejoice at the opportunity to reduce her to a writhing mess in my theater. It kind of makes me sad that I ever thought it was kosher to do. And even feeling an ounce of remorse pisses me the fuck off.
The little devil sits on my shoulder, whipping his sharp, thorned tail to the back of my neck before jabbing it into my skin. “Fucking soft,” he hisses in my ear. I can’t even be mad at him.
“OH YEAH…YEAH. Right there, baby. Oh God, yes!”
“Stop!”
I get as close as suitably possible to the couple positioned at the middle of the stage. They look up at me, their eyes hooded and hungry, yet they halt their movements. The man is still buried deep inside of his lover’s warm, wet pussy, and it’s taking every ounce of his self-control not to thrust again. The woman’s naked chest heaves with her labored breaths, and she leans back to rest on the odd-shaped, leather chair currently elevating her pelvis.
That’s right.
We’re watching people have sex.
How are you even surprised?
The couple is a husband and wife team that teaches tantric yoga out in Cali. They’ve also been known to dabble in webcam sex shows online, much like the one they are giving us today. Only difference is, I pay them quite a bit more than $2.99 per minute.
“Now you see the way Brad was thrusting into Laura? Tell me about her. What did you see her doing?” I say, addressing the class. As expected, no one says a word. “Ok, since you all obviously are not paying attention, I want you to watch Laura’s hands. You’ll notice that they are always moving—clutching the chair, pinching her nipples, grabbing Brad’s ass and pushing him in deeper. Still hands are a dead giveaway to bad sex. You should be pawing at your lover like a hungry lioness. Make him feel like you are so overwhelmed with pleasure that you just can’t keep still. Ok? Resume.”
The couple picks up where they left off without missing a beat. Brad holds Laura’s legs wide by her thighs and moves into her, slowly at first. Then he’s gaining momentum, fucking her like a man possessed. Laura croons his name, raking her nails over his bare chest.
“You see? Look at what she’s doing,” I say, as her fingers drift down to stimulate her clit. “And you see how she looks at him? How their eyes stay locked on each other? What do you think that simple act represents?”
“Intimacy,” someone calls out over the couple’s moans.
“Right,” I nod. “What else?”
“Togetherness.”
“Passion.”
“Exactly.” I pace the stage as if there isn’t a live sex show occurring just feet away from me. “There are two types of lovers, ladies. The kind who fucks and the kind who gets fucked. Always be the kind that fucks. No matter what position you’re in, be passionate. Be engaging. Commit to the moment 100%.” I give them all an encouraging smile, feeling a tinge of pride at their progress. “Now let’s see how well Laura rides.”
Again, the two seamlessly move together in perfect choreography. Brad reclines back on the Tantra chair and Laura straddles his lap, slowly lowering herself onto his length, gasping at the deepness the new position provides.
“How many of you watch porn?” I ask. Several of the women raise their hands without hesitance. I don’t even look in Ally’s direction to see if she is among them. “Good. Get used to watching it. You can learn a lot about sexual positions and acts that your partner may be interested in trying. Not all pornography is created equal; there’s truly something that can appeal to everyone.”