Page 76 of Pierced

Her naked, lean torso. The breasts that I have seen for the last seven years, always on display underneath blouses and dresses, occasionally peeking out from behind their shroud, occasionally not, now on full display. Oh, mon Dieu, she is… she is a sight to behold.

The tiara is still squarely planted on top of her head and the black tendrils falling around her cheeks frame her face as though it were a Renaissance painting.

Candlelight flickers around us still.

My cock stiffens in my suit pants. I rest my elbow on the arm of the tall leather chair and rub my palm down my face. When it falls away and I open my eyes, she is still there.

She says nothing. Just stares at me intensely with unblinking eyes as she unfastens the garters from her stockings and they snap against her legs.

She slides her heels off and, in stockinged feet, she saunters toward me. I squirm in the chair. My dick is kind of stuck in between my thighs. I just need to pop it loose… To shift... So... OK. Good. There it goes.

She lands in front of me and straddles my knees. I look up at her, awaiting instructions on what she would like. This isn’t a game, and there are no rules now, but I am happy to submit to whatever she asks in this moment.

Unless she wants my cock in a tiny box. Then I draw a line. But that doesn’t feel like what this is. So…

She reaches out and takes my hands. She places them on the outside of her thighs, right along the waistband of her underwear. I continue to stare into her face. She nods, subtly, and I oblige by sliding my hands down, dragging the delicate fabric with me as I do.

My breath is heavy. My heart is beating faster than I’m used to. I pause and look back up at her one last time. Her expression doesn’t change.

And then I draw the covering down to her ankles, she steps out, and I find myself facing…

I look up at her one more time and she smiles a mischievous smile.

When I told Andrew that I was going to Pierce her, it was a play on words. A joke.

I had no idea that it would be literal and that someone had already beaten me to it.

I swallow. “Wow,” I say.

She shrugs. I stand, keeping my hands on her hips.

“Does, uh,” I start. “Does that stay in when…?”

“It can,” she says.

“And does it make it feel…?”

“Like nothing you’ve ever experienced.”

I gulp. I suck at my teeth. I nod. “Well. That is, uh… that’s pretty cool.”

I lift one hand up to her neck to draw her in for a kiss as my other hand stays down by her crotch, presumably trying to decide if it’s brave enough to attempt to touch the impressive-looking silver ring that’s down there.

And just as I’m about to lay my lips on her mouth and allow my hand to find its courage…

“Holy fucking shit!” That’s me. Or, actually, that’s me reacting to a galloping, mewing caterwaul that stampedes into the room and crashes into my legs.

“Betty! Dave! Stop that!” Myrtle shouts at the uninvited servals who chose this fucking moment to remind me that they live here.

Watching Myrtle chase two rambunctious servals around a candlelit big cat sanctuary while wearing nothing but stockings and unfastened garters is probably going to be the image that visits my memory on my deathbed. I can’t imagine it’ll be bested.

“Shoo! Shoo! Go on!” she says, waving them out of the room.

Once they’re good and gone, she turns to me, lowers her head, shakes it, and says, “We should have just gone down to the dungeon.”

I laugh.

“Shit,” she says, “I’m sorry. Fuck.”