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She shook her head, carefully adjusting the fishnet, so it didn’t catch on her nipple rings.
“Mal.” Benson took hold of her throat, forcing her chin up.
“I’m still processing.” She let the weight of her head rest on his hand. “I promise I’ll tell you once I work it all out.”
“We can take a break.” His gaze searched hers.
“I’m not upset. I’m green. Really green.”
He said nothing, just gripped her throat and stared down at her, his expectation a nearly physical weight.
She sighed, tried to articulate. “That public exposure scene was way more… It was just more. I didn’t honestly expect it to be much of anything.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence.”
Mal laughed. It was clear from his tone he’d meant it to be funny. “Public exposure, well I guess exposure in the public part of the club, was hardly new. For either of us.”
“True.” He touched the corner of her mouth with his thumb. “Was it better, or worse than you thought it would be?”
“Better.”
He was quiet, seeming to consider her. “Okay, then we keep going. We only have the rest of today. I want to save tomorrow morning for aftercare.”
Mal dropped her gaze. It was midday Saturday, and she hadn’t even been at the club for twenty-four hours, yet the time with Benson was half gone.
After a second, she perked up. If he was saving tomorrow morning for aftercare and wrap up, that meant the punishment was happening tonight. She shouldn’t be looking forward to it, because whatever the punishment was, it was worse than days of orgasm denial.
He’d gone suspiciously easy on her ass and breasts up to this point. She suspected that would not remain the case. She wasn’t looking forward to a hard punishment impact play session, but maybe, in the aftermath, he’d forgive her.
She missed him. She didn’t have the right to expect to ever scene with him again, but she wanted her friend back.
“I got shoes.”
Mal jerked her attention back to the present. There was no use worrying about the rapidly approaching future.
“Shoes?”
He thrust a bag at her. Brows raised, she took the bag over to the stone table. There were three shoe boxes inside. She set them in a line and then, one by one, flipped the lids. Three pairs of identical black high heels.
“I didn’t know your size.”
Mal checked the end of the boxes, then grabbed the size eights. “These will fit. I wear 7 1/2.”
She hopped up to sit on the stone table in the playroom, which was freezing through the fishnet, and slipped on the shoes.
They were black platform stilettos with studded straps and a double buckle ankle strap that strongly resembled bondage cuffs.
“Thank you for getting me shoes.” She drew up her knee to reach the strap, pausing briefly as the clit ring shifted, bringing her attention to her pussy once again. “Did I miss an item? ‘Purchase shoes’?”
Benson dropped to his knee and fastened the other strap for her. Her heart leapt as she looked down at his bent head.
“No. I googled hooker shoes. These were the only ones that weren’t actually stripper shoes.”
“Hooker shoes.” She looked down at the black fishnet dress. “Prostitution.”
Benson rose. “I’m sure professional sex workers have better shoes than this.”
“And probably better outfits.” When Benson offered her his hand, Mal slipped off the table, testing her heels. She was almost as tall as him. “But I look like Hollywood’s version of a cheap hooker.”
