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The curtain opens, and the dragon man has access to various whips, floggers, and restraints. He rips the cat’s leather outfit off her body in his impatience, baring her to us.
Rory shifts in her seat, and at first, I wonder if she’s uncomfortable, but her body language tells me otherwise. Her chest is heaving, and her nipples are poking at the black fabric of her dress. Her lips are parted, eyes hooded, and hell, she’s fucking squirming in her seat.
Reaching over, I rest my palm on her thigh and rub up and down her smooth skin, making my way higher with each stroke. “I wonder, kitten, if I told you to spread your legs for me right now, would I find you drenched?”
Rory moans softly, and then her eyes shoot open when she realizes what she did. The couple in front of us turns around and smiles knowingly before facing the show once more.
Dragon man straps his cat up on a St. Andrew’s cross and whips his sub until her ass is raw and her arousal is dripping down her inner thighs, which he makes sure to spread for all of us to see. He doesn’t fuck her. He doesn’t even touch her with anything other than the implements. But when he paddles her cunt over and over again, she comes harder than I’ve ever seen a woman come before.
The dragon takes her down gently and pulls her off backstage for aftercare while the audience claps enthusiastically.
Other acts take the stage, but I barely notice them, my eyes fixed on the kitten purring next to me. Sliding my hand up her leg, I push at her thighs until she opens them for me. It’s my turn to moan when I glide my fingers along her soft pussy lips and find them slick. She looks at me and bites her lip.
The latest act exits, and the curtains close as the stage rotates. My heart skips a beat and my anxiety flares, knowing what’s coming next.
The curtains open, and a bed is front and center. With an iron headboard and footboard and plush white bedding, it looks almost medieval. A small nightstand is next to the bed with a bouquet of flowers—the same flowers she’s been collecting all day.
I point to the vase. “Beautiful flowers, aren’t they?”
Rory glances from me to the vase, a gleam of fear and understanding in her eyes.
Static sounds, and the announcer comes back on. “Mischief and the Marauder, please take the stage.”
Rory’s mouth drops open and she looks at me in shock, her eyebrows shooting up. I cup her face in my hand and force her to hold my gaze. “Do you trust me?” I ask, allowing myself to be vulnerable for her.
Anything for her.
She nods once, but that’s all the affirmation I need. “Take my hand, kitten.” I feel her shaking as we stand and walk to the stairs.
She clings to my arm as we ascend, her breathing loud next to me, and I hate that she’s this nervous. But in the end, allowing yourself to give in to the fear and take it for yourself is part of the fun. And once you do that, no one and nothing can ever touch you.
Pulling her in front of me, I kiss her softly on the lips, but her lips fail to move against mine. “Pretend this is just another fantasy of yours, one you get to play out. Pretend that the audience isn’t even here. That it’s just you and me alone in a dark room with a soft bed. Can you do that? Just let yourself go for me?”
“I—I…” She stutters as I rub my hands up and down her arms.
I crush my lips to hers and silence her uncertainty. “Just follow my lead and let me worship your body like the goddess you are.”
She replies with one, breathless nod, and my guts twist with excitement.
We are fucking doing this.
Spinning her slowly so she’s facing the crowd, I grip her hair and tug her head to the side before kissing the length of her neck. She trembles as I move one hand up her ribs and tweak a pointed nipple through the thin fabric of her dress. When she gasps, I know she’s allowing herself to feel and not numbing the sensations.
Releasing her hair, I bring my hands forward and fondle her breasts, rubbing my thumbs over her nipples. I love how they feel in my hands, even through the fabric.
But I crave the silk of her skin.
Sliding one hand up her back, I unclasp the collar on her dress and the bodice falls forward, catching on her hips. Sharp intakes of breath sound from the audience as they view Rory’s perfect breasts. Heavy and full with cherry red nipples…they are one of the wonders of the world.
I glide my hands up and down her arms, then grasp her wrists, guiding her to raise them. Holding her arms high above her head, I whisper, “Don’t fucking move,” in her ear before I release her.
Stalking around her like a predator, I eye up my victim. She’s so perfect and vulnerable, displayed for me like a fucking buffet…a buffet which I’ll feast on. There’s not an inch of her that isn’t flawless or desirable, not a freckle out of place or a scar or stretch mark that doesn’t enhance her beauty.
As I move around her, I trail my fingers along her skin, making sure to brush her pebbled nipples as I do. Her little gasps and soft moans tell me she likes it as much as I do.
Well…
Almost.
