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“Trying to fill your bladder.”
He called the barman for another bottle.
***
The scene was still raging onstage as the urge to pee reached boiling point. I held off mentioning it at first, nerves getting the best of me, but eventually Masque called me out.
“You must need a piss now, Cat. You’ll be going like a racehorse at this rate.”
“Sorry, maybe I should go first? Take the edge of it?”
“No fucking way,” he growled. “I’ve worked up quite a thirst.”
“I do need to go,” I admitted. “I’ll have to try not to piss myself the moment I get off this stool.”
He smiled and took my hand. “Perfect timing, everyone’s on the main floor, which can mean only one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s an empty wet room with our name on it.”
The room was empty, just like he anticipated. It was stark and plain, all white tiles and fluorescent lighting. It reminded me of a public swimming pool shower room, with a load of detachable showerheads jutting from the walls at regular intervals. One large drain sat ominous in the middle of the floor. Masque hung his jacket up on a coat hook by the entrance, un-cuffing his shirt and draping it along with it. He took my bag and placed it on a bench, and held his hand out for my shoes. I handed them over.
The room was cold, every noise echoing all about us, metallic and clinical. I caught the faint whiff of pine disinfectant. It made me feel even dirtier.
“Are you going to pissinthat dress, or out of it?” Masque quizzed. “Your call.”
I opted to preserve the gown, despite what Rebecca had intended, and wriggled out of it, tossing it to him for safe keeping. He groaned on sight of my bruises, and I bloomed with a confidence that was still new to me.
I watched him undress. Every movement was calculated, every breath considered. His cock rose huge, allaying any doubt that the man really wanted this. He pinned me to the tiles in a heartbeat, tongue fierce in my mouth as his fingers found my clit.
“Trust me,” he breathed. “You’re going to feel so good, Lydia, so fucking good. Tell me when you can’t fight it anymore, I’ll be ready.”
The pressure built up, exasperated by the throbbing of my clit, but I kept quiet, forcing it back. He moved his head lower, sucking my tits into his mouth one by one. He slurped his way between them, wet and slick, teasing my nipples to life.
“I love your titties, Cat,” he hissed. “They’re so fucking ripe for me.”
I rested my head back against the wall, looking down on him through glazed eyes. I yelped as he bit down hard.
“Please,” I gasped. “Please, Masque, make it hurt.” He clamped his teeth with added force, savaging my flesh until I whimpered.
“One day soon your tits will know real pain, Cat. So much beautiful pain, so much pain all for you.”
He ground his thigh between mine, pressing so hard I tried to move from under him. “Not there,” I begged. “I won’t be able to hold it.”
“That’s the fucking point,” he growled. “I want to drink from you, Lydia, I want to spread your sweet little cunt and lap at your slit like you’re the fountain of fucking life itself.”
Nerves jangled as the need to piss threatened to consume me. I focused on the ache between my thighs, on clenching every muscle as tight as it would go.
“I don’t know if I can do this. It’s so dirty, Masque.”
“If I can dothis, Lydia Marsh.” He slipped the mask up from his face, tossing it over to the bench. “Thenyoucan give me what I need. No boundaries, no barriers, no mask, Lydia, just you and me. I want to know every part of you, every secret of your body.Everysecret.” His face was so close to mine, so close I could taste the scotch on his breath. “Trust me, Lydia, please.”
I raised my hands to his face. “You said you wouldn’t do that again, take off the mask.”
“I’m doing a lot of things lately that I thought I’d never do. Now it’s your turn. Please, Cat, please give me a taste.”
His hand was hot between my thighs again, balling my clit with his thumb. “Shit,” I moaned. “I can’t hold it, James, I can’t hold it anymore. I’m going to piss, James, I need to go. I can’t hold it!”
