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The crowd gasped, sucking out all the air in the room. Surely that was the reason why he couldn’t find his own breath while watching her wave her incredible globes from side to side, hints of a smile appearing around her gag as everyone showered her with applause. Gods in every firmament. It had to be the most erotic thing Franz had ever witnessed, and he was the damn schmuck who’d orchestrated the whole thing.
No. Not a schmuck.
He was a fucking genius.
And a textbook idiot.
Now, every person in the theater wanted her. Even the sarcastic Domina. None of them kept it a secret. Franz knew the sounds of erections being adjusted or outright stroked—and, in at least five different corners, freed from zippers, as well. His subbie and her flawless ass, shaking that foofy tail in every damn direction, had affected the crowd so much, a bunch of them weren’t willing to wait for the after-party.
His first response to that was a flash of irritation—replaced at once by a surge of possessive pride. Let every single one of them fantasize about fucking her. Only one Dominant in this room was going to put the exclamation point on this subbie’s ultimate lesson.
Right. Now.
The resolve was a forest fire in his mind—and torturing pressure up his cock. It was the fever in his fingers, digging a packet from his pocket, and the frenzied tear of his teeth through the foil. It was the feeling of her body tremoring beneath him, as he lined his erection up with her cleft and his lips against her ear.
“Showtime, kitten.”
