Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
All playing into stereotypes.
What would she say about this?
Desire isn't politically correct, maybe.
She takes her time surveying her options. And she points to the dancer in leather, as she picks up her tips and rights her top. "I want her."
"You like a Domme?"
"I do," she says. "That's what I want to try tonight. I want to be tied to someone's bed."
Fuck me.
Chapter Sixteen
Jackson
The private dance area in the back of the club throbs with electronic dance music. The space screams of sex. Blue benches, purple lights, mirrored walls and ceiling.
And the half a dozen lap dances already in progress.
The stripper, Mistress Mercy, sits Daphne in the middle of an empty couch and points me to the spot next to her.
Her black lips slide into a smile. "I love couples. They're my favorite. There are so many ways we can do this."
"We're playing a game," Daphne says. "If that's okay with you."
"Depends on the terms." Her eyes fix on Daphne. "And what I get to do if one of you breaks the rules."
Daphne's cheeks flush, but she pushes on. "We want to see who can better resist your charms." She swallows hard. "The first one to touch you loses. Wherever you are okay being touched, of course."
The dancer smiles. "And is the loser punished?"
"Yes," Daphne says. "What do you recommend?"
"A spanking." She winks at me. "I like to bend bad girls over my knees."
"Perfect." Daphne looks to me. "If that works for you."
I know I protested, but the truth is, Daphne doesn't have a chance in hell. I've practiced my self-restraint for a long time. And I have little desire to touch this dancer.
I don't know her. I don't want her.
She's an attractive woman with a slim, athletic figure similar to Daphne's, but she's too, well, dominant.
I don't mind a little role reversal with a girlfriend. I enjoy it every so often. As much for the practice as the thrill.
The best martial artists know how to attack and defend. It's the same principle. I master my role and my partner's.
And, well, it's fun to switch places from time to time.
But with this stranger?
I'm not moved.
Still.
I am a man.
When she runs her fingers over Daphne's jaw—
Blood rushes south.
"I think he likes it." Mercy draws another line up Daphne's jaw. "How many songs, sweetheart?"
"Three," Daphne says.
"You can touch me anywhere that isn't covered by fabric," Mercy says. "What about the two of you? Can I play with you?"
I say no the moment Daphne says yes.
"Got it." Mercy smiles. "You are a bad girl, aren't you?" She purrs with approval. "I can't wait to punish you." It's a put-on stern voice with put-on interest, but she pulls it off.
Daphne falls into it. Or maybe she plays along. At the moment, I can't tell. Blood is fleeing my brain at an alarming rate.
I always found the girl-on-girl thing was an idiotic fetishization of queerness. Especially when my sister came out as bisexual.
But not even the thought of Cassie's disappointment brings logic to the forefront of my mind.
Daphne is staring at Mercy like she wants to undo her. She's under the spell of the stern voice and posture.
She wants someone to boss her around.
Someone like me.
No. Not someone like me.
She wants me. Specifically.
She's all but written it on the mirror.
It's up to me to resist.
Or give in.
As the song shifts to the next, Mercy shifts into action. She turns and backs into Daphne's lap. "Help me with this, sweetheart." She points to the buttons holding the neck of her one-piece together. "And take your time. I like a tease."
Daphne fumbles with the buttons.
Mercy laughs. "Like a teenage boy, huh? Am I your first?"
"Huh?" Daphne undoes the first button.
"Woman?" the dancer asks.
"No," Daphne says. "I've kissed some women. Touched a little. Above the waist."
"I don't kiss, sweetie," she says. "But I do like to touch."
Daphne gets the second button.
"Thanks, doll. Is this your first dance?" she asks.
Daphne nods, realizes the dancer can't see, says, "Yes."
"Your fiancé too?" she asks.
"No," I admit.
"I have to confess." Mercy rolls her hips over Daphne's lap. "I really want to see you lose, doll. I love punishing a good girl who's trying to be bad."
She grinds against Daphne's lap again.
Again.
Again.
Then she shifts off her, turns so she's looking down at Daphne, rolls her bodysuit over her chest.
Daphne's eyes go straight to her breasts. She doesn't touch, but, fuck, it looks like she wants to—
It's way too fucking hot.
It's ridiculous.
Mercy rolls her lingerie over her hips and down her thighs, then she turns to show off her thong.
She rolls to the ground to show Daphne her ass, then she rises and slides backward into Daphne's lap.
Mercy arches back, pressing her ass into Daphne's crotch. "Sometimes, I have to tell guys to sit on their hands. If they can't follow rules. But I hope you don't."