breathe, and the muscles of her thighs when she squeezed herself around the man on top of her. He was also slender, with skin darker than Mr. Mocha’s mask. He had one hand lifting her tailbone so only her shoulders and head were touching the couch. It seemed all of their muscles tensed in time with each other, and like they had all night to work on that orgasm together.
Mocha was right: envy was exactly what she was feeling. Among a lot of other things.
“I mean, we were having sex,” she said. “But I don’t remember enjoying it as much as that . Not even in the beginning. I mean, look at them.”
He did look, but only for long enough to get her point, after which she took his right hand and put it on her left breast. He looked surprised—as much as either of them could register surprise under a mask—but not unhappy with this development.
As much as they had talked about not being the sort of people to do the very thing Lindy was starting to push them toward, Mr. Mocha didn’t appear at all reluctant.
“That’s terrible,” he said. “Not the breast, I mean your story. You need some better sex in your life, Ms. Burgundy.”
“I think you’re right.” She wrapped the chain from his neck around her hand, and gave it another pull. “I like this chain on you. Why don’t you try that hand under the dress?”
“Yes ma’am,” he said.
He slid his hand under the dress and pulled the left strap past her shoulder, and uncovered her breast.
The world didn’t end. Nobody gawked, or pointed, or much saw it other than Mr. Mocha. They could , but somehow that didn’t matter to Lindy any more.
She thought back to Olive, and how sitting next to her felt a little bit like being near a live electrical wire. It was the buzz of sexual tension that was in every part of the club, and Olive was in tune with it. Lindy hadn’t been, but she could feel it, and had been trying all evening to ignore it. She couldn’t any longer.
“Is that okay?” Mocha asked, regarding her newly exposed nipple.
“Yes,” Lindy said. “Yes, it’s really okay.” She jerked the chain. “Now help me out of this dress.”
He tilted his head and smiled. “Everyone will see.”
“Yeah, fuck it. Let’s do this.”
Lindy had no idea what was really going through his mind: whether the trepidation he’d expressed earlier had been genuine but was being overcome, or whether this entire thing had been an act to get her to relax. They could have been two nervous newcomers working their way through an understanding of the club toward a point they both wanted to reach, or not, and she decided she didn’t care one way or another. When it was over, she would never see Mr. Mocha again, and he would never know who she was. She could have whomever he decided he was going to be.
What he decided to be was an eager lover. With his left hand he pulled the other strap down off her shoulder, and then both her breasts were uncovered. His hands were rough; she decided he must do a lot of work with them. Carpentry, or something outdoors. The skin was thick and callused, not soft like Michael’s.
Stop thinking of Michael , she thought.
She pulled Mocha forward and kissed him aggressively on the mouth. He had been leaning forward and over her, but with the kiss she guided him back to a sitting position on the couch, and then she stood between his legs.
Now everyone in the room who wanted to could see her and her breasts. A few did. She could feel their eyes.
Don’t cover up , she thought. Nobody knows who you are. It doesn’t matter.
The dress had a zipper in back. She let go of the chain and reached around to undo it, and then let Mr. Mocha pull the dress down to the floor. She kicked it aside.
In the middle of the room, a man in a dark mask stopped what he was doing to look her up and down. She was, save for the G-string, shoes, mask and gloves, utterly
Mocha was right: envy was exactly what she was feeling. Among a lot of other things.
“I mean, we were having sex,” she said. “But I don’t remember enjoying it as much as that . Not even in the beginning. I mean, look at them.”
He did look, but only for long enough to get her point, after which she took his right hand and put it on her left breast. He looked surprised—as much as either of them could register surprise under a mask—but not unhappy with this development.
As much as they had talked about not being the sort of people to do the very thing Lindy was starting to push them toward, Mr. Mocha didn’t appear at all reluctant.
“That’s terrible,” he said. “Not the breast, I mean your story. You need some better sex in your life, Ms. Burgundy.”
“I think you’re right.” She wrapped the chain from his neck around her hand, and gave it another pull. “I like this chain on you. Why don’t you try that hand under the dress?”
“Yes ma’am,” he said.
He slid his hand under the dress and pulled the left strap past her shoulder, and uncovered her breast.
The world didn’t end. Nobody gawked, or pointed, or much saw it other than Mr. Mocha. They could , but somehow that didn’t matter to Lindy any more.
She thought back to Olive, and how sitting next to her felt a little bit like being near a live electrical wire. It was the buzz of sexual tension that was in every part of the club, and Olive was in tune with it. Lindy hadn’t been, but she could feel it, and had been trying all evening to ignore it. She couldn’t any longer.
“Is that okay?” Mocha asked, regarding her newly exposed nipple.
“Yes,” Lindy said. “Yes, it’s really okay.” She jerked the chain. “Now help me out of this dress.”
He tilted his head and smiled. “Everyone will see.”
“Yeah, fuck it. Let’s do this.”
Lindy had no idea what was really going through his mind: whether the trepidation he’d expressed earlier had been genuine but was being overcome, or whether this entire thing had been an act to get her to relax. They could have been two nervous newcomers working their way through an understanding of the club toward a point they both wanted to reach, or not, and she decided she didn’t care one way or another. When it was over, she would never see Mr. Mocha again, and he would never know who she was. She could have whomever he decided he was going to be.
What he decided to be was an eager lover. With his left hand he pulled the other strap down off her shoulder, and then both her breasts were uncovered. His hands were rough; she decided he must do a lot of work with them. Carpentry, or something outdoors. The skin was thick and callused, not soft like Michael’s.
Stop thinking of Michael , she thought.
She pulled Mocha forward and kissed him aggressively on the mouth. He had been leaning forward and over her, but with the kiss she guided him back to a sitting position on the couch, and then she stood between his legs.
Now everyone in the room who wanted to could see her and her breasts. A few did. She could feel their eyes.
Don’t cover up , she thought. Nobody knows who you are. It doesn’t matter.
The dress had a zipper in back. She let go of the chain and reached around to undo it, and then let Mr. Mocha pull the dress down to the floor. She kicked it aside.
In the middle of the room, a man in a dark mask stopped what he was doing to look her up and down. She was, save for the G-string, shoes, mask and gloves, utterly
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