by Kitty Thomas
Shannon drank this one more slowly while Lindsay flagged down one of the roaming waiters to collect a couple of mini-quiches. Shannon ate them when they were passed to her. They were still warm from the oven, a delicious blend of cheese and spinach in the most delicate homemade crust. She finished the champagne and again Lindsay took the glass from her and put it on the tray.
She did feel more relaxed as the calming warmth spread over her face. The nerves had settled, the anxiety receding, and suddenly everything here felt very normal. And that was her first clue that 2 glasses of champagne consumed that fast was probably too much.
“Good girl. Now, let me show you the art.”
Lindsay guided her to each bound man or woman, speaking about the art and what he'd learned about it on his previous exploratory mission. He spoke of them as if they were inanimate statues or paintings, commented as others fondled them and they moaned. Each piece of art had a name connected with the designs carefully tied into the rope work, mostly to do with trees and flowers.
They stopped in front of a bound and blindfolded man. He had sleek muscles, as if he'd been sculpted out of marble. He looked like a model—and probably was one. His wrists were bound at his sides against his thighs in complex criss-crossing rope designs. His legs were spread, his ankles bound in place against round metal loops screwed into the platform which displayed him.
His erection jutted out, free of any bindings. It was... impressive.
Lindsay's mouth was suddenly near her ear, “You need to follow the rules of the gallery. Touch the art, kitten.”
She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She was usually the bound person in this scenario. It felt so strange to have someone else bound at her mercy. Though perhaps not so much, since Lindsay was directing things and seemed very much in charge right now. She reached out and ran her fingertips lightly over the stranger's cock.
He shuddered in his bonds and arched closer to her.
“This one has been neglected,” Lindsay said, loud enough for the blindfolded man to hear. “I think you need to be a good girl, kneel on the platform, and suck him until he comes.”
The man's breath hitched in his throat.
“See? He likes the idea,” Lindsay said, urging her forward.
Shannon looked around, uncertain. Other people were engaged in similar acts with the art. She leaned closer and licked the firm muscles of his stomach. He responded with a panting gasp.
Shannon pulled her evening gown up so she wouldn't damage the dress and knelt on the platform. The stranger's erection was directly in front of her face now. She dragged her tongue over it, and he groaned in response.
Lindsay began to stroke her bare back in soothing circles. “Good girl, now take him all the way inside. Pleasure him. And when he comes, I expect you to swallow.”
His suggestion made her throb between her legs. It was so fucking wrong, but the man in front of her smelled like vanilla soap and tasted just as clean. She imagined the bound people had been put through some elaborate bathing ritual before tonight's event.
The man's hips rocked against her mouth as she sucked him. She allowed her fingers to skim over his thighs, feeling the goosebumps as they popped out over his skin. Her fingers trailed over his bound and straining hands.
“Martin!” Lindsay said behind her.
Shannon heard the unmistakable voice of the bank president behind her. She tried to keep her focus on the man in front of her, but she couldn't help eavesdropping.
An unfamiliar hand stroked her back. She flinched. She didn't like just anyone to touch her where the scars were. Even if no one could see them in this lighting, they could be felt.
“You brought your pet,” Martin said as if it were entirely normal for him to randomly touch her. Maybe he thought it was acceptable, given the venue and the fact that he'd done them both such a large favor in opening that unconventional bank account. She expected Lindsay to be more territorial or tell him to get his hands off her, but he didn't.
Martin Graysen was an attractive man, and he'd been very nice to her when he'd set up her account, but he hadn't treated her like a whore at the bank. And right now it felt like that was exactly what he was doing, as if she were public property just anyone could touch—and without Lindsay's say-so. That was the part that rankled the most. Even with the scars, if it were the doctor's idea or order she would have gladly given him what he wanted, much like she was giving the art what it wanted with her mouth. But it wasn't Lindsay's idea. He hadn't given the order.
Martin had just assumed he had the right.
An uncomfortable moment passed, then Martin said, “I'm going to mingle. Good to see you. We should get drinks at the club and catch up.”
“You can call the office and set something up with Shannon,” Lindsay said. His voice was cold.
The hand left her back suddenly and she felt, more than saw, the bank manager drift off into the crowd. Maybe Lindsay had given Martin a look and that was what had caused the bank president to excuse himself as quickly as he'd appeared.
She turned her attention back to pleasing the man in front of her, an activity that seemed surreal at the moment. She'd been excited by the idea, but Martin's arrival and subsequent weird propriety touching had thrown her off her game.
The stranger bucked more wildly against her, panting and moaning, entirely unaware of the power plays that had just taken place. His hands strained against his bonds, and she could feel how badly he wanted to touch her, hold her head in place as he came down her throat. But he couldn't.
A moment later, another strange set of hands touched her back then slid underneath her dress to stroke her breasts. Before she could yelp and pull away, a familiar voice spoke low in her ear.
“Miss me, baby? Because I definitely missed you.”
She relaxed at Damian's voice. One of his hands left her breast and moved around to her front, fighting to get underneath the gown. When he'd managed it, he slipped his hand under her panties and began to stroke between her legs.
“I see fellating strangers in public gets you wet. Noted,” he growled in her ear as the man in front of her came with a final groan of pleasure.
Lindsay held her in place. “Swallow, kitten,” he said, never losing focus of the situation.
She swallowed the man's spendings, moaning as her hips bucked against Damian's hand.
The man's cock went soft in her mouth and Damian pulled her away, removing his hands from underneath her dress. She stumbled off the platform into his arms and stood unsteadily looking around. A silent crowd had formed around them, watching the show she'd just put on.
Hunter stood off to the side, watching her with amused interest. He nodded at her as if he appreciated that bit of performance art, as if he couldn't have come up with better entertainment for the opening himself.
Then he turned and disappeared into the dispersing crowd.
68
Shannon sat silently in the passenger side of the car. It was only nine-thirty. When the show had closed for the night, there had been a long lull where the participants quietly met up with the others who'd been on display, rubbing kinks out of shoulders and soreness out of wrists, searching for chafing or other damage. The care for each other, the focus only on the others that had shared this experience with them was somehow strangely erotic.
Shannon had felt like a voyeur watching this private exchange in the open space.
She'd blushed in the darkness when the man she'd given the blow job to was free to look around the room, his eyes briefly meeting hers. He couldn't have known it was her, but she felt exposed anyway. She felt like he somehow knew.
“Are we going home now?” Shannon asked.
“No. We're going to a little after party,” Lindsay replied.
“Who will be there?”
“The art. The artist. His pet, Saskia. Us. And Damian.”
Shannon tamped down the thrill she felt at the guest list and instead changed the subject. “I'
m starving.”
Lindsay chuckled. “There will be food. Damian brought in a catering team. They'll leave as soon as everything is set up.”
She didn't want more fancy food. She wanted something normal. But she didn't want to be rude.
So they were going to Damian's house? Had Lindsay already made these arrangements? She found herself nervous at the prospect of seeing Damian again. Wetness flooded between her legs thinking about the way he'd touched her at the gallery—the proprietary way he touched her. The way Lindsay let him touch her. There had been no awkward vibe, no hostile static seething between the two men, no posturing like with Lindsay and Mr. Graysen.
It seemed understood that Damian could touch her however he liked, whenever he liked. The thought should unsettle her, but it only excited her. The bank president may have stroked her back but he wouldn't have dared to touch her as intimately as Damian had.
When they got near the coast, Shannon lowered her window to breathe in the salt air. And then she started to cry.
“What's wrong?” Lindsay asked not taking his eyes from the road.
“I just haven't seen the ocean in so long,” she said softly.
He placed a hand on her knee. “You could have gone to the beach on your day off. You had plenty of time. You should go next Friday. Spend the afternoon. There's a public beach about 3 miles back. You could get one of those tropical fruity drinks with an umbrella and ogle the lifeguards.” He turned and winked at her.
“Okay.” She smiled weakly and wiped the tears off her face, feeling foolish for the outburst.
Of course she could have gone, but for some reason it hadn't occurred to her. Being at the house so long she'd forgotten the real world. She'd forgotten the city. It was only being inside the city that had brought it back into existence. Even then that was the only place that seemed real. She was embarrassed to admit she'd forgotten the edge of the city sat twenty minutes from the coastline.
They'd left the main highway several miles back, moving to increasingly intimate side roads until they were driving down a long private drive lined with tall trees hovering above them on either side.
After another mile, they came upon a high stone wall with flickering oil lamps attached at the top to light the way. A large reinforced steel gate stood open to let them pass onto what was clearly the property and their destination. Finally the path opened out to reveal the most magnificent thing Shannon had ever seen.
“What is this place?”
“Damian's house,” Lindsay said. “What do you think?”
She wasn't sure she could form full sentences. It was such a stark contrast to the white columned and somewhat old-fashioned mansion she'd lived in for the past eight years.
Damian's house was a mansion just as grand, but it seemed to be made entirely of glass. The impressive structure stood at the edge of a rocky cliff overlooking the sea.
Before she could say anything, Lindsay had parked the car and came around to her side, opening her door and helping her out. She didn't take her eyes off the house, her mouth gaping open.
Damian greeted her at the door with a kiss on each cheek, holding both of her hands in his as if she were a long-lost friend. He stepped back still holding her hands.
“Let me look at you.”
Shannon blushed under his scrutiny as the wrap fell from her shoulders onto the floor. Lindsay bent behind her and picked it up. She was grateful when she felt the silk caressing and covering her back once more. Damian let go of her hands, and she gripped the wrap tightly around her.
He didn't comment on that. He just led them into the house. The other guests had already arrived. They all stood in a large industrial-sized kitchen, eating what looked like mini cheeseburgers and fries with all sorts of different dipping sauces—not the snotty pretentious food Shannon had dreaded having more of tonight.
Everyone drank soft drinks out of plastic cups. It looked like a combination between a frat party and a Sunday afternoon luncheon.
Damian filled a plate of food for Shannon. “Here, sit,” he said, guiding her to a chair at the end of a table that was just out of the way of all the activity, like she was the only one who rated the privilege of sitting. Soon Lindsay joined her at the same table with his own plate. Damian got them both soft drinks and then went to mingle with his guests.
It was strange seeing all the people from the art exhibit wearing normal clothes and acting like regular people, as if they hadn't just spent three hours naked and bound under black lights being touched and licked and kissed by people they would never see.
Most of them had several orgasms over the course of the evening, and yet now they wore jeans and T-shirts of various types and styles, looking like theater majors and eating mini cheeseburgers like none of it had happened. And like it wouldn't continue to happen day-after-day for an entire month.
Paper plates and cups started to fill a large trash can beside the kitchen island and expectant faces turned toward Damian.
“Go on downstairs. Start without us. We'll join you in a few,” Damian said, waving them off so he could eat his own food.
The guests made their way to a door at the far end of the open space, closer to the living room area. Shannon could see the stairs to the basement through the glass, but she couldn't see what was down below because the floor underneath her feet was gray granite.
She took in Damian's house, as she ate. It was a large open floor plan. All the walls were glass. Large steel support beams held everything together, securing it all into one structurally sound whole.
Being able to see through every wall meant there were no secrets. Except for whatever was downstairs. And she was pretty sure she knew what was downstairs. She'd lived at the house long enough to always suspect a dungeon.
Just behind where she sat was an exterior wall that gave a clear and terrifying view over a cliff to the dark swirling and crashing waves hitting the rocks below them.
Damian tossed his plate and cup into the trash. “Ready?” he asked.
“Ready for what?” Shannon asked.
“The after party.” His voice held gentle teasing and dark delicious promise.
She glanced at Lindsay who smiled his own dark smile that mirrored Damian's. He took his and Shannon's empty plates and cups and tossed them in the trash. “Let's go join the rest of the party,” Lindsay said, extending a hand to Shannon.
Damian was already at the basement door, heading downstairs. She took Lindsay's hand and they got up to follow but stopped short when the front door opened, and in walked the artist and his pet. Hunter carried an easel and a canvas. Saskia carried a large tote bag with art supplies poking out of various pockets and openings of the bag.
“Let me get the door for you,” Lindsay said, holding the basement door wide.
“Thank you,” Hunter said, his eyes on Shannon until he had to turn to go down the stairs.
When Shannon and Lindsay got downstairs, almost everyone's clothes were off. The people who had seemed so casual and respectable upstairs were engaged in an orgy. The sounds of fucking and sucking and moans and whimpers filled up the space. Several of them were together in a small group, hands and limbs entangled, mouths grasping for each other on a giant bed at one end of the dungeon.
The rest of the group were scattered throughout the room in couples, experimenting with various bondage equipment and whipping implements.
Shannon's attention was focused on the artist. Hunter spoke with Damian in hushed tones. A chair was brought for him for his approval. He nodded. Then the easel was set up, the canvas placed upon it. A small table was brought down for Hunter to arrange his brushes and paints and rags and a pallette and jars with unidentifiable liquids inside.
When he opened the mason jars, no smells of turpentine filled the air. Shannon couldn't smell anything at all. That was curious, because even from this distance at the other end of the room, she could see he painted with oils, and she knew oil painting usually had lots of smells. Maybe the space do
wn here was just very well-ventilated.
Shannon eased closer, intrigued. It was about an hour until midnight, and this man was going to paint something?
Saskia leaned against Hunter.
“Pet, you're about to fall over. Do you want to lie down?”
“I'm fine, Master,” she said.
He pressed a kiss into her hair. “No, you're exhausted. You've had a long day. You should take a rest.”
“I don't want to leave you,” she said, guessing correctly that she probably would, because the large bed down here was currently very occupied.
“The sofa behind you pulls out into a bed,” Damian offered, pointing to an overstuffed black leather couch that blended unobtrusively against the wall.
“Thank you,” Hunter said. He and Lindsay worked together to pull the sofa out while Damian disappeared up the stairs.
Damian returned a few minutes later with pillows and fresh sheets and a quilted cream-colored blanket. This man didn't skimp on the bed linens. Even in the lower light, Shannon could tell it was very nice bedding.
When the bed was made, Hunter said “Turn.”
Saskia turned around and pulled her hair up out of the way, as if she knew him so well by now there was no question what he intended. Like this was a private and well-worn ritual between them. It felt almost wrong to watch it unfold.
That was when Shannon noticed Saskia's long black evening gown had what seemed like about a million buttons going down the back of the dress. Hunter carefully unbuttoned each one until he reached the last button at her lower back, then he pushed the straps off her shoulders and let the dress fall.
She wasn't wearing a bra or underwear. She stood now in only a collar and glittering silver strappy high heels.
Hunter knelt to unbuckle and help her out of each shoe. She gripped his shoulders for support. Even though about twenty people fucked in about a dozen lurid displays at the other end of the room, Shannon couldn't take her eyes off the interplay between Hunter and his pet.
He rose and kissed her softly on the mouth. “Go lie down. I'll wake you when it's time to leave.”