As the final crescendo of the music swells, I lean forward in my seat, my eyes fixed upon you for the last cue of the night. I glance between your hands, your talented fingers, to your face, eyes closed sometimes, focussed and taking in the moment entirely, one might even say deservedly milking it. You look up at me, confidently knowing I'm watching you, and I think I see a smile flash across your face before you turn and lead everyone into that last flourish. As you give the final gesture, the band buttons the song and I hit a button as one - the lights change perfectly on time. The synchronicity of it gives me a final burst of adrenaline. All of us following that final command together. Your command.
Another show done, the usual congratulations and burble fills the venue as I pass through it, not looking your way but knowing where you are, feeling you like a magnet in the room, but resisting. Slowly the auditorium and then the dressing rooms empty, and I am left collecting laundry alone. I discover a stain on a shirt, and sit down to apply some stain remover before it goes in the wash. I am slightly giddy, having felt hyped up for a few days now, thanks to you.
Over the time I've known you, your eyes and words have shown me there's a side to you I'm drawn to. We have toyed with words, with looks and not-so-accidental brushes of legs, the tension thick between us yet hidden so well from others' eyes. Today I was brave enough to kneel before you in blatant public, adjusting some cables around your position, showing you how well I could present myself for you. Thinking about these moments as I tend to the stain, I smile lightly to myself, and clock the little thrill that passes through me. My body has felt like there is a constant buzzing under my skin from our interactions, but still somehow extra rushes of sensation happen all the time - and we've barely touched.
I'm so lost in thought, your greeting doesn't even register as words, but my breath catches as you walk nonchalantly in. And lock the dressing room door. The sound echoes in the room, and something deep in me knows not to move, so I only raise my head to see you in the mirror. You turn from the door and our eyes lock - reflections that look further apart than my skin says we are - the buzzing has increased. My breathing is shallow, and your eyes drag off mine and down to my tits, far more on show than they were commonly a few weeks ago, the swell rising and falling with my breath. A wide and low cut top allows just a peek of lace from my bra on either side. Just enough to look accidental, unless you know it's not. You've been tortured by it all day.
In the stillness of the moment, my nerves push me to go to turn round to you but you stop me with a voice low and steady - 'stay there'. My brain is trying to catch up with what is happening, and it can't quite keep up. Do I finally get reality after all the fantasy? I can't find words, so I just nod, and settle back into the seat, still holding the shirt and stain pen. You close the distance between us and take them out of my hands, putting them to one side, capping the pen, which makes me chuckle, releasing a little tension, and I utter a light 'thank you' with it. 'I'm sure you can repay me somehow', you quip - 'I'll think of something'. I hear the move in your voice from playful to utterly meaning it and it makes me swallow with anticipation. The promise of so much lies in that tonality.
You step behind me as we banter, and suddenly your hands lie on my shoulders, firm fingers massaging at the knots. It makes me moan a little, the unexpected pleasure of it, the confidence of the touch, release of the muscles, everything in me softens. And then just as quickly as it started, it ends. Your hands slide down over my collar bone and are around my neck. The softness in my body switches immediately to that place that isn't quite tension, more like my whole body stands to attention - the buzz is so intense it's almost a note sounding in my skin like a gong reverberating. Even though the pressure of your hands is fairly light, it's firm, and it speaks to power and knowledge abound - it's exactly in the right place to hinder my breathing just enough that I know it could increase, my breath decrease - if you wanted. My instincts have kicked in anyway, and as soon as your hands went there I had held my breath as a shiver passed through my chest into my nipples, hardening them. Something about this moment sets a course in me, and I have that heightened awareness that happens now and then, when you know you will remember this moment, be able to conjure it at will and have the same thrill.
You noticed, of course, my reactions, and a little 'mmph' of pleasure escapes your lips. You can see what a good slut I have the potential to be. How I could eagerly rise to the challenges you set for me. But with such a plethora of possibility, where to start? I watch your eyes and see all this flash through them, and I can't help but bite my lip at what I could have coming to me. Or on me. Your hands loosen, and I take a deep trembling breath, and this time it's me that moves quickly. A flash of need gives me courage. Standing and turning to you, I step close to you, hands on your forearms, and lean in. When my lips are an inch from yours, I whisper 'please' and your blood surges.
You close the gap between our lips, and our bodies close the gap between one another immediately after. It's electric and intense, and after a short time you break away, your hand having been snaking over my back and ass during the kiss, desperately touching what has been forbidden, clasping me to you, you now still and hold me to you with a hand flat on my back. My hands rest on your shoulders, having been doing the same myself to you. As we catch our breath, you look intently at me, and I can see this is the moment of no return.
'Do you want to be my slut?' - the question is delivered calmly, lightly, layered with the filth and promise the word conjures, yet with a healthy amount of consideration in it. I know I could say no, and nothing bad would happen. For this moment, you give me my chance - here's where I really choose to give up my control. I make myself resist the people pleaser urge to just say 'yes', and consider. While I do I stare in your eyes, and I realise as I do, I'm letting go already. There's an unsaid communication there, that I've half had with you before in public, but now that we're alone and it's real - what I see in your eyes - I know I want this. Need this. My voice is as strong as I can manage in the moment - 'Yes please Sir, I want to be your slut'
You smile broadly, and kiss me quickly again, before trailing away from my lips and down my jawline towards my neck. Your nostrils fill with my perfume, lightly undertoned with the sweat of a night's hard work. The noise it creates in you is guttural, primal - it sends a shiver through my body that you feel ripple down me. You step back and grab the hem of my top, pulling it upwards and off my body - my arms extend upwards to help you without even an instruction - and you take advantage. Once the top's over my head you gather it in your hand and pull back - my arms still caught in the sleeves, bend and drop behind me following your movement. Your eyes assess me but my body knows what to do, and I let my arms be trapped stretched back, hands behind my neck where the top in your hand now holds them.
What this of course means is, I am now arched with my breasts presented to you beautifully. Your eyes take in the bra, black lace and - 'oh... front fastening... very convenient'. I smile a smile a little too smug in response, and you tighten your grip on the top holding my arms, pushing my tits out into your devouring lips and tongue. It's a meal you've had to look at for long enough. You kiss and lick the parts not covered at first, and then you glance up at me, and slowly your mouth moves down and I feel your breath engulf my nipple. It's already a tight bud and a little tortured noise comes from my throat - which is when you take it in your hot mouth and the noise develops into a cry of pleasure.
You pull the material off what of my breast it actually covers, and run your tongue around the outside of my nipple, teasing, watching my reactions. Your mouth goes to cover it, and as you take it in your mouth you give just a quick sharp suck - it's so sensitive my cry reveals a little bit of anguish, amongst all the pleasure. Your eyes gleam, and you pull free the other breast. Both spill over the bra, and you step back to take in the picture, releasing the top. My eyes widen, excitement simmering in me - but I don't move. You tilt your head appraisingly, but with a reassuring smile - 'you can put your arms down - ditch the top'. I do as I'm told, all the while looking at you.
