This story is my first entry to a Literotica challenge. Thank you to Freya for organising this one, and to Acting Up for their excellent character, Fatemah.
You can read Fatemah's beginnings at: https://www.literotica.com/s/threes-the-charm-pt-01-todd
Read the
other events at Lit Con 2025 here
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FRIDAY
The Grand City Hotel towered above her, glass glinting like a beacon in the late afternoon sun. Fatemah stepped into the lobby, taking a deep breath, her heels clicking against the polished marble. She could still remember the last time she wore heels -- barely -- but nothing about that life fit anymore. Not the marriage, not the silence, not the veil.
Here, there was space to breathe, to exist, to want.
She glided past cascading chandeliers and velvet lounges, trying not to gawk at the elegant chaos of Lit Con 2025. Laughter echoed down the corridor. People in corsets, leather, silk, and sequins moved freely, unapologetically. She was here for the workshops, she told herself, to write and observe.
But the red dress in her suitcase -- the one she'd never worn -- said otherwise.
In her room, she laid it across the bed. It was scandalous by her old standards. Backless, figure-hugging, with a slit up one thigh that whispered of rebellion. She tried not to think of her husband's scowl or her mother's judgment. She entered the expansive shower, the hot streams peeling away the shadows of her past life in Saudi Arabia.
When she finally stepped out, her skin still damp and glowing, wrapped in vibrant red silk, a quiet confidence settled over her. Gone was the girl who once concealed herself--now she was Fatemah, standing bare and unafraid, prepared to embrace what lay ahead.
The bass thudded deep in her chest, while a saxophone's smoky notes curled through the thick, warm air. People moved--some laughing, some whispering--slipping between heavy curtains and the soft flicker of candlelight. On the small stage, a drag queen owned every word, lips perfectly matching the music, every gesture sharp and electric. Nearby, a couple swayed, slow and easy, leather catching glints of light, completely wrapped up in each other and the night.
Fatemah's senses were on overload. She kept catching flashes of bare skin, mesh, chains, and smiles that promised stories she wasn't ready to hear -- yet. She turned to get a better view of the stage -- and collided into a wall of leather and cleavage.
Strong, gloved hands steadied her.
"If you wanted my attention, you could have just said hello," a husky voice teased.
Fatemah looked up. Blue eyes, a smirk, a face too composed to be accidental.
"I--sorry. I wasn't watching where I--" Her words tangled as her eyes drifted down. Leather corset. Glossy boots. Long fingers.
"Carmen," the woman offered, voice velvet over steel.
"Fatemah," she was shocked at herself for not using the alias she had planned.
Carmen's smirk widened. "Well, Fatemah, if you're half as bold with your words as you're with your entrances, I hope we meet again."
And just like that, she vanished into the crowd. But Fatemah's world didn't settle. It had just shifted.
SATURDAY
Fatemah woke with her heart pounding and her thighs pressed together. Her dreams had been vivid--Carmen's eyes, voice, and mouth--and the feel of leather under her fingertips. She stretched beneath the sheets, blinking against the morning light, and reached for her phone.
Lit Con's Saturday itinerary blinked back at her: panels, workshops, and a social hour. And then it caught her eye:
"How to Please a Woman Sexually -- 11 AM, Ballroom B."
Fatemah hesitated. Was it too bold? Too soon? What if Carmen was there?
Her answer came thirty minutes later, as she stood in the middle of Ballroom B, waiting for Carmen to take the stage.
Not in fetish gear this time. Tailored black trousers hugged her hips, paired with an unbuttoned burgundy blouse just enough to reveal lace underneath. A headset mic sat poised at her jaw. Her boots still clicked with authority. She was less spectacle now, more seduction. And Fatemah couldn't breathe.
"Welcome," Carmen began. Her voice was calm and smooth. "Something brought you here. Perhaps a question you haven't asked aloud yet, or a desire you've only just begun to feel."
The crowd leaned in. So did Fatemah.
Carmen paced deliberately. "We're conditioned to believe that pleasure is linear, goal-oriented. But pleasure is about discovery, attention, and consent."
She talked about anatomy, about how feeling safe could change everything. Her hands moved over the silicone model with so tender and focused care that Fatemah felt a strange heat stir inside her. Carmen's fingers traced invisible paths, as if sharing secrets only Fatemah could sense. Whenever Carmen looked her way, it felt like they spoke without words.
"I need a volunteer."
The room quieted. Without even thinking, Fatemah's hand shot up.
Carmen's smile danced softly, like a candle flickering in the dark. "Come on up."
Fatemah stood, legs shaky. When she reached the stage, Carmen didn't touch her--at first. She hovered, waited, then gently brushed Fatemah's hair aside to expose her neck.
"This," she whispered, "is one of the most intimate places on the body."
Her fingertips danced under Fatemah's ear. Fatemah exhaled audibly, knees softening. The touch was light, reverent--but electric.
Carmen leaned close. "Sometimes," she murmured, "a kiss says more than a simple' yes '."
And then she pressed her lips just beneath Fatemah's jaw. Not a show, not for the audience, just for her.
When Fatemah returned to her seat, she was burning.
Later, in the bar tucked next to the themed rooms, Carmen ordered drinks and led Fatemah to a secluded booth with plush seats and mirrored walls. Carmen sat close, her knee to knee, her hand to her thigh.
They talked. Carmen asked where she was from, if she was alone, and what she wanted. Fatemah struggled for words. Carmen's thumb brushed the back of her hand like punctuation.
"Do you want to touch a woman?" Carmen asked softly.
Fatemah blinked. " I-I think so."
"And do you want to be touched by one?"
She looked down, then up again. "Yes," she said.
Carmen's eyes darkened with something like promise. "Do you want me?"
Fatemah's pulse skipped. "I do."
