breasts quivering like ripe fruit on a tree. Still she kept her hands raised, twitching
her head to make her hair spill like a fall of pale silk along her back.
Every motion emphasized the exaggerated roll of her hips and buttocks through the
silk, and each step of her small white feet sent her gaudy jewelry jingling across
her bare skin like another kind of music. In theory her dance was meant to entice
the man, but she was aware of her larger audience, too, artfully turning and twisting
to include every man and woman in the room.
Fascinated, I leaned forward on the bench. I couldn’t deny that the music and the
dancer were seducing me as well, and I felt the beguiling rhythm curling through my
blood and deep in my belly. The costly dress that I’d earlier thought to be so revealing
now seemed as heavy and dull as a nun’s habit, and part of me wished I could throw
it off and dance with the same freedom and abandon as the woman before us.
The music quickened, the drum more insistent. The woman threw back her head and kicked
one foot high in the air, arching her back impossibly far.
I gasped. As the woman kicked, she revealed that her silken trousers were completely
open both in front and in back, offering a provocative glimpse of her private self.
What made her nudity all the more shocking was that she’d been shaved clean, revealing
every detail of her full-lipped sex. Another kick, another glimpse, glistening red
and wet.
One of the gentlemen swore loudly, unable to contain himself.
Could the woman have painted herself there as well? I wondered. At once I imagined
the lubricious process of sitting before a mirror with legs spread wide, and the tickling
sensation of a brush and paint gliding over my own sex. Or was the dancer simply so
aroused by the dance that she’d blossomed like an open rose?
I’d certainly never shown myself in such a state to my husband, Arthur. If I’d ever
managed to become so visibly aroused, he would have been appalled.
But what if I looked like that to Lord Savage?
I stole a glance at him sitting beside me, curious to see his response to the woman’s
performance. He sat with his head resting on his bent arm and his gaze intent and
focused.
But he wasn’t looking at the performance. He was watching me.
My cheeks flaming, I looked quickly away, back to the dancer. He’d accused me before
of being a voyeur, and I’d denied it. Now he had the proof that I enjoyed watching
others, yet I found I did not care.
No, it went far beyond that: I was glad of it. For him to prefer to watch me watching
(oh, it was so tangled!) and to concentrate on my reaction rather than on the lewd
entr’acte was in itself wildly exciting, and enough to make my heart race even faster.
Yet, soon I was drawn back into the performance. For the first time the woman dropped
her arms, and came to dance directly before the man on the cushions. Still shimmying,
she bent her knees and parted her legs so that the open trousers fell open to bare
her completely. She slid her hands over her hips and the juncture of her thighs, her
fingers framing her seductive core. She arched close to the man, offering herself
as blatantly as was possible.
“Enough,” the man barked, quickly rising to his feet as the woman sank down to crouch
on her heels. “Down!”
The woman shook her hair back over her shoulders and knelt before him. With deft fingers,
she opened his trousers and drew his cock and balls free of the crimson silk. He was
already erect, and his sizable cock eagerly sprang forward into her fingers. She parted
her painted lips and took his cock into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked
him deeper.
The man closed his eyes and groaned with pleasure as he rocked his hips against the
woman’s mouth. He tangled his dark fingers into her pale hair to hold her head so
firmly that she couldn’t have pulled back even if she’d wished
her head to make her hair spill like a fall of pale silk along her back.
Every motion emphasized the exaggerated roll of her hips and buttocks through the
silk, and each step of her small white feet sent her gaudy jewelry jingling across
her bare skin like another kind of music. In theory her dance was meant to entice
the man, but she was aware of her larger audience, too, artfully turning and twisting
to include every man and woman in the room.
Fascinated, I leaned forward on the bench. I couldn’t deny that the music and the
dancer were seducing me as well, and I felt the beguiling rhythm curling through my
blood and deep in my belly. The costly dress that I’d earlier thought to be so revealing
now seemed as heavy and dull as a nun’s habit, and part of me wished I could throw
it off and dance with the same freedom and abandon as the woman before us.
The music quickened, the drum more insistent. The woman threw back her head and kicked
one foot high in the air, arching her back impossibly far.
I gasped. As the woman kicked, she revealed that her silken trousers were completely
open both in front and in back, offering a provocative glimpse of her private self.
What made her nudity all the more shocking was that she’d been shaved clean, revealing
every detail of her full-lipped sex. Another kick, another glimpse, glistening red
and wet.
One of the gentlemen swore loudly, unable to contain himself.
Could the woman have painted herself there as well? I wondered. At once I imagined
the lubricious process of sitting before a mirror with legs spread wide, and the tickling
sensation of a brush and paint gliding over my own sex. Or was the dancer simply so
aroused by the dance that she’d blossomed like an open rose?
I’d certainly never shown myself in such a state to my husband, Arthur. If I’d ever
managed to become so visibly aroused, he would have been appalled.
But what if I looked like that to Lord Savage?
I stole a glance at him sitting beside me, curious to see his response to the woman’s
performance. He sat with his head resting on his bent arm and his gaze intent and
focused.
But he wasn’t looking at the performance. He was watching me.
My cheeks flaming, I looked quickly away, back to the dancer. He’d accused me before
of being a voyeur, and I’d denied it. Now he had the proof that I enjoyed watching
others, yet I found I did not care.
No, it went far beyond that: I was glad of it. For him to prefer to watch me watching
(oh, it was so tangled!) and to concentrate on my reaction rather than on the lewd
entr’acte was in itself wildly exciting, and enough to make my heart race even faster.
Yet, soon I was drawn back into the performance. For the first time the woman dropped
her arms, and came to dance directly before the man on the cushions. Still shimmying,
she bent her knees and parted her legs so that the open trousers fell open to bare
her completely. She slid her hands over her hips and the juncture of her thighs, her
fingers framing her seductive core. She arched close to the man, offering herself
as blatantly as was possible.
“Enough,” the man barked, quickly rising to his feet as the woman sank down to crouch
on her heels. “Down!”
The woman shook her hair back over her shoulders and knelt before him. With deft fingers,
she opened his trousers and drew his cock and balls free of the crimson silk. He was
already erect, and his sizable cock eagerly sprang forward into her fingers. She parted
her painted lips and took his cock into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked
him deeper.
The man closed his eyes and groaned with pleasure as he rocked his hips against the
woman’s mouth. He tangled his dark fingers into her pale hair to hold her head so
firmly that she couldn’t have pulled back even if she’d wished
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