When Logan told me Gabriella came to find me, my heart thrummed a happy beat like an idiot. My head spun in circles, though, her last words to me echoing, pinching that part inside of me that wasn’t good enough. Back and forth, I debated stopping by her office, telling myself I shouldn’t see her again, thinking about what I’d say if I did.
At the end, I went back to my apartment, fed Tiara and decided to sleep until the party. Seeing Gabriella again wouldn’t do either of us any good. We’d probably end up hurting each other again.
There was nothing but work and the fun of having girls screaming my name and touching my body in worship that would take my mind off the craziness just the mention of Lady Brighton brought to me.
Why did I jerk off thinking about her tongue and ass before I slept you asked? Well, I thought we’d established that my cock was a masochist, and I was an idiot, and I obviously didn’t want to get her off my mind.
What I really wanted was to have her in my arms again where I thoroughly showed her how much I still fucking wanted her. And until that ever happened, I was getting a hard-on every time I was reminded of her. I couldn’t go to work with a stiff cock, so I jerked off before bed and after my first meal of the day and right before I went to the hotel.
I met two of our boys there, and they assured me they gave our music to the DJ and informed him about the cues. The three of us went to change in the bathroom. SWAT officers. The bride-to-be requested a squad of three that liked to spank. She didn’t request a specific thong costume, so I put on my leather dom thong—the one that ended up in Gabriella’s laundry. It’d be an appreciated surprise for the bride-to-be and her bridesmaids. If I surprise Gabi with it, would she appreciate it, too?
Che cazzo? I masturbated three times to stop getting hard thinking about her. Why the fuck would I picture this right now? I glanced down at my semi erection and slapped it. My balls too.
Growling, I bent over in pain. I fucking deserved it.
“Are you good, Fab?” one of the boys hollered.
“Super,” I groaned, but the mission was accomplished. I didn’t think I could get it up for the next hour or so.
I led the boys to the little pub the ladies had rented for the event. Private Party was pasted in pink and glitter on a board outside the entrance. The three of us walked in slowly, our faces hidden with our shades and tipped low caps. The cluster of about fifteen ladies sitting along a semi-circular sofa in the middle of the place stopped whatever they were doing and stared our way.
The bride-to-be was easy to spot with the little veil and crown on her head. I took off my shades and gave her a sharp look. “Clarissa Kent,” I said in my deep seductive voice, “you’re under arrest…for being a very naughty girl.”
Music started as well as the squealing. The boys and I started our routine. Dropping on the floor and undulating our hips as if we were fucking the tiles. Then we rolled our legs, bent up to our knees and balanced on our palms to thrust our hips up and down.
I made my way up through the giggles and cheers and stood in front of Clarissa, shaking my ass to the rhythm. The air turned sultry in no time. I tossed away my shades, and then I bent over and ripped off my shirt in one move.
The ladies lifted their drinks, cheering for me. Over a dozen women howling hungrily at me was nothing compared to the hundreds that did every night before, but it annoyed the shit out of me. I missed the days when I loved being a stripper and cared about shit. Now, I didn’t even know why I ever liked this job. It was funny how one day you just woke up—or met someone—and then everything in your life changed.
I threw my cap across the pub and slid my hands down my chest, the boys doing the same in front of the other ladies. Screams begged us to slide our hands down to our cocks.
I teased a little but kept them hungry for more. Then I ripped off my pants, too. Whistles and more screams penetrated my ears and cut through the music.
Clarissa moon-eyed me as if she’d seen a god, especially when she saw the BDSM thong came with a zipper that was one tug away from showing the good stuff. “You’re so hot!”
“And you’re so naughty.” I took her hands and put them on my chest.
Her face turned tomato red. Cute, but nothing compared to Gabriella’s beautiful deep pink. Fuck me. This was a dangerous territory I was hovering around. I gotta stop before the girl got the wrong idea.
I pushed her hands down my chest, let her feel me up. Her feet bounced with excitement. “You must be spanked…really hard.”
“Oh my GOOOOOD! YES! PLEASE!”
I smiled at the two girls sitting on either side of her and asked them to make room for Clarissa to get on all fours.
More giggles and hollers filled the air. I glanced over my shoulder to see the boys were dancing just fine with the bridesmaids, entertaining them as they should, making them feel good.
I focused on that from now on, reminding myself of why I used to love doing what I did. To make people feel good. To help them let go and have fun. Take away the stress tensing their shoulders and backs. And it made me feel good, too, to forget about the sadness, the insecurities and the pain that never went away, only silenced or smothered.
Here, I was a god, coveted and worshipped, lost in the thrill of the music and fun and sex. During the dance, nothing mattered but the joy. Everything else was tuned out.
Clarissa got on all fours, embarrassed giggles ripping out of her throat while her friends were encouraging her to get it. I asked her for permission to spank her for real, and she nodded rapidly, unable to speak.
I posed behind her on the sofa, giving her a little dance first as if I was screwing her from behind. Then I massaged her butt once before I tested the waters with one gentle spank.
“Count, naughty girl,” I ordered.
“O-on-ne,” she laughed.
