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Right at the peak of the tension, a break in the music, when I feel like I’m about to snap inside and give in to the urge to finger myself right there at the back of the room, I see the silhouettes rise up around the couple.
The performers converge on them in a wave of hands, mouths, and limbs.
My two waitresses drop their gowns to the floor, as well, exposing their bodies to the couple, these well-to-do rich people. Each of them reaches out, sliding their fingers inside the two women, moans joining into the music.
All of that movement and touch takes their attention away from the stage for just long enough, the music dying down from the crescendo but moving into more hypnotic tones, and the tattooed dancers slide offstage behind the curtain.
The effect of the shift is palpable.
Mr. and Mrs. Cormorant are lost in each other, kissing deeply while each of them is caressed and licked by several men and women.
Moans join the music as one of the men goes down on the Mrs., another man sliding the Mr.’s cock deep into his throat. He trades off to one of the women after a moment, shifting to bury his fingers inside her as she straddles Mr. Cormorant and begins to ride him.
Every single person involved is wrapped up completely in the pleasure of the moment, all centered on the couple lying naked on their recliner chairs.
It’s unbelievably fucking hot.
So hot that I catch myself taking a step forward before I snap back to my senses.
I can’t…
Not just because Evan said I’m not supposed to. His command, if anything, makes me want to defy him, but I feel that sense of embarrassment and stage fright stifle all of my arousal.
Instantly, I need fresh air, or just air that isn’t filled with cries of orgasms, sweat, and cum.
Without thinking, I skirt along the side of the room, not wanting to disturb the group by opening the double doors. Behind one of the curtains, the door sits open, dark except for a strip of rim lighting along the walkway.
Back in the hallway, I catch my breath, pressing a hand to my burning forehead and fanning myself. I knew tonight would be… sensual, or thrilling, or I really didn’t know what, but that show.
The raw emotion and talent of the dancers.
The sexual aura that they created, demanded of their audience.
It calls to another part of me, the dancer. To join them, to express all of my lust and longing.
Movement to my left startles me, and I push off the wall, heading back into the dressing rooms. It occurs to me that I might catch another glimpse of the tattooed man or the woman. To see them one last time.
Even though I know I shouldn’t. Evan might catch me.
But my curiosity overwhelms any risk as I tiptoe further into the dark.
They must have already been here when we arrived, and I haven’t had a chance to meet any of our dancers. It can’t hurt to introduce myself.
I see him, the male dancer, right as I turn the corner. The lamps faintly illuminate his rippling back muscles as he dries the sweat from his body. Every line in the shadows is perfect. The tattoo lines are exquisite, detailed and subtle, from his shoulders down to his waist and trailing away onto his thighs around the sides of a marble sculpted ass.
He turns slightly as he towels off, exposing the stunning length of his still-erect manhood.
I shouldn’t stand here staring.
I shouldn’t even be back here, let alone spying on someone.
But just as I start to turn, to rush the other way, he tenses, and I make a snap decision to clear my throat softly, hopefully avoiding startling him or at least excusing my sneaking up on him. He’s completely still, flexed and clearly staring at me from behind his gold mask.
I only get a gleam of the light off his eyes and immediately look down, to avoid that gaze, finding something else entirely to fill my line of sight.
Heat floods through my stomach, down between my legs.
A single drop of his desire glistens on the tip, sending my heart pounding in my chest.
