Page 75 of Play Dirty

And then I back away, admiring her body in the black light. Getting hard just listening to the whispers and moans filtering through under the thumping music.

And I get the paint.

Alexander’s grin is worth all the fighting and effort we’ve put into this new adventure. Totally worth it.

He takes a brush when I offer it, winks at his wife, dips the end in the white paint, and draws a circle around her nipple.

She glows in the dark now.

Yeah, this… this is what I’ve missed.

I dip my brush in the paint too and draw a line starting between her breasts, right down to her shaved pussy. She closes her eyes when I tickle her clit. Moaning. Real moaning.

And Alexander, right on cue, begins to whisper in her ear. “You like that? You want more? You like us both, don’t you. You want us both inside you.”

And she responds with hums, and groans, and “Yeses.”

I hand the paint to Alexander, then reach for him. Grabbing his cock through his pants. He looks at me, startled, but then he just grins lazily and resumes his painting.

I unzip his pants. My hand pushing its way inside the opening, grabbing at his hard cock. He’s not wearing any underwear and that makes me want to kiss him. Because he’s kinda perfect. For me.

No. For us.

I pull him out. That’s how the men stay in the Club. Fully dressed in black tie, zippers open with protruding hard cocks sticking out.

“Fuck,” he says, my hand already pumping him.

Augustine is paying attention because she reaches for my zipper. Her hand pushing its way inside my pants and then a smile as she realizes I am also bare.

Perfect for her. For us.

Her fingertips fold over my shaft as she pulls me out and begins to stroke me. Gently at first, but when I reach up and twist her nipple, she grips me hard. And I, in turn, squeeze Alexander.

We are a chain reaction.

We are a chain reaction of lust, and longing, and labored breathing. We unfold, then fold again, reshaping what we thought we were, who we thought we were, into what we will become.

We are a chain reaction of past into present into future. A single bond becoming double, becoming triple, becoming…

Complete.

We are sweaty skin under our starched shirts, and white, wet paint marring and scarring the blackness of our tuxedo lapels as Augustine writhes against our collective touch and I think…

I think…

There is no mask on this woman when there should be a mask. And there’s no other bodies pressing against us when there should be other bodies. And there’s no scene being played out in the rooms nearby or at the end of the hallway or… anywhere.

It’s just us.

In this forgotten playground of carnal desire and delight.

It’s just us.

In this old building basement that, when devoid of the magic of lights, and music, and sound effects, is just that.

An old building basement.

I say, “Let’s go.”