Madame B: Ecstasy

I checked myself out in my full-length mirror before leaving the house. My blue top, which looked like a silk scarf (and wasn't much bigger), showed just the right amount of flesh. Could I get away without wearing a bra? I examined myself from every angle before deciding it was too hot for underwear anyway. And, yeah, I could get away with it. My tits were round and high and had an all-over tan from sunbathing topless in the back garden. I finished the outfit with a denim mini and silver sling-backs. It was too humid to bother straightening my blond hair, so I'd left it to dry naturally and piled the resulting mass of curls on top of my head, leaving a few strands to frame my face. As an afterthought, I put on a pair of long silver and sapphire earrings that brushed my collarbone and caressed the soft, sensitive flesh of my neck.

"Wow," gasped Sheila and whistled when she picked me up in the taxi. "You're going to be fighting off the boys tonight!" I hoped she was right. To be frank, it had been a while since I'd had a really good fuck. None of the boyfriends I'd had in the last year or so had delivered in the bedroom department. They'd been keen but cautious, and I was ready for some serious fun. Here, I was definitely in my comfort zone: same mates, same job, same flat. I wanted to recapture the feeling I had had at eighteen-that anything was possible. I needed to find a man who'd make me fall back in love (or lust?) with sex. And I wanted to meet that man tonight.

The bar had been open only a couple of weeks, and it was packed. Scantily-clad bodies were crowded into the tiny space, strangers touching each other's warm flesh and not having to apologize. There was no air-conditioning. That didn't bother me though; the tacky skin of other bodies released horny pheromones, and the scent of newly showered and perfumed bodies mingling with fresh sweat was a definite turn-on. The air was ripe with the musky aroma of sexual possibility. The place had dark red walls and black chandeliers and huge faux Louis XIV mirrors that reflected sexy, dusky versions of ourselves back at us. The whole venue looked like some period-piece brothel, but it was sexy, nonetheless. I caught sight of myself in a mirror as I lined up for the bar. I look good, I thought. Tonight could be the night. I scanned the length of the bar for a handsome stranger to whisk me away and ravish me. Instead, I saw Greg, looking handsome and fresh in a crisp, light blue shirt, open to the chest, a chunky silver necklace around his neck. I nodded a hello then turned my attention back to the barman.

I didn't want to risk a hangover, so I ordered a glass of water with my cocktail. It was so hot, I made sure that I chased every drink with something nonalcoholic. An hour or two into the evening, I'd given up looking for Prince Charming and decided to concentrate on my friends instead. A couple of times I'd noticed that Greg was watching me more intensely than usual, especially when I was drinking. When he got up to go to the bar, he offered to buy me another. "Thanks," I said. "It's too hot for another cocktail; just get me a long drink of something soft, please."

He came back with a jug of iced water and a single glass, which he poured out and held to my lips. "Drink it," he said, and that intensity I'd noticed before was back. If he hadn't been so good-looking, it would have been creepy. As soon as I'd finished, he poured me another one and offered it to me.

"No thanks, Greg. I'll be on line for the john all night as it is," I said. At that his face lit up, and he licked his lips. What an odd boy he is, I thought. But the look in his face made his features come alive, and I was reminded how sexy I'd thought he was the very first time I'd seen him.

It wasn't long before I really did need the bathroom. I made my way across the room to the ladies'. The fashionably unisex johns were tucked away in a dark corner of the club. Great. One toilet for a million people, and the line was already five deep. Why hadn't I gone before? My heart sank when two girls disappeared into the cubicle at once. They'd be in there for hours, chatting about boyfriends and retouching their lip gloss. I crossed my legs, tried not to wince, and slid my mini down so that it hung off my hips and didn't put any extra pressure on my bladder. Then I felt a presence behind me. I turned around, and it was Greg. I could just about make out his features in the dark red light of the club.

"When you've got to go…" I said, not wanting to make small talk so I could concentrate on holding it in.

"Yes, but think of how good it'll be when you do," said Greg in a husky voice that wasn't his usual tone. "It'll feel like an orgasm. Deferred gratification is always preferable to getting what you want right away. It's the buildup that makes it so exciting."

Geez, in all the time I'd known him, this was the longest sentence I'd ever heard Greg speak, and to top it off, it was also the weirdest, which was rather distracting as I jigged on one foot, legs crossed. But there was something about the urgency in his voice that strangely turned me on. I had never thought of pissing as comparable to an orgasm before, but now that I imagined the sweet relief of relaxing and letting it go, the agony I was in seemed even worse. Greg's words prompted a chain of thoughts that, to my surprise, led to a tingling between my legs and the beginnings of a wetness that had nothing to do with wanting the bathroom. Great. I now had a throbbing clit to contend with as well as a desperate need to piss. What was Greg playing at?

He answered my unspoken question by inching forward so that his chin was resting on the top of my head and… was that a hard-on I could feel in the small of my back? No, it couldn't be. Still, the thought of his smooth brown cock made me feel even more uncomfortable. The pressure on my bladder, now exacerbated by an aroused clitoris, was making me more and more uneasy.

"Ohh," said Greg, in his new voice. "Don't be embarrassed. Let it go." And then, so quickly I had no time to protest, he slid his hand down the waistband of my skirt and pressed hard on my bladder. It was a feat of immense willpower that I managed not to wet myself right there in the club. Too shocked to move, I let him press the heel of his hand down there while his fingers slid expertly down to my clit, massaging it through my thin lace thong, which was already soaking. My clit responded in seconds. I let out an involuntary moan of pleasure as well as pain.

He went to work on me then, index and ring fingers making minute circles on either side of my clit, middle finger tracing my lips, and that hand pressing down on my bladder. It would have been so easy to come, but I knew that if I did, I'd wet myself in the middle of a club. No orgasm was worth that kind of humiliation… was it? My eyes were hazy and half closed, but in the dim light I saw the two girls leave the cubicle and the next woman enter. I was now first in line, and it was so dark that surely Greg would slip in with me and finish what he'd started. The knowledge that I would soon be able to release this agonizing but exquisite tension meant I could exercise mind over matter and hold on for a couple of minutes longer.

His voice in my ear was eager, insistent. "I can't wait to lick my fingers when I'm done with you." So this was what made Greg tick. I'd wanted a sexual adventure, but would this be a case of "be careful what you wish for?" I wasn't sure I was ready for something as dark and kinky as this. But I couldn't deny that it felt good, probably purely because it ought not to. Dizzy with the need to relieve myself, I leaned back on Greg's body to steady myself. His cock, rock-hard, was straining the crotch of his jeans. There was no doubt he had a hard-on; he was solid, even more turned on than I was. Greg sighed as I pushed my hips against his erection, and he lowered his voice to a whisper.