Madame B - Seduction

Florian hooks one finger under the bottom of my tube top and stretches the rubber out a little, letting a cool vent of air shoot up between my aching tits. Then he lets the material go so that my top snaps back on to my body, a stinging sensation that I like (a little too much). I realize that I'm completely out of my depth here. Feeling the need to calm down, I walk away from this odd guy and back through the crowd, taking drinks orders and chatting with the regulars.

I work harder than ever that night, making sure the bar is fully stocked, wiping it down, collecting glasses, but letting Claudia look after Florian. I watch as she refreshes his glass a couple of times. He doesn't touch or stare at her but treats her with respect and detachment. His eyes are boring into me, burning holes in my flesh as real and intense as the pain he caused when he snapped my top. With shaky hands, I reapply my red lipstick in the mirror behind the bar. Through the dark sea of faces I register his pale eyes watching me. I'm scared at how much I'm feeling for a guy I don't know. I'm frightened of what might happen if I act on this unprecedented impulse to pull his fine clothes slowly off his strong but soft body while he rips off my fetish gear. It's like I've swallowed some unfamiliar drug, and I don't know what the side effects will be. I avoid him, hoping it will go away on its own.

I'm about to check the ladies' bathroom for discarded glasses when he walks out of the men's room.

"I've never seen skin that white against such black leather," he says, not touching me this time, although I want him to so much it's all I can do not to grab his hand and place it against my skin. "I can see the shape of your nipples," he continues. "They're big and getting bigger as I talk to you. But I wonder what color they are. Will they be pale, like your thighs, or dark, like your hair and your eyes? Or red, like your lips?"

Without waiting for a reply, he turns on his heel and leaves me gasping and panting and throbbing so hard between my legs that I'm sure my swollen pussy must be bulging in my skimpy hot pants, my arousal plain to see. My concentration is shot for the rest of the night. When I work the register, the numbers swim before my eyes.

"Are you okay?" asks Claudia, when I start to mess up on drinks orders.

"Fine," I say. "A little hot, that's all."

"Take a break," she says. "I can handle it in here. You've worked so hard, the place is spotless and everyone's got drinks lined up for at least half an hour. Go and get some fresh air."

I try to protest, but she slaps my thigh and shoos me out the back. "It's an order!" she shouts. "I need a waitress who's on top of things. Go!"

I slip through the staff door and then through the beaded curtain into the relatively cool and fresh air of the wooden staircase that links the main club to my little studio apartment. I sit down on the step with a thud, grateful for the breeze on my skin. I hear the thud-thud-thud of our banging techno music through the wall, and my throbbing pussy seems to keep time to it. I rock back and forth, my clitoris and pussy lips squeezed so tight, bound so closely by my second-skin leather hot pants that I think if I just press my thighs together enough and rock back and forth for just half a minute, I'll give myself the orgasm I need and I can get back to work. No one's watching; I decide to go for it. I shut my eyes, begin to tilt my body back and forth, back and forth, feeling the climax begin to well up between my legs as shivers run up and down the length of my limbs.

I'm seconds from getting myself off when the swish of the curtain makes me open my eyes. How the fuck did he get back here? He must have watched and followed me.

"So," he says, as though I've been expecting him, and in a way I have. "So." And he advances forward, so that his hips are level with my eyes.

He extends one long, elegant finger and runs it over my breasts. It squeaks on the damp latex. My skin beneath my clothes turns to ice, then fire. He finds my nipple and pushes it in hard, his finger making a little depression in the round dome of flesh, then releases it just as it begins to hurt.

He holds my wrists, encased in more black latex, and pulls them over my head. And all the while I let him. I think I will let him do whatever he wants to me. Without warning, he pulls me to my feet. I'm tall in my spiked boots, so we're eye-to-eye for a few seconds, and then he bares his teeth and swoops on my breasts like a vampire, biting my tits through the latex, making me cry out with pleasure so loudly I'm sure they can hear me in the club.

He traces his tongue along my top and licks, kisses, and sucks all the way up my collarbone, stopping to inhale deeply in my armpit. He slides his tongue underneath the rim of my armband, hands on my waist now, kneading my bare flesh while his mouth devours me.

"I want to see your tits," he says and pulls off my top, yanking it violently down and away from my skin. My flesh stings as the rubber is peeled off in one swift, merciless movement. The bandeau makes a roll around my middle, squeezing out the flesh above and below it. I look down at my exposed tits. Without the support of the top, they're an inch or two lower than when they're bound in the latex and about three sizes bigger. My white skin is scarred with red bite marks and latex burns, and my nipples, usually palest pink, are engorged and have become the shade of a dark damask rose. They swell and harden, craving more of Florian's lips. He gratifies them, bending down to bite, suckle, and inhale. As his tongue traces whorls around my areola, I know that he's enjoying the bitter aftertaste of the latex as well as the natural oils of my flesh.

"You taste and smell as beautiful as you look," he snarls, "and soon I'm going to know what it feels like to fuck you, but first I need to see some more skin." His eyes dart around the small corridor, stacked with crates, before alighting on a small craft knife that we use to slice open boxes. His face breaks into a cruel little smile. I'm turned on but panicking, too. I'm so horny I'll let him do whatever he wants… but cut me? But it's not me he wants to cut. Florian runs the blade down first one armband then the other, slicing the tight cuffs open. The cold steel of the blade teases my skin as the rubber springs back, exposing the damp, pale flesh of my inner arms to the cold night air.

He pushes me down against the stairs again, my now naked back in contact with the cold, unforgiving wooden steps. My flesh, already sore from the skimpy latex, jags against the harsh surface. Florian kneels between my knees, puts his head between my legs, and snuffles like a puppy.

Even I can smell how turned on I am, and so can he. And it's driving him mad. He's so aroused that he bites at the crotch of my shorts trying to pull the gusset aside and fuck me with his tongue, but they're too tight, he can't do it.

My clit's throbbing so much I think I'll pass out if I don't feel him on me, in me, soon, now. His hands tear at the leather, fingers digging painfully into the tender flesh of my inner thigh as he grapples with the unyielding hide to no avail. I grab his hands and place them on the twin zippers that fasten the shorts so tightly to my body. Hooking his forefingers into the loops, he pulls the zippers down, peels back the fabric, and exposes my damp, soaked bush and a very red and swollen pussy.

He touches my clit with the tip of his nose. His warm breath on my flesh combined with the smell of my own pussy rising into the air is the purest aphrodisiac I've ever known. Still prodding my clit with his nose, he licks up what juices he can from my twitching pussy. I'm so turned on and so wet that whatever he drinks up, I produce more. I'm dangerously close to coming as he hardens his tongue and probes the first couple of inches of my slit. I want to come, but I want him inside me, too.