Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Jackson
T he private dance area in the back of the club throbs with electronic dance music. The space screams of sex. Blue benches, purple lights, mirrored walls and ceiling.
And the half a dozen lap dances already in progress.
The stripper, Mistress Mercy, sits Daphne in the middle of an empty couch and points me to the spot next to her.
Her black lips slide into a smile. "I love couples. They're my favorite. There are so many ways we can do this."
"We're playing a game," Daphne says. "If that's okay with you."
"Depends on the terms." Her eyes fix on Daphne. "And what I get to do if one of you breaks the rules."
Daphne's cheeks flush, but she pushes on. "We want to see who can better resist your charms." She swallows hard. "The first one to touch you loses. Wherever you are okay being touched, of course."
The dancer smiles. "And is the loser punished?"
"Yes," Daphne says. "What do you recommend?"
"A spanking." She winks at me. "I like to bend bad girls over my knees."
"Perfect." Daphne looks to me. "If that works for you."
I know I protested, but the truth is, Daphne doesn't have a chance in hell. I've practiced my self-restraint for a long time. And I have little desire to touch this dancer.
I don't know her. I don't want her.
She's an attractive woman with a slim, athletic figure similar to Daphne's, but she's too, well, dominant.
I don't mind a little role reversal with a girlfriend. I enjoy it every so often. As much for the practice as the thrill.
The best martial artists know how to attack and defend. It's the same principle. I master my role and my partner's.
And, well, it's fun to switch places from time to time.
But with this stranger?
I'm not moved.
Still.
I am a man.
When she runs her fingers over Daphne's jaw—
Blood rushes south.
"I think he likes it." Mercy draws another line up Daphne's jaw. "How many songs, sweetheart?"
"Three," Daphne says.
"You can touch me anywhere that isn't covered by fabric," Mercy says. "What about the two of you? Can I play with you?"
I say no the moment Daphne says yes.
"Got it." Mercy smiles. "You are a bad girl, aren't you?" She purrs with approval. "I can't wait to punish you." It's a put-on stern voice with put-on interest, but she pulls it off.
Daphne falls into it. Or maybe she plays along. At the moment, I can't tell. Blood is fleeing my brain at an alarming rate.
I always found the girl-on-girl thing was an idiotic fetishization of queerness. Especially when my sister came out as bisexual.
But not even the thought of Cassie's disappointment brings logic to the forefront of my mind.
Daphne is staring at Mercy like she wants to undo her. She's under the spell of the stern voice and posture.
She wants someone to boss her around.
Someone like me.
No. Not someone like me.
She wants me. Specifically.
She's all but written it on the mirror.
It's up to me to resist.
Or give in.
As the song shifts to the next, Mercy shifts into action. She turns and backs into Daphne's lap. "Help me with this, sweetheart." She points to the buttons holding the neck of her one-piece together. "And take your time. I like a tease."
Daphne fumbles with the buttons.
Mercy laughs. "Like a teenage boy, huh? Am I your first?"
"Huh?" Daphne undoes the first button.
"Woman?" the dancer asks.
"No," Daphne says. "I've kissed some women. Touched a little. Above the waist."
"I don't kiss, sweetie," she says. "But I do like to touch."
Daphne gets the second button.
"Thanks, doll. Is this your first dance?" she asks.
Daphne nods, realizes the dancer can't see, says, "Yes."
"Your fiancé too?" she asks.
"No," I admit.
"I have to confess." Mercy rolls her hips over Daphne's lap. "I really want to see you lose, doll. I love punishing a good girl who's trying to be bad."
She grinds against Daphne's lap again.
Again.
Again.
Then she shifts off her, turns so she's looking down at Daphne, rolls her bodysuit over her chest.
Daphne's eyes go straight to her breasts. She doesn't touch, but, fuck, it looks like she wants to—
It's way too fucking hot.
It's ridiculous.
Mercy rolls her lingerie over her hips and down her thighs, then she turns to show off her thong.
She rolls to the ground to show Daphne her ass, then she rises and slides backward into Daphne's lap.
Mercy arches back, pressing her ass into Daphne's crotch. "Sometimes, I have to tell guys to sit on their hands. If they can't follow rules. But I hope you don't."
Right on cue, Daphne lifts her hands from her sides.
Mercy shifts off Daphne, turns, stands above her. She leans down enough to reach for Daphne's wrist.
Her fingers brush softly.
Then a firm grasp.
She brings Daphne's hand almost all the way to her ribs, and she releases it, inviting her to touch, teasing her.
She's good.
Daphne's hand hovers in the air.
The dancer moves forward, sliding onto Daphne's lap, right into Daphne's hand.
Daphne's palm against the stripper's waist. She keeps it there as the dancer glides around her waist.
The song shifts to the next. Mercy slips off Daphne and turns to me. She doesn't show me the same interest. Not that I blame her.
Daphne is a lot more fun than I am.
That's the truth.
Only, right now, it's a beautiful thing, not a thorn in my side.
Mercy rolls her hips over my pelvis, looking down at me with feigned interest. But my eyes don't go to her.
Through the mirror, I study Daphne. I watch her watch for the entire song.
Then, the dancer shifts back to Daphne. She reaches for the strap of Daphne's dress. "May I?"
Daphne's eyes go to mine.
"No." The stern tone drops into Mercy's voice. "This is not for his approval. It's for you. What do you want, baby? Do you want to show me this gorgeous figure?"
"Yes," Daphne breathes.
"Show me," the dancer orders.
Daphne pushes her straps off her shoulders. Mercy catches one and helps pull the dress over her chest.
"Fucking gorgeous, baby." Mercy turns and straddles Daphne, taking her breasts into both hands, grinding against her lap as she toys with her.
Daphne's eyes go to the mirror.
She watches as the dancer toys with her breasts.
Then her eyes go to me. To the interest in my eyes. The desire. The need.
She doesn't say anything; she just watches me watch. Then she watches in the mirror.
Her hands go to the dancer's waist. Hips. Chest.
She tries it. Tries cupping her breasts, playing with her nipples. She's a little awkward at first, but then she finds the spot.
Mercy groans in a show of pleasure, but I can't tell if it's real or fake this time.
I'm too fucking hard.
When the song ends, Mercy shifts off Daphne's lap. "Now, I usually charge for spankings, but since we had a deal…" She looks to me. "Or do you want to do the honors?"
Daphne's breasts rise and fall with her heavy breath. She's still topless.
The dancer too.
She rights her one-piece as she waits. "Your choice, baby."
I want to jump in and demand the right to spank her. A terrible idea. But there's not enough blood in my brain that I care.
Thankfully, Daphne has some hint of wit. "You," she says to the dancer with a strained, breathy voice.
The dancer smiles perfect . She sits on the bench, and she points to her lap. "Right here, baby. Allow me."
Daphne lets the dancer slide her over her knee.
"You want to help with this part?" She winks at me as she taps the edge of Daphne's dress.
Right.
Fuck me.
My fingers skim Daphne's thighs as I brush the hem. Then her ass. The thin white fabric barely covers her curves. Daphne is tall, and the dress is not cut for length.
Slowly, I roll the fabric over her ass.
She's wearing a thong. A skimpy, flesh-colored thing.
It's too easy to imagine her naked.
She's nearly naked.
And, fuck, I want that. I want every inch of her body pressed against every inch of mine.
"Three," Mercy says. "One for each dance. Say red if it's too much. Yellow to slow down. And green to keep going. A stop-light. You got that, baby?" The dancer stays firm and in control. She's done this before. She's done this a million times.
Daphne hasn't. She's lost in the blur of anticipation. She murmurs a yes as she curls her fingers into her palm.
The dancer raises her hand and brings it down on Daphne's ass. A soft spanking to start. "One," she counts.
Daphne grunts at the impact.
The dancer goes again, a tiny bit harder. "Two."
Daphne grunts with pleasure this time.
"Bad girls need punishment." She spanks her again. "Three." She releases Daphne's skin. "I'll let your fiancé decide on the rest." She looks to me you got this .
A Domme recognizing a Dom.
Or the usual dynamic of a couple buying a dance.
I don't know.
Right now, I don't care.
I only care about one thing: satisfying this woman who wants me desperately.
I help Daphne up.
The dancer beams as I slip her a stack of twenties. "We're not supposed to let customers stay here," she says. "But I won't tell if you want to spend a song rewarding his patience." The dancer winks at Daphne and struts back to the main room.
Daphne stays where she is. "Should we do it?"
Fuck yes, I need to touch you .
"Should we play that game the right way?" she asks. "I give you a lap dance and we see who breaks first?"
I should say no , but I don't. I say, "What are the rules?"
"As many songs as it takes. You lose if you touch me here." She motions to her breasts and pulls her dress back in place. "I lose if I bring your hands here."
A fair game.
"What do you think? Are you in? Or are you scared?"