Chapter 9 The Commissary
The Commissary
Natalie sat alone at the corner table in the studio commissary, staring at the untouched slice of lemon meringue pie.
Her mind was anything but.
An image of her fantasy about Danny, Jason, Kai and Cal flashed into her mind again. Their cocks in her pussy and mouth. The guilty weight of not wanting to want it. The fantasy had left her pulse erratic and her skin too sensitive against the thin fabric of her dress.
She crossed her legs under the table and let out a slow breath.
Then the air changed.
Aaron Lam walked into the commissary.
Early forties, but still radiating sex appeal—dark hair threaded with silver at the temples, sharp cheekbones, and that legendary stillness that made every camera fall in love with him.
The Rudolph Valentino of Hong Kong.
The man whose face had lived on her laptop screen for countless humid nights at her parents’ home in Sunnyvale when she was fifteen.
Aaron’s eyes surveyed the room and settled on Natalie.
Natalie’s breath caught when it did.
A slow, knowing smile curved his lips.
He walked towards her, worming his way between tables.
He arrived at her table.
Aaron Lam didn’t ask if the seat was taken next to Natalie.
He simply slipped in next to her without comment as if the table had been waiting for this exact moment.
“Hello,” he said, voice low and velvet-smooth, that signature Cantonese accent wrapping around her like warm silk. “I don’t believe that we’ve met. I’m Aaron Lam.”
She laughed, a bright, girlish sound that surprised even her. “No, I don’t think that we have.”
She didn’t want to think about the gallery now. To Natalie, this was the first meeting. She had changed. That meeting had been with a different Natalie. A totally different person.
Then: “I’m Natalie. My fifteen-year-old self is screaming right now.”
His dark eyes sparkled with amusement. “And your present self?”
“Extremely excited,” she answered, holding his gaze.
The conversation flowed easily—light, charged, full of the kind of effortless charisma that had made Aaron Lam a legend. Within minutes the air between them thickened with possibility.
Natalie asked, “Can we take a photo together? I’d love one so I can remember this meeting.”
“Come here,” he said, patting his thigh once. “Let’s take a photo, Natalie.”
Natalie didn’t hesitate. She stood, heart hammering. She moved in front of him and lowered herself onto his lap, sideways at first, then shifting so her legs draped naturally across his. Aaron’s arm slid around her waist, warm and confident, anchoring her against his chest.
She giggled—actually giggled—and pulled out her phone.
“Oh, this is so fun! I want proof this is real.”
Aaron chuckled and drew her closer.
“Take as many as you like.”
She turned and, with his consent, pressed her lips to his cheek in a soft kiss, and snapped the photo.
They looked at the photo.
“Wonderful,” he said. “Take more.”
It was not a question. It was an order. But it was an order that Natalie was delighted to obey.
Natalie took another, this time with his nose brushing her temple as she laughed.
His hand rested on her hip.
Natalie felt electric, alive, every nerve singing. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, to be sitting in Aaron Lam’s lap, snuggling and taking selfies.
They talked like that—quietly, intimately.
Aaron’s voice stayed romantic, movie-star smooth, telling her about a recent trip to Macau, about the way light hit the harbor at dusk, about how he wished that she could have been there to see it.
His words wrapped around her like a scene from one of his films. Natalie leaned into him, her body softening, her thighs parting just slightly.
His hand moved.
It started innocently enough—resting on her knee. But as they kept talking, his fingers traced slow circles on her skin, then slid higher, beneath the hem of her dress. Natalie’s breath caught, but she didn’t stop him.
It felt natural.
Inevitable.
Welcome.
Aaron’s dark eyes stayed locked on hers, calm and intent, as his hand slipped fully between her legs. She adjusted her position on his lap without thinking, opening for him.
“Good,” he murmured, barely audible, still speaking in that rich, romantic tone that was unique to him.
His thumb brushed along the edge of her panties. Natalie was already wet—embarrassingly so—from the sheer overwhelming presence of him.
Then, his thumb gently moved the lace of her panties aside, slipped past and found her pussy. Natalie had to bite her lip to keep from moaning.
Natalie breathed deep and arched her back, driving her tits into Aaron’s chest.
He explored her pussy slowly, confidently.
First the soft triangle of her pubic hair, stroking it with gentle appreciation.
Their eyes were locked on each other.
Aaron kept talking and Natalie replying.
Then his thumb moved lower, tracing the slick folds of her pussy. dipping just inside her entrance for a teasing second before pulling back.
Natalie rubbed herself against his hand, subtle rolls of her hips, her breathing shallow.
Neither looked down.
All the while Aaron continued talking, his eyes never leaving hers. “You are a special woman, Natalie. Tell me about yourself.”
His thumb settled on the inverted “V” of her clitoris and began a slow, gentle, perfect slide. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Natalie pressed her face against his neck for a moment. They both continued talking as if it wasn’t happening.
She spoke of her love of art, culture and intellect. Aaron understood, telling her about the art at his home, his philanthropic society events and his interest in Confucianism.
The pleasure in Natalie’s pussy built steadily, expertly.
Aaron knew exactly how much pressure it needed, how to keep Natalie’s pussy right on that delicious edge without tipping it over.
For nearly a minute he massaged her clitoris with practiced precision while she ground against him, her fingers clutching his charcoal jacket.
“We are a perfect match, Natalie,” Aaron whispered. “We may be different ages but we are equals in intellect. We could have a wonderful life together. What do you think?”
The commissary, the pie, the distant clatter of dishes—it had all faded.
It was a dream. Aaron Lam and Natalie Chan a perfect match.
Love at first sight.
There was only Aaron’s steady heartbeat against her, his calm voice, and the relentless, delicious pressure of his thumb on her swollen clitoris.
Finally, he withdrew his hand, brought it up to the table, and casually rested it there. His thumb glistened faintly. It had explored confidently, mapped the folds and ridges of Natalie’s pussy and delivered to Natalie exactly what she needed.
Natalie’s cheeks burned. Her pussy got what it needed but not what it wanted.
Natalie’s pussy yearned for more.
“You’re so beautiful, Aaron,” she whispered, resting her head against his temple for a moment, smiling.
“You are, too, Natalie,” he replied, kissing her temple lightly.
Neither of them heard Danny arrive.
Danny walked quickly across the room in his training gear, jacket over one shoulder. Jason, Kai, and Cal followed. Danny’s face showed shock as he stared at Natalie on Aaron’s lap.
Natalie looked up and slid off Aaron’s lap immediately. Beneath the table, she smoothed her dress down. She leaned away from Aaron.
“Who is this?” Danny said. His voice was unsteady. He looked directly at Natalie. “I thought you were waiting for me.”
“I was waiting,” Natalie replied. “Aaron sat down and we talked.”
Aaron rose unhurriedly. “Hello. I was simply keeping the young lady company until your return.”
“Keeping her company? In your lap?”
“Natalie wanted a selfie. I obliged.”
“This can’t be happening,” Danny said, shaking his head. “Who the fuck are you?”
“There is no reason to be vulgar,” Aaron said calmly. “Especially not in front of the young lady. The whole thing was perfectly innocent.”
“Innocent? You had your hands all over her!”
Aaron paused. He looked up as if thinking, then spoke. “You remind me of the young Emperor Taizong of Tang—full of fire and ambition, yet quick to anger when a more cultivated rival appeared at court. History remembers who kept the peace and who lost the girl.”
Danny’s face tightened. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Aaron raised his hands. “The vulgarity continues.”
Natalie stepped around the table. “Danny. Let’s just go.” She took his right arm and tried to pull it down. “Aaron, thank you for the company and the selfies. But Danny and I need to leave now.”
Danny shrugged her off. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to kick this guy’s ass.”
He lunged. Jason, Kai, and Cal grabbed him from behind and held him back.
“Whoa, Danny,” Jason said. “If you punch him, you’ll get fired. It’s not worth it.”
Danny struggled.
“Yes,” Aaron called to Danny, his voice dripping with mockery. “Let Natalie decide whether she prefers brawn or brains.”
Danny struggled harder. He looked at Jason. “Did this guy just call me stupid?”
Natalie, hanging on Danny’s right arm, said urgently, “You’re not stupid, Danny.”
“Well, this guy thinks I am! And I’m going to kick this guy’s fucking ass!”
Aaron sighed. "How very interesting. You're a true vulgarian, aren't you?"
He glanced at Natalie with a twinkle in his eye.
Natalie’s eyes danced. She stifled a laugh.
Of everyone there, Natalie was the only one who understood the reference. It was from an old movie called A Fish Called Wanda. Archie, a pompous British lawyer, played by John Cleese, had said it to Otto, a proudly dimwitted American, played by Kevin Kline.
Natalie kept her grip on Danny’s arm. With help from the others, they dragged him toward the door. As they reached it, she glanced back at Aaron, met his gaze, and mouthed: “You’re the vulgarian, you fuck!”
Aaron’s composure broke. He smiled wide, then hid it behind his hand. His eyes showed surprise and approval.
She grinned back.
Then, the outside door swung shut, cutting off the fluorescent hum and the lingering scent of Aaron’s cologne.