“He is?” Now I really felt dumb. Declan wasn’t just taking me to a black tie gala at the Met, he was hosting it? What kind of a crazy big shot was he?
“Step into these.” An assistant brought four-inch heels to my feet and I slid into them.
“Ah.” Madame let out a satisfied sigh, hands at my hips. I guessed she was allowed to touch. “The cameras will adore you in this.” Looking into the mirror, I had to wonder who was looking back at me in the glass. All curves and waves of fabric, I felt like a Greek goddess sculpted out of marble. Then what she said hit me.
“Ooh yes,” the assistant murmured by my side, nodding.
“You know, the bloggers.” Madame said it like ‘blug-airs’, emphasis on the second syllable. I liked the French pronunciation better than the English.
“Off! And on!” Madame yelled, in command again, simultaneously ordering the dress off and the corset to follow in its place.
As they laced me into the hard, ribbed structure, I felt a new kinship with Scarlett O’Hara and her pursuit of the 18 ½ inch waist. It wasn’t happening. What was happening looked pretty X-rated to me, though, my breasts getting pushed up into ripe, plump ice cream scoops above the lacey corset cone. The punishing lingerie whittled my waist into something tiny and petite—at least in comparison with the rest of me. My hips and buttocks swelled beneath in an exaggerated figure 8.
“We’ll take that.” Declan stood in the doorway, liking what he saw.
I flushed. How long had he been standing there?
“Monsieur Hunt! Comment ça va?” Madame gave him a kiss on each cheek. He had to bend way down to let her do it.
“Ça va bien. Your work is perfection, as always.” He strode toward me, admiring. So now he spoke French? And he’d seen her work a bunch of times? How many women had he purchased corsets for, exactly?
“I like you in this.” His eyes met mine in the mirror and he gave me a low, wicked smile.
“I am so sorry. We have much work to do.” Madame brought her hands together in two, sharp claps. Her assistants hopped to life, gathering the tools of their trade and hustling out of the room. “Take it with you.” She gestured toward the corset. “But bring it when you come for the final fitting. Thursday, three o’clock.” She nodded at us, left the room and closed the door behind her.
Only Declan and I remained, me on full display in a naughty corset before a full-length 3-way mirror.
“Turn around for me.” He stood, arms crossed against his chest. He’d changed into a suit for his afternoon meeting and it had morphed him into a businessman, sharp and ready in pinstripes for a corporate takeover. I turned, slowly, still wearing the heels they’d given me. Suddenly the atmosphere in the room changed. Gone was the bustling energy of a dress fitting. Instead the air crackled with erotic tension. My breathing constrained in the corset, I felt almost light-headed under his perusal. I was glad I still had on my panties, though they were all lace and didn’t cover much.
“This is very nice.” He strode over and brought his fingers to the tops of my breasts, stroking the exposed flesh. My breath made them rise and fall under his touch. He brought his tongue down to the valley between my breasts and began to lick hot fire along my skin. Panting, I twined my fingers through his hair, instantly molten under his spell.
Bringing his hands around, he kneaded his fingers into the swell of my buttocks, forcing me up and against his groin. Through those dark, conservative suit pants I felt the bulge of his thick, hard erection. I groaned with need.
“Over by the mirror,” he ordered, his voice hoarse and gruff. “Get down on all fours.” He walked over to the door where the dressmakers had exited and turned the knob to lock it.
“Declan, what are you doing? We’re in a shop!” He kept going about his business, locking the remaining door through which he’d entered.
Then he strode toward me. “We’re all alone in this room. They’re busy with other clients.” He pointed over to the floor by the mirrors. “Now get down on all fours.”
Shocked by my body’s response to his order, unable to believe I was complying, I moved over toward the mirrors. What was he planning? What was I doing, getting down onto my hands and knees for this dominant man?
After I got down on all fours, Declan stroked me in approval. “Yes.” His voice and his hand along my back made my pussy throb with heat. He stayed standing, bringing his hand up to my shoulders, down across the corset, along the curve of my ass. “So good, Kara. I like seeing you tied into this.” His hands made me so aware of my body, my exposed skin, how much I craved him.
Tracing the cut at the bottom, leaving all of my ass on display, he admired the corset. “Madame does excellent work.”
“Have you bought corsets for a bunch of other women?” The angry, jealous question left my lips before I could stop it. Declan’s hand stilled. He kneeled at my head and tilted my face in his hand, my chin resting in his palm. Bringing a thumb to my bottom lip, he toyed with it.
“Jealous words, Kara.” After a brief pause, he dipped his head down and took my mouth, searing me with a kiss. I kissed him back, hungry, needing his touch, his hands, his lips on me. He tasted so good, felt so hot and hard.
Breaking from me, he still held my face in his hand. “I know high-quality work when I see it. I demand it. I expect nothing less.”
“So you have bought corsets for other women.” I didn’t want to feel jealous, but I couldn’t stop myself. My feelings ran away from me. They always had with Declan.
“I’m a good client,” he confirmed. Anger surged, scorching through me, and he saw it. “Jealous, Kara? That’s naughty.” We looked into each other’s eyes, both worked up, both breathing hard. He pointed at the floor. “Hands down. Ass up.”
Shaking, I complied, hands down again on the cool wooden floor planks, my ass up in the air as he’d ordered. He moved around to my backside, his steps making the floor creak. He stood there a moment and I quaked under his appraisal. With two strong hands he grasped my lacy panties and pulled them down, then off my feet. He nudged my knees apart about a foot and a half. And then he kneeled.
His face close to my pussy, I wanted to pull away. I couldn’t fight the feeling of embarrassment, exposure. I shouldn’t be on all fours, naked and exposed. He shouldn’t see how turned on I was. It wasn’t right.
But it felt so good. Kneeling at my ass, Declan brought his two hands up to my inner thighs. “I can see all of you like this, Kara.” His thumbs made small circles, traveling up toward my sex, and I began to quiver in anticipation. “How wet you are, your dripping pussy, needing my touch.”
With his hands, he spread me open, lifting my sex up and holding it for his inspection. I fought the urge to squirm, half-wanting to get away, half-wanting to push my pussy up toward his face and beg him to lick me.
“What do you want, Kara?” he asked, infuriatingly calm. To torment me further, he blew a cool breath onto my slick, sensitive clit.
I gasped, “Declan! Please!” It only took seconds with this man for him to make me beg.
“Please what, Kara? What do you want? Do you want me to touch you?” He brought his fingers down along the outline of my opening, tracing it.
He slid his fingers into my pussy, the glistening folds welcoming his touch as he stroked me. “Do you want my tongue?”
“Oh, yes.” I nearly collapsed, the weight of my body feeling too much for my hands. But he supported me, bringing his hands down under my hips and pulling my pussy toward his mouth. With a hot, wet lick he brought his tongue to my needy slit, lapping up my juices, licking and sucking and making me moan. His tongue worked magic up and down my sex, toying with my hole, then spreading my juices all over. Mouth off, his fingers took over, working my lube up and down.
Then up to my asshole. I stiffened. He continued, bringing the ample lubricant from my pussy up to the
rim of my forbidden hole.
“Declan! What are you doing?” I felt scared. No one had ever touched me there before. It felt wrong and dirty. He kept going, scooping more of my slippery, sticky honey with two fingers deep in my pussy, making me throb as he did it, then slowly working it up and around my ass, caressing the pucker of my hole.
“Kara,” he murmured, his face right at my asshole. “You are so pretty. So sweet and pink. I want you to see.”
“What?” My eyes flew wide open. What was he doing back there? It wasn’t right!
“Is this a virgin ass?” he asked, his voice thick.
“Yes!” I cried, indignant. Like I would let anyone do that!
Keeping one thumb at my asshole, circling, massaging along the exterior, he brought another hand to my breasts. Pulling, tugging, he freed my mounds and set to work on my nipples, heavy with desire, twisting, pinching them until I panted and moaned.
“This is a three-way mirror, Kara,” Declan murmured, using that same hypnotizing voice. “I need you to see everything. Look back. Look at your ass in the mirror. Do you see it?”
Shaking, I did as he asked, picking my head up to look into the mirror. He had me spread and angled so my pink asshole was on full display. It looked so wrong and naughty, so erotic and crazy I throbbed with lust.
“Now, Kara, you need to be quiet. As much as I love your screams, you have to keep silent here. We can’t let them hear us. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I answered, ashamed I had to be scolded to not scream. He knew me well. I was already close to screaming out his name.
“Good.” He stroked me. “Now watch me fuck your ass with my finger.”
“No, Declan, I—” My protest became a gasp as I watched him circle my pink, puckered hole with his index finger, spreading my body’s own lube around it until it glistened. Then he changed his angle, instead of pressing against the skin, pointing directly toward me, against my hole. He exerted force, pressure, and my body fought him but with the lube he won. He pushed past my entrance, past the ring of muscle and brought his finger inside my ass.