There was another reason to do it, though. The idea of it – of sex with him in public, after so long skulking in the shadows, even if I was lying about who I was, held a delicious thrill. And the notion of all those men watching me,
me
, Lucy Snow, the one people joked was a librarian...that awoke a deep, dark heat in me, mingled with fear.
I took my bra off.
As I felt my naked breasts sway free, I was aware of something over to one side of me, where most of the people were. A quieting down; people coming to attention. They could see something was starting.
Jagor ignored them, so I did too. He stared at my breasts for a while; at first I flushed, but as he kept looking I actually stepped forward slightly and arched my back proudly: I
wanted
him to look at me. It hit me then, how much I’d changed since the night I’d met him.
“Now the panties,” Jagor told me.
That was different. Men staring at my breasts – that happened to some extent even when I was walking down the street, fully dressed. I didn’t like it - or at least I hadn’t until now – but it wasn’t completely new. Stripping off my panties in public, though...that part of me had only ever been seen by my boyfriends.
I felt something hard under my thumb, and realized I was toying with the ring, spinning it on my finger.
I pushed my panties down my legs, letting them fall to my feet, and stepped out of them. I was naked, apart from stockings and heels. I heard people edging closer and this time Jagor glanced up, so I did too. And gasped.
There were maybe twenty men looking – most of them guys on their own, though some had slaves with them. About ten of them had stepped up close; maybe a dozen feet away.
I could feel that wave of heat rush in and crash against me again, just like in the dress shop in Monaco. Only now there were ten of them doing it, and we weren’t in safe daylight in a shop: we were in semi-darkness in a sex club. And I wasn’t a foreign guest: as far as they knew, I was an Asterian slave.
When I looked back at Jagor, he was smiling as if he knew exactly what was going through my head.
“Come here,” he told me. I stepped towards him on shaking legs. Half of me wanted to dive into his arms, crazy for his touch. The other half was aghast at the idea of doing anything more in front of an audience.
He glanced down at his trousers, and I forced myself to concentrate on opening them. I had to stand with his legs between mine, and I could feel eyes on my ass as I bent to undo his belt. Even as I freed his cock, he drew me down into a kiss, making me bend further at the waist. His lips were like heaven on me, pleasure exploding from the contact, straight down to my thumping heart, until I was kissing him open-mouthed and panting.
Jagor broke the kiss and pushed me slowly back up. I knew what he wanted. But everyone was watching. As he rolled the condom on, my mind was flip-flopping between giddy lust and fear.
“Focus on me,” he told me gently. And I did.
Slowly bending my legs, I sank down on him. It was the first time in days...and I loved him so intensely, days felt like months. As I felt him spread me, begin to slip inside me, it felt so good I couldn’t stop myself letting out a long, low moan, and the hell with anyone around us. In fact, I let my eyes flutter closed. Apart from the low hubbub of noise, it could have been just the two of us.
I gasped as he moved deeper and deeper inside me, reveling in the feel of him. I felt his hands come up to cup my breasts, his thumbs at my nipples, and a delicious shudder ran through me, feeling the soft nubs hardening under his touch. Then his hard groin was pressed against my slickened lips, and he was completely inside me. I ran my hands down over his chest, feeling the firm ridges of his abs through his shirt while he slid his huge, warm hands down my naked back and ass. I stared into his eyes...and I was ready.
I started to move, my hands pressing on his shoulders to lift myself, my rhythm slowly building. My breasts bounced and jumped in his hands, nipples softly rubbing in a way that made me grind my hips in ecstasy. He leaned close, drawing my head to him so he could whisper in my ear, his low growl making me tremble. “Look around you,” he told me.
My eyes opened. My brain was fogged with lust, which dulled the shock of it. Four or five of the men were within touching distance. None of them was actually touching me – yet.
“They won’t, unless I tell them to,” Jagor told me.
Gasping, rising up on his cock, for a crazy second part of me wanted him to. To be the center of attention, to have all those male hands all over me.... But I shook my head and he nodded, as if he understood. I had my answer. I knew now how he’d treat me, if I were his slave: gently and with love, and with everything at my pace.
I started to buck faster on him; I could feel us both building toward our release. I wasn’t ignoring the men around us anymore; we were feeding off each other, me performing for them and their gaze driving me towards my climax. I was leaning over Jagor, hair hanging down, hands pressed hard into the muscles of his shoulders as I drove myself up and down, my long stockinged legs astride him. He was driving his cock up into me with powerful lunges of his hips and rolling my nipples between fingers and thumbs, gently squeezing as my breasts bounced in his hands. The sensations were making me light-headed, sending a rippling cascade of heat straight down into my groin. We were both panting, loud in the quiet room, every moan and cry audible. I knew now why there was no music: everyone wanted to hear. I moved faster, faster, having trouble containing it—
Jagor whispered to me again, and his voice was strained from holding back. “Let it go now, Lucy. Not just for me. For them.”
And the idea of it, of reaching my climax in front of all those people –
because
of all those people, pushed me over the edge. I squeezed Jagor tight between my thighs, making him gasp, and even as I felt him shudder beneath me, I was clutching at his back, my naked breasts pressed hard against him as I came.
There was no catcalling, no coarse jokes. All of the men watching us just enjoyed the moment...and then the crowd gradually melted away. And I knew I’d changed, in some way: by letting everyone else watch, on his orders, I’d moved a step closer to being his. I wouldn’t have understood the contradiction myself, before I met him. But then I wouldn’t have figured myself for an exhibitionist, either.
When I’d recovered, I put my bra and panties back on – strange how underwear that had seemed shockingly flimsy when I walked into the club now felt like being fully dressed. I kissed Jagor again, a long, lingering kiss because I knew that tomorrow we’d have to go back to hiding from everyone. I told him that I needed to visit the ladies’ room before we left.
“Be careful,” he warned. I was on a post-orgasmic high: I thought he was just saying it out of habit.
The club was much bigger than I’d first thought – we’d been in the main room, but there were lots of twisting corridors and smaller areas – though as Jagor had said, nowhere was actually private. With all the walls made of the same shiny black material, it was difficult to get your bearings. I saw slaves spread-eagled on wooden “X”s, tied bent over padded benches and standing with their wrists bound above their heads. I saw men using paddles, riding crops and canes – in one case, a whip. I couldn’t stop a shudder running through me. Was this what awaited me, if I gave myself to Jagor? I didn’t think I could possibly enjoy it...although I’d thought the same thing about the spanking.
I had some thinking time, as I searched for the bathroom. I finally understood what it would mean if I gave myself to Jagor. Not the surface stuff: the collar and the kneeling and the bondage. Those were just the trappings. Underneath there was something deeper and much more important: something that had been part of me forever, without me knowing it. Something Jagor had seen in me, when he’d met me at the embassy. I wasn’t ready to make the leap: not even close. But giving myself to him was starting to sound less insane than it had.
I was still turning it over and over in my mind when I finally found the ladies’ room, the sinks packed with slaves touching up their make-up. I was still deep in thought as I walked back towards Jagor. I think that’s why I didn’t notice him until it was too late.
He was as tall as Jagor, and even more heavily muscled. At first, I mistook him for an older man, because his long hair was pure white. I was expecting him to step aside to let me pass down the narrow corridor: when he didn’t, I almost walked straight into him. “Excuse me,” I said apologetically, my head still bowed.
He still failed to move. “Look at me,” he said. I lifted my head, and realized that his hair must be bleached, because he looked only a few years older than Jagor. He had thin, cruel lips and high cheekbones: he actually reminded me of the Queen, in some ways, but with even less warmth. I had an immediate reaction to him, as powerful as my one to Jagor, that night in the embassy. Only while Jagor had made me almost drunk with desire, this man made me want to run. It was instinctual cold dread: like standing barefoot in a room with a spider.
“Prince Jagor has finally taken a slave,” he said, looking at my collar. His voice was hypnotic, and held great authority: I could imagine him on TV, or addressing a crowd. “And a pretty one.”
“Thank you.’ I looked away from him, wondering if there was room to slide past him. There wasn’t.
“I didn’t say for you to look away!”
Etiquette was that slaves must obey non-slaves – as long as this doesn’t contravene the wishes of their owner. I had to be polite, or he might guess that I was an interloper. I forced myself to meet his eyes again.
“I watched you,” he told me with a smile.
I realized he meant having sex: he’d seen me writhing and shaking atop Jagor. I’d been fine with that, because the men around us had been respectful. This was different: for some reason, the thought of
him
seeing my climax sent a shudder through me.
“You like being watched, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question.
I nodded.
“Perhaps you and I should go somewhere together.” His fingers came up and toyed with the ring at the front of my collar, where Jagor had unclipped the leash. His eyes flicked behind me and I turned to look. There was a small room there, the doorway gaping like a black maw. Like all the rooms at the club, there was no door, but it was quiet and dark.
My legs felt as if they were made of rubber, and there was no accompanying rush of heat. This was simple, primal fear. The man took a step towards me, and I took an instinctive step back. He smiled, and took another step, and I backed away again. Something brushed one arm: the doorpost. He was using my fear to push me inside.
I knew that if I let him get me into that room, something really bad was going to happen.
He stepped closer again, and this time I stood my ground. That placed him right up against me. He didn’t touch me, but he was close enough that I could feel the heat of his body; smell the sickly-sweet aftershave he used. I forced my voice to work. “I’m afraid the Prince isn’t loaning me tonight.”
That drew a smirk from him. “Isn’t he, now? What a pity. I’ll have to impress upon him the importance of sharing his toys.” His eyes ran slowly down my body. “Run back to your prince, then,” he told me, and moved aside. I fled, as quickly as my heels would allow.
***
We reversed the trick we’d used on the way in. Jagor switched the silver collar with my purple palace one. I dressed in my suit and went up in the elevator first, walked out to the SUV and told Arno that Jagor was finishing up with Hendel. Jagor made us wait another fifteen minutes before he emerged, talking of food taxes and caviar spoiling in the holds of ships. I felt bad about deceiving Arno, but there was a thrill to it as well: we could have been spies.
On the drive back, I relaxed in my seat, gazing at Jagor across from me. We couldn’t cuddle, couldn’t even touch – only some of the limos had privacy glass. But we could look into each other’s eyes and know that despite everything, we were together.
How long could this go on for, I wondered? How long could we keep up the pretence, and grab moments behind unlocked doors? Not forever…but the King had almost recovered: soon, Jagor would be able to leave the country again and we’d be back on our travels. I could remove the collar and we could be...well, hardly a normal couple, but it would be infinitely simpler.
I was still disturbed by the white-haired guy at the club, but with Arno riding in the back with us I’d have to wait to tell Jagor. I figured I’d do it the next morning. I didn’t know that everything was about to change.
When we pulled up outside the palace, Villik hurried out to meet us. ‘Your Highness,’ he said excitedly, “Calara is here.”
I smiled, because he seemed happy and so I assumed Jagor would be too. But when I looked across at him, Jagor had gone pale...and he was looking at me.
“Who’s Calara, Your Highness?” I asked as we climbed out. Jagor’s mouth moved, but no sound came out.
At that second, a woman ran down the steps towards us. She was entrancingly beautiful – long, golden hair curled into ringlets, deep green eyes that matched the dress she was wearing and a huge smile of joy. She flung herself into Jagor’s arms. “I was so worried!” she told him “But your mother didn’t want me to visit until the King was better.” She kissed him: first quickly, then in the slow, sensuous kiss of lovers. And he kissed her back.
I looked at Villik.
“Lady Calara is the Prince’s betrothed,” he told me in a hushed voice.
And my world died.
Chapter Ten
He found me a half hour later, in my room. The tears hadn’t come yet: I suppose I was hoping for some sort of miracle: that I’d misunderstood; that it wasn’t how it looked.