Bare

Chapter Five- You Don't Own Me

It had been two days since Gwen last laid eyes upon Deacon, and yet all she could recall was the look of ecstasy on his face while a bimbo let him between her legs. It haunted her thoughts, in her dreams, and even during her practicing her moves for work-driving her insane as she was envious of the girl. She wouldn't admit this to Deacon, but she had the chance to be that girl, but due to her stubbornness, she had rejected him without a formal decision-but it seemed as if he understood from the lack of trying to win her approval. 

Now, she decided to get even-to be able to stand tall with her decisions as she was preparing for her grandest stage presence yet-a solo act for Deacon to show him what he lost out on. But she found herself increasingly nervous with each passing second as she lingered just outside her curtain of the V.I.P. room. She was careful to not expose her identity too early as she had workers from the club attain him for a dance 'on the house'. He didn't seem to fuss over this as he brought himself into the room and found it to shut hard behind him. He hesitated for a moment before taking a seat upon the velvet couch that sat positioned at the far end of the room. Its unique shape made it ideal for different positions, and although it was nicknamed 'the happy ending room', Gwen was planning on only forcing Deacon through torture. 

"Close your eyes." She spoke before removing a blindfold around his cranium and against his luscious locks. She tied it tight enough to not fall during her planned moment before feeling him reach out and touch her. Fearing he would somehow know it was her, she tisked at him before bringing his hands together in handcuffs behind the chair. She hesitated for a moment, breathing in the sight, before walking to the stereo system within the room. She slid a CD burned of perfect stripping songs, and began to move towards him once again to begin her act. 

The rest of the club was unaware of what was transporting behind this closed door as Gwen began to fall into character once again. The beat of the music and thought of the sensuality was enough to have her exchange her vulnerabilities for confidence. She was cautious in bringing herself to him, not wanting him to find a release too early, as she moved around him so he could gain a whiff of her perfume. Seeing the smirk on his face, she then inched closer until her legs straddled either side of him and she seemed to fit perfectly around him. 

"I believe you are breaking protocol…" he spoke to her as she scoffed before then raising the blindfold from his eyes. The room wasn't bright in the slightest, as it held a romantic aesthetic, but his eyes still had to adjust to the figure upon him. It only took a matter of seconds, however, until he realized it was her. 

"Gwen-" he went to speak, on what seemed to be the beginning of an apology-but she found words to be useless. Instead, she wanted actions-and she wanted revenge from how he made her feel. 

"No...it is my turn…" she spoke before watching him completely fall beneath her thrall. She removed herself from his lap and rocked her hips in a horizontal line until watching him nearly bite his lip upon seeing her. Her attire consisted of an ivory corset brought together by lace and satin as it forced her breasts to nearly overfill her garment. A barter belt then held a pair of sexy black stockings up on each leg as a thin lace thong covered her bud. His eyes focused on this for a moment, breathing in her s****l appearance,  before watching every move she made-fearful that he may find his end at the hands of a stripper. 

The song "you don't own me", a rendition done by Masquer, played within the background as Gwen made her way around Deacon. Her hands rested over his shoulders from behind, enough so he could feel her presence but not touch her. Running her hands down his chest, she could feel his heart race beneath his clothes, knowing the poker face he attempted to show did nothing but ease the illusion of being uptight. 

"Do you want something from me?" He asked while watching her move around him, almost as if trying to either buy time or wait for the perfect moment to strike. With each passing second of his eyes on her body, he grew more and more aroused with the thoughts his mind ran wild with. He was a well versed man in a s****l context, ranged far from virtuous-which caused for his mind to compose rather colorful ways he would make her come. It was all he could think about, against the wall, on his lap in the chair, from behind, her on top-it nearly drove him insane. But somehow, being out of control and tied up allowed for an aesthetic that had been new to him. He wasn't sure if it was something he liked or found unalluring, but he didn't have time to think of this as she moved into him. 

"You aren't the only one who can play little games of seduction...but you forget that this is what I do every night…" she reminded him while the song grew to its first chorus. His eyes continued to follow her, doing so in a painfully sexually alluring way that made him bite his bottom lip. "Does this make you want to kiss me?" She asked, moving close enough for him to reach out and connect her lips to him by simply putting then before her in a pucker. But with it being done to torture him, she refused to connect her mouth to his, even though it was a difficult task for her. 

"You have no idea all the things it makes me want to do to you." He spoke, his eyes looking to her in a ravenous need to take her. 

"Yeah? How?" She moved in front of him, teasing the straps of her stockings to her garter belt and acting as if she would remove her clothing before his eyes. 

"Anyway you wanted."

"You can do better than that." She expected a raw and raunchy account of the s****l fantasies he held starring her, but she was blown away by his rather poetic words. 

"I would kiss you, our tongues dancing in a French kiss before my fingers would move to your waist. You would feel me want you by the stiffness against your thigh, but I would lift you before you would have a chance to take control. I would bring you against the closest wall, showering you with kisses, before you would tell me you want me. Then, I would slip my fingers between your legs, pleased to find you wet for me-borderline soaked. I would use my fingers to please you, moving in and out before finally undressing us both so I could make you feel me." She paused, swallowing hard as this moment seemed more of a torture for her than him. "I would be easy at first, allowing you to adjust to my size, then, I would quicken...your back would hit the wall and you would struggle to be quiet...your nails would dig into my back and you would be screaming for me to let you come." Her eyes opened, unaware to her they had closed until now, to see him looking to her with a satisfied smile. "And you would melt over me."

Gwen was unable to find words to match the reaction his words made to her body. From her mind to her midsection and everything that tingled beneath it, she was unsure if she should have been able to remain without touching him. 

"That could be every night if you would just agree…" he spoke, reminding her of why she had been doing this in the first place. 

"And what about Sasha?"

He looked to her with confusion. 

"The girl you had all over you in the bathroom stall yesterday? Did you say the same pretty little speech to her?"

"No." Although his tone was dead serious and his eyes were focused upon her. Without knowing Deacon from Adam, she felt a warmth when it came to his words-a trusting. However, the true connection behind said interaction was unclear, but sent ablaze between the two, even as they tortured each other. 

"What is it that I can do to make you dance for only me?"

 She leaned down, bringing her hands behind his with her lips close enough to feel his breath pulling loose. "Stop begging." She explained while releasing him. But as she expected to be allowed to leave so he could compose himself, she was pulled into his embrace and forced against his chest. It was as if time stopped and sound no longer commuted in their minds. In this moment, it was them-waiting for the other to make the move.