Don't Judge Me Ch. 17

Once her dessert was finished and Miss Buchanan had slid herself off Rhett, she acted like the two men she had just used weren't even there. She raised an eyebrow to Miss Havisham, who made a small but clearly meaningful gesture to two of the servers who had been attending the table. They quickly placed themselves at each arm of the naked woman, who was still dripping a mixture of fruit, cream, custard and sex fluids down her legs into little pools and wet footprints as she walked. She swaggered towards the door, stretching her arms as if awakening from a slumber, to place them one around the waist of each of the newly replaced men. They responded, one with his arm around her neck, the other around her waist, and both nibbling at her neck and ears, to her noisy delight.

The trio left in a haze of sexual suggestiveness, and I remained both appalled and impressed. The woman seemed to have no limit to her stamina, her appetite, and the depths of her debauchery.

Miss Havisham made another gesture, and the two soiled, flaccid men whom Miss Buchanan had just discarded were dismissed. The girls all took this as their cue, singing their goodnights as they made their exits.

And then there were three.

"Angelo, I wonder if you'd be kind enough to take Miss Shynalee to the room you prepared for her earlier, and make sure she has everything she desires," she looked at him over her glasses.

"Of course, Miss Havisham, and thank you for a lovely evening," He stood to pull my chair back. "Miss Shynalee, if you'd like to come with me I'll show you to your room," he flourished with an easy formality.

I allowed Miss Havisham to see the surface of my mixed emotions, my trepidation, my excitement, and my reservations as I stood to bid her goodnight. She responded by projecting reassurance, warmth, and confidence.

I put my arm in Angelo's and... oh lordy, the bicep! (That was obviously never going to get old, even though I felt like a silly teenager swooning over a pop star) I allowed him to promenade me away from the lone figure of Miss Havisham, who turned her attention to the remaining servers, directing them with bossy little commands in their work of cleaning up.

I can't remember the pleasant small talk Angelo made as we ascended the sweeping staircase to the first floor. My mind began to accelerate in nervous anticipation of what would happen when we reached the bedroom. What did I even want to happen? I was again rehashing my earlier concerns that, of course, Angelo was just doing his job. I now had no doubt that his job included everything and anything I requested, up to and even beyond what Miss Buchanan had just extracted from her own victims, but I didn't want some professional gigolo to run through his paces with me... did I?

Did I?

How much like Miss Buchanan was I? The idea was positively intoxicating, that this incredible man would be my plaything and would perform like a trained monkey for my amusement and pleasure. But even so, was that a fantasy I really wanted translated into the here-and-now of the real world?

I'd never really questioned my previous sexual experiences before, but between Angelo's positively swoon-worthy masculinity and manners, and the kiss with Crystal, both of which had so exceeded anything I had experienced with my previous boyfriends... I also wondered if I owed it to myself to just enjoy the moment with Angelo for, if nothing else, a bit of research into what I'm supposed to be getting from a boyfriend!

But the idea that I could share intimacy with Angelo, knowing that for his part it could be switched off at any moment, was terrifying. I had already (ok, I admit it) fallen too far for him. If we were to share a bed, what sort of shape would I be in then?

In a flash, the manor house was the Moulin Rouge. I could hear Zidler's voice, "Word to the wise, my dear: Never fall in love with a woman who sells herself. It always ends badly."

I was on a dangerous precipice. Truth be told, I was dangling over the edge of it and beginning to fall.

We were far down the hall which ran deep towards the back of the manor house, and Angelo had stopped talking. He was looking at me, expecting me to respond. I suddenly realized, to my tremendous embarrassment, that I had absolutely no idea what he had said. I blushed, "Um... oh, sorry?" I fumbled and mumbled like a fool.

He smiled kindly, "I said your dress is absolutely beautiful. You! are absolutely beautiful. I've so enjoyed our evening together."

Oh, shit. This was it. We were outside my room. He had the door open for me. He was... what? Was he saying goodnight? Shit!

"Angelo, I..." I started, and stopped again. His kind eyes were going to accept anything I said to him. There was literally no cost. I could do anything from send him away to hump him right here in the hallway, and whatever I wanted, he would do. But what of me? Dangling as I was, hanging by the thinnest thread and yearning to fall into his arms, though they would turn to dust if I did. I was stuck, lost in his eyes. Trapped.

He reached forward and took my hand, "I know I'm on the job, Shynalee, but please believe me. I wouldn't lie about this. I honestly, genuinely, really enjoyed your company tonight. That circus with Miss Buchanan was an unwelcome distraction. She's always like that. She's one of the more... demanding of Miss Havisham's clients. But I want you to know that there's no place I would rather have been tonight than by your side." If this was a professional seduction artist, he was good. How could I know?

Well, of course, if only I possessed the extraordinary ability to look inside people's minds and know how they really felt, that would obviously be pretty useful right at that moment, so... I scanned and probed, as I looked into his uncomplicated eyes. I could see that he had been with many of Miss Havisham's clients. Countless. Some he liked, some he tolerated, but he saw his job as a kind of sport that he was good at. But amid all of that there was something reflecting back at me that was unique. It was a fondness. He wasn't lying. He wasn't pretending. He did really like me.

We kissed.

I wish I could say, "He kissed me", because then it would be his fault. But I honestly can't say who initiated it. Was it just mutual? Is that a thing? I mean, we kissed each other at first, but oh boy, did he kiss me! His kiss was tender but authoritative, and it drove its message way, way, further than my mouth. I started to be activated all through my body, and not least my sex. It rapidly became a hungry kiss, and I know a lot of the hunger came from me.

And look, it had been a long day, ok? From Miss Havisham stripping me half naked in the park, exposing me in the shop, parading me in front of traffic, and submerging me in Mahogany's sweet torment, and then her own teasing, and don't forget my intimacy with Mahogany, and that fireworks encounter with Crystal, and then the show... and I had to admit it, Miss Buchanan's little stunt had strummed my senses at a pretty profound level, too. So was there just a little pent-up sexual tension? Yeah. Something like the Three Gorges Dam worth. And the walls were cracking.

He brought us inside the room and closed the door, then paused. I was panting, leaning in to kiss again, but he was stretching back, his shirt already pulled back and down, hanging from his waist and wrists, leaving his sculpted upper body reflecting the low lamp light. Did I do that?

He looked deeply into my eyes, and the world stopped turning.

"Is this what you want?" his deep, chocolatey warm voice laid out my choice. His tone was even. It was authoritative. He was ready for go, and he was ready for no-go. There was no escaping it. I would have to take responsibility and actually choose this if I wanted it. I wasn't going to be able to say later that I was swept up in the moment. The decision was mine.

Fuck!

I took the opportunity to collect my thoughts. Humor. That's how I would do it. I would take things down a notch and give myself room to think.

I stayed in his embrace, but pulled back a little from my previous eager posture. I placed a hand on his (omg lithe and muscular, naked) chest.

"Oh, I don't know...," I managed to lie. "When you get up under my dress this time, you'll find underwear, so you might be disappointed with that."

He smiled. God, it was such an inviting, warm smile. "I can assure you that underwear will not discourage me in the least. In fact," he spoke in a confident voice, leaning back against the now closed door. "I consider underwear to be like those funny little cushions people put on their furniture. You know the ones? They look very pretty, but when you want to get down to business you just...", he turned his voice into a playful growl. "Rip them aside!" His hands moved over my tight dress, fluttering over my breasts and bottom, quickly finding through the dress material all the edges of my underwear and tugged playfully at them, making me wriggle and giggle under his mauling.

I was getting dangerously fired up, so I pushed myself gently back, out of his grasp, "But you probably think I'm the kind of girl who likes all this..." I gestured generally towards his (truly extraordinary) body and said with a faux disdain, "muscle-man stuff. What if I like a more refined gentleman?" I pouted, turning away and looking back over one shoulder. I knew that from this angle my dress would look amazing, all my curves in their ideal positions. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other so that my hips would shift my shape in the most seductive way.

"What, all this, you mean?" He responded, flexing up, showing off each muscle group in playful poses, restricted as he was by his shirt, still hanging from him. "I'm sorry if it offends you, my lady. I mean it's positively gauche, isn't it? I'm especially ashamed to do this." He leaned forward and flexed his shoulders like the incredible hulk. It wasn't the sexiest pose, but omg the rippling definition in his shoulders and chest!

I couldn't even control my response, a small, breathless, "Oh!" It completely betrayed me. He had won the game. I was exposed as a hopelessly smitten victim of his irresistible body. I was putty.

He knew it, too. He leaned back with a supercilious, imperious air, and a twinkle in his eye. "I might be able to find you someone more... gentlemanly... if it would suit your tastes better, my lady." The cheeky rascal rubbed it in.

I huffed and pouted, "Oh, really? What makes you think a man is what I want at all? I've met a lot of pretty girls today, and they're not all... lumpy!" I gestured again in a circle towards his body.

Still leaning back against the door he laughed a friendly, but still slightly mocking laugh, "A pretty girl wouldn't keep you satisfied for long, my lady. Of that I'm certain."

"And you?" I retorted, playing his game. "Just how long do you think you would keep me satisfied?"

He said something cheeky, like "long enough", or similar, but I was distracted because I could have sworn the idea on his mind, ever so briefly, was "Forever". But it was gone, and he was back to playing the game, sporting a wily grin. Had I imagined it?

"But if the lady has everything she needs," he turned away from me to pull the door open. I stepped forward behind him and pushed it shut, which brought me right behind his naked shoulder, with its intoxicating scent of cologne and sweat. I didn't bite it, but I could have. I'm just saying.

"The lady..." I was searching for words. I didn't want this game to end. "Has not dismissed you." I ducked under his arm and turned to press my back to the door, looked into his eyes, hoping I hadn't gone too far.

I needn't have worried. His smile widened. His mind reflected a sense of fun like a puppy being asked who's a clever boy. Had he a tail it would be wagging. "I'm at my lady's service," he gave a formal bow, to the extent it can be formal with his shirt dangling behind him.

"I mean... maybe I could look past all this raggedy lumpiness..." I moaned, losing the ability to keep resisting him. I reached out a hand and once again found my tiny hand moving over the clearly defined contours of the muscles in his chest.

My outward breath caught my vocal chords, resulting in an involuntary, "huungh" sound. He lifted his hand to my chin, turned it upwards so that I was looking full into his face, looked deeply into my eyes for a long moment, and then kissed me. I surrendered control to him in that moment, tumbling happily into the danger zone.

Ok, this bit is private.

What? I've told you like, everything else, ok? But I can't share the next bit. It's too personal. Don't judge me.

All I'll say is that we made love for many hours, in many ways, in our own world where time meant nothing. Ok? And as the sunlight began to steal its way around the blinds, and the birds greeted the morning outside, I lay completely still, as if to preserve the moment as long as I could, knowing that it must soon end, with Angelo, spent, happily snoozing by my side.

To fully understand the moment I can only suggest you catch the song Amourouse, originally by Véronique Sanson, but to tell the truth, it's always the Olivia version for me. She really gets it: />

Strands of light on our bedroom floor

Change the night through an open door

I'm awake, but this is not my home

For the first time, I'm not alone

Reaching out, I touch another's skin

Breathing out, as he's breathing in

Deep inside, I feel my soul aflame

Can my life ever be the same?

I should have told him

That I'd do anything if I could hold him

For just another day, for just another day

His love is something I will not forget

When I am far away, when I am far away

I feel the rainfall of another planet, another planet

Close together in the afterglow

I remember how his loving flowed

Turned the key into another world

Made a woman of a simple girl

Daylight comes as we both know, it must

Soon my fantasy will turn to dust

But I would give him anything he asked

If my first love could be my last

I should have told him

That I'd do anything if I could hold him

For just another day, for just another day

His love is something I will not regret

When I am far away, when I am far away

I feel the rainfall of another planet, another planet

The sun had risen, and the sound of distant traffic was more prominent than the birds, before I finally must have dozed away amid the sweet smelling pillows, the musky reminder of sex, and the wafts of his cologne, which permeated my soul. When I woke, he wasn't there.

I checked the time. 9:30am. Miss Havisham was expecting me in the garden at 10. I supposed Angelo needed to go and get himself ready, too. It wouldn't do that he turn up in last night's pants to a picnic in the gardens!

But what would I wear? Last night's dress? I sat up and surveyed the room.

I was in a grand four-poster bed in a large bedroom with a Victorian vanity, one of those terribly salacious modesty screens, a wash basin, a sitting area, and two doors, one of which was to the hallway, and the other, I hoped, to the bathroom. I was right. The bathroom was another perfectly appointed period room, as though the entire manor were a doll house. There was a nice hot shower, and that's what I really needed.

But in the bedroom, I saw that someone had brought my shopping bag containing, yes, the third dress that Miss Havisham had thoughtfully purchased for me - the pretty one, black with a floral print. There was also a fresh lacy g-string from the No Man's Land wardrobe, and nice little sand shoes. This was the dress for which Miss Havisham had insisted I remove my bra, and it didn't need it, the bodice providing enough support (at least, enough support for me).

I had to hurry, but I got through the shower and dressed with five minutes left to find the garden. It wasn't easy! When I had come to the bedroom I was heavily distracted, and it was dark. But I managed to find my way between busts and statues, tapestries and portraits, back to the front of the house and then out to the garden. Miss Havisham was sitting on a small park bench with a picnic basket at her side.

Her mind was shielded, but I could sense some storm clouds within. She greeted me pleasantly, but I didn't need The Sight to sense something was wrong.