You Will Show Me Everything Ch. 05

There is a wine bar on the next block that she takes me to, and I begin to realise that this has all been set up meticulously. The choice of salon, the fact that she was in the reception, the venue to retreat to afterwards to talk. She doesn't say anything as we walk, and I can't help myself, stealing glances at her.

"Do I get to know your name?" I ask.

"Do I get to know yours?"

"Fair point. But, your husband already knows a lot about me."

"We," she emphasizes, "We know a lot about you. Where you work, where you live."

"What?"

"Your pictures, the data."

"Oh crap."

Of course, I've been suckered again. Sending the pictures from home: the geolocation information the phone put into the picture metadata automatically.

"Relax. It's down to the apartment block. There must be a hundred units within that radius. Still, I know where I can suggest to catch up for coffee when I'm in town."

As she talks, my mind is racing. I'm desperately trying to work her out from the clues I'm given. So, they don't live here, which means she's probably flown in from somewhere else. Her jacket and pants are smart; she's used to power-dressing, effortless in low heels, black hair carefully braided. The rocks on her finger and the designer label on her bag point out that she has money and she's used to being heard. The accent is Jamaican, I'm almost sure, but even without it there's an aura about her of being so very, very unlike me. Whatever her name is, she's in control, well put together.

"You just here for a visit?" I ask.

"Came in for a meeting today, staying over tonight because I wanted to meet you in person. Two birds, one stone."

"Who's looking after the kids?"

I keep my voice level. It's a shot in the dark; I want to see how much information she's willing to supply.

"He is."

"How many you got?"

"Two, girl and a boy."

She isn't giving much away. We cross the road to the wine bar in silence and she holds the door open for me.

"Let's find a spot in the back," she tells me.

We go through to the rear of the place, and there are a few tables for two in a little garden area out the back. It's fully dark now, and there are little downlights in the vine-festooned arches that form a canopy over the area. She selects a table in an area that no-one else is sitting. The waitress comes over to us and we order a glass of white wine each. It's just a glass. I need to keep my wits about me.

I look her in the eye. "We, you said."

"When?"

"We know a lot about you, those were your words."

She smiles, stretching like a cat in her seat, rolling her shoulders back. The v-cut neck of her smart jacket gapes open a little and I realise that I can't see anything underneath, except her smooth dark-coloured skin. The idea that she's topless under the jacket does something to me. I'm topless too, under my dress. I don't have any panties on either, because that was the deal I made with him. Then my eyes go wide.

"You do this together?" I ask.

"Yes. He's obviously the business end, with the pictures and the contact. I'm more of an advisor. Whether that's also my day job, I guess that's maybe what you're curious about."

"You tell him what to do?"

She laughs again, and I'm captivated by the way her brown eyes sparkle in the subdued lighting. The waitress returns with our wine, interrupting my flow. I wait until she's out of earshot again before continuing.

"Do you?" I persist.

"No. I'm like I said, an advisor. I can cover the other angles that his man brain can't work out. Like, when you sent your list of favourite pictures to us."

I blush furiously. This woman has been privy to my innermost fantasies and I know absolutely nothing about her. I'm so completely out of my depth. I try to regain some semblance of control, taking a sip of wine, composing myself again.

"And what did you conclude from those pictures?" I ask.

"That you're what we've been looking for, for a long time."

Her eyes are dark and wide, boring into mine with unexpected intensity all of a sudden. Caught in the full beam of her attention, that little feeling deep inside me flares into life. I know what's happening here and I'm terrified and excited at the same time. My heart flutters in my chest. She really means it.

"Am I being propositioned?" I ask.

I try to keep my tone even, but it almost comes out as a squeak. She grins because she knows she's got me. But she doesn't answer back.

Instead, her hand goes to the top button of her jacket. The v-neck opens a little wider. She pops the next button too, then stops. I find myself waiting, unable to move or break the trance as her fingers tug the lapel slightly. She scans the surrounding tables briefly and then leans forward.

I'm right. She's naked beneath the jacket. Her smooth skin is revealed, then the curve of a modest breast, as she leans further forward. Her fingers grip the fabric, opening herself fractionally wider to show me her thick, dark nipple. I gasp.

There is a glint there, a steel bar threaded horizontally through her tip. I'm transfixed, staring at another woman's pierced breast in public in the back of a winebar. It's all my fantasies at once. Then, she leans back in her seat and the jacket falls back into place, covering her. My mouth is so dry that I can't speak, my pulse hammering. I look up and meet her dark eyes and get a shock.

She has been staring at me the whole time. There is a flush beneath the colour of her cheeks, her mouth parted. But her eyes tell me everything.

"I'm the same as you," she whispers.

I'm sitting next to a stranger who is wildly aroused by having exposed herself to me. I can still see the curve of her breast in my mind's eye, burned into my brain, the perfection of her body. Her eyes are locked on mine, like a confession, revealing herself. The mask of control and civility has been torn away and she has stripped herself bare.

His wife was his first model because she asked to be. She feels what I feel, the terror and the bliss of displaying herself for strangers. Her lips press together and she swallows, and I'm suddenly staring at her lips instead. They're so close. My body is burning and she is right in front of me.

"Can I show you more?" she whispers.

I gape at her, but I know that if I nod, I'm going down a path I've never been and I don't know where it leads. I'm not gay. I'm not. This beautiful siren is calling me down into the sea. I can't think.

But I nod, and it's all she needs. She gets up, buttoning her jacket again, reaching into her purse to deposit some money on the table. I find myself standing too, and then following her as she walks away, like I'm on a leash. I watch the way she walks, her hips rolling in her elegant pants, the tight, firm curve of her rear. My hands are shaking.

She leads me in silence to a hotel just down the road. It's all been planned with exacting attention to detail. I have been acquired and now I'm going to be exercised. We enter the hotel and go up to her room, but at the door, I hesitate.

"I've never done this before," I confess. "I'm not...."

"You are a lot more than you think."

"At least tell me your name."

"No."

She opens the door and steps into the room. I follow. The door closes behind me with a heavy thud that makes me jump.

"What about your husband?" I blurt out.

She kicks off her heels, dropping a little in height, then turns back to me.

"He knows who I am. He's the only one in the world who knows who I am."

"And who are you?"

She turns to me and begins to unbutton her jacket again. My attention is focused on each button as she unfastens it.

"I'm his wife. I'm the mother of his children."

She pops the last button and the jacket opens a little, exposing a section of her torso. I see a glint in her belly button.

"I'm his muse. I'm his art."

Her fingers go to the waistband of her trousers, popping the button and opening the zip. She pauses.

"I'm his art," she repeats, solemnly. "He turned me into art and exposed me to the entire world."

She shrugs off her jacket, letting it tumble to the floor, baring her breasts. She releases her trousers, letting them slide down her long, shapely legs, stepping out of her clothing to stand naked before me. I marvel at her bare body, so familiar from the pictures, but so different in the flesh. Dark skin, but more than that: there is shiny steel driven through each nipple, through her belly button and....

She reaches down between her legs. She's clean down there, waxed as I now am. Her fingers part herself, opening up to show me her innermost secrets. She's pierced down there as well, a bar through her clit, a little ring beneath her inner lips in the skin of her perineum. Even in the latest pictures of her, she wasn't pierced. This is all new.

She stands there parting herself for me, then her forefinger reaches between her lips to flick the little steel bar threaded through her nub. I watch in amazement as her thighs quiver and her muscles tense, rippling as her breath stutters, and the revelation shocks me. She's orgasming, just from a single touch. I am in the hotel room of a woman I just met, who I know nothing about, and she's cumming right in front of me as I stare at her naked body.

She gasps, sinking to her knees, her head bowed. She reaches out a hand and I step forward taking it, feeling the strength of her grip, feeling her shaking. She doesn't look up at me, holding my hand, and it's just like I fantasised. She's naked, kneeling before me, ready to be told what I want her to do. I cup her chin with my free hand and lift her face to meet mine. She has that delicious, lost look in her eyes and my pussy contracts in sympathy.

"It's been so long," she whispers.

"How long?" I ask, gently.

"Years. Not since kids. We agreed to de-complicate our lives."

"And now?"

"We agreed."

I watch her lips, agonizingly aware of how close she is to the space between my legs. I made her cum just by looking at her; by letting her display herself for me, with her new piercings. Her husband knew that I liked piercings. Did he do this for me?

I feel a rush, like nothing I've ever felt before. It's abandonment, euphoria, and an unruly desire. I unbutton my dress and let it fall to the floor. I'm terrified at what she'll do, but then her attention is on my newly-waxed crotch and all I can do is wait.

She moves like a landslide in slow motion. When her perfect lips make contact with my body I cry out in shock. She understands me in a way that I don't understand myself, reaching out with her fingers to spread me gently, taking her time, kissing me. My fingers trace through her tightly-woven braids and it feels outlandish that I have her between my legs, her tongue-tip exploring my slit. Her head tilts back to look up at me and I see the desire there. She sticks her tongue all the way out, pink and soft and alive. There is a little stud set into the surface, the same colour as her flesh, almost invisible.

These are the secrets she keeps, when she's dressed in her suit, in her board meetings doing whatever it is that she does that earns her five times more money than her husband. She is smart, responsible, respectable, and all the while, just out of sight, she has a tongue piercing for the purpose of giving oral pleasure to strangers.

She laps against my clit and I feel the little knobble teasing my swollen nub, raking over it, sending shivers through me. She places her hands on my hips, and twists me, directing me to the edge of the bed. I lie down and she forces me to edge up until I'm sprawled in the middle. Then, I watch in mute fascination as she climbs onto the bed, climbing over me like a predator, her eyes on the space between my legs. Her head drops and this time her talented tongue slides deep inside me.

I realise that I'm making a high, mewling sound, my fingernails raking her shoulders as she penetrates me with first her tongue and then her fingers, twisting them around inside me until I explode with pleasure as she finds my most sensitive spot. I'm being played like an instrument, and I let it happen, powerless to prevent it happening and not wanting her to stop. All my life, I've denied this. All my life I've wasted.

She builds me up to the edge and I feel my insides begin to flutter, the urge building. She senses it too, pulling back a little to let me recover and then pressing on again, over and over, teasing, until I'm swearing and groaning in protest. She knows exactly what she's doing, learning my body, comparing it with previous lovers, understanding what I like and I need. I'm a babe-in-arms, new to all of this. I give in, and she seems to sense that, and this time as I come to the crest she doesn't stop.

When the orgasm comes I cry out from the shock of it, and from the understanding. My previous encounters with boyfriends and one-night-stands pale into insignificance because now I finally understand. I heave up off the bed, my body locked, lifting her too, feeling her tongue still deep inside me, the suction of her lips encircling my entrance. The orgasm builds again, and she doesn't stop. I'm howling, shuddering, her nails digging into my thighs as she suckles on me. It's feeding something deep inside this woman too, something she's denied herself for years.

When at last she breaks contact with me, I slump down, gasping for breath. I finally open my eyes, and see her kneeling between my legs, looking down at me with a sly, sexy grin.

"You always remember your first time," she drawls.

I just nod. I have no words. My mind is vapour, and I know there's something I need to do or to say. I need to reciprocate. I want to give back to her. It's what I should do.

I sit up, but she leans back, laughing.

"No. I'm way too sore still," she tells me.

"Why?"

She cups her breasts but doesn't touch her nipples. "Still tender. I need to heal some more."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

She pauses.

"Do you want to see?" she asks.

"Please."

She lies down next to me, cautious now. I have a woman naked next to me inviting me to touch her. I can't believe it.

"I'll be gentle," I tell her.

I touch her breast and her skin is so soft. I'm still glowing from my climax, and this feels wonderful to be able to explore her, so very intimate. I examine her nipple, the way the shiny steel bar has been pushed through it, the little balls at each end to secure it in place. My attention shifts down to her belly button, to the matching silvered ring there. The skin looks a little puffy.

"I kept catching it on my belt. I had to switch to low-slung pants."

I nod. My attention is on the space between her legs, the undiscovered country there. I touch her, half expecting her to snatch my hand away, but she doesn't. She's content to let my fingers travel over her bare skin. I can see slickness between her labia. I'm turning her on just by touching her.

"Have a good look, it's okay."

"Really?"

I hesitate. It should feel wrong to touch her in her most private place, but she wants me to. I feel an incredible connection to her body, like she's turned on a light inside of me that I never want to go out. I can barely breathe.

I part her delicately and her scent comes to me, a muskiness that makes my toes curl. Deep inside her folds, I can see her clit piercing gleaming. My face is close, enthralled. I look up at her quickly.

"If you want to. Just a kiss though. I'm still very sensitive."

"You had them all done at once?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Tuesday."

"This week? Why?"

I have to ask, but I think I know, and it thrills me to my core. I committed to him, and then his wife submitted her body to the piercings because they had already planned this. They'd already planned me.

"I'm going to be part of his new project," she breathes.

My lips are close to her entrance. I'm breathing in her musk. Her inner sanctum glistens invitingly. I already know her husband's new project: the loose threads come together in my head.

"I'll be gentle," I tell her. "Is it okay?"

"If you want to."

I want to. I lower my lips to her waiting entrance and kiss her, enveloped in her scent. After the distance I've come to get here, the last step is both tiny and vast.

I work the tip of my tongue inside her, tasting a woman for the first time. I feel her hand in my hair, and take her direction, allowing her to shepherd me over the landscape of her body. When she cums at last, it's delicate, little more than a sigh, and I feel disappointed until I look up and see her smiling down at me. She draws me up to lie next to her and wraps her arms around me.

"That was perfect. You're so gentle."

Then, she kisses me and my heart melts. After all the denial, it feels natural to be lying next to her in her hotel room, our bare bodies pressed together.

"When am I booked in?" I ask.

She laughs, and I feel it through her chest.

"You're quick," she replies. "Not yet. We haven't arranged anything. You need to sleep on it for a few nights first."

She strokes my hair and I begin to drift, my body spent after the build-up. I close my eyes. I want to tell her now, but she's right. I need to wait and make sure it's what I want. But it is what I want.

I want to be art as well.

I want to be exhibited by him alongside his wife for all the world to see. I want my secret desires exposed to strangers.

I know I'm going to be pierced like she is, my body marked with glittering metal. I'm part of the process now. I'm on the journey to becoming something else.

---

[Next chapter: The journey concludes as her husband reveals the extent of his project.

Follow me for updates to this and my other stories. If you like what you read, please leave a comment or a star rating. Constructive feedback is always welcome. If you want further adventures, or to check out my other stories, my story page is here]