Chapter 33

Kathleen

This is the most talented orchestra in the region. The conductor has won several awards over the years. He's so famous that he headlines the entire event.

I don't care. I only care about Ira.

She's even more attractive in this lack of light. There are a couple of nightlights on the floor so we can see our way in and out of the balcony, but for the most part, it's so dark that I can barely make out her profile in the shadows. Something mysterious surrounds Ira, and I can't tell what she's thinking if I can't see her expressions.

This is a date, Kathleen. No need to keep your hands to yourself.

If we were a sweet couple, I would hold her hand between our seats. Except I have to admit the thought of holding her hand makes me laugh. Who am I? Some virgin? No. Hell no.

At first, there's no reaction as I slip my hand between her legs and feel her thighs. Her trousers are hot, full of her body heat and so luxurious that I get caught up in the feel of the fabric as opposed to my mission at, uh, hand.

Namely grazing my fingers against her lower stomach, which isn't tense… yet.

"Kathleen," Ira mutters, loud enough for me to hear above the music. "This is a sophisticated place. What you're doing does not carry a lot of propriety."

I'm searching for treasure. While it would be much easier to pleasure her if she had worn any of her prosthetics, I can work without it. Not like I'm unfamiliar with surreptitiously fingering someone in public. Why, it's practically my favorite pastime when I take some darling doll out to dinner. Except Ira is hardly a doll. And she might protest, although I don't get the impression that touching her pussy directly is a boundary for her girlfriends.

If only she could see the grin on my face…

"Fuck propriety," I coo into her ear. "I'm on a date with a looker and want to spoil her. Doesn't she want me to spoil her?"

"I'm supposed to be doing the spoiling."

"You're not supposed to be doing anything." My fingers find her zipper before she can protest. She's definitely not protesting when I tuck my longest finger beneath her underwear. "Besides enjoying yourself."

"That can certainly be arranged."

This isn't my first time loaning someone my hand in a concert hall. When I was younger – too young to get into places like Midnight – the best way to get my date off outside of the house was to find a dark abode and get a mutual fingering. Hell, I learned most of my oral skills in dark dens like this.

Currently, I'm content to watch her and the orchestra – and to feel her thighs gently open for me, her aura shifting as she welcomes my hand into her pants. Ah, she's wet already. Of course she is. Why wouldn't Ira be turned on by me? But what I can do? She knows I'm no wilting virgin. I may be inexperienced in certain aspects, but finding the clit? Easy shit.

She tenses and relaxes, her hand rubbing my knee beneath the hem of my dress.

"Did you know that the conductor has performed in over fifty different countries?" That factoid comes from a poster down in the lobby.

"Hush," Ira says, gravel in her throat.

"Now, don't be a Domme, remember?"

"I don't tell you to the shut the hell up as a Domme. I tell you to be quiet as someone listening to music and getting fingered at the symphony."

"Maybe I don't want to be quiet," I tease. "Maybe I want to constantly remind you that I'm here."

"You know what would shut you up?"

"Indeed, I do." I still my hand, pushing my ass back to the side of my seat as I toss my hair out of the way and lower my head toward her lap. She wants me to shut up? I need to find other ways to keep my mouth preoccupied.

I'm glad we're not playing kinky games. Not our kind of kinky games, since I'm sure many vanilla types would find what I'm doing plenty kinky. Ha! They have no idea.

But those kinky games? They would make me feel uncomfortable at the moment. Especially after what happened the last time I touched my lips to this woman's sexuality. In private.

I don't worry about her pushing me off. I don't worry about that because she's assured me that tonight isn't about domination and submission. It's about what feels right. Right now? This feels so fucking right.

My knees silently slip to the floor. I'm careful to not call too much attention to myself as I hide behind the ledge and nuzzle my head directly into her lap. The first real hit of Ira's scent is what does me in. After all, it hasn't been often that I just get to smell her and nothing else. As invigorating as anything can be… I enjoy this. Shoving my face between her thighs, that is. Because I can't take off her pants. Oh, no, no. I've got to work with all of this clothing in my face! My, I do love a puzzle. Or a sweet, intoxicating trap, if you would. Because there's nothing more alluring than imprisoning myself between these legs, my nose buried in Ira Mathison's mound as my tongue slithers down her slit and sensuously slips against her clit.

I remember how fantastic it felt when she did this to me. It's only right I give back and shock her what I can do directly to her body. Even if we're in public. Even if I'm thinking about how good she fucks me. That initial point of penetration always makes me cry out the loudest. All those nerve endings right around my opening… ah, I'm squirming in my seat!

Ira's hand strokes the top of my head before gently tugging my hair. She's not pulling it. Like she said, she's just a lucky bitch getting some at the symphony.

Good.

My lips tease her clit, my tongue tasting the burst of arousal she can't contain. The more I take into my mouth, the more I try not to smile – naturally, as my teeth graze her mound as I promised they would a while ago. So many shivers rip through Ira, my hair pulling against my scalp beneath the pressure of her grip. Right now, my only thoughts are on Ira's pussy, which is never more than a tongue-tip away from my hungry mouth.

Let me tell you how satisfying it is to ease my mouth off her, to feel my puckered lips kiss her stomach before lowering to taste her again. Quiet groans of approval filter into my ear as Ira leans back and enjoys it. However, I know she'll only last so long.

I look forward to destroying her on this balcony.

Soon. She's definitely on her way. The woman probably hasn't come yet today, and here I am, eating away with everything I've learned over the years. I up my tempo, licking her, pulling away, kissing her clothed knee while my finger goes where my tongue was only a moment ago. My teeth nip her navel. Her hands tighten on my shoulder and scalp. Pretty soon, Ira's thrusting forward, fucking my lips, my mouth, my face. Her essence spreads across my tongue.

Yes, it's you, isn't it Ira? It's your scent, your flavor, everything that announces how desperate you are to explore who you are as a sexual being. It's my favorite thing about making love. If I were your Domme, I would make it my mission to explore every facet of your femininity, from the pretty way your pussy pulses beneath my lips to the rough and eager way you fuck me with a prosthetic. A strap-on. Your own talented fingers that still haunt my core even when they're not there.

I'll die before I ever forget what the essence of Ira smells and tastes like.

A louder groan echoes in the balcony, and soon Ira's hips are jerking, thrusting so fast that I can barely keep pace with my breaths.

Do it, Ira. Come on my face. Make me choke on your climax.

Her fingers dig into my scalp. Her breath stills in her body. One grunt erupts, then silence, her pelvis pulsing on my mouth as she prepares to come.

Ah, there it is. Her scent overwhelms me. I've got one second to get ready.

My attention is raptured by the electric heat flushing my skin, the first wild undulation of orgasm overtaking me tonight. I'm ready. My nails are on her thigh as I brace myself for more, furiously lapping the tip of my tongue against her clit because I want her to be demolished on this balcony. She will know that it was me, Kathleen Allen, who gave her the best orgasm of her life using nothing but her mouth.

Because I'm that good. Just ask the lucky subs who got to call me their Domme.

I know by now that Ira will quiver no fewer than four times. The first tentative, a warning. The second is the hardest, coating my tongue and stealing my breath if I'm not ready. Then the third arrives, everything that couldn't be expressed before now on my mouth. The fourth one is the very last drop of her sanity. I take all of her, letting it purge my soul and claim my tongue, her taste so, so strong.

As she relaxes into her seat, I back away, fingers toying with her zipper. My fingers spread across her abdomen, painting her with sex, my signal that I want her to give me some affection.

She does. A simple rub on the head, fingers brushing against my cheek as she pushes my hair out of the way.

When I'm satisfied with my handiwork, I sit up, letting my covered lips touch her throat as she zips back up. She doesn't stop me. Ira isn't shy, unlike some I've been with.

"Shit, Katie." She lets me rub her unrestrained chest and suck lightly on her throat, her hand touching my arm and leg. "That was amazing."

I nibble her ear. Short brown hair tickles my nose. Hair that smells so good. I don't know what products she puts in it, but I hope she never stops. "I love it when you call me Katie."

Her mouth turns to mine, and she tastes herself on my lips. "I love calling you Katie."

"I need something to call you."

There's a growl in the corner of my mouth. "I can think of something."

Mistress. I bet that's it. Does she feel me grimace? "Not tonight, Ms. Mathison."

"That works, too."

To the sounds of a lovely crescendo down on the stage, Ira kisses me with such passion that I practically melt in her arms.

It feels so good being safe in her embrace.

"Let's get out of here," she whispers. "I want to take you back to my place and do all sorts of things with you."

I giggle, letting her see a more delicate side of me, but I don't forget her promise from earlier.

She has plans for me.

A part of me is filled with dread. The other is filled with lustful anticipation, and I follow her out of the balcony, thinking about taking her hand into mine.

I don't.