Page 45 of Watch Me

“Yes,” I answer, somewhat breathlessly, and then turn my head back toward the window.

The heat from his body is warming my back, and, as if electricity is bouncing between us, it’s giving me goosebumps.

He exhales, such an intimate sound that my heart flips.

“Would you ever want to do something like that? Show your pussy to a crowd of people? Let them watch you as you get wet? Let them see you come?”

Holy shit. In the state I’m in, I could come just from a stranger whispering dirty questions in my ear.

“Yes,” I say honestly.

Everything about tonight is like a strange dream. This bar with its hot tub and public showers and beds everywhere. The growing crowd of people with their faces hidden but their bodies exposed. There’s a current in the air itself that grows thicker as the hours tick on, snapping and sparking until you can almost taste it—an alchemical mix of pheromones, sweat, and desire. Add to that my identity is completely hidden, and I’m two shots of vodka in, and I suddenly have the most overwhelming sense of disinhibition.

I can say anything to this stranger in his bull mask, and he won’t judge me. I’m single, and I’m in a sex club, and I can do anything—anything—I want.

“I fantasize about exposing myself like that,” I say, turning my head to speak in the direction of my left shoulder but not turning around to face him. He’s standing so close to my back that I can still only see glimpses of his arm and chest, but I have the impression he’s quite a bit taller than I am. “I’m an exhibitionist.”

“Oh?” He sounds interested. “And what does being an exhibitionist mean to you?”

“It means… I get a rush from showing my pussy, my tits, everything private. Knowing I’m not supposed to, but that it turns people on. I love the idea of strangers watching me, getting hot seeing my body and seeing how turned on I am. Coming in front of other people.”

“And have you ever done anything like that?”

“No. But I want to.”

“You could go in that room.”

“No.” I shake my head, searching for an excuse. “I… I wouldn’t want to intrude. They have a scene going on.”

“Their scene is ending,” he murmurs, leaning down closer to my ear so that his baritone voice slips over my neck like a velvet scarf. “Look. She’s going to come.”

I snap my eyes back to the window to see David spreading the woman’s pussy with his fingers, showing her off to the spectators, before bending his head and spitting on it, rubbing his saliva into her slit and making her eyes roll up into her head. A second later, she bites her lip and her hips buck as she comes. I sense more than hear a collective exhale from the group around the corner.

Every part of me is gripped tight with longing, and I have half a mind to reach behind me and find the zipper to the bull’s leather pants, to pull his cock out right here and beg him to fuck me. I need it. I need something. I turn around to speak to him, to say… something… to plead, but as I do so, he takes a step away and beckons me to follow him. He walks around the corner and, unthinkably, opens the office door. He looks back, waiting for me to join him. He’s inviting me into David’s room and I don’t know how to get out of this. Tentatively, I approach, my mind running through scenarios.

Inside, the woman is off the table already, her skirt lowered, and she’s kissing David on the cheek. She turns to leave, sidling past me through the door and giving me a smile, and David looks at the bull expectantly, and then at me.

My heart is in my throat, waiting for him to recognize me, anticipating the excuses I will have to make to him, how disappointed he will be. But recognition doesn’t register. He smiles.

“I brought you something,” the bull says to David.

The look on David’s face as he sizes me up is sheer lust—he would be horrified if he knew who he was looking at like that. “Well, well, well. Hello, sweetheart.” He grins. “I’m David. Can I offer you a drink?”

I nod, mouth dry, noticing more about the room now that I’m actually in it. There’s a sink built into the counter with the medical instruments on it, and beside it are a small stack of red Solo cups and a bottle of aged rum—David’s favorite. Next to the counter, there’s a wooden chair against the wall.

David pours a healthy slug into the cup and hands it to me. “Take a seat on the bed, love, and relax.”

The bull walks over to the wooden chair and sits down, crossing one ankle over his knee and dwarfing the small chair, and I climb onto the bed via a small footstool. The vinyl-covered bed sticks to the back of my legs, and I look down at my bare thighs with a sense of disorientation. Everything is surreal in here. There’s a false sense of privacy, as though I’m alone in a small room with David and the masked man, except that dozens of strangers are gathered at the window, hoping to see the most intimate of interactions. Meanwhile, David, a close friend and someone I spend most of my time with, doesn’t know who I am. I’m hiding in plain sight, just a thin layer of material masking me from him, which makes all the difference.

I take a long sip of the rum and try not to make a face as it goes down. But I must purse my lips, because David laughs, and I catch his blue eyes twinkling at me with a heat and intention I’ve never seen before.

ZOË

“HAVE WE MET before?” David asks, standing in front of me, his obscene leather codpiece at my knees.

I try to steady my breathing as I shake my head, figuring denial should be my first line of defense. Panic is making my pulse fire, even though there isn’t a hint of suspicion in his tone.

“Well, I love your mask,” he says easily, and I breathe out with relief. He’s just making conversation. “I have such a soft spot for fetish masks. So kinky.”

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