“It’s very… potent.” She leans back in my lap, and I can see the spaciness expand across her beautiful face. The less focused pupils. The slightly slack way she holds her mouth. Her nostrils occasionally flaring.
It’s already hitting her. It’s already overwhelming her.
A rookie experience I’m amused she’s taking part in.
But, no worry, I’ll be at her side every step of the way. Protecting her. Reassuring her.
…enjoying her.
An hour’s passed and Imani can’t keep her hands to herself. She gropes my crotch and giggles in my ear. She murmurs about how she’s going to ride my cock and doesn’t give a damn who’s around to see.
We’re still in the audience of the live show that’s going on. The performers have changed out. Instead of the woman handcuffed to the bed and the two men in ram masks, a dominatrix has strut onto stage with a bullwhip she isn’t afraid to send cracking down on the cowering submissive who begs for mercy that never comes.
Half of the theater has emptied over time. Either they’ve moved onto their own playrooms or retired for the night.
Imani licks at the shell of my ear and whispers, “When are you going to fuck me?”
My earlier raging erection has softened into nothing. Her sloppy, overstimulated behavior has ensured it’s put out. Not because I’m some annoying white knight beyond fucking a woman under the influence of drugs or alcohol, but because the desperation has become too much. It’s a turn off that reminds me of the likes of Celeste Fairchild, one of the biggest whores in the club.
I underestimated how powerful the spice would be for a novice like Imani. The stimulant is no marijuana—it packs twice as hard of a punch as most party drugs. Clearly, even a pinch was too much for her.
“Take me to a playroom,” she demands. Her hand cups my dick and balls and she gives a rough squeeze. “I just know you’ve got a big-ass dick.”
“You want to go to a playroom? You want me to fuck you? Careful what you wish for.”
I yank her out of her chair, heading straight for the exit. She stumbles trying to keep up in her heels, the effects of the spice making the room spin.
I’ve got a light high going. A quiet buzz thrumming inside my veins that makes the walls stretch taller and the floor feel borderline concave at times. In comparison, I’m a beacon of sobriety next to a giggling, tottering Imani.
Halfway down the hall of playrooms, she protests, ripping her arm out of my grasp. She trips sideways and knocks into the wall with another frivolous giggle. Her eyes close and she writhes against the flat surface as if listening to music that exists only in her head.
“Dance with me,” she murmurs.
I watch for a moment, mildly entertained. “You are so fucking high, minx. I’m not sure you’d know up from down—where are you going? Sasha!”
She’s taken off the opposite way down the hall.
A sigh leaves me as I stick both hands in my pockets and stroll after her.
“I need fresh air!” she yells as she trots off. Her heels click and clack on the tiled floor. Several members mingling in the atrium pause to stare. “I need to see the moooon!”
“Sasha,” I call. “Slow down or you’re going to fall and hurt yourself.”
“Where is the moon?!”
Why do I suddenly feel like I’m babysitting? I grit my teeth and rush after her into the dark.
She’s wandered out onto the lawn, yanking off her heels so that she can break out into a sprint. I call her name several more times as she disappears between a nearby row of trees, then swear when I realize I’ll have to run after her.
The last thing I planned to do tonight in this suit.
I track her by the sounds she makes. The little giggles and gasps. The rustle of leaves and crunch of her bare feet on grass. The snap of a twig or delicate ripping noise her dress makes once it snags on a bramble.
The lack of lighting makes it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. I hear her, then sense her before I ever see her.
Coming up from behind as she approaches an entrance to the hedge maze, I grip her by the upper arm and fling her around.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I growl, hot and agitated from the pursuit.