Any minute now...
Callie arched her spine and dropped her head back, letting her auburn curls brush her bare shoulders. Her tiny, bejeweled excuse for underwear tinkled as she twisted her hips, shimmied her breasts and generally gave the assembled watchers a hell of a show. The pounding, thumping music thrummed through her, heating her blood, pumping rhythmically through her veins.
She wore silk, the diaphanous fabric clinging to her oiled skin and revealing more than it concealed. The tiny pair of panties and matching bra, both consisting of a little bit of chain and a few jingling coins, hardly concealed her modesty.
But since Callie didn't consider she had much modesty in the first place, she didn't reckon much would be needed to conceal it.
"You. With the red hair. I want a private dance."
Yes. The man who'd spoken wore expensive clothes and had a discreet datapad strapped to his wrist. He was Imperial, from his neat goatee beard to his impeccably fashioned boots. Callie knew the type. He probably imagined he blended in perfectly with every other man in the dark, steamy, scented room, but to her, he absolutely screamed Empire.
She shimmied her hips and danced over to him, letting a sensual smile curve her painted lips. For a second, she gave herself over to the music, the heat and the thrum and the pounding beat. The air swam with spices and the scent of sex.
Her hands brushed the bare sides of her breasts and she shivered.
The lights flickered.
Callie forced herself to concentrate. The trick was to look as if she were about to orgasm just from his presence--but keep herself as unaroused as possible.
When she reached him, she undulated to her knees and bowed, letting her hair fall forward over her face, then lifting her head and pouting in the general direction of his crotch. Since he sat with his knees wide apart, this wasn't difficult.
"My lord," she purred.
"Boudicca," she said, allowing her lips to shape the word decadently. She arched her spine again, thrusting out her breasts and baring her throat. "How... private... would you like this dance, my lord?"
He shifted in his seat, but not before she'd seen the stirring at his crotch. "Right here," he said, and she resisted the urge to frown.
"Are you sure, my lord? We have private rooms. I could dance," she let her voice caress the word, "just for you."
He cleared his throat, the thought obviously tempting. But he said, "No. Just here."
She smiled. Some men liked to watch, and some liked to be watched.
"Very well," she purred, and rose elegantly to her feet. Motioning to one of the pipers to play for her, she began to dance, a steamy, sensual dance that was as close to sex as she could manage by herself and with her clothes on. She'd taken pains to learn it, to perfect every intricate step, to imbue every motion with sensuality. Each slow slide of her arm from its loose sleeve of transparent silk, each twist of her thigh that partially bared it, each undulation of her hips, was designed to simulate sex. To make a man's pulse race, to make his temperature rise, to make his cock swell.
And the Imperial in front of her was, after all, just a man.
Thank God they're too misogynistic to have many top-ranking women, she thought as she bent backwards almost fully, her head in his lap and her breasts inches from his face. Men thought with their dicks: it was universal. A woman was much harder to trap.
She arched her bare foot and slid it along the tiled floor toward him, toes pointed, harem jewelry gleaming in the softly shimmering lights. The movement slid her thigh free from the billowing silks draped from her hips. A bead of sweat trickled over her skin.
The bulge at his crotch got bigger.
"Come here," he rasped. "Dance closer."
She did, and he bid her closer still, until she was dancing between his spread thighs. The whisper of silk against her skin, the brush of hair over her back, the scent of her own skin, oiled and perfumed and hot, all turned her on.
The lights flickered again.
Remember he's an Imperial. A gutless killer. A filthy, soul-rotted rapist.
The lights beamed brighter.
The Imperial had his hands on her waist now as she gyrated in front of him. Her breasts bounced around an inch or two from his face, and his eyes were huge. Hell, she could probably rob him blind at this point and he'd barely notice.
Callie bent backwards at the waist, arching her breasts away from him and curving one hand over her head to touch the floor and support her own weight. This put her scantily-clad crotch right in his line of vision, covered only by the jeweled thong and some very thin silk.
The Imperial made a strangled grunting sound, and Callie smiled. She raised one leg, slowly, sensually, sliding her foot up over his boot, his calf, his thigh. His pants were of the specially created material the Empire used on its high-ranking soldiers and officials. Every inch of it recorded and transmitted what he was doing. It had certainly recorded his location and physical state--including his sizeable erection.
Probably, it was taking pictures of her near-naked pussy too.
She ran her foot up over his hip, the belt carrying his laser pistol, and slid it around his waist, using it to anchor herself as she uncurled her spine and slid onto his knee.
He was breathing fast now. She straddled his thigh, and that damned clever fabric was probably taking samples of her sweat to transmit her ID to the Empire.
His hand slid up her bare ribcage to her breast, and cupped it.
"Mmm," Callie said, inching closer. "That'll cost you a little more."
"I'll pay," he said hoarsely, and as his mouth descended on hers Callie thought, You certainly will.
He was a good kisser, enthusiastic and skilled, his tongue tracing her lips then plunging inside. His hand tightened on her breast, and Callie let out a little gasp that was part pain, part pleasure, as the metal links and coins bit into her flesh.
Don't, don't, she willed herself. Filthy, soul-rotted rapist, remember? Don't enjoy it. Don't get excited. Not yet. One little blast won't be enough.
She needed to store it up. Build up the pleasure, and then let it explode.
Thankfully, she'd had a lot of practice.
The Imperial had one hand on her breast now, and one on her hip, pulling her closer, grinding himself against her. The metal links of her panties slid between her labia, teasing and rubbing her sensitive flesh.
She gasped, and the lights flickered again.
The Imperial lifted his head. "Something wrong with your power?"
What the hell, maybe it could work in her favor. "It comes and goes." Much like herself.
"Maybe I could," his hand slid inside her bra and fondled her nipple, "call in a few favors. Get it fixed for you."
"Mmm," said Callie. "We'd be ever so grateful, my lord. I'd be ever so grateful."
"How grateful?" he pressed, and she licked her lips lasciviously.
His breathing came faster. Between her thighs his cock leapt, pressing the metal links deeper between Callie's pussy lips and abrading her clit. "Very grateful," she moaned, and the music faltered for a second.
"Could be quite a job," the Imperial murmured, pinching her nipple and thrusting his crotch against hers.
Callie's hand slipped between them and tabbed open his pants to free his cock. She wrapped her hand around it, then purred, "Quite a job indeed."
His eyelids sank closed, and he thrust into her hand a few times. "Oh yes," he murmured. "Ah fuck, yes."
Callie angled her breast toward his mouth like a mother feeding a baby, and he obediently took the nipple between his lips and sucked. She fisted his cock, rubbed her hand up and down and smeared the drop of moisture at the top all over.
"Yes, fuck yes, touch the head. Like that. Yes," he hissed, his breath hot against her breast.
He's a murderous son of a bitch, she reminded herself. Brainwashes and tortures the innocent. Forget how good his mouth feels sucking your tit. Remember to hate him.
But it was difficult, when what he was doing felt so good.
"You like that, my lord?" she asked.
"Yes. Oh yes. Stroke my balls."
She did, using both hands now. One rubbed up and down his shaft, the other caressed his tight balls. He moaned, and she used the tip of her nail to gently score the delicate flesh.
Around them, the music and dancing and life of the club throbbed on.
He thrust hard into her hand. "Ah, fuck! Fuck, Boudicca!"
She dropped her head to his and ran her tongue around the shell of his ear. "Do you want to?" she asked. "Fuck Boudicca?"
In answer he scrabbled at the metal links between her legs, freeing her pussy for his cock. In seconds he was inside her, pushing deep, moaning in pleasure. Callie rocked her hips, using her hands to free her other breast and guide it toward his mouth. He suckled her greedily, thrusting up with short, sharp movements.
"Oh yes, let me suck you. You have such sweet little nipples. You taste so good," he gasped.
Evil, murdering bastard, she reminded herself as the lights flickered again. Evil, murdering bastard who has to pay women to fuck him. Soul-rotted rapist. You're not turned on. You're NOT.
But it was hard, when his cock was inside her, pumping so deliciously into her, and his mouth was so hot on her breast. She began to rock her hips faster, squeezing him with her internal muscles, moving her legs so she was kneeling astride him and using the position to bounce up and down on his cock.
"Ah yes, oh fuck, oh yes," he gasped, clearly not caring in the least that everyone else in the club could see him swiving one of the dancers. But then they were used to it. From every corner, every curtained alcove, came the sounds and scents of couples frantically fucking.
"Mmm," she purred encouragingly. "Mmm, that's nice. Oh yes, just like that. Fuck me harder. Oh yes."
He seemed to like this, so she kept up a steady patter of mindless encouragement, trying not to notice how with every movement, the chains between her legs rubbed her clit. "Fuck me like that, baby. Your cock feels so good inside me. You're so hard. Oh yeah, you're fucking me good. I'm so wet for you. I want to feel your big cock come inside me. Mmm, I want to suck your come off your cock."
Below her, the Imperial thrust so frantically she was sure he was going to come, but then he started shoving her off him. "Yes, yes," he gabbled, "in your mouth. I want to come in your mouth. Suck me off, Boudicca."
Obediently, she slid to her knees before him, secretly grateful she wasn't going to have to take any more stimulation. Already she could hear the other patrons grumbling about the shoddy power in this place.
She'd barely leaned forward to take him when he grabbed her by the hair and shoved his dick in her mouth. She sucked him deep, tasting her own juices on him and licking them off, reclaiming them, even as she fisted his shaft and stroked his balls.
Go on, suck it down, all the way, deeper, deeper, I don't care if you fucking choke.
Callie flinched, but didn't stop. She felt him quiver, and then with a cry of, "Oh fuck yeah," he came down her throat, his seed sticky and salty.
Callie remained where she was, licking him clean, making sure no traces remained. Of course, he'd be covered in her saliva, but by the time she was gone that wouldn't make any difference.
Swirl your tongue around the head. That's it. Please me well enough and you won't die today.
She kissed his balls and looked up at him. I won't, but you will.