Millie
I was wrong about Viktor being gone. It only took a few minutes in the shower to get a sea of text messages from him, urging me to come hang out with him for the night.
My heart leaps at the prospect of going out, but when he picks me up, I realize that his idea of a nice night out differs drastically from mine.
“Do we have to go there?” I ask with the strain of hesitation and dread sitting heavy on my chest.
“I think you’ll like it. It’s important for you to express your sexuality after getting out of the club scene yourself. You limit yourself so much,” Viktor explains, but my anxiety isn’t alleviated at all.
“I just really don’t think this is the scene for me, to be honest,” I reply, looking at the online description of the BDSM club that Viktor is adamant that we visit. “It just makes me feel weird.”
Viktor sighs. “It makes you feel weird because you’re used to other guys trying to grab you in places like that. You’ll have me there. If anyone even looks at you, I’ll crush his skull and make a margarita out of his brains,” Viktor says, smirking a bit.
My stomach is in knots at the very thought of even walking into a club where people are having sex on every surface. When I had roommates, I would feel awkward hearing them have sex with their long-term boyfriends. I would feel like a nun in a sex club.
“I don’t even know what I would wear,” I say, making whatever excuse possible to get out of this situation.
“I’ll find something for you. I can have it here in three hours,” Viktor replies, and I know he isn’t taking no for an answer on this one.
He finds me a red slip dress with cutouts on the sides, sitting right where my waist curves in from my hips. It makes me feel like I am really, truly being packaged up and sold as an object, as if my breasts and flesh are my only redeeming qualities.
Along with the dress comes a lingerie set of the same color a lacy red bra with a matching garter belt and panties. Honestly, I’m impressed with Viktor’s taste. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to coordinate an outfit like this before. He must have been fantasizing about this for a long time.
“I also bought this for you. I think you’ll at least like this,” he says, grinning in a way that both excites me and terrifies me.
He pulls a little black satin box out of his pocket, and when he opens it, I see a sleek little u-shaped vibrator resting beside a black remote control.
“You can wear it inside of you, and I can control the intensity from across the room,” he explains excitedly.
I swallow hard. First, he wants me to go to a sex club, and now he wants to tempt an obvious public orgasm from me?
“I really don’t know about this, Viktor,” I reply after a long pause, feeling my stomach growing hot with apprehension. I hate that I feel like I’m being pressured to do this, but I think he might be right about the reasons that I limit myself sexually.
“I think that once you’ve done it and seen how liberated you feel, then you’ll change your mind,” he says, placing the box on the table nearby and stroking my cheek reassuringly.
It takes me a moment, but I finally relent. “Okay, fine. But if I hate it, we’re leaving. That’s my one condition,” I say firmly. If he’s going to needle me into something like this, I’m allowed to at least have a failsafe. It’s like a panic button.
Viktor shrugs. “Alright, that’s fine with me. I really don’t think you’ll feel that way once we’re there, though.”
I spend the whole drive to his penthouse worrying about the night ahead of me. Will I look out of place? Will I be overdressed? Will everyone be gross?
I’ve never even imagined how something like this would play out, and now I’m stressing out about it like I’m giving a public presentation about a topic I’ve never studied for.
When I put on my outfit for the first time, I’m taken back by how sexy I feel after so long of covering myself up. I always felt like the outfits I wore in the clubs were trashy and didn’t do my figure any favors, but the dress that Viktor chose for me clings to my curves in the most flattering way I’ve ever seen.
Nothing has ever fit me better, not even my favorite pair of jeans when I was a teen.
The lingerie feels even better, almost completely undetectable on my skin yet so bright against the pale contrast of my body. Instead of an ornament or an object, I feel like a goddess or a temptress, too beautiful to be touched by mortal men.
Well, except for Viktor.
Suddenly, all of my apprehension and borderline hysterical anxiety dissolves into a rush of endorphins at the thought of people being jealous of Viktor. I would never agree to have sex with anyone else, and I’m sure that Viktor just wants people to watch us with… whatever ends up happening.
But there’s something about feeling like the most beautiful woman in the room that makes my whole body feel effervescent. It feeds my ego in the most delicious way.
When Viktor sees me leave the room in my outfit, his eyes widen, and he takes in every inch of me like he wants to take in the whole of my being. I feel like I’m radiating confidence that he’s never seen in me before, and maybe that’s what matters more than the outfit.
“Damn, you look fucking incredible. People are going to drop dead when they realize they can’t have you,” he says, approaching me and kissing me deeply. “Here, go get this thing situated,” he continues as he hands me the little black box.
Even the idea of the vibrator feels more like a naughty challenge rather than some kind of infraction or sin. While I’m sure that Viktor would love for me to take my panties off in front of him to fit the vibrator inside of myself, I’m so inexperienced with this sort of thing that I’d feel terribly awkward trying to make the process look sexy.