When I didn't go to dance

It’s one or two in the morning, we’re watching girl be very elaborately tied up and suspended from what looks to my uneducated but willing eyes a lot like the frames children’s’ swing and slide sets are attached to, or a giant version of the rails I hung clothes on at Matalan. We watch, and talk about it, his hands subtly circling my wrists, my collarbones, the places his fingers suggest ropes should be. I turn to put my hands on the stair rail and watch more intently, him kissing my neck, my ears, the side of my face, my lips when I turn my head, and grinding the jut of his hipbones, his hard cock, into my pvc skirted ass. They see us watching, no one has a problem with this. We’re at the side of a dance floor, in the path of one of the main doors with friends and voyeurs and the people who DID come to dance, and we touch and kiss and sweat and I do not care.

Hours of dancing, talking, standing outside watching others smoke and chatting, him holding my hand, taking it back from men who kiss it in greeting defensively, comfortably half my owner and half my pet - one last time, another entirely the time before - and I am yet to learn his second name. I watch them presume we are a couple with the feeling I am more bothered by this than he is. Hours later we retire to the couples’s room, surprisingly clean leather sofas and enough space to sit down, this time. I sit in his lap and we kiss. He unpins my hair and the grip gets lost under the sofa, the will to care lost in quickly bruising bites and nail scratches. For the first few seconds his fingers are too rough but I slow him down with retaliation and then I can accept him. It’s peaceful, slow but urgent, the DJ plays Bauhaus and we grind.

Kisses on my collar and he slides to kneel on the floor. I go to stop him, he shouldn’t... why shouldn’t he, why shouldn’t I allow myself that? So I take a deep breath and I do, heedless of the thoughts, the place, and the other people who could be watching if they wanted. Its dark enough that I don’t have to notice but I choose to know they’re there, I know they can see his lips press against me, his tongue reach out to touch me. Perhaps they see me shiver; perhaps no one notices us. The warmth of pleasure I was expecting to need to imagine, the shock as he hooks his teeth into the piercing and pulls. Licks again. stops to bite the skin and i know i shouldn’t enjoy that pain but i do. I know i shouldn’t want people to see but i do, and it would be senseless to pretend I don’t. How long did I spend pretending to enjoy things I didn’t..?It doesn’t matter now, here with him and when I’ve had enough I’m up on that sofa with him, persuading myself to put his cock in my mouth. I can’t kneel, that’s crucial, and I doesn’t bother him in the slightest. He arches his back and sighs ,that smile of pure bliss which says this is good enough. I am good enough, and I can do this.