Page 14 of Flexible Standards
Fuck, I’m an idiot. I should stay far away from him… and his perfect fucking cock.
This is a nightmare. He’s amazing in bed, but I can’t date a Vegas performer!
We approach two loops of silk hanging from the ceiling, and he positions me between them. “Spread your legs for me, angel.” I do as he asks, widening my stance, and he wraps my arms in each of the loops. My wrists are bound and pulled away from my body, he falls to his knees in front of me with a safety harness. “Missed you this morning.” I step into two holes of the leather straps and he tugs them up. Once he straps me in, he discreetly slides the back of his hand up the inside of my thigh, then in a swift movement, pulls both of my legs onto his shoulders. “Shame you’re wearing trousers.”
Sam stands and spreads my legs and hooks them into the loops. The crowd applauds my flexibility, not noticing that Sam is sliding his hands down the inside of my legs. Suspended by my arms and legs, I’m fucking grateful I’m wearing pants right now or my pussy would be on full display. My wet pussy. I’m aching to have him touch me again.
Fuck, how does he have this effect on me after one night? So much for staying away from him…
He unties my hands and pulls my legs together. “Stand up, use your hands to climb. Perfect, just like that.”
Once I’m standing, I look down at him. “Is this safe?”
“I’ll catch you.” He winks and looks over at Jodi and the other performer. She’s in the same position I am, laughing at whatever he’s telling her. “Hold on tight.”
I’m about to ask why when the loops lift a few feet off the ground. He grips my ankles and spreads my legs again, my pussy right back in his face.
“After dinner, I want you naked, just like this.” Sam pulls my legs back onto his shoulders, the sheets hiding us. “You don’t have any idea how fucking beautiful you are, do you?” I don’t reply, still stunned at all of this. “Wrap your legs around me,” he commands and I hesitate. “It’s part of the show. Lock your ankles.” I look over at Jodi who is basically straddling the man’s face. “Lance is gay, he doesn’t care.”
I’m so fucking stupid. I can’t believe I was starting to have feelings for this man. “You have women’s pussies in your face most nights?”
“I saw you earlier, love. This isn’t part of the show. Your cunt in my face was a special request.”
In an instant, his hands wrap around the fabric and he pulls his legs up into the silk. “Do you think I can make you come thirty feet from the ground? Or should I take you up the rafters so I can properly taste you?”
We begin twirling, making me dizzy, but then we stop, the audience out of view. Jodi and I lock eyes, and she’s having the time of her life. I don’t want to ruin this experience for her. I take a deep breath and watch as she drops down the silk in a graceful movement.
“Hold on to both sides,” Sam commands. He adjusts the harness so it’s right down the slit of my pussy.
“What are you doing?”
“Trust me.”
I shouldn’t, but this high up, I’m left with no choice. I slide down the sheets until my feet hit the floor, Sam joining me moments later. I shouldn’t have trusted him; the harness rubbed against me and I now need his hands… or mouth… or cock. I need him.
Sam helps me out of the fabric, and pulls me to him with his hand splayed on my lower back until our bodies are flush. The world around me disappears. “Ten thirty. The Nook.”
He kisses my forehead, paints on a fake smile that’s wider than I’ve seen on him, and turns me to face the audience. He takes a bow as they cheer for Jodi and me, though I’m not sure either of us deserve it—I sat in fabric while a man I slept with last night turned me on, without touching me.
Jodi and I return to our seats, and she whispers, “So much for the guy last night, huh? Goodbye, Sam; hello, hot trapeze guy!”
“Sam is the hot trapeze guy. The hot trapeze guy is Sam,” I hiss.
“No. Fucking. Way.” Her eyes wide, she looks back at the stage, finding him swinging from a trapeze. “Shit, you’re right!”
“Yeah.” I wince. “It’s not like I can date him. It would never work.”
“Then don’t date him. Nothing wrong with having a bit of fun.” Jodi shrugs and whispers, “You deserve to have fun, Isla.”
“He’s all wrong for me.” So, why does it feel so… right?
“Why is he wrong for you? Because he’s not a college professor or a doctor? I have to admit, you have some fucked-up standards, babe. You said he reads a ton, has a dreamy apartment, and made you come harder than Jeff ever could’ve. Sounds like he’s perfect for you. Go to dinner with plant daddy, and see where the night takes you.”
She sits back in her seat, and when I return my attention to the show, Sam’s eyes are back on me, a boyish grin appearing every time he looks over at me.
Jodi’s right—I do have fucked-up standards. There’s a beautiful man who for some reason wants to have dinner with me. I’d be a fucking idiot to say no.
sam