Titan had dropped Malora at the hotel and left immediately without a word about his whereabouts. She walked up to the elevator on slightly shaky legs, her breaths coming out in choppy pants.
After she'd showered and changed into one of the many lingerie Titan bought for her, she settled down to call Mika but her friend didn't pick up this time. So, Malora had the time to think about how to repay Titan for the wonderful night he gave her and all his gifts, when an idea suddenly came to her mind.
She went into what she'd dubbed The Room Of Kink and stopped at the single pole in the middle of the room. She'd had lessons before she got the job at Damien Gold's company, thinking she'd work at a strip club to earn enough to keep their family afloat, it ended up being useless anyway. At least that was what she thought before she met Titan.
She set about setting up the room and the mood for what she was about to do.
*
Malora sent him a text to wait in their bedroom when he arrived. She heard him arrive around a little past one while she was in the bathroom.
Tonight Malora only cared that Titan would like what he saw. Tonight she was a vase. To be filled and used.
Malora brushed her hair and left the glossy strands carelessly tumbling down her back. Tonight would see her painting her body. . .for him.
First, she adorned her mouth with scarlet, braced her body in a red bikini, and then she tied a red velvet ribbon around her neck, tight enough so it constricted her throat slightly. With a brush and black eyeliner Malora drew a mole to bewitch just above her top lip.
But when she looked at herself in the mirror, Malora saw nothing but the too tight ribbon, a strangely erotic gash of red. It told its own story: the tale of a naive girl who became a woman at the hands of a selfless man—a man who put her pleasure before his own.
She pulled on the thigh-length black boots that she'd brough with her from London and tied the black ribbons that held them in place.
Now they would see if what he had taught her was enough to seduce the man she wanted.
Malora slipped on a toweling robe and crossed the silent room.
Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. —Matthew, 3:19
Malora stood in front of the door of The Room Of Kink, left slightly ajar. She took a deep breath and pushed it open. The lights were dimmed. He had taken off his tie, opened some buttons, and was laying in bed waiting for her. He turned his face to watch her. For a moment Malora was floored. He had made the bed with the red satin sheets that she ordered.
Malora closed the door and flicked on the fourth switch from the left. A spotlight illuminated the pole. His eyes swung to the pole then back to her as she walked to the stereo system. The CD she chose was still there, on top, untouched. She slipped it in and walked towards the bed. His gaze was locked on her. Malora was sleeping before he came. She was awake now. Unsmiling, she let her robe slip from her and fell around her boots.
The music came on. El tango de Roxanne.
First the piano then the dramatic wails of the violin. A loud clap. More melodious violins. Then the voice, more raspy than sandpaper snarled: The man who falls in love with her. First there is desire. Then. Suspicion. Then. Anger. Betrayal. Jealousy, yes, jealousy will drive you, will drive you, will drive you MAD!
Malora began to walk towards the pole, her stride as strong and sleek as a Spanish dancer. A temptress.
She reached the pole and, as the throaty rasp roared Rooxannnnne, she executed a perfect cartwheel and grasping the pole hard, threw herself into such an energetic low spin that it made her hair fly into her face. Malora landed on her legs open wide, almost in a crawl and facing the pole. Flipping backwards, the palms of her hands flat on the floor, she used her legs shaped into a V to hook and pull herself back onto the pole. With both hands she began to climb it.
You don't have to put on that red light.
Every time her hands moved up to grasp the pole and pull herself upwards, Malora's head and neck dip downwards like a ripened stalk of wheat in the wind. The movement, she knew, had seen, was elegant and full of beauty. It was like ballroom dancing—all the grace came from the dips the dancer made before he took his next step.
You don't have to wear that dress tonight.
She got to the top as the singer's scratchy howl filled the air. . . Roxannne. Malora squeezed the steel between her thighs, the cold metal pushed into her pussy, and high in the air above him, she flung her hands out and let her body fall backwards into the air, her spine straight, her head upside down, her hair a waterfall around her.
You don't have to sell your body to the night.
For the first time since she began on the pole their eyes meet, locked. It was dark where he was, but what she saw made the breath leave her chest. There was a look in the aloof Billionaire's eyes that was starving hungry, but something else too. Something dark and raw. An intense desire blazed forth that could not be resisted and refused all attempts to rein it. Any effort to do so would bring insanity.
His eyes told Malora she was a goddess. That he had not expected such intensity, such strength or such skill. His eyes moved away from hers, boldly roamed her body. Slowly, deliberately Malora pulled her body upwards and she stopped thinking about him. She concentrated only on the music while she made love to the pole.
His eyes upon your face.
Malora twined herself around the pole and, with the same sinuous movements a snake made, slipped and slid down the pole until she sank to her knees with the pole against her back.
His lips caress your skin.
She stood and, holding onto the pole seductively, with pointed toe, high stepped around it. Just when he thought she was going to push her ass up into the air and sway seductively, Malora flipped her body over and touched the floor before grasping the metal tightly with both hands and lifting her legs clean off the ground. Her body iswas now in a spread-eagled position perpendicular to the pole. Held purely by the strength of her hands she started spinning slowly around the pole, her legs held as far apart as the hands.
It's more than I can stand.
As the music build and picked up speed Malora increased her speed, the air rushing into her face, hernlegs scissoring the air, the knees bending, the legs moving upwards, all the while spinning faster and faster and suddenly she was upside down and still spinning like a top.
Why does my heart cry?
A whole orchestra of violins and cellos went crazy in the most dramatic and sweeping ballad of the entire piece. She executed a turn with a bent knee and maneuvering herself upright on the pole began the journey up the pole, the same deliberate dip and rise.
Just don't deceive me.
At the top Malora prepared for the finale. She split her legs wide. Held that spread position, with only the tiny strip of wet red net fabric to cover her opening, and waited for the perfect movement. When it came she loosened her grip and begin her free fall head first.
It was like the death drop. Even over the music she heard him gasp.
And please believe me when I say I love.
Two feet from the floor Malora squeezed her thighs on the pole and halted her drop. She was face down and perpendicular to the floor, held by her strong thigh muscles and the strength of one hand, the other outstretched over her head. At the sudden clash of cymbals Malora released her hold on the pole and fell flat on her face to the ground.
Silence. Then. Guitar. Violin.
Slowly, she began to roll towards him, pausing every time she was on her side. Like Cleopatra rolling out of a carpet towards Mark Anthony. The music grew and grew. Every movement she made was deliberately submissive, designed to captivate, like the animal that offered its throat to its mate. She reached the foot of the bed.
The timing was perfect. Many voices mingled to form the crescendo.
Roxannnne, Roxaannnne. . .
Malora was panting. Not just with exertion, but with need and desire. He appeared at the edge of the bed and wrapping his large hands around her ribcage pulled her up, very much as one would do a mermaid from the ocean, onto the bed.
'I need to get my mouth on that wet, unbelievably delicious pussy of yours.'
'How do you know I'm wet?' She panted, on her back.
'Because, my little puss in boots,' he said very softly, sliding her knickers down her legs and dangling the little red thing, 'I saw this. . .' And clearly Malora saw the wet patch in the gusset. A small shiver went through her. 'And became very hungry for pussy butter.' He went to put his mouth between her thighs, but she palmed his throat, as he had done to her on their second night.
'No, this one's on me,' Malora said, and lifting herself up changed positions.
She straddled him; sat on his chest, on his good shirt. It was not sex, it was attention, it was flattery—that was what no living man can get enough of.
Malora shifted down and unbuttoned his trousers. He was wearing white briefs.
'White underpants? You know I can't resist you in white underpants,' she breathed.
A lone pulse beat in his temple. God, how could she have been so stupid? All the while her real feelings for him were staring at her. All the while she was falling deeper and deeper without realizing it.
Malora bent forward and took him into the hot wet cave of her mouth, and sucked the shaft in so deep there was nowhere else for him to go. What could he do but buckle and explode deep in her throat? Slowly she began to unbutton his shirt. Expose the warm skin.
'You blew my mind. . .' he said, and expertly unclasped her bra.
Sweat had glued it to herskin. He peeled it off and her breasts popped out. He rolled the nipples between his fingers. 'But I still need to get my mouth on those voluptuous pussy lips.'
Malora rose to her knees, straddled his chest, and pushed her crotch towards him. Her pussy was so tantalizingly close to his chin he could surely smell her arousal. She looked down at him. 'What? These old, swollen things?'
He eyed her crotch greedily. Inside her boots, her toes curled with anticipation.
'They do look a little. . .erm. . .used.'
'Used and bitten and ravished. Anytime you wished.'
'Come and sit on my face.'
Malora walked on her knees up to his mouth and suspended her sex over his mouth, the inner folds exposed, throbbing, and silently screaming for release. She was buzzing inside. Secretions of lust leaked from her as if she was a faulty tap.
'Don't be gentle with her,' she commanded.
He flicked his tongue out and Malora rose her hips out of reach. He grabbed her hips and pulled her down onto his mouth.
'Ohhh. . .' Her head fell back. The silky warmth of that dexterous mouth. The suction. The suction. It was killing her.
Malora began to sizzle inside. Her fingers gripped the headboard as if her life depended on it.
'Oh God. Oh Master T. . .' And she could no longer hold on.
Malora grinded into his teeth as the orgasm overwhelmed her, her skin tingling, her mind a white flare.
'Too soon,' he growled and tumbled her over. He sat up. 'Onto all fours.' She righted herself and obeyed instantly, her inner slut mewling.
For a second she felt his naked head against her soaked opening and moaned and then her cunt became a sheath for his cock, as he grabbed her hips with both hands and rutted and rode them both home.
Fucked, her cunt in a spasm, Malora fell forward and heard his ragged breath as he fell on top of her. Their bodies were slippery. She gripped her muscles hard to keep his seed inside her but it trickled out helplessly.
'God, you're beautiful.'
'I don't need to be wooed.' Her voice was hoarse, a stranger's, her breathing viciously quick. 'I need to be taken. Again and again.'
And that was what he did. Again and again. Until the night sky became pale and they are both so exhausted we curled up against each other and slept.
Chapter dedication: KathirVani
Thank you for being the best reader any author could ask for.
A/N:
Sweet baby Jesus. This is chapter had my panties in a twist, no shite.
Serena our girl is finally in love with our dear Master T. Woot. Woot. 😪😪😪
Were you expecting her to know pole dancing?
What other secret do you think she's also hiding from him?