Unfurl: Chapter 13

The dressing room resembles a high-end spa more than a sex club, only with more sultry music. Hazel, a pretty red-head who’s likely been hired for this role because of her friendly face and wide smile, shows me where I can leave my clothes and my valuables when I’ve undressed.

‘Choose a set of underwear,’ she tells me, pointing at some lingerie on top of the low lacquered cabinet, ‘and pop that robe on. When you’re done, you can go through. Take a seat in the chair. There are two buttons, both marked. One will pop you through to me if you have questions, and the other green one’s for when you’re ready to get started. Pop your eye mask on before you hit the green button, okay?’

Her frequent use of the word pop hits me, and I’m reminded, randomly, of the language a pre-school teacher might use to convince a recalcitrant toddler.

‘Got it,’ I say, though I haven’t really got it at all, and watch as she leaves.

I’m all alone.

Shit.

God, this is scary. I put my phone on the cabinet. The ‘session’ is due to start in ten minutes. There are two sets of lingerie next to my phone, both plain black bra-and-pants sets. Neither bra is padded, and one set is sheer.

Okay then.

I take off my sandals, tug my dress off over my head and step out of my pants, grabbing the sheer lingerie set.

I’ve agreed to the following parameters for today’s session with Genevieve.

More than one guy.

Gulp.

I’m going to wear a blindfold for self-preservation rather than kinky reasons. Hopefully, it makes things less excruciatingly awkward.

They won’t restrain me. Not tonight, anyway.

They’re allowed to kiss me. I’m not one hundred percent sure I made the right call on that front, but I’m worried if they go straight for groping me without a kiss, it’ll feel too clinical.

And finally, they will only touch me through my underwear. They can use their hands or mouths, but this flimsy barrier stays on.

I pick up the sheer bra and thread my arms through the straps, studying myself in the mirror. It’s no surprise that the bra fits perfectly—Genevieve asked for my measurements. Then come the pants—gauzy black briefs.

The entire set is almost austere in its simplicity, except you can see my nipples and the strip of my Brazilian wax through the sheer fabric.

You can see everything, basically.

I showered before I left the house. Shaved my legs. Moisturised everywhere. One of my biggest hangups about tonight is that I don’t want to be a charity case. I want these guys, whoever they are, to want it.

To want me.

They’ll hold all the power in there, from where I’m standing, at least.

This is where my power comes in. If they’re going to make me lose control, I want to make them feel that same loss.

I want them to stumble out of that room, desperate for whatever release men need when they’ve been teased.

I’m not body-conscious. I’m healthy. I work out. I look after my body, and I’ve had it objectified by enough men in enough clubs to know that the male species reacts well to it.

So I’m not nervous about strange guys seeing me practically naked this evening. I have bikinis that cover little more than this.

What I’m nervous about, and insecure about, is that I don’t have a clue what I’m doing in bed. How to act. What noises to make, or not to make. How to touch a guy so he likes it.

At least, this evening, I don’t need to worry about that last part. My touching them is off the table.

I drain the last of my wine, grateful for the warm buzz it sends coursing through my bloodstream as it slips down my throat, and turn the door handle to the connecting room.

I shut the door behind me and look around. It’s a smallish room, square, with a huge leather armchair on a dais in the middle. Kind of like the armchairs they use when you go for a pedicure. This room is… sexier than the changing room, but it’s still tasteful. Lit Baies candles line one wall, throwing off their heady, glorious scent. The lights are lower, the walls are painted a deep taupe, and the same sultry music is playing, albeit a little more loudly.

That’s good. I definitely don’t need sexual ASMR to add to my nerves. Hopefully, the music takes the edge off whatever dodgy noises we make.

I eye the chair suspiciously before picking up the navy silk sleep mask on the seat. So far, so good. It looks innocuous enough. I settle down into the chair. It’s massive and comfortable, and my body’s in a semi-reclined position. When I wriggle, the silk of my gown slides against the leather and off my thighs. I rearrange the fabric over my legs before slipping the sleep mask onto my forehead.

On one arm of the chair is a small black box with two buttons. There’s a white one marked HELP and a green one marked ORGASMS. That gets a nervous giggle out of me.

Oh my god. Help or orgasms. Which one do I want more right now?

Help, undoubtedly.

But I’m here for the orgasms.

So I take a deep breath, settle back in the chair, press the green button, and slide the mask the rest of the way over my eyes.

A few seconds later, there’s the sound of the door handle in front of me opening with that heavy, electronic clicking sound that hotel room doors have. I sense the door being pushed open and there’s movement. Shuffling. A warm breeze before the door shuts decisively.

My body’s on full alert, I realise, and not being able to see is only heightening my other senses. I’m frozen in the big armchair, white-knuckling the arms, when I sense someone next to me.

‘Evening, Belle,’ a man’s voice says. It’s rich, and sexy, and flirtatious, and it’s not Rafe. I let out a huge breath I didn’t know I was holding.

‘Evening,’ I murmur.

There’s a gush of air and a brushing sound suggesting he’s squatted down beside me.

‘Don’t be nervous,’ he says. ‘I’m Callum. I’ve got a couple of friends here, and we’d like to stay and hang out with you for a while. That okay with you?’

Callum. Good name. I nod and murmur my assent, and a finger grazes my arm through the satin of my robe.

‘Good girl,’ he whispers in my ear. He smells great. Not Rafe-level great, but pretty damn good all the same.

There’s a little more noise, more air being moved. The others drawing closer, probably.

Oh my God. What am I doing? There are three of them. Why did I not think a drunken fumble with just one guy was a better option than this? This seems crazy overkill for my first time.

But I remember Rafe’s words about it being just maths, about four mouths being better than one. I have three mouths and six hands, all at my disposal, and I bet not many of those girls at uni who were so scornful and rude about my lack of experience have done something like this. Have had a sexual encounter so beautifully set up, so perfectly tailored to what they want.

The thought gives me a jolt of determination to enjoy this experience. To own it. It feels a bit like that second when a rollercoaster starts moving, and you’re powerless to stop it, but you know it’s going to turn you inside out.

And you’re game for whatever it can throw at you.

Callum’s hand brushes down my sleeve until it reaches my hand. He gives it a squeeze. ‘You need a safe word. You say it, and everything stops. Immediately. Got one you’d like to use?’

I’ve discussed this with Genevieve. ‘Alchemy,’ I whisper.

‘Alchemy,’ he repeats. ‘You got it. You say that word whenever you need to.’ He lets go of my hand and his fingers trail upwards, over my wrist and up the delicate skin on the inside of my forearm, disappearing under my wide sleeve.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he mutters in my ear, his breath warm on my face. ‘You are so fucking beautiful it’s ridiculous. You know that, right? The other guys out there would go crazy if they knew what they were missing. We can’t wait to get that robe of yours open and see what’s on display beneath it.’ His lips brush my jaw. ‘I’m half fucking hard already, just seeing you here, waiting for us to touch you.’

I sigh. So far, from what I can tell, there’s only one person touching me. Only Callum has spoken. But he sounds genuinely turned on, and his voice is very sexy, and his mention of us has already sent a tiny shiver through my body.

‘I have to say,’ he says in a conversational tone as his hand goes to the bow of my robe and halts there, ‘it’s criminal that no man has touched you before.’

Two hands wrap around my ankles, two strong thumbs kneading my insteps as they tug my legs further apart. At the same time, Callum pulls on the bow and the silk slithers away from my body, pooling at my sides. His fingers brush the skin of my stomach as he pulls it further open. I hear a hard swallow from my other side as Callum jolts out what sounds like a shocked laugh.

‘Jesus fucking Christ, Belle,’ he says. ‘Look at you. I can see everything, baby, you know that? I can see those pink, untouched nipples that’ll be begging for our mouths in a minute. I bet I can see your pussy if you open those legs a little wider for us like a good girl.’

The guy at my feet tugs my legs a little further apart, and I hear a low, rough sound at the back of his throat. Callum laughs again.

‘None of us can believe our eyes, Belle. Look at that sight. We’re going to tease that little virgin pussy so well that you’ll be soaking through those sheer little panties. Got it?’

My heart rate is ratcheting up at his words. At the idea that I have my legs open and my most intimate parts exposed to these men. That there are three male gazes on my body right now, and I’m in the hands of strangers. It’s so hot. God, it’s arousing. I’m already responding. I can already feel myself getting wet, feel my nipples growing taut. I nod to show Callum his words are hitting home.

‘I know they gave you two sets of underwear, Belle.’ His voice is in my ear again. ‘I know you chose the sheer pair. You know what that tells me?’

When I shake my head, his jaw rubs against my cheek.

‘It tells me you’re up for it. Fucking desperate. Been ready for this for a while, have you?’

I nod. God, yes. So ready. As Callum speaks, I’m conscious of two other males breathing near me. It seems to me their breathing is growing more ragged. Just like mine.

‘Too fucking right. Such a fucking waste. You should be enjoying this beautiful body of yours with whichever lucky bastards you take pity on. Can’t believe you’ve been keeping this pretty pussy hidden this whole time, Belle. It’s a fucking travesty.’

A hand releases one of my feet and travels up my leg, knuckles brushing my skin. It gets to the top of my thigh and I shiver. And fleetingly, those same knuckles brush over the length of my flesh between my legs, from my opening to my clit, before they’re gone. At the same time, a hand swipes over my left nipple and I gasp at the sharp shock of arousal that flashes through my body.

‘Told you,’ Callum says in a caressing voice. ‘Told you you’d be desperate. That’s why you wore the sheer stuff—you want to feel as much of our hands and mouths as we can give you. Don’t you?’

I nod, my self-consciousness yielding to plain desire. ‘Uh-huh.’

‘Wish we could all give you our cocks too,’ Callum tells me. ‘Wish we could flip you over and bend you over this chair and fuck the hell out of you, but we don’t want to scare the pretty little virgin. We want you wet and screaming for more. We want you banging the door down next week because you haven’t been able to think about anything except how to get as many of us as you can tending to that pretty pussy and those delicious little tits of yours. Am I right?’

‘Yes.’ It comes out breathy, because I’m already losing half my mind. The darkness, and Callum’s words, and those fleeting swipes at parts of me that have never been touched, all underline how ready I am for this.

How desperate.

How deserving.

The next word out of my mouth is completely involuntary.

‘Please.’