I’m Shy

Fiction
I’m Shy by John Warren

“I’m shy,” she had said.

He’d just smiled and said, “For now.”

It was terrifying, but she’d agreed. Now, she was here at Hellfire. She knew the room was crowded, but with her head down and a fixed resolve not to look at anyone, she couldn’t tell how many were there. Still, in the battle between her will and her rebellious eyes, she occasionally caught sight of fetish, business suits, jeans and just skin.

“Euuuu,” she thought, involuntarily, as her downcast eyes caught and tracked a naked man, lightly gripping and stroking a semi-erect cock. With a flash of rebellious humor, she thought, “There are disadvantages of not looking people in the eye.” He hadn’t told her to keep her eyes down; it had just felt right. In fact, he only instructions he had given her after she had agreed to come with him was to wear clothing she never wanted to see again and to bring a spare set she could wear home.

It shouldn’t have been that much of a problem. Like many of her friends, she had closets full of clothes she probably would never wear again. However, they all seemed to fall into three categories: doesn’t fit any more, missing buttons, derailed zippers, tears and stains, or just plain “why in the world did I buy THAT? Eventually, she elected to do a bit of repair work on a black velvet number only to discover that, having repaired it, she liked it too much to offer up on the altar of her first foray into slut life.

Finally, it was down to Goodwill for a green blouse and slacks that set off her red hair nicely as well as an “almost fits but not well enough to want to keep” bra. He’d been very clear that “no part of her first outfit except her shoes are going to survive.” She’d understood clearly what he had meant by “survive,” but it had sent a delicious shiver through her nonetheless.

She’s picked up the phone a half dozen times planning to call him and cancel the date. Frankly, the whole idea of being naked in front of a roomful of people terrified her. What terrified her even more was the realization each time she put the phone down was that it excited her even more. She’d always been shy. As a little girl, she’d surprised her mother by insisting early that she was perfectly capable of taking her baths by herself. Later, she shuddered in disapproval as friends talked about “showing it” to others. She started dating late, and even when she started having sex, she insisted in undressing in the dark. Others had accused her of being a prude, but she realized the truth even if her mind shied away from ever clearly looking at it. She could feel the enormous pressure, like the water behind a huge dam. She knew if only a crack opened in that dam something exciting and terrifying would flood through. She might drown. It terrified her. But it also excited her.

Now, he was leading her by a leash attached to a collar, leading her through a club full of men and woman, leading her to….” She really didn’t know… and, maybe, that was the most exciting part.

“Give me your wrist.” His voice made her jump a bit. She’s been lost in herself. She offered him her hand, he fastened a leather cuff around her wrist and then attached it to a hanging chain. Back in this world, in this club, she looked around. She was standing under a framework made from heavy pieces of wood studded with ring bolts. The ones over her head had lengths of chain hanging from them. He repeated his demand, she offered her other hand and he attached it to another chain. Then, he kneeled to fasten cuffs on her ankles. She stifled a snort of irreverent laughter. A dom on his knees in front of her!

The laughter died unexpressed as she realized her position, spreadeagled, hands over her head, legs wide apart. And people were beginning to drift closer! She lowered her eyes, but she could still see them, at least from the waist down… and there was that naked cock, and she realized with a shock, it was firmer than the last time she had see it, and this time, it was pointed at her. Instinctively, she tried to close her legs. Useless. The cuffs held them apart. She was more successful in closing her eyes, but she could still feel their eyes on her. It was shameful, demeaning, intrusive and so so exciting!

She expected him to take off her clothing and wondered for a moment about the logistics of blouse and pants removal on a cuffed woman.

Then, she felt the knife.

Gently, it drew a line across her throat. Her eyes flew open, only to meet, instantly, his eyes. He was standing directly in front of her, looking at her and smiling. It was a warm, intimate smile. She looked at him wondering if she should be reassured. Then she felt the tip of the knife between her shoulder blades, pricking her lightly. Automatically, she moved forward as much as her bonds would allow and found her breasts touching him as he leaned forward slightly and kissed her. It was a warm kiss and somehow blended with the touch of the knife on her back to make her shiver as she kissed him back.

He stepped back and smoothly took one side of her blouse in each hand and ripped them apart. Buttons flew and the tails of the blouse pulled violently out of her waistband. She was too shocked even to close her eyes. Then, he smoothly leaned forward and kissed each breast just above where it appeared above the slightly-too-tight bra. The contrast between the violence and the gentleness of the kiss confused and excited her. She moaned softly, and he kissed her again on the lips.

Then, he stepped back a bit, and the knife began a light tracery on her skin again. This time, it traced its pattern on her chest and the exposed curves. Not light, not heavy. The tip more than touched but didn’t break the skin. It was scary; it was erotic. It was…. She felt herself drifting, becoming one with the sensation. Her eyes closed again. This time it wasn’t a voluntary effort to shield herself from her surroundings; it was more like the instinctive cuddling a sleeping body does with something warm and fuzzy, a drawing inward. Her soul was dancing with the sensation of the knife blade.

She barely noticed when the blade slipped between her breasts, into the valley spanned by the tightly stretched nylon. But she couldn’t ignore the sudden upward jerk, the sharp blade cutting through the bridging nylon and it’s abrupt parting. The cups of her bra flew apart freeing her breasts… and, she realized with a shock, exposing them to the watching crowd.

Jerked from her reverie, she looked out and was shocked at the number of watchers… and the firmness of the naked man’s cock. And he wasn’t alone. Several other naked men had joined the group. And they were looking at her. Not looking like men did as she passed them on the street. Not even looking like the construction workers at the building near her office. Their eyes held the voracity of wolves closing in on a injured fawn. She almost safeworded at that point, but the knife began exploring the newly exposed skin and she gasped. Her obdurate irreverence surfaced again as she thought, “I’ll never look at a kitchen knife the same way again.” The tip of the knife pressed against her already-erect nipple. It should have hurt. It didn’t. Well, it did… but it didn’t. She found herself arching her body, pressing her breast harder against the knife tip and feeling the engorged nipple swell a bit more. They were so large now that they hurt, but they didn’t. Well, they hurt but…. She abandoned that unproductive line of cognitive thought for pure sensation.

He cut away the arms of the blouse, slicing them lengthwise so it fell free to the floor. She’d rarely been naked to the waist except in front of lovers. Now she was in front of people she didn’t know and who didn’t know her. She explored the idea. They didn’t know her. She wasn’t someone special, someone they had courted and seduced, teased and cajoled. She was just… woman, an object of desire. The irreverence tried to surface, tried to take offence. It died, was drowned under a wave of lust, undirected, thoughtless lust. Now, she knew what had lain behind that dam she feared would crack. She wasn’t demeaned by the waves of desire she felt from the crowd, she was exalted. There was no pretense here. She wasn’t impressing them with her wit, her accomplishments, not even the false teasing modesty she’d used as a shield. They wanted her. She knew that if he gave the word, they would be on her like a pack of wolves, using her to slake the desire that must almost be at the bursting point. But, with a touch of sadistic exultation, she knew he wouldn’t. That they would have to stare at her, want her, desire her and not have her.

Now, she looked at them, really looked, and noticed for the first time there were women in the group. Some had the “stare,” but others had a slight knowing-smile. “They don’t want me,” she thought. “They want to BE me.” It was a pleasant thought, and for the first time since she had walked through the door, she smiled.

From several places within the group, she could hear a low groan of hunger.

She felt the knife under the waistband of her slacks, and they dropped away to the floor. She smiled wider, wiggled her hips and smiled directly at the naked man. His right hand became a blur, he shook and he covered his cock with a handkerchief from his left hand just in time. Nonetheless, the people standing near him moved a bit further away.

She felt like laughing. Not “funny” laughing, but the kind of laugh a barbarian warrior might give standing over the bloody body of his rival. It felt SO good.

She wasn’t ignoring the light tracery of fire from his knife. Had it not been there she doubted she’d be feeling this free. It was a leitmotif to the symphony that was going on around her. It was the pilot light making sure that the inferno inside of her didn’t die down, but as she had feared/desired deep in the recesses of her soul the real fuel was out there, out among the eyes of those watching.

She had expected to want to die when he finally cut the elastic of her panties. This was the point her imagination had shied away from whenever she had imagined the scene, but it was kind of an anticlimax. She felt a touch of sadness. Now, he’d let her lose, she’d put her other clothes on and it would all be over.

She waited. But he stepped away. Just a few steps to lean over and whisper to a massively build, bearded man with the tattoos of a biker. Then, he returned to stand behind her and gently caress her with the tips of his fingers. It was so erotic. She wiggled and pressed her ass tight against the crotch of his pants, feeling the erect cock. He explored her neck, breasts, hips. Ran his fingers along the insides of her thighs, wandering tantalizingly close to the place where she wanted him to touch, but always gliding away at the last moment. Her breath was coming in gasps now.

The bearded man returned with a small table setting it inside the wooden frame right next to her. Then, he set a small bowl half full of a liquid. Then he backed away, rejoining the watching crowd.

She felt one wrist released and the cuff removed. She expected him to uncuff the second, but instead, he dipped her free hand into the liquid. It was warm and a bit thick. Still, dazed and languid with desire, she didn’t realize what he was doing until he took the wet hand and brushed it on her nipple. The warm liquid was a cream of some sort. The touch sent a shock of delight through her… then his words gave her another kind of shock.

“Caress yourself”

“No! I can’t!” she said automatically.

He came around so his eyes were only inches from his and said again, “Caress yourself!”

She was horrified. She’d never done that even in front of lovers. And now, she was going to do it in front of strangers. “Strangers,” her mind played with the thought, while her hand, unbidden, dipped again to the warm oil and returned to the tingling nipple. She played with it, feeling it grow and the pain/not pain increase. Her other nipple reacted the instant she touched it. At first, she closed her eyes, trying to lose herself in the sensation. Then, she opened them and embraced the energy flowing from the people.

She ran the oily fingers over her breasts, chest, neck, belly. She knew what she was going to have eventually to do, but she was reluctant, fearful or was she? She knew that part of her was afraid, but she was coming to realize that she was teasing them, the watchers, and of course, herself.

She realized that she was dancing in her bonds, twisting and writhing to a music that was audible only through her skin and orchestrated by her fingertips. She watched the naked men overtly masturbating, but realized they had been subtly joined by others who were gently stroking the fronts of their pants. One woman had lowered the top of her blouse so that she could play with her nipples. A couple, the man standing behind the woman, had their eyes locked on her while he stroked her breasts and she massaged his cock with her ass.

She lowered her hands. Even through the warm oil on her fingertips, she could feel heat of her pussy. She gasped when the first finger touched it and she stroked her lips. Thought vanished, she became a thing of sensation, lost in touch and pleasure.