Amy grinned at me, reading the change as clearly as I did. She pulled two dressmaker's pins from her pocket, which she used to secure the crotch flaps out of her way. With an efficiency she hadn't shown before, she camouflaged my curls with the burgundy paint.
'Tut, tut,’ she clucked as the brush approached my swollen labia. 'This area is much too wet to paint. Guess I'll have to clean it up.'
Before I could move, she wriggled her tongue up and down my folds, exploring the wet, quivering flesh as if she'd been waiting all evening to do it. A hopeless squeak caught in my throat. As my hips pressed helplessly closer, the dildo rocked inside me. I realised then that it was filled with oil, oil that sloshed back and forth with the effect of a miniature water bed. The combination felt incredible - the hardness in my bottom, the softness lapping my sex. I couldn't imagine Amy's activity was drying me, but I was wound up so tightly I welcomed any prospect of relief.
"There,’ I moaned, as she teased the slippery hood with the very tip of her tongue. 'Oh, please, a little harder.'
For one heavenly moment, she obeyed. Then, with a small sigh of regret, she pulled back. 'Sorry, Kate, but orders are orders.'
If the mirror hadn't stood between me and Sean, I think I would have strangled him. 'Sure,' I said, my body shaking with frustration. 'I understand.'
"There's just one more thing you need.'
'An orgasm?' I suggested.
She pouted and shook her finger at me. The 'one more thing' horned out to be a blindfold.
'Oh, no,' I said. 'I don't like having my eyes covered.'
'Too bad.' She dangled the red velvet eye cover from her forefinger. 'Anyway, you know the safe-word. If you're ready to give in, just say it.'
I glared at her pink-cheeked innocence. 'Well?' she prodded.
'Fine,’ I said, without one iota of good sportsmanship. 'Do it and get it over with.'
'Now remember -' she stood up on tiptoe to tie it on '- taking this off without permission is as good as saying "Uncle".'
To my dismay, the blindfold was very thick and very snug. As soon as she secured it, the world went black. I gritted my teeth against a wave of discomfort. When I was eight, my big brother socked me in the eye with a baseball, and not - as he swore to our parents - accidentally. For weeks I wore a big cotton eye-patch and ever since I'd loathed any impairment of my sight. To me, being blindfolded was a reminder of vulnerability, not to mention injustice.
But cry 'Uncle' over a bad childhood memory? Not Kate Winthrop.
I tried not to stumble as Amy guided me to the outer room. I felt much more naked with my eyes covered. The air seemed colder, the room larger. A draught chilled the painted skin of my mound so I knew we approached the street door. I stopped in my tracks, panicked at the thought of going outside.
'Be brave,’ said Amy. 'This part is difficult. There's a cab waiting directly opposite. I want you to open the door, walk up the four steps and straight ahead. When you bump into the cab, open the door and get inside.'
I'd been shaking my head as she spoke but now I dug in my heels. 'No, I can't.'
Amy stroked my arm, her hand warm and comforting. 'Remember, you can stop any time you want, Kate. In fact, if you're really scared, you should stop. I don't think you're a coward, though, do you?'
'I'll be arrested,’ I said through the nervous chattering of my teeth.
'Nonsense. It's pitch-dark out, the cab driver was specially hired, and if anyone should see you, they'll think you're a pro on her way to work. No one will know how bare you really are.'
I must be crazy, I thought, but I took a deep, steadying breath and reached for the door. I hit the knob on the second try. I turned it and pulled. The cold air hit me like the slap of wet cotton.
I trust Sean, I told myself. But if that cab wasn't there, he'd think Lucrezia Borgia was a saint compared to me. I hobbled forward, stubbed my bare toe on the first step and lifted my foot. The handrail bumped my side and I used it to ascend the last three steps. A car rolled by on Pine Street
. It honked. A hysterical giggle rose in my throat. I must have looked a sight in my blindfold and tart's get-up. Please, God, let no cops drive by, I thought.
Hands waving through the air in front of me, I took one shuffle forward on the pavement, then two, then three. At six I bonked my knees on the side of the cab and spent fifteen endless seconds searching for a door handle. Finally, I found it, yanked the door open and threw myself inside. My body shook so hard it looked as though I had nerve damage. The oil-filled dildo felt like a vibrator.
Well, okay, that part was nice.
'Hello,’ said the cabbie, as though he did this every day. He had a young voice. Nigerian, I thought - another of Sean's cronies, no doubt. 'You will please wait for our other passengers.'