Reyna's Anniversary Part 10 (Patreon)

***

Reyna’s manor was huge. Grace’s first thought was that there was no way this whole thing was about $10,000. It was never about the money. What Guadalupe had said was true. Reyna wanted Grace. That’s all. Pure and simple. 

Her second thought was to imagine what was going on in there. Was it some dark orgy, filled with cruelty and laughter and pain? Did men in masks and robes come to play with Reyna’s toys for a few hours and a few thousand dollars? Was it part of some elaborate sex trafficking ring or upscale strip club? Was Reyna some high-class pimpette at the end of the day? 

And her third thought was that she hoped so. As much as her body should be squirming with fear and panic, there was a strange sense of peace about her. It was all coming together, all coming to a close. 

She had tried to imagine a way out on the way over. She could try to cut a deal with Reyna. That would mean compromise, and what would Reyna want? Grace could dance part time and still keep her practice? No. If Grace became a … became a … a stripper, then that would be the end of her. She would never be able to get the neighborhood to see her as anything else, especially after all the articles and allegations she’d been facing. She’d be nothing but a deviant, a whore, after she took off her clothes for money. 

Good God, would it even be for money if she did it for Reyna? 

She couldn’t run. Guadalupe made that clear. The next step was for Esmerelda to file a police report. The police would show up next, and even if it was false - which it wasn’t - or if she got off - which she wouldn’t - the bad press would kill Grace’s practice. 

That left submitting. And Grace would never submit, never quit, if it she didn’t feel such a sense of peace about it. There was an easy surrender to it as long as she didn’t imagine all that she was losing. She didn’t think of her parent’s faces or the joy of practicing law. She didn’t worry about the looks of those in the neighborhood when she went to the store or all those who were relying on her. 

All she had to think about was the twinkling bodies under the pulsing lights. She had to think of that glitter, that sweet shimmer of metal swaying back and forth. She didn’t have to worry about what she was losing; she had to think about what she was gaining. As long as looked forward to all Reyna was promising, losing didn’t sound that bad. Nothing sounded that bad. She could face hell and the world as long as Reyna was behind her. 

Some maid brought Grace through the huge house and up a massive staircase. She stood in front of heavy oak doors, waiting for Reyna’s permission to enter. There was a knock at the door below and the sound of the maid answering. There was no polite exchange as footsteps climbed the grand staircase. Grace turned to see Esmerelda arrive at the top of the steps with her. She smiled at Grace like they were old friends and casually stood next to her, waiting for Reyna’s permission to enter. 

“Were you always hers?” asked Grace. 

“Yes.” 

Grace wished she was angry, but she didn’t have the energy for it now. She floated above those things, no longer attached to consequences. She was imagining Esmerelda naked, imagining her swaying in front of Grace, peeling off her clothes, the light catching her piercings as she ground her hips in waves over Grace’s lap. It’s hard to be angry at times like that. 

“Both times? The club and diner?” 

“All times.” 

“Did your papers really fail?” 

“No.” Grace sighed. It was all wheels within wheels. “Sorry,” muttered Grace. “She found me working for a rival of hers, cleaning in his house. He upset her, and she said I’d make a wonderful dancer. He was investigated for hiring illegal workers, my paperwork failed thanks to Reyna’s work, and she helped transform my life.” 

A strange relief washed over Grace. It wasn’t her fault. None of it. She wasn’t an incompetent lawyer. Reyna was undermining her, slowly unraveling her work. She wasn’t a failure. She wasn’t. 

“Are you happy?” she whispered. The question surprised her, but truthfully, it was the only question that mattered. 

“All the time.” Esmerelda took Grace’s hand. The two women looked at each other, and slow smiles crept over their faces. “And soon you’ll be happy all the time too.” 

The oak doors opened in front of them, and a maid scampered out. “Goddess will see you now,” she whispered as she stepped to the side. Esmerelda let go of Grace’s hand and strode into Reyna’s lair. 

Grace wasn’t sure what she expected, but Reyna was sitting at a desk, writing something in a notebook. Her room was dark, with a huge four poster bed dominating it with thick velvet curtains. There was an air of the gothic to the space, as though Grace had stepped into a vampire’s lair. For all she knew, Reyna was a vampire. Did it matter? 

Esmerelda strode past Reyna, climbed onto the bed, swung around one of the posters of the bed, wrapping her leg around it, and slowly lowered herself, sitting with the post of the bed between her legs. Reyna said nothing to her, but kept writing as Grace stood in the doorway, looking on awkwardly. 

“You know what I want?” asked Reyna as she wrote. 

“Me,” whispered Grace.

“What? Speak up.” 

“Me,” said grace louder. 

“Yes. Have you figured out how you’re going to repay me?” 

Grace hesitated. “Repay you for what?” 

Reyna put down her pencil and looked at Grace as though she were the stupidest girl in the world. “For being a slut but refusing to act like it.” 

Grace gulped. She wasn’t a slut. She wasn’t. She’d never done … anything. Didn’t even dress like she’d done anything. She was still a virgin for fuck’s sake. Every moment of her life was dedicated to her career, to advancing through the ranks, to improving and competing. She’d never done anything slutty. One time her roommate drug her to a frat party, and she walked home after ten minutes. She wasn’t a slut. She was pure. She was good. 

“It seems only Esmerelda encourages you to act like your true self,” added Reyna. She flipped a switch somewhere and slow, rhythmic music flooded the room, a bass like heavy liquid thudding over Grace’s body wrapped around her. Her eyes darted to Esmerelda, but the woman was standing on the bed now. She swung her hips from side to side as the music took her too. Slowly, she started to lower herself, then rise again. Her moves were almost imperceptible. Grace had to watch closely, taking one step into Reyna’s bedroom and then another. 

Esmerelda shrugged, and her shoulder peeked out of her top. Grace gave a tiny gasp. Not shock, excitement. She held her breath, waiting for it, praying for it. Her whole body begged for it, though her mind never understood. Her mind was still scared, still afraid, still rejecting what the primal side of Grace so obviously wanted. 

She wanted Esmerelda. 

And as the woman stripped for her, the music guiding her, the thickness of it seeming to roll over her skin, pushing her clothing down, cushioning her legs and ass as though she sat upon the soundwaves themselves, as though the music was a sea she was swimming in, Grace licked her lips. It was coming. She knew it. At first it was shoulders and calves. It was forearms and thighs. All piercings, all the good ones, are near places you want to fuck, places you want to lick and kiss and nibble. No one pierces their toes or ankles.

Ears and lips and noses and clits and labias and nipples. Those were what you pierced, and as the soft candlelight of Reyna’s room washed over Esmerelda, Grace smiled. Her body taught her mind to relax, to ease into the music, to ease into watching and pray for taking. Her body taught her mind the rhythms of lust, the hungry purpose in giving and consuming. Her mind stood on the edge of a cliff. 

Virgin. 

Pure. 

Innocent. 

Words that meant so much to her. Words that gave no second chances. Words that had no room for ambiguity or shades of grey. They were exclusive, elite. You either were or weren’t. Her whole life, Grace was. Now, what if … what if she wasn’t? 

Her body drew her mind closer, one step at a time. Past Reyna. Past the trappings of wealth and power. She went straight to the lights. Straight to the soft parts of the flesh full of the hard metal of control. She stepped past fear and into craving. She stepped to the edge of the cliff, dragging her lazy mind by the hair. 

And she jumped. 

Her hand reached out for Esmerelda’s entrancing body. Her hips and abs undulated like a belly dancer, and Grace’s eyes never left the swaying navel piercing. But her hands did. They reached out first for Esmerelda’s abs, running her hands over the dimple piercings besides her belly button. She circled the skin with the tip of her thumb, then slowly ran it over the metal. She whimpered when she felt it. She thought it would be cold, but the heat of Esmerelda’s body kept it warm. It was tight, holding close to the dancer’s body, and Grace knew it was a part of her, still inside her, like a lover claiming her. 

But her hands kept going. 

They went up over Esmerelda’s face. The stripper kept her eyes locked on Grace, smiling as the slow music moved them. Grace found herself climbing the bed, moving with the music too. And as she got closer, her eyes left Esmerelda’s navel and found the dancer’s eyes. They smiled at each other, at this, their first of many dances. 

Then her hands went down. Down Esmerelda’s regal chin. Down her taught neck. Over her collarbones like armor, down to the chest. To the breasts tight and perky, but heavy with weight. To the nipples, pierced through with dark bars. Her thumbs hesitated, but then Esmerelda nodded, and Grace ran her fingers. Metal. Flesh. Metal. 

Again. 

Metal. Flesh. Metal. 

Again. 

Esmerelda moaned. 

Metal. Flesh. Metal. 

Again. 

Metal. Flesh. Metal. 

Again. 

Metal. Flesh. Metal. 

Esmerelda pressed her hips up against Grace. 

Metal. Flesh. Metal. 

She leaned closer. 

Metal. Flesh. Metal. 

The lights danced off her lips, off her shiny and pierced lips. 

Metal. Flesh. Metal. 

Esmerelda was pierced with metal. 

Metal. Flesh. Metal. 

She’d made love with it. 

Metal. Flesh. Metal. 

Like Grace would do with her. 

Metal. Flesh. Metal. 

Pierce her. 

Metal. Flesh. Metal. 

Make love to her. 

Metal. Flesh. Metal. 

Fuck her. 

Then the room flooded with a warm amber light. Reyna stood over both of them, and the music gripped Grace’s body. There were lips. There kisses. There hips and pulses and beats and moans. There was heat and sweat. 

And there was floating. 

Because when Grace’s mind jumped, it didn’t fall. It didn’t sink into oblivion. It was caught by amber wings, held in Reyna’s gaze. 

When Grace’s mind jumped, it floated. 

And will all that gravity gone, all the weight of a thousand expectations, she could almost call it flying. 

***

What should Grace have pierced on stage?