Sneak Peek: Cindy and Chad (Patreon)

Only midweek but already blown past my weekly writing target. Consequently, here's another scene: Cindy and Chad, taking place near the end of the chapter.  Had fun writing this one.  Chad sort of popped up unexpectedly this summer, but I think we might see a bit more of him in the future.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!  As always, this is still a draft; it'll likely enjoy another pass or two before I call it done.

***

Scene Ten

Chad said goodnight to his colleagues, paid his part of the bill, and left, grinning ruefully at their knowing winks and laughing comments as he crossed the pub to meet her.

She looked especially good tonight—very feminine, very girly, a marked contrast to the past few nights. Short, pleated white skirt and collared shirt, with a sweater vest, pale pink and figure-hugging. Her legs sparkled in patterned ivory tights, and she wore lace-up heels. Her makeup was similarly pink and sparkly without being overly loud, and her hair was up in a high ponytail, the blonde tumble now containing purple and pink stripes. Those were new.  The girl gave off major co-ed vibes as she gave a cute one-handed wave from the bar.

The problem, he thought as he joined her, is that I’m quite smitten with her. It was a real problem. He deliberately made a point of not keeping a tally of the number of women—and the occasional man—who’d crossed his path during his time at Asklepios: the many nights, like this one, in the pub filled with meaningful chats, drinks both cheerful and sombre, and—often, the caresses late into the evening, the final dawns, the last kiss, cuddle or fuck. Often, they resumed their ordinary lives beyond the Clinic. Too many never did.

And this one was different, somehow. They’d met every night since that first at Eros: once at a restaurant in the nearby village, but usually here, in the comfort of the wood-panelled snug beneath the portrait of a glowering Churchill, comping down on his ubiquitous cigar. A single week, but he’d found himself thinking about her constantly: at work, at home, when out with friends during downtime. And… why? They hadn’t even kissed, hadn’t really gotten beyond holding hands. He’d had his hand on her thigh, once, and felt the smoothness of her skin beneath his touch. He’d jerked off more than once thinking of her: moist lips, hot skin, her scent, the promise of full, heavy breasts, the curve of her ass and the tickle of hair, all flaring through his mind before climax.

She’d opened up, as they so often did, moving from the almost-sullen quiet of their first encounter to the lively, convivial chat of last night. They’d swapped numbers, and then messages throughout the day. He found himself increasingly looking forward to their evenings together.

Cindy sighed, a contented sound, as she slid into their booth—their booth. Her lips sparkled as she smiled and she played with a twirl of hair that framed her face, twisting it around her finger. “Fancy meeting you here,” she said.

He raised his pint in salute, and noted hers when she raised it in return. “Going soft?”

“Giving the liver a rest tonight.” She glared at her orange juice, and then formed the cutest little pout. “Doctor’s orders. Sorry.”

Chad grappled for something clever, something light and breezy but came up empty. His usual confidence escaped him. Instead, he grimaced and said nothing.

“Hey, you okay?”

Nodding, he took a deep pull at his beer and then steeling himself, asked, “operation tomorrow?”

“God, I hope so,” she said, and for a moment she became distant, staring into the distance. One of her hands drifted to her side and slowly tracked across curves and clothing. Her lips grew to a slow smile, and he felt the pleasure she presented as a punch to the gut. “I really do.”

“So, I guess this is it, then,” he said. “Final drinks.”

His words brought her back to the table. “Final drinks,” she said, nodding. “Hey, are you—”

“I’m going to miss you,” he blurted out. The words caught him by surprise, and he looked away, flushing with embarrassment. God, what’s wrong with me, he asked himself. A gentle touch on his cheek brought him back around. Cindy was now sitting next to him. He could feel her thigh up against his.

“I’m going to miss you too,” she said. She stared into him, emerald eyes wide and deep and beautiful, and there was something sad and angry there, too. “This week, it’s been difficult. But you—”

“Cindy,” he started, before she silenced him with a kiss.

It took him by surprise, her lips crushing against his, the taste of her lip gloss—cherry—and her perfume, the scent of pale flowers on a hot summer’s day. Her tongue slid into his mouth, danced against his. Instinct brought his hands to her waist—so tiny—and the feeling of lingerie beneath her clothing, boning and fabric; his arm coiled around her waist and he pulled her closer.

He held her close for a long moment, and she felt soft and small in his arms. He breathed in the scent of her hair and her breasts pushed into his side, and she trembled slightly in his embrace.

Her hands cradled his face and she pulled back. “I’m sorry, Chad,” she said. “I never meant to—”

“You didn’t—”

“It’s not—”

He put his finger to her lips, took a deep breath, and forced a smile. “Let’s start over,” he said.

Staring cross-eyed at his finger at her lips, Cindy smiled. She gave the tip of his finger a quick peck, grinned, and scooted back opposite him. Sitting there, in the warm half-light of the pub in her white and pink clothes, hair gleaming like burnished gold over her shoulder, eyes and lips and nails shimmering—it suddenly occurred to Chad that he’d never been so immediately and powerfully attracted to a girl. His desire was physical, yes, to judge by the uncomfortable swelling in his pants; but also something deeper that he struggled to understand.

“You go first,” she said.

Nodding, he scrambled for something to say, still thinking of her scent, her taste, the feeling of her body beneath his touch. “Was that a… corset?”

She blushed. “It is.” Her hand fluttered at her side. “It was—my therapist’s idea.”

“To wear a corset?” He gave a lopsided grin. “Jesus, your therapy sessions are way different than mine.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” She considered for a moment, then added, “So—umm.  Did you know the Clinic has a photography suite?”

He nodded. He’d used them for a passport photo, once, and dated one of the photographers for a bit; Jasmine: short, quirky and with a fondness for erotic photography he’d initially found fun. She’d taken great pleasure in posing him, dressing him up, taking photos—he still had a few of them.

“Well, my therapist signed me up for a, uh, how to put this—‘fantasy photography session’. To umm, act out certain ideas, face some fears—to embrace them, I guess.” Cindy’s face grew steadily redder as she spoke, blushing beneath her makeup, and she couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

He’d heard of this service, of course; it was a popular one. The image at the end was only a small part of the package. After all, clients could just get an AI to create an image of them in just about any situation imaginable, in any style.

Rather, it was the experience: of being the bride or groom at a wedding that might never happen; or posing powerfully at the head of the boardroom table as the corporate head, or alternately, sitting demurely to one side, the submissive secretary, and learning from that as well. He’d even taken part in one several months past, an extra in the background—a strange one, all swords and sandals, heroic speeches and buxom princesses.

“It was an interesting afternoon,” she said.

“You’re afraid of corsets?”

She rolled her eyes. “You ever wear one?”

“Yeah, every other weekend.” He laughed. “Of course not. It’s not exactly something men wear, eh?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“Sexy as hell, though,” he added. “What’s it like?”

“What, wearing a corset?”

He nodded.

“Feeling curious?”

He shrugged. “Sure.  It’s not something I’m likely to try outside of Halloween, right?”

“Maybe if you play your cards right tonight,” she purred, “I’ll let you slip into mine.”

“Is it tight?”

“Very.”

“Uncomfortable?”

“Not if you do it right.”

He coughed. “We’re still talking about the corset, right?”

She laughed and gave him a little punch in the arm. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not being very nice tonight, am I? I’m just—nervous, I guess, about tomorrow.”

Chad forced a smile.

“But to answer your question: yes, it’s tight. No, it’s not uncomfortable—well, a lot less than I’d expected. It’s like….” She paused, wrinkling her nose and twirling a bang of hair around her finger. Her fingernails flashed ivory, and Chad felt a hollowness in his belly. “It’s like a firm hug, a constant caress, but one you can’t really get out of. It’s always there. Sitting here, I’m more… here, I guess, feeling this thing wrapped around me.” Arms akimbo, holding her hands at her waist, she spread her fingers wide, as though trying to touch thumb-to-thumb, index-to-index around her narrowed waist. “And then there’s the little tug from the stockings when I stand, or the feeling of breathlessness when I get a little too excited, climb some stairs or move a bit too quickly.” She fluttered one hand as though to cool herself. “Oh my.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad, actually.”

She smiled and hugged herself. “It feels a bit like I’m wearing a layer of hidden armour, you know, invisible protection against the world.”

Chad laughed. “You’ve never worn armour, have you?”

“You have?”

“I most certainly have!” He banged himself on the chest in a display of masculine vigour.

“What? Kevlar body armour? Makrolon face shied?”

“Chainmail hauberk.” He scratched as his chin, remembering a beard he’d long ago shaved off. “Heavy.”

“Bullshit.”

“’tis true,” he said, taking her hand in his, bowing his head. “Milady.” He kissed the back of her hand softly, and when he looked up she was blushing again. “They were filming up at the ski lodge, some kind of period piece, and….”

As he launched into the story, he felt back on comfortable ground, recapturing the special place they’d occupied this past week. The chat and banter, the sharing of stories and the gradual growing confidence, on her part, to also share until it was no longer just him talking most of the time. He was going to miss this. He was going to miss her.

“Was this before or after the thing with the heiress, her butler and the diamond dildo?” Cindy asked.

“The diamond was just the piss-hole,” he said. “The dildo was gold-plated.” He thought a moment. “Before.”

“I see.” She hid a small smile behind her fingers. Her eyes were happy, and for some reason that made him happy, too. “So… what was your point?”

“I had a point?”

She made a strangling sound in the back of her throat. “You’re an idiot, aren’t you?”

“Probably.” He gazed into his pint. “But clever enough to know when you’re changing the subject.”

“Am I?”

Her hand was still in his, had been ever since he’d reached across the table to gift her with a gallant kiss. She hadn’t pulled back, and her slender fingers and ivory nails were achingly pretty, hinting at purity and innocence, the skin pale and soft, delicate and worth protecting. Clasping her hand between his, he leaned closer.

“What’re you nervous about tomorrow for?”

“Because….” And here she hesitated, eyes dancing to him and away again, and she stared at the floor as she answered in a quiet voice. “Just because,” she said.

Chad watched her and suppressed the urge to move to her side and hold her. “Did it work?”

“Did what work?”

“The photo shoot. Did you… learn, anything? Face your fears?”

At that, she looked back at him and slowly smiled again. “You know what? Yeah—maybe I did.” She thought for a moment. “I thought she was fucking nuts when she suggested it, but—it wasn’t half bad. Totally professional, and really… reassuring? They never made me feel weird or anything. And….

“I’ve always had a thing about control, I guess. Like, I need to be in control, and there’ve been times in my life where everything’s fallen apart and I think it’s left me with a real fear of letting other take charge. Of not being in control. But lately—I haven’t been, you know, in control of my own life, and it’s been… hard.

“But today, giving myself over to these people, letting them dress me and pose me, telling me what to do and just going along with it, it was… good. Maybe even fun, sometimes.”

Chad listened and nodded, and her words resonated with glimpses into her life she’d shared throughout the week. He knew she’d likely never share what had happened in her past—probably couldn’t, even if she trusted him enough—but how he wished he could be there for her when the truth finally emerged.

“If it taught me one thing, it was that I didn’t always have to be in charge, and that something good, exciting even, can come out letting someone else take over.” She nibbled on her lower lip in thought. “Maybe? Because in a weird way, at the same time, I was always in charge; like, I could stop the whole thing anytime I wanted. And there was something fun about being totally in control even when I was, like, totally….” She trailed off and blushed a deep crimson.

“You were totally…?” It was fascinating watching her work through these ideas. Her words rang hollow, as though reciting the lesson she knew she ought to have learned rather than genuine feeling. Behind the blush and embarrassment, he picked up a current of anger and possibly, fear.

“Tied up,” she whispered, glancing away before glaring at him, as though daring him to comment.

He raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet.

Reassured, Cindy continued. Her fingers danced from earring to hair, fingertip to corset-induced curves. “And all this was part of it, too. The clothes and hair and makeup, and the posing, it all really pushed me out of my comfort zone.” She gave a dry laugh. “Like, really really far out of my comfort zone. A few times I nearly freaked out, but they were so easy-going, so relaxed that they always got me through the moment, and—”

She smiled wickedly. “Wanna see?”

“Yes,” Chad answered. “Yes, I do.”

She slid her phone over to him. He picked it up, aware of her eyes on him. He looked at the first photo, and the next, onto the third one and back again. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he hid his response behind a long pull of his pint glass, emptying it and willing his erection to die down again.

“Pretty sexy, huh?” she said.

“Is that….” He coughed. “Was that from the Sin-DI photoshoot in -Lumen-?”

Cindy nodded. “It was running pretty late by the time they finished the last shot. They cleaned me up, then got me ready for tonight as a little bonus. Told me to just keep the corset on.” Her eyes shimmered with wicked humour as she watched him. “It’s all bridal lingerie under here,” she said, tapping her flank.

He swiped back and forth between the three photos: pre-date Cindy, posing with Champagne flute, pigtails and sparkling smile; Cindy posted in a wedding dress, a shapely ivory column; and post-nuptial Cindy, resplendent in ivory lingerie and heels, on her back in black-and-white photography.

“You’re killing me here,” he said.

She grinned.

He swiped though a few more photos, variations on the originals but from different angles or with stylistic edits. “So—where’s the other one?”

The colour that’d begun to fade from her face returned, brighter than before, up to the tip of her ears. She snatched her phone back. “None of your business, mister.”

He laughed. “I was joking,” he said, but then watching her squirm in her seat, his jaw dropped. “No way. You—”

She looked away.

“Corset, harness, leash…,” he ticked each item off.

“Stop.”

“Cuffs, binders….”

“Please.”

“Bridle and bit?”

Cindy groaned and buried her face in her hands.

“Wow.”

She peaked between her fingers. “You must think I’m some kind of colossal pervert or slut or something.”

He cocked an eyebrow and, genuinely curious, asked, “why?”

“Because it’s weird?”

“Hey, I’m firmly in the ‘sexually liberated’ camp on this one. Yeah, it’s exploitative and kinky as hell, and I certainly couldn’t imagine doing something like that. I takes some serious balls to do that kind of thing.”

“Exactly!”

“You wanted to prove you’ve got the balls?”

She grinned. “Sort of,” she said. “Yeah, I guess I kinda did.”

“So can I see the photo?”

“Not on your fucking life.”

She disappeared to the toilet after that, and he went to the bar to order another beer and an orange juice. It was getting busy, and the counter was crowded as he waited. A girl next to him tried to catch his eye—pretty and tall, friendly and wearing a nice dress; but he wasn’t interested. Returning to the booth he saw that Cindy was already back, sitting with a little clutch purse open on the table. She was touching up her makeup, and he watched as she meticulously painted her lips and fixed her mascara. Chad watched and waited, unwilling to interrupt the moment.

Only after she cleared away did he rejoin her in the booth. To his surprise, she slid in next to him in the close space of the snug. Instinct brought his arm around her shoulders and then her head lay against his chest, and Chad realised he couldn’t do this for much longer. There was a rumbling in his chest and he never wanted her to move and he wanted more—something he could never have.

Cindy appeared preoccupied, comfortable in his embrace but staring at her Asklepios armlet. She tapped it, and seemed to think as he took a silent drink. He waited for her, and eventually she shifted in his arms until she faced him. She looked sad, and his heart dropped.

“Chad,” she said. “I just wanted to say—”

“Hey, hey—you don’t—”

“Shut the fuck up,” she interrupted, giving him a punch to the arm. “Let the lady speak.”

“Ouch.” He rubbed at his arm. “You’re no lady.”

She gave a dry laugh. “True. But seriously. Chad.” With her legs curled under her, Cindy knelt in the booth and raised herself equal to his height. Her skirt rode high and he glimpsed snowy stocking tops, garter tabs and a flash of pale skin. But she was reaching up, and she held his face between her hands, long fingers tracing the line of his jaw, passing gently over stubble and threading into his hair. She held him and kissed him again, deeply, pressing up against him so that he could feel the corsetry beneath her clothes and the crush of her tits against his chest. His hands drifting down her side, under her skirt and over her firm ass and gripping her there. He felt her grow tense, and then relax and draw even closer and shudder beneath him, kissing him ever more furiously, almost desperately.

And then—suddenly—she broke the kiss.

“Thank you,” she said softly, a hot whisper against his ear.

He gazed at her in wonder and before he could speak, she lay a finger over his lips. “You’re one of the good ones, aren’t you?” Cindy said. “You’re a good man, Chad.” Sitting back on her haunches, she gazed up at him in what felt like admiration. The tiniest of smiles tugged at the corner of her lips. “When I needed you to talk, you talked. When I needed you to listen, you listened. And when I just needed quiet but couldn’t bear to be alone—you were there. You never pushed too hard, or took advantage, even though I know you want me.”

Cindy’s finger left his lips to tenderly draw across his cheek, and he leaned into the palm of her hand. “It’s been a hard week, Chad, and… I really don’t know what’s going to happen next. Everything might change tomorrow. Either way, in a day or two, Cindy will be gone.”

He closed his eyes and focused on the touch of her skin against his, and on her voice.

“Whatever happens, I just wanted to say… thank you, Chad.”

He opened her eyes. She shuffled back to her side of the booth. Cindy’s hand rested on her armlet, and she tapped the hard plastic with a fingernail. Taking a deep breath and feeling hollow inside, he asked, “So is this goodbye?”

Cindy stared at him and seemed to come to a decision. The hint of a smile grew to a full smile—by way of something darker, a scowl of frustration or self-loathing she couldn’t quite conceal quickly enough.

“This is what I think,” Cindy said. She reached across the table and took his hand into hers, fingers interlaced. “I think I’m tired of drinking orange juice and I’m tired of wearing this goddamn corset. I want you to take me back to your room, Chad. Then I want you to undress me, and then I want you to peel me out of this corset.

“And then I’m going to give you a proper thank you, Chad, because you fucking deserve it and because you wouldn’t ever ask for it. I’m going to drop to my knees and stare up at you with all the respect and adoration you deserve, and then I’m going to suck your cock and give you the best fucking blowjob of your life.”

Her grip tightened around his hand and she fixed him intensely with her gaze. “So what do you say, Chad? Shall we head back to yours?”

“Yes,” he said, and then with absolute seriousness. “On one condition.”

She cocked an eyebrow.

“You keep the corset on.”