Phoenyx: Flesh & Fire (6 page)

“We have a better class of punter, too,” Olivia went on. “And usually with a decent-sized wallet. But remember: Bruno doesn’t allow any kind of soliciting or impropriety on the premises.” She started doing things with foundation creams and other fancy things I’d never even heard of. “However, what you get up to in your own time, of course, is nobody’s business but your own. Just be very careful who you go handing your address out to.”

“Don’t worry,” I laughed, “after tonight, I’ll be
very
careful.” I now felt relaxed under Olivia’s expert touch, her delicate fingers painting wonderful things on my face and transforming me beyond recognition. And then a rather obvious question arose in my mind, one I really shouldn’t have asked, but decided to anyway, in all innocence: “Olivia. Why aren’t you with anyone else?”

Olivia frowned at the barely-suppressed snort of derision from Gloria’s direction. Petra swished past behind us, pulling a black lace shawl around her shoulders. “I’m just off to the bar,” she sang.

Olivia didn’t answer me. She stood back and admired her handiwork. “Darker eye-shadow, I think,” she pondered. “The green’s nice, but I think a little black at the edge will look far more intense. Bring out the brightness in your eyes, those natural orbs of emerald.”

I didn’t repeat my question. I was sure Olivia had her reasons. Perhaps she’d had bad experiences in her past, too. Besides, she was busy making me look as beautiful as she could manage, and I didn’t want to distract her.

When the make-up was done and Olivia had checked me over the tenth time to ensure that I was as fit and able as I could be and still definitely up for it, Bruno swung around backstage to see how things were going.

“She’s going to be just fine,” Olivia assured him with her wide grin. “Some butterflies perhaps, but we all still get them from time to time.”

Bruno wasn’t listening to her. He turned to me, and looked me in the eye.

“Are
you
sure you’re okay for this?”

I nodded impatiently. “Yes, the scare’s out of my system now. It’s a different kind of fear that’s taking over.”

Olivia clasped my hand in hers and drew me up to my feet. She looked so elegant in her pale cream satins and silks, and I still felt like the rough and ready country girl I really was. But perhaps that very contrast would be our success. We would find out soon enough.

“Like I said –
butterflies
,” Olivia whispered.

“Well, Mel’s stringing them along just now good style. So get yourselves along and get ready, because we’ve got a hot and noisy crowd in tonight.”

Mel or Melissa was our full-time MC. She was a real hot performer, a Marianne Faithfull fan with a voice that could strip the paint off your car. Strutting and purring her way through the filthiest songs ever written as she would revise the words to current pop hits to be as X-rated as possible, which always got big laughs. The first of her efforts that I ever heard was
Another Prick in the Hole
, with apologies to Pink Floyd. It was a tough job not to get upstaged by her, but we did our best.

This night she was dressed from head to foot in purple, in full cabaret gear; top hat, tails, opera gloves and all – apart from wearing absolutely no panties, proving to everyone that she was indeed a natural blonde.

“Ladies, gentlemen, friends, admirers, and perverts,” Melissa began, in what I would soon discover was her standard opening. “Get your drinks down your necks now and take a good long hard look at the person beside you, because you’re going to be staring at nothing but our gorgeous ladies from now on.”

She casually strutted the stage as though walking around bottomless was perfectly natural. “We have such wonders lined up for you all tonight. Feasts of flesh and delights the Emperor Caligula would have bitten his own balls off to witness. Casanova himself would have jerked his cock into a smoking stump before so many perfect examples of gushing, grinding, gorgeous girlhood as we have lined up for
you
, you lucky fucking bastards.

“Sensuous, sexual, slinky and stunning – mere words cannot describe the sweat-inducing, tongue-curling, prick-extending, pussy-dripping beauty hiding beneath these layers of satin, leather, silk, and velvet...and all soon to be revealed in all their glory.”

She rubbed a hand between her legs and licked a fingertip. “Hm, think it’s time for me to go, before I cum,” she sighed, and got a round of laughter at that. “Let’s make some noise for our resident chick in white satin, Miss Olivia. And as a special treat, for her very first time – our new redhead sex machine, the fiery
Miss Phoenyx
.”

Oh yes, I realized with a start: that was
me
. The name I had chosen for myself. This was all really happening, then – I was about to walk out and strip naked in public. It wasn’t a dream or a fantasy I once had, after all (although I did have a lot of those – clear, lucid movies in my head in which I was the star. More than mere dreams, they were all that helped to keep me going through all the cold winter nights in my mother’s farmhouse when there was no television signal and I didn’t have anything to read).

Pools of sweat had already gathered in the hollows of my collarbones and ran down my chest and arms like rainwater on a humid summer evening. My hair felt like ragged rope. I was shaking so much it felt as if I wouldn’t even be able to walk the length of myself.

Melissa stepped aside into the wings as Olivia swept out past her, and I made my very hesitant entrance behind her. The applause was deafening. The band sounded as if they were playing right inside my ear, and the lights felt like a furnace. Never mind my make-up running – it felt as if my eyeballs were dissolving in the blazing heat and oozing down my cheeks.

Olivia swirled around and hit the centre stage, and then the lights cooled off to a pale blue and pink as the audience noise faded. I tentatively drew myself towards her, trying to ignore the sharp whistles and craning necks which greeted my arrival. I was being stared at by several hundred strangers. I had never been in front of so many people in all my life.

Just like we rehearsed, and you’ll be fine
, Olivia had said to me beforehand.

What exactly
had
we rehearsed? I couldn’t remember any of it. I tried to, but I could only bring to mind her and me in the changing room earlier, groping each other and her hand between my legs and her tongue inside my mouth.

So I went with that. The urge to recreate those wonderful feelings of abandonment drove me towards her as she went gliding like a swan in front of me. I decided to ignore everything beyond the stage, and concentrate solely on
her
.

I looked down at her, lying spread so elegantly at my feet, looking up at me with huge pleading brown eyes. She swept her hair back from her forehead and I stomped around to stand behind her. She craned her neck to look back up at me, and then I squatted down, her head between my knees. I bent over and kissed her on the mouth. Her hand came up and pulled my red waves aside.

“Do it,” I heard her say, and then I took a handful of that hair and pulled. She went with it, her head sliding back up and onto my thigh. I straddled her and lowered myself down gently onto her heaving belly. I dragged her head up by the hair and our mouths met again; our tongues too, this time.

Her hands felt inside my thighs, fingers tracing the muscles all the way into my groin. I slipped a finger inside her gown and flicked open the lace which held it together. I felt her tremble as the soft satin parted, allowing her rounded cleavage to surge up into view. I heard applause somewhere distant – someone liked that. Good, I thought. If I could keep them entertained as I revealed Olivia’s glorious body bit by bit, then they wouldn’t have any reason to boo me off.

So I worked on that. If I went astray, Olivia would surely do something to save us from being a total disaster, and I would take away valuable lessons for next time.
Next
time
?

Why not? I was starting to enjoy all of this. Just a little, but seeing Olivia’s pale flesh uncover gradually before me was slowly replacing my fear with desire. I eased her gown down to her waist, dragged it past her hips. She twisted around on to her belly while I was loosening her from the rest of the satin. She kicked her heels back and I glimpsed the dress go flying off somewhere towards the band behind us. Mack the trumpeter had to dodge to avoid it landing over his head.

Then I had her hair in my hand again, pulling her back so that she arched beneath me, spine pulling in an almost impossible curve until it must have looked as though she was about to snap herself in two. And as I held her there, she eased open the front of her bra and threw the white lace aside, pouring her lovely breasts out into view to hang suspended, quivering.

The audience roared, and I risked a sideways glance towards them. They were staring – at Olivia, of course. But also at
me
, for I was the one undressing the object of their desire – and what I did mattered. And if a few of them bothered to look my way in the process, then I’d take that as a compliment.

Olivia stretched a long gloved arm up behind and I caught the tip of one finger in my teeth. I nibbled on that warm soft satin and held it tight, waiting for her to pull. She did so, and I repeated the action for the other fingers until the glove was halfway off. Then I clutched the floppy fingers and whipped it away and up into the air, leaving her long slim arm bare. It wasn’t quite Rita Hayworth in
Gilda
but it was still quite erotic.

She twisted around to lie beneath me, looking up at my tight velvet crotch as I squatted over her. I flicked open the studs on my top and dropped it, letting my breasts fall out as I ground my hips down and slid my tingling undercarriage along the centre line of her sinuous abdomen.

My nipples swelled as I looked down at her face, eyelids lowered, lips glistening as she ran her tongue across them from side to side. She stretched her arms out above her head, submitting, giving herself over to me. I swept my hands over her, following the mounds of her breasts, the hollows of her ribcage, and reached out behind me. I found the laces of her G-string and opened up the knots on each hip. She bucked her pelvis up off the stage and I flung the G-string off and away, then threw myself over her and caught her mouth with mine. She rotated her hips underneath me, brushing her tight muscles against my erogenous zone which was now leaking quite freely through my pants.

“Mm, I can smell your pussy from here, darling,” she whispered into my face. “I want to taste it again.”

I grabbed a clump of hair and held her face against mine, our noses rubbing playfully as I pulled on those beautiful blonde tresses.

“I
love
you,” I sighed, smiling with the silliness of it all. She probably couldn’t hear me due to the noise, but I had meant those words truly and hoped that her mind would perceive them on some secret spiritual level.

She wormed her way down until I was sitting almost on her chest. She grabbed the hips of my pants and nodded at me, giving me my cue. I stood up slowly, hands playing through my hair as I went, and Olivia drew those wet hot pants down to my knees. I straightened up, shaking myself all the way. I stepped out of the pants and turned to face them – the crowd, the horde, the wolf-packs – but I couldn’t see much past the first row of tables due to the lights.

I could hear them, though. And they certainly weren’t booing.

Olivia rolled away and wrapped herself around my leg, hands caressing my knee and calf. Then she leant in and ran her tongue all the way up my inner thigh, twisting her head so the crowd couldn’t quite see her penetrate me (which was theoretically hardcore, for which Bruno had no license) and I quivered on the spot, feeling my defenses crumble. As she rubbed her head against me, I spread my arms, head back, and let my rivers flow from me with rapid contractions, running through her hair, against her cheek, like an April shower. I felt her squeeze my ass in appreciation, a wonderful sensation of release which told me:
you did it
!

More cheers. They were enjoying this. And so, most definitely, was I.

Chapter Three

The More the Merrier

While Melissa entertained the bar with a rowdy rendition of
Saturday Night Beaver
, Olivia and I went backstage to deafening cheers and whistles. Bruno stood there beaming, hands behind his back, as we entered the dressing room.

“Well done, Phoenyx,” he said. “Looks like you survived your first night and came through with flying rainbow colors.”

I bowed; shaking my hair and feeling the sweat fly from me. I suddenly felt very self-conscious, standing there naked away from the stage, the lights, and everything else which had insulated and cushioned me against even the merest flutters of humiliation. I panicked and looked around for my usual old clothes. That was when Olivia grabbed me around the waist and planted a huge kiss on my mouth, and Bruno revealed the bouquet of red roses he’d been hiding out of sight all that time.

“Red and gorgeous just like you,” Bruno said, somehow managing not to sound like a complete sleaze ball.

I flushed as red as the petals as I took them from him.

“Thanks,” I said, not knowing where to look now. Everyone was looking at me, exhibiting admiration and joy in equal measure. “I really mean it. They’re beautiful.”

“Did anybody tell her about the initiation ritual?” Petra piped up from the back.

I sat down on the bench, feeling a shadow of worry creep over me.

“Nope,” Gloria said. “It’s always more fun when they don’t expect it.”

“Oh, no. I’m out of here,” Bruno said. “Remember to play nice, now – I don’t want any screaming tantrums and hair-pulling spoiling the night.”

“Thanks, but I’d better get home,” I said hastily, hoping to dissuade any unwanted pranks at my expense. After all, what could be more potentially terrifying than getting naked in front of hundreds of strangers in public? I didn’t even want to imagine what kind of nonsense they were contemplating. I looked around, still trying to locate my clothes, when it occurred to me that this was obviously a deliberate ploy and part of the secret scheme.