Page 72 of Vengeance of Childhood Proportions (Till Death Do Us Part #7)
Chapter Sixty-Two
Mal
I’m not entirely sure how my little owl talked me into letting her do this with clothes on, but her safety was my top priority.
When I started removing certain bondage pieces and displays from my dungeon upstairs in anticipation of her presence in my home, I knew there was an addition or two that I wanted.
The first was a dancing pole in the bedroom.
I hired a professional installer too, because I needed to know that it was mounted properly.
The second was a flying pole in my office.
Even though I didn’t know if she had ever used one before, I knew that I wanted another way to make my little owl fly.
Due to the tall ceiling in my office, which had once been a garage before the owners before me had converted it into a home office space, the company did recommend getting an eight foot pole, plus a mounting extension.
The extension allowed the pole to be immobilized when not in use.
Due to the rotating link that connected the pole to the ceiling brace, it was not recommended to be used as a standard dancing pole.
Since I was no longer employed, or technically not currently working, I decided my home office was not where I wanted to be this morning.
My large, leather armchair in my bedroom was the perfect place for a front row seat.
My phone was also hooked up to the new speakers mounted in the four corners of my bedroom.
My little owl wanted to put on a show. After the thirty long minutes of me impatiently waiting for her to come out of my bathroom, she finally emerged.
And fuck me up the ass, she was gorgeous.
She was wearing a short black wig that I’ve seen her in before, her owl mask, a onesie corset piece, sheer black tights, and high boots. She was beyond breathtaking. Christ, I had it bad for this woman, and not just because she looked fucking fantastic.
As soon as she set a playlist on my phone, there was no hesitation, no warmup.
My little owl leapt onto the pole. There was no safety mat or padding on the floor below her.
When I’d informed her I’d also purchased such things, my little owl had scoffed in a rare sign of defiance.
I could have easily punished her for the insolence, but it was so fucking adorable that I found myself only playfully swatting her ass instead.
Master David did not have to bear witness for me to know I was in over my head with my little owl. There was no going back for me.
She was utterly fearless on the pole, and fuck that confidence was sexy.
My little owl so rarely displayed such certainty.
I wondered if she did in her art studio.
I would never order her to show me her workplace, though I was hoping she would soon so that I could design a similar studio in my house or behind it for her.
The running leap my little owl took gave her the height she needed to do a fancy twist, holding on upside down to the pole. Lovely by Billie Eilish came over the speakers first. My little owl must be familiar with the song for she moved in perfect rhythm with the smooth notes.
I recalled the first time I saw my little owl dance, before I’d ever touched her, tasted her, fucked her.
Pole dancing wasn’t new to me. I’d been barely eighteen the first time I went to a strip club.
My height and build have always made me look older than I was, so no one questioned my age even though I was still a high school student.
I’d been the clichéd horny teenage boy and had lost my virginity years before.
My buddies had a bet going that I couldn’t sneak into the new club without proper ID, to which they had to pay up when I’d come strutting out of there with lipstick on my collar and glitter on my dick.
Once I found my calling in BDSM and joined numerous clubs in Alaska and the lower forty-eight, I noticed a few of them like Snow Chains had poles.
There’d been a few interesting dancers over the years, but none like my little owl.
The way she moved to the music, twisting and turning, lost in her own head…
It was intoxicating. Unlike the strippers or the subs I’ve seen using such dance poles over the years, I knew in my soul that she hadn’t been dancing for the audience, but for herself.
Dancing was her escape. She weaved her magic over the crowd, and I was entirely enthralled.
I casually stroked my dick, watching her performance.
Her current task was to dance until I came.
She was only allowed to break for water or the bathroom.
The sooner she accomplished her task, the sooner I performed for her.
I might not know how to dance on a pole, but I was confident I could perform a strip tease.
Although, I was beginning to reevaluate my plans; there was no way I wasn’t fucking her on that dance pole again. If she allowed it, I might even take her from behind. A reenactment of our first time together.
How na?ve I’d been, thinking that that was going to be a one-off. I should have known better. Even that night, I’d felt something for this courageous, wounded soul.
My eyes tracked her precise and controlled moves.
She was so strong and flexible. Even as the music changed, she never faltered.
I loved watching her dance. It was probably my favorite new pastime that didn’t involve touching her.
The release on her face as she danced was captivating.
In a way, that was more erotic than the suggestive dance moves themselves.
Phoebe Snetsinger was a total mystery to me, an enigma of contradictions and sensuality. But there was one thing I was entirely sure of: she was mine.