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I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own Serving The Billionaire.
MERCEDES
Two days later, on Friday, I went directly to room 4 when I arrived at the club... Mr. Evans, as always, was intent on his phone, but set it aside as I came through the door and gave me his full attention.
"Mercedes, I want something very particular from you tonight," he said. "If you aren't willing, you can merely serve drinks, as before. But if you agree, I'll pay you ten thousand dollars for the night's work."
I just stared at him...
It was such a ridiculously large amount of money that his words didn't mean anything to me. If he wanted to blow huge wads of cash on me, why not?
Who was I to say no?
He ignored my lack of response...
"I want you to...wear something."
He turned to the briefcase sitting beside him on the couch and pulled out a small black package. He unwrapped it and I saw that it was actually a lacy thong wrapped around a pink plastic oval.
"What is it?" I asked, mystified.
"It's a vibrator," he said. "It slips inside these panties, like so." He showed me the flap of fabric inside the thong. "You can wear it." He held up a slim black rectangle. "And there's a remote control."
I put one hand on the back of the chair beside me, to steady myself.
"So you want me to..."
I trailed off. I couldn't bring myself to say it.
"Yes, I want you to," he said, with a brief flash of a smile. "You'll wear it while you serve, and you won't ever know when I'm about to turn it on. So you'll have to be very careful not to spill any drinks."
I was actually shaking slightly... I took a deep breath in an effort to calm my racing pulse...
I had never imagined anything like this.
All of his guests would be able to see me coming apart at the seams... Also the dancers... And him...
They would all look at me and know. I didn't know how I felt about giving him that sort of power over me, to force pleasure on me with the flick of a switch.
That was a lie...
I knew exactly how I felt about it.
"So you agree," he said, accurately reading my silence as consent.
I nodded, not trusting my voice to stay steady.
He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again and looked at me, the intense heat in his gaze made me feel like I was already stripped naked before him.
"Put it on," he said.
There was no question of asking for privacy... He obviously wasn't going to leave, and I didn't want him to.
I wanted him to stay there and watch me as I undressed... I wanted him to long for me the way I longed for him... And I wanted to feel his desire heavy in the room like the tension before a thunderstorm.
All my life, I had thought of myself as a pretty boring person. I never had a teenage rebellion; I never snuck out of the house or smoked pot or even listened to music that made my parents frown.
I didn't drink a drop of alcohol until I turned twenty-one. I worked hard, paid my taxes and recycled.
I'd never done anything daring...
But being around Mr. Evans made me feel bold.
I stepped out of my heels first, to make sure I didn't do anything ungraceful like wobble or fall over. I had gotten much better at walking in them, but I still didn't feel completely confident.
In my stocking feet, I stepped closer to Mr. Evans. He looked up at me, hands resting on his splayed knees, and the heat in his gaze made my breath catch.
"What do you want me to wear?" I asked. He hadn't told me if he wanted me topless again.
"Everything," he said. "All of your clothes. You'll look all buttoned up on the outside, but I'll know the truth, won't I?"
"Yes," I said, a whispered scrap of a word.
I reached around to unzip my skirt... It slid off my hips and puddled at my feet.
I stepped out of it and Mr. Evans watched, saying nothing, as I bent over and peeled off my stockings...
Wearing nothing but my blouse and underwear, I moved even closer to Mr. Evans, standing between his spread knees.
He lifted his hands to my hips, curling his palms around them, and used his thumbs to trace the red lines on my abdomen that my stockings always cut into my skin.
"That looks painful," he said.
"It doesn't hurt," I said. "It just looks ugly."
"Nothing about you is ugly," he said.
I didn't know how to respond...
I looked down at his hands against my skin, white against brown, and watched as he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of my underpants and peeled the silky material away from my hips.
I inhaled sharply. He looked up at me, and our eyes met...
And I felt the same electrical charge that I'd experienced the first night I met him, when he'd said Stirred, not shaken, and it was like an earthquake had shaken the ground beneath my feet.
Whatever else happened, whatever words or actions passed between us, I would never forget the pure, uncomplicated desire that came over me when I looked at him.
It was easy then, to let him draw my panties down my thighs, down my calves and down to my ankles, where I stepped out of them and left them lying on the carpet in a limp puddle.
I had nothing to lose. And the way he looked at me, lust burning hot in his eyes, made it hard to feel embarrassed.
My body was nothing special, but the look in his eyes made me forget that, somehow.
I wanted him to look at me...
My underwear gone, Mr. Evans drew his hands back up my legs, from ankles to calves, marking teasing lines along the sensitive skin behind my legs, and up the backs of my thighs to my bare ass.
His hands cupped the flesh of my bottom and skimmed up over my hips, then down to slide his thumbs along my groin.
My mouth went dry, and my heart raced, because right now, I had never wanted anyone as much as I wanted him.
"Such a good girl," he said, breaking the tense silence, and leaned forward to kiss the curve of my hip.
As his lips touched my skin, I heard myself moan...
"Good," he said, as if I'd answered a question and drew away.
My thighs quivered... I was wet between my legs and hungry for him, but I didn't know how to ask for what I wanted.
I didn't even have words for it. I just knew that I wanted him, and I would do anything he asked me.
Mr, Evans lifted the black thong from where it lay on the sofa and held it out to me.
"Put it on," he said again, and this time I took it from his hands.
I bent over and stepped into the thong and drew it up my thick legs, taking the place of the panties I'd discarded.
He sat and watched me, his hands on his thighs framing the heavy bulge of his erection.
The sight of it intensified the white-hot longing in my belly... He could lie to me with his words and the looks he gave me, for all I knew. He could even be lying to me all the time, and I would never know. But he couldn't lie to me with his body.
I pulled the thong into place... The vibrator was a hard lump between my legs, so I reached down to adjust it, settling it between my labia.
It nestled against my clit just right, a solid pressure, and I could imagine what it would feel like when he turned it on.
The thought made me shiver. I would be exposed, helpless, before all of his friends, shaking with pleasure, unable to control myself.
He could do anything to me... But I wouldn't stop him.
I wouldn't want to.
"Let's test it, shall we?" he asked, watching me closely. "I wouldn't want to have a defective model."
"Okay," I said, every thought driven from my brain.
"Sit down beside me," he said, and I sat, mute and obedient.
He slid one arm around my shoulders and drew me towards him, cradling me against the side of his body...
I'd never been so close to him. He was warm and solid, a muscular heat all along my right side, and I went limp against him, letting him take my weight.
He could hold me up for a while.
"Are you ready?" Mr. Evans asked, turning his head so that his mouth pressed against the top of my head. His words were a warm gust against my hair.
I nodded. I wasn't sure I would be able to speak.
He might have said something, but I didn't hear him... He might have done something with the remote, but I didn't hear that, either. All I heard was the blood rushing in my ears, and I felt the sudden, subtle vibration start between my thighs...
It wasn't much at first, just a pleasant humming, and I turned my face into him, resting my hot cheek against his chest.
"I think you need more," he said, and I felt the humming increase, until it was more of a buzz.
It felt good...
It made my clit throb...
I squirmed, trying to shift the vibrator slightly so that it would rest against me exactly right, exactly where I wanted it.
"That's right," he said, even though I hadn't spoken.
I was hot all over, buzzing like a bee, and I lifted one of my hands to fist in his shirt, crumpling the expensive fabric, but I didn't care anymore.
I wanted to feel him...
I wanted to leave my mark on him... Some sort of proof that this had actually happened.
Was happening...
I couldn't breathe... I opened my mouth to suck in a lungful of air...
"That's right," Mr. Evans said again, and I shuddered against him, overwhelmed.
And then it stopped...
I opened my eyes and turned my head upward to look at him. And he gazed back at me, expressionless.
The throb between my legs lingered even in the absence of any vibrations. I wanted to say something, but couldn't think of the words.
He spoke for me...
"You can take it," he said. "You'll pour my whiskey and come for me while I watch you from across the room."
"Yes," I said, and I knew it was true. But it felt too good, and I'd lost all of my shame. Or not all of it, but most of it.
A large part of it, at least. Enough that I knew I would be happy to stand by the fireplace all night and cling to the mantle and quiver while he touched me without touching me at all.
He bent and kissed my forehead, oddly formal, like he was giving me a benediction. And then he stood and said,
"We'll begin soon."
"Yes," I said, looking at his face instead of at the outline of his dick in his trousers.
We will begin soon. And I would be good...
Mr. Evans left the room...
Alone, I stood up and gathered my discarded stockings and pulled them back on, followed by my skirt and heels.
I tucked my blouse into my skirt and smoothed out the wrinkles that had developed. Then I went over to a mirror hanging on the wall to make sure I looked okay.
My face stared back at me, wide-eyed and flushed...
Not good.
I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm my racing pulse. When I opened my eyes again, I was expressionless, my face smooth as a doll's.
Good.
I was in my spot by the fireplace when the first of Mr. Evans' guests arrived...
They all glanced at me as they came in, but then seemed to immediately dismiss me as uninteresting.
That was fine; I wasn't supposed to be interesting.
None of these were the men who'd seen me topless a few nights before, and in my demure skirt and blouse, I probably looked like the kind of generic waitress they were well accustomed to ignoring.
Then the dancers came in and started wiggling around in their practiced way...
And then I was definitely not interesting.
Mr. Evans finally returned, escorting an older, silver-haired gentleman. They were deep in conversation and stood to one side instead of joining the others on the sofas.
At first, he seemed to be totally engrossed in whatever he was saying to the other man, but then I noticed that he started giving me quick glances over the man's shoulder, his eyes meeting mine and then darting away again, and then returning, like he couldn't keep his attention on his conversation.
I watched as he slid his right hand into his pocket, and curled my hand around the mantle, bracing myself for what I knew would come next...
Sure enough, I felt the vibrator start humming between my thighs. It didn't escalate into the stronger buzzing I'd felt before, and I relaxed a little.
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad...
One of the clients gestured to me and I went over to him and leaned down.
"A martini, please," he said. "Very dry."
"Right away," I murmured.
I walked out of the room and onto the main floor of the club, feeling the vibrator thrum between my thighs. It wasn't getting any stronger, but it also wasn't stopping.
One of the other waitresses asked me about my plans for the weekend and I had to forcibly focus my attention on her words before I was able to answer.
Maybe this would be pretty bad...
I went back to room 4 and delivered the martini to the man who'd ordered it. My pussy was swollen and tender from the steady humming. And I was as wobbly as a new colt as I returned to my place by the fire.
I wanted it to stop, or else for it to get stronger so that I could just get it over with. Although I had a feeling that Mr. Evans wouldn't stop even after I came.
I tried to focus on my breathing instead of on the liquid heat building between my legs...
It wasn't easy.
Mr. Evans was still deep in conversation with the same man, and this time he didn't look over at me at all.
Maybe he'd forgotten about what he was doing to me. But then, the vibrations stopped as suddenly as they'd started.
I exhaled slowly, feeling very relieved. I wasn't sure how much longer I would've been able to last.
As I stood there, breathing deeply to slow my heart rate, Mr. Evans patted the man's shoulder a few times and turned away from him.
I watched as he went over to the sofas and took a seat beside one of the other guests.
He poured himself a generous serving of whiskey and took a sip. Then he looked at me and the heat in his eyes was like a punch to my gut.
He wanted me and he didn't care who knew it.
And I knew, I wasn't going to make it out of this alive.
Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic. But just a little.
Mr. Evans gestured to me and I went over to him.
His right hand was in his pocket. That wasn't a good sign.
I leaned down to hear what he wanted.
"Another bottle of Scotch," he said, and as he said bottle, I felt the vibrator start up again.
I swallowed hard.
"Right away," I said, my voice cracking. How could he expect me to go out to the bar when the vibrator was buzzing away?
I was going to trip and fall flat on my face and Brittany would see and fire me.
Or I would stumble into one of the customers and make him spill his drink...
Or I was going to come in the middle of the room and embarrass myself completely.
I went back out to the bar. This time, I had to lean against the edge for support while I waited for the bartender to get the bottle off the top shelf.
My hands shook slightly. And my swollen clit throbbed in time with my heartbeat.
The vibrator stuttered and then buzzed slightly faster, and my mouth fell open on a silent moan.
The bartender slid the bottle across the counter to me.
"You okay?" he asked. "You look a little flushed."
"Yes," I said. "Just...warm in here."
He gave me an odd look, but turned away. And I took the bottle and fled.
I really didn't know how I was going to make it through the night...
Mr. Evans was watching as I came through the door, and he motioned me over.
I clutched the bottle, terrified that I would drop it.
As I approached, he set his glass on the table and said,
"A refill, please."
I crouched and fumbled open the bottle. My hands felt like they were wrapped in cotton and my fingers wouldn't do what I wanted them to do.
My underpants were soaked through, I could feel it, and I wouldn't have been surprised if I was making a mess of my stockings as well.
Still crouched, I felt the fabric of my bra scrape against my tender nipples. And Mr. Evans just sat there and watched me try to fight the unbearable pleasure he was inflicting on me.
Ever so carefully, I lifted the bottle and poured out a measure of whiskey. And somehow, I managed not to spill any.
But just as I set the bottle back on the table, the vibration increased yet again... And I dropped the cap.
It fell to the table and bounced onto the floor. And all of the guests turned to look at me...
I didn't know what I looked like, but I could imagine...
Eyes too bright, face flushed with a light sheen of sweat, mouth open, and panting. I probably looked like I'd just been fucked.
I looked away from the curious gazes and went down onto my knees to fish the cap out from where it had rolled beneath the sofa.
"She isn't ordinarily so clumsy," I heard Mr. Evans say, and humiliation brought a fresh wave of heat to my face.
I didn't know why he would say something like that.
The guests chuckled...
I retrieved the cap and sat up, my hair threatening to escape from the tight bun I'd twisted it into. And Mr. Evans was looking at me, his face unreadable.
"I'm sorry I dropped the cap," I said quietly.
He leaned close enough to brush his lips against my ear...
"I love watching you lose control," he murmured.
I couldn't think... I just screwed the cap back onto the bottle.
And he sat back and slid his hand into his pocket...
I held my breath. Was he going to turn it off, or make the vibrations even stronger?
I didn't think I could take any more.
But instead of forcing me to come like that, kneeling there on the floor with his guests arranged around me, he turned the vibrator off.
Greatly relieved, I climbed to my feet and went back to the fireplace...
Mr. Evans tormented me like that all evening... Switching the vibrator on and off at erratic intervals and watching me as I clung to the mantle and tried not to moan out loud.
I was a shaking, oversensitive mess, but he always managed to turn off the vibrator just before I came.
He brought me to the edge again and again, and then yanked me back from the precipice right before I was about to go over.
By the end, I was ready to beg him to let me come.
The party ended earlier than they usually did...
One of the guests, the silver-haired gentleman, glanced down at his watch around 10, patted the curvy ass of the dancer who was sitting in his lap, and announced that it was time for him to go home.
That seemed to be everyone else's cue to leave as well, because they all gathered their things and were gone within fifteen minutes.
That left me alone in the room with Mr. Evans...
He hadn't moved; he was still sitting on the sofa, one hand loosely curled around his whiskey glass. But as soon as the final guest left and the door shut behind him, he turned to me and said,
"Come here."
I walked over to him, unsteady on my feet. And as I approached, he uncrossed his legs and spread his thighs apart, his erection fully on display.
I had never met a man who was so blatant in...and comfortable with his sexuality. And I didn't know how I was supposed to respond to him.
Giggle?
Look away?
Or sink to my knees and unzip his pants?
That last option was probably the most appealing, but I didn't think I would ever be bold enough to actually do it.
I came near the sofa and stopped. Mr. Evans looked up at me and placed one hand on the cushion beside him.
"Sit," he said.
I sat. Rather, I collapsed onto the sofa. I'd been standing for most of the night and my legs wouldn't hold me anymore.
To my surprise, he lifted one arm and curled it around my shoulders. And I turned my head to look at him.
He looked back, his eyes darker in the dim light than their usual piercing green, even as his thumb moved back and forth along my shoulder, caressing.
I shivered and relaxed against him.
"How wet is your pussy right now?" he asked me.
I turned my head to face the wall, unwilling to let him see my face. I didn't want to answer, but I knew he wouldn't let me dodge the question.
"It's wet," I said.
He chuckled and I heard fabric rustle. Then I felt the vibrator start buzzing again...
"Oh God," I said involuntarily.
The buzzing started out pretty weak, but he quickly adjusted it so that the vibrations were steady and powerful.
I was already so sensitive from being teased all evening that I squirmed on the sofa, trying to escape the sensation, but unable to.
The vibrator rode against my clit just right, exactly where I needed it, but too strong, too overwhelming.
"It's too much," I whimpered, and Mr. Evans eased it down slightly, enough to take the vibrations from uncomfortable to oh-god-right-there.
I heard myself moan and I let my head fall back against the back of the couch...
"That's right," he said.
I knew I was biting my lip and tossing my head back and forth, but I couldn't stop myself. The buzzing felt too incredible for me to care about anything except the tension growing in my lower belly and the melting, liquid pleasure between my legs.
I felt his free hand on my hip and his thumb still moving on my shoulder... And the vibrator buzzing between my thighs, making them quiver.
I was so close... I turned my face away from him, sure that I looked ridiculous, and he bent his head and moved his lips along my jaw.
"You're going to come for me now," he said, mouth moving against my skin.
And I was powerless to refuse a direct order.
Suffice it to say, I came hard, my back arching, my toes curling inside my shoes. It seemed to go on and on, waves of pleasure rolling through me. And I couldn't do anything but lean against Mr. Evans' warm body and let it wash through me like the sea.
"Good girl," he said. And I felt him stroking my hair.
I opened my eyes and he was watching me, smiling slightly.
Mr. Evans...
I gave up... I couldn't think of him that way anymore, not when he was looking at me like that... Like I was something special.
Like there was nowhere he would rather be.
I couldn't maintain the artificial distance of Mr. Evans. He was just Sam.
God, I was so screwed.
"Mercedes," he said. And I shivered. I loved how he said my name. "It's still early. Come home with me. I want to see you in my bed."
Later, I would think of all the snappy responses I should've made...
How much are you going to pay me? I should've asked, or something like, I don't go home with strange men.
But I wasn't that quick on my feet. Instead, I just looked at him and said,
"Okay."
Like I told my Merlin readers, I had an early day. Thus...
Stay safe!