basqueing

(I’m in need of some distraction from the mad, mad, horrible world ~x)

Can you see me? I can’t see you. Can you see me?
I know you can, I know you’re there, I can feel you behind the glass, I can almost smell you. Can you see me? Of course you can, I’m in the light, you’re in the dark; I’m in your sight, you’re in the shadows. You don’t know me, I don’t know you, we have never met, unless we have, I will never know; would you? Would you recognise me out of context, here as I am in this room of walls and tiny windows, windows only large enough for me to see you as silhouetted head and shoulders, such is our choices.
Can you see me? I can’t see you.
In this room of walls and tiny windows with just a single stool, I am here by choice, dressed in a satin robe, pink, tied at the waist, soft draped along my skin, underneath, well, wait and see although you see my stockings, black, lace, sheer, also soft against my skin. I feel your eyes imagining, sliding up my legs, wondering, wondering. I know what you’re thinking. But you can’t touch, can’t speak to me even though I’m in your gaze, that’s why I’m here, a debt to pay and this is the choice I made.
Can you see me?
How do I look? I feel awkward, clumsy at first. I sit on the one chair in this confined space held in place by the anonymity of strangers, how many? One, two, I count, six, seven, I count the windows four along each wall at sitting height, fifteen, sixteen. Sixteen in all and all, holding the shape of someone there, someone watching, someone waiting, someone wanting: what for, their money’s worth? Of course they do, that’s why I’m here, not to kiss, not to tell, but to show, reveal, expose, to give and give until I’ve gave enough.
Can you see me? I can’t see you.
I stand, I walk, I move to get the feel of this room, inhale its air, steel myself, let my muscles and my limbs relax, I walk round and round, each circuit lets my body find a rhythm, almost but not dancing, just imagining someone more elegant than me and suddenly it’s me. My body finds a comfort in these moves, the sensuous where before there was stiffness. Inklings of exhilaration ripple through me, then come as with a rising tide, I am water but I’m not; I am air, but I’m not; I am liminal, inside this cocoon, I am neither here nor there. I am free but I’m not.
Can you see me? I can’t see you. Can you see me?
My fingers flow over my robe feeling shape beneath, how I try to own this room, this space of so many eyes. I’m untying the robe, fingers move easily over pink satin, it comes away letting the robe fall open giving a glimpse of what I’m wearing, for your eyes only, and mine, a black and white basque of vertical lines with ribbons of pink gracing the top of the my bust, and yes, matching bikini panties, black and white, a ribbon and trim of pink matching that of the robe, you see them now, see more of me as I stride the room, the robe open and closes with every step; I’m teasing, I know it, I’m teasing, I can’t seem to help it. Perhaps I should stop but I can’t, my debt to be paid is not yet paid.
Can you see me? I can’t see you.
The tops of my stockings bound to the basque by equally pink suspender with tiny adjustable silver buckles. Within a few feet of each window I still circle the room feeling safety in motion, and confidence. Within a couple of feet of each window I go round and round. Within a foot of each window, how close do I dare? Not too close, just yet. I sit on the stool that sits at the heart like a refuge. I peel the robe from one shoulder, it plays across my thighs, my knees, revealing then hiding, revealing then hiding, I peel it away and away and it falls down one arm too easily, too readily, perhaps too wantonly. I let it, as though it wants me too, they want me too, I do what I think I’m told.
Can you see me?
Away from one arm now bare, I go to stand and feel it slipping so lightly from my other shoulder then arm and I let it, I let it, I stand and it’s gone, left half on the stool drifting to the floor like water spilled from a tumbler then frozen. I am, literally disrobed, in my lingerie of basque and panties, stocking and suspenders. For a moment, bare foot, I stand locked in place. I wonder what they are thinking, these shadows, these silhouettes, beyond the glass. I move once more to rediscover my rhythm and feel my body, my curves delight in the freedom whose moves perhaps exaggerate too much, but what do I care right here and right now. I feel a tension, in me in the watchers, between us being stretched beyond limits as I’m about to go beyond mine.
Can you see me? I can’t see you.
I’m feeling bolder, brave; an exhilaration igniting a flame hidden inside me that once lit won’t be extinguished, at least not until, not until. A row of spots overhead casting varied illumination around the room, this space, at once I’m captured and then released, from one to the other I’m passed around to feel their intangible fingers paw me each time they find I’m theirs. I am theirs, these eyes, these shadows, these silhouettes, I am theirs. Are they also mine, at least for a while? My moves become more exotic, perhaps, elaborate, I imagine music and let it flow through my body and maybe they’ll also hear the tune, the same one in my head.
Can you see me? I can’t see you. Can you see me?
My body is mine, but is also theirs, I feel like I’m given commands, do this, do that, but there’s only me and a homeless silence, but still, I hear them, I heed them. Within one foot of a window I turn my back and bend over; this is what I’m supposed to do. Self-conscious but I do it, I have too, it’s what my imagined commands have said. I can feel the gaze, fixed, I know what you’re doing behind the glass; it excites me, I know, I admit, I know, it excites me. Do it to me, do it on me. Another window I do the same and another and another each time feeling I have to go on, go further, go deeper, go wilder. Hands, mine, move over my body, over the basque, over my panties, down my stockings, in the heart of the room I climb on top of the stool. This wasn’t planned. I dance; my body almost swims through the air, legs together; I’m smoke and they are the mirrors. I feel I’m being provocative, daring, pushing boundaries. Whose, theirs or mine?
Can you see me? I can’t see you.
I’m balanced, as though held by strings, as though pulled by strings. I touch myself here, and touch myself there, I’m excited by my own touch while being watched, being seen, being wanted like this, being theirs while I’m here. I know what they’re doing. I’m on display, my skin is alive more so than ever, the voyeur in me, the voyeur in them. Are we one of a kind? I step from the stool and once again dance with unfettered abandon. I might as well give as good as I can, as I am.
Can you see me?
Between my legs a warmth that won’t be denied, I sit and open my legs, my thighs and touch and touch then rub and feel, then press and circle then harder and harder, I’m gripping the stool with my other hand, I daren’t let go or I will be lost forever. Harder, and harder, a little more here, a little more there, faster, I moan, I bit my lip, I hear my own voice begging without words, harder and harder until I break, snap in two, I’m overwhelmed by the shock, shaken inside and out, I shudder, let out a wail as though for those brief seconds I’m all alone, all alone. But I’m not, this private space isn’t my private space and several eyes, silhouettes, strangers have witness me cum, I feel its warmth seeping into  my panties; it’s comforting, exciting, thrilling, ecstatic.
Can you see me? I can’t see you.
For moment uncounted I don’t move, I can’t move, my still trembling limbs won’t let me. My nipples hidden and pressing against the well-fitted basque. I open my eyes. Are they still watching? I focus my eyes. Yes they are, their shadows give them away which means, which means, this isn’t over. They want more, they expect more, a debt to be paid requires much, much more.
Can you see me? I can’t see you. Can you see me?

© Emmaleela