"A Crime to be This Sexy"

We were escorted through a discreet side entrance straight to our private viewing box; low-slung, practically hovering over the stage itself, close enough that we could feel the bass vibrating through the floor. The air inside was cool and crisp, with plush reclining seats that faced a wall of high-def screens mirroring the main stage in razor-sharp clarity. A long table held Joe’s favorite snacks and drinks; Iris had orchestrated every detail: ice-cold Pepsis sweating in frosted bottles, cherry 7-Ups lined up like soldiers, a rainbow of Red Bulls, a sprawling charcuterie board of paper-thin salami, aged cheeses, fresh watermelon wedges glistening with juice, ripe strawberries, mango slices still sticky-sweet. It was everything he’d ever quietly wished he could put in a rider but was too humble (or embarrassed) to ask for.

Iris had quietly secured a few bottles of our favorite wines for herself and me, but the entire spread screamed Joe; thoughtful, indulgent, unapologetic.

He barely had time to take it in before a pretty blonde server, all bright eyes, popped the cap off a Pepsi with a practiced flick and handed it to him.

“Enjoy the show,” she coo'd. She turned to us next, offering wine. Iris and I each took a glass; crisp white for me, deep red for her; while Joe took a long, slow pull from the bottle, throat working, a low hum of satisfaction rumbling in his chest.

We took our seats and I curled against his side, legs tucked under me, my hand resting high on his thigh. Iris settled on my other side, her silver dress catching the low light, her bare shoulder brushing mine. We exchanged a quick, conspiratorial smile; both of us bursting with the secret we were keeping: this wasn’t just a nice night out. This was the first time a project would be fully funded, no budget constraints, no compromises. Joe had no idea how close he was to being seen by the entire world.

A prerecorded intro flickered on the screens: Sabrina in a steaming bathtub, bubbles clinging to her collarbones, nipples just barely hidden, eyes locked on the camera as she purred the opening notes. The music flooded the box through hidden high-end speakers; crystal clear, enveloping. The screens showed every detail in unforgiving 4K: droplets sliding down her throat, the slow reveal of her body as the robe swallowed her, hips rolling like she was already fucking the camera.

Joe smiled; quiet, boyish, delighted; and took another long drink.

I pressed closer, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You deserve every second of this,” I whispered.

Sabrina stepped onto the stage and the robe fell away.

The custom skin-tight showgirl suit underneath was pure Harley Quinn fantasy; black and red diamonds sparkling under the lights, corset cinched impossibly tight, riding high on her hips, fishnets climbing her thighs. She moved like she owned the stage, every roll of her hips and toss of her pigtails deliberate, teasing.

We danced; Joe pulling me into his arms first, then Iris, then both of us at once, bodies swaying, laughter mixing with the music. His hands slid low on my waist, fingers brushing the bare skin of my thigh through the high slit in my gown. Iris pressed against his back, her breasts soft against him, her lips grazing his neck. We sang along, off-key and shameless, reveling in the spectacle.

Joe had spent years working harder than anyone, being the best partner to me, the best friend and boss to Iris, the steady center of our tight-knit family. Tonight felt like the universe finally paying him back in full.

Sabrina changed outfits throughout; Wonder Woman in glittering gold sequins that caught the light on every thrust of her hips, Supergirl in a tiny pleated skirt that flipped up to flash red panties, Poison Ivy in green vines that barely covered anything, leaves strategically placed over her nipples and mound, the fabric so thin we could see the outline of her pussy lips when she bent. Each transformation drew louder cheers from the crowd, but in our box it felt intimate, like she was stripping just for us, and my mind kept drifting to something more.

Every time she bent low, ass high, pigtails swinging, I imagined Joe behind her; hands gripping those narrow hips, yanking her back onto his thick cock, stretching that tight little body until she screamed his name. Every time she dropped to her knees during a breakdown, mouth open, tongue out, I pictured her on her knees for him; lips stretched wide around his shaft, drool dripping down her chin, eyes watering as he fucked her throat while he held her pigtails like reins. Every costume change; Wonder Woman, Supergirl, Poison Ivy; fed the fantasy: Sabrina bound in her own vines, legs spread, cunt dripping as Joe pounded into her, her tiny frame shaking, tits bouncing, begging for more while I was close, licking where they joined, tasting her sweetness mixed with his cum. My pussy clenched, and if I was wearing any panties I'd have ruined another pair.

I wanted to see her struggle to take him; watch her pretty face twist in pleasure-pain as he filled her deeper than she thought possible, her tight walls fluttering around his girth, her moans turning to broken sobs when he finally came inside her, flooding her until it leaked down her thighs in thick white ropes. I wanted to watch it; every thrust, every gasp, every time she came on his cock.

Then came the moment.

Members of Sabrina’s team appeared at the edge of our box, smiling, gesturing us forward.

Joe’s eyes lit up; he knew what was coming. He’d seen the bit before the last time he brought me. But he didn’t know it would be him tonight.

The house lights rose.

Sabrina moved to the lip of the stage in a sleek floor-length red-and-black Harley Quinn dress, pigtails swinging, eyes scanning until they locked on Joe.

She pressed a demure hand to her chest; mock arousal; lips parting in exaggerated surprise.

“Girls, come out here,” she called to her dancers; all in Poison Ivy "henchwoman" looks, green and black, vines curling around their bodies like restraints. “I’ve just seen the most gorgeous man in the world.”

The crowd roared.

Joe couldn’t stop the ear-to-ear grin. Iris and I stood close on either side of him, nodding, laughing, agreeing.

“And I do think…” Sabrina continued, voice dropping into a sultry purr, “…it is a crime to be this fucking handsome.”

Sirens wailed; red and blue lights flashed. The audience lost it. The jumbotron zoomed in on Joe; tux sharp, smile wide, eyes sparkling under the lights.

“Oh my,” Sabrina breathed, fanning herself. “And you’re dressed so well. Look at this deadly thing, ladies.”

She turned slightly, letting the Botton half of the dress split to the floor; revealing tight black-and-red booty shorts hugging her hips, the fabric so thin it outlined her pussy lips. “Look what you did!” she exclaimed, smiling seductively.

She was a hell of a performer; but Joe had made my dress fall to the floor twice today. The memory made my cunt throb, fresh slick coating my sex.

“And oh my… look at this…”

The camera panned to Iris and me; my cocktail dress shimmering, Iris’s silver catching every light.

“This stud has two ladies with him. Two gorgeous women at that.”

The crowd whistled, cheered.

“I bet he can handle both of you with ease,” Sabrina teased, voice dripping with implication.

I nodded vigorously; shameless, grinning.

Iris ducked her face into my shoulder, blushing hard, but smiling.

Sabrina laughed; bright, delighted. “Oh, one of them agrees, but the other is so shy!” She laughed genuinely. Hearty and thick.

She beckoned her dancers closer.

“Well, ladies… I may need to rely on you to cuff him up.”

One of them handed her signature pink handcuffs.

“I may need to follow up with this criminally hot stud after the show. What do you think?”

The audience screamed.

I whistled loud, grinning.

Joe took the cuffs from Sabrina with a playful wink, blew her a friendly kiss.

“I’ll see you after the show, bad boy,” Sabrina purred as the opening chords of “Tears” kicked in.

Joe turned to me, cuffs glinting, eyes wicked.

He tossed them to me.

I caught them one-handed, heart racing.

He held out his wrists.

I slipped the cuffs on; click, click; locking them tight, the metal cool against his skin.

We were led back to our box, the crowd still roaring behind us.

Joe flexed his wrists, testing the cuffs, then looked at me with that slow, dangerous smile.

“Strong enough?” he asked, voice low and filthy.

I leaned in, lips brushing his ear, hand sliding down to palm his cock through the tux pants, not caring if the camera caught it,

“We’ll find out later,” I whispered.

The lights dimmed again.

The show rolled on.

But all I could think about was later; those cuffs, his wrists bound.