Getting wild

The energy in the room shifts as I slide off the bachelor's lap, my boots clicking against the hardwood as I turn to face the couch. The latex clings to me, the straps still loose around my shoulders, leaving my chest bare and catching the dim light.

I don't say anything. I just sink down onto the cushions, letting my back hit the soft fabric, and I stretch out like I'm claiming the whole couch. My legs lift, one at a time, until my knees are bent and my thighs fall open.

The slingshot bikini is doing exactly what it was designed to do — a thin band of black latex cutting across my hips, the fabric between my legs barely there, disappearing into the shadow of my thighs. I can feel the cool air against my skin, the sensitive edges of my areolas still exposed, and I know exactly what they're seeing.

I run a hand slowly up my stomach, letting my fingers pause at the base of my chest, the other hand trailing down my inner thigh.

I don't look at any of them. I look at the ceiling, letting my head fall back, my throat exposed. The music pulses through the room, and I let my hips shift with the beat, a small, deliberate roll that makes the latex pull tighter.

"You picked the outfit, bachelor." My voice carries over the music, low and breathy. "You imagined what it'd look like. Now you get to see it."

I hold the pose, letting the silence stretch, letting them drink it in. The muscular guy has moved to the armchair, his eyes fixed on me, hands resting on his knees. The dark-haired one is leaning against the wall, drink forgotten in his grip.

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