Kara
Two sheets of long white silk hang from the ceiling. Nothing else. No harness, no other safety precaution—only fabric.
I must be fucking insane.
The fabric looks so flimsy with the stage lights shining through it, and the photos from Evian are still fresh in my mind.
Will these sheets even hold me? They have before…but will they now?
The ugly image of my body sprawled on the polished floor takes hold of my mind and refuses to let go.
How much fucking soap will it take to clean up the blood? Will they ever be able to get it all out, or would the floor be stained forever?
Loser. Fucking loser. That’s all you are—a loser. Kara the Loser.
The words repeat over and over in my head until I think I might explode.
Shit.
Self-doubt creeps into the crevices of my mind and spreads throughout my entire body. It oozes through and out of me. There is no fucking way I can do this.
The music starts playing. It’s my cue.
My heart beats wildly in my throat. I’m afraid I won’t be able to breathe, let alone perform. My mouth is dry, and it’s difficult to swallow.
But then I think of my men. I think of Chase and Eric.
Briefly I see their eyes, their smiles, their cocks.
I reach for the silk sheet hanging in front of me. Instead of wrapping it skillfully around my ankle, I end up with my leg badly tangled in it.
Not a good fucking start.
I disentangle myself from the silk and try again. This time, I wrap my ankle up in the silk properly and begin to climb—but then my secondary fear sets in.
I’m scared that the silk wraps aren’t going to hold my weight. As soon as I’m wrapped in them, they’re going to rip and tear, and I’m going to fall onto the ground.
Splat.
I reach up with sweaty palms, trying to focus on the music, the silk, and the climb.
They’re not so different from silk bed sheets, really, when I think about it. I imagine being in Chase and Eric’s bed, with the sheets tangled artfully around me.
It provides a little comfort.
Up and up, I need to move. Turn, rotate, split the leg, and stretch. There’s applause. I breathe a tiny sigh of relief.
But the higher I climb, the harder I will fall.
Fuck.
I need to fucking concentrate.
Left hand around the silk, pulling upward. Up and up, I go.
Weightless in the air, light as a feather. The only thing that matters is the way the silk caresses my body and—here’s the real kicker—making sure that I don’t let go.
I still can’t believe I’m doing this, but I guess that’s not the most important thing anymore.
Chase and Eric believe I can do this. They love me, they care about me, and they’ve been the driving force that’s propelled me this far.
I can’t let them down.
But if I don’t stop fucking worrying, I’ll ruin the routine and all of our chances at the crown with it.
I push all other thoughts out of my mind. I glance below, trying to pick Chase and Eric out from the crowd. I’m too far up to actually make out individual faces, but there are two forms in the seats below that look bigger, burlier, and sexier than the others.
Somehow, in my heart, I know it must be them.
Chase and Eric are watching me. I’m dancing only for them.
God, they’re so fucking hot.
A tingling sensation spreads through me. The silk is cold against my hot skin, and, if I imagine hard enough, I can feel Chase and Eric’s hands on my body as I spin high above the ground. Below me, a sea of faces goes in and out of focus, but I only have eyes for two of them anyway.
I spin faster and faster until I come to an abrupt stop.
The material rubs against my skin, and tiny electric shock waves pulse through me. I rock forward, then back, swinging above the crowd.
Then, I rock forward again and allow the silk sheets to unfurl around my thighs, calves, and ankles, sending me plummeting towards the ground.
The crowd gasps—I hear their concern and feel the tension in the air, especially when I keep falling, faster, and faster towards the stage until it looks like I really am going to go splat against the floor.
And if that happens, I’ll be a Kara pancake.
I imagine Chase and Eric’s bodies against mine, kissing and touching me as I fall. They caress my body, and they tease and stroke me in places only my men are allowed to stroke.
About ten feet off the ground, I stop, and the crowd applauds with relief and awe.
My legs come out in a perfect split. I throw my head back and revel in the feel of cool air against my hot pussy, bare and on display, dripping wet and begging to be taken by my men.
I’m not worried about falling anymore. I know the sheets are going to hold my weight.
If I do fuck this up, I know Eric and Chase will be there to catch me—and even if they won’t, for once, I finally feel like it’s okay.
I don’t need them to catch me.
I can catch myself.
I start another climb, up and up until I’m no more than a sexy focal point on the ceiling for the crowd.
The music is coming to its end.
Let’s wrap this thing up.
My body feels as if it’s going to burst into fucking flames. My insides are alight, and all of my nerve endings are standing at attention.
I’ve climbed so fucking high I can’t make out anyone or anything below.
But I know what’s down there in the crowd, all buff and handsome and muscular and waiting for me.
And I know I have to come down sometime. Might as well make it on cue.
I let myself fall.
At first, my fall is slow and controlled. My body tumbles downward, but I’m taking it one spin at a time.
Then, I start picking up speed.
Faster and faster I spin towards the ground.
The silk glides against my body with total ease.
My pussy is throbbing. It’s so fucking hot it’s burning me up.
The harder it throbs, the better it feels. The sensation sends explosions coursing through me.
Holy fuck, I’m going to come.
The crowd is terrified. I can feel that nervous energy pulsating through the crowd watching me—just like I can feel my own fucking pleasure pulsating through my cunt.
“Someone catch her!” a man yells as I threaten to crash right through the stage.
Tough luck, buddy.
I don’t need anyone to catch me.
Not this time.
The crowd gasps again, bracing for impact as—finally—my head comes down towards the stage.
I stop at the last possible second, only fractions of an inch from the ground.
My naked body is totally fucking exposed.
I’m upside down, panting, breasts heaving, as wave after wave of pleasure slam through my body.
Raucous applause fills the room and assaults my senses.
My eyes are wide open—so is my mouth.
I spread my lips into a smile as the orgasm subsides and gives way to something almost just as good.
The sweet elation of success.
Kara Gilmore, the girl who fell.
And this time, it was actually on purpose.