Chapter Three
The Viceroy Session
The Viceroy was one of my favorite hotels. So classy, so elegant. It felt wrong to show up there braless, in the casual amber-beige dress W had bought me. But if he was going to cut shit off me, it was going to be his own shit he’d purchased.
I mean, fuck, I shouldn’t have even been here. I should have let Nina come instead and do her thing. I could have handed off the eye mask to her. Instead I was fastening it onto my own eyes and knocking on the door. We were high in the air, nineteenth floor. Would have been nice to actually see the view, instead of dark leather blackness. Unlike the first time, I didn’t smile when he opened the door.
“Chere,” he said. He sounded happy to see me, and gruff at the same time. How did he do that? He smelled the same as I remembered, with that enticing, understated cologne. He pulled me inside and shut the door, and pushed me back against it. Then he was kissing me, not a polite, welcome-back kiss, but a hard, commanding kiss that pushed my head back against the wood. My bag fell from my grasp and hit the floor. His fingers were on my jaw, my chin, my braless breasts.
“Nice dress,” he murmured. “It looks good on you.”
He trapped my wrists behind my back with one hand, and tugged the hemline up with the other. I wasn’t wearing panties because I didn’t want him to have the joy of ripping them off again. But he seemed to find just as much joy in groping my bare pussy.
Thirty seconds into this date, my pussy was full of his fingers and my mouth was full of his tongue. I didn’t normally kiss clients but he didn’t leave me much choice. At least he was a good kisser. I could tell he’d brushed for me, or had a mint. I was pinned against the door by his big, and yes, tall body. I wanted to see him so badly. If I just yanked off the blindfold…
Ohh, damn. He’d found my clit.
I danced a little and pulled at my wrists where he held them. He stopped fondling me and gave a mocking laugh. “It’s good to see you again. I didn’t know if you’d agree to a second date.”
I sagged against the door, hating how easily he worked me up. “I needed the money,” I said.
He laughed louder this time, and his laugh sounded as cool and mean as my words. “You aren’t here for the money. Not this time. You’re here because you want me, you lying piece of shit. Don’t be precious.”
“Don’t call me a piece of shit,” I snapped back.
He pushed my dress higher and tugged it over my head, being careful not to dislodge the mask. As soon as I lowered my arms, my wrists were gathered behind my back. “No, not the—” I protested.
Zip ties. Grr.
“I don’t trust you any farther than I can throw you,” he said. “You get the zip ties for now.”
“You’re a freak. It doesn’t have to be this way. I can do so many wonderful things with my hands.” I drew out the word sooo to hint at endless, sensual possibilities.
His only response was another laugh. “I think your hands are wonderful bound behind your back. I’m the consumer in this relationship, and you’re the product, and if I want to zip tie your ankles to your neck for the next four hours, I goddamn will.”
Ugh, not a nice picture. “You only hired me for two hours,” I said. “And I don’t think that sounds very safe.”
“I think it’s time we shut you up. Get on your knees, Chere.”
I felt extra naked as I obeyed, since my vision was obscured. I had no idea what the room looked like or if anyone besides W was there. What if he was taping this? What if he was streaming it live to five million people? Maybe he was some porn kingpin. He certainly had money. The Viceroy wasn’t cheap, and my services weren’t cheap, and even the plain, casual dress he’d bought me wasn’t cheap.
I heard him shed his clothes, heard the rip of a condom wrapper. I tried to call on Miss Kitty’s glamour and equanimity as he shoved gracelessly into my mouth. His fingers molded around my scalp, not grasping, just holding me where he wanted me. It was so hard to give a civilized blowjob without your hands. I tried to control the depth of his thrusting. I moved my head and hummed against his length. I tried to make it classy.
He wasn’t having classy.
“Don’t try to be cute,” he said. “I don’t want your pretty whore tricks. I want to use you. I want your body to be mine. Do you understand?”
His fingers moved against my hair, my cheeks, my ears, manipulating me for his own pleasure. How could I not understand? My hands were bound behind my back and I couldn’t see anything. His cock was my entire world, his smell and the smell of the fruity condom. It didn’t belong, that happy, fruity condom smell. I wished it was just his smell. I wished there wasn’t a rule about condoms.
I wished I wasn’t having these thoughts, because holy hell. Bareback was dangerous. Bareback meant you were worthless, and Miss Kitty wasn’t worthless.
I took him deeper, focusing on the blowjob, focusing on my job, which I’d worked damn hard at over the years. He was just a client, and I had to serve him for two hours. I couldn’t let crazy thoughts start freaking me out. I took him deep in my throat until I gagged. I tried to be “his,” which meant accepting his hard thrusts and letting the drool leak out of the corners of my mouth. I didn’t use “whore tricks,” and I was finally rewarded with his guttural bark and deep, thrusting sigh.
Did I dare hope that was it? That his frenzied nut in my mouth would be enough to satisfy him for this session? He took his time drawing away from me. “Stay there,” he said, when I sat back on my heels. “Don’t move. Don’t get up.”
Shit. I suspected the blowjob was a mere aperitif. It had been fifteen minutes, maybe, since I knocked on the door. One hour and forty-five minutes to go. I heard water running in the bathroom. Strangely, my freakiest customers were also my most fastidious. A moment later I heard him return, and felt his hand beneath my chin. He tipped my face up and swabbed the drool that was drying in the corners of my mouth and along my neck.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome.”
“Can I take off the mask?”
“No.”
Argh. I shook my head like I could somehow dislodge the straps. He was off again, running water, clinking ice into a glass. What the hell was he doing? Why wouldn’t he let me see him? Or see anything? But I knew why—because it kept me perpetually on edge.
When he grabbed my face again, I didn’t feel it coming. He put a glass to my mouth and said, “Drink.”
What was he holding against my lips? What did he want me to drink? Might be water, might be battery acid. It turned out to be something alcoholic. I choked and sucked in a breath.
“What is that?” I gasped.
“Scotch. Be civilized, for God’s sake.”
He tipped the glass up again and I drank, because my other option was to drool it all over the front of me after he’d just finished cleaning me up.
“I don’t really like the taste of liquor,” I said.
“I don’t really like the taste of pussy, but we’re all adults here. Stand up.”
I tried to be graceful about it. I probably failed. “Where are you taking me?”
“Nowhere scary.” His arms guided me forward until he sat me down on the bed. He pushed me back and I relaxed into the clean-smelling sheets. Breathe in. Breathe out. My mouth tasted like scotch now instead of the flavored condom. He kissed me again, open-mouthed. Why did he kiss me so much, when his main goal was to hurt me?
“W,” I said against his lips. “You’re so strange.”
He pushed my legs open and fondled me. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” His fingers slid through my wetness, teasing my clit. “Chere,” he said, mimicking my earlier statement, “you’re so horny.”
Yes, that was a fact. I was a horny, confused, scared call girl being groped by a person I still hadn’t laid eyes on. I couldn’t get comfortable. When I shifted and drew my legs together, he tsked and pushed them apart.
“Leave them open.”
I sighed. “You make it very hard for me to do my job properly.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’m supposed to be beautiful and alluring, and sexy. I can’t do any of that when I’m trussed up like some hostage.”
His lips grazed my ear. “I think you’re most beautiful and alluring when you’re trussed up like a hostage. Open your damn legs.”
He accompanied this insistent command with a couple of stinging slaps to my inner thighs. I tried to roll away from the pain, only to have my hair grabbed and my body yanked against his.
“Stay where I put you. Be a good girl. I like good girls.”
I gritted my teeth until he loosened his grasp on my hair. “So, are you one of those Master guys?” I asked. “Those BDSM Dominants with whips and chains and collars?”
“Sometimes.”
“You have slaves?”
His lips brushed over my cheek and down my jaw. “Sometimes.”
I shivered. I felt like his slave at the moment, although there were no whips, chains, or collars. My thighs still stung where he’d slapped me. “I’m not into that shit,” I whispered.
“Noted.”
“Why then?” I asked. “Why me? Why didn’t you make arrangements to see a call girl who’s into this?”
“The girls who are into this aren’t as fun to play with. They aren’t as fun to torment.” He stroked my breasts and squeezed each nipple until I whined and pulled away from him.
“The thing is—” I began.
“The thing is, I fucking paid for you, and I want to play with you. I don’t want to talk anymore about whether you’re into this. I don’t want any more complaining. I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. I promise you’ll always be able to walk out of our sessions with your body intact.”
“That’s so sexy. Leaving me intact.”
His hand tightened in my hair. “Don’t be sassy. I don’t like sassy. Try being submissive.”
“I told you, I’m not into—”
“And I told you I don’t care. If you complain to me one more time, I’m going to punish you.”
Holy crap. I should have passed him on to Nina, even with the huge gratuity from last time. “Do I have to call you Master?” I asked as submissively as I could.
“No. You wouldn’t mean it. But I’d like you to listen to everything I say, and obey me without questioning and complaining.”
“But what will you do to me?” That wasn’t a complaint, was it? Just a question.
“No bad things today,” he said. “Only good things. Well, we’re working up to the scarier things, aren’t we?”
“Are we?”
He didn’t answer. I was lifted and turned over, his compliant toy. He arranged me so my ass was in the air and my shoulders were pressed down on the bed. “Ever been spanked, Chere?” he asked.
“Of course I’ve been spanked, many times.”
“Hmm.” There was a world of amusement in that hmm. “So I guess a little spanking won’t bother you too much.”
Smack. He cracked his hand down on my butt cheeks and it wasn’t like any spanking I’d ever received. Ohmygodohmygod. I collapsed on the bed and used my bound hands to cover my posterior. “That fucking hurt. Are you crazy?”
“That sounds like a complaint.”
“No—” I cried, but the punishment had commenced. This was no playful, sexy spanking, but a major beatdown on my ass. When I tried to crawl away—as any sane person would—he slid an arm around my waist to trap me in place. He spanked me with his other hand, alternating from cheek to cheek, each spank harder than the last.
Oh God, I couldn’t be still. I yanked and jerked and fought him, but he was too strong. I added that to his list of attributes. So strong. Hard spanker.
“Quiet,” he said, as my cries rose in volume. “You’re in a hotel.”
As the spanking continued, it bypassed stinging and throbbing and settled in the area of agony. I tried desperately to shield myself but his body was in the way. “Oh please,” I whispered between yelps. “Oh please, stop.”
“When you’ve had enough.”
“Enough for what?” I started crying, I couldn’t help it. It hurt too much and he wasn’t allowing me time to process the pain. “Aren’t you supposed to give me some word to make it stop?”
“A safe word?” He paused for a moment. “I know how much spanking you need, Chere. I won’t give you any more than that.”
“But—”
Smack, smack, smack. Back to the spanking, which wasn’t a spanking at all, but freaking destruction. I kicked my legs and fought him as well as I could in my state of entrapment. There was nothing I could do to end it, no way to make it stop.
“Ow, please,” I cried. I was literally bawling now, rivers of tears seeping from beneath my mask. “Please, you’re hurting me.”
“I know.”
He knew. I wondered if he really knew. I wondered if he understood the power in those torture-slabs he called hands. My lips trembled with the effort not to scream. When he finally stopped, I waited in utter stillness, terrified he would start again. My ass felt like a thousand throbbing impressions of his fingers. His arm loosened around my waist as he caressed my butt.
“Now, Chere,” he said quietly, “now you’ve been spanked.”
“You hurt me!”
“I’m going to hurt you every time we get together. That’s sex for me…hurting you, watching you squirm.”
“That’s sick.”
“Don’t judge.”
Glib motherfucker. This wasn’t funny. My ass hurt so much my legs were shaking. He stroked my throbbing cheeks a minute or two longer. He wouldn’t let me lie down or relax. I had to kneel there with my ass in the air, waiting for more punishment. Please, no more punishment. I’d be submissive as hell if that’s what he wanted, just no more spanking.
He put a hand on my back as if to settle me. His palm slid up and down my spine and I understood that he wanted me to stay where I was. Yes, Master. The bed dipped as he rolled off it. Rummaging noises. Condom wrapper. He parted my sore cheeks and I was one big cringe under his fingers. A wild sob escaped.
“Don’t cry,” he said. “The whole point of that spanking was to get you ready for my cock.” He slid the head up and down my slit. “You’re so wet, Chere. You loved that spanking. It made you feel alive.”
“No.” I whispered my denial into the sheets, not wanting him to hear. Because it was a lie. I was so unbelievably wet, and my ass was so unbelievably sore. He jammed his fingers inside me, pistoned them in and out and rubbed my wetness up toward my ass.
“I don’t even think you need lube,” he murmured.
“I need lube!”
“Not yet.”
He slid into my pussy. I didn’t know if I was turned on, or my body was just so stimulated from the spanking, but it felt like heaven. Every inch felt like heaven. My hips bucked without intention, it just happened. I wanted more of him, all of him. He made a soft, satisfied noise and pulled out of me. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.” My voice sounded a bit desperate.
“You want more?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, Sir. Be polite, Chere.”
The last thing on my mind was manners, but I felt so empty, so needy that I complied. “Yes, Sir. Please fuck me.”
And he did. He eased back into me, slowly, so I felt him everywhere. My breasts tingled, my ass clenched, my toes curled. Yes, it was like that. But I soon remembered that he was a sadist, because every time I got in that perfect rhythm, or found that perfect spot, he stopped, or moved, or twisted my nipples and unbalanced everything.
“Oh, please,” I would whine or protest, and he would laugh.
I wanted to come so badly, but the teasing went on, accompanied by lots of filthy talk about what a whore I was, and all the depraved sex acts he planned to commit on my body. I’d almost come eight or nine times when he shifted his weight and teased the head of his cock over my asshole.
I cringed. I did anal, sure. I was great at anal, but I didn’t usually do anal with sadists.
“Don’t be too rough,” I begged.
He seemed to take offense at that. He spanked my ass, smack, smack, each cheek, as hard as before. “Why don’t you fucking trust me?” he asked.
“Because you hurt me!” The lingering fire in my ass cheeks was proof of that. “And because I can’t see you, and you won’t tell me your name.”
“So little trust,” he said. But he did use lube, smearing it in and around my asshole, which was good because he sported a pretty hefty girth. My legs shook. My whole body shook. It was partly because I was tired of holding this ass-in-the-air position, and partly because I was scared of the upcoming pain.
“Come here.” He lay me down on my side, cradling me against the front of his body. My bound hands made fists between us, and his cock jutted through my legs until he reached down to point it at my ass.
I braced as he pushed forward. I couldn’t help tensing up. He jammed his cock into my ass anyway, wedging the head inside. I moaned at the usual feeling of stretching and discomfort. Anal was sexy to me in theory, and I loved watching it in porn, but God, it hurt when you first got started.
“Please go slow,” I gasped, leaning my head back against his chest.
“Hush.”
And in that “hush” I heard your ass is mine, and I’m going to do this, so deal with it, and you don’t want another spanking, do you?
He pressed deeper, assisted by the lube. My ass spasmed around him, trying to impede the invasion. He didn’t stop until the entire length of his thick cock was buried balls-deep. I counted the inches. Remember, I still hadn’t come.
I didn’t expect to come now, because assfucking was sticky and painful and awkward, and anal thrusting didn’t feel that good. A monster cock quickly became a minus when that monster cock was sliding in and out of your very sensitive asshole.
“You’re so tight,” he murmured against my ear. “I love fucking women in the ass. Since you sucked me off earlier, I’ll be able to fuck your ass a long time. A long, long time.”
That brought another moan from me, and a chuckle from him.
“Do you really not like it, or are you pretending not to like it to make me happy?” he asked.
“It’s not that I don’t like it,” I said, which was true. “It’s just that it doesn’t feel very good.”
“How masochistic of you, to want something that doesn’t feel good.”
I almost corrected him, reminded him that I didn’t say I wanted it. I mean, he was the one who wanted it. If not for him, this wasn’t happening right now. He could still be in my pussy, almost-but-not-quite making me come.
“You know why anal feels so good to me?” he went on in that mesmerizing whisper. “Because I have all the power in this. I could wreck your body right now if I wanted to. I could hurt you so bad. You’re trembling and arching to me, and accepting all this because you don’t want me to hurt you.”
I let out a breath. Was his voice mesmerizing because of his words, or because he was sliding inside me again, prying me open, and yes, threatening me with the thick, hard weapon between his legs? “Please don’t hurt me,” I whimpered, and I think I did that to turn him on.
“I won’t,” he said, so gently, “as long as you’re a good girl and let me do what I want.”
We were on our sides, lying in bed, but there was nothing comfortable or relaxed about the way he drove into me. When I tried to push his body back with my hands, he yanked them high against my spine. My shoulders ached. My ass was stuffed full, and he seemed like he could go on another hour. When I tried to squirm away from the hard, repetitive thrusts, he reached around and spread his fingers across my pelvis. I was his hole to fuck. He wasn’t letting me escape even an inch of his invasion.
It occurred to me that fighting him probably made him want to prolong it. If I surrendered and lay there—like a fuck hole—maybe he’d lose interest and finish faster. I stopped resisting and relaxed my tense muscles. Miss Kitty had become Miss Fuckhole. Okay, fine. I got paid plenty of money to be a fuckhole.
But as soon as I surrendered and stopped participating in my anal subjugation, he was ready with something new. More stimulation. Damn him, I didn’t want it. The hand anchoring my pelvis slid down. One probing fingertip settled atop my clit, setting off a stuttering throb of sensation. I gasped. It felt so good. I wanted to come so badly, even now. All that unfulfilled tension from earlier was still there, aching and teeming.
“There’s my girl,” he said. I could hear the amusement in his voice, but I didn’t care. I needed more touching, more stroking. He rationed it out to me, the lightest brushes, engineered to keep me simmering right at the edge. He teased my nipples, making me tremble and cry in frustration. This went on for an ungodly period of time. No one had ever fucked my ass—or kept me on the edge of orgasm—for half this long.
“Please let me come,” I begged. He’d long since stripped me of my pride, another thing no client had ever done. No. Client. Ever. “Please, I can’t bear this.”
“You’re bearing it,” he said. “It’s beautiful.”
He licked behind my ear and tapped my clitoris again. It was torture. No, it was amazing. No, it was evil. He must have realized I’d really had enough, that I was about to check out in the very real sense of losing my sanity, because his thrusts quickened, and his fingers stayed on my clit. They played between my pussy lips, holding me open in the same way he held my soul open, via this sodomy session from hell. If he left me unsatisfied now, I would have disintegrated.
But he didn’t leave me unsatisfied. He toyed with me and urged me on until we climaxed together. I didn’t know what his orgasm was like, but mine was so intense that it was painful. The apex of it was literally painful, but once the pain softened into something I could process, ohhh. It felt really good. Throbbing, melting, singing, shuddering, super-extended orgasm good. And after the initial, incredible minute-long orgasm, there were still aftershocks that rippled inside me for seconds at a time. My spanked cheeks didn’t hurt anymore. My reamed ass didn’t hurt. Everything felt amazingly perfect.
His orgasm couldn’t have been as good as mine, but he was silent and shuddery for a long time too. In fact, he stayed in my ass until he was almost completely soft, and even then, I could sense his reluctance to draw away. He got up and went to the bathroom. I didn’t trust myself to walk so I stayed where I was. I couldn’t clean up, anyway, until he released my hands.
He came back and I felt the bed dip. I was nudged onto my stomach. He slapped my ass again. “You’re nice and red, Chere. You might have a few lingering bruises. A souvenir until you see me next time.”
“If there’s a next time.”
He turned me back over and kissed me, tasting faintly of the scotch we’d had earlier. “Oh, there’ll be a next time.”
“Not if you don’t stop blindfolding me. I can’t stand it.”
“I know you don’t like it. I won’t do that to you forever.”
His fingers traced over my face. I wished I could do the same to him, just to know anything about him, but I couldn’t. It frustrated me so bad.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “I’ve got to go soon.”
“Go then,” I said, turning my face away from his touch. “You pay for these sessions. You can leave any time.”
He rose, and I felt bad I’d been so snippity to him after what we’d just shared, after the orgasm he’d just given me, which eclipsed even the orgasms he’d given me last week, which used to be the best orgasms of my life.
“I wish you’d tell me your name,” I said. “Even just your first name.”
“The E’s stand for Edward and Estlin.”
“You’re not E.E. Cummings, and it’s wrong that you use E.E. Cumming for your fake name. So wrong.”
“He’s one of my favorite poets. At least I left off the ‘s’ so there wouldn’t be any confusion.”
“I bet you don’t know one thing E.E. Cummings has written.”
I jumped when he grabbed my hair. Shit, I never saw him coming. He yanked it once and tilted my head back, and kissed me hard this time, like a punishment. “You’re a sassy little girl,” he said against my lips. “If we weren’t out of time, I’d punish you for that sass. Sex dolls should be seen and not heard.”
Ugh, he was a disgusting pig. A sexy disgusting pig, which was so much worse.
“If you won’t tell me your real name, at least let me see what you look like,” I said. “If you won’t let me see what you look like, I’m not coming back.”
“I’ll miss you.”
That did it. His smug, self-satisfied “I’ll miss you” had just driven the final nail into his coffin. I wasn’t going to see him again. No. See how smug he was then. Asshole.
“You’re not going to miss me,” I said, “and I’m not coming back. Here’s a tip. There are a lot of high-class whores in New York who specialize in BDSM. Maybe you should look into it.”
“Shut your mouth and be quiet.”
I clamped my lips shut, not because he told me to, but because he was an asshole not worthy of any more words. Ten minutes or more went by. I had no way of knowing if he was getting dressed, or primping, or just sitting there staring at me. I thought I heard a pen drop on the desk, and a rustle of paper.
“I brought you another skirt and blouse,” he said. “You can take them when you leave.”
I wondered what he’d done with my old skirt. I wondered why he told me to bring extra clothes when he hadn’t cut my clothes off this time. I wondered why I cared.
He lifted me off the bed. I heard the rustles and noises and smells that were already so familiar to me in my enforced blindness, and the scissors against my wrists.
“You can stay here all night if you like,” he said, slicing through the zip ties. “If you don’t want to go home to your asshole boyfriend. But don’t dare bring him here.”
I stood a moment in shock, long enough for him to squeeze my hand and leave. The door lock engaged with a click. How could W have known I had a boyfriend? Maybe it was just an assumption. But then why had he called Simon an asshole? He is an asshole, Chere, even if you won’t admit it.
No, W couldn’t know about Simon. I stood there rubbing my wrists like an idiot before I finally reached up and unbuckled the mask. The first thing I saw was my bag on the table by the window. I’d dropped that bag by the door, so W had picked it up at some point. Had he gone through it? My phone screensaver was a photo of me and Simon. My asshole boyfriend.
Jesus Christ, he could have gone through everything in my phone. He might have pawed through my wallet. He might have all my credit card numbers, my phone numbers, my home address. I felt sick. I dug for my wallet and counted my money. But no, he wouldn’t have stolen my fucking chump change. He had plenty of money.
No, he’d only stolen my privacy and peace of mind.
How dare he go through my bag and my wallet, and possibly all my phone contacts, when he wouldn’t give me the first piece of information about himself?
I was so angry, I almost didn’t notice the replacement skirt and blouse hanging on the back of the chair, or the note pinned to the plastic overlay, written in his rough, blocky hand.
Her heart breaks in a smile—and she is lust.
Mine also, little painted poem of God.
I stared at it a long time before I placed it, and then my throat went tight. He knew at least one E.E. Cummings poem. It happened to be the one with the most power to make me cry.