“It sounds…a little scary,” she murmured, and licked her lips.
“Just a little. Erotic paintings on the wall, and a display cabinet for all the plugs and dildos. And nipple clamps. And cuffs and chains.”
“And the oils and lubricants,” she reminded him hopefully.
“Oh, those are for good girls. This room won’t have any good girls in it. They are strictly forbidden.”
Michelle’s laugh was genuinely nervous now. Charles had this way of exuding menace without even knowing it; it was one of the reasons he was such a successful businessman. His hand closed around the back of her neck, exerting pressure on her shoulder blades.
“Down on your knees,” he said suddenly, pushing her into a stumble before releasing his grip. She was reluctant—the floor was filthy, uneven concrete. However, she knew better than to disobey a direct order, so she dropped down as instructed, grimacing when her stockinged knees met the dust and grime. She watched his fingers unbuckle and unbutton, always deft over the bulge in his trousers. She was never allowed to touch his prick without permission, and hardly ever during fellatio, so she kept her hands down by her sides and waited for him to remov
e it from his boxers and rub its juice-tipped bulb over her lips.
“I think I’ll start as I mean to go on,” he said. “Let’s make this the first of many. Open and suck. Use that mouth.”
Performing oral sex without being able to hold on to the root of the shaft had taken Michelle a lot of getting used to. It was so much more difficult to manipulate the man you were servicing. You cannot speed up his orgasm with a timely squeeze or a quick burst of up-and-down. It was a long and painful learning curve—Michelle was paddled every time she took longer than ten minutes to bring Charles to his climax—but she prided herself on her technique now.
She slid the tip of her tongue delicately in a circular motion around his stalk, pausing for an extended flicker around his sensitive underside. He tugged the foreskin back for her and she opened her mouth wide, accepting him inch by inch into the tight space.
“Work it, girl,” he murmured. “Nice and slow now.” He allowed her a minute or so to get into her stride, to accustom herself to the largeness and thickness of him in her mouth, to find a way of sucking that wouldn’t make her cheeks ache too badly. Then, when he had tired of her fluttering and licking and experimenting, he took a handful of her hair and pulled it hard. “Suck,” he commanded. “Suck it well, or my belt comes off. And I don’t suppose you want to spend all afternoon behind the desk with a sore arse, do you?”
Of course, she could not answer. Actually she wouldn’t have minded the sore arse so much, except there was an event planned for that evening, and she didn’t want to turn up with an already tender bum. Her response, therefore, was to step up the enthusiasm of her suction, rolling his length around between her cheeks and pushing at it with all the force of her tongue, speeding up very gradually until her head was bobbing back and forth, each backwards motion pulling at her scalp.
“Good, this is good,” he crooned. “What a good little cocksucker you are…Oh yes…” And with that he linked his hands firmly behind Michelle’s head and held it still, thrusting into her face. This bit always seemed to last much longer than it really did, the repeated back-of-the-throat battering with his cock, threatening to make her gag or choke, but rationally she knew this meant he was close, and just as the tears sprang to her eyes and her nose started to run, he released the salty gush, roaring and pulling hard at her hair, keeping her mouth full of cock until she had swallowed, with some difficulty, the last drop.
“Well done,” he said gently, dropping down and kissing the tears from her cheeks. “I want you to taste me for the rest of the afternoon. I want you, today of all days, to remember how completely you are mine, Michelle. You know that, don’t you?” He cradled her face against his shirt, which he rarely did, for fear of staining the expensive fabric. “Mine.” His hands were in her hair. It was unlike him to be so affectionate, so tender, but she was grateful for it. These moments were precious, to be clung on to and milked.
“Yours,” she whispered.
“That’s right.” He stood up again, pulling her to her feet by the elbow. The knees of her stockings had worn through and her pale flesh spilled out in a lewd ellipse. “You’d better get back to work.”
They returned upstairs. Michelle felt as if she was coated in dust and sweat and the tang of semen haunted the back of her throat, but Charles did not allow her to wash or tidy up until he had left, an hour later, after taking various measurements and checking over the bookings ledger and the accounts.
“Don’t be late tonight,” were his parting words. As if she’d dare.
Michelle always had to prepare carefully for these events. She had to be clean, pristine, a blank canvas. She took a long bath, but she didn’t use any salts or foaming cleansers because Charles always wanted her to smell of nothing. He liked her to be layered with different scents over the course of the evening, all within his control. And, he said, he wanted to be able to tell when she was aroused, rather than fighting his way through a cloud of perfume for the signs. So she scrubbed at her skin, exfoliated using a mitten and, when she was all pink and the barriers between her skin and the world had fallen away, she towelled herself dry. She blow-dried and straightened her hair, which must be loose and flowing for ease of pulling, applied a scentless body lotion, then dressed. Dressing involved extensive consultation of the list he had left her.
The pale pink silk knickers with the black ribbon lacing up the back.
The white antique lace basque with the pink embroidered flowers.
White stockings with lace tops.
Tiny white stretchy miniskirt that barely covered her behind.
The miniskirt didn’t seem to go with the rest of the ensemble. All this virginal pink and white frilliness, and then a whore’s pelmet on top. Michelle wondered what mood Charles was striving to create tonight—a wedding night with raunch, perhaps? Perhaps it would be just the two of them…a thrilling thought. But she had to admit, it was unlikely.
She buckled on sparkly strappy heels and threw on a long white plastic raincoat—somehow this was the trashiest-looking thing of all—then dashed downstairs to the waiting taxi. I wonder what the night holds in store for me. Who will be there? How many? What will the order of play be? How long will I have to perform before I am allowed to sink into Charles’ comforting arms?
The answers to all these questions lay at the top of the stairs in Charles’ seedy amusement arcade, the current headquarters of his empire. She would not miss this place when the basement was finally ready for use. Disreputable-looking characters skulked alongside the flashing machines, sniffing a lot and grunting at each other. The little blonde piece in the cash booth was yawning, engrossed in a magazine, sweetly oblivious, poor little tramp, that Charles had not employed her for her arithmetical prowess. Oh, she has it all to come. I almost envy her.
Michelle ignored her, walking past the booth to the “Staff Only” door. The blonde started and looked up from her magazine when she heard the handle turn, but she must have been briefed to expect Michelle, for she simply watched the white plastic-clad visitor for a second, then went back to her article about sixty-nine ways to enhance the sixty-nine position, or whatever.
Michelle’s heels were deafening on the uncarpeted stairs and she supposed whoever might be in the room upstairs must know she was approaching. The nerves kicked in and she experienced the familiar urge to turn back and run away that always seized her at this point. But she no longer had that option; the Fairview Hotel was more than her reward for services rendered—it was the security on those services continuing. This was how she paid her rent.
The office was empty. She took off her plastic mac and checked her face one last time. The next time she would see it, her hair would be mussed and there would be mascara trails down her cheeks, but for now she was immaculate.
She paused before knocking on the door that led out beyond the office and tried to listen for a minute—any voices or other sounds? Nothing. So she knocked, and the door was opened to her.