Tanned and startlingly handsome, John arrived wearing faded jeans and a sky blue sweatshirt with “Nantucket” embroidered in letters across the front. He looked more like a college jock than the typical paying client. He was definitely a novice—most likely some rich kid who attended the nearby Ivy League University. Arianna presumed that this John guy had grown tired of jerking off to S&M videos and now wanted to experience the real thing.
In a no nonsense tone, Arianna told him that the agreed upon fee had increased—being that the session was so last minute and all. Without batting an eye, the young man pulled out a wad, and eagerly forked over the cash—two thousand in large bills.
Excited by the sight of so much money, Arianna felt a rush, then collected herself and went on to explain that nothing rough would be tolerated. Light paddling was okay, as was verbal abuse, but restraints were not allowed.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, simultaneously nodding his agreement. “But, uh is it okay to play water sports?” he inquired uncomfortably, his face red with embarrassment.
Arianna arched a brow. “You want to pee on me?”
“Sort of,” John said with a nervous grin that displayed perfectly-even, white teeth.
“Sort of!” she replied sharply.
Unable to meet her gaze, John mumbled, “I mean, uh yeah.”
“Well I don’t think so, and I’d like for you to leave now. You can have your money back.” Arianna pushed the stack of bills toward him, and stood up for emphasis.
John looked panic-stricken. “I’m sorry. Please…keep the money.” He pushed the money back toward Arianna. “I don’t want to leave. I just thought…”
“Thought what? Do I look like someone to be pissed upon?”
“No. Not at all.” John’s eyes swept the floor in contrition. “I’m really sorry. I’m new at this. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“I didn’t think so.” She sat down, and leaned back in her chair confidently.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t see through me, but I guess you did.” John chuckled.
“I feel exposed and thoroughly ridiculous—but I really want to go through with this. Ya think you could kind of show me the ropes? Uh, no pun intended,” he added, laughing.
The calculator in Arianna’s brain was working overtime. In spite of his very casual attire, she sensed that John had money—real money. Well, perhaps not John personally, he was too young, but his background was one of wealth. His easy access to cash and the Rolex that peeked beneath his sleeve attested to that, as did his demeanor and tone of voice, now that he was feeling more at ease. Arianna softened. The young man had been sufficiently chastised, and appeared to be appropriately remorseful.
“I can certainly teach you the fundamentals of being dominated, but of course you realize that before you can become a proficient master, you’ll have to experience what it feels like to be a slave.”
“Of course,” John said, looking at Arianna with pure adoration.
“After a few sessions of obedience training, you’ll be ready to practice on a submissive. And when I think you’re ready, you can advance to spanking, water sports… and believe it or not, some of my girls enjoy being tortured. How does that sound?” Acknowledging the bulge in John’s pants, Arianna knew this session would be a piece of cake.
She led him to the peach-colored bedroom. She wasn’t going anywhere near the dungeon, no point in getting his hopes up. She left the physical stuff to Ming. Arianna got off on the psychological aspects of dominating another human being.
She’d strip him of his will, make him totally dependent upon her. Her beautiful and adoring slave would also become a continuous source of cash—lots of cash!
CHAPTER 35
Arianna reclined on the chaise longue in the Victorian bedroom. “Get undressed,” she ordered.
Anxious to oblige, John shed his sweatshirt. Grinning, he tossed it onto the shiny hardwood floor.
“Pick that up. How dare you litter the floor?”
“Sorry.” Still grinning, John grabbed the shirt. “What do you want me to do with it?” he asked, looking around the lavishly-furnished, frilly room. A crystal chandelier cast soft shadows upon the airy lace curtains at the windows. Freshly-cut tulips arranged in an antique porcelain pitcher sat atop a cherrywood bureau. A canopy of silk was suspended above a four-poster bed that dominated the room. The bed was adorned with a matching silk bedcover and ruffled lace throw pillows.
“First of all, you’re going to have to learn to address me properly.”
“Oops! Sorry. Should I call you madam?” he asked with a sly grin and a wink.
Arianna bolted upright from her reclining position. “Do you find me amusing, John?”
“No, I just…”
“Then wipe that ridiculous grin off your face.”
The smile vanished.
“I won’t tolerate disrespect or impudence.”
“What did I do?” John asked, holding up both hands.
“Please address me as Mistress.”
“What did I do, uh…Mistress?”
“That’s better,” she said, ignoring his question. “Now continue undressing, then fold your clothing and make a neat pile on the floor beside the bed.”
John hurriedly did as he was told, but kept on his boxers.
Arianna shook her head in disapproval. “I want you to stand before me. I want you completely naked. Is that clear?
“Yes, Mistress,” he said in a cracked voice that did not endear him to her. His pained expression indicated that he was no longer enjoying himself; he looked appropriately humiliated and seemed to finally understand that she was not to be taken lightly. Before the session was over, Arianna resolved to have this spoiled, rich brat crawling on all fours.
John kicked off his boxers. Arianna pursed her lips in displeasure. Then remembering her rules about tidiness, he scampered to pick them up. It occurred to Arianna that John wasn’t nearly as handsome as she’d thought. In fact, he looked like an idiot, falling apart before her eyes. Breaking the spirit of this tall, apparently well-bred, young man was delicious fun. She felt her nipples harden; her abhorrence of John was definitely an aphrodisiac.
John attempted to cover an ever-growing erection with his hands, as he dutifully stood naked before Arianna.
“Remove your hands!” she commanded.
Slowly, bashfully, John allowed his hands to fall to his sides, revealing a now fully-developed erection.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Her fiery gaze was fixed on John. “I didn’t give you permission to do that!”
“To do what, Mistress?” There was a combination of fear and frustration in his voice, yet remarkably, his member remained at attention.
“You offend me with this…this vile display of lechery.”
“I didn’t mean to…”
“Get that thing out of my face this instant, you filthy degenerate!”
Hunched over, John scampered to his pile of clothing and used his boxers to cover his manhood.
Suddenly rising from the chaise lounge, Arianna stood up and pointed at John. “Get in the corner. NOW! You revolting creature!” She pointed to the far right corner of the room, where a magnificent Boston fern in a ceramic pot stood on a wicker plant stand.
Facing Arianna, John squeezed in beside the fern.
“Don’t look at me,” she barked. “Turn around, face the wall!”
John spun around to face the wall with his arms crossed behind his back, he modestly concealed his buttocks with the boxers, which dangled, from his hands.
“Now take care of your filthy business out of my sight.”
“What do you mean, Mistress?” John asked, looking over his shoulder. He was visibly-shaken, near tears. Arianna found his discomfort invigorating.
“Get rid of the erection, it’s disgusting. I don’t care how you accomplish it—use your hands if you must. I can’t train you properly if you’re in that condition. Now turn around—face me when
I’m addressing you!”
John turned around again; a perplexed frown wrinkled his brow. “But you said…”
Arianna held up a silencing hand. “Do as you’re told!”
Arianna arose from the chaise lounge. “I’ll give you ten minutes to take care of your filthy urges.” She gave John a lingering look. He fidgeted uncomfortably, his hands wringing the boxer shorts. Feeling charitable, she patted his arm and said, “I’m going to change into something more comfortable.” She watched John’s eyes flicker with hope, then added, “I’m going to go downstairs to find a dog collar and leash for you, then we can begin your training. Do you have a color preference?”
John gaped at her.
Arianna smiled when she detected panic in his eyes. Satisfied, she whirled out of the room.
Exactly ten minutes later, Arianna returned. She was nude beneath a silk chiffon robe with crystal beading. In her hands, she proudly held a black studded dog collar and a linked chain leash.
John stood in the corner, unmoving, with his back to her.
In an uncharacteristically gay tone, Arianna said, “You may turn around.”
John made a nervous glance over his shoulder.
Arianna held out her arms, and shook the leash and collar at John, inviting him to come forward for a fitting.
John made a tentative turn, and then turned around completely, revealing his still rock-hard organ. It was aimed like a missile at Arianna.
Shocked and rendered speechless by his obstinacy, Arianna just stared at him for a moment, and before she could find the words to express her fury, John shot across the room, and tackled her onto the bed. Arianna emitted a stunned yelp. The collar and leash flew from her hands, landing in a loud clatter on the nightstand.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded. “Stop it, get back to your corner this instant!” Arianna was frightened, but tried to maintain an authoritative tone.
“Shut up, bitch!” John spat, as he pinned her down and tore open her robe.
She winced when she felt a rip in the delicate fabric, then shrieked when she heard the sound of the crystal beads, one-by-one, hitting the floor. But even as she struggled with her attacker, Arianna couldn’t help wondering how she could successfully defend herself and still salvage her beautiful robe and exquisite beads.
“Get off me, you bastard,” she screamed, clawing uselessly at his chest. She was amazed at the ineffectiveness of her squared-off acrylic nails.
“Help me! Somebody, please help…” But her words were cut off, muffled by the boxer shorts that John now held over her face.
She thrashed and kicked soundlessly. With eyes wide and wild, she tried to tell him that she couldn’t breathe, that her air was being cut off—that he was smothering her with his fucking boxer shorts! Calm down, she told herself. Stop struggling, maybe he was just temporarily out of control but capable of coming to his senses if she stopped fighting. Arianna went limp, but became immediately aware that the only purpose lying motionless served was to allow John easier access as he forcefully separated her legs with his knee.
Angrily, he thrust himself inside her, and while seemingly in the throes of ecstasy, he pulled the underwear away from Arianna’s face and flung them aside.
Panting and gasping for breath, she began to wriggle beneath his weight, trying to topple him over, but couldn’t.
Stopping mid-stroke, John looked down at her, his expression puzzled. “Relax.” he said, “Don’t you want to enjoy this?”
“Relax? How can I relax when you’re acting like a raving lunatic?”
John’s face hardened, and Arianna realized that he didn’t appreciate being called a lunatic. Her lips spread into a smile of apology. “Stop, please. Don’t do this, okay? Your money’s locked in the middle desk drawer. You can have it back…all of it! Take the money and just leave, okay?”
“No!” he said. “Not until I make you cum.” John feigned a look of worry. “But, I heard whores don’t cum, that true?”
Arianna was silent, taken aback from being called a whore. She was a whore when she worked for peanuts at Pandora’s Box, but now with the rates she charged, she considered herself a businesswoman, a fucking entrepreneur. Her silence was prolonged because she didn’t know how to respond. John was obviously quite crazy, and the wrong answer could prolong his stay and escalate the potential for violence. She chided herself for not carefully scrutinizing him before agreeing to a session. But, she reminded herself, other than the fact that he was far too young to have so much cash to throw around, there was nothing particularly unusual about him.
“Speak up, whore. Cat got your tongue?” John taunted.
“I’m capable of multiple orgasms,” she blurted, finally. “Especially with a good-looking guy like you.” She tried to smile seductively, but felt completely ridiculous considering how frightened she was.
John smiled broadly. “Great, that’s good to know because I’m gonna give you the best orgasm of your life. The hell with multiples, one big one is all you’ll need.”
Arianna nodded, the strained smile plastered on her face.
John’s pumping resumed, accompanied by grunts.
On cue, Arianna began to moan softly, determined to give the performance of her life. She hoped that her active participation in this sexual misadventure would buy more time to plan an escape.
Her eyes darted around the room in search of a weapon. She thought about the gun that she kept locked in the desk drawer. Damn! If only she had a gun tucked under the mattress, she’d gleefully shoot this sick motherfucker right between the eyes.
John increased the tempo, and Arianna matched his speed, moaning louder.
“This is going to increase your pleasure,” John said in a tone that implied Arianna was in for a real treat. With one hand, he suddenly gripped her by the neck. In response to Arianna’s wide-eyed panic, John said reassuringly, “Don’t worry, this is completely safe. I’ve done a lot of research on sexual asphyxia.” John paused for a moment, as if expecting Arianna to smile and nod in agreement. “Now, all I’m going to do,” he explained patiently, “is decrease your oxygen—just a little.” John then wrapped both hands around Arianna’s neck and began to gently squeeze.
Arianna gawked at him in disbelief. Did this maniac think she was going to cooperate and lie still while he choked the life out of her? She desperately tried to tear his hands away from her neck, but managed only to briefly lift a finger or two.
Aroused, apparently, by her resistance, John applied more and more pressure without changing the rhythm or tempo of his macabre sexual dance. He gave little notice to Arianna’s flailing arms, bulging eyes, or even the tongue that protruded from her slackened mouth as he proceeded to fuck the life out of her.
CHAPTER 36
The wheeled travel case snapped shut easily. The vinyl duffle, however, bulged with decadent paraphernalia, would zip only halfway. Victoria rearranged a few items in the bag, pulled and tugged until finally the zipper closed. Instead of the two or three outfit changes she normally carried to work, the two pieces of luggage were stuffed with practically every article of lingerie and every sex gadget she owned. Nothing would be left to chance; she’d have the right look, the right attire, and the right equipment for any situation that could possibly arise during her final week at Pandora’s.
No formal announcement had been made. She hadn’t even told Kareem. The idea came during their day trip with Jordan. Kareem told her he had to take care of some unexpected business in Los Angeles; he’d be gone for a week. The thought of not seeing Kareem for seven long days did not thrill her, but his spur-of-the-moment departure, she reasoned, would give her the time and freedom to put a plan in motion. She’d work doubles, even triples if Rover allowed her. If necessary, she’d camp out at Pandora’s for the entire week. She’d do whatever it took to get Jordan’s tuition, and hopefully a little extra to tide her over until she got on her feet. And then, she would start her new life with Kareem, unsullied, untain
ted. A normal person in love, being loved.
After hustling Jordan off to Charmaine’s in his pajamas, Victoria drove to work in silence. Lacking spirit, she wondered how she’d summon the strength to get through the night. With her mind on Pandora’s, she clenched her teeth and fought the nausea that accompanied the thought of being touched by a stranger. No music played from the radio or tape player; she needed absolute quiet to get her thoughts in order. An uneasy feeling crept over her as she approached Pandora’s Box, but she quelled the urge to turn around and go back home. Come on, you can do it, she told herself. Just one more week, and this madness will be over.
The girls from the five o’clock shift were still milling about.
“Hey, Pleasure!” Jonee yelled. “You should have been here earlier; it was black girl’s night up in this joint! Girl, we got paid! Every time the doorbell rang, it was like…ca-ching—more money for one of us. Even Miquon made money!” Lowering her voice, Jonee added, “The white girls didn’t make shit! None of ’em. Not Lauren, Kelly, or Sydney.”
“Kelly worked tonight?” Victoria asked.
“Yeah, but she rolled around nine o’clock. That junkie figured she’d have a better chance trickin’ on Broad Street instead of sitting around here doing nothing.”
Victoria shook her head at the shame of it, as she pictured Kelly out in public with her now pink-tinted hair, wearing a G-string or something that revealed as much of her tattooed butt as the law allowed.
“You know they can’t stand to see us make money—and with all the money they be making, you’d think they wouldn’t mind if we get a piece of the action every once in awhile. But nooo, we s’pose to just sit around looking sad while they stuff their pockets.”
Victoria nodded, but didn’t really care since she didn’t benefit from the windfall.
Grinning impishly, Jonee sipped beer from a can that was badly camouflaged by a brown paper bag. She sat on the arm of Victoria’s chair.
“Look!” Jonee whispered, elbowing Victoria. “Look at Lauren. Her face is tight!” Jonee covered her mouth to muffle her giggles. “Now that’s one mad ass hoe. I know you been kinda chummy with Lauren, but believe me, she’s just like the rest of ’em when it comes to money—she can’t stand to see a black girl making more than her.”
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