Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire

by Aleatha Romig

  Please what? What did I want? To be released? To never be released, to enjoy this torture for the rest of my life?

  “Please may I come?” I moaned.

  “It feels good, doesn’t it?” he said against my ear. “You like being violated like this, filled by two huge cocks?”

  “Yes, God…yes…please—Let me—”

  “You want to come, you little slut?” He was still pumping away in perfect rhythm with Kyle’s delicious thrusts.

  “Yes, please let me come!”

  “Beg me.”

  I tried to piece words together. My mind was gone, but Jeremy commanded attention. “Please let me come. Having two cocks is driving me crazy. Please, please!”

  “Try again. You can do better than that.”

  “Please let me come! Fuck me hard in both my holes and let me come and milk your huge fucking cocks—”

  “That’s not bad,” he said. “Say this. ‘I need to come because I’m such a cum-happy little whore, and I love having both my holes stuffed with cock—’”

  I repeated what he said, the words spilling over each other in desperation. Finally he said, “Go ahead.”

  I let go of the breath I’d been holding, and my body tensed. Jeremy held me still, so deep in my ass I could feel his pubic hair tickle against my cheeks. Then Kyle eased in…slowly—oh God—and they were both pressed inside me. I clamped down on both dicks, squeezed my thighs, and shuddered. The orgasm that ripped through me sent white brilliant light around the edges of my mind. I came hard, groaning, burying my head in Kyle’s neck as if he could ground me in the world and not let me fly off. He groaned too, shuddered and shook under me. Jeremy rocked against my ass and came with a growl and a firm bite on the back of my neck.

  I went still. I simply laid still and felt our connectedness. With the orgasm over, I became aware of the base intimacy we shared. I was still gasping against Kyle’s chest, and Jeremy’s arms were wrapped around me, half to hug me, and half to support himself, I think. We all lay sandwiched together, catching our breath. I finally lifted my gaze to Kyle’s, but he was looking past me, staring at Jeremy with an unfathomable look.

  At last Jeremy stirred and licked my neck where he’d bitten me.

  “One big, happy family,” he said.

  We all laughed, and for a moment, I melted for Kyle. I melted for both of them pressed against me body to body. I laughed from the sensation of their deep, masculine laughter vibrating in my bones.

  Then I remembered Kyle trying to soothe me with the words, We know how to do this…

  I thought of Jeremy’s last girlfriend, that confident, beautiful, model-like woman. She must have been sandwiched between them just as I was, not once, but many times for them to become so proficient. Had they done this only with her, or the girl before too? Or the girl before that?

  How many times would they do this with me?

  And did I want them to do it again…and again…use me this way?

  Yes.

  I really was turning into a whore. But I was no more a whore than Kyle, because both of us performed for Jeremy at his whim.

  Jeremy invited Kyle to join us not so much as a sexual partner for me, but a conduit to live out his own sexual kinks. And he didn’t only watch, Jeremy would direct Kyle. Harder, faster. Doggy-style. Pull her hair. Fuck her ass. And Kyle would comply beautifully. If Jeremy told Kyle to make me come, he would.

  *

  I stretched in bed. Yes, I loved the mornings. My muscles felt slightly strained but relaxed. I could barely remember what day of the week it was, usually. But I knew it had been nearly four weeks of degenerate pleasure now, and we’d be leaving Bangkok soon for a new hotel in Istanbul.

  And it had certainly not been all unending pleasure either. There had been plenty of pain, as well as the inconvenience of being more or less trapped within the confines of the hotel and having to ask Kyle for everything I needed.

  But Kyle had to give me what I asked for, no matter how much it annoyed him, which created a strange dynamic between us, above and beyond the detached, objectified sex we regularly shared.

  Basically Kyle did everything in his power to make me miserable, but all I had to do was go running to Jeremy to get Kyle in trouble in return. We were like siblings locked in an eternal battle, snipping and sniping, and Jeremy was Dad, yelling at us from across the room to cut it out. When he was around we played nice, but when he was away, we were at war, as much at war as people on the same side could be.

  Above and beyond the weekly double-penetration extravaganzas and the many instances Kyle was told to fuck me, I got ordered to suck Kyle off now and again just because Jeremy liked to watch me sucking a man’s cock. God, the smirks I got then. I wanted to smack them right off Kyle’s face.

  But oddly enough, there were no extra women brought into our little fold. I guess Kyle was okay to play with us because Jeremy trusted him not to talk. However, if he hired a pro or talked a woman into joining us, she might sell the story to the tabloids. I guess his only choice would have been to hire another full-time girl, and I don’t think I could have dealt with that. I think I would have been insanely jealous. Silly, since Jeremy was really only my boss.

  I guess at some point, Jeremy just had to stop hiring full-time employees for the sole purpose of getting his rocks off.

  While Kyle joined us several times a week, there were many more times Jeremy and I were alone. We fell into a routine that was comfortable and predictable, if somewhat depraved. Sex every morning. Sex in his trailer on the set, if I was there and we could manage it. Sex either before or after dinner, and sex every night. Basically, sex anytime Jeremy wasn’t in public or on camera. No wonder he had to hire a girl. No true girlfriend would have put up with it. I was awash in Jeremy Gray’s cum from dawn to dusk.

  At least it seemed that way sometimes. In truth, there were some days he worked so long and hard that he fell into bed without even talking to me. Other days, if he didn’t have much to do, he’d plan an excursion for us somewhere around the city, to a museum or restaurant or park. He did those things for me, because he wanted me to have adventures while I was with him, and not always have my nose “buried in a book,” as he said.

  But I did bury my nose in books when I could, when Jeremy wasn’t using me. Bangkok still frightened me. I had no desire to go out into the crowds, the hullabaloo. I got good at the sex through sheer practice. I could give him a blowjob like a high priestess of fellatio. I could eventually take him anally without any lube but what was on the condom. I could take him and Kyle together with practiced, controlled grace. But I just couldn’t get used to acting like his girlfriend in front of the cameras, and the flashes constantly going off in our faces. The screams, the fans, the paparazzi. When we ventured out, there was always at least one person who’d jump out at us brandishing a camera or something for Jeremy to sign. My pulse raced and my hands shook even when Jeremy held me close. He never let go of me when we were out in public, but I still woke up in a cold sweat a couple of times a week dreaming about crowds of trampling fans.

  Jeremy took it all in stride, though. At least he seemed to. I have no idea how he did it, how he had the energy to work and explore life and be adventurous and brave the crowds of fans and then come home and fuck with the intensity he did. At first I thought it must be drugs. I went nosing around in his room, in his cabinet in the bathroom, in his personal things looking for pills, but there were none. However he managed, I thought, he was good at it. He was good at everything. He could deal with anything. And I finally realized that sex was his drug. Sex was the thing that kept him ticking. Sex was his heroin, and I was the dealer. We were constantly getting “high.”

  He would come back to the hotel at the end of the day in a ball of stress and exhaustion, and I’d be ready, without fail, to kneel at his feet and take it all away. He’d sit on the couch heavily, gesturing to me, unfastening his pants, and I’d kneel between his legs like a courtesan, in one of the five-hundred-dol
lar corsets he’d bought me.

  He’d usually tell me to suck him, but every so often he’d lift me onto his lap and fuck me deep and slow. If he had a really bad day, we’d go straight to the bedroom and play hard: cuffs, spreaders, clamps, toys, whips, belts. Whatever he needed, I let him take it from me.

  And this worked for us very well, at least most times.

  The day before we left Bangkok, though, he came into the room in a mood. I tensed slightly, as I always did when he was strung really tight. Not that he ever abused me or made me use a safe word or broke his contractual promises. I just knew things would get intense when he was keyed up the way he was.

  He didn’t say anything, which wasn’t unusual, just sat down and snapped at the floor between his legs. When I finished, I expected to be ordered over his lap for a spanking, or told to go in the bedroom to fetch some terrible toy. But he just sat still.

  “Lay your head in my lap,” he whispered. “Right here.” He made me lay my face against his thigh, and he stroked my hair for half an hour without uttering a word.

  Sometimes he got in a mood. Sometimes he got quiet and let the strain show, and this was one of those times. And I loved him at times like these, as much as I let myself love him. I loved that he showed me the weakness and tension that lurked underneath, the self-doubt and exhaustion he hid from everyone, perfect movie star that he was. As he just sat and played with my hair for half an hour, I ached with love for him. I began to cry after a while, thinking about saying good-bye to him one day. We were so close, so excruciatingly intimate with one another, and yet so divided that he signed over a paycheck to me every week.

  “What?” he asked when he felt my tears falling on his thigh. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” I said. Then, “I like to be with you.”

  It immediately felt like too much to say. He was quiet for a while, then he said, “Tell me your name. Your real name.”

  It was an awful thing to ask at that moment, when I was desperately trying to keep my heart from falling even harder for him.

  “I can’t.”

  “Helen?”

  “No.”

  “Ornelle?”

  “Oh, Jeremy. Please just call me Nell.”

  “I want to know! I looked at your passport. It didn’t help.”

  My passport said Nell, just like everything else.

  “At least I know now that your birthday’s next week. What do you want?”

  “What do I want?”

  “For your birthday. What do you want?”

  You. To be able to love you. To stay with you forever like this, even as your concubine, as your whore.

  No matter how much I wanted it, I couldn’t have it. This life wasn’t for me, as much as I was falling head over heels for this man.

  “Just tell me what you want. I’ll get you anything.”

  I sighed. “I don’t want anything. I hate my birthdays.”

  He sat still another moment, caressing my nape, then suddenly pushed me out of his lap.

  “You don’t ask for enough, you know that? You’ll never get anything out of life.”

  I stayed on my knees, my hands clasped in my lap, while he glared down at me.

  “I would have given you whatever you asked for. You’re never going to go anywhere. You’re never going to get what you want if you don’t learn how to ask.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to go anywhere. Maybe I don’t want anything,” I said quietly to the floor.

  “Come in the bedroom,” he said, pulling me by my arm.

  He used me hard that night. He was cold and deviant. He gagged me, which I hated, restrained me, and beat me hard. He fucked my ass and my ass only, whispering depraved threats and epithets in my ear. “You’re just my whore anyway, aren’t you?” he whispered. “I really don’t care if I know your real name.”

  The next morning on the plane, he still seemed angry. I kept silent and shifted in first class beside him the whole way to Istanbul, feeling sore and beaten.

  I was his whore, that was for sure, but at least my name was still completely my own.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Talk

  ‡

  The flight to Turkey was shorter, and arriving in Istanbul was much less insane, the crowds smaller and more manageable. The hotel room was less high up, the food much less tasty. We would be here barely two weeks before making the short journey to Bulgaria, so I wasn’t even inclined to unpack. I did, though, in my stilettos and ass plug, while Jeremy looked on.

  You’re staying right here. Put it all away.

  A couple days after we arrived, Martin paid Jeremy a visit. I assumed immediately it had something to do with me and with sex, and wondered if Martin knew how to double penetrate women like Kyle did. But instead I was ordered to my room to “bury my nose in a book” while they talked, and they talked late into the night.

  I didn’t pay attention to what Jeremy and Martin talked about until they started to argue in loud, sharp voices, which were quickly muffled by another voice, which sounded like Kyle’s. So Kyle was there too, and I was banished to my room. They were having some kind of powwow, and I was completely certain it was about me. I crept over and put my ear to the door, but I couldn’t make anything out, just legal mumbo-jumbo terms and Jeremy hissing that he wanted it to stop.

  My body froze. He was getting rid of me. My blood buzzed in my ears.

  It seemed impossible, but what else could it be? If Martin was here, it had to be about my contract, how to get out of it. I thought of what I might have done to upset him. We didn’t always get along perfectly. I wasn’t always a perfect sub, but still, he’d given me no indication that he was totally unhappy with me either. Not until now. I want it to stop.

  I finally couldn’t stand the anxiety. I had to know. I opened the door to go to the kitchenette under the guise of getting a drink. I glanced over at them as casually as I could.

  They fell silent as the grave, staring at me balefully, all three hunched over Martin’s laptop.

  “I told you to stay in your room,” Jeremy said.

  “I was just going to get some water.”

  “Well, get it,” he snapped.

  I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and opened it, standing right where I was.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked. I meant to sound offhand, but my voice sounded small and scared.

  “Everything’s fine,” Jeremy said, although his face looked just the opposite.

  Martin pasted on a fake smile. “How have you been, Nell?” he asked. “You look great. The job suits you well.”

  “Yes, it does.” I looked at Jeremy again, searched for clues to what they were talking about. As usual, he was impossible to read. All I could really divine was his frown.

  “Go, go on. I’ll come in later,” he said, nodding toward my room.

  I went inside and shut the door, my heart hammering. What had I done? Kyle wouldn’t even look at me, and Martin’s smile had been totally forced. He was looking for a new girl. That had to be it. Going over contracts, figuring out how to trap her as he’d trapped me. I climbed into bed, fighting the urge to start bawling. I wasn’t going to cry over him. I had given him everything I could. If I wasn’t enough for him, there was nothing more I could do.

  But sleep didn’t come. My mind turned over and over, analyzing my many shortcomings. I wasn’t very good at taking pain, for starters. Wasn’t that something doms always wanted in their subs? The ability to take pain without sobbing like an infant? I also had a way of getting carried away when he was fucking me, doing stuff that a good sub probably shouldn’t do, like scratching and biting. And I was always begging in a totally undisciplined way to be allowed to come.

  Maybe I read too much. Maybe I was too brainy. Maybe I was too shy. Too reticent in front of the cameras. Maybe he sensed that I was falling in love with him despite my best efforts to the contrary. Maybe he was just tired of me fighting with Kyle.

  I waited, curled up unde
r the covers, until the voices quieted and I heard Martin and Kyle go away. Still, he didn’t come. I got out of bed and opened the door.

  Jeremy was sitting on the couch, silent, staring into space.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “If I did something—”

  “You didn’t do anything.” He sighed. “It’s just… Listen, it’s none of your business. None of your concern.”

  “Are you finding someone else?” I had to ask it, although I didn’t want to know the answer. I had to know. “Another girl?”

  He snorted. “Another girl? Why would you think that? Because Martin was here? He’s my lawyer. We talk about a lot of things besides you.”

  I hugged myself, embarrassed at letting my insecurity show. I expected more teasing from the bemused look on his face, but instead he held out his hand. “Come here.”

  I crossed the room. He pulled me into his lap, and I melted against his solid warmth. I burrowed my head into his neck and breathed in the soothing, familiar scent of his aftershave.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Sometimes I just can’t get used to all this. And I’m afraid you’re not happy with me.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  His fingers stroked up my back to rub my nape. I felt all the feelings I’d kept hidden inside struggle to the surface. “I don’t know. I guess, just, sometimes…the stuff you do to me—”

  “What stuff?”

  “Like sending me off to my room. Not talking to me. Sharing me with Kyle—”

  “Listen, the sharing stuff, you know, don’t read too much into it. I share you because I like to. Because it gets me off. That’s it.”

  “I know.”

  “And you know as well as I do that kinks are kinks. You can’t help what gets you going.”

  “I guess.”

  The fingers continued kneading, calming me. I felt his chest lift and drop in a sigh. “I hope you remember that you’re not to get overemotional about this job. The whole reason I pay you is so I don’t have to put up with this kind of shit.”

  “Thank you for calling my feelings ‘shit,’” I said, pulling away.