The Con Artist

by Kitty Thomas

  Saskia released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

  “Oh?” he said mildly.

  “I’d like to fuck her first,” Quill said.

  Phillip seemed surprised by the admission that her master hadn’t taken her yet. He was late to that party. She’d been in a perpetual state of surprise about his restraint and increasingly convinced he wasn’t into her at all. Maybe not even that into women.

  “Saskia?” Quill said.

  “Y-yes, Master?”

  “I’ll fuck you if you agree to let Phillip and Marcus watch.”

  Marcus had already joined Phillip on the sofa. They both looked expectant, ready to be entertained.

  “She’s not a virgin, is she?” Phillip asked.

  “She’s not,” Quill confirmed.

  “Pity. Watching you deflower that sweet little redhead is one of my fondest memories.”

  She couldn’t believe they were discussing her as if she were livestock ready to be bred. And she couldn’t believe how hot it was getting her. She felt that heat rise to her face and was thankful for the low lighting that shielded how deep her blush really went.

  “Well, Saskia, how badly do you want my cock?”

  Quill had already recovered from Marcus’s mouth. He was full and thick and hard again, and the only thing she wanted in the world right now was for that hard thickness to be inside her. She could already imagine how he’d stretch her, just like the large glass toy from his office.

  She whimpered. “Please, Master.” The tears that slid down her face were equal parts need and fear.

  He smirked. “Is that please, Master no, or please, Master yes? I’m feeling strangely benevolent tonight, so think it through before you answer.”

  Her eyes met his. Her breath rose and fell heavy in her chest. “Please, fuck me.”

  His brow arched in mock surprise. “Saskia! In front of Phillip and Marcus? You filthy slut. Well, crawl over here. I want you on your hands and knees where you can look into their eyes, and I want them to be able to watch your tits bounce with each thrust.”

  The breath caught in her throat.

  “Is that too much for you?”

  “N-no, Master.” If she couldn’t please him with her art, at the very least she could do it with her body and her obedience. She hoped.

  She crawled across the floor to Quill and positioned herself as he’d asked. She shivered as he stroked down her spine. His fingertips started at the base of her neck and grazed all the way to the concave hollow just above her ass. His hands lingered there on her cheeks. Saskia’s gaze dropped to the ground.

  A hard smack landed, and she gasped.

  “Don’t look at the ground. I told you where I wanted you to look. Lock eyes with Phillip. He’ll tell me if you stray.”

  Why not Marcus? At least she’d had intimacy with Marcus. She could hold his gaze while Quill fucked her. She wasn’t sure if she could hold the gaze of an amused stranger.

  Phillip’s smile widened. “She’s much more timid than any of your other girls. So... refreshingly shy.”

  “I know,” Quill said as if it were a personal accomplishment.

  “This is almost as good as the redhead.”

  Quill’s hand dipped between her legs, pressing against her mound, his warmth seeping into her. The moment went on forever during which time she was compelled to hold Phillip’s gaze.

  Quill pressed one finger, then two into her and stroked her inner walls as she grew wet enough to create a sound Phillip could hear. She knew he heard it from the sofa because of the way his smile grew as if he were calculating all the filthy things he would do with her as soon as he was granted access.

  A moment later, Quill moved his hand away, and pushed his cock inside her. She let out a cry at the sudden intrusion. He filled her as completely as she’d always known he would. A perfect tight fit. She was thankful she was so wet; it was the only thing that spared her pain.

  As Quill drove into her, Phillip’s gaze drifted downward to her breasts, watching the way they jiggled. Then he looked up at Quill. Some silent question and answer passed between them over her head, and then Phillip got up and moved closer. He sat on the ground in front of her while Quill fucked her, wrenching deeper and deeper moans from her mouth.

  Phillip stroked her throat, and then her breasts, pinching and tweaking each nipple in turn. When the pain from his pinches and the pleasure between her legs finally grew too strong to handle, her release came, followed quickly by Quill’s.

  Phillip quietly moved back to the sofa as if he’d never left it.

  When it was over, when the excitement and arousal had run their course in the explosion of orgasm, and her brain was fully functional again, Saskia scrambled the few yards to her pile of clothing to seek the refuge of modesty.

  She could still feel the pulsing throb between her legs and the ache from the sudden emptiness. She wanted to go again, but Quill needed time to recover, and the way Phillip looked at her... it was doubtful she would be with her master again tonight.

  “So, now that you’ve had her...” Phillip smiled, his gaze panning over Saskia in the same way he had at the main party before he’d seen everything. Yet he still looked at her as if her body remained a mystery to explore. The only mystery left for him would be how wet and warm and willing she’d be for him when he fucked her.

  Quill nodded. “Very well. Meet us at the house. We’ll discuss the financial terms there. Marcus, you ride with him. I’d like time alone with Saskia.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Marcus finished dressing, and the two men left. Saskia stayed with Quill. He stepped behind her and zipped up her gown and ran his fingers through her hair, pulling it forward to frame her face. Then he got dressed himself.

  She stood awkwardly to the side, waiting for him to finish zipping and buttoning everything.

  “Saskia?” he said after several minutes of silence.

  “Yes, Master?”

  “I’m very pleased with you tonight. But I told you, when it comes to the other men, it’s lady’s choice. If you don’t want to do anything with Phillip, I’ll send him away.”

  “D-do you want me to be with Phillip?”

  “If I didn’t, he wouldn’t have been invited back here.”

  Oh. He’d known where Marcus and Quill would be all along. He’d merely hung back and waited for Saskia to find them before joining the party. The entire evening had probably been choreographed down to the last detail. She was such an idiot.

  “Come here.”

  When she reached his side, he pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. He lowered his head so that his lips were at her ear.

  “The more men you give yourself to for me, the more deeply you are mine,” he whispered. “I ask for it, because I know it’s hard for you. I know how vulnerable it makes you. You have to trust me, that I won’t share you with someone who would hurt you or shame you in any way. Do you trust me?”

  It was the most ridiculous question. If they’d met in a different way... If he hadn’t felt the compulsion to have her by any means necessary... And yet...

  “Yes, Master. I trust you.”

  He searched her face, looking for the truth or the lie. When he found what he sought, he nodded. “Will you let Phillip play with you tonight?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Good girl.”

  His hand slid inside hers, and they walked together like some normal couple out of the museum and into the cool evening.

  ***

  Phillip had already paid for her by the time she reached the guest room he waited in. She’d been directed by Quill to change clothes as soon as they’d gotten back. He’d selected a pair of black heels from her things as well as a long black satin night gown with thin straps and a slit up the side. It was sexy, but didn’t make her feel too naked. It didn’t make her feel dirty.

  Marcus stood outside the door, his face impossible to read.

  “The gloves?”
Quill said.

  Marcus passed him a pair of long black opera gloves.

  “Phillip likes them,” Quill said. “You will always wear these whenever you see him.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and left her alone in the hall with Marcus.

  Saskia stared at the gloves. Marcus gripped her hand, and she looked up.

  “If he hurts you in any way... If you don’t want something and he doesn’t listen, scream, and I’ll stop it.”

  “What if he stops me from screaming?” Saskia couldn’t imagine Phillip doing such a thing, but there were a lot of things she hadn’t been able to imagine that had nevertheless happened in her time here.

  “You know he’ll be watching the cameras.”

  Marcus meant Quill. Saskia was sure he thought of him as Drake or Andrew. He didn’t know Phillip had let the name slip at the party. It felt dangerous to know Quill’s true name when he’d used so much subterfuge to keep it from her. Though maybe he was just used to being secretive about everything, hoping his lives didn’t overlap or intersect in the wrong way at the wrong time.

  She still wasn’t sure why he’d chosen to introduce himself to her as Lachlan Niche. She supposed, in the end, it created fewer questions. As Drake, he’d have to make up a story of where his money came from, which might lead around to Niche anyway. Perhaps he’d thought it better to just give her an alias with a ready-made recognizable fortune and penchant for art collecting behind it.

  “Love?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll scream.”

  He nodded.

  Although she’d agreed to this back at the museum, she wasn’t sure now if she could bring herself to fuck a stranger with Marcus listening right outside the door and Quill watching on a screen in another part of the house. She wondered if her master would be in his room—the mysterious room she still hadn’t been granted access to. Would he watch and stroke himself? Would he be jealous like he’d acted toward Marcus? Or was it only because Marcus had held her hand and shown her affection? If Phillip just used her like some thing, would he be angry at her treatment or happy that he didn’t have anything to compete with?

  She put the gloves on and opened the door. When she stepped into the room, she let out an audible gasp.

  “I take it, you’ve never seen this room before?” Phillip said. “So you must be new to this side of your master’s demands.”

  The room was dark red with gold shimmery sheer fabric that billowed and hung from the ceiling. Oriental rugs covered the floor in a patchwork that overlapped so completely that hardly any floor peered through. What little did show was a dark polished wood.

  Large cushions were scattered about, and there were several dim lamps lit. In fact, all the light in this room was indirect. Soft. Flattering. Not that Phillip hadn’t already seen plenty of her tonight.

  “Y-you’re my first,” she said, her gaze dropping of its own accord. She still wasn’t quite sure why she couldn’t bring herself to try to escape this place. It wasn’t as if there were no ways out. Worst case scenario, she could go to a homeless shelter. She could figure something out, and yet she kept choosing Quill’s dark demands and the art between them—pretending any of it meant something.

  “Sir,” Phillip corrected. His voice was stern, but not unkind.

  “Sir.” She felt weirdly grateful he’d set a tone for them. She hadn’t been sure what she should call him.

  “I’m honored to be the first,” he said, patting the bed beside him. It was large and round and covered in pillows.

  She went to him, still taking in her surroundings.

  “This room is inspired by the harem-themed room at the club,” Phillip said. “It’s my favorite room, both there and here. I find it comforts newer girls. It’s not too harsh.”

  “How many women has my master shared with you? I thought he only collared one other person besides me.”

  “Formally, you are his second, but he’s had several others on a probationary basis. They never seem to last very long. I’m surprised he put a collar on you before putting you through your paces.”

  Phillip spoke as if she were a show horse. If he only knew the sordid way she’d come to be Quill’s. Like Ari, Phillip seemed to think her being here was fully voluntary—just a bit of kink she was exploring. She wondered how he’d feel if he knew it wasn’t, if he knew just how real Quill’s ownership of her was.

  From the few parties she’d attended and the private club Quill had taken her to, it seemed many of these types tossed around words like owned and belonged to in an almost flip way. Most would be horrified if they knew how very literal this enslavement was.

  “Close your eyes,” he said when she joined him on the bed.

  Saskia closed her eyes and let out a long shaky breath as Phillip’s hand moved under the slit in the gown and up her thigh.

  “You are so sweet,” he whispered in her ear. He kissed her cheek and along her jawline, down the side of her throat until he reached her collar, and then over her shoulder.

  Yes, the sweet girl who conned a man out of millions, Saskia thought.

  She heard his weight lift off the bed. “Stay. And keep your eyes closed.”

  Minutes later, rich, sad cello music poured into the room. Phillip covered her eyes with a strip of soft fabric. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he said, “But I wouldn’t want you to slip and earn yourself a punishment. Not your first time with me.”

  When the blindfold was in place, he took her hand and led her to what felt like the center of the room. She stood, waiting for a command as he slid the straps down her shoulders, slipping each arm out in turn. The gown was form fitting and even without the straps holding it up, the top of it bunched at her waist, leaving her partly covered.

  She felt his eyes on her breasts, even if she couldn’t see it.

  “Lift your arms above your head.”

  She hadn’t noticed the shackles that must have hung from the ceiling. Phillip locked one wrist in, and then the other.

  “We’ll leave the gloves on,” he said.

  His hands skimmed the sides of her breasts, then down over her ribcage, and finally he shoved the rest of the gown off her hips until the garment pooled at her feet in a soft swish. He helped her out of the pile of fabric and moved it out of the way.

  “We’ll leave the shoes on as well.”

  He moved to another part of the room. She heard a light pop and then liquid pouring into a glass. Phillip returned.

  “Open your mouth, petal.”

  Saskia hesitated, but finally obeyed. He tipped the glass back and a tart sauvignon blanc slid down her throat.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk, sir?”

  He chuckled. “No, dear. Just pleasantly buzzed to relax you.”

  He let her drink probably a full glass until the gentle warm wine buzz prickled out over her face.

  Then he retreated to refill the glass. When he returned, instead of giving her more, he spilled a bit of it down the front of her body, quickly catching the trail with his tongue. He must have drunk a full glass of his own this way, licking and sucking wine off her breasts, letting some drip between her thighs and kneeling to lap it up there.

  “You are so sweet,” he said again, his voice drifting up from closer to the ground. This time he meant it in a different way.

  “Have you ever been cropped?”

  “Uh... riding crop?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.”

  She felt him rise from the ground. He went to another part of the room and sorted through some things until he found what he was looking for.

  The crop fell across her back in short, hard snaps. “Do you like this?” he asked after the first several strikes.

  When she didn’t answer, Phillip’s hand moved between her legs. “I know the truth. It’s coating my fingers. So say it. Do you like being struck this way?”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  “Good girl. Will you cry for me?”


  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll only strike you as hard as I have to for you to cry. Give me what I want easily, and we don’t have to make dark marks. We don’t want to mar this pretty skin, do we?”

  “N-no, sir.”

  It wasn’t hard to cry for him. Maybe it was the cello playing in the background. Maybe it was the fact that she still longed to be invited into Quill’s bed as well as not knowing what it said about her that she wasn’t horrified by any of what was happening now with Phillip, a stranger who bought time with her from the man who owned her. Maybe it was the whole situation.

  “That’s it,” Phillip said. “Let it all out.” He put down the riding crop and stroked her back as she cried harder than she’d intended to. He wiped her tears, then stepped away again.

  When he returned, he nudged her thighs apart. “Wider,” he coaxed. When her legs were spread to his liking, he began running his hands over her hips and ass, his fingers playing in slow circles and figure eights over the skin between her legs.

  Then his fingers traced the length of her spine, much as Quill’s had at the museum, only he didn’t stop at the hollow space her master had. Instead, his finger edged further down, sliding between her cheeks, pressing inside her ass.

  She tensed.

  “Relax, and take it. If you’ll relax, it can feel very pleasurable. I’ve yet to have any complaints.”

  Saskia breathed deep as his finger slid in and out of her. He finally pulled it away, only to replace it with a lubed toy. Gently, he fucked her ass with it while she whimpered and writhed in the chains. After a while, her hips began to move as she pressed her ass harder against his hand as if trying to get him to go deeper.

  Phillip chuckled but withdrew the toy and said, “That’s enough of that for tonight. I like to leave my girls aching and wanting more.”

  Saskia strained to hear what he was doing next, but it was impossible to interpret the meaning of the light creaks and clicks until she felt slack in the chains holding her arms and almost pitched forward.

  “Kneel down on the ground with your ass raised in the air. You can rest on your forearms.”

  The chains gave way just enough for her to do as he asked. She still felt the slightest tension on them as she moved into position. She spread her legs wide without him asking.