Insatiable: A Dark Billionaire Romance

by Sophia Desmond

  It was creepy, but ultimately harmless. I had even participated when I was seven, dressing up at Tommy Lowell, the drummer boy for the unit who had been blown to pieces, apparently, by a cannonball at Gettysburg.

  Finally, the call petered out, as calls with my parents tended to.

  "Well, you take care of yourself, Tara. Are you getting enough to eat? Do you have enough money?"

  I almost burst out laughing. Getting enough to eat? I was eating more now than I had in years!

  "Sure am, mom. Boss is a great cook," I said, seeing an avenue to continue my lies. "He makes great Jamaican food--Jerk chicken, goat curry, roti. It's super good."

  That was it. My mom liked that.

  "Oh, well, isn't that darling? We can't wait to meet him, Jess."

  We said our goodbyes, and hung up.

  The call had lasted longer than I wanted it to. It was almost time for the party! But Boss still wasn't home. I had time to put on some make up, do up my lips so they looked ready to suck the chrome off a hubcap, and do something saucy to my hair, a messy-classy bun with hair falling out--I looked wild and sophisticated, and I knew Boss would like it.

  I heard, suddenly, the front door open. I strode into the hall, already wearing heels--like all models, I am a fucking gazelle in heels, able to maneuver just as easily in them as out of them. I could run a marathon in heels, if I wanted to. The limiting factor, ultimately, would be my ability to run a marathon, not my ability to wear heels.

  I saw him easing on a mask. I laughed.

  "Did you bring one with you, just so you could put it on as soon as you came in?"

  It was a goofy, spandex Lucha Libre mask, yellow and black, like a bee, perhaps? Was that the motif that tied the whole outfit together? Boss laughed.

  "I thought you would like this one. And yes. Yes, I did slip one into my bag this morning."

  "I suppose I should go get my mask--you're not wearing that to the party, are you?"

  I saw him raise an eyebrow. Here we were, just like boyfriend and girlfriend. I see my boyfriend about to wear something gauche to a nice party--it's fun for around the house, sweetheart, but you can't wear that out...

  "I had been thinking about it," he murmured. I liked catching him off guard. There was something exhilarating about forcing him into the position of regular humanity, when he was in fact so powerful, when he wielded especially so much power over me. "But... I suppose I'll put on something a bit more tame."

  "You go do that," I said, crossing my arms and barely concealing a smile. "And I'll be waiting for you here, babe."

  "You'll pay for that later, you know," he tossed over his shoulder as he set off down the hall.

  "Pay for what?"

  "'Babe,'" he said, with a smirking-sneer. A shiver went down my spine. Yes. Yes, of course I would pay for that. Yes, Sir. That's how these things worked. I bit my lip, savoring the anticipation--the anticipation which had no equal in its ability to excite and terrify me, with the possible exception of the touch of my master himself...

  A few minutes later, I heard his footsteps coming down the hall once more. I gasped when I saw him. He had changed into a different suit--an all black one. Usually, when I saw him, he wore light gray, or charcoal, or navy. But this time, it was an all-black suit, one that looked like something an undertaker would have worn.

  But that wasn't what startled me. The thing that startled me was the mask he had chosen for tonight. I had noticed it in the hall of masks, but I hadn't paid much attention to it--it was long and white, shaped like a terrifying, bone-white, undead bird skeleton with goggles over the nose-beak.

  "What... What is that?" I murmured, my voice cracking beneath my terror.

  "It's a mask that was worn in the Renaissance, in Italy, by plague doctors. Because they were constantly in contact with those affected by the Black Death, they began to wear these masks--there was an idea that dirty air caused illness, you see. In the nose--the beak, really--" and here, he tapped the protrusion. "--they placed sweet smelling herbs and spices. The idea being that these would improve the air, and keep the doctor safe."

  "Did it work?"

  "Not in the slightest."

  "Should I even ask? Is that... authentic?"

  Boss laughed behind the terrifying mask.

  "It is, in fact. It's from fairly late in the Renaissance, by which times such masks were probably pretty passé, but yes--it's about as old as your mask."

  I see what he had done--he wouldn't let me one up him. Well, we'll see about that, my dear Boss...

  Boss called down for the car and we stepped into the private elevator. This was, in fact, the first time I had stepped foot in the elevator since arriving at the apartment, and it would be the first time I would be leaving in... weeks.

  "Are you frightened?" Boss asked, his voice low and searching.

  "Frightened? Of what?"

  "You're leaving the house for the first time in a while," he whispered, as if it were a secret--as if he had to keep secret the fact that he had read my mind so astutely. "It must be frightening."

  "No, not at all," I lied. It's not that I was frightened. Rather, I simply found myself... Nervous? Excited? But not about what I would have expected myself to be nervous about. I had spent so much time in New York that I doubted the city could ever shock me again, even after having been locked way above it for several weeks.

  No, I was nervous about how it would look--the two of us, together, at the party. Would he--Boss--put his arm around me? Kiss me? Introduce me as his girlfriend? God, just what were we?

  But, maybe that was the point of the masks. We could be anything. It didn't matter who we were beneath the masks.

  He whisked me through the lobby of the building so fast, that no one--not that there were many people hanging out in the lobby; just a small group of middle-aged women, sitting around on their phones, probably waiting for a friend--had even the ghost of a chance of seeing us.

  Outside, the driver from the other week met us.

  "Paul, we're going to--"

  "I know, sir," the driver replied with a serious nod.

  "Good man," Boss replied. He opened the door for me to the luxury sedan--a gorgeous black Mercedes, the same, I was sure, that had picked me up weeks ago--and then crossed over to the other side of the car. Pau leapt into action, deftly opening the door for his employer before hopping into the front seat. And away we zoomed.

  We were going east, I realized--towards Brooklyn.

  "This is a fairly regular party," Boss murmured. I had grown strangely used to the bird-like mask. But that surprised me--it was so jarring to see. Paul himself hadn't given any indication that he was surprised by the sight of his boss wearing the mask--I imagined he was probably pretty used to his weirdness and idiosyncrasies. After all, you can get used to a lot of things if you're well-paid.

  "Where is it? Brooklyn?"

  "That's right. In one of the most beautiful old townhouses you'll ever step foot in. Pre-Civil War. A real Henry James kind of place."

  "I can't wait."

  "It's held by a... well, I wouldn't say friend, but an acquaintance, of mine. He's like me in many ways: very wealthy, has unusual tastes, likes his privacy. He was the one who introduced me to mask collecting."

  "Does this friend of yours have a name?"

  "Gregory Childers. He knows not to mention my name to you. In general, we do not use names at this party, but I'll point him out to you, as well as a few other interesting personages who might be in attendance."

  I raised an eyebrow.

  "Really? Like who? Any celebrities?"

  "Well, Bloomberg is fond of the events, though he hasn't been around the last few times I've been. I myself haven't been in, maybe, three months? I haven't had anything to... show off, so to speak."

  "What do you mean?" I asked, narrowing my eyes behind my mask.

  "You'll find out. You'll see. Don't you worry about it."

  A few minutes of silence followed. We pulled through
a series of foggy Brooklyn streets and I felt like I had traveled back in time--like I was back in my dream, like I was in old New York, just as Boss had said, and like I was walking into a trap...

  Finally, the car came to a stop in front of a brownstone which seemed totally indistinguishable from all the other brownstones on the street. Paul jumped out of his driver's seat, jogged around to my door, and politely allowed me out. Then, he jogged back to the other side, let Boss out, and they exchanged a few words.

  "This will be it," my master said as he finally bade Paul be on his way and took my arm. He gestured towards the townhouse in front of us and led me up the slightly damp steps shining beneath the glow of the street lamps.

  Boss knocked once, then twice, and then four times. We waited expectantly until, finally, the door clicked open, revealing a young woman, with bright red lipstick and a tan to die for. She wore a corset that pushed her breasts up, a lacy, intricate off-white thing that contrasted with his browned skin. She wore what seemed to be a satin mask, strangely cheap compared to the rest of her outfit.

  "Come in, sir," she said politely, smiling as she saw us, as if recognizing us. Of course, I supposed, how many times do you throw a costume party and then have people show up in costume who weren't invited? Not very often. That, I assumed, was how she had decided to let us in.

  But, that wasn't all.

  "I called ahead and let them know what we were wearing. That is, generally, the protocol," Boss informed me. "They don't want anyone who wasn't invited showing up, but they also want to maintain anonymity as much as possible--it's so much easier and more comfortable to give your name for the evening as 'Plague Doctor' and 'Purple Venetian Mardi Gras' isn't it?"

  "Ingenious," I said, and I realized it sounded sarcastic, when I, in fact, had not meant it to. If Boss noticed or cared, though, I was unable to tell: his face was totally hidden from me still, more hidden, I think than it had ever been...

  The girl led us through the small mudroom and into a magnificent high ceiling'd living room. I had to stifle a gasp. Not only was the room beautiful but it was full of intensely writhing bodies. Girls, tied up, bound, in a weird Japanese style of bondage I remembered being called shibari--not that I had done it myself, but I had seen an art show in some old, re-purposed warehouse out in Brooklyn at one point. It was all artistic photos of Japanese girls, tied up in this incredibly intricate and elegant ways... It had been kind of spooky at the time but now that I was faced with it in this dimly lit, beautiful, turn of the century room--I guess I could understand the appeal.

  But that's not all there was--there was a girl on the floor, mask still on (a Venetian style mask like my own), ass up in the air, shuddering and squealing as a man whipped her ass, flogging with with a cat o' nine tails. I realized her hands were bound, and so were her feet, and that her elbows were somehow bound to her knees--she was totally immobile and wouldn't be able to get away, even if she wanted to. Not that she really seemed to want to, considering how wet and glistening her pussy was in the candle light...

  "What... What is this place..." I whispered to Boss as a whimpering girl approached us. She also wore a corset, but one which had been cut away to show her breasts, the nipples of which were clamped with vicious looking little things that reminded me of alligators more than sex toys. She handed us each a glass of champagne, which Boss had to accept for me, since I was too dazed. I realized that she wasn't wearing anything below the corset either. I only noticed this detail because she was trembling and when I looked her up and down, I saw a huge vibrator sticking out of her crotch, duct taped to her hips so it wouldn't fall out. "Where have you brought me?"

  "They call it 'The Meet,'" Boss said as the girl drifted away from us. As I took in the other figures in the room, I realized there were more like us, couples standing to the side and watching. "No one knows who began it, really--sometime in the 1970's, I think, free love, stuff like that. People started coming together at various locations, wearing masks, doing exhibitionist things--usually with bondage. Like you see here."

  My heart was pounding. I had been to some pretty wild parties, but never anything quite like this. I realized there was a girl, tied up in an intricate shibari style get up, hanging from the ceiling, with a ball gag in her mouth, her eyes red from crying. As she turned in her harness, the rope rotating, I realized that she had toys inserted in both her pussy and ass.

  "You need an invitation to come. That keeps out the riffraff. This isn't a part for people to hook up--it's not swingers," Boss continued, glancing at the ceiling. "Rather, it's... Essentially a place to show off."

  "Show off?" I asked, in a daze.

  "Everyone here has someone, like I have you," he growled. "A pet, a slave, whatever you want to call it. And where better to join together and show off your toys than a little private party? Of course, everyone stays disguised while here, but there are some very wealthy, very powerful men here."

  As if on cue, a much older man, though seemingly in excellent shape, approached us. He was nude from the waist up and wore a pair of pilot's goggles as his costume. An redhead, pretty and petite and completely naked, followed him obediently.

  "Good evening and welcome," he said coolly, smiling at both of us. "I think I know who you are, but I won't say anything."

  The girl dropped to her knees in front of the man and unzipped his pants as he talked.

  "She's quite lovely, isn't she?" he said, patting his slave as she pulled out his cock, surrounded by greying pubic hair, and immediately swallowed him whole.

  "Not bad at all," Boss murmured. "But..."

  He turned to me.

  "Undress."

  Much to my surprise, I obeyed. I stripped off my dress fast, and soon my bra and panties were on the floor. I could tell from the sneer tugging at the corner of the man's lips that he was impressed by my body. I bit my lip as they gazed on me, my master and this man I didn't know, even as he was serviced by his own slave.

  "I think your master is feeling lonely," the unknown man offered. I looked to Boss and he nodded.

  Out of nowhere, he produced a pair of handcuffs. I turned around and he cuffed me--how I knew to turn around, I didn't know. The cold metal on my skin, pinching my wrists, it sent shudders through my body as he pulled me close.

  "I'm going to fuck you now," Boss growled in my ear, so loud that only I could hear it. "And I want you to show off. I want you to show everyone what a good little slut you are. How proud you are to be mine."

  "Yes, sir..." I gasped as I felt something pinching my nipples. The little alligator clips! He had two, and I whimpered as they bit into my flesh.

  He had me bend at the waist, till I was practically touching my toes. I was already wet, I realized--the effect the entire room had on me had been quite profound, it seemed. I shrieked as he entered me, moaning more loudly than I needed to, but not by much.

  "She can't get enough of it," I overheard Boss saying. "She's an absolute slut for my cock."

  "Mine is too," the other man could be heard insisting in between groans and moans, his own slave working hard for him. I turned to the side to see her backside, heart shaped, beneath her long red hair hanging down over her back.

  "Begs for it constantly... In the ass, too," Boss continued. "I've never had a girl who cums more from getting fucked in the ass than the cunt. Isn't that right?"

  He slapped my ass hard as he began to thrust into me. I squealed.

  "Yes, sir," I moaned. "I love it in my ass..."

  Another slap.

  "No one needed to hear more out of you," Boss growled. He reached around and I felt his fingers around my throat. I gasped, and then gagged, feeling the blood rush to my face as he choked me, as he fucked me. I was terrified and turned on beyond all sense by this point, his cock sliding ever so easily into my tightness, the force of his thrusts causing the clips on my nipples to wiggle, slicing into my tender flesh all the more deeply.

  "Please..." I moaned. "Please..." But my moans were swallow
ed by my strangulation and just as I thought I might pass out, Boss let go and, gasping, I took a deep breath of air.

  "Not bad at all," the other man murmured, clearly impressed.

  "She was a model, for a while. Until I taught her what her real purpose in life is," Boss continued. I felt my cheeks flush. "She's even been in porn. I bet you could tell, from the way she moans."

  "Not a surprise at all."

  There was a silence as my cheeks burned and I felt tears coming to my eyes. He knew about the scene I did? He knew and he didn't tell me? I was mad. I was livid, somehow. Why did it matter to me? I couldn't exactly tell you, but it felt like a profound breach of trust, one more serious than anything else that was happening right now. I didn't have a problem with the party in and out itself, or even having sex with Boss in front of others--after all, I was a model. I'm used to people watching me, and often not with the purest of intentions.

  But... Talking about the scene I did? My biggest of shames? I felt as though he had brought me here just to reveal to me, in front of other people, that he knew about it. And that he could use it to humiliate me if he wanted to. Which, it seems, he did.

  "You knew about that?" I gasped, but my voice was hoarse and my throat sore from being choked. That earned me my master's hand around my throat once more.

  "Did anyone ask you anything?" Boss growled. I shuddered, melting in his hands. No matter how mad I was, I loved that roughness of his...

  "No, sir..." I replied as best I could.

  "That's right," he murmured, twisting one of the clips on my nipples. I threw my head back and squealed, half in pleasure and half in pain. The other man just chuckled.

  "It seems you have a discipline problem with her."

  "Not for much longer," Boss replied heatedly. "She'll be whipped soundly before the night's over, I promise you that."