One Night Only

by Violet Blue

  That meant this was the very last moment she could cut and run, and it would all be over. There was no cop car to rescue her; there were no homeless people immediately in evidence to mean the site wasn’t safe. The lurking forms were ready—hard already, maybe. They were standing in the shadows waiting for Haley Bennett to do as she’d been told—as she had asked to be told. If she did not, then it was all off.

  She felt dizzy. She actually went to get back in the car, and then came to her senses. She threw down the coat and threw down her keys atop it. They landed with a clang. She slammed the door but left the car unlocked.

  She started walking.

  Haley moved quickly, mincing in tiny steps, feeling tottery on her high heels. She glanced around and saw dark figures following—everywhere. Places they couldn’t have been. Looking at her from windows. Hovering above the street. Perched on power poles. Her heels clicked faster and faster, echoing through the canyons of the city. Panicking, she tried not to run. Her heart pounded. She felt warmth hit her skin. She felt something hot inside her. She felt the fear push her emotions into overdrive.

  She reached the alley and ducked down it, into the dark as if seeking refuge from the shadows. She mini-stepped, her heels clicking louder than ever in the narrow space, as she ran toward the big black at the end of the alley, imagining for an instant that she’d gotten the wrong alley, this one wasn’t a dead end, and she could slip out undetected and race back to her car. It wasn’t a done deal yet; even with a safeword, she could still outsmart the shadows.

  The buildings were tall and the light was distant and she was in the dark before she knew it. It’s not like she wasn’t expecting it, but when the huge dark form leapt at her from the blackness, she screamed.

  One big hand clamped across her face as the other seized her long, blonde hair. Haley struggled and screamed again, a muffled sound behind the tightly clamped hand. Still holding her hair, the big man spun her around and grabbed her wrist; he shoved her up against a smooth concrete wall and pulled her wrist up so hard Haley yelped again, louder than ever this time. Freed from the hand across her face, she tried to scream again—but this time the sound became a strangled groan as the hand pulled her wrist up into the small of her back and higher in a pain-compliance hold. She flailed with her other hand, weakly—but she couldn’t get purchase. Haley was tall-ish—six-foot-two in these six-inch heels. The man with her wrist and her hair in his hands still sported two inches on her—in fact, she knew he was six-four exactly. She knew because she bragged about his height and his shape—like a building—to any girlfriend who could listen, and any asshole casting director who made off-color comments. Oh, thank you so much for the compliment, went her go-to brush-off. No, I’m not offended at all. I mean, I think everyone likes to get compliments, especially when it’s totally innocent. My boyfriend Kendrick—you’d really like him—he’s always getting compliments. He’s six-four and black, you see, and he works out five or six times a week at this gym in West Hollywood—you know the Power Punch Boxing gym? Anyway, he’s always getting compliments from gay men at the gym, and he never takes offense—he really loves it. For him, he just sees it as motivation to work on his power lifting! He even has groupies! Of course, he’s broken the gym’s power lifting limit six times, so—hey, maybe you and he could work out together! He’s in the industry, he’s a stuntman and a martial arts instructor. He’ll be picking me up later—I can introduce you! Wandering hands never became a problem.

  The man behind her pinned her against the wall and leaned down to press his mouth to her ear. He wore a spandex hood with eyeholes and a mouth-hole.

  “You make a sound and I’ll hurt you,” he said. “Just be a good girl and you’ll walk away. You’ll be walking funny, but you’ll walk away. Act up and you won’t. Do you understand?”

  Haley did understand—she’d all but written the script. But whether it was method acting that made terror paralyze her vocal cords—or she was just so fucking turned on she couldn’t think or speak or comprehend—she didn’t know. All she knew was that a hot, painful sob came bursting out of her lungs as she started to hyperventilate.

  “Breathe slow and easy, slut. You’ve got a long night coming. Breathe slow and easy and do as you’re told. You know you want this. We know you want this. You’re gonna get everything you ever dreamed of, and then some. Make it nice and easy for us and we’ll make sure you enjoy it. Give us any shit? We’ll make sure you don’t. Am I understood?”

  She’d expected Kendrick’s voice to calm her—but it didn’t. Hearing him now, with the cold growl of pure and awful evil rumbling under him, she was left writhing in terror under his grasp: Had she miscalculated? Was her gorgeous, brilliant, sexy boyfriend of four years really a psychopath?

  He sure as hell seemed like it. When she just whimpered in response, he shoved her hard against the concrete wall. She flattened her palm against the warm concrete and let out a sob.

  He leaned up hard against her.

  She felt his cock, hard as iron, pressing against the barely covered curve of her ass.

  Deep in the alley, choked by shadows, Kendrick shoved her forward. It was so dark she couldn’t even see what was in front of her, so she uttered a strangled yelp of terror as she pitched forward. She was caught not by Kendrick’s hands on her wrist and in her hair, but by the hard, cold, smooth surface of an aluminum garbage can. It was exactly the right height to shove her ass up high as he forcibly bent her over. He kicked her feet apart; she yelped again as she felt herself suspended in space. Shadows flooded all around her—six, ten, a dozen, more. Men—heavy boot-steps. Ski masks. One with a camera, expensive, professional, probably “borrowed” from some locker at a documentary studio. The cameraman—a professional—pointed the lens at her ass, but never at her face. She heard the soft whir of digital video, saw the infrared blink and a green light illuminating black, blank, evil faces.

  Her dress rode up above her asscheeks. Kendrick’s hand slid up between her legs and he growled in vicious pleasure.

  “Nothing underneath. What kind of a slut walks around in this neighborhood, dressed like this with no panties?”

  He shoved two fingers inside her.

  “And she’s wet. Let’s give her what she wants!”

  There were murmurs around her as the men crowded in. One grabbed her hair out of Kendrick’s hand and tipped her head back. Someone else grabbed her jawline and squeezed; when she tried to clamp her lips shut, he squeezed harder.

  Someone, a stranger, unzipped his pants in front of her, just inches from her face. He pulled out his cock—enormous, dark, uncut. He pulled back his foreskin and showed her his dick—and then Haley saw nothing more, as a spandex mask was shoved over her head. It was shaped like a hood, but open at the top and the mouth to leave her cascade of pretty blonde hair available as a handhold—to facilitate the use of her mouth, which was now open and receptive.

  The man who’d showed her his dick grabbed her hair and slid his huge cock into her mouth. He wasn’t as rough as he could have been—Haley half wished he would fuck her so hard she would choke. But he gave her just long enough to get used to it, to straighten her throat and open wide for the dick about to ravish her face.

  Then he shoved his dick down her throat, and Haley swallowed it easily, feeling a hot rush as she was “forced” to take cock down her throat.

  Behind her, Kendrick had his hands deep in her. Or could it have been someone else? There were so many men all around her—a dozen, two dozen, three, four, five; it could have been a hundred. How many men had Kendrick recruited? She would never know, not even when she saw the video later. She would just know that she had been taken by many, and it was safe. Whether it was Kendrick who first took her wasn’t the point. The point was that all of them took her—bent over a garbage can in a dark alley.

  Her dress was pulled up hard, above her waist. The garbage can shuddered. She could feel it was filled with sand—her idea, stuntman tested!—and had had all the sha
rp edges filed off or taped over.

  She heard the camera whining slightly as the cameraman came in close and got a nice shot of her ass and her pussy; her cheeks were held open for the camera. She felt the stranger’s cock going rhythmically down her throat and felt her pussy lips being parted.

  Naked, hard dick eased up and down her slit, teasing her open—then it came. The first thrust. A hard shove. So hard it would have hurt, if she hadn’t been ready for it and hungry for it and pouring like a gusher. She tried to raise her ass to meet it and felt a hot wave of fear as hands and dicks and body weight held her down and cocks plunged rhythmically down her throat and into her cunt.

  She felt her orgasm building.

  That was, of course, not at all possible. No way could she be ready to come so fast. She’d been in a state of arousal for weeks as Kendrick planned this thing with her feedback; she hadn’t been masturbating because she was too afraid to accept that it would really happen—but too obsessed to slip into an alternate fantasy. When she and Kendrick made love he tried to talk to her about it, and she shushed him and said let’s talk about something else.

  Her pent-up energy was uncontrollable; the hard dick sliding bareback into her cunt was more than enough to bring her off after two minutes, three at the most. Her violent struggles made the man in her mouth slide his dick out and slap her face with it; that meant her mouth was free and her throat open as she howled in what only a fool could fail to see was an explosive, soul-searing orgasm.

  She let out a sob of pleasure, her body subsumed by the waves of satisfaction rolling through her. A ripple of laughs and cheers went through the crowd, and she heard Kendrick’s voice among others saying, “Slut,” “Whore,” “Wanted it,” “Give her what she wants.” His voice was distant; it was a stranger using her now. A stranger’s cock had just made her come. Dizzy with that knowledge, Haley felt her face go red and hot with shame and arousal. The men crowded in with new gusto. Her dress, already soaked through with sweat, was pulled up higher and ripped open in front so new men could feel her tits, pinch her nipples. The man in front of her slid his cock back down her throat, and Haley opened wide.

  Was it two hours later? Three? Four? Five? The sun was not up, so it could not have been six, but it felt like it—her gang bang a lost, swirling mass of smells and tastes and cocks and hands and big heavy bodies pinning her down. A whirl of orgasms, too many to count. She didn’t know how long it had been as they hauled her off the garbage can, her dress ruined, her legs and masked face streaming come, spit, sweat and her own juices.

  But even a girl who wants it can only take so much.

  Someone had retrieved her trench coat. They propped her up and slid it onto her, moving her arms for her because she was well beyond it. Kendrick left her hood on as he carried her to the car. He put her in the passenger’s seat and gave her a towel, but she was far too tired and horny even to wipe herself. They’d take care of that once he got her home.

  She heard faint voices outside—Kendrick uttering thanks, and slapping men on their backs for fucking his girlfriend. She felt her pussy trembling, twitching; how many times had she come? Too many. Too many to take. No sex would ever compare; she was sure of it. Except maybe the thank-you sex she’d have with Kendrick—that she intended to have with Kendrick, however he wanted and whatever he wanted, whenever, always, forever. He was golden to her in that moment: the man who had given her what she wanted. Finally.

  There was plenty of night left. She’d later see 01:16:06 on the closing seconds of the raw videotape, as she was carried to the car soaked with come. She’d watch it over and over again, orgasming, buzzing herself with a vibrator or just rubbing fast with her hand. For a year, she’d watch her ravishment daily—with Kendrick and by herself. For a year after that, she’d watch it weekly. Then it would always be there, to remind her how much Kendrick loved her. Eventually it would be kept in a fireproof safe, to keep it away from their kids.

  Would this get out some day and ruin her career?

  She didn’t really care. Scandal in Hollywood is cheap, and she was far too obscure to rate more than a line in a scandal sheet. One of the men would have to have recognized her before the hood went on, or put the pieces together afterward. And even if it ever did get out, she felt strongly that it would be worth it.

  Haley Bennett had gotten what she wanted—a chance to give the performance of a lifetime.

  And didn’t all actors, ultimately, perform for an audience of one?

  CHOCOLATE CAKE

  I. G. Frederick

  Louise sat down on the worn sofa next to Maria and crossed one leg over the other. She set her mocha grande on the small rickety table at her elbow.

  Freedom of Espresso didn’t have the most comfortable furnishings, but they made the best mochas in Renton. Louise always tried to indulge at least once on those rare occasions that she ventured back to the Seattle area.

  “So, what have you been up to since I’ve seen you. Gracious, it’s been years. Are you dating anyone?”

  “Not exactly.”

  At that moment, Louise noticed a tall, dark-haired man wearing an emerald-green linen shirt that emphasized a muscular chest and powerful arms. He stood near the end of the coffee bar a few feet away. His eyes ran the length of Louise’s legs from the strappy sandals up her firm calves to where her tanned thighs disappeared under her shorts. His gaze continued upward taking in her narrow waist and the cleavage displayed by her half-buttoned silk shirt.

  She reached over with her left hand for her coffee cup. The man’s eyes followed her movement and a smile played across his lips. He stepped to the side of the sofa, crouched down, and said in a soft voice impossible for anyone else to overhear among the coffee shop chatter: “I couldn’t help noticing the ring you wear.” He looked at the gold triskelion on the middle finger of Louise’s left hand and then up into her eyes. She found herself staring into the greenest pair she had ever seen. “May I assume you know the meaning of the emblem?”

  Despite his quiet tone, his deep voice resonated through Louise. She nodded.

  He reached out and traced the borders of the three interlocking patterns on the ring’s face with one finger. “And that you wear it on your left hand deliberately?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you ever get involved with dominant males?”

  Louise raised one eyebrow above the other.

  He leaned closer and brought his lips near enough to her ear that she could feel his breath hot on her skin. “I am not submissive in any way, however I find strong, powerful women can be a real turn-on for certain”—he cleared his throat—“games. And I think you’re very, very attractive.” He let his gaze linger on her breasts and the two tiny keys that hung between them on the gold chain around her neck.

  Louise turned her head so she could whisper in his ear. She inhaled the scent of male musk unembellished with any artificial odors. “I find strong, powerful men can be a real turn-on for certain games and you’re very attractive, as well. But, unfortunately I don’t live here anymore, and I catch a flight early tomorrow morning for home.”

  The man smiled, revealing an even row of white teeth. “I don’t want to interrupt your conversation any longer and I need to get back to the office for a quick meeting. But I would love to buy you a farewell dinner this evening. If I give you my phone number, would you call me when you’re done here? I work around the corner and could return within a few minutes.”

  Louise had planned to spend her final evening in town with her parents. She narrowed her almost black eyes a little. “If you give me your phone number, I’ll call it later this evening. But I’m afraid I won’t have time for dinner. A drink after, perhaps.”

  He stood up, went to the counter, grabbed a napkin, scribbled on it, stepped back to the sofa and handed it to Louise. “This is my cell. I’d love to hear from you anytime before you leave town.”

  Louise looked at the phone number, folded the napkin and tucked it into the breast pock
et of her shirt.

  “May I ask who will be calling me?”

  “Lady Louise.”

  He reached down, took her hand in his, brought it to his face and touched his lips to her ring. “Sir Peter so looks forward to hearing from Lady Louise.”

  He rose and grabbed a paper cup from the end of the coffee bar. The bells above the door tinkled as he left.

  Maria stared at Louise. “Whatever were you two whispering about? Was that someone from your sordid past?”

  Louise shook her head. “No, just wishful thinking on my part.” She savored the complex chocolate and coffee mixture and wondered how Peter had picked up on her inconsistencies.

  “So, I suppose there’s no possibility of you hooking up with that guy later, falling in love and moving back up here?” Maria sipped from her clear plastic cup filled with ice and creamy Italian soda. “I’ve missed you.”

  Louise laughed. “He’s hardly my type.”

  “Since when is gorgeous hunk of manhood not your type?” Maria tilted her head to one side. “And what did you mean when you said you were ‘not exactly’ seeing anyone?”

  Lowering her eyes to her cup to avoid Maria’s gaze, Louise inhaled the fragrant steam. She and Maria had been best friends since high school. But she couldn’t envision ever confiding that the preferred term for her current relationships was “in service” rather than “dating.”

  “Let’s just say that I’m not looking for anyone at the moment.” Even that wasn’t completely truthful. Although two men competed daily with each other for the honor of fulfilling her every whim, the keys she wore were to the padlocks that kept their cocks encased in plastic. And sometimes she wanted more than a male who would lick her for hours on end or take her strap-on in his ass.

  Louise knew it wouldn’t be hard to sidetrack Maria if she encouraged her to talk about her own relationship. “Tell me about Jonathan.” By the time Maria had shared every detail of her life with her new beau, their allotted two hours had slipped away.