Hunter & Prey

by Kira Barker

  I rejoined Ray in the living room where he’d stopped in his slow tour through my home. I hated watching him pick up my personal things, even if it was just a stained coffee mug from my desk, or the discarded magazine from the couch.

  He noticed me hovering when I cleared my throat and gave me a quick once-over that rekindled the long-lost impulse to want to cover myself. His look was decidedly dismissive, and after a moment he snapped his fingers at me, then pointed at the floor.

  Closing my eyes for a second, I knelt down, then put my palms and forehead onto the floor in front of me. I felt terribly exposed, ass in the air as the position left me, and hated the physical sense of submission it forced me to display.

  I told myself to remember that things would likely get better soon, because when my body was occupied, my mind had something better to do than feel disgusted. And in the end, sex was sex, whatever he wanted to dress it up as.

  “Where do you keep your toys?” he asked, his voice dismissive and deceptively soft at the same time. “A slut like you must have quite the collection.”

  Likely very disappointing for him, considering that most of my gear was for use on my clients, not my personal needs.

  “Top drawer on the right in the bedroom,” I murmured into the carpet, still not moving.

  “Well, guess we can do without for now,” he grunted while circling around me. I didn’t even try to catch a glimpse of him, sure that he would soon enough let me know where he was.

  True to my expectations, he didn’t wait long to grab my hair and pull me upright fiercely, using enough force to make me stagger as I fought to reclaim my balance. His face was too close as he sneered at me, his pleasant demeanor from before a thing of the past.

  “Do you know what I’m going to do to you now, whore?”

  Yes, because you, moron, wrote it all down for me so I couldn’t miss it, I thought to myself, but just kept my teeth clamped shut.

  “I’m going to fuck you,” he answered for me, giving my hair another painful tug. “I’m going to put you to the only use a whore like you has.”

  Well, at least we were on the same page there.

  He left me a moment to reply, but seeing as I had nothing worthwhile to contribute to the conversation, he soon grew tired of keeping me up on my toes and instead dragged me over to the open space by the window. A shove had me stumble back down onto my knees, and a swift kick aimed at my thigh made me spread my legs as wide as I could. His foot—still wearing his shiny, black leather shoe—came down between my shoulder blades, forcing my cheek and upper body toward the floor.

  “Spread yourself,” he ordered.

  Closing my eyes, I reached back to my ass cheeks, kind of hindered by the pressure he put on my upper back, and pulled them apart, giving him an even better view at everything down there. I half wished that my last waxing appointment had been farther away than just a week, but I knew that there wasn’t a hair or stubble out of place anywhere on my body. A shame, really.

  His hand came down firmly between my legs, not really a slap, but I hated how possessive it felt. With crude motions, he thumbed my clit, then stabbed two fingers into my pussy, finding me wet, thanks to yet more lubricant. He gave a grunt, as if the signs of my arousal—fake as they were, but likely not to him—displeased him, but then he gave a short bark of laughter.

  “You really are a first class whore, aren’t you? Even if you hate every second of being with me, you can’t help dripping.”

  I didn’t reply, just remained in the same position, waiting for him to go on.

  He finally removed his fingers from me, dismissively wiping them on my upper thigh, then straightened, but his foot remained on my upper back.

  “How many guys have you fucked over the years? Hundreds? Thousands?”

  I could admit to myself that I was a busy bee, but not that busy.

  “I don’t know,” I bit out, not quite untrue. I’d never bothered to get the exact number written down somewhere.

  “But it must be a substantial number. After all, you’re not exactly fresh anymore, eh?”

  That made me grit my teeth, but I kept myself from replying.

  “Answer me, cunt!” he growled, going for my hair again. Let’s just say that in combination with his weight pitching forward, that was downright uncomfortable.

  “Five hundred, give or take a few,” I hissed, and when he didn’t ease up, I added, “I’ve been doing this for fourteen years. That keeps adding up.”

  He barked a short laugh and finally let go, but pushed his shoe even harder into me, forcing me more firmly into the floor.

  “Fourteen? They don’t even ride a horse that hard! But then you’re about ready to be discarded instead of put back into the stable.”

  Finally, the weight disappeared from my back, making me arch my spine immediately, but he gave me no chance to relax. Grabbing my arm this time, he wrenched me around so I came to face the bulge in his pants, still on my knees.

  “Make me good and hard, whore. That’s what you’re good for, anyway,” he ground out, thrusting the evidence of his enjoyment in my face.

  I complied, reaching up to undo his pants, then took out his hard cock and went down on him, not caring about being subtle about it. With no gag reflex to speak of, it wasn’t hard to swallow all of him, even though he was packing quite something. That made me think of his wife, Alison, but then it made sense. I couldn’t see her settling for a man who wasn’t a prime example on the physical side, although I doubted that she’d ever kneel before him. As I bobbed my head up and down on him, it wasn’t hard to picture them—her, naked, lounging on the bed, doing something important, like talking on the phone, or unimportant, like painting her nails, while she told him to lick her to ecstasy. No, Alison wouldn’t let him bark orders at her, and even less would she tolerate him talking trash. And should she enjoy being submissive in bed, she certainly wouldn’t play that out with Ray. I could see that plain as day, and it gave me that deep-seated kind of satisfaction that made the moment almost enjoyable.

  After all, it was mostly powerless wimps like him who thought they had to behave like the big, powerful man to someone like me. Men who actually were in control of their lives were usually the ones who instead enjoyed indulging themselves in a less “in your face” kind of way.

  Like Darren.

  So much for my improved mood.

  Whatever was going on in my head, my body still knew what to do, and before long I had Ray so painfully hard that he pulled out, apparently not satisfied with giving me some reprieve by coming early down my throat. Some more trash talk followed, and he slapped me around a bit, but it was clearly all for show. Eventually he grew tired of that, too, and dragged me into the bedroom.

  I managed to get the comforter off my bed as he pushed me toward it, at least saving that from the worst. While I flopped onto the mattress and remained lying there like a dead fish, Ray went through my little toy collection, at first clearly disappointed until he found two rather sizable dildos, one in neutral pink, the other what I guessed was supposed to be kinky black. Both were rather sturdy, definitely made for long, good use, and I winced inside when he threw them onto the bed next to me.

  He also found the plush covered handcuffs there, the only kind of bondage gear I had in my possession. Not quite my playing field, so why not leave the real deal to the pros? I’d all but forgotten about them, and now wished I’d stored them with my underwear instead.

  “Nice,” Ray remarked, twirling them around his fingers as he advanced on me. “Onto your front, slut.”

  I didn’t move, but he was only too happy to give me a shove, then snap the first cuff around my left wrist, and the other onto my right after wrenching my arm back roughly. For a second I felt panic rise inside of me when I realized that I’d forgotten where the keys were, but the handcuffs were flimsy enough that I could likely get them off without—and there was always Adam, should Moss actually be jerk enough to leave me tied up when he was done.


  But sadly, we weren’t at that point yet. I didn’t help him as he pulled me off the mattress again so he could bend me over the board at the bottom of the bed frame, leaving my ass up in the air with my chest pressed into the sheets. At his bit-out command I spread my legs, incidentally taking some of the strain off them, but I didn’t like how the position made it harder for me to breathe deeply.

  Next, he spanked me some, but either he really wasn’t into it, or thought that the impact was a lot harder than it actually was. I provided some unenthusiastic grunts that made his cock bob up and down, still slick with my saliva. In fact, he seemed so worked up that he slurred the few choice names he called me enough that I started hoping he’d just fuck me and be done with it.

  But then he picked up the smaller, pink dildo, wagging it on front of my face, making my stomach sink again.

  “That’s the kind of cock you like to fuck yourself with?” he asked, looking from the toy to his own equipment. Even with his superior physical attributes, he wasn’t quite a match for the likes of modern rubber production.

  I didn’t reply, but that didn’t seem to be necessary. Instead of waiting, he went to stand behind me, then rammed the dildo up into my vagina, sending me onto my toes for a moment, a real hiss of discomfort leaving me.

  “Huh. And there I thought that after half a thousand men you’d be looser than that,” he jeered, but didn’t give me a moment to adjust.

  Screwing my eyes shut, I sank my teeth into the sheets, but after a few seconds my body finally yielded, toning down discomfort to plain old indifference. I did pay attention to keep grunting and trying to jerk away, good as that did me pressed into the foot end of the bed, just to make sure that he didn’t get the wrong kind of ideas.

  He grew tired after a while and instead grabbed the even more formidable black toy, taking about the same care as with the pink. I kept my eyes fixed on a spot on the wall where a mosquito had found its end the summer before, idly wondering if it hadn’t gotten the better end of the deal. But with increased emotional detachment, it was easier to just let go and stop giving a fuck about what Moss was doing with me. Even if uncomfortable due to my utter lack of arousal, what he thought he was causing was a lot less painful than it could have been. I still promised myself to spend every cent from this appointment on splurge items only—shoes, a day at the spa, that dress I’d been cooing over for months but really didn’t need because I already had three like it—

  My daydreaming came to a sudden halt when I felt air rush into me as he jerked the dildo out, followed by the hard press of its tip against my anus.

  I tried to tell myself to just relax and take it—there would be damage, but one of my clients had a thing for plugs, and not just used on him, so I knew that circumference-wise, it shouldn’t be more than a challenge. But usually we only went there after he’d spent quite some time licking and teasing and spreading me, and applying the better half of a bottle of lube.

  Then I felt my sphincter start to give, real pain shooting up my back, and instinct overrode my thinking mind.

  “Stop! Please! It’s too—“

  My protest died on my lips as Ray gave the dildo a good shove, the lube I’d added before being just enough to let the toy penetrate, but at a price.

  That scream was real, with not an ounce of play-acting left. Pain so intense that it made me see stars raced through me, making me buck hard enough that the cuffs cut deep into my wrists, plush notwithstanding, as I tried to wrench myself free. I tried to kick, but my legs felt paralyzed, unable to do anything but stay in place, muscles quivering.

  There seemed to be some sense left in Ray, because he didn’t attempt to shove the dildo deeper into me, but he also didn’t remove it. My body was still trying to curl in on itself as he shoved down his trousers, and without bothering with a condom thrust his cock into my pussy, the added intrusion making me try to come off the bed.

  The weak links of the cuffs gave, freeing my hands, but instead of fighting back, I just curled them underneath my body and tried to detach myself from what was going on. It would be over soon, and then he would go, and I could forget this ever happened…

  My general estimation proved true, if sadly not of Ray’s stamina, which was a lot higher than I would have wished for. He kept pounding into me for the better part of ten minutes before his rhythm broke and his thrusts became erratic, yet instead of just coming inside of me, he pulled out, and I felt his spunk hit my ass cheeks all over.

  “This is exactly what you’re worth, whore,” he grunted, adjusting himself.

  Sagging with relief, I prayed for him to be done now, and he was, but only after pulling the dildo out, dragging it through his sperm, and then shoving it back into me.

  By then I was too exhausted to react aside from my fingers clawing deeper into the sheets, a last convulsion running through my body.

  He was panting heavily as he stood over me, clearly satisfied with his deed. Once he’d caught his breath, he pulled his pants up again and reached into the pocket of his suit. A wad of cash landed on the bed beside me, then another, somewhat slimmer but still substantial one. At least he tipped well.

  With my breath still coming in ragged turns, I stared at the money, then forced myself to glance at Ray. He met my gaze evenly and seemed rather disappointed to see my makeup smeared undoubtedly, but not a single run of mascara down my cheeks. I could have sneered up at him with defiance, but I knew that was what he wanted, and now my indifference was all that was left to me.

  “Are you done?”

  “Quite,” he replied, considering me for a moment, but then shook his head as if to himself. “Doesn’t seem like you’ll be much use to anyone right now.”

  Exhaling slowly, I reached back and yanked the dildo out, locking my jaw in advance so I didn’t even wince.

  “Anything else I can do you for?”

  He looked surprised at the joke, even as flat-toned as it was delivered, then barked a short laugh.

  “You really are a pro at this.”

  “I guess I should say ‘thank you’ now?”

  He shrugged.

  “No need. I’m not that sadistic.” Glancing at the heap of money, he chuckled softly. “Enjoy your tip. Might just be the last you’ll ever get.”

  With that, he turned to go but halted when he saw me bolt off the bed.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, my throat suddenly tight. I couldn’t say why, but although there hadn’t been a thread of intimidation in his voice, the words sent up a million warning signals that his actions certainly didn’t warrant.

  Moving so he fully faced me one last time, Ray looked at me in consideration.

  “Well, what do you think I mean?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking,” I shot back, my voice hoarse.

  “I think you’ll know when you get there,” he offered—and left, the thump of the door falling into the lock a very final sound.

  Shuddering, I gingerly sat back down and hugged myself, staring blindly at where I’d seen the last of him. After all the shit he’d spewed earlier, nothing he said should have been worth taking serious, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling that, despite everything, Ray Moss had just told me to be very, very careful.

  But careful of what?

  Chapter 12

  It didn’t come as a huge surprise that showering didn’t exactly make me feel better. A bath might have been nice for my aching muscles, but I didn’t want to risk it considering the slightly damaged state of my butt, so leaning against the tiled shower wall instead it was. There was a moment of weakness that made me shed a couple of tears, but it was mostly anger and humiliation that made my eyes burn. Then a weird, deep-set kind of bleakness settled over me that felt a lot worse, and I quickly stepped out of the shower and grabbed for my pajamas.

  No going out for drinks on this Friday night for this working girl.

  I remained huddled under my blanket for at least an hour, then had the sense to
check in with Brigitte. She had the grace to not jeer in my face, but there wasn’t an ounce of regret in her voice as she acknowledged that I was off the clock for at least the weekend, possibly a couple days longer, depending on how I’d feel on Monday morning. There was only a single client to reschedule, and when I mentioned him, she tartly informed me that this had been taken care of already. I had to hand it to her—at least she wasn’t dumb enough to have misjudged what Ray’s little show would leave me with. I hung up without wishing her a nice weekend, but then she wouldn’t have wanted to hear lies from me, anyway.

  After that, I dragged my sorry ass into the kitchen to brew coffee and texted Adam. Just my luck that he had to blow me off as he was doing “research” for a “job,” the code he usually used when his apartment was crawling with people lacking any kind of humor to speak of. So I was left with a tub of ice cream I’d saved up for times like these, and channel hopping on TV.

  I got stuck on some telemarketing show, fascinated more by the presenter than the products, but not really registering what was happening on-screen.

  The question was why had Brigitte put me up to this?

  The first reason that came to mind was easy—I’d fucked up, and this was her way of showing me that she wouldn’t tolerate mistakes. I’d had a couple of similar reminders in the past, but none had made me yearn to sit on peas just that much. Maybe it was because Darren had been a bigger fish than most, but I somehow sensed that, while not completely wrong, this hadn’t been her main interest.

  Another point could have been calculating business sense. If things got worse, in whatever sense, she might now have an in with not one but two of the most powerful lawyers in the city, and if it meant I might have to bend over and take it again, so be it. Honestly, if I wasn’t feeling so dirty right then I might have agreed with her; another hour of this might easily be preferable to a stint in prison, if that could be arranged. And it wasn’t like anyone could guarantee me that nothing worse than this might happen to me in there. Connections were worth a lot, and even if I’d have needed reconstructive surgery—which I was sure I didn’t—the bill would likely still have turned out in my favor. A whore’s dignity wasn’t really worth much.