by Eden Myles
I started shifting around, the glass desk cold against my bare bottom, but Mr. Sterling said, “Stop it, Evelyn. Be still, dove. I must know for certain.”
Know for certain what?
I was about to ask him when I got my answer up front and personal. He slid his big hot hand between my legs and scissored them apart. Oh Christ, I thought as panic seized me and made my heart trip almost all the way up into my throat like a little bird flying up a chimney flue. Is he actually going to check?
No one had ever touched me like this, not even Shawn. I didn’t even have an OB/GYN because I couldn’t bear the thought of being touched down there by a stranger, even a doctor. I started to protest then, to really say something, but Mr. Sterling leaned over me, his upper body pinning me soundly against the top of his desk, and held my legs wide open for his inspection. His hands were firm against my inner thighs but his touch was gentle on the outside of my exposed sex. He circled his fingers through the soft, dark fur there, then boldly parted my outer folds as if it was his right to do so, as if my body were his to play with. It was cold down there, against my inner labia, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It didn’t hurt. I was still fairly limber, despite the bit of extra weight I’d gained over the years. I’d spent years waiting tables while in college, and work like that keeps you flexible.
I threw my head back so I was staring up at the banks of lighted panels in the ceiling above the desk while Mr. Sterling’s hands worked at keeping me spread wide, all my tender pink parts exposed to his scrutiny. “Ah,” he said with enormous approval and pleasure. He sounded hoarse with desire. “You have a beautiful cunt, Evelyn. Healthy and pink and untouched. I think I shall enjoy exploring your little cunny.”
I shuddered in fear and anticipation. Suddenly I didn’t have the power or the strength to fight him anymore. I couldn’t even fight the desire within myself. His fingers danced over my sex, brushing the supersensitive nub of flesh there, then moved inward. “Ooohhh,” I said, mortified by the way my body immediately responded to his touch. I shuddered at the invasion. I couldn’t believe I was letting a stranger touch me like this, like I belonged to him, like I was some desperate animal in heat, no will of my own.
“If you want me to stop, Evelyn, just say the word and I’ll stop,” Mr. Sterling said. He sounded serious. “But you must tell me now. Soon I may not be able to control myself.” He leaned forward, covering my body, so his breath blew hot against across my throat. “But I don’t think you will, little virgin. You enjoy my touch. You trust me.” He watched me, his fingers brushing across my most sensitive parts. My body jumped in response as if it meant to obey him even if I would not.
I groaned and rolled my head back on the desk, unable to make any more coherent noises than that.
He smiled against the skin of my throat. The pressure at my core increased as he inched first one finger inside me, then two. My whole body trembled for him. I tried to retreat, to thrash away, but there was nowhere to go. I tried to clench my legs closed but he wouldn’t allow me to close my legs to him. His grip was powerful, relentless, his fingers pressing ever deeper, widening me, preparing me, teaching me to obey his touch.
I climaxed hard against his hand before falling back onto the desk. He withdrew his fingers while I gasped with exhaustion. I tilted my head up, realizing to my extreme embarrassment that not only were his fingers shining with my inner cream, they also had a bit of blood on them from him pressing so deeply and forcefully into my formerly untouched core. He held my eyes as he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them, tasting me. He sucked his fingers and I shuddered at the sight. “Are you hurt? Is there much pain?” he asked with surprising tenderness and concern. I had proven myself to him, I realized. I had proven myself a virgin. And now, finally, he trusted me.
“No, I’m fine, sir,” I told him honestly. And I want you to touch me again, I added silently.
He grunted in acknowledgement of that and moved down my body until he was between my legs again, relaxed, in control, fascinated by what he found there. He bent his head, the roughness of his chin grazing the tender inside of my thigh, and licked my cunt in gratitude. The soft, rasping sensation made me cry out in surprise. He drove his tongue up and down my slit in slow, sensual strokes. He pressed his tongue a little ways inside me, a gesture that left me gasping for breath. Then he moved back up my body, slowly, always slowly, always watching me through those imperial glasses of his. Hooking his arm under my knees, he elevated both of my legs over my head, pinning my knees against my chest. I cried out in surprise. Suddenly, to my extreme embarrassment, I was exposed completely, back to front, everything laid open and bare and vulnerable to his scrutiny. I was more humiliated than at any other time in my life.
“Hush, my dove, hush,” he said. I must have been saying something, begging for something, but I think he knew I was his then, body and soul, that there was no turning back for either of us.
He explored my various nether parts thoroughly and carefully as if he meant to familiarize himself with every private part of me. He touched and licked me shamelessly, his tongue dipping in and out of my openings until I was wet and dripping and calling out to him. Then he plunged two fingers back into my cunt so suddenly that I cried out, though there was no real pain. I was so slick with my own juices and his saliva that I felt almost no discomfort at his invasion this time.
No one had ever touched me like this. No one had ever entered me there. He was less gentle this time. He pushed harshly against my opening, merciless in his desire to reach inside me, to claim me, to initiate me. I clenched down on his fingers, squeezing them with muscles I wasn’t aware I had even as he milked me. He groaned in appreciation and said, “Christ, you’re so beautifully tight, Evelyn, and you taste so good.” My cheeks burned as I rocked my hips back and forth, letting him finger-fuck me to another orgasm that left his fingers and my entire cunt shining wet with my release. “Evelyn, my dove, my virgin,” he said, “are you always so tight?”
I couldn’t have answered him if I tried, and anyway, he didn’t wait for an answer. He shifted forward so he’d crawled up onto the desk with almost catlike agility. He grabbed my chin and held me firmly in place as he forced his dripping wet fingers into my mouth so I, too, could taste. I sucked on his fingers, taking them almost all the way in. I tasted myself—a minty, unfamiliar flavor—and listened to his low growls of approval. “You’re perfect, Evelyn,” he said. “So fucking perfect. So fucking sweet and perfect. I can’t wait to fuck that perfect virgin mouth of yours, my dove.”
His words made me wetter, made the desire all the worse.
He withdrew his fingers and I started telling him how I had no experience with these things, but he ignored me. He eased my legs down over his shoulders. He had other plans for me today and they didn’t include my mouth. He took both my wrists and trapped them over my head with one hand. The desk was huge, more than large enough to support the two of us. His eyes were mean and hungry. “As my courtesan, you will be given written instructions at certain times,” he explained. “They may come to you directly, or they may come to you by post. You are to follow them explicitly. For you, they are the letter of the law, they are your whole world, and failure to do so will result in your punishment. Do you understand me, Evelyn?”
I groaned in response. He released my wrists, not that it mattered. I lay in some kind of reverie, aching for him, aching as I had never ached for Shawn, or for anyone. I didn’t know that desire could hurt this much.
He leaned forward between my legs. He tilted my hips up and at an angle that I instinctively knew would make the entry of his flesh into mine that much easier for him. He leaned forward, crushing my breasts against his chest. He nudged against my now aching and oversensitive clit with his cock, making me convulse against him in desire. When had he gotten his pants open? I’d never noticed. I did force my head up so I could look down at him, at us, at the way he was positioned to
take me. I had to make certain we were using protection.
We were. Why had I ever doubted him? I trusted him, I realized. Implicitly.
He was huge against me, both hard and soft at the same time, and the head of his cock rubbed deliciously against my clit. His nudged and bumped me, but for the moment he tensed himself and stayed apart. He leaned down and touched my cheek with the palm of his enormous hand. His touched was incredibly gentle. “I want to fuck you, Evelyn. I need to fuck you, my virgin. But I need your permission. I need to know that you’re mine, that you’ve given yourself completely over to me. That you’ll do as I ask. That you’ll obey me from this day forth.”
I angled my hips up, hoping he understood the answer I could not speak in words.
“My dove,” he said, kissing me with enormous feeling and a strength and control that made his entire body tremble above me. And then, gripping my hips, he speared me, driving his cock deep inside of me, piercing me and filling me at the same time.
I clenched my eyes shut against the sudden, unfamiliar pain. It made me cry out and arch my back and buttocks up off the desk, which just made him go deeper. He grunted a response, sounding deeply satisfied by his conquest, and when I finally opened my eyes, I saw his face was determined and a little remote, as if he were concentrating very hard on the task at hand, as if this was his whole world now, the most important thing he had ever done. I grabbed at the edge of the desk over my head to anchor myself. I struggled not to scream at the raw, terrifying sensation of him taking me again and again, a feeling like nothing I had ever experienced before. I knew that if I screamed, if he knew how much it hurt to feel this, he would stop. I didn’t want him to stop. So I hung on instead, letting him drive himself in and out of me in long, deliberate strokes. I glanced down between us. I watched him plunged himself in and out of my body, in and out of my wanting soreness, until, somehow, the pain became pleasure and we both wound up crying out.
My climax caught me unawares. It convulsed my whole body and clenched me down around him. I felt the exact moment when Mr. Sterling let himself go. He groaned and shuddered violently in his release, his hips dragging me right up off the desk like some rutting animal barely in control of his instincts. He buried his face in my throat and said things then, lovely things, perverse things, things you only ever say to your lover.
Lover, I thought. I have a lover.
We lay spent for some moments with him atop me, still buried deep inside me. I was sore with the fullness of him, but he seemed reluctant to move. We might have stayed like that a long time were it not for the knock on the door, and the receptionist announcing Mr. Sterling’s eleven o’clock appointment. Had we only been an hour? It seemed much longer than that. It seemed a lifetime.
Mr. Sterling dislodged himself from me and sat up on the desk. He looked down at me and touched my face tenderly with just the tips of his fingers. His face was touched with something close to religious exaltation. “I must attend to some things now, my dove, but I shall have my receptionist give you your instructions for tomorrow. They’ll be sealed in an envelope, and you must not open them until tomorrow morning when you wake.” He let out a shuddering breath, leaned down and kissed the corner of my mouth. “Evelyn, Evelyn, what a lovely courtesan you will make me,” he said. “I simply cannot wait to show you off at the Dollhouse tomorrow evening.”
***
DREAMS IN BLACK & WHITE
I thought I was dreaming when I spotted the sleek black Mercedes-Benz gliding to a halt at the curb outside my coldwater, rent-controlled flat on Pennsylvania Avenue. It was entirely out of place amidst the fleets of Yellow Cabs flowing around it, picking up and delivering fares for the evening. I stood on the curb in my little black Burberry dress—the nicest dress I’d ever owned—and black evening wrap and little purse, and felt the coolness of the evening gathering around me. I shivered. I wore stockings and garters, but no underwear. Mr. Sterling’s orders.
I expected the driver to step out and open the door to the Benz, the way they did on TV. Instead, the back door opened and Mr. Sterling himself stepped out. He was immensely tall, and cut a dark, geometric figure in his black, brushed, Italian-cut tuxedo. He wore a cravat instead of a bow tie. His hair was gelled back carefully over his ears, and he wore his wire-framed glasses. His eyes looked bright and silvery and alive in the streetlights.
He stepped up on the curb, his eyes set unwavering on my face, and took my hand. His grip was incredibly strong, but gentle. He exerted only the smallest bit of force, but I could feel the power in his body, thrumming like unspent electricity. I thought how easily he could crush another man’s hand, if he had a mind to do it. He brushed his lips across my knuckles and my heart started to knock, my palms sweat, and my cunny moisten. I pressed my knees together, but there was no relief from the constant ache deep inside of me. He stared down the long line of my body, his eyes lingering on the juncture of my thighs as if he knew what effect he was having on me.
“Evelyn, my dove,” he said, and his voice was deep and hard and almost metallic in strength. It was the voice of a man used to being obeyed in the boardroom as well as the bedroom. “I’m so glad you could make it tonight.”
His long vowels and European inflection made me shiver. I stood absolutely still, like a rabbit mesmerized by the snake that means to consume it. Then he smiled with satisfaction and handed me down into the Benz.
I shifted along the white leather seat, marveling at the size of the car and all the conveniences, the wet bar, the television, the laptop computer. It was dim, but not dark, the lights intimate. There was a solid black partition separating this part of the car from the front seat and the driver. Mr. Sterling slid down onto the seat beside me. It was a big car, and still he filled it to capacity. He was at least six and a half feet tall, by my estimation. He made me, a giant at six feet even, feel tiny by comparison. The car was suddenly full of the scent of him, warm vanilla, aftershave and the faint male scent that was just him, just Mr. Sterling. He shut the door soundlessly, and then we were off, the city flickering by behind the tinted black windows.
We were being whisked off to the Dollhouse.
I didn’t know what the Dollhouse was, but I trusted Mr. Sterling, even though we had only just met the day before. Before that, I’d worked for him down in the secretarial pool at Sterling of New York like every other temp. Until yesterday, we’d never formerly met, though he seemed to know a lot about me. Last night, I had given him my virginity. You had to have a certain degree of trust in someone to give them that, I thought.
He turned to me and put his arm up on the back of the seat. His hand found the back of my neck and his fingers rested there, at my nape, just under the fullness of my very straight long hair. He drew small circles there. His touch made a shiver spark somewhere in my spine. He said in that deep, almost gravelly, voice, “You opened the letter I gave you?”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
“Have you found my instructions satisfactory, then?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you followed them?”
“Yes,” I said, and then added, “…sir,” because that was one of his instructions.
“Do you trust me, Evelyn?”
I looked up at him. Slowly, I nodded my head. I felt trapped by his narrow, all-consuming gaze. I had done everything in his instructions to the letter of the law. His law. I had worn the Burberry dress, sans panties, the platform Pradas, even the cosmetics, though I’d felt they were much too overstated for my pale, plain face. I’d applied them with a light hand and they had still left me looking vampiric. Mr. Sterling had provided everything, all of it delivered efficiently to my apartment in advance of our date, if you wanted to call it that.
He’d given me other instructions, of course. How I was to address him. How I was to wear my hair. How I was to conduct myself tonight. But he hadn’t told me anything about the Dollhouse.
&
nbsp; He moved closer to me, turning his body ever so slightly so he was pressing me back against the seat. He partly covered his body with mine. He slid one of his trousered legs between my knees, nudging my legs further part. His hand cupped the back of my head, holding me in place, and he bent his head to kiss me for the first time that night. He kissed me hard, a bruising kiss. His tongue tasted bitter and hot and sweet all at once. I groaned at the taste, the feel, of it sliding over my teeth and against the supersensitive top of my mouth. He licked me there, quickly, like a lizard seeking water, then plunged it fully into my mouth. He fucked my mouth with his tongue until I groaned.
His hand moved to my thigh, pushing the too-short skirt of the dress up to my waist. I suddenly worried about the leather seats beneath us. I worried about staining them. He held my eyes and moved his hand so it was pressed against all the wetness between my legs. Did he not trust me? Did he not think I had done what he asked? The touch made me jumpy. He smiled that knowing smile of his as his fingers teased over my exposed sex. “No panties. Good,” he said. “You’ve done well, little dove. How was your day at work?”
I tried to concentrate on his words. I told him it was good, ordinary, another day. I didn’t tell him that I’d spent most of the day either watching the clock and mentally pushing it to go faster or watching the other girls in the pool, wondering if they could somehow sense my non-virgin status. I did tell him that I’d finished reading a new book last night, Alexandre Dumas’s The Lady of the Camellias. For a little while we discussed Marguerite Gautier, the woman kept by various lovers—frequently more than one at a time.
