Uriah's Heart

by Zena Wynn

  Watching sex was cool, participating in a way to get off was even better. I needed a bit more than a slap to my ass to make me cum. In my profession, there was rough, and then there was ROUGH. Therefore, since sex was not something that appealed to me, but the combination of bondage and dominance, well, now that was something different.

  My clients still ranged from talking to me, dressed in nothing but underwear to one who held me in a bear hug until he fell asleep. One client sucked on my toes, and it was a requirement that I had on purple nail polish since this was his fetish. The problem was, in my last year the tuition for Bridgetown Law University went up significantly, resulting in me needing at least three more non-sexual clients. Unless I took on one that required a sex exchange, that would put me in the low five figures. If I could do this once every two months, then I would be golden for tuition and my next step after graduation.

  When I mentioned it to Bruce, my employer for Exclusive Person (EXP); his face lit up.

  “Girl, didn’t know when you’d come to the dark side.” He started tapping away on his keyboard in the North East building, in the now gentrified, downtown area of D.C. near H Street.

  Who would have known the entire floor was the office of EXP. A matchmaking, exclusive escort service with models, like myself, that are chosen behind a computer screen.

  “Yo, this is so fucking perfect. A high-priority client just came through again. He’s looking for someone with your description. You’ll be perfect for him. Other girls have shied away from this guy in the past, but I know you’ll give it as good as he gives it. The man gets off on that. Some of my other girls, decided they want to be delicate flowers. It’s a fucking joke, if you ask me. There is nothing delicate about this business. Money exchanged for some fucking service and hopefully, it’s fucking and not the other shit these guys are into. One client just wants the woman to change his diaper. Not a Depends diaper, but a big ass cloth diaper with a big ass safety pin. No fucking, just his fetish. Fine by me. Shiiitt.” Bruce was a Brooklyn native turned D.C. guy with a New York accent that was very prominent, when he was heated about something.

  I shook my head and laughed.

  “Well, what’s good for the goose…” I let that hang.

  “Is good for the damn gander.” He finished, and his screen blinked to blue. “Fuck! The blue screen of death.”

  Hmm, okay. Maybe that was a sign that I needed to just take on three more non-sexual clients. I did not believe in things like that, but it would have been a lie if I tried to act like I was not having second thoughts. Sure, I was in the escort business, but maybe a part of me wanted to keep the sex aspect away from the job. My goal was not to be a whore, but if I only had sex with one guy, then maybe I could stomach that. Deep down, I knew I was mere seconds away from doing things my mom used to do just to get her next fix. Was it different because I was trying to pay for school?

  Would a shrink say that I was acting out, repressing my feelings for how having a crack-head for a mother played out in my life? It was just fucking. Like Bruce said. I never felt anything during sex any goddamn way.

  “Okay, I’ll look at your schedule. Since you’re upping the ante, it means your levels will change. You need to get tested again, put on birth control, and checked weekly.” Bruce had turned from the computer and was writing on a piece of paper.

  “Okay, should I go to the clinic now?” I asked.

  “Yeah, as soon as this computer comes back on, I’ll set it up. Dottie, this is serious. He’s a good, long-standing client. Okay?” He was nodding his head at me waiting for me to acknowledge that I understood.

  “Yes, I’m always good with the clients.” I reminded the man.

  “Yeah, babe. You are my top one.” He agreed and handed me the piece of paper. “You sure you want to just do one? I got more. You could take the money and do whatever you want. The house, car, shit, at your rate, any damn thing you want, if you’re storing your money.”

  Bruce seemed more excited than I was about moving to the next level.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Just one for now. I’m testing the waters.” I told him.

  He didn’t know about my past, why I was doing what I was doing or any of that. The man knew my real name, my real bank account and the address I put on file. I needed to get paid. Period. I planned to get my law degree from Bridgetown University, move to California and start my practice. Bruce was right. With that money, I could have the entire practice and my move funded. Those were my goals, and that is what I was sticking to.

  After going to the company’s clinic, they tested me for drugs, diseases, pregnancy, and took blood. They said it would be a few days, they’d let Bruce know, then I would be clear. They would not give me any needles, but a pack of birth control pills, which I always hated. My skills did not include remembering when to take those damn pills. I needed a shot, so I’d set up a regular appointment with my doctor.

  In the meantime, I took the pills, and a few days later, I received the email. My new client wanted to be called Richard, he was six-foot-three, blue eyes, short cropped hair, sharp features, and a businessman. The only thing that he required was no talking about politics. This was listed as his hard line? Everything else was on the table, just not politics? There was no picture, but there never was. Men like this did not like to leave paper trails showing that they dropped massive amounts of money on escorts. Or as my mama used to say, ‘pussy.’

  The fact was that Richard he had no hard limits. The topic of politics was not the type of hard limit I experienced on a regular basis. I also assumed, since he had no hard limits, that probably meant, he did not want someone with hard limits. The file said he had an athletic build and was very active, which meant he fucked hard. In upper case on his sheet, it was written, ‘DOMINANCE, BONDAGE, SADISM.’

  In that order.

  I could do that. That meant, he was probably a mean son of a bitch or an entitled brat who had the money to play. I’d participated in the club demonstrations at Steel, and I’d seen a few of those, but Skull kept a tight lid on the shit that happened at his club. He also did not play like he used to before he married his new wife, Fatima, and he worshipped her. A few times, I wouldn’t have minded taking her place during their presentation, the way he treated her body as if it was physically his to own. Every inch of it, he kissed, licked, bit, and sucked until she came so much, the woman passed out. Then he still wasn’t finished because he fucked her so hard, they both collapsed and then the lights went dim. Most of the participants that watched left, but I stayed and observed the aftercare. That man loved her, and it was in every single way he doted on her, whispered in her ear, caressed her body as he washed her down with a cloth and cleaned up his cum from her pussy, mouth, and asshole. It was hot, and that made my pussy wet because that wasn’t sex the way I had known it to be. That was something else.

  My full description, fake name, picture, and some made-up hobbies were sent to my client prior to the appointment so he could approve. Once everything passed inspection, a day later, an appointment was set up for me to meet at a hotel in Virginia. It was a large, antique Neo-Renaissance style mansion with several sequences of six tall arched windows on the outside, but the complete contrast on the inside with its modern textures and ambiance. From the chrome door knobs to the marble floors and counters, even in the lobby. The concierge was pleasant, professional, and not surprised when I entered and told him my name. He immediately gave me a key card and said, “Welcome to the Belle. I hope you enjoy your stay, Ms. Dottie.”

  I returned a smile and nodded, as I continued to walk towards the elevator where I used my card and pressed the button for the seventh floor. The floor was made of marble, so my heels clicking on the hard exterior gave me away before the ding of the elevator signal could. There was only one door on the entire floor, which meant, this man had the entire space to himself. I took a deep breath, moved all of my anxiety to the back of my mind, put on my signature wanton face and knocked.

&nbs
p; A few seconds later, the door opened, and before me stood a tall, white man, with stunning blue eyes, a streak of silver going through his hair, like it was deliberately designed to create a part. His face was clean-shaven, which showed his sharp features, small, yet visible crow’s feet near his eyes, and those lips of his were in an arrogant smirk.

  “Well, shit.” He exclaimed with a slightly southern accent.

  It sounded like ‘sheeeit.’

  In return, I smiled back at him and said, “I’m Dottie, your…”

  That was all I was able to say because he cut me off and said, “Course you are. You the only one knocking on this door, Dottie. Paid enough for you to knock on the door and you do it like that. Just come up here and knock, standing here looking like some black goddess, ready to take my soul.”

  What in the actual fuck?

  “Excuse me,” I exclaimed as my eyes blink rapidly.

  It was my nervous tick, something I’d had since childhood. It rarely came out because I was never nervous.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Please don’t say you’re one of those bleeding hearts that can’t take a drink without a chaser. Fuck, I deal with those folks every day. Tonight, I ain’t dealing with it.”

  I felt like he was talking really loudly and a mile a minute. So much so, that I almost forgot I was here on business and was about to show him what a Suitland chick was about. Instead, I figured, I would cut my losses on this asshole and get another man I could fucking stomach because, at this rate, he was bound to call me a nigger. Which made me think, maybe Bruce screwed up, which threw the man off. He might not have specified the race. That had happened before, and Bruce sent a Latino girl to a Jewish guy, and the man had a fucking fit. That girl quit the agency afterward. Maybe these were the delicate flowers, he had been referring to.

  My eyes reached blue eyes again, then I nodded and turned on my heels to go back to the elevator.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” he drawled, and my entire body was no longer moving away from him, but into the room because he was pulling me inside. “Not going to be that easy, sistah.”

  No, the fuck he didn’t!

  “Sistah?” I exclaimed.

  Once the man had me inside, he turned me around and leveled me with a stare. Through gritted teeth, he growled, “You came highly recommended. You’re beautiful, that’s for damn sure. Are you going to get your panties in a twist because of some bullshit, or let me get what’s hanging low between my legs behind those soaked panties?”

  Was I in the twilight zone? I looked around waiting for someone to jump out and say surprise or something. Nobody and I mean nobody talked to me like that. It was insulting. It was said with racial under and overtones that he wasn’t even trying to hide, but...

  Yeah, there was a but.

  No one could ever have told me, I’d ever have something like this happen to me. Yet, there was a but.

  The warmth in my panties said otherwise. I was turned on, and almost nothing turned me on. He talked a good game, but most men did until it was time to perform. This was making me wish I was back at Steel. There were distinct rules and systems, but then I remembered, he had no hard lines.

  Therefore, I gingerly placed my bag down on the table near the door, which he had already pushed closed and slapped him across his face. The outline of my fingers was visible, red, burning marks that seemed to temporarily mar his skin. Once his head jerked back, all I saw was fire in his eyes.

  Oh fuck.

  The man grabbed me by my shoulders, turned me around, so I was facing the door and literally ripped the silky dress I had on in half in the back, ruining it. On pure instinct, I moaned, put both palms on the door and arched my back so he could see the black thong that was tucked between my ass cheeks. Letting him know, I’d be expecting him to find it. All of it. My Jimmy Choo shoes were nice and high, giving my calves a boost to show that muscle that men loved to caress.

  “Naughty, fucking girl,” he growled as he pulled the thong and let it smack my ass, right before he ripped it clean off my body.

  Something heavy hit the ground, causing me to twist my head but I didn’t see Richard at first glance. He was down, on his knees, parting my cheeks as he dove in, mouth first to lick my asshole.

  Well, goddamn.

  A hard slap to my butt, made me arch more, then another and another and the spanking ended with him biting a chunk of the flesh. It would leave teeth marks, but I could have given a good goddamn, because I was so wet and dare I say, desperately needy.

  Richard lifted me up by my hips and placed my center right on his face as he continued to stay on the floor, kneeling with my behind hovering over him.

  Athletic build, my ass. He was moving my entire body with sheer strength alone, as my pussy moved up and down the man’s face. That was beyond hot. I felt owned like he controlled what my body was doing. I was so astonished by his strength, that the sudden tingling down my spine took me by surprise. The hair on my arms and legs began to stand up, and a feverish sweat broke out all over my body. Then the mewling began. He went faster until his mouth latched onto my clit and he began to suck as if it were the fountain of youth or some other mystical prize within my body that he sought to release. The orgasm was blinding as my eyes clenched shut. I howled as my entire body jerked violently as I came in his mouth. My toes were barely touching the ground at this point, but he moved the position of one of his hands and held me with a guiding grip on my stomach.

  Almost suspended in the air, he continued to slurp the juices that leaked from me. It was wet, messy and fucking hot. Richard placed me on my own two feet causing me to wobble. He steadied me with his arm and stood to his full height. I finally looked at him and nearly creamed again, because his entire face was wet.

  Fuck me, it was wet with nothing but me. Those eyes pierced mine, and still, he had the damn smirk on his face. Instead of slapping him this time, I stood on my toes and licked his lips before I smacked mine together.

  Fire.

  Scorching flames could be seen in his eyes, and that was when he snatched me by the arm, turned and growled, “You’re not going any fucking where.”

  Holy shit.

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  Lady Guardians: BLINDSIDED

  Siera London

  One proposal. One night. Once will never be enough.

  Dr. Graham Hamilton is ready to make his part-time lover a permanent addition in his life. Problem is, she isn’t returning his calls.

  Doctoral student, Shayla Walters, wanted more than Graham’s routine visits to her bed. She would have given him forever, but life threw a curve ball that has her rethinking her choices.

  When Graham arrives on the university campus, Shayla is resistant to their usual arrangement. Blindsided by her rejection, he rises to the challenge. He came to the nation’s capital for Shayla, and he’s not leaving without her.

  Chapter One

  Graham Alexander Hamilton, III. stalked across the Howard University yard looking for a specific piece of ass. The grassy knoll, flanked by the Founder’s Library, Blackburn Center, and the famous Douglass Hall, named after the social reformer and abolitionist, Frederick Douglass, had traded its lush green coat for an icy brown pelt. A chilling wind blew across the McMillan Reservoir. Graham, with a raised arm, shielded his face with the book in his hand against the jarring onslaught, maintaining a steady clip forward. Having served hundreds of internship hours training at Howard University Hospital a decade ago he knew this terrain, sight unseen, as well as his Shell Cove home turf. He was a thirty-nine-year-old obstetrician-gynecologist who spent half his day placating executive pansies in the board room and the other half talking to a rainbow of vaginas in the examination room. At home the only thing he had to sink into, in order relieve the tension, was a leather chair with an easy-rise foot lift. Today he was on the hunt for a different kind of high-of the sexual variety. Events of the past nine months had altered his life in unexpected ways. He needed the rele
ase that could only be found in the arms of his woman.

  His ‘piece of ass’ had an office space in the Lindsay Building closer to the school’s main gate. The derriere reference had come from Shayla, not him. The first time he heard the woman apply the term to herself, he’d been offended. However, she’d laughed at his outrage. A throaty sensual sound that haunted his dreams and stirred his body to life.

  The night they met he’d accepted Shayla’s invitation for a night of debauchery, with the expectation of decent sex with an intriguingly beautiful woman. Too late, he realized his propensity for easy women landed him in close quarters with the dull and mundane, but old habits tended to linger. Like a common cold, he could try a variety of treatments, but in the end it had to run its natural course before a full recovery. So, he’d been caught with his pants down—pun intended—with Shayla.

  Their arrangement had taken an illogical course.

  With a casual aloofness that fascinated and vexed him, she had injected him with different strain of feminine prowess. The first taste of her had eradicated the remnants of his previous lovers. What remained? A primal craving and Graham had no interest in a cure. He hungered for another dose of her. So, what could be considered the proper course of action when his sex toy refused to answer his text messages?

  Get on a five forty-five morning flight and find her ass.

  Shayla Walters, a fourth-year doctoral candidate, had picked him up in a trendy DC dance club on the worse night of his life. He shoved away thoughts of the old betrayal, ignoring the bitter taste clogging his throat. Women, they could be a man’s executioner or his sweetest escape. He recalled the moment he’d hooked up with Shayla. At the time, Graham had been drowning in regret and Irish whiskey. One weekend spent with her beneath him, and he was ready to pack up his shit in Florida and relocate to the political swampland, just to get a glimpse of her.