by Jessie Cooke
“Yeah, they were making love. She’s getting dressed but I don’t think she really wants to have to face anyone else right now. She’s kind of shy…”
“Oh of course she doesn’t! I just feel so awful for her. I can take a cab back to my hotel and you do what you need to do for your dad and to help the lady, okay? Just call me later.”
“Thank you, baby.” She came over and hugged me tight. Damn she feels good for a virgin. We really need to fix that soon. I felt my cock coming to life. Shit! Really inappropriate time!
“You poor thing. Do you need me to do anything at all before I go?”
A blow job would be amazing! “No, I’ll be okay.” I took a fifty out of my wallet and tried to hand it to her. “Go have lunch on me.”
She wrinkled her nose at the money and said, “I’ll have a snack. You and I can eat together later…or whatever you feel like.”
Is it bad that right here was where I decided that I was going to “feel like” taking her virginity tonight? Yeah, I’m a dick. I hugged her again and kissed the side of her face. I kept my crotch a few inches out so she didn’t think I was too much of a creep.
“You’re amazing. I’ll see you as soon as I’m finished here, okay?” She pat my face with her tiny hand, pressed a soft kiss to my lips and left. I kind of wanted to go with her and just call someone else to deal with the mess in the other room…but I couldn’t let anyone get wind of how my dad spent his last hour on this earth. He’d gotten pretty popular with the paparazzi lately because of his “adventures.” This is one adventure I didn’t want to make the pages, especially because it happened in Axel’s apartment. God, they’d eat it up and my Dad’s name would be a big joke. I couldn’t do that to him.
I found a couple of knives in the kitchen that looked sharp enough and went back to the dungeon. Olivia was hanging where I left her. When she saw me she said, “I thought you weren’t coming back,” and she started to cry again. Jesus, you think she’d be dry by now.
“I told you I’d be back. Shh! Don’t cry anymore. It’s okay.” Luckily she’s a petite girl. I didn’t have to find a chair or a ladder or anything to cut through the leather straps above her head. I sawed through them pretty easily…but of course I forgot her feet were still bound. As soon as the leather snapped she fell forward into me. I caught her, but fell back. I hit the floor holding onto a squirming, half-tied up naked woman. A hot one. My cock was doing a happy dance, and I may have even enjoyed it…just a little bit…but I heard the sound of a breath being sucked in in the doorway. I looked up into Samantha’s wide-eyed expression. There you go, I’ve sullied another innocent. “Sam! This isn’t really what it looks like!”
“I just forgot my purse.” Damn it! Why didn’t I lock the door? I rolled Olivia off me and tried to stand up. She had been covered in some kind of oily shit and it was all over the floor. I started slipping like I’d stepped on a fucking banana peel and my legs went in two completely different directions. I hit the floor on my ass just in time to see Sam turn around and flee the scene. Doubtful I’ll be getting any of that tonight. As I sat there and pondered what to tell her I heard,
“You’re on my leg!” I turned and looked at Olivia. She looked even more horrified than she did earlier…but at least she wasn’t bawling. I scoot my ass off her leg and then in an unbelievably humiliating act of desperation, I crawled across the bare floor until I reached the carpet. I used some other weird contraption that looked like a wooden saddle to pull myself upright. I surveyed the scene and realized that there was no fucking way I could leave Dad in there. I needed to get him into Axel’s bed or something.
I found a towel and threw it down on the floor next to the writhing, naked woman. I knelt on it and cut the straps that held her ankles to the floor and then I took her by the arms and kind of pulled her over to the carpet. “There, it’s not slippery over here. Can you stand up?” She nodded, but she didn’t look too sure. I think she’d been hanging there for a long time. I stood next to her and held my arm out. She tried to grab it but her hands kept slipping off. I tried grabbing her wrists and pulling her up but she just slipped right out of my hands. I shot my poor, dead father a disgusted look before finally just scooping her up like a fucking caveman and throwing her over my shoulder. She squealed. My cock strained for more room.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to get you cleaned up before the press arrives. I’d say thank you if I were you.” I carried her down the hall towards the master bedroom.
“My stuff is in the other room.”
“Your stuff is in the guest room?”
“Yes, that’s where we were staying.” I carried her into the guest room and sat her down on the unmade bed.
“How long have you been here with my dad?”
“Three days,” she said. She wouldn’t look at me and she sounded on the verge of tears again.
“Who are you? I mean, how does he know you? Do you work for him?”
“No.”
“Are you a friend of Axel’s?”
“No! What difference does it make? Go attend to your father and I’ll shower.”
“Suddenly you want to snap orders? Are you a prostitute?”
She looked up at me then with fire in her gorgeous hazel eyes. “No! I am not a prostitute!”
“Legitimate question,” I said. She was so offended, but if she could see herself right now…She started bawling again. I couldn’t take it. Even my cock took cover. “Clean yourself up. I’m going to deal with Dad. When you’re finished we’re going to get you out of here before I call the authorities.” I turned to go and heard her say,
“Ryan…”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“Mm hmm.”
“I’m really not a prostitute.”
“Mm hmm.”
“I’m not!”
“Okay, whatever. You have to admit that it was an easy conclusion for me to jump to!” And again, here come the tears. Shit! I’m going to need the fattest blunt of my life after all of this shit.
8
Olivia
I am mortified. I’m traumatized. I don’t even believe what just happened. There will be no rescue from this humiliation. It’s absolute. The memory will be forever sealed into my brain and whenever I have a quiet moment it will be there…ready to pop up and torment me on a whim. I can’t stop shaking. I can’t stop crying. My life will never be the same. The hottest, sexiest man I’ve ever seen saw me naked in a very compromising situation. He saw me with mascara and snot pouring down my face and he thinks that I’m a prostitute.
I’m lying in my bed at home, trying to reassure myself that I’m safe. Harold’s son took care of everything for me. He’s hot and efficient…and he thinks I’m a prostitute. I didn’t have to face the authorities or the media thanks to him, but the look on that gorgeous man’s face when he walked in and found me dangling over his father’s dead body…classic horror…and maybe a little bit of disgust was seared into my brain. I may be wrong, but I don’t recall ever disgusting anyone outright before except for maybe myself. That hadn’t happened often…but today would be enough to last me a lifetime. When he cut me down and my naked body fell on top of him and that young girl was in the doorway looking at us…I wanted to grab the knife from his hand and plunge it into my own heart.
As I was leaving…doing the walk of shame out the door of the fancy Manhattan penthouse, he’d handed me a piece of paper and a pen and asked me to write down my full name and number…just in case. Just in case what? Will the authorities be fingerprinting the apartment? Will they run DNA on the stains on the sheets? Dear God, did I commit a crime by leaving the scene? What if they come and arrest me? What if there were cameras in the apartment? Oh God! I never thought of that! I’m so stupid.
My phone was ringing again. It rang several times since I’d been home. Maybe it’s them and when I keep refusing to answer, they’ll come with the SWAT team and kick down the door. They’ll drag me t
hrough our nice, quiet middle class neighborhood and toss me into the back of a wagon they’ve used to round up the prostitutes. Oh God! I can say it a million times… “I’m not a prostitute!” But once everyone finds out I was there because that man was paying me…they’re going to assume. Maybe they won’t just be assuming. Maybe they’re right. A woman who has sex with a man for money is by definition a prostitute. A whore. A slut. Oh God! I’m going to be sick!
I ran into the bathroom and flipped my hair out of the way just in time to hit my knees and vomit everything I’d eaten for the past three days into the toilet. I sat there on the floor like the torn up prostitute I am and wondered…Where do I go from here? That damned phone was ringing again! Shit! Who is that?
I finally pulled myself up to my shaky legs and washed my face. I brushed my teeth and then walking like a baby deer; I went back into my room and picked up the phone. I had four missed calls. One was from Mike. The next one from Carrie and the last two were from a number I didn’t recognize. I tossed it aside and went back to bed. I would deal with it all tomorrow…or the next day…If I wasn’t in jail.
The next morning I woke up after about twelve fitful hours of sleep feeling like I’d drank a bottle of tequila the night before. My head pounded and my mouth and throat both felt like sandpaper and I wanted to die. It took me from the time I made it from my bed to the bathroom for some water to remember all that happened the day before. I spent some more time worshipping the porcelain God on my knees. All I had left in me was bile. It wasn’t pleasant. Once I cleaned up a little bit I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and went down to make coffee. When it was ready I poured a thick, strong cup and took it and my phone out to the patio. I took my time getting settled and then without any more excuses, I finally listened to the voicemails starting with Mike’s.
“Hi honey. I was just checking in. I’m feeling a little horny. I was hoping you’d be up for some noon time phone sex. Call me back.” The time on it was eleven-forty. It was close to the time Harold died. I hate myself. Why now? Why has Mike suddenly developed this phone sex fetish? It doesn’t matter why. He’s calling me for it…his wife…the way he’s supposed to. But I didn’t get the call because I was hanging naked in a dungeon, freshly fucked with a dead man at my feet. I shuddered and pressed the next one, Carrie’s message. She called only minutes after Mike did.
“Hi girl! I miss you. I just wanted to see how things were going. You’re halfway through the week. You’ll be wiping that pretty ass with dollar bills soon. I saw Mike this morning at our meeting. He seems lonely. You should take a little break and call him. Give him a thrill. I’ll talk to you soon!”
Even Carrie who encouraged me to do this was now encouraging me to call my husband. I’m a terrible wife. I’m a sick, depraved woman. I was afraid to even check the last two, but I did. They were both from Harold’s lawyer. The first one was from yesterday a few hours after Harold died, and it said,
“Olivia, this is Jace Wainwright, Harold’s lawyer. Can you call me? ASAP?” The second one was this morning. It said, “Olivia, it’s Jace Wainwright again. I talked to Ryan Golden. I really need to talk to you. Please call me.” Shit! What did Ryan tell him? I got the impression that Ryan would be discreet. Was I wrong? Oh God, the mortification of all of this alone is going to kill me! I guess I should just get this over with. I called the law office and asked for Jace Wainwright. While I waited I almost hung up three different times.
“Olivia?” Too late.
“Hi Jace…yes, it’s me.”
“You’ve heard about Harold?” Heard about? Does that mean he doesn’t know that I was there?
“Yes, poor Harold.”
“Olivia…is there any way I can meet with you today?”
“Today?” My head felt like someone was kicking me in it repeatedly. “I’m not sure I can make it out today.”
“I can come to you.”
“What is this about?”
“The money Olivia…I need to talk to you about the two million dollars.”
I’d been such a mess that I hadn’t even thought about it. Harold put that money in a trust for me and Jace was supposed to release it after the five days was over…we only went three… “What about it? Can’t you just tell me on the phone?”
Ryan is Harold’s sole beneficiary. He didn’t know anything about the “arrangement” you had with Harold. When he called to tell me his father was dead…I’m afraid I asked about you.”
“Shit!”
“I’m sorry. I just assumed you were there at the time and I was concerned for you.”
“It’s fine. What did he say?”
“He wanted to know how I knew about you and then he asked me a lot of questions about who you were and what you were doing with his father. He’s my client now by default…I had to tell him.”
“Shit!”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m sorry for cussing in your ear. It’s been a bad couple of days.”
“I sympathize with you,” he said. “That must have been very traumatic. Harold really liked you and I know he’d be extremely upset by this…Shoot! I think I should tell you the rest of this in person…”
Okay, so it was bad news. I guess I should have known. “Just tell me…please.”
“Ryan was livid when he found out that his father promised you two million dollars. He was more upset than I really thought he had a right to be. Anyways, he said that because it was only three days you didn’t uphold your end of the contract. He’s not going to allow me to pay the money out.”
“That son of a bitch! It was only three days because his father died! Technically, he was the one that didn’t hold up his end of the contract!”
“Like I said, I was Harold’s attorney and his friend. I know he would be upset by this…but I have to do what Ryan tells me to do. I’m sorry. I will tell you this though…You have options Olivia…you can file a breach of contract…”
“And make this public? No way! I’ve been humiliated enough, thank you.”
“I’m sorry, Olivia…but it’s Ryan’s money now.”
“I don’t care…I really don’t,” I was on the verge of tears again. It wasn’t about the money though. I was just so ashamed. He didn’t want me to get the money because he thinks I’m a prostitute. I wondered if not getting the money makes me less of a prostitute.
Carrie called about five minutes after I hung up with Jace. “Hey! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine…did you hear?”
“Yeah, it was in the paper today. You didn’t read it?”
“Oh shit! What did it say?”
“Nothing about you girl, really. Were you there when it happened?”
“Yeah, it’s a horror story I’ll save for when you get home. What did the paper say?”
“Just that he died peacefully of natural causes. Were you fucking when it happened?”
“Carrie! Jesus!”
She laughed. My best friend is a sick puppy. “I’m just trying to lighten you up a little. It’s sad, but come on…you knew he was going to die. It’s not like you loved him or anything. Now you’re a rich bitch!” She laughed again.
“No, I’m not.”
“What? Why not?”
I didn’t give her all the details, but I told her I met Ryan and I told her about Jace’s phone call. She sounded like her head was about to explode as she said, “You need to contest this! That is not okay! You did your part, right?”
“Of course I did. But, I’m not going to contest it, Carrie. The only way to do that would be to go into a public court and admit I traded sex for money. I’m not going to put Mike or me through that.”
“At least pretend you are.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Tell that bastard son of his you’re going to the press with this. Harold Golden hated publicity. I’m betting his son does as well since I’ve never read anything about him. Threaten him. He’ll come around.”
“I�
�m not sure that’s the solution, Carrie. I’m not sure I can do any of this without Mike finding out. I couldn’t stand the thought of what he’d think of me.”
“What Mike thinks of you is already in cement. This is not going to change his feelings.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do...go get your money!”
“We’ll see….”
9
Ryan
The day of my father’s funeral arrived and I found myself dressed in a dark suit and tie. I hate suits and ties. It’s completely contrary to who I am…but who am I now, really? I own a business and I’m a fucking billionaire. That’s different. Yeah, Dad was filthy rich…but his money was fairly new. I wasn’t raised with it and by the time he made his money I as already through school and working as a sound tech. He tried to give me money but I didn’t want to be one of those thirty something year old guys who live off the family coffers. I did let him get me a job with Axel. That offer was too amazing to pass up…and I love my job.
Samantha and I stepped into a black car outside of my apartment. I really had no idea who sent it…the lawyers were suddenly handling everything in my life. Dad was being laid to rest in Greenwood Cemetery in Brooklyn. It’s where my mother has been waiting for him for the past fifteen years. Breast cancer took her from us when I was a teenager and it was about that time that my dad decided he was going to live his life. Even before he made his money he had an adventurous streak. He and I learned how to parasail together…we went skydiving for my eighteenth birthday…we went to a baseball game at every major park in the U.S. and we spent three nights in a castle in Ireland. He had a list of things he wanted to do before he died even before he got his diagnosis. He’d already crossed most of them off before he died, and that’s the reason I wasn’t as devastated by his death as people thought I should be. They didn’t understand that it wasn’t that I didn’t love my father…it was that I loved him well.
