by Jade West
“Fine,” I said, only I wasn’t so sure it was. My stomach felt fucked up. Not from the steak, either. “Who’s the guy?”
“Just a guy.”
I shrugged. “Fair enough. Likely to be trouble?”
“No,” she said. “This is just a precaution. We try and play safe.”
“We?”
“Players, in the BDSM scene.”
“Who do you usually use for security? How come I got the gig?”
“I don’t usually use anyone.”
“So you are expecting trouble, then.”
“Look, left to his own devices he can get a bit carried away. Knowing you’re here, he’ll behave himself. And you got the gig because I know what you’re capable of.”
“You’re really into this shit.”
“Yes.” She loosened her coat, shrugged it off her shoulders. “Yes, I am.”
This Sophie Harding was fuck all like the woman I’d first met. A red mini dress to match her red lipstick, and stockings, with the suspender bits showing. She looked hot. Really fucking hot. She checked her make-up in the dresser mirror.
“What’s in this stuff for you?”
“Adrenaline, endorphins... the release... it feels good, to be out of control. Free, you know?”
“Where I’m from everyone’s trying not to get beat up.”
“This is very different.”
“If you say so.”
“It is,” she said. “BDSM is about discipline and obedience, and heightened states. And sex. It’s about sex. Violence through anger is something else altogether.”
“I usually try and keep fucking and fighting separate.” I smiled at her reflection, just a little bit. “Don’t always work out that way, though.”
She smiled back. “Fear and lust are a heady combination. It works for me.”
“Whatever you say. I’ll just sit here and keep me mouth shut.”
I watched her reflection. For someone that looked as good as she did she seemed awful self-conscious, putting lipstick over lipstick, and messing with her hair. I had questions, shit loads of them, but none of them were any of my bastard business. Didn’t even know her. I wondered what the man would be like, some posh arsehole probably, probably didn’t even know how to hit. Just a bit of slap and tickle, that’s all.
I changed my mind on that when she opened her suitcase. This shit didn’t look like play-acting. Handcuffs, and weird gag things like you see in porn films, and a shitload of whips and straps and even a fucking school cane. I looked away as she started pulling out the dildos. Shit, man. You can’t unsee that kind of private.
“I’ll take these through,” she said. “He’ll be here any minute.”
“What do I do if you call? Rough the arsehole up? Take him to the park and give him a kicking?”
“Christ, no,” she smiled. “Make him leave, that’s enough.”
I doubted it would be. Not for me.
Sophie Harding went through to the bedroom with her bag of tricks, and I sat in that fancy chair.
My stomach felt more fucked up than ever. Maybe it was the fucking steak after all.
***
Sophie
I was more nervous around Callum Jackson than I would ever be around Roger. If Roger was even his real name, of course. I would have doubted so, but who’d ever make up a name like Roger? Whoever the hell Roger was he had money, enough to pay for this suite and its fancy four-poster bed.
My security guard was like a caged animal: dark eyes examining everything, examining me. I’d told him about the BDSM a hundred times in my imagination, and each time it became a little more sensational. He’d hardly reacted at all in real life. Maybe the slightest surprise, if you can call it that, a bit of shock that the prissy estate manager he’d faced off in East Veil was a kinky little bitch under her suit. He hadn’t even reacted to the toys, nor the dildos. Nothing. Maybe he didn’t give two shits about any of it.
What had I even expected? That the savage would pin me again the moment we were through the door? Growl that he was a secret dominant, skilled with a cane and Japanese rope bondage? And then what? Slam me and hit me and fuck me until I begged him to stop?
Of course not.
He’d come for the money. I’d do well to remember that. I should remember that. Should be relieved.
Finally, the savage sat down. He stared at the door, already on high alert. I made my way through to the bedroom, keeping him in view as I arranged my toys on the bedside dresser. I wondered what Roger had in store for me. Something noisy, I’d said, something that would make the neighbours talk. Or Callum Jackson think. The Savage jumped up at the knock on the door, eyes like daggers.
“Sit down,” I said. “Relax.”
He didn’t sit. He backed up against the window.
I answered the knock, and a slickly-dressed Roger strode on in. He kissed me on both cheeks before catching sight of the man in the room, then shifted awkwardly, eyes questioning.
“I didn’t realise this was a party,” Roger said. “He joining in?”
My cheeks bloomed. “He’s just a friend.”
“A friend?”
“Keeping a look out,” the savage growled.
“I see.” Roger smiled, but it was fake.
The two men stared at each other, opposites colliding. Roger was actually the thicker-set man, broader shoulders standing proud under his suit jacket. His chestnut hair was slick to his scalp, light eyes obscured by a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. His appearance only served to make Callum seem wilder in comparison. Wild, and tightly wound, ready to spring. I took Roger’s hand, dragging him on through before the atmosphere bubbled to boiling point. I smiled at Callum before shutting the bedroom door, but he didn’t smile back.
“What the hell?” Roger hissed. “Where did you find that animal? Looks fucking vicious.”
“He’s a friend.”
“Really? I hope you know how to keep him on a leash.”
“He’ll be fine.” I hoped it wasn’t a lie.
Roger smiled. “Did it to wind me up, did you? A young bit of rough, all ready to jump in my place if I’m off my game...”
“Something like that,” I mumbled.
“Bad girl. You’ll pay for that.” He examined my toys. “I’ll give him something to listen to. On the bed.”
I did as I was told, sitting down on the edge of the four poster, letting the familiar rise of adrenaline flood through me. Roger took some leather cuffs and a long length of chain, wrapping it tight around the thick carved wood of the posts.
“Maybe you’ll be a better girl today, take my whole fucking fist without crying off. I’m gonna make you beg for it, so meathead out there can hear how much you want me.”
Roger wasn’t playing. He was inflamed by another man’s presence, seething under his cool exterior. He stood over me, thick fingers under my chin, tilting my face up to him.
“You want him to hear you, don’t you? Want him to hear what a dirty little slut you are. Maybe I should leave you tied when I’m done, let him come in for my leftovers. He’s probably used to scraps.” Roger yanked hard at my dress, forcing it down over my tits. “Has he seen these? I bet he’d like to?”
I shook my head.
“Good. He won’t want them when I’ve finished with them. Hands behind your head.”
Vicious smacks landing hard on tender skin, practiced enough to catch the nipple. I closed my eyes, arching myself into it. Fuck yes. This was it. This was what I craved. He twisted my nipples between his fingers, teasing them into a false sense of security before resuming his assault.
“Look at those sweet little tits, dirty girl,” he whispered. “Now they match your fucking dress.”
My flesh was rosy pink in his hands, he squeezed hard, until I squirmed. “More... please.”
“Not yet. On the bed, show me that pretty white ass.”
I moved into position, shuffling until my dress rode up around my thighs. Roger helped it on its way, giving my bac
kside a thwack for good measure. It echoed around the room. Rough fingers forced their way between my legs, snaking inside the crotch of my panties.
“Just as I thought, sopping fucking wet.”
“Please...” I hissed, craving the intrusion.
“You haven’t earned it,” he barked. I gasped as he withdrew, keeping my eyes shut as he rattled about on the dresser. I heard him slap his palm... with leather... a leather strap. He grabbed my wrists, pulled me up the bed until he could cuff me. Roger wasn’t slack like Cain, the cuffs were tight, chains taut. He pushed my knees under me until my ass was in the air, groaning as he slid my panties down around my thighs. “Peachy fucking view from this end. Time for you to earn your pleasure.”
There were no warm-up taps, no tickling with the strap. Roger got straight down to it, striking a heavy blow right across my ass cheeks.
“Yes... fuck...”
“Loud enough for you?” he growled, landing another. It was loud, really fucking loud.
“Harder... please...” I moaned, rocking back as the bite subsided.
“Dirty fucking bitch.” He obliged, raining down perfect lashes, and the adrenaline spiked, ears ringing, breath ragged. Just how I love it. Roger leaned in close. “Beg for me, dirty girl, let that thug out there know how much you want me.”
“More... yes... please...”
“Louder. Let him fucking hear it.”
Shit. I was lost, coasting along on the rhythm... the beautiful pain...
“Let him fucking hear you,” he hissed.
“HURT ME! PLEASE, YES, I WANT IT!”
“Good girl,” he groaned. “You’ll fucking take this.” I squealed as he jammed his meaty fingers right the way inside me. Fuck. His modus operandi. I squirmed in my chains as his thumb tried to join his fingers.
“OW! Shit...”
“You’re so wet for this, I’ll bet he can hear your slurping fucking snatch through the wall.” He wiggled his hand to demonstrate his point. “Spread your knees, wider.”
I gritted my teeth and did as he asked, opening myself up for more. I arched my back, shifting position until his brutal fucking fingers hit the right spot.
“YES!” I cried. “There... please...”
“Hitting the sweet spot, am I? Oh, fucking yes.” He wrapped his free hand around my thigh, finding my clit. “Let’s make you fucking scream.”
He had me. Endorphins peaked, careening me into subspace as I jerked in his grip. Months of frustration crested and subsided, and there was only submission, only the pleasure-pain salvation of his hand between my legs. I didn’t fight it, didn’t care, rocking back and forth, taking as much as my body could take.
“I should call him in,” he growled. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? He could see how tight you are, how dirty, see me knuckle-deep in your horny little cunt.”
“OW, FUCK... I’M COMING, FUCK, YES, I’M COMING...” I unravelled, jerking and writhing and grunting beyond care. It was everything I needed. Everything I wanted.
Not everything. My brain tried to hold fast to the man in the room with me, the man who’s hand was pushing deep, but it wasn’t him that sent me over the edge.
It was the image of Callum Jackson in the doorway.
Watching me.
Wanting me.
“FUCK. FUCK. FUCK...”
“Good girl.”
I cringed at the sound his fingers made as they pulled out. I was soaking wet. Sore too, really sore. I collapsed flat on the bed, high in the afterglow. “Did you get all the way in?”
“Not even close,” he said, reaching for my cuffs. He unbuckled them, set me free.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?”
I stared up at him, confused. “But you aren’t done yet.”
He smiled. “I’m not a desperate man, Missy. I may be horny, but I’m not desperate.” He leant in close, breathed in my ear. “It’s not me you want, and you fucking know it.”
Caught out, called out, humiliated and exposed. It felt fucking awful. “We could still...”
He stroked my hair. “Don’t worry about it. This was fun enough, thank you.”
“Shit, Roger, this is embarrassing.” I sat up, eyes on his. “It isn’t what you think...”
“It doesn’t matter what I think.” He checked his glasses in the mirror, brushed himself off. “Just make sure you know what you’re doing. That’s the most counterproductive security measure I believe I’ve ever witnessed. I’m almost scared to leave you with him.”
I found I was smiling. “I’ll be fine.”
“I hope so, Missy. Maybe another time.” He kissed my forehead. “I’ll see myself out. Please save me if he pounces. I value my spleen.”
I held my breath until I heard the main door slam, then sighed, relieved.
I wasn’t sure how much I’d fancied his chances.
***
He’d been pacing, I could tell. He stopped as I entered, staring with dark eyes while I flicked the kettle on.
“I dunno about you, but I fancy a coffee.”
“Don’t do hot drinks.”
“Something stronger? There’s a minibar.”
He shook his head.
I made myself a drink, taking my time to stir the milk in and trying to find words. They didn’t come easy. “Thanks, for being here. It must have been strange.”
“Could say that.”
“I’m sorry, if you heard anything...”
“Heard plenty.”
My face flushed, along with the rest of me. “Sorry...”
He came closer, staring at me like I was some kind of alien. “Can’t say I get it. You liking that.”
“Hard to explain. You’d have to do it to understand.”
“Did he really hurt you?” His eyes were dark fires.
“No more than I wanted him to.”
“I heard what he was doing. You liked that?”
“Yes,” I answered, simply. “I like the submission, I like to be taken. I like to feel out of control, with a man who knows how to command himself. A man who knows what I need.”
“And he knows, does he?”
“Some of it.” I stared at him, staring at me. Aware of the pink flush on my cleavage, my dishevelled hair, the heat between my legs. Aware of him, the confusion, the anger in his eyes, aware that he was reeling, brooding. Horny. He was horny. I could feel it, feel him.
He broke the connection, shut it down cold with one shrug of his shoulders. “We done here?”
I jumped up, reached for my bag. “Sure, yeah. Thanks.” I counted the notes in front of him but he didn’t watch. They were crisp and clean, straight from the ATM, but they felt really bloody dirty as I handed them over. He shoved them in his pocket, put up his hood.
“You alright if I leave?”
“You could stay,” I said. “Sorry, I mean, not with me, I mean, I’m leaving...” I composed myself, daring to smile. “I’ll start over. The room is paid for, if you wanted to stay.”
“Nah, you’re alright.”
That was as much of a goodbye as he offered.
***
Chapter Five
Callum
I tracked back to East Veil, hood up and feet pounding the streets as it grew dark. I needed home, the closest, shittiest thing to it I’d ever known, with its stench and its trash, and its hopeless fucking desperation. My head was rammed, thoughts smashing into thoughts, and right through all of them was her. Sophie Harding. Her stockings under that red dress, the noises she made, her tits, her smell. She smelled so good, not like the women I’d known before. She smelled different, classy. She smelled so fucking good.
The cash felt dirty in my pocket. Dirtier than all the filthy cash I’d ever owned. My stomach turned. It made no fucking sense, none of it. She was one of them, one of the establishment. One of them that looks down on people like me. I shouldn’t give a shit, not about her, not about her dirty fucking money. It don’t pay to think and it su
re as fuck don’t pay to feel.
I slowed down as I reached the subway, the funnel of syringes and piss leading straight back to where I belong. I took out a roll-up as I came out the other side, cruised my way through the streets I’d grown up on. I wasn’t ready for Vick’s yet, not even ready for Casey.
Sophie fucking Harding.
Her stockings under that red dress, the noises she made. Her fucking smell.
Her blonde hair. Shiny, and soft looking. Red lipstick.
The hint of her tits, white flesh blushing red.
The noises she made...
I took out the cash, counted crisp notes in grubby fingers. I didn’t want it. Not from her. I wanted to give it back, tell her thanks. Thanks for bringing my Casey back, thanks for keeping quiet, thanks for not putting me inside again.
Thanks for nothing.
I shoved the notes back in my pocket, as deep as they would go. I’d take her fucking money, be her fucking guard dog in the next room ready to spring if lover boy got a bit leery.
Her piece of fucking meat. Her trash.
She was trash. The noises she made. Her slutty fucking dress. The way she begged.
Fuck. The way she begged.
I hadn’t had a fuck in months.
My dick was hard, balls aching so fucking bad in my jeans. I dropped into the shadows of tower two, stuffed my hand down where I needed it. So fucking hard. My balls were hot, tight, desperate to shoot my load. I needed pussy. Wet, tight, hot fucking pussy.
Her smell... posh perfume... and shampoo... and clean, soft skin... and sex...
I changed course, skirting back the way I came and detouring to Al’s fish and chips. It was closed, and so was the off license next door, but the benches to the side were still live and kicking, a gaggle of tower one girls with a bottle of cheap vodka between them. A couple of Blades’ gang members were kicking about across the road, but I’m good with Blades. Know them well enough to be on terms.
“You missed it,” one of the girls said. “Closed half hour ago.” I recognised her, Gemma Davies, brother’s inside for arson.
I shrugged. “Ain’t here for that.”
