by Sansa Rayne
“Yeah?” Chase says, picking up his glass. He drinks half of it in a gulp. “And yes, I enjoy my work,” he continues, his gaze lingering on Sibel. “I’ve got the best job in the world, really. Are you…” He pauses to take another gulp. “Are you a fan of… our videos?”
Sibel looks down at the table while Steph brings her glass to her lips and holds it there, hiding a subtle nod.
“Chase,” I whisper. “Stop it, all right?”
“No, it’s okay,” says Sibel. “We’re all adults here, right?” She turns to Chase and gives him a wry grin. “Yeah, you could say I’m a fan. The videos are really hot, if that’s what you’re into.”
Chase beams. “Oh, uh huh?” He finishes his wine and reaches for the bottle to pour himself what’s left. “You know, from one artist to another… how would you rate my… acting?”
“It’s very convincing,” Sibel replies. “It all feels… very real.”
Chase laughs, a hoot loud enough that patrons at other tables turn to look for a moment. “It does seem pretty real, doesn’t it? But that’s not how it feels, not to me.”
“That’s good though, isn’t it?” Sibel asks. “Because if it was…”
“Yeah, that’s true,” he replies. “But, your performances are all real, aren’t they?”
“Chase!” I snap, barely soft enough to avoid causing a scene.
Sibel glares at me. “Pierce, relax. It’s fine. Yes, Chase — I’m not simulating anything I do in my art. It’s all real.”
He nods, giving me a quick look.
“That’s what I’d like to do, one of these days,” he says. “Something real.”
It takes a few weeks for my indecent exposure charge to be heard, argued and sentenced; I receive the maximum fine — two-hundred fifty dollars — but no jail time. I cut a check on the same day, with a doodled cock on the memo line.
Pierce Williams must be a bad influence on me, because after weeks of relentless fucking, I feel like a goddess. Every time I see him, he ties me up, punishes me and brings me to orgasm again and again until every nerve and pleasure center in my body is utterly fried. I wake up the next day feeling invincible. Sore, but invincible.
Maybe the judge should have sent me away a while, because the two-hundred and fifty dollar slap on the wrist just makes me more eager to hold another public exhibition. Yes, the penalty could be worse next time. I don’t care. I’ve never felt more powerful in my entire life.
I’ve only seen Steph once since the restaurant, right after I received my fine. We went out to celebrate the fact that I will remain out of prison, but since then she’s been studying non-stop. After she takes the bar, I’m kidnapping her for a weekend of sitting on the couch in our pajamas, drinking pot after pot of coffee and watching Patrick Swayze movies on Netflix.
Until then, I don’t mind letting Pierce have me to himself. I haven’t seen Chase since that night at the restaurant, and that’s fine. Our meeting left me feeling unsettled; I recognized a darkness slithering beneath his crafted facade. I ignored it throughout the dinner, but now it lingers.
That’s what I’d like to do… something real.
When my thoughts wander, and my guard is down, his words echo in my head. The way Pierce stared at him after that, it wasn’t a face I ever want to see on him again: like he’d just swallowed a hornet, and it wouldn’t stop stinging on the way down.
“Chase has some demons,” he tells me on the way home from that dinner. “But they’re under control.”
I believe him, but I don’t forget any of it.
After a few weeks, the tabloids have yet to catch wind of Pierce and I, even though we haven’t been shy about going out together in public. We’ve spoken about how we’ll react when the world finally takes notice. Since we can’t tell the whole story of our first date, we embellish the part we can: meeting at the Blood Moon Lounge. In our version, we stay and talk until the place closes. We drink, laugh and dance. As the night wears on, we get a bit more serious in our conversation and learn more about each other in one night than either ever had on a date before. It’s a nice story, I think.
In the meantime, I take modeling gigs a couple of times a week, and Pierce keeps shooting videos for his site. He seems to be doing a lot of them lately. He tells me he’s stockpiling content so that we can take a vacation at some point — a long one.
I’m daydreaming about where we might go when the phone buzzes from my nightstand.
“Hey, baby. I was just thinking about you,” I say, biting my lip. “How was the shoot last night?”
“Fine,” he says. “Business as usual.”
“That’s nice.” It’s weird to think that last night my boyfriend was filming his best friend fucking some other woman, but on the other hand, he has to think of me striking sexy poses in lingerie while a handsome stranger snaps hundreds of pictures.
“Sibel… I had an idea recently for something we could do.”
I lick my lips. “Go on.”
“I’m not talking about some new Kama Sutra position. I mean, it’ll be hot as fucking hell, and you’re gonna lose your shit, but this is something we could do together. Professionally.”
Interesting.
He knows I’m not starring in a video for his site — we went through that when we first met, and he hasn’t brought it up at all since we started dating — so what is he talking about?
“Tell me.”
“Sorry, no. I want it to be a surprise. After we finish, you will decide what we do with the footage, okay?”
I look at the stack of SD cards on my desk; each one has hours of video of us fucking, usually while I’m tied, chained or strapped to something. He has given me every image of me he’s ever recorded.
“Okay,” I say. “But, you have to tell me more.”
He laughs. “I’ll tell you this: I want you to wear a tight, white dress, so go buy one if you have to. We’ll meet later. I’ll text you the address.”
Fuck me, what is he up to?
“I better not regret this, Pierce Williams,” I say with a throaty giggle.
He laughs. “You won’t. See you tonight.”
—
A few hours later, he texts me, telling me to have a good meal, since we’re not getting dinner. Also, he says to bring my heels in a bag, but wear sneakers or running shoes. I do as told, eating a bowl of spaghetti with fresh mozzarella and pesto, and later I make sure to put on my gray Sketchers. The combination looks idiotic, but considering how tightly the dress clings to my figure, I probably won’t have to worry about anyone looking at my feet.
Soon after, he instructs me to take the subway to Lower Manhattan, and at which stop to get off the train. He says he’ll be waiting.
I get more than a few stares on the subway, though I move to the corner as soon as enough other riders depart. The dress cuts off so high, there’s no way for me to sit down without flashing someone. I clutch my baggy purse as though my life depends on it, because bending over to pick it up is out of the question.
Relieved to be getting off the train, I push through the rush hour crowd and take a position against the station wall. Everyone either streams toward the stairwells out to the street, or jockeys for a spot on the train before it can depart; within minutes the train rolls away, leaving behind the handful of stragglers who arrived seconds too late.
With almost everyone gone, I scan the platform for Pierce, but don’t see him. I walk from one end of the space to the other, but he doesn’t seem to be-
There.
A man on a bench, who had buried his face in today’s Times, drops the newspaper and looks right at me.
“Ms. Isaacs,” he says.
With the tan fedora and trench coat he’s wearing, I don’t recognize Pierce at all. He looks like something out of an old film noir. What is this, Halloween?
“What on Earth are you wearing?” I ask, laughing at his outfit.
He saunters toward me slowly. “You’re in some deep trouble, Ms. Isaacs.�
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“Oh really.” I splay my hands out against my hips, warming up to his apparent role-playing. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”
Pierce cracks a grin. “Very well. Follow me.”
He leads me to the very end of the subway station, which has begun filling up again. With our backs to the wall, he wraps his hand around me and pulls me close. With a maddeningly slow pace, his hand works its way down until he can squeeze my ass, and then slip a finger up my dress and into my pussy.
“Pierce!” I whisper. “I already got arrested for this.” It’s one thing for me to break the law for my art; helping Pierce live out a kinky fantasy is another story. I trust him, but so far I don’t see how either of us is supposed to use this. Is he recording what we’re doing somehow? I haven’t spotted any cameras.
“Sibel, if you want to stop, we will,” he says, withdrawing his finger. His smile widens to look more proud than amused. “I totally understand if you’re hesitant about this. What we’re about to do is definitely not legal.”
“You said this was going to be something professional,” I growl.
He nods. “It is, I promise. We’re going to produce some fantastic art. And you’re going to come, a lot.”
Shit. Now I really have to know what he’s got planned.
“Are we going to get arrested?”
“Probably not. But…”
“What?”
Pierce looks up and down the platform as we hear the low thundering clatter of an approaching train.
“What is it?” I ask again.
“This isn’t the safest thing in the world to do. But I’ve done it lots of times; it really will be fine. You just have to trust me.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding. I do trust him, and if he says we’ll be okay, I believe him.
He leans over and kisses me as the train rumbles to a stop in the station. Around us, commuters spill out of each car, all of them wrapped up in their own worlds and oblivious to the two of us.
“Good,” he says, breaking off the kiss as the train doors close. “Get ready to run.”
Pierce tenses as the train starts to move, and as it picks up speed he edges us closer to the tunnel. From a massive trench coat pocket, he retrieves his camcorder. He slips the holding strap on over his hand and turns the device on, but keeps it at his side and pointed at the ground.
The second the train goes by, leaving us in a wake of swirling currents, he grabs my hand and whispers, “Now!”
And just like that, we’re running into the yawning subway tunnel.
“Pierce!” I shout as the darkness engulfs us both.
He activates his camcorder’s flashlight and points it in front of us, then picks up our pace. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”
Holy fucking shit, holy shit, holy shit!
I’ve heard of people who trespass in subway tunnels, often risking their lives in the process. Though I trust that Pierce isn’t going to get us killed, every instinct I have is telling me to turn around right now and run back.
“Are you fucking crazy?” I yell at him.
“It’s fine, keep going!”
I keep listening for the sound of an oncoming train, but all I hear are our footsteps and heavy breathing.
“How far is it?” I ask, feeling the rough wall with my free hand. I risk a quick glance behind me, but the curve of the tunnel has eclipsed the station where we left; all I see is a darkness so total, I could have believed I’d momentarily gone blind.
“Not much further!”
Is he just saying that, or does he really know?
Every second stretches on, and I can hear the silent spaces between our footsteps. The cold, musty air makes me want to cough, but I don’t dare.
And then I hear it: a soft hum that’s steadily getting louder.
“Pierce! It’s coming!”
He squeezes my hand, and then abruptly turns a corner. In the brief flash of light from his camcorder I see the outline of a door, and then we’re inside some sort of service area. We stop, and Pierce holds me as I catch my breath.
“You’re okay,” he says. “We made it. Just relax for a bit.”
“I can’t believe we did that!” My heart races from the adrenaline, and the incredible relief gives me a potent high.
As we pause to rest, I’m surprised that it takes the train I heard several more minutes to actually arrive. Pierce shows me the camcorder, and how our run down the tracks only took fifty-two seconds. In the time between trains, we could have run back and forth from the station and still had time to spare. When it goes by, the sound is so deafening we have to cover our ears — I used to think the trains were loud back in the station, but it’s nothing in comparison.
“How did you know about this?” I ask once it passes.
Pierce shrugs. “I did my research. This track was supposed to be pretty easy, so I gave it a try. Turns out, it is.”
“Okay… but why are we even here?”
“You’ll see,” he says, handing me my purse. “Now change your shoes.”
While I slip on my heels, Pierce resumes filming. With the light trained on me, I can see the grime from the tunnel staining my dress, but I don’t complain. He reaches into his pocket and tosses me a pair of handcuffs, and orders me to put them on behind my back.
“Please, no,” I say, getting back into character. “I’m scared-”
“Do it, or I’ll leave you here in the dark.”
Oh, fuck me, I think, feeling the juices dripping from my pussy. Is this how the women who star in his videos feel? A rush of danger, fear and helplessness?
Once I’m cuffed, Pierce hooks his arm in mine and leads us onward. Pipes and conduits cast terrifying shadows along cement walls; I keep expecting to hear the pattering of tiny rat feet, or the shuffle of a pale, starving vagrant. I don’t know which would be worse right now: crossing paths with a rat, or another person.
I’d ask Pierce if he’s sure we’re alone, but I don’t want to interrupt his filming. The horror I’m portraying is utterly real — this isn’t a set, and I haven’t read a script. What doesn’t show as clearly is my excessive arousal, the result of an obviously sick mind. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, that I’m so turned on by the experience and playing the victim, but on the inside I’m enjoying this insanity.
Finally, we emerge from a narrow corridor into a surprisingly open space. Bathed in blue light from an LED on the far wall, I realize what this is: an abandoned subway station. Ahead of us are rows of old-fashioned turnstiles, a kiosk for a newsstand and stairs presumably leading up to the surface. Pierce trains his light across the walls, which are covered in extensive graffiti.
“This is incredible.”
He nods, then points over to an area close to the tracks. “Come on.”
Set up on the ancient platform is a mattress, surrounded by several small LED lighting panels, two more camcorders and a pair of monitors, all of which are plugged into a power strip. Off to the side, I spot a small box of sex toys and a large, black suitcase that has been left open.
“You did all this?” I ask, hardly believing it’s real.
“Yeah.”
“How did you get the mattress down here?” I ask. Everything else could have fit in the suitcase, but not that.
“I inflated it with an electric pump,” he says, with a proud smirk. “The city has to do maintenance down here sometimes, so the power sockets work.”
Of course.
Pierce walks around the mattress and turns on the stationary cameras, then points his at me. He steps in and grips my arm. “Move it, slut.”
He practically pushes me down onto the dingy mattress. I whine as dust gets everywhere, coating my dress and skin. Now that I can see myself on the monitors, I’m horrified by my appearance: my clothes and hair are a complete mess, like I just escaped a burning building.
Yet, I also look like a depraved creature, desperate for pleasure.
Pierce takes his time, ma
king an exaggerated show of himself throwing off his coat. He unzips the pants of the dark, pinstriped gangster suit he wears underneath, then holds out his fully erect cock.
“On your knees.”
I do as he asks, wincing at the gritty feel against my legs as I turn to face him. As my lips close around his hard tip, I can see the monitors out of the corner of my eye. My body casts a shadow against the station’s support pillars; it moves as I bob up and down, sucking on the length of his shaft.
“Good, just like that.”
Tasting the salt of his skin and inhaling his sporty cologne, I get lost in the task. I take him deep, sucking enthusiastically. He groans and jerks as my tongue travels the length of his shaft, ending at his tip. Enjoying his response, I go at it harder, bobbing my head and looking up into his eyes submissively.
I get so wrapped up in my work, that I don’t immediately notice the station getting louder all around us. And then I see it: the light of an approaching train. Pierce gathers my hair in his fist and holds my head in place.
“Keep going,” he growls.
With my hands cuffed, there’s nothing I can do but watch as a subway train goes right by, mere feet away. Through the windows, I can see the passengers. Is it my imagination, or did some of them spot us, turning their heads to try and confirm what they thought they saw? The train is gone so quickly, I can’t be sure.
“Mmm!” I moan, unable to decide if I’m angry or elated. This is so wrong, so fucking illegal, but I absolutely love it. I should find it completely humiliating, but there’s no way those passengers really saw me, not on a conscious level. The train just moves too quickly.
Pierce’s cock throbs in my mouth as I keep sucking.
“Better hurry, slut. There’s another train coming any minute now.”
Shuddering as my arousal flares, I work his rod even harder, opening my throat so he can go even deeper. I gag, prompting him to give me a second to recover; when I resume, his cock feels like solid steel, and I take all of it.
I keep on going, though Pierce’s impressive stamina means I have to work myself to the point of exhaustion to get him to climax. When I hear the next train approaching, I whine sadly, putting all my energy into sucking. At the same time, I struggle against my cuffs, wishing I could use my hands to help.
