The Last Good Knight

by Tiffany Reisz

  Nora reached under a newspaper left lying outside the door and picked up a keycard.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got this one under control.”

  She gave him a wink before sliding the card through the lock and slipping into the room.

  She found her client sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless and smiling. He had a good body and a vaguely familiar face.

  “Kingsley tells me you’re famous,” she said, dropping her toy bag on the floor and tossing her coat aside.

  “I am. Very famous.” He leaned back resting on his hands. “Want to see my Oscar?”

  “Never met a man who named his cock Oscar before.”

  “I meant my Academy Award.”

  “Oh, then no.”

  Her client blanched and Nora smiled. God, she did love putting the rich and famous in their place. And their place was, of course, at her feet.

  “It’s a big deal to get an Oscar,” he protested.

  “Yeah, well, I have no idea who the fuck you are and I don’t give a damn about your Grammy award.”

  “Oscar.”

  “And quite frankly, I don’t care who you are. But I hear you’re an asshole who treats his assistants like shit, and I think you’re probably going to have to be punished for that. Say ‘Yes, Mistress’ if you agree.”

  He swallowed hard.

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “Good boy. Now get naked and bend over the table. Let’s find out how an Oscar-winner screams.”

  She quickly found out how an Oscar-winner screams. Loudly and without shame. Luckily the walls were soundproof; otherwise she might have hotel security banging on the door. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.

  After an hour, her Oscar-winner had turned into a puddle of blissed-out goo at her feet. He kissed her boots, declared his undying devotion and begged her to let him see her again next weekend.

  “I might consider it,” she said. “But only if I check the newspaper and see that you’ve issued a public apology to your assistants.”

  “Done,” he pledged. “I’ll do it today.”

  “Good. Now get the fuck off my feet.”

  Her client pulled a bathrobe on and walked her to the door.

  “My new assistant is outside. He’ll walk you out.”

  “How gallant...of your assistant.”

  She stepped back into the hallway and found Lance and another man waiting in the hallway. The other man had about five inches on Lance and at least fifty pounds. Apparently Oscar’s “assistant” was actually his bodyguard.

  “You don’t have to walk me out,” Nora told the bodyguard. “I have my own babysitter.”

  “That’s fine,” he said. “I do have to frisk you first.”

  “Frisk me? I don’t think so,” Nora said. “You can check my bag to make sure I didn’t steal any ashtrays, but the body’s off-limits.”

  “Have to do it,” the bodyguard said. “Don’t want any pictures out there.”

  “Look, the lady said don’t touch her.” Lance stepped between them. “This woman’s a professional. She doesn’t take pictures of clients.”

  “I’d hardly be beating the shit out of Oscar-winners if I couldn’t be trusted not to blow their covers, now could I?” Nora chided in her most patronizing voice. “I don’t have a camera on me. Your boss’s little secrets are safe. We’re leaving.”

  She turned around but stopped when a big heavy hand clapped down on her shoulder with enough force to make her knees buckle.

  “Excuse me—” she started to say but all words became unnecessary when Lance grabbed the bodyguard by the forearm. In seconds Lance had the man on his stomach, his arm twisted behind his back.

  “You touch her again and you lose this arm,” Lance said, his voice calm but menacing.

  “Get the fuck off me.” The bodyguard tried to rise up and Lance slammed him back down again.

  “You fight like a bouncer. In other words, you’re a shitty fighter. So stop trying or I’ll dislocate your shoulder for the fun of it.”

  “That is fun,” Nora agreed. “Especially when you pop it back in again.”

  “You ready to go, Mistress?” Lance asked.

  “I was ready five minutes ago.”

  “Then let’s go. You,” Lance said to the man underneath him, “you stay here. I’ll walk the lady out.”

  “What lady? You mean the slut in the black boots over there?”

  Nora gave him a little royal wave.

  “Dude, you really should not have said that.” Lance sighed. With one jerk of his arm, he popped the man’s arm out of his shoulder socket. The man screamed even louder than his boss did.

  “Lance, put his shoulder back in right this second.” Nora rolled her eyes.

  “Anything you say, Mistress.” With another jerk he popped it back and man screamed again.

  Lance stood up and left the man on the floor writhing in pain. Arm in arm she and Lance walked toward the elevator.

  The elevator doors closed and she and Lance dissolved into laughter.

  “Thanks for taking care of that big dumb behemoth for me. Does he not realize ‘slut’ is a compliment in our world?”

  “The bigger they are, the harder they fall. I probably shouldn’t have dislocated his shoulder.”

  Nora shrugged. “Kingsley once sanded a guy who got too handsy with one of the submissives.”

  “Sanded? Like with sandpaper on sensitive parts of the male anatomy?” Lance winced.

  “No, that would have been barbaric.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “He used an electric sander.”

  Nora and Lance swung by Kingsley’s for lunch and put Mr. Oscar-Winner on the No-Play list. Kingsley had a strict one-strike-and-you’re-out policy for clients. One misstep and they lost any chance to play with his employees, ever. Too bad, the guy was a decent tipper.

  After lunch they drove back to her house in Westport where Nora changed back into normal clothes again.

  “I hope that wasn’t a total waste of an afternoon,” Lance said as she returned to the living room back in her jeans and T-shirt. She got two beers out of her fridge—Achel Extra Blonde, her favorite—and handed one to Lance. She kept the other for herself.

  “And milady’s a beer drinker, too,” Lance said with a heavy wistful sigh.

  “Only rare European beers brewed by monks,” she said. “Friend of mine made me try it while we were in Belgium.”

  “Good stuff,” Lance said, after taking a long drink.

  “Thanks for taking care of that asshole today. I don’t like admitting this, but he did scare me.”

  “Scared me, too,” Lance admitted.

  “You put him on his face and dislocated his shoulder.”

  “He could have done the same to me if he knew what he was doing.”

  “I’m still impressed.”

  “Dick-swinging bravado impresses you?”

  Nora smiled at him. “Acting strong even when afraid impresses me. It’s not courage if you’re not scared.” She leaned forward and they clinked their beer bottles together.

  “I’m just glad you’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

  “You were with me. Of course I’m okay.”

  Lance leaned forward to set his beer on the coffee table. Nora lifted the back of his shirt.

  “Hey, yo, what are you doing?” he asked, looking back over his shoulder.

  “Relax. I like seeing the souvenirs. My clients rarely book back-to-back sessions with me. I never get to see the aftermath.”

  Lance grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked. He bent forward and let her have full access to his back.

  “Damn. I do good work. You still have some nice bruises. Want me to get the mouthwash?”

  “Mouthwash?”

  “Little trick Kingsley taught me. Applying mouthwash to bruises makes them fade faster. They’ll be gone in two days if you want.”

  “I think I’ll keep them,” he said. “You’re keeping yours,
aren’t you?”

  “I always keep mine,” she confessed. “You like your bruises?”

  “I love them. They’re a turn-on.”

  Nora traced a few of the red welts with her fingertips. Lance closed his eyes and inhaled.

  “Next time I’ll leave some marks on the front of your body,” Nora said into his ear. “On your hips...your stomach...front of your thighs...I’ll make sure you can see them. Would you like that?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” he whispered.

  “Do you get aroused when you look at the welts and bruises the day after a scene?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you masturbate the day after when you look at them?”

  “Every day until they heal completely.”

  “Wish I could watch that.”

  “I’d love for you to watch me.”

  Nora could feel the muscles in his back tensing under her touch.

  “Do it for me now.”

  “Nora, you know I can’t.”

  “Oh, I think we both know you can. And I think we both know you want to. Kingsley said no sex. He said nothing about masturbation.”

  “We’re splitting hairs a little.”

  “I have turned finding loopholes in rules into a high art. If it were an Olympic sport I’d medal in it. And don’t pretend you don’t want to. You know you want to come for me while I watch. I know you want to show me how much our night together turned you on.”

  “God, yes...”

  “I’m not ordering you to do it because that would be kinky. King said no sex, no kink. We’re not going to have sex. We’re not going to do kink. We’re just going to hang out on the couch. And if the spirit moves you...then it moves you.”

  The spirit moved him.

  Nora turned sideways and leaned back against the sofa arm. She got nice and comfy as Lance faced her on the couch, a look of desire shining in his dark blue eyes.

  He scooted down so that he was half laying on the couch, half sitting, the sofa arm as his pillow. On the extra-long sofa, their feet barely touched.

  Lance unbuttoned his jeans and slowly pulled down the zipper.

  “You men are such fucking teases,” Nora said, shaking her head. Lance was as bad as Søren.

  “Give me some time. I might be shy.”

  “The man who was naked on the floor of my dungeon with his wrists cuffed behind his back and his face buried in my pussy is shy?”

  “I said I might be shy. I didn’t say I was shy.”

  “Tease,” she repeated.

  “Guilty.”

  He pulled his erection from his pants and slowly started to stroke himself.

  “I’m so going to get fired for this,” Lance sighed.

  “Don’t worry about it. If Kingsley asked if we had sex the answer is an honest ‘no.’ If asked if we did kink, the answer is...”

  “No.”

  “Good boy. I mean...right answer.”

  “Thank you. I did go to MIT. I should be able to answer simple yes and no questions even with a painful erection.”

  “It might be painful but it’s sexy as hell. You have a gorgeous cock,” Nora said with an approving nod.

  “Thank you, I think.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m a cock connoisseur.”

  Lance’s head fell back as he made another pass down and up again.

  “What makes a cock gorgeous?”

  “Hmm...” Nora tapped her chin. “Good size. Too big looks comical. Too small is, well, a bit disappointing. Although what women consider small and what men consider small are very different. We’re much more into girth than length, and you have very impressive girth.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Definitely. A pencil might be nine inches long, but you don’t want a pencil poking your cervix.”

  “Good point.”

  Nora bit back a laugh. “I can’t believe you made a pun while jacking off on my couch. Remind me to kill Kingsley the next time I see him. I want to fuck you so much right now it hurts.”

  “That much?”

  “I really like puns.”

  Lance stroked again and Nora couldn’t stop staring at his hardening inches, at his roaming hand, at the veins in his strong arms, the flat plane of his stomach.

  “I really like you,” Lance said, smiling through half-closed eyes.

  “I like you, too,” she said, watching as his fingers teased the head. What she wouldn’t give to roll forward and lick that little drop of semen off the tip just to make him moan. “More than I want to.”

  “You don’t want to like me?”

  “Not as much as I do, no. I’m not one of those angst-ridden women who constantly worries about whether or not I’m doing the right thing, making the right choices, or God forbid, pissing someone off. I piss off more people before ten a.m. than most people do all day.”

  “Good for you. That takes effort.”

  “I’m a natural. But to be like me, to do the job I do, live the life I live...I need it to be complication-free. You, Lance, are a complication.”

  “I’m a complication?”

  “You could be. I’m a Dominatrix. So I’m not a prostitute, but let’s not quibble. I work in the sex trade. My clients don’t get to fuck me, but the kink is their version of sex. They take their clothes off, I whip their testicles, they come all over my nice rug which I have to get cleaned five times a week.”

  “You might have to get your couch cleaned after I’m done,” he said with a wink.

  “It’s my couch. Trust me, it’s Scotch-guarded. Keep rubbing.”

  “I’m rubbing. So you’re a Dominatrix. I can live with that. Any other problems?”

  “No problems.” She shook her head. “I said complications, not problems. Most of the professional Dominatrixes I know end up dating clients. There’s a lot of heat in those sessions. Husbands and boyfriends aren’t thrilled at the idea of having a wife or a girlfriend who spends a lot of time alone with naked, horny, kinky men.”

  “I can see how that would be a complication. I can handle it, though.”

  “Can you handle these?” She pointed to her back. “I’m a Switch, remember? You’re not. If and when I need or want pain or domination, I couldn’t get that from you, right?”

  “I can’t hit a woman,” he said. “Not for love or money.”