Selling Satisfaction

by Ashley Beale

  "How many?" She asks.

  "I'm looking for Mr. Belvidere actually."

  Her eyes skim me up and down, anything but satisfied with my answer. She's probably lucky that I'm not actually from corporate because I can guarantee no one with her attitude would be working for me.

  "And you are?"

  "Susan. From corporate."

  Her eyes widen a little, probably fearful of the same thoughts I just had- that she shouldn't have a job here. She doesn't apologize though, which is sort of annoying. I should be used to getting snooty attitude and dirty looks when I check into a hotel, mainly because I'm popular at certain ones- they know why I'm there- but something about this girl rubs me the wrong way.

  She picks up the phone and asks for someone named Carlos to come to the front desk. "One moment," she tells me before walking away. Maybe she knows I'm not actually corporate. Maybe I messed something up.

  "Susan?"

  I turn to the voice. An old man that is probably far past retirement stands there with a large smile on his face. "Yes, that's me."

  "It's a pleasure to meet you." He reaches out and gives my hand a firm shake.

  "You as well."

  "If you follow me, I'll bring you to Mr. Belvidere's office."

  I walk behind Carlos through the lobby and past the elevators to a set of wooden French doors. He knocks twice before opening a door and stepping aside. "Thank you," I tell him.

  Giving me a nod of the head, he turns and walks away.

  "Close the door," I hear ordered from a man's voice. I do as I'm told.

  Turning, I see Mr. Belvidere, dressed in a sharp, black suit. He corks a brow as he takes in my attire. "You're more beautiful than your picture makes you out to be."

  Even though I don't see a hint of a smile, I take that as a compliment. "Thanks," I reply.

  Walking over, he continues to look me up and down, making sure I'm up to his standards. His fingers lightly run along my backside as he makes his way around. "I can't bring you into one of my rooms. There are cameras everywhere and someone will see. I can't meet you at other hotels because I'm too recognizable. We'll have to make due in my office."

  "That's acceptable to me."

  He walks over to his desk and opens a drawer, pulling out an envelope. "Here is what is owed to you. Count it if you want." He tosses it onto his desk and waits for me to walk over. When I get the envelope, I look inside and see all hundred dollar bills. I quickly file through assuming it has to be at least a hundred individual bills, fold it up and place it into my purse, setting that on the desk.

  "Sofa," he instructs. I'm unsure if he wants me to lay on it, so I walk over and sit, crossing my legs at the ankles until he orders me to do more. It's obvious he is someone that needs complete control. That much I figured out when I read his list.

  Opening another drawer in his desk, he pulls over several toys, including a whip and some duct tape. My palms sweat knowing I'll probably be more pained than pleasured, but the money in my wallet makes each cent worth it.

  "Are you into Bondage at all?" Mr. Belvidere asks, peeking over at me as he holds some weird toy in his hand. I don't allow other people's toys inside of me though. Each client I'm with has to be checked if there is any intercourse to be expected, so I know he is clean- I do not, however, know if any toys have been used on others. Anyone who signs one of Kandy’s agreements is told this, but for some reason when I see him pull things out, I don't think he cares too much for the rules and regulations.

  My stomach twists at the thought of something happening. Not so much that, but more that I feel like something is going to happen. An intuition that the money may not in fact actually be worth it. It's too late now though, and I owe it to Kandy to be patient. I've been wrong in the past about people, I could be with Mr. Belvidere, too.

  I shrug my shoulders, playing it off. "I have only tried a few things."

  "What is your favorite thing?" he asks, standing up and walking over with the duct tape.

  Part of the job is being quick at thinking when it comes to situations like this. Even with the nerves he's caused, I'm able to tell him, "My favorite thing altogether is role play, the built up anticipation of what is to come. If you're asking strictly when it comes to bondage, I enjoy taking orders from my... master." I make sure to extenuate the word master so he knows I'll be submissive to his needs.

  It seems to have worked, because he licks his lips. "Undress for me now. Do it slow. Real slow."

  Standing before him, I work my clothes off, one item at a time, hoping it's slow yet fierce enough for him. When it's time to strip off my underwear, a pair of navy blue booty-hugging boy shorts, he groans mercifully. "Dance for me," he asks.

  I've taken stripper pole lessons with Mona for situations like this. I'm not exactly coordinated, but I manage to do my best. I don't think he cares much about my dance moves anyways, more about watching my body sway freely in front of him.

  Nearly scaring me when he speaks, he orders loudly, "Get on your fucking knees you whore."

  I do as I'm told. He stands before me, stripping his slacks and boxers, letting them rest at his ankles. "Now suck my dick. I want your hands on my ass. I don't want you to stop until I tell you to. Do you understand me?"

  "Yes, sir," I answer.

  When my mouth starts to caress his barely sizeable dick, he grabs hold of my hair, basically doing the work for me. Moaning out derogatory words, such as whore, bitch, and even calls me a filthy cunt at one point. I'm not sure how much time passes, definitely longer than I had hoped for, he pushes my face forward to the point if he were any larger, I'd definitely choke. "I'm going to come in your mouth, you fucking bitch, but you better not swallow. Do you hear me?" I nod against him, unable to answer any other way. This is crossing a line, but I think of the money sitting on his desk, and I know I can do as he asks. Well, in this case, as he orders.

  He tugs too hard on my hair, I can feel a pain unlike any other radiate against my scalp. It hurts so much, I can't help but tense up. This in return causes me to accidently scrape my teeth ever so much against his erection. His hand comes down and pushes my forehead backwards, causing me to fall back on the floor. He looks down at me, outraged by my accident. I immediately start to apologize. "I'm sorry, Mr. Belvidere, I didn't mean to."

  "Are you fucking kidding me," he grits through his teeth. "You're a god damn whore, you should know how to suck a fucking dick."

  "I do. I'll make it up to you." I know this could cost Kandy a client, and possibly me a chunk of the money he paid.

  His lips spread into a wolfish grin, enjoying my pleading. "Yeah?" he asks, his voice deep, still full of his demanding ways. "Get on all fours, right now."

  Quickly turning over, I get on my hands and knees for him. "Do not move," he barks out. I don't move, nor do I say anything.

  He takes a few minutes, but before too long my ankles are being taped up. Then I feel what could possibly be rope around my thighs, but I don't look. It confirms my thought when he kneels in front of me, wrapping the rope around my wrists, tying it my legs. I don't feel good about this situation, especially after he was so careless with my hair earlier- but he didn't strike me, so I keep my mouth closed. He rips off another piece of duct tape, covering my lips. I hate that I don't have a safe word now, which was supposed to be one of the stipulations- of both of us.

  Mr. Belvidere's mouth comes to my ear. "You're about to be punished." It isn't seductive, but it's certainly a promise. I close my eyes tightly, wishing that I never took this job after all. Maybe the money isn't worth it. Not if he is going to be cruel. I think in my head that this had to have been at least a half hour already, so I'm half way to walking back out this door with several months’ worth of spending money, and I'll never have to return.

  Deep breath through my nose, a slow one out. I can do this, I tell myself.

  It doesn't take long that he is behind me, kneeling at my rear end. He plays with me a little bit, and it takes everything
in me not to squirm at his touch. Then he pushes something in me- something that is certainly not him. And he is rough... too rough.

  It hurts.

  I grit my teeth, shutting my eyes even tighter, and I do my best to focus on anything other than what is happening to me, except... I can't. I can't focus on one single thing other than how much it pains me.

  After a few moments I feel something drip down my leg, and I'm almost certain I'm bleeding. He hasn't slowed down, he hasn't eased up, and I'm terrified that if I try to do anything about it, then I'll regret it. For that reason alone, I stay still.

  He gets up, and walks away. I take this opportunity to take several deep breathes through my nose, but it is getting harder and harder to breath. I hadn't realized until now that I had a few tears falling from my eyes, but it's making my nose run too, and all in all, I think I may pass out soon.

  When he's behind me again, I feel a strike against my bare skin. Not my butt either, but more on my hip. It stings worse than anything I've ever felt. A second later comes another whip against my skin. I can't keep silenced. An reverberation of a scream comes from my mouth, being blanketed by the tape. "Oh, you like that?" he asks. The fact he thinks I'm enjoying this proves him to be entirely moronic.

  Actually, he’s straight to the definition of a sociopath.

  Another strike comes down, this time in the same place as the last, and it burns rather than stings. I throw my body over to its side, curling myself up the best I can, not wanting to get hit again. I start shaking my head, hoping he can see I won't put up with this. I can't. It's against our policy, it was said he were to stop if I asked- yet the way he looks over at me, I would assume he could care less.

  I can't describe the look on his face, something between completely pissed off and entirely too aroused. He steps forward, towering over me. I haven't felt this lost and confused since the day I found my parents lying dead in their bedroom all those years ago. The little girl inside of me claws its way out, whimpering and pleading for this to end. He doesn't see it, or he simply doesn't care.

  What happens next is more painfully horrifying then anything I could care to admit. All I know is I'm walking out of this hotel with bruises and cuts, head to toe. Over an hour longer than I should be here, too. The money- it's not worth it. In fact, I'd pay that kind of money for it to never happen again, not to me or any other person in existence.

  When he gives me permission to leave- it's with a warning that if I dare tell on him, this will happen again... repetitively.

  Sneaking out the janitorial office doors, I head to the car, my face bowed down, trying my best not to limp. I can feel him watching me. He is waiting for me to screw up before I'm even off his property. I won't give him that satisfaction though.

  Heavy tears flow from my eyes the entire ride home. I drive faster than I should, but have to pull over several times because my eyes are too blurred to see the road in front of me. At one point I had a full on panic attack. When I pull into the condo complex of home, I see that Everett's truck is there. The last thing I need him to see is me looking like this.

  Pulling down the visor, I look myself over. My eye is bruised pretty well, my lip a bit swollen but nothing some red lipstick can't hide. Green and yellow bruises accompany my neck- so I reach into my purse to pull out my concealer to cover it, then tie a silk scarf around myself. Sliding on some sunglasses, I feel a lot better about if I run into him. I pray a few times to myself that I don't see him though.

  Once I'm in the elevator, I know I'm safe from running into Everett. I pull the glasses off and slide them into my purse. My phone is vibrating in my pocket, and Kandy's name flashes against the screen. Staring down at her name, I wonder what I should do about the situation. I know I should tell her, but the fear of what can- and probably will- happen to me if I snitch out Mr. Belvidere leaves me feeling paralyzed.

  When the elevator dings, the doors slide open, I look up ready to step off and see the last thing- or shall I say, person- I expected to see.

  Everett's smile immediately fades away, and the rage that courses through his body is evident. "What... the... fuck."

  I believe he can only see my eye, maybe my lip. The bruising around my neck is covered, and he hasn't even looked down at my legs. I cleaned up the blood with a makeup remover wipe, and the cuts are mainly on my thigh area, masked by my dress for the most part.

  I stare back, unsure of what to say or do. "Hey," I say, playing it off the best I can. With a pull of my lips, I give him a sad smirk. "I fell outside work today, took quite the digger into the gravel." Rolling my eyes, I point at my eye, knowing he sees the swelling and bruising. "Damn rock got me smack in the eye. I thought it was going to fall out, no joke, but I'm all good now. I feel a lot better. Nothing some Ibuprofen can't fix, nor the glass or two of wine I'm about to have."

  Walking off the elevator, straight past Everett, I wait for him to say something in return but he doesn't. He does, however, follow me to my door. I close my eyes when I pull the keys from my purse, wishing he'd get the hint and leave. Turning to face him once more, I lift an eyebrow, questioning why he's still here. "Did you need something?"

  "Who did this to you, Brenna?"

  "No one. I told you, I fell."

  "I'm asking you again, who did this to you?"

  "No one." I quickly become defensive. Maybe even slightly pissed.

  Not so much at Everett, but at the situation.

  He releases a quick blow of air from his mouth while releasing the fists that were clenched tightly. I can tell he's trying to tame himself, which is why I can't tell him what happened or by whom. I can't even give in the slightest. I have to roll with the punches on this one, because if I tell him even the slightest bit of what happened, I'll have to tell him the rest- and I can't do that.

  "Everett." I say his name with patience, hoping the kindness in my voice will cause him to believe me. "I fell. Honestly. I'm wearing almost five inch heels that I'm not used to, I was looking at my phone, not paying any attention. I slipped, trying my best to grab for the car next to mine so that I didn't face plant, but I did. It hurt a lot, I even cried a little, then my friend Giana picked me up, helped dust me off, we had a few laughs about it. Now I'm home, going to go soak in a bath with Epsom salt and relax. I'm fine, I promise." Each word is slow, sincere, and complete bullshit- but I think he believes me. Or at least, he's going to pretend to.

  I watch as his teeth grind back and forth. He stares at me, taking in different parts of my face, slowly working his way down my body. His scrutiny makes me uncomfortable. Maybe he doesn't believe me after all. I don't know what more to say, or do for that matter, but under no circumstance can I tell him the truth.

  He reaches for my cheek, cupping it in his hand. It's tender- a bit sweaty and extremely warm- but the thought of it is soothing. It's a gentle touch, the kind I don't receive often enough. "I don't know what to say." I can tell by his voice he doesn't believe me. I hold back my anxiousness, knowing I need to hold onto this story. "Brenna, you can be honest with me," he pleads. "I... I've dealt with a situation like this before. If you're being abused, or harmed by someone, in any way, please tell me. I'll get you the help you need. We can go down to the police station and-"

  "Stop," I snap. "Stop right there. First off, thanks. I mean it, I appreciate your efforts." Even though I'm sure with my snappy attitude I don't sound thankful, but I am. "But no cop is going to save me. They don't care about helping people out, it's all a notion. They want recognition and a paycheck, and to be left the hell alone beyond that. Plus, if this were an abusive case, which it's not, what are they going to do? I can tell you... a bunch of bullshit. That's what! Either way, I'm fine, well I was fine, until you started in on me."

  He shakes his head with despair. All it does is prove to me that he has no idea about the real world. "Are you kidding?" His voice rises back at me. "You don't think an officer of the law would help you if you were being abused?"

  "Nope."


  "How can you think that, Brenna?"

  "Does it matter?"

  "Actually, it does. I feel repugnant you would think such a thing. They are there to give protection."

  I can't help my bitter snarl. "Um, no."

  "Yes," he continues to argue.

  "What are you... a cop?"

  "No, I'm just saying..."

  "That you have no idea," I add in. "I'm fine, I'm not saying it again."

  "I'm only trying to help," he pleads.

  Unfortunately, I've had enough of his help for now.

  Putting the key into the door, I breathe a quick sigh, holding in everything I want to say. I know if I spew off all the thoughts I'm thinking I'll probably lose his friendship- and even though we haven't known each other for long, I don't want to lose that. "I'm fine, Everett. Thank you for thinking of me, but again, I fell and I'm fine."

  Opening the door, I don't bother looking over at him as I walk into my place, but as I start to shut the door, he pushes on it. "What are you doing?" I hiss out.

  He shuts the door behind him, watching me intently. His frigid, gray eyes stare at me with infuriation- he isn't letting up, and now I'm beyond being pissed. "I'm not letting this go. You're distant. You have these walls. You're cautious in everything you do, the things you say. You refuse to discuss your past, you have hardly any friends. You're hiding things. Which is fine, you're entitled to that, but when you show up at home with a black eye, a hefty scratch on your arm, blood on your hairline, and who knows what else you're hiding under your scarf or clothes, then you're not going to tell me you fucking fell!" His voice slowly rises with equal amounts of anger and vexation.

  "Leave." I have no other words. He's left me completely perplexed. He has noticed too much in the way I am- and I'm angry with myself for that. Not to mention, I did a lot worse than I thought about covering up what the bastard did to me less than two hours ago.