by JD Nixon
“That went really well, Clarrie. You must be pleased. Your speech was great. Congratulations,” I said sincerely, offering an olive branch.
His responding smile was slimy and I didn’t care for the lecherous look on his face that accompanied it.
“Tilly,” he said, his pupils dilated with desire, leaning towards me. “Can’t we be friends? You’re so hot tonight in that dress. Can’t we just –”
“Stop!” I insisted, my hands up to repel him. “Remember what I said on our first night. I meant it. Do not try to touch me.”
“Well, you shouldn’t dress like that then,” he sulked. “It makes men go crazy. Every man was looking at you tonight. Every one of them jealous of me, imagining I’d be fucking your brains out right now. If only they knew what a frigid bitch you really are.”
“Tough shit, Clarrie. I’m not here to help you overcome your small-dick personality problems.”
“You are such a bitch.”
“Please remind me when you’re flying out?”
“Tomorrow evening. Very late.”
“Thank God for that! I’m sick of the sight of you.”
“I’m going to bed.”
“Sweet dreams, princess.”
“Fuck off, cow.”
Chapter 12
In my room, I removed my dress and makeup, brushed my teeth, slipped on the singlet top and boxers that I always wore to bed and flicked on the bedroom TV to catch the late news. I sprang up in bed with horror when I saw my boobs on TV, larger than life. What the hell? There must have been a TV camera at the ceremony amongst all the photographers that I hadn’t noticed, because there I was on TV with Clarrie, his arm clamped possessively around my waist, shaking hands with the Prime Minister and laughing sycophantically at whatever he was saying to me. I was practically bursting out of the dress. It was only sheer luck that I didn’t have a wardrobe malfunction during the night.
God, how embarrassing! I hoped nobody I knew was watching.
I turned off the TV and switched on my mobile. There were a few text messages and voicemails.
yr tits look great on tv! the pm even had a perv! whos the little creep with u? texted Dixie.
Niq texted, tilly’s on telly!
porn star boobs! (*)(*), texted Daniel.
Then to the voicemail messages.
Tilly, it’s Mum. I just saw you on the news meeting the Prime Minister. I didn’t like that dress at all. Where on earth did you buy it from? Your poor Dad nearly had a heart attack when he saw you. And what were you doing with that little man? I thought your boyfriend’s name was Will. Call me please.
Hi Tilly, it’s Will. Umm, this might sound weird, but I think I just saw you on TV with the PM. But you were with some IT guy. It probably wasn’t you, but if it was, then WOW! But what were you doing with that man? He looked very friendly with you. I thought you were working. Call me when you get a chance. Love you.
There were a couple of other messages too from assorted family members, all effectively with the same message: Tilly’s tits were on TV.
My phone rang. I knew it would be Heller even before I looked. He’s the only person I knew who would ring me so late.
“Hello,” I answered, my voice even.
“Everything went well tonight I hear, my sweet. No trouble?”
“No trouble at all.”
“My men tell me that you looked very beautiful.”
I laughed with self-deprecation. “You can see for yourself. You can see a lot of me, actually. I was on the news.”
“I know, I saw it. I even recorded it to have another look later.” Silence from me. “The dress you wore was very . . . striking. I liked it.”
“It certainly garnered me some attention.”
“Mr Cockburn looked very appreciative.”
“Hmm. I had to put him back in his box afterwards. Then he called me a frigid bitch.”
“Well, we all know that’s not true.”
“Do we?”
He laughed, a very sexy low growl. I had that funny feeling in my stomach every time he did that. I really couldn’t wait to see him again. But right now I yawned.
“I’ve gotta get some sleep. Clarrie’s flying out late tomorrow evening, so I’ll just catch a cab home after I’ve made absolutely sure that he’s left the country.”
“Okay. Sweet dreams.”
“You too, Heller.”
I flopped back onto my pillow, turned out the light and fell asleep immediately, despite the caffeine. I slept soundly until I was woken up by a noise at my doorway, which I realised I’d stupidly forgotten to lock. Lying motionless so as to appear as though I was still sleeping, I watched the door slowly open and the silhouette of a figure appear in the doorway. I recognised the shape and sat up in exasperation.
“Clarrie, get the hell out of my room now, or I will break your knob into two separate pieces. And I am not joking!”
He continued to advance tentatively.
“Tilly,” he said nervously.
“Did you hear me? I told you to get out!”
“Tilly, please,” he trembled and then I noticed that he wasn’t alone. There was another silhouette behind him, a taller, bulkier shadow, following closely. I tensed in alarm.
“Clarrie?”
“He has a gun, Tilly. He said he’s going to kill me.”
I addressed the shadow. “M?”
There was a low chuckle from the shadow. “Yes.”
“Do you have a name, M? Something else I can call you?”
Shadow prodded Clarrie viciously in the back with the gun. He yelped in fear or pain. “Why don’t you ask this little cocksucker? He knows who I am.”
“Clarrie?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I swear!”
Shadow hit him cruelly in the head, knocking him to the ground. “Fucking liar! I should just shoot you right now.” He pointed the gun at Clarrie cowering on the floor. “But I won’t. That would spoil my fun. Get up! And you.” Pointing the gun at me. “Get out of bed. I want you both in the living room.”
We did as we were told and walked to the living room. Once there, he pointed the gun at me and made me tie Clarrie up to one of the dining chairs with some strong rope that he’d brought with him. When I’d finished, he checked the knots to make sure I’d tied them properly. Clarrie was very scared, his eyes huge with fright, sweat dotting his brow.
“You can sit on the lounge. And behave yourself, or else Clarrie dies.”
I sat down obediently. I took in as many details about him as possible, but he was wearing a black balaclava and had on bulky black clothes that made it difficult to judge his features and body type.
“What’s your name?”
“Tilly.”
“Tilly. That’s pretty. I like that. What are you doing here with him? You’re in different bedrooms, so I guess you’re not his girlfriend. But you were with him at the ceremony. What’s the relationship?”
“He’s paying me to escort him, and to do . . . other things. I insisted on my own room. He snores and farts all night.”
Shadow laughed and looked over at Clarrie scornfully. “God, what a complete loser! You have to pay women to fuck you, don’t you? You always were a tosser, Clarrie.” Clarrie reddened. Shadow looked back at me. “I bet he’s a dud root.”
I nodded and smiled a little. I was starting to like Shadow. “I call him the one minute man.”
Shadow chuckled. “I think we’re going to get along just fine, Tilly. I’ve no beef with you, so won’t hurt you as long as you do what you’re told. Understand?”
I nodded compliantly, and tried to make my eyes look innocent and even bigger. “Yes, Mr M.”
“So why weren’t you welcoming to him when I forced him into your room?”
“He said something unflattering to me after we had sex tonight.” I almost gagged saying that. “He wasn’t gentlemanly. I was angry with him and told him to stay away from me for the rest of the night. I was ropable when I saw him
in my room. I thought he was coming back for seconds.”
“How long have you been his escort?”
“Two weeks. Since he came to town. And I can tell you that it’s been about one week and six days too long.”
Shadow chuckled again. “Working your charm again, Clarrie, I see. You really are a loser, aren’t you?”
Clarrie glared at him spitefully. “Tell me which one of us is the billionaire, Milt, and which one isn’t? And then tell me who’s the loser.”
“Milt? So you do know him! I knew you were lying to me, you little turd!” I rounded on Clarrie.
“Lying is what he does best though, isn’t it, Clarrie?” Milt taunted and took off his balaclava. I gasped with surprise in a Scooby-Doo moment.
“Hey! You were the waiter who served us at the ceremony. I remember your face.”
“Thank you for noticing, Tilly. Not many people bother to notice their waiters at an event like that. Cockhead over there certainly didn’t. He’s too up himself to notice a mere waiter. Didn’t even notice his oldest friend although I was right under his nose.”
Clarrie had the grace to look ashamed about that.
“So that’s how you entered our room, because you work here at the hotel.” I studied his face. It was pleasantly ordinary – even-featured, nice dark brown eyes, curly dark brown hair, cutish smile. A bit nerdy, but nothing that looked like a madman. “You went to uni together?”
Milt nodded. “Best friends since we were little kids. Grew up together. Went to primary school, high school and university together. Shared the same interests, same goals. Did the same course at uni. Even liked the same girls. Remember Sharron Castelli?”
Clarrie nodded, a reluctant faint smile on his mouth.
“Man, she was built! We fought over her and fantasised about her, but she didn’t even notice either of us.” Milt shook his head, fondly reminiscing. “IT geeks. No chance at all with a girl like her.”
“So what happened?” I asked.
“Synonymy happened, that’s what.”
“You were jealous of his success? That’s what he said.”
“Fucking worm! No, I was not jealous of his success. I’m pissed off that I haven’t received my proper acknowledgement as co-creator and my proper share of the income for Synonymy. That’s what my problem is!”
“Clarrie? Is this true? Is Milt the co-creator of Synonymy?”
“No, he’s lying,” Clarrie said defiantly.
Milt rushed to him and knocked him flying with a fist in his face. The chair tumbled over and fell on the floor. Clarrie moaned and I could see blood pouring from a nostril.
“Milt, please don’t be violent. It scares me,” I quavered. I had to wrest that gun from him somehow.
“I’m sorry, Tilly, but he makes me so angry with his lies.” He turned back to Clarrie and kicked him brutally in the ribs a few times. “Tell the fucking truth for once!”
He pulled the chair back upright and Clarrie flopped forward in pain, continuing to moan. Milt put the gun against Clarrie’s temple and shouted at him.
“Admit we created Synonymy together!”
Clarrie groaned. His eyes rolled around in his head, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“Say it!” Milt screamed in his ear.
“We created it together. We created Synonymy together. You and me.” His head lolled backwards.
Milt deflated and stood there breathing heavily. I wanted him to forget about hurting Clarrie for a while. I wasn’t sure Clarrie could take much more.
“Why don’t you come and sit on the lounge with me for a while, Milt. You’re looking real tense,” I called over to him and patted the spot next to me.
He hesitated, but could see that he was tempted. I fluttered my lashes and pushed my chest out.
“Okay.”
“Can I check that Clarrie is all right first, though? He sounds hurt.”
“No! Let him sit there and think about his sins.”
Milt sat next to me on the lounge and stared at me intently. I could hear Clarrie moaning softly. “You don’t look like a hooker. You must be expensive.”
“I am. Clarrie’s paying a fortune for me for the two weeks,” I admitted truthfully and moved closer to him. I had to take his mind off Clarrie. “You’re much better looking than him,” I said, trying my hardest to appear soft and yielding.
“Am I?”
“Definitely.”
I moved even closer, pressing my breasts up against his arm. Any closer and I’d be sitting in his lap. He swallowed audibly, his anger dissolved by his long-simmering hormones.
“I bet you’re better equipped as well.” And I licked my finger with porn-star intent and rubbed it over my lips seductively as I looked at him.
“Well, I don’t . . . maybe . . . probably,” he blustered nervously. “Yeah, of course I am.”
“Clarrie’s teeny,” I whispered in his ear, my boobs pushing up against him even more. “Not much fun for me.” I ran my hand up his thigh and squeezed lightly. He swallowed again. I sat up suddenly as if I’d just had the greatest idea in the history of humankind. “I know what would be fun! Why don’t we fool around a bit? Clarrie’s paid for me anyway, so you might as well. Think of it as Clarrie’s treat. It sounds like he owes you big time.”
The idea appealed to him strongly. I helped to persuade him by leaning up to kiss him on the cheek, my boobs rubbing over him as I did.
He uttered a strangled little groan. I took the initiative and moved over to sit on his lap, straddling him, leaning down to kiss him on the mouth.
He thrust his tongue into my mouth immediately. It didn’t seem as though he’d flossed his teeth for a while – it was disgusting. I made every attempt to appear enthusiastic, but it was all I could do not to retch. He reached up and clutched my boobs through my thin singlet top, twisting and turning my nipples like he was tuning a radio. The party in his pants pressed into me.
I stood up and grabbed his hands, pulling him to his feet.
“Not in front of Clarrie. Let’s go to my bedroom instead. I have a lovely comfy bed,” I said suggestively. “He’ll be okay for a while. He’s tied up well. You’ve checked. And it will give him time to think about what he’s done to you.”
He followed me like a puppy to my room, the gun hanging loosely in his hand. I didn’t want to rush him and try to manhandle the gun away. I wasn’t keen to die for Clarrie’s sake.
As soon as we stepped into my room, he was all over me, tongue and hands flying. My poor boobs got another tuning, and it felt as though he was trying to rearrange my tonsils with his tongue. I started to feel physically ill. I pulled away from him with some difficulty.
“I’m so hot for you, baby, but you have to have a shower first,” I panted with fake arousal, all my pitiable acting skills on display.
“Huh?” he asked, his brain almost completely deprived of blood.
I gave him a gentle push towards the bathroom. “It’s my escort agency’s rule, baby. The men have to be sparkly clean. I can’t put dirty things in my mouth, you know.” I gave him what I hoped was a lecherous look.
“Oh!” he said, the penny dropping. He spun and raced towards the bathroom, undoing his trousers on the way. He was finding it difficult to hold the gun as he did so, and placed it on my bedroom desk, before speeding into the bathroom.
God, this is too easy! I thought, watching him completely disrobe and jump eagerly into the shower, his erection arriving well before the rest of him. He sang lustily as he lathered and rinsed. He finished and opened the door to the shower to find me standing in the bedroom, face cold and hard, pointing the gun at him.
“You shouldn’t play with that, Tilly. It could be dangerous,” he patronised, walking towards me, not bothering to dry off.
“It will be for you if you come any closer,” I warned.
He ignored me, and kept walking towards me, dripping water all over the carpet.
“Stay where you are, Milt, or I will shoot
your balls off,” I promised, lowering the gun to the appropriate angle.
He faltered before stopping, and the expressions flew across his face – bewilderment, followed by hurt, followed by rage.
“You bitch! You led me on!”
Unfortunately, Milt was the emotional and not the logical type, and didn’t stop to think about the danger to himself in suddenly rushing towards a pissed off woman with a gun. He tackled me, knocking me flying, landing without any dignity at all on top of me. Despite his weight, somehow I kept one hand firmly on the gun.
We flailed around on the carpet together, him reaching for the gun, me trying to push him off me with my palm in this face. He bit my hand and I yelped, letting go of his face, but not the gun. With my free hand I searched around his body for something to grip and hurt.
I squeezed a bare buttock, digging my fingernails in, but it felt too much like foreplay and didn’t even make him scream. I immediately ruled out touching his wanger or testicles, despite them being so available, dripping wet and dangling on me. Yuck! So I moved my hand up to his chest and tried a nipple-gripple. And while that earned me a short sharp shriek from him, I needed something more to distract him with pain so I could overpower him.
Obviously thinking the same thing, he crushed my nose and ground my head into the carpet, leaning on my face with one hand as the fingers of his other stretched out towards the gun. Groaning, I clutched a handful of his hair and pulled on it so hard I could feel the roots ripping out. He grunted with pain and released the pressure on my face. My grip on his hair exposed his throat vulnerably and I badly wanted to punch him there; always an effective move. But I had one hand on his hair and was holding the gun with the other, so I had no choice but to sit up and bite him on his Adam’s apple instead, like some starved blood-lusting werewolf.
He screeched and elbowed me roughly in the face, cracking into my nose. Warm blood instantly trickled from my nostril. We rolled together across the carpet, while I tried to maintain my grip on the gun and he tried to seize it off me. Eventually succeeding in pinning me to the floor, he performed what I could only assume was a WWE move – a belly slam down onto me. It propelled the air from my lungs with a loud “Ooof!” and forced the gun from my outstretched hand.
