by Eden Myles
“I have no plans to harm Jasmine in any way she does not consent to.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“Just so.” He drove with one hand on the wheel and one on the gearshift. He was a smooth driver, but defensive.
“Explain to me what you mean.”
He blinked and the wind tossed his yellow ponytail over one shoulder. “I promise that nothing will be done to Jasmine that she does not fully agree to. I’m not a sexual predator, you know.”
“I didn’t say you were, Wolf. I just don’t want you…convincing her to do something she’ll regret.”
“You don’t have much trust in me, do you?” he said. I could feel a kind of tension building between us, an invisible wall. I was getting so tired of fighting. I was fighting with Jerrel, Asia, everyone I knew. I didn’t want to fight with Wolf tonight. His mouth, a very severe and almost lipless slit, grew grim. “Is it because I’m white, or it is because I’m a man?”
I decided not to dignify that with an answer.
We picked up Jasmine in Soho, from the back door of a studio apartment. I had been expecting a tall, leggy African woman. Instead, I got a small, demure and rather sweet-looking Asian girl of about twenty-five with a bob of black hair, an exceedingly short, dark blue satin cheongsam, and a body that made me envious from the get-go. I thought how uniquely unfair it was that very petite women should have such big boobs, a kind of cosmic joke played on the rest of us giraffes.
Wolf went shamelessly up to her, seized her face, and kissed her. He ran a big hand possessively over her hair. Wolf was a very physical person, very much into touching, but Jasmine didn’t complain. She parted her lips a little as they kissed and I imagined Wolf poking his tongue a little ways into her mouth. Then I imagined him poking her a lot as they went ahead and played tonsil hockey for the next two and a half minutes while I waited impatiently in the car.
Jasmine sat between us on the way over to the restaurant, the roses in her lap and her hand on Wolf’s knee as he drove. She smiled sweetly and chatted with me, much friendlier than I’d expected her to be—much friendlier than I would have been, had my boyfriend pulled up in a sports car with a strange women in the front seat. Jasmine explained that she was a professional graphic designer. She liked ice-skating in Rockefeller Center during the winter months, and she taught an origami class on the weekends. A lovely, well rounded individual. She was probably kind to old people and animals, too.
“How did you meet?” I asked.
“The opera. We both like Wagner.”
I hadn’t known that Wolf liked opera. Then again, I never asked Wolf what he did on the weekends.
Jasmine leaned into Wolf’s arm and I suddenly felt very third-wheel-ish. “Are you all right with this? With me tagging along?” I asked Jasmine. I thought about begging off, but now it was too late, wasn’t it?
“Wolf likes you,” Jasmine told me. “That means I’ll like you too.”
“I feel like a chaperone on a girl’s first date,” I laughed.
Jasmine frowned at me. “I’m twenty-five. I’m not a girl.”
“I just mean…you know. I feel like you two should be alone or something.” I shut up. I kept expecting to go into Mom mode. After all, a part of me wanted to try and protect Jasmine from the big bad Wolf. But when I looked at the girl, really looked at her, I realized that she wasn’t Asia. She wasn’t my daughter. Nor was she a child. She was here of her own free will. Surely she understood what Wolf expected of her? Wolf must have told her something?
At the restaurant, the owner seated us herself behind a glass partition painted with sparkling flocks of hummingbirds. We got a round table with a plush, U-shape booth and plenty of cushions all over the place. Wolf sat in the middle with the two of us girls to either side of him. It made for a jiggy scene, as Asia would probably say. I was starting to feel like one of those molls in Prohibition movies, hanging onto my gangster boyfriend. While we waited to be served, Jasmine regaled me with stories about her company’s more exclusive clients as if eager to impress me. Finally, she said, “I’ve seen your magazine, Rachaela. I like the girls you photograph.”
“Thank you,” I said, looking over the all-French menu like I knew what I was reading.
“I like erotica. I don’t like porn,” Jasmine explained, and I wondered if Wolf had encouraged her to say that.
I lowered the menu. “Has Wolf explained anything about…” I stopped. Wolf was reading the menu. He didn’t appear to be overly perturbed by my talking about him like he wasn’t there. “What I mean to say is…do you know what Wolf expects of you?”
Jasmine looked up. I thought how she resembled a fine china doll, so dear she was almost breakable, but the more I looked at her, the more I realized her eyes weren’t young at all. “You mean about being Wolf’s courtesan. We talked about that last night in bed.”
“You slept with Wolf last night?”
Jasmine smiled, not a child’s smile. “We didn’t sleep.”
I felt the dreadful heat creeping up my face, but when I chanced a quick look at Wolf, he was engrossed in the wine list. I didn’t get a chance to ask further questions as the waiter came up and Wolf ordered for us. We moved through a course of lobster bisque and foie gras, followed by duck confit and some cheeses, everything accompanied by champagne and a series of table wines that seemed to go on forever.
Wolf was a perfect gentleman all through the meal. He said nothing inappropriate. In fact, he said very little at all. He almost seemed more interested in listening to me chat up Jasmine. I kept trying to figure out if there was a way to hint to Jasmine about Wolf’s particular predilections, but she was so cute and lively, like some excited little kitten, that I couldn’t bring myself to mention anything sordid. Anyway, I was afraid I would come off as sounding like a jealous rival for Wolf’s affections.
Just before dessert, I excused myself and went to the ladies’ room. It was a very exclusive restaurant and the restroom looked more like a fancy French boudoir than anything else, with flocking gold wallpaper, plush seats set before immense marble vanities, and what looked like real art on the walls. I was trying to figure out if there was a way I could ring Asia without sounding too desperate and clingy when I heard someone step into the room and a presence closed in on me.
I recognized the citrus-like cologne immediately. When I turned, I found Wolf practically on my heels. I slid backwards a little, and the edge of the vanity brushed my ass. He had a very light step. It was easy to forget how big a man he really was.
He looked at me with a hint of amusement. He enjoyed how skittish I could be around him sometimes. I thought about pointing out that he shouldn’t be here in the ladies’ room, but something told me that Wolf didn’t exactly worry about the rules.
“What do you think?” he asked, leaning against the wall beside the vanities.
“What do you mean?”
“Jasmine, of course.” He looked at me more directly. “Do you approve? Do you think she would make a fine courtesan for me?”
“I really don’t know. She seems nice.”
“Too nice?”
“I don’t know. What do you mean?”
“Too sweet? Too submissive? I shouldn’t want a courtesan who was too submissive. There would be no challenge in training her then.”
I watched Wolf carefully for some moments. A lot of things fluttered through my mind. Mostly, I wondered how exactly you trained a courtesan. “I think she might be too nice,” I finally said.
“Too nice for me?” And he smirked.
I was getting tired of these games. I sighed in exasperation. “What exactly do you want, Wolf? If she’s too nice, you’re disappointed. If she’s too willful, you disapprove. What are you really looking for?”
He looked me over carefully, then stepped forward, planted his leg between my knees, grabbed the back of my hair hard, and kissed me. It was very difficult to breathe suddenly. All I could taste was Wolf—a meaty, minty taste. He didn’t m
erely kiss, he sucked at my mouth with his own as if he were trying to eat me. His free hand came up, following the line of my body, and then he shocked me by seizing my left breast and working my nipple with this thumb. I shifted around, my breasts heaved up, and an unfamiliar, half-choked whimper crawled up my throat and half parted my lips. His tongue went into me then, slippery and hot. I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt tears coming to my eyes. Jesus, his grip in my hair and on my tit was so tight, so painful…
I cried out, right into his mouth. I expected him to respond the way a gentleman should. I expected him to immediately release me. Instead, he rolled my nipple in his immensely powerful fingers and said, intimately, against my mouth, “My pet, does it hurt so much? Such little pain?”
“It hurts,” I agreed.
“But nothing you can’t endure.” He wedged himself between my legs. The cleft between my legs immediately dampened in response to his presence. He released my nipple but slid his hand down my body. To my extreme embarrassment, I shifted my hip slightly so my pelvis was pressed more tightly against the enormous hard-on in the front of his trousers almost as if my body had been programmed that way. A sly smirk tugged the corners of his mouth. He loosened his hold on my hair, rested both hands on my shoulders, and pushed me forcibly down so I was sitting on the vanity top in front of him.
“You are one arrogant son of a bitch,” I growled, though there was less anger in my voice than I wanted there to be. “You’ve set this up…”
“And you’re spoiled, Rachaela. You’ve never learned your place.” His voice held that serious edge to it. He touched my hair and face. He leaned forward to bury his nose in my hair. He inhaled me. His accent grew more gravelly and singsongy. If I closed my eyes, I knew I would hear Africa in his voice. “Your husband wasn’t much of a man, Rachaela. He taught you nothing about submission. Would you like me to touch you again? Would you like me to teach you discipline?”
“I don’t need discipline,” I said, my face resting against the front of Wolf’s tuxedo jacket so I was inhaling that wild African scent while he ran his hands lovingly up and over my hair.
“We’ll begin slow,” he said softly, gently. I felt the dull thunder of his voice in his chest. “You’ll do as I tell you. You’ll learn to obey. Then we’ll see who I enjoy more, you or little Jasmine.”
Heat flooded my face. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, to go back out into the restaurant and play these stupid games with Jasmine. But he put his hand up on my face and kissed me. He nudged against me, making me spread my legs wide to accommodate him. He kissed me gently, slowly, a long series of nibbling kisses that left me gasping into his mouth. His face looked so smooth until you kissed him. Then you felt the sharp burn of the almost invisible blond beard on his upper lip and chin. His hands cupped my breasts while he kissed me. He gently pinched my nipples, exploring my limits, slowly increasing the pressure of his touch until I groaned with the near pain of it all. Satisfied, he moved a hand lower, pressing it into the juncture of my thighs. Only my panties were a barrier between us. I immediately drenched myself down there. I strained to close my thighs, but Wolf said, “No.” His voice was cold and harsh against my mouth. My entire body jerked as if he’d hit me.
His thumb pressed into my tender flesh, then gripped the edge of my panties. He pulled them down, along with my nylons. “Lift your bottom,” he said, again with that steely cold voice, so deep and resonating I swore the mirrors shivered in the room all around us. I wriggled around on the vanity while he worked my undergarments over my hips and down my legs. He went to one knee to remove my shoes one at a time so he could pull my stocking the rest of the way off. He disposed of everything in a nearby trashcan, then carefully replaced both shoes. “Pretty shoes,” he said approvingly of my bright red Jimmy Choo sandals. “But I want you to buy some stockings with garters, Rachaela. And I want you to dispense with undergarments.” He stood back up, running his hands up my bare calves as he did so, making the muscles tense.
“There are rules,” he said.
I tried to think of a scathing comeback, something snarky at least, but the steel in his voice stopped me. It’s hard to be sarcastic when the person you’re talking to is dead serious.
When he reached my knees, he forcibly pushed my legs further apart, which drove the skirt of the Marilyn dress up to my waist. I shivered and a small cry caught in my throat when the coolness of the room touched my bare skin. “Rule Number One. A good courtesan makes herself physically available to her gentleman at all times.” His hands clamped over my knees to hold them apart.
I felt a flash of panic, followed by a greater surge of anger. “I’m not your courtesan,” I insisted, but he ignored me. I was sitting at a level that put me a little below his line of sight. He bent one of my legs carefully at the knee and brought it up to the level of the vanity. I shifted back a little to relieve the tension in my leg as he set the heel of my shoe on the edge. Then he repeated the process with my other leg so I was mortified to find myself leaning back on the vanity with both legs spread wide, my knees pointing inward, the skirt of my dress bunched around my waist, and every private part of me on display for his amusement.
“Rule Number Two. A good courtesan knows to obey her gentleman.”
I started closing my legs, but Wolf placed his warm, heavy hands on the insides of my thighs to keep my legs spread far enough apart for him to enjoy me. “You’re wet,” he said. His voice was whispery-soft, gentle, intimate. “You’re wet and beautiful and ready, like a rose in full bloom, Rachaela. Tell me, are you always so wet when I talk to you?”
I squirmed uncomfortably.
“Let me touch you,” he said. “That is Rule Number Three. A good courtesan places the needs of her gentleman above those of her own.” When I didn’t immediately object, he moved his hand back between my legs, this time without the barrier between us. He touched me softly, a fluttery touch, then did something with his fingers so I felt a sharp pinch. I cried out, and the pain stopped. He drew careful circles around my sex, then his fingers slowly moved into me, spreading my labia and probing the inside of my vulva, causing me a flood of pleasure. My hips bucked in his hand. I tasted blood and lipstick where I had bitten my bottom lip to keep from crying out.
“Shhh,” he said soothingly. “Be still, pet. If you cry out, someone might hear.”
Oh God, I thought. If someone came through the bathroom door right now…
He started circling my opening again, very gently, almost a non-touch. I tried not to whimper. His gentleness was somehow worse than the pain. “You feel like a rose, Rachaela, a wet velvet rose. Are you a rose, or are you an orchid? A rose lives only a short time on its own but is very beautiful. An orchid clings to the tree that is its refuge and may live almost forever. I want to know how you feel inside. A rose or an orchid. This may hurt, but you’ll stretch. You’ll take me.”
His words, his cologne, were making me feel dizzy. His held me open with one hand while his fingers pushed inward. I shuddered. I thought I could not feel any more vulnerable than I already did, but when his fingers went into me, I nearly cried out. He went deep. He made me take three, maybe four, fingers. I could feel all the muscles inside me reacting, muscles that hadn’t felt this kind of stimulation in years. My bottom jerked up off the vanity, and I could feel the building pressure of my climax. But before I could come, he withdrew his fingers and sucked my wetness from them.
I groaned.
“Rule Number Four. You are my business partner up until the workday ends at six o’clock in the evening. Then you become my courtesan. As such, you’ll follow the instructions of your gentleman from then on.” He touched my clit again, gently, circling, teasing, the tension building slowly inside me once more, but with no way to relieve it.
“Please, Wolf…”
“Rule Number Five. A good, well-heeled courtesan addresses her gentleman as ‘sir’ at all times. We are off the clock, Rachaela, so you will address me as ‘sir.’”
I w
himpered in frustration.
“Listen carefully. As my courtesan, you will be absolutely obedient to me. You will not question or oppose my requests. I may send you instructions from time to time. I expect them to be obeyed. I may summon you to me. Barring familial duties, or some unpleasantness beyond your control, you will come without question or hesitation.” Each time his thumb returned to my clit, it brought me closer, and yet not close enough. He pinched it, then squeezed it with such pressure that I wound up groaning and thrusting against his hand. The pleasure built. I squirmed and fought him for my release, but his grip only lessened.
“Failure to follow my rules will end in severe punishment. Do you agree with my rules, Rachaela?”
“Yes,” I said, nearly sobbing. “God, yes…” Now let me come!
Wolf grinned in triumph and dropped to one knee. He flicked his tongue over my clit. His ponytail of hair brushed against the inside of my thighs. Now I did cry out, a strangled noise. He rolled my clit back and forth with his tongue. I thrashed and bucked beneath him. My climax finally broke over me, starting at my cunt and working its way outward like a shockwave so that every muscle tightened and relaxed at once. I came and Wolf sucked at my wetness. He licked it from my clit. He probed into my cunt for more. The scrape of his tongue against all that oversensitized flesh made me convulse. I dug my fingernails into the back of his head, I clutched his ponytail as I thrust and thrust against his mouth, giving myself to him, begging him to take me. I came. He nipped at my clit with the sharpness of his teeth and I came again as he ate me out.
Finally, I crumpled back onto the vanity, shuddering and gasping for breath. My heart was slamming around in my chest like a windblown bird, and for a moment I saw a sparkling darkness in the corners of my eyes and I wondered if I wouldn’t pass out. I had never experienced anything like this with anyone, not even Jerrel. My experiences were somewhat limited, granted, a boyfriend in high school, then Jerrel in college, but still…
