by B. B. Hamel
She looks me in the eye and I can see something there, but I’m not sure what it is. I hope she understands that I’m being sincere. I assume something happened to force her into this job. Maybe it’s not a bad thing that forced her to do it, or maybe it is. I can’t really say, but I can accept it either way. We all have a past, but I don’t judge her based on that.
Still, her past can tell me things about her, and I want to know everything there is to know. It won’t change my opinion, but maybe I’ll see a fuller picture of her, get to know her in a way I couldn’t have before.
“I had a boyfriend when I was twenty. He was a real asshole.” She crosses her arms over her chest as she speaks, and I can tell that’s a defense mechanism.
“What was his name?” I ask.
“Derek,” she says. “He seemed so nice at first. Until one night he convinced me to get high with him. Derek was a heroin addict, it turned out. He still had a job and stuff, so he was functional at that point, but it wasn’t long before we were both consumed by addiction.”
I nod slowly, listening intently. So it’s drugs and addiction. That’s her dark secret. I want to smile and tell her that it’s okay, that I’ve heard worse, maybe done worse, but I don’t. I just listen and take her seriously.
“Things got bad for a while. We were junkies, but we were junkies together. And then one night, Derek bought this shit from a guy we didn’t know. We were desperate for it. And he shot up first. I watched him die right there in the street.” She looks down at her lap and is quiet for a little while.
“What happened to you after that?” I ask gently, prodding her.
“The usual stuff. I was still an addict, after all. I met some other addicts, fell in with another group, but didn’t sleep around. Couldn’t bring myself to, not after I watched Derek die. He was my first.” She blushes as she says that, which is so incredibly cute.
“Anyway, eventually I hit rock bottom. From there, I checked myself into a drug rehab place, a really nice place. Also an expensive place. But it was too late. I also had a pretty big debt with a local dealer, the kind of debt you won’t ever run out on. So between the rehab place and the dealer, I needed to make some money. Being a waitress wasn’t doing it. My debt was drowning me. I’ve been clean for years, but the debt hasn’t gone away. So I turned to this.”
She finishes her story and picks her fork back up, playing with her food quietly. I watch her, fascinated.
It’s an interesting story, if a common one. It’s admirable that she got herself clean on her own. Very, very few junkies have the strength to do that, and it speaks volumes about her character. She got out of the life on her own and she should be very proud of that.
Money is what’s holding her back. I smile at her gently. “That’s not such a horrible story,” I say.
“So the fantasy isn’t destroyed?”
“Not at all. Clean for how long?”
“Three years,” she says. “And I’m also, you know, clean in the other way, too. The Syndicate tests us.”
I nod, smiling. “I figured that.”
“Sorry. I just... figured I should say. In case you were curious.”
“I understand.” I reach out and take her hand. “Thanks for telling me that.”
She smiles and looks a little uncertain. I’m guessing most people treat her differently after she admits that she’s an addict, but it doesn’t bother me. I don’t see why it would bother me. She got herself clean and is trying to improve her life. If anything, that just shows how strong she is.
I let go of her hand and go back to eating. We eat together in silence for a few minutes, both absorbing her story.
“What about you?” she asks finally.
“I’m clean too,” I say, and grin at her.
She smiles. “I mean, your life. What brought you here?” She gestures at the house.
“Not really an interesting story.”
“It’s interesting to me.”
I grin at her. “Okay then. When I was fifteen, I really liked building things and I was good with computers. When I was twenty, I started a company that specialized in streamlining the manufacturing process. And that company has been my life ever since, for over ten years.”
“That’s not such a boring story,” she says.
“Sure it is. It’s mundane.”
She laughs, genuinely happy. “None of this is mundane, Ethan.”
“I have money. And I have nice things. But none of that is any more interesting than what you’ve been through.”
“You’re right. I am the most interesting person I know.” She grins at me.
I laugh and go back to eating. She watches me for a second before eating as well. She asks me about work and we fall into normal small talk, which is a welcome relief from the heavy conversation about her past.
It’s comfortable, talking and eating with her, in a way that I didn’t expect. I assumed the games between us would be fun, but I had no idea that we’d have chemistry outside of the bedroom. Apparently we do, though. She’s whip-smart and clever and witty, which makes it easy to chat with her, even about nothing at all.
As we finish up, I realize that this is the first meal I’ve shared with someone and really enjoyed in a long time. Normally I’m stuck with men like Richard Taylor or other boring business contacts, but Aria is different. She’s light and alive in ways I never expected.
When we’re finished, I put the plates back on the cart and sit back down, enjoying my whisky. She watches me for a second before speaking up.
“What was your childhood like?” she asks. “You didn’t say anything about it.”
I freeze for a second and look at her, trying to decide how to respond. “I’d rather not talk about it,” I say.
She must not see that I’m serious, because she pushes on. “Come on, tell me. It can’t be that bad. You seem pretty well-adjusted.”
I stand suddenly. “Thanks for eating with me,” I say.
“What?” she asks.
I grab the cart and wheel it back inside.
“Wait, Ethan. I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about your past if you don’t want.” She follows me into the room.
I wheel the cart to the front door, not sure why I’m reacting this way. Maybe it’s because I’ve never told anyone about my childhood, and I find myself wanting to tell her. But that’s dangerous. I’m not ready to open up yet, but with her it’s tempting.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, pushing the cart out into the hallway.
She stands back in the room, watching me go, and we lock eyes for a minute. She looks sad, genuinely sad that I’m leaving, and I feel a sharp pang in my chest. But I can’t stay, not when I’m so tempted to tell her about my childhood and everything that happened to me.
Instead, I smile at her and shut the door behind me. I walk back down the hall, leaving the cart by the elevator for the staff, before returning to my own room.
That was a good night. I check the clock and am surprised that we were out there for two hours. The conversation flowed so easily.
I feel bad about the way that ended, but I couldn’t help it. She opened up to me, but I’m not ready to do that yet. I should have just told her that I’m not ready, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak. I was too worried I’d start spilling my guts.
I can’t have that. Not yet. Maybe I’ll tell her, but not tonight.
I’ll make things right. I’ll make this up to her tomorrow. She’ll be happy that I stormed out tonight by the time I’m finished with her tomorrow.
For now, though, it’s bed alone and work early, because that’s my life.
10
Aria
All the next day, I keep thinking about the way Ethan reacted to my question about his past. It was strange and totally unexpected. He shut down almost instantly.
There must be something in his past that he doesn’t like. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have pushed back the way he did. Part of me is angry that he walked away
the way that he did, especially after I opened up to him. But he listened to me and didn’t seem to judge me at all, which is really good.
That was my biggest fear. I was worried that as soon as he found out about my past, he’d kick me out and want nothing to do with me. Clearly that’s not the case, though, and I’m very thankful for it.
I just wish he’d apply his own thinking to his past. He doesn’t judge people on their past, but he’s not willing to share his own, which makes me wonder. I won’t push him, because it’s my job to make him happy, but I feel like he owes me.
At least a little bit. Maybe he doesn’t have to tell me every deep dark secret, but I opened up to him and he should give me the same respect in return. I can wait and give him some time to do it on his own volition, but I do feel a little betrayed.
For better or for worse, I have all day to contemplate that. I’m stuck in my room again with only the company of Jenkins when he brings my meals plus whatever movies and books I can read. I make sure to text The Syndicate letting them know that I’m okay, but otherwise, I don’t have much to do.
It’s not so bad, though. It’s boring of course, but it’s better than the way my life used to be. Plus, the amount of money I stand to make for this is astronomical, and all I have to do is keep myself as busy as possible.
It’s like a beautiful and comfortable prison, or like a playpen for a loved pet. Maybe that’s exactly what he wants it to be. I am his little pet, after all.
There are much worse things to be. There are worse places to be, too. I’ve been in a few of them. I can remember one beat-up, decrepit house that Derek and I stayed in for a week or two back in the deepest throes of our addiction together, just before he died. That place was a mold-infested rat’s nest and yet we slept there, ate there, fucked there, and got high there for almost a week straight. We barely left that place and it felt like paradise.
Mostly because I was high out of my mind. I feel so disgusted and embarrassed to look back on those days. I’ve worked so hard to better myself, to improve over the junky I used to be. But that junky is always there, buried in the back of my mind, and every day I fear she’ll break free and take over again.
I just have to make sure that doesn’t happen. I have so much to lose now.
Around noon, Jenkins comes with my lunch. He wheels it in on a cart like usual, and it smells amazing. As he turns to leave, I stand up from the couch. We don’t normally talk, but today I suddenly feel a little bold.
“Excuse me,” I say.
He pauses and turns back to me. “Yes?” he asks, barely concealing his disdain.
What a jerk. The man acts like giving me food is like feeding a lizard or something.
“I was wondering if I can go for a walk,” I say. “I’m just cooped up in here all day. I just hoped I could go around the block.”
He pauses, his frown deepening. “Did Mr. Locks explain the rules to you?” he says.
“He did. I just hoped I could get permission from you.”
He shakes his head. “Permission denied.”
I pause, surprised. “It’s just around the block. You can come with me if you want.”
“No, thank you,” he says. “I’m a very busy man. I don’t have time to escort an... escort around the block.”
I sigh, understanding. I guess it is pretty obvious what I am. And clearly Jenkins doesn’t approve. I can’t say I really blame him or am surprised. He probably has Ethan’s best interests at heart, and is afraid that I’m here to rob them all blind.
I’m not, of course. I’m here to make Ethan happy. I’m here to do my job. But I can’t really explain that to this man. He’s clearly too proud and too stubborn to ever really get it.
“Thanks,” I say, sitting back down.
“Will that be all?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He turns and leaves without another word.
I sigh, stretching my legs. I’m so bored and cooped up. I get up and walk out onto the balcony, enjoying the fresh air. The city stretches out below me and I pass some time watching the people walk down the sidewalk, wishing I could be one of them, but knowing I’d never really trade places with any of them for anything.
Despite all the difficulties, I am where I want to be.
Hours pass, dinner comes and goes, and I’m almost ready to give up on another visit from Ethan when there’s a gentle knock at the door. I’m wearing my usual yoga pants and t-shirt, although I have on makeup and my hair is pulled up into a messy bun. I’m obeying his commands more or less. I wouldn’t wear makeup all day like this if I weren’t going to see anyone, but I can’t let myself fall apart completely. I have to put in some sort of effort for him at least, even if he wants me to be myself.
Ethan steps into the room, looking as handsome as always. I put down my book and smile at him, surprised at the excitement that I feel in my stomach.
“How was work?” I ask him.
He grins at me. “Work was fine. Couldn’t wait to leave.”
“Why’s that?”
He walks over to me and sits down on the chair across from me. “I wanted to see you. And to apologize for last night.”
“There’s nothing to apologize about.”
“I was an ass. I shouldn’t have stormed out like that.”
“You have things that you don’t want to talk about. I get it.”
He sighs and leans back in the chair. I can see how tired he is suddenly, and I realize that he can’t sleep more than a few hours every night. His job is clearly demanding a lot of him, and he gives it everything he can.
He probably doesn’t have time to get close to people. When he first bought me, I wondered why a man like Ethan could possibly want someone like me.
I still feel unworthy. I am unworthy, truth be told, but now at least I understand why he’d want to buy me. Ethan doesn’t have time to meet women and to fall in love like normal people. He’s working and living at an entirely different level, one that most normal people can’t even imagine. He makes a lot of money, but he sacrifices a lot for it.
I see all of that in a sudden flash of insight as I watch his face. He looks back at me curiously, head cocked to one side.
“What?” he asks.
I pause for a second, trying to decide how to answer him. “I want to go for a walk,” I say quickly, blurting it out. I regret it right away.
“Do you?” He leans forward, smiling. “Are you bored in here?”
“I just feel like I need to exercise.
“There’s a treadmill in the other room. And you can go onto the balcony for fresh air.”
“It’s not the same.”
His smile gets bigger. “Didn’t I punish you for this already?”
I nod, feeling a thrill run through me. “You did. But I don’t care. I want to go outside.”
“No,” he says, and I can see him warming up to the game. “Do I need to punish you again?”
“Yes,” I say simply. “I won’t learn otherwise.”
His grin gets huge as he stands. “Good girl,” he says. “You’re learning.”
He walks toward me and I watch him, heart hammering in my chest. He leans down and takes my arm, pulling me to my feet, then roughly pulls me toward the bed.
“Ethan!” I say.
“I’m sorry, am I being too hard with you?” he asks, smirking at me. He pulls me toward him, hands on my hips, and I let out a soft moan.
“Is this more like what you want?” he asks, his lips on my neck. I throw my arms around him.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“But this isn’t a punishment.” He grabs my hair, tipping my head back. I gasp as he kisses my throat. “You just want pleasure. But you can’t have pleasure without pain.”
“Who says?” I ask.
“I do.” He smirks at me and pulls back, still holding my hair. He walks me over to the foot of the bed. “Down on your knees,” he commands.
I obey, falling to my knees. He pulls the tie of
f his neck then takes my wrists, both of them together, and wraps the silk tie around them. He takes my hands and puts them above my head before tying me to the top of the headboard.
When he’s done, I’m down on my knees in front of him, hands above my head. I test the bond but it’s expertly tied, tight but not so tight that it’s cutting off circulation. He steps back and looks at me.
“What do I do with you now?” he asks, a smile on his face that says he knows exactly what he wants.
“Show me,” I whisper, my body a ringing mess of excitement.
“Since you ask so nicely,” he says, “I will.”
He takes off his jacket and I feel like I might pass out from the hard beating of my heart. He carefully lays his jacket over the back of a chair then rolls his sleeves up slowly, watching me the whole time. I keep my eyes locked on his, trying to steady my breathing, but I can barely handle it.
Finally, sleeves rolled up, he walks over to me. He adjusts my body, sitting me down on my ass, stretching my hands up further above my head. Then he takes my yoga pants and slowly slides them off my body.
When he’s done, I’m sitting on the ground in just a blue thong, dripping wet and useless at this point, my hands tied above my head. He carefully folds my pants and places them on the bed before walking into the closet.
He returns a second later with what I assume is a vibrator. It’s long, thick, and white. He walks over to me and puts me back on my knees before placing the vibrator between my legs and switching it on.
Nothing happens. It doesn’t move. I stare at him, legs clenched, waiting for the sensation to tear through me, but nothing happens.
“Now, we’ll play a game,” he says. He holds up a little switch in his hand. “This controls the vibrator. I’ll ask you a question, and if you answer it the right way, I’ll give you pleasure. Like this.” He turns it on.
I groan softly as the vibrator buzzes between my legs. I can’t help but smile slightly and press against my bonds. He leaves it on for a few seconds then stops.
