“Yeah, he’s in the L.A. office for the rest of the week,” was the response.
Patricia explained further, “He’s having a sit-down with HR to talk about the complaint that was filed. HR didn’t call you yet? They should be calling you at some point today since you were involved.”
“Me? Weird.”
I was involved in an HR complaint? What the hell did that mean? It didn’t sound like I was the one in trouble, but it also didn’t sound like something I wanted to be affiliated with.
Thankfully I didn’t have to stress for long before Ralph from HR called me to discuss the “incident” in question. He explained that a complaint had been made against Rich and that since I was the other person involved, he needed to get a statement from me.
“Now this may be a little embarrassing to talk about, but I want you to know that if anything like this ever happens again that you can come to us. That’s what we’re here for.”
“Um, okay. Thanks.”
“We’ve already confirmed the story with Rich, so this is really just a formality. There’s no need to feel like you’re telling on him or anything. The incident in question occurred last Monday at approximately ten a.m. in the trailer at the hospital project. Another employee overheard Rich discussing inappropriate sexual matters with you and felt that you did not want to be a participant in the conversation. Rich is your superior on-site, so this could be interpreted as a form of sexual harassment.”
Well, this isn’t awkward at all.
He continued, “Specifically, it seems that he was relating an incident in which he spanked a younger woman. Could you give us your version of these events?”
Awkward. I can’t tell him I was cool with it without looking terrible, but I don’t want to throw Rich under the bus either. Who the fuck even reported it?
“Sure … I guess it happened the way you’ve described. He maybe shouldn’t have been talking about those things in the trailer where anyone could overhear, but I didn’t necessarily feel harassed by it and certainly wouldn’t have called you to complain about it.”
“So he was talking about spanking and … other things?”
“Yep.”
“Okay. Well regardless of whether you were offended by it, that is inappropriate workplace behavior and we will be filing an incident report and getting him appropriate counseling before he can return to the jobsite. The complaint will remain anonymous and shouldn’t be discussed any further in the office. If anything like this happens again, I hope you’ll feel that you can come forward to help prevent a type of culture where this is allowed.”
“Yeah. Will do.”
“Okay, thanks for your help in getting this cleared up.”
“No problem. Bye.”
Poor guy. I hoped his wife hadn’t also found out for both of their sakes.
When he returned to the trailer, we went to lunch so we wouldn’t be overheard. He confirmed that his wife didn’t know, but said that he was thinking about telling her.
“Is that your way of trying to end your marriage?” I asked. “Because it’s a pretty shitty way of doing it.”
“I don’t know what I want anymore. I want to feel like I did when we first got together. I want to do the things I was doing when I cheated, but how do you initiate something like that after fifteen years of polite missionary?”
“Worst she’s going to do is call you a pervert and run screaming to a divorce lawyer. It sounds like that’s where you’re headed if you don’t do anything, so it seems to me you don’t have anything to lose.”
He nodded slowly, saying, “That’s one way of looking at it.”
“Another is that she’s probably just as fucking bored. I’m so sick of men not giving women enough credit. They’re usually just as interested in spicing things up, but instead of giving them a chance, guys take the easy way out and cheat.”
“Easy, tiger … You’re right. I’ll give it a shot. But if she cuts my dick off for suggesting it, that’s on your conscience.”
“I can live with that.”
32. “OLIVER”
When I moved to L.A., I learned that people who haven’t lived here have a misguided assumption that the place is crawling with celebrities. Friends from where I grew up in Texas asked incessantly whether I had met anyone famous. They were always disappointed to hear that, shockingly, I hadn’t. Just imagine, in a city of 18.5 million, I didn’t regularly run into their favorite actors. It would have upset them that much more to hear that I was so out of tune with pop culture that I could have been running into them all day long without ever realizing it. I didn’t think anyone famous would come in to the Dungeon since there would be a risk that one of us would out them, but also since they had the money to hire someone to play with them privately where they could make their own rules. I heard the occasional story of it happening, but the “celebrity” in question was always a D-lister who was probably hoping we would out them just to generate some press.
I walked into the interview room one afternoon and was stunned to discover that my client was a mega famous actor. Ignorant to pop culture or not, there was no mistaking him. My first thought was, “My mom is going to be so excited when I tell her!”
And then I came back to reality and accepted that I wouldn’t be telling anyone about this—well, maybe Amelia!
Despite how close we are becoming, darling reader, I won’t be telling you his name. But I promise you know it. For now, let’s just call him Oliver.
I hesitated for an instant when I saw who he was and then mentally kicked myself back into Scarlett mode. Scarlett wouldn’t give a fuck how famous he was. She was here to do a job. I squared my shoulders, introduced myself, and joined him on the couch.
Almost as distracting as his fame was the fact that he was wearing sunglasses, and didn’t seem like he was planning to take them off anytime soon. It was so dark in the interview room that it was a little hard to see to begin with. With shades on, I couldn’t figure out how he could even make out my features. He couldn’t possibly think that I wouldn’t recognize him because of the sunglasses, could he?
Wearing sunglasses indoors was just the beginning of the douche baggery that he brought to the table. He was chewing gum open-mouthed, and the smacking noise it was making made me want to smack him. He was also being impossibly vague about what he wanted to do. I had been in enough interviews now to know that it could be difficult for clients to open up, but he wouldn’t give me anything to work with. Our conversation went a little something like:
“So what is it that you’re interested in doing today?”
“You choose.”
He went back to smacking his gum and not making eye contact. Raven told me that once when a client said something like that to her, she chose to tie all of his toes apart and give him paper cuts between each of them. I was fairly sure that wasn’t what Oliver had in mind.
“Well, I’d be happy to guide the scene if you could give me some idea of what you’re into.”
“I want you to dominate me.”
Smack. Smack. Smack went the gum.
“Okay, great. That’s a good start. I can work with that. So is it corporal punishment you’re looking for? Bondage? Maybe humiliation?”
“Whatever you usually do.”
Is he here to research a part and has no idea what to ask for? Is he embarrassed to tell me? Or is he just being a pain in the ass?
Without knowing what was the issue, I wanted to avoid continuously going in a circle with him. Admittedly, with any other client I would have pushed to set some more definite boundaries to make sure our expectations were aligned, but I really wanted to play with this guy, so I tried to compromise and just get us in a room.
“We don’t really have a ‘usual’ here, but I’ll tell you what we can do … I’ll grab some generic rope and implements. We can play for at least an hour so we have time to experiment, and let’s see if we can figure out what you’re into.”
He agreed, so I grabbed
a random assortment of implements and bondage equipment and we headed up to the cave.
As soon as I locked the door and started the session, he grabbed me by the shoulders and tried to kiss me. I, like most women and I’m sure a few men, had fantasized about kissing him, but in that moment it wasn’t happening. He either thought he had come to a brothel or was deliberately trying to piss me off. Either way, I needed to set the boundary.
“Hey. No. Let’s slow down. Take a seat on the bench and we’ll get started.”
I went and took a crop from the bag to give me a moment to think … and so I had something to hit him with if he got fresh again. I sat down next to him on the bench, close enough to be flirty, and planned on trying to find a direction to take things when I felt his hand on the back of my head pushing me down toward his dick in the universal man move for “put it in your mouth.”
I ducked under his arm and slapped his hand with the crop.
“You are a bad, bad boy. Get over my knee now so I can give you a proper punishment.”
He pulled his shirt off and I couldn’t help admiring his perfectly chiseled physique. I sort of wanted to run my tongue over his washboard abs. And then I caught sight of the damn sunglasses again, and it killed my buzz.
When he stood up, I tugged his pants down to his knees but left his boxer briefs in place in case he got too carried away. I turned him over my knee and started spanking him. And it was immediately awkward. It clearly wasn’t what he was looking for since he wasn’t reacting in the least, but if he was only looking for sex, I couldn’t help him. The silence in the room was excruciating. I had him stand back up and went to put some music on, hoping to set some kind of mood. I regained some confidence with Puscifer thumping through the speakers. It reminded me of the night I had done fire play with Liam.
I turned back to Oliver, and found that he had taken the opportunity to strip completely naked. Two things struck me at once: His dick, even semi-erect, was magnificent. And it had a massively gauged Prince Albert piercing, a thick rod that started on the underside of the head of his dick, and curved upward to emerge through his urethra. It was thick and bold and beautiful. I practically melted when I saw it.
Now that I can work with.
The jewelry he was wearing was designed to be attached to a leash or a carabiner. I needed no further instruction. I took him by the throat and pushed him backward until he was standing against the cross. Then, I took some rope and did a quick and easy tie to secure him to it. I went back to the bag to put latex gloves on and to find a small bondage clip and a thin piece of rope, which would be my homemade leash.
He smiled his million-dollar smile when I turned back to him and he saw what I was holding. And then he smacked his fucking gum again. I held a gloved palm open in front of his mouth and said, “Spit or swallow.”
He spat the gum neatly into my hand. I pulled his stupid sunglasses off and stuck the gum on the outside of the frame before tossing them back on the bench. He didn’t protest, but looked amusingly stunned. His sunglasses probably cost more than my car. Scarlett didn’t give a fuck.
I clipped my makeshift dog leash onto his piercing, and his cock started to lengthen and swell in anticipation. I gently lifted it, but stopped short of the tension I thought he was craving. I ran my riding crop slowly along the underside of his now fully erect member and then back along the side. His whole body shivered. I rapidly flicked the crop against him, working my way up and down, covering the entire surface with little taps. They were just hard enough to make him nervous, but not hard enough to cause any pain. He was arching his back as much as his bonds would allow and thrusting at the air. His face was contorted with the agony that belongs to those who crave pain and are instead receiving the gentle ministrations of an experienced tease.
I laughed at him humping the air like a bitch in heat. He gave me a pleading laugh as well.
“Please, Mistress … please. You’re driving me crazy.”
I lunged at him, releasing the tension in the leash so that his dick once again hung between his spread legs. I grabbed him by the throat, pressed my body against his naked length and leaned in until my lips were nearly touching his ear. He went completely still, but I could feel his heart racing under my fingertips.
“I know exactly what you want. And I’m going to give it to you,” I whispered menacingly, “but I don’t want to hear a sound out of your mouth. Not so much as a moan or a whimper is allowed to escape these lips,” I said, running the tip of my crop across his mouth for emphasis. He nodded, and I released his throat. I’m still not sure why I wanted him silent. I usually love to hear the sounds that come out of people’s mouths in the throes of ecstasy. But this time, I was making concessions to please him. I was going to be gentle, even though I wanted to be rough. I was going to treat him like one of my play partners rather than a client, and I wanted him to make a concession as well. I know how hard it is to stay silent. I needed proof that he wanted this badly enough to obey me even when he had lost the capacity to think.
He silently nodded in agreement, and gave me a wink that turned my knees to Jell-O. No wonder he was so successful. He was charming without saying a word.
I picked his leash back up, and with no more teasing, stretched his dick to its length and pulled it taut. He arched his back once more and panted, but didn’t make a sound. He flinched as he felt the crop touch his piercing, the source of all of that tension. I began pulling the leash back and releasing it, tiny motions that mimicked the thrusts of sex, but in this case each one stretched him a little farther and forced me to pull harder. In time with these waves of movement, I started tapping the tip of his dick harder and harder with the crop. He was now pressing his lips into a thin line and panting through his nose, as though keeping his mouth closed might stop any sound from escaping if he lost control. I switched and started tapping the underside of the head, even harder than before. I got so caught up in the moment, that for the briefest instant, I thought he had started moaning. Those guttural sounds were coming from my own throat. His every muscle was straining with the tension, and his breathing had become erratic.
I started to tap faster and faster, as only my right hand is able to do. That kind of muscle speed is built only through years of masturbating. The energy he was throwing off as sweat poured down his body drove me into a greater frenzy. I stood to one side as his balls tightened and he threw his head back with a silent cry, expelling a stream of semen past his piercing and onto the towel I had laid on the floor. He sagged in his bonds, trying to catch his breath. He still hadn’t uttered a sound.
I untied him and we both laughed from the pure, simple joy of it all.
“Fuck, that was intense!” he said with a thoroughly contented sigh.
Sometimes the experience with clients was removed and clinical. There was no connection there whatsoever beyond an exchange of payment for pleasure or pain. Other times, we connected in an intense way that I can only compare to the intimacy that sometimes follows a one-night stand. Strangers can become lovers. Play partners can become something more. I had started that session in awe of Oliver’s fame, but not particularly liking him, and ended up forging an electric bond.
“God, I thought you were such a stereotypical Hollywood douche bag when you came in! But, fuck, that was hot!”
“And I thought you had a stick up your cute little ass.”
I chucked a towel in his face and he jokingly said, “Hey, hey! Watch the money-maker!”
As we cleaned up, he asked, “So now you know one of my secrets. Tell me one of yours. What turns you on?”
I nearly gave him a bullshit answer, but decided to be truthful.
“Penetration. I like to penetrate people.”
His eyes lit up as he said, “We’re going to have to play again sometime. My schedule is about to get a little nuts, but I’ll work something out eventually.”
“I can’t wait,” I said. And I actually meant it.
33. ERIN
; “Scarlett, Yoshi is here to see you.”
“Okay, thanks, Viv. I’ll be right up.”
I hadn’t seen Yoshi in months and wasn’t excited to play with him, but I didn’t have anything else booked that night, so it would at least make the drive up there worthwhile. Besides, I had changed a lot in a few months, learned to manage my clients better. This would be a good test of that even if I found him repugnant.
We laid my usual ground rules for him in the interview. Breasts were off-limits. Some spanking was fine, but if he got too gropey I was going to call him out for it. Smelling was fine, but no licking.
We picked the lounge to play in since most of the other rooms were occupied. It was an incredibly busy night, so I could hear a diverse array of noises coming from each room that we passed as we made our way to the back. It was fun to try to guess what was happening in each room. I could only smile as I heard “bigger and thicker” coming from behind one of the doors. No question about what was happening in there.
We reached the lounge and I started our session and then took my time getting situated. I usually didn’t mess with a client’s time like that, but I was really wishing I wasn’t about to have to put up with twenty-eight minutes and forty-six more seconds of Yoshi, so whatever little amount I could spare myself seemed fair.
“Scar-rett, I miss you so much, baby. Where you been hiding?”
“I’ve been right here, Yoshi. You always know where you can find me when you want me,” I teased, proud of myself for not being a bitch. Yoshi was a person too, and I wanted to try to see past how gross he could be and remember that.
The session continued the way his usually did, with smelling and lewd comments, but then it took a turn in a direction it hadn’t before. As his full body-smelling assessment reached my breasts, he lingered longer than usual, sniffing and then sucking in breaths through his mouth as though tasting the air. I stared at the ceiling and tried to think about my meetings on-site the next day so I wouldn’t recoil from him.
The Scarlett Letters Page 22
