The Scarlett Letters

by Jenny Nordbak

  “Oh yeah, baby. Suckle me! Feed me all your milk! Don’t give none of it to your baby!”

  Well, that’s a new and charming addition to this little party.…

  He put his mouth on my bra and sucked hard.

  “Yoshi! No licking or sucking and no breast play. We talked about this in the interview.”

  “It’s just your bra, baby. Just let me try. I’ll suckle all your milk right through it.”

  I supposed he was technically correct, but added that to my list of things to ban if we ever played again.

  He climbed onto the chaise, pressing his naked length against me. With a few clients, I might have been perfectly comfortable with this. I can admit to the double standard, but it is one of the unavoidable parts of being a sex worker. Attraction plays a part and the flip side of that is revulsion. A client I am attracted to will get away with more than one who repulses me. Is it fair? Nope.

  I shuddered with revulsion as I saw precum smear from his tiny penis onto my skirt.

  “Get off!” I shouted and scrambled to get up.

  “Suckle me, baby. Just suckle me!” he replied and lunged for my bra, tugging it down and freeing my right breast. He latched onto my nipple with his teeth and sucked hard. It felt like he had broken the skin.

  I screamed and smacked him in the mouth with a loose fist to get him to let go. I thought that would be enough to get him to stop, but he looked up at me defiantly and yanked the bra down on the other side, tearing the strap. I backhanded him without a second thought and turned to cover myself and reach the intercom. My bitch-slap didn’t exactly have the desired effect. Instead of stunning him, it made him lunge at me in a rage. He bent me over the chair and pawed at my panties, trying to pull them down with one hand while holding me down with the other.

  Things had gone from fine to completely out of control in an instant. I could hear someone playing in the next room, but without knowing who it was, I couldn’t think what I could shout that would get their attention. Almost anything could be part of a normal session, so nothing was going to raise any alarm and get them to check.

  He managed to get my panties down to my knees. I was frantically clawing his wrist, but he twisted my arm up behind my back, making me cry out with pain.

  I was suddenly terrified and horribly exposed. I didn’t know for sure what he was trying to do, but I knew I didn’t want it. I looked down, saw his bare feet, and reacted instinctively. I stepped back and drove a five-inch stiletto down onto the top of his foot as hard as I could. He squealed and dropped to the ground to nurse his wound. The instant I could stand, I ran for the door and didn’t stop until I reached the reception desk.

  I quickly relayed to Viv what had happened and watched on the surveillance camera as he limped out to his car.

  “Should we call the cops or something?”

  She looked at me as if I were insane and I realized that probably wasn’t the wisest suggestion.

  “You really want to explain that to the cops? It would be his word against yours and we don’t need to draw that kind of attention here. It’s not like he really did anything.”

  “No, but he tried! I think at the very least he should be banned from playing here again. What if I hadn’t stopped him?”

  “Don’t be fuckin’ dramatic. Nothing happened and he’s a good regular.”

  “I’m never playing with him again and I don’t think new subs should either.”

  “Miss High-and-Mighty might not need to make money, but in my day we didn’t turn down sessions and we put up with a helluva lot worse than you whiney bitches do!”

  I was floored.

  Erin intervened before I could reply. I didn’t know how much she had heard, but she forcefully took me by the arm and dragged me outside.

  “Whatever just happened, don’t blame Viv for it. She can be hard, but she comes from a different generation. She’s seen some shit.”

  I was shaken. I didn’t know how I was going to be able to trust clients anymore after seeing how quickly things could get out of hand. The what-ifs crashed in my mind as I thought through the dozens of times I had put myself in vulnerable situations with other clients. Was I an idiot to be doing this?

  “Don’t go there,” Erin said, reading my mind.

  I looked up at her, but could only shake my head.

  “C’mon,” she said, grabbing her bag, “you’re coming home with me. I know how to take your mind off things.”

  * * *

  Home for Erin turned out to be the lavish Beverly Hills residence of a music producer/cross-dresser who I suspected had at one time been a client and now allowed Erin to live rent-free in exchange for private sessions.

  As she unlocked the front door, I was trying to hide the fact that I was shaking nervously, wondering if this was a bad idea. We hadn’t hooked up since AVN when I had been out of my mind on ecstasy. Amusingly, I was most worried about my skills in the bedroom. What if I didn’t know how to please a woman? You would think it would be easier since we had the same parts, but I was intimidated because of my lack of lesbian experience.

  My concerns were obliterated when we walked in the front door and I met Erin’s roommate, Geoffrey. He was adjusting what appeared to be a robotic spanking machine while wearing a full set of women’s lingerie in the middle of a sumptuously furnished living room. No matter how open-minded I thought I had become, I apparently still wasn’t as enlightened as Erin.

  “Scarlett, this is my roommate, Geoffrey. Geoff, this is Scarlett from work.”

  “Scarlett! Erin has told me all about you. It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

  “Likewise. Your home is gorgeous!”

  “Oh, thanks! Would you girls like to play with the Spank-o-Matic? I was just about to get her going.”

  “We’re good, thanks. I’m going to take Scarlett upstairs and have my way with her.”

  Her dimples deepened at my blush.

  “Have fun!” Geoff waved as we ran up the stairs hand in hand.

  Instead of giving me time to get awkward, she was already stripping my shirt off as she closed the bedroom door. She pressed me back against the bed, but it was too much of a reminder of Yoshi and she must have seen it on my face. I rolled above her and pressed her arms above her head. Even though I knew she was letting me, it felt good to be in control.

  I took my time touching and kissing my way down her body, amazed that a human being could be that soft. Each time I did something that made her gasp or moan, I made a mental note, learning what drove her wild. It was thrilling.

  By the time I teased my way to her clit, she was panting and flexing her hands in a silent plea.

  “Please, Scarlett…” she begged.

  I licked her clit, and she moaned deeply.

  “Mistress Scarlett…” I teased, reminding her of the shit she’d pulled with me on my first day.

  “Please, Mistress Scarlett!”

  I gave her what she wanted, thrusting two fingers inside her and finding a rhythm with my tongue on her clit.

  From downstairs began a steady thumping followed by Geoffrey screaming, “No—thump—please! Let me—thump—out! Let me out!—thump—Someone help me! I’m trapped in this—thump—machine!”

  I hesitated, and Erin groaned, “Don’t you dare stop! He’s fine. He usually sets it for twenty minutes and he’s locked in it for that long. Safe word is ‘petunia,’ so unless you hear that, get your fucking tongue back down there.”

  I slapped her on the thigh playfully and said, “Hey, Mistress, who’s in charge here?”

  She just laughed her delicious laugh and I went back to the task at hand.

  At first, I found it hard to block out all the screaming coming from downstairs, but as Erin’s moans got louder I took it as a challenge to drown him out. She bucked wildly, and I felt her pulsing around my fingers as she came hard. Causing a female orgasm was a heady feeling.

  The thumping downstairs had stopped.

  34. ALEX II

&n
bsp; I took some time off work at the Dungeon to determine whether I would be comfortable continuing to work there after what had happened. Within a week, I knew that I wasn’t ready to give it up. I already missed so much: the girls, the thrill of a new session, my regulars, but above all, I missed who I was when I was there. A compromise formed in my mind. I wasn’t going to take any more submissive sessions, instead sticking to scenarios in which I was theoretically in control. It wasn’t foolproof, but it was a trade-off that I could live with. I considered taking the test to become a full-fledged Mistress, but decided I was better off remaining a Switch. I had noticed that newer clients were more comfortable taking a Domme session with a Switch than a Mistress since they seemed less scary. This way I could also still sub for the occasional favorite client if I felt like it.

  Alex was my first client when I started picking my shifts back up, which was perfect because he was familiar, but it was also daunting because a week off hadn’t given me any new ideas for his regular visits.

  “I’m going to lose my mind in this session. I have Alex for three hours and I have no idea what I’m going to do with him. I’ve done every gross thing I can think of … and some I would never have thought I would do … and I’m out of ideas!”

  “Have you done the human ashtray with him?” asked Erin without looking up from her book. “Smoke a cigarette and ash in his mouth. Make him swallow it,” she suggested.

  “I’ve done it, but can definitely do it again. Good idea. That only leaves me about two hours and fifty minutes to fill. Any other thoughts?”

  Erin wrapped her arms around me from behind. Her lips on my neck were feather light.

  “I have lots of filthy suggestions,” she said, “but they all involve you naked in my bed. And Alex sure as fuck isn’t in them.”

  “Not helpful,” I breathed as her hand slid down my stomach.

  “Not my job to be helpful.”

  Raven screamed, “Lesbians!” as she arrived back from her session and dumped piles of rope on the couch to sort and recoil.

  “Why does she always do that?” Erin asked with exaggerated annoyance.

  “Jealous,” I said with a straight face and kissed her on the cheek.

  “You lezzies want to help me put this shit away?”

  “Not particularly,” Erin said over her shoulder as she walked out to the patio with a cigarette and her book in her hand.

  “I’ll help you with that if you help me come up with some stuff to do with Alex. I have him for three hours and need suggestions.”

  “Lick your boots clean? Human ashtray? Play out a medical fantasy where you cut off his man parts and then serve them to him for dinner? Lick the broom as you sweep the floor? Lick the toilet seat clean?”

  “Ew, you’ve made him do that?”

  “Don’t ask for suggestions and then judge me for them, Judgey-McJudgerpants! You want my ideas or not?”

  She tossed me a tangled pile of rope that I started working through.

  “I do—I do! Sorry. Not judging. I just don’t know how the man doesn’t end up in the hospital regularly.”

  “I bet his immune system is crazy. Like he’ll survive whatever wipes the rest of us out when antibiotics stop working. It’ll just be Alex and the cockroaches left.”

  “Funny. What else you got?”

  “Oh! Make him some tampon tea, but don’t actually let him drink the real one. Blindfold him and substitute it for normal tea at the last minute. You can threaten him with it the whole session and let the anticipation build! God, I’m good!”

  I wanted to say, “Time out. What the fuck? Please tell me you’re joking.”

  But what came out of my mouth was, “But I’m not on my period.”

  “No worries. I am. Hang on!”

  She ran to the kitchen and came back with a large mug and a plate. I stared in dumbfounded silence as she ran into the bathroom and then reappeared holding the mug triumphantly in front of her. She had covered it with the plate, so I didn’t have to see its contents, but I could imagine.

  “Don’t look at me like that or I’ll take my gift back! It’s genius and you know it!”

  “You’re a sick fuck,” I responded, but I couldn’t keep a straight face.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I muttered as I left the dressing room, mug in hand.

  “You’re welcome!” she shouted after me.

  I was hoping to make it past the desk without Caterina seeing what I was carrying and was relieved that she was in the middle of what sounded like a thoroughly uncomfortable phone call.

  “… Ma’am, as I’ve already said, I can’t give you any details about that particular credit card charge. You will need to discuss it with your husband, who is the cardholder.… I understand your frustration, but there’s really nothing I can tell you.”

  Sounded like we may not be seeing one of our clients again. Or would be seeing him much more often.

  I hustled Alex out of a reception chair and straight up the stairs to the cave. I stashed the coffee cup behind the stereo and turned on some Nine Inch Nails. Maybe with loud enough music, I wouldn’t be able to hear my thoughts.

  It took me two and a half hours to work up the courage to produce Alex’s special tea. Even then, I couldn’t bring myself to look at it. The way his face lit up when he saw it told me everything I needed to know. Raven had nailed it.

  I hadn’t planned ahead enough to have mixed up a different tea concoction, so my decoy cup just contained hot water. It didn’t matter. He was so wound up with anticipation by then that he came as soon as I raised the liquid to his lips. In Alex’s mind, his tampon tea fantasy had been fulfilled.

  35. BRIAN

  By the time a client named Brian came in to see me, I was getting relaxed about some of my interviews. If the session involved territory that I thought needed guidelines, then I still found myself hammering out almost every detail beforehand. But if the session was something simpler—feet, humiliation, sissification, etc—then I was starting to find it easier to be more flexible and work through what the client wanted during the session. I had seen enough crazy shit that very little surprised me anymore. Until Brian.

  When we interviewed, he indicated that he wanted me to be his small-penis therapist, a sexy but bitchy doctor who emotionally tortured him with my icy glares and cold, judgmental silence. I tried to size him up and decide whether he actually had a teeny dick or whether it was a monster that he wanted me to pretend was tiny. He was a moderately tall white dude, so I couldn’t rely on stereotypes and couldn’t tell from what he was wearing. I was just going to have to wait and see.

  “Small-penis therapy sounds good to me. Do you want me to interact with you in any specific way? Do anything corporal to you?”

  “You just need to be cold, bitchy, and judgmental. And when I hit on you, just glare and ignore me.”

  Well, that was going to be tough.…

  “Okay,” I said, “I think I can manage that.”

  “I’ll basically do everything. You just have to glare, and be mean to me, and talk as little as possible. I’ll ask if I can do my exercises, and you don’t have to direct me because this is supposed to be my regular therapy, so I’ll know what to do.”

  “So to be clear, you want no impact play, no physical interaction, and as little verbal interaction from me as possible. You just want to be ignored, spoken down to, and mocked when I do speak?” I asked, already thinking how easy and cathartic this was going to be.

  “Yes. It should be straightforward. You’ll see.”

  “Lovely. Shall we see what rooms are available?”

  We chose the medical room as it had the right vibe and a perfect couch for me to sit on. The doctor’s comfort was important after all. I put on a Die Antwoord CD quietly in the background when we went in. I didn’t want it to feel any less like therapy, but I really hated silence in sessions. I sat down on the couch demurely with my notepad in hand and glared at him with utter disdain.

&n
bsp; “Uh … Hi, Doc. How’s it goin’?” he asked with just a hint of a stutter.

  “Could we get on with this, please? I’m really not here to socialize,” I replied, sighing dramatically.

  “Um, all right. Yeah, of course. So, should I just go ahead and strip down then?”

  “Indeed.”

  He took his clothes off and carefully folded them, laying them on the surgical table in the corner. He walked toward me, rubbing his hands together awkwardly, and that was the first time I saw the teeny tiny organ that he called his dick. When I got home and tried to describe it to Amelia, the best I could come up with was the “Cave Dick.” It literally receded into a pouch of skin when it wasn’t erect and barely protruded when it was hard. There was absolutely no chance he could get it into a vagina. Brian would die a virgin.

  I had a fleeting pang of guilt, but there was no place for those feelings here. He had found a way to deal with his tiny prick, and it was my job to be a heartless bitch to help him fulfill that fantasy, not to pity him.

  Thankfully, I didn’t need to try to hide the fact I was staring at his lack of manhood. Instead, I cocked an eyebrow pointedly to hammer the thought home.

  “Shall I begin my small-penis exercises, Doctor?”

  “Indeed,” I said with a little extra emphasis directed toward his genitals.

  He awkwardly started doing a sort of leaping lunge sequence around the room. A naked man with the tiniest penis I had ever seen was squatting and lunging and jumping around the room and I was expected to sit there with a look of derision on my face. What a strange life I was leading.

  “So, uh, nice weather we’ve been having, huh, Doc?”

  I gave him my “Are you seriously talking to me right now” glare and looked back down at my notepad.

  “Okay then … Would you maybe, um, wanna go get a coffee or something sometime?”

  “No. Not in the least. Now focus on your tiny-penis exercises.”