We passed Raven on our way up to the room and the baddest bitch I know was momentarily flummoxed by Oliver’s presence. To him, I’m sure she looked indifferent, but I knew her well enough to know that she was barely keeping her jaw off the floor. She mouthed, “Cameo!” to me as I passed her, but I just rolled my eyes and shook my head. This one was all mine.
The urge to know what his surprise was as soon as I closed and locked the door was overwhelming, but I controlled myself. To admit to that level of curiosity was to relinquish power to him, and it was hard enough to contend with his presence.
He took his sunglasses off and put them on me, and I wanted to melt to the floor at the casual contact. Instead, I held out my palm in front of his mouth until he spat his gum out. I chucked it in the trash bin in the corner and turned back to find him already almost naked.
Mmm, yes please.
When he was finished undressing, he pulled a small leather bag out of his jacket pocket and set it on the side table next to the spanking horse. I straddled the spanking horse and faced him with anticipation written all over my face. His eyes followed the line of my open legs to the thin strip of fabric that covered the goods, and I couldn’t help smirking. All (straight) men really are created equal in that regard.
He opened the bag and pulled out lube, cleaning wipes, and a smaller bag. This one unzipped and then unrolled like it was designed for makeup brushes. Inside was a kit of urethral sounds. My heart started to thump wildly in anticipation. I had never tried sounding before, but always kept it in a special place in my mind.
Urethral sounds are metal rods that are about the length of my hand and vary in thickness. They look like medical tools, which makes sense given their original function. They were first used before antibiotics had been discovered and syphilis caused scar tissue to block the urethra in a man’s penis. The doctor would stick a metal rod down into the penis, and force entry until the blockage was cleared. To most men, this is a cringeworthy description, but like all kinks, there are many who profess it is an incredible sensation. I had taken a workshop about sounding at a convention in Denver, but had never been able to apply what I had learned. I had been waiting to meet someone with a little more experience who could teach me and let me play with the different techniques. What better experience is there for a penetration freak with penis envy than fucking a guy’s dick?
Now this gorgeous man was giving me my chance. I instantly forgave him for surprising me.
I put on gloves and went to stand over him. He talked me through the various shapes and thicknesses, but said that since he had been doing it for so long, there was no need to work our way up. He pulled out the thickest sound that twisted gently toward the top. I lubed it up while he removed his piercing from the head of his cock. I was grinning like a small child and could barely stop myself from jumping up and down with excitement.
“With this shape,” he explained, “you insert it slowly and have to twist past the ‘stops’ in the urethra.”
“Ready?” I asked, glancing at his erect cock like it was my new toy.
“Ready,” he said, holding it up for me and pinching the head to open the entrance. I didn’t need any more invitation than that.
I grasped the base with my left hand, taking control from him, and with my right hand placed the tip of the sound inside of his urethra. I barely had to work it in since his piercing had already stretched the opening at the tip, but the tissue tightened as I slid the rod deeper. The technique had been described to me in the past as dropping the sound in rather than pushing it, and I now understood the description. It slides easily until it meets an area of resistance from the urethra, and then a twist is needed to work it through and keep it sliding down again. It was the most erotic sensation, sliding that sinuous metal rod inside his flesh rod as he lay back and groaned. If I let go, it started to slowly work its way back out, so I played with this, letting it slide up and then pushing it back down.
“Can you come with something in there?”
“Absolutely,” he said without hesitation. “Wanna see?”
I nodded vigorously, not wanting to be deprived of any of this experience.
“Do you want to try it with your finger in there instead?”
I lost my grip on the sound and barely caught it before it came all the way out.
“Are you kidding me? I can actually put my fucking finger in there?”
“Hell yeah. Lube it up and give it a shot.”
I surrendered control of the sound back to Oliver, and grabbed the lube bottle to pour it all over the glove of my right ring finger. Oliver had found a rhythm now, thrusting the sound up and down, clearly as excited by this as I was. He let it slide all the way out and I laid it back on the table on a waiting paper towel. I thought I was going to orgasm as I worked the tip of my finger into his dick, stretching it slightly. Once I had the first knuckle in, I got to feel the sliding sensation from the inside. I hadn’t gotten far when I felt an impediment and had to work past it, twisting and gently moving through the squeezing muscles. After that, my finger slid all the way down until my hand prevented it from going any deeper. I could feel his flesh squeezing around it. This was probably the closest I would ever get to feeling what it is like to penetrate a woman with a cock, and I was practically vibrating with arousal.
Without a word, he took hold of the base of his dick, replacing my left hand, and began stroking upward. He could feel my finger both inside and out, and I could feel every stroke of his hand from the inside. He started with slow erotic strokes, letting me savor the bizarre sensation. Before I knew it, we were moving in concert, my finger being pushed up and down slightly by his movements, which were becoming faster and faster. I wanted full control, so I knocked his hand away and took over his stroking motion. Now I could feel everything. I experienced a rush of power, that thrill that comes from being a Domme in her element. My movements became frenzied, and Oliver’s breathing turned erratic. He bellowed a groan, and I felt him start to ejaculate around my finger and out of the tip in long spurts. I slowly withdrew my finger. Oliver lay there, still thrusting a little and letting the tremors work their way through his body.
“That was fucking incredible.” He sighed and let his head fall back.
“Tell me about it. You just blew my mind!”
When he laughed, his abs flexed showing his perfect six-pack. It must be exhausting to look that good. He sat up and leaned forward to kiss me, but I turned at the last second and gave him my cheek. I felt the intimacy too, but not like that. We weren’t lovers, but sexual pioneers who had just gone on an adventure. No need to spoil it by making it into something it wasn’t.
“We’re definitely going to have to do that again,” he said as he started to put his clothes back on.
I never saw him again as a client, but when I see him on the screen, I get electric butterflies in my stomach remembering that day. I had fucked a man’s dick with my finger and made him come. I was powerful. I may not have a cock, but I could still penetrate one if I felt so inclined. Oliver had created a monster.
41. VICTOR
Rich burst into the trailer as I was just packing up to head to the Dungeon. I could tell he was agitated, but I initially avoided eye contact in the hopes that I could escape without having to engage. When I eventually glanced up, he was chalk white and shaking.
“What the fuck happened?”
“Victor just died.”
I closed my mouth before saying something stupid just to fill the stunned silence.
“Was there an accident on-site?”
“No. He just had a heart attack and dropped dead as he was trying to leave the parking lot.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I gave him a hug. Victor was Vance’s right-hand guy on-site. I didn’t think Rich knew him very well, but it was tragic nonetheless. It had to have also made him consider his own mortality. They were a similar age, and Rich wasn’t exactly taking care of himself.
I arrived at the fun
eral alone, but quickly found a group from the jobsite to sit with. I didn’t know Victor well, but a number of us had come to show our support. His wife spoke first, and she was lovely and incredibly composed. She was charming and funny and painted a picture of Victor that most of us hadn’t gotten to see, having only known him at work. After a photo slideshow of his life, the preacher assumed the podium to speak. And the tone in the room shifted palpably.
For twenty-five minutes, the man hurled fire and fucking brimstone at us.
“Burn! You will all burn in the fiery torture of hell if you do not change your ways and walk the path of righteousness. I know that”—he glanced down at the podium—“Victor wanted me to speak here today to warn you all that your souls are in danger if you do not accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior.”
Did he now, you angry little man? Since you don’t seem to remember his name, I’m not sure you knew him very well.
“I know that in this room there are fornicators, loose women, and blasphemers!”
All of the above.
I contemplated raising my hand, but out of respect for Victor’s family decided to behave.
“Victor’s loved ones can rest easy, secure in the knowledge that his soul is in Heaven, awaiting the day when they will be reunited. Will your family be able to say the same thing?”
Probably not. But if it’s fuckers like you populating Heaven, then I’ll take my chances in Hell. Sounds like that’s where all the fun people will be.
He continued in that vein until most of the room was shifting uncomfortably. I played a game looking through the room trying to decide who would actually fit this nutjob’s standards.
Muslim, divorced, blasphemer, atheist, definite fornicator … nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. I came up with a few possibilities and decided that they were probably the real perverts. Like my client, Hal the accountant, who fantasized about African tribes gang-raping and mutilating white women. He looked like Dilbert and would have fit in at this guy’s Christmas party. I wondered what Angry Little Man’s deal was that had him feeling so guilty he was compelled to spend his life screaming at the rest of us to atone.
I could hear Dominic in my head saying, “Religions are like penises. It’s fine to have one, and I don’t give a shit what you do with it in private … but please don’t whip it out in public or try to ram it down my throat.”
When he was finally finished, we all trooped out into the reception area. I saw Rich making his way up the other aisle and was pleased to see that his wife was with him. They looked happy. He saw me looking and winked. Maybe he was going to get his life back on track, whatever that meant.
Angry Little Man had taken up his post at the door to the reception area, so we all had to file past him and shake his hand. It seemed most people felt the need to thank him or compliment him on his sermon. I was just going to smile and keep moving, but he took my hand and stopped me.
“You look like a lost soul, young lady. Would you like to talk about anything?”
I wanted to laugh, but it wasn’t really funny. He had managed to pick the Dominatrix out of the room. What had given me away? Could it have been the look of disdain on my face the entire time he had been speaking? Or did he just have a thing about “saving” pretty young women?
“No, thanks. Doing just fine. Have a nice day.”
I couldn’t get away from him quickly enough. I was a lost soul. My religion was love, acceptance, and forgiveness. And this narrow-minded Angry Little Man had none of those things to offer me. I could, however, find them in abundance at the Dungeon, and I was suddenly eager to get to work.
As I drove up there, I called my mom just to tell her that I loved her.
Then I took a deep breath and called my dad as well.
When he picked up, I said, “Hey. Just wanted to tell you I was thinking of you and to see how you were doing.”
I wasn’t ready yet to drop the L-bomb again with him, but wanted him to know that I cared about him. There had been more than enough hate and pain in our lives. Now we just needed love.
* * *
Death has a funny way of lurking in the wings long enough that you can almost forget that he rules your life. And then he chooses to emerge and seems like he’s making up for lost time. We all knew that Liam was probably going to die before us. He had made it past the average life expectancy for someone with cystic fibrosis and he had limited access to health care so was at a considerable disadvantage. We all knew it was going to happen, but that didn’t mean I was prepared to see it on Facebook when I was scrolling through my feed before bed. Dozens of people had already posted messages of grief and love to his wall. There was no denying it. He was gone.
I absently ran my fingertips over the tiny spot on my rib cage that had blistered and scarred after our fire play. I wanted to carve it deeper to make sure it never faded away, as though that would help me to hold on to the precious few memories I had of Liam.
I knew he had been in and out of the hospital for a few months, but was so caught up in my own life that it hadn’t crossed my mind that I would never see him again. I thought they would get him tuned up and I would lock eyes with him the next time I went to a play party.
His memorial for people in the scene was being hosted on the following Monday evening by the other dungeon that had reopened after the fire. I glanced at my calendar and saw that I would need to get someone to cover for me on-site so that I could go. I had an MRI being delivered that day and was scheduled to oversee the transport and after-hours calibration. My mom was not amused when she found out.
“I have a memorial to go to,” I attempted to explain. “Someone I knew in college passed away.”
“Jenny, I don’t want to be harsh, but flaking on something this big at work for a college acquaintance’s memorial isn’t the responsible thing to do. You’ve been the one coordinating it for months, so it wouldn’t work to have someone else take over last minute. We would need to reschedule, which is a big deal and would potentially have massive cost and schedule implications. Remind me who the memorial is for again…?”
I couldn’t remind her because I hadn’t told her, and I was sure she knew that. Her bullshit detector had gone off and she clearly thought I was either lying about the memorial to get out of work (which would be super fucked up) or hiding something about it from her.
How could I explain that it was someone who meant a lot to me even though I had never mentioned him? She was right about work, but I desperately wanted to be there to grieve with the people who had become like a family to me. I sighed, accepting that this was going to inevitably end with me going to work, so arguing with her further would only raise more questions.
Instead, I said, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just got caught up in the shock of losing someone. I’ll be there for the MRI.”
“Okay. I’m sorry about your friend. It’s not that I don’t care.…”
“I know. You’re just looking out for me.”
My friends in the scene couldn’t understand how work could prevail over the need to be at the memorial, but almost none of them had jobs in the real world. A few gave me the impression that they felt it was a slight to Liam that I wouldn’t just tell work to fuck off. Funerals aren’t really for the deceased, though, they’re for the people who are left behind to come together and feel a little less alone and maybe a little less mortal. I was surprised to hear that the person who had been most vocal in my defense was Erin. The next time we worked together, I cut the passive-aggressive bullshit and gave her a hug. She was rigid at first and then melted against me, as relieved as I was to let go of the nonsense. We didn’t rekindle our relationship and were never close again, but I was glad that it ended with love and not anger.
* * *
I knew it was going to happen eventually. In a city like L.A., the odds of running into a specific person randomly are minuscule. The odds of running into a client outside of the Dungeon have to be exponentially greater for the sim
ple reason that the universe has a sense of humor. The other girls had told stories of encountering clients at a gas station, at a bar, or (in one particularly funny instance) at a baby shower. The consensus was that these accidental meetings were always more uncomfortable for the client than the woman in question. I had imagined what it would be like stumbling upon Alex in a bookstore or Sissy Harry in a restaurant and smiled to myself at the absurdity of it. I was therefore totally unprepared for the seriousness of my own real-world client run-in.
I walked into the conference room at the hospital followed by my mom on an innocent Tuesday morning. It was my meeting, but she was there to lend me some weight with her presence and observe. It was a meeting to familiarize a newly hired department head with their space and equipment in the new building. I looked up to acknowledge the participants who were already present and froze as I locked eyes with none other than Yoshi. Adrenaline pounded through my veins, sending me into fight-or-flight so quickly I nearly dropped the paperwork I was carrying. At first, he looked as stunned as me. And then he smiled. The fucker smiled.
It sent a chill of dread creeping up my spine.
Whatever. Fuck him. I wasn’t some timid little girl that he could mess with anymore.
He had as much to lose as I did if he said something stupid. He could out me, but he would need to explain how he even knew about it. Mutually assured destruction.
I gritted my teeth and made it a point to be as polite and professional as possible, forcing myself to make eye contact with him throughout the meeting. My intention was to regain power by making it abundantly clear that he had no effect on me whatsoever. It worked. By the end of the meeting, I had stopped faking it, and truly felt like I had the upper hand with him again.
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