Dirty Bad Secrets

by West, Jade

  “Banking,” he said. “Please get a move on, we’ve already been late enough as it is today.”

  I chugged down the rest of the cocktail and slammed the glass on the bar on my way out.

  ***

  Andy

  “Jesus Christ, Topaz, has she been Miss Sunshine all pissing morning, or is it just for my benefit?” Big eyes stared over at me, all innocent and fucking gormless. I don’t have time for gormless. “Faye,” I said. “What’s with her frosty fucking demeanour? I’ve been waiting for her to do some actual bloody work since she woke up this morning.” I sniffed at the remnants of the cocktail on the bar. “Seems she had more important things to be doing.”

  “She was experimenting,” she said, meekly. “For the birthday night, I think.”

  I took another sniff, and then I smiled. “Explicit Explosion, what a blast from the past.”

  “Explicit Explosion?”

  “It was our first cocktail,” I explained. “An abomination we created after far too many champagne toasts. It lasted all of three weeks on the menu before we wrote it off as a bad idea.” I laughed to myself. “Do you think it’s an encoded message? An insight into the subliminal workings of Faye Devere’s troubled little mind? She’s been back three weeks, hasn’t she? Maybe she’s writing us off as a bad idea. Better than a horse’s head in the bed, at least. How fucking amusing.”

  “I think she just wants to get the evening right,” Topaz said. “She’s really bothered about it.”

  “Of course she would be,” I sneered. “Her chance in the spotlight, she’s going to milk it for everything it’s worth. Oh look, how wonderful, it’s the lovely Faye, gracing us with her presence. Only three fucking birthdays too bastard late.” I tipped the remnants of the cocktail down the sink. “Other less glamorous priorities, like getting the cheques in the pissing bank, hold little sway with our lovely Faye.”

  “I think you should probably give her a break,” she said, and I was so shocked I nearly dropped the glass.

  “Excuse me?”

  “She’s… having a bad day. I think you should probably be nice.” Her eyes met mine before darting back to the floor. “Or something, whatever, it’s none of my business.”

  And that’s when I noticed my sweet little barmaid’s transformation. She crossed her arms across her tight little nipples as I stared, but it was much too late for that. My eyes dropped to her bare legs, noting the temptingly pale slope of her thighs. Her denim shorts weren’t just short, they were practically non-existent, and totally fucking obscene. I stalked over, until I was close enough to tip her face up to mine.

  “Is that a fucking invitation? I wouldn’t even need to pull those down to tan your backside. Maybe that’s what you want?” Her breath hitched, and my cock fucking twitched, and the whole thing was a mass of awkward sexual tension that I could have well done without. “Talk,” I said. “I want straight answers, not this cryptic shit. You’d better tell me what you know about Faye’s little hissy fit, and before you even contemplate holding back, you’d do well to remember who pays your wages.”

  “I work for both of you,” she sighed, but offered up Faye’s mobile phone regardless.

  “That’s quite a breach of confidence,” I snapped, taking the handset like a greedy fucking toddler. “I hope you don’t feel the urge to betray me quite so easily when my back is turned.”

  “I’m not betraying, I’m trying to help. Both of you.”

  “The purest intentions can lead to the most heinous acts, dear Topaz.”

  “So, you don’t want her mobile?” She held out her dainty fingers.

  “Jesus fucking wept. Everyone’s so fucking tetchy today.” My mood tumbled at the sight of Vincent fucking Blackthorne’s stream of messages. “Piece of shit,” I snapped. “He’s already in London.”

  She nodded. “He won’t let her go, Mr Morgan. He’ll find a way.”

  “Well, unless he accosts her on her little dash to the bank and back, he’s fat out of luck. She’s here or she’s at home, my home, with me, and Vincent Blackthorne isn’t fucking welcome.” Rage curled around my spine at his latest squibby fucking declarations of devotion. What a fucking loser. A sick fucking loser. I handed the handset back to Topaz. “Thank you, that was most insightful.”

  “Are you not worried?” she asked.

  “Worried? About Vincent cunting Blackthorne. He should be the one who’s worried, if he has any sense.”

  “I mean about Faye,” she said. “The effect he’ll have on her.”

  “He won’t be having any effect on her,” I said. “He won’t be fucking seeing her.”

  “He doesn’t need to,” she insisted. “You don’t understand. You haven’t read those books, Mr Morgan, not properly, you don’t get it.”

  “So everyone keeps telling me.” I lowered my tone. “I’ve read enough, Topaz. Trust me.”

  “You haven’t,” she maintained. “You read the highlights, and they were just the sex bits, not the emotional bits.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “They were the bits you kindly deemed worthy enough to highlight for me, are you telling me now that there should have been more?”

  For my raised eyebrow she raised both of hers. “You thought those highlights were for you?”

  “Of course. I asked for the book, it came with highlights. Thank you very much, A-plus for effort.”

  “They weren’t for you,” she whispered. “Sorry.”

  Her cheeks flushed, and again my cock twitched. Faye had stirred up a right fucking hornet’s nest with her dirty games. It summed up Faye Devere in a perfect little nutshell. She was ever the inciter, creating mischief and filthy drama wherever she went, and then bailing when the going got a little rough.

  “Who the fuck were those highlights for, then? One of your other fucking bosses who wants the lowdown on some seedy pissing Vincent Blackthorne manual?” I rolled my eyes.

  “Um… they were… they are…”

  “What?” I snapped. “Spit it out. Faye won’t be out all fucking day, Topaz.”

  “They were for me,” she said, and her whole face was red.

  “For you? You mean…” I smirked as the impact of her dirty little admission dawned. “Those passages were highlighted for you?”

  She looked beyond me, fiddling with her lip ring in true Topaz style. “Yes, they were for me.”

  She had me stumped for words, the first time she’d ever had me stumped for words. “That’s some dirty shit you’ve got highlighted in there Topaz, you filthy little cow.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologise. It’s up to you what you jill yourself off to every evening.” Oh, the possibilities. I forced them aside with the contempt they should ideally deserve. “So, asides from your horny little scribblings, what do I need to know about that stupid fucking book?”

  She busied herself in the fridge to her rear, far too little, far too late. I admired the globes of her ass cheeks, the peachy crack of flesh promising the filthy reward of her puckered virgin ring. How I fucking wished Faye was back from the banking so the dirty bitch could pull another one of her twisted stunts. Maybe I even wanted her to. Maybe I’d even let her tie me up, humour her in her little quest to become the big fucking I am. I pictured Faye teasing Topaz’s thighs apart. Lick her sweet little pussy, pretty boy. Lick her cunt until her she sprays her juices in your filthy fucking mouth.

  “Like I said,” Topaz mumbled. “It’s none of my business really.”

  “Cut the bullshit.” I pushed the fridge door closed until she had no choice but to look at me. “You know things that I clearly don’t, and that’s not a situation I’m ever comfortable with. Knowledge is power, Topaz, and right now you’re fucking lording it over me.”

  “I’m not lording anything!”

  “Good, then you won’t mind sharing,” I smiled, then took a seat, indicating the ever-ticking second hand on my watch. “Faye will be back in fifteen minutes,” I said. “
You’d better start talking.”

  ***

  Chapter Fifteen

  Faye

  It was just a short walk to the bank. A couple of streets in broad daylight, with plenty of passers-by for camouflage, but that made no difference to my jittery nerves. My eyes darted all around me, scouting every shadow, every doorway, every sound behind me, every set of footsteps crossing my path.

  I breathed a sigh of relief once I’d crossed the bank’s threshold, taking a moment to calm my breath before joining the queue. I hardly registered the cashier’s small talk, handing over the cheques with barely a smile.

  My legs didn’t want to carry me back onto the street. They balked and protested, pooling into gangly, useless excuses for limbs. Come on, Faye, get a fucking grip. I pictured Andy’s condescending expression, the roll of his eyes, and then I gritted my teeth and got the fuck on with it.

  It had started to rain and I had no umbrella against the drizzle, and in my strop I’d neglected to pick up my coat. The rain pricked at me, tiny little needles, bathing me in the kind of cold sweat that makes your teeth chatter. I was scared. The kind of scared I’d felt as I’d run from Italy, the writhing pit of snakes in the bottom of my stomach, slithery and cold and full of dread.

  I’d run away from one horrible mess, only to create a brand new one. I could already feel it unfurling in my gut, the urge to spin on my stilettos and bail. I’d always been a runner, cracking under the first sign of real trouble and disappearing like a whippet into the sunset. I’d never been short of people telling me as much, either. It drove my parents insane, the cycle of all-consuming passion, through disillusionment, always to end up in dramatic abandonment. I’d quit everything I’d ever started; every expensive hobby, every college class, every fledgling relationship, bailing out as soon as life didn’t live up to the pretty Faye dream.

  Explicit should have been different. Venice should have been different. But they weren’t, and here I was, on the edge of bailing again, only this time I had nowhere to go, nowhere else I wanted to be.

  I slipped between two buildings, ducking under an overhanging ledge to escape the rain. I wasn’t ready to go back yet, not to the bar and Topaz’s well-meaning questions, and certainly not to Andy. My heart was thumping, and my brain was already cycling through my options. A train down south, back home to Mum and Dad’s. Maybe I could head west, over to my sister Karen’s place in the Cotswolds, she’d been harping on for a visit. But everything I owned was at Andy’s place, and I always travelled light but travelled essential. I couldn’t just bail without so much as a spare pair of panties. That would be a whole new all-time low.

  Vincent would still find me, regardless of what move I made. Andy probably not, I imagined he’d breathe a sigh of relief and change the locks the moment I was through the door, but Vincent was a different beast. A more persistent beast. A more invested beast.

  I hate Cynthia and Richard. I hate Cynthia, specifically. The full realisation of just how much I hate them comes rarely, but when it comes it makes me feel sick, like I could lose my shit and go all batshit on them, tell them to get out of my fucking home, and my fucking life, and my fucking Vincent. Only I don’t. That would never do. That would never please Vincent, and Vincent’s word is law.

  Today there is hope. It feels beautiful, like sunlight through rain. Vincent will love me today, above all others. Above them. Oh, how good that feels.

  I’m not even nervous today, it matters not how crazy shit gets, or how many guests I have to entertain with my pussy, or even how brutal things can get in the name of love. Today I will be loved by him, and it won’t be in secret, and it will be fucking wonderful.

  I’m ready when Vincent comes for me. He looks divine in black, like a dark God, tailored in luxury mohair with a dark glint in his eyes. He stares at me, stares at my nakedness, and I spread my legs for him so that he can appreciate my cleanly shaven slit. “My beautiful bird,” he says. “You take my breath.” His words make my pussy flutter. “Come.” He offers a hand. “Our guests have arrived.”

  I press myself into his side, my arms around his waist. “I am so happy.” I smile. “It means so much. You indulge me, I know, but it means everything to me, Master.”

  His expression darkens, stern, but I don’t let that ruin the moment. “Remember, pretty bird, there is always a test, always a price. We must work for what we crave above all other things, we must earn our pleasure in order that we experience it to its fullest. It is through hardship that the soul is set free. You know this, of course, don’t you?”

  I nod. I do know this, he repeats it every day, repeats it in his words, in his writing. It’s everywhere in this place. It’s him.

  “That’s my beautiful girl. You are my northern star, Magpie, my greatest treasure amongst all things.” He kisses my cheek and opens the doors. Cynthia and Richard are already there, and Cynthia is already tipsy on Prosecco. I hate her when she’s been drinking. She is the cruellest submissive I’ve ever known. She’s dressed in jewels, and stockings, her hair coiled up with peacock feathers.

  “Oh look, Richard, doesn’t Vincent’s little pet look sweet today?”

  Vincent doesn’t say a word in defence, but it doesn’t matter. She’ll see. I hold my smile.

  Richard nods and his mouth is already watering. His bottom lip is glistening with spit I’ll have to lick up later. He slobbers when he fucks, and he likes it when it hurts enough that I squeal. He spits in my face and calls me a filthy cunt, and he always tries to fit his podgy fist in my asshole. Sometimes I fail to break enough to like it. Sometimes I can’t get enough. My pussy tightens at the thought, but tightens more at the realisation that it won’t be today. Today I will be Vincent’s only.

  Vincent gives me Prosecco and I drink it down. I sit with him without being invited, and I curl my fingers around his and smile at Cynthia’s jealous glare. She wants Vincent for her own. I’d love to see how good she’d be at sharing in the way I have to.

  Vincent presses a palm to my belly, runs it down between my legs, and I spread for him. He plays with my clit absentmindedly as he regales them with conversation, and it feels like Heaven.

  “My pretty bird has a request,” he reveals. “She wishes me to show you how much she is loved by me. She wishes that tonight I am hers and she is mine, and we share our delicious love with your appreciative eyes.”

  Cynthia’s eyes are more piggy than appreciative, but her smile is broad.

  Vincent strokes my neck as he continues. “I explained to my magpie that devotion has two faces, and to earn the indulgence of her request she must first demonstrate how truly worthy she is, how dedicated. That’s right, isn’t it, my sweet?”

  “Yes, Vincent, Master. That’s right.” I’m smiling so widely I can’t even contain myself. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he laughs. “First you must earn your reward.”

  My stomach drops, on instinct. He rises from his seat and pulls away from me. “On the floor. I want you flat on your belly with your arms behind your back.”

  I get into position without hesitation, and he drags me by my feet into the middle of the room. My tits graze against the cold tiles, and it hurts. A good hurt. He reaches for shackles and I gasp as he hogties me. My ankles are pulled tight to my wrists, and my back arches uncomfortably. I can hardly move, useless and immobile with my cheek to the floor. He pulls my knees apart and nudges my pussy with the toe of his shoe. He wriggles it until I groan. I hope he isn’t going to kick me there, but already my thighs are opening wide for him, just in case.

  He moves away and resumes his seat, patting my empty space in order that Cynthia joins him. She smirks and places a hand on his thigh. I have to strain my neck to look at them, and it hurts my back, my shoulders, too. He hands Cynthia a stopwatch. “Would you be so kind?” he asks. Of course she would. She’d love to. “Two minutes,” he says. “You can be the judge. My beautiful bird has two minutes to crawl to my feet. If she makes it, I’ll lo
ve her all night long.”

  “And if she doesn’t?” Cynthia asks with a sly smile.

  “And if she doesn’t…” Vincent’s hands are already at his belt. He frees his hard cock and my breath catches. Cynthia’s hands are greedy, already wrapped around him. He pulls them away and kisses her knuckles. “If she doesn’t, then she will indulge us by watching me fuck your pretty cunt until you scream for more,” he laughs. “And she’ll be grateful, won’t you, Magpie?”

  No. I won’t be grateful. I can already feel the tears. “Yes, Vincent, Master. I’ll be grateful.”

  “Don’t look so sad, pretty bird. I have every faith in you.” He smiles. “And even if you don’t win, there is always a commiseration prize. I’m sure Richard will offer you his fist as a reward for your efforts.”

  “Or me,” Cynthia hisses. “I’ll reward her.”

  Please fucking no. My eyes are screwed shut, but my heart is pounding. I can do this.

  “Go,” Cynthia shrieks. “Wiggle wiggle wiggle like a worm.”

  She’s laughing as I start, my body a squirming useless mess of exertion, going nowhere fast as I grunt and writhe along the tiles. My shackles bite my skin with the effort, and my chin smacks the floor as I flail, but I don’t care. All that matters is reaching Vincent’s feet.

  He’s laughing too, now, and so is Richard. I make slow progress, agonisingly slow, and it hurts. Not just the pain of my body, but the humiliation. It burns and it stings, making tears flow. I lurch forward in crazy jerks and close some distance. There’s a faint chance I may make it, and I try harder, grunting with determination as my breasts slam against the floor. I’m nearly there, my nose just a foot away from Vincent’s toes. Just a couple more thrusts.

  “Good girl!” Vincent laughs. “That’s my pretty bird. You’re almost there.”