by Nicola Jane
'Beg for mercy,' he growls at you.
'Please let me go, please,' you improvise. Your words send you over the edge and you pant out another sentence, breaking off into guttural moans as you come. 'I won't tell anyone, I– Ah– I swear it.'
'Say you won't tell anyone how I fucked you.'
You suck in enough air to scream hoarsely: 'I'll never tell anyone you fucked me. I won't say you tied me up and hurt me. I won't tell them how hard you–'
But your mock pleas have done their work and he groans and jerks against your back. His whole weight collapses on top of you until he could really hurt you by accident. You wait what seems a decently professional interval for him to recover and then twist underneath him, as you try to suck air into your compressed chest.
'Oh, right. Sorry.'
He stands and straightens himself out and you can breathe easily again. You hear his zipper go up and you're grateful for the darkness as you rearrange your own dishevelled clothes. To your surprise he opens the car door for you.
'If you don't mind sitting in the back? It's just I don't want to break the illusion.' He sounds almost bashful and you bet if you could see him clearly he'd be blushing.
'Sure.' You go ahead and sit in the back behind the driver's seat.
'That was great, really great. Here.' He hands you an envelope and you don't need to look inside to know it's your payment. You'd forgotten about that part of it but presumably this is earnings not stealing seeing as you did the work this time. You take it and try not to think about the fact it's as good as a signature on a hooker's employment contract.
He starts the car up and pulls out of the little lay-by. He clears his throat about to say something, thinks better of it and falls silent. You've turned the corner into the car park now but he stops short of driving into the bright lights.
'Er…' He clears his throat again. 'Ahem…I was thinking…How about a kidnap next time? I'd grab you and take you somewhere, tie you up. All that stuff.' His words speed up and all come out in a rush.
You smile to yourself in the dark. Should you be amused or flattered? You can't very well be shocked. After all you just accepted payment to have sex with a stranger whose face you haven't even seen, plus you kind of enjoyed it in the end.
Or...
There’s no point pretending you didn’t enjoy that, so you decide to accept his offer...
That was incredible, but definitely a once in a lifetime thing! You decide to decline the offer this time...
Maybe you’d like to play out the rest of your options, so you retrace your steps...
The Show
You don't hesitate for long. Your body is crying out questions that demand answers. As your hands slide down your stomach, currents of heat throb inside and blood drums in your ears.
His hands are still by his sides, palms up. You kneel astride him, locking down his hands with your body weight, and hold him completely captive. His fingers curl up and grip your knees like human clamps. You lean back, your groin at just below his eye level. The perfect view for him and for you to watch him watching you.
You grind your hips and move them closer and closer to his face until you're pressed against him. He opens his mouth and nuzzles at you through the fabric, a muffled texture of heat and pressure. You could come just like this but you want him to see what you're doing so you pull back. Your fingers creep under the veil of the thong and slide backwards and forwards, dipping down so they're wet.
You reach down and spread yourself open wide with two fingers. You pause for a second as only a tiny bit of pressure on your clit will make you come. Instead you push one finger and then another inside, slipping and moving easily in the velvety tunnel, in and out. You circle your fingertips around your clitoris, looking down to see his face as he watches. His eyes meet yours as if drawn upwards by a magnet and he is unable to look down again until you break contact. Despite the exposed vulnerability of your position, spread wide before him, he's showing you just who has all the power. His hands clasp your knees and you push forward, letting him inhale the smell of your excitement. He lifts his knees behind you, creating a half platform for you to lean back against which opens your legs wider.
Now with one hand you keep your fingers moving inside you and the other rubs your clit while he watches. You rub and stop and rub and stop until your breathing is audible and you're moaning incoherent sounds. You take the fingers and stick them in his mouth and he sucks them hard. His teeth graze your knuckles and his tongue wraps around the digits. You can't wait any longer. Your fingers flick roughly until you come. The muscles inside clench as wave after wave of orgasm electrifies your skin right up to your scalp. Your legs shake and you lay back on his knees unable to control the spasms that rock your body.
You look up at him and smile lazily, sighing. Most of your weight is off your legs and he pulls his hands out from under you. Your fingers hide inside you until you move your hand, letting it dangle by your side. He puts his palm between your breasts and strokes down across your stomach and over the bump of your pussy. A wave like an aftershock makes you tremble under his hand.
He adjusts the thong so it's sitting straight again, a curiously gentlemanly gesture, considering what's just happened. You summon up some energy and sit upright while his hands move to cup your buttocks.
'No touching, remember?' you say.
'Just helping you sit up.' He doesn't try anything more.
'My legs are wobbly.' It's true but you manage to stand and head for the bathroom. A flushed face and shining eyes congratulate you. It's still you, but a wild you that you didn't know existed. You let the taps run and the cool gurgle of the water on your hands and face brings you back to yourself.
You turn to find your clothes laid just inside the bathroom door. Another gentlemanly thing to do, you think. Despite everything, it would have been awkward to walk out there naked. Dressed again, you re-enter the bedroom. He's sitting on the bed now, still in the towel.
'Well,' he says.
'Well,' you agree. 'I've never done anything like that before.'
'There's always a second time,' he replies. 'I'm here all week.'
You shake your head and make a move for the door.
'Your bag.' He takes it from the floor for you and drops something into it. 'My card, in case you change your mind.'
And maybe you will.
The end
Or...
Well that was a lot of fun, but there’s still plenty more to be had so you retrace your steps...
The Casino
You'd rather get this over with tonight and, since she seems to be offering you an easy option, the choice is obvious.
You shrug. 'Job one then.'
'Thought you'd say that. Think it's the easy one, don't you?' She smiles. 'I guess it is if you can serve drinks and keep your mouth shut.'
You're so relieved you smile back. This is going to be a piece of cake. 'I worked in a bar at college so no problem.'
'Well, then, let's get you your uniform and I'll drive you over myself. There'll be a car back here when the job's over.'
You can't believe you're getting off this lightly. It's just like an agency hospitality job. There's even a uniform!
'OK. We're the same kind of size, I guess, so the uniform will fit,' you say.
'It's one size fits all. You might find it a bit small though.' She smiles again, looking you up and down as if sizing you up for the clothes. 'Let's go.'
You follow her to her car, a very ordinary looking one rather than the flashy convertible you're expecting. Whatever she spends her envelopes stuffed with cash on, it's not luxury cars. You're curious now the evening ahead looks so unthreatening but she rebuffs your attempts at small talk and drives you across the city in silence.
The road soon leaves the city centre and heads towards an area you know to be home to a super exclusive spa and tennis club and a couple of boutique hotels. The job must be working at some kind of function.
She i
nterrupts your speculations in a businesslike tone. 'So, I'm taking you to the back entrance of The Gideon. It's a private member's club.'
'I've heard of it.' You were right. That's the wealthiest of all the clubs out here and somewhere you'd never normally get past the gates.
'There's a changing room right as you go in and the other girls will most likely already be gone so you'd better be quick. When you're ready, knock on the door and they'll let you out into the main room. It's a poker night, high stakes, and powerful players. You might recognise some of them but don't let it show. You're there to be seen and not heard. Got it?'
You nod and she continues. 'The rules are simple. The uniform is the only thing you wear. Nothing else at all except the shoes you have on now. Don't speak to anyone unless you're asked a direct question. You'll see soon enough how the other girls behave and you do exactly the same. When you're serving drinks or lighting cigars, bend at the waist. That's it.'
The last one is puzzling. It's a straight forward enough instruction; you just can't see why it would matter. While she's talking she turns down a tree lined driveway and brings the car round to the back of a low stone building that resembles a hunting lodge. Swinging to the left, she pulls up, reaches behind her and hands you a plastic bag, presumably holding your uniform.
'Have fun,' she says, with a not exactly friendly smile.
You crunch over the gravel as you make your way to the door that's illuminated by the car's headlights. The handle turns easily and you step into a small room filled with stacks of chairs and tables. No dungeon equipment or anything seedy. Listening carefully you can hear the clink of ice in glasses and the murmur of conversation from behind the door on the far side of the room, again nothing odd here. Nevertheless the receding sweep of the car lights leaves you uneasy and you feel horribly alone and stranded.
The plastic bag, screwed up into a ball in your sweaty hand, has made red lines on your palm. Unfolding it, you're filled with horror. She must have forgotten to give you half the uniform. You shake out the black things inside onto one of the tables. There's a black wig shaped into a bob with a blunt fringe which is bigger than the other two items combined. One's a bra, or rather a demi-bra, the kind that serves to push up and frame breasts rather than cover them, the other a flared skirt that would be short on a child.
You remember her instructions not to wear anything else but what's in the bag. You look inside hoping to find a pair of tights or at least panties but there's nothing. You can see why one size fits all. Your hopes of a simple catering job shrink to a size even smaller than the uniform's bra. You've never worn anything like this in your life, let alone in front of strangers. You can't imagine putting this stuff on. How on Earth can you walk out into whatever is in the next room in it? Would she know if you just sat the night out in here instead?
A door on the other side of the room opens suddenly, bringing with it the sounds of men laughing. A female shape is silhouetted against the soft light coming from the other room.
'Come on!' she whispers loudly. 'We're short of hands and you're late!'
There goes your idea of hiding out. 'F–f–five minutes. I just need to get changed.' She shuts the door without saying anything but you're sure she must be wondering why you sound so pumped full of stage fright.
You can't quite bring yourself to get straight into the skimpy clothes so you go for the more innocuous wig first. You remember once dressing up for Halloween and how the fake hair was the thing that got you most into character. Hopefully that's going to work here too. There's a small mirror in your handbag and you prop it up on a table and tuck your own hair under the ebony wig. It's so different from your normal hair that you barely recognise yourself. Your eyes darken and elongate beneath the geometric fringe, giving you an air of exotic Cleopatra mystery. You slick on some dark lipstick that you had in your handbag and the unknown woman in the mirror challenges you to dress her. She would wear this sort of outfit you think. The red dress you have on seems suddenly conservative and you're longing to know what this strange girl in the mirror looks like in the escort's outfit.
You pull off your own clothes and fasten the demi-bra. It comes higher than you thought until you bend to step into the skirt. Then the bra shifts down, exposing your nipples. It's cleverly cut so that as you straighten up, it conceals them again. The skirt sits on your hips and flares out just before reaching the tops of your thighs. You remove the final link between the character the wig belongs to and yourself as you slip off your panties, letting the air dance over your naked buttocks.
You're ready.
You knock lightly on the door and it opens immediately. There's a heavy black velvet curtain in front of it and whoever is stationed at the door, gives you a gentle push so you step beyond the curtains which fall closed behind you. You're standing at one side of a casino, draped on all sides in the black velvet and with a floor of black marble so shiny it's reflective. Candles softly illuminate the room, suspended somehow so they seem to hover in the air. No one notices your arrival as there are several of you standing at various points around the room. And there really are several of you as all the girls are dressed identically, including the wigs.
Your final remaining nerves disappear in a rush of feeling you can only describe as homecoming. You can do or be whatever you want in here – just one of many serving others', and maybe their own, yearnings.
In the middle of the room are four poker tables, lit from overhead. Each one has four players, all men of course. You recognise at least two politicians and a couple of well known actors. There are another two tables where some kind of dice game is being played and one with roulette. Murmured conversations are broken by groans of commiseration or grudging congratulation. If it weren't for the girls it would just look like a luxury, gothic casino.
Half naked girls parade trays of drinks or stand by the tables. Every time they place a drink, they position themselves with their backs to one player, bending so their breasts bare to the man the drink is for and their skirts ride up to expose their ass for his neighbour. Some players play on obliviously, others let their hand wander girls' thighs, removing it only to throw down more chips or fan out their cards. One guy has a girl perched on his knee, his free hand fondling her breasts.
Another Cleopatra approaches you with a rattling bucket of ice and some tongs and motions to you to circulate. You hang back a few seconds and observe that ice is served in the same way as drinks by bending at the waist. Seeing how sexy the other girls look in their anonymous wigs gives you confidence and you push your shoulders back and move towards the nearest poker table. None of the players pay you much attention, concentrating on their cards and muttering to the dealer. You take up position as you've seen, facing away from the man to your left. Legs straight you lean forward and drop some ice into a glass of whisky where it crackles invisibly. Your nipples tip out of the top of the bra, scraping them erect, and you shiver as the skirt rises up and reveals your ass.
You're skin tingles in a silent, unanswered appeal to be caressed. You move to the right and take another chunk of ice to place it into the next guy's glass. This time you bend over, feet wider apart and quiver when a hand brushes the inside of your knee. You pause, breath hitching in your throat and the hand slides up the inside of your thigh. It rests there for a few seconds but withdraws as he clatters some more chips onto the growing pile in the centre of the table. The table falls into silence as the stakes are raised.
He places his hand back on your inner thigh and pushes up between your legs. You can't help yourself returning the pressure and he moves his hand backwards and forwards just a fraction, sliding the edges of his fingers against you. Something unfurls inside you, urging the fingers to explore further but he returns to the game and you have to move on to the next players to ice their drinks. As you pass you look up from below your ebony fringe to see who was touching you. He doesn't look up, engrossed in his cards and you head to the next table.
This one is fo
r dice which clearly demand a lot less concentration. One man has a girl on either knee and his hands keep disappearing under the backs of their skirts. As you bend to give him more ice, he extracts one hand and holds it over his glass to halt you. Instead he plucks the cube from your tongs and strokes it over the nipples of the girl on his left knee. She leans back against him and the bra slips down, her nipples instantly hardening at the frosted bite of the ice. You own nipples tighten in response and you attend to the next glass.
This player doesn't have any girls waiting on him and he's the first one to turn and address you as you bend down. 'Kiss the dice for luck, darling?' He holds out two dice and you obligingly kiss them before he casts. They roll and bump to a stop on the green felt table and some of the girls coo in faked attention. Evidently the numbers thrown are the right ones because he pulls you onto his lap. 'Found my lucky charm,' he says to laughter from the rest of the table.
You leave the ice bucket on the side of the table and wait to see what will happen. You're still throbbing warmly from the earlier caresses. You face away from him towards the table, his hand supports your waist as you balance on one of his knees but you steady your weight with your feet planted either side of his leg. You lean back as you saw the other girl do so your nipples peek over the edge of the bra. When he offers the dice to you to kiss again, you part your lips and kiss them suggestively. He throws again and whoops as they fall. 'Alright, baby!'
While he waits for the next turn he uses his dice hand to lift your left breast free of the bra and rub the nipple between his fingers. An electric current runs down your stomach and you arch your back.
'This is the big one. We need all the luck now, baby.' He takes the dice and reaches down between your legs. He rubs them across your clitoris and over the lips but takes them back and throws them too soon to impart satisfaction. You push your hips against his leg in longing but he's transfixed by the roll of the dice.
