The Virgin - Book #1 in the Sexy as Hell Trilogy (Erotic BDSM)

by Dae, Harlem

  “Neither of us are who we thought we were, then.” He stilled his hands.

  If I wasn’t mistaken, he’d sounded grumpy, petulant. Oh, I’d soon have him eating out of my hand. Or from between my legs.

  “Just relax, okay?” I said, turning right down King Street.

  “What are we doing here?” He slumped down in his seat, barely managing to see out of the windshield. “Isn’t this where…?”

  “Yes, but not all the working girls sell themselves on the corners, pretty boy. Some of them work indoors. Like me.”

  Chapter Two

  “What the bloody hell is this place?” Victor asked. “And what did you mean by what you just said?”

  We stood in an alleyway, the flat, square cobbles wet from the recent rain and glistening from the orange glow of a streetlight out on the road. A row of buildings flanked the alley, all dark red brick with even darker red doors and small windows on the first and second levels. The buildings were like something out of the nineteen-twenties, maybe originally an old mill or something. I knocked on a door with the number six proudly displayed in brass and waited for Emma to open it.

  “I meant exactly what you thought I meant, and this place is where I work,” I said.

  He stared down for a moment, seeming to have trouble processing the change in our location. “So you’re a prostitute?”

  “Some would say so, but I don’t sell sex.” I shrugged. “You’ll see.”

  The door opened, and Emma, resplendent in knee-high white socks, a short, pleated grey skirt, and a white blouse, beamed her usual smile. Her blonde pigtails swung to a stop. “Oh, are you on tonight, Zara?”

  “No,” I said, taking Victor’s hand and dragging him inside towards the pine reception desk. “I’ve brought a friend to have a looksee.” I nodded at Victor.

  Emma shut then locked the door. “A virgin?” she asked, walking behind her desk and plonking herself onto a chair.

  Victor inflated his chest—something I suspected he did a lot of when his masculinity was called into question. “I’m not a virgin!”

  “Not that kind of virgin,” I said, swatting him lightly on his arse, then looked at Emma. “Yes, a virgin, so we’ll just be watching tonight.”

  “Room four’s free,” she said, twirling one of her pigtails around her finger, her gaze slipping down Victor’s tall, lean frame.

  I couldn’t blame her, he was quite a catch.

  “Who’s on display?” I asked.

  “Julie.” Emma smiled again and swept her tongue over her top lip.

  “Oh, Lord.” I studied Victor. “Are you sure you know everything?”

  “Stop it,” he said. “We’ve already established I don’t.” He stared at Emma, jerking his head sideways at me. “Is she always this bossy?”

  “If you think this is bossy, wait until she really gets going,” Emma said, leaning back in her chair to plonk her black flatties on the desk.

  Victor swiped a hand across his brow.

  “Come on,” I said. “This way!”

  I pulled him to a door to the right of the desk and led him down a hallway that could have belonged in a hospital. White walls, glaring strip lights, and seven white-painted doors evenly spaced. Reaching door number four, I stopped and waited for Victor. Once he stood in front of me, I planted my hands on his shoulders.

  “Now then,” I said. “Julie might open your eyes a little bit, all right? But it’s fine to be shocked and I won’t think any less of you.”

  “I’m beginning to wish I’d never met you,” he said, eyeing the ceiling. “All I wanted was a bloody decaff coffee after work, and there you were, all smiles and enticing tits, and look where it got me.” He lowered his gaze and stared at me. “I should be at home, eating my dinner. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

  “But you’re not, so get over it,” I said, patting his shoulders. “And just think, when you got up this morning, you had no idea what you’d be doing now. Isn’t this at least giving you a little thrill?”

  “If I tell you the truth, you’ll laugh at me.”

  Playing around with him was all well and good, but I felt a bit sorry for him then. Only a bit, mind. “I won’t. Promise.”

  “I’m uncomfortable. This…this place. You. Emma out there. I’m in a sex den, aren’t I? My clients would probably freak if they found out.”

  “You are and they won’t.” I paused. “Do you want to leave? We can, you know. I’m not into forcing people.” I gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Listen, this is just watching, okay? You don’t have to do anything but observe, and if you don’t like it, we’ll leave. Go and have something to eat, dinner. My treat. Deal?”

  His eyes softened a bit, and a sense of accomplishment washed over me. I’d managed to get a positive response from him. That was a good sign.

  “Deal,” he said, managing a smile.

  “Right, come on then.”

  I opened the door and let it swing wide. The contrast in lighting was stark. Out here was bright, in there wasn’t. Only a low-watt bulb glowed inside a half moon glass shade on the wall to our right, making the red paint look dusky pink. Victor cleared his throat and stepped in. I followed, shutting the door and letting my eyes adjust to the gloom. Soon, light would spill through a rectangle of glass from the room opposite, and Julie would perform in all her glory.

  Two black leather bucket chairs were in front of us, and I tapped Victor’s arm.

  “Sit down there,” I said, pointing, then taking the seat beside his. “The show won’t be long in starting. Glad we made it in time. Nothing worse than coming in halfway through.”

  “What’s she going to do?” he asked, getting himself comfortable.

  “Oh, this and that.” I didn’t want to scare him before she’d even started.

  Julie’s performances always left me in awe of her. She’d said recently that no one hurt her exactly as she liked and when she entered the performance room she lost herself, went into another world. I knew what she meant. After all, I did the same thing myself, except what I gave the voyeurs was totally different from what she gave. All tastes were catered for here. All except vanilla. I smiled to myself and wondered how Victor would cope. I’d been somewhat cruel, bringing him to Julie’s spectacle for his first time, but it was a test of sorts. If he could cope with her, he’d be set up for seeing Lovisa and Halsten, a Swedish pair who enjoyed a bit of bloody violence more often than not.

  “This and that sounds ominous,” he said.

  I waved my hand, even though he probably couldn’t see it. “Stop fretting. She won’t be doing anything she doesn’t want to do.”

  Light suddenly blazed through the window as the automatic curtains pulled back. I blinked, turning to look at Victor to see his reaction to the room ahead. He darted forward in his seat, peering as though unable to believe his eyes. I knew what he was looking at, knew the layout like the back of my hand. Black walls, black floor, a somewhat out-of-place chandelier sparkling from the ceiling. Row upon row of toys hanging from hooks on the wall opposite, the metal of some twinkling. And Julie standing in the centre, naked except for a pair of shiny red thigh-high boots, her back to us. She was Barbie doll perfection, long, wavy blonde hair, and slender legs.

  Victor blinked.

  I looked through the window. Julie reached up and gathered her abundant mane in one hand, securing it into a knot with a scrunchie.

  Victor gasped. “Her skin…”

  “Pretty, isn’t it?” I looked at him.

  “No, no it isn’t. Where the hell did she get those scars?”

  “You’ll see. But if you meet her, never tell her you think those scars are ugly. To her they’re beautiful. A part of her. A very important part. There’s a lot you won’t understand this month, a lot you’ll think is wrong, Victor, but you must always bear in mind it isn’t wrong to those who are doing it.”

  “But she’s been hurt!”

  “Yes, she has.” I didn’t offer any more information. Sometim
es it took seeing something before you could believe things weren’t as bad as they seemed. That what you saw wasn’t the first impression you’d got. I was going to open this man’s eyes so wide he’d think his pretty eyeballs were going to pop.

  Julie stepped forward and took a whip from one of the hooks. She moved a few feet in reverse so she was once again in the centre of the room. With a flick of her wrist she tested the whip against her booted leg, the sound of it hitting the leather filtering through the slim slats built into the top of the window.

  In my peripheral, I caught sight of Victor jumping, balling his hands into fists in his lap. I imagined his heart rate speeding, him not knowing what she was about to do, rolling information around in his mind with regards to her scars. They criss-crossed her back, some creamy and raised, old, others light pink, and others still red from a more recent whipping. She wore them as her armour, a badge displayed proudly, for they represented who she was, who she was finally allowed to be. Herself. I didn’t expect Victor to understand. Not many people did, I’d found.

  Julie drew the whip up in front of her, and its tail sliced across her shoulders. Victor let out an “Oh, shit!” but didn’t look away. Julie whipped on, one lash following the other with incredible speed, no long gaps in between strikes, no chance for a breather. This was how she liked it, hard and fast, and, like she’d said, if no one had the bottle to strike her in the way she liked it done, she’d do it to herself.

  “Oh, God,” Victor breathed. “What is she doing?”

  “Pleasuring herself,” I said, shifting slightly so I could look at him. Tonight his expression fascinated me more than Julie’s show.

  “That isn’t normal,” he said. “Sorry, but it isn’t.”

  “Not normal to you, maybe, but very normal to her. She loves it. You wait. She’ll come like a train in a minute.”

  “How can you come from that?” he asked, moving his head as though to turn to me but failing to pull his gaze from her. “How can that be nice, make you feel nice?”

  “Have you ever tried it?” I asked, knowing full well he hadn’t. If he’d had to ask me such a thing, he didn’t understand.

  “No, and I don’t bloody intend to either.” He rested into the chair then crossed his arms over his chest.

  Defence mechanism. A way to distance himself from what he was seeing.

  Julie groaned, whipping on, frenzied in her attack. She turned then, continuing to whip, and stared directly at our window. Clips adorned her nipples, joined by a silver chain. She lifted it and draped it behind her bottom teeth, then closed her mouth.

  “What the hell?” Victor said quietly.

  Eyes closing, Julie flagellated with one hand and cupped her sex with the other. Moaning, she used her thumb and pinky to spread her wet slit wide, then dipped her middle three fingers into her hole. She fucked herself, body jolting from each strike and more than a little pleasure she was unleashing down there. Legs widening, she withdrew her fingers and circled her clit, vigorous movements that had her hips lifting and her back arching. Her change in position meant the chain raised her breasts, each nipple distended, elongated. She trembled from the force of her whip.

  I glanced across at Victor. He was breathing heavily, and sweat had broken out at his temples. He still had his hands fisted, and I noted a severe blush on his cheeks. And I noticed something else too.

  “Quite a bulge you have going on there,” I said.

  For all his bluster on this being wrong, he was turned on. Some part of his brain recognised that Julie was getting off on the pain.

  “I can’t…can’t help it,” he whispered. “She’s just so violent, so…into what she’s doing. Look at her nipples. She’s tugging them so hard. Christ…”

  “She won’t last long now,” I said, still watching Victor. I knew Julie’s performance off by heart. Once she turned, once she put that chain in her mouth, she was almost there.

  Julie wailed out the beginning of her release. The long, drawn-out yell combined with the crack of the whip was undeniably arousing. I was wet and I needed to touch. I reached across and deftly pulled down Victor’s zip. Freed him and enclosed my hand around his hardness. I pumped his fat length, manoeuvring onto my knees so I could lean over the arms of our chairs. He didn’t protest, but lifted his hips as though silently offering his cock to find a home in my mouth. I sucked him in, and with three suctioned pulls I had him coming. Wet heat flooded my mouth, and I swallowed just in time for the next shot. He gripped my hair, grabbed the chair arm with his other hand, and gave a hoarse cry.

  Victor, the man who might have thought he knew it all, was only just seeing the tip of the iceberg.

  Chapter Three

  How the bloody hell did I end up being sucked off by the crazy woman from the damn coffee shop? No, it was more than sucked off, she was gulping and guzzling me deep into her sublimely hot throat. It wasn’t your regular blowjob—those I had some modicum of self-control over. No, this, delivered by a wanton, trickster of a creature, had me consumed, completely possessed. Three wickedly rich slurps connecting her palate to my cock and it was all over. I’d never come to the boil so fast or hit the finish line with such devastating speed. I wasn’t proud of either fact. To tell you the truth, I was fucking embarrassed.

  I’d clenched my fists at some point and now the strands of her hair, woven through the softer skin at the seams of my fingers, were nylon-sharp with tension.

  But she didn’t complain at my firm grip. Her head kept bobbing, her tongue slipping and sliding and hugging me like a silken, moist blanket.

  I wanted her to keep going, I needed her to stop. As my climax dissipated, sensations washed through me in an avalanche of release. It was both exquisite and agony and it scared the shit out of me.

  “Please.” I shifted on the chair. “Please, no more.” I was panting and breathless, my vision foggy, and I had a tingling in my fingertips.

  I dragged in a deep breath, willing the oxygen to circulate. My heart was thudding so hard I could feel the flow of the cardiac contractions, top to base, rippling within the inner walls of my chest.

  Keep going, you onerous bugger.

  Pulling harder at her hair, I shut my eyes. I didn’t need to see Julie writhing in the afterglow of her orgasm. I’d had as much as I could take. The bombardment of pleasure, extreme pleasure, in one short, sharp blast was the same as getting a slap around the face or a kick up the backside. I needed to re-align my senses and let my body calm down.

  I opened my eyes as Zara raised her head. She kept her hand coiled around my cock. There was a drip of cum sitting right in the centre of her bottom lip.

  She must have sensed the droplet there, or seen me staring, because she made a show of scooping up the cum, balancing it on the pointy pink end of her tongue and then drawing it into that sinful mouth of hers.

  My cock twitched against her palm; my heart continued to thud.

  Dirty bitch.

  “So, Victor,” she said with a smug smile, “did you know watching a woman flagellating herself to orgasm would turn you on so much?” She tilted her head and tumbles of her now messy, tangled hair slipped over her shoulders.

  I fingered my damp brow, worrying that I was clammy. No, just sweaty. Sweat I could handle. Sweat could be wiped away and forgotten on the sleeve of my shirt.

  “Is that a rhetorical question?” I pressed my arm over my forehead then gripped the arms of the chair again.

  She laughed, not with humour, just with the mirth of being right. “You’re so sweet.”

  “I’m not sweet.” I frowned.

  She bloody annoyed me. She was so damn cocky and sure of herself and now she thought I was sweet of all things. I perhaps had some issues, limitations, and I wasn’t as clued up on the seedier aspects of the city as she was, but I wasn’t fucking sweet. I was a successful businessman—no, more than successful, I had my career by the balls and was dragging it exactly where I wanted it to go and making a tidy fortune along the way. Had be
en for several years now.

  “Ah, you prefer to be considered manly, don’t you?” She stroked my face, temple, cheek, chin and then up the other side in a caressing, sweeping gesture.

  It didn’t feel caring. It felt like she was mocking me. I hated to be mocked and she’d done more than her fair share of it tonight. Hell, I couldn’t remember when anyone had last dared mock me. Yet here she was…

  The redness of anger that grabbed me sent sharp fingers of heat over my skin. My temper could reach Richter scale proportions, it was true, but it hadn’t for so long. Not for years now. I couldn’t afford for it to. But Zara, she was taking me to the edge of that cliff.

  No, I wouldn’t tip over the ledge. She wasn’t worth it. This wasn’t worth it. And certainly it wouldn’t be ideal considering the already rampant rate of my heart. I sucked in a great pull of air, held my breath and tried to force the air out, feeling the pressure increase in my lungs. My heart clattered all the harder, almost rocking my whole body to its tempo. I should be willing it to slow down but all I could think about was getting up, tucking my cock away and leaving.

  All this crap about hanging around with her for a month while she showed me new things was bullshit. I’d said yes out of curiosity. Out of not wanting to go back on my word or look a coward.

  “You can be manly and sweet,” she whispered onto my lips.

  I slowly blew out my breath, felt a modicum of normality return.

  She leaned in, closer still, as though trying to breathe in my air. When she spoke her lips brushed mine as her mouth moved around the syllables. “Right now what I’m holding is all man.” She gave my dick a stroke and the traitorous blighter twitched despite the fact it was softening. “But your blue eyes, they’re sweet as sugar.”

  “Stop saying sweet.” I’d spoken through gritted teeth.

  “Okay, how about delightful, does that sound better?”