by Linnea May
I wish I could beg for more, but I know he doesn't like that. He just wants two things: dedication and obedience. Right now, I'm reluctant to give him either.
"Move!" he barks at me. I know what he wants of me, despite the vague command. He wants me to lie back, so he can shove himself between my legs and fuck me. For two minutes, maybe three. Then he'll pull out and climb on top of me, and he will stroke his cock, panting, sweating and...
"Slut!"
His exclamation is accompanied by another hit with the crop. I yelp in pain. A devious smile finds its way on my face when I look up at him.
"Take it," I tell him, my voice hoarse and creepy. "Take what you want from me."
His eyes flicker for a moment. I've never said anything like this to him, and his reaction is hard to predict. Usually, I'd be more careful. I'd never risk upsetting any of my clients.
But today I don't care.
I've made a decision that was long overdue.
"On your back!" he yells at me, grabbing a fistful of my hair at the back of my head and yanking me up. I hurry to gather myself up on my feet, tumbling as he drags me over to the bed, where I fall into the sheets, on my back. My legs spread on instinct, and I produce a well-rehearsed moan when he parts my lips with his hard tip. I coil and squirm, knowing that his cock is gliding inside with ease. The agonizing strikes with the crop did this. I'm wet for him, because he gave me pain. But I know I won't come. In about a minute or two, I will tense up, rolling my eyes back into my head as I let out a tirade of groans that will make him believe what he wants to believe. I won't come for him, but he will think I did.
He rams into me with rhythmic motions, while I count, waiting for the perfect moment to start my act. It's a routine, a boring routine that does nothing for me but awaken the voices of self-doubt. But I don't care tonight.
Because I've decided.
A smile is tugging at the corner of my mouth when I close my eyes, getting ready to make him feel good about himself for one last time. One last fake orgasm, one last dusting of his cum on my face, one last smile as I lick my lips when I clean it off. He doesn't know it yet, but this will be our last time together.
Because I'm going to quit.
It's decided.
I am going to talk to Miss Barry.
Chapter 2
Damon
It's never enough.
No matter what I do, no matter what I achieve, no matter what I buy, no matter...
Nothing ever gives me that elevated feeling I crave. Nothing ever makes me feel full and accomplished. I've reached higher and higher, earning what others can only dream of, and all I'm left with is this damn void. Nothing ever lasts.
I know the rush when you get to the top, when you get what you've wanted for a long time, when you make something – or someone – yours. But after that first rush is over, there's nothing left. It's like the effect of a drug that wore off, and I'm back to where I came from.
Why does it come so easy to other people? Does it come easy to them? Or are they all lying? Their smiles might be as fake as most women's orgasms when anyone fucks them but me. I know it's the most common thing for them to do, but they can't lie to me. And they better not fucking try, because I will know. I hate being lied to. Who doesn't? But it's even worse for me, because I can smell a lie from a mile away. Betrayal reveals itself to me so easily it's almost boring.
Boring. Such a sad and simple word but so fitting.
I stride through my living room, holding a tumbler with a sip of scotch in one hand and my phone in the other. Pondering the conversation I just had. Is this going to make a difference? Do I even care if it does? The call I just hung up on didn't excite me as much as it should have, but maybe that's okay. Maybe I shouldn't feel excited about a mere business deal, an investment really. It's the first time for me to be doing something like this, so I'm curious, maybe even nervous. But excited? Hardly. I have very little to lose and a lot to gain if this investment turns out to be lucrative. It's not exactly giving me thrills to think about where this might go.
I sigh and take another sip of my scotch, my gaze migrating across the city skyline below. I literally live at the top of this city, at least it seems that way when I look down at it from here. Very few buildings in the immediate proximity match this residency's height. My penthouse stretches across the entire uppermost floor, about a third of it building an open terrace. I've only been living here for a few months, and I'm surprised to say that I haven't grown tired of this place yet. It's by far the nicest, most expensive place I've ever called home, and there's hope that it will calm my restless nature at least for a while. Before moving here, I could barely stand to stay in the same place for longer than three months before I got sick of it. I was always on the move, quite literally.
I flinch in surprise when the phone erupts with urgent ringing. It's rare for that to happen, and I don't expect anyone but Scott, the guy I just hung up on, to call me at this time. My eyebrows crease when I lift the phone to look at the screen. I recognize the number, but it's not Scott.
"Hello," I greet, cautious expectation lacing my voice.
"Mr. Graves, Belinda Barry here," a female voice pipes at the other end. "Calling from Violent Delights."
"Of course, Miss Barry," I retort. "What an unexpected pleasure."
She huffs. "Don't worry, Mr. Graves. I'm not calling with bad news."
Now I'm the one chuckling. "Why would I think that?"
"Well, you wouldn't be the first," she says, and even without seeing her, it's easy for me to imagine the face she's making. It's been a while since the Madame and I have met face to face, but Belinda Barry is a character to remember. "Most clients seem to anticipate bad news when they hear my voice on the phone."
So, I'm not the first one she's calling today about whatever this might concern.
"I'm simply surprised," I tell her. "We haven't spoken since-"
"Since you first signed the contract. Yes, I'm aware," she finishes my sentence. "And I promised you back then that we'd only contact you outside of commissions if there was an urgent matter to discuss."
"Correct," I say, lifting the glass to my lips while I wait for her to continue.
"I don't know if urgent is the correct word for this," she goes on. "But I was wondering if I could steal a few minutes of your time to talk about an opportunity that I'm sure you'd be interested in."
"An opportunity?" I probe. "What kind?"
"An opportunity to enhance both your pleasure and your business portfolio."
I knit my eyebrows, tasting the scotch as it heats my tongue. Her vague tone agitates me, to say the least.
"Care to elaborate?"
"Of course," she says. "But if you don't mind, I think it's best to discuss this in private. Here."
"You want me to come to the agency for this?"
"You won't regret it."
"If this is just about introducing a new girl to me, I'm not really looking to-"
"No, it's nothing like that," she cuts me off. "Mr. Graves, I would never ask for a visit from you if I didn't think you'd benefit from it."
I sigh, turning my back to the window as I walk toward the seating area in my living room, passing the upholstered furniture as I aim for the bar table. One more drink tonight. That should be fine.
"Can you come by tomorrow? Around noon?" Miss Barry asks. "I won't take much of your time and I promise-"
"Noon sharp," I cut her off. "I'll be there."
"Perfect."
Chapter 3
Elene
She doesn't look happy to see me. Miss Barry gestures toward the chair with a dismissive wave, emitting impatience through every motion.
She looks immaculate as always. The black lady suit hugs her figure tightly, emphasizing her feminine curves, and her hair is put up in a tight bun, leaving no strand astray. I admire her look every time I see her. Everything is so perfect, so pristine and flawless. Even her make-up looks as if she'd just applied it, even tho
ugh it's almost noon and I know she has had an early day today. She told me on the phone that she'd be at the agency all day, starting as early as 9am, which is unusual. This is a night business, after all; no one, not even the Madame, has a reason to be up this early in the morning. I wonder what – or who – forced her to be here this early today.
Even with my efforts to look decent when I show up at the agency, no matter the occasion, I always feel inferior next to Miss Barry. I'm wearing one of my Valentino ensembles, a navy skirt with a matching blazer that features a playful ribbon at the waist. The dark color stands in stark contrast with my long pastel hair that I've pinned up in a lose bun, sitting low in my neck. The white blouse underneath is of far less value, because unlike the skirt and the blazer, it was not a present from one of my clients.
"I won't have much time," she informs me as I sit down opposite of her, the massive office desk between us.
I cross my legs, sitting with an unnaturally straight back as I try to convey a confidence that generally fails me when I'm in here. It's especially bad today, because I come with bad news, and she looks stressed already. I have no idea what is going on with the agency that keeps her so busy on the day, of all days, I want to hand in my resignation, but it's bad timing for sure.
I shouldn't have pushed for an as-soon-as-possible appointment. It's never a good idea to push the Madame. I should know that.
But now I'm here, with nowhere left to go, so I might as well go through with it.
"Okay, I'll just get straight to the point then," I begin, taking a deep breath before I dare to tell her my reason for being here. Short and easy, like ripping off a bandage.
"I'm here to hand in my resignation."
I didn't even notice that I closed my eyes, until I hear her gasping. My eyelids swing open on instinct, and my stomach turns when I'm met with her shocked expression. Miss Barry has never looked at me like this, perplexed and outraged at the same time, as if I'd just done a very, very bad thing.
"You want to quit?" she exclaims. "But, Elene, honey, what could possibly make you say that?"
I swallow hard, unable to come up with an explanation fast enough.
"Is it about one of our clients?" Miss Barry probes. "Did someone mistreat you? Did anything happen? Because you know we can-"
"No, no, it's nothing like that," I hurry to assure her, raising my hands in a calming manner.
"It's just that... I feel I need to be doing something else," I stutter. Why did I come here without any preparation? I should have laid out some kind of excuse, some well-spoken words that won't make me look like an idiot. "I'm done with this. I can't do it anymore."
Miss Barry looks at me, unable to hide the regret on her face.
"You have been with us for..."
"Four years," I finish her sentence. "And I'm very grateful for the opportunity, Miss Barry. I really am. But I think it's time for me to do something else."
"Like what?" she wants to know, raising an eyebrow. "You know, if you want to go to college or something, this would be the perfect job to fund that. You could cut down on the clients and still make enough to-"
"I know," I say, biting my lip as I interrupt her again. She is right, and it's not like I haven't considered the option. I started this job as soon as I could, at 18 years old, and when I first started, I thought it would be a great way to pay my way through college. That and nothing else. I even took a few classes but soon realized that none of them held my interest for longer than a few weeks. I've never been the scholarly type; never did well in school, and my options for college were limited at best. It didn't come as a surprise that it didn't come as easy to me as it did to others. It felt more like something I should do, not something I want to do.
"I don't think college is the right way for me," I say, nervously fiddling with my fingers. "I just... I don't know. I think I need to try something else."
I lower my gaze, but I can feel Miss Barry's eyes on me, holding me down, paralyzing me while painful silence spreads between us. Is she waiting for me to speak? But what could I possibly tell her if I don't even know myself? All I know is that this job was okay for a while, but it no longer is. I need something else, another job that is okay. That's all I'm asking.
Miss Barry lets out an exasperated sigh.
"I'll be frank with you, Elene," she says. "I'm not happy about this. You're one of our most popular girls, and we love having you here. I don't like the idea of losing you. And you know it's not only your looks that make you an asset to this agency. You're smart and a great conversationalist – your evaluations often mention that the clients genuinely enjoy spending time with you, aside from the play part they get to enjoy."
I swallow hard, unsure of what to respond. Is she trying to lure me back with this praise?
Miss Barry leans forward, placing her elbows on the table while she fixates me with her eyes. Her gaze is intense and piercing. It's making me feel uncomfortable, but somehow I still manage to withstand without blinking.
"Be honest with me, honey," she says in a low voice. "What is it that suddenly bothers you about this job? Is it the sex part?"
I bite my lower lip.
"You can tell me," she encourages. "There's no room for secrets here."
I take another deep breath. "Quite frankly, yes, it is. It didn't... bother me, at first, but I no longer feel comfortable doing this."
She nods. "It didn't bother you?"
Our eyes meet, and she tilts her head to the side in a questioning manner while I just retort her look with a puzzled expression.
"No, it didn't bother me," I repeat, confused.
"Well, maybe I'm being naive, but I like to think that our girls actually enjoy their job," Miss Barry says. "And that they aren't just 'not bothered' by it."
"Oh, I..."
Dammit. How do I get out of that one?
Miss Barry chuckles. "It's alright, honey, don't worry about it. You don't have to tell me what I want to hear. I value your honesty. Besides, you always did a very good job. I've heard nothing but the utmost praise for you, which is why I'm so surprised to hear that you didn't actually enjoy it. People usually don't get this good at something they don't enjoy."
I feel myself blushing. It's not the first time that I heard of this. Most of my clients have been more than charming, showering me with compliments and gifts, and almost all of them wanted to see me again after they'd paid for me once.
It always surprised me. How could they feel something I didn't feel? Why was this so much more to them than it was to me? Maybe it was just in the nature of things. After all, they were the ones paying me. But what if it's more than that? It could be.
"So, if I understand correctly, you want to quit, but you don't have an actual plan of what to do next. Is that correct?" Miss Barry interrupts my quiet musings.
I nod reluctantly. "Yes… you could say that."
Her eyes rest on me for a few moments, her deep red lips moving as she ponders her next words, or her next question. I feel terribly uncomfortable and wish for nothing more than for this conversation to be over. I expected it to be unpleasant, but I also hoped for it to be quick and over by now. Miss Barry must have girls quit all the time; I don't understand why she's acting so hurt about this.
"I may have a proposition for you," she says, watching as I arch my eyebrows in surprise.
"A proposition?"
"A way for you to continue working for me without the part that you no longer feel comfortable with," she elaborates.
"What do you mean?" I ask her. "An office job? Here? Like accounting or something?"
She smiles, shaking her head. "No, we're all set on that front," she says. "But we're looking to expand our business and create something new, something very special and unique."
She pauses, observing my reaction as I hang on to her lips, my eyes wide with curiosity.
"I haven't told any of the girls about it so far, because it's not official yet," she continues, casting me a conspiratori
al look. "Would you like to hear about it?"
Our eyes meet in a silent stare-off for a few moments, before I respond with a voiceless nod.
Chapter 4
Damon
She is making me wait. It is almost six minutes past noon, and Miss Barry has not deigned to call me into her office yet. I'm sitting in one of the leather armchairs in the waiting area right next to her door, checking the time like an idiot. It's not like I have to be anywhere, but I despise tardiness. This is a matter of principle.
There's not a single soul around. The dark and somewhat gloomy halls of Violent Delights are dead silent. The walls are painted in dark red, adorned with black and white photographs in black frames. Some of the girls who work here or used to work here. I recognize quite a few of them.
I get up from my seat, driven by the same unrest that has tormented me all my life. Sitting still, waiting - it's not for me. I roam the hall, slowly walking along the lined up photographs at the wall, inspecting every single one of them as if I'm seeing them for the first time. For some of them, that is true. It's been a while since I last stepped foot inside the agency. The last time was here must have been the day I introduced myself to the Madame to be considered as a client. Miss Barry prides herself and this agency in exclusivity, and it's not just the girls who are selected through a thorough application process but the clients as well. Only the best can work for Violent Delights, and only the best – and wealthiest – can enjoy the services they offer.
All of which makes this fucking waiting game even worse. I check the time again, realizing that less than five minutes have passed since I last checked. This is going too far.
I turn around on my heel, facing the door to Miss Barry's office to my left. I can no longer tolerate this waiting game. Whatever or whoever is keeping her busy enough to forget about her appointment with me will just have to leave her the fuck alone right this second. I don't have time for this.
