Keyboards and Kink
Page 19
“Damn, Beau. You must be drunk off your ass! What the hell is a one-eyed Willy?”
Beau scrubbed his hand through his sandy blond locks, then took a swig of Southern Comfort. Calliope raised her glass too, chugging its contents.
“Callie, I think I might be gay,” he said. She choked on the whiskey, feeling the burning sensation shoot through her flared nostrils. It took her a few minutes until the gasps subsided and she was able to get her bearings back. Still, she didn’t want to believe it. But the sincerity in his cloudy, inebriated stare seemed undeniable.
Suddenly, everything about Beau’s insatiable interest in women made sense. He had to overcompensate in order to hide behind his true sexual identity. Once Calliope had gotten over the initial shock of his admission, their friendship skyrocketed into instant inseparable status. Beau was her best friend. Her confidante. The only person alive she could trust. Especially with something as important as a bold, new career move. He might think she was off her rocker. Regardless, he’d give her the benefit of the doubt and listen to her wacky scheme.
Sex-shop sales clerk by day and amateur photographer by night, Beau jumped at the chance to help Calliope set up shop. Their first task was to take some racy, pin-up girl shots to compliment the well-crafted advertisement she’d spent hours honing to perfection. They scavenged through her bedroom on the hunt for the raunchiest, most revealing get-up they could find. Soon, a pile of lacy lingerie and multi-colored boas littered the red shag carpet. At the back of the closet, they finally found a short, black spandex and leather dress she’d had worn to a Halloween party. That year, they’d gone as a couple—Calliope as a dominatrix and Beau as her super-submissive boy toy.
Beau made her pose in a variety of precarious positions, snapping shots of her ample assets from all different angles. Afterwards, they uploaded the images he’d taken and looked at each of them one by one. Her vision scanned the half-naked images on the screen, as bits of pale pink flesh and thigh-high fuck-me-boots flashed before her eyes. When the fifty-third frame came into view, Calliope’s brow sprang up. In that particular shot, she was lying with her back against the red shag carpet. Her legs sat propped provocatively against the wall, splayed wide open to reveal her lacy, rose-colored G-string. Calliope’s breasts heaved over the edge of the matching bra, visible through the translucent material of her dress. But it was her burgundy locks that made the photograph stand out above all the rest. Arranged like a fan spread over a bed of fiery-hot coals, her shiny tresses reflected a million shades of brilliant light.
Beau drew back momentarily as his gaze locked onto the blinding image. Calliope could have sworn she saw drool pool in the corners of his mouth. He wet his lips, then bit down on the inside of his cheek. “Oh, Callie. This is it! You look amazing! If those horny bastards on Craigslist don’t crown you the Queen of Happy Endings, then they’re out of their minds.”
“The Queen of Happy Endings huh? That has a nice ring to it.” she said. It was the perfect tagline for her ad. After all, she needed something snappy and sassy to catch the eye of potential customers.
Chapter Two
The Big Move
Dominic Trevino had just settled into his new digs. He’d sold off most of his possessions back home and hopped on a one-way flight from Boston to Los Angeles, ready for a fresh start. New beginnings were something Dom was used to by now. Vampires tended to live as gypsies, moving from one place to another every few years in order to stay under the radar. Dom was no exception. The last thing he wanted was for someone to get too close, stumbling upon the notion that he drank blood for sport. Or that his rock-hard physique and chiseled good looks hadn’t aged a bit in more than a quarter of a century.
It had been twenty-seven years since that fateful night when Rosabelle, a recently-turned vampire, had gotten sloppy and almost drained him dry. Dom had been wrestling on the verge of death before the bumbling bloodsucker slit her own wrist and forced him to drink. Her clumsy attempt at saving his life had turned into an insufferable curse, one that forced him to live the life of a vagabond. Dom’s only consolation was the fact that the incompetent twit met her own demise a short time later, leaving him to fend for himself.
Good riddance!
Nonetheless, Dom’s dark, curly hair and olive skin tone always seemed to get him in trouble. He had a knack for attracting clingy women with borderline Multiple Personality Disorder. Some might say that he was drawn to psycho bitches like iron to a magnet. No matter how hard he tried to avoid them, they always seemed to find him. That was exactly what precipitated his recent exodus from the east coast.
Before the move to California, Dom had done his best to maintain a low profile. He’d rented a flat above O’Callahan’s, an Irish pub in the heart of South Boston. Most days he kept to himself, and only ventured out in search of sustenance. One winter night three months ago had changed everything. He remembered it like it was yesterday. After a particularly heavy snowstorm, the streets seemed more dark and desolate than usual. Not even the homeless roamed the alleyways, so Dom had no choice but to procure blood from one of the patrons inside O’Callahan's. It was near closing time. As he opened the heavy, distressed oak door, his attention became riveted on the petite brunette behind the bar serving drinks. Her brilliant blue eyes matched the color of her v-neck sweater. Instantly, he recognized her as prey.
Look at me, Dom commanded. His irresistible powers of persuasion forced her to obey. Her body jerked upright as she stared back at him, as helpless as a mouse trapped under a cat’s vicious claw. He sat down at the bar and ordered a drink, reading the moniker off her nametag. Maya. She poured him a shot of tequila, then watched intently as the warm liquid oozed down his throat.
“Last call,” Maya yelled to the crowd, licking her full lips as she glanced at Dom out of the corner of her eye. The smell of booze infused his senses. It seeped out of every crevice of the bar. But underneath the stench of stale beer, he detected the scent of a woman’s arousal. Fragrant and musky. Suddenly, sucking her blood seemed like less of a priority. He needed to fuck her. Hard and fast.
As soon as the last customer swaggered out the door, Dom was on her. He yanked Maya over the counter onto his lap, and pressed his rough, weathered mouth to her supple lips. The cocky bastard demanded surrender, forcing his tongue into the heat of her embrace. He removed her sweater, then watched the bartender melt in his arms as he kissed and sucked his way down her trembling torso. Dom raised her up on top of the bar and lifted her scant miniskirt past her hips, eager to trace a similar trail back up her body. Until he was stopped dead in his tracks. Mesmerized by the pulsating femoral artery on the inside of her right thigh.
God damn it. Not again! For some Godforsaken reason, that particular part of a woman’s anatomy did him in every time. Dom had planned to go slow, bringing his lover to the edge of ecstasy before he wrought his own pleasure. Unfortunately, the beast inside him wouldn’t be denied. His vision clouded—a sure sign that his eye color had already shifted from honey brown to deep garnet. Elongated claws dug into the grooves of the wooden countertop. His jaw protracted, revealing two razor-sharp canines ready to pierce the tender flesh between her legs.
It wasn’t long before Dom relinquished all control, sinking his fangs into soft skin at the junction of her hip and thigh, siphoning the sweet, life-giving essence of her blood. Its hot liquid flooded his mouth as he felt Maya’s body quiver and shake, an undisputable orgasm that racked the tiny shell of her existence.
After Dom took his fill, he unbuttoned his pants and impaled his cock on her moist feminine folds. Foreplay no longer factored into the equation. His thick, rigid shaft pummeled into her with rough, unyielding strokes, too far gone to worry about his partner’s satisfaction. She’d already come once. Now, it was his turn. Before long, he felt his release fester in his loins, painting the walls of her womb in creamy white seed.
As Dom straightened the girl’s clothes back into place, he noticed a familiar look in her eyes. The same
crazed expression he’d seen a half dozen times. She was hooked. A nagging feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He knew without a doubt that Maya would soon end up on his doorstep, begging for him to fuck her again.
From that night forward, Maya was obsessed. She’d knock on his door at all hours of the day, interrupting his nocturnal sleep patterns. She even went so far as to have her father, Frederick Winslow, a prominent Massachusetts senator, run a background check on him. Lucky for him, he’d paid a pretty penny for his alias. It was air tight. Although after three months of playing cat and mouse, Dom finally packed up his belongings and got the hell out of Dodge.
He’d sworn off women ever since. The only problem was, he needed blood to survive and no matter how many times he’d tried, he couldn’t bring himself to suck the red deliciousness from a man’s vein. Drinking blood reminded him too much of sex, and sex with a dude made his stomach turn.
“Shit! If I have to, I’ll pay for my food like everybody else,” Dom said out loud. “There’s gotta be a discrete escort service in Los Angeles in search of new clientele.”
Chapter Three
Oral Stimulation
Week after week, Calliope’s business saw steady financial gains as more and more clients enjoyed the perks bestowed upon them by the Queen of Happy Endings. With Beau posted outside her bedroom door serving as resident bodyguard, the transition to successful self-employment had gone down without a hitch. On average, she’d seen anywhere from seven to ten customers each week, not including the regulars she’d grandfathered in from Bella Faccia. After paying for supplies such a massage oil, incense, and bath towels, she’d cleared a profit of well over five thousand dollars in close to a month. Plenty of dough to pay rent and keep the two of them occupied in their downtime.
“Callie, don’t forget. You’ve got a late appointment tonight. A guy by the name of Dominic Trevino is supposed to show up around seven o’clock.” Beau shouted the words from the kitchen, while he fixed them a late lunch. The smell of grilled cheese and fresh tomato and basil soup wafted past her nose. Calliope put her hand to her stomach and felt it rumble. She was famished. She’d been so busy with customers, she’d forgotten to eat.
“All right, slave driver. The business has been open less than a month and you’re already bossing me around like you own the place,” Calliope said with a hint of sarcasm in her voice. She stood and rubbed the tension out of her shoulders, then turned and headed toward the kitchen. She’d worked a shitload of hours lately, and even massage therapists needed to work out the kinks every once in a while. “Dominic Trevino, huh? He sounds like an overweight, Italian slob.”
Beau turned from the stove and set two plates of scrumptious food on the breakfast nook. “Now, now, Miss Crabby Pants. You’re the one who wanted to try your hand at self-employment. No complaints.”
****
Dom pulled up in front of the quaint little townhouse on the corner of Colby Drive and Ohio Avenue. He parked his newly-purchased BMW on the street under a maple tree and hopped out. He cracked his knuckles as he meandered to the front door, a nervous habit.
This chick better not be another whack job, Dom thought to himself as he rang the doorbell. That morning, while he perused the ads on Craigslist, he’d been looking for a particular post from West Coast Escorts, the service he had used a few times before. But when he noticed the tagline, Queen of Happy Endings, Dom simply couldn’t resist clicking on it. Once he saw the photograph of the gorgeous redhead with the haunting green-gold eyes at the bottom of the screen, he knew she had to be his next conquest. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting her and without thinking, his fingers dialed the number underneath her picture.
I better not regret this. He was about to turn around and get back in his car, when a big burly fellow in a tight black t-shirt and jeans jerked open the door.
“You must be Dominic,” the guy said, smiling from ear to ear. His piercing blue orbs roamed up and down his body. It almost felt as if the other dude was checking him out. Propping the screen door ajar with his foot, he motioned for Dom to come inside. Then, he turned and shouted over his shoulder. “Callie, your appointment is here. And you were wrong. He isn’t a fat, Italian slob.”
Dom heard footsteps as the masseuse made her way down the hall. Still, he wasn’t prepared for the breathtaking beauty that came into view before him. She had long, luxurious locks the color of cinnamon that cascaded down her hips. Full, pouty lips simply begging to be kissed. And the curves.
Oh Lord, have mercy! Calliope Handler was by far the most delicious morsel he’d come across since stepping foot on California soil.
“Don’t mind him. This is Beau, my protection detail. As you can imagine, it’s hard to find good help these days,” Calliope said as she cocked her hip to one side and waved her hand dismissively in Beau’s direction. Then, she stuck her other arm out in front of Dom, and offered to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Calliope. Are you ready to get started?”
“Nice to meet you, too. You can call me Dom,” he said, accepting her outstretched hand. The simple skin-to-skin contact tickled his nerve endings. A wave of sensation headed straight for his cock. In an instant, his shaft shot to attention. Revved up and roaring to go. “I’m definitely ready.”
Dom followed Calliope as she led him to a back room, her overblown bodyguard not far behind. He watched her as she walked, her voluptuous hips sashaying from side to side in the red Japanese kimono she wore. As they entered the dim-light space, soft music and the smell of lilac washed over him. Candles flickered in every crevice of the room. Soft white linens and a comfortable massage table had been strategically positioned in the corner, next to a black partition with colorful purple and gold orchids. Most likely, the contraption had been set up as a makeshift dressing room.
Dom couldn’t believe his eyes. The atmosphere seemed stark in comparison to the loud bass and alcohol-laced club scene he’d become accustomed to. On the few dates he’d went on with women from West Coast Escorts, the seedy establishments they’d frequented left a bitter taste in his mouth. On the contrary, the surreal ambiance Calliope had created was the perfect mix of sensuality and relaxation.
From a distance behind him, Dom heard the bodyguard clear his throat. “Callie, I’ll be right outside the door if you need me,” Beau said as he shut the door without a sound.
Calliope turned to face her customer. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she tapped her fingers on her elbows in what appeared to be a nervous gesture. After a moment of awkward silence, she moistened her lips with her tongue, then sighed. “You’ll need to remove your clothes before we get started. If you want to, you can change behind that partition. But I’m not shy. It won’t bother me a bit if you drop your drawers right here. Once you’re done, you can set your things on the chair by the sink.”
“Isn’t this a little weird? What with your boyfriend on the other side of the door?”
Calliope put her hand to her lips and giggled softly. “Beau? He isn’t my boyfriend. He’s my best friend. My gay best friend.”
Dom’s lips turned up into a mischievous grin. He shook his head, amused with the masseuse’s blunt remark. He rather enjoyed her sassy banter. Without further discussion, he unbuttoned his dress shirt, watching as Calliope’s pupils dilated the moment she took in the sight of his bare, muscular chest.
“You might want to take a picture. It’ll last longer,” Dom said, goading her.
Suddenly, Calliope’s cheeks burned bright red, almost the same color as her kimono, and she turned away from him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. But you’ve got an incredible body. At least the parts I’ve seen so far.”
Dom muttered something unintelligible under his breath. Then, he dropped his slacks to his ankles, slid out of his loafers, and tossed the last remnants of clothing onto the chair. He stalked over to the massage table, his junk swaying back and forth as he lifted up onto the white sheet and proceeded to lie down. His washboard abs rested flat aga
inst the padded cushions. “I assume we’re starting with the massage, right? Unless you want to skip right to the happy ending?”
“Your assumption is correct. Regardless of appearances, I am a licensed, professional massage therapist. Let my fingers work their magic. We’ll talk about the rest later,” Calliope said as she squeezed a dollop of massage oil into the palm of her hand.
****
Calliope rubbed hot, sticky massage oil through her fingers, stifling a groan. She hadn’t even touched Dominic’s bare skin yet, and already she felt her nipples bead into tight rosebuds. With the sheet folded down just below his hips, she caught an ample glimpse of the man’s contoured torso. The well-defined proof of his virile masculinity evident in every rippled peak and valley of his physique. In all her years manipulating the male body, she had never seen a finer specimen. Calliope’s fingers itched to run their length over the expanse of his perfect naked flesh.
“Don’t forget to breathe. It relaxes the muscles and helps open up the pores to release toxins,” Calliope said rather matter-of-fact as she reached for him. Her digits barely grazed the surface of his tanned skin. Still, the bolt of electricity that shot through her system was nothing short of mind-blowing. White-hot heat radiated down her spine. She arched her back, inevitably forcing the explosion to settle between the folds of her clenched pussy. Warm liquid drizzled down her left thigh, pooling in the hollow crevice behind her kneecap.
Calliope saw the muscles in Dominic’s back rise and fall and heard the intake of his breath. He twitched on the massage table and she knew he must have smelled her unique feminine aroma.
Oh well. If the cat wasn’t out of the bag before, it sure is now.