“Reagan Rose—” His head was thrown back against the wall behind him, his eyes shut tight. His breathing rasped as he pounded up into her.
Rae bit his neck, hard enough to hurt him and to leave her teeth marks on his skin. He gasped.
His hands clenched her ass, holding her up and digging his fingers into her flesh. Rae pumped up and down on him, working him. He was buried so deep in her that his hard body pounded her clit every time, and the screaming tension built as she fucked him harder, faster, slamming him backward against the wall. Her head bumped the wall behind him, and she panted, “Stone. Reagan Rose Stone.”
“Yes.” His voice was hoarse. “Oh, yes. Reagan Rose Stone. Reagan Rose Stone!”
Wulf slammed her down on his dick, hard, and that tightening ache in her pussy burst and fire traveled up her spine, bending her backward. “Yes!”
His body rippled beneath her, rubbing her clit again and again, and she heard him groan but her orgasm swirled in her. Rae cried out, and Wulf slipped a finger between them and massaged the tight bead of her clit, sending her over the edge again. “Oh, God!” Her pussy squeezed around his hard cock, and hot pulses ran through her body.
Wulf held Rae tight as her shivering orgasm subsided until, still inside her, Wulf slid down the wall, and they sat on the floor. Her legs folded beneath her, and she leaned on his hard chest.
“You are magnificent,” Wulf whispered.
Aftershocks rocked Rae’s body, and his thick dick still deep inside her felt huge, like Wulf was fucking her whole body. She laid her head on his shoulder, feeling his strength in his arms.
If this was her last wild night, she could remember it her whole life, the night when she was magnificent and fucked this beautiful stranger against a wall. Thinking about how she had pushed him back and fucked him tingled in her, and another aftershock squeezed her body around his dick.
He rubbed his hands over her bare thighs thoughtfully. Air cooled her bare ass. “Reagan. What a name. You are perfect.”
Rae felt the need to explain, even though she could scarcely move and her legs quivered. “My parents are conservative.”
“And yet you, you magnificent, powerful creature, are as sexy as any woman alive.” Wildness glinted in his blue eyes. “It has been years since a woman topped me.”
She wasn’t really sure what topping meant. They hadn’t actually been in the girl-on-top position. She had done that, once. She had just wanted to screw Wulf instead of letting herself get screwed. “Oh?”
“I’d like to offer you a job.”
An offer of a job by a man whose dick still pulsed inside her seemed wildly off base. “I didn’t screw you to get a job, and I don’t even know what you do. I’m just a college student.”
“Yes. You’re majoring in theater and psychology, and your scholarship was rescinded due to an unfair professor, and you need money to stay at university.”
Rae sat back, and her pussy clenched so hard that she squeezed Wulf’s softening dick right out of her. He grabbed the condom at the base. She struggled with her dress, trying to pull it down. “I didn’t tell you that.”
“No. Lizbeth and Georgie did.” He smiled, and Rae found something predatory again in his smile, which surprised her. He stripped off the condom and knotted it. “They called me this afternoon, asking if there was a job for their friend. I have no room for just another blow job artist. You, however,” he ran a finger under Rae’s jawline, startling her with such intimacy, “my stunning auburn lioness, would be wasted on mere oral sex.”
Every bit of Bible-thumping reared up in Rae’s head, even though she had not believed in any of that dogma since a fight with her preacher when she was sixteen. She pulled her dress down over her sore, wet pussy. “I am not a whore.”
“Of course not, and by the way, you should not use the term ‘whore’ around Lizbeth and Georgie. They are Lifestyle Consultants, as far as their business cards and tax documents are concerned. In private, Lizbeth prefers ‘courtesan,’ while Georgie likes to think of herself as a geisha. Both are in high demand with excellent client lists.”
“That’s their two thousand dollars a week job? Prostitution?”
“Lifestyle consulting. Some of my girls prefer ‘Social Engineer.’ You can choose whatever title you want on your cards and papers. You, of course, would not be in the same division as Georgie and Lizbeth. They are general contractors, so to speak. I wouldn’t waste your special talents on their vanilla clientele.”
Just because she had screwed this guy and acted like a slut once—once!—did not mean that she was a literal whore. She would never, ever, be a prostitute. She struggled to stand and tugged her dress back down her legs. Her panties were lost somewhere in the dark room. “I cannot believe what you’re saying.”
Wulf found a white handkerchief in his back pocket and cleaned his thighs before tucking his shirt back into his pants. “It’s difficult for some people to come to terms with the idea of being paid for sexual services, yet most people do it for free as much as possible. To be clear, you would be neither having sexual intercourse nor performing oral sex upon the clients.”
Reagan was confused and pissed off at herself that she had banged this man. She strode toward the door, ready to storm out, while she called herself a world-class dumbass. “A prostitute who doesn’t have sex with men. This is all ludicrous.”
Wulf threw the handkerchief and used condom in a waste basket by the bathroom door. “You are a natural-born dominatrix. The clients, mostly men, would come to you in my very secure facility, and you will whip them, abuse them, and find them inadequate in every way, and then you will leave them. Think of it as an improvisational scene in a private theater.”
Good Lord, a facility? A theater? He managed an honest-to-God whorehouse?
Why would a man even want to run a whorehouse?
“If the clients are very submissive and compliant while receiving their punishment, whether it is spanking or lashes or pegging or forty minutes of dreadful anticipation before a brutal but short beating, you might give them permission to jack off after you have left the room.”
Rae wanted to kick Wulf’s ass for even thinking that she would do such a nasty thing but couldn’t because she was wearing this danged, awkward contraption of a dress. “Never.”
Wulf shrugged. “I would think, with your background in theater and psychology and dancing nude in the college musical last year, that you might at least consider this job, in order to stay at university.”
She grabbed the doorknob to fling open the door and stomp out. His offensive, sanitized version of prostitution, calling it Lifestyle Consulting, was just another Godless way to justify sin.
Rae stopped, realizing what had just boiled up in her head.
She squeezed the doorknob, still angry, but now also upset at herself for still, still, being under the spell of that cult that her parents called a church, but Wulf wasn’t off the hook either. She shouldn’t make this decision now. She was a little drunk, too sexed up, and confused about what this all meant for her.
She said, “I just didn’t expect this, not anything like this, at all. I didn’t even know that you knew Lizzy and Georgie.”
Wulf blinked. “That wasn’t an audition?” Wonder filled his voice. “I thought you were doing a scene. That it was real, that you meant it, is even more enticing.”
Rae covered her eyes with her hand and leaned against the cold back of the door. “No, that was not an audition. I thought Lizzy and Georgie were selling drugs, and I wasn’t going to get involved in drugs. They never said anything about a man named Wulf, just some guy named Dom.”
She was grabbed, whirled, and her back slammed against the wall. Wulf was right in front of her, his face an inch from hers, and she could smell whiskey and mint on his breath. He kissed her hard, crushing her against the wall with his body, and dragged her silver skirt up her legs again. She hadn’t found her panties, and he rubbed her naked, still-wet pussy with one long finger,
slipping inside her folds of soft skin. She pushed at him, but his finger was on her clit again and she froze, waiting breathlessly, and he rubbed it slowly, firmly, pushing shockwave after shockwave through her body, not like a sharp and sudden orgasm, just waves of pleasure.
Rae stopped trying to push him away and held onto his shoulders. Wulf knew what to do to her body better than she did, a thought that frightened and excited her. She had slept with a few guys during her years in college, but she had never considered that there might be limits to her imagination.
Wulf kept rubbing her, his finger slipping over her wet nub and lips, kept tossing her on waves until she was dizzy and couldn’t even see the darkened bedroom around them.
He whispered in her ear, “They don’t know my name.”
“Who?” she breathed on his neck. Every time his hand moved against her clit, pleasure rose in her body and she couldn’t remember what they were talking about.
“Lizbeth and Georgie,” he said. “I have never told them my name.”
“How—” Rae gasped and clung to his shoulder, “—how can they not—” and another crest lifted her and she fell, “—know your name?” She wanted him to never, ever stop rubbing her like that.
“They only call me ‘The Dom,’ ‘Master,’ or ‘Sir.’ Like I said, no woman has topped me in a long time.” His hand slowed, pushing harder on her wet bead, and the pulses ripping through Rae’s body deepened.
Rae was drowning in the waves of pleasure, and yet she figured out who his man was who could make her come so long, so hard, and leave her wanting more.
“You’re Dom.” This was the man who had screwed Lizzy until she had fallen in love with him, even though Georgie had tried to talk her out of being in love with that kind of man, the kind who loved women, craved women, in the plural.
This man was the psychopath who was nothing but a mirrored shell.
Wulf said, “I must have you. You are the perfect dominatrix: so tall, so zaftig by scrawny American standards, with these beautiful curls that I could wrap my hands in all night.” With his other hand, he grabbed a handful of her hair, not pulling, but gathering it up like silk ribbons. He stroked her clit hard again, and the wave rose from Rae’s pussy to her head, and she whimpered.
“Say you’ll talk to me about it.” Wulf let her hair fall, and something sharp poked between her breasts.
His finger stroking her pussy pressed on her hard bead amid her soft, wet skin and vibrated, sending pleasure crashing through her one last time. She cried out as the wave ran up her spine and through her head, blocking out light and sound.
His lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “Say you will come and talk to me.”
Vibrations rattled her body and her head. “I will—” and she gasped again, “—Wulf.”
“Good,” he said, but it sounded more like goot. “Tomorrow, at two o’clock.”
He backed up, and Rae’s dress fell down around her legs. She sank to the floor, unable to stand or even see. The door closed softly.
The dark bedroom materialized around her as her eyes refocused.
Rae leaned against the wall, listening to the music thump through the plaster. Her legs shook, and her pussy quivered.
She looked down. A business card was shoved between her breasts.
The card was made of smooth, white linen. The only writing on it was an address, which Rae recognized was on a main road and across the river from the university.
A couple years ago, an over/under dance bar called Club Tropicana had been located at that address. The huge building looked like a white Caribbean plantation house, and the palm trees lined the long driveway. Club Tropicana had closed during the real estate crash, and then the building had sat empty, waiting for someone with a lot of money and who still liked desert real estate to remodel the behemoth.
Rae had heard that someone had bought it, but she hadn’t heard that it was open again.
But now she knew the club’s new name, because it was written on the card:
The Devilhouse.
~~~~~~~
Episode 2: Into The Devilhouse
Into The Devilhouse
Reagan Rose Stone wrote her full name on top of the application form to work at the whorehouse, then flipped through the rest of it. The Devilhouse’s application form ran thirty pages long and asked a lot of questions that she didn’t have answers for.
She glanced up from the application and rested her hands on the cold glass desk. The desk sprawled across the end of the office, almost as big as a conference table. She stretched her legs and could see her toes pointing, wavering through the glass. She was wearing the same black pumps as last night because they matched her black skirt suit and they were the only nice shoes she had.
Her purse sat on the desk beside her application. Inside was a box containing sparkly earrings that had arrived for her that morning, and she was going to give them back at the first chance she got, even though they were pretty.
A long window overlooked a garden outside. Sprinklers watered the grass and hedges in long arcs. Rae watched them swing back and forth, procrastinating. Sunlight glittered on the droplets and splintered into rainbows. Maze-wall hedges meandered around oddly shaped park benches.
Rae had been let into this office by the receptionist so she wouldn’t have to balance a clipboard on her knees while she filled out the thick form. The young woman was wearing a silver-sequined tube top and a short-short skirt that barely clung to her butt cheeks. Her bright emerald contact lenses had stood out so vibrantly against her black skin that she looked like an alien. Her natural hair formed a diffuse halo around her slim face.
Rae wrote, 36D on the application.
In the office, Rae couldn’t find a thing to indicate whether it was someone’s personal office or an extra space. The sleek desk and two square chairs were squared to each other and the walls of the long room. Leather-bound books lined the wall bookcases, and all of them braced as straight as soldiers. Rae suspected that, if she took one down, they might all be connected and hollow, like stage props.
She wrote, Junior. Major: Psychology. Minor: Theater.
The only thing on the shelves that was not a possibly-pretend book was a small, framed coat of arms. A line divided the blue and gray shield down the middle, and half an eagle splayed on one side and half an eight-pointed star decorated the other. French curlicue stuff tendrilled around the shield.
She wrote: 5.
A warm scent like vanilla or brown sugar occasionally wafted around Rae’s nose, and she could almost taste something that she liked, but she couldn’t figure out quite what the scent was.
Rae wrote her next answer on the application form: five feet, ten inches.
The questions on the form were printed in raised ink on thick stock, like a wedding invitation. Rae ran her fingers over the question and wondered why anyone would go to the expense. Maybe it was part of their marketing.
Her fingers shook with nerves. This job would pay her tuition and dorm fees, and it would save her from going back to her small, dusty hometown where Aunt TracyJo would insist that she had told Rae that college was a bad idea and she would just flunk out, anyway.
Just think about this like it’s an audition, Rae told herself. Just another dang audition, even to the point where there might be a casting couch.
Or other sex furniture.
The thought of a casting couch and of having sex with Wulf again, so soon after last night, made her skin tingle, even though the austere office furniture didn’t include a couch or anything particularly cushiony. Usually, horniness wasn’t a problem for her. During the few times when she had had a boyfriend, she liked sex at the end of a date, but she hadn’t wanted it every day, again and again.
That one cast party last year though, the one for Hair, had blown up way out of control, and she had gotten raving drunk. She had stayed in character, inside the head of a free-lovin’ hippie, for weeks, and she had lived the part for that night.
&nbs
p; After the party, when Rae had stumbled into the dorm room at five o’clock in the morning, her roommate and cousin Hester had thrown a hissy fit. Hester had preached with a desperate screech in her voice, praying on her knees to Jesus for Rae’s besmirched eternal soul and hysterically trying to call her mother and Rae’s parents to come that day to drag Rae away from such worldliness, iniquity, and sin.
Rae had finally mollified Hester with promises of repentance.
She had lowered her head in shame when she had sneaked into drama class Monday morning, but none of her classmates even mentioned it. Maybe they had all been blackout drunk.
Last night, when Rae had come in at one o’clock in the morning, Hester hadn’t screamed and sobbed, but her scorn had bled through her lecture about keeping oneself pure and holy in this world of materialism and suffering. Rae listened and nodded while her pussy throbbed, thinking about screwing Wulf against the wall and his thumb slowly rubbing her clit until she had come again.
She couldn’t think about anything except screwing Wulf again. She had written every word on this long application form while hungering for the touch and taste of his body.
She bent her head and worked on the application. Every pen stroke seemed to last forever, scratching on the creamy paper.
Her ass, where his hands had grabbed her last night to pull her down on his cock, rubbed on the chair.
Because Rae was majoring in psychology, she recognized the middle section of the form as an abbreviated version of the MMPI, the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory, a common psychological examination to detect depression, anxiety, and psychopathy.
Considering the last couple days of her life, she was kind of worried about the results. Might show that she was turning into a nympho.
The medical release required tests so personal and comprehensive that it embarrassed her just to look at it. She had no intention of taking that form to the university’s Student Health Center, but someone had thoughtfully included a list of local doctors who had filled out the form before and, Rae assumed, wouldn’t call the cops or the health department.
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