The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 11

by Maxim Jakubowski

  “First thing I drum into their heads is pick a safe word. She never said it. Lots of them do, sometimes before things even get started. Makes no difference, no refunds. And some, like that little girl, get even more than they paid for.”

  “Where the hell is the husband?”

  “Well, that’s another thing. He’s in my private bar, getting loaded. Buyer’s remorse, I think they call it.”

  “Jesus. Greg, I think you better see to this woman.”

  “I thought I’d let her sleep it off. She’s got to be exhausted.”

  “I’d feel better if you did.”

  Tobin chuckled. “OK. Here, sit down.”

  Gleason stepped up to the platform and sat at the table as Tobin stepped past him.

  “Rocco, Jules . . . come in here and carry Mrs Blake to the powder room. Tell Heidi to help her clean up.”

  Two well-muscled men stepped into the light. One, whom Gleason recognized as Rocco, gently turned the woman over. She came to life. Rocco draped a towel over his arms before he slid them under her.

  “Oooo, no baby, no more . . . I’m so sore.”

  Rocco lifted her into his arms like a child.

  “Banana, honey . . . banana, please.”

  “See?” Tobin said as he turned back towards Gleason. “She remembered.”

  “Banana?”

  “That was her safe word.” Tobin turned back towards Rocco. Mrs Blake had clasped her arms around his thick neck and was nuzzling against his shoulder.

  “It’s all right, Mrs Blake, Rocco’s just taking you someplace to clean up. Someone will help you.”

  The woman sighed. Her whisper carried across the room. “You hurt me so bad, you terrible brute. God, I loved the way you hurt me.”

  Tobin returned to the table and sat across from Gleason.

  “Another satisfied customer,” Gleason said.

  “Well, one is. The husband is feeling like shit right now. He was retching earlier. Seems he can’t take the reality, even if it is his fantasy come true. He’s feeling like a major piece of shit right now, shame like you’d never believe.”

  “Are they all like that?”

  “No, but enough of them are that I always get the money up front, and I always get it in writing . . . just like you told me.”

  “Uh-huh. So, why did you want to see me?”

  “There were some cops in here last week.”

  “You spotted them, huh?”

  “Easy. They were too young, too much in love. Our business is mostly long-married couples, or rather couples married so long they need something extreme to fire up their sex. What’s that take: three years, five years, ten?” He shrugged.

  “And these two were . . . what? Too fresh?”

  “Guy and a girl. Early twenties. You could tell they were hot for each other. Probably just got tossed together for the assignment, and all the dirty talk got them even hotter. They were just falling in lust. I bet they stopped at his or her place before they returned to the squad.” Tobin laughed.

  “So, what did you tell them?”

  “I said I rent out my facility for private, adult recreation.”

  “Good. Don’t ever say you’re taking money for sex.”

  “The girl, though, kept pressing me about wanting to be whipped or flogged or whatever.”

  “And how did you respond?”

  “I said she was an adult, and she was free to do whatever she consented to.”

  “You didn’t tell her you’d beat her, or get someone to beat her?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Good. Because in this state you cannot consent to be assaulted.”

  “Really? Then how can they have hockey games, or football? How about boxing?”

  “That’s precisely the argument we’d use on appeal, but it’s never come to that because no one wants to take it that far. Then they’ll need new legislation and such, and meanwhile maybe you’ve outlawed hockey season.”

  “Not likely.”

  “No, very unlikely.”

  “Look,” Tobin said, “I gave them nothing, but I’m wondering if there’s a new push to crack down on my sort of services, what with the tight-ass party looking to regulate how everyone fucks.”

  “There’s been an uptick in my business,” Gleason agreed. “Greg, the best way to handle trouble is not get into it in the first place. Do what you’re doing; be careful. We’ll handle it if anything . . . well, if you run into any legal difficulty.”

  “I’ve always wondered, Gleason. How’d you get into this? Did you set out to be the Perv Lawyer?”

  Gleason laughed. “You know, I was upset when that fucking tabloid called me that on their front page, but Jesus, what a pile of business came my way. I nearly sent the publisher a thank-you note.”

  Tobin laughed too. “So, how did you get into it?”

  “A couple of cases that Flynnie sent my way. All of a sudden I realized there were people out there who needed legal advice – protection – because of their unconventional lifestyles, or businesses. It opened up a niche. I remember one of my first clients. She wanted to have a slave contract drawn up because she was scared to death somehow someone was going to take away her ‘pet’.”

  “Did you do it?”

  “Couldn’t. I had to explain there was a little matter called the Thirteenth Amendment. So, I drew up a partnership covenant.”

  Tobin shook his head and chuckled. “It’s amazing what comes through my door. The scenarios some people want. But hey, like you said, it’s a niche. I’m not going to pass up the money. Beats trying to get by as a saloon keeper.”

  “Yeah, well I sense a little remorse on your part too, Greg.”

  Tobin shrugged. “I give people what they pay for. But, sometimes they get more than they bargained for. That guy retching and crying in my back room. He’s going to hate himself for a long time, maybe forever. His wife, maybe she will too, hate him for hating himself. I don’t know what kind of marriage they had before they came in here, but . . .”

  “Feeling guilty, Greg?”

  “Not guilt, exactly. They’re fucking adults; they make their own decisions. Hell, maybe I’m doing them a favour by showing them what and who they really are. And then there are those who just have a good time. So, screw it, but then, I find myself thinking about . . . oh, hell, I don’t know what I’m thinking.”

  “Let me give you some advice as a friend, not a lawyer: if it begins to bother you so much you lose sleep over it, give it up.”

  “Not that much, yet.”

  “You still do mostly gang-bang scenarios, I take it.”

  “That’s definitely at the top of popularity. Amazes the shit out of me how many guys want to see their wives fucked by a half-dozen or so men. It’s almost always the guy’s idea too. Like I said, we’ve had scenes that never launched because the wife said no. Funny, they try to do it for their husband. Maybe they think it’ll patch up some hole in the marriage, but right at the last minute . . .”

  “And the women who go along with it?”

  “Well, I don’t think any of them just go along with it. They do it, they’re into it. Oh, it might be convenient for them to say they did it just to please hubby, but they aren’t about to pass up an opportunity like that.”

  “Cynical, Greg, very cynical . . . but very sound observation.” Gleason smiled and raised a glass Tobin had poured for him.

  “We’ve had some single women too.”

  “Huh?”

  “Usually very cool and collected. But they come here looking to have some ravishment fantasy fulfilled.”

  “You mean rape fantasy, don’t you?”

  “No, ‘ravishment’ is more like it. They don’t want to be jumped; they want to be seduced and taken. All confidentially of course.”

  “Well, you do provide a unique service. You don’t advertise, I hope.”

  “Word of mouth.”

  “Good. That’ll keep you out of the public eye too. For a while anyway.
”

  “Yeah, I don’t need a signpost out there pointing the cops to my door. Thanks for coming by.”

  “Take care, Greg.”

  Tobin said goodbye to the Blakes in the public lounge. Mrs Blake was walking a bit stiffly, but still managed to move in a way that broadcast: “You want me.” Mr Blake looked like he’d just got through a bad bout of the flu. He wouldn’t look at Tobin.

  “Thank you so much, Mr Tobin,” Mrs Blake purred. “It was a . . . life-changing experience.”

  She was so petite, delicate, Tobin thought; she could easily be mistaken for an Asian, especially a compliant yet sexually insatiable fantasy Asian. But she was a predator, and way out of her husband’s league.

  “You’re welcome, Mrs Blake.”

  “Please, call me Maria.”

  Tobin just nodded. “Are you going to be OK, Mr Blake? We can call you a cab.”

  “That . . . that’ll be fine. Thank you.”

  Tobin could see that Mr Blake couldn’t wait to be out of there. He had “what have I done?” written all over his face in flashing neon.

  Tobin was glad to be rid of them. He returned to the lounge which was beginning to fill with young office workers ready to unwind from the day.

  He knocked on the bar with his knuckles. “Larry! Scotch.”

  The bartender poured him a shot. He tossed it back and nodded for a refill. This one he sipped.

  He leaned with his back to the bar and surveyed the patrons. A couple sat close together on high stools at a table for two. Her skirt crept up her thigh and her knee touched his. Tobin watched as the man gingerly reached under the table and placed his hand just above her knee. Her face brightened into a smile.

  Just falling in lust, Tobin thought. He projected a future for them. They’d likely fuck on the first date, keep it hot for the next few and he’d propose. Married in a year. Then a few years, maybe a kid or two later, if they made enough money, they’d be back, asking him to arrange “a scene”. The same sort of scene the Blakes had paid for maybe, or maybe something even kinkier, depending on how far they’d drifted from their original flashpoint.

  Gleason was right, Tobin was getting cynical, but then he’d always been a realist. He didn’t believe in happily-ever-afters. But his cynicism was growing sour. He was beginning not to like himself and he hated that because logic told him he wasn’t a bad guy. He provided a service, and God knows – if there was a God to know such things – it was an essential service.

  “Fuck it,” he said to himself. “The money’s too good.”

  “You say something, boss?” Larry shouted over the din.

  “Huh? No, I’m good.”

  The bar phone rang. A moment later Larry stepped over to Tobin.

  “Boss, Heidi says there’s a couple of people waiting to talk to you in your office.”

  “Oh, shit. Yeah, forgot I had an appointment. OK, thanks.”

  Tobin stepped around the bar to a narrow corridor hidden in the gloom. It opened into a larger hallway on the other side of the building bordered by nondescript offices.

  He entered one. Heidi had just served drinks to a couple. Tobin walked around them and sat at his desk.

  “Sorry, uh, Mr and Mrs Stassen?”

  “Neil and Tracy,” the wife replied.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  The wife drew her knee up and cupped it in her hands, baring a good deal of thigh. The husband’s eyes immediately slid over to take in the overtly flirtatious gesture.

  “Very, very nice to meet you, Mr Tobin. It’s Greg, isn’t it?”

  Tobin nodded and smiled.

  “You’re very attractive, Greg. I don’t know what I was expecting; perhaps some hulking, swarthy impresario of . . . what? Nastiness?”

  “Mrs Stassen . . .”

  “Tracy, please.”

  “OK, Tracy . . . it’s important that we all understand and agree on what exactly you expect me to provide.”

  “Well, then let me tell you,” Tracy said, leaning towards him and revealing a deep-shadowed valley between her pushed-up breasts.

  She slid a sidelong glance at her husband and her lips tightened into a flirty pout.

  “It’ll be our tenth anniversary. We want to experience something special and act out a fantasy Neil and I have only pretended at, you know, in our own bedroom.”

  Tobin smiled, nodded and waited.

  “Neil . . . likes to be teased. Don’t you honey?”

  The husband nodded, but he didn’t look at Tobin. His cheeks were beginning to flush.

  “He likes to be teased unmercifully,” Tracy said, looking right at Tobin. She licked her lips. “The fact is . . . he likes to be teased in a most humiliating fashion. The more it hurts, the more he likes it. He’s happiest when I’ve made him spill tears, isn’t that so, dear?” She didn’t look at him.

  “I . . . uh . . . please, Tracy . . . I don’t think . . .” Neil’s ears were burning red.

  “Honey, who said you should think?”

  She was still gazing into Tobin’s eyes. He maintained a half-smile poker face.

  “Greg . . . would it surprise you to know that I think you are so hot? Would it surprise you to know that my pussy is oozing and my panties are soaked just imagining you throwing me down on this desk and filling me with your big cock. Are you wondering how I know you have a big cock?” She winked.

  “Somehow . . . I’m not surprised at all.”

  “Then you think I’m a slut.”

  Tobin smiled.

  “You’d like Greg to fuck me, wouldn’t you, dear?”

  Neil coughed.

  “It’s all right, honey, you can tell him . . . but ask him nice.”

  Neil cleared his throat. “Please, Mr Tobin. Would you like to . . . fuck . . . fuck Tracy?”

  Tobin took a deep breath. “I’m afraid it’s a business policy to maintain a professional distance from my clients.”

  Neil let out a long sigh. A momentary twitch of irritation marred Tracy’s pout.

  “Shame,” she said, and leaned back in her chair.

  “I’m very . . . flattered,” Tobin said, “but let’s talk about how I can help fulfil your anniversary fantasy.”

  Tracy sighed. “Well, Neil needs to see me fucked, but first he needs to see me seduced and . . . claimed.”

  “Claimed?”

  “Yes, he needs to watch helplessly, or perhaps . . . cowardly . . . while another man or men seduce, degrade, and claim me as their own . . . he needs to understand they are taking me away from him, and that he is to be made to watch them . . . well, rape me, and have me respond and surrender. He needs to see me made into their slut.”

  Tracy’s chest was lifting and falling like a bellows. Tobin thought she was going to make herself come in front of him and her husband.

  “I see,” Tobin said. “How many men do you want to . . . partake? And how, shall we say, roughly, do you want to be treated?”

  “Oh, six should be sufficient, I’ll put up token resistance, of course. A face slap or two would be exciting. But there’s one more, very important thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “To make Neil’s humiliation deliciously complete – because I want my darling to cherish this memory always . . .”

  “Yes?” Tobin and Neil had said it at the same time.

  “Neil too should be ravished.”

  “Tracy?” Neil squeaked.

  “Neil, we’ve pretended that you were made to suck a cock.”

  “But, Tracy . . .”

  “It turned you on. You came all over the sheets, darling.”

  “Yes . . . but, I don’t know if I could really . . .”

  “You will, honey; you will and you’ll like it. Because it’ll make you feel so dirty. You want to be my little cocksucker, don’t you? You want to show me you like to suck cock, don’t you? I would love to see it; won’t you do it for me?”

  “I . . . I . . . yes, Tracy . . . yes, I will.”

  “I love you, sno
okums.”

  “I love you too, Tracy.”

  She looked straight at Tobin again. There was a gleam of triumph in her eyes.

  “You’re sure that’s OK with you, Mr Stassen?”

  Neil’s head was nearly in his lap. He whispered, “Yes.”

  “Heidi will write up the proposal and I’ll need you both to sign it, indicating your consent and a waiver of liability. It will also state that you are paying for the rental of the facilities only. The fee will be $8,500.”

  Neil stiffened in his seat and turned around. He apparently hadn’t realized that Heidi was still in the room, taking it all down and bearing witness to his humiliation. He shrank back into his seat.

  “Are your pants sticky, baby?” Tracy teased.

  “All the actors in my employ are tested regularly for communicable diseases,” Tobin said. “I still recommend condoms, but clients have requested no condoms . . .”

  “No condoms, please,” Tracy said. “Bareback . . . totally.”

  “OK. You are responsible for providing your own form of contraception. Also, precautions run both ways. You will also be required to visit a clinic of my designation at a specific time before the event and be certified. You will remain celibate, or restrict yourselves to sex with each other until the event. Even with all these precautions I can’t guarantee a totally risk-free encounter, but we’ve been doing this for a while and . . . so far so good. But you need to keep that in mind.”

  “Just tell us where to sign, Greg. Whew! I’m so . . . agitated.” Tracy’s grin was dazzling, manic.

  “The paperwork will be ready by tomorrow. I’ll require a cashier’s cheque, please.”

  Heidi showed the Stassens out. When she returned Tobin leaned back in his seat and mused, “Is it me, or are these people all beginning to sound the same? I don’t think I can tell them apart anymore.”

  “Boss, as long as you keep signing my cheques, it doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Doesn’t it leave a bad taste in your mouth sometimes?”

  Heidi sat down and placed her notes on Tobin’s desk. She took a deep breath; her crisp white blouse, already straining to contain her formidable bosom, looked like it was about to pop a button, maybe a few. She coursed a finger behind her ear as if searching out a stray enhanced-blonde hair. There weren’t any.

  “You know,” she said finally, “Back when I was stripping – about a hundred years ago – I got to understand how some guys let their grip on reality slip, got to thinking – believing – that I or one of the other girls was really his girlfriend, that she really cared about them. The girls would milk them for tips, even gifts. I didn’t, but some of the other girls did. It never turned out well. The guys would make pests of themselves; try to follow the girls home. We had some bad scenes where they’d be banned from the club. Had some girls get hurt. It’s always dicey when you try to convert fantasy to reality. Some people can handle it – lots of others can’t. But, hey, I’m glad for the job, boss.”