The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 11

by Maxim Jakubowski

  Tobin smiled. “I’d say I was glad to have hired you, but you’d probably hit me up for a raise.”

  “Now that you mention it . . .”

  “Nice try. Seriously, though, what do you make of this last couple . . . Mr and Mrs Stassen?”

  “Seriously? Are you serious?”

  “C’mon, you must have an opinion.”

  “She’s a piece of work, but he’s in the driver’s seat.”

  “You think so?”

  “She’s taking his cues . . . he can’t wait to give some guy a blow job in front of her.”

  “She’s not into it as much?”

  “Oh, she’s into it all right . . . but she has her own agenda. She definitely wants what’s coming to her, but she has ulterior motives . . . you can hear the wheels and cogs whirring in her head.”

  “Jesus, you women are scary the way you read each other.”

  “Takes one to . . .”

  “Yeah.”

  “I better get this printed, make appointments with the clinic. You want to bring in the usual suspects?”

  “Yeah, sounds like a job for Rocco and the boys.”

  Tobin returned to the lounge intending to settle himself at a table in a dim corner where he could take a cat nap if he wanted without anyone noticing. He stopped at the bar long enough to grab a tonic water and lime and headed for a corner table. He casually scanned the room for the couple that had been playing footsie and feelsie, but they had left.

  He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He must have nodded off immediately. He awoke with a start when the girl sat across the table from him.

  “Huh? Miss? Something I can do for you?”

  She folded one hand over her other and looked down at the table. “Um.”

  “Yes?”

  “You don’t remember me; not that I’d expect you to.”

  Tobin shook his head and tried to place her face somewhere in his memory. She was slight, petite, dark hair that didn’t quite reach her shoulders. Sensible office attire; nothing remarkable.

  “About eight months ago, I completed a transaction with you for my boss.”

  “I’m sorry . . . transaction?”

  “I . . . I brought you a cashier’s cheque. My boss is Evelyn Hasley.”

  The name rang a bell. She was the CFO of a biotech company that had just begun publicly trading after breaking into the scene with some wonder drug or other. Tobin tried to recall her kink. Then he remembered: The Inquisition.

  Ms Hasley wanted an elaborate scene in which she would be tortured and ravished by mad monks. He recalled how much fun the guys had dressing up in costumes of ancient clerics. She was to be called Marta, an innocent peasant girl accused of witchcraft and condemned to be burned at the stake, but not before her body was thoroughly examined by the High Inquisitor and his minions.

  It took him weeks to set it up, but she dropped ten grand in his lap for his efforts. Her only regret: they didn’t actually immolate her. That unsettled him.

  He vaguely remembered the mousy assistant who dropped off the cheque with some last-minute requests.

  “OK, yes, I remember . . . Miss . . . sorry, I forget your name.”

  “Kerry Barnes.”

  Tobin nodded as if he recognized the name.

  “Mr Tobin, Ms Hasley didn’t tell me what she was . . . paying for. Not until some months later.”

  “She did? And?”

  She shrugged. “Well, nothing really. She makes a lot of money; she ought to be able to buy . . . whatever . . . she wants.”

  “And, what’s your interest in our past business, Miss Barnes?”

  “I, obviously, don’t make as much money as Ms Hasley. But, I can see . . . well, the opportunity to realize one’s deepest . . . darkest fantasy. How . . . wonderful must that be?”

  “Miss Barnes. I think everyone should be careful what they wish for.”

  “I have a fantasy . . . would you . . . like to hear it?”

  “That would be none of my business, Miss—”

  “Please?” Her plea surprised him.

  “OK.”

  She laced her fingers and lowered her head. For a second he thought she’d recite a Hail Mary.

  “It’s . . . an awful thing. No woman would really wish it.”

  Tobin sipped his tonic water and waited.

  “I often pass an area . . . it’s between a construction site and a vacant lot. Anyway, sometimes I walk by there on the way to the subway. Men gather there . . . homeless men. Some of them are quite old . . . and dirty-looking.”

  Tobin sipped his tonic again, leaned back and released a long exhale.

  “Anyway, at night, in my bed, I imagine approaching them . . . and . . . it’s like they have some strange power over me, drawing me to them. They gather around me. They don’t say anything; they don’t tell me what to do. They just grin and cackle . . . and I . . . strip for them.”

  Tobin maintained his poker face.

  “When I’m entirely naked they come closer; they put their hands on me. They begin to call me awful things. Some take my clothes away; I can hear them being ripped and torn to pieces. And their hands are all over me. They drag me to a place out of sight and then they . . . they . . .”

  “Can I get you a drink, Miss Barnes?”

  “They rape me!” She blurted it out like something that had been caught in her throat. She trembled.

  “Drink?” he asked again.

  “Yes, please, thank you.”

  He signalled the bartender.

  Her breathing was laboured, as if she just came in from a jog.

  Larry appeared and put an amber shot in front of her.

  “It’s whisky,” Tobin said.

  She raised the glass, her hand shaking, but managing to reach her lips. A few drops ran off her chin but she swallowed it down and winced from the burn.

  “They all have me,” she said finally. “They violate me every way you can imagine. And I orgasm . . . over and over. There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there?”

  Tobin shrugged. “Well, you do get worked up, and just using your imagination. But otherwise, I suspect you are perfectly normal, Miss Barnes.”

  “Normal?”

  “Rape fantasies . . . pretty common . . . among women. The dirty old men, well, that brings an element of humiliation, or perhaps even punishment into the mix.”

  “Punishment? You think I want to be punished, Mr Tobin?”

  “I think you have a healthy, first-rate imagination, Miss Barnes. The drink is on the house. Nice talking to you; I have to get back to work . . .” He began to get up.

  “Mr Tobin . . . you employ people . . . to act out scenes.”

  He settled back down. “I do.”

  “Are they . . . professional?”

  “Professional what?”

  “I just . . .”

  “They’re actors . . . some are professional actors, yes. Others are just good at it, and reliable.”

  “Would you consider . . . hiring me?”

  “Miss Barnes, you understand what my employees do? Do you really?”

  “Yes. I’d like to . . . would you give me a chance?”

  He was tempted to say yes. There was something beguiling about her, maybe because the face and package didn’t match the over-the-top yearning to get banged by a bunch of old bums.

  “Who do you fuck, Miss Barnes, and how frequently?”

  “I . . . but . . .”

  “I need to know you are relatively risk-free health-wise. If you have a steady boyfriend you’re probably OK; if you’re in the habit of allowing street bums to screw you . . .”

  “That’s just a fantasy.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “No . . . no one . . . for some time.”

  “That’s hard to believe. You’re a pretty girl.”

  “I . . . I work so much.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Give me a chance, Mr Tobin. I really think—”

  “You
could do a good job?”

  “Shall I audition?”

  Tobin chuckled and shook his head. “No. But before I bring you on, I may have you observe a few scenes. You may change your mind.”

  “When?”

  “Leave me your phone number and when you’re available. I’ll call.”

  “Thank you, Mr Tobin.”

  As she stood and walked away Tobin drew a thumb across his lips and hissed, “Jesus H.”

  Larry waved him over to the bar.

  “Boss, Heidi’s got a guy in your office, and Rocco said he’d see you tomorrow afternoon.”

  “He’s coming with the guys?”

  “Four of them.”

  “OK.”

  Heidi greeted him at his office door. She rolled her eyes as she stepped past him.

  A man stood stiffly by his desk, his jaw set as if he’d been grinding his teeth; his chin jutted out. He looked like he expected the world to kiss his ass.

  “Mr Tobin.”

  “Yes.”

  “Howard Gray. I was here on time.”

  “Yes, Mr Gray, and I appreciate that very much.”

  “Yes, well, I was made to understand you provide a most unique service.”

  Tobin walked around him and sat at his desk. Gray looked down at him.

  “Have a seat, Mr Gray?”

  Gray sat. Tobin thought too emphatically.

  “Is Mrs Gray not here?”

  “No need.”

  “I like to have both partners present when we discuss—”

  “I said no need, Mr Tobin. My wife and I are in agreement.”

  “I’d rather hear that from her, but OK. And, what did you have in mind?”

  “I am an educator and administrator. My wife is also an educator. She is presently situated with an exclusive, very prestigious boys’ preparatory school.”

  “I see. Shaping young minds . . . yes.”

  Gray squinted, eying him curiously. “Ahem . . . the thing of it is, Mr Tobin, we have shared . . . imagined, if you will, her . . . and her students . . . uh . . .”

  “A classroom gang-bang.”

  “That’s a crude term.”

  “All right, seduction, violation by multiple individuals acting in concert. How’s that?”

  “Not a seduction, per se. She is to be taken, quite forcefully, made to do things.”

  “It can be arranged. It will take a little time to hire the young men; they would have to appear as young as your wife’s students.”

  “No, Mr Tobin. I . . . we want boys . . . teenagers.”

  “I’m afraid that isn’t going to happen, Mr Gray.”

  “I was told . . .”

  “You misunderstood. What we do skirts the law, but we don’t cross it. You want to stage a make-believe rape, but if we use kids under legal age, it’s a real rape, and it’ll be you and your wife who will be the rapists . . . statutorily speaking, but it amounts to the same thing.”

  “I was told you could arrange anything.”

  “Illusions, Mr Gray. You suspend your disbelief and play along.”

  “That’s not what I came here for. You have wasted my time.”

  “I’m sorry. If it’ll make you feel any better, you wasted my time too.”

  Gray stood and stormed out, nearly hitting Heidi with the door as she was about to enter.

  “Whoa! Who put a bug up his ass?”

  “He wanted teenagers to fuck his wife. Can you believe that shit?”

  “Well, remember those sisters who wanted to be waylaid by elves in the forest?”

  “Jesus, yes!” Tobin laughed. “They were little guys, but they were of age. Who knew they had their own local?”

  Tobin caught his breath. “OK, check out this girl for me. She might come to work for us. Maybe have Flynnie do a background on her.”

  He handed Kerry Barnes’s information to Heidi. “Anything else on the calendar?”

  “That Stassen woman called. She’s made another request; she wants an audience.”

  “That’ll cost extra.”

  “I told her. No problem.”

  Tobin shrugged. “You get what you pay for.”

  Tobin helped Larry clean up after last call and locked up. It had been a long day.

  Outside he took in a deep breath of cool, damp air.

  “Mr Tobin?”

  He turned towards the voice. Kerry Barnes stood half in shadow near a recessed doorway.

  “Miss Barnes, what the hell are you doing here? You haven’t been waiting for me all night, have you?”

  “I was hoping to talk to you some more; I promise, I’m not stalking you.”

  “Maybe not, but you’re making me nervous, to say the least.”

  “I’m so sorry. I know I’m out of line.”

  “A bit.”

  “I just needed to ask you something.”

  “It couldn’t wait?”

  “Yes, of course. I’m so sorry, please, don’t let . . . that is, I hope this won’t dissuade you from considering me.”

  “How are you getting home?”

  “Walking, I guess.”

  “Close by?”

  She shrugged.

  “Great. All right, I’ll walk you to the subway station, if I don’t spot a cab first.”

  “You don’t have to . . .”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He gestured to her to join him. “This way?”

  “Yes.”

  They had walked a short distance.

  “Mr Tobin . . . I was wondering . . . what I wanted to know . . . is it really possible to turn a fantasy into reality?”

  He glanced at her, then zipped his jacket against the chill.

  “That blouse can’t be doing much against this damp air.”

  She touched a finger to the button below her neck. “I’m OK. Please, Mr Tobin, is it possible?”

  “I have no idea, Miss Barnes. What I set up are little . . . dramas. It’s all play-acting. When they’re over, everyone goes back to living their life.”

  “But, can it change someone?”

  “Change?”

  “Turn them into . . . I guess, another person.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean, Miss Barnes. It might give someone some insight into themselves. Believe me, not everyone leaves happy.”

  “But . . . is it possible, really possible to cross that line into fantasy, so the fantasy becomes your life?”

  He stopped and held her in his gaze. “OK, let me show you what’s fantasy and what’s reality. Where’s that vacant lot you told me about with all the dirty bums mulling around?”

  “It’s on the way.”

  “Fine, show me.”

  He followed her along darkened streets; they were in sight of the subway stop when she stopped and pointed towards a trash-strewn field.

  Tobin stopped and peered into the shadows. A fire contained by an old metal barrel flickered. A group of figures huddled around it.

  “C’mon,” he said, and gestured to her to follow him towards the flame.

  “But . . .” She hesitated, then followed him.

  Four of them stood around the barrel. Another two lay on piles of rags and newspapers on the ground. They looked startled.

  Tobin grinned, then turned. He called after her. “C’mere, hurry up.”

  She stepped beside him. She trembled under the gaze of the homeless men. Tobin stepped behind her, then his arms crossed her chest and his fingers began to pluck at the buttons of her blouse, which was damp. From the air, or her perspiration, he wondered.

  “What? What are you doing?”

  “Quiet.” He tugged her blouse open, exposing her chest to the men. In a second his hand was working at the clasp of her bra. Before she could protest again he unfastened it and lifted it off her breasts.

  “You like these tits, guys?”

  She tried to cover herself with her arms but he pulled them away.

  “Nice tits, huh? You want some?”

  She was shaking
as if the earth were quaking beneath her.

  A couple of the men chuckled. The rest just gazed at her dumbly.

  “Well, whaddya say? Pretty young titties to play with, and nice wet pussy to fuck. She won’t put up a fight.”

  “I’ll squeeze ‘em for ya, pal. You got any booze?” The bum stepped around the others.

  “No, no booze.”

  “Got money?”

  “Nah, broke.”

  “Shit. How ’bout the cunt?”

  “No . . . all she has are these tasty titties.”

  “Shit . . . get the fuck outta here. Take the skinny bitch with ya. Fuckin’ asshole.”

  Tobin laughed. “C’mon, let’s go.”

  She tried to pull her blouse together as she tottered after him.

  “Well, so much for your fantasy,” he said.

  “Why’d you do that?”

  “To make a point. Those guys have no interest in fucking anyone, much less raping anyone. They’re so steeped in bad alcohol I doubt any of them could even get it up. All they want is their next slug of rotgut. You could have stripped down, bent over and drawn them an arrow to your pussy and all they’d be interested in is whether you could get them a bottle. That’s the difference between fantasy and reality.”

  He spotted a cab and hailed it. He opened the door and handed some bills to the driver. Before he pushed her in he slipped off his jacket and put it over her shoulders.

  “Take the lady home; keep the change.”

  The cab pulled away.

  Tobin downed a late breakfast and stumbled into the saloon around 3 p.m. Heidi had prepared the paperwork for the Stassens and put out a call for supporting players. The bill was going to be above ten grand, maybe fifteen, but she’d already received Mr Stassen’s approval.

  “Clinic appointments are set up,” Heidi said as she slid a mug of coffee across the desk to Tobin.