The Perfectionist_Sin City Sentries [Book Two]

by Myra Scott

  CHAPTER SIX - ERIC

  I could not get Mick out of my mind.

  Ever since our first session yesterday, I had been totally fixated on him. After he left, I had to slog my way through two other sessions with long-term clients. Normally, it would all feel so routine and easy that I could basically space out and go through the motions without my clients ever detecting there was anything off about me. I was a pretty damn good actor. I knew just how to make my every scene feel real and personal. I could growl and demand and berate with the best of them, and my clients ended up leaving my room in the dungeon feeling both satisfied and hungry for more. I was good at my job, and everybody here knew it.

  But even still, I had found my mind wandering too far last night, forgetting my usual lines, having to constantly remind myself to stay in character. Thankfully, my clients were both so deeply caught up in the mingled pain and pleasure of the torture I was inflicting on them and too swept up in the make-believe scenarios I cooked up to really notice anything was wrong. But I could feel it. I had to keep inwardly scolding myself to stay focused on the task at hand, whether it was a spank or a whip or a carefully-worded insult.

  Every time I had zoned out even just a little bit, my brain pulled up the image of Mick, sitting silently in front of me with that stony, unmovable expression on his handsome face. Mick, dutifully filling out the paperwork I handed to him, carefully ticking off every box to indicate that he was into everything I had to offer. Mick, holding out his hand for me to shake like he was a good, well-mannered country boy who had no damn clue what he was in for with me. I could tell he was like a blank slate, just an open book for me to scribble on. And then seeing him naked, chained up, begging, that hungry look in his eyes. The way he watched me so intently, focused on me, no distractions.

  It turned me on.

  Don’t get me wrong, I loved my job and for the most part, I adored my client list. Every man who came into my room was subjected to a quick but thorough litmus test as soon as he sat down across from me to iron out the paperwork. I had always been a pretty solid judge of character, even as a young kid, and that was an immeasurably useful asset in my current job. I could see through lies and deception better than any psychologist. I could read someone’s facial expressions, read between the lines, find the meaning in what they said and what they didn’t say. I was much, much smarter than I let on. I had grown up around casinos long enough to know that it was always better to delay showing your hand to your opponent. I wanted my clients to walk into my chambers and get their socks knocked off. I wanted to shock them and titillate them to the point of obsession. I was like a tiger, hiding in the bushes, waiting to strike. Quiet, methodical, and powerful.

  That was how I managed to keep up such a long and loyal list of clients. Most of my guys had been coming to see me—and nobody else— for years and years. Once I gave them what they were looking for and so much more, there was no need for them to go anywhere else. I had it all. And any guy I didn’t find up to snuff, I kicked out with a firm goodbye. I had enough men on my list to keep myself sustained for a long while, and I had no qualms about turning down a shady client if I didn’t click with him. I could make most anything work if I wanted to, but some guys just weren’t worth the work of unraveling and teaching and molding into a model client. I had plenty of model clients, as it was.

  There were the guys I considered an easy paycheck. These were the men who mostly wanted someone to physically punish them with whips and chains, bind them, do some light tickling or restraint torture. I didn’t have to invest quite as much time or energy into these sessions. I hardly even needed to talk. These guys just wanted to be pushed around a little, wanted to be dealt a quick dose of delicious pain. Then there were the guys who wanted a more psychological kind of torture. These were the submissives who craved someone who would insult them, break them down, force them to put aside their usual stress and just be in the moment for once. Those clients often tended to be elite members of society: bankers, real estate moguls, CEOs. Men with too much power and too much responsibility. They spent all their time bossing others around, and when they came to see me, they wanted the opposite of their everyday experience. They wanted to be bossed around for a change. And of course, I was more than willing to provide that experience. They wanted me to call them names, belittle them, degrade them until they were begging for more. It was a source of relief for them, to have the tables turned. As I called them pathetic, worthless, little sissy boys, I could just see the stress and worry melting away, the burden lifting from their shoulders.

  Sometimes I thought I was almost more like a therapist than a sex worker. But really, I was both. I used my keen intellect as well as my physical prowess and sexual magnetism to get these guys off and restore some comfort to their lives.

  Then there were my clients who were genuinely submissive, sweet men. These tended to be aimless, bored, lonely men who wanted someone to take care of them—even in a controlling, painful way. Sometimes I almost felt bad taking advantage of them, but it was a pain they craved. Pleaded for on their hands and knees. This was the group of guys who worried me sometimes. Not because they were dangerous or difficult to work with, but because some of them ended up inevitably developing real crushes on me. The kinds of guys who idolized me to the point of obsession. I had received far too many love letters and proposals of marriage in my time here. I stipulated very clearly in my contract that there was to be no romance in our arrangements. Nothing intimate like kissing or cuddling. I could be sweet when a scene called for it, and after care was a vital aspect of a Dom/sub relationship. But sometimes, a guy would read way too much into it and start thinking of me as his boyfriend or something. It was flattering, but it was also trouble. I had to shut him down and tell him to see a different Dom. That was always unpleasant, but no one had fought me about it yet. Luckily, the kinds of guys who tended to cause this issue in the first place were the same kind of man who would follow my every command without question, so they were easily dispatched to a different Dom with no argument.

  Then, there were the total wild cards. Mick, I had a feeling, was one of those. The kind of quiet, stoic guy who could go either way. Yesterday, he had seemed to like being tied up and restrained. I wondered how much I could do with him. Would he be the kind of guy who wanted to kneel before me and kiss my boot in servitude? Would he want me to break him down and reduce him to a quivering mess?

  I could hardly wait for our next session to find out.

  But still, there were some clients I accepted who were less pleasant to deal with. Some sessions I looked forward to much less than others. Today, unfortunately, was one such session.

  He was a brand-new client, a middle-aged man named Phillip. We had met up to discuss our arrangement last week, and now it was our first session together. In our first meeting, he had come across as the kind of self-assured, overly confident guy who probably worked in finance or some other stressful job. Phillip was talkative and persistent, asking me personal questions and asking me to turn around and show off my physique, like I was some kind of prized horse he was thinking of buying. Normally, his type was the first to crumple and beg once the session began. Most guys who portrayed themselves as go-getters and powerhouses were deeply insecure inside, ready to bend over and take punishment as soon as I took the reins.

  I had expected the same of Phillip when I first met him. But for once, my talent for judging character was a tad bit off. Phillip wasn’t just a submissive. He was also a Dom. He was what we in this industry tended to refer to as a “switch.” He liked to be on top and on bottom, and it was difficult to determine which one he was going to be at any given time.

  I had encountered few switches in my time here. Most men who came here wanted to be dominated, not vice versa. But there was the occasional tough guy like Phillip who made my job harder than it needed to be. He wasn’t just content to be my submissive; no, he wanted a rolling contract that
would have us alternate back and forth between Dom and sub. It wasn’t my favorite arrangement, but hey, it was a paycheck. And besides, I’d had a feeling that once he saw me in action as a Dom, he would quickly abandon his desire to dominate me. I was quite good, after all.

  But thus far, he hadn’t broken his resolve. Our first session, in which I was a Dom and he was my submissive, was off to a rocky start. And it didn’t help that my brain was still fixated on Mick. I needed to be on my toes to deal with a guy like Phillip.

  Right now, I had him against the wall, chained up by his arms. It was a modest beginning, meant to test the waters rather than just jumping straight to more hardcore acts. He was fully naked, showing his paunchy belly and hairy chest. He wasn’t even the slightest bit insecure about his looks, it seemed, even though he was most certainly not my type. Sometimes I did enjoy working with older men, but there was something about Phillip that made me uneasy.

  “You like the way that feels?” I purred, glaring at him with my leather whip in my hands as I paced back and forth in front of him. He followed me with his eyes, a smug grin on his face. That made me feel odd. Usually by now my client was pliant and obedient, hanging on my every word with a slavish look on his face. But not Phillip.

  He didn’t answer me at first. Another strike against him.

  I leaned in closer and hissed, “I asked you a question, Phillip. How does it feel being chained to the wall? Do you like being totally at my mercy? Are you ready to relinquish control to me?”

  He smirked. “I don’t know. Seems you could do better than this,” he replied tartly.

  What a little weasel, I thought to myself. But still, he was a paying customer, and if he wanted me to push him further then, by god, that’s what I would do.

  “You want more?” I growled. “I’ll give you more.”

  I reached up to tighten the manacles, then bound his ankles, as well. I stood up slowly, letting my full height tower over him. I wanted to intimidate him just a little, make him understand that today, I was in charge.

  “I barely feel anything,” he shot back, with that smarmy look still on his face.

  I turned and silently padded across the room to take out a flail from a drawer. I carried it back slowly, lightly lashing it across my palm to give him a taste of what was to come. He regarded me slyly, with a hint of humor in his eyes. Like it was all just a joke to him.

  “You know, I should do something to knock that grin off your face,” I said grimly.

  “This is all child’s play. I could show you how to really dominate a man,” he spat back, clearly pleased with himself.

  In retaliation, I swatted at his nipples with the flail. He flinched and hissed through his teeth, his toes wiggling as bright splotches of pink appeared on his pale skin. “How about that? You want a little more pain? You’re just begging to be punished and put in your place,” I said.

  The rest of the session carried on much the same way. I inflicted pain and torture in small, potent doses, designed to break him down and make him realize that I was in control. But he pushed back against my every move, as though he was struggling for dominance himself. Toward the end of our session, he crossed a line by slapping me on the ass as I turned away for a moment. It was such an unexpected move that I was stunned for a split second, before whipping back around and pinning him to the wall.

  “How dare you lay a hand on me?” I snarled.

  “I’m paying you for your body, aren’t I?” he retorted with a shrug. There was true menace in his eyes. “That means I can touch you however I want.”

  “That is not how this works. We have a contract,” I replied, my anger boiling over.

  “Right, alternating Dom and sub. That means I get to dominate you when I feel like it.”

  “No. It does not mean that. You don’t get to switch roles mid-session. Our roles are determined before we enter the scene. Today, I am in control,” I explained.

  He blinked a few times, obviously both confused and pissed off. I could tell he was not accustomed to being told no. He decided to play dumb. “How was I supposed to know that?”

  “Because it is clearly outlined in our contract. We discussed our arrangement in detail, Phillip. You don’t dictate the rules of this chamber. I do,” I explained through gritted teeth. I stood back and dusted my hands off together. “Either you agree to our terms or you will have to find someone else.”

  “Oh, really? We’ll see about that,” he shouted in a sudden burst of fury. He pushed past me, pulling a robe around himself as he stormed out of the room. My heart pounded. Where the hell was he going? I followed after him to see him engaged in a very heated conversation with my boss, Madame Myrina herself. My stomach twisted into knots. Myrina glanced over at me, her eyes flashing. Phillip was complaining to her… about me. As if I had done something wrong. Madame Myrina did a lot to protect her employees, but in the end, she was all about the money. Getting paid, and covering her own ass. In a spat between client and employee, she would almost always side with the employee. We were meant to handle our own issues. I had never once had a client complain about my service.

  Until now.

  And judging from the look on Myrina’s face, things were about to get ugly.

  What the hell had I gotten myself into?

  CHAPTER SEVEN - MICK

  I breathed a sigh of relief after the two security staff members left my office, leaving me and Luke alone to exchange tired smiles.

  “And that,” I said, “is how you handle a scheduling dispute without getting HR involved.” The meeting had gone surprisingly smoothly, and even Luke seemed to be able to tell as he typed a few things out on his tablet.

  “That leaves us with… the first gap in your schedule I’ve seen in weeks,” Luke said with a smile. “I’ve got to say, Mr. Mazur, at the risk of sounding like a suck up, you’ve really been on your A-game lately. I haven’t seen you like this in as long as I can remember.”

  My smile was knowing, but I wasn’t about to start spreading the word of what I was doing. “Well, sometimes work boils over, and you’ve got to find ways to balance it out in your personal life.”

  “What personal lives have we got?” Luke joked as we both stood up to leave the office, and I laughed.

  “Got me there,” I admitted. “But they say time is an invention. You’ve got to make room for it somewhere.”

  “Careful, you’ll get me checking on how many vacation days I have saved up,” Luke said, and I chuckled again.

  “Come on, let’s grab a coffee before the next fire starts. On me,” I offered.

  The two of us made our way down the building, and I really did feel like there was an added spring in my step. I couldn’t stop thinking about Eric, and every time I did, it felt like new energy flushed my system out, washing away any stress and worry I had about the day. It was like I had something to look forward to and look back on fondly.

  If I’d known that this was the kind of release I could get from using the services of someone like Eric, I would have signed up a long time ago. But even as that thought crossed my mind, I knew it wasn’t just the services of a professional Dom. Part of the reason I felt so good was that Eric himself was just good at what he did.

  I meant to keep it professional, of course. There was no other way this kind of thought ought to happen. I was sure Eric had dealt with clients who prefer him before. There was no harm in that, right?

  By the time we were within sight of the hotel’s coffee bar, I became aware that someone was following us.

  I’d glanced over my shoulder a few times while I scanned the crowds around us like usual, but the same gentleman with clean-cut hair and a tie was walking a few paces behind us. There was no doubt in my mind it was one of the accountants tracking me down to shove some new work under my nose, and he must have been tailing us to the bar so that he’d have us cornered and leave me
nowhere to avoid him.

  “Get ready, Luke,” I said with a low sigh, “I think we’re about to have an unexpected meeting.”

  “I swear, you give off a pheromone,” Luke said with a chuckle as we moved up to the bar and leaned against it. Before the bartender even made it up to us, the man who’d been following me reached us.

  “Mick Mazur?” he asked. I furrowed my brow. I was Mr. Mazur to most of the workers here.

  “Yes?” I asked slowly, turning his way, and my eye went wide when I realized he was holding an envelope out to me.

  “You’ve been served,” he said simply as my cold hand took the court summons from him. My jaw was hanging open almost as much as Luke’s. Without another word, the gentleman turned on his heel and left swiftly, leaving me with the envelope.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Luke asked.

  “If it is, I’d have rather he handed me a coral snake,” I groaned. “Funny, I always wondered if that was really how they served you, but I didn’t think I’d be getting the first one I witnessed.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “I always pictured Bart getting the first one,” I mused as I opened the envelope and read the contents. My eyes had just started to relax, but when I saw what was written on the summons, they went wide again.

  “Fuck.”

  “What?”

  ***

  “They’re not suing the casino, they’re suing me, personally!” I said to the other three in a voice louder than I normally would have used. It was just half an hour after I’d been served. I called an emergency meeting with all of them in the usual lounge, and they’d all broken away from what they were doing to join in.

  I was pacing near the bar while Zane stood behind it. Bart and Gage took up the couches, both of them exchanging worried looks.

  Zane looked over the summons again, then shook his head. “They knew they couldn’t touch the casino, but they think they’ll have a shot at you on the basis that it wasn’t your job to be down there breaking things up,” he mused thoughtfully. He frowned. “I’ve got to admit, if they wanted to be a pain in the ass, they found the only way they could really do it.”