by M Never
Your perfect sex object. Your perfect soul mate in the making.
I ignore my meddlesome subconscious. Now is not the time to be staking claims. A romantic distraction is the last thing anyone needs. Not with Kayne in Mexico and Alistair gone. I’m the only one left to keep this household together.
It’s my job. It’s my commitment. To myself, my organization, and these girls.
I show London to her room first. It’s a corner suite in the east wing. Light, airy, with a canopy bed draped in sparkly organza and a sitting room overlooking the pool.
Mansion is set up in two main sections. The east and west wing. The east wing is where the girls, Kayne, Alistair, and I reside. It’s strictly off-limits to the clientele unless one of the girls invites them back to her room. That’s their personal space. They decide who comes and who goes. And it’s never a good sign when a client waltzes in and out of an east wing bedroom like he owns it. Because it usually means he does. When that starts to happen, it’s a telltale sign I’m losing an employee. I’m already down two girls as it is. London couldn’t have shown up at a better time. Especially with a social tonight.
I show her the common room. Or the “backstage” as the girls affectionately call it. I had it specially designed, combining two bedrooms into one large one. I wanted it to feel inviting and luxurious.
The spacious area is draped with light pink satin window treatments. The wood floor is covered with soft white throw rugs, several vanities with antique mirrors line the walls, and huge tufted ottomans are situated all around. Every drawer is stocked with enough makeup and hair products to run a high traffic salon, and the walk-in closets are filled to the brim with everything from ball gowns to bondage leather. Fantasy is the name of the game. What the client wants, he gets. And I’ve made sure to cover all my bases.
London meanders slowly through the room, taking in the lavish decor. She has a bewildered look on her stunning face, and it’s one I understand. Most women in her line of work aren’t afforded such luxuries. But the way I see it, a happy employee is a productive employee. And what makes women happier than playing dress up? Than having expensive clothes and costume jewelry and men throwing themselves at their feet? From my experience, not much.
London stalls in front of the antique trifold mirror in the corner. Her elegant form reflecting all around her. She stares at herself with a ghost-like expression. Right then, I realize there is so much more to this woman than meets the eye. I come to stand behind her, gently placing my hand on her waist. Her dark blue gaze lifts to meet mine. A moment of heavy silence passes. I give her the time she needs. Everything is new. I’m certain it’s not the first time her whole world has changed.
“Good?” I ask her reflection.
“Yes.” Her voice is soft but strong.
“I know it’s a lot to take in, but whatever you need to feel comfortable, I’ll give it to you.”
London takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. I interpret she’s coming to terms with her new surroundings and acclimating herself one small step at a time. She turns to face me. She’s tall, five-foot-eight at least. Her nose comes just level with my chin. Her long burgundy hair cascades down her back in loose waves, and her smell—dear god, her smell—is like the beach. A pleasant reminder of home.
“When does my assessment start?” she inquires mildly yet seductively. Fucking hell. This woman has an aura about her I can’t deny. She owns the room without even trying. Before I can even think, I’m uttering the words, “Right now.”
With dark, encompassing eyes, she touches my chest, and I’m zapped with an electric shock of arousal. She runs her hands over my pecs and then down my arms, lowering herself onto her knees as she goes. That one small gesture makes me instantly hard. With confident fingers, she unbuttons my pants, skims her fingers over the bulge behind my zipper, then keeps moving south until she’s bowing at my feet. My insides go off like a fire alarm. A submissive. My heart beats against my chest as I drink in our two forms reflecting around us in the three-sided mirror.
Fuck, she was breathtaking when she walked into my house, but now, forehead pressed to the ground at my feet, she’s a goddess. Something unexpectedly shifts inside me. I have women at my beck and call at all times, but it’s been ages since I’ve really wanted one. Yearned for the person as much as the pleasure. In my line of work, emotion is a commodity you can’t dole out lightly. And I don’t. I care as much as I can without crossing a line, but with this woman, there might not even be a line. It may never have existed.
“Up,” I command her, and she rises to a sitting position on her knees. I take her chin between my fingers, tilting her face up. “I have a feeling you’re a very experienced girl”—I run my thumb along her bottom lip wantonly—“so show me what that pretty mouth can do.”
With just a bat of her eyes, she reaches for my zipper, and finishes what she started, removing both my jeans and underwear with one strong tug. Through the mirror, I watch my cock spring free directly in front of her mouth. I can see all angles of our position from the multiple reflections. London wraps her hand around my shaft and drops her head, drawing both my balls into her mouth. The unexpected sensation charges through my body. I lift onto my toes for a split second as she juggles the sensitive sac with her tongue. My broken attention jumps between the reflection in the mirror and the live event happening before me. The combination is a heady turn-on. After several elongated minutes of her worshiping my balls with her mouth and my cock with her hand, she shifts, releasing my scrotum before swallowing the entire length of my rock-hard length in one breath. I gasp as the head of my cock literally slides past her tonsils. Holy fucking shit. I latch onto her hair just to keep from falling forward as she deep throats me over and over again. Her lips kissing the skin at the base of my cock every single time. Watching, feeling, experiencing is over the top. I usually have expert control, but the unstoppable urge she’s bringing forth has an agenda of its own. To come right down her throat. To own this woman, this beautiful, majestic woman revering my cock boldly on her knees.
I huff as her head bobs in the mirror, and her mouth engulfs my throbbing erection continuously until I can’t see straight anymore. Every cell swimming through my body feels like a microscopic fireball.
“London,” my voice strains as I tighten my grip on her hair and thrust my hips brutally. She reads my signs, hollowing her cheeks as she sucks me into oblivion. My arm, thigh, and stomach muscles spasm as liquid fire shoots down my spine and snakes around my tailbone. She takes me deep one last time, shattering all my restraint. I spy in the reflection, through my hazy vision, her nails digging into my skin and her jaw stretched wide as I feed her my come. She’s the perfect fucking blend of beauty, ferocity, and obedience. A deadly combination for me. I hold her steadfastly as my cock twitches fitfully in her snug, hot mouth.
We’re both wheezing heavily by the time I allow her to unlatch herself from my softening dick. She drops submissively to her hands and knees panting, as I lean against the mirror and catch my breath. I can’t tear my eyes off her. I can’t stop thinking about the unfathomable way she awakened something dormant inside me with just the power of her mouth.
“How do I rank?” She lifts her head slightly, so only her eyes are visible.
I crack a smile. “Expert.”
I pull my pants up and refasten the button before I permit London off the floor. I could stare at her in that submissive position all goddamn day.
Crazy images of her naked body dressed up in a sexy leather playsuit, high heels, and a collar overrun my thoughts. Crawling to me acquiescently. Needy, lovesick, and aroused as I entice her with a soft voice and promises of dirty things to come.
“Stand up,” I order as I tower over her.
She rises gracefully to her feet. Once at her full height, I clutch her chin and scan over her swollen lips.
“Did I hurt you?” Her eyes widen as if the question is preposterous. As if no one had ever asked her that be
fore. I wait patiently for my answer. Intuitively, I believe I’m going to need a lot of patience when it comes to London, although I’m not sure why yet.
She comes off confident, but the insecurity in her gaze gives all her secrets away.
“I’m fine.” She musters a reply.
“That’s not what I asked. I want to know if I hurt that unbelievably gorgeous and talented mouth.” I trace the outline of her lips with the tip of my index finger.
“No,” she utters softly.
“Good.” I fight the urge to kiss her. Now isn’t the time or the place. Although, soon, I’ll have her beneath me. Tied up and dripping wet. I’ll make her forget about the past, present, and future. There will only be me—us—and the deafening sound of ecstasy.
DID HE HURT ME? NOT even close. That blowjob was a drop in the bucket compared to the things I’ve done and the abuse I’ve been subjected to. Maybe if I was normal, I might have found it erotic or even arousing. But sex is my job. It has been since I was sixteen.
Jett is everything Sasha told me he would be. Gorgeous, sexy, seductive, considerate. Sometimes dominant men intimidate me, but Jett has made me feel at ease. Not an easy feat for any human being.
He cups my face, moving it at his will as he looks over my features with his alight turquoise eyes. They’re the most beautiful shade of blue I’ve ever seen.
“Go back to your room and rest. Take a shower then be back here at six thirty. The other girls will help you get ready for tonight.”
I nod. Right, the social. This should be interesting.
He holds my face, as if he wants to say more, but only silence clouds around us. Why is he looking at me like that? Like he’s mesmerized. Like he’s captivated.
I don’t say a word. He’s my boss, and I need this job. I need the hideout. So I’ll let him stare at me all goddamn day if he wants.
He finally releases me, my heart fluttering.
“Go.” He sends me on my way with a jerk of his blond head.
I take a few steps backward before I turn and walk out of the lavish room. This house is unbelievable. It reminds me of a life I once knew. When I was innocent. Expensive furnishings, crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and extravagant décor. Ostentatious and over the top is how I would describe it.
I find my way back to my room and disappear inside. It, too, is plush and over the top. Extremely feminine and warm with its white accents and antique-looking furniture. It’s a space I would decorate myself if I ever had such a luxury.
I climb into bed and collapse on the rich comforter with the baroque pattern scrawled across the top.
I close my eyes and wish for sleep, but I know it won’t come. There are too many horrors when I close my eyes, so I just rest my body and try to adjust to my new surroundings. To my new boss and the idea of the new men I’ll meet tonight.
I’m safe, I assure myself.
At this moment, I’m safe. I curl into a ball.
I’m safe.
A knock and someone calling my name startles me awake. Did I actually fall asleep? I look around the strange room disoriented. It takes me a moment to remember where I am.
I’m safe, I remind myself as I look up at the sparkly organza draped over my bed.
“London?” Another knock and a woman’s voice.
“Coming!” I rub my eyes and rush to the door. I open it to find a tall brunette with striking features on the other side.
“Hi.” She smiles warmly. “Sorry to wake you, but Jett said we were supposed to help get you ready for tonight.”
“Tonight? What time is it?”
“Six forty-five.”
Oh no. Shit, I’m late. “I’m sorry.” I stumble out into the hallway. “I fell asleep. Jetlag,” I lie. And insomnia.
“It’s fine.” She grabs me by the arms to steady me. “I figured. But let’s go so we can get you dressed.”
“I didn’t shower,” I confess.
“Don’t worry. You can wash off in the dressing room. Everyone is dying to meet you. I’m Amber.” She puts her hand out.
“Nice to meet you.” We shake.
Before I know it, I’m walking back into the extravagant dressing room. This time, it’s bustling with females. I freeze in the doorway as multiple heads turn in my direction. They’re sizing me up, no doubt. I’m the new girl and that never usually bodes well. New blood, new competition.
“Everyone, this is London,” Amber announces. A moment of silence passes before I’m met with a warm reception. A shockingly warm reception. Several half-naked girls surround me to introduce themselves.
For a second, I’m overwhelmed, scrambling to remember each of their names.
“Hey!” Amber lets out an ear-piercing whistle. “Don’t give her whiplash. One at a time.”
The room goes silent, and then there’s an eruption of giggles.
Amber rolls her eyes before she points at a brunette. “Nadia, you go first.”
The bubbly brunette smiles brightly. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and she’s wearing a skimpy bodysuit made of flesh-colored nylon and black and pink lace dotted with rhinestones. “Well, I’m Nadia, like Amber said. Also, I go by Cinnamon.”
Another girl pipes up and voices her name. She has long, wavy, sandy-blonde hair and big green eyes. “I’m Jenna, a.k.a., Spice.” Her voice sounds youthful. Like she’s barely eighteen. She, too, is scantily clad in lingerie.
The rest of girls introduce themselves in a rush—Aimee, Deborah, Alicia, Rose—all with nicknames of their own. All together, including Amber and myself, there are eight of us.
“Okay. Now that that’s out of the way, we need to get you dressed. Stat.” Amber addresses me. “Nadia, Rose, please pick out something for London to wear. Shoes and all. Size eight, correct?”
I nod.
“Figured.” She smirks before amicably pushing me toward a door to the left. “Let’s get you showered quickly.” She opens a drawer under the sink. The bathroom is immense with a white and purple marble vanity, crystal fixtures, and a large, round soaking tub inset in a bay window. “We have twenty minutes before we have to be downstairs.” She hands me a black elastic band. “Hair up, wash off,” she instructs.
Amber turns the shower on as I wind my red strands into a bun. I look at her as I’m about to strip. She doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Noticing my confusion, she states matter-of-factly, “Oh, go on, there’s no room for modesty here. We may very well be naked with each other later on tonight. I have a feeling you’re going to pique a lot of interest.” She casually checks her lipstick in the mirror. I’m not modest by any means. As I pull my dress over my head, Amber pauses, eyeing my bare body through the mirror. No bra or underwear underneath. There’s a keen sense of intrigue glazing over her stare. I’m used to that look by both men and women alike. Desire. Lust. It’s like those two things follow me everywhere. They’re my curse and my saving grace. They placed me in my current predicament and simultaneously saved my life. A life I’m still trying to figure out how much is worth.
I slide into the shower and wash off, with Amber’s eyes glued to me. Her stare doesn’t make me uncomfortable. It provides an advantage. She’s attracted to me, and I know how to manipulate that.
“How long have you worked here?” I probe as I pour some liquid soap into my hand.
“A little over five years. I’m the last original.”
“Original?” I ask as I lather up my body. Slowly, directly facing Amber.
“I was one of the six original girls hired by Jett when Mansion was established,” she explains, highly aware of the movement of my hands over my perky breasts and flat stomach.
“What happened to the others?”
Amber shrugs one shoulder. “They moved on. Jett pushes us all to be better. To be more. To have goals. They all reached for them.”
“And you?” I wash the frothy soap from my body, inhaling the calming scent of eucalyptus percolating from the suds.
“I haven’t found
my more yet. I’m content for now.” Amber looks down at the ground, a melancholy tone in her voice. I wish I could feel for her. I wish I could feel anything, but my empathy button has been broken. Smashed to smithereens is more like it.
You’re nothing.
No one.
I turn the shower off with a chill. It’s not from the cold; it’s from the emptiness. Amber hands me a towel as I step out.
“Thank you.”
“No problem.” There’s a softness in her eyes. It’s a little bit sad, and a little bit sympathetic. No matter how nice your surroundings or expensive the clothes or elite your company, you’re still only one thing. An object. To use, to play with, and then discard. Like a cheap plastic toy. There are no feelings or investment in who you are. You dispense pleasure. That’s your sole purpose for existing. To fuck and be fucked.
Spread your legs, and shut your trap.
I suppress the memory, drying off in a hurry.
“Why do you all have nicknames?” I wonder aloud.
“Jett gives them to all the girls. Adds to the fantasy aspect. It’s sort of Mansion’s unofficial slogan. Live your fantasy. Whatever sexual request the client has, Jett is pretty talented at delivering it.” Amber takes my towel and tosses it into the corner once I’m dry. “Didn’t he give you one?”
“No.”
“He will, I’m sure.” She devours my naked body with her eyes before taking my hand and leading me back into the dressing room.
“Clothes are on the seat,” one of the girls, I think her name is Alicia, points at a vanity.
“Perfect.” Amber hurries me over. “Quick, put this on.” She scoops up the ensemble before she starts digging around in multiple drawers. I slip on the scrap of material made entirely of fine lace. The violet and champagne scalloped neckline plunges past my belly button, delicate ribbon is used as a halter to keep the sheer bodysuit in place, and the cherry on top—a healthy slit cut in the satin material covering the sweet spot between my legs. Talk about easy access. A few kisses of cold air and I’m going to be soaking wet. Part of the appeal, I’m sure.