San Francisco: Simon Lamb
“Simon, are we going out tonight or not?!”
I flip back to the game, drowning out any other noise with the volume of the crowd cheering and announcers yelling about the upset. Sweet. I just won some cash and my fantasy football league for the week. I click the TV off and stand up, stretching as I say, “Fine, cry baby. We can go out.”
Cary throws his empty beer bottle at me; it thuds against my leg and falls to the rug, spinning. “Fucker.”
I leave the bottle; that’s what a maid’s for. I walk down the short hall to my room but yell back at my cousin, “Get dressed. I’m not taking you anywhere if you still have on that fucking ripped t-shirt.” I can hear him laughing and being a smartass, but he’s being quiet about it. I can also hear him heading to the other room. He knows how far he can push me and when to just shut up and do as he’s told.
I grab a quick shower and dress in my usual club crawl uniform—button-down, jacket, jeans, no socks, loafers. It’s casual but nice; I don’t have to say I have money. I don’t have to convince anyone that I’m good looking; I don’t have to try too hard to get what I want. I just am; I just do.
Cary is standing in the kitchen, finishing the last of another beer. He has on a similar uniform but with a non-ripped t-shirt under his jacket. “Come on. We’ll grab dinner before hitting a club.” He nods. He’s always up for whatever I want to do. It’s one of the things I love best about him.
He’s younger than me but not by much. We look alike. The biggest difference between us, besides my money, is his upbringing. He had the benefit, or disadvantage, of both his parents living. They weren’t together, at least not since he turned eight, but both his parents are alive and kicking. His father and mine were brothers. I suppose in some ways he should be jealous of me. His father certainly is.
I inherited all of Grandfather’s money. I was his sole heir, but I was also his second chance to get it right. And he did try. In the end, the best Grandfather could do was give me his millions…and a long letter. He tried to leave a lasting impression with words of wisdom. I still have the letter. I read it on my birthday every year, just in case I get something out of it after all this time. It’s the least I can do for him.
Cary’s never acted jealous though. We spent most summers together, along with his sister, Sophia. They are the closest thing to family I know, and I’ve been generous with both of them. I’ve paid for colleges, houses, vacations, cars, lawyers, whatever. I’ve paid to keep their names out of headlines or in them, however the case may be, and they’ve been loyal to me since childhood.
“Her?” I shake my head. Cary looks frustrated again. He sips his drink and scans the lower level of the club once more. “What about the short brunette there?” He nods towards a corner of the dance floor below us.
I turn quickly at his description. It’s not Grace. And I’m angry for hoping that it would be. “We’re looking for whores, not cheerleaders, Cary!” I down my drink and leave it on the small ledge. “My turn.”
I scan the crowd and easily spot a few options. “Come on.” I lead us down the stairs and into the thick of people. I usually hate crowds. I hate the press of other people on me, but clubs are different. Maybe it’s the lights or the music. Maybe it’s the smell—alcohol and sweat. With the lack of clothes, limbs grind and fly, slamming bodies together and tossing pheromones around.
I get off on the hunting—looking around and spotting the perfect prey, slowly circling and examining, watching her posture for me. I have wondered why women are so stupid though. I haven’t had this thought in a long time, I think because I’d given up caring altogether, but tonight I’m back to it as Cary and I buy drinks for two girls I spotted.
I wonder if they see the looks we’re giving them, giving each other. Don’t they smell the danger they’re in? Don’t they recognize a predator? Has womankind evolved too far past the primitive to be able to decipher the subtle clues of hunter and hunted?
This brings my thoughts around to Grace again. I’ve not stopped thinking about her. She understood about hunting. She was aware that she was prey; she thrived on it. But it was deceptive with her. She was just as much the hunter as I was. She was playing her own game for her own thrills, and I admired her for it.
She wasn’t like these girls. She didn’t believe any of my bullshit or try to get me to be her Prince Charming. She got what she wanted; then she was through with me. I have to stop thinking about her! Tonight is about having fun, not thinking about business or her or any other damn thing.
I give a big wolfish smile to the girl on my right. She’s taller than Grace. Her light brown hair is smoothly straightened and cut chin length. Her eyes are an indefinable color in the low light. Green maybe? She’s cute. She doesn’t giggle at least but keeps her laugh inside, only shaking with it. Or maybe it’s just too quiet to hear over the loud music and people.
I lean over to her ear and whisper, “I like your laugh.” I bite her neck before moving away. It’s a good test. She only puts her hand to the spot and laughs again. I can’t help thinking that Grace would’ve had a good come back. At the very least, she would’ve taken her own bite out of me. I smile again with this thought. This girl thinks it’s because of her, and she smiles even more at me, swaying side to side. Her name is Maria or Mary…something like that.
I signal to Cary that it’s time to move things along. He nods and asks the tall blonde he’s leaning against if she’d like to join us in the VIP section. Of course she says yes. I don’t wait for her to ask her friend. I grab the waist of my girl and push her to follow in their direction.
I’m pissed by the time we hit the hotel. Both girls are trashed and so is Cary. Hell, so am I, just not as much as everyone else. I never bring girls back to my place, not club girls anyway—too messy to get rid of, not enough privacy. I always arrange a hotel suite when Cary is in town so we can have fun without fucking up my life.
If I’m honest, I started tonight off pissed, and now I’m even more pissed. Maria, Mary—whatever the fuck her name is—can’t even hardly talk, let alone fuck. She seemed fine at the club, but in the cab ride over, her head started drooping. She threw herself on top of me, and her body was like dead weight. She’s even sloppier now that we’re inside the room.
Cary shrugs his shoulders at her prone body on the suite’s sofa. He knows that I don’t go for a dead fuck. If a girl can’t even keep her eyes open, I see no point in having sex with her. I know there are plenty of guys that would take advantage of this situation, but I need a conscious girl to have fun. He tilts his head towards his girl, his eyebrows raised in question.
We’ve shared before. I shrug back. I’m not in the mood to share. I’m not in the mood to be in this situation at all. I’m fucking thrown off my fucking game. My bad mood is starting to become a really bad mood. I turn away from him so he can’t see my anger.
It’s all Grace’s fault. I haven’t been able to clear her out of my head. I’m stuck on her, obsessed with all I don’t know about her and the little I do. Fuck. I need to stop. Now.
I turn around with a forced sense of calm. Cary is slow dancing, undressing the other girl. She’s pretty. She and Cary make a nice pair—dark blond against lighter blonde. She’s skinny, but her ass is a little big for her shape, just Cary’s type.
Her back is to me, so she’s either forgotten that I’m in the room or she doesn’t care that I’m watching him undress her. His lips trail over her shoulder, his eyes on me. Asshole has to stop himself from laughing. I roll my eyes. I know he’s waiting to see what I want to do.
We’ve found that it’s easier to get a girl to go along earlier rather than later in the proceedings. I shrug again and move closer to them, undoing my shirt. Cary pushes her bra straps down and she takes her arms out of them, hugging him close around his neck. He has her short skirt unbuttoned just as I gently stroke her back.
She lets out a little startled cry, realizing that I’m close and touchi
ng her too. Her head leans back into my chest, and her eyes are wide as they look up at me. I stop her from saying anything, cupping her chin and forcing her head back a little more as I kiss her. She kisses me back, a good sign. I can feel her moving as Cary forces her skirt and underwear down. With my free hand, I release her bra and it falls to the floor.
I pull back, letting go of her mouth but not her chin. My free hand moves down her side, making her shiver against us. Her eyes stay watching me. I reach her hip and pull her to me, pushing my erection into her back. Cary runs his tongue over her stretched neck and she moans, closing her eyes.
Her eyes pop open when he bites her nipple a little too hard, and I grab her ass at the same time. She opens her mouth, and I stop her again with a kiss. She pushes against Cary, into me, fighting to free her mouth this time. I pull back a little, and her lips brush mine with her words, “I can’t do this,” but she’s panting. Cary has his hand between her legs already. Her protest is weak. I don’t answer, just keep her head pinned back and squeeze her ass, stretching her open for him. Her pants turn to moans quickly.
“We’ll take good care of you. I promise.” My words are more whispers into her neck, against her shoulder, while Cary kisses her other side. “Do you want him to stop?” She shakes her head, moaning louder. “Be a good girl and answer me.”
She moans a long, “No.”
I let go of her chin, but she stays leaning against my chest. Cary’s still kissing her neck and rubbing her pussy. I grab her hips from behind, pulling her hard against me, causing her to gasp again. Cary stops touching her and stands back a little. I turn her around to face me.
She’s scared, uncertain, as she looks up my full height, but she wanted me in the beginning. I could tell. I went for the friend since I knew she was more Cary’s type. That and her friend reminded me vaguely of Grace.
The thought of Grace has me pissed again. I push this girl down onto her knees harder than I need to, but she doesn’t try to move away. I unzip my pants and pull out my cock. Her mouth is on me before I have my hand around her head.
Her tongue is nice, long and quick, but she only takes a third of me in her mouth. I close my eyes for a while, letting her face pump my cock. I’m not ready to come yet though.
I open my eyes and grin at Cary; he moves to stand next to me. I push her head off me and towards his cock. She looks up at him, and he smiles. She takes his cock in her mouth but looks at me.
I move over to the sofa, watching. Her drunk friend is passed out on the other end still, not even moving when I sit down. Cary tilts his head back, both hands on her head. I watch her suck him, her head bobbing quickly against him. She’s not great, but she is enthusiastic at least.
Cary pulls her hair, and she lets go of his cock, looking scared again up at him. He keeps his hand in her hair and has her walk on her knees over to me. She frowns and pouts, but I can see that the humiliation turns her on more. He puts her face down towards my lap, and she pulls my cock into her mouth, her ass up in the air. She pauses, though, to turn her head back to him as he kneels and positions himself behind her. “I don’t do anal. Okay?”
Cary slaps her ass and slams his dick into her wet cunt as his answer. She pushes against me with the force and grunts her pleasure. I grab her hair and yank her face back to me. She smiles as Cary slams into her again, moaning with her eyes closing as her mouth wraps around me.
I grin at Cary. I’ll have to concentrate to come before him. Most girls don’t like to continue giving head after they’ve come. Timing is everything as they say.
I close my eyes. The image of Grace sprawled out on my sofa comes to mind. I imagine my mouth on her while she sat like I am now—the sweet taste of Grace, her moans, her words, her spicy scent.
I push the blonde’s mouth deeper on me, and she sucks harder. I can feel Cary pushing her. Her tongue works faster, and her hand strokes harder while he pumps into her. Finally, I hold her in place while I shoot come down her throat, imagining Grace the whole time. Cary has her screaming as I pull away from her, his own low groans quickly following. Timing.
Yawning and scratching the nail marks on my shoulder, I move into the kitchen for coffee, passing Cary at the table. I avoid looking at him, just grab a bowl and sit down to pour some cereal and milk. We eat in silence for a while.
We left the blonde and her friend in the hotel late last night. I glance at the clock on the microwave. They should just be getting the room service I ordered for them, unless they got up early and took the $20 I left for a cab already.
The three of us had a good time. Maria/Mary never did wake up to join in, but the blonde managed to keep us both happy a few more times. And her dislike of anal was a blatant lie. Or Cary is a better motivator than I thought. He’s an ass man.
I can feel him watching me now. I know what he's thinking. I fucked up last night. I finally drop my spoon into the bowl, splashing milk and cereal out. “What?!”
He grins, one of his stupid looks. “Nothin, cuz.” He’s laughing though. Fucker.
“Cary.” I growl his name through gritted teeth and shoot him another look of warning. He just gets up and walks to the sink with his bowl.
But he doesn’t leave. I can feel him staring at me; I don’t turn around. “So…who’s Grace?” There’s laughter in his voice still.
And the insane part? I hate hearing her name from his lips. I have an instant reaction of pure rage. I can feel my whole body tense, ready to spring up and thrash him. I have to close my eyes for a second to get it under control, to calm my voice. “Who?”
Cary moves around the table to stand on the other side, watching me. “You called the girl last night Grace.”
I look up at him, still trying to get my body to relax. I’m not wearing a shirt, so the flexing of my arms and chest is clearly visible to him. I sit back, forcing my one hand to flatten on the table, the other to pick up the spoon again. I force a smile on my face too. “I must’ve been more shitfaced than I thought.” But I can see that he’s not going to let it go. “She was one of my products.” That’s not entirely a lie. She would’ve been.
He only nods but keeps watching me until I start eating again. Finally, he turns to leave. “I’m heading back. Call me when you have a new girl; I’ll stop by to help out.”
When I hear the bedroom door close, I let the spoon drop again. Fuck. I can’t believe I let myself get so angry with him, all for mentioning her. This obsession is taking over.
I need to do something and soon. I can’t let myself be preoccupied with Grace any longer. I have two orders waiting, and I haven’t even tried to look for new girls.
For one moment, I think about grabbing Grace, taking her, training her and selling her off. It’s what I’d planned before, what I told Cary I did already, but I can feel my body tensing at this thought.
I can lie to myself, say it’s because she’s off limits—my own stupid rules. But I know that’s not it. Grace is only partially in my circle. She’s a fucking model for fucksake, with absolutely no connections that I can find. She’d still be perfect to take, perfect to train, a perfect product for me.
Getting up and dumping my uneaten breakfast down the sink, I can feel myself tensing even more. So why the fuck can’t I do it?!
It would end my obsession. Once I have her chained and broken, I know I’d be done with her. Except the thought sounds hollow to me now.
The longest I’ve ever been with one woman is seven months. She was the first girl, Raquel. I dumped her after she agreed to marry the man of her father’s choosing. Well, to be fair, I was only sixteen. It wasn’t like I was going to ask her to wait for me or anything. And I’d already had my fun with her by then, but that was the longest that I’d spent with one girl.
The girls I train usually only take a few weeks, a few months at the longest. Breaking a woman is easy once you apply simple mindfuck techniques. Lack of rest, sleep, food—these are the basics, plus equal applications of pain and comfort. The first few d
ays are the hardest, getting to know fears and tolerance levels. Get them to eat from your hand and they’re broken like any other animal. And I prefer to hand off ownership as soon after they’re broken as possible; there’s less confusion that way.
But Grace has been with me now for over sixteen months. I haven’t had her physically for that time. She hasn’t been chained in my cave the way I wanted. She hasn’t been broken and trained for all that time. But I’ve thought about her, thought about what I would do to her. She has been mine, even if she didn’t know it.
So now the thought of her being with anyone else, the thought of making her available to anyone else... I don’t even want to finish the thoughts.
I want her broken. But I want her.
So now I have a plan again. This calms me.
Smiling as I head into my room, I think one more happy thought about her. Maybe I’ll rename her. She’ll be broken. She’ll be anything I want her to be. Maybe I’ll call her Scarlet.
San Francisco: Simon Lamb
I wait. I know she’ll be here. I just wait for her. I’ve decided today is the day she comes to me. Willingly. Freely.
Or forcefully.
I don’t care.
Today is the day, Grace. And this time, you’re not getting away from me.
I look up each time the door opens. I reach for my cup of coffee each time it’s not her.
Finally, I watch her enter the diner. Her hair’s pulled back but still a mess of tangles and curls. Her face looks smaller left out in the open, her dark eyes even bigger. She’s in her usual red. This time it’s a tight pair of jeans, faded red. I watch her walk by the sign saying she should wait to be seated, as she always does. I smile, watching her sit at a table—same spot I’ve watched her take for four days.
I wait for the waitress to take her order before walking over. I wait until she’s picked up the crayons and started coloring the paper placemat in front of her before walking over. It’s her routine. She doodles until the waitress brings her food.
We Were One Once Book 1 Page 5