by Sarah Steel
‘Not done it yet?’ she demanded, apparently bullying her agent. ‘I want the pictures out before the CD is released. No, any children’s hospital, you fool. A hamper of toys, if tax deductible. No,’ she continued as if dealing patiently with a moron, ‘I’ll just be accidentally discovered crooning to some kid in a coma. And no pretty little nurses in the shot, just me.’
His eyes narrowed in anger as he listened to her manipulating.
‘We need to use our own man. No agency staffers, okay? No, you fool, not the front steps, shots of me leaving by the back door. I’ll look angry and surprised. Make it all seem genuine. Yes, of course the red tops. Time I milked the tabloids and got bigger coverage.’
Behind the blue curtain, James gripped the handle of the mop and twisted it savagely between his rubber-gloved hands.
‘Oh, and about that piece due to come out last Tuesday…’ She paused while her agent replied. ‘That’s what I pay you for,’ she snapped. ‘Did you manage to get the little creep who wrote it sacked?’
James stiffened.
‘Good,’ she purred. ‘See to it he signs nothing but giros from now on. That’s all.’ She snapped the mobile shut and sipped her champagne contentedly.
That’s how it was done, James realised. It must have been just like that five years ago when he dared to argue with her from the pit, when it was her voice not his violin that could not reach A-sharp.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped out from behind the curtain. He had been hiding in a white-tiled recess for a loo and shower.
She registered neither alarm nor surprise at his appearance. ‘Have you fixed the shower as I instructed?’ she demanded, not even bothering to cover her naked breasts.
The brown workman’s coat had deceived her. James unbuttoned it slowly.
She ignored him, finished her champagne and rose from the sofa to cross the dressing room. Her rippling buttocks sashayed with insolent contempt at him, a mere hired hand in the presence of the naked diva.
‘Get out if you’ve finished,’ she barked. ‘I need my rest.’ She bent down at her dressing table, cupped her breasts, then squeezed and inspected them lingeringly in the bulb-framed looking glass.
He saw the tip of her thumb worrying a captive nipple. ‘No, not yet,’ he replied softly. ‘I’ve not quite finished in here yet.’
‘Then get on with it,’ she snapped, her eyes and thumbs engrossed with her nipples.
‘Wonder what the red tops would write,’ he whispered. ‘Good coverage, the tabloids.’
The thumbs froze at the nipples they were teasing. In the looking glass her eyes widened imperceptibly as they gazed into their own cold reflection.
‘Wonder if they’d even dare to print half of what I could tell them,’ he mused.
The blonde mane flounced as she twisted her head over her naked shoulder and stared at him. ‘What the hell—?’
‘Always sniffing around,’ James added suavely. ‘Used to ferret in dustbins. Stars like you used to dread the rattle of bin lids late at night, didn’t you? Scared of having all those nasty, stinking little secrets uncovered.’
‘Who are you?’ she hissed.
‘It’s wheely bins now, of course. Don’t make a sound, do they, those plastic lids.’
‘I said who are you?’ she insisted, her voice sharp with anger and a frisson of fear.
‘Get dressed,’ he ordered.
The command confused her. She stared at him open-mouthed, as if suddenly realising she was all but naked in front of him.
James strode across to the wardrobe, wrenched it open and snatched out a few items. ‘Get dressed,’ he thundered, tossing her a black bra, black elbow-length gloves and a pair of black tights. ‘You’re quite a bitch, aren’t you?’ he added conversationally. ‘Quite a bitch.’ The words came thick, fast and obscene. For five years he had scraped a living as a part-time music teacher, suffering as kids scraped violins. She had ruined him utterly in a fit of pique five years ago. A spiteful temper tantrum, and she had flushed his career away completely. Now, finally, payback time had arrived. ‘Not dressed, yet?’ he asked in a threatening undertone.
Her eyes darted to the door.
‘Go on,’ he shrugged. ‘I’m not stopping you. I’ve got more than enough. Walk straight out, if you really think it best.’
It was the sweet reason in his voice that appeared to scare her more than anything. She shivered and her hands fell to her pubic bush in a belated attempt to cover it. Her pupils dilated with fear, she knelt and reached for the items he had thrown at her feet.
‘Do it, bitch. I’m waiting,’
‘Who – who are you?’
‘You don’t remember? You really don’t remember? I might remind you, if I feel like it, when I’m finished with you.’
‘F-finished with me?’ she stammered.
‘When I’ve finished punishing you,’ he confirmed. ‘Think of it as a little present from me and all those you’ve made miserable on your way to the top. And it really doesn’t matter if you remember me or not. You deserve what’s coming to you, whoever administers the pain.’
‘You wouldn’t dare—’
‘Just get dressed, bitch.’
‘I’ll give you anything. My cheque book, my—’
‘You can’t buy your way out of this.’
The bra fluttered in her hands.
‘Put it on.’
She struggled into it, easing each breast into the softness of the waiting cups. Slowly, timorously, she slipped the satin shoulder straps into place.
‘Gloves,’ he instructed.
So absolute was his air of authority that she succumbed to the stern command without further protest. Moments later, she was smoothing the gloves over each elbow with trembling fingers.
‘Remove that thong.’
She pushed down the peach-coloured underwear, revealing her glossy black bush.
‘Fake blonde, aren’t you, bitch?’
Her gloved hands flew up to her face, and covering her eyes, she sobbed aloud.
‘Another little juicy titbit for the tabloids if you don’t sing to my tune, eh?’
She moaned softly, shaking her head fervently as if attempting to wake herself from a nightmare.
‘Thong off, bitch.’
It had slithered down to her ankles, and her breasts swayed as she bent down to drag it over her ankles and step out of it.
‘Tights,’ he nodded curtly.
‘But—’
‘Put them on. Now.’
Turning her back on him, she rolled up, and then gingerly stepped into, the dark tights. Their sheer lengths sparkled as they sheathed her prinked feet and long legs. He saw her bottom dimple as she flexed each knee in turn, and the stretchy sheen captured and bunched her cheeks together as she tugged the dark band up around her waist.
‘Turn around,’ he commanded, taking a menacing step closer.
She obeyed him reluctantly, shrinking back from his advance, her soft buttocks pressing against the edge of the dressing table.
‘Good,’ he nodded, satisfied with her obedience. ‘Now strip.’
‘But… but I’ve just—’
‘Done what you were told. So do it again, bitch. Strip. Gloves first.’
She lowered her eyes. At her hips, her gloved fingers clenched nervously. ‘Please…’ she whispered.
‘Okay.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll go now, but then that bit about the kid in a coma will make the front page tomorrow.’
‘No, listen, please. Wait, I—’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ll do exactly as you say,’ she murmured, her sullen pride fractured.
‘Strip then, bitch, I want you naked for your punishment.’
‘No, please, not that, I—’
‘Naked for your pain, bitch.’
‘But I don’t understand. If I’ve ever—’
‘You don’t need to understand,’ he echoed sarcastically. ‘I could be any one of the victims you’ve trodden on and destroyed on the way up. Now strip. Nice and slow.’
Her humiliation began in earnest. Previously she had been almost naked in contemptuous disdain of his presence, but now she had to bare herself slowly and intimately beneath his piercing, hostile gaze.
He clapped his rubber-gloved hands together loudly as she brought her right hand up to loosen the strap at her left shoulder. ‘No,’ he said harshly, ‘undo the clasp first. Take it off very slowly. And legs apart, like a slut performing a striptease. You’re a slut and used to performing, so do it and get it right. Nice and slow, remember.’ He squatted down on the carpet a few feet in front of her, gazing up at her as he swigged champagne from the green bottle she had abandoned by the sofa.
Shuffling her feet awkwardly, and then planting them apart, the diva tossed her blonde mane back and, closing her eyes, drew her hands behind her back to unclasp her bra. The black straps at each shoulder loosened and the cups fell away, revealing her beautifully round, ripe breasts.
‘Hands down,’ he barked.
Her black-gloved hands fluttered obediently down to her sides.
James swigged noisily from the champagne bottle, belched, and jabbed his finger at her. ‘Gloves now. Slowly, and use your teeth like a stripper. Nice and dirty, bitch. Do it nice and dirty.’ Reaching across the carpet, he snatched up the abandoned bra and sniffed deeply into the warm, empty cups. ‘Orange water,’ he pronounced. ‘You still use orange water.’ He had nurtured that memory for five years.
She whimpered in alarm at his casual disclosure. His knowledge of her – his intimate knowledge – was obviously frightening her, and her mounting dread and shame made the removal of the gloves a clumsy business. Then she stood with her head bowed before him.
‘Head up, bitch. Don’t disappoint your audience.’
A dry sob escaped her lips.
‘Look at me,’ he ordered.
She met his fierce gaze. Flinching, she drew her legs together, and as her warm thighs met the shiny black material of the tights rustled softly.
‘Kneel,’ came his curt command.
As she sank to her knees, he rose and stood over her. His right hand reached down and fleetingly, but dominantly, caressed her blonde mane. ‘With your success comes a lot of exposure,’ he said, ‘exposure to the public gaze.’ He knelt down beside her. There was still no recognition of him in her large eyes and he grew bolder, thrilling to the sense of having her in his power, having her kneeling and nearly naked, ready for her punishment and his rightful revenge. He tilted her chin upwards and held her face in a ruthless pincer between thumb and fingers before pulling her lower lip down with brutal tenderness. ‘So that’s where the golden voice comes from, eh?’ he murmured, dominantly controlling her face with a thumb pressed into one cheek and four fingers squeezing the other.
Releasing her from his possessive grip after a long moment, he allowed his rubber-sheathed fingers to trace the line of her throat, downwards. Soon his rubber digits were busy at her bosom, fiercely punishing both breasts by roughly cupping and squeezing the soft mounds of warm flesh.
She moaned, begging him to stop with her eyes, but her silent, fervent pleading was ignored by the finger and thumb milking first her right nipple and then her left. Leaving her puckered buds red and sore, he palmed each breast and weighed its warmth in his hand. She almost swooned, but he checked and steadied her by gripping her chin again.
‘Hold perfectly still while I take a good look at you, understand?’ He swallowed his mounting excitement at the prospect of intimately examining her, before punishing her. She whimpered, and to silence even this token resistance, he squeezed her cheeks again. ‘Silence!’ he hissed, and she nodded her compliance to his stern will.
Satisfied, he relaxed his grip a fraction and she remained immobile. He smiled. He knew he had tamed her completely now. She was in his thrall. ‘The public gaze,’ he murmured, touching her nipples gently, and then dragging his clenched fist down across her belly. ‘Always in the public gaze.’ At her pubic nest, his clenched fist paused. ‘Tights off now.’
The diva’s trembling fingertips gripped the dark band biting into her waist. Slowly, with difficulty, she managed to push the black tights down over her hips and down from her plump buttocks.
‘Good,’ he said when she stepped awkwardly out of the tights. ‘Now kneel. Sit back on your heels and get your hands up where I can see them. No, on your head, bitch.’
She gave him a terrified look.
‘Do it,’ he snarled, so she rested her bare buttocks on her ankles, and the sight of her full bottom cheeks caused James to grunt. ‘Hands,’ he insisted.
Submissively, her anxious reluctance clouding her eyes beneath her tear-spangled lashes, the kneeling naked diva lifted her hands, palms down and fingers interlocked, up to her blonde head.
‘Open,’ James whispered, his rubber-sheathed forefinger dabbling dominantly into her dark bush, and the trembling performer inched her thighs apart a grudging fraction. ‘Wider, bitch.’
Snivelling, she obeyed him, and then cried out as he firmly pushed her backwards, forcing her to topple back onto the carpet, her knees spread and her pussy fully exposed.
‘Maximum exposure is what you seek, and so maximum exposure is what you get,’ he told her.
‘No, please…’ she begged.
‘I said silence, bitch.’ He probed her open mouth with one, two, and then a third rubber finger, silencing her sobs. ‘Wider, bitch. I’m waiting.’
Grunting into the makeshift gag, she spread her knees further, and keeping his captive effectively silenced with three fingers, he lowered his free hand over her pubic mound. He sneered as he felt her buttocks clench as the rubber kissed her pussy. He withdrew his hand, and caressed his fingertips with his thumb while the diva ground her naked bottom cheeks into the carpet. He visited her slit once more, and she sucked fervently on the living gag in her mouth. A soft, wet sound rose up from where his rubber-sheathed palm cupped her cleft. Fingering her outer labia until the tip of his rubber glove glistened, he worried the wet and fleshy lips methodically. The diva inched her buttocks and hips up in an instinctive physical response to his touch, and gazing down at her sternly, James used his thumb-tip to peel her dark, thick lips apart.
‘Maximum exposure,’ he whispered. The inner, paler lips of her sex tightened visibly. He used the tip of his little finger to split their wet seam open, and felt her teeth bite into him as he forced the finger inside her. ‘No!’ he warned, responding angrily to the nip of her teeth on his silencing digits. ‘Be still and absolutely quiet for your maximum exposure.’
She was utterly helpless – helpless and vulnerable.
His eyes widened, watching her, the darkness of his pupils large with the lust of revenge. For five long, silent minutes he teased and tormented her slippery pussy, repeatedly fingering and spreading wide her fleshy sex lips. Palming the wet rubber of his gloved hand inwards against her sticky heat, he knuckled rhythmically at her slit until her hips bucked and her bottom ground on the carpet.
‘If you dare to come, bitch,’ he warned her sternly as he deliberately pleasure-punished her wetness, ‘I’ll shave your head bare.’
Unable to control her response to his gloved hand, the diva wriggled and squirmed.
James watched as her belly tightened and her silky thighs grew taut. ‘I’ll shave you bare everywhere,’ he promised, and sucking fiercely on the three fingers in her mouth, she battled to delay her climax.
He paused, triumphantly savouring his complete authority and control over her helpless naked body. He withdrew his gloved hand from her heat, clenching and holding it aloft above her stomach, struggling to deny the urgent desire to fist her into ecstasy. He must not lose
control. Later, perhaps, after the punishment, he might have a little fun with her, but not now.
The hint of her juices pricked his nostrils. He clenched and unclenched his fist above her, and struggled to fully appreciate the intensity of his moment of triumph. After five long years she was his, completely his to do with as he willed. He knew he had already brought her to the peak of both arousal and shame. It was so easy, almost too easy. Another minute and he would have had her creaming into his rubber palm…
No. He was here for a purpose, not for her pleasure but for her pain. He wiped his gloved hand on her thigh, removed his fingers from her mouth, and slowly pushed her legs together. ‘Up,’ he commanded, and gasping for air, she staggered to her feet. He caught her and held her briefly in a fierce grip. Their eyes met; hers wide and submissive, his narrowed and cruel.
‘Now it begins,’ he whispered into her frightened face. ‘After a taste of shame, a generous helping of pain, bitch.’ Removing his hands from her trembling nakedness, he bit off and tossed away the rubber gloves.
She stumbled into him, her bare breasts bunching against his chest, but he straightened her up at arm’s length, steadying her. Then he sat down slowly on the edge of the sofa, dragging her down and swiftly twisting her into the desired position – face down across his knees.