Wicked Little Games

by Dee Palmer

  “Yes, Miss,” I quietly reply. She raises both eyebrows in surprise and almost imperceptibly utters, “interesting,” under her breath.

  “Well, I will tell you the whys and wherefores, we will have a little trial and go from there.” She is very encouraging, and her face is alight with misplaced enthusiasm.

  “Yes, Miss.” I hesitate and suck in a shallow breath. “I’ll try”.

  “I run an exclusive service.” Mags continues proudly. “Top service, top quality, and top price.” She grins. “You work the hours you want, though I would like a minimum of one hour per day, I provide the phone and calls are directed through my switchboard. This protects you and the client. You can work wherever you like, you can come here if that suits, and you can earn up to a hundred pounds an hour if you can keep them on the phone that long.” She chuckles and I’m starting to wish I was up to the task. She continues, “…or more if you provide one of the speciality services.” As the obvious horror on my face must show, she quickly adds, “Oh, darling, I don’t mean that sort of service. I’m no Madam, although I’ve been called worse.” She laughs again. “I just mean we have dedicated lines, which cater to specific tastes.” She pauses and eyes me carefully. “Any questions?”

  I am actually speechless, another indication of my unsuitability for a job totally reliant on speech.

  “All right, then, let me hear your audition piece?” She fixes me with her expectant kind eyes.

  “Oh.” I breathe. “Well, I’m not sure.” I hesitate and can feel my face flush.

  Sensing my extreme discomfort, Mags smiles and hands me her phone. “Use this as a prop if it helps. Imagine it’s an actual call; all you have to do is imagine.” She is sweet and encouraging, but I am so out of my depth. I look at the phone in my shaking hand, sigh, and hand it back to her. “Listen, why don’t I let you listen to a few calls first, a few samples as it were, once the initial shock is over, I’m sure you’ll get the idea…what do you think?” She places her hand over mine but doesn’t take the phone back.

  I am not given to running at the first sign of a challenge, even if I am so very far from my comfort zone and have no idea why she is being so kind, but I don’t want to disappoint her.

  “Yes, Miss, that’s very kind. I’ll do that.” I am too embarrassed to raise my eyes to meet hers at this point, so she takes the phone, presses a few numbers and hands it back to me.

  I am thankful she leaves the room as I put the phone to my ear and begin to listen to the sample calls. It turns out I wouldn’t need that much imagination, as the calls give me vivid flashbacks to many a conversation in the kitchen. The descriptions are full on, and the details are explicit, extremely explicit. It isn’t that I doubted my imagination or my ability to be detailed in my descriptions, but my actual lack of sexual experience is undoubtedly going to be a deal breaker here, and I know it. Still, as my face continues to flush, I continue to listen. The last call starts.

  “I’ve got your big hard cock in my hand--” the breathy voice began “--can you feel my tight fist? I’m gonna pump you hard. I’m gonna pump you into my hot wet mouth… mmmmm.”

  I can hear the caller’s deep inhaling breath.

  “You’re so hard against my tongue; it’s hot and wet and I’m licking around the head and all the way down. I can feel your veins throbbing as I lap and lick it; it’s like velvet over iron and tastes so good I can’t get enough. Ahh, I can feel your rock hard cock twitching in my fist, I think I’m going to lick you all the way down to your balls. Mmmm, I’m cupping your balls with my other hand, and I’m fucking you with my fist, but I want more. Are you going to give me more?” She pauses and breathes loudly. I’m shifting in my seat, more than a little uncomfortable, as she continues.

  “I am going to take your big hard cock and push it between my tight swollen lips, and take you deep, deep in my throat, and you’re going to fuck my mouth, yes?”

  “Mmmm… yeah, that’s right.” The deep rasping reply of the caller was the first real indication there was someone on the receiving end of this call.

  “Fuck my mouth, and make me swallow.” She gives a long drawn out satisfied moan. The line goes dead.

  “Wow!” I say as Mags returns. If I thought I was red before, I must look like I’m about to haemorrhage.

  “The endings are always a little abrupt, but they are paying by the minute, so what do you expect, really?” I am hoping that’s a rhetorical question because all powers of speech have deserted me. She hands me a glass of water, which I gratefully accept.

  “I’d love to be that confident. I mean she seemed to really…” I’m struggling to articulate full sentences now, another stellar example of my ineptitude for this role. “And she was in control, assertive. I don’t think I would be able to…you know…but-”

  Interrupting, Mags states, “You’re a virgin.” She smiles warmly.

  “Well, yes, to this sort of thing.” I attempt to qualify her statement.

  “No, darling, I mean you are a virgin; you’ve never had sex.” It was no longer a question; it was a statement of fact. “It doesn’t matter, you know,” she continues.

  “Umm, not to presume to tell you your business, but I would think that was kind of important, if not the most important part.” I frown as she shakes her head at my incorrect conclusion.

  “Don’t get me wrong, it is unusual in this business, but you are not ‘an innocent’, or if you were, you would have run a mile as soon as you realised what we did, and you certainly wouldn’t have been able to endure a whole sample call. So despite the adorable colour in your cheeks, you are still here. You have a great voice and a good imagination, I assume?” She raises a questioning eyebrow to which I nod my reply. “And you’re a submissive!” My eyes widen. “Quite perfect.” She adds.

  I laugh out loud. Wow, that couldn’t be further from the truth. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t make every decision myself. There is no one to tell me what to do, not that I would let them, and I kick arse at Krav Maga each week with Marco. Does that sound submissive? I know she has made a mistake, but I like her, and I find I can’t be affronted by her misguided character assessment.

  “Darling,” she soothes, “I know people, I read people, and I can read you like an ABC or should I say D/s.” She chuckles. “You are all, ‘Yes, Miss. No, Miss’, without a hint of irony.” She seems so pleased with herself I almost hate to disillusion her.

  “I was being polite.” I point out.

  “Yes, you were, but there’s more, trust me, and what a wonderful way to explore this “worldview”, through the safety of your telephone.” She was being genuine and I can’t take offense, even if she is way off the mark.

  “Look, I have a proposal: take your time, think it over, and do some research, but remember to clear your browser history!” She laughs at her own joke. “I would like to take you on as a submissive for one of the premium lines. There will obviously be some artistic license, you won’t be a to-the-letter submissive, after all, can’t very well hold a conversation over the phone if you’re gagged.” Again she seems to find herself hilarious. I take another sip of water and give a very nervous laugh, trying to share her carefree attitude to the whole other world crashing into mine. “If you agree we will start you off one hour each night. From midnight onwards tends to be busiest. It’s completely anonymous and completely safe, no one needs to know. You look like a girl who can keep a secret?” She looks directly at me. She is either the master of the understatement or she really can read people.

  “I can, I do and I will… but are you sure?” I hold her gaze. Her lips twitch into a smooth smile, and she merely raises her brow, sweeping her knowledgeable gaze around her immaculate office and over her expensively clothed body, finally resting her eyes on her diamond laden fingers, the final piece of evidence of her good decisions.

  “Here, take this phone, if you decide it’s a no, then you can drop it back, but if we are good to go, it will save me a courier.”

>   “Thank you. And thank you for your time Miss, sorry… Mags, just a few days?” I tell her.

  “I’ll be waiting.” She was grinning as I left her office.

  I have an email from Mr. Wilson waiting when I arrived home. It was an urgent message to come to his office after class tomorrow. Crap.

  Buy here: Never a Choice

  Four Years Ago

  “I FUCKING HATE you!” I scream it so loud, I can feel rawness burn in my throat, but there is no sound. Not even a whimper escapes my silent body, as the sorrow I feel in my heart rips me apart.

  “She’s crying. Are you sure she isn’t in any pain?” My mother’s voice sounds as pathetic as the pitiful expression on her immaculately made-up face. Like she fucking cares. She’s married to a monster, and she is just as guilty to stand by his side now as they both decide to commit me to Hell.

  “Oh, Lady d’Aubeney, I can assure you she doesn’t feel a thing.” The pallid weasel of a doctor’s smile creeps across his face, as he takes the opportunity to comfort my mother with a carefully placed hand on her shoulder, fake concern crinkling his eyes.

  But he is so fucking wrong because that is all I feel pain–fucking brutal pain.

  “Her tears then-”

  “Just a side effect of the sedation,” he interrupts, drops his contact, and walks to my side. I mentally flinch at his nearness, but my body is lifeless. I so want my mind to join it. “It’s for the best. This way we can keep her safe and more importantly keep everyone else safe too. I can’t imagine what would make a young lady with such a privileged, supportive family steal a child.” He fiddles with the clear tubing attached to my arm, but I squeeze my eyes tight, as his lies slice through me. Lies…Fucking lies and he believes them.

  “Yes.” My father’s detached voice still manages to freeze my soul, despite the drugs coursing through my veins, numbing my nerves. “She has been a disappointment, but we have hope that with time she will be able to come home one day. Although given her little outburst….” He absently rubs the red marks at his neck. Tiny spots where my fingernails managed to scrape the skin before the needle ended my rage and I slumped to the floor. “We have an understanding doctor, which is why we brought her here to your private facility. I want to make myself clear. She doesn’t leave this place without my permission…yes?” His tone is resolute, as my mother dabs at her eyes that even I can see are dry.

  “Of course, Lord d’Aubeney, you don’t need to concern yourself with her now. We will keep her sedated for the foreseeable future and will await your instruction. We pride ourselves on our ability to give a very special, discrete service to our clients. Trust me, your daughter, Artemis, will be quite happy here.”

  “Well, you certainly won’t hear her complain.” My father’s deep chuckle turns my stomach, and I am incredulous when the doctor joins in the laughter. Yes, this is one big fucking joke.

  I close my eyes once more. I don’t want to see them or hear them, and I don’t want to feel the desolation of my life now, when only two days ago was bliss. It wasn’t just happiness, it was utter ecstasy.

  I can see them as clear as if they were in this sterile capsule I am lying in. A burst of vibrant colour against a clinical background of four white walls. They brim with life and are overflowing with love. Cal and our beautiful baby girl, Pip.

  I turn sharply and my smile hurts as it stretches across my face when Pip squeals with a fit of giggles. Peek-a-boo, the simple game that keeps our baby girl entertained on the long car journey. Her tiny pudgy arms flail, her floppy wrists shaking her hands wildly. It’s the best game ever. I laugh out loud and turn to look at the most beautiful man on the planet. His jet black hair flops in spikes, which he absently drags out of his eyes. His jaw is all hard angles, his cheek bone high. He has thick dark brows, indecently long lashes and soft full lips but his eyes…I sigh. They’re something ethereal; dark green with hazel gold slashes in the iris that draw you in and hold you captive. I didn’t stand a chance, but I didn’t want to. My heart warms, though not from the sunlight streaming on through the front wind screen, burning up the worn plastic of the dashboard, but from the knowledge that he is mine. He loves me and our baby, and he didn’t run when I’d told him I was pregnant. I was just sixteen, though he was a little older. Twenty-one at the time and already more of a man than my father would ever be. He glances over at me and his soft lips curl into a faint smile, but his eyes don’t wrinkle with the same emotion. At the time, I thought it was tiredness from the drive I was unable to share. Concentrating on the road for eight hours with only the briefest of toilet breaks would make anyone tired and distracted.

  I didn’t suspect anything, but why would I? Cal was my world; now he and Pip were my life and I trusted him everything. It was early evening when we pulled up to a pair of ostentatious wrought iron gates, which were nearing the end of their life. Flaky, rusted paint and ivy clung to the hinges, nature’s way of trying to assimilate to the structure. They juddered and strained loudly to break apart where they join and open, allowing us to roll through the gap. The drive was tree-lined, and with the fading sun, only tiny shards of sunlight peeked through casting. I now recall, ominous shadows on the ground. I put my hand on Cal’s jean clad thigh–all hard muscle with no give when I squeeze to give or get comfort I don’t remember now.

  “Hey Cal,…Are you okay? You’ve been really quiet.” I twist in my seat and unclip my belt, so I can lean a little closer to kiss his cheek. My lips absorb the warmth from his skin and the prickles from his twelve hour stubble.

  “Yeah, baby, just tired.” His voice is soft, and his brows knit together in a deep frown betraying more than mere tiredness. I know this now, but I should’ve known it then. He always had the same expression when he was troubled, but he would always tell me–eventually. I just had to give him time to sort it out. I understood it was his way of protecting me; protecting us. Filtering the hard decisions so I wouldn’t worry. Where we were going to live; what we would do for money; how we would manage. All the difficult life decisions we shared, but only when he had burdened them for some time on his own. I thought this was one of those times. We pulled up to a large country house with manicured lawns and beautifully sculpted hedges. A stark contrast to the decaying entrance. This place was like a palace.

  “Cal?” My tone highlighting my anxiety. What on earth are we doing here? We couldn’t afford driving lessons for me so we definitely didn’t have enough money to stay in a place like this.

  “It’s okay, baby…just dropping off.” His voice catches and that really should have been a red flag. He was always so brave, not one to wear his heart on his sleeve–that was me. He would tease that I didn’t just have one emotion; I had them all most of the time. It was what he loved about me: my passion, my fire, my faith. What was there not to believe in? He had stepped up when it mattered–end of–so I trusted him with our lives.. Besides he was a part-time courier–mostly on weekends and today was Sunday. “Come in and stretch your legs–” He cracks his door open and jumps out like his seat is on fire. The car has barely stopped and he is pulling me eagerly from my seat. I giggle at his urgency.

  “Cal, wait. I’m still strapped in–“I laugh and jerk back into my seat. He lets my hand go so I can release the seatbelt before he drags me once more, pulling me flush against his firm body. I catch my breath when his dark stare fixes on me. His arms circle my waist and I have to tilt my head back to keep eye contact. I shiver at the intense reaction his embrace, his glare, his body has on mine. Nearly two years to the day and it never ceases to amaze me that he chose me. He traces his finger along my jaw, softly tipping my chin higher, as he leans down to cover my lips with his. This is the best part–I could literally drown in this man’s kisses. Passionate and demanding, soft and sensual and everything in-between. Reverent today, his tongue slides along the seam of my lips, gently dipping inside, a temping dance of erotic exploration that steals my breath. He pulls back, rests his forehead against mine drawing in and let
ting go of a deep sigh. I do the same, my smile widening, but falters at his words.

  “You know I love you, right?” He swallows thickly.

  “Cal?” I can hear the uncertainty spike as my voice breaks, but just when I feel the onset of real panic, he grabs a handful of my breast and moulds it in his large palm, moaning and chuckling at the same time.

  “Fucking sweetest tits in the world, babe!” He grins.

  I let out a relaxing breath and slap is hand away. He’s such a jerk. I turn away from him and open the back door to get Pip out. She had started to fall asleep, but even I can smell she needs to be changed before I even put my head in the car. Stale car smell does not mask four hours in a nappy. She is all warm and floppy, moulding to my body but heavy. She turned one last month and I think she is going to be just like her dad: tall, strong and devastating beautiful. She hasn’t started walking yet but I get the feeling it’s just days away. She wriggles and drops her weighty head into the nook of my neck. I pull my rucksack onto my other shoulder and smile brightly at Cal.

  “Ready,” I declare, but hesitate. “Um…are you sure it’s all right to come in? We can just have a wander in the gardens–”

  “No,” Cal interrupts a little too sharply, and I feel Pip jump. I start that innate new parent jig to soothe her back down, which she does. “Sorry, but no, it’s fine. Just come in for a bit. This won’t take long.” He takes my hand and leads me up the wide stone stairs. The large black door is partway open and Cal strides inside without hesitation. He stops and turns to me when I freeze just inside the grand entranceway. There is an acrid smell that assaults my nostrils, both sterile and hostile in one offending fragrance. Cal’s face is the picture of calm. “Come on babe. It’s fine; I spoke to the owner. I told him we would’ve had a long drive and he was more than understanding, especially when I mentioned Pip. He said to go into the reception room. Look this must be the one he told me about.” He gently pulls my hand and I stumble forward, my feet following his. I glance around, taking in the dark oak paneling, and the large sweeping staircase. Despite the huge leaded window above the gallery landing over-looking the entrance, the space is surprisingly dark. I don’t like it. I haven’t been in a house this opulent since I left home…since I ran away. “I bet they have some fancy cakes or something in here.” He pulls my hand to plant a kiss on my knuckles, and I feel stupid for being so suspicious. What am I thinking? Just crazy paranoia. This is Cal. He gave up so much for me; I am obviously a little tired myself.