Sugar & Salt

by Pavarti K. Tyler

  “First of all, try five thousand. Second of all, fuck you. You have no idea what you’re talking about. I run a clean house—my staff is safe, healthy, and taken care of. They come and go as they please, and if someone dares treat them badly or does something outside of the agreement, they don’t get away with it. I pay their childcare, their medical bills—I take care of my own.”

  “Of your prostitutes.”

  “My family. Everyone.” She points toward the main hall. “I keep their secrets, take out their trash, and fulfill their fantasies. I know how their minds work, and dig into the deepest recesses of repression to pull out just what they need. It’s not about sex—never has been. It’s about power.”

  “Jesus, does your father know what you do?”

  “What do you know about my father?”

  “Julian Cane isn’t exactly an unknown entity in U.S. politics.”

  “Are you threatening him?”

  “No. What? I just... how did you end up like this?”

  “Right, because I must be broken or damaged in some way to do this for a living. There must be something wrong with me to force me down this dark road of depravity.”

  “You know, I put people like you out of business.”

  “No, you put people who exploit women out of business. I’m making lives better. Do you think every fetishist finds love in the same place they find pleasure? Do you think men and women in power positions don’t need someone else to be in charge sometimes? Do you think sex has ever been anything other than a commodity? You’re fooling yourself.”

  “I think women deserve more than being a piece of meat available for trade.”

  “You’re regurgitating the things you’ve been taught. You’re full of feminist bullshit about subjugation and the patriarchy. Yeah, I went to college. Put your wide eyes away and use your own brain for a minute. We’ve been running the world from between our legs since the first man discovered the orgasm. And I don’t just employ women, by the way.” She turns her back on Salt and takes a few deep breaths. “Sometimes, I hate what I do. Sometimes I fall into the traps society has laid, too.”

  “Then why do it?” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, defiant.

  “Last week, a girl came to me. She’d met one of my boys at a leather club and he’d told her to talk to me about a job. She’s a natural sub, but she’s never found anyone she can trust. So she’s been working at a club where guys pay twenty dollars to spank her, or use her mouth.”

  “Sick.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Who are you to decide? She likes it, he likes it, and she gets paid. Everyone’s happy. It goes bad when people don’t take care of their own. Some guy slipped the bouncer fifty bucks to leave him alone with her for an hour. The bouncer took the cash, didn’t give any to her, and this asshole beat the shit out of her.”

  “And her not getting paid is the problem?”

  “No! Will you fucking listen? She showed up at my house with a swollen face, bleeding, and hardly able to walk. She couldn’t go to the hospital, and you know what the prick who runs the club did? Hit her so hard he broke her cheekbone, and told her not to come back until her face was ready for him to cum on.”

  The color drained from Salt’s face—the horror of what the world is capable of reflecting back at him. He sits back down on the bench and looks up at Janice. “What happened?”

  “I cleaned her up, called our doctor, got her stitches, and set her up in one of our client rooms for a few days. We took care of her until she could go home.”

  “So she works for you now.”

  “No, I’m not some fucking slave owner. She doesn’t owe me anything. If she wants a job, I’ll consider it—plenty of our clients would love her. But that’s not why I helped her.”

  “Why then?”

  “Because no one else would.”

  “So you’re a saint. You’re the Mother Teresa of pimps.” He shakes his head and snorts.

  “I’m the one who understands the value of what we offer. I protect it and charge accordingly. I take care of my own. Do you want to know what happened to the owner of that club?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Yeah—” Her demeanor darkens as the light of vindication shines from within. “—I don’t think you have the stomach.”

  “No, I don’t think I do. I don’t have the stomach for any of this.” He gestures around the room, finally fixing his gaze on her. “I can’t—”

  “Yeah, I knew that when I first met you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why? You’re busy saving an unsavable world. I’m just a whore.”

  “That’s not what I—”

  “It’s not?”

  He stares back in silence.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  A Clean Break

  Outside, the night air chills Janice. Her hair is in disarray, with tendrils falling around her ears and chunks hanging limp down her back. She’s an image from a fairytale: the princess reduced to rags, her dress wrinkled, her heels dangling from her hand, and her makeup smudged with sweat and kisses.

  A group of men stand around the side entrance smoking cigarettes—catering staff sharing a light with a tuxedoed gentleman. Addiction: the great unifier.

  For a split second, she considers going back inside. There has to be a point to her suffering this way. Is God taunting her with the only thing she really wants? A good man sits in the debris she left in her wake, his sense of self and morals crumbling around him. What is the fucking point?

  She drops her shoe and watches it tumble down the steps. “Damn it!”

  Her outburst draws the attention of the smokers, but they soon realize she’s not in danger—just another lunatic screaming at the New York skyline.

  She stumbles down the polished marble steps that stand out against the grime of New York. Not unlike Janice. No matter how much she polishes, she’ll never fit in.

  A lifetime of trying to escape her father’s influence led her right back to the same parties, the same concerns. Rebelling begat nothing but more of the same.

  She slips her shoes back on. Her toes slide right to the tip of the finely made shoe and she readjusts her balance, regaining her composure by re-donning her armor. She steps forward and raises her hand to hail an oncoming cab, but quickly drops it to her side in frustration upon realizing her purse is still inside.

  Disheveled and annoyed, she ascends the stairs again. At the top, instead of heading to the brightly lit main door, she veers toward the second class smoking area.

  As she approaches, sex-tussled hair and all, the men stand a little straighter, suck their guts in, and smile in her direction. Aside from cigarettes, sex is the other great unifier of men. There is no difference between how the rich and poor fuck. Insecurities and desires transcend things like paychecks and welfare.

  “Need a light?” one of the caterers asks.

  Janice rewards him with a broad smile before shaking her head. “I left my purse in the coat check, but I really don’t want to go back in.”

  “Sure, give me your ticket and I’ll grab it for you.” He’s young, with hair styled to look like he spent no time on it in that I’m-a-bad-boy-let-me-save-you way.

  “I don’t have one.” She gestures to her dress. “Nowhere to hide it.”

  He laughs, and the two wealthy men standing nearby shuffle their feet.

  “What’s your name, then? I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Janice Cane.”

  He nods and delivers a devilish smile, which on another night would have earned him a good night of fucking, but she’s not in the mood. He disappears back into the museum staff entrance, and the wealthy men resume their conversation about a meeting they attended that day.

  She half listens, but doesn’t really care. The door of the main entrance swings open, which sends a slice of light cutting through the warm summer evening. Salt runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. The door closes softly behind hi
m, leaving his silhouette outlined against the massive building.

  She steps toward him, and then regains control of her body. The magnetism that connects them is too strong to ignore, but she can’t. There’s nothing left between them but heartbreak. She’s done this before: trusted someone who could never understand her. The same trap lays her to waste time and again. The situation may vary, but the song remains the same.

  She ducks into the staff entrance before he notices her, determined to make a clean break this time.

  Two for the Money

  Salt’s eye is drawn to the staff entrance door, and a flash of green fabric appears before it swings shut. He knows it was her. Two men remain, flicking away the evidence of their addiction.

  He could go after her, open the door and make his way through the maze of hallways until he finds her. He’d tell her none of it matters, and that he’s able to see past what she does.

  He jams his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo and heads out into the city. Henry has the night off, and he could catch a cab, but the fresh air helps to clear his head. Tourists and hipsters line the streets, taking in the view or hustling off to their next place to be.

  With nowhere to go and no one waiting for him, he takes to wandering.

  Danger lurks in the corner of his mind. No one is exempt from their demons, whether they are childhood monsters in the closet, or memories of regrettable decisions. With too much time on his hands, a man can go insane dwelling on the past. Or on a woman.

  He crosses the street and heads downtown toward the bars. He sits on his high horse in the Emperor’s Clothes, but in truth, he’s far from innocent. Are the one night stands and half-truths he’s told over the years any better than what Janice does? There’s a transaction, an agreement, and mutual benefit.

  The idea of paying for sex has a certain appeal. Who can claim the thought hasn’t occurred to them? But the reality of such an act sticks in his mind like a claw. Thoughts of his mother crying over his father’s indiscretions fight their way to the forefront of his mind. This is what Janice does—enables men like him.

  But his father found ways without the moral ambiguity of paying for sex. Was that better or worse?

  The entrance to a dark bar beckons him. Music from his early twenties blares, bringing with it a nostalgia best not inspected too closely. Certain periods of one’s life always seem so much happier in retrospect.

  At the bar, he orders a Guinness and hands over his card to start a tab. There’s no sense in pretending this is a one-drink stop.

  The bartender turns the card over, looks at the signature line, and then back up at Salt before opening his tab at the register. The guy’s thick neck bulges out over his black tank top, a parody of masculinity.

  Salt takes a long draw on his drink. It won’t be an easy task to forget Janice. She’s occupied his mind since the moment he first laid eyes on her. She presents a challenge, and her confidence draws him in deeper even as she pushes him away. He drains his glass and pushes it across the bar to be refilled.

  As he waits, a slim woman with long, black hair leans against the bar next to him. She’s young and beautiful—the kind of woman he’s spent years burying his cock in.

  She waves the bartender over. “What pale ale do you have on tap?”

  He watches as she flirts with the bartender and bats her overly made-up eyes. She orders two pints, and turns her back to the bar while she waits.

  “You planning on drinking both of those?”

  The woman, barely old enough not to be called a girl, flashes him a bright smile. She reacts too fast, as though she’d been waiting for him to talk to her.

  “No, I’m here with my girlfriend.” She giggles. “Well, not girlfriend girlfriend.”

  She tilts her long neck so her hair falls away from her shoulders, revealing the low dive of her neckline.

  He is greeted with the sight of soft, warm breasts, possessing the tautness of youth.

  “Would you like to join us?” The invitation on her lips isn’t for dinner.

  He’s used to women reacting to him in this way. It could make a guy cocky, and for a while, it did. When he was younger, having women fall on his cock shored him up against the seas of life. Now, it just makes him feel tired. But tonight, he wants to forget about reality and lose himself like he used to, maybe push the burning need he has for Janice out of his mind, if only for a few hours.

  He finishes his glass and gestures to the bartender for another, including the woman in his order so her drinks will be included on his tab. “That’d be nice. Where’s your friend?”

  She points to a tall blonde with short, curly hair sitting at one of the tables along the back wall. “She actually sent me over here to try and talk to you. She thinks you’re hot.”

  “Does she now?”

  “Yeah, but she’s too shy to make the first move, so here I am.”

  “Lucky me.”

  The drinks arrive and they join her friend. He takes another large sip of dark stout and sits down, his vision blurred from drinking too fast.

  “Evening.” He leans toward the blonde, focusing on her with intensity. “Your friend here tells me you were too shy to talk to me.”

  “You didn’t!” She throws a napkin at her laughing friend.

  “It’s all right. I would have come over to talk to you eventually, anyway.” The lie falls from his mouth so easily, he almost believes it. The game has begun, the checkered flag has been dropped, and everyone is speeding toward the finish line.

  She giggles and grabs her glass, taking a sip while peeking out the corner of her eye at his profile.

  “I’m Gemma,” the dark-haired girl offers. “And my friend’s Missy. We’re here abusing my cousin’s generosity while she’s out of town.”

  “You don’t live in New York, then?”

  “Nope. Geri, my cousin, she’s like some kind of high-powered something here in the city. She works in one of those big buildings on Lexington Avenue and is off in Germany for a conference. Missy and I have the week off, so we came here to party.”

  “Have you been to New York before?”

  “I have,” Missy interjects, stopping her chatty friend from dominating the entire conversation. “I used to come with my mom when I was little to see shows and stuff.”

  “And now you are....” He wonders how old these girls really are. Old enough to meet in a bar, but then again, it is New York and there wasn’t anyone checking IDs at the door.

  “Oh, we’re actresses!” Gemma announces with a sense of pride.

  “Well, right now I’m an Assistant Costumer, and Gemma works at a salon.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be working actresses soon, pretty as you both are.”

  Gemma slips her hand under the table and onto his thigh, as Missy presses her knee against his.

  “Thanks, that’s so nice of you to say,” one of them says, he isn’t sure who.

  What little blood remains in his brain after two Guinesses in short succession, now rushes directly to his cock.

  “So why are you all gussied up?”

  “I was at a thing tonight, boring as shit. This is much more fun.” He flashes a practiced smile before leaning closer to Missy and placing his hand on her thigh.

  Gemma beams. “My cousin’s place is around the corner. Do you want to get a drink with us there?”

  “Yeah, it’d be nice to go somewhere more... comfortable.” Missy slides her foot on top of his and lowers her lashes. “Somewhere a little more private.”

  “Let’s do that.” He takes a long sip of his drink, and stands up without looking back at them. The taste of Janice’s cunt lingers on his lips.

  ***

  “Fuck.” The word stretches out into the world, leaving Salt’s lips like a prayer. He looks down to see the heads of two beautiful girls on their knees worshiping his cock. He laces his hand through Gemma’s dark hair as Missy licks his balls. A shudder racks through his legs, and if it weren’t for the wall holdin
g him up, he would have fallen.

  Young girls. Pretty little things with pert tits and soft, wet mouths.

  Gemma takes his length into her mouth, wrapping her tongue around his head and drawing him deep into her throat.

  Missy moans and digs her nails into his ass.

  The girls lock eyes and pull away from him. They kiss, running their delicate fingers across each other’s skin. Gemma reaches around and unhooks Missy’s bra, letting the cream lace fall to the floor.

  He grabs his cock and pumps while the girls explore. They’ve clearly done this before, sneaking looks to make sure he’s watching and pinching each other’s nipples.

  Gemma kisses her friend’s full breasts and pushes her back on the ground. She swirls her tongue around the hard bud, teasing it until Missy grabs her by the head and arches her chest up.

  He slows his ministrations, afraid he’ll come too soon. The sight of the blonde girl writhing beneath her friend compares to nothing he’s seen before. She rubs herself against Gemma’s thigh, seeking release.

  “Kiss her again.” He cups his balls, holding them high.

  The girls giggle and reach for each other, opening their mouths and exploring the taste of the other.

  He reaches for his champagne, an indulgence which he’d bought along with a box of condoms and chocolate-covered strawberries on the way here. He takes a sip and watches as Gemma explores Missy’s curves. She caresses her hips, sliding her hands over the swell of her ass.

  “My turn.” He opens a condom and slips it on, not sure if he’ll be inside one or both of them, but not wanting to have to stop later. He joins them on the floor and runs his hand down the line of Gemma’s spine.

  She rocks her hips against Missy, eliciting a moan, and grips her friend’s shoulders.

  He slaps her ass with a sharp flick of the wrist.

  Gemma glares up at him, pulling her attention from Missy, and he doesn’t miss the opportunity to shove the girl to the ground and mount her himself. He grinds his cock against the fabric of her thong. “You’re having far too much fun without me.”

  “Feeling left out?” She grabs her small tit, pulls on her nipple, and bites down on her lower lip.