Behind His Back

by Stranges, Sadie

  “Hi,” she says. She sits down and extends her hand.

  “Hey,” I hear him say as I make my exit. “How much does that microbrew suck?”

  Chapter 15

  Lotus is the kind of hotel that magazine editors don’t frequent unless they’re interviewing an A-list celebrity. It’s part of a chain owned by some Chinese bajillionaire, and there’s one in every major financial center around the world. Our city’s is the latest, and it’s the crown jewel of our newly gentrified waterfront district.

  Nicole wrote a brief piece on it a few months ago when it first opened, but even though she could have expensed any of the lavish drinks she ordered at the bar, her credit card was maxed out before she made it to her second martini. She would absolutely murder me if she found out I was meeting a photographer to share a drink here.

  My cab pulls up to the entrance, and as I step out onto the polished concrete I feel grateful that I stopped at home and changed into something a little more upscale. As much as I love my fuck-me jeans, the backless little black dress I’m wearing is a much better fit for Lotus.

  A handsome Asian with immaculately coifed hair holds a glass door open for me, and I step into the lobby, which is a low-lit, oriental-themed den of luxury. The tall, all-cheekbone blonde girl behind the bamboo concierge desk is at least a ten-point-five, and she probably has a side job as a model that will blossom into a jet-setting catwalk career before her twenty-first birthday.

  “Can I help you?” she asks.

  “Just looking for the bar,” I say.

  The girl smiles and points me toward a sunken room at the darkened end of the lobby. Even from where I’m standing, I can see the waterfront lit with gorgeous Chinese lanterns beyond the bar’s massive glass walls.

  As I pass the three girls manning the check-in desk—another two blondes and a brunette for good measure, all of whom are as attractive as the pubescent concierge—I glare at them, trying to assess whether they’ve surreptitiously given their phone numbers to any handsome, faintly Australian-sounding photographers this evening. All around me, hedge-fund managers in fitted suits guide women in revealing dresses along the dark, reflective floor. A few of the women are probably escorts—or at least they really, really like Ferraris. Some are on their way to the bar to get liquored up on fancy cocktails, and others have completed that stage and are making their way to the elevators to seal whatever deal a place like this is bound to imply.

  When I enter the bar, I expect to see Hunter waiting for me, smiling mischievously about whatever adventure awaits me, but he’s not here. I do a quick scan around the room and then take a seat at the bar. The bartender is another young, beautiful blonde, this time with burdensome cleavage that pours over the top of her black blouse like latte foam bubbling over the brim of a Starbucks cup. If I can’t look away from it, I don’t know how the coked-up financiers who frequent this place can keep from staring. But I suppose that’s the point.

  She approaches me right away and smiles while I ask for a glass of red, and she sets off on a recitation of the long, hard-to-pronounce wine list, purring every foreign word with sophisticated poise. I stop her at the first wine I recognize, a Garnacha Tintorera from Spain, a glass of which ends up costing thirty-four dollars. Fuck it, I tell myself. Tonight will be worth it, and I need the courage.

  I’m nearly finished my lonely glass when I hear my phone buzz. Just as I suspect, it’s a text from Hunter, and it’s characteristically vague and bossy.

  “Do what she says,” it reads.

  What she? The bartender? I give the young linguist a quizzical look, as if her unblemished face might offer up a clue, and then a familiar woman takes a seat on the upholstered stool next to me. It’s Hunter’s assistant from the first time I saw him at Rev—the busty one with the tiny waist and impossibly long, straight hair. She’s wearing a short red dress that, despite covering her ample chest from the front, is embarrassingly open at the sides—open enough that I can tell she’s not wearing a bra. An equally scandalous opening traces up along her leg, exposing her tanned thigh. It takes a special kind of body—and a special kind of confidence—to pull off a piece like that, and my face reddens to match its shade at the thought of her wearing it around Hunter.

  Fuck. I have to obey her?

  “Hello, Faith,” she says in a bitchy tone. She’s clearly about as happy to see me as I am to see her.

  “Hey.” I eye her suspiciously.

  “It’s Anika,” she says.

  “Anika,” I repeat. Christ, even her name is kind of bitchy.

  “Finish your drink,” she says. “We’re going to go upstairs and have some fun.”

  We? Really? I guess I don’t have much of a choice, given Hunter’s instructions.

  “Is there going to be a photo shoot or something?” I say.

  Anika smiles. It’s the first smile I’ve seen from her, and it’s just as upsettingly attractive as her body. “Something like that,” she says.

  I take a final sip and then follow her to the elevator like one of the Ferrari-loving call girls, wishing I’d had time for another glass or two to stiffen my nerves for whatever’s about to happen.

  I feel my temperature rising inside the dark, lush elevator, and I sneak glances at myself in the gold-tinged mirror to check if I’m pale. Anika stares indifferently at the elevator doors, and I find it almost impossible not to stare at the exposed side of her breast. It’s the first time I’ve been jealous of a pair of tits that absolutely must be fake. I wonder what her involvement in all of this is. Will I have to do anything sexual with her? I make a promise to myself as we’re propelled upward to the eighteenth floor that whatever Hunter commands, I’ll obey.

  When the elevator doors open, I follow her down a long hallway, staring at her plump ass as it sways with each step. It’s a gorgeous ass, but mine is better. And as petty as that sounds, it gives me strength to keep going. Would other women find this creepy? Would they freak out and bolt? And why does all of this mystery turn me on so much?

  “Here we are,” she says when we reach the room. She slides a card and pushes the door in, holding it for me to enter ahead of her. I take a deep breath and cross the threshold, excited to see Hunter.

  Only there is no Hunter. The room is empty, save for a massive television and a high king-size bed with black bedding and a headboard of elaborately carved bamboo.

  “Do you have to pee?” Anika asks.

  “I beg your pardon?” I say. That’s not a fetish I’m particularly interested in exploring.

  “Go pee if you need to,” she says. “I’m going to tie you to the bed.”

  Holy shit. I might be getting myself into something more dangerous than a night of majestic fucking, but I have no reason to distrust Hunter—yet.

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  “Good,” she says. “Then I need you to take off your clothes.”

  I think back to the silent oath I took in the elevator—whatever Hunter wants, I’m up for it. I pull my dress down past my shoulders and shimmy it over my hips and down my legs, revealing an ornate pink bra and thong combination—my most recent Fräulein purchase. I was hoping I’d be revealing them to Hunter, not the busty girl he pays to tie up his conquests in strange hotel rooms. And her total lack of interest in my underthings makes me miss the fiery eyes of Miss Sassy Pants from the dressing room. Maybe Anika once stood where I’m standing. Maybe Hunter fucked her too, and she’s jealous of me. I almost feel sorry for her.

  With my dress on the floor, I stand before her in my lingerie and heels and await her next order.

  “All of it please,” she says.

  Fuck. Hunter’s not even going to see it. As I unclasp my bra, it occurs to me that I’m more bothered by Hunter not seeing my underwear than I am by a woman I don’t know seeing me naked. I’ve come a long way, baby.

  Anika doesn’t even pay attention as I reveal myself. She’s busy unpacking a hardshell case that’s lying beside the bed. She pulls out a lighting stand an
d a tripod, which I’m assuming will hold a camera, and she sets everything up so that it’s pointing toward the bed.

  “Sorry about all that,” she says once everything’s set up. “I know this must seem a little weird.” It’s a rare ray of humanity from her, and I suddenly want to be her friend. Which is probably strange of me, considering that she’s still fully clothed and I’m standing naked in front of her.

  “Now let’s take a look at you,” she says. She assesses me with a clinical indifference and then says, “You have a gorgeous body. I can see why he’s into you.”

  “Thanks.” Did I say friend? Let’s go with best friend.

  “Now hop on that bed so I can tie you up,” she says.

  She pulls back the bedspread and bunches it up on the floor, and I crawl onto the bed, a little scared and very excited, and lie on my back on the black silk sheets with my head resting on the matching pillows.

  “Good girl,” she says, and she retrieves two lengths of white nylon rope from a travel bag beside the camera case.

  I start to heat up when she walks to the side of the bed to secure my arm to the headboard. The knot is complicated enough to suggest she spent some time in Girl Scouts, but it’s not uncomfortable. I’ve never been tied up before, and I never guessed it would be something that excited me, but by the time she makes her way to the other side of the bed to fasten my other arm, I’m half wishing she had climbed on top of me and straddled my chest while doing it. Once I’m fully secure, I’m so turned on that she could do just about whatever she wanted to me and I wouldn’t protest. I can’t tell whether it’s my lingerie addiction or some twisted desire I’m developing, but I’m suddenly desperate to see whether she’s wearing any panties beneath that revealing dress.

  “That should do it,” she says. She gathers up my clothes and puts them in one of the drawers of the room’s large black dresser.

  “Have fun,” she says while I stare at her longingly. “You’ll do fine.” Then, before she walks out, she switches on the television and the studio light.

  When my eyes adjust to the bulb’s glow, I see on the screen a real-time video feed of my naked body bound with white rope to a luxurious black bed. Instant arousal floods my pussy, and as I stare at my body, naked and vulnerable and ready to be fucked, I struggle fruitlessly against the ropes to touch myself on film.

  #

  The first thing I hear is a woman giggling in the hallway. She sounds young and maybe a little drunk. The giggling gets closer, and then I hear a card slide through the door’s lock. My heart thumps as I hear it beep faintly and then unlock with a mechanical click.

  A tall girl with a blonde bob stumbles into the room in too-high heels and a dark, sequin-strewn tank-top dress that barely covers her bum. She’s all long legs and gangly arms, and her skinny limbs are slathered in colorful ink. The two tattoos of holstered guns on her bare thighs immediately give her away.

  “I remember this body,” she says. She smiles and clumsily reaches back to remove each of her acrobatically ambitious shoes, steadying herself with a hand on the wall. Then she pads across the carpet toward me, smiling mischievously.

  Behind her is Hunter in a black, trim suit with an open collar, looking like a GQ cover that came to life.

  “Hello, Faith,” he says. “You remember Jessica, don’t you? As I recall, this isn’t the first time she’s seen you naked.”

  “Hi,” Jessica says with a cartoonish squeak. She stands at the foot of the bed and gently strokes my foot like it’s an anesthetized bunny at a petting zoo.

  “Hi,” I say. Once again, Hunter’s proven that he knows how to fill me with a thrilling combination of fear and arousal. Thank God I’m tied up so I don’t have to make the first move.

  Hunter strides across the room and sits in a large upholstered chair facing the bed. “I’ve brought you a toy,” he says. Then his voice becomes stern. “Undress your new toy for me.”

  I make a show of struggling against the ropes. “My hands are tied,” I say. Why is he forcing me to disobey him? Is this part of his plan?

  He smiles. “Then undress her with your words.”

  I look at Jessica, who’s standing before me, wet lipped and waiting for my instructions. “Take off your dress,” I say, trying to hide the shakiness in my voice.

  She takes a step back from the bed and complies, never breaking eye contact. With lithe arms and jutting elbows, she reaches behind herself to unzip, and she lets the dress drop past her narrow hips onto the carpet with a whispered clatter of colliding sequins. Her neon blue push-up bra and matching barely-there panties are spectacular, and for a second my fixation on the fabric’s fine details distracts me from the most erotic scenario of my life. The set must be from Fräulein, but I haven’t seen it in any of my email updates. It must be new. Whichever suitor bought them for her in hopes of carnal reciprocity had excellent taste.

  With her dress on the floor, she stands in front of the bed, one leg in front of the other, turning her body from side to side like a child waiting for candy. Fingers tipped with bright pink nail polish reach up to trace demurely along the hem of her bra, which can scarcely contain her firm little tits.

  I look at Hunter for a sign that I’ve done a good job, but his expression hasn’t changed. I’m far from finished.

  “Now the bra,” I say.

  Jessica smiles with relief, as if she thought I’d never ask. She unclasps her bra and shimmies it down her arms, wiggling her tits. She just can’t help being sexy.

  The bra falls to the floor, and Jessica clasps her wrist behind her ass, pulling her shoulders back and putting her chest on display.

  I assess her body and then stare into her mascara-sheathed eyes. She stares back hungrily, like we’re both being held apart from each other. As if the second we’re freed, we’ll collide and combine and entangle our warm bodies.

  God, I’m so fucking wet. I’m craving friction so badly that I start gyrating my hips on the sheets in a restrained rhythm.

  “What else?” Hunter says. He’s growing impatient with my pace. I can only imagine how hard his cock must be right now.

  “Your panties,” I say, this time with more confidence. “They belong on the floor.”

  She slides her thumbs between the stretchy fabric and her hips and begins to peel them off.

  “No,” I say. “Show me your ass.”

  Fireworks combust behind her eyes, and she spins and spreads her legs as though she’s about to be frisked. Her back is tattooed with the face of a tiger, its blazing eyes peering at me through jungle foliage.

  She bends over slightly, arching her back and looking innocently over her shoulder at me like a practiced calendar pin-up. Her ass is skinny, but it’s just plump enough to have a sexy little fold beneath her glutes. It’s an undeniably cute ass—two little handfuls of white-hot sex that are unblemished by tattoos—and I’m secretly hoping that as soon as I’m untied, Hunter commands me to spank it.

  She slowly tugs her panties down her hips, and the delicate fabric clings to her wet pussy as she peels it away. She brings her legs together and pulls them toward her feet, showing off her flexibility by bending all the way over at the waist so that I see nothing but a pair of straight, tattooed legs that lead up to a small, white ass, like a round little scoop of vanilla ice cream sitting on a colorful cone. With her panties on the floor, she wiggles her ass for me and then rises with a proud look on her face.

  “Good girl,” I say. I know what I have to do next, and I tell myself that I’m ready. I assumed I’d end up in a three way with Hunter sooner or later, but I always figured he’d take the reigns so that I could just passively enjoy it. But he’s up to something different. He wants me to initiate, to prove to both him and myself that I want it.

  “Now come up here on the bed and eat my pussy,” I tell Jessica. Because at this moment, it’s exactly what I want.

  She plants her hands on the mattress and then shoots her knees through her arms like a gymnast on a pommel hor
se. Then she snarls and begins stalking toward me on all fours. When she’s between my legs, she lies on her belly and starts lapping up my juice with broad, slow licks of her tongue, all the while looking me in the eye. This clearly isn’t her first time pleasing a woman. With each stroke of her tongue, I convulse, and she takes her time so that the duration between each lick becomes unbearable. When she’s done teasing, she hooks my thighs in her elbows and uses her fingertips to retract my hood. Then she places her hot, wet mouth on me, sealing me with her lips. She finds my clit instantly, and I begin to shake as she deftly traces what feel like faint figure eights with the soft, sopping-wet tip of her tongue.

  It’s without question the best technique I’ve ever experienced, but I didn’t come here to have my pussy eaten by Miss Sassy Pants. I came here for Hunter’s cock.

  I look over at him. He’s still on the chair, but he’s taken his jacket off. He stares at me while I writhe and moan under Jessica’s control, and I decide that I can’t take it anymore. I need them both. I can do this.

  I look over at Hunter. “Stand up,” I tell him. “Take off your shirt.”

  He gives me a startled look and then complies, smiling as he slowly passes each button through its stiff hole to reveal his chest. When his shirt is off, he stands before us with a devilish grin. He’s not just going to undress for me. He’s making me do it for him.

  “Now your pants,” I say.

  He begins unbuckling, taking his time while I moan. Miss Sassy Pants is freakishly good, and I’m getting close. Of course, watching Hunter strip to his bulging boxer briefs certainly isn’t slowing me down.

  “Your cock,” I struggle to say between gasps. “Take out your fucking cock.”

  Again he complies, and again he takes his time, like the self-assured hero of some cheeseball crime drama who waits until the last second to snip the chord that defuses a bomb.

  He pulls the band of his briefs down along his shaft, and Jessica takes a quick break from her work to turn her head. We both watch as his cock bounces free from its cotton cage, and she looks back at me with wonder in her eyes, like we just witnessed a shooting star. Does every girl love that moment as much as I do?