Strictly Business: Callie (Gold Club Staffing #1)

by Cheri Wood

  I reach for him to cover me with his body, but he pulls away, just looking at me. Remembering what I’m actually here for, I put my hands over my head and spread my legs. He clicks the cuffs in place around my wrists but leaves my ankles untethered. Then he climbs onto the bed, raises my legs to rest on his shoulders and puts his mouth against my sex. He licks me along the seam from my opening to the hood, ending with circling my clit with his tongue. Then he uses his fingers to spread me and flicks his tongue against every single part of sensitive tissue, making my pleasure build and build until I’m panting and squirming, begging for him to release me. Then he pulls away. I mewl in protest, but with my hands restrained I can’t reach for him. Instead, he climbs off the bed and starts to strip. I sit up a little, trying to see through the lace. When he opens the bedside drawer I realize I have a voice I can use this time.

  “Don’t.”

  He stops in the middle of ripping the foil package, no doubt staring at me with an incredulous look.

  “I want to feel you move inside me. No barriers. I’ve wanted that for a long time, but I was never allowed to say so. I’m clean, I swear. I know you are, too, or we wouldn’t be here. And I’m on birth control. Please?”

  He doesn’t move at first, probably trying to decide whether to trust me or not, but then he puts the foil package down and climbs on top of me. His lips fuse to mine and I’m vaguely aware of my cuffs being undone. Then he’s at my entrance, nudging me with the tip of his cock before pushing all the way inside. I grip his buttocks as he thrusts hard into me, my inner walls greedily sucking him deeper. His teeth tug and nip at my nipples, making me arch against him.

  “You feel amazing,” I moan. “I knew you would.”

  As soon as I’ve said it, his thrusts pick up speed and in a matter of seconds, I’m panting and begging again, feeling how close I am. He reaches between us to rub my clit and I explode. Or implode. I can’t even think straight. All I know is that I’m hugging him to me, both with my arms and my pussy. He groans and I know he’s close, too, but instead of letting go, he pulls out and rolls to his back next to me. As exhausted as I am, I can’t just let him tend to himself, so I gather all my strength to crawl down and take him into my mouth. His fingers tangle in my hair as I take him deeper, and when I massage his sacks, he shoots, his cum hitting the back of my throat. I suck him until the last drop, and then I pull away, licking my lips.

  His chest is heaving and I reach out to feel the beat of his heart. His skin is smooth and his muscles defined. Why does a man like this seek out his pleasure from an escort? I want to ask, but it’s not exactly a nod-or-shake question, so I refrain. He takes my wandering hand and lifts it to his lips, kissing the fingertips before letting it rest against his chest again. A shiver goes through me at the gentle contact and I pull the sheet over me to cover up. It’s silly, I know. I’m always nude during meetings, but I suddenly feel naked and exposed. I’m falling for him. I’m falling for a man I haven’t even seen.

  I need to bring my mind back to the job, so I let my hand travel down to his length. It comes alive under my touch but before I can start pumping, Mr. Hush removes my hand.

  “I’m sorry. I thought-“ I say, but he just gently urges me to roll over, nestling my butt in the cradle of his hips.

  He kisses the nape of my neck and a few inches down my spine while his hand smoothes over my belly and cups one of my breasts. I push back against him, stimulating his rapidly growing hardness and waiting for him to slide back inside. But Mr. Hush has another idea, because he stills my hips with a firm grip and then resumes massaging my breast. I suspect he might make me come just from the stimulation, but I want him inside me when I do.

  “Please,” I moan, hoping he’ll know what I’m asking for. Maybe he misunderstands, or maybe he’s just ignoring my plea, because his hand leaves my breast and slides down my body to tease my folds. I’m already wet, but the pressure his fingers are putting on my sensitive skin is making me even wetter. “Please. Inside me… I need…” His fingers do the walking and then they’re making me ripple around them.

  When he withdraws, I’m spent and luxuriously boneless. However, he’s still hard and I have a job to do. That’s why I don’t object when he tugs on my hand. Instead, I follow willingly, letting him lead me over to the leather contraption on the other side of the room. Trish explained it to me once. The girls call it the A-chair, both because of its purpose and its design. I think one of Gold Club Staffing’s clients designed it years ago. The first time I saw it I couldn’t ever imagine getting on it, but with Mr. Hush… I just can’t deny him. Also, I think I want it.

  I step into the stirrups, my legs aligning with the soft leather padding that is shaped like an upside-down V, and bend over. The front part narrows into a peak, supporting my torso but keeping my breasts unsupported. There is a second A-shape pad for the head, much like a massage chair’s face support, except it has straps that can be fastened to make sure the woman doesn’t try to move away. There are straps to fasten the legs and waist, as well, but Mr. Hush keeps them unattached.

  The chair, if you can call it that, is adjustable both horizontally and vertically, and once I’m in place with my hands gripping the handles placed on the narrow part, Mr. Hush starts adjusting the height and the positioning. I feel him brush against me and I suck in a breath. I realize now why he lifted the gag order, I can say no to what he’s about to do. I can, but I won’t.

  His hands are warm as they caress my buttocks, and when his thumbs find the wetness still between my legs, he spreads it between my cheeks. From a side table that I spotted as I was getting into the chair, he gets a lubricant. The gel is cool against my skin and when he inserts a finger, I tense. His other hand rubs my butt cheek soothingly, and as soon as I start to relax there are two fingers inside my tight channel, spreading me. His thumb finds my clit and presses on it, making me press back against him. A third finger is added to open me up for him and I grunt. Pretty unladylike of me, I know. Of course, I’m anything but a lady, so…

  His fingers leave me and instead he massages my buttocks. Then I feel his head press against the too tight opening. It shouldn’t be physically possible to put anything in there, yet Mr. Hush’s mushroom head pushes past the barrier of my sphincter. It’s painful, and I gasp at the intrusion, but his hands are rubbing my back and I’m feeling cared for. Inch by inch he enters me and while I gasp out of pain, there’s also little pants of pleasure mixed in. Then he starts moving. It’s gentle at first, but with every thrust of his hips, his speed increases and soon he’s gripping my hips. I’m panting, urging him to go faster, harder, whatever else it is I’m begging for. When he comes, I feel it reverberate throughout my body.

  I whimper when he pulls out and he gently eases me off the chair, kissing me deeply. Then he carries me back to the bed, tucking me in. I expect him to leave me there, but he stays, holding me and caressing my back. I need to stay awake in case he wants something more from me, but my eyelids grow too heavy and they close of their own accord.

  GCS

  I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep for when I wake with a start, but I hear the shower running. This is my cue to leave, yet for some reason I can’t. I’m drawn to the light under the bathroom door and I knock on it. Mr. Hush values his privacy, and while I’m still wearing the blindfold, it wouldn’t be impossible to make out his face if he were to be without his mask. I step inside, purposely looking away from the shower space. True enough, his mask is on the sink. I pick it up and close my eyes. Using my hands to guide me, I walk over to the shower and as I’m feeling for the door handle, it slides open. I hold out the mask and I feel it leave my hand. I wait just outside until his hand grips mine and he tugs me inside.

  Opening my eyes, I’m standing under the spray in front of him. His chest is soapy and I tentatively reach out to trace the planes of it. I lean in and lick the flat disks of his nipples, then I start to move downward. It’s a harsh reminder of my failed attempt at seducing
Tom in the shower when Mr. Hush grabs me by the shoulders and guides me back up before I’ve tasted him. But, unlike Tom, Mr. Hush isn’t disgusted by me. Instead, he turns me around and places my hands on the shower wall in front of me. I feel his hardness against my opening and within a split second, he’s thrusting into me from behind. My walls grip him eagerly and I wonder if I’ll ever get enough of him.

  GCS

  It feels like it’s been hours before I retire to my dressing room, and I’m surprised to find Cindy and Mindy in the shower room.

  “Hey, Callie,” Mindy says when she spots me. “You’re working late.”

  “Mm-hm. You, too, I see,” I remark.

  “Yeah, one of the regulars,” Mindy says and stretches. Firm breasts rise with the movement. No sagging, of course. “Seriously, I don’t know where he gets the energy.”

  “Pills,” Cindy states, lathering up her hair.

  “An older guy, then?” I comment, turning on the water in my shower stall.

  “Yeah, like 40 or something,” Mindy says.

  “Practically ancient,” I mutter drily.

  “We call him Digger,” Mindy continues, “because he acts like he’s trying to dig a hole through to China with a jackhammer.”

  “Guy’s got issues,” Cindy remarks. “If the money wasn’t so good, I’d be telling Madam Director to take me off the list.”

  “Are you going to quit working here once you’re out of college?” I ask. Cindy and Mindy are roommates and students paying their way through college.

  “Oh, yeah,” Cindy says emphatically.

  “Same here,” Mindy agrees. “I mean, the money’s great and all, but I want a real life, you know? Boyfriend, kids, that sort of thing.”

  Right. Because married women don’t turn tricks to pay the mortgage. Now I don’t just feel old, I feel pathetic, too. Even more so because I have more passion for Mr. Hush than I do for my husband.

  VI

  Dudley is a 25 year old computer genius that earned millions from his interactive video game that he designed while living in his parents’ basement. He told me once that girls sometimes approach him once they see the dollar signs, but for the most part his pasty skin, double chin and beer gut keeps them at bay. So he figured he’d rather pay for the pleasure of a woman’s company up front than find out months later that she was only screwing him for his money while talking trash about him to her girlfriends. I wonder if the same thing is true for Mr. Hush.

  As I’m riding Dudley into the sunset, my mind drifts to the ABC-conference I had with Mr. Hush almost a week ago. I don’t have anything booked for tomorrow or the day after that. Madam Director is fazing me out. Maybe it’s for the best. I’m tired. I’m having trouble staying in the moment with my clients, and that’s what they’re paying me for.

  Dudley is groaning and twitching beneath me and I remind myself to make the appropriate noises of appreciation.

  “Come for me, Studly,” I pitch my voice higher and add a panting quality to my breathing. “I love the way you buck for me, you wild bronco.” Dudley likes Westerns. “Yes. Yes. Yeeeeehawww!”

  I bounce faster and faster until he’s grunting and swearing and finally coming. I collapse on top of him, panting, “You wore me out, baby.” His chest is sweaty and hairy, but this is what he wants. This is what he pays for. I slowly peel myself off of him, moving down his body to dispose of the condom. Then I lick him clean and tell him he’s delicious. It’s a lie.

  GCS

  When I get home from my meeting with Dudley, the house is dark. I check the time, but it’s too early for Tom to have gone to bed. As I park my car in the empty driveway, it’s obvious Tom hasn’t come home yet. I sigh deeply as I turn off the ignition and climb out of the car. My feet feel like cement blocks trudging up to the house.

  Ever since Tom found out about me working for Nick, he’s been avoiding me and our home like the plague. I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and hear him come in, but he never enters the bedroom. The couch has extra pillows these days.

  I take a long shower and scrub myself clean a second time. Sometimes, one shower just isn’t enough. When I return to the bedroom, I see my cell phone blinking on the nightstand. I walk over and open the new message I’ve received.

  I can’t stop thinking about what we did last week

  My hand flies to my mouth in shock. Who’s texting me? Who has my private cell phone number? I should ignore it, pretend like whoever it is has the wrong number. Curiosity gets the better of me, though, and before I can stop to think about it, my fingers are moving over the display.

  Who is this?

  Meanwhile, I’m pulling up the directory search engine and searching for the number. Not listed. I try Googling, too, but it’s not even showing up on one of those ‘Who called me?’ sites that list telemarketers.

  I’ve heard they call me Mr. Hush

  Oh, shit. My heart just flew into my throat.

  How did you get this number?

  I wait with my pulse racing, my mind scrambling to make sense of it all. After all this time, the man I’ve been taking into my body every week is seeking me out. I feel completely exposed. My phone number is unlisted, so he shouldn’t be able to find out my real name or where I live, but it still feels like my private space has been violated.

  Connections. I’m a valued client.

  I bet. I wonder if he texts all his girls or if I’m special. Not that I have any actual proof that he’s meeting with anyone but me, but still. Plenty of guys rotate between girls depending on their schedule and appetite.

  I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to check in.

  For someone who’s never said a word over the course of months, I’m surprised you’re so prolific all of a sudden.

  Things change. Last week changed things.

  Oh, boy. So he felt it, too? I want to giggle like a schoolgirl, but then I remind myself that this is a road headed nowhere but Disasterville. Better to keep things easy and breezy.

  That good, huh? I type, hoping it sets the right tone.

  Better.

  I’m recovering from the flush of pride when his next message comes in.

  I wish I’d met you in another life

  I can’t pretend not to know what he means. Me too. How odd that it’s easier to talk without actually speaking.

  It kills me to know what you do when I’m not with you

  Wow. You don’t even know me.

  I want to

  That’s not possible. I have to draw the line. I have to, or I’ll end up even more mixed-up that I already am.

  Are you alone?

  What the hell? Does he know where I live? Did his ‘connections’ give that piece of information away, too? Another text comes in before I can figure out my reply.

  Sorry, not meant to sound creepy. I really want to hear your voice. Call me?

  I hug my knees to my chest and bite my lip. I know what he’s really asking, and honestly, I want to. But if Tom comes home and finds me on the phone… I decide to call and check in.

  The phone rings but goes unanswered. I try it again. And again. On the third try, Tom picks up, sounding out of breath and agitated.

  “What?” he practically barks at me.

  “I just wanted to see when you’ll be home. Should I wait up?”

  “No. I’m staying in the city. I’m at a business meeting. Can’t talk.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

  “Yeah. Bye.”

  I say a perfunctory ‘I love you’, but he’s already hung up. Tired and frustrated, I call the number without a listing. I hear the click as he picks up and then his breathing. Not heavy and weird, just regular breathing.

  “I’m alone.”

  My phone vibrates with a new message.

  Not anymore

  “What do you want to hear?”

  What are you wearing?

  I laugh. “Going with the classics, I see. Okay, well, I had just
had a shower when I saw your message, so I’m in a towel.”

  You should take that off

  It’s funny, but I feel cheekier and more flirtatious now. I feel like I’m the one in control for a change. Maybe it’s because I’m not being paid to perform. I can end this conversation whenever I like and refuse to communicate with him again. In theory, at least. I don’t think I could truly cut off all communication with Mr. Hush even if I wanted to.

  “I will. But it’s only fair that you get naked, too.”

  How do you know I’m not already?

  “In that case, do you want to hear how I’m picturing you right now?”

  Definitely

  I grin, laying back against the pillows. I have a very vivid image of him in my head. I close my eyes and let my imagination run wild. “You’re in your bedroom. It’s dark, maybe just a faint light by the bed, and you’re standing in front of your floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Everywhere you look, there are lights twinkling like stars, but you’re high above them. No one can touch you where you are. No one except me.

  “You’re so wrapped up in the view that you don’t notice me standing in the doorway. I study your strong back, the muscles flexing ever so little as you breathe; your taut ass begging to be groped; your strong, lean thighs and your corded arms. Your hands are flat against the glass, and I’m wet thinking of you taking me against the window for anyone with binoculars to see.

  “You’re a work of art, every bit as beautiful as the timeless statues. Your bedroom walls are adorned with original artists, but even if I were an art major, I couldn’t possibly look anywhere else but at you.

  “Then you turn around, somehow sensing my presence. Maybe you smell my arousal from across the room. Maybe you heard me from the start. Either way, I feast my eyes on the front of your body; the smooth, broad chest; the washboard abs; the powerful thighs and your hardness saluting me. Your face is cast in shadow and I can’t make it out, but I feel like I know you. I feel like I’ve known you forever.”