Torment Me (Rough Love Part One)

by Annabel Joseph

  I hadn’t grown up with a lot of money, so I valued my belongings, especially my expensive belongings. I collapsed on the bed with a sigh, and scrolled through my contacts to Henry’s number. I had to call three times before he picked up.

  “Yes, love. What is it? How did your date go?”

  “Shitty,” I said.

  “Hold on.” I heard him speaking to someone, heard titters and cooing. His bed was always full of girls. If Simon was an angel, Henry was a God, or at least a minor deity. Golden bronze, beach tan, beach body, even though he was more businessman than Bahamas.

  “All right. Tell me,” he said when he got back on the line.

  “He was an asshole.”

  “Aren’t most of our clients assholes?”

  “No. Some of them are nice. This one wasn’t nice.”

  “He tips well. Jesus, Chere, what did you do for him? He left you a hell of a gratuity.”

  I waited. He waited. When he spoke he sounded kind, and concerned. “Did something happen? If I have to go after this fucker, I will.”

  He didn’t mean going after him in a legal sense. He meant in a sense of calling his guys and making sure that W understood he’d behaved like an asshole. But that kind of action was reserved for extreme circumstances. W hadn’t really damaged me, not any more than I could bear, as he’d promised.

  “He was just weird,” I said. “He wouldn’t let me see him. He wouldn’t tell me his name. It really bothered me.”

  “About that...”

  “Have you seen him? What does he look like?”

  “I don’t know. He dated a few escorts through Prom Queen in Vegas, and they told me he was okay. Crazy about privacy, but okay. I’m sorry he was an asshole, and that the two of you weren’t a good match.”

  “He was just...not my usual type of customer. I mean...”

  Henry let a few moments pass before he prompted me. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that he was really dominant, really commanding.”

  “Maybe Nina would be a better match for him.”

  Nina was our resident pain-slut BDSM enthusiast. She’d probably love W. He’d probably love her.

  “I guess I’ll give him one more chance,” I said. I didn’t want him to date Nina, because then he’d be getting exactly what he wanted, and I didn’t want him to get exactly what he wanted. Jerk. Plus he still had to replace my skirt, not that I believed he was really going to do that.

  “So am I to understand it’s okay for this client to schedule another date with you?”

  “This client,” I repeated with an edge in my voice. “What’s so fucking special about ‘this client,’ that we can’t use his name?”

  “I only have a pseudonym. Do you want it?”

  Gah. “No. Yes. Fuck it. Yes.”

  “E. E. Cumming.”

  “He’s hilarious.”

  Henry made a soft sound. “He certainly seems to have captured your fancy.”

  I hated Henry sometimes, for the way he saw through me, the way he intuitively knew all his escorts and what made them tick. He was like an uncomfortably sexy father, only half the age.

  “He hasn’t captured my fancy,” I said. “But he apparently tips well, and he’s not boring.”

  “Speaking of boring, Mr. Linguard is hoping to see you next Tuesday night.”

  Mr. Linguard was incredibly boring and incredibly sweet. He was just what I needed after the W trauma. “Yes, book him. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “I’m sure he’ll look forward to it too.” I heard the tap-tap-tap of computer keys. Another date, another dollar. “Chere,” he said when he finished, “are you absolutely certain you’re okay with seeing Mr. Cumming again? Nina would be happy to take him.”

  I made some vague, ambivalent noise that Henry would recognize as a total front. “I already have his stupid blindfold, to protect his stupid privacy, so I might as well do the date.”

  “I imagine that blindfold requirement won’t last forever. He’ll probably reveal himself once he trusts you.”

  I snorted. “Why do I have to earn the ‘honor’ of looking on his magnificence? That’s bullshit. He’s the one paying me.”

  “I know. Don’t let it get to you. It’s probably just an ego thing.”

  Well, W had ego in spades. I hardly knew him, but I knew his ego went far beyond the usual size. Along with his cock.

  I heard feminine voices in the background, and Henry’s muffled reply. “Sorry, Chere,” he said. “I have to go.”

  “Have fun.” I hung up and buried my face in my hands. For the second time that night, I had to ask myself “What the fuck just happened?” I’d called Henry to complain that W was an abusive, asshole client, and instead I’d signed myself up for a second date. Only to spite him, I told myself. He would have liked Nina so much better. Fucker. He wasn’t getting Nina. He was getting me.

  The Viceroy Session

  The Viceroy was one of my favorite hotels. So classy, so elegant. It felt wrong to show up there braless, in the casual amber-beige dress W had bought me. But if he was going to cut shit off me, it was going to be his own shit he’d purchased.

  I mean, fuck, I shouldn’t have even been here. I should have let Nina come instead and do her thing. I could have handed off the eye mask to her. Instead I was fastening it onto my own eyes and knocking on the door. We were high in the air, nineteenth floor. Would have been nice to actually see the view, instead of dark leather blackness. Unlike the first time, I didn’t smile when he opened the door.

  “Chere,” he said. He sounded happy to see me, and gruff at the same time. How did he do that? He smelled the same as I remembered, with that enticing, understated cologne. He pulled me inside and shut the door, and pushed me back against it. Then he was kissing me, not a polite, welcome-back kiss, but a hard, commanding kiss that pushed my head back against the wood. My bag fell from my grasp and hit the floor. His fingers were on my jaw, my chin, my braless breasts.

  “Nice dress,” he murmured. “It looks good on you.”

  He trapped my wrists behind my back with one hand, and tugged the hemline up with the other. I wasn’t wearing panties because I didn’t want him to have the joy of ripping them off again. But he seemed to find just as much joy in groping my bare pussy.

  Thirty seconds into this date, my pussy was full of his fingers and my mouth was full of his tongue. I didn’t normally kiss clients but he didn’t leave me much choice. At least he was a good kisser. I could tell he’d brushed for me, or had a mint. I was pinned against the door by his big, and yes, tall body. I wanted to see him so badly. If I just yanked off the blindfold...

  Ohh, damn. He’d found my clit.

  I danced a little and pulled at my wrists where he held them. He stopped fondling me and gave a mocking laugh. “It’s good to see you again. I didn’t know if you’d agree to a second date.”

  I sagged against the door, hating how easily he worked me up. “I needed the money,” I said.

  He laughed louder this time, and his laugh sounded as cool and mean as my words. “You aren’t here for the money. Not this time. You’re here because you want me, you lying piece of shit. Don’t be precious.”

  “Don’t call me a piece of shit,” I snapped back.

  He pushed my dress higher and tugged it over my head, being careful not to dislodge the mask. As soon as I lowered my arms, my wrists were gathered behind my back. “No, not the—” I protested.

  Zip ties. Grr.

  “I don’t trust you any farther than I can throw you,” he said. “You get the zip ties for now.”

  “You’re a freak. It doesn’t have to be this way. I can do so many wonderful things with my hands.” I drew out the word sooo to hint at endless, sensual possibilities.

  His only response was another laugh. “I think your hands are wonderful bound behind your back. I’m the consumer in this relationship, and you’re the product, and if I want to zip tie your ankles to your neck for the next four hours, I g

oddamn will.”

  Ugh, not a nice picture. “You only hired me for two hours,” I said. “And I don’t think that sounds very safe.”

  “I think it’s time we shut you up. Get on your knees, Chere.”

  I felt extra naked as I obeyed, since my vision was obscured. I had no idea what the room looked like or if anyone besides W was there. What if he was taping this? What if he was streaming it live to five million people? Maybe he was some porn kingpin. He certainly had money. The Viceroy wasn’t cheap, and my services weren’t cheap, and even the plain, casual dress he’d bought me wasn’t cheap.

  I heard him shed his clothes, heard the rip of a condom wrapper. I tried to call on Miss Kitty’s glamour and equanimity as he shoved gracelessly into my mouth. His fingers molded around my scalp, not grasping, just holding me where he wanted me. It was so hard to give a civilized blowjob without your hands. I tried to control the depth of his thrusting. I moved my head and hummed against his length. I tried to make it classy.

  He wasn’t having classy.

  “Don’t try to be cute,” he said. “I don’t want your pretty whore tricks. I want to use you. I want your body to be mine. Do you understand?”

  His fingers moved against my hair, my cheeks, my ears, manipulating me for his own pleasure. How could I not understand? My hands were bound behind my back and I couldn’t see anything. His cock was my entire world, his smell and the smell of the fruity condom. It didn’t belong, that happy, fruity condom smell. I wished it was just his smell. I wished there wasn’t a rule about condoms.

  I wished I wasn’t having these thoughts, because holy hell. Bareback was dangerous. Bareback meant you were worthless, and Miss Kitty wasn’t worthless.

  I took him deeper, focusing on the blowjob, focusing on my job, which I’d worked damn hard at over the years. He was just a client, and I had to serve him for two hours. I couldn’t let crazy thoughts start freaking me out. I took him deep in my throat until I gagged. I tried to be “his,” which meant accepting his hard thrusts and letting the drool leak out of the corners of my mouth. I didn’t use “whore tricks,” and I was finally rewarded with his guttural bark and deep, thrusting sigh.

  Did I dare hope that was it? That his frenzied nut in my mouth would be enough to satisfy him for this session? He took his time drawing away from me. “Stay there,” he said, when I sat back on my heels. “Don’t move. Don’t get up.”

  Shit. I suspected the blowjob was a mere aperitif. It had been fifteen minutes, maybe, since I knocked on the door. One hour and forty-five minutes to go. I heard water running in the bathroom. Strangely, my freakiest customers were also my most fastidious. A moment later I heard him return, and felt his hand beneath my chin. He tipped my face up and swabbed the drool that was drying in the corners of my mouth and along my neck.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Can I take off the mask?”

  “No.”

  Argh. I shook my head like I could somehow dislodge the straps. He was off again, running water, clinking ice into a glass. What the hell was he doing? Why wouldn’t he let me see him? Or see anything? But I knew why—because it kept me perpetually on edge.

  When he grabbed my face again, I didn’t feel it coming. He put a glass to my mouth and said, “Drink.”

  What was he holding against my lips? What did he want me to drink? Might be water, might be battery acid. It turned out to be something alcoholic. I choked and sucked in a breath.

  “What is that?” I gasped.

  “Scotch. Be civilized, for God’s sake.”

  He tipped the glass up again and I drank, because my other option was to drool it all over the front of me after he’d just finished cleaning me up.

  “I don’t really like the taste of liquor,” I said.

  “I don’t really like the taste of pussy, but we’re all adults here. Stand up.”

  I tried to be graceful about it. I probably failed. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Nowhere scary.” His arms guided me forward until he sat me down on the bed. He pushed me back and I relaxed into the clean-smelling sheets. Breathe in. Breathe out. My mouth tasted like scotch now instead of the flavored condom. He kissed me again, open-mouthed. Why did he kiss me so much, when his main goal was to hurt me?

  “W,” I said against his lips. “You’re so strange.”

  He pushed my legs open and fondled me. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” His fingers slid through my wetness, teasing my clit. “Chere,” he said, mimicking my earlier statement, “you’re so horny.”

  Yes, that was a fact. I was a horny, confused, scared call girl being groped by a person I still hadn’t laid eyes on. I couldn’t get comfortable. When I shifted and drew my legs together, he tsked and pushed them apart.

  “Leave them open.”

  I sighed. “You make it very hard for me to do my job properly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I’m supposed to be beautiful and alluring, and sexy. I can’t do any of that when I’m trussed up like some hostage.”

  His lips grazed my ear. “I think you’re most beautiful and alluring when you’re trussed up like a hostage. Open your damn legs.”

  He accompanied this insistent command with a couple of stinging slaps to my inner thighs. I tried to roll away from the pain, only to have my hair grabbed and my body yanked against his.

  “Stay where I put you. Be a good girl. I like good girls.”

  I gritted my teeth until he loosened his grasp on my hair. “So, are you one of those Master guys?” I asked. “Those BDSM Dominants with whips and chains and collars?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “You have slaves?”

  His lips brushed over my cheek and down my jaw. “Sometimes.”

  I shivered. I felt like his slave at the moment, although there were no whips, chains, or collars. My thighs still stung where he’d slapped me. “I’m not into that shit,” I whispered.

  “Noted.”

  “Why then?” I asked. “Why me? Why didn’t you make arrangements to see a call girl who’s into this?”

  “The girls who are into this aren’t as fun to play with. They aren’t as fun to torment.” He stroked my breasts and squeezed each nipple until I whined and pulled away from him.

  “The thing is—” I began.

  “The thing is, I fucking paid for you, and I want to play with you. I don’t want to talk anymore about whether you’re into this. I don’t want any more complaining. I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. I promise you’ll always be able to walk out of our sessions with your body intact.”

  “That’s so sexy. Leaving me intact.”

  His hand tightened in my hair. “Don’t be sassy. I don’t like sassy. Try being submissive.”

  “I told you, I’m not into—”

  “And I told you I don’t care. If you complain to me one more time, I’m going to punish you.”

  Holy crap. I should have passed him on to Nina, even with the huge gratuity from last time. “Do I have to call you Master?” I asked as submissively as I could.

  “No. You wouldn’t mean it. But I’d like you to listen to everything I say, and obey me without questioning and complaining.”

  “But what will you do to me?” That wasn’t a complaint, was it? Just a question.

  “No bad things today,” he said. “Only good things. Well, we’re working up to the scarier things, aren’t we?”

  “Are we?”

  He didn’t answer. I was lifted and turned over, his compliant toy. He arranged me so my ass was in the air and my shoulders were pressed down on the bed. “Ever been spanked, Chere?” he asked.

  “Of course I’ve been spanked, many times.”

  “Hmm.” There was a world of amusement in that hmm. “So I guess a little spanking won’t bother you too much.”

  Smack. He cracked his hand down on my butt cheeks and it wasn’t like any spanking I’d ever received. Ohmygodohmygod. I collapsed on the bed and used my bound hands to cover my posterior. “That fucking hurt. Are you crazy?”

  “That sounds like a complaint.”

  “No—” I cried, but the punishment had commenced. This was no playful, sexy spanking, but a major beatdown on my ass. When I tried to crawl away—as any sane person would—he slid an arm around my waist to trap me in place. He spanked me with his other hand, alternating from cheek to cheek, each spank harder than the last.

  Oh God, I couldn’t be still. I yanked and jerked and fought him, but he was too strong. I added that to his list of attributes. So strong. Hard spanker.

  “Quiet,” he said, as my cries rose in volume. “You’re in a hotel.”

  As the spanking continued, it bypassed stinging and throbbing and settled in the area of agony. I tried desperately to shield myself but his body was in the way. “Oh please,” I whispered between yelps. “Oh please, stop.”

  “When you’ve had enough.”

  “Enough for what?” I started crying, I couldn’t help it. It hurt too much and he wasn’t allowing me time to process the pain. “Aren’t you supposed to give me some word to make it stop?”

  “A safe word?” He paused for a moment. “I know how much spanking you need, Chere. I won’t give you any more than that.”

  “But—”

  Smack, smack, smack. Back to the spanking, which wasn’t a spanking at all, but freaking destruction. I kicked my legs and fought him as well as I could in my state of entrapment. There was nothing I could do to end it, no way to make it stop.

  “Ow, please,” I cried. I was literally bawling now, rivers of tears seeping from beneath my mask. “Please, you’re hurting me.”

  “I know.”

  He knew. I wondered if he really knew. I wondered if he understood the power in those torture-slabs he called hands. My lips trembled with the effort not to scream. When he finally stopped, I waited in utter stillness, terrified he would start again. My ass felt like a thousand throbbing impressions of his fingers. His arm loosened around my waist as he caressed my butt.

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