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by CELENE CAREY

  Betrayed

  Veronica

  What had Becky done? I felt a headache coming on as my eyes watered up again. I was done crying, I was crying too much. I squeezed them shut and calmed myself; I sang “In the Arms of the Angel,” and forced my fists to relax and open. I could kick that half-Chinese bitch’s ass. I could kick Jonathan’s ass. I could kick my own ass, most of all, for being so weak! Now, I wanted to kick Bill’s ass. I wanted to hit him very hard. No, no I didn’t. I wanted to see him.

  Jonathan could ignore me for so long and no longer, and I figured he’d made his choice by now; guess I would stay a slut forever, nothing could save me now.

  I went to the bathroom, got some Nair out and layered my legs and my bikini line. I got my razor out as well. I was going to cheer myself up and a few orgasms could work. Bill would make me feel better. Men used women all the time, why shouldn’t I use him? Exactly nothing was stopping me from using him as an outlet. What was wrong with liking sex? What was wrong in using it to hide your emotions? I see people do that shit with weed and liquor all the time. Well, sex would be my outlet. I hoped Bill would answer. I played “Loud” very loudly, sang, and danced like nothing was wrong with me as I prepared to get myself fucked. I kept my emotions in line and didn’t think about Becky’s fuckery or what I had done to Jonathan. I kept telling myself it was okay. I made a mental note to still try and call. I really didn’t want to lose him after all we had been through: the hurricanes, the droughts; I laughed out loud, that was funny, we did go through a few of those, literally, Sandy and Ivan.

  I called Bill, apologised, and told him I needed to see him. He accepted, told me not to worry about my punishment, agreed to see me, and told me that we wouldn’t be going to his loft. We’d go to his house instead, the house the company had expected him to stay in; he’d used his own money to buy the loft apparently. I agreed, he’d pick me up in HWT, by the gas station at the top of Molynes Road. I got there and didn’t have to wait long, good thing I told him I was leaving fifteen minutes before I actually was; as I got out of my taxi, he pulled up. We headed up Eastwood Park Road. Looks like we’re going to Shortwood, I thought. I sat silently in the car, my body ready but my mind dead, all I remembered was the Russell Heights exit sign.

  One last moment of weakness

  Veronica

  We were alone in a dimly lit room; the lamp-like chandelier had one bulb and it was the sole source of light flickering above our heads. It was cold, up so high in these hill tops, far away from the city, where no one could hear me scream. The way he liked it. The way I wanted it. The curtain drifted in through one of three open windows. The draft inside became a part of us. The walls were pale, with a soft floral wallpaper halfway down meeting a warm pinewood lining that matched the door, floor, and bedposts. It was bright enough for you to see every detail, but dark enough to cast a shadow.

  The bed stood to one side with a lone chair facing it. That's where he sat, completely dressed and business-looking, focused. I knew he was thinking, lost in his cruel, sadistic mind, “What shall I do with this bitch tonight?” That was probably it.

  In my place, on my knees, embarrassed by my own nakedness and anxiety, I was eager to please. I was nervous, how would he melt me tonight? How would he bare my passion and strip my needs? He knew what had driven me back here, how much I desired this, how much I really wanted it. He knew, “this is what she wants from me. A firm hand and a cold heart.” Yet he couldn't hide the fire in his eyes, and that made it even more exciting. He was subbed into dominating me. He had looked so uneasy on the drive up, looked on edge. Now he looked as composed as a soldier facing the battlefield.

  "Stand!"

  His voice echoed off the empty walls. The iron in it reminded me of his grip. Only his voice did that to me, groped my will and curved it to his needs. I loved it. I felt a surge of excitement thrill through me moistening the back of my thighs. On shaking legs and buckling knees, I slowly rose from my place, from where I knelt on my knees facing the right hand corner next to his chair. Next to me was his equipment. A line of toys I would have never in a century imagined myself having any affiliation with: floggers, dildos, rabbits, canes, reins, whips, things I still hadn't learned the names of, things I probably never would. I feared the feathers the most.

  Trying to silence the giggle of excitement I felt and resist my ever-present need to fidget, I stood with my legs tightly glued together and my fingers folded into tight fists that would make my knuckles hurt later. I was on edge, like a heroin addict in bad need of a hit. I needed the pain in my chest to go away.

  I stood there for what seemed like forever. In the back of my head I knew he only made me stand to annoy me. This was his game. Make her beg to give you what she wants. It was mental torment and sexual agony because I had already been so willing. It was also calculated, another part of me remembered, my knees would've been dead beneath me by now if I hadn’t been made to stand. He stood as well; I couldn't see, but I listened. He was ready. Goosebumps flooded my skin, the icy night air couldn't warm my blood that way and my corner was directly by the windows. Finally.

  "Turn your slutty ass around," he said in a low and almost deadly voice.

  He stood three yards away on the other side of the room. He raped and molested me with his eyes over and over and over again. How many times had he seen my body? Too many times to look at me the way he was now. And yet, I was sure his familiar bulge was there. If merely showed cleavage Bill had an erection. I could tell, even when we were out. He hadn’t wanted me to wear revealing clothes around him, but that was fine with me. I was never fond of revealing myself, a t-shirt and jeans suited me just fine. I was never comfortable naked, especially in the presence of someone else. I didn’t tell anyone that, they’d think I was crazy or stupid since everyone but me saw a someone very confident. Bill had hated that in the beginning. He had forced me to strip the moment I entered the playroom, whenever I did. I could disobey him, but I tried to be wise in choosing my battles.

  I have big breasts, not too firm not too soft, enough to be more than a hand and mouthful. My nipples and areolas were tiny compared to the size of my breasts and the areola was a little paler than the nipple. I was also insecure about that. Watching so much porn, I had yet to see nipples like mine; it had made me worry they were abnormal and to be shunned. To my surprise, men liked them. Wasn't that a twist! Bill loved them, so did Jonathan. You’re not going there and definitely not right now! I told myself. I was wrapped in a warm amber skin tone, delicate skin that would turn purple when bruised. He loved it. I was definitely a physically attractive woman. Both in face and in body. It was between my legs that he loved most, though. I wasn't a “Barbie” with that perfect ass-to-tits ratio. I was more ample in the breasts, but that didn't even faze him. He could still grip me hard enough to prove his point.

  "Come to me!"

  His orders were clear. Head down, I approached him, not too slow, as it would anger him and this was his game; I wasn't allowed to tease. Not too fast, either, for him to mock my enthusiasm as though I was as eager as a child in an amusement park.

  "Kneel!"

  He rubbed my head. My hair was down, freely flowing over my shoulders. He rubbed my hair and it was soothing. Then, with one sudden pull my chin is almost in line with my forehead. I ignored the threat of an on-setting headache and pushed it to the back of my mind. With my eyes tightly closed, I remembered to breath as I felt his face come close to mine. I could feel his carbon dioxide on my upper lip and I felt like I was about to suffocate. He kissed me, slowly, longingly, causing me to dampen my thighs again. I'm rewarded with a hard slap to my left cheek. Hot flashes of white sent a shiver through me.

  "Don't get greedy. Up!"

  Still holding my hair, he directed me to the edge of the bed, between the two bottom posts, in front of his chair. My mind raced with a million possibilities. “What next?” my inner nymph screamed like a four year old in a candy store.

  "Now listen clo
sely, Veronica. I'm giving your instructions once, get it wrong and I'm going to assume you have disregarded my commands."

  He didn't let go of my hair, but stooped a little so he was eye-level with me; he's much bigger than I am. My eyes closed, I awaited my guide on this exciting journey. He kissed my cheek where he slapped me. His left hand trailed down my breast. His index finger slowly circled my right nipple. Gripping my hair tightly by the root, he pinched my nipple hard, the kissed me deeply to capture the loud gasp and moan before it can escape my lips. He let go and bit my top lip a hard enough to be painful, but not hard enough to make it bleed.

  He stopped and rubbed my hair again, bent his head and licked both nipples slowly. He then sucked my right hungrily, as if trying to erase the memory of the pain. I arched my back, thrusting my breast into his face, responding eagerly to his warm mouth and hot tongue. He stopped and stood.

  "Tonight, I will not please you."

  My heart convulses and my chest drops. What? Bill has been cruel before, denied me orgasms, gone to bed leaving me on edge and unsatisfied. He knew I did not believe in self-pleasure and couldn't relieve myself even if I tried. And now this?

  "Before you, scream ‘milk’ at me, listen to me,” he continued and I wasn't much more enthusiastic. This was just like him, to find a way to make me not want to please him. He'd targeted my biggest weaknesses.

  "Now Veronica, like I was saying, don't safe-word me. You will be allowed your orgasms. I just won't be the one giving them to you. You cannot have it unless I say so. You know the rules."

  Another slap to my cheek, a little harder this time. I was sure it was red.

  "Answer me, bitch!"

  "Yes Sir," I replied, biting back the tears trying to escape. The hit wasn't as bad as listening to what he wanted me to do.

  "Good girl. So here’s what you're going to do… You're going to play with this pussy the way I tell you to. Nothing too hard, right? I know you're a stubborn little bitch, but this shouldn't be too hard for you."

  I could hear the smirk in his voice. He had the nerve to chuckle. He knew I may never cum, being stimulated like this.

  "Up on the bed! Lay down and rest your hips right here on the edge." He grabbed my left tit, "And, Veronica, don't let me have to remind you to keep your legs spread. I don't want you fucking up my show."

  By now I was hot with embarrassment, my face flushed and my lips dry, both lips. I climbed up onto the bed, rested my ass in the middle, and spread my legs as wide as I could, both as close to the posts as humanly possible. I could hear him chuckling, softly but chuckling, he had already won. I waited.

  "Open your pussy lips up, let me have a look at my prize of the night."

  He knew it. Fuck this bastard for doing this. How could he? He hummed a disapproving sound in the back of his throat.

  "You aren't wet enough! Don't you want to fucking make me happy?"

  By now I could feel my pussy begging for his skillful tactics. But his voice was doing a good job of arousing me by itself. With a triumphant happiness in his voice, he changed his tone, "Very well, I can fix that."

  Standing, he kissed from my navel down to the inside of my thigh; his knowledgeable tongue tormenting my insides. I could feel my walls contracting, trying to fuck themselves. He drooled on my clit and the problem was solved.

  Sitting back in his seat and pulling his chair up closer he got comfortable, waited, and then began.

  I listened.

  “Take your finger and circle your clit lightly. That’s it, just like that. Slower. Trail down to your hole and use the tip to test your wetness. Insert it slowly, all the way, Veronica. Now gently pull it out… taste it. Rub your clit with a pressing friction, down and up, slowly, down a little, faster. Good girl, just like that. Listen to you! Do you hear yourself moaning? Look at your hips grinding against your finger. Finger your pussy, with two fingers this time. Yes, now find your g-spot. I know you know where it is, flick your fingers against it rapidly. Yes, just like that.”

  I wanted to beg, “Please make me stop,” but masturbation had never felt this stimulating. I was coming, and soon maybe. I was doing a good job, or I was just willing to grab on to anything. I shut my mind up and listened. I heard his zipper go down and he was playing with himself. He came up closer and watched as I rubbed my pussy better than I think anyone else had. He was right, I did know where my g-spot was, and his voice made everything better. He pulled his dick out further. I listened as I heard him playing with his dick, it began to make a wet sound, he must’ve used lube. I heard him moaning. I began to let my moans out too.

  “Good girl, you cum, make yourself come, Veronica,” his voice was deep. My hormones, his moaning, my fingers doing something I thought they couldn’t do, all working together pressed me to a higher place and I squirted for the first time. Bill was there to catch it in his mouth. He sucked me as I tried to wiggle my ass away. He rubbed my anus, pushed his finger inside; it didn’t feel as awful as before now that it was lubricated. He continued to jerk his dick, his finger in my ass, playing with it the entire time.

  “Turn over and spread your checks.”

  I was praying he wasn’t about to fuck me in the ass. He didn’t. Instead, he came all over my open ass and my lower back. I laid down; he wiped me up and laid beside me. I began to circle his nipple, my hand cupping his balls. When he was hard again I rode his condomless dick into the night until I was pleased and contented. He then rolled me over, put my legs over his shoulders, and drove deep into me until he got his own orgasm. He’d gone two to my seven. When I was leaving, the pain I had wanted to get rid of was still in my chest.

  Bill

  Last night was amazing… to some extent. Veronica was a firecracker; she rode my dick so hard I thought I was going to lift off into the sky with her. Morning and two warm showers later, my dick still felt sore. She was good at riding. I don’t usually give women that control, but when she straddled me, her small face so intense and lusting, I could not resist the urge to watch her bounce up and down and see her two beautiful mounds bouncing with her. She was simply perfect. I’d let her do it more often when I get the chance to.

  I paid attention throughout the morning. I didn’t let myself get distracted. Not until Michelle, my secretary came to let me know my 3 o’clock was here.

  “Internal or external client?”

  “External, and not sure she is a client. She refused to tell me what it was in regards to; she said you’d know what she was here about. She only gave her name: Ms. Chang.”

  “Ms. Chang? The name doesn’t ring a bell. How many times do I have to ask you to check with me before?”

  “I would have, boss, but she sounded stern and very convincing. Plus, you were at lunch and free the time she requested to come. At least speak to her please, she came early and has been here for a while”

  My own convictions about time gave me no other choice but to see her. She walked in, black pinstriped suit, vanilla skin, an oval face, a long neck line, straight hair pinned behind her, and dark eyes. She came in commanding the place and I was thrown aback by her confidence; it’s not often that women show that level of confidence around me. She stretched her hand out to me, introducing herself.

  “The name’s Becky” she said, her words clear, but lined with Australian and a heavy Chinese accent. Chinese? Becky? Veronica. This was Becky? The lesbian? That explained the confidence; I was a man who didn’t move or shake her, as you could imagine not many did. I stood instead of remaining in my seat. I was much taller than her tiny frame. She was much shorter than Veronica. Her heels made her appear a good height, though.

  “Excuse me, I don’t think we’ve met,” I said, taking her hand.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard about me.”

  She dropped the professional tone and began, “I didn’t come here to make friends; maybe we could be friends after this, your choice. Look, Veronica is my best friend and she isn’t in the best place right now. I didn’t seem to make it any b
etter and apparently you are the source of all the agony she is going through right now. I’m here because I need your help.” She struggled to keep the English up; in her casual tone I could tell by her stuttering and the awkward breaks she had between sentences. I contemplated her offer, half wondering what in the world she could possibly be talking about. Maybe we could be friends. We had the same interests and goals, after all… I’d say “pussy, money, weed,” but I’m not on the smoking grind. She looked like a professional, thank God for that. Yeah, maybe we could be friends. What was so wrong with Veronica, though?

  “What exactly are you talking about? What do you need my help with?” I sounded more sarcastic than I’d intended to be, but I was intrigued.

  She rolled her eyes, came around the table, and, glaring at me with eyes that could pass a lie detector test, in a tone I often used she said to me, “You fucked shit up. Veronica looks like she’s about to break and you need to fix it.”

  She sounded convincing. What had I fucked up, though?

  “What did I ‘fuck up’?” I air-quoted at her. She smiled, a condescending smile, an asshole smile. Fuck, what was that?