Star of Christmas

by Jayne Rylon

  “More!” I scream in frustration.

  Rick obliges by tipping forward, sending me scrambling to my hands and knees. Before I recover my balance, he slams to the hilt in my pussy. He hunches over my ass, which sticks into the air, and bites my neck hard enough to leave a mark.

  “Yes.” I rock backward to meet his second lunge, dislodging his mouth in the process. “Again. Make me yours. Show them I belong to you alone.”

  I don’t bother to pitch my demands low. I don’t care who hears. In fact, all I can focus on—all that matters—is Rick and our joint satisfaction.

  With a feral snarl, he releases my hips, exchanging them for my shoulders. When he cups them in his large palms, he rears up, taking me with him. I hang, my torso suspended in his grasp, my chest perpendicular to his, my knees planted on the mattress. He impales me with violent plows of his trim hips.

  He bottoms out in my pussy time after time.

  He fucks me with abandon. Rings of muscle respond, clenching him tighter on each pass. One strong thrust knocks me from his grip. I slip to the mattress, my shoulder turned.

  Rick keeps fucking, driving into me from behind. We improvise. I lay on my side. He straddles my bottom thigh, which is straight along the mattress. His arms wrap around my top leg, trapping it tight to his huffing chest. My calf dangles over his shoulder.

  Holy Christmas!

  I don’t recognize the mewling pouring from between my parted lips as he screws farther inside me the lower he drops his hips. We grind together in sinuous spiral as he continues to plunge to the extremity of my pussy. He hammers inside me, stimulating the walls of my channel as he shuttles in and out.

  Over and over.

  When I think we’ve maximized the sensual potential of the experience, the motor on the bed kicks in again. The circular mattress begins to rotate, exhibiting our coupling from all angles. My breasts jiggle as he fucks me. My pussy becomes the central attraction as we spin. Then, from the backside, his thick cock must appear to tunnel between my ass cheeks.

  Curses, pants and cheers echo around us.

  Rick rides me like a wild man, proving to every dude watching he’s the only one who can rule my fierce sexuality. No one has inspired the titanic pressure escalating in my belly before him. Before tonight.

  I look over my shoulder, hoping to see the same confused surrender on his handsome face. The instant our gazes lock, we both quake, our epic orgasms inevitable.

  We hang on for a few more synchronized thrusts, accompanied by a twist of our hips, then disintegrate together. A dull roar from the stands, which I’d completely forgotten, forms a wave of lust, ambushing me with its force.

  My hand flies out to the side, finding Rick’s white-knuckled fingers at my hip without hesitation. I grip him tight as I shatter, strangling his cock as I come harder than ever before in my life.

  Desire, passion, ecstasy…affection?

  A massive ball of swirling emotions augments the physical gift he’s bestowed.

  The simultaneous riot of all the muscles in my body leave me seizing. Rick yanks his cock from my still-clenching pussy and strangles the base. He roars, tendons straining in his neck as he pumps his thick, white come all over my flushed torso. Jet after jet burst from the plum head of his erection to splatter on my ribs, my breast and my lips.

  The warm splash triggers another round of contractions, extending my pleasure.

  Somewhere in the distance, several men grunt their shared satisfaction.

  Then all is eerily quiet.

  The curtain drops. Thick fabric can’t dampen the rumble of cheers or the thunderous clapping that barrages it from the other side. Similar hoots and high-fives sprinkle across the crew’s stations behind the stage.

  Rick climbs to his feet, wavering a little as he regains his equilibrium. He extends his hand to me, a secret smile curving his lips.

  I accept, allowing him tug me into his strong arms for a tender embrace. He dips his head as though to kiss me, but my reflexes kick in and I avert my face. I never kiss on the lips at work.

  Well, there was one time…

  Rick doesn’t pressure me. He nuzzles my cheek instead.

  “Third set opening in five minutes!” A stagehand resets the props and checks the supplies near our spot.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  I nod.

  Hand in hand, we dart from the stage.

  We accept the lavish compliments of the staff as they clean us up. We help each other into our street clothes. Rick seems as eager as I am to escape prying eyes and figure out what the hell kind of bond just materialized between us.

  He has a grip on the long metal-bar handle of the black-painted door when Tommy hollers from across the room. “You’re hired! Take this contract. Read it. Sign it.”

  He hands me a stack of papers.

  “Rick, show up early to practice with Jeremy. The two of you are going to make us all rich.”

  Intermission

  “Son of a bitch!”

  “What’s wrong? Are you sore? Tired? I can slow down.” Rick grimaces. We stride through the alley toward the main canal, impatient and eager to minimize our exposure to the cold. “I got a little carried away in there.”

  “No, you were perfect.” I smile and pat his cheek. “It’s just that I loathe paperwork. One of the perks of being a prostitute is avoiding the mountains of bureaucracy most desk jockeys have to endure.”

  Rick turned a disbelieving stare on me. “You’re always a surprise, Star. Candid. Direct. Honest. You’re kind of my idol.”

  I can’t look away from the admiration mingling with the remnants of lust in his sapphire eyes. Distracted, I slip on a frozen puddle. I could catch my balance on my own, but I’m not about to shove off his strong arms, which bundle me to his cozy side.

  “Careful.” His cinnamon-flavored breath washes over my cheek. When we reach the street, we both hesitate. Where do we go from here?

  “May I walk you home?”

  “Ah, that’s probably not a good idea, Rick.” Already I’m wondering how I’ll separate this experience from our routine the next time he appears at my window. And he will. Of that, I’m certain.

  Still, I don’t relish the thought of my empty apartment right now either. Adrenaline lingers, rushing through my veins, distributed by my pounding heart. I could return to work. Every other customer would pale by comparison and I don’t believe in providing half-assed service.

  “Would you like to grab some breakfast?” The tightening in my gut must be from hunger. Right?

  “Yeah. Sure. I worked up one hell of an appetite. We can sort through this contract together. How about Seven Swans?”

  The cafe stays open twenty-four hours. “My favorite. I wonder if they’ll have the chicken satay tonight.”

  “Mmm. That does sound good.”

  He keeps hold of my hand as we wind through the canyons created by the crooked townhouses lining the canals. I allow myself to believe my safety is his primary concern.

  The smell of peanut sauce greets us when we duck through the weathered entrance to take a seat behind the massive bar constructed from timbers ripped from the galley of an old trading vessel. I imagine all the things the polished boards have seen.

  I’m almost positive none of them have been odder than a hooker and a bodyguard devouring platters of gooey skewers while deciphering legalese intended to put guardrails around an extreme, for-profit sexual encounter.

  I tug the sheaf to my side of the table and shelter it with my hand while I sign on the dotted line, right below Rick’s autograph. It strikes me that I never knew his last name, Brouwer. I admire the way our signatures fit together before folding the document, tucking it into my purse.

  “I’ll take care of this.” It has my real name on it. Immediately below his. Something about the juxtaposition feels intimate. Surreal.

  “Star.”

  “Hmm?”

  “What happens after the show?”

  “I
suppose things return to normal. I’ll work my window and you’ll be a bodyguard. Unless…” I try to erase my frown, though I doubt I’m entirely successful. “Do you want to be a performer now? You could talk to Tommy—”

  “No!”

  His emphatic denial thrills me. And shames me. How could I think less of him for aspiring to share his passion when I sell mine every day?

  “I didn’t mean that, Star.”

  “What did you mean?”

  “I meant this.” He stares pointedly at my beaded nipples. Yearning turns his eyes smoky.

  “‘This’?” I can’t force anything else past the lump in my throat.

  “Us. I want you more than ever—need more than what I take through your window. I don’t mind seeing you like that if I have to, but I’d like to give you more. Do you date? Have boyfriends socially? Can I ask you out?”

  I can’t help it. I burst into a raucous fit of laughter.

  His pinched mouth and balled fist—crumpling his napkin—cut me off.

  “Shit. Sorry. I—”

  “No, I understand. I should have realized I didn’t have a chance with you.”

  “Huh? Are you nuts? It’s hysterical because… Well, I can’t imagine a man interested in dating a hooker unless he’s looking to be her pimp or score a freebie.”

  “Jesus. Star, that’s not at all what I had in mind.” He tosses his fork onto his plate with a clatter then starts to rise as though I’ve destroyed his appetite. “You must think I’m a complete asshole.”

  “No!” Now it’s my turn to shout. I panic, afraid I’ve caused him more damage than a bruised ego. When I lay my fingers on his forearm, the power in his bunched muscles thrills me. He allows me to guide him into his chair once more. “I think you’re…gallant. Fun. Sexy. And I don’t understand why you’d care to give me the honor of being yours when any number of women would be thrilled to have you. You can fuck me any time you like. You know where to find me. Why would you want a girlfriend who has sex with other men?”

  “Do you plan to be a whore for the rest of your life?” It sounds far more harsh than his delivery indicates. He speaks softly, not a fleck of recrimination tinting his interest.

  “I—I don’t know.” I bite my lip. The truth will surely destroy our rapport.

  “Don’t start lying now. I’m not judging. I’m asking.”

  I nod then take a deep breath. “Yes. This is what I want to do until I retire. I care about you, Rick. I enjoy sex with you. It’s easy to talk to you and you always make me laugh. But—”

  “Not the ‘but’.” He shakes his head. One corner of his mouth curves up in a sardonic grin.

  “See, like that.” I can’t help but chuckle. “But… I love my job. It thrills me to share myself. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I feel like a public servant. Sure, there’s lots of meaningless sex. Yet sometimes it’s more. I help people. I guess what I’m saying is, I don’t think I can give it up. And what man would accept me as I am? Who could love a woman who does what I do? Who would want me as a girlfriend?”

  For one crazy second, I think he might destroy all my assumptions. His lips part and I pretend I can see arguments and denials about to fly free.

  Then he sighs.

  “It’s a lot to ask of a man. It turns me on to imagine you with other clients. It’d be easy to deny the complications and say that’s all that matters. But how does that work long term? Would you get married? Have a family? I can’t picture it, Star.”

  A tiny piece of my heart breaks. “I can’t either.”

  I’ve sacrificed something fantastic for something soul-deep—a calling interwoven in the fabric of my being. So I try to assuage his conscience. After all, I forced him to admit my irreparable faults. I don’t blame him for making the only sane choice.

  “It’s not as if you could take a hooker home and introduce her to your parents during a traditional holiday dinner, right? What a disaster.”

  He chuckles with me at the idea, but his hand blankets my fingers, squeezing lightly. “At least we have the window.”

  “I’ll always be glad to see you there, Rick.”

  “Same here, Star. Same here.”

  Act Two

  I can hardly believe this is the same place Rick stretched our boundaries. Triple X has been transformed into a wicked winter wonderland. I stand beside my guide into this unusual territory, our fingers linked. When had that happened?

  An ice-blue silk robe wraps around my nude form, more to limit distractions than to protect my vacant sense of modesty.

  “Who knew Santa’s Workshop could party like that?” I tilt my head to puzzle out what’s what in the tangle of limbs on top of a toy workbench.

  “No shit.”

  “Are you nervous, Rick?” His palm is sweating in my grasp.

  “Terrified.” He angles his body toward me until we’re standing face-to-face. “I’ve never seen this kind of crowd. I’m positive we’re violating the fire marshal’s limit. Tommy told me this morning a flood of calls hit the ticket booth asking for admission at any cost after our performance last night.”

  The knowledge warms me. I would pay an awful lot to be there again, in his arms, exploring our raw passion.

  “Don’t be nervous. Ignore them. All that matters is what we share. The scene and the sparks between us.”

  “Nice one.” He shakes off some of his gloom and laughs.

  Except I hadn’t intended my statement to be funny. The inadvertent pun does strike a chord though. “How did the session with Jeremy go this morning?”

  “Umm. It was enlightening.” He won’t meet my stare. “I’ve watched him training Chloe for this show. Dozens of sessions. It’s different when you’re the one administering the electrostimulation. Or receiving it.”

  Holy shit.

  “You let Jeremy touch you?” Why hadn’t I come to observe? The thought has me panting.

  “Yeah. I wasn’t comfortable doing something to you unless I understood what it felt like firsthand.” I swear his cheeks are turning brighter by the minute. “He drained me dry. I hope you enjoy yourself as much as I did.”

  “At your hands, I’m sure I will.”

  “Star, I know Tommy gave us a safe word, but you have other options. If you change your mind or can’t go through with it, we can act it out. No one has to know. No pressure.” He cups my shoulders in his capable hands. “I’ll take you out of here so fast no one will figure out what happened until it’s too late.”

  “You’d lose your job.”

  “There are other places to work.” He rubs his thumb over my cheek. It thrills me enough I don’t remind him of my stage makeup. “You’re more important. I don’t care what papers we signed.”

  “And that’s why I can’t wait for the orgy to finish.” I lean into his caressing fingers. “I want this. With you.”

  “Is there anything I can do to make it better for you?”

  His generosity elates me. How many guys give a shit about my pleasure?

  “You know, I never permit men to tie me up. Ever. I’ve never played with someone I felt comfortable enough with to try.”

  “I promise not to hold you down in any way.”

  “No, Rick. I want you to. Please?” I suck his thumb into my mouth, hoping the frenzy of groans means we’re about to go on. I can’t wait much longer. “I trust you completely. Show me what you’ve learned.”

  “Star.” His moan disappears beneath the commotion as no less than a dozen performers exit the stage, sweating, exhausted and dripping come.

  We’re bustled into position. Someone strips off my robe. As I step onto the contraption that holds my mark, I see a new fire in Rick’s gorgeous eyes. A determination and dominance I never suspected him capable of transforms his easygoing nature into something dangerous, something alluring.

  I can’t tear my gaze away. We stare, unblinking, until my platform rotates, turning my back to him, stealing him from my sight.

  Fake snow drifts onto my
upturned face from the rafters above as the curtain is raised on the Kinkmas pageant grand finale. The crowd settles into a reverent hush. A narrator bridges the gap between scenes with some clever monologue about the spirit of the season, unqualified altruism shared by lovers and the importance of non-material gifts.

  The deep voice exalts the significance of the tree and the lighting of the star while making lewd comparisons I choose to ignore. All I can think of is the seductive confidence I glimpsed in Rick’s eyes before this damn set tore me from him.

  I can’t grab him and bolt for my window because the vertical triangle separating us turns again. What appeared to be a cut-out of a pine tree to the audience is revealed as the nucleus of the act. My legs are spread wide as I stand with my shoulders pressed tight against the slightly reclined board. Each of my wrists lays a foot or so away from my hips until my body mimics the form of the tree-shaped platform.

  I hold on to the loops of leather stitched to the surface to keep myself in the perfect position.

  The set looks disarmingly like a common living room, something each man or woman in attendance might find welcoming them home in the early morning hours of this Christmas. It makes it easy for me to imagine I’m alone with Rick, in his home. When I detect him approaching in my peripheral vision, I wish it were true.

  “What a beautiful tree I have this year.” He stalks near and inspects his bounty. He pokes and prods me as he bestows a flurry of compliments the audience agrees with, if their claps and whistles are anything to gauge by.

  Rick pauses his speech, deviating from the script before we’ve been onstage two minutes. I grin, encouraging his spontaneity.

  “I believe I should begin the decoration by adding some lights.” He crosses to the edge of the stage and yanks on a dangling strand of tiny white bulbs. They unclip from their outlet with a snap, coiling onto the floor at his feet. “And perhaps some garland.”

  I barely contain a laugh at Rick’s mischievous smirk and Tommy waving his arms in an attempt to attract his bouncer’s attention. The serious arousal creating a bulge at the crotch of Rick’s jeans keeps me in line. Not to mention the tinsel rope gathered in his fist, which draws my eye to his gleaming, oiled chest.