by JA Huss
She relaxes and I push her legs open, making one fall to the floor, and then smack her open pussy hard. My hand slips right between her legs and presses against her sex until she moans. I smack her again and now her entire ass is flaming red. Her hands do the sign for two. She lets off a sob and that means she deserves a gently probing finger around her asshole. She squeezes her hole closed, trying to take some control back, and the next smack elicits a loud cry. “Don’t. Your ass belongs to me and if I want to play with it, I will.” I slip my finger inside and her whole body goes stiff, but she does not resist.
Victory for Ford.
I ease it out and grab her hair with the hand that has been holding her down. I force her head up by pulling and yes, sure enough, she’s got tears. “You’re defiant. I’m getting rid of you.” She stares at me, then more tears come out and she looks like she might start wailing. I flip her over quickly and then move down the bed until her ass is flush with the edge of my thigh and her legs are draped over my lap. “You can get up and leave now if you want. You’re never coming back. You refuse to submit and I’m tired of training you. It’s a waste of time.”
She’s silent for a few seconds. “Or?” she asks quietly. Her voice is small and sweet. It’s too bad, really. That she came here as a pet. I like her. But whatever her reason for being here, that in and of itself is enough to make me never want her in a serious way.
That and she’s blonde.
They’re always blonde or red because the last thing I want is any future woman I love to remind me of the shitload of pets I used up and threw away.
“Or I take away all the rules and we just fuck. All the dirty shit we’ve been doing is on the table. All of it. But when we’re done, you leave and don’t come back.”
Her eyes narrow with her glare. “Why are you such an asshole?”
I laugh. “You can talk if you stay, but I’m not going to pretend I like you for your witty conversation. I like you for your pussy and I’d like to fuck you tonight. I’m tired of playing. Stay and have fun or get the hell out.”
She stares up at me, then she bends her legs, points her toes, and lifts them up and back, wrapping her arms around her calves so her pussy is open to me.
I look down at her puffy lips, all swollen with desire and red with the rush of adrenaline, and then I grab her ankles and push them towards her head so I can smack her clit. She cries out, her back arching up off the bed, and I smack her again, making her struggle to get free this time. I stand up and grab her arm before her legs can fall and then I turn her body around until her ass is hanging off the mattress, her feet on the floor.
I kick open her legs. She bites her lip and stifles a moan as I slide a finger into her sopping wet pussy and pump her hard before inserting another finger. “Oh God,” she says, her voice heavy with desire.
“Did you get yourself off when you went home this morning?” She writhes as my fingers sweep back and forth against her sweet spot, then slide up and down her slit, rubbing her clit, creating the hard friction that has her panting out, “Yes, yes, yes.”
“Yes, you did?”
“No,” she gasps as I thrust into her. “No, I didn’t, but I want to come,” she says in desperation, looking me in the eye. “Right now.”
“No one’s stopping you, pet.” I lean down and tickle her nub with my tongue and suck until she screams and tries to clamp her knees closed. I push against her inner thighs and spread her wide open, sucking on her folds, her lips, her clit, and then tongue fuck her pussy until she gushes into my mouth and twists so hard she breaks free. Her knees slide to the floor as her chest rests on the bed.
I take advantage of her presentation and stand her up so her ass is in the air and her lips are peeking through her closed thighs.
It’s my turn to say, “Yes.” Because this is how I like my women. I grab a condom from the nightstand, tear the wrapper open, and slide it down my cock. Then I stand up, lift her up by the knees and set them back down on the bed so her ass is at my waist. “Keep your head down and your ass up,” I command. She’s trying to answer me when I thrust into her, rocking her forward, her face sliding against the sheets. I smack her red ass and she yelps, squirming to get away. But I grab the front of her thighs and pull her towards me, burying myself inside her, all the way up to my balls. I fuck her like that, her crying out with each spanking, wriggling, only to have my arms clamp down on her—holding her still as she moans—begging me to make her come again.
My balls begin to tighten and just before I explode I reach around and stroke her clit, sending her into a screaming fit of “Oh, oh ohhhhh.” I push her forward on the bed and then collapse next to her as I try to catch my breath.
My day suddenly sucks a little less.
I close my eyes and before I know it, I’m blinking awake as this fucking pet tries to rest her head on my chest.
I push her off me and sit up. “Time to go, girl. Out.”
I don’t wait for an answer, hell I don’t even know if she’s awake. I just get up and go to the bathroom, slipping the condom off and throwing it into the toilet before I start the shower. I glance down at the clock on my vanity. Fuck, it’s only eleven. I waited all fucking day for forty-five minutes of sex.
It’s hardly worth it.
“Mind if I join you,” the ex-pet asks from the doorway. She’s leaning against the door jamb, twirling her hair like she’s trying to be sexy.
I narrow my eyes at her nerve. “I told you to go. There’s no shower, there’s no goodbye, there’s no Thanks for the fuck. Just get out.”
Her whole face changes with these words. It goes from soft and satisfied to chiseled hardness instantly. “I’m not sure who the hell you think you are or why you feel you’re so special you can treat people like shit. But you know what? You’re one disturbed, messed-up freak.” She whirls around to leave but I catch her by the upper arm. My reaction surprises me but it positively scares the shit out of her. “Let me go,” she growls. But I know her bravery is fake, I can feel her pulse quicken in her brachial artery.
My voice is calm when the words drip out. “I’m the freak? You’re the one who shows up here, removes your clothes in my hallway, presents your pussy to me by lying on a mat in front of my door, and then allows yourself to be treated like shit just so you can what? Why the fuck would you ever agree to my conditions? Why? Other than you’re a much more disturbed individual than I am. At least I’m the one who maintains some fucking dignity during our encounters. You—you just open your legs to a complete stranger. The same stranger you think is one disturbed messed-up freak. What you see in me is what you see in you. You’re looking in the mirror, honey.” I give her a shove towards the door and let go of her arm. “Now get out.”
She lifts her chin up and smiles. I figure this is her pathetic attempt to save face, but there’s a small gleam in her eye that says she really does feel superior. “Well, all that might be true. But if you really want to know why I do this, I’ll tell you.” She walks to the bedroom door to put some distance between us and then turns, still smiling as she drums her fingertips along the side of the door. “I do it because I need the money.” And then she walks out.
What?
I pull my jeans back on and follow. She’s already in the hallway half-dressed when I catch up with her. She buttons her jeans and slips her feet into her snow boots as she tugs the shirt over her head.
I stare at her. Hard. “I do not pay for sex.”
“Right,” she says pulling her hair out of her shirt and shrugging on her coat. “That may be true, but I certainly have been getting paid to show up here on command for the past two months.” She huffs out a laugh. “What? You think you’re so fucking special you can get nice girls like me to come be your sex slave just for the orgasms?”
I glare at her.
“I mean, sure, I had a few good ones. But come on? Get real, Aston. Pam pays me to come here, you dumbass. She pays all of us to service you and your fucked-up fetishes.”<
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She punches the button on the elevator and shoves her hands in her pockets. Then her gaze goes back to the pet mat. I follow that gaze because her expression becomes livid. “And you know what? I baked those fucking cookies for my kid. And you took one bite and threw that bag down on the ground like they were trash. Well, fuck you. I only do this job to pay for my babysitter while I go to school during the day, you self-absorbed, emotionless, pathetic excuse of a man. And my naive kid was the one who said I should bring my boss cookies on Christmas Eve to make him happy.”
The elevator opens and she tugs her purse over her shoulder and enters. She doesn’t look at me again, just hides in the corner where the buttons are, and allows the doors to close without another word.
Chapter Eight
I seethe.
Positively seethe.
I want to call Pam up and fire her ass. I want to chase that little pet bitch down and fuck with her head, fill it with insults and half-truths so filled with venom, she’ll need therapy for years to get over it.
I want to throw things through the fucking living room window.
I take a deep breath instead.
Because nobody. Nobody—especially not that skanky little cunt who sold her body for money—nobody can make me lose my temper.
It’s just not possible. If there’s one thing I control in my life, it’s my reactions. I have complete control over my reactions and this bitch will not take that away. I take a deep breath and remember my shower is still running. I go back to the bathroom and strip, then douse myself in hot water to wash away the smell of slut.
When I’m done I wrap the towel around me and call Pam. She answers on the first ring. “I already heard. I’m so sorry, Ford.”
That little tramp will not ruin my only real relationship I have in this world since my father died. Pam keeps my whole life from unraveling—she picks up all the slack. This woman holds me together professionally, and even if I’m not quite all there personally, no one ever knows because Pam is my cover. She’s family to me and I would never throw away our five year working relationship over a whore. “Forget it, Pam. Forget it, OK? No more pets. Cancel all of them. I’m done.” I end the connection and the home screen flashes a missed call at me.
“Great.” My fucking mother. I huff out a laugh. That’s just what I need. To think about my mother and her new piano playing boyfriend. The asshole’s probably after her money. Prick. I press the voice mail icon and it begins to play. “Ford, I’m sorry. I don’t want you to be upset. I’ve told Gary it won’t work. I’m sorry.” She pauses here to sigh.
It’s a very sad sigh.
“I have to get ready for church. Maybe you will find time to come by tomorrow? Have dinner?”
I press end. Fuck. This day has gone to shit. I pick up the remote and flip on the TV to break the suffocating silence. This TV came with the apartment. Biker Channel pays for this place, and this condo is one of the few luxury perks written into my contract. The local news comes on and I sit back to think.
Goddamn it. I run my fingers through my hair and glance at the clock. Not even midnight yet. The fucking day’s not even over. I’m sure something else will go wrong if I just hang out a little longer. I might as well just go to bed. I point the remote at the TV to turn it off when I see the headlines. Nine killed in military-style attack on home-grown terror cell west of Cheyenne.
Holy shit, I totally deserve to see that. That’s what I get for turning the TV on. I point at it again to turn it off and then stop.
The whole world fucking stops.
Sasha Alena Cherlin’s face flashes across the screen. Wounded in the firefight, is all it says.
What fucking firefight?
I just stare at the TV for a few seconds, trying to process this new reality. She’s in the hospital after being attacked in a family hunting cabin twenty-five miles north of Cheyenne. There’s no mention of Merc or the gun deal, no names of the dead are released, but poor Sasha. The reporter says her grandparents are picking her up and taking her home tonight—and that can only mean one thing. Her father is one of the unnamed dead.
I almost can’t think straight as I try to come to terms with what this means for that smiling little girl this morning.
She sold me a present she bought for her mother, just so I could give it to my mother. And my mother will probably never see it because I’m an anti-social freak who can’t bring himself to celebrate a holiday with his own family.
Family. That’s something I take for granted, even after all that shit with my dad. I bet Sasha would kill to have a mother calling her up on Christmas Eve.
What kind of piece of shit am I?
I look back over at the clock. Eleven forty-two. I know where my mom will be in twenty minutes. Hell, she’s probably there now. I walk back to my room and flip the light on in my closet. I put on a gray suit, comb my hair back, slip on my navy cashmere topcoat, and grab my keys and phone.
I’m going to church.
Chapter Nine
St. Margaret’s is a traditional brick Catholic church with massive cathedral ceilings, dark wooden pews, the gigantic organ up in the corner, the lavish altar, and the stained glass windows. I haven’t been in here in years, but as soon as I walk in the smell of incense overtakes my senses and I feel like I never left.
We have a spot where we sit. In fact, almost everyone has a spot. Midnight mass is tricky in this regard, because our spot on Saturday evening mass might be someone else’s spot on Sunday morning. But when I look over at our spot, there’s my mother.
Sitting alone.
I am such a bad son.
The interior is set up in a circular configuration. The altar is the top of the circle, then there are three sets of pews that span out from there. It’s not a half-circle of pews, even though that’s the best way to describe it. It’s slightly more than half a circle, and to my mind this never made sense. It bothered me when I was six and it bothers me now. I can’t stand asymmetrical or uneven designs.
I do realize this is not normal. To hate this place because the architect wanted the pews to take up more than one-half of a circle so more people can fit in for the service. But I do. I hate this room.
It makes me uneasy just to be in here.
But I suck it up and walk to our pew and say, “Excuse me,” in my most polite voice as I inch my way past the people already sitting in their spots, and plop down next to my mom. She likes to sit in the middle. Not just the middle of this section, or this pew, but the middle of the entire church.
I guess I take after her in that regard, because sitting here almost cancels out the uneven layout of the pews.
“Ford,” she says in her soft church-whisper voice. She leads by example and I was always a little too loud as a child, so that voice was practiced to no end.
“Sorry I walked out earlier. I didn’t mean it the way it looked.” I pause. “If it looked like I disapprove, then I didn’t mean it that way. You have a right to be happy.”
She looks up at me surprised.
“I hope he didn’t stay away because of me. I’d feel terrible.” Of course the reason she’s alone is because of me, but it’s done. Nothing I can do about that, so I don’t dwell. She appreciates the sentiment and if the guy’s worth a shit, he’ll still be available tomorrow when she calls to smooth things over.
Then the choir starts up and the ceremony begins so our conversation is cut short. I look over at the section of pews at my left and through a small break in the crowd, I see Ronin smiling at me. Laughing at me, I think. Elise is on one side, and Antoine on the other side of her. And on Ronin’s other side is Rook. She’s belting out Hark the Herald Angels Sing like she owns it.
God, I love that girl.
She is my herald, a living proclamation that my life can get better.
Rook is so beautiful I constantly want to stare at her. Tonight she’s wearing a cream colored suit and she has a red scarf around her neck. Her hair is down and flows over her should
ers in big bouncy curls. She looks up for a moment, to watch the priest and his attendants ascend the steps to the altar, and her bright blue eyes flash in the low light.
She takes my breath away. I reluctantly redirect my gaze over to the other side of the church where Spencer’s family sits. Mass begins as I gawk at all the familiar faces. Spencer’s parents are still together and they sit on either side of him. He’s an only child as well, which was why we gravitated to each other as children. His eyes wander my way and when he spots me sitting in the pews, he fakes an exaggerated look of surprise. Or maybe not so exaggerated, since I haven’t been here in years. Then he shoots me with his finger and someone behind me flicks my ear.
Spencer laughs when I wince but I don’t even turn around. I know who it is. Sister Anne Catherine.
My childhood nemesis.
She does not accept my silent surrender and leans in to whisper, “Rutherford, behave yourself.”
My mother looks over at me with disapproval, Spencer shoots his finger again and covers his fake laughing mouth like he’s ten, and when I look over at Ronin, he’s smirking.
Rook is reading the bulletin intently, like she’s studying for a test.
God, I love her.
My heart begins to beat wildly and I suddenly have the need to flee, but my mother grabs my coat sleeve when I make to rise, and I settle back down.
“You’re here now, Ford,” she whispers. “Just relax and enjoy it.”
And that is how I spend the wee hours of Christmas Day. Desperately wishing I was anywhere but church as I kneel, sit, stand, wish Sister Nemesis peace, and then force myself not to freak out when she grabs my hand to shake it.
She does that on purpose.