by Amelia Wilde
It’s another woman in the doorway, not Reya. Younger than she is. Violently blonde. And angry. If a human could be transformed into a thundercloud, she’d be the one standing there right now, one hand on her hip, struggling to hide it. But her eyes are daggers, and they’re aimed at me. She’s there long enough for me to close my mouth.
Every step she takes into the room echoes with the sharp snap of her heels on the floor. By the time she arrives at the desk, her expression is... appraising. And she only has eyes for Zeus. I might as well be furniture. Her gaze flicks down to the front of Zeus’s pants. I have the sickest, strangest urged to block him from view—but why? He doesn’t care. He just doesn’t care that she’s looking, and what she’s looking at…
I put one hand on the desk and do my best to look like I’m not going to fall over.
“Looks like it hurts,” the woman coos. “I could take care of that, if you’d like.” She edges close to me, so close I can feel the heat of her skin. Her hair blocks my view of him. That’s not right. I should always keep him in sight; that’s the only way to stay safe. No, no.
There is no way to stay safe.
“No need,” Zeus says, standing up. “I was about to teach Brigit here how to give a blowjob.”
My heart stops. I thought it was done beating before, but now I’m sure. There’s a wrenching pain as it starts up again. I try and fail to get enough air to argue this point—haven’t I done enough for the day?—but Zeus’s huge palms are on my shoulders, pushing me down onto the perfect floor. None of it is worn down from the footsteps of maids. I’m trapped by the desk, and by his legs, and by his hand in my hair, tipping my head back.
A dangerous smile paints his face. A kinder man would ask if I was ready. Zeus is not kind. He has never been kind, never, never. All of his meanness bought him this, somehow—this beautiful room, the desk so heavy it looks like it grew out of the floor, so shiny. So polished. It takes maids bent over and rubbing by hand to get it like this.
With his other hand, he unzips his pants, and I fling my soul out of my body, trying to get out of my own mind. I imagined this happening in the dark. Some dark corner, some rushed man. This is broad daylight. The other woman—she can see. And there’s nowhere to run.
“She looks scared,” comments the woman.
“I’m not,” I lie.
“Shut your mouth, Savannah. I’ll use it when I’m ready.”
Savannah. She hates me, but at least she listens to him in this moment. This is worse than waiting in the alley and worse than stripping down to my underwear and worse than what happened on that desk.
Zeus is enormous.
All of him.
I don’t know why I thought his dick would be any different, any less intimidating than this man who takes up all the available space in the room no matter where he’s standing. The power of him dwarfs how tall he is, and how muscled, and all of it is centered in my hair right now. Pulling me close.
“Suck,” he commands.
Horror creeps up the back of my neck, and I discover I’m gritting my teeth. That’s not what it means to suck, so I will myself to open my mouth. Zeus isn’t patient enough to wait for me. He puts a thumb on my chin and pulls down, and then he’s in my mouth, salt and skin and heft. The other girl is watching. She doesn’t leave. He doesn’t make her. Oh, God.
She’s watching me.
I don’t know how to do this.
Tongue. Maybe? I try it out, tentative, because there’s so much of him that it seems impossible. A real suck. I think wildly of lollipops, of popsicles, of sweet candy. He’s not sweet, but he’s clean—wretchedly, horribly clean. It would be better if he was disgusting. I would hate myself less. There’s only the most faint taste of soap and a hint of musk.
I manage another inch or two, and he’s filling my mouth, so much of it, and all I can think is that I have to keep moving, keep my tongue working.
“There’s a good girl.” An awful wave of pride begins at the place where he’s pulling my hair and drags its fingertips down my back. My pussy clenches. I think of him licking it. How did he ever know how to do that? How did he ever imagine— “A little deeper now. Swirl your tongue, harder. Make it good for me; otherwise, what the fuck is the point?” He’s mocking, and it hurts, and I like it. “If I only wanted to fuck a wet place, I’d take that virgin pussy. Suck, sweetheart.”
I’m doing my best.
I’m choking on it.
He’s stopped going easy on me, and it’s too late now. No going back to whatever that was before—a cruel gentleness. My throat tightens around him, trying to get him out. It doesn’t work. I want him to tell me I’m a good girl again, crave it, but I don’t understand why, and it’s so bad. It couldn’t get any worse. Tears burn at the corners of my eyes. It’s only from the fact that I can’t breathe. That’s all it is. I’m not really going to cry.
“Can I help, Zeus?” That’s Savannah from behind me.
He leans back, tugging me with him. “Sure.”
Panic. Pure, bright panic. It blinds me. I grab for his pants. There’s not enough slack to hold so I claw at them to find purchase. What’s she going to do? Get on her knees next to me and suck him too? Fabric shifts in the space next to me—her dress—and then it’s my dress that’s moving. Lifting. A cool breeze on my ass.
And then—
A slap.
I whimper around his cock. I swear I can feel her handprint on my butt. It must be red.
Another slap.
This time, it’s a sob, full-throated and real, and Zeus groans. The hum goes all the way down to his tip. My pain is actually causing his pleasure.
Savannah doesn’t stop.
I’m only up on my knees because my hands are hooked in his pants, and I have never been so trapped in my life, never been so small as I am with a cock down my throat and a woman with vicious hands spanking my ass.
Again. Again. Again. She lands the blows so efficiently that the skin is incandescent with the pain, and I still can’t get away. No amount of wriggling dislodges Zeus’s cock from my mouth. Not with his hands in my hair like this, not with him holding me so still.
Tears stream freely down my cheeks, and at the next slap, I beg, wordless. Gagged. It does something to Zeus—all of him tenses—and then one hand leaves my hair and he pulls out.
I fall forward, a hand on my mouth, and it’s only out of the corner of my eye that I see what happens next.
He pulls Savannah’s face up, his fingers around her jaw so that it opens. And then he comes into her mouth.
It’s a lot.
It’s so much, and she takes it all, swallowing down and down and down with her eyes locked on his. She’s lit up with it. Worshipful. And at the very last moment, she glances over at me. I won.
Zeus’s hand squeezes the back of my hair, hard enough to make me cry out, and then I’m on my feet. He bends down and puts his mouth next to my ear, voice cutting through the rush. “Maybe next time, you’ll earn it.”
8
Brigit
Zeus is done, just like that.
He’s finished touching me. He’s stepping back. He’s zipping up his pants. And I’m still a mess on the floor, on my knees. Savannah stands up and brushes invisible lint off the front of her dress. It’s a pale blue halter dress that’s got a high neck and a low, low back. She must know how good she looks in it. She must also know how stupid I look in this uniform, on the floor.
I stand up too and swallow the knife’s edge of another sob. No more. A furious wipe at my eyes and I’m done.
Zeus brushes me aside—brushes the both of us aside—and pulls his chair back to his desk. Sits. Takes out his ledger. It’s astonishing how casual he looks. How beautiful. How sun-kissed. Like he didn’t just fuck my mouth in front of another woman. Even if he doesn’t care, which I’m sure he doesn’t, it should have some effect.
Or maybe that’s just me. That’s how naïve I am—was. Not anymore. Now I know.
So why t
he hell do I want to get back on my knees? Why does that seem like the better option in this room?
I deserve to be slapped for that.
“Take her to get waxed and cleaned up.” He sounds like he’s telling Savannah to bring him a coffee, and the dismissive tone of it gives me a shock of glee. “And dress her in something pretty. I want to have dinner with her tonight.” This Savannah, with hate in her eyes and sugar in her voice, takes my hand and leads me out of the office. I would rather stay on one of those round couches in this uniform than go with her, but Zeus gave an order. I don’t have any fight in me right now.
We go out into the hall, and Savannah closes the big door behind her, and then she whirls around. Her mask is gone, and her face is all fury—red cheeks and white eyes. She’s close enough to pinch me, and she does it, hard, and pain arcs up through my arm. “Stop!”
“Shut the fuck up,” she hisses. “You are such a slut.”
I rub at my arm. Jesus, she’s so pissed. And I’m jealous, which is something I can’t even begin to think through right now. Jealous of her, for what? The fact that he used her over me at the moment when it counted? This is wildly fucked up. “I—”
“He fucks all the girls.” A triumphant smile laced with anger. “You should know that. He doesn’t care about you.” Savannah stalks off down the hallway. My feet feel like lead boots. “Hurry up,” she calls over her shoulder. “You don’t want to get caught disobeying his orders, do you? Or would you like that?” Her eyes flick up to the ceiling. “You probably would. Disgusting.”
I don’t have anything to say to that.
I can only follow her through the halls and up a floor. It seems like a long way, and it probably is, but I can’t get my mind to focus on anything but the hum on my skin and what happened in that room. His mouth—his mouth.
“You’re nothing,” Savannah says casually when I fall into step with her. She stops abruptly in front of a set of double doors with frosted glass. “And that uniform looks ridiculous on you.” The uniform. With no panties. I want to shove it down farther with my hands, but she’ll seize on it and make this worse. “Come on.”
She pushes open the door and goes in. I’m one step past the threshold when I see the full extent of what Zeus meant.
The spa is huge, and it’s all out in the open. A line of salon chairs takes up half of one wall, and next to that is a line of high stools in front of more mirrors and enough makeup to fill a Sephora.
And on the other side…
God, no.
On the other side, there are three waxing tables. Not separated from the rest of the room by anything. Bathed in natural light. Two of them are occupied, with technicians in lavender scrubs hovering nearby. They’re finishing up, and one girl hops down, rubbing at her arms. Where is the curtain? Where is the door? There has to be something to hide me from the rest.
There is no door.
There is no curtain.
Savannah has left me behind, and she’s leaning down to talk to a woman in a lavender outfit, pointing at me. The woman’s eyes are neutral, professional, but not Savannah—hers glow. There are a lot of other women in here. Ten? Fifteen? They flit around like butterflies, pulling clothes off racks in the back of the room and sitting down in front of the mirrors. The scent of hairspray wafts through the air.
I’m frozen in place.
Savannah straightens up and reaches out to one of the other girls. It’s like a train wreck happening in slow motion—I can’t look away. And they’re not the wreck. I am. Savannah’s whisper spreads from the other girl to another and another until it’s choked the sound out of the room, stopped all the movement. They’re watching. They’ve noticed the pathetic, desperate girl in the maid’s uniform and bare feet.
“Get undressed.” Savannah’s voice cuts through the waiting silence. “You can’t get waxed while you’re wearing all those clothes.”
I swallow the cold humiliation. It was one thing in Zeus’s office. It was one thing in that room downstairs, on the first night. It’s different now. The women—they look like wolves. The prettiest wolves I’ve ever seen. “Is there somewhere I can change?”
A laugh strikes like a match near the makeup counter and burns through the room as quickly as the silence did.
No. There’s nowhere I can change. The women in the lavender scrubs, the ones still moving, don’t seem to care. But the other girls—they’re staring. They’re waiting. A sizzle moves through the air, invisible and sharp. Like claws in the back of my neck. It’s meant to be awful, and even though I know it, I can’t keep the embarrassment out.
Something cracks beneath the surface of me like a pebble hitting a windshield, the broken part spidering out through thick glass. My hands go to the hem of my uniform—just take it off, quick—but I can’t do it.
“Awww, she’s nervous.” Savannah leans her head on the other girl’s shoulder, pouting at me. “Do you need help getting your dress off?” Snickers echo off the ceiling. “There’s plenty of us to help. Come on, girls. It’s Brigit’s first day. We should give her a hand.”
Nobody’s going to fall for this. Right? Wrong. Savannah is only the first to advance on me. She picks up her head, and the second girl follows, and more of them get up from their places, and a seizing terror closes my throat. What the fuck are they doing? Do they really mean to undress me? They exchange knowing smiles as they get closer and closer.
“Stop.” It’s a strangled gasp, not the confident refusal that I planned on.
Savannah cocks her head to the side. “Strip.”
I’m out of time; any fool could see that. Wait any longer, and they’ll do it for me. This room—this spa—it’s so lovely, so expensive. And it’s a trap. I pull the maid’s uniform over my head and bundle it into my arms.
Savannah reaches out with one hand and bats it down to the floor. “You won’t need that.”
I lift my head, because there’s no other option, and unhook my bra, humiliation making my chest flush pink. I’m not at my best. I went to sleep last night with wet hair, and this morning I got trained in a way that frankly I never thought was possible. And now there’s nothing to hide that.
One girl looks me up and down and makes a noise—hm—and then she’s gone, trailing off toward the mirrors. Savannah covers her mouth with a delicate hand. It does nothing to hide her grin. And the rest—God. The rest take turns coming by like I’m an exhibit at the zoo. The room is back in motion, and I’m still at the center.
“Lydia,” Savannah calls, voice as smooth and as cutting as ever. “Zeus says she needs to get waxed. Are you ready?”
“Of course.” Lydia’s voice—it must be her—comes just off my elbow, scaring the shit out of me. And then her hand is on my shoulder. Savannah follows us over to the waxing table and hovers nearby. “Did he have any specific requests?”
“I’m sure he wants the full treatment.” Savannah winks at Lydia. Horrifying. The full treatment—I don’t dare ask what it is. It’s too late to ask anyway, because Lydia is helping me up on the table, and I can’t force a single question past my lips. “Oh my God, Brigit. She can’t wax you when you’re like that.” Savannah looms above me and reaches for my knees. She’s stronger than she looks, wrenching them apart in one easy motion and letting them flop down on the table. “Keep them like a diamond,” she says breezily.
I focus my eyes on the ceiling and try not to look terrified, but I am. Lydia is getting wax ready; she’s stirring something, muttering to herself, and Savannah won’t leave. She wants to see this. Her eyes track Lydia’s movement while she nears with a cleaning solution and rubs in oil. All of my energy goes toward acting like this is not the most humiliating thing that’s happened to me in the last five minutes.
The worst. The worst. The worst. My heart beats with it, thunders with it, but there’s nothing I can do to stop this, short of running away. And I can’t run away. I’ve already done that. “Enjoy the show,” I tell Savannah, and my voice doesn’t shake.
/> She snorts. “I will. I bet you haven’t been waxed before, judging by how red you are. Delly, come watch.”
Delly takes my attention off the wax, which is touching me where Zeus’s mouth touched me, which is touching me everywhere. Hot. It’s so hot. I didn’t expect it to be this hot. Jesus. Why didn’t I get a wax before this, at any point in my life? Delly. She’s the redhead from last night. She passed inspection, which means…. Did this already happen to her, or is it just a special torture for me? Savannah hooks her arm through Delly’s, and they stand together, faces bright, like someone is about to hand them an ice cream cone.
A breath.
And then Lydia rips off the wax.
My body arches up off the table. I don’t scream, but I hear it in my head, high and shrill. Sweat beads on my forehead. Shit, it’s hot. It’s so hot, and Lydia isn’t stopping. She has a job to do. Embarrassment crawls up the sides of my neck and turns my ears as hot as the wax. She rips it off again, and—no. There’s nothing enjoyable about this.
And yet….
Savannah whispers in Delly’s ear, pointing, and Lydia says, “All fours.”
“What?”
“I need you on all fours.”
It dawns on me what she’s asking, and I move into the position through a numb haze. Savannah taps the small of my back, and I arch automatically, which makes me wish I died in Zeus’s office. Anything would be better than hearing her laugh.
More hot wax, this time on skin that should never be exposed to daylight. Oh, God. Oh no.
Lydia rips it off.
I’m shaking, trembling, trying to hold myself up, but I’m not going to make a sound. Even if this lasts all day. And all night. And forever. I won’t give Savannah the satisfaction.
They keep watching. Jealous, I remind myself. They’re jealous of me. I’m terrified, but at least they’re jealous.
I wish he was watching instead.
It’s the most horrible thing to cross my mind yet, and I struggle to block it out, but Lydia is relentless, and every strip of pain reminds me of Zeus. It’s not really Lydia who’s doing this to me. It’s him. It’s going to be him until I walk out of here again. All of this belongs to him. The room, the table, the wax... everything.