Bad Grace: A Billionaire Romance Romantic Suspense (The Filth Monger Book 2) (13 page)

Her

H
e took me out into the corridor. The doors beyond where we’d passed previously all had the same velvet drapes across what looked to be small windows in them. Several men in sober black suits were now on patrol, I noticed, flushing as I realised they must know why I was there. I was feeling more embarrassed by the moment, Nathaniel’s presence, so close to me, only serving to heighten my self-consciousness further.

The men ignored me, though, and only paced up and down the corridor, occasionally pausing to pull back one of the curtains before moving on, evidently satisfied with what they’d seen.

‘Come, Miss Anderton,’ he said, and held out his hand.

I took it, and let him guide me down the corridor. His hand was cool in mine, and strong, leading me onwards determinedly. I could feel my heart racing in my ribcage, but it was more from nerves than from anticipation.

‘We’ll start at the other end,’ he said, as if it were all in a day’s work to him – which, I realised suddenly, it probably was. ‘These rooms have been busy for an hour or so already.’

He led me to the furthest door and pulled back the drape. I hesitated. I had no idea what I was going to see, and this whole scenario was putting me on edge.

Through it, I could see a man kneeling on the floor. He was naked and hairy, his head entirely covered in a leather mask. He had his face pushed into the carpet and, above him, another man stood, his stiletto heel dug sharply into the prone man’s back.

I pulled back, embarrassed at my role of voyeur, and looked at Nathaniel.

‘Not to your taste?’ he said, clearly trying to hide a smile.

I shook my head.

‘We cater to all tastes here.’ He gave a shrug and let the curtain drop. ‘That man on the floor is a prominent name in the world of sports. He’s already been mugged once, in pursuit of that fantasy. Fortunately, Ronnie caught him before he did himself – and his career – any lasting damage. Discretion, Miss Anderton. Here, he can indulge his fetish in safety.’

He walked over to another door and casually pulled back the drape.

‘This woman,’ he said. ‘Fantasises about men worshipping her feet.’

I peered through the curtain, hardly wanting to look. Inside the room, a woman stood naked. She was middle-aged and slightly overweight. On the carpet around her, a group of men were on their knees, licking and sucking at her calves and ankles. As I watched, one of them lay down flat on the floor and ran his tongue over her toes.

I pulled back again, feeling slightly sick.

‘What’s the matter?’ Nathaniel sounded amused. ‘Are feet a turn-off?’

I nodded, flushing. None of this was anything like my fantasy. It hadn’t ever really occurred to me that people got off on these kinds of things, and I was starting to worry. Did he really understand me so little?

He didn’t seem to notice my discomfort. He merely let the curtain drop again. ‘So now we’re getting somewhere,’ he said, with a wry smile. ‘No feet.’

As we made our way back up the corridor, he pulled back more curtains. Some he didn’t invite me to look into, others he did.

‘Now,
this
one,’ he said, stopping at a window almost back at the office. ‘Dreams of being forced to…well…a picture tells a thousand words, Miss Anderton.’ And he stood back, holding the curtain open.

Inside the room, a woman was on her knees on the carpet. She was naked again and, like the other, middle-aged but, this time, thin – all muscle and bone. Around her a group of men clustered, their backs to her and bent over. From what I could see, she was licking their asses, moving from one to another, thrusting her tongue deep inside the cracks of their cheeks.

I stepped back.

‘No asses, then.’ Nathaniel was trying not to laugh, I could tell. ‘Believe it or not, her husband got so fed up with her, he sent her to me himself.’

I laughed a little myself, but it was a shaky laugh. I was starting to think I should just go.

‘I fear I’m being a little unkind,’ he said, leading me back into the office. ‘And yes, I have been teasing you to some extent, but I was making a point. Your fantasies aren’t you. Everyone has them, and they’re nothing to be ashamed of, bizarre though some of them might seem. In fact, compared to some of our guests, I suspect yours will turn out to be quite…run-of-the-mill.’

I nodded, trying to take in what I’d witnessed, to take in his words. ‘Lesson learnt,’ I said, finally. It was, in a way. It had certainly been an eye-opener, at the very least.

‘Shall we continue?’ he said, pulling out a chair for me to sit down. ‘Or have I succeeded in putting you off?’

Him

I
t appeared not, because when I offered her a glass of wine, she accepted, sipping at it as I explained why I’d brought her back into my office. I suppose I’d been building her up, almost like a salesman, showing her the things that wouldn’t do first, before tempting her with something I felt sure would be pretty close to the mark. The only difference was that I really didn’t want to sell it to her.

‘Through that window…’ I indicated the viewing panel to the side of my desk. ‘…is a woman with desires, I suspect, much like your own.’

Her eyes travelled to the curtain, lingering there long enough for me to be fairly confident she was curious. I pulled the cord to the side of it, and the drapes slid back, revealing the playroom. This one had red velvet sofas in the corner, with a double bed in the middle, covered in satin sheets.

Like all the playrooms it was decked out for luxury and furnished with all the items that might prove useful to a scene. It also had a coffee table in between the sofas, with glasses and a bottle of champagne lain out. Just the one bottle. No one was allowed to play while intoxicated - it brought too many additional risks – but the bottle was essential to this woman’s fantasy.

On one of the sofas, Martine Wilkington-Smythe sat, one of my men on each side of her. Several others lounged opposite her, drinking and chatting as if they were out on the town for the evening, and Matt stood in the corner as overseer, a video camera in hand. 

To his side, a computer monitor showed what looked to be an adult website. In a small box in the middle of the page, a video was playing. I switched on my computer, which was connected to it and meant we could hear a muffled version of what was going on in the playroom.

Martine had visited us several times before and she was proving one giant headache. Most people, once they’d fulfilled their fantasy, had no need to revisit it. Either they’d found it less appealing in real life, or they had something concrete to revel in afterwards. Neither of these applied to Martine. In fact, I was beginning to suspect she was addicted to being used I was almost tempted to suggest her husband – a wealthy banker – simply employ a discreet team of his own to keep her satisfied.

The problem with that was that she always wanted different men, which made discretion difficult to assure. But it was the stranger element that did it for her. A couple of times, I’d provided her with a few of the same members of my staff and she’d left, disappointed, and been caught soliciting for meets online.

I was running out of men, and her husband was at his wit’s end. He’d have divorced her like a shot, if she hadn’t been so damned expensive, and I genuinely worried for her safety. I knew how easy it was for men like him to lose someone, if they became too much of an irritation. For now, my service was her lifeline.

Like she gave a toss. Right now, she was laughing, with a strident bleat that set my teeth on edge, and leaning back, swigging champagne like it was going out of fashion. She had on her usual outfit of a tight white top and skirt, black underwear and heels. There was nothing subtle about Martine. She liked it trashy.

They’d downed the whole bottle by now and, when one of my men drew attention to it - holding it up like a trophy - another leaned forward to make a suggestion.

I knew what he was proposing, because the whole scene had been detailed beforehand. The bottle was placed back on the table, this time on its side, and Martine leaned forward to give it its first spin.

I looked at Grace, sitting watching with – I was sure – bated breath. The bottle stopped at Martine and, after a few half-hearted protests, she stood up and peeled off her top, to much whooping and cat-calling. As her bra came into view, Grace gave a soft gasp and leaned forward, closer to the window.

The game continued, with several of the men taking off their shirts and Martine, her skirt. Matt stayed apart, videoing everything but taking no part. Grace seemed fascinated by it, reaching out and touching the glass with her fingertips. When the bottle once again spun around to Martine and she began to unclasp her bra, Grace got slowly to her feet and drew closer to the window until her hand was flat to the glass.

Martine let her bra slip further and further down her arm until it fell to the floor, at which point she began to caress her breasts, as my men looked on and whistled. Then she sat back down, letting the guys to either side of her fondle them as the bottle was twisted once again into action.

The guys had clearly got to grips with spinning the bottle accurately, because it landed on Martine yet again. She stood up, hooking her fingers in the sides of her thong and writhing, as the men lifted up their hands to run them over her bare skin. She had a good body, Martine, I’ll say that much for her. She took pains to keep in shape, I suspected, to add to her fantasy.

She turned at this point, and bent over, letting the men slap her ass and spread her cheeks apart. By the time they’d finished, it was a ruddy pink, the marks of their fingers evident across it. Still bent over, she inched the thong slowly down over her hips and thighs, until she was totally exposed. The men leaned forward, pulling her cheeks apart again until the pink insides of her cunt were on show for all to see.

‘Smile for the camera, Marty,’ one of them called out, laughing, and Matt got in closer, zooming in on her stretched out lips.

I looked at Grace again. She was pressed up against the glass and appeared mesmerised. I stood behind her, looking over her shoulder and, as if she wasn’t even aware she was doing it, she pushed her ass backwards, until it was pressing against my crotch.

I let my hand drop, running it across her slender curves, and inhaled her musky scent. It was intoxicating, and reminded me again of our walk on the Embankment. I lifted my other hand to cup her breast as I leaned in to kiss her neck.

At the last moment, I pulled away. This wasn’t what I wanted – not like this. I felt like a spare part, tagging along for the ride. It wasn’t me she wanted – it was
that
. She’d made it perfectly clear in the car earlier. I was just the nearest object with which to sate her lust.

She didn’t even seem to notice, as I stepped away. She remained at the window, transfixed by the sight of Martine dropping onto her knees to pleasure the row of cocks that stood to attention, waiting for her hungry mouth to close around them.

I switched off the sound, hoping to reclaim Grace’s attention, but still she just stood there. As the guys grabbed Martine, and threw her onto the bed, she gasped again and pressed her face up against the glass, as if she wanted to somehow push her way through it. Her breath was misting up the window, her fingers leaving trails as she ran them down the glass.

‘Can they see me?’ she asked, suddenly.

I hoped it meant that she was starting to come out of her trance, back to reality and some degree of self-consciousness.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘They’ve a right to know if they’re being watched.’

‘Oh.’ She stepped back from the glass.

Martine was on top of one of the guys by now, riding him while another tried his best to push his cock into her ass. She moved forward, pushing her ass up in the air to accommodate him and, finally, the tip moved past her ring and up inside her. I could see her cry out in pain – he’d gone in far too quickly. I’d have to have words. She wasn’t one to go for pain over pleasure, and the guest’s wishes were paramount. It could cause all kinds of shit if they got something they didn’t want.

Her cry was long and wailing, loud enough to be heard through the glass, but it tapered off as her sphincter grew used to the sudden intrusion. A minute or so later, she was taking both of them, and sucking on two other cocks alternately.

I looked at my watch. I knew Martine – this could go on until the early hours, and I really didn’t want to be standing here watching it all night, least of all with Grace.

I was about to speak, when she turned to me. It seemed she’d finally noticed the website on the computer monitor.

‘What is that?’ she said. ‘That video? Is it…’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It’s part of her fantasy. She likes to be streamed live on web sites.’

Her look turned to one of alarm and she looked back through the window. ‘She doesn’t mind?’

‘It’s her biggest turn-on.’ I shrugged. ‘I told you – it takes all sorts. She revels in being disgraced. It doesn’t go anywhere,’ I added, quickly. ‘The video. But she doesn’t know that.’

She didn’t say anything else, just stood watching as Martine got taken every which way. She was loving every minute of it and so, it seemed, was Grace. At least, she remained glued to the scene of degradation in front of her and didn’t look my way again until I pulled the curtain firmly shut.

‘I think you’ve seen enough,’ I said. ‘For educational purposes. Would you say that’s a close approximation to your fantasy?’

She cast her eyes down and nodded.

I felt my heart sink. I’d been right, but I so wished I hadn’t. I didn’t know why, but it still came as something of a shock. I’d known really, right from the night at the F Bar.

If I hadn’t realised then, I’d have guessed anyway, when she’d said about claiming back what was hers. I’d read enough about Leo Sparkes’s exploits to deduce what she meant. Yet still, it drove a dagger through my heart to think of this captivating creature succumbing to the desires of a group of strangers. I’d known tonight wasn’t going to be easy, but I hadn’t realised how hard it was going to be to let go of my dreams and pass them over to my closest associates.

But if that was what it took to keep her safe, to stop her doing it elsewhere, then that was what had to happen. My feelings came second. She was too vulnerable and, in some strange way, innocent to leave her to the fate that would inevitably be hers if she took her fantasy outside these walls.

‘All right,’ I said, more abruptly than I’d meant to. I was trying to keep the misery out of my voice, but it came out harsh and business like. I held a cluster of forms out to her. ‘These are medical tests – the address is on the back. The others are legalese. Non-disclosure and the rest. All designed to protect everyone involved. Read through them and, if you’re happy, bring them back with you. Get in touch when your test results come through, if you still want to go through with it. But think. Hard.’

She looked up at me with an unreadable expression.

‘Okay,’ she said, in a small voice.

At that moment, there was a knock at the door.

‘Ah, Ronnie,’ I said, as I opened it.’ I was trying to appear off-hand, but I had to get out of there before my voice cracked. ‘Just the person. Kindly show Miss Anderton out – I need to keep an eye on things here.’