Comfort Object (4 page)

I stood still and let him take me with his hand. The pressure building in my belly was shooting up to my breasts, snaking down between my thighs. My legs trembled from the pleasure, so I thought I might fall if he didn't support me. Each time his agile fingertip stroked over the little nub, my hips bucked forward in a plea. He tugged on the clamps again, and I gasped.

“I want you to come,” he said.

Thank God
. I closed my eyes as he tugged and worked my clit with those talented fingers. Did I say he was gorgeous? His fingers were his best feature by far. I put my hands on his shoulders and moaned, thrusting my hips forward. I clung to him and let the rhythm of his fingers drive me higher. My body drew up tight and then convulsed in release.

“Yes, yes!” I mashed my head into his chest and almost closed my teeth on his golden skin. He held me up with strong hands as I rode out the waves of satisfaction. When I came back to my senses, I looked up into his eyes. He was still watching me in that intense way.

“That was cool,” he said.

I let out my breath in a rush. “Yes, it was.”

His hand was still clamped over my pussy. He looked down at his hard cock with a smirk. “But I'm not quite finished with you yet.”

“I sensed that.” I smiled.

His hand left my pussy to grasp my upper arm. He pulled me to the sofa and bent me over it.

It wasn't the harem room, but I was finally about to get fucked. I watched over my shoulder as he rolled on a condom. He positioned his dick against my slit and pushed in to the hilt. I went up on my toes and moaned, then twitched my ass back against him. He began to fuck me. I panted and gripped the cushion. The head of his cock pummeled in and out, rubbing over my G-spot. My hips jerked as delicious sensation gathered into a teeming knot at my center.

“Oh…oh…” I couldn't form words. The only sounds in my world were my incoherent exclamations and his urgent grunts. Warm pleasure suffused my entire body. My nipples tingled; my clit swelled.

“Spread your legs.” I did, and he practically lifted me from the floor with the force of his thrusts. I felt like his creature, his object. I loved the way he was using me. I imagined I existed only to slake his lust. His hands clenched and unclenched on my hips as he pulled me back on his dick. Just as I was about to come, though, he withdrew. He ignored my wail of protest and put his hands on my shoulders. He pulled me from the couch and forced me to the floor on all fours. He knelt behind me and bent over my quivering back. I could feel his sweat-slickened abs against my skin as he whispered in my ear.

“Nell, can I fuck your ass?”

For two thousand dollars? Yes. I moaned and twitched my hips back against him. My pussy juice eased the way, but I still flinched when he worked the head in. I breathed through the pain and clenched my sphincter around him. I waited for him to suggest lube and gritted my teeth when he pressed on without it. The ache was acute but at the same time thrilled me to the core. I reached back to clutch at his thighs.

“Okay?” he asked.

I made a sound of assent and dropped my shoulders forward. He took it for the capitulation it was and slid his thick tool in to the hilt.

God, it had been far too long since I'd had a cock in my ass. I'd forgotten that terrifying, intoxicating feeling of being impaled. The pain of entry turned into unfolding pleasure that spread from my ass to my pussy and up to my nipples straining in the clamps. I tried hard not to start begging and talking dirty.
You're a submissive. Let him fuck you.

And he fucked me, slow and deep. He reached under me to flick at the nipple clamps, creating sparks of fire that resonated in my pelvis. Then came a series of quick thrusts that made me clench and moan, scrabble for purchase on the rough carpet. It was the surrender that mattered during anal, letting go and accepting my basest desires. I could barely remember my name, or his for that matter. He reached around and stroked my pussy while his cock stretched my tight hole. I felt his fingers delve into my wet slit and then search for my clit. He pinched it. I felt something inside me unfurl and go wild.

I cried out and came like a madwoman, jerking back hard against his hips. While I shuddered and shook through my climax, I felt his dick pulse in my ass. Mr. Kyle Gorgeous Talented Fingers rocked in me another moment and then finally went still. It was a long time before I became aware of the scratchy carpet under my skin.

He pulled away from me and found his way to my bathroom. I heard water running, a flush of the toilet. When he returned I was still exactly as he'd left me, cheek to the carpet with my ass in the air. When no directions were forthcoming, I righted myself and turned. He was looking at me with that same look from the club, studying, assessing.

“Thank you,” he said finally. “Um, should I take those off?” he asked, indicating the nipple clamps.

“Okay,” I said. He did, almost gingerly. I drew in a halting breath as the blood flowed back to my nipples.

“Does that hurt? When they come off?”

“A little.”

“But you like that, huh? Being hurt?”

It was a simplification, but since I figured I'd never see him again, I gave him the simple answer. “Yes.”

He walked over to pick up his clothes. He pulled his shirt on. I squelched the urge to rip it back off again. Farewell, hottest abs ever, I thought; then I realized he was talking to me.

“You're a hot fuck. I thought you would be. I really enjoyed that a lot. ”

“I did too.” It wasn't exactly a BDSM scene, but it had been hot in its own way. A little tentative perhaps. If someone who fucked you in three holes one after the other could be called tentative. It had almost felt like he was trying me out. He still seemed to be trying me out, asking questions, weighing my short replies.

“I think you're a really good sub. I mean, aren't you? You try hard at it. You like it for real.”

I nodded. Now that he was obviously leaving, I started to feel wistful. I knew he wasn't going to be my new master or anything, but he had been fun. And he was as gorgeous as ever, even sweaty and fucked-out as he was.

“Can I get you some water?” I offered. “A beer?”

He looked at his watch. “You know what? It's late. I've got to be going. Thanks, though.”

I watched him buckle his belt, lace up his shoes, straighten his collar, all-business now. I thought about asking him if it was worth the two thousand bucks, but I didn't want to hear him say no, or hear him say yes while his body language clearly said no. He was no better Dom now than he was when he'd arrived, but I got the clear feeling he didn't really care about that. I don't know if he'd gotten what he paid the two thousand bucks for, but if he hadn't, he didn't blame me, I supposed.

So why did I feel so guilty? Or did I feel sad? Or did I just feel ashamed?

I'd just sold myself for two thousand dollars. And why? Because I had an itch to scratch.

And this gorgeous guy walking out my door?

I guess he'd just had an itch too.

The Job

The next day, though, a whole lot more got scratched than my itch. Joel met me at the door when I arrived at Eden.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“Did you meet that guy after work yesterday?”

“Joel!”

“Mistress Amelia got in my face about it! If you did—”

“What did you tell her?”

“You dug him. I knew it!”

“What did you tell her, Joel? Tell me!”

“I didn't tell her anything. But somebody told her. She's spitting mad. She wants to talk to you.”

“Holy shit. What do I do?”

“Lie. Or you won't fucking have a job.”

I slunk down the hall toward Mistress's office. There was no point making her any more mad by avoiding her. But who would have ratted on me like that? Joel insisted it wasn't him, and I believed him. He was a friend. It had to be somebody making stuff up. Unless someone had been outside my apartment last night and actually spied on me to see if he arrived, and who would have been petty and vindictive enough to do that?

The door was ajar, so I peeked in carefully. Crap. Mistress Amelia was flushed with anger. I entered silently and closed the door behind me and decided on Joel's suggested plan of action. Lie.

“Joel said you wanted to talk to me—”

“If I were you, girl, I would address me as 'Mistress' and I would do it from my knees. Go out and come in again, and know this time that your job is on the line.”

Shit. I left and closed the door and took a few deep breaths to calm myself. Mistress and I had a complicated relationship. She hated me because she knew I wasn't crazy about subbing for Dommes—that is, female dominants. I just didn't go for pussy the way I went for cock.

She thought I wasn't a good, dedicated professional because I wasn't into women, but she didn't have much choice in keeping me around. Good subs were hard to find and keep, and the demand for us was constant, so I didn't believe for a second she would fire me. Still, I opened the door with my eyes cast down, dropped to my knees, and murmured quietly, “You wished to speak to me, Mistress?”

“I want to ask you one question, submissive. Did you meet a client last night at your apartment?”

“No. I don't know who told you that. Somebody who's out to get me.”

Mistress Amelia came to stand behind me. I half expected her to press a revolver against the back of my skull and pull the trigger; she was that mad. Instead she slammed the door and put her foot on the top of my back. I flinched, but I leaned forward until my face was against the floor. “Stay, you little slut,” she ordered.

I watched her feet walk back around her desk and heard her sit. I could hear her fingers
tap tap tap
on her computer for what must have been ten minutes or more. Finally she cleared her throat and said, “I'll ask you once again. Did you meet a client last night at your apartment?”

“No,” I said with less conviction.