Dirty Bad Secrets (18 page)

“Please, Master,” I say. “I am not worthy, I need no gift.”

“On the contrary,” he replies. “You are very worthy of this gift, pretty bird. I can’t wait to see you receive it.” He gestures Cynthia to the back wall, and my insides twist at the prospect of what she will choose.

“This one,” she says, but I don’t look around. Vincent nods his approval, and I wait for it. I wait. But even I don’t expect what comes.

It burns like hot coals, spitting embers inside me, red hot pain, like razorblade kisses. She tuts in annoyance when she can’t force the thing all the way inside me, as she jams and twists it again against my pussy lips. I know which one it is. The big black strap-on. They call it the Emperor. I’ve never been given the Emperor, not until now. It’s always scared me and I’ve managed to fall lucky with people’s choices. She’s not wearing it, I can tell. She’s holding it in her hands, both of them at once, slamming it against my sore cunt. It thumps. Oh God, it’s so weighty it fucking thumps.

“Ow!” I squeal. “It hurts.”

“Don’t be pathetic,” she cackles. “It’s only a fucking dildo.”

When she manages to force entry, she pushes so hard that I lurch forward and my tits burn against the floorboards, closing that horrible fucking distance between my face and Vincent’s feet. It hurts so bad I’m groaning, horrible low noises that sound little like me. My pussy is raw and bruised, the dildo grinding in dry. It feels horrible. It feels dirty. I feel dirty, and cheap, and humiliated.

I cry. Hard.

“Don’t be like this, pretty bird,” Vincent soothes. “Remember the beauty in surrender? Remember that?”

I nod.

“You know what to do, my sweet. Stop thinking about this being over. Stop waiting for the end. There is no end, only now. Only this moment. Accept the pain, accept the suffering, and give yourself to me. Give yourself to Cynthia. Give yourself to this wonderful experience.”

“I can’t,” I cry. “It all hurts so bad.”

“The jealousy hurts worse than your sweet pussy, Magpie, trust me. Do you trust me?”

“Always,” I sob. “Always, Master.”

“Then take it for me,” he says. “Look me in the eyes and take it for me.”

Cynthia is grunting with exertion, and my pussy is stretched full around her big black cock. It hurts and she’s loving it, jamming it inside without mercy, but I’m going there, to that beautiful place. I stop wishing for it to end.

My eyes meet Vincent’s and I submit to him.

“Good girl,” he says. “That’s my perfect girl.”

“Harder,” I hiss. “Please, harder.”

Oh how Cynthia fucking hates it. She takes it all the way out and ploughs it back in, and I hiss out all my breath, but I’m still smiling.

“More!” I say. “Harder! Fuck me!”

I’m still crying, but I’m smiling, too. Smiling and delirious and lost in this place. It feels good here, it feels free. I no longer care about anything, and it’s so beautiful my heart sings.

“You are a dirty girl.” Vincent smiles, and his cock is in his hand. “Kiss my feet.”

I kiss his feet, licking at the soles of his shoes, and I don’t care if they’re dirty, I don’t care if they’re soiled. I lick his shoes and I moan and beg and cry for more as the Emperor burns my cunt.

Vincent rolls me onto my side, and he loves me so much, I can tell. He pulls out a massager and holds it to my tender clit, and I can’t stop my body, my nerves have gone crazy, and I’m bucking and crying as the orgasms rack through me. Cynthia’s pounding my cunt so hard she’s hissing in pain at her own muscle cramps, but I’m wet, so wet I can hear the squelching. I come again and again and a fucking gain, and I love it, I fucking love it.

When Vincent comes he gives it to me. I’m joyous as he pushes Cynthia away, rolling me back onto my front to spill his seed on my ass and pussy. I hope he’s going to rub it inside me, and he does, but not in the way I expected.

Vincent dribbles his cream onto my tight little asshole. It’s warm, and I clench my muscles, winking my dirty little ring at him. He sighs with pleasure and it makes me smile. He spits onto the cream for extra wetness, then pokes it inside and massages my asshole with his fingers. He’s stretching me, and I gasp at the heat.

“Now, my beautiful bird,” he whispers. “Let’s give the emperor a new home.”

I feel the thick head of it thump against my asshole, and my heart stutters.

Oh my fucking God. Oh my fucking God. Oh my fucking God.

“Don’t be scared,” he breathes into my ear. “Give yourself to me, and I promise you, my sweet bird, I’ll make this feel really fucking good.”

I’m already wincing. Already whimpering with nerves.

“Oh fuck, Magpie, yes,” he groans. “This might just hurt a little.”

He’d follow me wherever I went. Bailing this time around would be a fool’s errand.

I indulged myself in a pitiful cry, pathetic tears of woe that I really had no business spilling. I thought back to a poster I had on my wall in my teens, a typically melodramatic piece of art bearing the words ‘
all hail the queen of self-inflicted drama
’
in swirly font. I wondered if it was still up in my old bedroom. Probably. Maybe I’d find out. But not today.

I took a deep breath and wiped my tears with my sleeve. It smelled of Andy and Topaz and sex. At least life wasn’t all bad.

Fuck this shit.

I smoothed down my dress, and coerced my messy bun into some kind of order using the reflection of a shop window, and then little Princess Drama sucked it up and went back to sort her mess out.

No more running. Not today.

***

Andy

“You’re not getting me, are you? You don’t understand.” Topaz looked disappointed. She gave a pitiful little sigh and shrugged her slender little shoulders. “I’m not very good at explaining.”

“Maybe stop showering me in flouncy, flowery bullshit-speak and spit it out in words that actually make sense.”

“I’m trying to make sense!”

But she wasn’t making sense at all. Not to me. Her flurry of enthusiastic author-speak was like a foreign fucking language. I stared at her. I stared
through
her. “Cut the crap. I want it straight, no garbled emotional nonsense, I just don’t have the time for it.”

“That’s partly where your issue is,” she said, then blushed. “Faye is… passionate… deep… she wants, more…”

“More what exactly? Don’t tell me. Faye wants things her own way, right now, or she’s going to throw her toys out of the pram and bail, right?”

“She didn’t say that.”

“But that’s what she means, believe me. Flighty and whimsical, just like I told you.” I ran my fingers over my jaw, raking stubble. I was tired and grotty, and I ached. My jaw felt like it’d taken a fist, all down to Faye’s stupid gag games, and sleeping on that gurney had twisted my bloody back. I sighed in frustration. “Basically, Faye wants me to be her pussy boy?”

“No!” Topaz practically squeaked in horror. “That isn’t it!”

“That’s what it sounds like.”

“She wants equality. She wants genuine connection. She doesn’t want you to be her
pussy boy
. She just wants you to submit freely and honestly. She wants you to
feel
it. Like she does.”

“I feel it perfectly fucking fine, Topaz. That crazy bitch put teeth marks on my arse. Believe me, I felt those.”

She fiddled with her lip ring. “That isn’t what I mean and you know it.”

“Actually, no, I don’t know it. Faye wants to play stupid power games and I’ve been playing along. If she wants sissy-boy tears and snivelling and begging she’s looking in the wrong place. That’s not me.”

“I don’t think she wants that.” She fluttered her hands in front of her trying to find the words. “She wants a dominant man who knows when to kneel. A man who can lead, but can also follow. She wants you to bend in the same way that she does for you!”

“She wants a submissive, that’s what you’re saying. She wants me to be her little slave boy.
Oh, Mistress Faye, I am not worthy. Please spank my naughty bottom.
”

“Now you’re just being sarcastic.” She folded her arms.

“I’m no submissive, Topaz. I’m happy to play games for spice and variety. I’m happy to humour the coin toss in the spirit of Explicit and our generally fucked-up sexual dynamic, but I do have fucking limits. If she wants someone to kiss her feet and call her Mistress, she’ll have to fucking want.”

She looked so sad, pitiful. “I don’t think she wants to go back to Italy, Mr Morgan. She seems on the edge, looking for a port in a storm. I think she needs this.”

“I’ll be her port in a fucking storm. That doesn’t require me to take a fucking strap-on up my ass or beg for mercy like a little pussy.” Frustration was building, a headache bursting behind my eyes. “Faye’s the fucking submissive, Topaz. She just doesn’t want to admit our dynamic works best when she lets me take charge. She’s too much of a whiner, too much of a princess. We’d both be a lot happier if she gave up on this bossy Faye act and let me put her over my knee every morning. Fuck equality, what she needs is discipline.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

“Even if that’s true, what difference does it make? She wants what she wants.”

“She can want on.” I smacked my palms on the bar top. “I’m done with her demanding shit, she’s exhausting.” Topaz’s expression was so easy to read, and it infuriated me.
Sure you are
. That’s what she was thinking. One stupid fucking night in shackles and she thought she had me sussed. “I mean it, Topaz. I’m fucking done with it.”

“Yes, Mr Morgan,” she sighed.

“You can tell Faye to come straight to the office when she gets back. I think it’s about time we had a little chat.”

***

Faye

I was drenched, chilled to the bone. My messy bun had collapsed into a soggy mess, despite my best efforts, and my legs were aching from Andy’s over-exuberant bondage. I was stressed, and scared, and ready to bail, and yet I was still there. Still in the club, still standing up to face him in his office.

“Topaz said you wanted to see me.”

He propped himself on the edge of his desk, crossed his ankles like it was the most casual conversation in the world. And yet, it wasn’t. He was prickly and brooding. He looked as pissed off as I felt. “Get dried off, it can wait.”

“No.” I folded my arms. “Just spit it out. What haven’t I done this time?”

“Just about everything,” he said. “But that isn’t what we need to be chatting about.”

“What, then?” I laughed. “Are you still pissed that I tied you to a gurney? Did it embarrass you? Humiliate you? Poor Andy, diddums.”

“You aren’t helping my mood.” He ran his fingers through his hair, then linked them behind his neck. “What’s going on here, Faye? What is this?”

Oh fuck. The talk.

I shrugged. “We’re at work, it’s your week. What else do you need to know?”

“There’s a lot I need to know. I don’t like ambiguity, it makes for problems later on. We’re either on the same page, or we’re not. We need to be on the same page, Faye, for the sake of this club.”

“And this is exactly what our problem is,” I groaned.

“Sorry?”

“You and your control-freak issues. That’s what our problem is.
I don’t like ambiguity. We need to be on the same page.
Why do you have to control everything? Why can’t things just be as they are?” My tone was snarky and rude, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“It’s not being a control freak, Faye, it’s being smart.”

“Be smart, then. Be whatever you want to be.” I stomped over to my desk, sat down and ruffled through paperwork.

“I’ll ask again. What’s going on between us?”

“We’re fucking,” I said. “And you’re being a control freak cock, as usual.
I’m
just trying to get on with running this club between us in the best way I can. Making the most of it.”

He laughed. “That’s pissing rich, isn’t it? Like you’re the professional party.”

“I’m not the one who wants to have a big relationship conversation in the middle of work time.”

“You have some front, you really fucking do.” He shifted to face me then pointed his finger in the general bar direction. “Like I don’t see you, thick as thieves with our spunky little barmaid, jabbering on all day about me, and my faults and what I should and shouldn’t be doing. Have the relationship conversations with me, not our fucking staff. That’s just common fucking respect.”

“That’s crap,” I snapped. “Like Topaz and I haven’t got better things to talk about than our stupid sex games.”

“I know you’ve been speaking with her,” he said. “I can see it all over her face. I can see it all over yours.”

“She’s a friend. I can speak to my friends about whatever I want.”

“And what did you speak with her about? Besides our stupid sex games?”

“None of your business,” I hissed. “Back off. Take the stick out of your ass.”

“So, you can talk to Topaz, our employee, about what’s going on between us, her bosses, but you don’t have the professionalism to fill me in on it, too. Is that how our partnership is looking, Faye?”

“My God, you are just impossible!” I slammed my papers down. “What’s going on between us is that you humour me with crappy little handouts. You give me just enough to keep me quiet. Just enough responsibility, just enough autonomy, just enough respect, just enough submission. I want more! I want equality!”

“So fucking earn it. Be an equal. Equal in effort, equal in contribution. You’ve got some time to make up.”

I put my fingers to my temples, massaging the ache. “Here we go! That bitterness, it’s always there. You say you’ll let me lead, but it’s always there, the resentment. You grit your teeth and tolerate it and wait for your turn.”

“What else am I supposed to do? Roll over and show you my belly? Shout my congratulations from the rooftops? Bend over and let you fuck me with that oversized fucking strap-on?”

I felt my colour drain. “It was just an idea. A game.”

“I’m not a sissy boy, Faye, so stop trying to make me into one.”

“I’m not trying to make you into one.”

“You could have fucking fooled me.”

“It’s not about the strap-on,” I said, and I was getting ridiculous again. Emotional and overwhelmed and pathetic. “It’s about being able to give yourself to me in the spirit I give myself to you.”

“And what spirit would that be?”

“I submit to you when it’s your turn in charge, genuinely.”

“You’re a fucking submissive, Faye, it’s what gets you off. I don’t need to read any of Vincent cunting Blackthorne’s books to know that shit.”

“I’m not just a submissive,” I said. “Not anymore.”

His face was a picture, tired and fed up and exasperated. “What are you, then? You want to be my domme? You want to play the big bad business partner who’s going to fuck my ass when things don’t go your way? I’m not down for those kind of games, Faye. I honour the coin toss, but that’s all. I’m no submissive, and these games are temporary.”

“And that’s why you summoned me in here?” I smiled, bitterly. “You summoned me in to tell me that you won’t take it up your ass. You’re pathetic, Andy, you really are.”

“I asked you in here to establish the basis of our relationship. The strap-on is one of the finer details.”

“Fine,” I snapped, and I was angry again. So fucking angry with him, with Vincent, with this whole bloody situation. “If you can’t give me the same respect I give you, then it’s over. I want someone who can open their horizons for me, explore their sexuality, put themselves on the line.”

“Alright,
Vincent
. You sound just fucking like him, you know. Especially when you’ve got a fucking crop in your hand. Is that what you’re trying to do? Dish out the kind of shit he gave you? Is that what turns you on? It fucking creeps me out. He’s fucked up, Faye, his approach is full of perverted shit.”

“It’s not shit!” I sneered. “To be a submissive you have to give up the mind, Andy, the chip on your shoulder, the snipes and the bitterness and the negative self-talk. You have to give up your mind and expose your soul, and it’s beautiful. It’s so beautiful. I want a man who can join me there, who can give me that. Is that too much to ask?”

He laughed, and it was the death blow. “You are so fucking dramatic, Faye. Pull yourself down from the fucking ceiling and stop all the stupid fucking flouncing.”

“I’m not flouncing. This stuff is real. It’s important to me.” I stared at him, at his hard shoulders, the tension in his jaw, the shadow of stubble, the dark eyes. At the way he was staring at me, angry and impatient and ready to lash out. He wasn’t submissive. He wasn’t even close to trying. “What’s going on here is nothing,” I said quietly. “It was a mistake.”

“A mistake? We’re a mistake now?”

“Yes, a mistake. I’m here for the club, not for you.”

He tilted his head from side to side. “Fine. So, what was I? A rebound? A cheap distraction? A fucking joke?”

“Something like that,” I scoffed.

“And that’s it? You don’t get your way and it’s over? Done?”

I shrugged. “You’re the unreasonable one.”

“No, Faye, I’m not. You’re the one who wants everything on her own terms and wants it yesterday. You’re the one who stormed in like a whirlwind, without so much as a fucking explanation as to why you were back. You’re the one who demanded the position you so easily deserted. You’re the one who initiated this fucking way of solving our differences, and now, after everything I’ve done to humour you, you’re still a little bitch with her ass in her hands.” His breath was ragged, angry. “You’re right. It
was
a mistake. It’s fucking done.”

Tears pricked but there was no way I was crying. I forced them back. “Fine. Suits me.”

“Suits both of us.”

“Good. It’s the right call.”

“Definitely,” he snapped. “I’m glad we got that cleared up.”

“What about the coin toss? Don’t think I’m losing my weeks because they no longer include sex.”

“We still toss. Rules still apply.”

“Great.” I forced a smile. “Well, we’d better get on, then. I’ll go back to the bar, I was working on cocktails.”

He gestured I was free to leave. “Be my fucking guest.”

***

It shouldn’t have bothered me. It was the right call, the sensible call, but still I festered all day. My cocktails were a disaster, and Topaz was quiet, keeping her distance as though I was in danger of exploding. I felt like it.