Head On (The Head On Trilogy) (10 page)

I smiled politely. I guess I was naive to think that I could be paid so many thousands of dollars just to sleep with the guy. He saw me as his sexual servant, and it wasn't my place to deny any of his wishes.

"It's fine," I said, making a mental note to be much,
much
more careful to set out the terms of every deal in future.

As the lift started to head down, I looked over at the mirror on one of the walls. I was completely naked, and I was about to be in a completely public space. This was a whole new level of promiscuity, and every person in the casino would know that I was a hooker. Taking a deep breath and trying to stay calm, I reminded myself that there was no way I'd bump into anyone I knew. I just had to accept that there'd be a lot of people staring at every inch of my body. This was way more than I'd signed up for, and I considered refusing before, finally, realizing that I had no choice. I was Robert's trophy for the weekend, and he was determined to display me. What else are trophies for?

Take it as a compliment
, I told myself.
It's just for a few hours.
At the same time, a little voice in the back of my mind said something very different, and very unhelpful:
Drake Parkin would never make you do something like this.

"I hope you're not gonna cause a problem," Robert continued. "You're my woman for the weekend, and when I tell you to be naked, you're gonna be naked. Period." He waited for me to reply. "You got a problem with that?"

"No," I said, even though it was a big fat lie. I wasn't exactly self-conscious about my body; I knew I was in good shape, and that my breasts were pretty hot. Still, the thought of so many people seeing me completely naked... I looked down at my bare belly, and at the bare crotch that I'd shaved specifically for the weekend. There was nowhere to hide; people were going to see my breasts, my vagina, my ass, my everything. I signed up to be a prostitute, but I don't remember anyone saying anything about being a stripper.

The elevator came to a halt, the doors opened and we stepped out into a crowded casino. When Robert said there'd be two or three hundred people, he was clearly being extremely. There must have been at least five hundred, and every single one of them was fully clothed. As I scanned the crowd, I watched as first one person noticed me, then another, then even more, and finally people started nudging one another. Soon it felt as if the entire room - hell, the entire town - was staring at my nude body. I wanted to shrivel up in a corner.

"Are you sure I'm allowed to be naked?" I asked, desperately hoping that some obscure, long-forgotten bylaw might yet save the day.

"I've cleared it with management," he said as we stepped past the blackjack tables.

"But -"

"This is Vegas," he said firmly. "If you've got the money, there's nothing you can't do. And believe me, honey, I've got enough money to do pretty much anything I want!" With that, he slapped my ass, hard enough to make me jump a little.

"Great," I muttered, trying to regather my composure.

Be professional
, I told myself.
You're on the clock. You're working
. And, at the back of my mind, another voice:
Drake Parkin wouldn't do this. Drake Parkin would have you all to himself. He'd fuck you all night, like a real man.

I started to blush as everyone around us glanced over. Most of them were trying to make out as if they weren't shocked, like they weren't interested, but I could feel all their eyes on my body. One or two more adventurous types took photos with their phones, and I saw several pairs of eyes staring straight at my breasts. I just hoped my face wasn't bright red, although I could feel that I was already starting to blush. Instinctively, I reached down to check my phone in case Parkin had tried to call, but of course I'd left everything back in the restaurant. He could have been calling me at that very moment, and I'd never have known.

"We'll play here," Robert said, sitting at one of the blackjack tables. I moved to sit next to him, but he gestured for me to remain standing. "Don't sit down," he said. "If you sit down, nobody'll be able to see your cute little bald pussy." As if to underline the point, he reached down and ran a finger against my labia. A man sitting on the other side of the table couldn't help himself as he stared in amused awe.

This is nothing
, I told myself.
Naked girls probably wander around casinos all the time in Vegas. No-one's gonna remember this
. I took a deep breath.
If you were here with Drake Parkin, things would be totally different.
For a moment, I allowed my mind to wander as I thought about Parkin's kisses moving slowly across my breasts and then down my body, past my belly and finally between my legs; I imagined his hands on the inside of my things, holding my legs apart, and his breath on the lips of my vagina.

"Jesus Christ," muttered a nearby voice, breaking me out of my fantasy and bringing me back down to earth with a bump. "She must have no self-worth at all. Poor bitch."

I wanted to turn and punch whoever said those words, but I forced myself to stay calm. Still, I was starting to wonder if, while crossing my moral boundaries, I'd accidentally shot off way too far over the edge. Maybe, once I was finished with Robert this weekend, it would be time to rein things in a little.

"This is not my lucky night," Robert complained bitterly, as his bad streak continued.

Drake Parkin would clean up
, I thought to myself, before reminding myself that I wasn't here to fantasize about Parkin. I was here to work. I'd always prided myself on being a professional, and even though my job description had changed, I figured I should try to maintain my usual standards.

I smiled, feeling embarrassed again, as the other people at the table tried - and failed - to keep from glancing at my nude body. No matter what I did, I knew that there were scores of eyes staring at me, their gazes running up and down my body from my crotch to my breasts to my face and back again. It was kind of humiliating and exhilarating all at the same time, but I just tried to focus on the money I was making for being with Robert. Suddenly, all those bundles of cash didn't feel like enough.

We spent almost an hour down in the casino, as Robert led me from table to table. He wasn't having much luck, and he seemed to be down by almost half a million dollars. For a guy like Robert, that probably wasn't too much money, but it was almost enough to make my eyes water.

"This isn't going too well," he said eventually. He seemed lost in thought, as if he was trying to think of some way to reverse his luck, and then finally he grabbed one of his poker chips and, without warning, slipped it between my labia. "For luck," he said with a grin.

Looking down at him, I damn near punched him right in that smiling, pathetic face. Fortunately, I was just about able to hold my temper and maintain a pleasant, forced smile as he rolled the edge of the chip between the lips of my vagina for a moment. Finally, he took the chip and placed it back on the table. It was as if he was deliberately testing me, to see how far he could push me. For a moment, I allowed myself to believe that maybe Parkin had set this whole thing up, but I quickly realized that I was on a hiding to nothing. Robert Foxington-Chambers was an asshole, and there was nothing more complicated going on here.

Steeling myself against the humiliation, I watched as Robert continued to play. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't ignore the constant whispers from people in the crowd, and it was soon clear that I was being pitied. For the first time since arriving in Vegas, I was starting to think that there was no way I wanted to continue, and I was actually starting to consider walking out. Taking a deep breath and focusing on watching Robert's game, I tried to remind myself that I couldn't expect a job to always be fun. Still, as Robert grabbed my waist and pulled me closer, slapping my ass in the process, I realized with startling clarity that somehow I'd gone way too far. Being a prostitute was one thing, but I was becoming a kind of plaything for some rich, drunken ass.

"That dumb whore," a woman whispered somewhere in the crowd, and as a shiver passed through my body, I realized she was right. I'd been dumb, and I was a whore.

Drake Parkin

My country estate covered several acres, and the winding, twisted ring-road had long served as a kind of unofficial race-track. Over the years, I'd pounded several thousand laps around the course, gradually lowering my best time in a kind of competition with myself. It had got to the point that I felt I knew every inch of the tarmac with absolute certainty. Hell, I could probably drive the route with my eyes closed.

The car's tires screeched as we rounded a particularly tight bend. I couldn't help but smile, since the screech meant that we were on the limit. This was how I liked things to be: all the time, every day, hearing the limits being pushed at every corner. This car was the only vehicle - the only
thing
, including people - that had ever been able to approach the limit with me. Taking a hard right, modulating the speed with both the throttle and brake pedals, I felt as if the machine and I were at one. I breathed through her, and she breathed through me.

I couldn't help but imagine what Kathryn would say if she was in the passenger seat. My first instinct was to assume that she'd be terrified, that she'd beg me to slow down. Then again, there was something slightly different about Kathryn, something that made me wonder if, in fact, she might be better suited to this kind of life than most girls. After all, she'd already impressed me on a number of occasions, and I felt there was more to learn about her, more to explore.

Hearing my phone start to ring, I grabbed it from my pocket and saw that Dr. Lazier was trying to get hold of me. Figuring there was nothing he could say to me, I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.

Taking a hard left, I realized that I was fast approaching the trickiest corner on the entire lap: a sweeping left-right that dipped in the middle and then rose to a course high, not unlike the Eau Rouge corner at Spa-Francorchamps in Belgium. I'd spun many times at this corner, although eventually I'd mastered it, and today I felt as if I wanted a new challenge. With just a few seconds to go before I reached the corner entry, I decided to put myself to the ultimate test. After all, on this day, of all days, it didn't really matter if things went wrong. I only had four days of real life left anyway, and I hated the idea that everything might end with a whimper rather than a bang.

So I closed my eyes.

I decided I'd take the corner blind, relying entirely upon my memory, my instincts, and my faith.

At the exact right moment, with my eyes squeezed tight, I turned the wheel. I'd done this so many times before, and as I felt the car turn left and start to head down toward the dip, I realized that so far I was doing everything perfectly. I waited a fraction of a second before adjusting the steering slightly to the right. The tires screeched more than ever, desperately struggling with their huge load. It was usually a good idea to lift the throttle just a little in the middle of the corner, but this time I was determined to go at full speed. The tires were screaming now, begging for a lift, but I refused, keeping my foot down.

Hell, four days. Who cared about four measly days?

And that's when I pushed too far. One of the tires gave out a little, and the rear of the car snapped out of line. I tried to correct the steering, but it was too late and the car swung across the road at high-speed. I opened my eyes and saw that I was headed straight for the wall on the outside of the corner. I'd often been warned by my estate managers that the wall was dangerous, that it should be demolished or at least moved back, but I'd always told them to leave it alone. Now, with no time left to do anything about it, I was heading almost at full speed straight into that wall.

Head on.

Kathryn

"You goddamn fucking beauty!" Robert roared as we stepped out of the elevator, back into the penthouse. I smiled as he pulled wads of cash from his pockets and threw them on the table. There was easily half a million dollars there, probably more, and the idiot was treating it like confetti. As he stumbled drunkenly over to the bar and started to pour himself another whiskey, his face looked kind of red and puffy. "Is there anything more beautiful than a thick pile of money?" he continued drunkenly. "In the whole fucking world, is there anything more wonderful than cash?"

Having retrieved my dress from the restaurant, I checked my phone again, but there was still no message from Parkin. It was as if he'd forgotten me. With a sigh, I realized that he probably had a different girl every night. To him, I was probably nothing more than a memory, if he even remembered me at all. I couldn't explain it, but a couple of minutes ago, I'd suddenly been overcome by a sudden jolt of fear, as if something had happened somewhere. I kept trying to remind myself not to be dumb, but it was as if I was grief-stricken for some reason that hadn't yet made itself apparent.

"Tonight was just a warm-up," Robert said, spilling half the whiskey he was trying to pour into the glass. "Tomorrow we'll really go wild. There's a strip club over on the other side of the block. How'd you fancy getting down and dirty with one of the girls, huh?"

"I'm not sure," I replied cautiously.

"Here," he said, grabbing a handful of banknotes and throwing me at them. "Does that change your mind?"

"Sure," I said, feeling completely sober. I guess a professional prostitute would be able to get over her feelings of unease, but I wasn't sure I could put on a convincing mask. Crouching down, I started to pick up the money, although it felt curiously thin and dry in my hands. I couldn't help but think back to the single thick wad that Parkin gave me when I first slept with him. I knew I was probably being a little crazy, but Parkin's money just seemed firmer and more real.

"On the sofa," he said, suddenly seeming rather serious. "I want you and me, on the sofa, making love like any normal couple." He stares at me. "You've got to convince me that you're really into me. You've got to show me passion. Real passion."

As I sat on the sofa, it occurred to me that this might actually be the hardest part of the night so far. All the other stuff was child's play compared to having to act, and having to pretend that I had passionate feelings for Robert. I checked my phone again, before reaching down and starting to stimulate my clitoris, hoping to be at least a little moist by the time Robert was ready to penetrate me.

"I'm not a young man," he said as he pulled off his underwear and stood before me, his half-erect penis on display. "Having said that, I'm not doing too badly for my age." He climbed onto the sofa.

"You look fine," I said, moving close to him. I put my hands on his arms, leaned in and kissed him on the lips. He quickly slipped his tongue into my mouth and we stayed locked together like that for several minutes as my bare breasts brushed against his slightly flabby chest. For a fraction of a second, I was able to close my eyes and pretend that I was with Parkin again.

"Get on your back," Robert barked suddenly, his voice breaking the mood, and I obeyed. Instead of climbing on top and penetrating me, however, he moved his cock up toward my face. "Use your hands," he said. "I'm not quite hard enough." He had a slightly annoyed look on his face, as if his own body's limitations were causing him frustration.

I reached up, spat in my palm, took his modestly erect member in my hand and slowly started to jerk him off. I wasn't aiming to make him cum; I just wanted to get him harder. Sure enough, within a couple of minutes he was hard as a guy half his age.

"Let me fuck your titties," he whined, his voice sounding increasingly slurred.

Slowly, he laid his cock in the cleavage between my breasts. I pushed them together, and he started to gently rub his cock back and forth along my skin. Soon, there was enough pre-cum dribbling from the tip of his cock to lubricate his efforts, and he was sliding himself between my breasts easily. With my hands pushing my cleavage tighter and tighter, I realized that while I wasn't necessarily enjoying myself, at least I wasn't having to do too much work. Giving a guy a quick wank in a hotel room was infinitely better than being naked in a casino.

Finally, he slipped his cock out from my cleavage. Moving down my body, he used one hand to slide himself into my vagina. I wrapped my legs around him as he started to make love to me, thrusting into me rhythmically and vigorously. Soon he'd built up a little momentum, banging away at me with enthusiasm. I still wasn't turned on, but I made a few grunts and groans every few minutes, just to give him some encouragement. For the first time, I felt as if I was a proper working girl. Still, I wanted to cum, and I knew I could...
if
he gave me permission.

Eventually, he came. He groaned for a few seconds as his cock discharged thick, sticky sperm into the depths of my vagina. We stayed entwined for a few minutes, his member still plugging me, and finally he pulled out. I reached down and felt that my entire crotch was wet and sticky, with occasional blobs of semen dribbling from my between my labia.

"Do I have your permission to cum?" I asked after a moment.

"My what?" he asked breathlessly, spraying me with a fine mist of saliva.

"Am I allowed?"

There was a pause, followed by a snort of laughter. "I don't give a crap. If you want. You'll have to do it yourself, though."

I took a deep breath. "It's fine," I said eventually. The moment had passed, anyway.

"Nah, go on," he continued. "I wouldn't mind watching."

"Next time," I said with a polite smile.

"Do it now, whore," he said, with a kind of sing-song lilt to his voice. He was clearly pretty drunk.

Slowly, I reached down and started rubbing my clitoris. Spreading my legs wide apart, I figured the best approach would probably be to just get it over with, so I began to touch myself.

"Cum you fucking bitch," Robert whispered in my ear, and at that moment I realized I couldn't do it. I'd always been the kind of woman who could bring herself to climax pretty easily, but something was different this time. It was as if that encounter with Drake Parkin in the hotel storage room had fundamentally rewired the way my body worked. I kept trying for a couple of minutes, interspersing my efforts with a few fake grunts and moans, but no matter how furiously I rubbed my clitoris, it was as if there was a barrier that was preventing me from reaching orgasm. I was determined to get there in the end, and despite the sweat pouring from my brow, I continued to masturbate, trying desperately to force my body to give me the pleasure I wanted.

"Fuck you," I gasped, thinking back to Drake Parkin as I spread my legs as wide as possible. I was trying every trick in the book, and there was no way I was willing to stop until I reached orgasm. Still, no matter what I tried and no matter how hard and fast I rubbed my clitoris, I already knew deep down that it was hopeless. My body was different now, and it no longer responded so readily to my desires. Deep down, even if I didn't want to admit it just yet, I knew that there was only one person who could help me to cum. I held my breath for as long as possible, but nothing was working and finally I let out a gasp of frustration and stopped masturbating.

"Huh," Robert said, staring at my vagina. "You done?"

I paused for a moment, breathless and angry. "Yeah," I said eventually. "I'm done." Grabbing my phone, I hurried to the bathroom. "I'll be back in a moment."

As soon as I'd locked the door, I pulled up Parkin's number and hit the 'call' button. I needed to cum, and I knew that only his voice, only his permission, would unlock the pleasure. It was as if he'd rewired my body and put a password on my vagina that meant no-one else could open it all the way. As the phone rang and rang, I had no idea what I was going to say when I finally heard his voice, but I knew that I had to find a way to get back control of my body.

"You've reached Drake Parkin's phone," said a familiar, calm voice suddenly, almost as if he was mocking me. "Leave a message."

There was a beep.

I stood in breathless shock for a moment, my lips quivering as I tried to find the words.

"Call me," I said eventually. "Call me back."

I cut the call dead.

Glancing at myself in the mirror, I realized I was a sweaty mess. I was thousands of miles from Parkin, I hadn't seen him for a few days, and yet somehow he was exerting this control over me. Did he do it deliberately? Did he even know? Was he sitting back in his apartment, smiling at the thought of me being in such a mess, or had he already forgotten all about me? I wanted to call back, to make his phone ring and ring until eventually he picked up and gave me answers, but I knew I'd be an idiot to let my desperation show so clearly.

Hoping that Robert would have passed out by now, I headed back through to the main part of the penthouse. Unfortunately, he was still very much awake and alert, pouring himself another whiskey as he swayed by the bar.

"Whore," he muttered.

I stopped in my tracks. That word, 'whore', was starting to get real old.

"Here," he said, pushing some more money off the table. "Take it, bitch. That was a pretty good show. You're a bit of a wild one."

Wincing a little at that word 'bitch', I nevertheless crouched down to pick up the cash. It wasn't that I wanted or needed the money; it was just a reflex action. I guess Parkin had trained my body in more than one way.

"Here's how we're gonna finish the night off," Robert said, pouring some more whiskey down his throat before taking a big swig directly from the bottle. "I don't know if you've done this before, but..." His voice trailed off as he started lumbering toward me, with the half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand. "Yeah," he continued, slurring his speech. "I'm gonna call a friend of mine, and he's gonna send over some guys. Three or four guys. They're cool, and they're pretty open-minded. I'm not a homosexual, you understand. Don't get any ideas like that. I just like to see my girl being diddled by other men from time to time. What I want to see tonight is you, being fucked in every hole, like the dirty whore that you are. Understand?"

"I don't know," I said quietly, still picking up the money.

"You don't
know
?" he asked, with a disgusted look on his face. "Jeez, I thought you were smart. Do I have to explain it again?"

"That's not what I mean," I replied. "I mean, I don't know if I'm willing to do that for you."

"This help?" he asked, grabbing some more cash and sprinkling it directly over my head. "You happy now?"

Without waiting for me to answer, he stumbled over to his phone. As I picked up some more money, I glanced over and saw that he was struggling to bring up a number. The guy was clearly wasted, and it'd be a miracle if he didn't pass out soon. At the same time, I'd been expecting him to collapse for the past hour, and he was stubbornly pushing ahead.

"You ever had four cocks in your pussy at once?" he asked.

"No," I said, placing the money back on the coffee table and getting to my feet.

"You're gonna tonight," he leered. "Really stretch you out, you know? And I'm gonna get the guys to bring a camera, 'cause I wanna film this for posterity."

I paused for a moment. "No," I said finally.

He grinned.

"I mean it," I continued.

"Go stand over by the window," he said with a sneer. "Wait for me while I take a shower."

"No," I said again.

"I'm not asking!" he shouted. "I'm telling!"

I shook my head. "No."

"No?" he said, frowning as he stared at me. "I must have drunk a hell of a lot tonight, 'cause I thought I just heard my whore say no to the stuff I'm telling her to do."

"You heard right."

An incredulous grin spread across his face. "I've paid for you until Monday fucking morning," he said, swaggering toward me. "You're my whore, bitch, and you'll do any damn thing I tell you to do!"

"I'm not doing any of that," I reply, feeling as if I was suddenly filled with a new-found level of strength. I grabbed my dress and started to slip back into it. Panic was threatening to overtake my body, and I was determined to get the hell out of that place as fast as possible. Being a prostitute was one thing, but I was damned if I was gonna let some asshole treat me like crap. I guess a girl can only really have one master at a time, and Robert Foxington-Chambers - money or no money - was not remotely qualified to order me about and tell me what to do with my body.

"You're not doing it?" he asked, swaying next to me. "Excuse me? I paid for you, for the whole fucking weekend, and you're gonna do what the hell I want." He narrowed his eyes, as if he was having trouble seeing me properly through his alcoholic haze. "Whore."

"No," I said firmly.

He laughed.

"I'm sorry," I continued, turning and walking toward the elevator. "I've got standards. You can keep every cent of your money."

"Standards?" he shouted, stumbling after me. "You're nothing but a whore! A slut! You rent your cunt out to any guy with a bit of cash to flash. You ain't got no standards unless I tell you to have standards, understand? We agreed a price, and you're gonna do what I want, when I want, how I want, and with whoever I want. Got it?"