Selling Satisfaction (8 page)

It reliefs me that she asked her doctor- although the idea of blood clots while pregnant for her terrifies me, I know she wouldn't risk her child's life just to come see me. I let it slide and accept that I get to see her soon. "Tell me when and where and I'll be there. Unless it's this weekend, I have to head to Tampa this weekend."

"Tampa!" She screeches. "I'm so jealous. I want to visit Tampa."

"Too hot this time of year."

"The only thing too hot is hell, and even then, the fun you'll have will make it worth it. You're being Negative Nancy."

"You're being Overly Optimistic Ollie."

"You're an idiot," she deadpans. Our banter only makes me miss her more. I dislike not having my sister around, the only constant thing in my life. "Well I just pulled in the driveway, so I'm going to let you go be boring. I'll call you tomorrow with the details of dates and times."

"Sounds great, Em. Give the baby some kisses for me."

"That's entirely too impossible, but I'll have Sebastian try."

With a small chuckle, I say my goodbyes and hang up the phone, looking around my empty apartment. It hasn't even been close to a week since seeing Brenna last, but I want to go visit her. Her stupid rules that do nothing for me except drive me absolutely crazy is blocking any and everything from happening.

Maybe I could figure something out. A reason to stop in and at least say hi to her. Maybe I could say that I'm out of sugar. Oh, wait, I can't do that because I already hypothetically told her I may have to do that sometime. Maybe I could say... I'm out of laundry soap.

Shit, I don't even know how to do laundry. Mom used to come over and wash it for me, and when she passed away Emily did. I guess you could say I've been spoiled.

My light bulb moment shines right in front of my face with that thought. I can ask her to do my laundry for me.

Wait, that's arrogant. I can't do that.

I can ask her to show me how. That isn't technically crossing any lines, right?

Going into the room I gather up the small hamper I have. Probably not even a full load. Once I pull off my current attire from work today, I toss them all into the hamper sans my briefs, then I dig around to find something more comfortable to put on.

I should say it's only by chance I put on my sweatpants, but honestly I had to rummage through three boxes to find them. I wouldn't normally purposely put sweatpants on, especially in ninety degree weather, but it
is
laundry day after all- at least I'm making it laundry day randomly- and well, to be honest, it makes my dick more prominent than any pair of jeans could.

Leaving the laundry behind, in case she isn't actually home, I head for the elevators. There is no possible way I should have these feelings about the possibility of seeing her. The ride up to the sixth floor seems to go forever- and the entire time I feel like a high school girl, anticipating seeing Brenna's face.

I'm being absolutely pathetic.

The doors slide open and I swear the hallway looks twice as long as normal. I head down and knock on her door, waiting... and waiting... and waiting a little bit more. I knock three more times, but since I've already crossed the line of desperation, I realize that either she's not home or she's ignoring me, so I head back down the hallway, disappointed I didn't see her face after all.

The elevator must've picked someone up because it takes a few minutes for it to come back up to the floor, and when it does, I'm not able to step forward quite yet. I'm frozen in place. At first I'm elated at seeing the long black hair framing her gorgeous face. Not to mention those bright, green eyes that are envisioned every time I've closed my eyes the past few nights. Except, the moment I actually do see her face, everything inside of me boils with so much anger and rage.

"You have a new client!"
Kandy seems far too excited about the news. Although, I have to admit, I'm ecstatic to hear business isn't completely distinct. I've been worried about losing all my clients from her announcement last week, and even more terrified I wouldn't get any more new ones. Aside from Winston.

"Thank God," I say, setting down my purse. I have to get a Brazilian wax today and Kandy offered to get one with me so we could talk business. "When do I meet him?"

"In a few hours. You have to sign an agreement before you meet with him though."

That means he is government, famous, or entirely too presumptuous. "Do you have the forms?"

"Yeah, they're in the car."

Kandy lays back on the table while we wait for the beautician, covering herself up in the blue napkin-like cloth. I strip from the waist down and lay on my table next to her. I peak over at her once we're both covered and ready. "Who is it?"

"A mister Belvidere."

"As in... Belvidere hotels?"

"The one in the same."

The door opens and in walks two beauticians, one for each of us. They sit near our feet while preparing the wax and instruments. We can't exactly talk about work when others are present, so we take the time to simply relax as much as humanly possible while awaiting the torture that we're soon to endure.

Since we're both regulars, we're not talked through the process like the first several times I came here. Instead, I lay back and listen to the pulls of the wax strips. I grit my teeth, because no matter how many times it's happened, the pain doesn't get any better.

Once finished and paid for, I meet Kandy outside, climbing in her air conditioned Range Rover. She opens the glove box to pull out different paperwork.

She hands me his bio, which contains all his agreements and all the non-disclosure documents. Skimming through, I see he is the kind of guy that is into bondage. "I don't know, Kandy. Bondage?"

"I told him that wasn't your thing, but Honey isn't available." We both know the other girls definitely won't take the bait. It may look like fun and games in porn, or sound erotic in Fifty Shades, but bondage isn't all it's wrapped up to be. Especially with a stranger.

With a sigh, I lean back in the seat and decide if it's worth it. He is a multi-billionaire, so it's possible it could be. He is also married with three kids, so he has a lot at stake if he crosses a line he shouldn't. "Fine," I tell her after a moment. "Is he planning to become a regular?"

"I'm not sure yet," her face contours. She wants him to be for the money, I can tell. "He said it depends on how satisfying you are. Now, here are the details. He wants you to meet at his hotel in Destin. You're to be dressed professional, not the escort kind of professional either, more business-casual. You'll tell them at the front desk your name is Susan and you're in from corporate. You will be brought to his office, then from there it's up to him. He is required to pay you eleven thousand up front."

"Wait," I interrupt. "Eleven? That is..."

"I know," she says. "The most you've ever received. Hell, I've only topped that twice."

Well even if he is into bondage, I'll gladly accept for that kind of cash flow.

"I have the directions here and all his stipulations. Go over them before you meet with him. Got it?"

"Absolutely." I pull the papers into my lap and quickly go over the necessary ones, signing his own non-disclosure agreement, then ours, before handing them back to Kandy.

She reads it over and stuffs it back into her glove box. "Call me tonight when you're done."

"I will. Thanks, Kandy."

Exiting her vehicle, I give Kandy a wave and make it over to mine. The temperatures outside today are unruly, and I'm glad to have a car with no roof- a silver BMW 6-series at that, which is fully paid on. I head directly home, loving the wind wiping through my hair.

Reading over Mr. Belvidere's profile, I shouldn't be as surprised as I am at all his stipulations. After all, he is paying eleven thousand for one hour with me. They're odd requests though. No thongs, no laced bra, no red anything, heels at least four inches tall, hair must be down and slightly curled, any unusual piercings must be gone. The list goes on and on, but thankfully I have four hours until I have to leave, which allows me to go over each requirement on the list twice, to ensure that I'm completely up to par for him.

I've seen him in magazines before, mainly with his family. He isn't a bad looking man, and he's quite young for everything he has. Probably around forty five. He's shorter than average for a grown male, and I'd assume he loves his beer due to the rounded midsection. I can't imagine it'll be too bad of a night, even if I'm dreading some of the possibilities.

Destin is an hour drive, sometimes more if traffic is backed up, so I leave with enough time to spare. I'm a bit pessimistic over the fact I have keep the roof up so my hair doesn't mess- but to cheer myself up I plug my iPod into the adaptor, and put on my best playlist of songs, blasting the music through the speakers. It helps keep me entertained on the ride down there, and my focus off other things. Between my confusion with Everett, my argument with Hillarie, and work being slow, my mind has been going haywire. I'm glad to be able to sing along to old school Christina Aguilera and other fun pop music.

I get to the hotel with several minutes to spare. After checking my makeup in the mirror and fixing my lipstick, I reach for my wallet and phone before heading indoors. The receptionist is a skinny blonde that doesn't even smile when I appear at the desk.

"How many?" She asks.

"I'm looking for Mr. Belvidere actually."

Her eyes skim me up and down, anything but satisfied with my answer. She's probably lucky that I'm not actually from corporate because I can guarantee no one with her attitude would be working for me.

"And you are?"

"Susan. From corporate."

Her eyes widen a little, probably fearful of the same thoughts I just had- that she shouldn't have a job here. She doesn't apologize though, which is sort of annoying. I should be used to getting snooty attitude and dirty looks when I check into a hotel, mainly because I'm popular at certain ones- they know why I'm there- but something about this girl rubs me the wrong way.

She picks up the phone and asks for someone named Carlos to come to the front desk. "One moment," she tells me before walking away. Maybe she knows I'm not actually corporate. Maybe I messed something up.

"Susan?"

I turn to the voice. An old man that is probably far past retirement stands there with a large smile on his face. "Yes, that's me."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." He reaches out and gives my hand a firm shake.

"You as well."

"If you follow me, I'll bring you to Mr. Belvidere's office."

I walk behind Carlos through the lobby and past the elevators to a set of wooden French doors. He knocks twice before opening a door and stepping aside. "Thank you," I tell him.

Giving me a nod of the head, he turns and walks away.

"Close the door," I hear ordered from a man's voice. I do as I'm told.

Turning, I see Mr. Belvidere, dressed in a sharp, black suit. He corks a brow as he takes in my attire. "You're more beautiful than your picture makes you out to be."

Even though I don't see a hint of a smile, I take that as a compliment. "Thanks," I reply.

Walking over, he continues to look me up and down, making sure I'm up to his standards. His fingers lightly run along my backside as he makes his way around. "I can't bring you into one of my rooms. There are cameras everywhere and someone will see. I can't meet you at other hotels because I'm too recognizable. We'll have to make due in my office."

"That's acceptable to me."

He walks over to his desk and opens a drawer, pulling out an envelope. "Here is what is owed to you. Count it if you want." He tosses it onto his desk and waits for me to walk over. When I get the envelope, I look inside and see all hundred dollar bills. I quickly file through assuming it has to be at least a hundred individual bills, fold it up and place it into my purse, setting that on the desk.

"Sofa," he instructs. I'm unsure if he wants me to lay on it, so I walk over and sit, crossing my legs at the ankles until he orders me to do more. It's obvious he is someone that needs complete control. That much I figured out when I read his list.

Opening another drawer in his desk, he pulls over several toys, including a whip and some duct tape. My palms sweat knowing I'll probably be more pained than pleasured, but the money in my wallet makes each cent worth it.

"Are you into Bondage at all?" Mr. Belvidere asks, peeking over at me as he holds some weird toy in his hand. I don't allow other people's
toys
inside of me though. Each client I'm with has to be checked if there is any intercourse to be expected, so I know he is clean- I do not, however, know if any toys have been used on others. Anyone who signs one of Kandy’s agreements is told this, but for some reason when I see him pull things out, I don't think he cares too much for the rules and regulations.

My stomach twists at the thought of something happening. Not so much that, but more that I feel like something
is
going to happen. An intuition that the money may not in fact actually be worth it. It's too late now though, and I owe it to Kandy to be patient. I've been wrong in the past about people, I could be with Mr. Belvidere, too.

I shrug my shoulders, playing it off. "I have only tried a few things."

"What is your favorite thing?" he asks, standing up and walking over with the duct tape.

Part of the job is being quick at thinking when it comes to situations like this. Even with the nerves he's caused, I'm able to tell him, "My favorite thing altogether is role play, the built up anticipation of what is to come. If you're asking strictly when it comes to bondage, I enjoy taking orders from my... master." I make sure to extenuate the word
master
so he knows I'll be submissive to his needs.

It seems to have worked, because he licks his lips. "Undress for me now. Do it slow. Real slow."

Standing before him, I work my clothes off, one item at a time, hoping it's slow yet fierce enough for him. When it's time to strip off my underwear, a pair of navy blue booty-hugging boy shorts, he groans mercifully. "Dance for me," he asks.

I've taken stripper pole lessons with Mona for situations like this. I'm not exactly coordinated, but I manage to do my best. I don't think he cares much about my dance moves anyways, more about watching my body sway freely in front of him.

Nearly scaring me when he speaks, he orders loudly, "Get on your fucking knees you whore."

I do as I'm told. He stands before me, stripping his slacks and boxers, letting them rest at his ankles. "Now suck my dick. I want your hands on my ass. I don't want you to stop until I tell you to. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," I answer.

When my mouth starts to caress his barely sizeable dick, he grabs hold of my hair, basically doing the work for me. Moaning out derogatory words, such as
whore, bitch,
and even calls me a
filthy cunt
at one point. I'm not sure how much time passes, definitely longer than I had hoped for, he pushes my face forward to the point if he were any larger, I'd definitely choke. "I'm going to come in your mouth, you fucking bitch, but you better not swallow. Do you hear me?" I nod against him, unable to answer any other way. This is crossing a line, but I think of the money sitting on his desk, and I know I can do as he asks. Well, in this case, as he orders.

He tugs too hard on my hair, I can feel a pain unlike any other radiate against my scalp. It hurts so much, I can't help but tense up. This in return causes me to accidently scrape my teeth ever so much against his erection. His hand comes down and pushes my forehead backwards, causing me to fall back on the floor. He looks down at me, outraged by my accident. I immediately start to apologize. "I'm sorry, Mr. Belvidere, I didn't mean to."

"Are you fucking kidding me," he grits through his teeth. "You're a god damn whore, you should know how to suck a fucking dick."

"I do. I'll make it up to you." I know this could cost Kandy a client, and possibly me a chunk of the money he paid.

His lips spread into a wolfish grin, enjoying my pleading. "Yeah?" he asks, his voice deep, still full of his demanding ways. "Get on all fours, right now."

Quickly turning over, I get on my hands and knees for him. "Do not move," he barks out. I don't move, nor do I say anything.

He takes a few minutes, but before too long my ankles are being taped up. Then I feel what could possibly be rope around my thighs, but I don't look. It confirms my thought when he kneels in front of me, wrapping the rope around my wrists, tying it my legs. I don't feel good about this situation, especially after he was so careless with my hair earlier- but he didn't strike me, so I keep my mouth closed. He rips off another piece of duct tape, covering my lips. I hate that I don't have a
safe word
now, which was supposed to be one of the stipulations- of both of us.