StarofChristmas (4 page)

Rick climbs to his feet, wavering a little as he regains his
equilibrium. He extends his hand to me, a secret smile curving his lips.

I accept, allowing him tug me into his strong arms for a
tender embrace. He dips his head as though to kiss me, but my reflexes kick in and
I avert my face. I never kiss on the lips at work.

Well, there was one time…

Rick doesn’t pressure me. He nuzzles my cheek instead.

“Third set opening in five minutes!” A stagehand resets the
props and checks the supplies near our spot.

“Let’s get out of here.”

I nod.

Hand in hand, we dart from the stage.

We accept the lavish compliments of the staff as they clean
us up. We help each other into our street clothes. Rick seems as eager as I am
to escape prying eyes and figure out what the hell kind of bond just
materialized between us.

He has a grip on the long metal-bar handle of the
black-painted door when Tommy hollers from across the room. “You’re hired! Take
this contract. Read it. Sign it.”

He hands me a stack of papers.

“Rick, show up early to practice with Jeremy. The two of you
are going to make us all rich.”

Intermission

“Son of a bitch!”

“What’s wrong? Are you sore? Tired? I can slow down.” Rick
grimaces. We stride through the alley toward the main canal, impatient and
eager to minimize our exposure to the cold. “I got a little carried away in
there.”

“No, you were perfect.” I smile and pat his cheek. “It’s
just that I loathe paperwork. One of the perks of being a prostitute is
avoiding the mountains of bureaucracy most desk jockeys have to endure.”

Rick turned a disbelieving stare on me. “You’re always a
surprise, Star. Candid. Direct. Honest. You’re kind of my idol.”

I can’t look away from the admiration mingling with the
remnants of lust in his sapphire eyes. Distracted, I slip on a frozen puddle. I
could catch my balance on my own, but I’m not about to shove off his strong
arms, which bundle me to his cozy side.

“Careful.” His cinnamon-flavored breath washes over my
cheek. When we reach the street, we both hesitate. Where do we go from here?

“May I walk you home?”

“Ah, that’s probably not a good idea, Rick.” Already I’m
wondering how I’ll separate this experience from our routine the next time he
appears at my window. And he will. Of that, I’m certain.

Still, I don’t relish the thought of my empty apartment
right now either. Adrenaline lingers, rushing through my veins, distributed by
my pounding heart. I could return to work. Every other customer would pale by
comparison and I don’t believe in providing half-assed service.

“Would you like to grab some breakfast?” The tightening in
my gut must be from hunger. Right?

“Yeah. Sure. I worked up one hell of an appetite. We can
sort through this contract together. How about Seven Swans?”

The cafe stays open twenty-four hours. “My favorite. I
wonder if they’ll have the chicken
satay
tonight.”

“Mmm. That
does
sound good.”

He keeps hold of my hand as we wind through the canyons
created by the crooked townhouses lining the canals. I allow myself to believe
my safety is his primary concern.

The smell of peanut sauce greets us when we duck through the
weathered entrance to take a seat behind the massive bar constructed from
timbers ripped from the galley of an old trading vessel. I imagine all the
things the polished boards have seen.

I’m almost positive none of them have been odder than a
hooker and a bodyguard devouring platters of gooey skewers while deciphering
legalese intended to put guardrails around an extreme, for-profit sexual
encounter.

I tug the sheaf to my side of the table and shelter it with
my hand while I sign on the dotted line, right below Rick’s autograph. It
strikes me that I never knew his last name, Brouwer. I admire the way our
signatures fit together before folding the document, tucking it into my purse.

“I’ll take care of this.” It has my real name on it.
Immediately below his. Something about the juxtaposition feels intimate.
Surreal.

“Star.”

“Hmm?”

“What happens after the show?”

“I suppose things return to normal. I’ll work my window and
you’ll be a bodyguard. Unless…” I try to erase my frown, though I doubt I’m
entirely successful. “Do you want to be a performer now? You could talk to
Tommy—”

“No!”

His emphatic denial thrills me. And shames me. How could I
think less of him for aspiring to share his passion when I sell mine every day?

“I didn’t mean that, Star.”

“What did you mean?”

“I meant this.” He stares pointedly at my beaded nipples.
Yearning turns his eyes smoky.

“‘This’?” I can’t force anything else past the lump in my
throat.

“Us. I want you more than ever—need more than what I take
through your window. I don’t mind seeing you like that if I have to, but I’d
like to give
you
more. Do you date? Have boyfriends socially? Can I ask
you out?”

I can’t help it. I burst into a raucous fit of laughter.

His pinched mouth and balled fist—crumpling his napkin—cut
me off.

“Shit. Sorry. I—”

“No, I understand. I should have realized I didn’t have a
chance with you.”

“Huh? Are you nuts? It’s hysterical because… Well, I can’t
imagine a man interested in dating a hooker unless he’s looking to be her pimp
or score a freebie.”

“Jesus. Star, that’s not at all what I had in mind.” He
tosses his fork onto his plate with a clatter then starts to rise as though
I’ve destroyed his appetite. “You must think I’m a complete asshole.”

“No!” Now it’s my turn to shout. I panic, afraid I’ve caused
him more damage than a bruised ego. When I lay my fingers on his forearm, the
power in his bunched muscles thrills me. He allows me to guide him into his
chair once more. “I think you’re…gallant. Fun. Sexy. And I don’t understand why
you’d care to give
me
the honor of being yours when any number of women
would be thrilled to have you. You can fuck me any time you like. You know
where to find me. Why would you want a girlfriend who has sex with other men?”

“Do you plan to be a whore for the rest of your life?” It
sounds far more harsh than his delivery indicates. He speaks softly, not a
fleck of recrimination tinting his interest.

“I—I don’t know.” I bite my lip. The truth will surely
destroy our rapport.

“Don’t start lying now. I’m not judging. I’m asking.”

I nod then take a deep breath. “Yes. This is what I want to
do until I retire. I care about you, Rick. I enjoy sex with you. It’s easy to
talk to you and you always make me laugh. But—”

“Not the ‘but’.” He shakes his head. One corner of his mouth
curves up in a sardonic grin.

“See, like that.” I can’t help but chuckle. “
But
… I
love my job. It thrills me to share myself. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I
feel like a public servant. Sure, there’s lots of meaningless sex. Yet
sometimes it’s more. I help people. I guess what I’m saying is, I don’t think I
can give it up. And what man would accept me as I am? Who could love a woman
who does what I do? Who would want
me
as a girlfriend?”

For one crazy second, I think he might destroy all my
assumptions. His lips part and I pretend I can see arguments and denials about
to fly free.

Then he sighs.

“It’s a lot to ask of a man. It turns me on to imagine you
with other clients. It’d be easy to deny the complications and say that’s all
that matters.
But
how does that work long term? Would you get married?
Have a family? I can’t picture it, Star.”

A tiny piece of my heart breaks. “I can’t either.”

I’ve sacrificed something fantastic for something
soul-deep—a calling interwoven in the fabric of my being. So I try to assuage
his conscience. After all, I forced him to admit my irreparable faults. I don’t
blame him for making the only sane choice.

“It’s not as if you could take a hooker home and introduce
her to your parents during a traditional holiday dinner, right? What a
disaster.”

He chuckles with me at the idea, but his hand blankets my
fingers, squeezing lightly. “At least we have the window.”

“I’ll always be glad to see you there, Rick.”

“Same here, Star. Same here.”

Act Two

I can hardly believe this is the same place Rick stretched
our boundaries. Triple X has been transformed into a wicked winter wonderland.
I stand beside my guide into this unusual territory, our fingers linked. When
had that happened?

An ice-blue silk robe wraps around my nude form, more to
limit distractions than to protect my vacant sense of modesty.

“Who knew Santa’s Workshop could party like that?” I tilt my
head to puzzle out what’s what in the tangle of limbs on top of a toy
workbench.

“No shit.”

“Are you nervous, Rick?” His palm is sweating in my grasp.

“Terrified.” He angles his body toward me until we’re
standing face-to-face. “I’ve never seen this kind of crowd. I’m positive we’re
violating the fire marshal’s limit. Tommy told me this morning a flood of calls
hit the ticket booth asking for admission at any cost after our performance
last night.”

The knowledge warms me. I would pay an awful lot to be there
again, in his arms, exploring our raw passion.

“Don’t be nervous. Ignore them. All that matters is what we
share. The scene and the sparks between us.”

“Nice one.” He shakes off some of his gloom and laughs.

Except I hadn’t intended my statement to be funny. The
inadvertent pun does strike a chord though. “How did the session with Jeremy go
this morning?”

“Umm. It was enlightening.” He won’t meet my stare. “I’ve
watched him training Chloe for this show. Dozens of sessions. It’s different
when you’re the one administering the electrostimulation. Or receiving it.”

Holy shit.

“You let Jeremy touch you?” Why hadn’t I come to observe?
The thought has me panting.

“Yeah. I wasn’t comfortable doing something to you unless I
understood what it felt like firsthand.” I swear his cheeks are turning
brighter by the minute. “He drained me dry. I hope you enjoy yourself as much
as I did.”

“At your hands, I’m sure I will.”

“Star, I know Tommy gave us a safe word, but you have other
options. If you change your mind or can’t go through with it, we can act it
out. No one has to know. No pressure.” He cups my shoulders in his capable
hands. “I’ll take you out of here so fast no one will figure out what happened
until it’s too late.”

“You’d lose your job.”

“There are other places to work.” He rubs his thumb over my
cheek. It thrills me enough I don’t remind him of my stage makeup. “You’re more
important. I don’t care what papers we signed.”

“And that’s why I can’t wait for the orgy to finish.” I lean
into his caressing fingers. “I want this. With you.”

“Is there anything I can do to make it better for you?”

His generosity elates me. How many guys give a shit about my
pleasure?

“You know, I never permit men to tie me up. Ever. I’ve never
played with someone I felt comfortable enough with to try.”

“I promise not to hold you down in any way.”

“No, Rick. I
want
you to. Please?” I suck his thumb
into my mouth, hoping the frenzy of groans means we’re about to go on. I can’t
wait much longer. “I trust you completely. Show me what you’ve learned.”

“Star.” His moan disappears beneath the commotion as no less
than a dozen performers exit the stage, sweating, exhausted and dripping come.

We’re bustled into position. Someone strips off my robe. As
I step onto the contraption that holds my mark, I see a new fire in Rick’s
gorgeous eyes. A determination and dominance I never suspected him capable of
transforms his easygoing nature into something dangerous, something alluring.

I can’t tear my gaze away. We stare, unblinking, until my
platform rotates, turning my back to him, stealing him from my sight.

Fake snow drifts onto my upturned face from the rafters
above as the curtain is raised on the Kinkmas pageant grand finale. The crowd
settles into a reverent hush. A narrator bridges the gap between scenes with
some clever monologue about the spirit of the season, unqualified altruism
shared by lovers and the importance of non-material gifts.

The deep voice exalts the significance of the tree and the
lighting of the star while making lewd comparisons I choose to ignore. All I
can think of is the seductive confidence I glimpsed in Rick’s eyes before this
damn set tore me from him.

I can’t grab him and bolt for my window because the vertical
triangle separating us turns again. What appeared to be a cut-out of a pine
tree to the audience is revealed as the nucleus of the act. My legs are spread
wide as I stand with my shoulders pressed tight against the slightly reclined
board. Each of my wrists lays a foot or so away from my hips until my body
mimics the form of the tree-shaped platform.

I hold on to the loops of leather stitched to the surface to
keep myself in the perfect position.

The set looks disarmingly like a common living room,
something each man or woman in attendance might find welcoming them home in the
early morning hours of this Christmas. It makes it easy for me to imagine I’m
alone with Rick, in his home. When I detect him approaching in my peripheral
vision, I wish it were true.

“What a beautiful tree I have this year.” He stalks near and
inspects his bounty. He pokes and prods me as he bestows a flurry of
compliments the audience agrees with, if their claps and whistles are anything
to gauge by.

Rick pauses his speech, deviating from the script before
we’ve been onstage two minutes. I grin, encouraging his spontaneity.

“I believe I should begin the decoration by adding some
lights.” He crosses to the edge of the stage and yanks on a dangling strand of
tiny white bulbs. They unclip from their outlet with a snap, coiling onto the
floor at his feet. “And perhaps some garland.”

I barely contain a laugh at Rick’s mischievous smirk and
Tommy waving his arms in an attempt to attract his bouncer’s attention. The
serious arousal creating a bulge at the crotch of Rick’s jeans keeps me in
line. Not to mention the tinsel rope gathered in his fist, which draws my eye
to his gleaming, oiled chest.

He pets me again when he nears, as though he can’t help but
touch me a little. I arch toward his hand without abandoning my perch or
shifting my limbs from their predetermined positions. I am the tree. I trust
him to metamorphose me from something ordinary into something brilliant.

Rick ties the garland to my handhold then wraps it snugly
around my wrist. He loops the shimmering silver across my arms then behind the
surface supporting me. The process is repeated on my other side. Soon, the
tinsel forms an X before me, locking my upper body to the form.

When the soft, shiny rope runs out, I strain, testing my
limits. I start with subtle wiggles that escalate to full-out yanks when I
confirm I’m well and truly held. Whispers race through the shadowy seats when a
moment of fear widens my eyes.

Rick is there in an instant. “Shush, Star. Let me give you
what you need.”

There’s no hesitation in his baritone. Only sweet comfort
and steely reassurance.

“Yes,” I moan.

He grins, feral and full of anticipation as he retrieves the
strand of lights. Soon my ankles and legs receive the same treatment as my arms
and torso. Bound, captured, trussed in a flash of silver and white. The
lingering heat from the extinguished bulbs singes my flesh. The bite fades
before I can complain.

I whimper.

“You like that, don’t you? A little sting.” Rick strokes his
fingers from my ankles to my waist as he verifies my bindings are comfortable
yet inescapable. Exactly what I’ve requested.

A surge of moisture floods my pussy, dampening the aching
center of my body.

“You need more?”

He knows that I do. Still, his hands hover a hairsbreadth
from my chest until I tender my admission. “Yes please. Something stronger.”

“Like this?” He stands to the side so our witnesses don’t
miss a single detail when he teases my breasts with gentle pinches, firm slaps
and finally the nip of his teeth.

“Yes!” Heat races through me, centered around the contact of
his consuming lips.

“Mmm.” He steps back to admire his handiwork with a critical
eye. “You do look lovely. I think it’s time to illuminate you for our guests.”

He monitors my reaction carefully. His gaze flicks to the
pulse hammering along the side of my neck and the juice spreading onto the tops
of my thighs from my saturated pussy.

When I don’t object, he crosses with two strides to the
pedestal nearby. He bunches the cheery red-and-gold tablecloth covering it in
his fist then whips it to the side, revealing the digital power box beneath.

I shiver as the crowd surrenders a collective gasp.

The industrial unit looks far more powerful and imposing
than the moderate Transcutaneous Electrical Nerve Stimulator I’ve employed for
some of my specialty customers. The TENS works wonders by supplying a variety
of sensations from a mild oscillation to a substantial muscle spasm used in
BDSM edge play.

Grown men have fallen apart, begging me for more at the
first pulse of its power. They keep groveling when I extend their orgasms,
tumbling and crashing them through wave after wave of contractions in the grip
of nature’s greatest force.

This equipment can take things to a whole new level. I’ve
heard of the programs available to modulate the current, mutating common
electricity into an invisible hand that strokes muscles and nerves beneath the
skin. Almost like an internal vibrator.

Each person reacts differently to the stimulus. How will it
feel on me?

Rick senses my trepidation. It underlies the arousal causing
my thighs to quiver. He selects two pad electrodes, the most basic and gentle,
then stretches the leads toward me. “We’ll start from the bottom and work our
way up. I’ll light up the Star only when you’re ready.”

Plus, we both know current above the waist requires advanced
skill and a degree of risk unmitigated by any amount of training. Passing
current through the chest cavity can turn deadly—quick. E-stimming above the
shoulders is strictly forbidden. I don’t think for one second he would put me
in danger. I trust they’ve arranged some alternate method of sustaining the
illusion.

To be frank, I don’t give a damn. All I care about is Rick,
our pleasure and indulging in sinful delights. I’m willing to share that with
the hoard of customers who are not fortunate enough to be me—the object of
Rick’s desire.

As though he can read my mind, he smiles before kneeling at
my feet. He kisses each of my ankles with brushes of his full lips. I squirm in
the efficient restraints he improvised. From his pocket, he removes a tube of
electoconductive gel and slathers it on the rubber housing of the electrodes.

He adheres one to the skin on the inside of each of my
ankles. A new trick to me. I can’t imagine they’d do a lot of good in this
position. Refusing to question, I relax, allowing myself to float in the wake
of his superior control. He’ll take me where he wants me to go.

With him, I know I’ll enjoy following.

Rick stands from his crouch, adjusting the lay of his
cramped hard-on.

“May I see you?” I whisper as he passes in front of me to
take his place at the controls.

“Not yet, Star. You’re too much temptation.”

“Fuck her!” A man hollers from the audience, reminding me of
their presence.

“In due time.” Rick’s sensual promise reverberates in the
wide-open space.

“I need you.” My plea triggers several moans yet meets with
firm denial from the only man who matters.

“My way. Let me give you this.” He stands strong, not
afflicted by my sudden weakness. I would argue more. He terminates my ability
by flipping the switch on the power box. All thoughts flee my mind.

A pleasant tingling begins in my toes, curling and uncurling
them involuntarily. I can’t say I feel the effects directly in my pussy, but
all my internal muscles clench at the idea of what’s to come. Rick returns to
me, kissing, licking and stroking my breasts as I acclimate to the subtle
vibrations awakening my nerves.

“These are monopolar pads.” He informs me along with the
spectators between slurps on my distended nipples. “Electricity is arcing
through your body, the current whisking from one diode to the other. Up your
legs. Straight through your pussy.”

“I don’t feel anything there.” At least I don’t think I do.
The clenching of my empty channel has everything to do with impatience.

“Then why are your hips twitching in time to the pulse I’ve
selected?”

I focus on the motion, awed to see it matches the flashing
red light on the power box. E-stim taps into the most fundamental systems of my
body, making me feel as if everything I experience is caused by subconscious,
internal stimuli. The result is natural. Awesome.

“For that matter…” He spreads the soaked lips of my pussy.
“Look at how you clasp and throb to the rhythm. Your clit is swollen.
Beautiful.”

Grunts and soft curses drift from the artificial dusk beyond
the stage as my center is exposed for the customers’ approval.

Rick beams at me then pets my flank. “You’re doing great. I
can show you more. Take you farther.”

I nod. “Just get there quick.”

He laughs. “Bad girls find coal in their stockings, not
endless orgasms. My way, Star.”

“Bastard.” I groan when he flicks a setting on the
generator. The subtle buzz turns into a flutter, making my pussy dance to the
rhythm of his will.

He leaves me suspended for several minutes as he permits the
crowd to admire his handiwork and the devastating effect it has on me. When he
returns, more diodes overflow his large palm.

“I’m going to fill you with this, Star.” He holds up a long
silver dildo for my inspection. “There are copper wires embedded on both sides.
The bipolar insert will blow your mind. On a separate channel from the pads at
your ankles, I can direct the current independently. It can instigate some
exceptionally unique and satisfying reflexive muscle contractions. Or so I’m
told…”