14. Chapter 14 – Sloane
Chapter 14 – Sloane
“I t happened!” A singsong voice rang out in the crowded dressing room where I sat at a vanity, applying another layer of bright red lipstick. “I can’t believe it happened, but it did! We knew it could, but we didn’t think it would!”
The girls around all quieted down as the theatrical woman in a long red robe complete with a boa of feathers around the trim fluttered into the room and walked straight over to me.
Crystal was the event coordinator for the night. She worked as a middleman between high end clients and call girls for gigs like this. The woman had made quite the name for herself in the game over the years and always made sure we were safe and taken care of.
Tonight wasn’t a particularly rough event, it was a casino night for a billionaire and his friends at a swanky penthouse hotel. But girls could get hurt even by well-respected men in our world, so it helped to know we had someone watching our backs.
Val nudged me with her hip as she leaned against my vanity with a smug expression on her face.
“What exactly are we talking about?” I questioned.
Crystal sat down in the empty seat next to me and tapped her fingers together excitedly. “The cap has been met. You’ve been booked for the entire event.”
“Really?” I asked in confusion. When Crystal first raised the topic of setting a cap amount price for me, I didn’t think it would actually be met. Even though the hotel was filled with millions of dollars and only about twenty girls, the men usually liked to sample as many different girls as possible.
Rarely did they ever settle for one girl all evening. Especially not with the types of girls available tonight.
Or with the theme of the party.
It was a glory hole theme.
The whole point of the evening was to stick your willy in any hole you wanted. Pun intended.
“Who?” I asked, looking back in the mirror to adjust the brown wig I wore to cover up my vibrant locks. Even though I fucked for a living, nights like tonight could get weird, and having a bit of anonymity after it comforted me.
Crystal scoffed, “Don’t you mean how much?”
“No,” Val shook her head, “She means who.”
Val called me the second she left Prism, telling me of Tamen’s unhinged behavior. Which I kind of expected, considering the man paid me over a thousand dollars via Venmo when he figured out I blocked him on every other front. Leaving myself only accessible to him via money felt appropriate. And to be honest, watching those dollar bills roll in electronically with his anxious messages excited me.
He was desperate.
And a part of me was wondering if he would try to fuck with my night, working for Crystal.
Crystal waved us off, “I don’t know. A rich man who has a particular fetish that you are going to fulfill for him tonight.” She narrowed her eyes at me with a pause, “You’re here to make money, are you not?”
“You know I am.” I scoffed, offended by her questioning my dedication to the night.
“Good.” She stood up, patting me on the shoulder, “Because you’ve never let me down before, and I knew you’d be a good girl and do whatever he wanted for thirty grand.”
“Thirty—” I choked, thinking surely I heard her wrong. “Total?”
“No,” she smirked triumphantly. “That’s your cut.”
“Fuck.” I hissed, deflating in my seat, knowing she was right.
For that kind of cash, there wasn’t much I wouldn’t let a man do to me. Damn, that kind of money made me hot.
I loved money.
I loved the power that came with it.
“Exactly,” Crystal nodded and then pointed to my pink robe. “You won’t be needing an outfit. He had one delivered ten minutes ago. It’s to die for. I hung it in the private room he booked for you downstairs. My team is already moving one of the privacy benches down there and getting it all set up.”
“That’s absurd.” Val groaned from beside me with comical jealousy on her face. “It’s like he knows she’s a slut for expensive gifts and glory holes.”
“Yeah,” I mused, staring at my reflection in the mirror, trying to tamp down my excitement for the night. “Seems like it.”
M y skin felt electrified; as if the air had a current to it, flowing over my pores with a rhythm that matched the erratic beating of my heart. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been so overwhelmingly excited about a gig.
Sex work had its ups and down, and I had experienced a lot of them over the years. But for me, I always got a high on a job. Even if I didn’t enjoy the sex specifically, the entire experience gave me a rush, and I was hardly ever left unsatisfied when I was done.
Orgasms rarely happened for me at work, but I didn’t need them during the act itself to feel fulfilled.
I had a vibrator and a tentacle dildo at home for that.
At work, I got high on the sex appeal and the power exchange that occurred. A man might hire me so he could feel like a badass and in charge, but the same thing happened night after night.
I left with a purse full of cash and a buzzing in my veins. And the man left empty handed.
I was the winner.
Every time.
Tonight, it was no different, yet it was completely different at the same time. Tonight, it felt bigger somehow. It felt like the high was stronger. Maybe it was the entire work up to the gig, and then finding out I was privately booked. Or maybe it was the way the John had provided the entire ensemble and vibe of the night himself.
It felt—thoughtful?
Intentional?
I didn’t know.
It didn’t matter because someone purchased my body and booked my time. And I was fucking dripping with excitement from it all. I really hoped the man could fuck. In very un-Sloane like fashion, I wanted to come.
God, I wanted to come so fucking hard.
I laid on my back, wearing a crotchless emerald green mesh bodysuit that somehow exposed my body more than being nude did. It was V-cut, and my tits were testing every fiber of its stitching with each inhale I took.
It reminded me of the golden dress from the night Tamen took me to the strip club. The fabric hugged my body like a second skin, as if made for me.
Tamen Bryce would have picked out an outfit just like this one if I gave him the chance to fuck me. I knew it.
The privacy bench that Crystal had picked out for my night was one of my favorites, if I was being honest. Sure, it reminded me of some archaic torture device, but I always had fun when I was in it.
I laid on a plush cushioned bench that ended right at my ass, leaving my cheeks hanging off the edge just enough to be completely at the John’s mercy.
My knees were in slings, tied open and pulled back toward my shoulders, leaving me open and exposed, and my wrists were shackled to the sides of the bench next to my hips.
What made the privacy bench special and fed into the glory hole fetish, was the large velvet plush box that my head was in.
I was surrounded by thick padding that prevented anyone from looking in or out of the box, my head sat comfortably on a pillow. I was incredibly comfortable for being restrained for another’s enjoyment.
Again, that made me so fucking wet tonight, adding to the excitement.
Essentially, I was a headless sex doll.
Yet I had never felt more powerful. Someone paid an insane amount of money to get to do this to me. To have me.
To feel me.
Like I was something special.
“Mmh,” I hummed in anticipation inside of my dark captivity as it built.
A faint noise from the room caught my attention, and I held my breath, trying to hear through the thick cushion lining the headrest. I knew from experience that I could hear a man speak when he was next to the bench, but not much past that.
Still, I tried to listen intently, like I’d get some clues from the noises about what was going to happen to me.
I felt him. I couldn’t see him or hear him, but I could feel his presence in the room. Spread-eagled before a stranger, I felt no shame; my body had always been my own.
The urge to speak struck me, to fill the void with conversation, which wasn’t my normal routine. The man paid for a real-life sex doll, and that was what he’d get from me. I was a professional, after all.
I flinched slightly when something touched the arch of my foot before I steeled my body from the unnerving sensation of being touched without knowing where it was going next.
Hands. Big hands with rough calluses teasingly caressed my feet and then my ankles before testing the tightness of the fabric wrapped around them. Was he checking to make sure I was firmly secured, or that I was comfortable?
How did a man rich enough to spend fifty grand plus for a night with a hooker get callouses on his hands? What could he do for work that would leave those worn spots on his fingertips.
Tamen worked with his hands even though he was disgustingly rich. He tore walls out and carried materials around Prism every day.
Did this man do something like that? What were the chances of two rich hard-working men having a similar taste in lingerie?
I flexed my fingers, forcing my body to relax again as his hands drifted up my calves and to the inside of my knees. If I wasn’t careful, my imagination was going to convince me that the mysterious man was my boss after all, even though I knew that wasn’t possible.
Would he speak? Would he have an accent if he did? Did I want him to?
Normally, no. Yet this time, the silence felt insufferable. Perhaps having the last few weeks consumed with business work and no sex work was why I was so on edge, like I was out of practice.
A deep growl emanated through the padded box as the man’s hands slowly traveled over my inner thighs, down to the exposed wetness between them. Wet lips touched the inside of my knee, and I jumped before arching into it, pressing into his touch. Slowly, one rough finger traced circles around my clit, but avoided the pleasurable spot just enough to create a need inside of me.
I rolled my hips, wordlessly begging the mysterious man above me. I thought perhaps he chuckled lightly, like he was enjoying my torment, but past the sound of my own panting, I couldn’t be sure.
Then, that same teasing finger pressed into my body, inch by inch, slowly sliding inside of me.
“Fuck.” I hissed, arching again, and rolling my hips to take him deeper, quicker. He withdrew it and did it again, giving me only a little bit at a time. A cold breeze flowed across my chest before warmth replaced it as the man laid slow kisses up my chest between my breasts. I could feel the fabric of his clothes against the back of my thighs as he leaned over me. His pants were soft and my fingers stretched from their pinned position to bury themselves in the material, pulling him in more.
His tongue ran a trail across the mesh fabric of the body suit over my already hard nipple and I moaned, desperate to feel more of him. Using his free hand, he grabbed my other breast and started toying with my nipple, finally pulling the fabric aside to suck it into his mouth.
Without the ability to see or hear him clearly, sensations became so much more heightened. The scrape of his stubbled jaw contrasted with the softness of his lips and tongue as he slowly sucked on each of my nipples. Never once distracted, his hands moved with practiced precision, completing each task with an impeccable attention to detail. Adding another finger to my needy pussy, he stretched me with them, scissoring them and hooking them inside of me to drive me wild.
I was no longer sure who was supposed to be deriving pleasure from the interaction. Sometimes Johns got off on enjoying themselves, regardless of pleasuring their partner. Sometimes they simply gave and never received.
With the way tonight was booked, I had no idea what his plans were, and it was unnerving because I was afraid to hope for pleasure with how badly I was desperate for it already.
If he edged me, I’d die.
Sometimes Johns were evil like that.
I closed my eyes and prayed to the divine sex goddesses that he was a giver and wouldn’t force either of us to go without pleasure.
Biting my lip to stifle another moan, he bit one of my nipples, pulling on it with his teeth as his palm rubbed against my clit finally. God, the man knew how to make a woman feel good.
The pressure, rhythm, and locations were on point.
He was a giver, after all.
And I was eager to take.
“Come for me.” His low, deep voice barely penetrated my cozy coffin and hazy brain, but they still hit their mark. So did the fact that there was no familiar British accent in the command. Disappointment couldn’t take root though because seconds later, his lips latched onto my clit, and I came off the bench, pushing my needy body against his face as he curled his fingers upward inside of me as he sucked deeply.
Maybe it was the buildup, the excitement, or hell, maybe it was just because I loved sex so much, but I came.
I came so hard it felt like my spirit was leaving my body as I arched into him with everything I had, riding out the pleasure and begging for more as I moaned and mewled for him. He turned his lips to the inside of my thigh and moaned against it, even though I couldn’t hear the noise, I felt it.
I felt him.
Needed him.
The orgasm did nothing to sate my need for more though, somehow it had intensified it as if it was just a taste of what he could give me, and I was ravenous for more.
“Please.” I sighed; not even sure he could hear me.
“No.” He replied with that same deep voice that made it hard to hear clearly if I didn’t try. “Thank me.”
No, no, no, not a fucking praise and power kink. My ultimate weakness. I silently pleaded with the sex goddesses. His perfection overwhelmed me, and I was lost to him.
“Thank you.” I moaned as he palmed both of my bare breasts as his teeth nipped the inside of my ankle.
“Good girl.”
Fuck, I was so screwed. The man was going to turn me into a waterfall for him with my stupid praise kink.
My hands flexed, desperate to dig my nails into something, overwhelmed me. A second later I felt him pull the buckle on my wrist cuff free. As soon as my hand was free, I found the front of his shirt and pulled him into me, until the front of his pants pressed against my bare pussy.
He chuckled and then groaned when I turned my wrist and palmed his erection through his tight pants. I tried to feel all of him, but I couldn’t reach down far enough to feel the head of his dick where it throbbed down his leg.
Both of his hands landed on my knees, and he spread them wider as I turned my attention to his belt, as if he was silently giving me permission to explore him. Screw exploring him. I wanted his dick free and buried deep inside of me.
I wanted to feel it sliding in and out of me more than I wanted anything else.
More than that, though, I wanted him to feel how damn good I felt wrapped around him. I craved his pleasure as much as my own. The need to make him feel good and prove I was worthy built inside of my gut with each second of time that I struggled with his button and zipper.
It wasn’t as if I could reach him easily, thanks to the padding under my chin, keeping me immobilized, but I didn’t stop.
His hands roamed my body, tweaking my nipples, rubbing my clit, massaging my calves. They left my skin at one point and I bit my lip to stop a pathetic beg for them to come back from slipping free. His hips moved and then he stepped back, leaving me completely untouched and no matter how far I reached, I couldn’t find him again.
“Please.” My lack of willpower caused me to beg him, and he rewarded me by throwing something fabric onto my body. Using my freed hand, I felt it, lifting it and realized it was a button-up shirt, still warm from his body heat.
He was stripping for me.
Something told me he was sexy, even if I couldn’t see him. His thighs and stomach had been tight when he let me explore him before backing up. Was he young or old? Tall or short? Was he the dark and broody type, or did he smile as he fucked his women?
Before I could wonder about anything else, his hot hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled my palm against his bare abdomen as he stepped between my thighs again.
Fuck—he was ripped.
My fingertips wandered over his abs like braille, reading his body for more clues before dropping to the delicious V at his adonis belt before desperately searching for what I wanted to feel most.
I heard the faint noise of his chuckle before he turned my hand over, palm up, and then his heavy cock landed in it. “Is that what you’re looking for?”
I gripped my hand around his veined cock and stroked it until I finally reached the thick, bulbous head. Damn, I had seen a lot of dicks in my life, but judging by feeling only, I had never taken one with such a thick head on it before.
He stepped forward, pressing against the back of my thighs again as his heavy cock slapped against my stomach.
He shifted and then rolled a condom over the head of his dick and paused. “Tell me to fuck you. Beg me for it.”
Words weren’t needed, nor would they serve me or him. There was something more animalistic between us and how our bodies vibed. So, I used my body to beg him, to consent, to convince him.
Wrapping my hand around his cock, I rubbed the head against my wetness, coating it and lining him up where we both wanted him to be. And then I pulled him in, forcing him to penetrate me.
The growl that slid from his lips echoed through the padding and I smiled to myself as he stretched me open with that big head before he pulled out and pushed deeper.
I was getting paid far too much money to fuck him. I would have done it for free.