Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
I don’t want intimacy, or shared words. All I want is a hot girl like you, with big tits and a pussy and ass readily available for playtime.
I always use toys, and my toys are unconventional. They don’t go in easy.
Our proposal will take place in my workshop. I’ll play with you on my work bench, but you’ll never get to see my face. You’ll be in a sleeping mask when I arrive, and it will still be firmly in place when I leave. All you have to do is lie back and get ready for me. Then take whatever you’re given.
It’ll be safe, I guarantee, even if it doesn’t feel like it.
I always like a noisy soundtrack, so whatever happens, don’t peek, no matter how loud it gets. Oh, and one more thing. Don’t move. Stay still, no matter how tempting it gets to freak and run.
Be prepared to get scared.
Please note. I never book people twice. There is a reason for that. First time reactions are always much more authentic. I like to keep it that way.
Proposal duration: 3 hours.
Proposal fee: ￡5000.
It would be so easy to look up User 965 on the Agency forum and check out some threads on exactly what he’s into, but I haven’t been on there since Cannes, and don’t intend to start socialising. Not yet. I can’t face it.
Plus, I wouldn’t want to check out User 965 in advance. It wouldn’t be either fun, or fair. If he’s booking me for the authenticity of the unknown, I’m going to give it to him. It sounds good to me.
I know full well that The Agency will have vetted him to the max, just like they always do with our clients, so I’ve got no reason to be worried. Also, given my situation of late, being blindfolded for four hours straight works just fine for me. I’m looking forward to it.
I hand Josh my phone, so he can look through the particulars before I leave. He nods in approval.
“Sounds interesting.”
I’m grinning as I nod back, tugging the ribbons on my front lacing bodice before I tie the bow.
“Sure does, doesn’t it? I do like interesting. I think it’ll be fun.”
Josh raises an eyebrow with a smirk, in the way I love. It always gives me butterflies.
“Dare I say, it could be amazing?”
I wrap my arms around his neck and give him a peck on the lips.
“Hmm, maybe.” I giggle. “I’d love a real healthy dose of amazing.”
“I’m almost envious,” he says. “I have the basics lying ahead for me tonight. Standard anal, with a bit of cock play.”
I know what he’s referring to. His client has been booking him bi-weekly for nearly two years straight. Josh is always happy to do it, but it hardly sets his soul alight.
“Pays well, at least.” I shrug.
“Very well. Plus, he’s really not that bad. Hardly Heath, but he’s cool enough.”
Heath.
Fuck.
The butterflies in my stomach take a sickening nosedive at the mention of Heath’s name, and Josh’s eyes drop to the floor in a flash. Neither of us have ventured near that topic. Not in weeks. It’s far too painful.
“Sorry,” Josh says, but I shake my head.
“No need to be sorry. It’s fine. We need to talk about it at some point. It’s just…” I take a breath. “It’s so shit, isn’t it? To know that we’ll…”
“Don’t,” Josh says, his eyes locking on mine. “Don’t even say it.”
“But it’s true, no?”
“No. No way. It’ll resolve itself,” my gorgeous boyfriend says, and his words sound so resolute as he tries to smile. “For real, Ells. It’ll resolve itself. One way or another. It has to.”
Has to.
I get his emotions. I feel them myself. Desperation. Loss. Fear. But I can’t see a way out of this shit show, not where Heath is concerned.
Josh is trying to convince himself with everything he has that we’ll see Heath again. I know any butterflies in his stomach would have tumbled to their death at the idea of losing him, way faster than mine did.
Their history is far more entangled.
“Anyway.” Josh’s composure comes back, smile genuine. “In the meantime, we’ve got plenty of clients we need to be entertaining and keeping us busy. Plenty of fun for the taking.”
“And plenty of cash for the bank account,” I add.
We both nod at each other. Conversation over as I pull away from him and make sure my skirt is puffed up nicely. I’ve opted for a pink tutu, to match the lacing on my black bodice. I love a bit of neon pink once in a while.
It’s me who puts my coat on first, buttoning myself up ready to leave. My proposal starts earlier than his does tonight and finishes later.
I take a fresh look at my boyfriend, suited in black from head to toe, besides metallic purple cufflinks that match the purple streak in his hair. He’s so fucking gorgeous, I want a piece of him myself. Right now.
I haven’t played with myself once today, like a good girl, and the need is eating me up. Buzzing constantly under the surface.
I prefer a tingling clit a million times over to the kick in the guts of losing Heath, so that’s where I hone my attention.
Sex.
Filth.
Fun.
“See you later.” I give Josh a wink. “Enjoy your ride.”
“You too, baby. Whatever your ride entails.”
My pussy is tingling like crazy as I set off in the cab.
It’s an instinctive reaction I get now that my proposals are returning.
Another win for the taking. I’m not nearly so nervous of getting spotted as I was just a few days ago.
My trip to Canary Wharf put paid to my crazed paranoia, and I’m already reaping the benefits.
Thank fuck I re-activated my profile and filled up my calendar. I’m never watching Cake Baker again.
I’ll worry about the wider logistics of my predicament as time goes on, but in the meantime, it’s one day at a time, and one dirty night at a time.
My destination is only twenty minutes away, so my mind doesn’t have time to race with what ifs when it comes to this booking.
The cab speeds along until we are off into a side road, then pulls into a yard, dimly lit with a single white security light.
I see what User 965 was talking about when he said workshop.
There are a row of those permanent huge storage containers converted into workspaces.
All of them with big metal lift-up doors.
The cab drops me at the side of them, and I pay in cash, giving him a decent tip. Hell knows what he thinks I must be doing here, but he clearly couldn’t give two shits. He just holds up a token hand in farewell and drives off. No sensationalism.
The noise from the road seems a mile away in this place. Silence reigns supreme for a city night. I give the cab a minute to make sure it’s well and truly gone before I click arrived on the app and await my instructions. As usual, they ping straight back through.
My workshop is the one on the right. Number five. The door is open. Light switch is on the left hand side. You’ll see the bench and your mask when you get in there. I want you naked and ready for me, no matter how long I leave you waiting.
So much for my co-ordinated bodice and tutu. Oh well. Get out the violins.
If User 965 wants me naked, he’ll have me naked.
I walk along the row of units to number five, checking out the numbers marked out in white paint.
Rough and ready. There’s a padlock on the overhead garage style door, but it’s unlocked, so I take it off and put it on the floor before I wrench the bolt and try to gain entry.
Damn, it’s heavy. It screeches in protest, and my pulse thumps as the noise cuts through the silence, but the yard is still dark with nobody to see me.
This place feels so empty. So isolated. Almost dangerous.
Dangerous.
I get prickles on the back of my neck, but I’m smiling.
I love this kind of proposal, where my senses are deprived and time stands still. Every second always feels like an hour, heart pumping in trepidation.
My heart has been pumping with so much trepidation at life lately that a different outlet will be a blessing.
Once I’m inside the unit, I struggle to find the light switch on the left. I have to pat my hand around the wall to locate it, but when I do, a long bar of fluorescent light buzzes and flickers above my head, lighting the space up in a dull shade of yellow. Seedy.
The perfect ambience for a proposal like this.
I brace myself for the screech as I pull the door back down behind me and shut myself in.
I figure User 965 is going to take his time to make sure I’m all set and in position.
Hence, I take a minute to survey my surroundings to get a feel for the place.
There are tools hanging up everywhere, and timber planks stacked up in a corner.
Some chipboard panels. Offcuts tossed against one wall and surrounded by wood shavings.
And at the centre of the whole place is a massive wooden workbench, just as the proposal stated there would be.
It’s got a couple of vices on one side, cold to the touch, and the workbench is one hell of a serious piece of kit.
I test it out by leaning on it, and it’s solid as a rock, and then I notice the sleeping mask, hanging off one of the vice handles.
It’s a good quality one. The light isn’t going to get in, and neither is the sight of my client.
This isn’t going to be a comfortable experience, lying on a bench for nearly four hours straight in a unit with no heating.
My nipples are rock hard from the chill when I strip myself bare and hang my clothes up on the workman’s apron hook.
I climb up onto the workbench, then take one final look around me before I put the sleeping mask on.
With that, I see a fresh load of tools on another shelving unit.
Hammers, tongs, sanders, and saws, and spanners, screwdrivers. And a grinder. An industrial fucking grinder.
I get a fresh shiver at the thought of what User 965 meant when he said loud.