Chapter Seventeen
Violet experiences a rare post-performance sensation: satisfaction.
One of her friends on the stage crew, Irene Cho, really came through; She successfully installed the pole at the last possible moment, undetected by Agnes.
And it was secure enough to facilitate her performance.
It’s so rare that something meets, never mind exceeds, expectations.
And sure, she’d like to stick around for a victory lap.
There was no way any of the other acts would top hers.
The crowd’s raucous response made her confident about that.
But she wants to leave before Agnes finds her and gives her shit.
She just doesn’t have the patience for that old woman bossing her around.
She changes into her street clothes and is halfway to the side exit when her phone rings from deep in her bag. From the tone, she can tell it’s her second phone, the number she uses only for her S&M clientele. So she stops in the hallway and pulls it out to answer.
“Mistress Violet,” she says.
“Hey, it’s Billy. I know this is last minute, but are you free?”
“No. I’m quite expensive.”
“You know what I mean. Are you available?”
Music from the stage is so loud she can barely hear him. It’s the Michael Jackson song “Thriller” and she wonders what decidedly unsexy performance is unfolding as she speaks.
“I am. But it’s holiday rates.”
“Fine,” he says. “My apartment. But the thing is I have a … friend with me. Can you handle that?”
“I can handle anything. For a fee.” God, it’s just too easy.
She ends the call and almost makes a clean getaway when Agnes rounds the corner and spots her. The old woman points at her, then snaps her fingers.
“There you are! Where do you think you’re going? Not until I have a word with you.”
Violet considers just turning her back and walking straight out the door but decides she wouldn’t mind a little verbal sparring to get her in the mood to beat Billy Barton’s pale ass.
“What’s on your mind, Agnes?” Violet says, stuffing her phone back in her bag.
“How dare you?” Agnes says, her mouth pursed so tightly her lips disappear.
“How dare I what? Actually entertain the audience for once?” Violet knows that provoking her is risky, but she doesn’t have patience. As far as she’s concerned, she did her job tonight, and did it well.
“That’s not how we entertain at the Blue Angel.”
Violet sighs.
“Agnes. Get with the times. You should be thanking me.”
“I will thank you. I’ll thank you to walk out that door and never come back.” She points to the exit. “You’re fired.”
Violet is in a rage by the time she reaches Billy’s apartment.
How dare that old crone? Violet put on a great show and this is how Agnes repays her?
It’s unthinkable that Agnes should be the gatekeeper for New York City burlesque.
She’s stuck in the past. Worse than that, she’s too arrogant to accept help from someone who knows better. Who is better.
There’s only one solution, and that’s for Violet to become a gatekeeper of her own. But how? It takes money to open a club—more than she can make even as an in-demand dom. It requires the kind of money someone like her will never have. The type of money Billy Barton was born into.
In that moment, Violet recognizes the opportunity in front of her. If she has the balls to take it. And, of course, she does.
A male model opens the door to Billy’s apartment. Violet recognizes him instantly from the Burberry billboard in SoHo.
“Hey,” the guy says.
Violet shrugs off her leather coat. She wonders if he knows what’s in store for him, or if Billy has orchestrated a little midnight surprise.
“Where’s Billy?” she asks.
“Um, in the bedroom.”
“Why don’t you be a good little whore and wait for us on the couch?”
The man’s handsome face registers shock, then irritation. She doesn’t actually think he’s a sex worker. But he might as well get a sense of the tone for what’s ahead. Things always go more smoothly when everyone is on the same page.
She strolls into Billy’s bedroom and finds him doing a line of coke.
“Great. Party favors,” she says, sitting next to him at the glass end table. She dips her pinky into the powder and rubs some on her gums. “Maybe your boy toy in the other room would like to partake? We should all get in the partying mood, don’t you think?”
“Don’t worry about him,” Billy says.
“I’m not worried. I just want him to be with the program. I’m not in the mood to have to do a lot of handholding. So, what do you have in mind?”
Billy hesitates for a moment, then says, “I want you to do the usual to me—you know, scolding, humiliation. And then for punishment, I want you to force me to … do stuff with him.”
“Have you two fucked before?”
“I don’t know why that’s relevant,” Billy says.
“I need to know the dynamic between you two so I can control the room.”
“Well, fine, if you must know, we haven’t.”
“Hmm.” She’s not sure she believes him. Maybe Billy had somehow managed it once and now the model is reluctant to give it another go. Or maybe he’d fucked him when they were wasted and is now trying to segue into the guy being able to handle it sober.
She opens the closet where he stores props and sex toys to collects a large black dildo, a paddle, a butt plug, and arm restraints.
“Tonight will be a thousand dollars,” she says. “Paid up front.”
The person she really wants to screw tonight is Agnes. And she will.
The humiliation of being fired has her in a sort of fugue state. Violet moves through the choreography of the night on autopilot. She’s barely present, not even when she has Billy Barton on all fours, and the Burberry model, Tyler, inserting a butt plug into Billy’s ass.
“You know he wants your cock in his ass and not that substitute, don’t you, Tyler?” she says.
The beautiful man, trying dutifully to play along, looks at her with utter shock every time she opens her mouth.
He has wide, muscled shoulders and the tapered, taut upper body of a swimmer.
He’s about six foot five with a nice big cock to match.
When he first removed his jeans, she told him to stroke himself, and it took all of her willpower not to kneel down and take that cock into her mouth.
She rarely craves cock, but when something looks perfect she wants it.
Maybe Billy’s final humiliation of the evening will be to watch Tyler fuck her instead of him.
But no, that would derail the most important part of her evening—something that will cost Billy Barton much more than $1,000.
“Now say thank you,” Violet instructs Billy.
“Thank you, Mistress Violet.”
“Not to me, you idiot. To Tyler!”
Billy starts to thank Tyler and she interrupts, “You better show your appreciation by sucking his cock. Now! Tyler, get in front of him.”
Tyler stands in front of Billy, who raises himself on his knees and eagerly places one hand on Tyler’s thick penis, guiding it to his mouth. He takes it in as far as he can, grasping Tyler’s ass with both of his hands, pulling him in deeper and holding him in place while his mouth works him.
Eyes closed, Tyler moans quietly. Violet circles the duo, pausing occasionally to smack Billy’s ass with a paddle. She notices that Tyler is getting so worked up he’s close to coming, and she can’t let that happen—not yet.
“Tyler, get over here and remove this butt plug. I don’t think Billy is giving you good enough head and he must be punished.
” Tyler looks at her pleadingly, like Don’t make us stop.
But she’s not there to help some stupid model get off.
“Don’t make me use this on you,” she says, brandishing the paddle.
She knows from a little trial run earlier in the session that Tyler doesn’t enjoy pain—not even a little.
He obeys, reluctantly pulling his cock away from Billy’s hungry mouth, and walks around to where she stands behind Billy, tapping her boot with impatience. She points at the offending butt plug, which needs immediate attention.
Tyler’s cock is reddish purple, veiny with excitement and glistening with Billy’s saliva. She’s mesmerized, barely taking her eyes away as Tyler extracts the rubber plug from Billy’s rectum.
“Now put your cock in his ass and don’t take it out until I give you permission. Is that understood?”
Tyler doesn’t answer, but he immediately puts his hands on Billy’s buttocks, his thumb rimming the opening.
Billy’s eager anus puckers at him like a tiny mouth.
She watches with interest as his cock burrows inside Billy, her eyes darting from the rhythmic pumping to the look of satisfaction on Billy’s face.
She didn’t trust these two to last long, and she glances anxiously at her handbag just inches from her feet.
Violet continues watching them closely, waiting for the right moment.
Billy’s eyes are half closed, glazed with impending ecstasy.
Tyler is busy pounding away, and she doubts he’s even aware of his surroundings at this point.
He’s not trained, as Billy is, to be acutely aware of her every move during these sessions.
She bends down to discreetly retrieve her handbag.
“Fuck me!” Billy cries.
Oh, I will, Violet smiles to herself, clutching her phone. She steps back to a position giving her a view of both Billy’s face and the guy riding his ass, and snaps three photos. Just then, Billy erupts in a loud and messy orgasm, and she takes her final shot: the money shot.
Tyler convulses in spasms and moans, and she slips her phone back into her bag.
Her work here is done.