Chapter Twenty-Seven
She knows she should leave. It’s not too late to turn around, end this madness once and for all. A security camera turns its roving eye on her.
She looks around for a cab, but they’re all occupied. Poppy, a strong believer in signs, decides this means she should continue into The Cellar. So she descends the stairs and presses the button on the intercom. She’s promptly buzzed inside.
The entrance vestibule is dark and spartan, the floor littered with Chinese take-out menus. She steps over them to the single elevator bank. Violet instructed her to take it to the fifth floor. Only in New York would a place called The Cellar be located on one of the top floors of a building.
The elevator is small and rickety and she feels claustrophobic. It rattles its way up to the S she’s busy slathering lube onto her freshly gloved finger.
Without a word, she feels inside Poppy’s pussy as clinically as she had examined her breasts, then withdraws her hand. She straightens up in her seat.
“Have you experienced any sexual dysfunction lately?” Violet says.
“What?” Poppy is reeling. She can barely talk. She can’t tell if she’s mortified, intrigued, turned on, or scared. Maybe all at once.
“Any trouble having an orgasm?” Violet says impatiently.
She really should work on her bedside manner.
“Uh, no.”
“I thought you said you were having problems. That’s why you made the appointment,” Violet says.
“Oh, um, yeah. I’m having problems,” Poppy says, wondering if she missed the script.
Violet snaps off her latex gloves.
“You can’t even come when you masturbate?” Violet says.
“No?” Poppy guesses, wanting to get the answer right.
“Hmm. This sounds serious.” Violet uses her bare hand to stroke Poppy’s clit roughly with her thumb.
She massages it, rubbing more firmly, pressing until Poppy gasps with the powerful sensation of pleasure and pain as one.
She squirms on the table, resisting the urge to moan; she doesn’t want to make any sound, to risk going off script.
The thought of that, above all, upsets her.
“You don’t feel anything?” Violet says.
“No,” Poppy whispers.
Violet turns her attention to the items on the steel tray. Poppy’s palms are moist with anxiety, her pussy throbbing with the need for release.
“Turn around and get on all fours,” Violet says.
“What?”
“I’m going to cure you. Get on all fours—face the opposite direction of me.”
Poppy has no interest in putting her ass in Violet’s face.
“I don’t know. I … I think I feel better all ready.”
“If you’re not going to let me treat you, then you can leave.”
“Leave now?”
“Yes. Do you want to come, or not?”
“I want to come.”
“Then get on all fours. Doctor’s orders,” she says with a wicked smile. She adjusts the table so the raised back levels down to flat. “Oh, and take off your gown.”
Despite the countless times she has taken her clothes off in a club full of strangers, she has never felt as self-conscious as she does following Violet’s directions. Still, she does as she demands.
When she’s facing away from her, the only thing in her line of vision the bare wall, she feels Violet’s gloved hand gently tracing the curve of her ass.
Her finger then skims down further, between her legs, brushing her labia so lightly it’s as if Poppy’s imagining it.
She wants to feel that finger press deep inside her, to trigger the release she wants so badly—has wanted since the moment she answered the phone.
And then: nothing. Poppy holds the position, resisting the impulse to ask Violet what’s going on. Finally, just as she’s wondering if Violet left the room, she senses her move close just seconds before her hands roughly spread her ass cheeks, pushing something firm into her anus.
“What are you doing?” Poppy says, turning around, her hand swatting behind her. Violet slaps her hand away.
“It’s your treatment: just a butt plug. Relax. Now get on your back again with your legs spread.”
“This feels weird …”
“Keep it in there. Get on your back.”
Poppy turns around, taking deep breaths, trying not to think too much about the odd sensation of heat and pressure in her asshole.
She spreads her legs and lies back on the table.
Looking up at the ceiling, she wonders what’s wrong with her—why she’s in that situation. Surely this isn’t healthy behavior.
Violet’s bare fingers skim her pussy lips, and then she feels the flick of a tongue against her clit.
The combination of the pressure in her ass and attention to her pussy makes her come with shocking speed and intensity.
She cries out, calls Violet’s name, saying nonsensical things, shamelessly grinding her pussy against Violet, begging for more.
When the last tremor of orgasm subsides, Violet pulls away.
“You’re cured,” she says. “You may get dressed now.”
Poppy, dizzy with the aftermath of intense physical sensation and the confusion of the encounter, can’t move. She’s vaguely aware of the sex toy in her ass, and she raises her pelvis to reach around and—
“Leave that in until you get home,” Violet says, pushing her hand away.
“It’s uncomfortable,” Poppy says, fully aware she doesn’t have to do what she says and yet somehow unable to defy her.
“I don’t care. It’s part of your treatment. Doctor’s orders.”
Poppy stands up, legs shaky. She reaches for her clothes and somehow snaps back to reality. She reaches between her legs and gets rid of the offending object.
Violet reaches for Poppy’s wrist and grabs it hard.
“I think we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well,” Violet says. “But maybe there’s one thing you haven’t figured out about me yet: Obedience is very important. I expect you to do as I say and show up whenever I call.”
Poppy shakes her head. “I can’t.”
“Why not? That ugly dyke you have at home?”
“Stop, Violet. I love her. This has nothing to do with her.”
Violet has an odd smile on her face. She takes a step closer, her lips so shiny that they glint under the lights.
“Do you know that every time I fuck you I pretend you’re Mallory?”
Poppy gasps. The remark is so odd, so out of nowhere, it leaves her speechless. Her silence gives the comment more power than it deserves, but for the life of her she can’t think of a retort.
“And the next time I see you, you will be answering to me,” Violet says. “That is, if you want to continue working at the Blue Angel.”
With shaking hands, Poppy manages to get dressed. Violet escorts her wordlessly out of the room, sending her back down the dark hallway alone.