All I know is – he might
know where Rita is. And right now, that's good enough for me.
Part of me, too, knows that
it'll be easier this way. To do sick, strange things with a stranger won't
shake me nearly as much as taking money for sex with Terrence Blue. I'm not
afraid of getting hurt.
“I want to protect you,” he
says.
I want to laugh in his
face.
“ You want to protect me? ”
Like he hasn't grown up in
the lap of luxury. Like he hasn't grown up with everything he's ever wanted. He
thinks I haven't met prostitutes before? Pimps? Men who beat up women? When you
grow up in the one-night-cheap motels of Las Vegas, you learn pretty early on
that you have to protect yourself. I've been beaten up before. Back when I
worked the cash register, drunks would try to get fresh all the time. And he
thinks he's going to protect me? Ridiculous.
I'm going to protect
myself. And Rita, too. If she's still alive.
“Why?”
“If he can have whatever he
wants,” I say, “he's going to have me sooner or later. And I don't want to
waste time. Maybe I'll change my mind tomorrow. You might want to sell me off
while I'm still ready, willing, and able.”
“I told him you were so new
– we didn't have all your paperwork filled out yet. Confidentiality agreements.
Security checks. STD testing.”
“Confidentiality
agreements?”
“This patron is discreet.
Not that he needs paperwork to keep people quiet. This guy has a lot of people
who – ah – shut people up as necessary.”
I'm starting to get
nervous. But I didn't come to the Blue Room to back out. My intuition tells me
that this guy is the guy I want.
“I want to know who he is.”
“You don't,” says Terrence.
“You're better off not knowing. We have a lot of people who come into the Blue
Room. Celebrities, princes, billionaires, politicians. People powerful enough
to make those disappear whom they perceive as a threat. Many of our girls don't
even know his name. He likes it that way.”
Did he make Rita
disappear? The question has filled my brain so entirely I can't think of
anything else.
“You can at least tell me
what he's into,” I say. “I want to be prepared.”
“He's rough,” said
Terrence. “Dominant.”
“I can handle that.”
“Are you sure you can?”
He takes my hand and pushes
me onto the bed.
“When you can't even handle
this?”
He gets on top of me. He's
straddling me.
“He's not going to take his
time with you. He's not going to kiss you gently, make you wet. He runs the
world. He hasn't got time for that.”
I can't help myself. Again
I'm turned on – so turned on I can't move.
“Don't move,” he says.
“I'm not – oh!”
His tongue is down between
my thighs, working its way upwards.
He finds what he's looking
for. I arch my back. The pleasure is so intense I can't stand it. My panties
are down somewhere around my ankles; his face is buried between my legs; his
tongue is licking me over and over, probing deep, reenacting the motions of his
fingers earlier.
He's right. I can't handle
it.
“You're delicious,” he
murmurs, his breath intoxicating me as it ripples between my legs.
I scream his name over and
over when I come.
“That's one,” he whispers.
He strips the dress from me, pulls it onto the floor.
“I want to eat you all
night.”
I tell myself I'm doing
this for