Читать книгу: «Girl for Hire»

Best Offer
Rachel Kramer Bussel

‘A hundred dollars? Really?’ I almost choked on my drink as I raked my eyes over the early-thirties bearded guy who’d just offered me that measly sum to go home with him – and, presumably, fuck him. Not that I was actually considering it or anything, but still, $100? Even a make-out session with me was worth more. I wouldn’t say I’m materialistic, but I like to know a man will invest in me, that he considers me worthy before I go home with him. Yes, I’ll admit, I have a taste for fine dining and champagne, but I’m not a gold-digger. To me, it’s a matter of respect more than anything else.

‘That’s all I’ve got,’ the man stuttered, whipping out a crisp hundred and, from what I could tell of his wallet, the truth. A few stray dollars were all that were visible. He didn’t sound like he actually thought I’d leave the bar with him for a hundred, but why not try? To me it was the equivalent of leaving a waitress a twenty-cent tip; you might as well not bother, and if you did, you were holding out the cash more as an insult than an offer.

‘A thousand,’ a smooth, steady voice spoke from behind me. I turned to see a man who looked a good twenty, possibly thirty, years older than my twenty-seven, but he wore the years well. His salt-and-pepper hair was sleekly shorn, he wasn’t balding and the slight wrinkles only made him look more powerful. It was his dark-brown eyes that made me go still. His eyes told me he wanted more than just to buy me for the evening.

‘Look, guys, I don’t do that. I’m not … you know.’ For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Hooker, prostitute, call girl. I don’t know why exactly, but even thinking those words made my face burn hot, and I reached for the water I was sipping in between drinks.

‘Not a whore?’ the hundred-dollar man asked coolly, an edge of impatience and something darker in his voice, as if he expected me to be one. Why? Because I was in a bar, flirting? Because I wore bright-red lipstick, the brightest I could find, to offset my pale face, and my low-cut lilac blouse did more than hint at my large breasts? Or maybe it was my snug buttery black leather skirt and knee-high black books that laced up the back? Or maybe he just wanted me to be a whore, so that’s what he saw. I nodded in answer to his question. I was mildly offended that he was only offering what I would make in an entire morning’s work at my office job. But even more intrigued that another could so calmly offer up such a huge sum, what I’d earn in two weeks.

The bartender walked over and gave me an appraising look. I was, after all, sandwiched between two men who were close enough to me that it appeared I was intimately engaged with them, and one was holding out a hundred dollar bill right in front of me.

‘We’re all whores, darling,’ said the older man, ‘you just have to figure out your price.’ I turned to make a smart remark when he pulled out a chequebook and handed it to me. Unlike mine, which simply featured the single stack of cheques stuffed somewhere into my voluminous purse, this man had an elegant leather holder and he held a monogrammed pen in his hand. He looked like the kind of man who didn’t even handle paper money, as if that were a foreign concept, but dealt only in money via credit card. The chequebook looked unused, though his hand paused over it.

I blurted something out before I could even think. ‘Fifty thousand dollars. For two hours.’ Imagine earning my annual salary in just two hours! It was the first number that leaped to mind, but no sooner had I spoken the number aloud than the stranger was scrawling it across the rectangle on the light-blue paper, making it out to ‘Cash’. ‘Here, since I don’t know your name yet,’ he said, ripping it off and pressing it into my palm. ‘I’m not even going to ask your name because I’m sure you’ll just make one up. Oh, and I’m good for it,’ he said, holding my hand as if to caress the dollars into my skin. When I glanced down at the cheque, I gasped, suddenly sure he was more than good for it. He wasn’t exactly famous, but he appeared in the business pages often enough, and since that was the section I copyedited at the paper, I recognised Clay Barker, this titan of the high fashion industry.

‘This is crazy,’ I said, but didn’t let go of the cheque. ‘Maya,’ I added, more softly. The man sitting next to us was agog, but scooted slightly away, knowing that whatever game we were now playing, he couldn’t compete.

‘Perhaps,’ he conceded, ‘but I’ve done far crazier things in my day.’ News headlines started to flash in my mind, stories about sex, drugs, strippers, trashed hotel rooms; he came from a wealthy family and before he’d decided to take over their business, he’d spent time sowing plenty of very expensive wild oats. ‘Well? I have a room down the block, at the hotel.’ Of course, he knew I’d know he meant the $600-a-night brand-new luxury hotel that had just opened, and of course he had a room there. He said it like everyone did.

He had to realise that a girl like me, a news junkie, would know who he was, but so would any other woman here. He didn’t have to buy me, or anyone, unless he wanted to, and that thought made me wet. He wasn’t just trying to win me away from the loser at the bar, but to prove something. He didn’t ask a thing about me before forking over that cash, like whether I did anal or liked facials or got high (for the record: once in a while, yes, and only with high-quality pot). He didn’t need to know anything about me besides what was right in front of him, and wasn’t offering up any other information about himself, either. It was take it or leave it, and as quickly as he’d whipped out his chequebook, I smiled back at him. ‘Let’s go.’ I didn’t bother knocking back the rest of my drink, like I normally would have, since surely they had finer ones at his hotel. I just picked up my bag, tucked the cheque into the zippered compartment inside, and held out my arm before I I could regret it.

‘Beautiful night, isn’t it?’ he asked as we walked, while I was bursting with questions. Should I go cash the cheque immediately and make sure it doesn’t bounce? Does he proposition women like this all the time? What’s the most he’s spent on a call girl? Did this make me a hooker? What did he want to do first? All of them seemed uncouth to even think about. Would a real hooker think these things? Did that even matter because I wasn’t one?

I mentally paused even as I kept walking arm in arm with him, using my yoga training to centre my mind, and asked myself the most important question of all: did I want to go back to his hotel room? Did I want to offer myself up to him on a figurative silver platter, my body his for being the highest bidder? What was the true difference between a hundred dollars and what he’d offered me? The tingling rush of arousal in my pussy told me everything I needed to know. The money was like the icing on the cake, but it was the bold gesture, the way he’d swooped in and charmed me, without the arrogance of assuming that simply because he wielded a big chequebook I’d bow down before him. He’d seemed 90 per cent sure I’d say yes, but it was that other 10 per cent that made me want him.

‘Penny for your thoughts?’ he asked as we stopped at a red light.

‘Just a penny? No longer a big spender?’

‘Well, what would you like instead?’ he asked, his gaze piercing me as suddenly the lights and commotion around us slipped away. I stared into his eyes and I was the one who leaned forward for a kiss. It was a soft kiss – at first. We pressed our lips together in greeting, in acknowledgment, in anticipation. This wasn’t about the money, or even the power; yes, Clay had bought me, but clearly he didn’t want me simply because he ‘owned’ me or because I ‘owed’ him. He wanted me because I was a woman, because, right now, he sensed something brewing between us that wasn’t going to go away even if I ripped up the cheque.

That made me hot; I’d always fantasised about sex with a stranger, but stopped myself before it went that far. Flirting, yes, making out, sure, even a little groping, but some nagging part of my mind had stepped in before I ever went back to a stranger’s apartment – or hotel room. First-date sex I’d had plenty of, but there’s a lot more you can tell about a person after a two-hour dinner than a twenty-minute drink. So this was new for me on several levels, including the intense heat coursing through my body, from where his tongue met mine on down. Clay Barker knew how to kiss, and when he felt me melt against him, felt me surrender to him just enough for him to take control, he did, winding his hands through my hair and gripping it tightly enough to make me gasp. One hand moved to cup my ass and draw me closer, right there on the street, where anyone could see.

I loved the way his body felt so close to mine, and I also loved that everyone could see us. I wondered what they’d think if they knew I was getting paid $50,000 for this. Would they wonder if I was worth it? Would they want to try me for themselves? Then Clay’s lips pulled me back completely into his embrace. ‘Maya, Maya, Maya. I don’t deserve you.’ How could he know whether or not that was true when we’d barely said five sentences to each other? I didn’t interrupt.

‘What made you say yes?’ he continued, tracing my cheek.

‘I don’t know,’ I said honestly. ‘I’m really not someone who’s usually swayed by money. I mean, I do OK, I get by, and I’m happy with that. I can go out with my friends and indulge in drinks and dinners and the occasional fancy dress but mostly what I want are art supplies. My day job is the opposite of artistic, but it pays for my other love. Sure, fifty grand can buy a lot of art supplies but the truth is, I was intrigued. I wanted to know why a man would offer up so much money without even asking me what I’m into, what I’m like, what I’ll do.’

‘OK. I’m asking now. What are you into? What are you like? What will you do?’

I blushed as I let the questions wash over me. I’m into, well, slightly deviant things. I like to be tied up. Spanked and slapped – on my pussy, my ass, my tits, anywhere, really. Choked. Ordered around. Verbally degraded. Tickled, even though I have more of a love/hate relationship with that. Painful sensations and being put in my place. But I’d never told a stranger that. I’d only told two lovers, one of whom got it, one of whom didn’t. I keep my kinks fairly close to the vest, or low-cut blouse, as it were.

Somehow, though, this whole episode, in all its heightened surreal nature, made me want to tell him everything. Not half the story, not a verbal gambit to see if he’d pounce on it, not what I thought he might want to hear. I had tried all those things in the past and while sometimes I’d wound up with some beautiful bruises, with my breath catching in my throat, with my body alive with the thrill of submission, it had never gone as far as I’d wanted. It had never gone all the way. I’d always held something, some vital part of myself, back, waiting for the moment to be right, and it never was, not exactly. This moment, maybe because of the money, maybe because I had nothing to prove – who cared if he liked me when this was done? – felt safe.

‘I’m into spanking. Slapping. Choking. Kinky stuff. I’m the kind of girl who likes to please; I get off on it. I get very, very wet when I get down on my knees and if you put a cock in my mouth, well, I could stay there all night. I like to cry. I like to go somewhere else entirely, but be grounded right here while I’m being used. I like to be a little scared, a little nervous. I like for the guy to be in charge and to own that. To guide me. To use me completely for his own pleasure.’ I was trembling by that point, the tears already waiting to be unleashed, my cunt suddenly painfully tight as the light turned from red to green and back again several times while I told Clay everything I could think of.

The words poured out of me, yet rather than feeling nervous, I felt calm, because I could see in Clay’s eyes that he wasn’t just listening passively, wasn’t just filing away my words for in-the-near-future reference, but he fully got it – and liked it. ‘Well, well, well,’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘If I were a betting man I’d say that we should head to Atlantic City, because those are all things I like to do to pretty girls like you. But a man in my position can’t be too careful; I’m sure you know how easily a thing like this –’ he gestured at me, running his fingers along my side from my ribs to my waist ‘– could get in the papers. And I don’t think you want anyone to know that about you, do you, Maya? Anyone but me?’

We’d veered into dangerous territory, the leap from awkward to intimate jumped in mere moments. Suddenly it was as if he could’ve demanded I pay him $50,000 and I’d have done so in a heartbeat. It sounds crazy, in a way, but it didn’t to me. I’ve always been a leap-before-I-look kind of girl, the one who follows her heart, or her pussy, occasionally both working in concert, far more than her head. What was even crazier was that as he said it, he made it true. Just as some guys can walk into a strip club and be instantly mesmerised by a certain girl, maybe because of the way she smiles at him, the way her lips glisten, the size of her breasts, the promise contained within her sweat-slick, shiny body, making him forget that they’re in an alternate reality, I too chose to sustain disbelief. Well, ‘chose’ makes it sound like I had, well, a choice. I didn’t, not really.

I was standing in the street, dripping wet, wishing he’d grab me and shove me down onto the dirty sidewalk. This wasn’t about the money, though we both knew he couldn’t rescind the offer. The money was simply the gateway to our real purpose, a calling card a man like Clay used the way other men used pick-up lines or killer smiles. Clay took my arm and pinched the inside of it, about halfway between my wrist and my elbow. He held my flesh until I looked up from where our skin touched into his eyes. If he’d grabbed my ass, tried to spank me in the street, copped a feel, anything clichéd or ridiculous like that, I might’ve walked away. But what he did told me that he knew he could have me any way he liked. He could pinch any part of me and I’d respond with need.

But he only pinched that part, then settled his hand on my arm as we walked. He hummed to himself, almost as if I wasn’t there, yet I was sure he was just as aware of our being together as I was, of this unexpected journey we were about to take. The more we walked, the more focused I became on the heat of his fingers warming my arm. My questions about his usual MO for picking up girls melted into fantasies of what I wanted him to do to me.

And then suddenly we arrived, and my sense that this was just a date dissipated as I walked in on his arm and he was greeted by name by three staff members. They knew him, and therefore clearly knew I hadn’t been with him on his previous entrances. Maybe he’d brought other women, but not me. It was two in the morning; I could only be either easy or a whore – or, most accurately, both.

We didn’t linger, but I felt their eyes staring, trying to figure out if I was a one-night stand or something more. I wasn’t sure what I wanted them to think of me, exactly, but I couldn’t deny that the scrutiny made me wet. Clay’s hand on my back led me towards the elevators, and soon we were paired with a couple who I was sure were, in fact, escort and client. She was young, with full, ripe lips and flawless skin, her curvy body crammed into a skintight black dress that barely kept her boobs inside. He was at least thirty years her senior, balding, while she was blonde, delicate and beautiful. She giggled and clung to him tighter, and I squeezed Clay’s hand. Was I any different, or was that just wishful thinking?

We got off first, and he took my hand and held it up to his lips. ‘Listen, if you want to back out now, I understand. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to. I’ll even let you keep the cheque. But if you do come back with me, I’m going to make you earn it, Maya, every last dollar.’ His voice got more ragged towards the end, and he backed me up against the wall so I could feel how hard he was. I looked into his eyes and swore I saw more than just lust.

‘I’ll come,’ I said, and no sooner were the words out of my mouth than his hand was clutching my hair tightly, pulling my head back as he sank his teeth into my neck. I could tell he was making a hickey, but I didn’t care. I was so wet, so hungry for him.

We made our way to his room and as he sank the key card into the hole, he said, ‘On your knees. You’re going to crawl into that room like the whore you are.’ I did it instantly, trembling with excitement. What did I care if anyone saw me? I no longer felt like myself, but a girl following his commands, ones I’d been waiting to hear for a long, long time. I crawled into the room, well aware of my ass being on full display. ‘Keep going,’ he said, nudging me gently with his foot as the door slammed shut behind us. He turned the lock.

‘Lift up that skirt for me, and pull down your panties,’ Clay instructed me. I was so wet my pussy almost hurt, and I hoped desperately that he was going to fuck me, or at least put his fingers, or really, at that point, anything, inside me. I pulled my skirt up over my hips and slid my panties down to mid-thigh, spreading my legs as far as possible. He leaned down and ran two fingers along my slit, pressing them against my sex but not entering me. ‘So wet, that’s what I like to feel. Get up and bend over the bed,’ he said, and I did, stumbling a little in my heels. He peeled my panties off and pressed my thighs apart, rewarding me with another stroking of my pussy. ‘I think you’re going to like what I’m about to do, Maya, very, very much, so much that I have a feeling you might be tempted to scream, and while you probably have a beautiful scream, I don’t want to be interrupted. So I’m going to shove these nice, wet panties in your mouth. If something is too much, I want you to kick off your left shoe. Do you understand?’

He turned me over onto my back and placed his hand around my neck, staring deep into my eyes. He looked almost kind even as he told me he wanted to gag me. ‘If I had a real gag, I’d love to shove it between these pretty lips,’ he said, before pinching them together. ‘But this will have to do, until I take it out so I can put my cock there.’ All that did was make me want his cock in my mouth even more than I wanted it in my pussy. ‘Are you ready for your spanking, Maya? Because once I start, I’m not going to stop until I’m ready to fuck you or you kick off your shoe.’

‘Yes, Clay, I’m ready.’ He shoved the panties in my mouth, and I shut my eyes to focus on breathing through my nose. He turned me over onto my stomach once again. My arms were out towards my sides, though suddenly I wished I were totally naked, with my arms bound above my head. I didn’t want to be tempted to try to cover myself, yet I knew that was part of my job – to be still, to force my hands to stay in place, to take his blows without trying to control them.

He didn’t start with the spanking, though. Instead he played with my pussy a little more, inserting a finger just enough to tease, but not enough to even come close to getting me off. Then his wet finger pulled out and stroked my asshole, easily easing inside. ‘What a sweet hole you have here, Maya. I might have to fuck you here instead of that very wet pussy of yours.’ I was glad the panties were in my mouth, because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to protest or agree. The truth was I wanted him in all my holes. He toyed with my ass for another minute or so before pulling out, pressing one hand on the small of my back and striking my right ass cheek hard, followed by an equally strong blow to the left one.

The heat of the smacks worked its way through me, and was quickly followed by more. He hit me right where I like it, striking the padded curves in a way that sent shock waves through my pussy. He was grunting, so I knew he was giving it his all, and he sustained a steady pace. The heat and pain and arousal mixed together until all I could feel was one big sensation blazing through me. Then he turned me over onto my back, and lifted my legs into the air, bringing my arms up to the backs of my thighs. ‘Hold yourself open for me, my little whore,’ he said, then let his hand land directly on my pussy. If my mouth hadn’t been full, I’d have told him, ‘Yes, yes,’ because it felt so fucking good, but all I did was clutch my thighs tightly, feeling the strain there as I held myself open for him. ‘You like that, don’t you? I can tell you’re getting wet for me,’ he said, his voice just loud enough to let me know he wasn’t only talking to himself.

‘I guess it’s a good thing I bought some toys today, in case I met a beautiful slut like you who wanted me to hurt her. Keep those legs open for me, Maya,’ he said, and I did, even spreading my legs a little bit more, even though the strain of the position was harder to maintain. I shuddered when he walked back with a small strip of leather, the kind I’d seen but never felt against my skin. He ripped my blouse so the buttons went flying, then rubbed the edge of the toy against each hardened nipple, before raining the leather right against my nipples while I watched. The sound of the leather hitting my skin seemed loud in the otherwise quiet room, and he kept going. My nipples blazed with pain, the kind that went directly to my pussy. I wondered if it were possible for me to ejaculate just from him hitting me like that.

When my nipples were duly chastened, he moved on to my pussy, slapping gently against it, which only made my lips more engorged. Then he was truly slapping me there, the blows making me tremble. For a second, I wondered if I should toss my shoe on the floor, kick my leg out and put a stop to this, because the pain was so intense, but then that initial sting would abate and the sweet buzz would settle deep into my core. I hated it, but I loved it, and ultimately I wanted him to keep going more than I wanted him to stop. Clay slapped the leather against my inner thighs, then back to my pussy a few more times before tossing the toy on the bed and climbing up next to me.

He pulled the panties out of my mouth and leaned down to kiss me. His tongue claimed my mouth and made me even wetter. I thought about that line in Pretty Woman, where Julia Roberts says she doesn’t kiss on the mouth, and decided that she’d been missing out. This was one of the best kisses of my life, and not because I was getting paid. Clay pulled away, leaving me panting, aching for his tongue, and his cock. ‘Look at me, Maya. I have something for you.’ I hadn’t realised I’d shut my eyes until I opened them to see his face, intense, serious, stern. He brought his hand up and tapped my cheek, making me shudder. He slapped it lightly and I squirmed, and then he did it again, hard. ‘Struggle for me, Maya. I want to have to subdue you. I want to have to hold you down while I spread those pretty legs and force my cock between them. Are you going to do that for me, Maya?’ He paused and lifted himself off me, genuinely waiting for an answer. He wanted to make sure that was my fantasy, too.

‘Yes, Clay, yes,’ I said. I’d never spoken about my rape fantasies, because how do you bring something like that up, how do you ask for the one thing you’re never supposed to? Yet he’d seen it in me, or maybe just in himself, and here he was, offering it to me. ‘Yes,’ I said again, suddenly eager for what was about to happen.

He got up again and stripped, then took out a roll of silver duct tape. I scrambled to get up and he pounced on me.

‘No screaming,’ he said, his voice going darker, deeper. ‘You know you can’t get away, sweet girl, so don’t even think about trying. I have a friend down at the bar I can call to hold you down for me, if I need to. He won’t be as nice as I am.’ He straddled my chest, his hard cock pressing into me, and when I tried to press him off, I couldn’t budge him. ‘Now where should I start with this tape? I want those pretty lips ready for my cock, so I think I’ll do your arms.’ When he lifted his hand from my mouth, I moaned, trying to twist away from him, but he was big and heavy and I couldn’t, even though each attempt to escape made me wetter. The sticky side of the tape pressed against my wrists until he had them coiled together.

‘Where next, my sweet? I could put this anywhere I want,’ he said, caressing my cheek with the tape, then rolling it between my breasts and along my stomach before easing it between my legs. I squirmed as I realised he could place the tape right there, along my wetness. I was utterly at his mercy, and that made me shiver. He’d bought far more than I’d bargained for back at the bar.

‘Oh, does that make you excited?’ he asked, resting the tape on my stomach as he pressed his fingers into my cunt. ‘You want me to put the tape here? But what about me doing this?’ He slapped my slit and I spread my legs wider, and he did it again. ‘Yeah, that would be a shame to cover up these slick, beautiful lips,’ he said as he tugged on one of them. Just as I was getting into his actions, he stopped and proceeded to place tape over my nipples. I moaned, already imagining what it would feel like coming off.

‘Oh God, Maya, you are so fucking hot.’ He was breaking his dominant mode, which made me smile a little, until he leaned down and bit my stomach, a random location but one that made me moan, his mouth so close to my pussy. He did, actually, ease his head down to lap at me for a few seconds, again so brief they were more torture than anything else. ‘I’m wasting my precious time here when I should be making sure I get my money’s worth of this tight pussy.’

I’d almost forgotten for a few seconds exactly why we were there, or, more accurately, how we’d come to be there, because the money was no longer why I was there. He could’ve ripped up the cheque and I’d have stayed exactly where I was, legs spread, panting, eager for him to slide his now condom-covered cock inside me, which is exactly what he did. No sooner was he fully inside me than he ripped the tape off my nipples. The pain was intense and immediate, and he didn’t try to soothe me, but instead captured a nipple between his lips and sucked and bit while pinching the other. I squirmed, and he moved on to tickle me, before gently placing his hand over my mouth.

‘So beautiful, Maya … how did I find you?’ he asked, the words soft compared to the way he was pounding me. I came like that, my muffled cries against his hand, my cunt unleashing an orgasm it seemed I’d spent a lifetime building.

He speared me over and over, until I was limp, still feeling every sensation but also looking down at myself, my true self, a girl who’d whored herself out to the highest bidder and been rewarded with a man whose lifetime of knowledge of women was being put to use on me. An image of him beating another girl, a beautiful young thing with a gag in her mouth and tears in her eyes, ones I simply knew were tears of joy, made me come again, and Clay held my bound hands down against the bed with one hand while he pulled his dick out with the other, removed the condom in the same motion, and sprayed me all over with his come.

Right before I fell asleep, I glanced at the clock. Technically, Clay had two minutes to spare.

* * *

Later, as we lay in his bed, well past my allotted two hours, his lips curved up into a grin. ‘I’d have gone much higher, you know. I just had a feeling you’d be worth it.’

‘And you could’ve had me at a bargain price.’ It was true, though I wasn’t about to rip up the cheque.

‘Maybe I can put you on retainer. Forever.’ His eyes again speared me with a look of such intensity I was almost scared, but I breathed deeply and then leaned back, sticking out my hand.

‘You’ve got a deal.’

I thought he’d meant a monthly retainer, another string of numbers with long strings of zeros behind them, and he did – but as his wife, complete with blinged-out diamond ring. Sometimes the best offer pays off in ways you can never predict. I stroked his hair as I reached for the phone to call room service, then hung up. ‘Let’s go out instead,’ I said, looking forward to letting him show me off, and vice versa. Still, I hoped I’d someday get another chance to walk into a hotel with him and play the role of woman of the night, second only to being her.