Dangerously In Love (23 page)

Chanelle folded the money and put it in her duffle bag, gave a sigh, and struck the ridiculous pose. She thought she’d sunk to an all-time low until she noticed that Wes, reclining on a lounge chair, was jerking on his dick, which had grown shockingly large.

“That’s right, baby, pump it up for me,” he said as his hand worked at top speed. With her hands on her hips, Chanelle stood up straight. “What the hell…”

“Don’t stop…I paid you…Come on, baby. Pump it up, pump it up!” he pleaded.

Figuring there were people who’d done far worse for money, and desperately wanting to get this insanity over with, she gave in and resumed the position.

Wes ejaculated; the long stream that shot high up in the air truly resembled a geyser. It splashed down near Chanelle’s feet. “Aw, man. I don’t know what happened. I can usually do amazing cum shots that hit the ceiling.” He pointed to several suspicious stains on the ceiling. “See? Do you see what I mean?”

She opened her eyes when the cab made a left on Florence Avenue. Grateful that the driver didn’t try to talk her ears off, Chanelle gave him a twenty-dollar tip.

Inside her quiet apartment, she broke down in tears. Her life was shit and she didn’t know how to change it. She was so tired of being utterly alone.

T
oo squeamish to look at the instruments of torture the doctor used to remove the sutures, Reed kept his eyes closed throughout the procedure. He didn’t know which hurt worse, getting his head stitched or having the stitches removed.

“Last one,” the doctor said cheerfully, his hand holding a shiny metal object of torture, coming toward Reed’s head.

Reed winced. “What’s the big rush, Dr. Oliver? Can I have a second to catch my breath before you start working on me again?”

“It’s better to get it over with,” the doctor explained patiently.

“Better for whom? Me or you?”

“You, of course,” said Dr. Oliver with a chuckle.

“You just finished yanking out a stitch. Now, give me a break…my head is killing me. Shouldn’t you have given me something for the pain?”

“I’ll give you something after the procedure, okay?”

“I hope it’s a lot stronger than those baby aspirins I got at the emergency room.”

“What were you prescribed?”

“Motrin,” Reed said in a huff. “I’ll write a prescription for Percoset, but be careful. No driving or operating heavy equipment.”

Whatever!
Reed thought and rolled his eyes. The doctor had moved behind him, seeing only the back of Reed’s head as it bobbed up and down in understanding. Dr. Oliver had no way of knowing that Reed held him in contempt.

“Okay, here we go. Think of something pleasant. You’re only going to feel a little pinch.”

“Look, I’m not in any shape to go back to work yet…”

“All right; I’ll write a note for you to go back to work…let’s see…how about in two weeks?”

That sounded good to Reed. “Okay…ready?”

Reed closed his eyes and scrunched up his face, bracing himself for what felt to him like unendurable pain. “Ow,” he yelled. His hand flew up to his forehead, covering it protectively, and remained in that position throughout the drive to the pharmacy and during the entire ride home.

At home he took a Motrin. He’d take a Percoset late at night when he was ready for bed. Right now, he had important business to attend to and needed to be fully alert.

He uncurled the
City Paper
that was left behind in the physician’s waiting room. He quickly turned the pages, eager to get to the back, and quickly found what he was looking for. There were more than a dozen ads placed by women who were looking for a dominant man. He perused the selections and finally made a choice: “Submissive young woman desires to be enslaved.” There was an immediate hardening inside Reed’s pants. He caressed it—stroked it. He tried to console it, but it became harder and lengthened considerably. The hardness demanded special attention and would not calm down until Reed unzipped his pants and set it free.

His dick was in his left hand; with his right hand he pressed the numbers and excitedly listened to the phone ring.

“Greetings, Master,” said a sweet-sounding female.

“Uh. I’m calling about the ad…uh…the one in
The City Paper
.”

“Yes, Master. How can I serve you?”

Damn, this was the shit! And it was turning him on. He felt like he was gonna bust a nut while merely talking on the phone.

“Well, I wanted to get together. Is that possible today?”

The woman giggled. “Forgive me laughing. It’s just that I’m so honored that you’ll be spending time with me today. I can hardly wait to sit at your feet.”

“What’s your name?” Reed asked.

“My name is Patience,” the woman said. “But you can call me whatever you like. Personally, I like to be called slut…bitch or slave. But it’s not my place to choose.”

“Stop it,” he said in a gruff whisper as he unconsciously stroked his dick. “You’re going to have to stop talking like this…you’ve got my man down here all upset…” He paused and looked down, fondled his penis, and wiped away the pre-cum with his thumb. “I wish you could see what you’re doing to me; my man is about to explode.” His tone was husky and so lustful, he hardly recognized the voice as his own.

“You’re making me blush, Master,” Patience said with a giggle. “Would you mind getting a pen to jot down my address?”

After carefully writing down the woman’s address, Reed asked, “How much do you charge for this?”

“Oh, I don’t charge; I enjoy being submissive. I do, however, accept contributions…you know…to pay the rent.”

“Cool, I can contribute something.”

“Is ten o’clock tonight okay?” she asked sweetly.

He wanted to see her as soon as possible, but thought it best not to impose his will just yet. “Sure, ten o’clock is cool.”

Reed couldn’t get over how sweet she sounded; her tone was filled with such a willingness to comply. He felt he’d finally found the kind of woman he really needed. Had he not been experiencing residual pain in his forehead, he would have excitedly leaped into a back flip.

Most pressing at the moment, however, was the need to relieve himself. Reed pounded up the stairs, eager to get his private party started. He grabbed his special bottle of baby oil from the dresser in the bedroom. This lubricant was used for one purpose only—to assist in self-administered manual release.

This time he didn’t require an X-rated video to help him along. He needed only to think about his new playmate, his sex slave. The movement of his oil-slick fist became slower as he looked up in thought.
What should I call her?
The name Patience didn’t suit him; it sounded too prim—too old-fashioned. Settling for one of the choices she provided, Reed decided to call her Slut.

His hand moved fast and furiously; a hot sensation rushed through his loins.

“Ahhh,” he roared as he climaxed, then collapsed across the bed.

Depleted of strength, he curled up to take a nap. He’d need rest to rejuvenate his semen supply; he had big plans for later in the evening. He planned to fuck Slut until she cried.

Patience came to the door wearing a short frilly two-piece white set. She had almond-shaped brown eyes and cascading auburn hair.

“Greetings, Master. Welcome to my home,” she said breathlessly, and politely bowed her head.

Patience had the face of an angel; she looked soft and tender—vulnerable. She gave off virginal vibes, and was the perfect example of the kind of woman Reed yearned to defile.

This is the shit!
he thought excitedly as he appraised her through eyes that had narrowed into lustful slits.

Patience beckoned Reed to come inside. The living room was also frilly and feminine, with oodles of fluffy and fringed throw pillows. There was also an unsettling collection of what seemed like dozens of life-like dolls. The dolls representing various nationalities, were all dressed to the nines. They sat atop miniature wicker chairs, straddled tiny bicycles, carried picnic baskets, lay in cradles…Reed thought it was entirely too, too much.

“Mind if we do this in the bedroom?” His tone annoyed him; it was a tad too sweet. He should have barked out an order and walked her to the bedroom on a leash.

A leash!
Agitated, he rubbed the scar on his forehead. He didn’t have any kind of equipment; nothing to intimidate a sex slave into cowering obedience, nothing that would instill fear. He’d have to brush up on the subject and start collecting the objects he needed to dispense both pleasure and pain.

“Certainly, Master. The bedroom is upstairs, first door on the right. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll join you right away. But first…” Patience blushed and lowered her eyes. “Forgive me if I seem impudent, but I would be remiss if I didn’t inform you that the contributions start at two-fifty.” Her fingers brushed her lips in a demur manner; her lashes fluttered bashfully.

“That’s not a problem,” Reed said and really meant it. He dug deep and gave her an extra fifty. Her soft voice and the way she spoke—so proper, so respectful—were enough to drive him mad. The three hundred dollars he gave her was just a drop in the bucket. He would have paid any price to demean and violate such a pretty little fragile thing. Just the thought of debasing her made the blood rush to his head.

Pulling open a pair of sliding double doors, she excused herself and motioned to the stairs. “I’ll be with you in just a second, Master.”

This shit is serious
, Reed thought as he climbed the stairs. Every sexual act he’d ever engaged in was nothing more than foreplay. Being lord and master without apology was the lifestyle he deserved; it was the life he was destined to live.

Filled with a sense of self-importance, Reed opened the door to the bedroom. More beady-eyed dolls stared at him.

Reed frowned and sighed and determined he was going to have to put his foot down for sure.
Slut is gonna have to get a grip! She’s gonna have to get rid of all these dumb-ass dolls and all this childish bullshit!

Patience appeared in the doorway, a vision of virginal purity. She smiled at Reed and inquired in her breathy whisper, “Master, should I crawl to you?”

Her words made his pulse race. He felt his manhood stiffen and throb and to his horror, he exploded in his pants.

He never dreamed it would happen this way, but there was something in the way she looked at him—so eager and willing to please. She offered everything he’d ever hoped for, but her gift was more than he could handle. He was just a novice, he realized now, and all this was too much, way too soon.

Embarrassed, he apologized profusely and rushed to the bathroom to clean up the mess. With a damp wash-cloth he rubbed the front of his semen-smeared boxers, and then wiped the thick gooey substance that trailed down his thigh.

Startled by two soft knocks on the bathroom door, Reed splashed water on the front of his pants. “May I assist you, Master?” Patience asked. There was pity in her tone.

Her pity angered Reed. “No!” he bellowed. “I don’t need your help.” In his mind, the accident was all her fault for talking so much shit and deliberately making him cum.

He yanked open the door and nudged her out of his way. She was lucky he didn’t break her neck or throw her down the stairs. He ran down the stairs with the fretful love slave close on his heels.

“Do you want to try it again—in a day or so, perhaps?” she inquired anxiously.

Unwilling to commit, unable to trust he could perform as a true master, Reed shook his head. “I don’t know; I’ll have to get back with you. I’ll give you a call.”

Before he left, the telephone jangled. Patience picked it up. “Speak,” she commanded. Her voice was suddenly rough and strong. “This is Mistress Veronique. State your name, slave!”

Reacting to her harsh tone, Reed stared at Patience with his mouth hanging open. Amazingly, she had transformed from a docile sex slave into a dominatrix before his very eyes.

She covered the mouthpiece and turned to Reed. Reverting back to a sugar-coated whisper, she said, “Farewell, Master; I’ll be anticipating your call.”

Then Patience removed her hand from the mouthpiece, gave Reed a faint, fleeting smile. She fluttered a farewell with her fingers and turned back around and resumed the persona of Mistress Veronique as she began barking into the phone.

Reed trudged solemnly to his car. His listless hand searched his pocket for his keys. He looked down at the dark wet circle on the front of his pants. It was a soggy reminder that he had been played.