Guilty Pleasures (3 page)

“If Dr. Smith sent you, we can work you in.” The blonde led Vivian to an empty room with candles and a burbling table fountain. Eastern music played in the background.

“You can undress in here, then drape yourself with the towel.” The girl pointed, indicating the cushioned table with a red button on the side. “Push that button when you’re ready, and someone will be right with you.”

“Thank you.”

The woman smiled and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Vivian took in her surroundings. The room had a second door opposite from the one she’d been led into. Perhaps a bathroom? A flat screen television on one wall played a video with a low, calming voice talking about the spa and the various services offered by Dome.

Lucky bamboo grew in tiny pots around the room. There was an oriental-style privacy screen with a chair and large towel behind it. Thankfully there was no mirror. The staff at Dome must have realized how few women enjoyed looking at themselves naked, and how right before a massage wasn’t the time to be reminded of one’s imperfections. Though Michael had always told her she was perfect.

She considered walking out, still uneasy with the concept of being touched by a stranger. But she was afraid the receptionist might think her odd.

It
was
odd. The doctor was right. She was entirely too uptight for a woman in her thirties. She took a deep breath and disrobed, unsure what to do about her panties. Deciding to leave them on, she situated herself on the table. She hesitated a moment, then pressed the button.

Five minutes of tension passed before the door clicked open. Vivian lay there with her eyes shut, trying to relax. It was just a massage. Millions of women did this every day. And even liked it, if all the raving at the country club was any indication.

“You’re my next appointment?” A male Eastern European accent––possibly Russian––greeted her ears. She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. Couldn’t she get a female for anything? She considered requesting a woman, but then she got a look at him.

Wavy, jet black hair fell over the best cheekbones she’d ever seen up close and in person on a man. The definition of his chest was visible through a white t-shirt. He had strong, well-defined arms, and large, yet elegant hands, like those of a concert pianist. She could see how those hands could be equally at home playing flesh draped over a massage table.

Her eyes traveled slowly back to his face. It was expectant. Waiting for something. Oh, yeah. An answer to his question.

“Yes,” she managed to stammer.

“Very good. My name is Anton. I’ll be taking care of you today.”

The way he said it seemed like both a sinful promise and a sinister threat, causing Vivian’s heart to start doing erratic things in her chest. He moved closer, and she tensed.

“Relax, my dear. Dr. Smith was correct. You are quite a closed-budded flower. We will open you.” He made it sound so sexual and wrong. A warmth fluttered in her center and spread outward.

Her voice came out breathy, “You spoke to Dr. Smith?”

“Just a few moments ago. While you were getting ready for me.”

She turned her head away so she could stop looking at him with helpless longing. She’d experienced testosterone overload today. Too many men near her in situations that were far too sexual for her comfort.

“You are Vivian, yes?” he said as he selected a body oil from a cart near the table. He was the king of the rhetorical question.

“Yes.”

The slick oil made a sound as it coated his hands. He pulled back the towel to reveal her bare back. “Lovely,” he murmured.

Vivian wasn’t sure if he was admiring her skin, or if he was referring to her name. Before she could decide which, and whether or not it was appropriate, his hands were on her body, and she forgot how to think in full sentences. The strong, gentle kneading along her back caused her to, inch by inch, loosen and open to him and the pleasurable sensations he was delivering to her.

He was silent as he worked out the tension around her shoulders, and then her upper back and neck. Her arms and hands came next. Everything slowly began to unclench, starting with the muscle group he was rubbing and spreading outward as she let herself relax. Her body felt loose, liquid, suspended in a tranquil bubble of calming sensations.

Anton worked on her like this for about fifteen minutes, and then his hands began to slide lower, pushing aside the terrycloth until the towel was bunched around her thighs.

“Really, Vivian. Underwear? I’m disappointed.”

She reached behind her frantically for the towel to cover herself. Now there was no question he’d crossed the boundary. Wasn’t a massage therapist supposed to protect their client’s modesty and comfort?

He gripped her wrist hard, not so hard to damage her, but hard enough to make her gasp in surprise at the rough contact and the menace behind it.

“Are you going to be a good girl and put your hands back where you had them?”

The threat sent an inappropriate flip of excitement through her stomach.

She couldn’t twist to maneuver fully without exposing her breasts. Though she had the creeping feeling he would be seeing them soon enough anyway. A tear worked its way down her cheek as she tried to process the sudden shift of events. “Let me go. I’ll scream.”

“Do it. No one will hear you. The room is sound-proofed, and Janette went home after she announced your arrival. We’re the only ones here.”

The muscles in his arms were suddenly more than eye candy. They were evidence that he was the one with the power here, and he would have whatever he wanted from her.

“Anton, please . . . ” She had the irrational belief that if she spoke his name, she’d reach something human, something that would stop him before this went too far.

“Lie back and relax. Fighting me is futile. You will lose, and I will be angry.”

The options scrolled through her mind. She could call his bluff and scream, but somehow she knew he was telling her the truth about the uselessness of that choice. She could fight him, and lose, and end up with injuries. He could lose control and kill her. If he was willing to do this much, he was an unknown quantity. One she didn’t want to stir up and test.

A few moments before, she’d found his appearance and touch heavenly. Would it be horrific to let him keep going? To just surrender to it? Could she say she’d come out the winner if she submitted rather than fought? Would it feel like less of a violation? Which would be worse? Would she hate herself later if she didn’t fight hard enough, even though she could see how he’d closed off her hopes of escaping him?

She felt the palm of his hand press against her back until she was lying on her stomach again. He went back to the expert, innocent kneading of before and the fight ebbed out of her.

“Are you going to hurt me?” She hated how her voice sounded.

“Not unless you force me to.”

A tear pricked at the corner of her eye. “Are you going to rape me?”

“No. I’m just going to touch you. I’m going to make you come for me, Vivian. I’m going to make you purr my name.”

She shuddered as his words sent an involuntary spark of arousal between her legs. This was so wrong. She couldn’t let this happen. She had to fight him. At least make the effort. But his hands were still rubbing her back, and she felt her body betraying her brain. Felt it as she succumbed to his talented touch.

“Please . . . Don’t do this to me.”

“That’s enough talk, Vivian. I want you to lie there and close your eyes and feel. Dr. Smith tells me you can’t achieve orgasm with your husband. I am going to fix you.”

An intense shame washed through her at the way he spoke. As if molesting her on a massage table was
helping
her. What he was doing was disgusting. It was wrong. A voice in the back of her head chided her.
Wouldn’t you have let him do this without a fuss if you were single? Would the question of consent have even been broached?

“You’re thinking too much,” Anton said.

“How can I not?”

Her words were punctuated by his hand moving over her ass in a whispering caress. The towel slid to the floor. His fingers hooked underneath the edges of her panties as he slid them down.

She lay there bare and exposed, both too frightened and aroused by now to put up a meaningful fight.

His hands rubbed her ass in much the same way as they had her back. A soothing touch that nearly had a moan escaping her throat before she caught herself. Then his finger strayed into the cleft between her cheeks. She tensed and drew in a sharp breath.

He chuckled. “Not today, my flower. Another day. Roll onto your back.”

“Just let me go.” A moment of pregnant silence stretched between them as he ignored her request and waited for compliance. Finally, she did as he asked, and crossed her arms over her chest.

He stood back and surveyed her. “Don’t cover yourself. I want to look at you.”

She couldn’t make herself obey him. It was ridiculous since her pussy was already on display. Why should she be so modest about her breasts? Her nipples had formed hard, achingly aroused points, and she could feel the moisture gathering at the apex between her thighs. What was wrong with her that this was turning her on?

Anton tugged her arms away from her body. “Look at me.”

Her gaze slid self-consciously up to his. The look he gave her was so heated, she was afraid she’d combust under the power of it.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?”

“Please . . . ” she whimpered.

“The time for begging is over, Vivian. Are you going to be a good girl?”

She knew what he wanted, her verbal surrender to this violation. This violation that was at least as arousing as it was upsetting to her. She bit her lip as he held her gaze, waiting, his patience clearly capable of outlasting her defiance.

“Yes,” she whispered. Her eyes drifted to the other end of the room, unable to look at him in her defeat.

Then his hands were on her breasts, stroking over the hardened peaks until he dragged another whimper from her. Vivian’s legs fell open, her body unconsciously searching for something she knew he’d give her. Whether she wanted it or not.

“Don’t move.” He went to the sink to wash the fragrant oil from his hands and dried them on a monogrammed spa towel. She started to bring her legs back together but stopped when she saw the displeased look he gave her.

Oh, god. Why did that look fill her with so much shame? He held her gaze while he squirted lube onto his fingers.

THREE

A tear trickled down her cheek, and Anton was immediately beside her to wipe it away. “Shhhh, Vivian. Do you not find me attractive?”

“Yes, but . . . ”

“Do you not enjoy the way I’ve made you feel so far?”

She looked away from him. Her body strained to have the completion he could give her. The completion she hadn’t felt with Michael for too long. But like this? With a stranger, under duress?

“Give in.” His lubed fingers stroked the swollen and moist folds of her sex, eliciting a moan. Her hips bucked of their own accord to meet those long, expert fingers as they teased her opening.

“Please . . . ” It was a breathy sigh.

“Please what?”

She knew she should say ‘please stop, please don’t’, but suddenly the only thing she wanted was for Anton to fuck her with those gorgeous, elegant fingers. To hell with all the bullshit and protests spinning inside her brain.

He stopped touching her, and she looked up to find him watching, waiting for her to say it. A blush crept up her neck and into her cheeks.

“Please, Anton. Make me come.”

A feral grin lit his face, and his fingers went back to work. Massaging, teasing, then finally plunging inside. As he penetrated her, his thumb caressed her swollen clit. Vivian’s breath came faster as her body lurched and spiraled out of control. He finger-fucked her harder as she convulsed around him.

Anton retreated to the sink while she sat up and tried to cover her nakedness. She couldn’t believe she’d let him . . . Well, let wasn’t the right word. Was it?

“You may get dressed now.”

She scurried behind the oriental screen flushed with embarrassment, both at what she’d just submitted to and the casual way he dismissed her now.

“You may require these.” His hand, the hand whose digits had just been inside her, draped a pair of red lace panties over the panel.

She grabbed them and dressed quickly, trying not to think too hard about what had just happened. When she came around the screen he was leaning against the massage table.

Vivian smoothed her skirt down for the millionth time that day. “Are you going to let me go?”

“For now.”

What did he mean
for now
? As if he had any power to bring her back here.
I’ll never let him do this again.
The thought felt like a lie in her mind. Already her pussy ached from the absence of his fingers. Already she wanted to buck her hips at him in a vulgar invitation for more. She wrapped her arms around herself.

“You will make an appointment to see me every Tuesday and Thursday at three thirty. Do you understand?”

Her startled eyes rose to his. “I most certainly will not.”

“That is your choice, of course. But if you don’t, I will be sending your husband a carefully-edited version of this.” He clicked a button, and the flat screen television switched from the spa information to a recording of her begging Anton to let her come.

She looked quickly around the room, searching for the hidden camera that had captured everything.

“Turn it off,” she said, unable to stand watching her own desperation on replay.

“So then, I’ll see you Tuesday?”

“Yes.” If he edited the video, she’d never be able to make Michael understand what had happened and why it didn’t look like rape on the screen.

Vivian walked three blocks before
hailing a cab, not wanting to get in the back seat of someone’s car while she could still feel the wetness between her thighs.

Michael’s voice carried from the kitchen when she got home. “How was the therapist appointment?”