Guilty Pleasures (9 page)

The second crack made her cry out.

“Say, ‘Thank you, Sir. May I please have another?’ after each one.”

Vivian repeated the phrase, holding her body tense, waiting for the next blow.

It didn’t come. Instead, Anton’s hand brushed over skin, soothing the pain he’d just caused. Moments later, a warm tongue licked over the welt that had no doubt risen.

The tension eased and flowed out of her. Then another crack landed over the flesh that was now wet from his tongue. She screamed, then forced the words from her mouth. “Thank you, Sir. May I please have another?”

It seemed to go on forever, comfort and pain, until she was sobbing and could barely hold herself up. Her legs shook and her calves burned from standing in the heels.

She was crying for the pain, but also something more. She was crying for her own weakness, her pathological inability to seek out what she wanted in life. Staying with Michael though she was miserable, simply because he made her comfortable. Coming to Anton over and over and pretending it was about the blackmail. Because that made her comfortable, too, when nothing was her fault, when she was the victim.

“That was ten,” he finally said.

Only ten? She thought she was going to die. How could that only be ten?

“You can relax, now.”

She hadn’t realized how hard her arms had worked to hold herself the way he’d wanted her. She collapsed on the bed, the tears still coming unrestrained. It seemed nothing could shut off the flow of emotion now that the dam had burst.

She wanted to ask him why? What had she done? How had she deserved that? If he wanted her to come back, this sure as hell wasn’t the way to encourage it. As soon as she cleared the door, this madness was over. It had to be over.

The bed dipped next to her, and then he was stroking the burning welts and kissing them. Her face flamed as she felt her own wetness dripping down her thighs, soiling the bed.

Vivian jumped when his tongue probed inside her. A desperate mewl left her throat as he lapped up her juices. Why couldn’t this be Michael? Why did it have to be this twisted fucker who was holding her mentally hostage?

His weight lifted from the bed, and she found herself on her hands and knees. She didn’t bother resisting when he slid inside her. She could hear the evidence of her arousal as he fucked her, his body thrusting into hers like an animal as she knelt on the bed, open and receptive. Unwilling to be anything but his vessel in that moment.

“You’ve got the tightest, sweetest little cunt.”

Every foul word that tripped off his tongue moved her one step closer to what she was sure would be the most shameful orgasm of her life. She gripped the sheets as her breathing became heavier.

“Be a good girl and come for me.”

His wicked voice sent her over the edge as her muscles clenched around him, milking him, greedily pulling his essence into her. She didn’t want to come after how he’d treated her, didn’t want to think about what that said about her. But she couldn’t stop the orgasm that tore through her, breaking down her ability to process anything beyond this moment.

When he’d finished, he rolled off of her, panting.

His accent was heavier when he spoke again. “Get dressed. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

Of all the arrogant, motherfucking . . .

In another set of circumstances, she would have thrown a shoe at him, but she’d already seen what he was willing to do to her and how little power she had to make him stop. She got dressed more quickly than she’d ever before managed, wanting nothing more than to hide her body from his view.

She didn’t bother to argue about Tuesday.

“Oh, and Vivian?”

She turned, the disgust shining out from her eyes. She was beyond the ability to mask it.

“You will masturbate every day between now and then. When you do, you will think only about the feel of the cane across your ass. I’ll ask when I see you. And I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Vivian slammed the door behind her, convinced she’d never see this monster again.

Michael had left the car for
her to drive while he was away. She sat behind the wheel of the red BMW and cried some more. Her hands were shaking so hard she couldn’t get the key in the ignition. Finally, she gave up and laid her head over the steering wheel, trying to focus on breathing while she waited for her body to settle down.

Would things have gone differently if I’d just stripped like he’d asked the first time?

Of course not. He was an abusive monster. Now that she’d stopped shaking, she was aware of the pain of sitting. An incongruous smile curved her lips.

Pictures. Evidence.

There was no way Anton would convince Michael they were having an affair, even a kinky affair. No one would be able to look at the marks on her flesh and think that wasn’t abuse. Especially if she went to Michael first with photographic evidence.

And then what? Go back to stale sex once every few weeks with a man she couldn’t get off with? And the alternative? Being with someone like Anton? It wasn’t worth the risk.

She dug in her purse for her cell. Michael could have called while she was out. Suddenly she needed to hear the safety of his voice. But there was only one message. Vivian was surprised to find it was from her neighbor.

“Hey, I thought maybe we could hang out since Michael’s out of town. I don’t have classes tomorrow, so I rented a bunch of movies and made popcorn balls. Come over, or call.”

Vivian looked at the dash. It was eight thirty. She pressed the button to return the missed call.

Jewel answered on the third ring.

“I need something of greater substance than popcorn balls. Order us some Chinese?” Vivian’s anxiety had spiked so high her brain was sending fake hunger signals.

“Sure. Where were you?”

“Shopping. See you in a few.”

Vivian disconnected the call before Jewel could ask further questions. She got home as quickly as she could and changed clothes, including her underwear. She couldn’t stand to keep on anything she’d worn for Anton.

The mirror over the whirlpool tub proved too hard to resist. Her eyes widened as she took in the dark purple marks from the cane. They would be bruises soon. She ran her fingertips over the raised welts, then flipped her cell phone open and dialed Jewel’s number.

“I might be about forty more minutes. I’m going to take a quick bath.”

“No problem. I’ll keep your food warm.”

She’d had a long bath before going to Dome, but she felt so dirty. It was an emotional kind of grime that seeped to the outside.

“What’s wrong with me?” she said into the empty room. Her brain remained silent, refusing to supply an answer, despite the question ringing around for the millionth time.

Anton had humiliated her and hurt her. When he’d lain across the bed with that pompous smirk on his face, fully expecting to see her on Tuesday, she’d been so furious. But was she furious at him, or because her pussy had responded like a wind-up doll?

Most disturbing of all was the idea that he believed he held so much sway over her, she would return to him again. That the orgasm that rocked through her when she’d finally had his cock straining inside her walls, had been so amazing she’d forget or ignore the pain and humiliation he’d put her through.

Before she’d realized what she was doing, she’d pushed the button for the jets and pressed her clit against the spray. Vivian held onto the side of the tub as the pulsating water moved her toward another orgasm. And God help her, but she was thinking of Anton and the caning when she came.

The three yapping Yorkies greeted
Vivian when she arrived at her neighbor’s house. With any luck her frenemy-turned-sanity-net would be able to distract her from thoughts of Anton and Tuesday looming on the horizon.

Jewel shooed the dogs away and ushered Vivian into the house.

“Your plate’s in the kitchen. I got extra egg rolls.”

“Thanks.” If she put on fifteen pounds maybe she could get Anton to get rid of her. If he told her never to come back, surely she hadn’t yet reached the level of stupidity to beg him to keep going.

She sat on the red leather sofa in the living room while the Yorkies became deathly still and quiet. They sat at her feet, staring at the plate on her lap. Waiting.

“Your dogs are fucking eerie.”

“I know. They’re shameless little beggars. You want me to lock them in the bathroom?”

An image of herself handcuffed in Anton’s bathroom only a few hours before, leaped into her mind.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll just ignore them.”

“They won’t jump on you or try to eat off your plate. At least I managed to train them that well.”

“What are we watching?”

“Okay, don’t judge, but I’ve been wanting to watch this movie forever. It’s about a legal secretary who gets spanked by her boss and . . . other things.”

“Umm . . . ”

“I said don’t judge.”

Vivian was sure her face was beet red. Had she been living in a bubble of denial? Was she surrounded by freaks?
If so, I’m a freak, too
, her inner voice chided.

Somehow she managed not to do or say anything to embarrass herself while the movie played. She shoveled the lo mein and egg rolls into her mouth without realizing she was eating them, her eyes glued to the screen.

When the credits rolled, Jewel sighed. “I would so be her.”

“Really?” Vivian tried to look nonchalant.

“Oh yes. Do you think Michael would ever do that sort of thing with you?”

“Hell and no are the words that come to mind.”

Jewel giggled, but Vivian couldn’t bring herself to smile. She would have been that girl too. She was becoming that girl. Maybe she’d always been that girl.

Maybe that was why, after the initial thrill of her relationship with Michael had worn off, her libido had completely shut down, and why it woke again at the most inappropriate times, with Michael, with Anton, even with the doctor.

“Are you okay?”

Vivian looked guiltily at the other woman, unsure how much of her inner turmoil her face had telegraphed.

“Fine. Look, can we call it an early night?”

“Sure. You’re sure you’re okay? The movie didn’t weird you out?”

Vivian shook her head. “I’m just tired. All the shopping.”

Jewel looked as if she’d push the issue. She was entirely too perceptive, and Vivian worried the cogs in her neighbor’s brain might start turning in a direction that would end far closer to the truth than she wanted to deal with.

EIGHT

By Saturday, Vivian could no longer cope with the jumbled mess her mind had become, and took a trip to the bookstore to buy a journal.

She had to get out what was inside her head. Every sordid detail. Every thought. Every fantasy. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have room in her brain for any normal thoughts. By Tuesday the journal was half-filled. She read what she’d written, then took a match to it and burned all the words away as if by doing so she could change her internal circuitry.

As Anton had requested, she masturbated every day while she thought about the caning. Each time it was easier to get off on the memory as she became more distanced from the emotions of the event. The fantasy became just one of many of the guilty, dark fantasies she’d indulged over the years. Much more frequently since going to Dome.

She could come in under five minutes now, though she’d developed a habit of dragging it out to make the orgasm stronger. Each time, the fantasy became more elaborate, went darker. It started with the caning, but it never ended there.

She found herself wondering how many of the things she fantasized about, Anton might actually do to her if she went back. Suddenly her world was filled with the

twisted possibilities of the things he would do and the things she’d submit to, to come just a little harder.

She’d given up the idea that she wasn’t going back. Whatever happened in that room, Anton would let her go when they were finished. When Michael returned, she’d end it.

Fuck the blackmail. She’d decided to leave her husband because the more she thought about the cane across her ass, the more she knew it was meant to be there and that Michael couldn’t give that to her.

But she couldn’t get it from Anton, either. He’d make her hurt, not just physically, but emotionally. She watched the bruises and welts fade in the mirror a little more each day as her opportunity to get damning evidence of his abuse slipped away.

A decisive peace fell over her as she saw herself taking control of her life and for once doing what she wanted, leaving her gilded cage with Michael and her warped cage with Anton for a world that was scarier, but free.

She met the reflection of her eyes steadily and applied her cherry-red lip gloss, pressing her lips together with a pop.

Not a victim.

Not a whore.

The woman who walked into Dome today would be different from the one who’d left on Thursday. This Vivian had determined to be honest and unapologetic.

She signed in at three fifteen. At three thirty her name was called and she went back to that room that made her ache so deeply she couldn’t think.

Anton smiled when he saw her. “I knew you’d be here. I am rarely wrong about people.”

She smiled back and crossed the floor to lay her purse on the massage table. “I’m leaving Michael.”

A look of surprise fell over Anton’s features, but she pressed on before he could reiterate his speech about not getting attached.

“What you’ve done to me is completely wrong. You should be locked up. I worry about the other women coming here, what you’re doing to them. But I also wonder why they aren’t reporting you, either.

“You’re right. I’m not your girlfriend. My husband is out of town right now. He’ll be back next Thursday. Until that time I’ll see you, but then I’m done. With you and with him. I’ll figure something out.”

He arched a brow, his face a mixture of shock and amusement. “My flower is opening up and growing up, I see. Taking responsibility for your own decisions now? Right or wrong?”

“Yes, Sir.” She put emphasis on the
Sir
, not wanting him to think her little monologue meant she wasn’t going to fully submit to his every sadistic desire behind this door. She’d already decided she would. She had three or four sessions with him at most. Then she’d never see him again. He could show that shit to Michael, or post it on the Internet, or sell tickets for all she cared. She was done pretending that was why she came to him.