Is there such a thing? Can a woman or man actually decide to hire themselves out for an evening or a weekend to spend time with a Dom they’ve never met? Is there a difference in basic prostitution? Well, keep in mind submitting in any way with regard to BDSM doesn’t have to include sex in the basic form, however… This is a daunting premise. Have I heard of this in the BDSM community? No. Could it happen? Anything can happen with consenting adults and keep in mind that’s the key word – consenting.
I write fiction after all and allow my rather wicked imagination to run in various dark spaces. In thinking about the fact there are many who allow themselves to play with those they have never met, I just decided to take the concept a step in a direction that might leave you breathless. Of course I had to add an element of horror, a thrill ride given my heroine has no real clue what she’s getting into. She’s a trained professional.
Or so she thinks…
See what happens when all she knows is challenged in an effort to help hunt down a killer. This is the tame end of the story…
SUBMISSIVE FOR HIRE
Queen. The word reverberated in the back of her mind.
Destiny Blade could see his face, his carved features and a nearly perfect mouth. Given her southern heritage, those might say kissable lips. For her, the mere expression on his face garnered a myriad of raw emotions sweeping through every cell in her body. She shifted in her seat, cognizant of her swelling nipples, panties damp to the point she was uncomfortable. He was watching, always studying her when she wasn’t fantasizing about him.
Swallowing hard, she tapped her fingers on top of her desk. The air was humid, almost stifling. Her throat closed off, an intense sensation of being held under water forcing her gag reflexes to the surface. Faces peered through a mist manifested from sleepless nights, haunting visions of arms reaching out for her.
What do you see? His voice was like smooth velvet, wrapping around her in a sensuous manner.
Monsters. Her whisper was harsh.
Laughing, his voice rumbled in the dense space. You see yourself.
Exhaling, she tried to push the rambling thoughts out of her mind, but she was lost in the moment, her skin prickling as if on fire. Giving a cautious look toward the darkened corner of the room, she whimpered. She was not alone.
He sat in the corner, the man who had haunted every night with his blatant commands, yet he waited patiently, as if claiming her was a prize. She’d refused succumbing to his intense needs, desires so dark she awoke breathless. He was all consuming. Anticipation fueled the vivid images and even in her daylight hours, she was finding it difficult to concentrate.
Touch yourself. Show me how much you’ve learned.
“No.” Had she said the word out loud? Of course she’d learned so much during the course of the last few months. The nights alone, staring at her computer, had left her exhausted. She inched forward, placing her hands on her desk. Her vision remained clouded, her thoughts filled with longing. Long fingers reached out, fingertips brushing across her heated skin. His hot breath was a magnet, drawing her to the only man she’d ever craved. Shuddering, she rubbed the back of her hand back and forth over her lips. Her heart raced, the wetness between her legs tingling her inner thighs.
Soon you’ll obey my every command, no matter what I ask. Then I will own you.
Her nerves endings were on fire, desperate for the taste of his lips. Seconds later, she shut down the fantasy. She was a strong person, capable of protecting the woman buried deep inside. She’d been damn good at doing so for almost twenty years.
He cleared his throat. Only this time, the sound was no apparition, no formidable man, hungry to chain her in his basement, performing unspeakable acts. The man seated in front of her was desperate for help, lost in a system she claimed to understand. Go away!
A strand of dark hair fell to his lips. She read his lurid thoughts, sensed his required possession of her. Why? Why was she so special to him?
A blip coming from her phone brought her up from the foggy haze. Panting, she fingered her iPhone. Two messages. Okay. Break free of this. He’s not real. Sadly, no man was coming to claim her.
She forced a smile and pushed a file across her desk, breaking the psychic connection. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?” She wasn’t certain she’d asked the question loudly enough. As she centered her gaze past her desk, her thoughts cleared.
The chair was planted in the middle of the room. Her client was only comfortable if he was surrounded by air and nothing else. The poor man had fallen into an abyss. For a few seconds she thought about ending the session, but his imploring eyes, slacking mouth, reminded her that she was his only hope. He was a loner. Then again, so was she. Concentrate. Her patient needed her expertise to pull them back to reality. Hell, they all did. Lately she’d felt like nothing but a farce, a woman incapable of helping anyone.
“Michael, we have just a few more minutes in our session. Is there anything else you can remember about your dream?” Destiny made certain her smile was comforting. Her patient was even more of a nervous wreck then he normally was during their hour long sessions.
Michael’s eyes shifted, his gaze unfocused. He picked lint off the sleeve of his dress shirt and hummed. The heel of his foot continually tapped against the tile floor. Every body movement exuded raw emotion, complete discomfort, yet he’d barely offered four full sentences during the last fifty minutes. She adjusted her suit jacket.
Even from where she was seated, she could easily see the sweat beading across his forehead. He reeked. His body odor was a putrid combination of garlic, stale cigarettes, urine and vomit. She’d never seen him this anxious in the nearly two years she’d been treating him. “Michael. Stay with me. What’s going on? What are you so distraught? Did something happen at work?” Back on track, she breathed a sigh of relief.
He shook his head and leaned forward in his chair, clasping his hands. “No.” There was no inflection in his tone.
“With your lovely girlfriend? Did you guys have a fight?”
Laughing, he shot her a quick look. “Do you really think a model is going to stay with a beast like me?”
“You heard me, doc. I’m a puss sucking slug.”
She rose to her feet, moving slowly to the other side of the desk. Michael certainly had his insecurities, but he’d never spoken this way. Confidence bordering to the point of pure arrogance had been a downfall his entire life. This was…unexpected. “You’re not a beast. You’re a professional with an excellent career in a well-known accounting firm. You have a better than average salary, a house in your name and a brand new sports car.” The majority of people would be jealous of all he’d obtained in his life. She wanted to hate him for his pompous bullshit, but she couldn’t. She’d seen inside the man, straight to the dark side.
We all have a dark side, especially you darling Destiny.
Fuck you! Hissing, she willed her midnight lover back into the trenches.
As he snorted he shoved both hands through his hair. “No woman will stay with me because of who and what I am. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch!” Enraged, he shoved back in his chair with enough force the metal legs slammed against the edge of the glass coffee table.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Okay. Just relax.”
“Sorry?” Michael laughed. “Wait a minute. No I’m not.”
“What do you mean?” The tone of his voice was decidedly different. Even the twang she’d grown to love was gone, replaced by a clipped and deeper tone.
Snapping his head up, he grinned, his eyes sliding down the length of her body. “Not sorry at all. I prefer real women.”
She broke into a cold sweat and gripped the edge of the desk. The expression on his face was cold, malevolent. This wasn’t the same man who’d walked into her office a year and a half early. Hell, he wasn’t the same on as an hour before. Michael Johnson was recently divorced and with his incredible looks, could have the arm of any woman. This man was angry, bitter and horrified. Jesus Christ. He’s coming onto me. “Stay focused, Michael.”
He wants you like all men do.
Every muscle in her body was tense. Her muscles were rigid and her lover’s words echoed in her ears. Her extreme workload was creating manifestations, nothing more. She was a woman with an extraordinary imagination.
“Oh, I am. Fuck the bitch. I can get more. Right?” Licking around his lips in an exaggerated fashion, he made a suckling sound. He winked and pulled the chair away from the table, purposely scraping the tips across the floor. “Maybe we should talk, doc. Like we used to. Huh? Have you had any good sex lately? Do you have some thick cock servicing you every night?” His look turned into a leer. “You never told me if your pussy is shorn. Better to suck up your sweet juices.”
“Michael. You know that’s not appropriate.” My God, the man was losing his mind.
“My, my Ms. Blane. You used to love to tell me how every men you’ve ever known always wanted to tie you spread eagled, flog every inch of your tight body. I bet your skin glistens in candlelight. I can only imagine how wet you’d be as you wait for your Master to strike, inflicting every inch of your body with lashes. I bet you crave pain. Don’t you? Mmm…”
The question lingered.
You do crave punishment. You can’t deny your desires.
“That’s it. We’re not playing a game, Michael and you can call me Dr. Blane. Do you understand?” She heard the guttural sound of her voice as fear crept in. He wasn’t merely undressing her. He wanted to devour her.
Kisses and spanks…