Afternoons of a Woman of Leisure (9781101623565) (9 page)

Chapter Nineteen

She wears black, high-heeled shoes, black stockings hooked to a garter belt, a glittering black bracelet at her wrist, no bra, no underpants. She wears a summer dress, demure and oddly pale against the black of her stockings and shoes. She rings the doorbell. It is two o'clock exactly, a summer afternoon in the city.

The door is answered by a servant, a beautiful young woman, Asian. She beckons, silent, and Joanna follows through a sitting room and down a hall where she gestures at a closed door, then turns away. Joanna enters.

The bull-necked man from the party is sitting in a plush armchair, wrapped in a heavy silk robe. His hands fondle the long black whip across his lap. He does not look up when she enters. “Come in,” he says, his voice low. “Stand in front of me. Face me.”

Joanna does, her feet together, her eyes on the floor. At the edge of her vision, she is aware of his hands, lovingly caressing the whip. For a long moment, he is silent.

“I asked to see you,” he says finally, “because of your behavior when we last met. I did not have an opportunity to discipline you then, but I have been asked to discipline you now, and I shall. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Please don't hurt me,” Joanna whimpers. “I'm sorry I misbehaved.”

“That may be,” the bull-necked man says. “But you're not sorry enough. When I'm finished with you, you'll be sorry enough.”

Joanna says nothing. “Take off your dress,” she hears him growl.

Meekly, her eyes on the floor, Joanna unzips her dress. It falls to the floor and she steps away from it and stands, her legs slightly apart. She feels his gaze at her breasts and crotch, then hears the crinkle of silk, his knees parting beneath the robe. “Get on your hands and knees and come here,” he says.

Slowly, Joanna kneels and crawls, the carpet rough against her legs and palms. As she approaches him, the man leans back into the deep chair, parts his knees and raises them until his feet rest on the cushion, spreading himself for her. His cock and scrotum are limp against his thigh. A hand reaches into her hair and pulls, burying her face between his legs. “Lick me,” he says calmly. “You little cunt.”

Joanna begins to lick his balls, tenderly, but he pulls harder, smearing her face with them. She tries to breathe. With his other hand, he lightly taps her buttock with the long whip, just to let her know it's there. “Lower,” the voice says. “Lick my ass.”

She does, tentatively at first, then, convinced he is at least scrupulously clean, with her whole tongue. His breath rasps. The whip drums softly on her skin. His cock stiffens with the rush of blood, pulsing slightly. Suddenly he pulls her head back sharply, the hand rough in her hair, and takes hold of himself. “Open your mouth,” he says. Joanna parts her lips and lets her jaw relax.

He is massaging himself, inches from her face, sliding his hand tightly from root to tip, his eyes on her, watching. He reaches his climax quickly. Joanna thinks he will pull her mouth down over the cock, smack her, turn her over and penetrate her, something, but the man calmly shoots into her mouth, not even touching it but taking his pleasure from her own alarm. “Swallow,” he hisses when he is done. Joanna gulps and swallows, choking.

For a minute, he says nothing. Then he is on his feet, his hand twisting her hair and yanking her up, turning her, pushing her across the room. The whip trails behind him in his other hand. “Move, bitch,” he shouts. “Now get on your knees.” Joanna kneels. She is between two posts of dark wood about five feet apart, thick and strong, with chains attached to them and dangling down. Metal clicks over her wrists, fastening her hands apart and slightly raised. Then, to her surprise, a thick rope is coiled around her right leg and attached to something a foot or two behind her, then the other leg, and she is suddenly spread apart and forced to lean slightly forward, like a four-legged animal in the act of rearing up. He steps away from her. Behind her, a door opens, the sound of a light tread.

Into the field of her vision, the Asian woman walks softly, dressed now as Joanna is dressed in garter and stockings and heels, but there is something new, something Joanna had not noticed before: a black metal bracelet at her wrist. Her face is calm. Her small breasts swing slightly as she walks in front of Joanna and kneels, facing her, a few feet away.

Behind her, the bull-necked man has watched without comment, but now Joanna hears the whistle of his whip, testing the air, and braces herself. Instead, she feels a soft hand at the back of her neck, smoothing her hair forward, baring her shoulders, then gliding down, a finger along her spine. She shivers. The finger slips between her buttocks and stops at the anus, which tightens involuntarily. He pushes slightly, causing pressure. “Please,” Joanna says.

Immediately, he whips her, the leather cracking against her skin. She yelps with pain but it only excites him. The whip falls through the air, over and over, blanketing her buttocks, then her thighs, with heat. She wants to cry. “You're hurting me,” she howls, forgetting that this is exactly what he wants, forgetting that this will only make him want to hurt her more. He steps behind her and continues, the strokes now up and angled, whipping her inner thighs, almost to the crotch. Joanna sags forward, whimpering, moaning at each blow, her head down. When he pauses, she breathes deeply, feeling the sting of her new welts. Through the pain, she feels his hands, moist now with lubricant, coating her ass and thighs, firmly rubbing the ring of muscle around her anus.

He thrusts something into her face and she squints, focusing. Long and slender, a phallus made of plastic, she thinks, or hard rubber. “Lick this,” the man says, almost kindly. Joanna licks it briefly, then stops, hearing his laugh. “You'd better get it wetter than that,” he sneers. “It's going straight up your ass.”

Involuntarily, she gasps, meeting the eyes of the Asian woman, which give back nothing. “No,” Joanna says. A fierce hand seizes her cunt, squeezing it cruelly.

“Lick it,” says the bull-necked man. Joanna closes her eyes and licks, drenching it.

Long fingers spread her buttocks. The phallus is rubbed hard against her anus, then pressed. Joanna feels the shock of its penetration and glide. She groans, fighting it, but it only hurts more. Her hands are tight in the manacles, the rope rubs her legs, holding them apart. The phallus continues its climb into her bowels, twisting slightly. When it stops, the hand massages her skin around its protruding stump, feeling its hardness through the tissue. She is numbly aware of a finger in her cunt, testing the pressure, the size, the available room. To her surprise, Joanna senses her own wetness.

A hand snaps, the sound echoing loudly through the room. Instantly, the Asian woman leans forward and begins to kiss Joanna, deeply, her tongue gentle. Joanna, shocked at first, tries to pull back from the open mouth but a hand at the back of her own head holds her steady and, to drive the point home, the whip lands sharply on her thighs. She lets her eyes close and tries to drift. The tongue feeding in her mouth is feathery and soft. She feels the bull-necked man step around to her side.

Abruptly, he pulls them apart, his hands grasping their hair, and steps close so that his stiffening cock is pushed between their mouths. “Get me hard,” he says simply, and together the two women begin to lick, Joanna at the swinging pouch of his scrotum, the Asian woman running her tongue along the length of it. Slowly the cock begins to harden and jerk.

Breathing hard, he pushes the Asian woman away from him and down, until her face is level with Joanna's breasts, where she begins to lick again, solemnly, without sound. Joanna moans, openmouthed, and the hard cock is promptly inserted between her lips. He holds her head tightly, the movement of his hips slow but deep. Joanna feels on the edge of choking. The Asian woman switches her attention to the other breast, reaching up to finger the first, pressing the nipple softly.

Just before Joanna feels the bull-necked man is about to come, he pulls back from her and steps away. For a moment he merely watches the Asian woman lap at Joanna's breasts, then, quietly, he tells her to lie down, on her back. The woman turns and lies back, her head between Joanna's spread knees. The man stands thoughtfully for a moment, then walks quickly to the other side of the room, returning with objects. He reaches between Joanna's bent legs to lift the head of the other woman, sliding a small, firm cushion beneath it, bringing her mouth only inches below Joanna's open cunt. Joanna gasps at what she knows will happen, and is promptly punished by a cruel hand, twisting her nipple. Between her legs, she feels the tip of a tongue make contact.

The man kneels beside the supine body of the Asian woman, thoughtfully touching the flat breasts and nearly hairless crotch. Then he bends over her and parts her legs to reach between them and rub. His hand comes away wet. Joanna hears a low moan, vibrating into her own cunt. He bends over the woman again, this time with something large in his hand. Joanna's eyes widen at the size of it, the impossibility of it, but the phallus slips almost easily between the parted thighs, disappearing up into her, pushed steadily in. Almost imperceptibly, the woman's hips begin to move, to rock against it. The man gently lifts one of the Asian woman's hands and moves it to her crotch and leaves it there. Immediately, she begins to touch herself, thrusting against the phallus inside her. Another moan emanates into Joanna's crotch.

He moves behind Joanna and kneels, testing her again with his finger then slowly entering her, burying himself, reaching around her front to tenderly stroke her breasts. With his hips, he nudges her forward and down until she presses against the mouth of the woman beneath her. The mouth is steady and warm and moving. Joanna has never felt so stretched and so full. At first the pain is intense, but the man is curiously gentle with her, responsive to her sounds, slowing when she groans, continuing when she is silent. Before her, Joanna watches the Asian woman masturbate, arching against her own fingers, thrusting the phallus more deeply inside herself with her other hand, enraptured. Then Joanna becomes aware of her own thrustings, a rhythmic press against the generous, attentive mouth, the gentle probing of the man in her cunt, even the warm sensation of fullness in her rectum. Her breasts quiver and ache. The sound of moaning, her own, she thinks, but isn't sure, then the growl at her ear saying yes, you bitch, now come in her face, and Joanna obeys, feeling his deep spasm inside her, her body erupting in sweetness against the mouth that opens to take it in.

Chapter Twenty

A Monday afternoon, ripe with city heat. Joanna stands on the pavement in front of an elegant downtown hotel, self-consciously fingering the black bracelet at her wrist. Around her, the city swirls with rushing figures and choked, aggravated traffic. The revolving door behind her, the entrance to the hotel, makes a swishing sound as it swallows and disgorges bodies: tourists, visiting businessmen—perhaps, Joanna thinks, smiling, other employees of “O.” She wears a short black skirt and a white shirt with buttons in front, tucked in. She has been waiting for nearly ten minutes.

A black limousine glides to the curb in front of her and stops. Joanna, who has been told to expect a large limousine, is nonetheless astonished by its size. It is one of those breathtaking automobiles one sometimes notices, cruising the wealthier districts near the park or carrying film stars to parties or premieres. One of those automobiles that virtually assures a famous passenger within. The long windows shine black at her, revealing not even a shape or a presence, but the door opens and a young man gets out, stands and turns to look at her, his gaze lingering at her bracelet. He smiles politely. “Please get in,” he says. Joanna walks to the car and climbs inside.

The interior is huge. Two long benches of leather face each other, five feet apart. A man sits on each one, but Joanna is immediately drawn to the one on her right. He is young, in his thirties perhaps, with black hair hanging thickly to his shoulders. Dressed beautifully in an Italian suit and shirt, he exudes a regal air, an air of privilege and effortless superiority. He smiles at Joanna, gesturing for her to sit across from him, next to the other man. Behind her, the man who held the door for Joanna climbs in after her and sits on her other side.

Briefly, the regal man opposite flicks a switch and speaks to his chauffeur. The car begins to move forward, smooth as velvet. The switch is flicked again and they are silent. Despite the pedestrians wildly peering at the car, trying to see inside, despite the chauffeur who is barely visible through a clouded glass partition, Joanna feels as alone with these three men as if they were all in a locked room.

“I am Rene,” the man across from her says quietly, smiling. “And you are Joanna.”

“Yes,” Joanna says.

“These men are my bodyguards,” he says, gesturing at them. “Though for the purposes of this meeting, they have been permitted to show considerably more interest in your body than in mine.” Joanna nods. “They are very good men,” Rene continues. “Very gentle, very attentive. I'm sure you will not mind what they will do to you.”

“Of course,” Joanna says.

He pauses, his eyes intent on her face. “And you,” Rene says, “are a very beautiful woman.”

Joanna thanks him.

“Many men do not know how to please a beautiful woman,” he continues thoughtfully, “but you will find that I do.”

“Yes,” Joanna says. “I think I will.”

He smiles crisply, acknowledging her willingness, her confidence in him, then turns to his men and gives a quick nod.

Gently, Joanna feels their hands on her back and shoulders, easing her down onto the plush leather bench. She lets them move her, then turn her onto her stomach so that she rests across their two laps, the length of her body fitting easily in the width of the limousine. Her breasts rest against the thighs of one man, her hips over the other. They touch her warmly, safely, through her shirt and skirt. Joanna turns her cheek to the cool leather and closes her eyes.

Fingers are lifting the black fabric of her skirt, easing and folding it up onto the small of her back, then stroking the smooth silk of her underpants. The other man touches her hair and neck, and rubs her shoulders. Joanna sighs, already wet with anticipation, already longing to be stripped and entered and allowed to moan, but knowing it is too soon. She feels her underpants being gathered between fingers and slid down, uncovering the now healing welts from her session with the bull-necked man. A wondering hand traces the cuts, making Joanna shudder with pleasure.

“Who did this to you?” Rene asks, his voice curious.

Joanna opens her eyes. “A man,” she says simply, and he nods.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes,” Joanna says. “I had no choice.”

He says nothing, his eyes on her face. The hand is between her thighs, gently pressing them apart, stroking the soft skin and the ridges of cuts there. Joanna wishes it would move farther up to where she is already moist and open, but the hand seems content where it is, softly caressing her. “Please turn over,” she hears Rene say.

Almost lazily, Joanna turns, her arms over her head, the laps of the two men still beneath her shoulders and ass. The hands begin to touch her again, two of them exploring the already tense nipples through her bra and shirt, two of them tenderly playing with her pubic hair, dipping between the lips of her cunt and lightly touching. Joanna moans, arching slightly. The men look down at her without expression. Rene watches from his seat opposite, fascinated. The hands are curious, without urgency. She wants to grab them and push them against her and into her, but they continue to stroke and examine her cunt and covered breasts until it is torturous and she is panting. “You may sit up,” Rene tells her.

Joanna does. As she rises to settle herself between them again, one of the men calmly gathers her skirt, pulling it to Joanna's waist. The other smoothly draws her underpants over her knees and down, then away. The leather beneath her is already drenched from Joanna's moisture, and slides against her skin, making her seep even more. “Please spread your legs,” he tells her, and she slowly brings her knees apart, naked and open, her high-heeled shoes resting on the floor of the limousine. As she does, the two men softly lift Joanna's arms and fasten them securely to the back of the seat, at shoulder level, then sit calmly back to await further instructions.

For a long moment, no one speaks. The limousine moves smoothly through the crowded midtown streets, attracting much attention. Each time it stops for a traffic light, pedestrians crowd around, peering intently, trying to see who is inside. Joanna can see from their faces that she is invisible, can see from their easy expressions and curiosity that they cannot tell there is a woman inside, her arms bound apart, her legs spread wide exposing a naked crotch. She loves this sensation of being on display, yet hidden, visible and unseen.

Rene's eyes pass over her face and down her body, lingering at her cunt with a slightly amused expression on his face. He nods at his men and they slowly begin to unbutton Joanna's blouse with delicate fingers, easing it apart, spreading it open, revealing heaving breasts covered with lace. Rene sighs.

“What a lovely bra,” he tells Joanna. “I'm afraid we will have to cut it off.”

“Of course,” Joanna says.

One of the men removes a switchblade from his pocket. Joanna is completely without fear. He flicks it open and carefully brings it to one of the bra straps, cutting it with a movement of his hand, then he cuts the other. Finally, he snaps apart the lace between her breasts. The other man pulls the bra away, leaving her bare. “Yes,” Rene says quietly, as if he has just confirmed a private belief. “Yes.”

The car picks up speed. Joanna closes her eyes. The men on either side of her have begun to touch her breasts with dry, delicate fingers, wonderingly, appreciatively. Rene watches, silent. It is the warmth of his gaze, not the fingers touching, her that makes Joanna throb with longing. She imagines the slide of his hips between her spread thighs, the catch of his breath, his long black hair striking the pale skin of her chest as he pounds, hitting her like a feathery whip. A mouth covers her nipple, gently sucking. She thinks of Clarissa, spread-eagled between the wooden posts, shaved and oiled, massaged by anonymous hands, pierced and opened, made to moan. One of the men has moved down, leaving his seat beside her to kneel on the limousine's floor between her knees. She feels his curious fingers glide between the lips of her cunt, parting the hairs. His cheeks softly rub her inner thighs. Joanna arches against him, moaning, and the mouth opens, beginning to lick. She feels suction at the top of her cunt and groans loudly, her eyes snapping open, meeting Rene's eyes. He is smiling fondly at her.

“You are enjoying this,” he says, meaning it as a question.

“Yes,” Joanna whispers, her breath catching.

He considers this as new information. “And which of my friends would you like to fuck you first?”

She can feel them both tense, listening, their mouths still at her cunt and breast. “You,” she moans hoarsely. “I want you.”

As she watches, the smile folds into a grin. The mouths on her body begin again with renewed vigor. The limousine stops for a light and Joanna, glancing briefly out the window, sees bored drivers, passengers nervously checking their watches, crowds of pedestrians hurrying away. “As you wish,” she hears Rene whisper.

Immediately, the man between her legs moves away, resuming his place beside her, returning to her breast with his moist fingers and insistent mouth. Joanna slides forward on the seat to its edge, arching open, her head back. She hears the rustle of clothing, his jacket removed and carefully folded, then the rough glide of a zipper. Hands come to her sides, new hands, sliding behind her back. Joanna lifts to let him cup her ass, and opens her eyes to see him drawing close. The men move their heads to make room for him, kissing her neck and shoulders, continuing to touch and squeeze her breasts with their hands. Then she is lifted and spread further before being slowly lowered onto him. Joanna gasps as he enters her, sensing his thickness and length. Rene kisses her, giving her his tongue to suck, and Joanna sucks it lovingly, thanking it for her own pleasure. He moves inside her, slowly at first, then more urgently. His moan vibrates into her mouth. A hand leaves her breast and travels down to the top of her cunt, where it tangles in the pubic hair and presses, damp and slick. Rene is thrusting deeply into her now, and Joanna moves against him in her own urgency, aware of the three heads covering her own head, the hands caressing her, the pulsing inside her body, the crawl and release of traffic, the growing din of angry cars. “So sweet,” someone says, breathless. The low, primal yelp of an animal at her ear, Rene gasps into her mouth and Joanna lets herself come to an explosion of horns from outside, releasing the unbearable frustration of a city traffic jam.

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