Wicked Ride (3 page)

I mean, that’s
literally how he said it in that formal, polite way. “You may
not put anything in her vagina.”

I winced because it sounded so
clinical. I also winced because that left a lot of other things the
man could do to me, and while blow jobs were not unknown to me, I did
not want anything near my ass.

Turns out my worries were for
nothing, because the man was more than happy to accept a blow job.

And it was awful.

I mean…
blow jobs aren’t awful, if you’re with someone you are
genuinely attracted to and maybe even have a measure of care for. But
sucking a stranger’s dick who you are in no way attracted to is
just nasty, and I suppose the only good thing is that the man put a
condom on and I was spared from having to swallow.

He was also a fast shooter so I
didn’t need to suck
more than a minute or so before he was blowing, so that was good too.

Last night though, Magnus upped
his game. He told me as we pulled into the parking lot he wanted me
naked for the night. I immediately balked and told him to go to hell.

He just clucked his tongue and
chastened me, “Now,
Lee-Lee… you know you have to do this. You know you have to do
it right. You know I won’t accept anything but full effort from
you on this deal, and I don’t have to remind you of the
consequences if you don’t.”

So I got naked.

Because I didn’t
need the reminder.

And Magnus led me around,
introducing me to patrons, letting them ogle my breasts. After the
first fifteen minutes or so, I lost the red tinge of embarrassment
from my cheeks and I let my alter ego take over. I had developed it
over the last few days, and it wasn’t
a chore.

Acting came naturally to me, and
if I needed to act like the innocent seductress, I could do it. So I
lowered my eyes a lot, knowing my fabulous black lashes stood out
starkly against my pale skin, and I fidgeted shyly when one of the
patrons would roam his eyes all over my body.

Magnus even let one of the
members pinch my nipple. “Just
to get a feel of how firm they are,” he’d said.

My nipple didn’t
even react, just stayed soft and yielding. This didn’t even
seem to register with Magnus—who never really looked at my
naked body—or the other man, who didn’t care if I was
turned on or not. He was just trying to get in good with my “owner”
so that he’d be in the running for that evening’s
“experience” with me.

Yeah, it shouldn’t
be a surprise that nothing about this experience would turn me on,
given that this was something I was not fully on board with, and that
I was sort of being coerced. Being paraded around and forced to
bestow sexual favors, knowing that made me a filthy whore because
money would eventually change hands, really wasn’t conducive to
stiff nipples or wetness down below.

That is…
until
he
walked in.

No clue his name, but I saw him
on the first night Magnus brought me in. Saw him on the second night
too. Last night, he was still just as beautiful and just as
perplexing.

Oh yes…
he’s beautiful. Dark hair, slightly longish and messy like he
just doesn’t care one bit about how it looks. A goatee
surrounding beautiful lips. His skin olive toned, his jaw solid, and
his cheeks angled.

Those eyes though.

From the color…

Hazel with subtle shades of
green, brown, and gold
.

To the level of pain I saw within
them…

Deep and consuming.

To the way in which he
communicated his emotion…

Confidently and without
ambiguity.

Those eyes captivated me from the
start. The rest of his packaging was beautiful as well, as he was
tall and built. There wasn’t
a woman in that circular house of perversion who didn’t have
their tongues hanging out when he walked by.

But it was his eyes.

They simply spoke to me.

For the past three nights, this
stranger, with a heavy burden on his shoulders I’m
not sure anyone else truly recognized, played a subtle game of secret
communication using stolen glances and subtle body language.

It’s
not that we spoke on any deep level using the power of our gazes, but
there was clear meaning.

Lust, intrigue, frustration.

I took one look at the beautiful
man with the soulful eyes and my nipples got hard. They did that each
night I saw him.

Even as I was sucking another
man’s dick, they
were hard. I looked at him once in mid-bob, and I hoped he understood
my message.

I wish this were you.

I understood his response. It was
short, and then he stalked off.

I wish it were me too.

But it never would be. I didn’t
know the man at all… not even his name… but I could
tell he didn’t have the money to be a real patron at The Silo.
His jeans were always worn and some of his shirts a little frayed. I
heard Magnus talking with the owner, Bridger, one night, and he said
that some of the men and women in The Silo are Fantasy Makers. Extra
people who are on hand to add to the numbers of people wanting to
fuck and be fucked. They are paid employees, I guess, which probably
made the beautiful, sad man as much a prostitute as I am.

That is something we have in
common.

Perhaps why we understand each
other with just the merest of glances.

A knock on my bedroom door
startles me out of my thoughts, and I look down to see if my nipples
are poking out against my robe. They are…
straight out and completely reflective of my wayward thoughts toward
a man I’ll never be able to touch.

I open the door just a crack and
peer outside, keeping my traitorous body from his view.

Not that he’d
look.

I don’t
think Magnus is into women.

Or men for that matter.

I think he’s
just into money.

“Yes?” I ask crisply
as I open the door. He knows I don’t like being around him when
it’s not needed.

“We’re going to leave
a little early tonight for The Silo,” he says coolly. “I
want you to wear that pink dress tonight.”

I grit my teeth and nod, thankful
on one hand I’ll be
clothed since he’s choosing my wardrobe, but also on edge,
because I know he has something different planned for tonight.

The dress is pretty and demure
with a flowing skirt that comes to just above my ankles. He had
bought a pair of pale, pink ballet flats to go with it.

It is demure and virginal, and he
wants to remind everyone at The Silo that he’s
got a product to sell.

Fresh, tight pussy.

“And leave your hair long,”
Magnus adds on.

I nod again and stare at him with
hard eyes.

“We’re upping the
“wow” factor tonight,” he says thoughtfully, almost
as if he’s trying to get a rise out of me. Which is ludicrous.
Magnus does not like to fight and does not like confrontation. He
merely expects obedience. “I want you to really put on a show
for the crowd.”

“Understood,” I grit
out, and then I shut the door in his slimy face.

Oh, I’ll
give a show all right if that’s what he wants. If I can do
anything to facilitate this matter so we can just get it over and
done with, I’m all for that.

I’m
going to see this through to the end, because I have no choice in the
matter.

And when I’m
done, I’m done.

Finished.

Never coming back to this life
again.

And in my new life, I’m
going to make it my mission to find a way to make Magnus suffer for
what he’s doing to my family and me.

Logan

I walk into The Silo tonight
tense and on edge. I spent
all day out on the Snake River with a father and son visiting from
Maryland. The boy was eleven years old and the first cutthroat trout
he pulled out of the water had him screaming with excitement. I
maintained a lucid smile on my face while I removed the hook from the
corner of the fish’s mouth, trying not to show how much it hurt
when the father reached an affectionate hand out and ruffled his
kid’s hair with pride.

Those twinges of pain are to be
expected, but are usually alleviated by the mere fact that my job
during the summer and fall months consists of taking tourists out on
float trips down the Snake River for a taste of some Wyoming fly
fishing. While I certainly can’t
speak for all careers and professions out there, I can say, without a
doubt, this is probably the best job I’ve ever had. Even more
so than fucking myself into a stupor at The Silo.

There is nothing more peaceful or
restorative to my soul than three or four hours spent floating lazily
down a meandering river with blue sky and gentle breezes washing your
worries away. Now granted…
that restorative fix is usually destroyed by my nightmares, but I can
say that there are great chunks of my day that are pleasant and even
happy at times.

Today was no exception, except
that as the evening got nearer and I knew I’d
be heading to The Silo, I started to get knotted up with unease. This
was very strange because I go to The Silo almost every night, and I
fuck almost every night. I love sex. It’s amazing and addictive
and freeing and numbing.

So I try to do it as much as
possible.

It is something that causes my
steps to become lighter once I walk toward a guaranteed orgasm within
that building.

But not tonight.

I walk in that door, and I
immediately tense up with wondering what Auralie will be wearing. How
will she smell? Will her hair be up or down? Nipples hard or soft?
Will her eyes look at me with the same meaning as last night, and
will I absolutely hate watching her touch and taste another man if
Magnus so deems that to be the night’s
main attraction?

I’m
late getting here, perhaps even subconsciously hoping that Magnus
will have already paraded her around before I arrive, but the minute
I step into the circular opening of The Silo, my eyes are immediately
drawn to the pale pink of Auralie’s dress.

I know what Magnus is doing. He’s
playing up every bit of youthful innocence she possesses, and I have
to say, it’s a brilliant move for most of the perverts in here
that want to pop her cherry.

Who wouldn’t want to be the
big, studly man who gives the virgin her first sweet orgasm?

I hate to break it to these fools
in here, but I know something about Auralie that they don’t.
I’ve never talked to that beautiful woman once, but I know that
she knows exactly what an orgasm feels like. It may not be by a man’s
cock if Magnus is to be believed, but she’s had a finger,
tongue, or vibrator up against her tight bud before.

I can tell.

It’s
in her eyes.

She may not like sucking the dick
she’s had to suck,
and she might not like having her flesh peddled—all things that
are patently clear—but when she looks at me and she conveys
that message of want and desire for yours truly, I know it’s
because she knows how fucking good an orgasm feels and she’s
imagining one with me.

God knows…
I’ve sure as shit been fantasizing about it from my end.

Her slender back is to me with
her long hair that is so black it shines blue hanging down her back
almost to that rounded ass, but she stiffens slightly when I walk in.
Almost as if sensing me, she turns her head slightly and lets her
gaze roam the room until it comes to a complete stop right on me.

She gives me a soft smile, but
the real meaning simmers in those cobalt eyes.
You’re
here. I’m so glad.

I’m
not trying to be a dick, but I’m angry and frustrated by these
circumstances, and I can’t help my return look.
I’m
not so glad. I can’t have you, and it’s going to kill me
to watch you be given to someone else.

Sadness fills her eyes, making
them shimmer briefly before they shutter closed. Her lips draw down,
and, with a regretful sigh, she turns from me to listen in on the
conversation Magnus is having with the Cleimdens,
a married couple who are into some seriously kinky shit that includes
the wife pegging her husband in the ass while he brays like a donkey.
I hope to fuck Magnus is not going to let Auralie play with them
tonight.

Turning away, I make my way
through the crowd up to the center bar that’s
circular like the room. A black lacquer top and contemporary chrome
stools upholstered in buttery black leather are heavily occupied
except for an empty seat right beside Bridger.

He’s
sipping on water, ass sitting on the edge of a stool while his foot
is propped up on the chrome railing at the bottom of the bar. He
rests an elbow casually on top of the bar, but his gaze is pinned on
Magnus and Auralie. He’s clearly unsettled by the couple as his
gaze is wary, but I can tell by the loose set to his shoulders that
he’s also accepting of their presence. Bridger does not try to
curtail the kinky shit that goes on in this establishment as long as
all participants are willing and consenting.

Knowing Bridger as I do, which
isn’t all that great
really because the guy is a complete mystery to most, I’m sure
he’s thoroughly checked out this Magnus dude as well as ensured
Auralie was a willing participant in his shenanigans, contrary to
what her eyes have told me in the past.

“What’s up?” I
announce my presence behind him with a slight clap of my hand on his
back.

He’s
not startled because he’s Bridger and nothing rattles him, so
he merely swivels his body my way and nods. “Not much. What’s
up with you?”

I shrug. Not much is up other
than my blood pressure and feelings of guilt and anger over the
thought of Auralie touching someone else tonight, but I’m not
going to tell him that.

This Bridger notices all in one
skilled glance because my emotions are painted clearly on my face,
but he tries not to make a big deal out of it. “You
seem tense.”