She came back after cleaning the black rubber cock, set it on a blood-red towel she had laid out on the black lacquer nightstand by the bed and then her eyes came to his.
Hers were blue.
He thought he’d chosen wisely.
And in a sense, he had.
In another one, he had not.
She sat with her hip brushing his outstretched arm.
He looked at the cock.
His first time, and she knew it, she’d given him length and girth.
He’d be feeling that up his ass, probably for days.
He’d relish the feel then the memory of it.
However . . .
She slid her hand down his spine, over his ass and reached to stroke his spent balls.
“I’m gonna let you go now, pet,” she purred.
At her last word, Benito felt the stillness seep through him as the biting cold swept in.
He had long since learned that he felt much less than others did, save the satisfaction at besting an interesting challenge, or his enjoyment when one of his concerns rendered exceptional dividends.
He also felt that frigid cold.
It was by far his favorite.
Yes, it would appear that he’d relish the memory of this session for some time.
His eyes slid up to her to see she had a supercilious smile curling her over-glossed, red lips.
She had used him as he had not asked to be used.
This was her mistake.
A mistake, considering what came of it, he could have let slide.
He could be reasonable.
He wasn’t a monster.
But calling him “pet?”
She stopped stroking and shifted to the knot that bound one of his wrists.
When he was free, he moved away from his cum to sit on the side of the bed and pulled off the gag himself, dropping it to the sheets.
She was up and four feet away, standing at a podium that held an open book, her back to him.
“I accept gratuities,” she declared, the purr gone, it was business now. “And if you want more, we can schedule you again before you go. I suggest a double booking. You liked that. I’ll blow your mind if we have more time to play.”
Unhurriedly, Benito got up from the bed.
He walked to her.
Then he lifted a hand, cupped the side of her head and enjoyed her shocked gasp before he slammed it against the wall.
He used her hair to pull her back, turn her, then he backhanded her.
She cried out, stumbling to the side.
He caught her by the throat, held her there, that hold needing to tighten as he planted his fist in her face.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
Blood came from her mouth and nose as she took her fourth and fifth.
He moved his fingers from her throat, curled them around the side of her head again and smashed it into the wall, pulling back, and again, before he turned her to face the wall.
He held her there with an arm at the back of her neck, shoving her cheek against the garish, flocked wallpaper, and he reached down to yank up her skirt.
“No, please, no,” she begged, hands slipping on the wall as she struggled ineffectively against his hold.
She was wearing a G-string. He snapped it with a brutal pull then kept her where she was as he reached for her cock on the nightstand.
“No!” she cried. “No! Please!”
He pulled her back by her hair and slammed her face first into the wall.
That quieted her.
Her head lolled in his grip and he pressed against her, kicking her legs wide. She wobbled on a high heel but with his hold on her, had nowhere to go.
“Please, you gotta do it, not dry,” she pleaded, her words slurring.
“My instructions were simple,” he stated dispassionately. “Elegant dress. No ass play. Did you heed either?”
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry. It’s just that clients say that and I know what they’ll—”
“I’m not a client. If I pay for you, I own you for however long I’ve remunerated you for your time, and during that time, you do as I instruct. You did not do as I instructed.”
“I’m sorry. Really sorry. Really,” she said, weeping now, tears mingling with blood on her cheeks.
“I’m afraid that doesn’t help,” he replied, pulled her back and slammed her face into the wall again.
When he was done, he left her at his feet, her face already swelling.
He stared down at her and ordered, “Do not move. You leave it inside you until they take it from you. Have I been