“You're not even worth the belt, Mrs. Houssard,” I tell her, pretending that my little lapse in control was purposeful. I watch her naked body tighten and listen to the unspoken words in her stiff stance. That's Dr. Houssard. I move back around the table, enjoying the slight discoloration on her bare ass. I see exactly where the belt made contact. How delightful. “Not worth a slap, a spanking, most especially not worth the pleasure of my dick.” I pause near Lauren's face, sliding the head of my still glistening cock against her cheek. When she turns and snaps her teeth in my general direction, I almost lose it. “Oh? Shall I leave then?” I ask, starting to tuck my cock away and watching as her eyes widen in fear. Lucky lucky Lauren. I'd give anything to feel afraid again. Fear proves there's still something in this world that's too valuable to let go of. Otherwise, what's the point?
“I'm sorry, Lucas. I got … carried away.” Lauren sighs against the table, her hot breath darkening the cement surface. “It's just been so long since you came to see me. I can't take it anymore. I almost killed Pete the other day. Swear to God, Lucas, I almost cut his damn throat. He was chewing his food with his damn mouth hanging wide open, and his face … when we were making love. My God, it was so self-satisfied.” I put my hand on Lauren's hair, skimming my fingers across her scalp and enjoying the way she shivers with pleasure. “And my boss. I want her dead, too. And my fucking nosy ass mother … ”
“Shush.” I curl my fingers around Lauren's nape, my mind flashing back to Audra Holiday. I don't generally dwell on things; it's not like me at all. The thought is so bothersome that I grab tight, digging my nails into Lauren's flesh. She enjoys the sting of pain just as much as the kiss of pleasure, writhing under my touch. I lean down and whisper against her ear. “We'll feed the demon, my dear. No worries.” I stand up straight, slapping my hand lightly against Lauren's cheek. On the outside, I hope I appear as calm as I don't feel. Inside, I'm about to break.
I move over to my bag and dig inside, searching for something exotic. Everything I've done lately just feels … vanilla. And a scoop of fucking ice cream isn't going to do it for me today. I need pain and blood and sex. Taboo sex. Only the filthiest will do.
I extract a condom – something I rarely use considering I've had a vasectomy – and a silicone cock. I can't abide the word dildo. It simply bothers me. Call it what it is – a faux dick. A cock. Hell, call it a penis like you're the dirty-clean Mrs. Braxton, but don't you dare say dildo. Nobody wants to get fucked with a fucking dildo.
“What are you going to do with that?” Lauren asks, too eagerly in my opinion.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” I respond as calmly as I can. My locks are hanging loose and someone's thrown away the key. I need to move this session along faster than usual. Most often, my clients and I start off like any other pair of capable adults. Heavy petting, the brush of skin on skin, a slow slide of my cock inside their moistened pussies. Then comes the dirty talk, the light spankings, the hair pulling. We don't delve into the barrel of rotten fruit until all of that is done. Today, I'm speeding things up. I can't wait and Lauren won't complain. She'll relish this. One of the reasons I don't come over here more often is that Dr. Houssard can get antsy.
Oh, and she bites.
“You disgusting little whore,” I whisper as I rise to my feet, a few extra tools in hand. “Here you are, in your basement, willingly chained to a concrete slab, so I can, what? Cool my ire in your liquid heat?” I dump my supplies on Lauren's back and enjoy the gasp from her throat as she feels cold metal. If I can't get violence, then violent sex will have to do. My clients come to me willingly, so no, I don't consider myself anywhere near Mark's level, but I suppose some might have a problem with what I do. If they knew about me, that is.
A smile quirks my lips as I lift a blade to my mouth. Six inches of naked steel, gleaming under the warm yellow lights from above. When I said basement, I didn't mean concrete floors and exposed wires. The Houssards are both doctors for goodness sakes. Above this concrete sex slab is a tasteful, little chandelier with black shades over the bulbs and carefully arranged strings of crystal. It's quite cozy actually.
The blade bites into my tongue with a sharp sting, drawing hot copper liquid into my mouth. The blood runs down my throat, teasing my tastebuds with the flavor of my own despair. I hear Lauren's chains clatter as she turns, trying desperately to look at me. I watch her struggle with glee, happy with the bindings on her wrists and ankles. Working with someone like Lauren has shown me how important it is to check my knots once, twice, three fucking times. Like I said, she bites. Hard.