Taboo Unchained(5)
I roll up the crisp, white sleeves of my shirt and start towards the refrigerator. A moment later, my phone rings, and I grit my teeth angrily. The only people who have my number are clients, and I don't much feel like dealing with anymore today. I'm still pissed off at Mrs. Braxton. I spin on my heel, letting out a small snarl under my breath. They know not to call me after six. I have very, very strict rules about that.
“Hello?” I speak briskly, doing my best to control the seething ire that's whirling around in my gut. My cock rises to attention, brushing against the insides of my slacks and making me bite at my lip. I want to go see Leslie again, throw her over that table and fuck this frustration out of me. I emptied the pot, and yet, here it is. Back again. Filling me, making my insides ache.
“Mr. Carter?” the squeaky voice on the end of the line makes my teeth hurt. Pam Tribbard. A small, stout woman with oversized breasts and a fetish for being spanked, slapped, and generally kicked around. She pays me hefty sums to put my boot on her back and force her to lick the inside of her own toilet bowl. I haven't seen much of Pam lately because she pisses me off – even more so than Mrs. Braxton. I give my clients safety words, but I hate when they use them. Pam gets into these moods where she begs me to hit her, shove her against the wall, fuck her in the ass. And then, just as I'm about to climax, she calls out the word. I'm getting livid just thinking about it.
“What is it, Pamela?” I ask, glancing over at the fridge with longing. Inside those stainless steel doors is a pair of fresh lamb chops, some fresh arugula, and a cloth bag filled with peaches. I want to light the kitchen on fire and cook myself a meal worth drooling over, something that tempts parts of me that have nothing to do with my dark side. I just want to eat a good fucking meal. “I don't like to be disturbed after hours.”
“I know,” she says, but I really don't think she does. I'm considering blocking her number even as we speak. “But I have a friend who really needs you.”
My spine prickles, and I wet my lips. When I speak next, my voice is considerably more calm, and my cock is considerably stiffer. I reach my fingers down and trail my nails over the rock hard bulge in my hands.
“Is that so?” It's been a long, long while since I've taken on any new clients. Most people don't understand what I'm offering. They see a tall man in a dark suit, muscles, a wicked smile. They think I'm a common whore. That bothers me. But this is … different. Needs me. I want to be needed. I want someone to desperately crave their release as much as I do. I have yet to find a client who seems to be truly suffering as much as I am.
“Her name is Audra Holiday. I gave her your number. I hope that was okay?”
I purse my lips.
“That was certainly not okay,” I snap, raking my fingers through my hair to calm myself. On occasion, clients take it upon themselves to spread my business, as if they're doing me a favor. I don't run a barbershop or a fucking bookstore, a curiosity shop or a nail salon. My business is nobody's business. “Give me the girl's address and phone number,” I command and, sensing hesitation on Ms. Tribbard's part, I get mean. “Listen to me, you worthless sack of shit. You will get your fat ass up and find me that information if you don't have it handy. If you do, you'd better give it to me now because if I find out you're lying, there's going to be a hefty price to pay.” Pamela breathes heavily into the phone. “And that price will not involve spankings of any kind. It will simply consist of me blocking your number.” You can walk in the dark alone, with no moonlight to illuminate your path. I shudder and unbutton my pants with my free hand, taking hold of my shaft and stroking it with tense fingers. I squeeze so tight it almost hurts – and I like it. “You can suffer in silence,” I hiss and there comes a crackling from the other end of the line.
“Audra Holiday,” Pam begins, voice quivering as she reads off a phone number and an address that's coincidentally not too far from my place. I smile and hang up as the bitch begins to plead, tossing my phone onto the counter as I place a hand against the cabinets and continue to massage my dick. I'm in desperate need of a shower, but today's thrown me so far off course that I'm stumbling around disoriented. I don't like that feeling. I grip my dick so hard that I grunt in pain, forcing myself to keep stroking until I climax in a messy burst across the Shaker cabinets.
“Fuuuuck,” I drawl out, tucking my cock away and glancing remorsefully at the fridge. No lamb for Mr. Carter this evening then. Hmm. I zip up my slacks and grab a roll of paper towels. I need to go out, but first, I'm going to clean up my mess.