I close my eyes and drop the tools to the floor, leaning over and pressing my knuckles into the cement. I rest my cheek against my shoulder and try to breathe. Fuck.
“Today, I want your dick inside my mouth, Lucas. In my ass. My pussy. I still want the usual, but I don't want to be gagged. I need you ready to follow my instructions.”
“The only person giving instructions here is me,” I state, quite calmly actually, raising my head to look at Margarite.
“Crybaby,” Margarite says, her safety word hanging heavy in the air between us. Huh. Not once has this woman ever used it, not even when I've used the Wartenberg wheel with the violet wand, rolled the metal points along her spine and jolted her body with small amounts of electricity. It might look like a slightly macabre children's toy, but it's not for the faint of heart. So now Margarite's decided to use her safety word? In an argument?
“What is it that I'm doing, Margarite?” I ask, feeling my fingers scrape the floor. My nails catch painfully on the rough surface, but I don't stop, enjoying the dull pain that climbs my arms and shocks my brain. “What is it that you don't fucking like?”
I stand up and grab the male chastity belt, an odd little invention of leather and chain that wraps around my cock like a harness, preventing me from using it or even stroking it. Think of it like a muzzle on a dog – only it's to keep my dick from biting. Margarite has never once asked me to touch her with my cock. I've pleasured her with a hand, a toy, my mouth, but never my dick. She's had me wear the chastity belt at every single meeting.
“I want you to fuck me today, Lucas. Is that so hard for you? I know you do it for your other clients.”
“That's beside the point, Margarite,” I tell her, hating the way she's smirking up at me, following my flaccid cock with her eyes, watching bemusedly as I put on the belt. How do I explain to a client that I don't feel like fucking them? That I'd rather take that surgical needle and slide it through their skin? Decorate Margarite's pretty back with thread and metal D-rings, lace her up like a corset? It's what she herself has requested for years, so why change things up now? “I feel as if I deserve an explanation.”
“I told you that you were in love,” she growls, cackling low, like a witch in a black and white movie. I look down on her with a frown, unbuttoning my shirt and sliding it down my shoulders. The dark purple fabric gets folded up and laid atop my suit jacket. My movements are calm and controlled, my face neutral, my hands steady. Inside, I seethe. I rage. I bleed black blood from the rabid lips of ghoulish wolves. A slice overdramatic, maybe, but I feel as if I deserve some theatrics after the absurdity of the past few days.
“That's simply … impossible,” I say with a gentle sigh. I don't like the way my thoughts go straight to Audra, to Robbie. Polar opposites taking up residence in the same corner of my twisted mind. But love? I've felt it only once and while I'm no longer capable of the emotion, I know what it feels like.
“Then why are you so against fucking me? Hmm? Why are you so aghast at putting your dick inside my demon?”
“Perhaps,” I say, sliding a bottle of alcohol from my bag, “I just don't fucking like you, Margarite.” I clean off the surgical needle with a cotton ball and then flick open my lighter, burning the end, my eyes caught on the dancing flame. I'd rather be anywhere but here. The thought punctures my psyche, like this needle in my hand has just pierced straight through my eye and into my brain. The beast is still riled up; I am still frustrated. But I don't want to be here. I think about my other clients: Pam, Leslie, Lauren. Not a single one of them sounds appealing. I do my absolute best not to think about Audra or Robbie – I'd rather not find out if they do.
“I thought you hated most of your clients?” she blathers on. Today, of all days, is the only one in our sordid history where she doesn't want to be gagged? Dear God, what have I done to deserve this? Murder, perhaps? I ignore that thought as well. Even chasing down a scumbag sack of crap like Mark doesn't sound particularly exciting right now. Just do your job, Lucas. Feed the fucking need and get over your pathetic, little emotions. The problem with this is that my other source of intuition, my dick, is not particularly happy to be here either. Heh. I thread the needle, wishing we could use an eyeless one instead. Eyeless needles are one time use only, much more sanitary, but I'm not here to play to my own preferences. Margarite likes to reuse the same needles, over and over and over, so that's what I do. It's no skin off my back. The pun encourages my lips into a gentle grin as I kneel down next to Margarite, letting my chained cock slap against her side.