Title: Quiet Life
Summary: Fiction. This did not happen. 2,200 words. For Jimmy, relaxation means having a pretty girl to spank.
Warnings: See summary.
Jimmy answered the knock. The girl standing at the door was beautiful, as he expected. Perhaps eighteen or nineteen, long black hair half-way down her back, dark eyes and full lips. He glanced down the corridor. Patsy, the security guard, had a magazine in his hand but looked up when he saw his boss. Jimmy raised an eyebrow and Patsy nodded. The girl was on his pass list.
Jimmy took his cigarette out of his mouth. "Come in," he said to her. "Don’t say a word. Not one single, solitary syllable out of you. You understand?"
His regular squeeze Lori was driving him round the bend. She talked all the time. Meaningless, trivial chatter. He realized that wasn’t unusual for a teenager, but bearing the sole brunt of her conversation was making him feel like a parent. It wasn’t doing the relationship any good, and so tonight he’d asked Cole to find him a hooker. A nice, grown-up professional. A silent one. A change is as good as a rest., he thought.
The girl nodded, wide eyes widening even more. He closed the door and beckoned her towards the couch. He sat down and picked up a tumbler of cognac, leaving her standing in front of him. "Take your skirt and blouse off." She hesitated briefly, and then complied. He looked her up and down, appreciating her curves for a long moment. She was wearing a garter belt and stockings. "And your shoes, too." The spike heels showed off her stockinged legs to great advantage, but she was too tall for what he wanted to do. "You can say, ‘Yes, Mr. MacGregor,’" he added, realizing total silence wasn’t going to work.
"Yes, Mr. MacGregor."
She took off the shoes and stood straight again, a little hesitantly. A good actor, or just new at the job? He took a drag on his cigarette and exhaled twin streams of smoke from his nose as he ran his hands over her waist and hips and down her thighs. He looked carefully at her, as if she was a canvas he was considering for a painting. Holding her inner thighs gently with his thumbs, he pressed his face against her abdomen and touched his lips to the white cloth of her g-string. She gasped, he smiled. He heard the stubble of his unshaven cheek catch against the silk as he did so. "Legs further apart, my dear," he said, and she moved at his request. He pulled at the ribbon tied at her hips and slipped off the tiny piece of cloth. Pressing his nose against the patch of sparse dark hair, he parted the soft flesh with his thumbs and began to lap at her sex with his tongue. His favorite fruit; better than pie. He sucked gently at her, and she moaned and pushed forward, encouraging him. The scent excited him and his movements became less gentle.
Her hand reached out to caress his hair.
"No, don’t touch me."
Not knowing what to do with her hands, she put them behind her back, and from where Jimmy sat, for a moment it seemed as if her hands were tied. Fierce lust shot through him. He swallowed and groaned against her, suddenly hard and ready – too ready. He wanted to savor the taste of her for a lot longer yet.
"Let’s move this to the bed," he said, picking up his glass.
"I said no talking." Something occurred to him. "Unless you’re asking for punishment."
She shook her head, deliberately silent. He undressed quickly and lay down. "Leave your stockings on and come kneel here," he said. He pulled his hair back so she wouldn’t trap it by accident as she knelt over him. As she looked down, she smiled for the first time and he realized what an eager expression he must have had on his face. She settled over him and he closed his eyes and kissed her sex gently. She stirred slightly and he held her hips in his hands as he tasted her and then began to lick at the folds of flesh. The heat of her, the taste of her, overwhelmed him and he worked his tongue inside her as deep as he could and then flicked it against her clit until she grabbed his hands with her own and moved against him, asking for more. He licked deeper again and again, honey running down his cheeks and chin as she rocked against him. He stopped suddenly and sucked gently at the hood of her clit, making her moan. He suckled again, and let her feel just the lightest touch of his teeth.
She shuddered. "Please – more," she said.
"I didn’t mean to say that out loud," she said, sounding contrite. Not quite contrite enough; she was teasing him, wanting to see what he would do.
"You really aren’t very good at obeying orders, are you?" he said.
She shook her head. She was smiling.
It was unusual for a working girl to initiate a spanking. Usually they avoided anything that might leave marks and cost them the opportunity for another client that day. Of course, she might be finished for the night and hoping he’d pay her double for the loss of the non-existent next client. He smiled; if that was her game, he’d make it worth the extra by giving her a thrashing to remember.
"Get up," he said. She did. "I have to teach you a lesson," he said, sounding weary, as if the burden of command weighed heavily on him. "Don’t I."
"Yes, Mr. MacGregor."
"Take your stockings off."
She took off her remaining clothes. He made her grasp her wrists behind her back and tied her arms with a stocking. He left her face down on the bed and she drew up her knees to turn and watch him as he rummaged through a case. He knew she wanted to ask him what he was doing, and fought down the urge to be nice and tell her. Instead he deliberately let her see his whips. Her expression sobered fast. She was scared enough to break out of the scene. "He knows where I am," she said, "If I don’t come back he’ll come for me."
He shrugged. "Keep telling yourself that." He had no intention of hurting her, but frankly, if it came to a fight between her pimp and his bodyguard, Patsy would throw the other guy out the window within thirty seconds. Without opening it first. He smiled. "Since it was only a little bit of disobedience, I’ll just use this, shall I?" He held up the hairbrush he’d already decided to use. The Brer Rabbit gambit. She nodded, relieved.
He helped her lie across his knees. She wriggled, her arms too tightly bound for comfort. She let her head hang down by his feet. "It hurts far worse than the whip, anyway," he said, "and it’s much less likely to take the chandelier out by accident."
She turned her head to stare up at him. "You don’t know if I’m joking or not, do you?" he said.
She shook her head and tried to relax, but he felt her tremble.
"Did you disobey my orders?" he said.
"Yes, Mr. MacGregor."
"Do you want your punishment?"
"Y-yes, Mr. MacGregor."
And with her permission granted, he let the dark part of himself free. He felt it emerge, take charge, leave him just a bystander in the scene. It clawed out of him with its desire to dominate, to punish. He lifted the brush and it was a dozen strokes later when he came to himself and surveyed what he had done. He smiled; her ass was rosy red and she was squirming. He put the brush down and rubbed the skin with his hands, squeezing the muscle and trying to ignore the effect her writhing was having on his own body. Her breath slowed from sobs to sighs.
"Ask for three more," he said.
"I’ll give you two for every one you don’t beg me for."
"That’s not – " But she didn’t get to finish the sentence because he swatted her twice at the tops of her thighs where there was no fat to cushion the blows.
"Six more," he said, raising the brush.
"That can’t be right," she said.
"If you don’t tell me what you want, you get what I want instead."
"No…I’ll tell you! Please may I have another?"
The beast was safely back inside, so the gentler Jimmy was dispensing the punishment. He smacked the brush carefully on a rounded peak and then bent to kiss it better, kneading the sting away.
When he slowed and sat up expectantly she said, "May I have another, Mr. MacGregor?"
Another slap, and another kiss. He knew she couldn’t miss his arousal as he bent over her again. He bit gently at her behind, sucking at the hot tingling flesh. Her breathing had changed now and she was certainly making no effort to get away. "Another one," he said. "You won’t regret it."
"Can I have one more?"
The sting made her cry out, but Jimmy massaged her, spreading the heat from her skin to her secret places, making her gasp and rock against his thighs.
"How are you doing that?"
"Years of practice. Want another one?"
"Yes, please," she said, surprising both of them.
This time she pushed her ass up as he rubbed her. She was wet. Wet and eager.
"I want you to fuck me till I scream."
He laughed and helped her off his knee. "You want the most vicious punishment of all," he said.
She looked at him. "I bet I can take it."
He rummaged in the drawer beside the bed for the complimentary sewing kit, wrenched the scissors out of the plastic and cut the nylon that tied her hands. He looked around. Normally the girls had a bag with them that would have some condoms in, but she hadn’t brought anything. She was massaging her wrists, heavy breasts emphasized by the position of her arms. Too turned on to care any more, Jimmy suddenly moved forward, grabbed her wrists and pushed her back on to the bed. He put his weight on his arms, trapping her, and pushed inside her, biting blindly at her. His world darkened again and his senses narrowed to the areas of his body that gave him pleasure. His world was his tongue and his dick, nothing more, both thrilling with the pleasure of contact. He drew out and plunged in again and it only made the wanting worse. He did it again and again, and then pulled her hips up on a pillow to get another angle and that was the last he remembered as the lights went out and his body tensed impossibly. He heard her scream from a mile away and his own answering shout as his body emptied into hers, a climax so far over the edge it was as much pain as pleasure.
Ten minutes later, he was woken up by a pounding at the door. He looked at her. She was asleep, hair spread in a black cloud over the pillows. It couldn’t be her pimp; Fred or Patsy would have dealt with him long before he got to the door. It must be someone the bodyguards knew. He got up, muttering, throwing on one of the hotel’s white monogrammed robes.
He opened the door. It was Robert. "Where is she?" Robert said.
"Who the fuck is Denae?"
Robert had already seen the trail of discarded clothing and was looking into the bedroom, where the girl’s dark hair was visible against the white linen.
"Fast work, Page. How the hell did you manage that? I was trying all evening."
Jimmy weighed up the pros and cons of saying, "I’m sorry, Robert. I thought she was a whore." He decided against it. He shrugged.
"I only sent her to you to borrow some cigarette papers."
"Oh," Jimmy said. Why hadn’t she said anything? Then he remembered he’d forbidden her to speak before she’d even said hello. She must have thought Robert had sold her into slavery. Go to the Dark Lord’s room and bring me back a boon. "Rolling papers. Right." He wandered into the main room of the suite and found a packet of Rizlas in his jacket pocket. No wonder the band had the most terrible reputation imaginable. This incident would be all over the street by tomorrow. He gave the little red packet to Robert. "Here you are." He pushed Robert with a sort of cow-shooing motion back toward the door.
"You can’t throw me out. What about Denae?"
"She’s asleep, man. Look, ring Cole. I bet he has a woman arriving soon. I know these things. Tell him you want that one instead."
"Yeah, I know. Go now." He shut the door.
Robert left grumbling and Jimmy sighed, poured himself another glass of cognac and headed back for the bedroom.