“Can I please take this thing off my eyes and look at you?”
“No.”
I could pretend he was ugly and toadlike, but somehow I knew he wasn’t. He wouldn’t talk and act this way if he wasn’t beautiful as sin.
“What do you look like?” I pleaded.
He sighed, long and loud. “You’re not getting what you want, Chere. You don’t get to know what I look like. You don’t get to know my name. You don’t get anything but what I want to give you. Cock, yes. But first, a little pain.”
“I don’t like pain!”
“Good.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “It’s more exciting to me if you don’t like it. But don’t worry, I won’t do anything to you that you can’t bear.”
My whine triggered answering laughter. He liked that I hated this. He wanted to give me cock and pain. Sicko. Henry was going to hear about this crazy fuck, and Mr. W wasn’t ever going to date an escort in this town again.
“No one ever hurts you?” he asked. “None of your clients?”
He was stroking my leg again, and my pussy. Ahhh. Fuck. “No one hurts me like this,” I said. “No one zip ties me to chairs and cuts apart my favorite outfit.”
“Does anyone ever hurt your breasts?”
I jumped as he slapped first one and then the other, and pinched my nipples between vicious fingers. I tried to writhe away. “Oww! No. No one ever does that.”
“I’m doing it.”
“Fuck you.” The expletive popped out, because my nipples really hurt.
“Fuck you, Sir sounds more polite.”
“Oh, God, stop, please.”
He stopped, but my nipples went on aching. He got up and started rummaging again. I hated that rummaging sound. I hated him.
No, that’s a lie. I was excited. And scared shitless of what might come next.
“Let’s try this,” he said, moving closer to me. He grabbed my breasts, or more accurately, my nipples, pinching each one between his fingertips. It felt bad and good at the same time, thrilling and sexy and yet threatening as he pulled and tugged at them. He let go, and I felt a brush of fingertips. Then I felt the most excruciatingly acute pain, like hot metal skewers being poked into the tender tips of my breasts. While I flailed in my zip-tie bonds, he held me down and afflicted my other nipple with the same ungodly pain.
“What did you do to me?” I screeched. It felt like he’d pierced my nipples, which was so, so against the client rules. “Ow, fuck. Oww. Oh, God, am I bleeding?”
He chuckled. “I only put nipple clamps on you. You’ve never worn nipple clamps? Aren’t you a prostitute?”
Oh yeah, I’d worn nipple clamps before—the sparkly, decorative ones that barely pinched. “It hurts. You put mega clamps on me. I’ll have to go to the hospital.”
“They’re just clamps. I’ll take them off in ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes!”
“The pain will be more bearable by then. Of course, as soon as I take them off, you’ll feel a totally different kind of pain, which is part of the fun.”
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, motherfucker.
“I told you, Chere. I won’t do anything you can’t bear. Hey, that rhymes.”
Motherfucker was rhyming while my nipples screamed in agony. Moving made it worse, so I sat as still as I could, rigid and trembling.
“God, that’s beautiful,” he said in a soft voice. “I’m a sadist, as you might have guessed. I like hurting women, but only as much as they can bear. I don’t break them. Well, not very often.”
Oh, that was comforting.
“Can’t you make me feel good at the same time?” I asked. My pussy was wet as anything. It was clenching as hard as the damn nipple clamps. Where was his cock? I wanted him to put it in me and get himself off, because once the clients got off, the scene was usually over. Please, God, don’t tell me this guy plans to torture me for the whole two hours.
I heard a zipper going down, clothes hitting the floor. Thank you, God. I felt his cock against my lips, and the tang of a candy-flavored condom. My hands made fists as I opened wide. And wider. Jesus. He had a big fucking cock.
“That’s right,” he said as I moaned at his entry. “What a professional. And a cock works great as a gag in a pinch,” he added, tweaking one of my aching nipples.
In a pinch. Ha, perverted and funny.
He drove straight for the back of my throat. When I resisted, he grabbed my hair and made me take it anyway. I protested, making huffing noises when I came up for air.
“You’re not allowed to kill me,” I gasped.
“I’m not killing you.”
“You shouldn’t— We haven’t negotiated anything. Not nipple clamps, not scissors, not deep throati—”
He shoved his cock back in before I could finish my sentence, and I choked and teared up behind my blindfold.