Historia 8 La Cita 2 Parte
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In His Hands: Part Two free porn video
I got to the cafe at the same time as Alice. Alice turned purple and stared at the sight of me. "What the fuck happened to you?"
"Andrew made me shower and stole my dress," I grumbled.
"You look fabulous," she told me.
"I don't want to look fucking fabulous," I hissed at her. "I don't need to increase expectations around me."
"Andrew did this?" Alice asked, sounding very amused. "You fucked him, them?"
"No. He found a loophole in my menu that made me come to his room. He still didn't touch me."
Alice looked at me in a knowing way.
"Stop it," I told her.
I kept my breakfast light, mainly because the thought of Andrew and his offer kept my stomach churning. I knew I couldn't accept. He wasn't going to give me a real job; he was going to use me as a fuck toy and discard me when he'd had enough. The urge to get out of this place was strong, but not that strong. I didn't want to be a fool.
Uncharacteristically, I went for a walk after breakfast and then went back to my room and cleaned up the sty. I was jumpy because I expected an interruption at any minute. So, when the intercom beeped, I nearly jumped out of my skin. The mic opened up and I took a deep breath.
"Hello, Maddie."
"Hi, Andrew."
"I love the dress."
"Yeah, it's all that anyone is talking about. What can I do for you today?"
"Come to my room."
"Look, that isn't necessary. I..."
"I want to see you." I huffed a long, exasperated sigh. I knew he saw it. "An official is on her way," he added in as stern tone.
"Thanks," I muttered.
A minute later, there was a knock on my door. I stepped out and let her lead me back to the lodgings block. In another ten minutes she knocked on Andrew's door. He answered, this time in slacks, a shirt, and a tie. "Come in," he told me. "Thank you," he said to the official.
The minute the door closed, I said, "I could have told you my answer over the intercom. I already told you last night. No."
He took a long drink from another dewy glass of alcohol. It was barely noon. "You're giving up the chance to have a skilled job because you'd rather live in a brothel than have sex with me?" he asked, his voice disbelieving.
"I'm giving up the chance to be used and returned."
"That isn't what I'm going to do."
"Sure it isn't."
He got out of his chair and paced the room. "How about this? The course to be an assistant is six weeks. I won't touch you until you're done, unless you say I can."
That made me listen. "Really?" At that point, I would at least have a skill; I could apply for a job through the usual means and have a shot. Maybe never go back to the brothel--whenever he decided he was done with me. Which was another problem. "That does sound better," I admitted. "But afterwards, I'm still your personal whore forever. What's the point in even having a skill?"
He paced some more. When he spoke again, it seemed to pain him. "After you're trained, you have to work for me for six months," he said.
"And fuck you for six months?"
"Yes. Then you can seek employment elsewhere, with my recommendation."
"After six months."
"That's the deal."
Suddenly, the impossible became possible again. I could stand being used for six months. Six months? After four years, six months was nothing. I was fixed by the brothel, so there wouldn't be any kids. He was screened for STD's. I would have a skill, no matter what. If I was going to have to trade my body for something, this was a good payoff.
"Where would I live?" I finally asked.
"An apartment. Same building as me but a different floor. I will cover the cost until you're employed and then the company will, under the typical housing contract."
"Are you married?"
He looked a little surprised. "No. No wife. No children. No girlfriend."
"And you'll put this all in writing?"
"Of course." He smirked at me.
I thought about it a moment longer. Either I was the luckiest whore that ever lived or the biggest idiot in the compound. And I was about to find out. "Okay, then," I told him.
"Okay?"
"Put me through the skills course. After I have my certification, I'll do whatever you want for six months."
His grin was huge. "A handshake to seal the deal?"
I hesitated again but not for long. "Mr. Mueller has my permission to touch my hand one time," I said, looking up at the camera.
"Acknowledged," the official replied.
I offered it. He took it in his with a firm grasp then covered it with his other. "You are so small. I'm wondering if you'll even be able to take me."
I rolled my eyes. "Okay, stud."
"I guess we'll find out."
I rolled my eyes again "Yeah, whatever."
####
The next week was a whirl of activity. Alice wasn't really shocked that I jumped on the chance to leave. She knew about my escapades from before I came to the brothel. She never really believed I would come around to my job.
"I'm going to miss you," she said, giving me a tight squeeze. "Most of the girls around here aren't worth a hello."
I didn't promise to stay in touch. Neither did she. What would it have served? If I failed, she'd see me again. If I succeeded, keeping in touch would just make Alice feel bad.
I didn't have much of anything to take with me--just one suitcase and it didn't hold any clothes. Those were all on my back. Andrew didn't come with the driver who picked me up. He didn't meet me at the perfect, small, one bedroom apartment where I ended up. There was a wooden bowl of apples on the kitchen table and the closet was full of business clothes. The refrigerator was full of food. That first night, I did little more than eat.
For another month, while I took classes, I didn’t see Andrew either. No contact at all, which was unexpected. The course work kept me busy, learning how to use a computer and keep an appointment schedule. I was taught how to order a car or a meal from the service sector. Each employer, it was explained, would have a different set of expectations. Outside of basic skills, I should learn how to adapt to my employer's needs. I wondered if they included sexual needs among those but was smart enough to keep that question to myself.
There were classes on deportment and appearance. Someone came and cut all of our hair, the men and the women. They appraised our clothing. The woman got make-up advice and the men were shaved and their tattoos removed. Within three weeks, I had changed from the colorless waif that I had been at the brothel. Now, thanks to clothes and make-up, I was a small, vivid thing.
Then, one evening two weeks before I graduated from my course, there was a knock on my door. Nobody visited me so I had a fair idea of who it was.
I opened the door and there Andrew stood, wearing a suit and holding a drink. "Don't you look different," he said. His eyes went from warm to hot.
I didn't invite him in. "You have my old dress if you want a flashback."
"I burnt that thing." He looked me up and down. "They told me you're doing well in your class. Talented enough even to serve me." He laughed at his own joke and I noted that he was more than a little bit drunk.
"I'll graduate on time," I said.
"In two weeks."
He started to reach for me by I shied back. "Not yet," I said.
"I've been in Japan. Not even one kiss to welcome me home?"
"A kiss?" Now, not all of the girls at the brothel had a hard and fast rule about not kissing clients. Since I didn't touch at all, it was never an issue for me. Still, kisses stood for intimacy that didn't exist and a bond that wouldn't ever form. I didn't see the point. "What for?" I asked.
"Call me old fashioned." He laughed drunkenly again. "What are you? Sweet twenty two and never been kissed?"
"I've been kissed, just never by a client."
"Maybe you should stop thinking of me as one. Perhaps you should start thinking of me as a patron."
That would be an interesting turn. He did resemble a patron more than a client at this point. The clothes. The food. He hadn't promised me anything but the apartment and the class.
I gave him a long look and then stepped out of the doorway. "Would you like to come in?" His intense expression slipped aside for a moment to include surprised pleasure. He stepped inside a little too quickly, like he thought I might change my mind. "Freshen your drink?" I asked. The apartment came with a fully stocked bar which I hadn't touched. However, making a drink was part of my education.
"Please. Bourbon on the rocks." I made it and turned but he was already close beside me. He took it, swirled he glass a couple of times, and swallowed in in two gulps.
"Thirsty?" I asked in a dry tone.
"Hungry," he answered, looking me up and down. He shook himself. "I'm too drunk. I can't stay or I will certainly go back on our agreement. Although it will be challenging knowing that you're just an elevator ride away."
"The bar is always open and in two weeks, I will be too."
He laughed. "In the meantime, a kiss?"
He was still hung up on the damn kiss. I considered it. It was a small meaningless gesture that would make him kinder to me, possibly, when there were no restrictions to what he can do to me. "Will you even remember it tomorrow?" I asked.
"I have a tremendous constitution," he told me.
I looked at him for another beat. "Alright then." I walked over to him and stood on tip-toe, though he still had to lean over to bring our faces even. I pressed my lips against his; without asking, he twined his fingers in my loose hair.
He wanted a welcome home kiss but his lips demanded something more. He urged my mouth open, bringing his tongue and the taste of liquor into me. He made a small sound against my lips. I wasn't even touching him but his breath grew ragged. He broke the kiss before I had to. Then, he looked at me too close with unfocused eyes for a minute.
"Two weeks," he slurred.
"That's the agreement."
"Good night, Maddie."
He staggered to the door, somehow more drunk than when he walked in, and let himself out. He wasn't completely graceless, even smelling like a distillery. I watched him go.
####
I didn't see Andrew again for almost two weeks. He showed up at my door again the night before my graduation, this time sober. I was just home from class, so still in a business suit, when he rang the doorbell. I opened the door and he spent a long beat just looking at me.
"What can I do for you, Andrew?" In not knowing what to say, I reverted to the old script of prostitution.
"I wanted to go over tomorrow's schedule."
I stepped aside and motioned him in. "A drink?" I asked.
"Not this time."
I closed the door behind him. "Please sit."
We sat down across from each other in my living room: him in a chair and I on the couch. It was hard for me to believe that in less than a day, I would be fucking this man on demand in a way I hoped to never do when I lived life as a whore.
"I'll be at your graduation. Noon, correct?"
"Yes."
"You'll start work for me the following Monday." I didn't say anything. "That leaves a very empty weekend."
"I know what you expect of this weekend. I'm not going to go back on my word."
"But you are going to make me wait another day for it."
"I want you to keep your word, too."
"Very well," he said standing. "I'll bring you back here after you graduate. Look for me."
"I will."
####
The next day, everything was a blur. I stood at the graduation when my name was called. My grades were read aloud and my new skills were enumerated; it was noted that I graduated with honors. Businessmen sat in the audience, no doubt looking the new class over for prospects. Andrew sat there, somewhere in the middle of the audience, looking very satisfied with himself.
When it was over, I shook hands with my professors and collected my documentation. I didn't need it; everything was recorded in the database but some graduates liked to hang their credentials in their offices, I was told. A hand touched my back. I turned; it was Andrew. He stood next to another man.
"This is Maddie," Andrew said with practiced politeness. "She'll be starting as my assistant on Monday. Maddie, this is Mr. John Katz. You'll be seeing a lot of him at the company."
"A pleasure," I said, remembering my training and extending a hand.
"It's about time," Mr. Katz commented. "Now, we may be able to make an appointment with you some way besides finding you at a bar."
"If we just had meetings at bars, the way I suggested," Andrew said coldly. Mr. Katz gave him an exasperated but indulgent look and then turned to me.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Maddie," Mr. Katz said, taking my hand. Everything about him was warm and round.
"Likewise," I answered properly.
Andrew watched our contact with narrow eyes. "We're going to celebrate her graduation now," Andrew told him, taking my arm. The way he said it, he might have been telling them that we were going out for lunch. "Check in with her on Monday. Make sure she has all of your contact information."
"I will," he said, and was gone before Andrew could dismiss him. I saw him stop to speak to one of the instructors, looking at me.
"Are you ready?" Andrew asked me.
I didn't know if I would ever be ready but I was committed. "Any time you are." His cool demeanor heated for just a moment. Then he put his hand on my back again. It was like he enjoyed taking advantage of casual touch as much as he was going to enjoy sexual touch. I let him lead me out to the line of hired cars waiting for the business leaders. He ushered me into one.
"The Federal building," he said, naming where we lived. "Front entrance." I always came in the back. Force of habit, I supposed, from being one of the undesirables of society.
We rode in silence, he helped me out in silence, and he led me to the glass elevator that I never used in silence. He pressed a code into the pad and we sped to the top floor. I don't know why I hadn't assumed that he lived in a penthouse, but I hadn't.
We exited to a room with two chairs and a small table. A couple of viewing screens were available, in case anyone wanted to read a magazine, I guessed. I wondered how long Andrew kept most people waiting. He tapped a code into the one door and motioned for me to go inside.
Still not saying anything, he poured himself a liquor drink at the bar just inside the door. He opened a bottle of champagne and poured a glass of that, handing it to me without asking. "To the end of a two month wait," he toasted.
"To your self-control," I amended. He clinked his heavy glass with my delicate one. I sipped at the drink; I hardly ever tasted the stuff so it went straight to my head. He gulped his drink in one swallow and topped it off again before the ice melted.
He turned and reached for me; I let him. I thought he was going to touch my face, but instead he opened the clip holding up my French twist. My hair tumbled down, better trimmed and healthier than it had ever been but not much shorter. He reached for my blouse next. I expected him to take it off but he only undid the top two buttons. I had gained a little weight so I had a little cleavage. He looked me over and downed his drink again.
"I'm hard for you already," he said, laying his glass aside.
I took a long deep breath. I had made this deal; I should try to make good on it. Six months. I could do six months. "What would you like to do about that?" I asked
He closed the distance between us and combed my hair out of my face with his fingers. He held my head and kissed me, his tongue in my mouth, his moan vibrating against my lips. His lips grew fiercer. His hands traveled down my back and over my ass.
My heart raced. I didn't know how to defend against it. Taking off my clothes had been one thing; I very rarely got any sort of a thrill over it. This was different, though. I couldn't help but respond to the way he touched me.
He hitched up my skirt and reached for my ass underneath. He broke he kiss and gave me an intense look. "No panties?"
"I haven't worn them in years."
"Jesus." His hands cupped my ass and he nuzzled into my hair. Then he lifted me. "Hold on," he said.
I gripped him with my legs and he carried me through the room, down a hallway, and into a bedroom. He laid me on the bed. "Forgive me if I forego the foreplay," he said, tugging me out of my skirt and opening my blouse. I didn’t wear a bra, either, which he certainly noticed. His hands went straight for my nipples. He played and teased until they hardened.
He stripped his shirt and lowered his slacks before he wedged himself between my hips. His broad chest covered me. He nipped at my neck. "Open your legs for me, Maddie," he said.
The familiarity of the phrase almost calmed me. I obeyed. "Wider," he told me.
My knees trembled wide. He reached between my legs and tested me, using his slickened fingers to tease me.
"I want to fuck you. I've wanted to fuck you for months. Tell me I can, now."
My voice was husky. "You can fuck me." He moaned before he ever even entered me.
He pressed himself into me in a long, slow thrust that seemed to last for minutes. I was grateful that I was slick because he stretched me. I was also grateful that my body accommodated him after my earlier cockiness. He started to thrust. My body misted in sweat.
"You're really fucking tight," he groaned.
"It's been a while."
"I like that." He took me harder. His lips moved over mine in a disorganized way. His fingers scraped up my sides. Then, he stiffened and muttered, "Fuck," under his breath. But his hips moved of their own accord. He held me tight against him and pressed himself deep. He came with several violent shudders. He withdrew and I lay there breathless.
"That went a little faster than I intended," he said, gasping next to me.
I knew what my job was. "Would you like me to try to help you get hard again?"
He looked at me with contemplative eyes. "I really, really would."
I reached down and handled him. He started to solidify at my touch. He gasped an expletive and his hips flexed. It was a heady rush, feeling his physical reaction to me. I was ready to go down on him when he stopped me.
"On all fours on the bed," he told me. I obeyed. In another moment, he gripped my thighs and forced himself into me, filling me again. His thrusts shook my whole body. I closed my eyes.
Then, he reached around and touched between my legs while he fucked me. "Oh," I gasped.
His thrusts turned smooth and hard, like a piston. He rubbed in time, as always, finding my perfect spot. My legs widened in spite of myself. I undulated against the friction and met his thrusts as best as I could. I was going to come and I wanted it. Finally, after longer than it should have taken, I vibrated into orgasm, clamping down on his penis, which still worked me. He made a long, low sound and thrust harder but I couldn't pay attention to anything but my pleasure. I tossed and rode my climax to the end, even as he continued to take me. In another few seconds he came too.
He fell on top of me when he was done, withdrawing in a sharp pull. I gasped after all of the stimulation. His hands still wandered over me. "I love that you don't fake orgasm," he said, biting the back of my ear. "I love that you don't fake anything."
"You'd know if I did."
He rolled me over and kissed me again. "I wanted to see your face when I fucked you to orgasm. Next time."
His hands traveled. He kissed me like he got breath from my lips. It went on like this all afternoon and into the evening. Something like six hours of fucking, with his erection responding to my touch every time. Every which-a-way on his bed; a rough quickie on the floor; a steamy, slippery fuck in the shower. I didn't even know that his type of endurance was possible. By the time he was done with me, I was sore and my legs didn't want to hold me up. I tried not to let him see.
I got back into my business clothes while he watched me in a robe. I stepped into my heels and he came over to me. "Wear something casual tomorrow," he said. "Be here at ten."
####
That weekend was a whirlwind of sex. We didn't do anything else. When I arrived on Saturday, his eyes were already blazing. "How do you feel?" he asked me before he touched me.
"Sore."
He laughed. "Not yet, you don't."
I was in casual clothes but he didn't even bother to get dressed. He stood up and his robe fell open. He was only semi-erect. "Do you want me to blow you?" Somehow, he hadn't asked me to do it that the day before. My touch had been enough.
His blazing eyes found another heat level. Again, I felt that heady rush of power at the desire he felt for me. "God," was the only sound he managed.
I took that as a yes. I knelt in front of him while he still stood, pushing aside his robe. He squatted and stopped me with a hand under my chin.
"Can you take it down your throat?"
"I don't know. I've never tried."
He smirked a little, standing again. "Never mind," he told me. "I'm not going to need it. We'll work on that later." He nodded for me to go ahead.
He was right. He didn't need any special tricks. My tongue on his shaft made him completely rigid. He shifted and made small sounds. I took him onto my mouth, sucking on him as I took as much as I could -- about half of the length. His thickness made it more difficult but I was determined not to let him feel my teeth. I drew him out of my mouth, licking the head, and going back down. He gave a long, low groan, his hands on my head.
I set up a rhythm. His cock got harder. He grabbed two handfuls of my hair, the way I saw him do before to the blonde. Then, he came in my mouth less than three minutes after I had started on him. He wasn't quiet about it either. He didn’t have to tell me to swallow; I drew on him until he made me stop.
When I finished, he stumbled back a couple of paces into a chair. "Come here," he said, pulling me into his lap, fondling me over my clothes before reaching under them.
Saturday went much like Friday had done, except we were at it for longer and took more breaks. He let me go in the evening. I marveled again how he found the energy, much less the desire, to go at it like this. It was a little frightening but I was determined to keep up my side of the deal. My rubbery legs were replaced with a rubbery body. On Sunday, he was too impatient to wait for the ten o'clock arrival that he requested of me and showed up at my apartment at nine thirty. He dragged me back up to his place after lunch.
"I want to try something," he said, pulling me into his bedroom. He had the mobile implant activator and the sensory gloves on the bed. "Lay down," he told me.
I did as he said. He turned on the implants and my holographic body appeared in front of him. "Come here," he told me, gesturing for me to slide into the space the hologram took. "To the left a little," he directed. "Perfect."
When I did, he used my hands and his hands to stimulate my body. It was a maddeningly enticing sensation, being caressed by four hands. "Just as I thought," he said, bringing my hands up over my breasts. "Your implants have been mis-aligned.
"What?"
"Look," he said, nodding down, "our hands should perfectly overlap." They were offset by about three inches.
"How do you know this?"
"My company is Biocontrol." He took off the sensory gloves and went into a drawer for a little wand-like instrument. The feeling returned to my arms.
"My implants."
"My company manufactures them." He waved the wand by my arm and two lights lit under my skin. "I invented them."
"No shit."
"That's how I ended up as your voyeur. I was looking for a girl that had them." Something tightened painlessly in my arms. "There," he said.
He put the gloves back on and reactivated the hologram. He put his hands over the back of mine and moved them over my body. "That's better."
He resumed his torture of me. Two sets of fingers penetrating me; two sets of fingers working me. I writhed under his watch until I eventually came. He had a pleased expression, like he always did when I climaxed.
It didn't happen anywhere near as often as he tried to make me come but twice as often as I had ever managed before. It was like this weekend was an exercise in taking off his sexual edge and finding mine. I wasn't sure we succeeded in either task.
Sunday evening, we sat down in his living room before I left. "Things at the office will be professional. You will be my assistant there, and my assistant only."
That was a little surprising. I expected to spend at least half of my day on my knees under his desk. "Okay."
"You'll call me Mr. Mueller or Sir while we are there."
"Yes, Sir." His eyes got hotter.
"We will go in together and come home together. We will also be professional in the car. If I want your company after work, I'll tell you when we arrive home."
"I understand."
"Go back to your apartment. Meet me in the lobby at seven. Do not be late."
I went back to my apartment and took a very long shower. Keeping Andrew Mueller sexually satisfied had been my most pressing concern. However, keeping him professionally satisfied was more important towards my future goals. I set three alarms before I went to bed.
"Andrew made me shower and stole my dress," I grumbled.
"You look fabulous," she told me.
"I don't want to look fucking fabulous," I hissed at her. "I don't need to increase expectations around me."
"Andrew did this?" Alice asked, sounding very amused. "You fucked him, them?"
"No. He found a loophole in my menu that made me come to his room. He still didn't touch me."
Alice looked at me in a knowing way.
"Stop it," I told her.
I kept my breakfast light, mainly because the thought of Andrew and his offer kept my stomach churning. I knew I couldn't accept. He wasn't going to give me a real job; he was going to use me as a fuck toy and discard me when he'd had enough. The urge to get out of this place was strong, but not that strong. I didn't want to be a fool.
Uncharacteristically, I went for a walk after breakfast and then went back to my room and cleaned up the sty. I was jumpy because I expected an interruption at any minute. So, when the intercom beeped, I nearly jumped out of my skin. The mic opened up and I took a deep breath.
"Hello, Maddie."
"Hi, Andrew."
"I love the dress."
"Yeah, it's all that anyone is talking about. What can I do for you today?"
"Come to my room."
"Look, that isn't necessary. I..."
"I want to see you." I huffed a long, exasperated sigh. I knew he saw it. "An official is on her way," he added in as stern tone.
"Thanks," I muttered.
A minute later, there was a knock on my door. I stepped out and let her lead me back to the lodgings block. In another ten minutes she knocked on Andrew's door. He answered, this time in slacks, a shirt, and a tie. "Come in," he told me. "Thank you," he said to the official.
The minute the door closed, I said, "I could have told you my answer over the intercom. I already told you last night. No."
He took a long drink from another dewy glass of alcohol. It was barely noon. "You're giving up the chance to have a skilled job because you'd rather live in a brothel than have sex with me?" he asked, his voice disbelieving.
"I'm giving up the chance to be used and returned."
"That isn't what I'm going to do."
"Sure it isn't."
He got out of his chair and paced the room. "How about this? The course to be an assistant is six weeks. I won't touch you until you're done, unless you say I can."
That made me listen. "Really?" At that point, I would at least have a skill; I could apply for a job through the usual means and have a shot. Maybe never go back to the brothel--whenever he decided he was done with me. Which was another problem. "That does sound better," I admitted. "But afterwards, I'm still your personal whore forever. What's the point in even having a skill?"
He paced some more. When he spoke again, it seemed to pain him. "After you're trained, you have to work for me for six months," he said.
"And fuck you for six months?"
"Yes. Then you can seek employment elsewhere, with my recommendation."
"After six months."
"That's the deal."
Suddenly, the impossible became possible again. I could stand being used for six months. Six months? After four years, six months was nothing. I was fixed by the brothel, so there wouldn't be any kids. He was screened for STD's. I would have a skill, no matter what. If I was going to have to trade my body for something, this was a good payoff.
"Where would I live?" I finally asked.
"An apartment. Same building as me but a different floor. I will cover the cost until you're employed and then the company will, under the typical housing contract."
"Are you married?"
He looked a little surprised. "No. No wife. No children. No girlfriend."
"And you'll put this all in writing?"
"Of course." He smirked at me.
I thought about it a moment longer. Either I was the luckiest whore that ever lived or the biggest idiot in the compound. And I was about to find out. "Okay, then," I told him.
"Okay?"
"Put me through the skills course. After I have my certification, I'll do whatever you want for six months."
His grin was huge. "A handshake to seal the deal?"
I hesitated again but not for long. "Mr. Mueller has my permission to touch my hand one time," I said, looking up at the camera.
"Acknowledged," the official replied.
I offered it. He took it in his with a firm grasp then covered it with his other. "You are so small. I'm wondering if you'll even be able to take me."
I rolled my eyes. "Okay, stud."
"I guess we'll find out."
I rolled my eyes again "Yeah, whatever."
####
The next week was a whirl of activity. Alice wasn't really shocked that I jumped on the chance to leave. She knew about my escapades from before I came to the brothel. She never really believed I would come around to my job.
"I'm going to miss you," she said, giving me a tight squeeze. "Most of the girls around here aren't worth a hello."
I didn't promise to stay in touch. Neither did she. What would it have served? If I failed, she'd see me again. If I succeeded, keeping in touch would just make Alice feel bad.
I didn't have much of anything to take with me--just one suitcase and it didn't hold any clothes. Those were all on my back. Andrew didn't come with the driver who picked me up. He didn't meet me at the perfect, small, one bedroom apartment where I ended up. There was a wooden bowl of apples on the kitchen table and the closet was full of business clothes. The refrigerator was full of food. That first night, I did little more than eat.
For another month, while I took classes, I didn’t see Andrew either. No contact at all, which was unexpected. The course work kept me busy, learning how to use a computer and keep an appointment schedule. I was taught how to order a car or a meal from the service sector. Each employer, it was explained, would have a different set of expectations. Outside of basic skills, I should learn how to adapt to my employer's needs. I wondered if they included sexual needs among those but was smart enough to keep that question to myself.
There were classes on deportment and appearance. Someone came and cut all of our hair, the men and the women. They appraised our clothing. The woman got make-up advice and the men were shaved and their tattoos removed. Within three weeks, I had changed from the colorless waif that I had been at the brothel. Now, thanks to clothes and make-up, I was a small, vivid thing.
Then, one evening two weeks before I graduated from my course, there was a knock on my door. Nobody visited me so I had a fair idea of who it was.
I opened the door and there Andrew stood, wearing a suit and holding a drink. "Don't you look different," he said. His eyes went from warm to hot.
I didn't invite him in. "You have my old dress if you want a flashback."
"I burnt that thing." He looked me up and down. "They told me you're doing well in your class. Talented enough even to serve me." He laughed at his own joke and I noted that he was more than a little bit drunk.
"I'll graduate on time," I said.
"In two weeks."
He started to reach for me by I shied back. "Not yet," I said.
"I've been in Japan. Not even one kiss to welcome me home?"
"A kiss?" Now, not all of the girls at the brothel had a hard and fast rule about not kissing clients. Since I didn't touch at all, it was never an issue for me. Still, kisses stood for intimacy that didn't exist and a bond that wouldn't ever form. I didn't see the point. "What for?" I asked.
"Call me old fashioned." He laughed drunkenly again. "What are you? Sweet twenty two and never been kissed?"
"I've been kissed, just never by a client."
"Maybe you should stop thinking of me as one. Perhaps you should start thinking of me as a patron."
That would be an interesting turn. He did resemble a patron more than a client at this point. The clothes. The food. He hadn't promised me anything but the apartment and the class.
I gave him a long look and then stepped out of the doorway. "Would you like to come in?" His intense expression slipped aside for a moment to include surprised pleasure. He stepped inside a little too quickly, like he thought I might change my mind. "Freshen your drink?" I asked. The apartment came with a fully stocked bar which I hadn't touched. However, making a drink was part of my education.
"Please. Bourbon on the rocks." I made it and turned but he was already close beside me. He took it, swirled he glass a couple of times, and swallowed in in two gulps.
"Thirsty?" I asked in a dry tone.
"Hungry," he answered, looking me up and down. He shook himself. "I'm too drunk. I can't stay or I will certainly go back on our agreement. Although it will be challenging knowing that you're just an elevator ride away."
"The bar is always open and in two weeks, I will be too."
He laughed. "In the meantime, a kiss?"
He was still hung up on the damn kiss. I considered it. It was a small meaningless gesture that would make him kinder to me, possibly, when there were no restrictions to what he can do to me. "Will you even remember it tomorrow?" I asked.
"I have a tremendous constitution," he told me.
I looked at him for another beat. "Alright then." I walked over to him and stood on tip-toe, though he still had to lean over to bring our faces even. I pressed my lips against his; without asking, he twined his fingers in my loose hair.
He wanted a welcome home kiss but his lips demanded something more. He urged my mouth open, bringing his tongue and the taste of liquor into me. He made a small sound against my lips. I wasn't even touching him but his breath grew ragged. He broke the kiss before I had to. Then, he looked at me too close with unfocused eyes for a minute.
"Two weeks," he slurred.
"That's the agreement."
"Good night, Maddie."
He staggered to the door, somehow more drunk than when he walked in, and let himself out. He wasn't completely graceless, even smelling like a distillery. I watched him go.
####
I didn't see Andrew again for almost two weeks. He showed up at my door again the night before my graduation, this time sober. I was just home from class, so still in a business suit, when he rang the doorbell. I opened the door and he spent a long beat just looking at me.
"What can I do for you, Andrew?" In not knowing what to say, I reverted to the old script of prostitution.
"I wanted to go over tomorrow's schedule."
I stepped aside and motioned him in. "A drink?" I asked.
"Not this time."
I closed the door behind him. "Please sit."
We sat down across from each other in my living room: him in a chair and I on the couch. It was hard for me to believe that in less than a day, I would be fucking this man on demand in a way I hoped to never do when I lived life as a whore.
"I'll be at your graduation. Noon, correct?"
"Yes."
"You'll start work for me the following Monday." I didn't say anything. "That leaves a very empty weekend."
"I know what you expect of this weekend. I'm not going to go back on my word."
"But you are going to make me wait another day for it."
"I want you to keep your word, too."
"Very well," he said standing. "I'll bring you back here after you graduate. Look for me."
"I will."
####
The next day, everything was a blur. I stood at the graduation when my name was called. My grades were read aloud and my new skills were enumerated; it was noted that I graduated with honors. Businessmen sat in the audience, no doubt looking the new class over for prospects. Andrew sat there, somewhere in the middle of the audience, looking very satisfied with himself.
When it was over, I shook hands with my professors and collected my documentation. I didn't need it; everything was recorded in the database but some graduates liked to hang their credentials in their offices, I was told. A hand touched my back. I turned; it was Andrew. He stood next to another man.
"This is Maddie," Andrew said with practiced politeness. "She'll be starting as my assistant on Monday. Maddie, this is Mr. John Katz. You'll be seeing a lot of him at the company."
"A pleasure," I said, remembering my training and extending a hand.
"It's about time," Mr. Katz commented. "Now, we may be able to make an appointment with you some way besides finding you at a bar."
"If we just had meetings at bars, the way I suggested," Andrew said coldly. Mr. Katz gave him an exasperated but indulgent look and then turned to me.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Maddie," Mr. Katz said, taking my hand. Everything about him was warm and round.
"Likewise," I answered properly.
Andrew watched our contact with narrow eyes. "We're going to celebrate her graduation now," Andrew told him, taking my arm. The way he said it, he might have been telling them that we were going out for lunch. "Check in with her on Monday. Make sure she has all of your contact information."
"I will," he said, and was gone before Andrew could dismiss him. I saw him stop to speak to one of the instructors, looking at me.
"Are you ready?" Andrew asked me.
I didn't know if I would ever be ready but I was committed. "Any time you are." His cool demeanor heated for just a moment. Then he put his hand on my back again. It was like he enjoyed taking advantage of casual touch as much as he was going to enjoy sexual touch. I let him lead me out to the line of hired cars waiting for the business leaders. He ushered me into one.
"The Federal building," he said, naming where we lived. "Front entrance." I always came in the back. Force of habit, I supposed, from being one of the undesirables of society.
We rode in silence, he helped me out in silence, and he led me to the glass elevator that I never used in silence. He pressed a code into the pad and we sped to the top floor. I don't know why I hadn't assumed that he lived in a penthouse, but I hadn't.
We exited to a room with two chairs and a small table. A couple of viewing screens were available, in case anyone wanted to read a magazine, I guessed. I wondered how long Andrew kept most people waiting. He tapped a code into the one door and motioned for me to go inside.
Still not saying anything, he poured himself a liquor drink at the bar just inside the door. He opened a bottle of champagne and poured a glass of that, handing it to me without asking. "To the end of a two month wait," he toasted.
"To your self-control," I amended. He clinked his heavy glass with my delicate one. I sipped at the drink; I hardly ever tasted the stuff so it went straight to my head. He gulped his drink in one swallow and topped it off again before the ice melted.
He turned and reached for me; I let him. I thought he was going to touch my face, but instead he opened the clip holding up my French twist. My hair tumbled down, better trimmed and healthier than it had ever been but not much shorter. He reached for my blouse next. I expected him to take it off but he only undid the top two buttons. I had gained a little weight so I had a little cleavage. He looked me over and downed his drink again.
"I'm hard for you already," he said, laying his glass aside.
I took a long deep breath. I had made this deal; I should try to make good on it. Six months. I could do six months. "What would you like to do about that?" I asked
He closed the distance between us and combed my hair out of my face with his fingers. He held my head and kissed me, his tongue in my mouth, his moan vibrating against my lips. His lips grew fiercer. His hands traveled down my back and over my ass.
My heart raced. I didn't know how to defend against it. Taking off my clothes had been one thing; I very rarely got any sort of a thrill over it. This was different, though. I couldn't help but respond to the way he touched me.
He hitched up my skirt and reached for my ass underneath. He broke he kiss and gave me an intense look. "No panties?"
"I haven't worn them in years."
"Jesus." His hands cupped my ass and he nuzzled into my hair. Then he lifted me. "Hold on," he said.
I gripped him with my legs and he carried me through the room, down a hallway, and into a bedroom. He laid me on the bed. "Forgive me if I forego the foreplay," he said, tugging me out of my skirt and opening my blouse. I didn’t wear a bra, either, which he certainly noticed. His hands went straight for my nipples. He played and teased until they hardened.
He stripped his shirt and lowered his slacks before he wedged himself between my hips. His broad chest covered me. He nipped at my neck. "Open your legs for me, Maddie," he said.
The familiarity of the phrase almost calmed me. I obeyed. "Wider," he told me.
My knees trembled wide. He reached between my legs and tested me, using his slickened fingers to tease me.
"I want to fuck you. I've wanted to fuck you for months. Tell me I can, now."
My voice was husky. "You can fuck me." He moaned before he ever even entered me.
He pressed himself into me in a long, slow thrust that seemed to last for minutes. I was grateful that I was slick because he stretched me. I was also grateful that my body accommodated him after my earlier cockiness. He started to thrust. My body misted in sweat.
"You're really fucking tight," he groaned.
"It's been a while."
"I like that." He took me harder. His lips moved over mine in a disorganized way. His fingers scraped up my sides. Then, he stiffened and muttered, "Fuck," under his breath. But his hips moved of their own accord. He held me tight against him and pressed himself deep. He came with several violent shudders. He withdrew and I lay there breathless.
"That went a little faster than I intended," he said, gasping next to me.
I knew what my job was. "Would you like me to try to help you get hard again?"
He looked at me with contemplative eyes. "I really, really would."
I reached down and handled him. He started to solidify at my touch. He gasped an expletive and his hips flexed. It was a heady rush, feeling his physical reaction to me. I was ready to go down on him when he stopped me.
"On all fours on the bed," he told me. I obeyed. In another moment, he gripped my thighs and forced himself into me, filling me again. His thrusts shook my whole body. I closed my eyes.
Then, he reached around and touched between my legs while he fucked me. "Oh," I gasped.
His thrusts turned smooth and hard, like a piston. He rubbed in time, as always, finding my perfect spot. My legs widened in spite of myself. I undulated against the friction and met his thrusts as best as I could. I was going to come and I wanted it. Finally, after longer than it should have taken, I vibrated into orgasm, clamping down on his penis, which still worked me. He made a long, low sound and thrust harder but I couldn't pay attention to anything but my pleasure. I tossed and rode my climax to the end, even as he continued to take me. In another few seconds he came too.
He fell on top of me when he was done, withdrawing in a sharp pull. I gasped after all of the stimulation. His hands still wandered over me. "I love that you don't fake orgasm," he said, biting the back of my ear. "I love that you don't fake anything."
"You'd know if I did."
He rolled me over and kissed me again. "I wanted to see your face when I fucked you to orgasm. Next time."
His hands traveled. He kissed me like he got breath from my lips. It went on like this all afternoon and into the evening. Something like six hours of fucking, with his erection responding to my touch every time. Every which-a-way on his bed; a rough quickie on the floor; a steamy, slippery fuck in the shower. I didn't even know that his type of endurance was possible. By the time he was done with me, I was sore and my legs didn't want to hold me up. I tried not to let him see.
I got back into my business clothes while he watched me in a robe. I stepped into my heels and he came over to me. "Wear something casual tomorrow," he said. "Be here at ten."
####
That weekend was a whirlwind of sex. We didn't do anything else. When I arrived on Saturday, his eyes were already blazing. "How do you feel?" he asked me before he touched me.
"Sore."
He laughed. "Not yet, you don't."
I was in casual clothes but he didn't even bother to get dressed. He stood up and his robe fell open. He was only semi-erect. "Do you want me to blow you?" Somehow, he hadn't asked me to do it that the day before. My touch had been enough.
His blazing eyes found another heat level. Again, I felt that heady rush of power at the desire he felt for me. "God," was the only sound he managed.
I took that as a yes. I knelt in front of him while he still stood, pushing aside his robe. He squatted and stopped me with a hand under my chin.
"Can you take it down your throat?"
"I don't know. I've never tried."
He smirked a little, standing again. "Never mind," he told me. "I'm not going to need it. We'll work on that later." He nodded for me to go ahead.
He was right. He didn't need any special tricks. My tongue on his shaft made him completely rigid. He shifted and made small sounds. I took him onto my mouth, sucking on him as I took as much as I could -- about half of the length. His thickness made it more difficult but I was determined not to let him feel my teeth. I drew him out of my mouth, licking the head, and going back down. He gave a long, low groan, his hands on my head.
I set up a rhythm. His cock got harder. He grabbed two handfuls of my hair, the way I saw him do before to the blonde. Then, he came in my mouth less than three minutes after I had started on him. He wasn't quiet about it either. He didn’t have to tell me to swallow; I drew on him until he made me stop.
When I finished, he stumbled back a couple of paces into a chair. "Come here," he said, pulling me into his lap, fondling me over my clothes before reaching under them.
Saturday went much like Friday had done, except we were at it for longer and took more breaks. He let me go in the evening. I marveled again how he found the energy, much less the desire, to go at it like this. It was a little frightening but I was determined to keep up my side of the deal. My rubbery legs were replaced with a rubbery body. On Sunday, he was too impatient to wait for the ten o'clock arrival that he requested of me and showed up at my apartment at nine thirty. He dragged me back up to his place after lunch.
"I want to try something," he said, pulling me into his bedroom. He had the mobile implant activator and the sensory gloves on the bed. "Lay down," he told me.
I did as he said. He turned on the implants and my holographic body appeared in front of him. "Come here," he told me, gesturing for me to slide into the space the hologram took. "To the left a little," he directed. "Perfect."
When I did, he used my hands and his hands to stimulate my body. It was a maddeningly enticing sensation, being caressed by four hands. "Just as I thought," he said, bringing my hands up over my breasts. "Your implants have been mis-aligned.
"What?"
"Look," he said, nodding down, "our hands should perfectly overlap." They were offset by about three inches.
"How do you know this?"
"My company is Biocontrol." He took off the sensory gloves and went into a drawer for a little wand-like instrument. The feeling returned to my arms.
"My implants."
"My company manufactures them." He waved the wand by my arm and two lights lit under my skin. "I invented them."
"No shit."
"That's how I ended up as your voyeur. I was looking for a girl that had them." Something tightened painlessly in my arms. "There," he said.
He put the gloves back on and reactivated the hologram. He put his hands over the back of mine and moved them over my body. "That's better."
He resumed his torture of me. Two sets of fingers penetrating me; two sets of fingers working me. I writhed under his watch until I eventually came. He had a pleased expression, like he always did when I climaxed.
It didn't happen anywhere near as often as he tried to make me come but twice as often as I had ever managed before. It was like this weekend was an exercise in taking off his sexual edge and finding mine. I wasn't sure we succeeded in either task.
Sunday evening, we sat down in his living room before I left. "Things at the office will be professional. You will be my assistant there, and my assistant only."
That was a little surprising. I expected to spend at least half of my day on my knees under his desk. "Okay."
"You'll call me Mr. Mueller or Sir while we are there."
"Yes, Sir." His eyes got hotter.
"We will go in together and come home together. We will also be professional in the car. If I want your company after work, I'll tell you when we arrive home."
"I understand."
"Go back to your apartment. Meet me in the lobby at seven. Do not be late."
I went back to my apartment and took a very long shower. Keeping Andrew Mueller sexually satisfied had been my most pressing concern. However, keeping him professionally satisfied was more important towards my future goals. I set three alarms before I went to bed.
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