March the 10th was the day I arrived. It was a Friday. A pale, sunny day with a chill in the air. A washed-out landscape of pastel colours. Funny, the things you remember.
It hadn’t been a sought-after destination when I started or even aspired to; it just evolved that way—shaped by events.
I took the drink from the waiter, thanked him with a big smile and then relaxed back on the sun lounger. I slurped on the straw; it was cold and tangy. I could feel it in my chest as it went down. I closed my eyes from the sun’s glare reflecting off the bright, blue sea and smiled contentedly.
Where was I? Oh, yes. March the 10th.
****
Jack Hare was the senior man in our small legal team. And by small, I mean me, Jack and his secretary slash financial officer, a thin woman in her forties, tidy brown hair, slightly too much makeup and a dress code that had a faint air of slut. Maggie was her name. Everyone called her Mags. Except Jack. To him, she was ‘brainless cunt’, a term he enjoyed using. It was kind of his thing. Claimed it built team ethos. Jack was full of shit.
Jack called me into his office that March afternoon. Mags was there. She was pouring champers into flute glasses. Three of them. He handed one to me and smiled.
“Well done! First for getting Matt off that sexual assault charge and second for leaving Matt free to enjoy himself. You should be proud!” His tone was partly mocking, looking for my reaction.
And that was the thing. What was my reaction? How did I, Belle Wariner, feel about my actions? How does any woman of 28 feel knowing she had put her legal talents to help a predator strike again? I mean, let’s not be fooled by Jack’s ‘free to enjoy himself’ jollity. We all knew what it meant.
The immediate reaction was all gut, a small knot tightening in my stomach. Disgust? A tiny part, maybe, I wasn’t dead inside. Pride in my work, as Jack suggested? Yes. There was that. Mostly I guess it was indifference. My sense of morality had atrophied. How did I get here? Well, that is a tale. I raised my glass, knowing what was expected of me and what I expected of myself.
“Thank you,” I replied.
Mags beamed. Jack laughed and patted me on the head. I knew he was thinking ‘Brainless cunt’ as he clinked my glass.
“Thank you.” I said again, holding his gaze.
****
I graduated in law with a first. I was ambitious and bright. That was important to me. It was how I defined myself. Physically I was five feet of pure energy, with straight dark hair and brown eyes. I was ready to tackle the world, and I did. A top job in the City, handling in-house legal work for several major firms and knocking it out of the park. I loved it. Part of me did anyway.
The office politics, the sheer workload, the need to be at my best no matter what began taking a toll. I had little social life that didn’t revolve around the office. I was strung out, tetchy and drinking too much. My mother tried to advise me, but I didn’t listen. Why should I? What did she know of my situation?
It all hit the wall one Friday evening—yeah, Friday again. A rare date had fallen through, but I went out anyway. My life was grind, glare and glory. Fleeting glory usually and to cope, I anaesthetised myself. Drink, drugs and mindless sex. It was like I was lobotomising my emotional range. Emotions were a sign of weakness. I’m pretty sure it was in the Company handbook. So, I’m at a bar, any bar, it doesn’t matter. I set the auto-destruct and sat at the counter with a fixed smile and a glaze over my eyes. I’m on my third wine, I feel like shit, and a guy hits on me. It’s a toss-up between telling him to fuck off or letting him carry on. I let him carry on. Not sure I had the energy for anything else.
The guy was called Zack, or Zane or something like that. He was okay, amusing enough and even lifting my spirits a little. Maybe this was what I needed. So, we end up making out a little, I remember a taxi, then nothing.
A wooden floor is my next memory—a hazy, wobbly image. I was on a bed, and light was streaming in. A dull ache was next. My jaw, my arms, tops of my thighs. There was drool on the floor as I hung over the bed. I was naked. Alarm coursed through me. Then a slap on my bum.
“You need to get dressed and go.” A male voice said.
I blinked and tried to focus on the voice. It wasn’t Zack or Zane or whatever. It was a man I had never seen.
“You got railed, hun,” he continued, pulling on boots.
I kept blinking.
“Bottled water by the bed.”
I went for it, then stopped. The realisation I had been drugged and assaulted had finally registered. Drinking more potentially doctored water was a hard no.
He laughed, reading my hesitation. “Taxi will be here soon. Get your clothes on. Breath a word and the videos and pics will get released. Understood?”
On autopilot, I rose, winced and slowly got dressed. Next, I was bundled into a taxi and back home within thirty minutes. I was too numb to register anything. I slept for a bit, took some tablets for my headache and soaked in the bath. I could see the bruises on my breasts, arms, and even around my neck. That’s when I cried, went back to bed and stayed there for the rest of the day.
Then I saw the video they had shot with my phone. It was me. Naked. Drooling on some guy’s dick. There were at least three of them. I seemed to be responding to their encouragement. It even looked like I smiled.
I cried again.
Monday, I went to work. I wasn’t better, but I wasn’t worse. Besides, no one cried off sick. That was the culture. An unhealthy culture, yet the toxicity created by my work environment had evaporated. The nasty pettiness I inwardly smiled at and the work I breezed. My perspective had shifted. Priorities reordered. Funny what you can do when you stop caring.
And that not caring bothered me. To be honest, I was glad something bothered me. I had blanked the knowledge of ‘the incident’ – we all rationalise, right? It wasn’t like I was a stranger to mindless, emotionally stunted sex. I had been looking for it. Just to feel something, anything. And I got it. Just not how I intended, but no big deal, right? Wrong. It was a big deal. That was why I was on the net several days later, looking for something—anything that would help me.
That’s when I stumbled on the support website. It said all the right things, offered counselling, advice—just what I needed, right? Except it was a front. A venue to prey on the vulnerable and seek pleasure from their misery. And to corrupt. That experience you had? Was it all that bad? It was subtle, though. It took me nearly two weeks to detect the hidden agenda. The woman I talked to was real. Not some guy pretending. She was happy to chat online face to face.
Despite this, the website served as an escape, distracting me from work, and I felt like a sleuth teasing out the real motives behind it. Also, it stopped me from replaying that video in my head. It had become an unhealthy obsession. Watching yourself, yet having no recollection is weird. It was me, but not me. It was a guilt-free experience, yet a disturbing and horrible one. The emotional conflict was twisting me up.
“You free to talk on cam?” I typed. My contact was Lauren.
There was a long pause, then. “Sure, but you have been questioning me hard.”
I almost typed “I’m a lawyer” but didn’t. “Just going through stuff since you know.”
“Yes. The assault.”
“Yeah.” Lauren always zeroed in on calling it that. Wanting details, wanting to know what I remembered. It hadn’t struck me at first, but now it seemed ghoulish. “Yeah. The assault. I need to talk about the assault.” Instinctively I was baiting the hook. Lauren took it.
Her image appeared in the box on the right. It matched her profile pic. That surprised me at first. I guessed she was mid-thirties, with auburn hair, an open face and a wide smile. A face you could trust.
“Lovely to see you Elle. How can I help?” Elle was the name I had given.
I honestly had no idea what I was going to say, but it all tumbled out. Work. Stress. My toxic lifestyle. It all came out. I even cried.
Lauren looked at me intensely. “Have you thought about getting out? Another job?”
“No. I’m good at what I do.”
“How has your assault impacted your work?”
“Badly.” Not entirely true. I was still numbed to the environment, the culture, but it was wearing off. Or I was kidding myself. I wasn’t sure anymore.
“Are you sure?”
No. “Yes, why?”
“Just that our conversations a few weeks ago were more relaxed, open, now they are tense, almost confrontational. I sense a change and not a good one.”
“Maybe.”
“Have you given any more thought to the police?”
“No, that would be a waste of time. Don’t you think?”
“We try and not give advice on that, it’s up to the individual. But it is harrowing and often unproductive.”
“That sounds like advice to me,” I smiled weakly.
“Just an opinion. Not advice. Have you deleted the video?’”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s evidence.”
“Evidence? You don’t intend going to the police.”
“No, but—” I stopped, confused.
“It’s evidence of what happened, you need that,” suggested Lauren.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s an important event in your life. It changes people. It changed you.”
“Yes, it changed me, effected me is more accurate.”
“It does that, yes. It did for me.” Lauren hesitated.
“What?”
“It’s nothing.”
Oh, you tease. “Tell me!”
“It changed me for the better, it reordered my priorities.”
That struck a chord. “Oh,” I said.
I broke the connection.
****
That exchange haunted me, playing on a loop in my head. It was Saturday. I was in the same bar. I had dressed up. Sexy short dress, stockings, a hint of cleavage—a hint was my best effort, I didn’t have the biggest boobs. The bar was a pickup joint. A few hit on me; I flirted back and enjoyed male bodies pressing against me, but no Zack/Zane. I wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or disappointed. What the hell was I looking for anyway? To be in control this time or not? Somehow, I needed this craziness. There were two sides to me, each warring with the other.
In the end, it was a Zack/Zane clone, a good-looking guy, charming and hitting me with the whole ‘haven’t I seen you in here before?’ blah. I dismissed it initially, then suddenly wondered if he had seen me. Had he been one of the guys?
John was the name he gave.
“So, have you seen me before, John?” I fluttered, and I instantly saw the wariness.
“Honestly, I say that to all the ladies,” he smiled easily.
“That is a shame. I was in here once a month or so back. Had good time, I think!” I laughed.
I swear his eyes bulged, then narrowed. “Really? That’s fascinating.”
“Why is that, John?”
Again the wariness. “Just is, I guess. Excuse me.”
I watched him talking to a friend and then on his phone. I turned away, wondering if I had read too much into the exchange.
Turns out I hadn’t.
Just gone ten, and I was thinking of calling it a night. I had enjoyed the flirting, the discreet groping, so perhaps that was enough. I knew I was looking for something, but no idea really what that something was.
“Still here, I see.” It was John.
“Yes,” I smiled.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure.” I remained at the bar.
“Not here.” He escorted me to a quiet corner.
“What’s up?” My heart was hammering in my chest.
His gaze was hard. “A proposal. Maybe you would like to relive some past events. Either you agree and come with me, or decline and I walk away. No harm, no foul.”
I looked down at the vial in his palm—a pale yellow liquid.
“What does it do?” I asked.
John grimaced with impatience. “I knew this was a mistake.”
“I know what it does!” I said quickly.
“Good. What’s your answer?”
I felt the world teetering around me. Breath quickening. “No, sorry!” Panic suddenly crowded in on me.
He surprised me by smiling. “No problem. It was a simple choice. See you around.”
“No, wait.” I grabbed him. “How many? I mean, of you?”
“That’s not how it works, Alice. No potion, no wonderland and no info.”
“I—I need to think.”
“One time offer, babe. Kind of a shame.”
“What is?”
He leaned in closer, his alcohol-laced breath on my face. “Why do you think?”
I collapsed against the wall. “You?”
“Yeah, me.” His grin was broad with a hint of malice.
“You—you were one of them?”
“Maybe,” he whispered, his hand on my rear. Then he was gone, back into the crowd.
I stumbled outside, needing the fresh air and hailed a taxi.
****
The rest of the week was a bit of a daze, the encounter playing on a loop, acting on me similar to the assault — I had stopped referring to it as ‘the incident’. I needed to own it.
I contacted Lauren on Wednesday. She was cautious but agreed to talk again.
“How are you, Elle?”
“Belle. My real name is Belle.” I suddenly wanted to be out there. Nothing hidden.
“Belle. That’s a nice name. I really am Lauren.”
“I need to talk!”
“Have you remembered anything?”
“No, but I will send you the video. And I met one of the guys.” I explained what had happened. Everything.
Lauren was silent for a long moment as she digested all this. “That was an incredibly stupid thing to do, Belle,” she finally said. “What possessed you?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“Something you said. About changing you. It has. But I am not sure what it has changed me too. Where it will take me. I had to find out.”
“I see.” She was quiet again. Then. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes. Okay. It is a journey, Belle and it can be a hard one. But what you get out of it will depend on you. Although doing what you did tells me you are ready to try this road. Send me your video, then I would like to arrange another chat.”
“Okay, when?”
“Friday. In person, if we can.”
Everything was ordained to happen on a Friday. I nodded agreement.
Lauren continued. “I hold a small group session from 7pm. I will send you the address and a phone number. The video?”
“Sending it. Why do you want it?”
“You offered, remember?”
“Yes, I know, but why do you want it? You could have declined.”
Lauren held my eye. “You know why I want it, don’t you, Belle.”
I nodded. “Yes.” I replied simply.
****
The address was a flat just off Marble Arch. It was housed in a thirties Art Deco building. All rounded curves and buff brick. Lauren buzzed me up. There was her and three other women. One was Mags. The other two were early thirties and nervous. One was noticeably pregnant. She had a plump, comfy look, the other more angular and rigid. Like me, they had dark hair. Mags was more welcoming, her glasses giving her a teacher look.
Introductions were made. Pregnant and plump was Barbera and her friend Julie. Mags was just Mags. I liked her straight away.
We took tea and cake—all very WI. Then Lauren addressed the group.
“You have all seen the video Belle sent me?”
My tea cup rattled loudly, my face burning. Babs giggled, and Mags reached out and squeezed my hand. “Nothing we didn’t expect.”
I nodded and sipped my tea. I hadn’t stated it wasn’t to be shared, and I instinctively knew why Lauren wanted it. My insides flooded with warm humiliation.
Lauren then asked me to retell my Saturday night. I gave it straight, no attempt to hide or excuse. Babs squealed in delighted horror, and Julie looked pleased. To my astonishment, she mouthed the words ‘fucking whore’ and smiled at me.
I just gaped at her, and Mags squeezed my hand again. I was expecting a similar admonishment to Lauren but instead got. “Perhaps you should have taken the offer, it was a leap of faith.”
I looked at Mags dubiously, her sudden wide grin slightly unsettling me. I turned back to Lauren, who at least had counselled against it.
“Mags has a point. You could have gone down the rabbit hole,” said Lauren.
“You said I was stupid!”
“Well, yes, you were. Also, you may have being recording our online conversation. But in reality our take is more nuanced. You went out looking for it, for something, didn’t you?”
I put down my teacup, trying to comprehend this madness.”Maybe,” I admitted.
“It’s about understanding our different and often conflicting needs. We are conditioned to be good partners, wives, mothers, but also to seek careers, and then there is our base side which pushes us to escape our conditioning and this conflict can tip us into rash decsions, with regrettable consequences. but we all need balance and denying one side isn’t healthy, We need a pressure valve.”
“It relaxes us, destresses us. Mags chipped in, Julie nodding vigorously. “Avoids thinking, it’s all reaction. There is no expectation. No one wants anything of us other than to spread and fuck.”
“And more to the point, is why you felt compelled to go back looking for it,” said Lauren.
I nodded hard. “Yes, I need to understand that.”
“Yes, you need to understand it, you need to accept and run with it, let it shape you. It is a part of who you are, to deny makes you miserable. You weren’t responsible for your actions, you were driven by need and impulse.”
I listened to Lauren’s words. They resonated, but they didn’t convince, and Lauren saw that.
“It’s about accepting all aspects of what makes you, you. If you fight it, you fight your own nature and you end up poisoning yourself,” she continued.
“And getting fucked while out senseless helps me,” I responded sarcastically.
“Well, did it?” Mag’s question was blunt and to the point.
“No! Oh, I don’t know.” I added quietly.
“So, why were you looking to do it again?” This from Lauren.
“I don’t know,” I repeated. “This is so confusing!” I felt Mags put her arm around me. I thanked her with a smile.
“Would you have accepted in a safer environment?” probed Lauren.
Again, that was a good question. Self-preservation had stopped me. “I guess I might. Take ownership as it were.”
“Do you consider this a safe environment?”
I looked at Lauren. The world seemed to teeter around me—a surreal conversation in this most normal of surroundings. Understanding flowed between us.
Mags rose and fetched me a glass of wine. “How about a drink?” she said softly.
I nodded, but my eyes didn’t leave Lauren’s. The glass felt cool yet heavy in my hand. Loaded with meaning and intent. Down the rabbit hole, dear Alice. ‘Drink me‘ printed on the side. I lifted the glass to my mouth, the sharp bite of the wine filling my mouth. For a brief instant, I didn’t, couldn’t, swallow. Then I did.
It was the last thing I remembered.
****
The ceiling shimmered as my eyes slowly opened. I shivered, cool air on my naked body, the hum of traffic from the open window. A small groan from the other bed by the wall caused me to turn my head. My limbs were leaden, my mouth dry, and I felt queasy.
Barbara was naked on the other bed, swollen belly and breasts with dark nipples, one leg trailing on the floor. The marks on her breasts came into focus. Red welts and teeth marks. She started snoring.
As my body connected with my mind, I became aware of aches and pains. Bite marks on my breasts, and my pussy was sore. I still couldn’t move; no, didn’t want to move for fear of making things worse. My mind floated for a while until I noticed Lauren.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
“How you feeling?”
“Sick.”
“That will be the cum.”
My stomach flipped.
“Try and keep it down. You will get used to it.”
“Used?” I croaked.
“Yes. Used to it.” Lauren bent over me and smiled, her long auburn hair was down, and it brushed my breasts. “You stink of sex, this room stinks of sex. Cup of tea?” she added brightly.
I nodded. “Is Barbera okay?” I asked as she got to the door.
“Barbera? Oh, yes. She drew the short straw to keep you company. Mags was furious.”
I blinked rapidly and rested my fuzzy head on the pillow. Nothing made sense, I was exhausted, felt as if I had just run a marathon, and my stomach still felt uneasy. I tried not to dwell on the reasons why.
The rest of that morning was a blur. Barbara finally stirred, groaned and demanded a warm bath to soak herself. Lauren helped her off the bed and into the bathroom, her heavy veined breasts a myriad of bruises and bites. I had the same, but not to the same extent. Except on my bum, I discovered later.
The tea was helping, and my stomach stopped flipping. I was still naked as Lauren sat beside me. I drained my cup of what was now cold tea.
“Another one?”
“Please. But first, tell me what happened?”
“Show and tell?’ she smiled.”Before I do. One question. How do you feel?”
“Exhausted, drained, empty inside.”
“More at peace with yourself?”
“Yes. But that doesn’t excuse any of this or make it right.”
Lauren regarded me thoughtfully as she took my cup. “I never said it did or that it was, did I?”
And that was the thing. She hadn’t.
****
I didn’t watch the video. There would have been no point. It was me but not me, an inane, smiling, brainless slut getting banged and abused. Squashed between bodies and getting drilled. I discovered later Lauren did the filming.
I stayed away from the site for the next week. Mags sent me a message, but Lauren left it to me to get in touch.
This time I wasn’t acing my work. I found it wanting, almost pointless. Where once I had gotten a buzz, a fix out of it, I now found it of little interest. I still did a good job, but my heart wasn’t in it or the office banter, the gossip, or the competition; it left me indifferent. Cold, even.
I responded to Mags’ third message. The woman wasn’t subtle and couldn’t take a hint. This is probably why Lauren ran the group. Also, I found out Mags was a legal secretary, and she persuaded me to meet up for an after-work drink.
Which was when I met Jack. He, of course, had already ‘met’ me.
What to say about Jack Hare? Well, he was a charming bastard, mid-thirties, with a shock of dark hair and a crooked smile. He was also a misogynist, arrogant arsehole with a sadistic streak. Mags simpered and gushed over him. He, in turn, ignored her to focus on me. Mags upped the gushing until he cuffed her down. Not physically but verbally. The tone sharp, the words gutting her where she stood.
“That necessary?” I asked as Mags disappeared to the bar.
“Yes. And I enjoy humiliating her. She’s a brainless cunt.”
His words triggered a recollection of Mags talking about her boss and how he described her. The pain he caused Mags was deliberate and abusive. Judging by her response, it was something she sought or was conditioned to seek. Yet it struck a chord with me as well. Jack noticed it. He had a radar for the right type of woman, and this meeting, their interplay, was designed to see how I reacted. My reaction met his criteria. I was being groomed.
Mags handed me a drink, her eyes shining. Jack put his arm around me, uninvited. I left it. Mag’s eyes shone even brighter.
“I’m sorry about earlier, I was being a stupid bitch,” she said earnestly.
Jack ignored her. “I hear you’re a lawyer, Belle, and a good one.”
“She’s great—” Mags stopped, then whimpered as Jack took her hand and bent her finger back. I could almost hear the bone creak.
“I like to think so, I enjoy the work and that is half the battle, they say!” I wittered inanely to try and divert him from Mags.
“Question, Belle. Do you think this brainless cunt deserves to have her finger broken?”
“No!” Alarmed, I reached for his arm.
“Why?”
“Why? You can’t go around hurting people! Mags has done nothing wrong.”
“She’s annoying me. Silly bitch does it deliberately sometimes. Like now. She’s trying to test you.”
“Test me?”
“Yeah. See how you respond. React. You know this is a set up. right?”
“A set-up?”
“Fuck! You’re almost as dim as this bitch!”
“Please, Jack! You’re hurting me!” Mags whimpered.
“Let’s go over to this corner,” I forced a smile.”It’s quieter. We’re drawing a bit of attention.”
Nodding, he led Mags to the corner I had pointed out, slightly away from the main crowd.
“Can we start again?” I half-pleaded, which again was what Jack was after.
“Sure,” he grinned, releasing Mags. “Just having fun.”
“Thank you.” I let him put his arm around my waist, and Mags nodded in approval. I understood what she was doing now, but I didn’t fully understand why. What I didn’t know about Mags then was that sadism comes in many different guises and is not confined to the male sex.
“Well, this is nice and cosy.” His hand slipped down to my bum and squeezed. I tensed, then relaxed. I told myself it was okay to tolerate a bit of familiarity for a quiet life. Or, more accurately, I lied to myself. Self-grooming 101. I was adapting myself to him, his personality, his aggression and Mag’s overt submission. They made a good team.
“So, this is a set-up to meet your boss, Mags?” I kept my tone light.
“Yes.” Her gaze was frank and unapologetic.
“Not the first set-up Mags has pulled on us,” smiled Jack.
“No.”
“Really? When was the first one.” Yes, I was that stupid.
Jack burst out laughing. “You really are a pair of brainless cunts!”
Flushing at his charmless crudity, I looked at Mags for a clue. Her look, followed by a half-smile and shrug, confused me then realisation broke through. I tried to pull away from Jack, but he held onto me.
“Are you—did you?” I stammered.
“Took you long enough. Yeah, we met the other evening. To be accurate I met your arse as you were bent over and holding yourself open for me. Seemed only polite to fuck you as you dribbled onto the bed. Mags invited me. She’s a very thoughtful secretary.”
Nausea gripped me. I pulled away and then blindly headed for the lady’s restroom.
****
I sat on the closed toilet seat and dabbed my eyes. Leaning back, I stared up at the ceiling taking deep breaths. Feeling calmer, I stood and hit the flush button and walked out. Mags was waiting for me. I ignored her.
“You shouldn’t have walked away. Jack doesn’t like it.”
“Fuck Jack.”
“I do, often. Cost me my marriage. You’ve also fucked him. It’s rude to walk a way from someone you have being intimate with.”
“I didn’t fucking know—” I stopped, seeing her look. “Think this is a joke? Drug me, have me fucked, than invite me out for a drink with my rapist?”
“You took the drink remember? It was your choice. Never forget that. Who actually fucked you is irrelevant.”
“Fuck you!”
“Grow up, Belle. So what is it to be? You in or out of our little gang?”
“Gang?”
“Yes. The ‘Brainless Cunts’, always looking to recruit.” Her grin was wide and unpleasant.
Despite myself, I laughed. It beat crying. I was done with crying. “I don’t know, Mags, not sure I know anything anymore. I’m a confused emotional mess.”
“Let me help you then. After a while it becomes a lot clearer.”
“Sure. Whatever. We going back in or has Jack got bored and cleared off?”
“Oh, trust me, Jack isn’t bored. He aims to fuck you tonight and you are going to let him.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then he will fuck you anyway.”
“You saying I have no choice?”
“Yes.”
She was wrong. I had a choice. But emotionally, I was being pushed in one direction. “Then why didn’t you say that earlier instead of wasting my time?” I hoisted my bag and headed for the door.
As I strode back into the bar, anger was my primary emotion. Reckless, blazing anger. Fuck Jack, fuck Mags, fuck the whole fucking world.
“You’re back,” grinned Jack.
“Yeah, I’m back. Shall we get this charade over with?”
“Sure. Your place or mine?”
I wasn’t having this man anywhere near my place. “Yours. Mags is coming to.”
Jack shrugged. “I don’t care what the twat does. She can mix the drinks while I bang your brains out.” He steered me to the door and onto the street, Mags’ heels clicking behind us. “Taxi!”
We piled in, anger still rushing through my system and fuelling my arousal. I wanted my brains banged out. In turn, I was going to ride him until he begged for mercy.
He didn’t beg. It was rough, uncomplicated and therapeutic. I was pulling up my skirt as he pushed me onto the sofa barely seconds into his apartment. Mags was hopping and skipping excitedly, a crackle in the air. Jack’s cock leers at me as I lay on the sofa, legs apart, his weight descending on me, pressing my legs back and then spearing me hard.
Fuck, it was good! I felt my brain melting into mush as he fucked me. Mag’s voice egging him on. Her words seep into me, shaping me. For that few minutes of relentless hard, driving sex, I was a brainless cunt.
I was still moving under him as he lay panting on top of me. I slowly became aware he had spent himself, gave a frustrated groan, and allowed his weight to quell my dissatisfaction. Finally, he moved, staggered to his feet and made Mags lick him clean, tiny sighs of thanks escaping her as she diligently used her mouth as a wash basin.
Once done, Jack wandered into the kitchen and belatedly, I realised I was lying half-naked and exposing myself to a woman I barely knew. Fuck her! Arousal and anger still coursed through my system.
“You want more, don’t you,” murmured Mags, wiping her face with her hand and then sucking her fingers.
I grunted assent. I had a yearning void inside me, emotionally and physically.
Mags crawled over to me. “Want me to make you cum? Take the edge off?”
“Yes.” I resisted the temptation to slap her face.
“Do it.” The woman could read another woman better than anyone. I slapped her. Then again. Harder. The sting on my palm was almost as satisfying as the red print on her cheek.
“Thank you, Bella,” she said quietly, then pressed her mouth, that wash basin of a mouth, to my pussy, easing some of my internal ache. A balm for my raging soul.
“You got the brainless cunt working for you, huh?” Jack knocked back the whiskey he had poured himself, and only himself, before kneeling on the sofa, his cock slowly rising in front of me.
I didn’t reply. Instead, I took his cock into my mouth, hoping to fill the emptiness. It worked. Briefly. I found I could lose myself in the moment, let thought and reason drift away. I swallowed him with increasing hunger, the sensation of Mag’s hot tongue as she suckled on my clit.
“I prefer you fully conscious when it comes to sucking cock.” Jack balanced his empty tumbler on the sofa arm and placed his hand on top of my head, building a rhythm as he used my mouth to pleasure himself.
Drool drizzled down my boobs, my eyes watering a little as I surrendered, pretending I was back in that unconscious state, unable to do anything other than accept.
“You should come work for me,” he gasped as he finally filled my mouth with cloying semen.
He swam back into focus as his jizz joined the drool on my breasts.
“This a fucking interview?” I spat out as Mags lapped the drool and cum off my tits.
“I guess so. I need a partner.”
“What’s your primary field?”
He told me. I pushed Mags back down to my pussy. I had been on the verge but denying myself. As a punishment or as a tease, I wasn’t sure. Probably both.
“You get affluent arseholes off sex charges?” I repeated.
“Pays the bills and it’s a public service.” This was deliberate. Seeing how I would react. Jack was an arsehole like his clients.
I closed my eyes and let Mags take me up into the clouds. “Sure, why not.” And the money and benefits had better be astronomic, was my last coherent thought as I tumbled out of the sky.
****
That’s how I came to be working for Jack. And yes, the package was first-rate. If you want me to defend shit, I wanted enough salary to wash off the stink.
That’s what I told myself. Except a part of me likes the stink. The reaction I got was often one of hate. Perhaps that’s why I embraced the stink. You think I’m bad? Well, I might as well roll around in the muck then.
My support group was proud of me—a collection of crazy women with a ghoulish empathy for my sins.
My mother didn’t know the details but was pleased for me. I was earning more and stressed a lot less. These were two good reasons. The third was she took a shine to Jack. She guessed he and I had a relationship of sorts, and he turned the charm on her just for sport. Breena had dropped in for a quick after-work drink to meet my new colleagues. Starved of male attention, this sudden outpouring was like water in a desert. Everything bloomed.
What is there to say about Breena, my mum? Late-forties, dark hair framing an attractive face and a good figure. More generous in the boob department, and her face came alive in Jack’s company. When she was with me, she was awkward and consumed with guilt.
Jack enjoyed teasing me with details. An occasional clandestine lunch, flirty phone messages.
“Breena wants me so bad, you can smell the desperation.” he eyed me as he said it, gauging my reaction.
I shrugged. We were in Jack’s apartment. I was naked on my knees and about to take his cock in my mouth. He made me wait. Next, he would make me ask, then beg.
“You think your mum sucks good cock?” Again that amused nasty glint. Fuck it, the situation turned me on. Fucked if I was going to let him see that. Nor was I about to ask him to stop as it would only encourage him.
“I suck good cock.” I pointed out.
“Yeah. It’s pretty much all you are good for. Like your mum.” he grinned and wiped his dick over my face.
“Yes,” I replied obediently.
“You’re a hard bitch, Belle,” he chuckled as I took his dick in my mouth.
And that should have been his first clue.
Breena finally broke and confessed all. She had been carrying on with Jack; he made her do things, dirty things. Tears and snot bubbled down her face as she cried on my shoulder, asking for forgiveness.
He had used money too. Dad, bless him, hadn’t left her in the best of positions when he passed, and Jack, a younger, handsome man showering her with gifts and compliments and great sex, I mean, it wasn’t even a contest. I didn’t blame mum; I was happy for her. Time she enjoyed herself, got something back. Just don’t fall in love with the arsehole, which, thankfully, Breena had no intention of doing. Mum wasn’t stupid. Neither was I.
“He kept saying you were crazy about him, and I still couldn’t stop myself anyway,” she said miserably.
“Well, I’m not. We have fun, that’s all. Jack just likes playing games and torturing people. He’s an arsehole.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mum, if I really was serious about Jack I would have made it clear and you would have backed off. He likes to tease me about you. Shocking some of the things he lets slip.” Okay, that was a bit naughty of me.
Breena went pink, then frowned. “Arsehole!”
“Forget Jack, or just use him as it suits you. That’s what I do.”
“You do?”
“Sure.”
“How?”
And that was an excellent question.
****
As the months went by, I ended up doing the majority of the work and consequently felt that I should be getting the majority of the rewards and benefits.
I said this to Jack in his office. You think I had asked if I could take a shit on his prize gaming system. Jack laughed. Laughed a bit more and then told me to fuck off.
I declined to fuck off. You see, while I was doing most of the work, it was Jack’s signature all over the work. Whatever I did, it had Jack’s sign-off. If I objected to something, I had Jack’s instruction in writing overriding that objection. Every dubious decision and tactic went right back to him. He was the boss, right?
Opening my brief, I outlined all this. Jack again told me to fuck off, but he was no longer laughing.
My second brief was all Jack’s work. We were an autonomous unit of a larger firm. They kept us at arm’s length legally and physically, and Jack being Jack, felt he was entitled to a greater share of the benefits and rewards. He just neglected to ask. And Mags, good old Mags, did look after the accounts for our team. I didn’t have to paint a picture for him. It was painting by numbers. Big numbers too.
“What do you want?” Jack finally said in a sullen voice.
Everything was my answer. But, for now, I’d settle for a lot more than I was getting.
I had briefed Mags beforehand. You see, the thing about Mags is she likes to be on the winning side. She was attracted to power no matter the sex wielding it, which is why we are now sitting on our sun loungers on the beach as she kept half an eye on the bronzed adonis serving drinks. Worth eyeing too.
Settling back, enjoying the heat, I replayed the image that had stayed with me. It was after I extracted what I wanted from Jack. He was at his desk, Mags rubbing his shoulders, trying to relax him. Breena was chatting away, having popped in to see if lunch was on. Jack was about to refuse until he caught my eye and then sullenly accepted.
It was that look, though. A brief moment when Jack’s face sagged; he looked defeated—haunted even. Mags was trying to massage his shoulders, or was she digging her claws in a bit further? Breena was doing her light, playful bit, but we all knew what she wanted. Jack was proving a hard habit to break. Every once in a while, Breena needed to scratch that itch. Jack was her scratching post.
Three of us were now latched onto Jack, feeding on him for our individual needs and desires. Sex, money and power. Because that was the other thing; the client base now looked to me when things got sticky. I held their fate in my hands, and if they wanted that fate to go well, they needed to pay.
So they paid. I liked the power. I liked the control. That had been what was missing. Previously, I had no control over my life or my career. I was acting out the lines in someone’s else scripted drama. Now, I was writing my own.
Yet to find control, I had to be stripped of everything. Stripped of the pretence that I was happy and fulfilled. To gain control, I first had to shed the illusion of control and be confronted with reality. Stark, naked, reality. I had to realise that the game I was playing, the life I had committed myself to, was rigged. When I finally understood that, I began to understand myself and knew what I had to do.
And if you are reading this, on whose side do you fall? Jack’s or mine? Are you envying or pitying a man trapped in a web of his own making? A man surrounded by those who feed upon him for money, for sex, for power? Is what we have created a paradise or a prison? And if it’s the latter, who is the prisoner?
No, don’t tell me the answer. You know the answer.
So does Jack
© Jake Mantlin