Being Eloise (An Erotic Romance Collection, Books 1-3) (23 page)

"I couldn’t do it," Adam said. "I got soft. Just couldn’t do it."

"Honey," Eve said, hand on Adam’s hand. They had matching gold rings, heavily scuffed. The marriage was worn, but I could still see it glitter.

"The other guy, though," Adam said. "No problem. Got my wife’s rocks off in about two minutes, right?"

"Let’s not talk about it," I said, trying to defuse the recollection, but they didn’t hear me.

"Remember his grunting?” Adam said, and began, there in the restaurant, as the waitress in her vividly colored dress left us a basket of wantons, to grunt with what to anyone else would seem to be an accurate imitation of a rutting pig.

Eve laughed. "He
was
a pig. Remember after?"

And then they both laughed and I got it. I knew what they meant by not enjoying swinging. They didn’t want other partners or want to watch their partners being aroused or taken by a relative stranger. They wanted excitement and tension
between
themselves. Shared lust. They loved each other, it was unmistakeable. But you could also see the other quality that had driven them to me in their faces: they were bored. Fidelity at all costs (absent the one swinging experiment) had brought them here to me. And by
to me,
I mean because a dominatrix named Carla was out on maternity leave and I was hired thanks to a friend’s good word and a few lies on my part.

I wondered how many hours of standing in convention booths or working phones—or whatever vaguely PR-ish work occupied their days—they had to tick through in order to pay for an hour with me. Not what I make, of course, but the house’s take. Gross.

I’m getting tangential, sorry. Let’s get back.

The A/C dropped an octave and finally a wisp of cold emerged. I put down the pistol, quietly, and searched for ideas to fill the session. This much: the break-in, the pistol, the two of them naked in bed, all that had been discussed at lunch. But then we’d gotten into talking about Hawaii for some reason and never really got back on track.
Wing it,
Eve had said, when we’d parted. They’d said some other things, but I was saving those until nearer the end of the session.

So I
wung
it. "For the last time,” I said. “Where do you keep the jewelry?" I said.

"There aren’t any here,” Adam said. “Safety deposit box. Downtown.”

Eve was biting her upper lip in a way that made her bottom teeth show and gave her the appearance of someone determined to rush me. I should probably have asked earlier if their fantasy involved tackling a cat burglar. But they knew the rules: no touching. Me, at any rate. Eve’s lip slipped back free and she looked worried again. That was better.

Adam’s face was blank below the blindfold. He had a large upper body that bespoke of high school football, eons ago. You see men like him all over, as though those years in varsity had expanded their ribcage and now, unused, the form still held, as though permanently inflated. The first time I met Adam and his wife, he told me he did one-hundred push-ups a day. After which his wife added, “every other day.”

While it may seem that I’m stalling in the retelling, it’s only to give you a sense that I was stalling then, too. Finally, though I walked to the couch and picked up a magazine resting on one arm, then rolled the issue up tight. I slapped Adam’s thigh with the contorted face of a Pantene model. The muscles in Adam’s legs jumped out from their relaxation. For parity, I slapped Eve as well. It reminded me of tennis: one forehand, one backhand. Adam and Eve jumped a little after receiving the next respective slaps and I could see that the grip between her left hand and his right grew a little tighter. Love-Love.

I could see the trace edges of a cringe beyond the concealment of their blindfolds. They likely imagined me still pointing the pistol at them; that fear was much more palpable than if they saw me handling their firearm. The only other pistol I’d ever held was years ago with a friend from college, out at a shooting range. I am barred from that club for life.

I slapped Adam and Eve with the magazine a few more times until I couldn’t take the heat any longer. I let the fur fall quietly off my shoulders and hung it over the couch. In nothing but my street clothes (no, I don’t mean
street
, I mean jeans and a blouse—I’m a consultant,
not
a prostitute), I finally felt a coolness to the room and it was heavenly. As the white-washed window’s light faded with a passing cloud, the mock-bedroom suddenly felt real, the heat and brightness of fantasy’s stage lights turned off and this scene before me mine to manipulate. I could do anything. For the remains of this hour, anyway.

"Eve," I said, giving her another slap with the magazine. "You disappoint me. All this work I do to break in here and there’s nothing for me." I sounded like every east coast gangster I’d ever seen in film, even to me. It’s funny how those accents come to the mouth before the brain has a chance to double-check them. I could have used a Stanley to guard my mouth.

"Please don’t hurt her," Adam said. He was much better at me than this. I was almost convinced.

"Who’s hurting anybody?" I said, pinching myself, mentally. I vowed to take an improv class to improve my acting. I do the act of being
mean
pretty good, though, so I went with that next.

"Shut it," I said, then to Eve, “Drop his hand."

Eve shook her head. I give her another little slap with the magazine but she still shook her head. I went to the door, cracked it open and hissed at Zee who I could see sitting in the break room. She looked up at me and I swung my hand down quickly in our floor’s private sign language. She nodded, disappeared, and a moment later handed me a flogger—and a raised eyebrow. We silently laughed and I closed the door and looked back at my couple, the original, unabashed, sinners.

The tassels of Zee’s flogger were as long as my boots were high, and the handle was as long as a tennis racket’s. I snapped it hard against the floor, and then lightly against Eve’s bare thigh.

"Let go of each other," I said, to no avail.

I heard a glut of laughter in the hallway and I waited for it to pass, then snapped the flogger again, harder, though this time against Adam. A couple more strikes and finally their hands separated. Technically, of course, a cat burglar wouldn’t be carrying around an S & M flogger, but you work with the tools most familiar to you. Besides, they were being stubborn and stubbornness, even if it’s in play, requires sterner measures.

Now what Eve didn’t know was that Adam had called me after the lunch we’d all shared earlier. Over the phone he told me his fantasy for this session. And so, for Eve, it wasn’t so much that we were acting out a fantasy of home invasion and subsequent forced sex between the two of them (their joint idea, not mine—I could end with the magazine swatting, personally), but that the home invasion was just the framework for Adam’s fantasizes about his wife and what he wanted her to do to him. If that seems unfair, be patient.

"Lie on the bed," I instructed Eve. "No, the other way, head over the edge, on your back.” Instinctively, Adam turned to look at the sight of his wife, though he could see nothing through the blindfold. He reached out and tried to touch her but I swatted him. Now I had Eve lying on the bed, head facing me, neck outstretched, hair slipping down the side of the bed to hang down to the floor. And beside her, Adam sitting. I didn’t know whether I was the snake or God in this unfolding scenario. Which makes me wonder: did God peek when the original A & E got it on in the garden? Hundred says yes, he did. He just scrubbed that part out of Genesis and scapegoated the viper.

Now, if Eve had no clue that her husband and I were in collusion, it wasn’t like she wasn’t up for his plans, either. They’d both told me they wanted excitement and something unusual.

"Lick her tits," I told Adam and watched as he felt about blindly, then crouched over his wife and went at it. When I first came to work here I said
breasts
and
nipples,
even bosom, once, but never again as it got a laugh. I’ve since learned those words are too dull for my clientele. It’s
tits
and
ass
and the harsher family of adjectives and verbs. Which is fine. A word is a word, even the ugly ones.

I brought over an office chair from the corner, one with rollers. One wheel was stuck and skid across the wood floor, there over the faint shadow of where equipment once stood when this particular floor was all open and turning wool or cotton into fabric. More than once, usually after seeing a client out, I’d imagine the folks who worked here, when the windows were clear and when laundry hung between buildings down the street where the tenements—now condos—stood, clean and wind-dried clothing the most visible symbol of equality.
Your building is my building, and my building is yours.
In here, those women and men working the machines, the giant looms, the million threads sizzling through the air, would never have imagined that their workplace would one day be the place where a woman like me would say to a woman named Eve: "Open wide."

Sometimes words aren’t just words. I dipped the tassels into Eve’s open mouth.

"Wider," I said and I slapped Adam with the flogger when he stopped sucking on Eve’s breasts, ahem, tits. This job, as you see, requires a certain amount of orchestration.

"If you’ve got nothing to give me, no money, no jewels, then I’m staying for a show," I said, leaning forward from my chair to let the firm end of the flogger’s handle press gently against Eve’s cheek. She opened even wider, bless her. I could see the roof of her mouth and those big horsey teeth, even horsier from this angle. Eve was a good-looking woman right-side up, but with her head hanging over the bed like it was, her beauty became a hard thing to judge. Adam, as seen from this angle, on his knees licking his wife’s breasts, should have considered a butt-cheek waxing. All this I mention just to give you a sample of the kinds of thoughts that went through my mind. If you think we’re getting our rocks off as much as our clients, think again. It’s a job. We like to sit down. Usually.

"Let’s see how well you can suck your husband’s little cock," I said to Eve.

"Hey," Adam said, coming down off the bed, ready, despite the insult. He got a snap of my flogger for the retort. If I was going to belittle him, I was going to belittle him, even if it wasn’t true.

Adam’s hands ran down his wife’s breasts and to her neck and face and he felt Eve’s still-open lips.

"Suck his cock," I told Eve, and her open mouth reached for it, waiting, the tongue searching the air. By now it was downright chilly in the room and I considered the fur again. First, though, I reached in with the end of the flogger’s handle and pressed up on Adam’s tight balls and guided his penis—sorry, cock—in. It was like putting a ship in a bottle.

By the day of this particular session, I’d been working on the second floor for a good number of weeks. But I’d yet to see anyone having sex of any sort. Most fantasizes involved less vanilla pursuits. So it was not without interest that I watched as Eve took in the head of Adam’s penis and just kind of sucked on it. It was, also, a chance to see how my own
skills
at the endeavor matched another woman’s. By which I mean clinically: I wasn’t going down on anyone, here. I saw Eve’s tongue every now and then, so she at least had a bit of a swirl going, but Eve wasn’t taking in more than the head. And Adam, I know, wanted to do a little thrusting, yet wasn’t.
This,
I thought to myself, is why they were finding their relationship boring. They were too timid about their desires, too loving, too respectful, too refined. There was no animal. All this I deduced in thirty seconds. It would have taken a therapist at least a few sessions to come to the same conclusion, and then many more to explore the ramifications and origins of their timidness. Luckily, I knew Adam’s deepest desire and seeing that he wasn’t following his own wants, I knew he was waiting for me to order him. I was to be the enabler. The one he could later blame. So be it. I believe in clients getting their money’s worth.

"Deeper," I said, whipping the curls of Adam’s hairy ass cheeks. (I told you I tell all.) Continuing on that topic, just the hair alone showed me he was an animal, as we all are, and animals do not fuck like this. Well, for the most part, animals don’t do a whole lot of oral sex, I’ll give you that, but still, if your average baboon
was
into a bit of fellatio, they would not do it like this. People press buttons on vending machines harder than he was thrusting. Women taken in bigger bites of a banana.

Eve’s arms came up off her sides and she placed her hands against her husband’s legs. I slapped them off with the flogger, but gently. I had an idea and picked up the fur coat and draped it over Adam’s shoulders where he stood, awkwardly, letting his cock be sucked as he slid it deeper into Eve. The coat blocked my view, which I had nothing against.

"Deeper," I said, and whacked the fur. Nothing came off of it. No puff of dust, not a hair. These folks took care of their things. Maybe too much care.

"What kind of entertainment is this, Eve?” I said, even though I couldn’t even see anything, nor wanted to. "Take it all,” I said. "I want to see your tongue lick his balls.”

This was the green light Adam had been waiting for and he began thrusting himself into his wife’s face. I assumed so, anyone, from the sounds; the fur mercifully hid the act from my view. Eve had quite a gag reflex and I wondered if I’d gone too far, even though this wasn’t nearly as far as her husband had requested during his private conversation with me. Still, though, I knew this wasn’t the most pleasant of acts on the receiving end and
you
know, if you’ve read
Tongue Tied,
that I have a bit of experience in that area. And also in giving orders for this one:

“Her turn, Adam,” I said. “Eat her out.” He continued to thrust into his wife’s mouth, though, so I stood and whipped his ass, emerging as he leaned over the bed, heading for her vulva. I could now see Eve’s cheeks puffing out as she tried to keep it together. I now had a full look of the fullness of Adam’s cock within his wife’s throat. When he still didn’t stop, I whipped him again, hard and he pulled out.