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RYLEE

“ F uck, Mistress. Yes.”

Moving my black glitter flogger over his bare skin one last time does it, and he comes. His cock pulsates tiny shots of white release onto his stomach.

This client has a tickle fetish.

I keep moving the dangling tassels over his hairy chest while using the long, sharp painted nails of my free hand to circle under his arm as he rides the waves of his short-lived orgasm.

He’s always been quick, which I appreciate.

The entire appointment lasts ten minutes. We both leave satisfied, him by coming, and me, I get five hundred dollars to line my pockets.

Stepping back in my knee-high latex heels, I begin to undo the pink metal cuffs locked around his wrists and ankles. My long black hair is slicked back into a high pony; it hangs down to my waist, and I know the ends are tracing his skin, getting him hard while his flesh tingles in satisfaction. But unless he has another five bills, this show is over. But I’m not stupid; this will have him yearning for more, craving me in his dreams, and wishing I was the one getting him off while sitting in a boring fucking board meeting.

It’s all about repeat business. Grandma didn’t raise a dummy. And if Greta ever heard me call her Grandma, she would throw her bedazzled walker at me.

Yes, I am related to the mysterious and infamous Greta Vandenberg. She’s raised me since I was five. My mom, Nic, was fucking stolen from us. I can feel my heartbeat beginning to escalate. Red rage coloring my covered cheeks. I blink rapidly in an effort to clear my mind. Now is not the fucking time.

Walking around the table, the sound of my heels on the hard floor echoes in the silent space. My client still panting, I catch myself in the reflection of the mirrored wall, admiring myself. My body is clad in a black latex bodysuit, arms and bare legs exposed, which my client couldn’t give a shit about, but I do. I know I look fucking good. I know I’m a strong bitch and when the time is right, I’ll show The Exiled just how bad I can be.

Sweat is still glistening on the man’s chest hair, and I remove the restraints.

He isn’t in it for the sex, just the pleasure. But he wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve shoved in my mouth if he were.

“Time’s up, you vermin. Now get the fuck off my table and out of my sight,” I whisper with disgust dripping off my tongue. He also likes being degraded.

His eyes shoot open. Panic-stricken, he jumps off and gathers his clothing before rushing out the door in just his saggy boxers, which have a wet stain on the front. I chuckle to myself, satisfied with his reaction. He knows if he doesn’t listen, I could edge him the entirety of our next session.

“Ry, I have a favor.”

Greta’s walker can be heard over her gravelly smoker’s voice.

Rolling my eyes, I say, “What is it?”

“Ungrateful bitch. Don’t roll your eyes at me.” Greta knows me better than I know myself. She continues, “Sinclair lost a bet against Delacroix. His dick is nine inches into the glory hole, just fucking hanging there.”

“That crazy motherfucker?” I saw what he did to his cousin at Hell Fire Night. How her blood dripped down into the wine goblets as her body hung lifelessly from the aerial ribbons.

“Fuck no. His dad. Rain would cut Elijah’s cock off if he even stepped foot in here.”

Bending over, I take the cold metal clasps of the zipper of my boots in both hands and slowly pull them down. I too am a sucker for sensory, the sound of them unzipping; the metal unlatching from each other strangely calms me. Closing my eyes, I take in the few moments of peace it gives me before Greta interrupts.

“I’d do it myself but once I am on my knees, there’s not a fucking hope I’d be able to get up. I would even take my dentures out to give him a full experience.” Choking on my own spit—that is not the visual I wanted in my head going into this.

“Fuck, Greta. TMI,” I mumble under my breath, which causes her to laugh even more. She knows what she’s doing, torturing me and loving it.

Sliding my bare feet out of the boots, they fall sideways to the ground. My manicured toes pad over to the open doorway, where Greta is waiting for me.

“Why can’t one of the other girls do this?” I question, feeling the cold tiled floor beneath, grounding me.

Blowing out a cloud of cigarette smoke, she replies, “He is a V-I-fucking-P, Rylee. He may hire whores to fuck, but only the best. And you are the only one here he would let near his giant, sacred dick. His other regulars are out on jobs. So you, my lovely granddaughter, are the chosen one today.”

I know she’s right. Walking ahead of her in the long hallway, I yell back to her, “You are paying me fucking triple for this. And I want a bag, a really expensive bag.”

Greta runs the classiest fucking brothel in all of Montana, the entire Midwest, really. This is also our home. Some girls rent a room from us monthly, and others go to the clients’ homes and we take a fee for setting up the appointments. But most are independent contractors.

Greta is the head bitch, the house mother, but she hates being referred to as that. I am learning the trade, and one day I will take this over from her, while still being able to do what I love in my playroom.

We cater to the rich, the connected, The Exiled.

Whatever they fantasize, we offer.

And today, Nathaniel Sinclair’s fantasy is getting his dick sucked through a hole in the wall.

Turning the black iron doorknob, the door creeks as I take a step in.

Delacroix is sitting in a plush chair, legs wide and stone-faced. He isn’t known for his sense of humor. But he is known for being Sinclair’s bestie—a very deadly one, in fact.

Smirking at him as I pass, his face doesn’t budge to greet me in return. This room has cream shag carpet; my toes curl into the softness of it as I continue to walk toward Sinclair’s cock, which is hanging out of the hole. The lights are dimmed, and as I go to kneel down before it, metal shines. My mouth waters—he has piercings. I am surprised his girls have never mentioned this, but I suppose he does make them sign NDAs.

Focusing back to the job, this is something I am not used to, as my knees hit the carpet, because usually they are kneeling before me.

“Have fun,” Greta calls into the room as she closes the door.

Clearing my throat, I let curiosity win. “You don’t seem like the kind of man who would allow his precious cock to be in this position.”

A thump follows; I presume it is his head banging against the wall.

“That motherfucker never wins. This should be his cock in the hole,” a deep voice responds back.

A bet.

How interesting. I wonder what he lost.

“I don’t do this shit. I never would be here if I didn’t have to be.” His disclaimer bores me; I couldn’t give a fuck as long as I got paid.

“Keep your dick through the hole and shut up." I snap back, and his silence tells me he will obey.

Reaching my hands up to his cock, which is now at eye level, I grip it at the base and squeeze. A faint hiss can be heard from behind the thin wall as he becomes fully erect. My thumb reaches his tip and brushes against one of the cool pieces of metal.

Moving my mouth toward him, I bring my tongue out and tease him, rubbing it back and forth along his sensitive slit. Precum drips from his head as I bring my lips over it, adding to the agony of need building inside of him. My hands start working him, adding to his desire. The ridges of his additional piercings rub against my palms. He has a ladder, fuck me.

I wonder what it feels like to be fucked by someone with that. It’s on my bucket list of things to experience.

My pussy clenches at the thought of all those piercings rubbing against the inside of my cunt.

I decide to stop playing with my meal and slide my lips farther down his thick shaft, taking him as deep as I can. Using my tongue, I continue to tease his underside as I hollow my cheeks and suck him back, hard. My throat does its job, gripping around him tightly as I continue to work him. Saliva builds and begins to drip out of my mouth and down my chin. My lungs are running out of oxygen as I take him out of me and catch my breath.

“Fuck.”

Hearing him squirm makes me smile.

My hands move rapidly up and down him, at times pulling on his barbells, which are followed by hisses.

Slowly, I allow a drop of spit to run off my swollen lips and onto his cock, acting as lube for my hands working his shaft. Then, closing my lips, I position his head before them and blow on the tip with my breath. Which I know is causing his spine to shiver and ass to clench at the sensation.

Wrapping my pouty lips around him once more, I position him so his head rubs against my cheek several times before I take him all the way back. The slam of his hand on the wall startles me, and I know he is on the fucking brink, right where I want him.

My head bobs back and forth rapidly on his cock. I don’t gag as I take him deeper. My eyes roll back the farther I get. More drool drips down my chin and onto my chest as my eyes water.

A loud groan erupts from Sinclair as his cock pulsates in my mouth. His warm cum floods my throat, coating it, and I am determined to milk him of every last drop. I don’t let up. I squeeze his base harder, and he grunts as more cum shoots out of his cock.

He tastes so fucking good. The salty release is exquisite. This is what elite dick tastes like. Only the fucking best.

I can feel his cock soften as the last drop drips out of him. Pulling back slowly, the once cool metal is now warm in my mouth as my tongue plays with them all before releasing him.

Before letting him out of my grip, I lean forward one last time and kiss his tip, leaving what is left of my black lipstick as a souvenir.

Rising to my feet, his cock remains in the hole, likely as he catches his breath and the stars fade from his vision. Smirking to myself, I know he is seeing stars, who wouldn’t be after that?

Turning toward the door, I make my way out, letting the mixture of drool and cum sit on my chin, glistening. Looking up at Delacroix, he is in the same position I left him in. Completely unfazed by what he just witnessed.

Before leaving the room, I turn my head, my long ponytail brushing against my shoulder as I turn to face Delacroix. “What was the bet?” I allow my curiosity to get the best of me.

“None of your fucking business,” he snaps back.

I nod in understanding and close the door behind me.

Asshole.