Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
The problem is, I don’t want to be there at all.
For the first time since I became one of the Agency founders, I don’t want to join in on a hardcore scene. The idea repulses me.
My hands are already sweaty when I say good evening to Len and walk on through to join my fellow stakeholders. They are jovial and happy, engaged in dirty chatter when I enter the dining hall. They already have whisky glasses in hand, knocking back vintage shots as they fine tune exactly what they’ll be doing to Harlot. Bryson has been obsessed with piss play for months, and he won’t shut up about it. He points us out in order of who will spray Harlot when and where like a movie director, and I’m lucky enough to be granted the first round in her asshole, but I don’t want to be spraying anything whatsoever near Harlot tonight.
I nod along regardless, clinking my shot glass with a cheers as everyone ramps up their excitement, but I feel nauseous. Betrayal is never something I take lightly, especially not when it’s betrayal to my own soul.
That’s how it feels as I stand like a fraud amongst my fraternity.
And it’s all because of Tiffany.
The only woman I want to play with is the scarlet-haired treasure who burst into my world without warning, and turned it upside down.
Bryson fixes me in a stare amongst the cheers. “What’s with you again, Reuben? You’re back to being Scrooge.”
“Stock issues,” I tell him, regretting how defensive my voice sounds. “Unfortunately, Christmas isn’t about pleasure for me, it’s about business.”
I know Bry well enough to know he isn’t buying it. He’s trying to weigh me up, and a few of the others join him. A host of eyes examining me.
“Have you been in the grotto today?” he asks.
“Yes, of course.”
“Santa takes precedence over business concerns then, but sharing an evening with your fellow founders doesn’t?”
I don’t like the edge to his words, because regardless of Harlot, my priorities would be the same.
“My charity efforts do take precedence over business concerns, yes, as far as they can do. But getting my dick wet? No, Bry. That’s on the other side of the spectrum.”
Seb steps closer to Bryson. “Wouldn’t have imagined you saying that a few years ago.”
“Things change.”
People change, is what I mean.
“It’s a few hours with Harlot.” Seb shrugs. “I’m sure your stock issues can wait. Come on, man. Don’t spoil the party.”
“You’ll thank us later,” Bry tells me. “Once your cock is in Harlot’s ass your priorities will swing.”
He’s wrong.
I pull my phone from my pocket. “I’m waiting for an urgent email, actually. It should be arriving any time now. Either that, or a supplier phone call. Preferably the former, as the latter would be conveying much more serious news.”
“Right,” Bry says. “Well, we have another forty-five minutes until our hooded whore arrives, so hopefully you’ll have it sorted by then.”
“Yes, hopefully.”
I despise having to lie, even if the lie is a shallow, white one. It’s true that I do have stock issues – any mall chain is bound to have them at the busiest time of the year, but the fictious email or phone call is nothing but fabrication.
I try to talk myself into reason. Tiffany is an entertainer, and I am a client. There is no relationship, no due loyalty, no exclusivity. In fact, I know she will be in as extreme a circumstance as Harlot will in a few hours’ time. Creamgirl is attending an infamous proposal at a members club not all that dissimilar to ours – a friend of Bryson’s who enjoys the filthy scene with his own group of filth buddies. She won’t be hooded, but she may as well be.
He has a glory wall fixed up in one of the backrooms of his manor, and invites up to thirty guests at a time. He pays well for it, and we get a healthy cut of the proceeds. Tiffany will have a massive payout for her attendance later, and her reviews around the proposals have conveyed nothing but praise at her enthusiasm. She enjoys it. There is no good reason I should be so uneasy at the thought. So enraged at the prospect of other men treating her like a slut.
It’s a ridiculous outlook, because she is one.
I can’t wait for my next booking with her. For twenty-four hours straight, I’ll be the one she’ll be entertaining.
The week in the interim is going to feel like a lifetime.
I feel sweaty, even though Len has taken my coat. The room is stifling, despite the chill of December outside. Instead of accepting another whisky top up I take my phone back out and scroll through emails as the crowd watch me.
I sigh, and shove it back into my pocket.
“Still no news,” I say, and Bry looks at the clock.