‘What’s your pleasure Sir?’ The blonde girl said, when he opened the door.
She wore an ivory silk dress with an elaborate oversized cowl and matching leather stilettos. The suppressed expression of pleasure on the girl’s beautiful face, as he opened the door to his suite, made him flush with self-consciousness.
‘Hi. . . I’m Jack.’ Then somewhat nervously. ‘You’re the girl Madam Lake sent?’ She saw a tall dark handsome man in sunglasses, with a softly spoken dry rasp that sent chills of welling anticipation right through her. She inclined her head in the affirmative.
‘Please, come in.’ He said, stepping aside to let her pass. She was glad. He was a gentleman at least. He invited her into his room warmly. To him, the thrill as she brushed gently past him, was like that first walk into a new lover’s bedroom. Her very presence brought with it electricity. . .
‘What’s your name?’ He already knew her name. Madam Lake’s Holofeed had told him everything. He just wanted to hear her say it aloud, so as to make it real. She smiled at him, clearly she understood that.
‘Wanda Starcrosse.’ She purred, looking shyly at her shoes.
‘Catchy.’
‘It’s my real name, not a professional one.’
‘I believe you.’ He said gently.
The light in his room was low. She surmised he’d set it that way so that whoever he was surveilling wouldn’t suspect, if he happened to glance from his window in the building opposite. The high powered Nikon variable optic recorder scope was a dead give-away. It was a well-appointed suite of rooms though. She’d never been to the Grand Hyatt Golgotha (or any other hotel) before, so she had no common frame of reference. On the varnished oak cabinet, by the king-size neatly made up bed, stood a silver champagne bucket chilling a bottle of vintage Bollinger.
‘Someone’s on an expense account’ She observed teasingly as her nervous client turned back to her from the window. He’d been crouching, looking through the view finder of the camera, at the Royalton opposite.
‘Oh, that. I ordered it from room service, after I spoke with Madam Lake.
I thought you might like a drink. I don’t usually touch the stuff myself, but the night manager said it was the finest they carry in stock.’
‘You don’t drink?’ She asked openly. The man smiled, greatly amused. He had a nice smile. It was warm, kindly. He removed his shades momentarily and rubbed at his eyes as though tired. His black colourless eyes watched her move across the floor briefly before he slipped them back on.
‘You don’t have to wear those on my account.’ She said.
‘The eight-ball stare disturbs most people.’ He replied self-consciously.
‘Well it doesn’t disturb me. . .’ She said with another smile that was as genuine as the statement. She’d been told who she was going to see. Lake had shown her the file on this man, before she was driven to meet him. Being finally in his presence Wanda felt so much better informed. Her senses were all good in that room. She felt instantly at ease with this man. He left the glasses off, she noted. Anxious to avoid any further discussion of his RET-9’s he nonetheless changed the subject back to the original topic.
‘Oh yeah, I drink. Just never Champagne.’ He replied with a slight smirk, still tinged with nerves.
‘Well Bollinger RD is definitely one the finest.’ She purred, strutting past the bed. His blank eyes were strange, completely black, no discernable iris’. The absence of whites made them appear like empty sockets in his head.
‘Well, if it’s that good, maybe I’ll have a glass.’ He said.
Those same eyes raked gently over the honey-tanned muscles of her calves as she walked elegantly on stack heels. Wanda had been trained in the keen observation of men. Her finely honed senses scanned the man Tiffany had selected for her. He was to be her first professional assignment.
His voice was deep and dry, rasping yet so very kindly. But there was more; a hint of what clawed at his insides. Was it regret, a buried sadness, or deep loneliness perhaps?
Yes, that was it.
The man was so desperately lonely. It may as well have been etched on his drawn pale face. The thick mane of raven hair covering his shoulders framed his rugged looks perfectly.
‘I’ll be honest with you. I’ve never done this before. I’m a little nervous.
I bet you get that all the time, don’t you?’ He asked, realising how corny he sounded. She thought back to Tiffany’s client briefing on him at Eighth Tier.
He was new to the Bound Concubine game. An ex-cop and former Special Interventionist, currently working for his paternal uncle’s private security firm. He was clearly on assignment, from the weapons and equipment she saw in his suite. He was a highly decorated officer with the GPD/SIS. He had no children and was divorced from Dr. Sandra Straub: Chief of Trauma at the Elysian Fields hospital.
That explained the loneliness.
Hiring expensive companionship was not a characteristic thing for a man like him to do. She suggested this gently – half expecting to offend him. He surprised her by agreeing whole heartedly.
‘You’re right it’s not something a guy with my background should be doing. It may be legal these days, but it’s still often frowned on.’ Morensky said as he stared out the hotel window. Wanda noted he tactfully avoided any mention of prostitution. She watched him work a while. The man he’d been surveilling through his scope turned off the bedroom light, probably turning in. Morensky explained he’d have a few hours to wait until he could shadow him to his buyer.
Wanda believed him, when he said he’d never had a Concubine before. If he had then he would be comfortable with her, would know how to behave. Jack Morensky didn’t have a clue. He displayed all the embarrassed charm of a high school prom date with little or no knowledge of girls.
She accepted a drink gratefully. He stepped away from the window to fill a tall crystal flute with champagne. Having poured her a glass, he hesitantly offered it up, taking a glass of Wild Turkey himself. His empty sockets held her gaze for a long moment, instead of raking over her body, as she’d expected.
He was not only drinking his rich smelling bourbon, but the sight of her as well. Wanda found herself flattered by this silent attention. It was at that moment that she decided (against all the tenants of her training) to be straight with her first client.
The two of them sat on the thick carpeted floor with their drinks, and gradually conversation began to flow. This initially awkward discourse flowed with increasing ease to match the refilling of their glasses. It didn’t take long for Wanda to realise how drawn to this man she was.
Morensky talked slowly of his life as a police officer, carefully avoiding his discharge from the GPD. The bitterness and sincere regrets were evident in his hushed rasping tone as he talked. He seemed to be of the unspoken opinion she was somehow entitled to an explanation, of why she’d been summoned there that night. This greatly surprised her in that she’d been trained to service men and cater to their intimate needs. This included the art of conversation, although Wanda had expected to be guided swiftly between the clean sheets of the giant bed in the client’s suite, not treated to several glasses of expensive champagne and an honest conversation. She found herself wondering if Morensky was ever going to jump her. He was deeply interested in her, as well as aroused by her. She could tell from his closely guarded, faintly perceptible body language. Still he remained in a state of iron control over his baser instincts. She had come to expect less from men if only through her long schooling in the ways of pleasuring them. He said things like:
‘You remind me of my ex-wife.’ and ‘I’ve only ever slept with three women in my whole life.’
These things demonstrated a sincerity that made her question his calling on Madam Lake’s services to begin with. Jack Morensky seemed to be a man in need of human touch, first and foremost. His burning need seemed to be for more than just sexual gratification. She also found his hesitancy in reaching out to touch her, only made her ache to have him do so.
He reached into one of the pockets of his jacket, hung over the back of a dinning chair, and took out a zippo and pack of expensive looking cigarettes.
‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ He asked courteously. She shook her head.
‘Are you hungry?’ He asked, lighting up. They’d been deep in conversation on the floor for over an hour. ‘I can order up some food for you, if you’d like.’ He added, reaching for the red leather bound fold out card. The Grand Hyatt Golgotha was a traditional business hotel preferring to keep the use of computers in guest facilities to a minimum, so no PDA link to room service.
‘Now that you mention it, yeah I could eat,’ She said. ‘Thank you Jack.’
Morensky handed her the night service menu and told her that he’d order whatever she wanted. Wanda noticed (as she read down a long and enticing list of edible goodies) that he’d made no mention of himself.
He wasn’t hungry.
Morensky just drained the last of the Bollinger into her glass and continued to smoke his long black and gold cigarettes. Their rich fragrant blue-grey smoke hung in the air. While she’d been looking through the menu, sitting on the edge of the bed (her glossy heels dangling teasingly from her small feet with beige painted nails).
‘I can’t decide. There’s so much to choose from.’ She finally said, putting down the menu on the bed. Morensky had called for the lights in the room to dim even further.
‘Then allow me.’ He replied softly, eyes never leaving her own, as he took up the red leather bound menu and began to read. Smiling shyly Wanda stood up shakily.
‘Phew! This bubbly’s going straight to my head.’
He nodded absently as he read the list from the book. No hint of a lecherous smile to prove he’d had that in mind all along. He was a true, honest man. She couldn’t help but smile to herself.
‘Perhaps you’d like to freshen up?’
‘I would, thank you.’
‘Bathroom’s over there.’ He pointed to the double en-suite combo adjoining the bedroom, directly opposite the windows.
‘Excuse me for a few moments then.’ She said as she padded into the bathroom, shutting the thick varnished oak door behind her.
The atmosphere in the suite was cozy and intimate, on her return. She hoped all her future Benefactors would show this level of care and consideration.
She knew they wouldn’t.
This man was doing his best to make her feel comfortable and utterly at ease. The thought brought a sly smile across her beautiful young face.
Night service sent up a trolley laden with goodies.
There was fresh Parma ham, hot white bread rolls with butter, fragrant steaming apple pie with whipped cream (a small portion – there was her figure to maintain), chilled Pellegrino in small bottles and a tub of ice. He’d even ordered a second bottle of Bollinger RD for her.
The surprises were a half bottle of Wild Turkey Kentucky Straight, and a small white iced birthday cake with a single blazing candle.
‘That’s for me.’ He said, seeing her surprise, pointing at the whiskey in amused explanation. ‘The cakes for you.’ He quickly added.
‘Why a cake?’ She asked.
‘Well it is your birthday, isn’t it?’ He asked with a sly smile spreading on his thin lips once more. Wanda gasped from the audacity, the sweet generous audacity.
‘It is my birthday, but how did you know?’ Her sapphire eyes were ablaze with delight, as well as the flickering of the candle flame under her face. He drank in the sight of her joy and savored her every line, committing it to precious memory.
‘Madam Lake told me you were her birthday girl, and that I had to take special care of you. I said I would. . .’ He trailed off into stunned silence as she stepped quickly forward and kissed him lightly on the right cheek. Her full sensual pout grazed his clean shaven skin ever so slightly, but sent a chill throughout his body that lasted for moments.
‘How old are you?’ He asked delicately when the kiss’ afterglow faded.
‘I’m eighteen.’ She purred slowly fixing him in those lapis eyes. She noted the short faintly audible gasp escape his lips. She looked suddenly mockingly apologetic, flirting openly with him. She wanted him now, badly, realising she’d broken the first rule of her training: don’t fall in love.
‘I’m sorry. . . Would you prefer it if I were older?’ Now he really looked embarrassed.
‘No, of course not.’ He said, under breath she’d so expertly taken away.
While she sat on the floor, in her $4000 silk dress, Morensky filled a glass with ice from the silver tub, cracked open the bourbon and poured himself a generous measure. He watched her intently while sipping his drink, as she ate with self-conscious shyness.
He didn’t offer her whiskey; she’d been provided with another flute of crisp chilled Bollinger. The alcohol swam in her murmuring veins, whispering to her mounting libido as she watched this guarded vulnerable man she’d been sent to for her initiation.
She was almost finished her midnight snacking when Morensky headed for the spacious en-suite bathroom (that was bigger than her monastic cell at Eight Tier) and took his shirt off.
Stunned at this sudden move she found herself unsure what to do. He re-emerged naked from the waste up and said in a slight alcohol induced drawl.
‘I hope you don’t mind; I’m going take a shower. I’ve been sitting in these clothes too long. Also my eyes hurt. I’m not used to having my shades off this long.’
‘If you’re in pain, then please put them back on.’ she said, concerned. He shook his head slowly.
‘Not tonight.’ He said sternly. ‘You shouldn’t have to look at me wearing those damned goggles the entire time you’re here. By the way, I’ve arranged for you to spend the night. I hope that you don’t mind. . .’ He trailed off again, uncertain of himself, shy. She’d already grown to love that about him in the short time they’d been together. She liked the way he said ‘arranged’ and not ‘paid’. Too much silence made him uncomfortable, so he added. ‘Madam Lake said that was no problem. . . and besides, I didn’t want you to have to go anywhere else. It’s very late.’
‘Or early.’ She quickly added. She didn’t know what else to say. She even loved the way he called Tiffany ‘Madam Lake’ out of respect. He was definitely an old school gentleman.
It was after two in the morning by then. Morensky told her he’d been assigned to tail a man suspected of industrial espionage and had been on his trail for days.
‘Why would I mind remaining in such wonderful company?’ She added. This said thoughtfully through a mouthful of half chewed sandwich. He shrugged uncomfortably.
‘I didn’t want to. . . inconvenience you. I like you. . . I feel like I’ve known you forever.’ He replied slowly.
‘It’s not my place to say what constitutes inconvenience during our time together, It’s what I’m here for!’ This trying to be self-effacing and playful. It fell on deaf and very serious ears.
‘I don’t want to put you out. You probably get guys messing you around all the fucking time.’ That was the first time he’d cursed in her presence. ‘Just because they pay for your time, doesn’t mean they own you. That’s not who I am!’ It was her turn to shake her head dismissively.
‘I know who you are.’ She almost whispered, walking towards him.
‘Oh you do? Who am I, then?’ He asked warily, with an air of self-loathing in his rasp.
‘A decent man.’ She said, coming steadily closer, staring into his eyes so deeply he was frozen in time, transfixed.
‘Really. I wonder about that sometimes. . .’ He replied, looking away, running a hand through his long hair, rubbing his tired eyes.
‘What are you thinking?’ She enquired softly.
‘That my thoughts right now are not very decent. . .’ He trailed off, embarrassed at the way the bourbon had loosened his tongue. She smiled again, brushing long straight blond hair away from her exquisite face. Her Lapis Lazuli eyes seemed to burn as they held his black gaze in thrall for a seemingly endless moment.
‘I don’t want to be decent.’ She said slowly, staring him down.
Breaking away from her and her captivating gaze he turned on the water in the shower.
‘Well. . . I’m going to take that shower. I brought some fresh clothes. I need a change.’ He said pointing at a black nylon backpack on the floor by the bathroom door. He turned his back to her and it was then she noticed the horrific pale pink and white lattice of thick scars across his back and shoulders. They were old, healed, but looked painful nonetheless. Wanda couldn’t take her eyes off what looked like whip lashes. His left shoulder blade was peppered with dense pockmarks, almost like acne scarring. She couldn’t help cupping a hand over her mouth in shock.
‘Help yourself to more champagne if you like.’ He said with his back towards her.
‘My god. What happened?’ She gasped through her fingers. He turned back to her, registering the shock and then glancing over his shoulder.
‘Oh those,’ He said nonchalantly, ‘they’re just happy memories of my tours with the GPD.’ The sarcasm in his tone was wasted on her, failing to cut through the concern.
‘I wouldn’t be so blasé about it. Don’t they hurt?’ He realised how concerned she was and all levity vanished from his voice.
‘Sometimes.’ He said, almost sadly, making her want him more.
‘Want some company?’ She suddenly asked, tilting her head to one side and pointing at the shower beyond the door.
Wanda Starcrosse had Jack Morensky drowning in the depths of her azure eyes. She was standing near the door to his en-suite bathroom. Her long flaxen hair slightly wild about her face, tumbling over her delicately sloping shoulders. Her ivory silk dress displayed the contours of her honey-tanned body perfectly. Morensky had never seen such perfection. She was a paragon of feminine beauty.
Wanda was on fire. She burned with a raggy prominent throbbing between her thighs to have Mister Tall Dark and Handsome come inside her. Her entire skin tingled in anticipation of his fingertips moving over her bare skin. She felt a wetness collecting uncomfortably in her thong as her nipples stiffened.
Jack had been reminded of his ex-wife when Starcrosse walked through the door, but this girl was so very beautiful in all the ways that mattered, not just her looks or body. Her brilliance but his former wife so far in the shade: she was all the way gone. There’d been others since his wife, of course. Carmen DeNiro and Virgo Anslemm had both been lovers in the aftermath of his marriage. These torrid yet short-lived affairs ultimately provided little solace. With Virgo it’d been heartache every moment. . .
He quickly put these thoughts aside. It had been a long time since he’d engaged his basic instinct. A long time since he’d known the touch of a woman’s hand, her skin on his skin. He found that he never really knew how much he’d missed those things, as he stood before this sweet perfect angel Madam Lake had sent him.
‘I’d love some company.’ He finally admitted.
His voice came out a reedy whisper, leaden with the gravitas of his need for human touch – her touch. He felt his blood converge at the mere thought of her against him in the spray.
‘Alright then.’ She whispered slowly.
Wanda stripped slowly to her white silk lingerie before his barely restrained hunger. Thick humid steam belched from the bathroom and, having removed his leather trousers, he took Wanda gently by the hand and they stepped into the hot thick fog within the huge bathroom. They stepped into the cylindrical glass shower compartment and Wanda’s silky underwear was instantly soaked. Saturated silk became heavy and Jack ran his tongue over his bottom lip and groaned as she shuffled her hips and the sopping wet thong slid down her slick thighs to her ankles. . .
They resisted the overwhelming urge to make love instantly.
Encapsulated in a cascade of hot water their bodies, slick with white foaming soap, meshed gently as their hands explored one another’s skin. He was enslaved by her sapphire stare as he soaped her flaxen hair delicately at the base of her skull, with his right hand over her shoulder. His left hand glided down her silky spine; first to the small of her back, then to her firm round buttocks. His fingertips traced the crack of her ass instinctually searching for the cleft between her thighs. Wanda slowly spread her legs allowing him in, gasping into deep throated moans of sensory electricity when his fingers grazed her swollen labia.
Her hands were occupied against the solid muscles of his chest and back, tracing the tactile ridged scars on his flesh. Impeccably manicured beige lacquered nails traced every healed laceration and bullet wound; digging into hard flesh from time to time as she relished each animalistic moan and grunt. His throbbing organ stabbed at her thighs as her right hand found it, stroking gently at first and then more urgently. Then he broke from her and said.
‘Happy birthday.’
He watched her take a dramatic pause as her perfect teeth were displayed in a cheeky smile under the torrent coming from the shower.
‘Thank you.’ She purred slowly, inclining her head sweetly in the spray, watching his lips part in a warm smile. ‘No. Thank you!’ He whispered to her as he pulled her to him roughly once again.
Their mouths engulfed one other in a deep soft kiss, tongues writhing together violently as their hunger grew insatiable. Morensky’s mind screamed at him to be gentle with her and hold back, but he couldn’t. She wouldn’t let him. Starcrosse sensed the great loneliness fueling desperate need. They broke apart in the high powered spray and stared at each other.
‘Take me to bed.’ She begged, sapphire eyes wide and glassy with want.
He nodded dreamily, too full of his own wanton adrenaline to form the proper words.
They stepped from the shower back to the bedroom, not bothering to towel themselves dry. Wanda was about to slip between the cool sheets when she felt his strong hands glide up her wet spine; sliding over her flat stomach and cupping her breasts, their dark nipples already puckered and hard. His erection stroked the wet cleft between her slightly spread legs.
Wanda spun around, throwing her arms about his shoulders as she did so; then she fell backwards onto the bed pulling him down on top of her. She spread her legs wide as he brought his hips up to link with hers. Closing her lapis eyes to his intense gaze, she cried out breathlessly in deliciously sharp pain when his extremely hard penis split her hymen, flooding her lower abdomen, sending a thin shock wave to her cerebellum.
Jack withdrew a little from her, worried he’d hurt her with his enthusiasm. In the same instant his scrotum felt hot with sticky wetness. Wanda groaned deeply and gnashed her white teeth; her eyes tightly shut as she wrapped both legs around his hips and swung herself on top of him, reversing their positions. The familiar scent of iron in blood came to his nostrils. He looked down at their meshed blood spattered hips and concern etched itself on his upturned face. Rich blood the colour of Morello cherry splashed her thighs, coating his throbbing glands as it trickled slowly from her sex. She was dripping onto the silk sheets of the hotel bed. Each dense droplet creating a cherry blossom stain, like a bunch of small bloodflowers between their closely hunched bodies.
‘Christ you’re bleeding!’ He exclaimed, trying to wriggle free from the intense grip of her strong thighs. Wanda ground her hips against him hard, relishing his upward thrust inside her as the biting pain in her pubis gradually subsided.
‘Uh-huh,’ She moaned. ‘It’s my first time.’
She was moaning huskily, grabbing his hands and placing them over her jutting breasts that bounced gently as she began to ride him. Jack’s black eyes widened in disbelief.
‘What? The first time? You mean you’re a virgin?’
‘I was!’ She stressed, opening her eyes, glaring down at him with such intensity he was swept along. She closed her eyes slowly as a smile of ecstasy spread over her face, baring down hard she forced him deeper inside her, bucking back and forth.
‘Now shut up and fuck me.’
Darkgingerbread 