Page 3 of Blue Velvet

I knew this new client was special from the get-go, and not only because of his specific demands and the amount of money he was willing to pay. I actually heard about him before he knew about me, completely by accident. I overheard our Madame, Miss Barry confiding in another girl that she was looking for someone who was willing to completely turn herself over to a client for thirty-nine days, to be kidnapped, locked up, and stripped of any rights or a way to negate the contract once she agreed to do it.

I was intrigued.Veryintrigued.

I’ve done a lot of objectionable stuff. I’ve sold myself to men who tied me up for hours, forcing spellbinding orgasm after orgasm out of me, or denying me the same as a punishment. I’ve served, pleased, submitted to the darkest desires - but I’ve always wanted more. With each new client, I hoped for something deeper, so strong and powerful that it could destroy me. I need the challenge. Iwantto be scared, to be at someone’s mercy. I want to give myself, all of myself, to a man without knowing what will eventually happen. I want to know what it feels like to surrender completely.

And what better way to discover this than in a safe setting protected by the agency’s agreement with its clients? This setup is perfect. It seems so close to the real thing, but without the danger of it really, truly being real.

But when I asked Miss Barry to share my file with the client, she rejected me.

“He doesn’t want a redhead, he wants a blonde.”

My heart sank. My bright red hair has always been my big selling point. So many men nearly go out of their mind when faced with landing a true redhead. We are rare and special, and we have a reputation for being fiery and hard to tame.

And he won’t evenconsiderme because of my hair color?

Fuck that.

I dyed my hair without thinking twice, and when I showed up at the agency, parading my new do in front of Miss Barry, she laughed, but agreed to include my file with the others.

And that was that.

He picked me. I signed a contract for him to kidnap me as the first step in the agreement to become his for thirty-nine days, no matter what. The instructions were specific and strict for the kidnapping: I must cover my face with a black mask every time I leave the house, which I’m obligated to do during the same couple-hour time frame every single day over the next week to give him time to learn my routine. The kidnapping is to appear as real as possible - for both him and me. I know he’s been watching me the past few days, and he’s going to grab me very soon, but I don’t know exactly when.

The window is closing. Five days, the contract said. Today is day four.

I’ve been a nervous wreck since the countdown began, not sure when, where, or how I will be snatched away. I’ve followed the rules, spending the allotted time outside every single day, but never a minute longer than agreed upon in the contract. He’s not allowed to break into my home, but that didn’t stop me from laying awake at night, my heart pounding senseless in my chest with fear and anticipation. I haven’t slept properly in days, I can barely eat, and I’ve started drinking more to ease my nerves.

This isn’t my part of town, exactly the reason why I picked this questionable drinking hole to spend my evening. I toss back one cheap bourbon after another, until I start feeling relaxed, calmed down enough to head back outside, too numb to drive myself crazy from the fear of being grabbed. I’ve always been a night owl, so it’s not unusual for me to be out and about late at night. I’d be far more scared if I was nabbed during the bright daylight, as crazy as that may sound.

It’s nearly midnight. The buzz of the alcohol fuzzes my senses as I slip off the bar stool to pay a quick visit to the restroom before heading out into the night. I intentionally ignore the frosty-faced girl still sitting across the bar, but I can feel her eyes on me as I head towards the short hallway leading to the restroom. If she continues with those hateful stares when I come back, I may just have to tell her off for my own self-esteem.

My legs are shaky and my head feels like it’s spinning. Steadying myself against the counter as I wash my hands, I study my reflection in the mirror. I still look good, good enough. I will never get used to the bleached blond strands framing my painted face, but the color will fade soon enough.

“Thirty-nine days,” I whisper to my reflection. The girl looking back at me in the mirror is strong, determined - and scared shitless. I don’t regret my decision. Yet. And once he takes me, there will be no time for regret.

Just a few more hours. The anticipation is the worst part, the uneasy feeling about what’s to come, the uncertainty of it all...

I take in a deep breath, and holding my head high, my posture straight, I stride out of the restroom.

The first thing I notice is that the judgmental woman is gone.

And so is my red fur coat.

2

Loran

I’m going too farthis time.

I know I shouldn’t want what I want, I know I shouldn’t think what I think. I know I shouldn’t act on this vile idea.

And I know that I shouldn’t follow her.

She caught my eye a few days ago, inadvertently leading me on a hunt that I didn’t foresee.

But that woman. She left me no choice.

I want her. I wantallof her all to myself.

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