Page 14 of Rushed

“When is it?” Troy understands what it would mean if Mick and I faced off. Mick had a feckin’ hard-on to get me back into the thick of it, and tonight he got what he wanted.

“Soon,” I say, waving at Marie and Clarke as they enter the third floor space. “I still can’t believe I feckin’ stepped right into the shite.” I played right into his deviant, malicious hands. I was done. I left on a high and never had to return. Now Vegas will be buzzin’ with the fact that he and I will be at it again.

“You sure the promoters will allow it? After all—”

“Yeah, I know the circumstances. We’ll know by Monday. I’m sure Senator ‘Jersey’ will pull feckin’ strings.” As Marie winks, the two of them wander into the side room, closing the door behind them. I try to concentrate on the conversation with Ty.

“You know this thing with Keenan is messed, right?”

“I know.” Feck, do I know.

“I told you she needed the break. I said she needed out of here, and that she needed excitement. This wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“Trust me, Ty, it’s not what I had in mind, either.”

“Make it right.” And with that, Troy cuts off the call, leaving me feeling like an arse.

I set the phone down, knowing he’s absolutely right. With Mick and the ensuing fiasco, I’ll have to take the bloody punishment I’ve laid at my own feet and enjoy every second of it as I make him bleed for her.

Grabbing up another fifth of scotch, I wander into the side room—my private area. The door is hidden, looking like paneling, the handle just a push-click system. No one but me and a handful of people enter this room, and for good reason. It’s tainted deeper and darker in the seedy world of deviant sex than even those on the floor below could imagine.

When I need the release, Marie’s who I go to most. Her and her husband have an open relationship. She gets off by others through pain, but with the caveat, there is no sex involved. The pain doesn’t excite Clarke, but he wants her happy.

Clarke sits in the corner, resting in a chair with a book and a coffee, turned away from us with headphones, listening to God knows what. I don’t care, really. It makes no difference to me. Marie likes the pain, I like to inflict it, and we both get what we want.

“Rush.” Her tone is dripping with need. I know the two of them were here tonight, probably involved with other patrons, but it’s never enough for her. She’ll need what I can give her, and it will help me as well I hope.

Walking over to the table, I inspect the instruments. Everything is clean, lined up neatly, and awaiting its turn to punish. “Anything special tonight, Marie?” I ask, though I know she’ll take anything I offer.

With a sultry smirk, she nips at her fake painted nails, standing in nothing but a pair of heels. I don’t ask for much, but heels turn me on.

“Downstairs was tame. I need something real.” Turning to the chair, Marie rests her hands on the back. She places one knee up on the cool leather seat, as she straps her wrists to the linked cuffs.

Picking up a Scottish tawse, Marie’s eyes dance with delight. Readying herself, her ripe arse pushes up, curving so that I can see the separation of her neatly trimmed pussy.

“Don’t hold back tonight. I need it bad.”

Lifting the handle, I flick it harshly. The dull smacking sound reverberates off the walls, mixing with the cry that Marie releases as she smiles wide.

“That was wimpy. You’re not putting an effort into this. Rush, show me what—”

I hit her harder, leaving her arse cheeks red.

“Better?”

“Thanks for showing up,” she smirks. Sarcastic bitch.

Looking over at her husband, I see he’s deeply engrossed in his electronic reader. I don’t try to understand the dynamics of their love life, but if this is what she needs and he can’t or won’t offer it, then who am I to judge as I dole it out? Smacking just below her cheek, hitting the back of her leg, she groans, pushing forward and back in time to the rhythm of my strikes.

“Harder, harder!” she screams out. The paddle strikes her arse once more, as cum rolls down her legs. She’s enjoying this, and for once, I’m not. I can’t get my head in the game. Normally, I’d be rock hard, pushing the limits, but as much as I’d like to, Marie just isn’t the platinum blonde that’s taking up my headspace.

Switching implements, I flip between the floggers, paddles, cane whips and feathers, as Marie falls into step easily from my ministrations. Usually, while paddling her arse, I would find relief and a sense of calm after a long day, like having a glass of wine to wind down after a hard day in the office. But today, I can’t quite get in the game.

I told Keenan I don’t share and it’s true. I won’t share her. Yet here I am, sharing something intimate with someone else.

I’m rebelling against my normal needs, and it feckin’ sucks.

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