Dirty Diana by January James
Chapter Four
At first the room felt bright, from the street lights below. Otherwise, the room itself was just as dark as everywhere else I’d seen in this place. My eyes scanned the room looking for my ‘encounter’ but landed on nothing, apart from everything you’d expect from a nice hotel suite. I walked quietly through the rooms, finding a vast charcoal bathroom and another, smaller room lined with floor to ceiling cabinets, with a pole in the center.
I walked to one of the cabinets and opened it. Inside were several glass boxes, each housing a different sex toy, or what I assumed were sex toys—I had never been in a position to experiment with the few past boyfriends I’d had, so I wouldn’t know half of these items if they walked up and slapped me on the ass. I closed the doors and walked back out to the main suite and pressed my forehead against the window, looking down at the streets below. I felt my breath hit the glass, cooling my skin as it ricocheted back to me. I needed it. I needed to cool down.
The man I’d left out in the corridor had left his mark on me when he cupped my hip and brushed my fingers. I knew the atmosphere was designed to be conducive to heightened senses and sexual energy but I knew there was an attraction, despite us not being able to see each other’s faces. I didn’t want some stranger to walk through the door; I wanted him. But, I reasoned, even if I was able to have an encounter with him, it could only happen once. I’d heard the rules loud and clear. I cared for my anonymity and my safety; I didn’t want to break any rules, especially when I already felt so out of my depth.
In the corner of my eye I noticed a flashing red light. I left the window and walked towards it. It was coming from a security camera located high on the wall facing the bed. I almost laughed out loud. Of course members would be watched. I would have been completely naïve to think no-one would check on the encounters as they happened, maybe even linger on some of them for kicks. The thought both repulsed and intrigued me. I didn’t have an exhibitionist bone in my body. That was why I worked on the business side of show-business.
I eyed the camera suspiciously as I walked around the bed. When it moved, I stopped and swallowed hard. I was being watched right there, in that moment. By who? Could the man in the corridor have access to the cameras? I decided there and then, for the sake of my own pleasure for the next hour or however long it would be, that yes, he did. And regardless of who my designated encounter was for the evening, I would perform instead for him.
I reached a hand behind my head, staring straight into the camera, and felt around for the band holding my hair in its knot. Then I tugged it free, letting the long waves cascade around my shoulders. I walked back towards the window, feeling the camera move with me. I hoped he was on the other side, looking down the lens, watching my every move.
The sound of another key in the door made me turn and press my back against the window. My whole body shook with nerves. A man entered the room. He was slender, maybe a foot taller than me. He wasn’t the man in the corridor. He wasn’t the man who could be watching me from behind the camera. The door clicked shut and he turned to face me. I didn’t know what to do, what to say, so I just stayed where I was, shaking, feeling the camera zooming in on me. He took long strides towards the window and stopped, his chest just inches from mine. His eyes were dark, his lips full and youthful. He couldn’t have been more than a couple of years older than me and I couldn’t help but wonder who he was, what he did for a living, who he might have had waiting at home for him. I glanced down at his hands and, to my relief, saw no metal glittering up at me. He moved closer until I could feel his breath hot against my collarbone.
I looked over his shoulder and caught the eye of the camera; it was still zoned in on me. I placed a hand on the man’s chest, feeling it pulse against my palm. Thankfully, I wasn’t the only one for whom nerves were overriding flesh. I felt his fingers tug at my dress, inching it upwards. It tickled and I had to grit my teeth together to stop myself from giggling. I couldn’t focus; my head was in tatters. Here I was, in a strange room, with a strange man, about to do things I hadn’t done in years, with someone else watching. My heart pounded at the base of my throat, but it wasn’t long before my hyperactive thoughts were eclipsed by the sensation of someone’s fingers against my lace underwear.
I gasped, letting my head fall back, uncontrollably, against the window. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I was in the hands of a total stranger, whose name I’d never know, in a blackened building no-one knew existed. My head spun as his fingers worked their way around the fabric of my panties and into my soft, damp flesh. I let out a long, pent-up moan. It had been years. As he found a rhythm with his palm, I pulled my head forward to focus on his zipper. Despite the lack of practice, I knew instinctively what I had to do, which was fortunate, as I needed the autopilot. I worked his pants down over his hips, letting them drop to the floor, and reached inside his boxers. Then it was his turn to moan.
I wrapped my hand around his length, pulling it gently towards me in a languid, flowing movement. His fingers turned lazy as I worked over him, his breath jerking out in short gasps against my ear. I found myself moving against his hand, my body overriding my shyness, and looked up into the camera.
“How do you want me?” My voice sounded different, smoky and deep. Who was this stranger? Not the stranger with his fingers moving inside me, but the person who was staring into the eye of a lens while stroking someone’s cock. The camera moved to its left. The bed. Whoever was watching was talking to me, directing me, telling me where to go. A wave of lust crashed through me, taking me completely by surprise.
Before I could attempt to do as the camera said, the man before me dropped to his knees. My dress was already pushed up over my hips, my panties pushed idly to one side. I gasped hard at the sudden absence of friction and wriggled restlessly. Ignoring my need for urgency, he reached up and took hold of each side of my panties, slowly pulling them down my thighs until they landed softly on the floor. He stepped me out of them, holding my legs apart by the ankles. Then he brought his mouth to my core. I cried out in relief, looking back at the camera. It was square on me again. I imagined it was him—his hands anchoring me to the floor, his tongue flicking back and forth across me, his lips cupping me and sucking softly. Whoever this was, the man between my legs, he’d had a lot of practice—whatever he was doing felt amazing. Then again, I didn’t have a lot to compare it to.
My hands found his head and I ran my fingers along his drape, feeling the silk shimmering against my skin. Still, I stared into the lens, wanting the man I’d left behind in the corridor. I imagined lifting my legs over his thick shoulders, nestling his mouth between my thighs. I imagined his electric fingers cupping my ass as he rocked me to a long drawn out climax. I pictured his face as I straddled him, his lips parted with need, his eyes closing as I sank down onto him.
The man’s tongue circled me in rhythm with his fingers and I felt the blood rush to my core, throbbing for release.
“Fuck me,” I panted, as my orgasm rose up and out of my core. My entire body shook against the glass as I glued my eyes to the camera, making sure he saw everything. I was emboldened because it was a fantasy. No-one would ever know I was here; no-one would ever know who the person was behind the drape. Like this, I could perform for a camera; I could let myself go.
The man got to his feet with a look of triumph glinting out from beneath his drape. I smiled in gratitude then nodded towards the bed. I knew there were other rooms, other apparatus, other things we could do and use, but I wanted to stay here, on the bed, near the camera. I wanted him to see everything, to be a part of this. The man kicked off his boxers and pulled me across him. I heard the buzz of the camera as it followed us, but I now had my back to it. I needed to face it.
I turned away from the man on the bed and positioned myself above him, cowgirl style, ready to sink down. I heard the snap of latex and felt him nudge at my entrance, letting me know he was ready. I looked up and stared directly into the lens as I lowered myself slowly onto his cock. I circled my hips as I moved, eliciting a series of gruff moans. He was long but not thick, but I didn’t need perfection; I had the camera and my imagination for that. I let the lids of my eyes close for a second, savoring the sensation I hadn’t felt for four years—another human being inside me. A hand reached up to my zipper and pulled slowly, the sound piercing the otherwise silent air. The dress came loose around my torso and I pulled it over my head, revealing a brand new Lejaby bra. With its delicate gold lace and minuscule ribbons it seemed too innocent and flawless to be in a room like this. I was defiling my own bra.
The camera had trained itself on me and it watched as I moved, circling my hips, drawing out tortured moans from the man beneath me. I sat up tall and pulled my hands though my hair, lengthening my stomach, pushing up my breasts. Something had taken over me; this was so far out of character I may as well have been a different person. I was so entranced by the way my body was moving of its own accord, relishing the attention of the lens, imagining the man whose hands had burned a hole through the fabric of my dress, that I jumped with surprise when the man beneath me pushed me off.
“Bend over,” he ordered, gruffly. I didn’t have a chance to reply before he pushed me forward so hard my elbows almost gave away. He kicked my knees apart roughly and re-entered me, going deeper than before. I gasped with the sudden, unpleasant intrusion.
“This is more like it,” he growled, in a thick accent I couldn’t place.
He withdrew halfway then he slapped himself into me, then repeated the movement, hard and fast, like a jack hammer. My breasts spilled over the top of my bra and bounced back and forth as he pummeled me, and I pressed my lips closed so as not to betray the sound of air being pushed out of my lungs in short, sharp gasps. It took all of my strength to stay upright on my arms as he pounded away, faster and faster, harder and harder. It was the worst sex of my life, bar none. Even losing my virginity was not as one-sided and as humiliating as this. I couldn’t look at the camera—I couldn’t lift my head up against the force of the man behind me, so I hung it down in shame.
Finally, a noise sounded from behind me. A deep growl brewing inside him. He was coming. It burst into a loud roar and with one, two, three fast thrusts, he filled the condom and collapsed across my back.
It took me a few seconds to catch my breath and when I looked up at the camera it had turned away. My heart drummed. The show hadn’t gone at all the way I’d hoped. I’d wanted it to be sensual, mutually satisfying, a pleasure to watch. But instead it had been dramatically one-sided, with jack rabbit behind me literally sprinting through the motions, and deeply embarrassing. Reality slapped me in the face, hard. The impression I’d had of being a member of this club was vastly off the mark. I’d been lured into a dark, mysterious world full of lustful promise, only to have the truth of it hammered into me like a drill. It was sex in its rawest, barest form. It wasn’t connection; it was selfish fulfilment. Each party was responsible for their own satisfaction, whichever way it could be achieved. I’d had my turn, then it was his. A transaction.
I ignored the pain searing through my groin as I climbed off the bed. He’d already pulled on his boxers and pants while I stood there, uneasily, only partially dressed in a gold lace bra with ribbons. He straightened his drape, although there was really no need to; these things stayed uncannily in place, as though they’d been designed especially for this. Duh. He stepped up to me and ran a small thumb across my cheek.
“Thanks for the fuck,” he said, placing his lips on the side of my face. “Welcome to the club.”
I stayed where I was, staring out of the window, as I heard the door close behind me. I’d gone from feeling empowered, sexy and in control, to feeling cheap, dirty and used. I hadn’t enjoyed it and that would have been obvious to anyone watching. I’d been stupid to expect that the sex would be anything other than gratuitous fulfilment. I remembered the woman’s words: There is no place for emotion in our club, only desire and fulfilment. And that’s exactly what it had been. But what bothered me more was the fact someone had seen it. Whomever had watched had been so repulsed by the show, they’d turned the camera away.
It might have been him.
I felt humiliated. If it had been him, how would he feel about me now? That couldn’t have looked sexy—me bouncing around the bed like a ping pong ball, completely helpless against the pounding of a man on a selfish mission to get his climax. I felt stupid. That was it. Just plain, fucking stupid. But what did I expect?
It dawned on me; I’d been so desperate for an escape from my own miserable life, I’d created completely unrealistic expectations of what was ultimately a seedy underworld.
Forget the man with the thick shoulders and the heaving chest. He was a part of this too—this unrealistic façade. The chemistry I thought I’d felt had all been part of the mirage. I didn’t know the guy, I couldn’t even see the guy. He was just an image I’d built up in my head, aided by the heady cocktail of darkness and disguise.
No, I was better than that. I wasn’t going to be sucked into a world of faceless, heartless, rhythmless sex. I would get new batteries for my vibrator and that was where my experimentation would end. I repeated this to myself over and over as I pulled on my obscenely expensive dress and covered my shame with my jacket, buttoning it up tight.
I was never going to step foot in this place again. I was going to forget the whole thing ever happened. Sienna and Candace and the man from the board could all go to hell. I twisted my key in the lock and opened the door, determined not to look back. But as soon as I stepped into the corridor, my resolve disappeared. Two doors down, leaning back with his head against the wall, was him.
As the door clicked shut, he snapped his head up and looked at me. It was only as he straightened and filled the corridor again, sucking all the light into his silhouette, I noticed the tension throughout his body. I walked slowly towards him, alarmed at the rigidity of his stance. He was literally clenching all over. His muscles jutted out of his suit jacket, his thighs strained against his pants, his jaw ticked angrily. I pressed myself against the wall to move past him but he didn’t budge. So I allowed myself one last look at his face. It was pointless; I was never going to see him again. Plus, I’d already agreed with myself, the whole thing—meeting him, feeling the strange chemistry in his fingertips and against my hip—had been nothing but an idealistic fantasy. My brain was adamant, stepping into protection mode after the humiliation it had just endured. But maybe that was the whole point, my body argued. Maybe a fantasy world was what I needed. They were both silenced as I caught a glimpse of his eyes through the slits. They were dark and angry.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Most encounters are better than that.”
I swallowed a gasp. He had been watching. I hadn’t been sure but I’d performed anyway. Feelings of lust and embarrassment swarmed in my blood. Then his fingers touched mine. His eyelids closed briefly as the shock of electricity passed through us, then they opened and speared me.
“Let me make it up to you.”
“I don’t know…” I started to shake my head but his fingers moved up to clasp my jaw and held me firm.
“You deserve better than that,” he bit out. “I’ll show you.”
After an eternity, he released my face and stepped aside. I felt suddenly free and alone, and I didn’t like it. I felt vulnerable, as though I needed someone to hold me up. But I forced myself to step back and take a breath.
“You’ll receive an email,” he said. Then, to my retreating back, he added: “Bring a change of clothes. You’ll be staying the night.”
A gasp caught in my throat as I forced myself to walk away. I had no intention of coming back, despite his assurances. I was not cut out for this; I was not cut out for him. He was too much—his presence was too overbearing, his masculinity too frightening. He’d seen things I’d never in a million years want anyone to see, yet he still wanted to make it up to me somehow. It didn’t make any sense. It was fiction. It was over.
* * *
I relishedthe hit of damp air against my skin as I walked down the street. Being outside helped. I’d been unwittingly sucked into a secret world—one I realized I didn’t want to be a part of. I would chalk it down to experience, and maybe one day it would be a cool story to tell at parties, to close friends who wouldn’t judge me. And the man at the center of the mirage? He would remain as exactly that—part of a mirage. Maybe he’d appear in my dreams, my fantasies, if I ever really did resurrect my vibrator.
As I walked down the street putting more distance between me and the man in the mirage with every step, something tugged at my flesh. By the time I’d reached the end of the block, the truth had punched me square in the face. He was more than a fantasy. He was a promise that a fantasy could come true. His thick claws had reached inside and taken hold of my skin. My only hope now was that he’d be the one to forget.