Their Tangled Lust by Catherine Tramell
Allyson
I stare blankly at the glass window in front of me. It's the viewing room for Delilah's clients. My new master will examine me from the other side before closing the deal. I can't see the client, but I see my reflection – naked.
How did I come to this?
Two years ago, I was a naïve virgin who believed in true love. My life was full of fantasy. I thought of having a loving husband and at least two kids – one boy and a girl. We would live in a starter home with a flower garden in the back. When Nicholas asked me out on our first date, I began to play the happy movie in my mind. Looking back at it now, I might not have fallen in love with Nicholas. I only loved the idea that a man like him – a man who can afford to give me the life I dreamed of – had come into my life.
"Hold your tits up," a voice from the outside orders. A woman. But it’s not Delilah’s voice. “Hold your tits up!” the tone becomes dominant.
I hold my breasts and present them. Silence follows. I look at my reflection while remaining in the position. Elijah. A sharp pain stings my heart while feeling stupid. I dare to dream of having somebody like Elijah fall in love with me. Why would he? I'm called a commercial slave. But in layman's terms, I'm nothing but a prostitute.
Three men had already feasted on my body. Except for Nicholas, I acted like a shameless woman to the other two men who fucked me. Now, another man will take my body in any way he wants for three months. Some might say it's just sex. But I grew up not knowing it as only sex. I always saw it as making love – a sacred act.
Yes. I'll stop after this contract, but it won't make me clean again. It won't make me worthy of an honorable man like Elijah Smith. My mind drifts off when I remember his sudden change of mood before I left. He must have been bothered by the call he received. I shake my head. I don't have the right to worry about him. Elijah has a wife, who he probably wants to share his problem with. Who am I to him? I'm just the mother of the baby he seems to adore.
“Airhead! What part of spreading your pussy don't you get?" the woman orders.
“I-I’m sorry,” I take a deep breath, strengthen my gut, and do as told. Again, silence followed. My face burns with shame as I see my reflection with my folds spread.
“Play with yourself until you moan. Don’t fake it,” the voice orders.
Hesitation overpowers me. Masturbate in front of a stranger? In this tiny room? I don’t even know how many people watch me. Someone knocks on the window. Tears cover my eyes. Part of me wants to leave and save myself. The part who hopes that somebody like Elijah is still out there to love me. I just need to save myself. But the bigger part reminds me of my son’s safety. No one can provide for that except for me.
The knocks turn into slams.
“Y-yes, Master,” a tear rolls down my cheeks. I want to shrink on the ground while I reach between my folds.
I close my eyes and rub my clit, but my trembling fingers provide no pleasure. I can't even fake a moan. Another slamming sound resonates in the room. I close my eyes and think of one man that makes my body heats up – Christian’s father.
My temperature rises to feverish heights as I imagine his lips kissing every inch of me. His fat and strong fingers reach down my folds, rolling around my sensitive nub. I remember him caging my nipple into his mouth and sucking it without reluctance.
A moan escapes my mouth, together with a tiny smile. I close my eyes again and let my fingers roll deeper into my vagina. The silhouette man's gray eyes flash in my head, and he slowly takes form. Master? My heart stops for a moment when I think of him. After I realized that I’m nothing to him, I slowly stopped thinking about him. But my body suddenly misses him. His rough holds and strong thrusts remind me again of the shameless ecstasy I had on my wedding night.
Louder moans leave my mouth as I insert my fingers deep into my vagina. "Master," I call softly. I visualize the humiliating moment to be the first night my master took me – when he took me like I'm a woman he wanted.
I bite my lips as I thrust my fingers in and out of me – desperately trying to remember the heat of the familiar cocks that once graced them. My eyes roll from the pleasure as I push myself near my orgasm. And just when I am about to explode, a familiar face appears before my eyes. Elijah. The man in the silhouette and the man behind the mask – they vanish when Elijah pops in my head. My body becomes hotter with excitement.
The fantasy of seeing Elijah naked before me, feeling his every muscle with my palm, and having his lips locking with mine arouses me wildly. Wilder than any of the men who had taken me. I imagine looking into his beautiful gray eyes as our hips rock against each other. I can hear the sound of our crotches slapping as we moan in each other's ears. "Yes," I cry when I think of his hands wrapping me with all the love that I desire and hope to be worthy of.
“Stop,” I ignore the order. Even if it’s just an imagination, I want to feel Elijah and explode into a climax with him.
The door opens, and a slap wakes me up. My eyes widen when an angry Kelly Smith faces me. "Who were you thinking of just now?" She glares at me like a lioness ready to devour her king's mistress.
“My – my husband,” I lied.
“Mrs. Smith,” Delilah walks into the tiny room. I look at Kelly and Delilah. Why is Kelly in this club? Delilah, as if reading the question from my eyes, explains, “This is Kelly Smith. Your Mistress.”