The Gigolo Read online

  But she hadn’t dropped it; she’d flung it at the wall in temper.

  Paul popped his head into the small reception office where Clive was still placating Karl.

  “Bye-bye fellows, see you again,” he said in a quite annoyingly merry way.

  Clive just nodded towards him.

  Clive didn’t like him, Karl certainly didn’t like him and Paul had just made an enemy of Trudy; not the best start to a new job.

  “Clive, Karl,” Trudy screamed, “get in here and clear up this mess, now!”

  Clive, recognising his master’s voice, obeyed.

  “Karl, go see what Trudy wants.” He motioned Karl towards Trudy’s office.

  Clive sat back and continued to drink his coffee; he was thinking about the new boy – bad, horrible thoughts.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Girlfriend

  Paul went straight home, he thought the day had gone well!

  He sat on the sofa and drank his tea. He was thinking two things – how many women he could screw in a week, and how he was going to tell his girlfriend, Pamela, that he’d got a new job, which entailed… screwing as many women as he could, in a week.

  He looked at Gillian’s profile. She seemed nice, an easy conquest and money in the bank already. He finished his tea, put his feet up and drifted off to sleep for a while, the sleep of the innocent.

  He was awakened by a key in the door, it was Pamela.

  Groan, she’s back, he thought. He collected his thoughts quickly. “Darling, kiss me,” he said. He knew just what to say.

  Pamela walked in and leaned over the settee and kissed him. Paul put passion into it for a moment.

  “How did the job go?” Pamela said, wanting to know more than she was letting on.

  “Not bad at all, I’ll be starting tomorrow night,” he replied.

  “So you’re determined to go through with it then.” She started straight away.

  “It’s the only way I can earn big money,” he parried. “If I could do something else, I would.”

  “You could get a job, Paul, it’s what people do.” The dog had got the bone and was not letting it go!

  “Leave it, Pam, it’s settled. I’ve got to do it… It’s just a job… I need the money.”

  “How do you think I’m going to feel when you go out every night with other women, satisfying their greedy lusts and desires, wooing them… kissing them… screwing them?”

  She was almost screaming now, with right on her side, in a good old-fashioned female strop.

  “You never think of anyone but yourself, it all revolves around you, your wants, your needs, your feelings. No-one else matters, you selfish, self-centred, self-obsessed… bastard.” There it was out, the pus from the wound.

  It was all true, Paul thought, but he just didn’t care. He knew what he was and he had no problem with that at all.

  “That’s enough,” Paul said. “I’ve made up my mind and nothing will change it. You must make yours up and do whatever you want to do about the situation, but whatever you do, do it quietly,” he said quite assertively.

  It was all still now. The battle lines were drawn, all the words had been spoken and no more posturing.

  “Good,” he said. “I think I’ll take you out tonight, you deserve a treat.”

  He went over to her and held her head in his arms, stroking her hair. He knew the job would hurt her and he knew the outcome, whatever it was, would be inevitable.

  They sat opposite each other at the table; he looked into her eyes, as with all women, she had recovered and regrouped her thoughts.

  She would bide her time, see how things panned out and see how she felt at a later stage in the game, see if it was worthwhile hanging on to a relationship with a monster.

  Why couldn’t she walk away, she wondered, as men do, without a backward glance? Why couldn’t she say, ‘To hell with you, do what you like, I don’t care…’ and walk out…?

  Was it love, she pondered? Was it a need? What was it that kept two people together through all the pain and suffering in a relationship? Did all the good times balance out the bad times? Did she, a plain, ordinary, uninspiring woman, get so much from being with him, when he gave so little?

  Yes, she thought, she did. When she was with him and people saw her, she felt like a like an empress. When she walked next to him, holding his hand, as his woman, she felt as if she was the luckiest woman ever born. When she was in bed with him, the most beautiful and sexiest woman in the world.

  When she was with him, she wasn’t just plain Pamela, she was Paul’s woman and that was something.

  Pamela knew full well the reasons for staying with Paul, it was just a matter of how much more she could take.

  The row was forgotten now, they both giggled and enjoyed each other’s company. They got on well, regardless of their differences.

  Pamela was his friend, his confidante, his lover; he liked her. He liked because she was nice, honest, loyal and caring, and something good in his life. He trusted her and she always bounced back, whatever the provocation; however obnoxious he had been, she always bounced back and he took that for granted.

  He was finishing his coffee and looking at her and smiling; he was thinking of the night ahead. He would have to give her a really good sex session to placate her this time. He was already thinking of what to do. He wasn’t much on romantic chit-chat and promises as other men learn to be, he just knew women bonded best with the men that satisfied them the best, something to do with oxytocin, the love hormone, he’d read.

  “I’m going to make you really happy tonight,” he whispered. “I want you to let yourself go and trust me, I’ve got something special planned for you. I want to show you, that you belong to me and as you belong to me, I will use you for my pleasure, and my pleasure will be your pleasure…” They were just simple words but they were a trigger to later events that she could imagine and anticipate.

  “When we get home, I want you to put on your red lingerie, my favourites, your black stilettos, black stockings. I want to look at you, admire your beauty, be excited by you, know you’re mine and that you’re willing to do anything I say just to please and satisfy my hunger for you.

  “You will go to my top drawer and remove the black cat o’ nine tails, the ropes, the tape, the two vibrators, the dog collar and lubricant. I want you to stay in the bedroom and wait for me, on your hands and knees, with your blindfold on and your dog collar on.”

  She looked into his eyes and said, “Yes sir.”

  They finished their drinks and left. He drove his car back slowly, so she could anticipate and imagine the course of events that were about to follow.

  The few words he spoke and her imagination would turn her on even before they got home, even before she’d left the restaurant.

  As he drove, Pamela was trying to snuggle as close as she could to him. All thoughts of arguing and fighting were gone; she was squeezing the tops of her legs together and at the same time trying to kiss and nibble his ear, she was visibly aroused and trying her best to control herself. She knew what was coming but wanted it now!

  Her hands were trying to stray under her dress, but Paul stopped her quickly.

  “Don’t touch yourself until I say…” he said in a mock stern voice.

  “No sir, sorry sir,” was Pamela’s meek reply.

  It was all part of their ‘game’ or ‘fantasy’. He was ‘Sir’, in total control over her, and she was the ‘Slave’ that obeyed without question. Her reward for her submissiveness, would be hours of sexual heaven. She knew this was a good deal!

  Paul was deep in thought, ignoring Pamela. He never fully understood why women responded to being dominated and abused, but in his somewhat extensive experience, they did.

  Maybe it was something to do with their caveman days, when nice men couldn’t protect them or their offspring, so they instinctively responded to aggressive, unthinking, dominating alpha males, that would give them and their children a better chance at s
urvival. It sounded plausible, he thought.

  Maybe it was the fact that when they were bound and tied and submissive, they threw off their ladylike affectations and guilt and let their inhibitions run wild so could enjoy the sex act more thoroughly, more animal-like?

  He didn’t know, or care, he just knew he had learned the skills of turning them on and with his ‘bag of tricks’ he could get them under his power, get them addicted to him, and then use them as he thought fit.

  Pamela, for her part, had no idea what he was thinking and wouldn’t have cared anyway, she was only thinking about what he was about to do to her, to every part of her body, every inch of her skin, to every hole in her body. Images were flitting through her mind – lying on her stomach, on the bed, her body pulled tight, being whipped, over and over again, or lying on her back at the edge of the bed giving fellatio, until she gagged, or hopefully on all fours being led like a dog, then slowly sodomised, for his pleasure.

  Hurry please, she thought. Hurry. she daren’t speak out loud without his strict permission, and she would also have no say in what happened, she would just take whatever he did to her gladly and thoroughly enjoy it.

  She was panting, eager and impatient and as wet as a bank holiday weekend in Wales.

  They arrived home and separated, Pamela to the bedroom and Paul to the lounge.

  He fixed a single drink, for himself but not for her. He sat a while, to let the dynamics kick in.

  He was now ‘Sir’, she was the slave – she would just obey. Her slave name was Candice and as Candice, she had no being, no personality, no mind of her own, but just one thought and one thought only, to please her boss – his pleasure was her pleasure.

  Pamela was undressing; quickly, she threw her clothes into the wardrobe and stood naked. She felt her pussy, it was wet. Good, she thought. Paul would have abandoned the activities if she hadn’t been able to show him that he had indeed aroused her to this state, she would be no good to him if she wasn’t wet, that would be an insult to him, a poor reflection of his skills.

  She put on her red pants, her red bra, pulled up her black stay-ups, no messing with tedious straps at this stage, and pulled on her stilettos.

  She looked at herself in the full-length mirror. She looked like a whore, she thought. Good!

  Pamela went to the bedside drawer and removed all the toys and tricks ‘Sir’ had mentioned. Holding the whip, the vibrators and the ropes, sent a tingle through her lower body. “Oohh,” she giggled. She was turned on still and she thought, quietly to herself, Yes ‘Sir’. Bring it on… ‘Sir’…

  She laid them on the bedside table, in a row one by one, like a nurse would in a hospital theatre, ready for the surgeon.

  Pamela put the dog collar around her neck and fastened it; she put on her blindfold, then assumed the position of a dog, on all fours on the floor, and waited for her master’s voice.

  Pamela was now Candice the slave, she was ready to serve and satisfy her Sir’s every whim and fancy, without question.

  Paul opened the bedroom door and entered. He had taken his shoes off, so when he moved about the room, Candice couldn’t hear.

  He knelt down beside her and stroked her hair; he spoke softly.

  “Good girl, good girl, my good girl. Are you ready to satisfy me, my little doggy?”

  “Yes sir, I am, I’m at your service, sir,” Candice almost whispered.

  He attached a lead to the dog collar and slowly walked her around the room. She was still on all fours and pranced like a dog, proud to be with its owner.

  He stood in the centre of the room and Candice crawled in a circle without speaking.

  Paul used the end of the lead, which was made of leather and split into six or seven thinner straps, that had small knots on their ends.

  Whack! He strapped her buttocks, not too hard but enough to make her know her place. Whack! Whack! Every time she completed a circle. It was almost like training a dog, which it was in a way.

  Whack! …Whack! …Whack! “A little bit quicker, Candice, you’re getting to be lazy, doggie,” he said, in a mock serious voice.

  Whack! …Whack! …Whack! “Better, I like that pace, Candice, I like it a lot.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she replied.

  “Good girl, now stop!” Candice stopped and awaited her instructions. Paul unclipped the lead from the collar and looked at Candice.

  “Stay on all fours, open your legs,” he ordered.

  He continued to whip her buttocks and the backs of her legs, not too hard, but enough to tingle and enough to reinforce the game of ‘Slave’ and ‘Sir’. Soon Candice would forget who she was, who she was supposed to be, forget herself completely and just enjoy the sexual excitement of the moment.

  She looks wonderful, Paul thought. Lovely slim long legs, clad in black stockings, beautiful rounds ass, with red lace knickers, legs wide open, every man’s dream. I’ll be up that ass later, he added, not quite believing his luck in having her.

  “Now Candice, roll on your back,” he said and she did. “Spread-eagled.” She complied.

  He walked around her, admiring her semi-naked body, completely at his disposal.

  He dangled the strap over her stomach and she flinched a little, not knowing where he was coming from. He was playing with her, teasing her.

  “Don’t move a muscle,” he said, and he whipped her leg to emphasise what he’d said.

  He was just looking, admiring her youthful beauty, her sexiness, and admiring his power over her.

  He teased her some more, letting the strap ride over her stomach then to her inner thighs, missing the groin. He moved, silently, over to her head, lifting the strap on the way, and he ran it over her neck, then her breasts.

  All the time, Candice was moaning softly.

  “Ohhh that’s nice, I like that, I like that a lot.”

  It was both exciting and sensual, for her. The effect of the strap, running over the soft erogenous zones of her body, kept Candice aroused and full of anticipation for what was to come next.

  “Stand up, Candice,” Paul said.

  She stood up instantly.

  He looked at her and she was smiling, standing there awaiting her next instruction.

  “Open your legs, wide, arms at your side.” He waited a second or two.

  “That’s nice, now I want you to hold both of your breasts and squeeze them, push them forward and flaunt them at me.”

  He spoke, in an assertive and firm way, never letting the role slip.

  Candice held her breasts in her hands and squeezed, pushing the nipples out as if to impress ‘Sir’.

  “Like this, sir? Am I doing good, sir? Am I pleasing you, sir?”

  “That’s nice,” was the reply. Paul produced a camera and took the first photograph.

  He knew that Candice and lots of women like her, loved to pose and display themselves for photographs, or for him. It was just another trick that kept a woman turned on and yet, Candice never liked to look at them afterwards, which he found puzzling.

  “Now put your hands down, put them to your groin at the sides of your knickers and try to push your pussy forward…”Sir had spoken and his slave obeyed instantly, and a second photograph was taken.

  After three or four pictures, he stepped behind her and released her bra strap, pulling the bra forward and letting it fall to the floor. He didn’t touch her breasts, although she wanted him to – that would come later after a lengthy but climactic build-up.

  Candice stood there, breasts exposed, red knickers and black stockings and stilettos.

  Wow! Paul thought. I want that now!

  He was eager to move in the game, but he knew he had to pace himself.

  “Pull down your knickers, to just below your fanny, slowly,” he said.

  Candice slowly wriggled out of the red lace knickers and let them slip just past her fanny line as ordered.

  “Yes sir,” she replied eagerly.

  He looked and waited.

  “Step for
ward. Open your legs wider, bend over.”

  She struggled but she obeyed.

  Whack! On her bare ass cheek, this time with his hand. Whack! “Ooooh…” Whack! “Ooooh…” Whack! “Ooooh…” Whack! “Ooooh…”

  “Stop being a wimp, Candice,” Paul said firmly. “Stand up and take off your knickers.” She complied, letting them fall to the floor.

  “Now hold your breasts and try to lick your left nipple, keep your legs open,” he almost shouted, and slapped her leg.

  “Ouch!”

  Another photo was taken.

  ‘Sir’ stepped out of the bedroom and returned with a kitchen chair. He held his slave’s arm and motioned her to sit down.

  She sat on the chair, legs akimbo.

  “Good, good.” Click, a photo was taken. “Now open your pussy with both hands.” Click, another photo.

  The ‘slave’ was now eager and willing to pose as if she was the sexiest woman in the whole world.

  “Put your two fingers inside your pussy and push them in, now out, keep it going, good. Now, use your other hand and masturbate for me, slowly. That’s right, around and around the clit, let me see it… pushing your fingers in and out, at the same time.”

  Click, click, went the shutter…

  Candice was a very obedient slave; she didn’t need telling twice, but she was getting worked up now and ‘Sir’ would have to control her.

  After he’d taken a few more photos, he said, “That’s enough, Candice, I don’t want you coming yet. You can, but only when I say you can.”

  Paul picked up the ropes from the bed and proceeded to tie Candice’s arms and legs to the chair, she was now powerless and at his mercy. Her heart raced a little, but a little fear always enhances the game, she thought.

  He stood behind her and breathed out by her ear; she could feel his hot breath and it was turning her on more. He kissed her ear, then her neck, nibbling, up and down, all the time using both hands to squeeze her nipples hard. Candice was fidgeting, working herself up, impatient for her super orgasms.

  He let his hand wander down to her stomach and on the mound above her smooth-shaven pussy.