Best of 2017

“Please…” I ask, and I don’t know what I’m asking for.

He does, because he gives it to me. Deep thrusts that make me cry out noises that don’t sound like me.

I hold him so tight, my lips on his as he shudders and moans, and he’s so close, his eyes right in mine, as I feel him lose control.

He tenses. Grunts. And I feel it. I feel him come.

I made him come.

It’s only when he stops that I realise how sore I am. How tender my pussy feels.

It’s only when he pulls away and pulls me up with him that I realise I’ve bled over the perfect white bedding.

Horror. I’m so horrified I try to wipe it away with my fingers, but the pink stain just smears worse.

“I’m so sorry…” I tell him. “I’m really, really sorry, sir.”

My eyes are wide and scared as they meet his, because I don’t want him to be angry. I don’t want to disappoint him.

But he’s not angry.

His eyes are dark, but they’re not angry at all.

He stares so weirdly, and my heart races, because I think he knows. I think he knows who I really am.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he tells me.

But he’s still staring. Still thinking.

I’m burning up. My cheeks on fire as I bluster a smile.

“I’d better get, um, cleaned up a little…” I say, and head for the bathroom.

ALEXANDER

“I’M REALLY, REALLY SORRY, SIR.”

I can’t stop staring at her, can’t tear my eyes away from the sweet panic in hers. The hunch of her shoulders as she frantically tries to wipe her blood from the sheets.

As if I give a fuck about the sheets.

She’s beautiful. Too much of a delight to be real.

So it can’t be real. She can’t be real.

She tells me she’d better get cleaned up a little, and I watch her retreat to the bathroom. She smiles before she closes the door behind her, and it makes me smirk to myself to think of her dithery fingers wiping herself clean.

I plan to head in after her, but I need a moment. I’ve already clocked her bag on the dresser, and I’m straight over before she can catch me in the act.

I make sure the door is still closed before I undo the clasp and take a look inside. A purse, which I don’t open. A phone with a locked screen, an older handset, nothing special. A lipstick, a hairbrush. A little velvet bag, some chewing gum, and finally, slipped into the hidden pocket, her passport.

I flip it open quickly.

Amy Leigh Randall.

Age twenty-one, just as she said on the video.

I note her address. East End, but not in too bad an area. Her photo looks older. Her hair is longer and light brown, her face glowing natural with barely any makeup.

I shove it back in her bag.

Amy Leigh Randall.

It’s not a name I recognise. Not one that’s ever crossed my path before – I’m good with names.

I smile to myself.

Her familiarity must be a welcome illusion, my mind playing tricks on me.

A lucky find. Fate some may say, although I don’t go in for that shit.

I guess Claude just came through this time. I’ll forgive him the extra charges after all.

This was the best half a million I’ve ever spent.

I turn the bathroom door handle.

MELISSA

ALEXANDER HENLEY IS in the room next door.

I can’t believe this is happening to me. I can’t believe this is real.

I’m still bleeding, but it’s not so bad. It’s pale now, and mixed with… him… his cum… and I didn’t think it would be possible to want him any more than I did before tonight, but I do. I want him more than ever.

I never want this to end.

I touch my neck, run my fingers where his held me tight, and I smile.

I feel so alive. Never more alive than I did when I felt myself slipping away. Scary, and exciting, my heart pounding in my chest as he choked off my air, and then… peace.

Calm.

A blackness creeping in. My ears ringing.

And him.

I hope this isn’t it. I hope we’re not done already.

I’m wiping myself for the final time when the door opens. I clench my thighs when he walks in, and he sees me. He sees and he tips his head.

“Feeling ok?” he asks.

“Yes, thank you,” I tell him. “I feel great.”

I get to my wobbly feet and flush the toilet, so aware of how naked I am under the hard lighting.

He watches everything. The way I soap my hands in the sink. The way I shake them, then dry them on the hand towel. I watch him right back in the mirror, burning everything to memory. The broad strength of his shoulders. His dark nipples on his toned chest. The trail of hair over his belly, to his cock. His cock is still hard.

I’m pretty sure that means we’re not done already.

I fluff up my hair before I turn to face him, trying to strike my most confident pose, even though I don’t feel confident at all.

My skin prickles as he steps closer, tipping up my chin to examine my throat.

“No marks,” he says. “Good.”

I wouldn’t care if there were. I wish I could find the words to say that without sounding like an idiot.

His hands rest on my shoulders, and I realise how big he is compared to me.

“You must be thirsty,” he says.

I nod. “A little.”

It makes him smile, and it’s only fleeting but it’s addictive. I love to see him smile.

“Come,” he says, and takes his hands from me. “Champagne.”

I follow him back through to the bedroom, hoping I’m not still dripping pink. He tops up my glass and hands it to me, and he toasts me with my glass of mineral water from earlier.

“To your first time, Amy.”

“To my first time, sir.”

He clinks my glass, and I drink down the bubbles. It’s good. The champagne is really good. I tell him so.

He examines the bottle. “You like? I’m not much for champagne myself.” He reads out the name on the bottle, some posh French word.

I shrug. “I’m not really much of a drinker… especially not the good stuff. I normally stick to juice. Less of a hangover.”

He nods. “Indeed. I’m of the same mind myself.”

Mr Henley takes a seat in one of the armchairs by the dresser, as though sitting naked in a hotel room is the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it is to him.

He gestures to the chair opposite him, and I sit, wondering what he’s thinking. Wondering where this is going.

“What brings you here, to a stranger’s bedroom, Amy?”

I smile. “I didn’t think you enjoyed small talk.”

He tips his head. “I don’t, but I’ll make an exception now we’re… acquainted.”

I shrug. “Not much to tell. I thought it was about time. I thought the money would be… useful.” I meet his eyes. “I didn’t want to be a virgin anymore. I thought this would be… memorable.”

“And is it?”

“Memorable?” I feel the grin creep across my lips. “Oh, yes.”

“And what now?”

“I hope we do it again,” I tell him honestly. “The night is young, right?”

His dark eyes twinkle. “Yes. The night is young.”

“And what about you, Ted?” I ask. “What brings you here?”

“A bad divorce and peculiar interests,” he tells me. “That and a sixty-hour working week, plus the added bonus of finding almost every human being I come across thoroughly intolerable.”

I nod. Smile. “Yep, I guess that’ll bring you here. I hope I’m not too… intolerable…”

“Not at all,” he tells me. “So far you’ve been thoroughly entertaining.”

“So far so good.” I laugh.

“So far so very good.” He takes a sip of water. “Are you a

t college? Studying?”

I shake my head. “No. I wanted to be a lawyer, but I, um… it didn’t work out. Maybe sometime soon, though.”

“A lawyer?”

I practice my poker face. “Criminal, yeah. I’d love to be a criminal lawyer.”

He smirks. “I’d rethink that if I were you. It’s really not all that glamorous.”

I let my eyes widen. “You’re a lawyer?”