Cordwainer made no reply. He never had dusty shoes, so the fetish was presumably not one which appealed to him. He allowed Michelle to put her lips to his cherry-polished shoe tips, then watched as she repeated the process with Trewin.
“You kissed mine first, Miss Object,” he said. “In future I want you to attend to the councillor first, where I or others are present. He will take precedence now.”
Michelle’s heart sank a little further. With every new act of abjection, she seemed to be getting further away from, rather than closer to, Charles Cordwainer. She had thought that surrendering herself to his every desire would make him love her. Another brick in the wall of her confidence was dislodged and she felt something close to fear.
She knelt a while longer, letting the low tide of their conversation wash around her ears without taking much of it in. The banging in her head repeated the same message over and over. Charles is leaving me, Charles is leaving me. Trewin’s shoes, poorly polished and bulging a little at the toe, began to revolt her. Above them, argyle patterned socks stretched away until they disappeared beneath his trouser hem. Argyle patterned. Not the uncompromising black favoured by her Charles. He would never wear patterned socks. It was not masterful attire. Also, if her delicate nose did not deceive her, the councillor’s socks could do with a launder. She knew he had been single for many years, following the sudden flight of his flighty wife, but all the same—surely he had a housekeeper or something. Surely there was no need to wear the same pair of socks twice before washing. Or perhaps he was just unnaturally odiferous.
“Artichoke, Miss Object?” Cordwainer’s cruelly amused voice awoke her and she sat up and begged in the way that he liked, straight spined, shoulders thrust back, palms up and tongue out like a dog’s. He placed the delicacy on her eager pink tongue and watched her chew and swallow before patting her on the head.
“You’ll need something to wash that down with,” suggested Trewin, pointing a finger at the crotch of his trousers.
“Good idea. The councillor first, Miss Object, then you may attend to me.”
Michelle knelt between Trewin’s knees, unbuttoned his fly, then extracted the thick cock and heavy balls, handling them as if they were treasure before bathing the shaft with her tongue. She remembered that Trewin had always enjoyed a little bit of fluttery licking and teasing before the fellatio proper, and she was rewarded for this piece of observation with a ruffle of her hair.
“Oh, she’s good,” he said, stretching his arms above his head appreciatively. Cordwainer’s mobile phone rang and he began to rasp into it while Michelle tried her utmost to concentrate hard on giving Trewin the oral pleasure he demanded, and eavesdrop at the same time.
“No, the Fairhaven. What do you mean? How can they have just left town? Oh, I see. Well, do they have family? Parents? Brothers or sisters? See if you can find any and perhaps suggest they put you in contact. The usual methods of persuasion should work. Yes, I know that. And they know that I don’t just let my debts go. I always find my missing debtors. Always. Or, at least, you do. Yes, tomorrow morning. I’ll see you then.”
Michelle sucked and fondled, hearing Cordwainer click off the phone, tutting and shifting irritably in his armchair. From the corner of an eye she watched him take a big mouthful of wine.
“Keep going, slut,” Trewin urged. “Don’t slack now.”
He must have been talking to Rocky. Gorgeous, sexy Rocky, oh, if she were ten years younger…She began to pretend that Trewin’s cock belonged to the leatherclad enforcer, that it was Rocky’s big gloved hand in her hair and his muscular thighs either side of her. This was a game she liked to play when she was performing for some of Goldsands’ less glamorous deviants. He was dangerous, just like Charles, but in a different way and, unlike Charles, he seemed to seethe with passion. She often wondered if he enjoyed the work he did for her master and had concluded that he must feel the same way she did: ambivalent, slightly self-loathing but ultimately driven by practicalities and pressing needs. And, in her case, love. That bit probably didn’t apply to Rocky.
She remembered with a
pleasant shiver the time he had met Charles in the hotel one morning.
“Can I get you anything?” she had asked.
He had looked her up and down from under those soot-black eyelashes. “Depends, love. What are you offering?”
She had giggled like a schoolgirl and later Charles had whipped her for flirting without permission. At the time, she had taken this as evidence of Charles’s jealousy and revelled in her welcome punishment. But now she was not so sure. Not now that Charles sat, watching her fellate Trewin with detached disinterest, as if she were a PowerPoint presentation in a dull office meeting.
Trewin grunted and filled her mouth with semen, which she swallowed dutifully before turning her attentions to Charles. He wasn’t even hard. She had to stroke him to tumescence before she was able to begin gumming at his dear cock.
He’s always been hard before, she thought in anguish, tears springing into her eyes. He really doesn’t want me anymore. She gave him the most savagely intense blow job of her life, gorging on him as if she was starving for his cock. He tried to carry on a conversation with Trewin about tax returns but was forced to retire from it to pull Michelle’s hair and groan obscenities at her.
“Oh, you dirty little fuck-whore,” he whispered, beginning to thrust into her mouth. “Eat it, swallow it down, fill your belly with spunk. That’s what you’re made for, isn’t it? What you need? You’re going to get fucked so hard tonight.”
Michelle’s surge of jubilation spurred her on. She still had it. She could still take that little piece of control from him, just by using her lips and tongue. He still wanted her. She squeezed his balls and he spurted jets of warm salty semen into her mouth, adding to the taste of Trewin that lingered there.
“We can discuss details later,” Cordwainer said to Trewin in a wrung-out rasp. “First of all, I think our little friend here needs a good hard fucking to show her what’s what. Shall we take her to bed?”
“I’m ready,” said Trewin, hard again after watching her perform on Cordwainer. “Slut, get up to the bedroom and wait for us on the bed, arms and legs spread. You can warm yourself up with a toy if you like. I just want to finish this glass of wine a minute.”
Michelle rose to unsteady feet, murmured, “Yes, sir,” and took her leave, climbing to her bedroom in the attic of the hotel.
She took a clitoral stimulator from a drawer stuffed with sex toys, lay down on the bed and switched it on, letting the low, slow thrum send waves through her. She imagined that the vibe was Rocky’s tongue and that the strapping young man was crouching between her thighs. Or maybe she was flipped over the seat of his bike, getting ready to be skewered on the end of his cock. What was Rocky into? Was he a spanker? She thought he was, but the erotic, slap-and-tickle kind of spanking rather than Charles’s more formal tastes. He would hold her down, she thought, rather than use ropes or chains. Between Charles’s intelligence and Rocky’s strength, Charles’s sadistic imagination and Rocky’s passion, they would make the perfect man. But she could only have one of them, and maybe not even him. The vibrator buzzed between her pussy lips and she imagined Charles overseeing Rocky’s fucking of her, giving him instructions, urging her to work harder, milk that cock, take that pounding…She was close to coming when the door opened and her two masters stood in its frame, watching her.
“Very nice,” said Trewin.
“Please, sir,” she panted, “may I come?”
“No,” decreed Cordwainer, but then he turned to Trewin. “Sorry, Phil. It’s habit. Of course the decision is yours.”
“Put the toy away, slut,” said Trewin, coming into the room and looming over the bedside. “You’ll get your orgasm, but it’ll be with my cock in you, understood?”