Chapter 17

I washed my hands, sponged the dampness from my pussy, and touched up my makeup again. I sighed. One more to go. I’d enjoyed the session with Benjamin immensely, though it turned out even more physically tiring than the one with Grace. I suspected Grant would be at least as worn down, and thought about how nice it would feel to relax in bed with him until late tomorrow morning. I can wait a few minutes and get my head cleared.

I sat on the bed, closing my eyes. I can wait a few minutes and get my head cleared. I’ll do a better job if I get a little energy back, and I don’t think they’ll hang Perry without me. I hoped never to miss watching one of my classmates hanged—they deserved the devoted attention of every member of the class and it was always enjoyable.

I opened my eyes at a noise from the doorway, and gasped, my hand flying instantly to my mouth. I rasped a furrious “What’reyoudoinghere??” between clenched teeth, my hands automatically balling into fists.

Andrew’s smirk hadn’t changed, more infuriating than Grant’s had ever been. “You greet all your customers that way? I should file a complaint.” He wandered casually over to the toy drawer Grace had made use of earlier. My jaw aching with tension, I watched as he picked out a set of handcuffs and spent a moment admiring the whip.

“You aren’t a customer! I didn’t give you a chit.”

The whip made a swooping sound as he waved it experimentally. “Oh, I arranged with Stan beforehand to buy his. They’re transferable between members, you know. He made a small profit on it.”

“Let me see your ticket!” I grabbed it out of his hand shakily, my heart pounding. He had paid, it seemed, for full privileges, including use of the toy drawer.

The reassurances I had given myself before the start of Grace’s session didn’t necessarily apply here. Andrew might not care that his membership would be revoked if he hurt me—he might regard this as a one-time opportunity, to be remembered fondly ever afterward. Even possible civil penalties in case he seriously damaged me might not be a sufficient deterrent. As a topper, he wouldn’t be executed or even face significant jail time. He would have to pay a fine; it would make the evening more costly, but not prohibitively so. I had known, and reveled in the knowledge, of how angry I must have made him when I left home, wrecking his fantasy about me and leaving that taunt behind on his bed. Until this week I had never imagined he might have a way of getting back at me, and I’d believed my worries of the past few days had been unnecessary. But now here he was.

Darrel could stop things before anything too drastic happened. But it depended on how long that would take. Andrew wouldn’t cross the line right away. He would humiliate me first. Visions of sexual abuse flashed before my eyes. He would probably use my mouth, holding my head against him, with no more concern for me than if he were masturbating. Then he would use the whip, lightly and stingingly at first, only later hard enough to leave bruises...

Andrew was still playing with the whip, bending it to test its flexibility. “Here’s something I knew you’d think is funny. I used my own money to get in, of course, but to pay for this private session, I used yours. That money you thoughtfully left behind for me when you moved out. I knew you hoped I’d find a good use for it.”

I nearly screamed in fury. So typical, so typical! Buying the right to hurt me with my money, making me contribute to my own humiliation and pain.

Think, Amy, think now! I imagined myself using the whip on my own brain, trying to force it to work harder. Miranda would take control! I saw her control him. Not just any man, but Andrew himself! But I realized I couldn’t copy Miranda’s trick. Miranda’s strategy, tailored perfectly to her reading of Andrew, had been to persuade Andrew that she could put on a much better show, impressing his friends all the more, if Brother could satisfy her with some kind, gentle sex beforehand. That won’t work here! I don’t have a show to put on, none of his friends are here, nothing is the same. Come on, Amy! You know Andrew much better than Miranda ever did! Think!

Visualizing Miranda’s head, back in my room, always seemed to help. I tried to put Miranda’s smile before my eyes. Okay, Miranda, what do I do, what do I do??

Andrew disrupted my concentration, gesturing at me with the whip. “Okay, Slave Girl,” he said with a nasty grin, obviously reading the engraving on Academy collar. “You know what I want. Strip down. Now!”

The words “You know what I want” seemed to keep playing in my head on an endless loop. What he wants. What he wants.

A sudden calmness washed over me, like a cooling breeze on a sweltering summer day. Yes, that’s it! I smiled. “Yes, Andrew. I know what you want. What you really want. Do you?”

He glared at me. “What are you talking about?” His momentum seemed suddenly blunted by puzzlement.

I leaned back, supporting my weight on my hands as I continued sitting on the bed, making no move to carry out his command of a few moments ago. I waved my hand casually at the whip. “Oh, put that down, Andrew. Any idiot with a weapon can force people do what he’s asking. There’s nothing special about that.”

He looked down at the whip, making no move to discard it for the moment. His eyes narrowed. “What?”

“And money. Give anybody some money, no matter who he is, and he can start throwing it around and make things happen. There’s nothing special about that either.” I leaned forward now, my eyes fixed on his. “You’re Andrew Cameron! Shouldn’t that be something special, all by itself?”

Andrew appeared frozen, torn by conflicting impulses. Impatience for action seemed to gain the upper hand in a moment. He took a step closer. “Quit stalling.”

I shook my head. “Don’t throw this chance away, Andrew. You can have what you want the most, and it’s not by being rich, because you never could have bought this. And it’s not by tossing out physical threats, because there’s no coercion you can come up with that would ever get you this.” I made my voice huskier, softer, seductive. I started letting my fingers play with the leather cup of my bra, as if unconsciously. “I can give you something you always thought you should have because you’re Andrew Cameron.”

Almost seeming in a trance now, his eyes fixed on my breasts, Andrew nodded.

I stood up, and looked around thoughtfully. “The bed is against the wrong wall. Help me move it.”

The trance lingered a few seconds longer, and at last he shook himself out of it. “What?”

I said patiently, “We’re making the room look like yours at home. Come on.” I grunted as I shoved one corner of the bed sideways.

Tentative understanding seemed to burst upon him, an idea of what I might mean. He fiddled with his pants for a moment to make room for a growing erection, and bent over (which helped with the erection as well) to push the end of the bed counterclockwise. Seconds later the head of the bed was against the side wall of the room.

I straightened up, theatrically rubbing my hands. “There! Okay, just wait there a minute.” I headed for the door of the room. “You’re in your room, by yourself...” I said from the doorway, “ ... and you hear my footsteps coming up the stairs.” I disappeared from his view, out into the hallway.

Yes, I do know him. Better than Miranda had, better than anyone else in the world. I know what he wanted, from that moment when he first suddenly saw me as desirable. What he wanted and saw that he couldn’t have. His frustration that he couldn’t impress me with how rich he was, because I had just as much access to wealth as he did. The frustration turning into anger, creating that fantasy of controlling and enslaving me because he saw I’d never come to him willingly.

Alone in the hallway, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, forcing a return of the calm I had felt since the insight had struck me. I silently thanked Miranda; I felt sure she had sent it to me. The one remaining question was the physical method. I didn’t much fancy taking Andrew in my mouth. I’d do it if he asked, of course: he was a client. But given a choice...

To make this work, I needed to be wet The rest would be easy: A woman can fake an orgasm, and in two months here we’d learned how to do it really well, Just In Case. But I’d need to be excited, as if the thought of going to bed with Andrew was the biggest turn-on in my life. And then I thought of the session I’d just finished with Benjamin. Right.

I remembered Grant during hanging practice last night. His naked body, twisting and kicking in the air, the noose tight around his neck. He’d been alternating desperation kicks with his “invisible lover” routine. That was all it took. I was dripping.

Showtime.

I moved back to the door and leaned coyly across the doorway, smiling, holding onto the doorframe to keep myself upright. I worked at projecting a hungry look. In my best breathy voice, I murmured, “Hi, Andrew. I’ve been thinking about you all day.” I straightened up and walked slowly into the room, rolling my hips sensually. I hoped I wasn’t overdoing it, but decided that was impossible. I trusted my own perception of Andrew’s fantasy. I’d adjust if I started to lose him.

Andrew stared at me, giving voice to a barely audible grunt. He adjusted his stance again as his erection continued growing, while his face grew flushed.

Just above a whisper, as if overcome with arousal, I breathed, “I couldn’t think of anything but what we could do when I got home.” I kicked off my high heels, both as a hint of further undressing to come and to remind Andrew he was taller than me.

I continued approaching him until I was pressed against him, my breasts thrust out, my hands reaching out to rest on his hips, looking directly up at him with what I trusted was a yearning expression. I let my palms slide slowly up his sides, then back behind his shoulders as my arms surrounded him, and in my huskiest voice yet, croaked, “I want you!”