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Emily Prentiss liked to be in control. She wanted to know what was going on, how things were working, and who was doing what. She liked having control over her life, control over how people viewed her, how people treated her, and how she presented herself.
Right now, she’d lost control, and it was chipping away at her, bit by bit. She was afraid that if it got any worse, she’d crumple and break. Just a few months ago, she’d uprooted her life in DC, merely a year after reuniting with her friends, all because it hadn’t felt right. That life hadn’t felt like hers. She couldn’t control it, so she left. And now—it was worse.
Emily had no control here. She was living in a new city, working a new job. She hardly knew anyone, and there were too many factors to keep track of, too many new people and new places. Nothing seemed to pan out how she wanted. She couldn’t handle it. She was trying and trying to keep everything calm, steady, and controlled, but her efforts were failing.
Her fingers were rubbed raw, and her fingernails were shorter than the beds. Emily was slipping. She knew it, but she couldn’t stop it. Everything she tried to control seemed to slip between her fingers and break. Maybe, she figured, she just needed someone to tell her what to do. She needed someone to take the burden of holding herself up and tell her how things were supposed to be, to reassure her that control still existed in some environments. Just because one part of her life was falling apart didn’t mean all of it was.
There was a part of her that was appalled she was doing this, considering giving up her control, albeit it, only briefly, but some piece of her, buried deep inside, knew that letting go, letting herself relax, might just do her some good. The way in which she planned to go about relaxing shocked her, too.
Maybe this was irrational. Maybe she was irrational and overwhelmed, and this was the best solution her fractured mind could conjure. There were certainly more destructive things she could do. So, she reasoned, this was rational. For the most part, Emily didn’t consider herself to be a highly sexual person. She liked sex; she’d had it with both men and women, though she held a strikingly large preference for the latter. It wasn’t typically something she turned to as a way of emotional release. Certainly not with people she didn’t know.
However, things these days didn’t seem to reflect her typical way of life. So there she was: fumbling around in some part of London, looking for a particular address, to a certain bar. She controlled her choices up until the point when she stepped over the threshold of the door. Inside, the environment was unfamiliar, and that was something she despised. She didn't know the people, or where the exits were, or what the walls looked like. There were uncertainties in every corner.
Emily drew in a deep, even breath, then approached the bar to order herself a drink. She wasn’t that fond of drinking when out in public. Alcohol took away one’s perception, one’s ability to judge, and she hated that. She drank at home—she drank a lot at home, where she could control where she was, and where the bathroom was. Tonight, though, was not about control.
She sipped her drink hesitantly, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do next. She used to think of herself as confident, but now she felt timid, uncertain. She stared at the ice in her drink. Coming here had been a spur-of-the-moment, capricious decision, a last resort at trying to give up her control to someone else. She needed control too much, and she just wanted someone to take that away, to let her stop worrying once.
A cool voice passed through the air beside her. “You look lonely.”
Emily stiffened, hand tightening around her glass, and she turned to examine the woman who’d silently slid into the seat next to her. “Everyone’s lonely sometimes.”
The woman was wearing a tight-fitted black dress that left little to the imagination. Her features were sharp, angular, and stern. Her dark hair was pulled into a slick bun, making her cheeks and jawbone even more striking, and her lips were a vibrant red. Emily’s eyes lingered on her lips.
The woman stirred her drink absentmindedly and took a long, slow sip. “You look like you’ve been lonely for quite a while, dear. Now…” she set the drink down, and her lips curled into a devious smile. “I’m not trying to impose, but lonely people tend to make their way around here looking for someone to make them a little less lonely. That’s something I can offer you, if you prefer a woman.”
A blush crept up Emily’s neck. “I do,” she affirmed.
The woman nodded sternly, lips still turned up in a smile. She adjusted her dress, tugging the neckline down so it exposed her cleavage slightly more. That was definitely on purpose, Emily thought. She felt her mouth go dry. The woman leaned forward and brushed her lips against her ear. “What is it, exactly, that you might be looking for?”
Emily’s body felt hot. It was something she hadn’t felt in quite some time. “Well, what do you offer?”
The woman chuckled, as if it were absurd to ask such a question. “I can’t reveal all my secrets now, can I?” She reached her hand out slowly, tracing Emily’s jaw. Emily jumped at the touch of her cold fingers. She moved her hand to grab the one by her face and twisted their fingers together momentarily before letting go.
“You’re a stranger. I don’t know anything about you.”
“That’s the beauty of strangers,” mused the woman. “You tell me what you want, I give it to you, and you never have to see me again. It’ll be our dirty little secret.”
Emily’s eyes flitted back to her crimson lips. Her tongue darted out teasingly, only for a brief moment. “I want,” she started slowly, thinking of the exact way she wanted to phrase this.
“Go on,” the woman encouraged, almost demeaningly. She was enjoying this, watching Emily fight for words. Her lips were parted, breath shallow. “Don’t be shy.”
Emily broke away from her penetrating stare and scanned across the bar. A small scoff escaped her lips. “You seem to know what you want. How about you go first? Or is that not how this game works?”
Still unblinking, the woman replied, “Well, dear, I want you, but I thought that much was obvious.” Her hand found Emily’s thigh and tightened around it. “Your turn.”
“I find it a little embarrassing to say these things to someone I don’t know, but I take it you've heard some pretty embarrassing things.”
Given her demeanor, Emily had deduced enough to gather that this woman was likely an escort. She was calm, even-tempered, and cool. She knew exactly what to say and exactly how to stare right into Emily’s soul. It felt as if this woman were two steps ahead of Emily, and that was not something she—a profiler—was accustomed to.
The woman in front of her blinked. She took another slow sip of her drink as she carefully considered her next words. “You like being in control, don’t you?”
Emily felt her face flush. As if having heard Emily’s confusion, the woman whispered, “I know what people like. It’s just fun to make them say it.”
Emily took a deep breath and stared firmly back into the eyes of the woman in front of her. “Take it away, then. I want you to be…”
“In control?” the woman finished snidely. “That, I can do. In fact, I’d consider it my speciality, you could say. Well then, shall we?”
“I don’t just walk away with someone I don’t know.”
The woman sighed and clucked her tongue. “Because you like controlling things. I thought you weren’t doing that here.”
“Well—”
“People tend to call me the woman, but you seem like someone special, so… My name is Irene. Who might you be?”
“Emily.”
“Well, Emily,” Irene cooed. “If you’d like, I can give you what you need. Otherwise, I’ll leave you here by your lonesome self and find someone else to have my way with. It won’t be that difficult, I presume.”
And so, Emily nodded. With a glint of anticipation in her eyes, Irene took Emily’s arm and led her toward the door. Emily’s heart skipped a beat. What was she doing? She’d worked so many cases that started just like this, and it was possible, though unlikely, that she’d walked into the hands of a mastermind criminal. If that was the case, she figured, Irene had made a promising argument.
. . .
Emily could nearly feel the wealth radiating from the woman at her side. They walked arm in arm down the streets of London. Her dress was simple, yet elegant. Even the way she walked made it seem like she had money, and the car they approached confirmed Emily’s suspicions.
Given that Irene referred to herself as the woman, she was definitely a high-end escort who’d just picked Emily up for free. Emily knew what wealth looked like; she’d grown up rich, and she still was considerably rich, though she didn’t act like it. She had money, and she didn’t like to use it. Irene clearly did.
“You must make a lot of money,” Emily commented.
Irene pressed her lips together and glanced at Emily from the driver’s seat. “I know what rich men like. They pay well to let me beat them around a little.”
Emily snorted.
“Is something amusing, dear?”
Her behavior, to the trained eye—and it appeared Irene was trained—was projecting half of her thoughts. “Men tend to make it easy.”
She didn’t know that from sexual experience with them, as that had been short-lived and rather disappointing, but from her job. The men caved much easier to her interrogations than most of the women, who went in with a plan. Maybe it was the sheer number of male criminals, but Emily had ways of opening them up. Irene, it appeared, did too, though she dealt with a different demographic.
“You made it easy, too.”
“There’s a difference.”
Irene raised her eyebrows. Her finger trailed down Emily’s shoulder, nail scraping over her skin, causing Emily’s hair to stand on end as she continued to drive. “Is there?”
“I’m not desperate,” Emily supplied, though her argument was weak.
“Don’t be so sure of yourself, darling. I haven’t even got my hands on you yet.”
Emily was right about men. They were often so desperate to get what they wanted that they’d drop to their knees in mere seconds, while women tended to tease, pout, and take their time getting to the end. Women were more gentle, too. They were reserved and delicate and beautiful. Irene would admit to herself that she only liked her male customers because of how damn easy they were. They’d submit to her, beg to her, pay her, without much push. She controlled everything. Women, however, were more emotional. They made Irene feel. As much as she liked to have control over them, too, it was only with women that she considered giving them what they wanted without much of a fuss.
Irene cleared her throat as the car rolled to a stop in front of a row of flats. “Now, before we do anything, I need a word from you. I plan to make you beg for mercy, and I need to know when to stop.”
Emily swallowed. She’d done this once before. Once, and only once, when she was fresh out of college, looking for someone—anyone. It wasn’t new, per se, but she could tell Irene was going to be better. More professional. Experience is a hell of a teacher. It was her job, after all. And Emily was okay with that. She didn’t feel like fumbling around with a woman, getting each other off for the sake of it. She wanted something more, without the strings attached. Irene seemed like the person to give that to her. She needed this night of feeling like she didn’t have to worry about a goddamn thing in her life.
“I…” Emily hesitated. “I don’t really know how this works.”
“As much as you’re going to tell me you want to stop, that’s not usually the case. So: a word, love.”
Emily stared straight ahead as she thought. It should have been simple to pick a word, but it felt like it carried a weight.
“You don’t have much experience, do you?”
Emily’s head turned quickly to look at Irene. “Are you judging me?”
“Of course not,” she replied, her tongue darting out to lick her lip. “You have got to be one of the more respectable people I’ve taken home.”
Emily scoffed. “Low standard, I suppose.”
Irene put the car into park. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. Come, darling. And think on that word, will you?”
Emily shivered as the cool night breeze blew across her skin. She was not prepared for this. Not at all. Irene fumbled with her keys, unlocking the front door of her luxurious flat. Inside, a younger woman met them at the door and offered to take Irene’s coat.
“Thank you, Kate,” Irene told her objectively, as if this were a habitual interaction.
The woman, Kate, threw a sideways glance at Emily and eventually asked, after a moment of looking her up and down, if she needed anything at all, though her voice was jerky, her smile forced.
Irene released a sudden bark of laughter. “Kate, dear, don’t be so jealous. We both know I’ll leave you writhing later. I have some business to attend to first. If you could so kindly take Emily’s coat, I might be kind the next time you’re in my bed.”
Kate’s face flushed a deep red. She ducked her head and looked at the ground. “Yes, ma’am.” Without asking, she took Emily’s coat from her.
“If you’re worried about the fact I’ve brought another woman home, I’m sure she can assure you it’s just for the night.”
“It is,” Emily supplied, as she began to connect the dots about the degree of the relationship between the two women in front of her.
“Good luck, then,” Kate told her. “She’ll do a number on you if you don’t tell her what you dislike.”
Emily just stood there, watching as Kate disappeared around the corner. Irene turned to face her. “Usually this would be a matter of payment; however, I think you’re intriguing. Enough so that I picked you, so, if you’d make your way up the stairs—”
“Alright then.” Her heart was beginning to pick up. She had no idea what to expect from Irene. Everything about this woman surprised her.
She began to climb the steps, with Irene closely behind her, heels clicking on the marble floors.
“Don’t mind Kate,” commented Irene. “She’s just jealous that she won’t be the one unconscious on a bed tonight.”
“Does that happen often?”
“More than you’d like to know.” A cold hand brushed Emily’s back. “This way. We have a few more things I’d like to establish.”
Emily found herself in a bedroom as lavish as the rest of the flat that was practically the size of a large house. The interior was adorned with blacks and whites, marble, and modern artwork. The contents on the wall told her the room wasn’t for sleeping.
“Admiring my collection?” inquired Irene. She gestured at the bed. “Sit down.”
Emily complied. There was something so compelling about Irene’s cold voice.
Irene spun to face her, hands on her pointed hips. “You will listen to me. You will do as I say. You won’t speak unless I ask you to, unless you’ve truly had enough, in which case I suppose you may tell me to stop. Understand?”
Emily nodded.
“Say it.”
Her throat tightened, heart jumping in her chest. “I understand.”
“Good girl,” Irene mused, and Emily felt a rush of heat between her legs. “Now. How am I supposed to know when dear Emily has had enough of me?”
“I could say stop,” supplied Emily.
Irene clucked her tongue. “That’s so boring.” The thought didn’t seem to linger in her mind for long because she continued, “If that’s the case, is there anything I need to steer clear of entirely? And be specific because, god, I’ve done some dirty things with people.”
Emily’s eyes wandered to the back wall, wondering what it was Irene liked to do most. “No extreme pain.” Her hand gravitated unconsciously to the brand on her chest. She thought of the numerous other scars Doyle had scattered on her and wondered briefly if Irene would care. It was unlikely. This woman seemed to have experienced a lot in her life. She likely wouldn’t be fazed by the healed wounds upon Emily’s chest. But those weren’t the only ones. There had been a time, a brief time, in her teenage years, and once quite recently, where Emily needed so badly to control herself that she’d turned to the point of a sharp object, hoping physical pain would render something in return.
It hadn’t.
“Em-i-ly,” Irene mused. “Answer me.”
“No pain,” she repeated, searching for terms she knew Irene was accustomed to hearing, but ones that were foreign to herself. “No impact play.”
“Shame. I love hitting people.”
“No…” she trailed off, embarrassed to say the words, despite her current predicament. She motioned with her hands, and Irene laughed.
“Anal, dear?”
“Yes.” Emily held her gaze steadily on Irene.
“Well, that’s not all that uncommon. Men don’t tend to like being humiliated in such ways. And women seem to have fun in plenty of others. I suppose because I’m feeling nice today that if anything really bothers you, you can tell me.” Irene began to tap her foot against the floor. The noise echoed through the room.
“Thank you.”
“Mhm. And what about edging? Are you into that?”
“Yes.” A shiver ran down Emily’s spine. That was something she was frankly terrible at, mostly because she was overly hedonistic at times and impatient. Nevertheless, it seemed enticing. Irene gave her a pointed look, and Emily added, “please.”
Part of her shied away from complying with this woman’s every demand, but Emily reminded herself that this is what Irene did. She broke people down—humiliated them, teased them, and then touched them.
Irene was used to timid customers, though Emily wasn’t that. She wasn’t a customer at all. In fact, Irene wanted her—and she was one of the first she’d really wanted in a while. This wasn’t like Irene at all, to care about the people in front of her. Then again, it wasn’t easy to care about slightly overweight men who paid her however many pounds to fuck them up a little. Emily was different. She was going to be fun.
Irene planned to draw this out, eke out every ounce of pleasure, and some pain, that she could get. She took a step towards Emily, her hand firmly grabbing her chin and tilting her face upward so their eyes met. A squeak escaped Emily’s mouth, and she bit down on her tongue.
She watched as Emily’s pupils dilated. Irene towered over her as she sat perched on the edge of the barren mattress.
“Tell me,” began Irene, “are you a lesbian?”
Emily mindlessly let her eyes drop from Irene’s glare to her chest—to her pointed nipples beneath the dress—before snapping them back up. Irene was, she determined, ethereal.
Irene chuckled bemusedly. “Well, that tells me you like women. You’re making this so easy.” She reached out with her free hand and tucked a strand of dark hair behind Emily’s ear. “What about men? Do you like them?”
Emily took a breath, composing herself, and finally answered, “I’m gay.” The small remainder of rational thought inside of her was in disbelief that she’d followed an escort to her home, was now telling her these things that she would barely admit to those close to her.
“I thought so.” She let her grip on Emily go. She stepped away from the bed, taking a few slow paces away and then back again. “Have you ever let a man have you before?”
Emily’s pale cheeks flushed again, but she found herself admitting, “Yes.”
“It’s not very exciting, is it? They’re so oblivious and quick. Always forgetting to ask what the lady would like, it seems. Did you enjoy it?”
“Given my previous answer, I’m sure you can infer,” chided Emily. Irene seemed to have a habit of asking questions she already knew the answer to. Emily supposed that was part of the fun for her.
“Well, yes, dear, I’m gay too, but I still have fun with men even though I think they’re quite ugly. It’s fun to watch them squirm, don’t you think? Make them give in to me and beg, and…” she trailed off. “Dear me, I’m getting distracted from you.”
Emily didn’t respond, though she felt herself adjusting to the nature of this crude conversation.
“Take off your clothes.”
“What?”
Irene narrowed her eyes and turned her attention back to Emily’s body. “You heard me. Strip.” The two women stared at each other, neither one moving. “Emily,” tutted Irene. “What did I tell you earlier?”
Emily stood from the bed and unbuttoned her pants, maintaining steady eye contact with the piercing woman in front of her as she dropped them to the floor. Her shirt covered the rest of her body. She hesitated.
Irene scoffed, “Oh, dear god, Emily. Are you really embarrassed to undress in front of another woman? One who is, mind you, about to have you right here on this bed as many times as you’ll let me?”
Emily’s gaze hardened as she thought about her scars again. She did not come here to let herself ruminate, again, over something she’d experienced years ago. This was supposed to get her mind off it. She took a steady breath, then grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. She tossed it carelessly on the floor next to the bed and turned her attention upwards to watch Irene’s reaction.
Irene studied the brand first, her eyebrows slowly rising, though she said nothing. Then, she moved to the jagged scar left behind from the stake. Her tongue ran over her lips. Emily could see the way thoughts spun behind the woman’s eyes. She reached her hand out and closed cold fingers around Emily’s wrist, pulling it upward so she could examine the row of scars spanning Emily’s forearm.
Emily cleared her throat. “Have you never seen scars before?”
Irene’s cold demeanor never slipped. “What did I tell you about speaking?” she quipped. “I’ve seen plenty. I put enough on myself before I started fucking people all the time. It’s a much more enjoyable way to deal with my emotions.”
Emily, at one point, may have been shocked by such a statement, but in the past 30 minutes, she’d quickly learned not to make any assumptions about the woman in front of her.
“Now. I asked you to strip, and you don’t look stripped. Go on.”
Emily stared firmly back at Irene as she unclipped her bra, sliding it down her arms and dropping it to the floor with her other clothes.
A sigh escaped Irene’s lips. “God, you are beautiful. I have so many things I’d like to do to you.” She turned and strided across the room until she was standing in front of the wall decorated with toys. “I am going to make you feel absolutely powerless. You’re going to be completely at my mercy.”
Irene plucked a few items from the wall and chuckled when Emily, briefly, opened her mouth. She smiled mischievously as she kicked her heels off and pulled down the zipper on her tight black dress. Emily watched in rapt fascination as Irene peeled the dress away from her body, revealing a strappy set of lingerie. Her skin was smooth and pale, her legs toned, probably from strutting around in unimaginable heels all of the time.
“Do you like it?” Irene trailed her nails down her stomach, fingers teasing the band of her panties. “Answer me, Emily.”
“Yes,” Emily breathed. “God, yes.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Irene stepped towards Emily. “I have a really easy way to check. Sit down.”
Emily sat.
“Open your legs.” Irene waited for a moment while Emily moved. She scanned her eyes across her pale skin and landed on Emily’s pussy. It was glistening. “Pretty girl,” she mused. “You are wet. Do you think you deserve to be pleasured?”
Emily blinked pathetically, her lips parted as shallow breaths went in and out. Her heart was pounding. “No.”
Irene placed a hand on Emily and squeezed, digging nails into soft flesh. “Good girl. You have to earn that.”
Her arms shook as she held herself up, waiting for the next thing Irene was going to say or do. She was enjoying this, though she struggled to admit that. There was no thinking involved. Irene made all objective decisions for her, whether Emily liked it or not.
“You want me to be in control?” Irene inquired, confirming, teasing, what she’d already heard. “Give me your wrists.”
“What?” Emily snapped her mouth shut.
Irene clucked her tongue again. She kept doing that. “We never established that you were opposed to being tied up. I can do that, can’t I?”
“Of course.” Emily held her arms out, her chest and face burning.
Irene chuckled as she grabbed Emily’s hands. “Dear me, you’re shaking.” She snatched the ropes she’d retrieved and looped them around Emily’s wrists. “Lie down, dear.”
Emily did just that. This really wasn’t like her at all. She let her muscles relax, falling flat on her back, arms still outstretched, in Irene’s grip. There were no thoughts about Doyle, or the life she’d uprooted and moved across the ocean, or unsubs, or crimes, or anything at all, really, except how striking Irene was and how badly she wanted to get fucked at that moment.
The woman above her secured her wrists firmly to the bedposts, smiling all the while. “There we go. That’s much better, isn’t it?” She raked her eyes hungrily over Emily’s body, examining her again. “Where should we start?” She asked the question as if Emily had any voice in the matter. “I think...” Irene trailed off, smirking meticulously, leaving Emily to guess what she might be thinking of. “Yes, that’s a good place to start.”
Emily swallowed, her mouth opening to let out an aroused breath, as Irene leaned forward, cold finger brushing Emily’s nipple. It tightened, the skin pulling. “Not so reactive there. What about... here?” Her hand trailed downward, brushing across the bottom part of Emily’s stomach, a couple of inches below the scar. “No, not there either.”
Emily’s hips bucked when Irene’s finger hovered just over her center. She threw her head back and laughed. “I’m not thatnice. You should get used to not having what you want, Emily. This isn’t all about you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Emily replied, her eyes slowly widening as Irene moved her hands, reaching beneath one of the straps of her lingerie.
“Oh,” Irene mumbled. “You do learn fast.” She held her hand up, two fingers glistening. “Do you see this? This is what looking at you does to me. Not many people can do this. Probably because I spend most of my time fucking men and men are horrible, aren’t they?”
Emily nodded silently, eyes fixated on her fingers. Irene slowly stuck them into her mouth, licking them deviously with her delicate tongue. She had beautiful, long fingers, and she could only hope that she’d get to know what they felt like inside of her.
“Somebody’s having a dirty thought. Care to share?”
“What?”
“Emily.” Irene pouted, her perfect red lips turning down into a frown, even though she was having more fun than she’d had in a while. “You are spread open on a bed. I can tell you’re enjoying whatever thought you just had because you’re aroused, and arousal is one of the easiest things to observe in body language. Now, either share with me, or I will make sure you do not get anything you want tonight.”
Emily cleared her throat, shifting her legs uncomfortably. She was soaked by now, and was almost sure that it had dripped down her pussy onto the sheets. “I was thinking about you,” she muttered. “And your fingers. Inside of me.”
Irene looked down at her hands. “Yes, I do have nice fingers, don’t I? I can attest to that. I’ve made myself cum enough times to know.”
Emily couldn’t help it. A moan escaped her mouth, and she knew well enough Irene was going to reprimand her for that.
She scoffed. “Dirty girl. You get off on talk like this, it seems. I bet I could make you cum just by talking about the things I’ve done.” She leaned forward, one finger slipping inside Emily. She held it there as she leaned over Emily. “The slightest touch and you’d probably be screaming, isn’t that right?”
Emily shifted her hips, searching for friction.
“Ah, ah!” Irene pulled her finger out, leaving Emily writhing. “God, you are pathetic. A singular finger has got you this worked up? How are you going to take any of my toys in a state like this? I suppose you may not be ready.” She moved away from Emily, standing again.
“No! Please, I am,” cried Emily. “I want it. Whatever you have—I want it.”
Irene rolled her eyes and glanced at the clock on the wall. “8 minutes, Emily. It took you 8 minutes to beg. That is, god—” she laughed, “—pitiful.”
She laughed to herself again, and she climbed onto the bed, straddling one of Emily’s legs with her own. Her body was all beauty and straps, and Emily had never been more aroused in her life.
“Now, because you’ve been a bad girl, I’d like you to do the talking. Unfortunately, I can’t smack you because, apparently, you’re not into that, so I’m going to have to be a bit more... creative... with you.”
Irene lowered herself onto Emily’s leg, and she could feel the heat radiating from her.
“Tell me about the last time you got fucked.”
Emily’s dark eyes squeezed shut, and she quickly felt a hand on her face.
“Look at me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She breathed deeply, trying to calm herself. Her nerves were on fire, body pleading for something. Irene was taking her sweet time getting started. Emily hadn’t slept with someone in quite some time, and she was, to put it plainly, desperate. “It was back when I lived in the States.”
“What was her name?”
Red spread over Emily's chest and cheeks again. This was quite humiliating, talking about her previous hook-up—with her best friend, at that—while a dominatrix was on top of her.
“Her name was Jennifer.”
“Dirty girl. Tell me about it. Was she in control?”
“No, I was.”
Irene smirked, as if she doubted what Emily was telling her. Instead of addressing it, she asked, “Did you make her cum?”
“Several times,” Emily whimpered, only then realizing Irene probably had the resources to find out exactly who she had slept with.
“Tell me how.”
Emily thought for a moment, remembering the way it had felt to have a woman beneath her, muttering her name breathlessly. “I used my fingers,” she began. “I did it slowly. And I used my tongue, too.” She paused, the memory of it nearly overwhelming her. God, she missed it. But she knew she couldn’t have stayed there. So she’d slept with her best friend as a final goodbye. It had happened only once before, in Paris, but Irene didn’t need to know that.
She reached out to examine Emily’s fingers. “I bet she thinks about these fingers often, don’t you? What—did you fuck this poor girl and then leave the country?”
Emily laughed nervously. This really didn’t seem pertinent. “I was leaving so I… slept with her.”
“Fucked her,” Irene corrected. “Then slept with her.” Slowly, she leaned down, covering Emily’s body with her own. She nipped on an earlobe, then mumbled, “You love her.”
Emily went stiff. She did not just get profiled by a fucking escort. She’d barely given Irene any details, and yet, she knew.
“That’s alright, everybody falls in love at some point.” She trailed a hand to Emily’s breast. “I’m not here to dwindle in your fast affairs.”
“Really?”
“Ah ah.” Irene tapped Emily’s cheek with a pointed nail. “Don’t speak. And, no, I frankly don’t care who you love. That is your business, and this is mine.” Irene squeezed a firm breast, then pinched a nipple between her fingers. “I’ve got you now.”
She clambered off of Emily and plucked a dildo off the bed. “Just because you mentioned my fingers earlier, you’re not going to have them. It’s a shame because I’d really like to feel the way you clench around me while I slide them in and out and in and out.”
Now that was just cruel.
Instead, she traced the toy up and down Emily’s pussy a few times, covering it in her arousal. Slowly, Irene pushed it into the woman on the bed. Emily bit her lip to keep herself from moaning.
“No,” snapped Irene. “I want to hear you. I want to know how much you like getting fucked while you’re all tied up.”
And so, Emily let herself moan, quiet at first, but they grew in length and intensity, and Irene began to fuck her harder. She stayed poised over Emily so she could stare into her eyes while she pumped her arm, the toy moving with little friction inside Emily’s pussy.
“Such a dirty, dirty bitch,” mused Irene. “Not a coherent thought in those eyes.”
Emily replied with a few mumbles. Her body burned all over, eyes darting between Irene’s sharp face, her breasts, and her legs. Everywhere she looked made her want more. Without warning, Irene retracted the dildo from inside Emily and held it to her parted lips.
“Suck.”
It was a new feeling, to wrap her lips around a silicone toy whilst staring into deep blue eyes. She moved her tongue, tasting herself on the toy. Irene shoved it further down her throat, and she gagged slightly, eyes watering. She did her best to breathe through her nose and keep her body still.
“Good girl,” praised Irene. “I wonder what you’d look like with a dick down your throat, sucking it off until he cums on you. I’m sure you’d hate it. I’d love to watch.”
Emily sputtered, coughing, when Irene finally pulled the toy back. Her arms strained, skin rubbing against the rope she was tied up with. Irene returned to fucking her harshly, leaving little time for Emily to adjust to the feeling of being full.
She couldn’t cum from penetration. She’d never been able to, and that made this all the more torturous. Irene could go on like this forever, and Emily would never get there. She bucked her hips again, and Irene rolled her eyes. “So needy.”
And then, because Irene must have been feeling kind, a long, delicate finger brushed Emily’s clit. Emily just about screamed. It drew a long moan from her throat as she threw her head back, eyes squeezed shut.
With a particularly hard thrust, Irene said, “Look at me, Emily.”
Emily did. Irene was hungry, eyes devouring every inch of the woman beneath her as her hands worked, one thrusting the dildo in and out, and the other ever so gently rubbing Emily’s clit. It wasn’t much stimulation, but it was sufficient to start building something within Emily. She could feel the pit in her stomach, the need to finish. She was absolutely dripping, making a mess of Irene’s nice satin sheets.
“Let’s play a game,” mused Irene. “How many times can I edge Emily until she’s had enough?”
Emily whimpered. Her head was absolutely empty, her body willing to do whatever Irene asked of her. Slowly, the toy was removed, leaving her clenching around nothing. Irene watched intently.
“You have a gorgeous pussy. I can’t wait to ruin it.”
Irene stood, returning to the wall to retrieve a few more objects. Emily didn’t bother looking. She figured it could be a surprise. She soon heard the faint buzz of a toy and glanced down as Irene pressed it to her clit. The dildo was pushed back into her. Emily had adjusted to feeling full. It gave her something to clench around, and if she shifted her hips just right, it felt so damn good.
The vibrations were, at first, gentle, barely enough for Emily to feel anything at all. It was torturous. Irene secured the vibrator against Emily and backed away. In front of her, Irene pulled her panties down. They were entirely soaked through. It was difficult to see, at first, because the fabric was black, but as Irene pulled them away from her body, Emily could see the wet glistening between Irene’s legs.
“Quite wicked of you to have me this worked up.” She held the panties in her hand and moved toward Emily, eyes glinting. “What do you say you have a taste?”
Emily’s eyes widened, but she didn’t object. She let Irene brush the fabric against her lips and took it in her mouth, sliding her tongue along the silk. Vaguely, she wondered if she might cringe at this memory later because it was absolutely degrading. But for now, her eyes remained trained on the woman in front of her.
Irene’s hand trailed to her pussy, and she dragged her fingers through it, sighing as she began to touch herself. Emily’s arms pulled against the restraints. She wanted to have her hands all over this woman. She knew that wasn’t going to happen. She was to spend the entirety of the night restrained, letting Irene do as she pleased.
“Oh.” Irene leaned forward, supporting her weight on one arm, and she kept fucking herself. “What do you think, Emily? Would it be nice to watch me cum? Get a taste of what you can’t have.”
Emily whimpered against the fabric.
“I think I’d like that,” Irene answered for her. She shifted, turning up the vibrations. Emily’s stomach clenched. She could feel an orgasm building, and Irene watched as it happened. She fucked herself gently, rocking on her hand, small breaths escaping her lips. As Emily began to arch her back, Irene shut the toy off. The vibrations stopped abruptly, and Emily gasped.
“Don’t get too close, dear. I’d have to find a way to punish you.” Her hand moved to her clit. Emily watched the way she delicately touched herself—much more softly than anything she did with her clients. For a moment, Irene’s eyes slipped shut, then she regained her composure. She reached forward with her free hand and removed the panties from Emily’s mouth.
“Breathe,” she commanded. And the vibrations started again.
“Fuck,” Emily hissed.
In response, Irene turned it higher. “Where are your manners?”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Good.”
Irene watched as Emily rutted helplessly against the vibrator, still filled by he dildo. She waited patiently, eyes glinting as Emily's orgasm began to build again. This was the best part: taking things away from people right before they were closest to getting what they wanted. Irene came silently on her hand. It was so subtle, Emily almost missed it, if it hadn’t been for the way her face flushed and her hips jerked slightly. She shoved her fingers into Emily’s mouth and let her suck them. When Emily’s moans began to build again, Irene pulled both toys from her, watching her pussy clench around nothing.
“No,” Emily protested, body straining. “Please!”
“Please, what?”
“Please let me cum.”
“I don’t think so, do you?”
It went on like that for long enough that Emily lost count. Her body and brain had turned to mush. Irene pushes her, playing with her, fucking her, teasing her, and then, abruptly, ripped it away and watched Emily squirm, cry, and pulse.
She brought an ice cube out at some point, trailing it along Emily’s skin and then touching it to her clit. Emily cried out, bucking against it. It burned, but it was good. It cooled the fire on her skin and replaced it with a dull, aching throb. Irene took her time between Emily’s legs, pinching, prodding, and letting the ice melt. Emily felt like it would never end. Every time something was built within her, it was ripped away. She lay limply now, her breathing uneven and shallow.
Then, Irene finally, finally, let her have her fingers. She slid two into Emily and began to curl them with fervor. Her other hand worked diligently, drawing circles around Emily’s clit.
“Beg for me,” demanded Irene. “Come on, Emily, be a good slut and beg.”
“Please!” Emily said. “Fuck, god, please let me—” her breath caught in her throat as her muscles began to tighten. She felt weak and used and absolutely ruined. Every inch of her skin was sensitive, pleading for Irene to do something—anything. “Please make me feel good.”
Something was building inside Emily, something different than every time Irene had left her dangling on the edge. The heat blossomed, spreading from her stomach to her chest to her face, and all the way down her legs to her toes.
“You’ve been so naughty today. I think it’s time you’re good. Cum for me, Emily.”
Emily, despite the previous warnings, broke eye contact with Irene and squeezed her eyes shut as her body spasmed. The orgasm hit her, rolling across her body in waves. Irene didn’t relent. Her hands kept moving, circling, fucking, until Emily couldn’t take it anymore. Something inside of her released, and a bout of liquid spilled across Irene’s hand. Irene smiled widely. She finally withdrew, watching as Emily squirmed on the bed, legs snapping shut. She was ruined, pussy contracting, chest heaving, mouth hanging open.
Irene stood and watched Emily for some time. After a minute or two, her eyes opened, and she turned to look at Irene. “Look at you,” commented Irene. “You are a wreck.”
Her hair was splayed around her head, tousled and tangled. She was covered in a sheen of sweat. Her pussy and the inside of her legs were sticky, covered in her own arousal.
“I’d have you again if you’d let me.”
“Oh, god. I can’t,” gasped Emily
“That’s a shame. If you weren’t you, I’d ignore that and have you anyway.”
Slowly, meticulously, Irene undid the ropes around Emily’s wrists. Her arms collapsed onto the bed, and Emily curled onto her side, rocking gently. It had been wonderful, feeling everything that Irene let her feel, and now she was absolutely spent. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t move.
Irene appeared in front of her, crouching at the side of the bed. Something in her face was softer now, more gentle. “There you are,” she whispered. “Are you alright?”
Emily nodded slowly, though she wasn’t sure. She didn’t know what she was feeling. It was… strange. Her mind and body were empty.
“This happens,” Irene told her. “Just lie there.”
She brought her a towel and some wipes to clean herself off with and stood over her as Emily moved slowly, limbs weak and shaking. Irene held a glass of water and tipped some of it into Emily’s mouth.
“There you are.” She’d found a robe and covered herself with it. “I quite enjoyed my time with you.”
Emily had no words. She wasn’t sure if this was what she was looking for when she set out to find someone, but Irene had accomplished whatever it was she needed to. She took away Emily’s control. Emily had not controlled a thing while Irene did whatever she wanted to Emily’s body. It was foreign. And it had been miraculous.
“Thank you,” Emily whispered. “I needed that.”
“Well, if you find yourself in need of it again…” Irene slipped a small business card into Emily’s hand. “You know where to find me.”
She winked. She picked Emily’s clothes up off the ground and placed them on the bed. “Take your time. But I don’t typically do overnight guests. I have someone impatient waiting for me downstairs.”
Emily dressed slowly, and Irene studied the scars on her chest as she did. “You are intriguing,” she breathed.
“I can’t reveal all my secrets, can I?” Emily mocked, using Irene’s words from earlier. “I believe you played that card on me.”
Irene’s head dipped, and a smile spread across her lips. “I did, didn’t I?” She helped Emily get to her feet. She leaned forward, lips brushing Emily’s ear. “I know how to get what I want from people. Especially when they're tied up on my bed.”
. . .
A few months later, Emily found herself at work, as she often was. A knock sounded at her office door. “Come in.”
Clyde Easter made his way into the office, placing a stack of files on the corner of Emily’s desk. “I need your help on a case.”
“Is that so?” Emily leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms across her chest.
“We’ve been profiling an organization involved in crime across London, and we think we may have a lead. I’d like to get your thoughts on the profile.”
“Of course.” Emily reached for the files. “What do you know?”
“We know her alias, but not her name. Professionally, she goes by the woman. Everything else is in there.”
Clyde tapped on the file, then turned, shutting the door and leaving Emily in an empty office once again. A laugh bubbled in her chest. She didn't need to open the files to know who Clyde was talking about. It appeared it was her turn to tie up Irene.