The Games We Play (A Wicked Wednesday Post)

This is part of a WIP - a defining scene in my story about what happens when a game goes too far :)


“Some of your guests are getting a little wild.” I murmur, hoping the man he’s talking to can’t hear me over the noise in the room. Andrew sits up from his lazy slump to look over his shoulder at the men groping and licking and sucking. He raises one eyebrow toward me, “You think that’s wild?”

“Well, more than usual.” I frown, but he just chuckles.

“You’ve only been to my parties, pet. Most of the parties here are—well, maybe someday you’ll go to one.”

I’m still frowning, it’s involuntary. I don’t know why this is so unsettling. It’s not like it’s a surprise. I work at a sex club, and given the context, nobody in this room is doing anything particularly shocking. None of the dancers are protesting, everyone seems to be having a good time, but there’s still something about the whole situation that’s making me twitchy, like there’s an itch under my skin I can’t scratch.

I’m aroused, not just from Andrew fingering me before the party began. I like watching the dancers as guests fondle them. I imagine myself in their place and wonder what it might be like to have those men desire me so blatantly, to touch me like that out in the open, not caring what anyone thinks.

What would it be like to walk around naked, so confident in my own desirability that I lose all self-consciousness? What would it be like to straddle Andrew, right here in the middle of the room, unzip his pants, and ride his cock until we both come?

A man calls to me, requesting another drink. A shiver runs through me as I turn away from Andrew, letting him return to his conversation. The interruption is a welcome one. It lets me return to the steady work of serving drinks, which keeps my mind busy enough that I don’t have to think about all the crazy things I keep learning about myself. Being around Andrew is peeling me down like an onion, layer by layer. I’m terrified of what I might find at my core.

The evening wears on and the guests become increasingly uninhibited as the liquor flows. I’m trying really hard to not look too closely, but still catch flashes, quick glimpses from the corner of my eye as I turn or set down a tray of drinks - fingers sliding into a pussy, a mouth hanging open in ecstasy, a hard cock being drawn out of a pair of expensive wool trousers.

My face is flushed, it’s too damn hot in this room, that’s all. I lose track of time, too busy going back and forth to the bar to waste any precious seconds looking at the clock. My feet start to ache, indicating it’s been at least a few hours.

Suddenly, Andrew beckons me and I go quickly, grateful to return to him—my anchor, my safe harbor. I stop beside him and bend down, close enough to hear whatever he’s going to say. “Mr. Chase,” I try to sound sultry, “how can I be of service?”

He touches the back of my knee. My skin tingles beneath his fingers while he draws his hand up my thigh, beneath my dress, until it rests directly below the curve of my ass. I stiffen and throw a glance at the man Andrew’s been speaking to, but he’s on his phone, apparently paying no attention. I mentally force myself to relax. Nobody cares. There are naked women directly behind me. Nobody cares that Andrew is touching my thigh.

“I want you,” he pitches his voice only loud enough for me to hear, “to go over to that gentleman with the purple tie, get on your knees in front of him, unzip his pants, and suck his cock.”

Wait. What?

My head reels. I must have misheard him. He wouldn’t have—he wouldn’t actually say something like that to me. “What did you say?”

“You heard me. I owe that man a favor. You’re mine now, aren’t you? Go suck his cock.”

I straighten, suddenly feeling the need to distance myself from him as my head shakes from side to side. “I’m not… why would you ask me to do that? I don’t know him, and I’m—you don’t own me, you—”

He frowns at me. “Why are you arguing? I gave you an order.”

My face goes hot, flushed with blood, then drains, leaving me cold. My head feels like it’s floating a foot above my body, like I’m trapped in some unexpected nightmare. Andrew suddenly transforms into someone I don’t recognize.

“I don’t want to.”

He shrugs, indifferent. “I don’t care.”

How can I tell him no when my refusal means nothing to him? I can’t say anything, I’m trying to remain steady on my feet, my thoughts running in tiny circles like a trapped mouse. But then I open my mouth, chest aching, and say the word I never thought I’d actually need to say.

“Sassafras.”

His response is immediate and absolute. His face pales and he drops his hand from my thigh, sitting back in his seat. We stare at each other, his expression blank with shock. I imagine mine looks about the same, but I simply turn on my heel and walk out of the room.


As always, thank you for reading!

Thank you, Marie, for another week of Wicked Wednesday wonder!

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© Hey, Mrs. Robinson | T.J Robinson