Surprises Pt. 02

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

*****

Author's note (a summary of part one):

Twenty-two-year-old Amanda Trudeau signed up with a hotel to provide a special service to VIPs in an effort to chip away at her student debt. She found out that she knows her client, a bachelor party member-he was a guest lecturer for her criminology class the previous year. And although she's got scars from her past (literally), something about Mr. Carver (those innocent eyes? that sexy voice?) makes her want to say yes to anything he might ask her.

Matthew Carver really is at the hotel as part of a bachelor party, and the generous groom has paid for special services, but he's also on assignment: gathering information about a possible trafficking and prostitution ring operating under the cover of a semi-legitimate-ish escort service. Lucky him that he was paired with his shy, beautiful ex-student, Amanda, a budding submissive who ticks his boxes. He's determined to open her up and, last we saw them, he'd played with light bondage and humiliation while satisfying his need for oral stimulation.

This story contains light bondage, domination, and discipline; reluctance that wavers to nonconsent; and a threesome that just can't help itself happening on the other side of the room.

His perspective is told from 3rd person close; hers from 1st person.

***

I went from hot and lusty to apprehensive in the two seconds it took Mr. Carver-Matthew; I had to try to get used to calling him by his first name, like he wanted-to run my sleeve through his fingers and say those words:

"You need to let me see."

His voice was so firm and gentle, like a parent speaking to a child-Let me see where it hurts.

It shook me and disarmed me.

And I could still taste him in my mouth. I had just sucked and kissed and, let's be honest, worshipped his cock, which he was putting away now; I had just done all of that for him on command. What had he said? I was filthy for him, for his approval. Something like that.

I could feel my cheeks blazing as I came out of my lust fog. My knees were slipping off the pillow and before I could right myself, I slid against his legs, which I'd been kneeling between while I serviced him, and then I was lucky he was quick because he caught me before I could hit the little side table too hard.

"Maybe we need to take a break," he said.

Maybe that meant he would take the handcuffs off me. Part of my mind didn't want that to happen.

But before I could answer, the hotel room door burst open.

Matthew made a motion like he was going to stand but thought better of it. He kept ahold of my arms; as we saw the men in suits coming through the door, his grip tightened painfully.

My mouth opened to say "Ow," but instead I said, "Oh," because following the two men in suits was none other than Ms. Redhead herself-the hotel Madam.

What had I done? What was going on? I was too dumbstruck to try to cover up, and even if I had (I sure wanted to when I noticed the men in suits eyeballing me), Matthew's grip was far too tight for me to move.

Suddenly he relaxed. I nearly lost my balance but settled in a seated position, hugging my knees to my chest. Unfortunately this made my breasts pop out of the bra as they'd been threatening to do all night. One of the suits couldn't help himself; his jaw dropped open.

"Good evening, Mr. Carver," Ms. Redhead was saying. "Pardon the interruption, but I didn't realize we had such an esteemed guest among us."

He tensed.

"We need to talk, don't you think?"

"Miss-" I couldn't think of her real name. Ms. Kent? Ms. Kendall? "I'm sorry, I didn't think it through, I should have switched when I reali-"

"Be quiet," Matthew snapped.

I recoiled from him.

"What's going on?" he demanded. "Why are we being interrupted like this?"

"Take the girl."

Matthew looked murderous. One of the suits with Ms. Redhead dragged me up by both of my elbows, which made my breasts-breasts I'd just put back into the traitorous bra-pop out yet again. Jesus.

Hope you're getting an eyeful, I thought at Ms. Redhead. I wasn't really scared, just disoriented and flustered and humiliated, though it all felt surreal.

"What the hell," I said to anybody.

"Let's sit." Ms. Redhead perched on the edge of the bed, Matthew on the loveseat.

She went on. "There has been dishonesty... How do I put this? Your intention here has been called into question."

Did this have anything to do with him knowing me? I wasn't sure, but if so, I didn't want the hotel to think I would be accepting any money from him on top of what had been paid up front. No tips for this working girl-but he was worth it.

"Um, Miss, uh, I'm sorry," I cleared my throat and tried to wet my mouth. The suit gripping my elbows was pulling them too tight, and the cuffs locking my hands together in front of me were really hurting my wrists. "I-Matthew won't be paying. I didn't know until he came in that-"

"Can't you keep your girl silent?" Mr. Carver burst out, talking to Ms. Redhead. "Every other minute she's opening her damn mouth. I only just got her to open it for something useful."

He finally spared a glance at me. The scorn in his eyes was echoed in his voice as he said, "And it's Mr. Carver. I'm not your goddamned boyfriend."

I was floored and starting to feel uneasy. Why was Mr. Carver talking like this now?

It was then that I noticed the gun. The suit standing by Mr. Carver and the loveseat had shifted his stance a little and his jacket had flapped open. This was much more serious than a personal connection.

They'd found Mr. Carver out. They knew he was there to investigate them. How had they known?

More importantly, what were they going to do?

"Mr. Carver," said Ms. Redhead in a conspiratorial voice. "We know you are involved with our competitor in the south. I'm sure you know how to keep your girls silent. This one," she tilted her head at me, "as you are well aware, is from a different branch of our group's, ah, services. So she's untrained."

What the hell was going on? Their competitor? Another trafficking ring, as Matthew had told me he was investigating here?

"Ordinarily, had you been up front with us about your line of work and your connections, we would have comped your entire party's entertainment and perhaps found you a more suitable... more broken in... companion."

I felt cold, cold in the pit of my stomach. Broken in? Mr. Carver wanted girls broken in? Was he... I'd heard of corrupt law enforcement, but I couldn't believe it. Not with those kind blue eyes of his. He was honest, he was good, he was-

"Lying, even if by omission, raises questions. I'm sure you can understand. And we've heard rumors..." Ms. Redhead paused as if to consider how to put something delicately. "There is a rumor out there that you have become close with an undesirable police element."

The silence was thick, tense.

"I won't ask you to deny these rumors. Obviously we don't believe them, otherwise... Well, I'm sure you can imagine our response. It would be the same with your organization if they found a rat among them. But I'm afraid we must ask that you leave the hotel tomorrow morning. I understand the rest of your party is staying three more nights; we have found other accommodations for you at the nearby Hilton, where I'm sure you'll be more than comfortable."

Mr. Carver finally responded.

"I understand," he said, spreading his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "But, Madam, I just came here for a good time, and as the rest of my party is unaware of my affiliations..." He shrugged. See, he was saying, with those guileless eyes, I had no choice.

Ms. Redhead pursed her lips. "I'll be frank with you, Mr. Carver. I'm disinclined to treat our VIP guests with any degree of disrespect, and this does feel extreme. But we must treat even the merest shadow of a doubt with caution."

So Mr. Carver was under deeper cover than I thought...?

Or he was just corrupt. And using me.

Either way, it would be best if I got out of there.

"I see."

Was that it? Was he going to say nothing else? My near-nakedness felt particularly obscene as I watched the fully clothed Mr. Carver, whom I'd just surrendered some part of myself to, relax back into the loveseat and brush lint off his knee.

Ms. Redhead started to turn away and motioned the suit gripping my arms to bring me with her. I felt a sick feeling-what were they going to do?-but didn't have any choice but to go with them. I heard the other suit follow us.

"You know..." Ms. Redhead stopped. The guy hanging onto my arms stopped, too. "I would not wish for bad blood between us. This young woman is not suitable for your evening together; as I said before, she's not part of our more discreet operations, and she is here of her own free will. But we can send another-someone more to your taste-to finish out the night. Will that suit you?"

"I suppose."

I gaped. I had been wrong about him.

"On the other hand, Madam Kenwood, I really was having fun with your girl. Broken in or no."

Ms. Redhead-Madam Kenwood, that was it-narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

"You want us to leave her?"

"Sure."

Something about his nonchalant tone was starting to frighten me. Who was this man?

"Well... Mr. Carver, I've just thought of something. A way to put any rumors to bed."

Mr. Carver frowned.

"This young woman has heard too much. Frankly, we were going to have to take matters into our own hands with her"-I stiffened as she said this-"but this would be an excellent opportunity for her to be broken in instead, and you can do it for us."

I found Mr. Carver considering me, looking me up and down. His unconcerned gaze made me feel wiggly.

"Your credibility will be unimpeachable," she said persuasively, "with me as your witness."

"I... All right," he said at last.

"Garrison, go to that drawer there and bring out the blindfold."

Garrison did so. The other suit just waited. I managed to put my breasts back into my bra yet again while he held my upper arms loosely.

"Tie it on her."

Oh, shit. What was this?

***

Matthew hesitated for a split second, but it was a split second too long for Madam Kenwood, whose smiled hardened.

"Not up to the task? Or perhaps something else is stopping you?" Her lips, painted a shade of red more vivid than her fiery hair, stretched in a sneer.

"I'm up for it." He stepped forward and held his hand out for the blindfold.

After a cursory look at Madam Kenwood, the one called Garrison handed over the slim piece of fabric.

"Excuse me."

The other suit, whose name he didn't yet know, reluctantly let go of Amanda's arms. Matthew glanced at them, wishing the fabric of her bolero didn't obscure her skin so he could tell if she would bruise.

It looked like she had forgotten to breathe. She was probably, he knew, fear-stricken, but he had to get her to go with it or they were both in trouble. Traffickers weren't known for their patience with law enforcement-even suspected law enforcement. It was a piece of luck that his cover wasn't blown.

But he had little doubt they would disappear Amanda unless he could convince them she and he had no connection, he was not secretly working with the police, and she was no threat to them.

She doesn't even know anything, he thought angrily. But these people could be ruthless.

Holding her captive. Breaking her in. Forcing her to...

He felt an intense rush of desire sweep over him as his brain put thoughts of what might happen to Amanda together with the image of her standing in front of him. Her skimpy outfit-the bra that pushed her large breasts up, the cheeky underwear revealing her round, feminine ass-he had to shake these totally inappropriate thoughts.

Yes, he wanted her that way-but for himself, and willingly, not a slave for these people.

He caught Amanda's eye but gave no other sign of his real interest in her.

"Turn around."

She hesitated for a long moment, clearly unsure of him now.

Garrison slapped her.

"Miss Amanda, your client told you to turn around."

Matthew barely heard Madam Kenwood's words over the roaring in his ears. How he managed not to reach out-not to react to the shock on her face, the beginnings of tears forming in her wide green eyes-he didn't know. But he held it together.

"Madam Kenwood, please keep these gentlemen on a leash. You've asked me to break her in and I'm doing it my own way." He tried to sound polite.

"Of course. Garrison," she said warningly. Garrison stepped back.

"Turn around," Matthew repeated softly. Madam Kenwood would be watching him, he knew, so he kept his expression cool.

Amanda sucked her lower lip between her teeth but complied. Apart from their situation, a feeling came unbidden to Matthew: pleasure that she was obeying.

Focus! he thought.

And now Matthew stood right behind Amanda, so close that he could say, as he began to reach around her to tie the blindfold on:

"Be a good, obedient girl."

He thought he saw her nod just a centimeter.

From behind her, he had a clear view down Amanda's chest. He lingered, hoping a good show would convince Madam Kenwood that her suspicions were unfounded and she could leave them alone.

And while he lingered, he took a long look at Amanda's deep cleavage. Matthew had already seen her breasts pop out twice and was dying to pay more attention to them-but privately.

He inhaled the smell of her as he tied the knot. He let his hands trail down the sides of her head and made a show of wrapping her hair around one hand (he loved that feeling), using it to pull her head back (her lips parted; he had a flashback to what those lips had done only minutes before), and looking down at her breasts (they rose and fell with her heavy breathing).

Madam Kenwood, I hope you're buying this, he thought.

His body was definitely buying it. He almost groaned when he felt his erection brush against her nearly bare ass.

And even if it was for her own good, Matthew felt a wave of guilt about his body's reaction to this new position. He usually preferred to come inside a woman, but he couldn't keep from imagining pumping his semen all over those magnificent breasts...

***

"I think this is a teachable moment," Madam Kenwood interrupted. "Mr. Carver, if you don't mind, would you guide Mr. Hughes and Mr. Garrison through your approach with Miss Amanda here."

I stiffened at her words, but also because Mr. Carver had jerked his hand on my hair, probably involuntarily.

I couldn't see anything. Hands grabbed my arms-at least they got my forearms this time, and not my poor battered upper arms-and led me just a few steps away from Mr. Carver.

I wanted to kill Madam Kenwood.

Surely Mr. Carver would object.

"By all means," he said.

I sucked in a breath. I heard his chuckle, the one I thought was so disarming, and I felt tears prick my eyes again. He was going to help them touch me-maybe even... I couldn't think the thought.

"Calm down, Amanda," he said sternly. My name on his lips sent a shudder racing up my spine. "And be a good, obedient girl."

The same words he'd used to goad me-to arouse me. Maybe he was just playing along with them.

And damned if I wasn't starting to feel aroused at the thought of him-

"Garrison, Hughes, take off your belts."

-telling these men what to do-

"Run them along her body. Yes, the back and front."

-with me, to me; how to use me-

"That's right, along her ass. It's nice, isn't it? That's good." God, his voice. The feel of the men holding my arms with one hand and caressing my body with their belts while he watched made me start to get hot.

"Turn her around and bend her over the bed."

Big, hot hands insisted I press down over the bed. My breasts had come free again; I resigned myself to not having them under control in this stupid bra.

"Take that bra off."

Eager hands nearly ripped it off, tearing off the flimsy bolero in the process. But I didn't have a way to resist or time to lament that my scarred arms were now bare, and the men who had bared them clearly had no interest in anything other than my sexual parts.

I felt a belt resting on my back, another one dragging sensuously up the backs of my legs; no doubt about it now, my pussy was tingling and warming. With their free hands, the men reached down and started to feel my tits.

"Her nipples," one grunted as he rolled my hardening nipple between his thumb and finger.

"That's-that's good."

Mr. Carver's voice sounded tight. Suddenly I pictured his face tight-everything tight-I was picturing him coming again, into my mouth, like he had less than a half hour before. I heard a moan; it was coming from me.

"Good. Good girl, Amanda," he said. "It's best to keep them aroused. Let them feel filthy and debase themselves for their client's pleasure." I guessed he was talking to Madam Kenwood, but it felt more like he was dirty-talking to me.

There was a belt between my thighs, rubbing there gently. I had lost track of the other one.

Mr. Carver spoke again. "If the girl has been disobedient, I use my hands or my belt to discipline her."

There was a pause. I shivered, certain I did not want these men to be in charge of spanking me. I had never been spanked-though I'd certainly been curious and had even put it on the list of things I was willing to endure from a client.

And maybe, said a voice in my head, if it were Mr. Carver's hand... Mr. Carver touching me, holding me down as he applied just the right amount of force with his own belt... Because I'd done something to displease him...

"I think she's..." one of the suits said.

"She's definitely wet," replied his buddy, laughing. "Look at that spot on my belt."

Oh, god. I was sure I hadn't soaked my underwear-I wasn't a soaker-but the underwear was so small that it didn't totally cover my lips. I could feel my pussy was swelling and getting my wetness everywhere as the man rubbed that cool leather between my legs.

"And that's the purpose of the exercise."

Mr. Carver's voice was level again, like we were back in the classroom and he was giving a lecture. A lecture about how to turn me on, I thought, failing to stop myself from grinding back against the belt.

"Oh, god." One of the suits was breathing heavily and had started to rub his hard penis against my hip.

The other one spoke up. "Do you want us to spank her now?"

I didn't like the harsh tone of his voice, or the way he was tapping his belt across the backs of my legs.

I hadn't signed up for being hit with a belt by a goon I didn't know.

So when Mr. Carver spoke again, it was a huge relief. "She's been obedient; there's no need to punish her. Not now. And she knows you have it, she knows you can use it."

Was it my imagination, or did he sound disappointed?

"Just keep touching her," he instructed. "At this point I would set the belt aside and use my hands. The intimacy of feeling her body for my gratification disarms her and prepares her."

His voice was like another hand caressing the most secret parts of me. Two men and another woman in the room, and still I felt his warm tones as if we were alone, as if it were Mr. Carver touching me, telling me what he was doing to me.

So I could pretend the hands stroking me were his as they rubbed all along my body, grabbing my breasts, squeezing them, running down to my groin. Neither of the men had felt my pussy directly, and I was so nervous about that. I didn't want to think about them doing it.

"Harder, gentlemen," Mr. Carver said.

They obliged. And they weren't shy about taking my ass; their hands were hot and grabby and needy, and all I could think about was how large they were, how strong, as they massaged and parted my cheeks. My little underwear was pushing against my asshole.