Trust Fund Baby Pt. 11

I still had to face the limousine ride home with Larry, which was excruciatingly humiliating for both of us, albeit for different reasons.

I had to endure watching him enjoy the rim-job talents of the woman to whom I was betrothed less than six weeks ago. Larry would now have to justify how he had gone from mentor to selfish prick in the space of a few minutes, folding under the irresistible charms of the twins. Of course, Baldwin ignited the fire, walking out to the limousine, as Larry and I sat in uncomfortable silence.

"Fun night, huh?" Baldwin said, as he leaned in through the open window of the Town Car. "Larry, I thought you were going to have a heart attack when Madison rimmed you," he added laughing.

"Jesus, me too," Larry said reflexively, "that girl is something else."

"She used to be Pete's fiancée," Baldwin goaded.

"I know," Larry responded, with a guilty look on his face. "I am ashamed that I couldn't resist the temptation. We are about to have a difficult conversation on the way home."

"Oh, our engagement ended ages ago," I said quietly, trying to move on from this nightmare.

"Six weeks ago," Baldwin corrected, "but who's counting? Your girl certainly knows how to eat a man's ass, Pete, as my son will undoubtedly find out tonight. Good night guys."

Needless to say, Larry Dodge and I never spoke after that night, our budding friendship irreparably damaged by his use of my ex, for his personal satisfaction. When his wife died a few months later, I saw him occasionally in the piano bars of Newport Beach with much younger women, presumably trying to emulate that night at Baldwin's house.

Another person I never intended to speak to after that night was Madison. She had embarrassed me so thoroughly in front of my peer group, that I was determined never to see her again.

Despite my best efforts to avoid my ex-girlfriend, Newport Beach is a tight-knit community, and through the grapevine, I heard some harrowing stories about Jamie's treatment of Madison. Who knows how much of it was true, and how much of it was grossly exaggerated, as the sordid tales got embellished each time they were repeated. Whatever it was that she actually endured, Madison had been exposed to many indignities over the years as an escort, catering to the perverse needs of Newport Beach's wealthiest men, and I am sure that Jamie's sexual proclivities were nothing new to her.

Madison would have taken it in her stride anyway, justified the treatment as a necessary evil, in order to live the good life. She had left the party in Jamie's three million dollar hyper-car, and as the most mercenary women I had ever met, I imagine she was under the impression that her lifestyle was about to be elevated, once again.

As it turned out, Jamie possessed an equally sadistic streak as his father, but being much younger he had a far greater desire and capacity for sex. I spoke to a few guys that attended the nightly parties at the younger Baldwin's hill-top house, and their stories presented a uniformly consistent rendering of her time there. Cut off from her social circle, by virtue of not having a car, Madison's time at Jamie's mansion was spent serving him and his young friends, their rapacious sexual appetites fueled by copious amounts of cocaine and alcohol.

Jamie Baldwin dominated Madison throughout the entire three weeks that he kept her as his fuck-toy. Once she realized that there was no future for her in this current situation, she tried to hook-up with an older man, who was a regular attendee of Jamie's nightly parties. The guy was a successful defense attorney, but unfortunately for Madison, was a big proponent of the "bros before hoes," philosophy, and ended up telling Jamie that Madison had attempted to change her living arrangements.

On the final night of their relationship, if such a one-sided series of encounters could be classified as such, Jamie had invited most of Newport Beach's eligible bachelors over to his Newport Coast mansion. Madison knew a lot of these guys, and had actually had sex with several of them, as a paid escort. As they gathered in his great room, enjoying cocktails and smoking Cuban cigars, Jamie announced to the group that tonight was Madison's farewell party, as he had become aware of her attempted seduction of his attorney friend.

If the stories that circulated Newport Beach about that night were to be believed, as the men watched on in astonishment, Madison was presented to them, naked and on all fours, leashed like a dog, and being brought to heel by a local dominatrix. Undoubtedly the lowlight of her escorting career, especially as it was witnessed by most of her previous, current, and potential future clients, the Mistress had paraded Madison around the mansion on a leash, allowing the guests to grope and fondle her indiscriminately. Finally, when it was party time, the Mistress removed Madison's leash, bent her over a leather ottoman, and told her to remain in that compromising position, as she attached a large strap-on phallus to her black, leather harness.

Once the imposing, latex cock was locked in place, the dominatrix went first, electing to open up Madison's asshole for business, with a protracted butt-fucking of the humiliated young woman, as the crowd cheered her on. After she withdrew the phallus from Madison's gaping anus, the Mistress forced my ex-fiancée to suck it clean, as the men looked on intently. As if to confirm that all three of Madison's orifices were available, the dominant woman then fucked her vaginally, which induced some audible moans of pleasure from Madison, and caused her to self-lubricate.

Even though I heard the stories from a variety of sources, they were all in agreement that Jaime then offered Madison up to all of the guests, for oral, vaginal or anal sex.

"Tonight is for charity," Jamie had proudly announced. "For the local women's shelter. I will add one hundred thousand dollars to whatever we raise tonight. In the mean time, please help yourself to the lovely Madison DuPont, for the princely sum of five dollars per cum-shot."

Madison had been around the block, and this certainly wasn't her first gang-bang. However, even though the sustained sexual assault that she endured wasn't unknown territory, in the past she had always left such an encounter several thousand dollars richer, which had taken the sting out of it.

In this case, not only was she not going to see any of the money, but her violators were only being charged five dollars to unload their nuts into the orifice of their choosing. As a high-class escort, Madison didn't really charge by the cum-shot, but if you had to put a price on her, it would have been far closer to five hundred dollars to blow your load inside her. At least twice that in a gang-bang scenario.

The Mistress was holding court, collecting the entrance fees, and making change, as most of the men only had hundred dollar bills in their wallets. Over the next several hours, Madison was forced to experience complete and utter subjugation, ostensibly in her boyfriend's house.

To make matters worse, after every guest was completely satiated, the Mistress dragged Madison outside by her hair, depositing her in a heap right next to Jamie's Bugatti Chiron. As the men followed the two women outside, into the cool Newport Beach ocean breezes, the dominatrix squatted over Madison's limp body, and proceeded to urinate on her.

Of course, in a group of Alphas, it didn't take long for the men to follow suit, and by the time the guys had finished emptying their bladders, Madison was soaking wet, unable to escape the stench of urine, even as she continued to lay outside, long after the men had soiled her. Some asshole actually had the gall to send me several photos of this demeaning evening, although they arrived under the cloak of anonymity.

I ran into George, the bartender, a few days later at the patio of my favorite bar, and he informed me that the younger Baldwin had kicked Madison to the curb after using and abusing her that night. Madison, short of options, and needing somewhere to stay, reached out to George.

"What happened?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"I am just about to go on a smoke break," he informed me. "Let's go outside and chat."

I don't know if he just wanted to take any potential confrontation out of the bar, or if he really needed a break, but as we stood by the back door of the kitchen, George lit up a cigarette, and began to speak in hushed tones.

"She stank to high heaven when she arrived," he said quietly. "They brought her over to my place in the bed of a pick-up truck because no-one wanted her in their car. I guess they were too scared to call an Uber, in case the driver took her straight to the police."

"Was she okay, George?" I asked. "Did she seem okay?"

"You know Madison," he said ruefully. "Always working someone. As soon as she had showered, the smile was back on her face and she was offering to exchange sex for a place to stay."

Realizing that she was my former fiancée, he seemed to correct himself and extended his hand to me.

"Sorry, Pete," he said quietly. "I know she was your girl for a long time. I regretted it the next morning, but I just couldn't resist her. You know how she is, all dolled up in her LaPerla lingerie and scented with that intoxicating perfume she always wears."

"She brought her lingerie and perfume with her?" I asked, incredulously. "How the fuck?....."

As soon as we made eye-contact, I could see the guilt written all over his face. There was a lot more to this story than he was letting on, and I pressed him for details. Initially, he was reluctant to tell me, but I managed to get it out of him, piece by piece.

"George, I am not mad at you," I assured him. "However, the only way I will ever be able to get Madison out of my life, is to catalog every single disrespectful act she has done during our time together, and use my resentment of her to sever the hold she has over me. I know you fucked her at the Super Bowl party."

"What?" he responded half-heartedly. "What are you talking about?"

We ended up chatting for several minutes as he chain-smoked nervously. I told him that I had seen the security tapes of the Super Bowl Party, and that I knew he had fucked Madison. Once he realized that I wasn't pissed at him, he relaxed and became quite candid about their hook-ups.

As it turned out, one of Jamie's guests had driven Madison to George's house, transporting her in the bed of his Ford pickup truck because she smelled so bad. After she was clean, she sought refuge with George, happy to exchange sex, for a night in his bed.

"You know how she is," he repeated, as if it made his behavior more excusable. "I still had the pair of black LaPerla panties that she gave me after we hooked up at the Super Bowl Party," he admitted. "They were heavily scented the night she stuck them in my pocket, and I have jerked off with them a few times since then, never expecting a repeat performance."

"Go on," I said, feeling myself get aroused at his story.

"Long story short," he mumbled, as he lit another cigarette, "once she knew that I still had her panties, she seemed flattered and offered to get the rest of the ensemble from her room above the Tom Ford store. I live about two minutes from the Fashion Island Mall."

This sounded just like Madison. She thrives on the attention of men, and gets most of her validation from their arousal and excitement in her presence. Of course she would have considered it flattering that George still had her intimates, months after their encounter in my condominium.

"So you went to her room before you had sex?" I asked, the thought of her getting all dolled up to accommodate his desires, making me erect.

"Intercourse, yes," he clarified, the response opening more questions than it answered.

As I waited expectantly for an elaboration, George took a deep drag of his cigarette, and continued in his hushed tone.

"Like I said, Madison is irresistible, you know that, Pete," he began, in an attempt to justify his actions. "Madison told me that she hadn't eaten in a few hours, so while she took a shower, I made us a snack. We made small talk and during the conversation, I let it slip that I still had her LaPerla panties from the night that we hooked-up. Madison asked me where they were, and once I told her that I kept them in my bedside table, she realized that I had used them to jerk off with. She disappeared into my bedroom, emerging a few moments later wearing just the panties and a smile. I wanted to resist her," he assured me, "but you know how she is."

I felt some empathy for him, as he chain-smoked and poured his heart out. Madison had glossed her lips for George, using the bright red lipstick that he had expressed a preference for at the Super Bowl party. As he sat at the kitchen table, she walked seductively towards him, her almost-naked form swaying as she closed the gap between them. When she got to within a few feet of him, she lowered herself to her knees, and then onto all fours, before crawling towards him, lewdly licking her red lips.

"Fucking slut," I hissed. "She has the exact same effect on me, George. I just can't resist her."

"She sucked me off, first," he said quietly, as he realized that I was mad at her, not him. "You know how she is. Fucking vixen. The whole time she blew me, she was talking dirty, promising me all kinds of sexual favors, if she could stay with me for a few days. She didn't want to sleep in her room above the Tom Ford store, in case Baldwin or Clarkson came looking for her. She was quite unstable mentally, and scared to death of the Baldwins."

"What happened then?" I asked, my cock now throbbing in my pants.

"After I blew my load in her mouth, we walked over to her room above the store," he continued. "It only took a couple of minutes to get there."

"And?" I said, impatiently, before getting control of my emotions. "Then what?"

"Madison poured me a cocktail," he admitted. "And then, as I watched on intently, she matched her black panties to the same color stockings, garter-belt, chemise and high-heels, and then disappeared into her small shower room. By the time she emerged, all dolled-up like a fuck-toy, spritzed with her intoxicating scent, and with her lips painted in my favorite shade of red gloss, I was erect again."

"So you took her back to your place?" I asked, hanging onto his every word.

"We never made it that far," he said, shaking his head as he recalled the night. "We ended up fucking on her bed in the store room," he added. "I just couldn't get enough of her, and she seemed intent on accommodating my every desire. After I came the second time we took a shower together, and Madison knelt behind me and stuck her tongue deep inside my ass. Inexplicably, she managed to get me erect again, and I butt-fucked her in the shower."

George was on a roll now, reliving the night of his life, apparently pleased that he finally had someone to share the details with, as Madison had sworn him to secrecy.

"She is oblivious to the fact that she is done in this town," he said quietly. "She was more concerned with people finding out that she had fucked a lowly bartender, for free," he added coldly.

"Did you leave her there, George?" I asked, snapping him out of his trance.

"No, she was way too fragile to be left alone," he whispered. "After I came the third time, Madison gathered up a bunch of her intimates, and we walked back to my place. It was almost morning by then, and she wanted to get out of the store before her Manager showed up. We slept until past noon, and Madison called in sick to work. That is when my life started to unravel," he said, as his voice trailed off.

"Unravel?" I asked. "What the hell did she do to you, George?"

"Nothing that I didn't want her to," he assured me. "It just became all-consuming. Madison became all-consuming. We fucked all day, I just couldn't get enough of her. I knew deep in my soul that when she left my place, I would never see her again. Madison has a habit of landing on her feet, and I knew that I couldn't afford to sponsor her. So, like any man in my position would have done, I took advantage of the unconditional sex that she offered."

As he lit another cigarette, he seemed to remember my own dysfunctional relationship with Madison, and in an apologetic tone, asked me quietly.

"Are you sure you want to hear this Pete? It is cathartic for me to get this off my chest, but you have your own issues with her."

"I need to hear it," I said firmly. "If only to grant me the resolve to stay clear of her."

"Madison kept me hard for three days straight," he admitted. "I called in sick to work, and we never left my place for seventy-two hours. She was like a drug to me, all-encompassing, making me crave her touch, her scent and her kisses. After I ejaculated, I would roll over onto my back, smoke a cigarette and contemplate going back to work and getting on with my life. However, as Madison talked dirty to me, goading me back into an erection, everything else seemed unimportant and unworthy of my time. I took her in every conceivable position, working our way through the entire color palette of her extensive lingerie collection, as she sought to drain my nuts. Over the course of the three days, she taught me more about sex and my erogenous zones than I imagined possible. I could have stayed in bed with her for the rest of my life," he admitted.

"Then what happened?" I asked, grateful to learn that I wasn't the only one who was addicted to Madison's wiles.

"I don't have the options you have, Pete," he said ruefully. "I have to work. My boss threatened to terminate me for job-abandonment after the third day. I had to suck it up and go to work."

"What did Madison say? Is she still at your place?" I asked, out of concern, rather than jealousy.

"No man," he assured me. "As soon as I told her that I needed to get back to work, she took it personally, almost as if I was rejecting her. She grabbed all of her shit and bailed. Of course, manipulative bitch that she is, she left a pair of her undies, heavily scented for me to jerk off with. Funny thing is, I didn't even think about sex for almost a week after she left, such was the totality of the way she completely drained my nuts."

"Do you know where she is?" I asked, my voice cracking as I imagined how pleasurable George's three day break from work must have been.

"I think she is back living above the Tom Ford store," he said, unaware of my internal struggles. "She really needs to be in a mental facility. She is very fragile right now. Not surprising after what the Baldwins put her through," he added softly. "No woman deserves that treatment."