Help Wanted (5 page)

The stage area was dark. All she could make out as she took a seat toward the back was the glint of chrome on what looked like a drum kit. She didn’t have to wait long to see the rest; the house lights came down and a laser-light show came up along with the type of ethereal, vaguely driving music one would hear for a rock concert warmup.

Amanda smiled a little, wondering if this was someone’s rock-star fantasy, and whether they’d actually play or sing, or fake it to an adoring, head-banging audience.

That’s not at all what happened. In fact, she wasn’t at all sure what the heck she was witnessing when three unfamiliar people, two men and one woman, came on stage and took their places at drums, bass and guitar. Then a fourth person came out, this one very familiar. Anyone who’d ever picked up Rolling Stone magazine would recognize that face and that hair. They would also remember he’d disappeared off the face of the planet ten years ago, telling the rest of his band and the record company to fuck off and die as he went. Rumors had ignited the gossip shows and columns for months afterward, the incident legend among rock music fans.

As far as Amanda knew, he hadn’t been seen since, but unless this was another of Kara’s latex jobs, the man who’d just taken the stage was the real thing. But what the heck, she wondered. Why would he need to fantasize about being a rock star? He’d already been one,.

She realized she was gaping at the stage, but didn’t care. No one could see her when it was this dark, and as the piped music turned over to the players on stage, she watched the man, the legend, take an awkward step toward the mike with all the enthusiasm he might show when about to stick his head into a blazing furnace. She couldn’t help but notice, either, the  sudden spike through the crowd around her, a certain electric air of anticipation, everyone’s eyes fixed center-stage. The music drove onward, and just when the man seized the microphone and would have started the first verse, his mouth opened, but all that came out was a small choked sigh of frustration.

Around her, the crowd let out an equally frustrated groan while the man on stage closed his eyes and shook his head. The band, meanwhile, kept on, seamlessly repeating the intro bars, giving him another chance.

This time, same result. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a breathy croak. And even over the music she could hear him swear, and watched as he lowered his head to rest his forehead against the mic for a moment, his body language a flood of failure. After taking a deep breath, he gathered himself, shook his head again, and stalked off stage.

She continued to stare after him, wondering what in the heck she’d just witnessed while the crowd muttered and began to empty the hall. On the wings of stage left, she saw Steph step out to field the man midflight.

Now the question became where she’d find this Thomas; Kara had said this would last a half-hour or more, but it had taken less than ten minutes. What should she do? Wait in the lobby and hope she overheard some explanation while she waited?

Anxious to hear what it was all about, she filed out with the others, still hearing nothing beyond disappointed complaints when, just outside the lobby doors, someone took her elbow.

She turned to find her captor was a very tall man with long, shaggy dark hair, and  handsome enough to make her do a double-take.

He ignored it, probably accustomed to that kind of reaction. “You’re the new girl?”

She nodded and followed after him as he led her back out into the grounds. They were crossing in front of the office building when he said, “I’ll bet you’re wondering what just happened in there.”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Keep wondering, and learn to ignore curiosity. You’re gonna see people you recognize, and not all of them will be lookalikes. They come here to have certain needs met because they trust that Steph won’t allow what happens here to show up on some blog the next morning. Destroy that trust and hundreds of lawyers will descend to grind you into a shallow, sticky puddle.”

“I sorta inferred that from the twenty-seven-page confidentiality contract I signed.”

Thomas snorted. “Are you sure you really belong here?”

Never one to mindlessly placate, she actually thought before she spoke. “Well, I like the idea of fantasy fulfillment. I guess I should wait to make up my mind until after I have a better idea what it actually takes, and whether I’m any good at it.”

Thomas’s brows rose. “Yeah, you definitely don’t belong here.”

“What? Why not?”

“Steph will figure it out before long. Until then, work hard. It’s not difficult. Or at least most of it is easy, as long as you remember that fantasies work a lot like confessions. People are really into it while it’s happening, but afterward, things can get awkward.”

She thought about that for a while as they walked, trying to decide why he felt she didn’t belong here, and what, exactly, he’d meant to tell her or warn her about. Maybe he thought she’d come here to find herself a sugar daddy or something, and how it wasn’t likely to work out.

She didn’t challenge him on it and he didn’t elaborate, changing the subject instead. “I don’t know what Steph’s thinking. Hell of a risk she’s taking, allowing you into that hall. Anyway, we don’t have much time before we need to start, so let me explain what you’ll need to do.”

They walked with purpose along the lakeshore while he explained there were three bread-and-butter fantasies that went on almost all the time: the exhibition-slash-voyeur fantasy, the threesome fantasy, and the forced seduction fantasy. The last, forced seduction, had varied themes and settings, and tonight she’d have a small part in just one of the many flavors offered at Fantasy Heights.

“This couple we’re working with tonight,” Thomas explained, “is a married couple, here to celebrate their nineteenth anniversary. They’re doing the savage seduction theme, where they’re both kidnapped and the only way they get free is by submitting to the savage.”

Her job was to play the handmaiden that prepared the captives for Thomas, who would play the savage. She was to wash both clients and massage them in oil, arousing and teasing. She wasn’t to speak for any reason, no matter what they said or did, nor was it her responsibility to bring either client to climax.

“It happens during the massage sometimes,” Thomas said. “So don’t worry if one of them comes, but your job is only to tease and arouse, then let me take over. Just remember to keep your mouth shut. Anything you say could ruin the fantasy.”

They’d arrived at a pair of large bamboo huts, far down the shore from the other buildings. The huts were joined like an eight, two round sections joined by a single doorway. Inside, she found the first hut had been divided by a wall, one side walled off. Thomas sent her into the dressing area and she quickly stripped, braided her hair, and tied on the mask.

It surprised her how nervous she’d become, faced with the idea of being alone with clients, especially with Thomas lurking nearby, probably hoping she made some stupid mistake so he could report her to Steph. He hadn’t even told her where the captives might be, or where she might find the things she needed to wash, oil and massage them.

Then again, she wasn’t helpless, and ignored her nerves long enough to open the doorway into the next half of the hut. There, she found her answers: Her observer, an older man in a plain gray mask stood just inside the door and, shackled to the far bamboo wall, were the clients. On the floor nearby was a large old-fashioned steel pail filled with steaming water, and on a table awaited towels and several bottles of oil.

Finding everything turned out to be the only easy part. She’d never done anything like this before, never been the Corset to anyone else’s prop. Never mind that she was only a secondary character in this couple’s fantasy, the clients were completely at her mercy right now, their pleasure at risk for her slightest mistake.

Amanda grabbed onto Thomas’s warnings. Well-meant or not, he’d told her exactly what to do. Wash them. Oil them. Tease and arouse them, but don’t speak.

Easy enough, really, but it still took more bravery than she thought she possessed to move closer to the captives and attempt to slip into the role of a handmaiden preparing sexual blackmail victims for her master. As a submissive, she figured she’d keep her eyes down, slightly fearful, yet envious of the captives who would enjoy her master’s attentions.

The question became which captive to wash first, and she decided to start with the man, who would likely enjoy watching his wife be touched every bit as much as being touched himself. She plucked a sponge from the tabletop and dipped it into the tub of warm water. She started simply by squeezing the sponge against his back, and he surprised her by giving the shackles a forceful tug.

Taking a startled step back, she realized the man was in character, probably more than she was herself. After that, it became easier to revision herself as an aggressor, a seductress, stroking him with the sponge. She took special care around his genitals, paying them much more attention than the task required, standing close up against and behind him, wrapping an arm around and down to grasp the inside of his left knee and lift his leg up and out, making him feel more vulnerable to her hands, and cupping his balls at first, then stroking up and down his shaft.

He enjoyed it, his heavy, shallow breathing telling her she was doing her part to tease and arouse, but she had a good deal of the show to put on yet. The oil would give her more and better opportunities to incite his desires.

She turned her attention then to the wife. Never, with the exception of Corset and Steph, of course, had she had any kind of sexual contact with another woman, and certainly not as the instigator. It troubled her that a strong blast of repulsion was her first reaction. Only natural, she supposed. She had always been strictly hetero, yet this job would require her to create pleasure for any client, no matter their sex. Curiosity would have to serve as motivation. Could she arouse another woman the way Corset had aroused her? What would please her?

Unable to think of much else, she repeated the same actions she’d used on the husband, squeezing the sponge against the woman’s back. She was met with no resistance this time, no defiance. The woman’s slow, languid movements betrayed an already aroused state, and it had a strange empowering affect on Amanda. She dragged the sponge across the woman’s breasts, then allowed her hands to wander lower, playfully whispering around the apex of the legs, but never making solid contact.

The woman whimpered and tiptoed forward, chasing Amanda’s hand, which seemed a good instruction to abandon that captive for a while and begin to oil the other.

Many lessons were learned in the next several moments. First, that oil was incredibly messy, and that even older, married men could be sexy as hell. His skin beneath her oiled hands was smooth, sheathing a muscular, fit frame. His erection was firm as marble and hot to the touch, and she passed a good several moments stroking him, thoroughly enjoying his whimpered pleas.

The begging reminded her not to go too far, though an imp she’d never realized she harbored decided she wasn’t quite finished with him yet. She went back for more oil and let it drip down the small of his back, between his buttocks, where she foreshadowed impending events, rubbing his anus and the sensitive line of flesh between anus and balls.

He submitted beautifully, pushing his pelvis back, tilting himself, parting his buttocks. She would have liked to explore him further, but presumably she didn’t have all day to experiment on the male captive. There was a woman to oil for her master and maybe if she focused on the curiosity, she could overcome this odd shyness she felt about pleasuring another woman.

She began at the woman’s wrists, painting on the oil with gentle hands in firm, long strokes, then massaging around the shoulders and neck. It came time to oil the breasts, an area Amanda knew could set this captive alight with need. She was generous with the oil and made herself rub and feel, cupping the weight of the captive’s breasts in her palms, then rolling and pinching the nipples as hard as the oil would allow.

After a time, she began to enjoy the softer feel of the woman’s body and as she moved her attentions downward, did not hold back. She rubbed oil into every crease and fold around the woman’s waxed, naked mound. The captive’s clit was so sensitized by then that the woman nearly jumped free of the restraints when Amanda began to rub. Encouraged but cautious, she traced over the woman’s slit, thinking how different it felt from her own, then was struck by curiosity that was not forced this time. She wanted to feel the woman inside, and let her fingers do just that, and none too gently. Straightening her index and middle finger, she plunged her fingers upward into the captive’s cunt, finding it hot and soft and soaking wet.