But he didn’t stop. His cock took insane control, making him thrust and pull back and thrust and pull back and thrust and thrust… and he came. He came a glorious come, pumping thick and hot, shuddering and groaning aloud.
Stuart left her there, tied to the stool, and went for a shower. She was in the same position when he returned. It was as if he hadn’t done it, except for the snail-trail down the inside of her thigh and the glistening of her still-parted sphincter.
He untied her and retied her, hands behind her back. He had her give him a blow-job like that, with no help from him. It should have taken an age, but she was good at what she did. Her mouth started soft and loose and slow and noisy, gobbling and wobbling on him. Once he was urgent-stiff again, she clamped firmly and accelerated, nodding fast, faster, fastest. His cock’s head rippled across the roof of her mouth, and he came again.
It wasn’t even noon yet.
There was compassion and affection in him. That was bad. He had to absolve himself, a little.
“Get dressed. I’m going to buy you a coat.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to. I don’t like the way you look in that one. I want you to look sexy – for me.”
The shopping concourse below the Sheraton links with another, and another. You can wander for miles beneath Toronto. In February, you’re grateful.
He bought her a short black plastic coat, lined with fake fur, and a pair of boots to match. She didn’t choose them. What he liked, she liked. It wasn’t until they passed a jeweller’s that she showed any interest in anything.
Stuart asked her, “What are you looking at?”
“Those earrings. They’re lovely.”
“They look like the ones you’re wearing, but smaller.”
“Yes.”
“You really like them?”
“Yes.”
“Then they’re yours.”
She didn’t even tell him he didn’t have to.
He told her he’d take her home in a cab again, but she said she had something to do downtown. She asked him, “Tomorrow?”
He nodded and turned on his heel before sanity made him change his mind.
She arrived in his suite wearing her glossy new coat.
“I have a surprise for you.”
“You have?”
She posed, one leg turned in front of the other, a shoulder drooping, and opened her coat. Her being naked under it didn’t surprise him at all. He’d half expected that. What shocked him was the earrings he’d bought her. She was wearing them – one through each freshly pierced nipple.
Stuart felt a twinge of nausea that was instantly washed away in a flood of lust. He took her on her back, on the scratchy carpet, thrusting into her frantic as a teen, arched up from his waist, his eyes feasting on the mutilations that she’d endured for his sake.
“How on earth did you get that done?” he asked, once he was calm and drained.
“There’s a place in a side street, between King and Queen. They do piercing and tattooing. Should I get a tattoo?”
He thought of her mound, shaved bald and reading, “Stuart’s”.
“No,” he said. “Let’s go buy you a dress.”
When her nipples had healed enough that he dared touch them he used those rings a lot. He steered her by them, and used them to tug on, and once held fistfuls of ice on them, to claw the chill inside her flesh. Stuart took her in every position he could dream up, tied and free, orally, anally, between her breasts and vaginally.
When he told her that the next day would be his last in Toronto for a while, she didn’t cry. She simply told him that she really needed to borrow five hundred dollars.
That was a relief. Five hundred was cheap, and it would constitute a “pay-off. It transformed their relationship from “emotional” to “commercial”. He counted out ten fifties and waited for her to tell him she couldn’t make it for the next day, but she didn’t. She just confirmed, “Nine-thirty?”
She arrived with the vee of her coat showing a thick woollen sweater. It was the first substantial garment that he hadn’t bought her that he’d seen her wearing.
When she took off her coat the sweater was very short – covering half her midriff, and she was naked from it to her boots. She posed again, but not like a model. She put her fists on her bare hips, spread her thighs and thrust her pubes at him.
“Does this look nice? This is what I needed the money for.”
His bile rose again. She’d had another piercing – the lips of her sex. A row of tiny golden rings glittered at him, four to each side. There was a thin gold chain threaded through them, sealing her. A tiny gold padlock dangled between her thighs.
“Here’s the key. There’s just one. It’s yours.”
Stuart had to force himself to come in her mouth.
That night he had no work. He walked the frigid streets, head down into ice-particles that travelled horizontally, until he found her home. There was no answer. He took note of her address, returned to his hotel, made a tiny parcel of the silver key and three one-hundred dollar bills, and mailed it.
It was two months before they called him back to Toronto. The parcel was waiting at the Sheraton’s reception, “Return to sender. Addressee moved. No forwarding address.”
There was no message waiting at the office. The phone didn’t ring at six-forty.
The next morning he scoured the streets between King and Queen, looking for a “place that did piercing, and tattooing”.
He found one just after noon, with dusty windows and curly cardboard displays of digital watches.
“I’m looking for a woman, a customer of yours.”
The gnome with tobacco stains on his moustache said, “Yes?”
“Her name is Virginia. I don’t know her last name. You did some – work.”
“Tattoos or piercing?”
“Piercing.”
“Ears, nose, nips, navel or pussy-lips?”
“Er – nipples, and er – lips.”
“Skinny woman? Big boobs? Red hair?”
“That’s her. Do you have an address? She moved you see, and…”
“Against policy, I don’t have it, anyway.”
Stuart pulled out a fifty.
“I really don’t got it, but I tell you what – she’s coming in for some more work, today, three o’clock. You want to come back?”
“Could I wait?”
“Sure. Come in back. There’s magazines, and I’ll get you some coffee.”
The magazines were all “trade”. The little man brought bitter coffee in a mug with a Canadian Pacific Railways logo. Customers came and were ushered by an enormous fat man into tiny curtained booths. Sometimes needles buzzed, sometimes there was the sharp smell of alcohol and the occasional, “ouch”.
There was more coffee at one and two. It was hot in that room. That – and the antiseptic – and the thought of what was going on in the booths, made Stuart start to feel nauseous. It was a struggle to check his watch. At three the little man came back again and took a seat opposite Stuart.
“She’s late,” Stuart said, mumbling on a thick tongue. “You ain’t been so nice to Miss Virginia, ‘ave you?”
“Huh?”
“Miss Virginia. She made a commitment to you. You dumped her.”
Stuart tried to stand but his knees were jelly. “What do you – you mean?”
“You should get back with her. She’d like that.”
“I – I brought the key.”
“That’s nice. Tell her yourself then.”
“Wha? She’s…?”
The fat man jerked the curtains to a booth open. Virginia was there, standing naked… No, sagging naked. She was hanging from… Stuart’s gorge rose. Virginia had been pierced again, a lot. There were rings through the flesh at the backs of her wrists, and behind her neck, and her ankles and… and they were all on cords – cords that hung down from a framework high against the ceiling.