The Muse's Undoing

The pegging is over, and someone else I recognize struts to center stage. “Is that your assistant?” I whisper hiss to Fischer.

He chuckles. “You need to relax. A lot of people in this town have more than one job.”

That’s one way to put it.

Tonight, Gavin is wrapped in leather straps, revealing everything. A jewel in his belly button keeps catching the light. He’s made up and glittery, looking a lot like Valentine when she dances, only shorter. Gavin definitely has a bigger dick, though. “What does he do?” I wonder aloud.

“I have no idea what he’s planning.”

We both sit back to watch.

It turns out, he gets spanked.

An older man in a gray suit—some power businessman, I’m assuming—strides over like he’s bought the pleasure of the pretty blond. He takes a seat on a cushioned bench at the center of the mat and guides Gavin to lie face down across his lap. The businessman is relatively plain looking—like he’s got teenagers who spend all his money and a body that doesn’t get to the gym enough.

But when he starts rubbing Gavin’s exposed ass, a hungry look crosses his face, and he brings his large hand down with a sharp crack. For the next twenty minutes, I watch, transfixed, as he alternates spanks with penetrating jabs of the lubed up vibrator in Gavin’s spread open ass.

The intensity builds, both their chests heaving as Gavin’s ability to take the slaps grows strained. He’s whining and crying out until the man slides the vibrator deeper into Gavin’s clenched hole and gives him a series of lighter slaps, which culminate in a choked off gasp of release.

By the time Gavin’s ejaculate spurts onto the black leather floor, I have a massive erection, and Fischer is slumped against my side watching something else. I give his lap a glance and notice he’s also hard, so I look around, trying to figure out what got him there. But his head is angled in a direction that makes it hard to follow his gaze.

I grab his chin and make him look at me. “What’re you watching?”

He blinks a few times. “I was listening.” He’s on his second martini, and I assume he’s tired since he came here straight from work. I scoot back, giving him more room to lean on me, and he takes up all the space I offer. Draping an arm around him, I slide my hips forward slightly, stretching out my body, which allows him to rest his head on my chest. He sets his elbow on my thigh, his drink in hand near my knee.

“You have an erection,” he says.

“I’m not the only one,” I mutter, adjusting it in my pants.

“Well, I might need to get mine taken care of. I don’t have a muse waiting for me when I get home.”

“You can’t leave me alone here,” I tell him, dead serious.

“What do you think is gonna happen to you?” he asks, using his free hand to draw a line down my dangling inner wrist with a fingertip. It makes me shiver. It feels almost seductive, and I can’t handle that from him tonight.

I grab his finger, and we end up clasping hands. I turn slightly, managing to nestle us closer. When I cross my legs, he has to lift his drink. I go a step further, trapping his good leg beneath mine. He scowls at the tangle he’s found himself in. “That’s not fair.”

“Let’s talk about your day some more. That’ll get rid of your boner, and then you won’t have to abandon me in a room where half the people are carrying implements of torture.”

“I’m not sure snuggling is gonna help.”

“It’s just me,” I say innocently, but I do glance down at his mouth.

“I used to have sex with men. Did I tell you that while we were sleeping together?”

He did not, and he what? Trying to hide my shock, I shake my head, feeling another strong throb below the belt.

He goes on. Tipsy Fischer is always chatty. “The first time was with a congressman I was interviewing in a hotel in D.C. He came on to me.”

“How’d he do that?” I ask.

“Got me drunk and offered to blow me.”

I laugh softly. “So, just a blow job?”

“No, I fucked him.”

“Hold on…you fucked him?”