I smile down at her in satisfaction as she reaches between us and switches the vibrator on, causing me to hiss out loudly in pleasure. Carefully, I lean down and slowly push the toy into her. I can feel that she's tight so I go slow, but once it's in all the way I pull back and push back in hard. With every hard thrust, she gasps as I hold myself up with my good arm and slide into her over and over. Sweat drips down the side of my face, and my breathing becomes ragged as she tries to pull me closer to her, but I hold back.

  I’m conflicted about how I’m feeling as we do this. On one hand, I want this to be as impersonal as possible. But on the other I want to pleasure her too. I get the impression that this doesn’t happen often with her other clients, and I don’t want to be like them.

  As I continue to fuck her our eyes lock and I can't look away.

  Harder and harder I rock against her, angling myself to hit her clit as she pushes up against me until she grabs the back of my neck and I stop resisting letting her pull me down against her as she orgasms. My good arm gives out, and I lean my forehead against hers as I finish right behind her, burying my head in her neck. Her hands going to the back of my head, smoothing my hair.

  Suddenly I get myself together and pull out of her, turning the vibrator off.

  I turn my back as I unbuckle the strap-on and put it on the dresser and I keep my back to her as I pull my skirt back on.

  "What happened to your arm? Do you mind me asking?"

  I ignore her question as I pull an envelope out of my purse and throw it on the dresser next to the strap-on.

  "Same time next week," I say as I turn around and finally look at her. She only nods as I turn and leave.

  Chapter Six

  Raquel:

  I'm not quite sure what just happened. I never allow myself to orgasm with my clients. My number one rule is to fake it. But my attraction to this woman is beyond words. Not only did she manage to make me cum once, but twice. I can’t remember the last time I orgasmed so hard never mind multiple times. She wants to meet at the same time next week. And I smile as it finally gives me something to look forward to.

  Chapter Seven

  Andrea:

  Several weeks pass, and it is now routine for us to meet every Wednesday, and I find us getting more intimate, more passionate, every time we meet.

  I have finally taken my shirt off in front of her, and while I see her looking at my scars, she doesn't ask. I allow her hands now to roam over my chest, to cup my breasts, and touch my nipples. But I won't kiss her even though I want to, and I won't allow her to touch between my legs. I haven't been with anyone like that since Lara, and I wasn't ready for that yet.

  I loved fucking her though. I always feel like I have no control over anything in my life but topping her makes me feel like I do. And even though we are mostly strangers and barely speak, I like making her feel good. I get the sense that she doesn't get that too much in her own life.

  I pull up to my therapist’s office downtown. We meet every Thursday at two, and I feel like the process is futile. I'm not sure what they want from me other than to "talk about my pain" when all I wanted to do was forget it.

  I take a seat in Dr. Lawrence's office and wait to be called in. I look around the office and note how eerily quiet it is. I hate quiet. I feel my heart rate increase. In Afghanistan quiet meant danger. I can feel the sweat beading on my forehead, and I clench my hands together to try and stop the tremors. But just like after the nightmares they don't want to leave.

  "Andrea King?"

  I hear my name, but I can't react. My eyes are darting around the room, and my heart feels like it's beating out of my chest.

  "Doctor!" I hear someone call.

  And then everything goes black.

  ***

  "How are you feeling Andy?"

  My eyes are open, but it’s like I just woke up. I'm lying on the sofa, and I laugh at the cliché.

  "Feeling better I see. But we can reschedule if you're not feeling up to it."

  "No, it's okay Doc. Just give me a second," I say as I sit up. He pours me a glass of water and hands it to me.

  "So how long has this been going on?"

  "What?"

  "The panic attacks?"

  "Is that what those are called? I thought I was just getting over excited about coming here and laying my soul bare," I say shortly as I take a sip of my water.

  "Well, I see your sarcasm is intact. But seriously, how long?"

  "About six months."

  "And you didn't think it was important to tell me?"

  "They've always happened at home. Usually after a nightmare."

  "Until now. What would you have done if you were driving and this happened?"

  "What would I have done, Doc? I would have crashed is what I would have done," I laugh.

  "This is no time for jokes Andrea."

  "Andrea? What are you, my mom?"

  "No, but I am your doctor. And I'm concerned about you. I'd like to prescribe you something for the anxiety. Do you think that would help?"

  "Whatever you think, Doctor."

  "No, it's not what I think. It's what you think."

  "Sure. Fine. Whatever."

  "And how are you sleeping?"

  "About three, maybe four hours a night," I lied.

  "And you're finding that adequate? If not, I can prescribe you something for that too. Maybe a heavier narcotic to help you sleep at night?"

  "No, I'm good."

  "Okay. So, what do you want to talk about this week? Are you ready to talk about anything before Afghanistan yet?"

  I feel the anger rise in my chest.

  "No."

  "Andy, - "

  "No. I mean it." And I say it in a way that he knows I am dead serious.

  "Well, you know I have to ask."

  I cut my eyes at him and glare. This is NOT something I want to talk about, and he should know better.

  "So, you don't want to talk about what happened before Afghanistan, and you don't want to talk about what happened in Afghanistan. What do you want to talk about?"

  "Have you ever seen the movie Black Hawk Down?" I ask after a very long silence.

  "Of course I have. I was stationed in Somalia right before that incident."

  "So, you know the scene where the guy's femoral artery is severed, and they try everything to stop the bleeding, and it snaps up into his leg, and they have to dig and try to pull it back down?", I ask as I stare straight ahead. He doesn't respond, but I can see out of the corner of my eye that he is nodding.

  "Well, we had two guys that it happened to, and as the only medic I had a hand in each of these guys legs."

  "That's quite a feat considering you had been shot."

  "Adrenaline is a bad bitch," I say quietly. "But because of the gunshot, I could only hold on to one artery and just watch the other guy bleed to death all over me and the gurney. It didn't really matter much though. The one I could help ended up dying just as messily. Just a few minutes later. Can you imagine how much blood that is, Doc?"

  "I can. The femoral artery is the second largest artery in the human body and the main arterial supply to the lower limb. I imagine once severed it wouldn't take long for one to bleed out."

  "Four minutes. It takes four minutes for the human body to bleed to death once the femoral artery is severed. And when the wound is too high to apply a tourniquet, and direct pressure is inadequate all you can do is watch them die."

  "You've seen a lot it seems."

  "So it seems. Time up doctor. Same time next week."

  "Same time next week. Stop by my secretary for your prescription and see if that helps you."

  "Will do."

  Chapter Eight

  Raquel:

  My life has become such a dark place. Day in and day out I go through the motions like a robot. Jerome says that customers have been claiming that I'm not as "animated" as I have been in the past and threatens me. In the past, his threats would have scared me. But to be honest, I'm at a point where I just wish he would follow through. The only light in my life is Wednesday when I get to see her. I get to feel her. And that's the only thing besides alcohol and drugs that get me through. I numb myself before each client with copious amounts of cocaine and vodka so that I don't have to feel them touching my body or care what I have to do to them. It's like it's not even me.

  My last client of the night rolls off me, and I'm coated with their sweat and bodily secretions. I feel dirty and cover my face with my arms. She's a regular customer, so there's nothing new about our "date," but I just can't pretend that I enjoy this anymore, not that I ever really did, but I must admit that I did enjoy the power. But not anymore. I can't pretend that I'm not just being used.

  "Fifteen hundred, right?" she says.

  "Just leave it on the dresser."

  "Is everything okay, Sasha?"

  That’s the name she wanted to call me.

  "Yeah. It's fine. I'm just tired."

  They leave, and I turn on my side, curling myself in a tight ball as I start to cry.

  Wednesday Night

  I'm in the middle of the bed on all fours, and she is kneeling behind me thrusting into me hard. I can tell she's getting close because she has started to grip the skin by my sides. I love that I know her like that. It makes me feel in control. Suddenly she reaches down between my legs and begins rubbing and pinching my sensitive clit causing me to gasp. She does it differently every time, and it feels so good every time. Her fingers are like pure magic as they rub me in tight circles causing my breathing to hitch as I reach back and grab her ass, pushing her harder into me. She continues fucking me until we both orgasm hard, and when we are done, I lay flat on my stomach in the middle of the bed with her still on top of me, her hips pulsing against me. I get the feeling that neither of us wants to move. I feel her lightly kiss my shoulder before she pulls out of me and rolls over. It seems insignificant, but at the same time, it means everything to me.

  She lies on her back and unstraps the harness, tossing it to the side, before folding her arms over her face and closing her eyes. She looks exhausted. I turn my head and just watch her. The puckered scar that rises and falls with her chest, the contractions of her toned stomach, her perfect breasts, her smooth mound, her muscular thighs... I take it all in. We don't even speak. All we do is fuck, but right now she is the only light in my dark life. I watch her as her body begins to relax, and it doesn't take long for her to drift off to sleep. This is not typical for her. She always pays for the entire night, but she never stays the whole night. But I can't say that I'd be mad if she ever did. I decide to just let her rest and go to take a shower. I'm reluctant to wash her off me, but my body is a little sore, so the hot water will do me good.

  ***

  I step out of the shower and wrap myself in two towels: one for my hair and one for my body. As I reach up to wipe the steam off the bathroom mirror, I hear screaming. I run into the bedroom to see her thrashing around, screaming in terror.

  "No! No! No!"

  I sit on the bed and try to shake her awake, but the thrashing continues until finally, she awakes with a huge gasp. She's confused and frightened, and I pull her into my arms to comfort her.

  "It's okay. You're alright. I got you. You're safe," I say soothingly as I hold her head to my chest and stroke her hair.

  She wraps her arms around my waist squeezing me hard as she gasps for air. It takes several seconds for her to remember where she is and when she does she is finally able to calm down long enough to catch her breath. After several minutes, she softly pushes me away and lays back down on the bed with one arm over her forehead. I stand up next to the bed and move in front of the dresser.

  "Do you want to talk about it?", I ask gently.

  She closes her eyes, and single tears fall from the corners of her eyes. I lean against the dresser, and we stay like that in complete silence as her tears quietly fall.

  And then, finally, she speaks.

  "I uh, I have seen some really fucked up shit. Like I'm guessing you have too. But I've seen some really evil things."

  I move to the edge of the bed and sit next to her but leave enough distance so that I don't feel like I'm crowding her. She sits up and leans back against the pillows.

  "Before I went to Afghanistan I was a weekend warrior in the Reserves. By trade, I was an EMT. Five months before I was to be deployed my girlfriend at the time, Lara, was in a head-on collision with a tractor-trailer. Our son, my son - Connor, was in the car."

  I put my hand over my mouth to keep myself from gasping out loud.

  "I was the first on the scene. Lara, she was already dead, but Connor... Connor held on for thirty-six hours after."

  She stares straight ahead as she says this almost emotionlessly. I imagine after telling this story so many times that's what happens. I comfortingly put my hand on her thigh and softly rub the skin. I don't know what else to do.

  "But the nightmares... the nightmares are the worst part. It always starts with his beautiful smiling face. And it always ends with an explosion. Three of them. It intermixes with the shit I saw in Afghanistan. And neither of them is pretty."

  "Is there anything I can do?"

  "You can keep fucking me. Same time next week?"

  "Same time next week."

  She finally looks me in the eye, and her eyes are still wet with tears, but she manages to give me a small smile. Then, leaning forward, she gives me a long kiss on the cheek before getting up and getting dressed.

  I watch her every move, and as she puts the envelope on the nightstand, I already miss her before she is even gone.

  Chapter Nine

  Andrea:

  It's Friday night. I'm sitting on my couch, sipping a gin and tonic and staring straight ahead, as I listen to Samantha ramble on and on.

  "Come on Andy! You need to get out there! And if I'm being honest? You need to get laid!"

  I turn my head and wince in disgust at her words.

  "Really?"

  "Yes! Really!" She sits down next to me and lowers her voice and says, "Look, I know you're still not over Lara. No one would ever expect you to be. But you can't just sit and allow yourself to get swallowed up by this darkness. You need to at least try and find some light."

  I laugh slightly at her mention of light. Little did she know I had already found some. But if she knew what, or who, I was doing she would just accuse me of being self-destructive. Maybe I was. But it was what was keeping me feeling like I was still alive.

  "Okay. Fine," I finally say mainly just to shut her up.

  She squeals in my ear, and I pull away from her cringing, but that just makes her squeal louder.

  "You are just going to LOVE Amelia! She is just a doll! And she's exactly your type!"

  And she is. We meet at Samantha's place on Saturday.

  "Hello, I'm Amelia."

  Her voice is like silk, low and sultry. She has mocha skin, an athletic build, and gorgeous round tits - my three weaknesses. But I have to admit - there is no spark. Not even a little bit.

  We have some drinks before heading out and then pile into a corner table at The Indigo. There's six of us - my friend Samantha, her ex-Brenda who she reconnected with the night I met Michelle, and my buddy Isaac and his boyfriend Gary. They are loud, and ruckus, and I try to play along, but this is just not my scene. I try to drink to keep up, but even that is not helping. I can't stop thinking about her. Everything about this place reminds me of her, and while Samantha keeps trying to set me up for a one night stand my heart is just not into it. Amelia keeps touching me, and I'm polite and cordial, but she is drunk at this point and doesn't get my disinterest.

  "Hey, my arm is feeling pretty lousy. I think I'm just going to head home!"

  "Are you sure?" Samantha says nodding over to Amelia. "Aren't you having a good time?" She winks and nods at me implying that I'm going to get laid, and I try to pretend I'm disappointed.

  "I'm having a great time, but it's just ..." my attention is drawn to the front door.

  There she is. Dressed in a similar red dress the night I met her. I have never seen her here other than that night. And I don't believe in coincidences. But right behind her is a gorgeous blonde that is clinging to her arm. A client? Suddenly I am so jealous that I can't see straight. I knew what her job was. I mean I paid her myself. But to see her with someone else? It made my stomach burn.

  "Andy?"

  I sit back down. "What?"

  "You said that you were having a great time, it's just... and then you stopped."

  "It's just I need another drink! Who wants to go to the bar?"

  Amelia practically jumps out of her seat and into my arms. I'm thankful that her drunk ass is at least aware not to jump on my left side.

  "Anyone else?" Everyone shakes their head no, and we make our way to the bar. Michelle is sitting at the far end with the blonde facing her. They are talking close, and the blonde keeps putting her hands all over her. I don't like it. But I have no claim to her. I'm just her client.

  "Whiskey on the rocks, and a Tequila Sunrise," I order. Amelia squeezes in next to me and wraps her arms around my waist.

  "You are sexy as fuck," she almost slurs.

  "Thank you," I reply leaning back a little.

  "I would love to fuck you," she spit-whispers into my ear.

  "Thank you," I answer pulling away slightly, and she just giggles like I just said the sexiest thing ever to her.

  The bartender brings our drinks, and Amelia wants to dance. I glance over to Michelle and see her engrossed in her date, so I chug my drink and head out to the dance floor.

  Chapter Ten

  Raquel:

  I finally get a night to myself. Jerome is out of town. He still wants me to see clients, but I just can't tonight. He's not going to be happy, but at the moment I just don't care. I reach out to my friend Jenna, and we head out to The Indigo. We used to be so close, but with everything going on in my life I've kept her at a distance. I'm ashamed of what she would think if she knew what I had allowed myself to get involved in. I try to keep our night as normal as possible, making up what I've been up to, even claiming to be engaged and when I described the lucky lady it's Andy. I don't even know this woman outside of the bedroom, but I feel so connected to her.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6