Chapter 19: Wednesday night
The penthouse air hummed with quiet anticipation, thick with the scent of Odette’s expensive jasmine oil and freshly brewed espresso. Paul knelt naked on the deep-pile rug before the grand sofa, his wrists secured tightly behind his back with cold metal cuffs. The Viagra Odette had slipped him earlier pulsed through his veins, a relentless, artificial throb keeping him achingly, unavoidably erect. It felt like a betrayal of his own body, a constant, demanding presence he couldn't ignore.
"Perfect," Odette murmured, her voice a low purr as she leaned close. Her fingers, cool and precise, gently pried open his eyelid. He blinked rapidly, instinctively resisting the intrusion. "Hold still, mon chéri." She pressed the small, gelatinous disc against his eyeball. The world dissolved instantly into a uniform, milky haze. Light and shadow remained, but shapes, details, faces – all obliterated. Panic, sharp and sudden, clawed at his throat. Blindness. Utter vulnerability. He was adrift.
"Shh," Odette soothed, her breath warm against his ear as she inserted the second lens. "It’s necessary. My friends deserve their anonymity. And you," her fingertip traced the line of his jaw, "you look so beautifully available like this. Just a handsome face, ready to serve." She kissed his temple, a fleeting brush of lips that felt like ownership. "Be good."
He heard her footsteps retreat across the polished wood floor, then the soft clink of glassware. He knelt, suspended in the milky void, the ache in his groin a counterpoint to the chill of the cuffs biting into his wrists. The phantom scent of cheap body spray and bleach from the salon storage room assaulted him. Jamie’s triumphant sneer. The flash of her phone. The humiliation burned fresh, warring with the deep, thrumming arousal Odette’s preparations had ignited. He hated the piss. The thought alone twisted his stomach. But the yielding? The absolute surrender? That was his core, laid bare. He craved it even as he dreaded what Odette had promised her friends.
The buzzer sounded, sharp and insistent. Odette’s light footsteps hurried to the intercom. "Coming!" Her voice was bright, welcoming. The door clicked open.
Voices flooded in – feminine, overlapping, a chorus of greetings and laughter. High heels tapped on wood, the rustle of coats being shed. Paul stiffened, straining uselessly against the cuffs, his senses straining to parse the blurred shapes moving in the haze. Four? Five? He couldn’t tell. The air thickened with competing perfumes – floral, musky, citrus sharp.
"Odette, this place is divine!" A warm, slightly husky voice exclaimed.
"Always knew you had impeccable taste, darling," another, crisper voice added.
"Is that…?" A third voice, hesitant, dropped lower. Paul felt multiple gazes land on him, hot points of attention prickling his skin. He kept his chin slightly lifted, facing the direction of the voices, trying to project the composure Odette demanded.
"Oui, that’s Paul," Odette announced, her tone casual, proprietorial. Glasses clinked. "Champagne, everyone? Help yourselves." He heard the pop of a cork, the fizzy pour. "Make yourselves comfortable. Paul is… available."
A beat of silence. Then nervous laughter, quickly stifled.
"Available?" The husky voice asked, closer now. Paul sensed a shape hovering near his right shoulder. "Available for what, exactly?"
"For whatever you desire," Odette replied smoothly. He heard the smile in her voice. "Within reason, of course. He’s exceptionally gifted orally. Truly devoted. He lives to serve." She paused, letting the implication hang. "He’s also," she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur that still carried, "quite adept at rimming. And," another pause, deliberate, "he’ll drink your piss. If you wish."
A collective intake of breath. Paul’s stomach lurched violently. No. Please, not that. The visceral disgust was immediate, overwhelming. Yet, beneath it, a treacherous pulse of excitement throbbed in time with the Viagra’s insistence. The utter degradation. The complete gift of himself. It was horrifying. It was the deepest truth of what he was.
"Christ, Odette," the crisp voice breathed, sounding both shocked and intrigued.
"You’re joking," the hesitant voice whispered.
"Deadly serious," Odette replied, her tone light, almost playful. "He hates that part, you know. Finds it utterly vile." She moved closer to Paul; he felt the warmth radiating from her. Her hand rested possessively on his shoulder. "Which," she added, her voice hardening slightly, "is precisely why he’ll do it. Won’t you, Paul?"
He swallowed hard, his throat dry. The milky world offered no escape. The eyes he couldn’t see felt like lasers. "Yes, Odette," he managed, his voice rough but clear. Submission was the only path forward, the only thing that made sense in this terrifying, exhilarating void.
"See?" Odette said brightly to her friends. "Eager to please. So, ladies… who’s first?"
Another beat of charged silence. Paul heard shifting fabric, the nervous sip of champagne. Then the hesitant voice spoke up, closer now, directly in front of him. "I… I suppose I could…" She sounded young, unsure. "Just… oral? Like normal?"
"Of course, ma chérie," Odette encouraged gently. "Paul? Be gentle. She’s new to this."
A brittle laugh cut through the silence. "Oh, no, darling," a new voice interjected, sharp and amused. It belonged to a shape moving fluidly in Paul’s milky haze, radiating a cloud of expensive, spicy perfume. "Let the sweet thing go first, absolutely. Because when I get my turn later?" She paused dramatically, letting the implication hang thick in the jasmine-scented air. The shape gestured vaguely towards Paul. "This will be a properly broken, ruined mess." Her laughter was light, chillingly casual. "Much more fun for me."
"Ruined is right," another woman chimed in, her voice deeper, richer, laced with dark promise. She sounded closer to the sofa, perhaps pouring more champagne. Paul heard the liquid splash into a glass. "And Paul? Brace yourself, handsome." Her tone shifted, becoming intimate, almost conversational, yet carrying an edge that froze his blood. "You’ll definitely be drinking a bladder full of my piss later. Guaranteed." The casualness of the threat, the sheer normalcy in her voice as she promised degradation, made Paul’s stomach heave. The Viagra-induced erection felt like a cruel joke against the wave of nausea.
The murmurs from the other women were a low buzz of anticipation and mild shock. The hesitant voice directly in front of Paul let out a tiny, anxious squeak. "Oh! Okay... I suppose...now?" She sounded even younger, overwhelmed by the predatory atmosphere the others had conjured.
"Perfect timing," Odette declared smoothly, her hand finding Paul’s shoulder again, a brief, possessive squeeze. "Paul, be a good boy. Go with her." Her fingers traced down his arm, finding his elbow. "Here, chérie," Odette directed, guiding the nervous woman’s hand to Paul’s bicep. "Lead him wherever you like. The bedroom is free. The sofa here. Or just... wherever takes your fancy." A ripple of laughter followed the suggestion.
The young woman’s fingers closed tentatively around Paul’s upper arm. Her touch was hesitant, almost apologetic. "Um... this way?" she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. She gave a gentle tug. Paul, blind, bound, his mind reeling from the dual threats hanging over him – the promised ruin, the guaranteed piss – stumbled awkwardly to his feet. His knees protested, stiff from kneeling. He felt utterly adrift, guided only by this nervous stranger’s uncertain grip. The dense perfume cloud followed the sharp-voiced woman as she moved, her shape fading slightly in his vision as he was steered away from the main group. He heard the clink of glasses resume, the low murmur of conversation starting up again behind him, punctuated by another low, dark chuckle from the woman who owned the deep voice. His naked skin prickled under their unseen gazes. The plush rug beneath his bare feet gave way to the cool slickness of polished wood as she led him forward, deeper into the unknown corners of Odette’s penthouse. Her grip tightened slightly on his arm, a silent anchor in the blinding haze.
The nervous woman’s fingers trembled against Paul’s bicep as she guided him across cool floorboards. A door hinge sighed open revealing a quieter space, the sharp perfume and champagne chatter fading behind them. The air here held traces of Odette’s jasmine and dust.
"Here," she whispered, her voice thin and strained. "The bed?" Her hand on his arm steered him forward until his shins bumped the low frame. "Can you… kneel?"
Paul obeyed, lowering himself stiffly onto thick carpet, the metal cuffs digging into his lower back. He heard the rustle of fabric directly in front of him – a skirt being pushed up, perhaps. Her breathing hitched, shallow and rapid. This wasn’t predatory excitement like the others promised; it was raw fear.
"Okay," she breathed, a tremor running through the word. Silence stretched. He sensed her shifting weight, felt the mattress dip slightly near his face. "I don’t… I’ve not…" She trailed off. The scent of feminine arousal bloomed lightly, subtle beneath her own clean, soapy smell, but tangled with sharp anxiety sweat.
"Shh," Paul murmured, his own voice surprisingly steady despite the blindfold haze and the Viagra’s persistent throb. He needed to lead now, gently. "I can’t see you. Don’t know you." He tilted his head upward towards her presence. "This?" He let a low hum of pleasure vibrate in his chest. "It’s exactly what I want. What I need. To serve. To be used."
He heard her exhale shakily. "Really?" A whisper.
"Truly," he affirmed. "Utterly. Now," he coaxed, his voice low and calming. "How would you like me? Soft? Slow?" He paused, letting the options hang. "Or shall I show you what I can do?"
"Show me," she whispered, a spark of curiosity cutting through the fear.
Paul leaned forward slowly, guided by the heat radiating from her body. He nuzzled gently against the softness of her inner thigh, inhaling her unique scent – clean sweat, nervous musk, a hint of something floral. His lips found the delicate skin, placing a feather-light kiss. "Option one," he murmured against her skin, the vibration deliberate. "Gentle." He traced a slow, languid line upwards with the tip of his tongue, barely grazing her outer lips. A sharp gasp rewarded him.
He drew back for a breath. "Option two," he offered, his voice roughening slightly. "Direct." This time, his tongue found her clitoris unerringly through the thin veil of arousal. He didn’t attack, but applied a firm, insistent pressure, circling deliberately. Her legs jerked, a startled whimper escaping her. "Oh god!"
"Yes?" Paul murmured, maintaining the pressure, feeling the tiny bud swell instantly beneath his tongue. He felt her hands press down onto his shoulders, not pushing him away, but bracing herself. "Good?"
"Fuck! Yes!" Her voice was a startled rasp. "Don’t stop!" Her hips gave a tiny, involuntary thrust against his face.
Paul adjusted, pressing his face deeper, sealing his mouth over her. He sucked gently, rhythmically, while his tongue continued its focused assault on her clit. He felt her trembling intensify, heard her breath catching in ragged gasps. He could taste her deepening arousal now, tangy and rich. He shifted technique again, flattening his tongue to sweep broad strokes over her entire vulva, gathering her wetness, before zeroing back in with pinpoint flicks against her clit. "Option three," he mumbled, his lips still pressed to her flesh. "Full."
He felt her body coiling tight, teetering. He drove his tongue deeper past her entrance, not just lapping but exploring the warm, slick inner walls with deliberate thrusts. He curled his tongue upwards, searching for that textured spot inside. "Here?" he asked, his voice muffled against her.
A strangled cry answered him. Her hands clenched on his shoulders, nails biting in. "Oh! Oh fuck! Paul!" Her hips bucked wildly, uncontrollably, grinding hard against his mouth. "I’m… I’m…!"
It hit her like a dam breaking. Her entire body arched violently. A guttural scream tore from her throat, raw and primal, completely unlike her hesitant whispers. Paul felt it before he heard the splash – a sudden, forceful gush of liquid hitting his chin, his neck, drenching his chest. It was warm, copious, almost shocking in its volume.
Silence crashed down, punctuated only by her frantic, gasping breaths. Then, a choked sob. "Oh god. Oh no. Oh god, I’m so sorry!" Her voice was thick with horrified shame. She tried to pull away, her hands fluttering weakly against his shoulders. "I didn’t mean… I never do that! I’m disgusting!"
Paul didn’t pull back. He stayed pressed against her, the warm liquid pooling on his skin, dripping down his torso. He tilted his face up towards her voice, his expression hidden by the milky lenses but his voice deliberate, calm, utterly sincere. "Stop." He licked his lips deliberately, tasting the unique, slightly sweet tang of her release mixed with her arousal. He swallowed. "Don’t you dare apologize."
He leaned forward again, pressing his mouth firmly against her, still pulsing with aftershocks. He licked her clean, thoroughly, drinking every drop he could reach – from her thighs, her vulva, the source itself. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet room. "This," he stated, pulling back slightly, his voice thick but certain, "is incredible. Powerful." He swallowed again. "Many, many people would find this unbelievably sexy. Men. Women. More than you’d think." He paused, letting the words sink in. "It’s a gift. Never be ashamed of it. Ever."
Her shuddering breaths slowed, the frantic gasps softening into something calmer. Paul felt the tension melt from her thighs where they pressed against his ears. A small, almost disbelieving laugh escaped her. "Really?" Her voice was hushed, raw, but steadier. The crushing weight of her shame seemed to lift.
"Yes," Paul insisted, his chin damp with her. He rubbed his face against her inner thigh, a deliberate, grounding gesture. "Really." He heard the rustle of her clothes as she straightened, pulling her skirt down. Her fingers brushed his hair, tentative, almost apologetic.
"Thank you," she whispered. The hand on his arm returned, firmer this time. "Come on." She helped him stand. Satiated, reassured, re-empowered, she led him back towards the living room's low hum of conversation and perfume. The blurred shapes of the other women turned as they approached. A ragged cheer erupted, glasses clinking.
"Success!" called the husky-voiced woman.
"Looks like he delivered," laughed the crisp one.
Before the nervous girl could utter another word, a different figure surged forward. Spicy, expensive perfume overwhelmed Paul’s senses. A hand, cool and strong, closed around his rigid cock, fingers digging possessively into the root. "My turn," declared a melodically-voiced woman. Her grip was unyielding. She didn’t ask, simply pulled him sideways, away from the group, towards another shadowed corner of the vast room. The cold wood floor chilled his feet.
She guided him with that iron grip on his erection until his legs bumped against another plush surface – likely an ottoman or low chaise. The scent of her arousal was immediate, intense, aggressively musky beneath the heavy perfume. Her silhouette in the milky haze was clear to him even though the contacts as she positioned herself legs wide open before him "I want you to Fuck me," she commanded. "Now. Deep. Hard. I want to feel like a stream train has been through me."
Paul hesitated. The Viagra kept him painfully hard, a throbbing monument to arousal, but the act felt alien, impossible under these conditions. He swallowed. "I... I don’t think I can." He explained apologetically but calmly.
Her sharp intake of breath was pure outrage. "What?" Her hand tightened agonizingly around his cock, a cruel vise. "Why the not? Look at you!" She gave his erection a punishing shake. "You’re fucking ready!"
"Odette!" The woman's voice sliced through the murmur of the room, sharp as broken glass. "Get over here!"
Light footsteps approached. Paul sensed Odette’s presence, calm and assessing.
Paul sensed Odette’s presence, calm and assessing. The spicy-perfumed woman’s grip tightened viciously on Paul’s cock. "He refuses to fuck me!" Her accusation cracked like a whip. "Claims he can't! Look at this fucking thing!" She shook Paul’s erection violently, making him gasp.
Odette’s sigh was audible, a mix of exasperation and indulgence. "Ah, ma chérie," she murmured, her voice smooth as poured honey. "That particular service isn't on offer tonight." Her fingertips brushed Paul’s shoulder, a fleeting reassurance. "Paul’s cock," she stated with absolute finality, "is mine. Reserved. Entirely." She paused, letting the ownership sink in. "Everything else? Yours to command."
The woman scoffed, her expensive perfume swirling aggressively. "Reserved? Don't be absurd, Odette." Her voice dripped with frustrated entitlement. "I need something deep. Properly deep. To feel filled." She released Paul’s cock with a dismissive flick. "This tongue shit’s clever, but it’s not enough. Not for how I need to come."
Silence stretched, thick with tension. Paul heard the faint clink of ice in a glass nearby. Odette’s thoughtful hum vibrated close to his ear. "Deep, you say?" Her tone shifted, playful intrigue replacing mild annoyance. "Paul? Can you hold something heavy in that talented mouth of yours? Something… substantial?"
Understanding dawned cold and sharp. "Yes, Odette," Paul rasped, the milky void pressing in. He felt her move away, heard drawers opening and closing in Odette’s bedroom. She returned swiftly, the air shifting as she placed a cool, smooth, rigid object against his lips. Silicone. Heavy. Unmistakably phallic. "Open wide, mon chéri," Odette commanded softly. He obeyed, parting his lips. The bulbous head of the dildo pressed against his tongue. She pushed it deep, the thick shaft filling his mouth, stretching his jaw wide. The taste was sterile, faintly chemical. Its weight settled heavily on his tongue, forcing his head down slightly. Saliva pooled instantly.
"Perfect," Odette purred. She turned back to the woman. "There’s your depth, darling. Ride his face. Fuck his mouth like it’s a cock. He’ll hold it steady." Her fingers briefly squeezed Paul’s jaw, ensuring his grip. "Won’t you, Paul?"
He grunted affirmation around the thick intrusion, unable to form words. The woman’s sharp inhale was audible. "Huh," she breathed, a spark of genuine curiosity cutting through her irritation. "That’s… actually interesting." A low chuckle escaped her. "Alright. Let’s see if he can handle it." Her expensive perfume surged closer. Hands gripped his shoulders, shoving him backwards onto the plush ottoman. His bound arms trapped awkwardly beneath him. Her knees slammed down on either side of his head, pinning him. The humid heat of her vulva pressed against his forehead. "Hold it fucking still," she commanded.
Her hips descended. The silicone tip, guided by Paul’s immobilized mouth, pressed against her entrance. She bore down hard, impaling herself onto the dildo protruding from his lips. A guttural groan tore from her throat as she took its full length. "Fuck! Yes!" Her thighs clamped viselike around his ears. She began to move, grinding her hips in hard, demanding circles. The dildo strained against Paul’s clenched teeth, vibrating violently with her motion. His jaw screamed under the relentless pressure. Spit leaked uncontrollably down his chin. Her slickness coated his nose, his cheeks. The scent of her arousal, musky and intense beneath the perfume, flooded his senses.
"Harder!" she gasped, slamming herself down onto his face. Her hands tangled in his hair, yanking his head forward to meet her thrusts. "Don’t you fucking drop it!" Paul focused every ounce of will on keeping his jaw locked, teeth clamped around the silicone base. The dildo became a brutal piston, driven by her furious rhythm. He tasted her tangy wetness mingling with his own saliva on the shaft. Her cries grew louder, sharper, filling the penthouse air. "Oh god! Like that! Just like a fucking cock!" Her inner muscles clenched rhythmically around the intruding toy, the contractions transmitting through the rigid silicone into his aching jaw. She rode his immobilized face with abandon, lost in the sensation of depth she craved, using him utterly as the vessel for her pleasure. Paul surrendered to the violent rhythm, the taste of silicone and woman, the exquisite agony in his jaw, the sheer, brutal utility of his existence in that moment. Her triumphant cries crescendoed, sharp and demanding, echoing off the penthouse walls as she fucked his mouth towards oblivion.