A Naughty Christmas Carol
By Jina Bacarr
Copyright 2011 by Jina Bacarr
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination
Cover by Jina Bacarr
Cover photo by Carlo Dapino http://www.dreamstime.com
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1 Greed is Good
Chapter 2 A Spanking Good Time
Chapter 3 Ghost of Christmas Past
Chapter 4 Ghost of Christmas Present
Chapter 5 Ghost of Christmas Future
Chapter 6 Merry Christmas, Santa Baby
Chapter 1
GREED IS GOOD on Christmas Eve.
Nick Radnor lived and breathed that credo the way other men craved a good blow job.
He drove himself harder than any trader on Wall Street. Up at dawn, a fast jog through the underbelly of the city, then a quick stop in his limo for coffee. Black, two sugars. No milk. Milk was for wusses.
Nick had a cast iron stomach and tight abs. He was tall, handsome and could wheel and deal with the best of them. Talk on his cell to his bankers with one hand and find his way under the elastic band on his secretary’s black silk panties with the other.
Ah, the sweet smell of success.
No, not his trigger-happy fingers. His willingness to get down and dirty to get the job done.
Which was why Nick was working late on Christmas Eve. He hated holidays. Especially Christmas. Business grinded to a halt with everyone getting drunk and muttering “Ho, ho, ho” like it was a hot stock.
He’d hated Christmas ever since he was a kid. No shiny, new bike for him. Only black coal in his stocking.
“Coal means energy, son,” said his old man, slapping him on the back. Hard. “That’s where your future lies.”
A boy of ten didn’t understand the glowing light in his father’s eyes, his fervent passion to make the deal no matter who he hurt. Instead his savage desire to make money drove a wedge between father and son.
Nick tensed. Forget the old days. He had to get these figures to his overseas constituents before the next day of trading. The Asian markets would be open and he stood to lose thousands of dollars if his numbers were off.
He loved watching the zeros multiply like horny rabbits. The thrill of the game turned him on. Nick couldn’t get enough of the frantic pace of Wall Street. The cars were sleeker, the women curvier, the smart phones smarter. To his eyes, even the snowflakes drifting down over the city were shaped like dollar signs.
He flipped his attention back and forth between two computer screens, checking and re-checking his figures. Thank God the foreign markets paid no attention to all the hooey about five golden rings and a pear-sick partridge.
Speaking of gold, Nick thought about the conversation he’d had yesterday with a Swiss colleague about his bank accounts overseas. He had more than doubled his assets in precious metals--
Was that the door opening? The sound of jingle bells in his office?
And the smell of perfume. Spicy with an underlying hint of a female aroused.
“Mr. Radnor…”
The perfume was overpowering now.
Nick didn’t take his eyes off his computer screen. “Come back later, Jinger, I’m busy.”
Jinger Hunt, office girl extraordinaire. Summa cum laude Columbia. Business and finance. Then a year of law school until her money ran out. She tried working as an escort, but the johns complained she was too smart. She intimidated them with her brains and they lost their erection. Came to work for him as his secretary.
Nick paid her a good salary, but Jinger kept bucking for a promotion to the board room. Women didn’t belong there, he insisted, no matter how smart they were.
So Jinger quit, then came back. Said she’d play the game his way. She needed a job. They compromised. She called herself his executive personal assistant, a fancy name she came up with, but in his mind she was still his secretary. She kept his calendar, scheduled his meetings and prepared his financial documents.
She also looked great doing it.
“Have you forgotten our appointment?” Jinger purred.
Nick looked up. “Holy shit.”
He had been so engrossed in his stock portfolio that he’d forgotten their holiday fuck. A tradition he initiated her first year working for him. How long ago was that? Five, six years? He’d lost track.
Jinger didn’t.
Standing in the doorway, the six-foot tall blonde wore red high heels, a black garter belt and black stockings with a red-and-white striped candy cane strapped to her thigh. She wore nothing else but a leather collar around her neck studded with rhinestones and jingle bells.
Seeing her standing there with her bare pussy dusted with gold holiday glitter turned him on. Big-time. His boxers felt tighter than they had a minute ago. Fuck the Asian markets. They could wait.
Nick couldn’t take his eyes off her, her Santa cap tilted to one side, the furry white ball on the end swaying back and forth as she hung a sprig of mistletoe on a light fixture.
To put him in the mood? He licked his lips. Man, just looking at her sweetened his day.
He took in the curve of her big breasts and tight brown nipples. For a women her size, she had amazing breasts. He liked to bury his face in her cleavage, then fuck her while standing her against the wall. In heels, she was still an inch shorter than he was.
No woman ever towered over him. In business or in bed.
Never taking her eyes off his, Jinger pulled the long candy cane from her black garter and began licking it, nice and slow.
Did it just get hotter in here?
Nick wasted no time shedding his pin-striped Armani suit, white shirt and silk tie. Then his shoes and socks. Jinger never stopped licking the candy cane, twirling her tongue around the curved head, making sucking noises that pleased him. He couldn’t wait for her minty lips to go around his dick.
Her eyes widened when his cock popped out of his boxers like a jack-in-the-box.
Ready for action.
“Have you been naughty or nice, Jinger?” Nick said, running his hand up and down his long shaft.
“Naughty, Mr. Radnor,” she cooed, “very naughty.”
She wiggled her shoulders to prove her point, then yanked off the Santa cap and tossed it to him.
Nick caught it and plopped it on his head. “Come to Santa, baby.”
Jinger smiled wide, then threw the candy cane into the trashcan. She sat down on his lap and played with the curly black hairs on his chest, her long shiny nails sending prickles of heat down to his groin. Without missing a beat, Nick opened his mouth to claim hers in a kiss, his tongue diving between her red lips. Instinctively, he pulled her closer to him, crushing her nude breasts against his chest, his tongue working overtime exploring her mouth.
The taste of sugary peppermint cooled his tongue, but not his desire. His hard cock moved against her belly, trying to find its way into her.
“Not yet, Santa,” Jinger said, breaking the kiss. Her voice was husky, her half-opened eyes dreamy.
“Don’t tease me, Jinger,” Nick said in a brusque tone. She stiffened. He hadn’t meant for his words to sound harsh, but he was tense. Way tense. Christmas always did this to him. He just wanted the damned holiday over with.
“I know how to relax you,” she whispered, grabbing his dick, her long fingers curling around his shaft, then sliding her hand up and down. Higher each time until her fingertips brushed the swollen, sensitive head. She squeezed it just enough to make him suck in his breath. He grabbed her hair and pulled on it, clenching his teeth.
Damn, he couldn’t hold back much longer.
Jinger sensed his hunger for her hot pussy. She slipped a red holiday condom on his dick then did what any good secretary would do.
She sat on his cock.
Wiggling her ass from side to side, her pubes contracted around him, squeezing and pulling him deep inside her, letting herself go with abandon. Bouncing up and down close to his face, her big breasts provided the side show.
Unable to hold back, Nick grinded into her with the same hard drive he had in business, thrusting deep into her. Pumping hard. His heart racing, hair falling down over his eyes, his face dripping with sweat. His breath was ragged, his jaw set hard.
Giving her no respite, he pushed upward, his whole body throbbing with need.
Snorting loudly, he exploded into her. His senses reeled and a long shudder went through him. His breathing was uneven, but Nick was a happy man. Nothing could be better than this. Not even putting over those subprime loans.
Best fuck he’d ever had on Christmas Eve.
Was it?
Somewhere in the back of his brain, another night of passion skirted along the edge of his mind. The soft touch of a woman’s lips…her smile as warm as a summer sunset. So long ago…
“Please, Nick…make me come.”
Jinger. Her pretty features contorted, her fingers splayed over her groin. She bit down on her lip. She had a look in her eyes that said she was close, so close.
What could he do about it? His erection was gone. He was so damn tired from working on the overseas figures, it would take him at least twenty minutes to get hard again.
More important, he got his mind-blowing orgasm. He was the boss.
“Christ, Jinger, use your fingers.”
Making a face at him, she pursed her lips, then closed her eyes and got to work, stroking her swollen clit slowly at first, then faster and faster.
He had to give it to her. She’d picked the perfect time for his holiday fuck. Everyone was gone. The secretaries, the messenger boys, even the cleaning lady was on her way home to leave cookies for Santa.
Located on the sixty-second floor, his office was as quiet as a church mouse lost in the big city.
Except for the jingle bells ringing loud in his ears. Wrapped around Jinger’s pretty neck, she threw her head back as she finished herself off, stimulating herself until her pleasure bud burned.
“Oh, Nick, it feels good…so good,” she cried out, bucking hard. Her breasts flapped up and down while she rubbed her clit back and forth.
“Yeah, baby…come for me,” Nick grunted.
“Yes…yes!” She let go with a guttural cry, then moans of pure pleasure that never seemed to stop. Finally a long, deep sigh escaped her lips, her shoulders slumped, her whole body exhausted. Beads of sweat oozed down over her breasts, forming pearl-sized drops hanging from the tips of her pointy nipples.
Nick pulled her down to him and licked the pearly drops off her nubs. One than the other. Salty mixed with minty on his tongue, making him smile.
But the jingle bells were getting on his nerves.
“Do you have to wear that slave collar when I fuck you?” Nick said, pinching her buttocks.
She winced. “You bought it for me last Christmas.”
He slapped her butt and Jinger climbed off his lap, then grabbed clean monogrammed towels out of the bottom drawer in his desk, next to his stack of condoms.
Nick said, “Take off that damn collar.”
She wiped her pussy clean. “Than I’ll be naked.”
Nick smiled. “You’re still wearing a garter belt and high heels.”
“Oh, yeah, right.” She giggled.
He clenched his jaw. There she goes again, playing that dumb blonde routine.
It turned him on and she knew it. Anything to get that promotion.
It wouldn’t do her any good. He just let her think it would.
Not this year, Jinger.
Ho, ho, ho.
* * *
Nick hustled Jinger down the street, listening to her babbling about the after-holiday sales before the holiday. He had to admit New York City was Christmas. The bright lights twinkling, the smell of chestnuts roasting mixing with steamed hot dogs.
People scurrying along the street, ogling the carolers and the Santas hustling. Merchants trying to lure customers into their stores with big bargain signs.
It was all about money, money, money. He loved it.
A peaceful hush had settled over the street tonight in the city where money never sleeps. Even the most jaded trader had turned off his computer to celebrate good will toward men.
Not Nick.
He never forgot how tough it was to get here. His first job was bringing coffee to the traders on the floor. Then he’d worked his way through college hustling stock sales for the big boys, doing whatever it took to prove himself after his old man was indicted for insider trading and sent up the river.
Nick spent his life trying to erase that black mark. Worked so hard his knuckles bled. He’d been a hotheaded kid back then, ready to take on anyone with a big mouth.
Then he met Charlie Harris. A jovial but debauched son of a gun who played the game hard and liked his women rough.
Too bad Charlie hadn’t lived to see Nick’s latest success. A luxurious new suite of offices. He owned the whole floor, even the water cooler. Every word that passed from an employee’s lips landed on his desk. He hired and fired with ease. Everyone was expendable. If a staffer didn’t live up to his expectations, he was out.
No second best for Nick Radnor.
Charlie taught him that. He owed everything to Charlie. Took him under his wing after his old man went belly up, gave him a chance when no one else would. Because of that he’d never taken Charlie’s name off the list of the board of directors. Charlie Harris was as much a part of the firm now as he was when he was alive. The rest of the economy was in the dumps, but their profits were up, way up.
Jinger grabbed his arm to point out a decorated store window and Nick sniffed her perfume. Pussy. A different memory of Charlie hit his radar. The balding executive with the big belly laugh loved women, lobster and bourbon.
All three had done him in.
Charlie had spent a not so jolly Christmas last year at Mamie’s BDSM club, their favorite haunt. He had two lovelies in his arms and had just finished using the whip on their round, firm bottoms when--
His heart gave out.
Another reason why Nick hated Christmas.
He hurried Jinger along, but she kept looking at the store windows, her eyes dazzled by the glittering jewel displays. Let her look. She deserved it. With the two of them working together, he’d forwarded his information to his contacts in Hong Kong and Tokyo in plenty of time. He’d clear a profit when the markets opened. That was his style. Always one step ahead of the competition.
Now for some fun.
Nick grinned. No, not another round with Jinger. She’d begged him for Christmas Eve off and he relented. Reluctantly. He’d not hold that against her. But his chauffeur was another matter. The schmuck had lied to him about needing the afternoon off to visit a sick friend. Playing the ponies was more like it.
Nick fired him. No severance pay. No reference. The jerk would collect unemployment. He’d stop that if he could.
Which meant he had no driver. He had to get Jinger a cab. After all, Nick was a gentleman.
He looked up and down the wide street. Gridlock reigned. Hailing a taxi on Christmas Eve was nearly impossible.
Unless you were Nick Radnor.
All the cabbies knew him. Standing over six feet five, he was a tall, impressive figure in his long black overcoat, his white designer silk scarf blowing in the wind.
In less than thirty seconds flat, a taxi screeched to a stop, tires scrapping the curb.
Nick took Jinger by the elbow and led her to the waiting cab. “Don’t forget to show up bright and early tomorrow morning for your holiday boner,” he said, smiling.
“But tomorrow is Christmas,” Jinger begged, her pretty face frowning.
“So?” Nick waved a thick wad of hundred dollar bills in her face. Thicker than his dick.
Hesitating, she bit down on her lower lip, thinking. Her breasts heaved up and down, her eyes glued to the hundred dollar bills. Finally she made up her mind. She grabbed the money. “I’ll be there, Nick…before you.”
He had no doubt Jinger would take the money. Everyone had a price. You kept upping the ante until you found their sweet spot.
He knew hers.
Jinger jumped into the cab. Nick gave the driver the address of her apartment on the west side. Then he thrust the price of the fare plus a generous tip into the driver’s extended palm. He knew when to spend it and when to keep it.
Same with his dick. He knew when to keep it in his pants.
The cabbie thanked him with a toothy grin and a “Merry Christmas,” then sped off down the street.
Nick wrapped the scarf tighter around his neck to keep out the cold, then dug his hands into his pockets. Now off to Mamie’s for some holiday cheer.
His fingers itched. His dick stiffened.
He drew in his breath, knowing only the girls at Mamie’s could assuage his hunger. A hunger to make a pretty girl bow to his will when he applied his silver-handled whip to her buttocks.
Nick walked faster. He was eager to indulge in the pleasure of his sensuous game.
The wind nipped at his nose, snowflakes dusted his thick dark hair, but he kept to his pace. It was a chilly night, but Nick craved exercise the way he lusted after pussy. He was a fanatic with both. Women loved him for it. His noble profile set him apart as a man of breeding, while his arrogance titillated their secret desire to be dominated by him.
Give him five minutes with a female and he’d have her squirming in her seat, her panties wet, her lips trembling, begging him to let her suck his cock.
He could charm any woman who caught his eye, but no woman could thaw his cold heart.
Ring. Ring.
Nick checked the caller ID. Monique. He smirked. The only female who had ever come close to snagging him in her web.
“Hi, babe,” he said, shooing away a bum looking for a handout. “Get a job,” he told the guy, cupping his hand over the phone.
“How can I when the economy sucks because jerks like you won’t pay your fair share in taxes?” said the guy-on-the-street.
“Tax increases don’t create jobs,” muttered Nick angrily, then picked up his pace. “What did you say, Monique?” he said into his phone, glad to be rid of the jerk.
“Will I see you tonight, Nick?” he heard her say. He loved her classy accent. Sleek and sophisticated. “The Blakelys have invited us over for holiday cocktails.”
Park Avenue. Penthouse apartment. He’d soaked Henry Blakely for a cool million with bundled mortgages. Might be worth his time, but Nick hadn’t been to Mamie’s all week.
His dick ruled.
“I’m tied up with the Asian markets, Monique.”
“Make it if you can, Nick, okay?” He heard the disappointment in her voice.
“Gotta go, babe.”
“Nick--”
“Yes?”
“Merry Christmas.”
“Yeah, sure.” Nick flipped off his cell. Agitation crawled up and down his spine. He walked faster, eager to get the conversation off his mind. What was it about that woman that made him so uncomfortable? He could claim the itch up his backside was from her.
But it was something else. An ache, a pain that he didn’t understand. Those nights he spent as a kid alone, waiting for his old man to come home, never knowing where his mother was. He’d buried those feelings deep inside him, but Monique brought them back close to the surface.
Damn her.
They’d met at a weekend house party when he was at NYU. She attended Vassar. Monique Ashford had the face of an angel and the figure of a model. Came from an old Newport family. Her father was worth multi-millions and into the market. Nick had wasted no time clipping her old man with overinflated mortgage backed securities.
Nick knew a sure thing when he saw it, so he asked Monique to marry him. Why not? A successful Wall Street trader needed a wife. She was as important a commodity to him as a good stock portfolio.
It seemed like a good idea until Monique quarreled with her father and moved out of the family estate. She rented a rundown place in the East Village to take up a career in art. She wanted to do something with her life, she said.
Just like Jinger.
What was wrong with these females? Didn’t they know it was a man’s world?
Nick kept her dangling on a string for years, saying he didn’t have time to pick out a diamond ring, but he would soon.
She fell for it.
He had no intention of marrying Monique until she gave up this silly idea of pursuing a career. Until then, he had a high society girl to show off at corporate parties. Still, Monique professed to have a deep love for him. A love that ignored his questionable business practices.
A flaw in his character, she said, she was determined to fix. No matter how long it took.
So far she hadn’t succeeded.
Nick turned the corner, grinning like a Christmas turkey.
A silk pedigree and caviar weren’t on his mind now.
The faded, three-story red brick building with the blackout curtains beckoned him. Maple trees laden with white snow gave the place a pure, angelic look.
He snickered. It was more like the devil’s playground.
Chapter 2
“DON’T TELL ME Nick Radnor has a Christmas Eve hard-on and no place to stick it?” Mamie said in her raspy smoker’s voice.
“You know me better than that, Mamie,” Nick said, grinning. “I stopped by to give your girls their holiday spanking.”
“We’re closed, Nick.” She logged off her laptop. “I let the girls go home early--”
“All the girls?”
“Kim and Tanya are still here. They’re untying silk knots.” She laughed. “Their last customer was so drunk they had to tie him to the bed to keep him from falling onto the floor.”
Nick’s eyes glimmered. His two favorite girls.
He checked his phone. “Tanya. Five feet five. Long black hair. 38-22-32. Kim. Blonde. Five feet ten. 36-23-34. A little skinny for my tastes, but she gives a great blow job.”
Mamie’s eyes narrowed. “Since when have you been hacking into my little black phone, Nick?”
“Since I gave you that stock tip on oil futures.” He eyed her ample bosom pouring out over her red satin corset laced up the back. He never saw her without it. She must sleep with it on. “By the way, Mamie, how is your portfolio?”
“It’s been a rough year, Nick,” she admitted. “What with the market going crazy. Up and down more times than my customers’ cocks.”
Mamie oughta know.
“I have a New Year’s tip for you,” Nick said.
“You do?” Her blue eyes sparkled. He had the feeling she’d lost big in the last market downturn.
The only thing besides finding a new girl for the club that grabbed her fancy was adding to her retirement fund. Mamie had been threatening to retire for years, but couldn’t afford it.
She first strapped on her plastic stilettos and diamond choker back in the Reagan years when she opened up shop in the Silk Stocking district in a swank six-room apartment once owned by a famous madam during the Depression.
Business was good and her “private parties” soon began to draw customers from Wall Street.
She provided a place where businessmen could have a beautiful woman completely at their disposal to satisfy their needs. She schooled her girls in the art of the tease as well as how to walk, talk and bend over with grace.
Mamie stressed that discipline was key. Spanking as well as the whip were encouraged, but she’d ban any over zealous trader taking out his woes with the stock market on her girls.
By the Bush era, she’d moved to the financial district, but kept a few mementos from her old place on display, like her gold spittoon.
Until a chief loan officer from a failed savings and loan stole the spittoon and tried to sell it on eBay.
Was nothing sacred? she asked Nick.
She’d known Nick since Charlie Harris started bringing him to her place. “I’m breaking him in,” Charlie had said. “He has a fire in his belly that reminds me of myself back in the old days.”
Nick’s hunger to better himself often led him to the edge. He was filled with unrest and unsettling thoughts, always pitting himself against the trader next to him, outstripping his goal by having to be the best. Always the best.
His old man had something to do with that. Beating it into him that failure was not acceptable. When they took him away to Federal prison, he made Nick swear on his mother’s memory to keep the business going.
Nick gave him his word, if only just once to hear the old man say he was proud of him. It didn’t happen. A deepening shadow descended over Nick’s soul and choked it.
Turning it black, obscene.
His father was never coming back.
That was more than ten years ago. Since then Nick had climbed higher than his father ever dreamed. He was a high roller in the world of stocks with untold investments both here and abroad. A man who worked with a vengeance to prove himself the best.
Mamie saw only a brooding, handsome man who made her girls swoon. Wickedly self-assured and alive with a sensuous vitality, all Nick had to do was crack his whip and they couldn’t wait to pull down their panties for “bottoms up.”
Nick liked Mamie. She was honest and hard-working, but not above a little hanky panky when it came to cutting a deal for her girls’ services. Her personal wealth had never been so good until Nick started feeding her stock tips.
“What did you say the name of that stock was?” she asked sweetly, grabbing her cell phone.
He smirked. “I didn’t.”
She put down her phone. “And you won’t--”
He nodded. “Unless you open up for me on Christmas Eve.”
“You rotten bastard.”
“You love me for it, Mamie, and you know it.” Nick stuffed five one-hundred bills down her cleavage, then gave her a boyish grin. “I’ll be waiting for the girls in the private room. Have Tanya bring me the silver-handled whip.”
Nick kept his whip collection under lock and key at Mamie’s. A special privilege granted to her best customers. Nothing was too good for them. Her club had everything a tired businessman could desire, including discreet billing, fine food and good whiskey.
And no less than eight girls to choose from. All full service submissives.
Soundproof rooms were available when requested (for the girl’s safety, Mamie watched the action through a peephole). And a red velvet room with mirrors on the ceiling with a revolving round bed reserved for high paying guests only.
Nick was at the top of that list.
When he rang the doorbell and Mamie saw his grinning, handsome face on the security camera, she’d buzzed him in. Why not? She never turned him away, especially in these bad times.
Word was with the economic downturn hitting Wall Street hard, business had been slow. Nick had no doubt it was true. When he arrived for a session last week, her cell barely rang. No wonder she was eager to renege on her policy of “whipping sessions by appointment only.”
Nick took off his overcoat and handed it to the French maid who pretended not to speak English, then he sat down on the red velvet sofa. Holiday music played in the background and a fake Christmas tree stood in the Victorian lobby. Penis-shaped candy canes hung from its artificial fir branches.
Nice touch.
“Don’t get comfortable, Nick,” Mamie insisted. “I didn’t promise you I’d open up.”
“You will.”
“Not so fast. My girls are tired. We had a very busy Christmas Eve with all the bankers trying to get their rocks off before they went home to their wives.”
Nick sighed, exasperated. Spin me another tale, Mamie, he wanted to say, but didn’t. Why give away your hole card? She’d give in, but not until he upped the ante. Like he said, everyone had their price.
Especially the madam of New York’s hottest gentlemen’s club. He’d bought her mortgage and then made sure she couldn’t get refinancing when she needed a loan against her property. She depended on his stock tips to keep her club solvent, especially after the new decorating job.
Jade incense burners gave off the exotic aroma of French perfume. Gold leafing adorned the furniture. Elaborate, heavy velvet drapes in every bedroom created the feeling of a sumptuous Fifth Avenue mansion. Each bathroom included a black marble bidet.
“Would five thousand convince you?” Nick pulled out his credit card.
“Make it ten--”
“Agreed.”
His dick itched overtime. He couldn’t wait much longer. He ached to stroke his fingers over Tanya’s pretty pink bottom, then spread her legs and part her lower lips so he could explore her.
“And twenty-five hundred for my girls. Each.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Mamie.”
“No harder than you, Nick.” She gave him her ten thousand dollar smile then looked down at his crotch, eyeing the bulge in his pants. She never doubted he’d pay her price.
“Champagne?” Mamie asked, breaking into his thoughts. “You look like you could use a drink.”
Nick shot her a glance that said he was in control of his emotions, but he wasn’t. He was breathing hard, his anticipation for a female’s tender flesh making him sweat. Even when the market lost five hundred points in one day, his heart never hammered in his chest like this.
He clenched his teeth, then forced a smile.
“Your best champagne, Mamie,” Nick said. “And a big, juicy steak. I’m starved.”
Sex always made him hungry. Using his whip on Mamie’s girls made him happy.
She smiled, mentally calculating up his tab. “I’ll rile Pops out of his stupor to show you upstairs to your pleasure den.”
It was no secret the night porter downed a bottle of Jack Daniels every night after she closed the club. He’d been with Mamie so long everyone called him Pops.
“Let the old man enjoy his whiskey,” Nick said, sliding open the door to the cage elevator. “I know the way.”
* * *
The kiss of fire.
Nick’s nostrils flared as he wielded his silver-handled whip over the buttocks of the lovely brunette. Tanya arched her back under the blows and let out an icy moan. Nearby Kim, a perky blonde, played with her own breasts, pinching her nipples between her fingertips.
Nick counted the strokes. “Seven...eight…”
“Please…more,” begged Tanya. “More!”
Nick pulled back, enjoying her begging for it. She let out a slow breath, anticipation quelling up in her belly. Wearing a pink garter belt and white lace stockings, she leaned over a silk damask chair, her hips and bottom tipped upward.
She wobbled back and forth on her five-inch platform shoes, a sticky wetness sliding down the insides of her thighs.
She was wet.
The scent of her female essence filled his lungs, inspiring him to keep going, tempting him to raise the count to nine, then ten.
“Oh, yes…” she gasped.
Nick burped. Loudly. Must be the steak he ate. Thick, rare.
The two girls looked at each other and giggled. That set him off. He hated anyone taking advantage of him.
“Stop playing with your tits, Kim,” he ordered the blonde. “And check my markings on Tanya’s butt to see if they’re straight.”
Sobering up quickly, Kim said, “Yes, sir.”
She gave him a cute smile, then leaned over and stroked the red welts on the girl’s buttocks with her palm, counting the marks.
Nick swayed back and forth, rubbing his eyes. The intensity of his concentration had given him a fierce headache. Most likely brought on by that second bottle of Dom Pérignon.
Dizziness flooded his vision. Cold sweat covered his face, his palms. The bubbly promise of the champagne had gone flat. He was frustrated and out of control.
He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
“Now it’s your turn, Kim!” he yelled out, then struck a hard blow across the blonde’s buttocks, startling her.
“Jeez, Mr. Radnor, give a girl a break. My feet are killing me.” Kim slipped off her stilettos, then tossed them aside. “I had a rough night with the last guy.”
“You’re being paid, aren’t you?” Nick sputtered, paying no attention to her plea.
“Yeah, but--” Kim began, then stopped. Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. She looked so forlorn, her gooey false eyelashes coming undone.
“It’s Christmas Eve, Mr. Radnor,” said Tanya, putting her arm around her co-worker. “Good will toward everybody. Even us.”
“Yeah, even us,” Kim chimed in.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Nick asked, swinging the whip dangerously close to the girls’ nude butts.
“When you first started coming to Mamie’s, you were real nice,” said Tanya. “Giving me hugs and cuddles after the spankings.”
Had she been here that long?
“We always thought you were the nicest of Mamie’s customers,” Kim added.
“And now?” Nick bellowed, throwing down his whip in disgust. His eyes crawled over their flesh, possessive, yet wanting to know her answer.
The girls looked at each other. “You’ve changed,” Tanya said. “I guess it’s the economy going bad. It’s hit everybody.”
“Especially our customers with 401(k)s invested in the stock market,” said Kim. “They only book half the time they used to.”
“But we still like you.”
Did they?
Nick brushed his hand across the skinny contours of Kim’s butt, her model-thin rear smarting from his whip. “Who do you girls think I am? Santy Claus? Well, I’m not. I work hard for every dime I make and I expect you to do the same.” He picked up his whip. “Now lean over. Both of you.”
Sighing, the two girls turned around and pushed their bare buttocks up into the air, waiting.