Page 2 of Mayfair Madame
I touched the door gently and smiled at the memories, the look on her face as we’d shared the first of many orgasms. She’d been beautiful then, but illness had robbed her of her vitality. How long did she have left?
The bathroom was a few doors down, and I entered, locking the door behind me.
It was some bathroom. A deep, claw footed bath with gold taps, a large marble counter with inset basins and a huge ornate framed mirror. It screamed money.
Pressure in my bladder reminded me I needed to pee, and I squeezed my legs shut.
Damn Oscar and his bright ideas. The dress was fantastic but so tight it left nothing to the imagination.
“You’ll have to go commando.” He’d said. “You’ll ruin the line of the dress otherwise. No bra. No knickers, not even a thong.”
I’d rolled my eyes at him and no doubt cursed, but he’d been right, as usual, although I wouldn’t tell him that.
I placed my clutch bag on the marble counter and looked at my reflection in the mirror. My lipstick was fading, and I’d need to do a quick touch-up before I rejoined the party.
But first, how the fuck did I get myself out of this dress? Did I pull it up or slip it down?
I tried pulling it up. Nope, that wasn’t happening. Guess it would need to come off the other way.
I slipped the thin straps down my arms and shimmied out of the dress. I stepped out of the pool of fabric on the floor and gathered it up, folding it neatly. It left me wearing nothing but a pair of expensive diamond earrings and my gold Jimmy Choo sandals. I’d need to speak to Oscar tomorrow about his choice of dress.
Goosebumps covered my body, and I shivered, my nipples hardening. With a wobble, I sat on the toilet and sighed as I relieved myself. Could I face doing this again?
God, no. I’d wait until I got home to have another drink. Not that I drank much when I was working. I much preferred being in control, and alcohol only dulled the senses. I’d learnt from experience never to let my guard down.
With some difficulty, I redressed. I reapplied my make-up and checked my phone. A couple of emails, but nothing that couldn’t wait until tomorrow.
I smoothed down the dress and took one last look in the mirror. I breathed deeply to calm myself and opened the door.
A sharp shove knocked me backwards. I dropped my bag and tried to grab hold of anything to steady myself.
What the fuck was going on?
“You fucking prick tease.” Benjamin Godfrey had far more strength than I gave him credit for. He slammed the door behind him and stalked towards me, his yellow teeth bared in a sinister grin.
There was nowhere for me to go, and I found myself pinned against the marble counter.
I gasped as he unfastened the button on his trousers with one hand and undid the zip. “Whores like you need to learn a lesson.”
Oh, no fucking way. Not again. My pulse raced; my knees buckled. I wouldn’t let this happen again.
I planted my feet, anticipating another push, but he made a grab for me. The thin strap holding up my dress snapped, and the fabric fell away, revealing my bare breast.
My mouth fell open as shock and indignation spread through me.
“Oh, you did not just do that. Do you know how much this dress cost?” I tried to cover myself, but he came at me again, and I needed both hands to fend off his attack.
“No doubt paid for with your whoring ways. Women like you make me sick. You flaunt yourselves with your tits hanging out. Dresses so tight I can see the outline of your pussy. You’re begging for attention, but when you get it, you don’t like it.”
He reached for me again with his pudgy hands, this time gripping my breast. I winced as he squeezed hard. Fuck, that hurt, and my heart hammered. This was too similar to a night from many years ago.
“Get your fucking hands off me.” I thrashed my arms, hitting out at him. “You bastard. You don’t get to touch me. No one touches me.”
He tried to fend me off, his black dress trousers now around his ankles. Baggy white Y-fronts did nothing to hide his arousal.
Saliva filled my mouth, and my stomach churned. God, what would come next? I’d vowed I’d never be in this position again. I lashed out, and this time, my sharp nails raked down his face. He yelled, clutching his cheek.
“You fucking bitch.” He came at me once more. Blood dripped between his fingers, staining his white beard.
