I washed my hands and groin and touched up my face-fur again. I sighed. One more to go. I'd enjoyed the session with Benjamin immensely, though it turned out even more physically tiring than the one with Grace. I suspected Maverick would be at least as worn down, and thought about how nice it would feel to relax in bed with him until late tomorrow morning. Then I looked at the stained shorts. Not that I objected to the clients knowing I'd just had a good time, but... it would spoil the effect I was trying to project, of being the sexiest thing alive. Well, second sexiest, after Maverick. There was a knock on my door. "Who," I asked.
"Big Bill."
I opened the door, and Big Bill handed me another pair of (equally skin-tight) shorts — this time in shiny red vinyl.
I sat on the bed, closing my eyes. I can wait a few minutes and get my head cleared. I'll do a better job if I get a little energy back, and I don't think they'll hang Sequoia without me. I hoped never to miss watching one of my classmates hanged — they deserved the devoted attention of every member of the class.
I opened my eyes at a noise from the doorway, and gasped, my hand flying instantly to my mouth. I rasped a furious "What'reyoudoinghere??" between clenched teeth, my hands automatically balling into fists.
Andrew's smirk hadn't changed, more infuriating than Maverick's had ever been. "You greet all your customers that way? I should file a complaint." He wandered casually over to the toy drawer Grace had made use of earlier. My jaw aching with tension, I watched as he picked out a set of handcuffs and spent a moment admiring the whip.
"You aren't a customer! I didn't give you a chit."
The whip made a swooping sound as he waved it experimentally. "Oh, I arranged with Stan beforehand to buy his. They're transferable between members, you know. He made a small profit on it."
"Let me see your ticket!" I grabbed it out of his hand shakily, my heart pounding. He had paid, it seemed, for full privileges, including use of the toy drawer.
The reassurances I had given myself before the start of Grace's session didn't necessarily apply here. Andrew might not care that his membership would be revoked if he hurt me — he might regard this as a one-time opportunity, to be remembered fondly ever afterward. Even possible civil penalties in case he seriously damaged me might not be a sufficient deterrent. Legally, he was considered a predator, so he wouldn't be executed. He would likely be subject to no more than a fine, which would make the evening more costly than it already was, but perhaps not prohibitively so. I had known, and reveled in the knowledge, of how angry I must have made him when I left home, wrecking his fantasy about me and leaving that taunt behind on his bed. Until this week I had never imagined he might have a way of getting back at me, and I'd believed my worries of the past few days had been unnecessary. But now here he was.
Zuchter could stop things before anything too drastic happened. But it depended on how long that would take. Andrew wouldn't cross the line right away. He would humiliate me first. Visions of sexual abuse flashed before my eyes. He would probably use my mouth, holding my head against him, with no more concern for me than if he were masturbating. Then he would use the whip, lightly and stingingly at first, only later hard enough to leave bruises...
Andrew was still playing with the whip, bending it to test its flexibility. "Here's something I knew you'd think is funny. I used my own money to get in, of course, but to pay for this private session, I used yours. That money you thoughtfully left behind for me when you moved out. I knew you hoped I'd find a good use for it."
I nearly screamed in fury. So typical, so typical! Buying the right to hurt me with my money, making me contribute to my own humiliation and pain.
Think, Wynn, think now! I imagined myself using the whip on my own brain, trying to force it to work harder. Marshall would take control! I saw him control him. Not just any man, but Andrew himself! But I realized I couldn't copy Marshall's trick. Marshall's strategy, tailored perfectly to his reading of Andrew, had been to persuade Andrew that he could put on a much better show, impressing Andrew's friends all the more, if Brother could satisfy him with some kind, gentle sex beforehand. That won't work here! I don't have a show to put on, none of his friends are here, nothing is the same. Come on, Wynn! You know Andrew much better than Marshall ever did! Think!
Visualizing Marshall's head, back in my room, always seemed to help. I tried to put Marshall's smile before my eyes. Okay, Marshall, what do I do, what do I do??
Andrew disrupted my concentration, gesturing at me with the whip. "Okay, Slave Boy," he said with a nasty grin, obviously reading the engraving on Academy collar. "You know what I want. Strip down. Now!"
The words "You know what I want" seemed to keep playing in my head on an endless loop. What he wants. What he wants.
A sudden calmness washed over me, like a cooling breeze on a sweltering summer day. Yes, that's it! I smiled. "Yes, Andrew. I know what you want. What you really want. Do you?"
He glared at me. "What are you talking about?" His momentum seemed suddenly blunted by puzzlement.
I leaned back, supporting my weight on my hands as I continued sitting on the bed, making no move to carry out his command of a few moments ago. I waved my hand casually at the whip. "Oh, put that down, Andrew. Any idiot with a weapon can force people do what he's asking. There's nothing special about that."
He looked down at the whip, making no move to discard it for the moment. His eyes narrowed. "What?"
"And money. Give anybody some money, no matter who he is, and he can start throwing it around and make things happen. There's nothing special about that either." I leaned forward now, my eyes fixed on his. "You're Andrew Cameron! Shouldn't that be something special, all by itself?"
Andrew appeared frozen, torn by conflicting impulses. Impatience for action seemed to gain the upper hand in a moment. He took a step closer. "Quit stalling."
I shook my head. "Don't throw this chance away, Andrew. You can have what you want the most, and it's not by being rich, because you never could have bought this. And it's not by tossing out physical threats, because there's no coercion you can come up with that would ever get you this." I made my voice huskier, softer, seductive. As if unconsciously, I started letting my fingers play with the neckline of my shirt. "I can give you something you always thought you should have because you're Andrew Cameron. "
Almost seeming in a trance now, his eyes fixed on my chest, Andrew nodded.
I stood up, and looked around thoughtfully. "The bed is against the wrong wall. Help me move it."
The trance lingered a few seconds longer, and at last he shook himself out of it. "What?"
I said patiently, "We're making the room look like yours at home. Come on." I grunted as I shoved one corner of the bed sideways.
Tentative understanding seemed to burst upon him, an idea of what I might mean. He fiddled with his pants for a moment to make room for a growing erection, and bent over (which helped with the erection as well) to push the end of the bed counterclockwise. Seconds later the head of the bed was against the side wall of the room.
I straightened up, theatrically rubbing my hands. "There! Okay, just wait there a minute." I headed for the door of the room. "You're in your room, by yourself..." I said from the doorway, "...and you hear my footsteps coming up the stairs." I disappeared from his view, out into the hallway.
Yes, I do know him. Better than Marshall had, better than anyone else in the world. I know what he wanted, from that moment when he first suddenly saw me as desirable. What he wanted and saw that he couldn't have. His frustration that he couldn't impress me with how rich he was, because I had just as much access to wealth as he did. The frustration turning into anger, creating that fantasy of controlling and enslaving me because he saw I'd never come to him willingly.
Alone in the hallway, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, forcing a return of the calm I had felt since the insight had struck me. I silently thanked Marshall; I felt sure he had sent it to me. The one remaining question was the physical method. I didn't much fancy taking Andrew in my mouth. I'd do it if he asked, of course: he was a client. But given a choice...
But then, if I let him fuck me, he'd expect me to come. And either way, I'd have to be hard, as if Andrew made me hot. Femmes have an advantage that way: they can fake both excitement and orgasm. And then I thought of the session I'd just finished with Benjamin. Right.
I remembered Maverick during hanging practice last night. His naked body, twisting and kicking in the air, the noose tight around his neck. He'd been alternating desperation kicks with his "invisible lover" routine. I went into an unused suite, grabbed some lube, and spread it on and in my tailhole. Then I folded up a washcloth and put it over the lube, so it wouldn't stain my clothes. I pulled up my shorts and zipped them.
I moved back to the door and leaned coyly across the doorway, smiling, holding onto the doorframe to keep myself upright. I worked at projecting a hungry look. In my best breathy voice, I murmured, "Hi, Andrew. I've been thinking about you all day." I straightened up and stalked slowly into the room, stiff-legged like somebody trying to walk with a hard-on in tight pants — which described the situation to a T. I hoped I wasn't overdoing it, but decided that was impossible. I trusted my own perception of Andrew's fantasy. I'd adjust if it appeared I was losing him at any point.
Andrew stared at me, giving voice to a barely audible grunt. He adjusted his stance again as his erection continued growing, while his face grew flushed.
Just above a whisper, as if overcome with arousal, I breathed, "I couldn't think of anything but what we could do when I got home." I pulled off my shoes, both as a hint of further undressing to come and to remind Andrew of his height advantage.
I continued approaching him until I was pressed against him, my nipples erect beneath my shirt, my hands reaching out to rest on his hips, looking directly up at him with what I trusted was a yearning expression. I let my palms slide slowly up his sides, then back behind his shoulders as my arms surrounded him, and in my huskiest voice yet, croaked, "I want you!"
I was ready when his arms went around me and his mouth plunged onto mine. I knew everything I was going to do, could judge to the microsecond when it was going to happen. I moved my lips against his, licking his tongue, moaning. And still mentally picturing Maverick hanging.
When I judged Andrew was about to get rougher, I broke off the kiss and giggled. "Slow down, Tiger. Slow hands, slow hands." I let my voice get progressively dreamier. "Make it last. We have so much time, so much time. Don't use it all up yet."
I could feel Andrew relax. The kiss resumed.
I had no illusion that I would get out of this without having sex with Andrew. That wasn't the thing that mattered. I had come to this room tonight knowing that it was my assignment to sexually please whomever I shared it with. My partner might be anyone. I was a Hanging Boy, and it was my life's work to arouse and satisfy. What mattered was whether I was in control. I had learned that from Marshall, my very first lesson in the art of being a Hanging Boy. Marshall had been in control.
And, for the first time tonight, I was in control. I hadn't been in charge of the session with Grace, nor even, for all I had enjoyed it, during my time with Benjamin — even less so with Benjamin than with Grace, in fact. But for my own satisfaction tonight, I had to prove to myself that I could lead Andrew around by his penis, make him do it my way.
A feeling of exultation grew in me. I'm doing it! It's working!
Still kissing, moaning deep in my throat, I reached down to unbuckle Andrew's belt as he began breathing still faster. I unzipped his fly, and reached in to stroke his sheath, his groan echoing mine. I was careful to pet it with the palm of my hand, not my fingers. I didn't want him to ejaculate early, the way Marshall had made him do. That wasn't part of the plan. One good thing: Andrew was a squirrel like me, so our bodies were near-identical. I didn't have to find his sensitive spots by trial and error; I knew them from pleasuring myself.
Sensing that he was about to undress me — a polite word for a procedure that would have left my shirt in shreds — I backed away to do it myself, holding his eyes as I pulled the top off over my head. Then I unzipped my shorts, letting them fall to the floor as I thrust my hips sensuously, then kicking them away as if glad to be rid of them. Naked now, I pressed against him still more ardently, barely giving him room to peel off his own shirt and fumble out of his pants. I saw that his hands were shaking, and felt proud that mine were not.
With careful footwork, I maneuvered around him so that my back was toward the bed. I let go of him and lay down on my back, my legs in the air, reaching up for him with a yearning expression.
In seconds he was on top of me and inside me, already thrusting almost before he had gotten himself fully settled. I wrapped my arms and legs tightly around him and held on, murmuring his name softly as he thrust within me. As he moved inside me, I imagined hanging alongside Maverick, naked, chests rubbing against each other, cocks rubbing...
I came all over my belly. And as I expected, it didn't take Andrew long to finish, emptying himself into me with a loud grunt and a gasp. I gripped him still tighter and made convincing pleasure sounds, quieting as I felt him relax.
I almost laughed. Under any other circumstances, I would feel a compulsion to use an enema and spend an hour in the shower trying to wash every trace of Andrew's seed out of me. Tonight, it didn't matter — I had control of him. I gritted my teeth and got control of myself. It was the wrong time to laugh. It would spoil everything.
I relaxed my grip on him, let him roll off to the side, and turned toward him. I stayed near him, not pressed against him: I knew that Andrew's sex drive was exhausted, and he wouldn't want any close physical contact for a few minutes. I simply stroked the back of his head with my hand, my eyes on his, occasionally planting light kisses on his chest and shoulders. I knew he was in the right frame of mind for dragging him a little deeper into the fantasy. I murmured, "Love you, love you..." over and over.
I had to hold back a stronger laugh as I saw Andrew's stunned look. He responded vaguely "Ung," and nodded his head, wide-eyed. I'd known he wouldn't be able to manage anything more articulate.
I felt no doubts he would believe me. People generally believe exactly what they want to believe. The fact was that the Academy owned me, that they would not sell an undertrained student under any circumstances. I was here to stay, until I was hanged. Andrew's spinning mind probably had no time to stop and dwell on any of those problems. Even the fact that he had helped me set up this role-play a few minutes ago was most likely a remote memory.
But I knew some of those thoughts would come crowding in if I took a break from weaving the dream for him. I continued talking. "When I get out, we can use your room as our bedroom."
I reached down now to stroke his side and hip. Still too soon for direct stimulation, but I could come closer and hint at it. I made my voice still more husky, as if desire was coming on me again. "We'll need to get a bigger bed. I want us to spend a lot of time in bed. We can get some books and learn lots of new positions."
There, I saw looking down, it's awake again. That last comment had his erection reappear at half-mast. I reached for it and stroked it with my hand, encouraging it, hearing him gasp at the stimulation.
I pressed up against him now, pushing my left arm underneath him to meet my other arm thrown over the top, squeezing him in a tight hug, lifting my right leg and draping it over his hip so that I could rub my leg against his now-hard dick. I kissed him, gently licking his tongue, as I wriggled my hips into position to let his erection reach up into me, then reached down to his buttock to pull him against me and keep it there, rocking my hips and tightening my tailhole rhythmically to milk it, while continuing the kiss, harder, more insistently, grunting from my efforts.
This time I imagined myself straddling Maverick, his cock inside me as it had been last night, but with a noose around my neck so that every time I lowered myself onto him, the noose tightened and strangled me. I knew how it would end...
Andrew's eyes were open during the kiss as well, as if he wanted to be absolutely sure it was really me. I turned the laugh into an mmmmm of passion, as I rubbed myself against him.
Both of us were breathing hard now; without my physical conditioning over the last months, I would have been exhausted by this time. As it was, my body was covered with a sheen of sweat, feeling hot in most places, cool where a draft from the air conditioning was blowing across. And in my head I plunged down on Maverick and stayed there, while the noose slowly squeezed the life out of me.
Andrew came again at last, I came a few seconds later. As he rolled at last onto his back, spent, I snuggled against him and draped my arm over his stomach, my head on his shoulder.
To my relief, Andrew was content to lie there. I thought about continuing the earlier fantasy, but decided it was unnecessary.
As the clock by the bed finished ticking off the hour Andrew had purchased, I sat up at last and said softly, "Our time's up."
Andrew stirred vaguely — he'd clearly been dozing, or nearly so — and sat up to verify the disposition of his clothes. He stood, facing away from me, and I looked toward the camera and gave Zuchter a hand sign — the signal for "Send security - non-emergency," used when a student sensed potential trouble and wanted someone standing by, in case.
Now dressed, Andrew turned back and looked at me, opening his mouth and closing it, clearly unsure what to say. It was easy enough to read his thoughts: Would I be able to leave with him tonight? Would some sort of arrangements need to be made with the Academy? I saw movement in the doorway: one of the gigantic security anthros. I couldn't see which one from my vantage point. I knew I was covered now.
Andrew started to speak again, and froze when he saw the security man.
This was the endgame of my plan. I had thought of gloating over Andrew, as I had done before. But that hadn't worked out well: he'd held a grudge all these months, and now come back to take his revenge. I didn't want that to happen again, and besides, as a student it was my job to leave the client happy.
"You know I have to stay here, don't you, Andrew?"
"Yes..." he said dully.
"But you'll come for another party, won't you? Then we can be together again. And again, as often as you come to parties. And when I graduate, you'll buy me, won't you? Then we can spend a last few days together, and you can hang me. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
He took one step toward me, and stopped at the sound of a deep throat-clearing. The security guard at the doorway was Karl; I remembered him from Bailey's hanging. Karl was leaning forward just slightly into my view, with a forbidding frown on his face, three hundred pounds of boar, solid muscle, that didn't need to be standing between Andrew and me to make the point clear.
Andrew stood still for just a moment, staring at me. "But..." he said. Then he seemed to realize I was right, and he turned and left.
Game and set.