For the Night: Complete Box Set (17 page)

My next client is Yasmin
Taylor, a footballer’s wife who’s bored of the constant lonely nights while
he’s on tour. She’s a regular of mine, booking me at least one a quarter. Due
to her husband’s high profile in the media, he didn’t dare offer her the sort
of kink that really got her off. Enter Logan Steele. I was more than man enough
to accept that challenge, but given our last few encounters, when her brief
specified that she wanted real filth for the night, I had to wrack my brains to
come up with something filthier than we’d already done, something new,
something to raise the bar even higher. Something that hopefully wouldn’t land
either of us in a jail cell for the night, or snapped mid-act by a member of
the paparazzi.

I shaved carefully, I
couldn’t afford to get any nicks when I was seeing a client and Yasmin expected
me to look on top form at all times. She was one of my most regular clients,
having been with me from the beginning. In fact, I owed much of my success to
her and my best friend Dan. He’d invited me to watch the FA cup final from a private
box and when I’d ventured out into the corridor I’d walked straight into Yasmin
as she was texting on her phone, instead of watching her boyfriend down on the
pitch. I’d made some smart alec remark about her long sexy legs and before I
knew it, I was in her private box, in more ways than one, going at it in the
toilets with all her girlfriends listening on the other side of the partition.
Pretty soon I was being inundated with offers and a bidding war began on who’d
be next. When the new build construction firm I worked for went into
liquidation later that month, I saw the perfect opportunity to make some fast
bucks, never expecting it to have pretty much set me up for life and for me to
still be doing it four years later. Through Yasmin and her premiership players’
wives and girlfriends, my circle of affluent clients gradually grew, along with
my fees, and here I was.

I slapped on some aftershave and rubbed my damp,
lean, muscular body down with a towel, giving myself an admiring glance in the
mirror. I’d never been in better physical shape than I was now, and considering
I worked as a private personal trainer during the day, that was saying
something. Sometimes I went to their houses, sometimes, if I trusted them and
Ian, my PI of sorts, told me that their backgrounds checked out ok, I had them
come to me. I lived in a dockside wharf house in Limehouse, London. I owned a
one and a half million pound penthouse apartment, as well as the basement,
which had its own private access, so I’d turned it into a massive gym and
fitness suite, with sauna, shower room and a small kitchenette. Clients didn’t
know that I lived upstairs and Ian was meticulous with his checks. How he got
half of the information on fitness and sexual clients, well I guess they could
both be bundled under the heading “fitness,” was beyond me. Even though I
wasn’t going to take anymore bookings, or have any contact with my last client,
virgin for the night Summer Beresford, due to my totally inappropriate
emotional response to her, I’d still instructed Ian to perform a far more in
depth report on her. Morbid curiosity I guess. I felt some affinity to her that
I’d not felt in years.

I’d been relieved to find out that the jerk who
traumatised her as a teenager had been killed in a car accident, though not so
reassured when I’d read of her movie co-star’s track record for bedding his
leading ladies. The thought of someone else with their hands on her soft
delicate skin, making her whimper their name, the way she had mine, made my
blood boil. I took a deep breath, I’d chosen to not confess how I really felt
about her, she deserved someone better than me in her life. Besides, she’d only
liked “Logan” the skilled seductor, she didn’t even know me. I
had
to
stop obsessing over her, and hopefully tonight Yasmin would get me back on
track so I could fuck Summer out of my system once and for all. Before I did, I
leaned back on the cool slate tiled wall of my master bathroom and gripped my
solid cock. I gently stroked it up and down, squeezing and pulling it while
remembering Summer’s innocent blue eyes looking up into mine as her lips and
tongue brought me to the fastest ever blow job ejaculation last week, and now a
hand job record today. I groaned as I came and watched it mix with the hot
shower water and swirl down the drain. She was fucking ruining me.

‘Damn it Logan, get a bloody grip,’ I chastised
myself as I cleaned up again and headed back into my bedroom. I pulled on a
pair of white boxer briefs, designed by Yasmin’s husband himself, chuckling at
the irony. After dressing in my graphite suit, with a white shirt undone at the
neck and styling my black hair into that ruffled up sexy mess that looked like
I hadn’t made an effort, when really I had, I strode out to my open plan
kitchen, poured myself a long glass of water, then sat at the breakfast bar to
check my brief again for the evening, making sure no details had been
overlooked.

Scenario

I want you to use, humiliate and abuse me,
without physically hurting me or leaving marks for Eoin to see when he gets
back from his friends stag weekend. I want to feel like a complete cheap dirty
whore and it would really turn me on for you to be fully dressed, watching me
get fucked by other men, to be covered in their come before you finish me off.
No one makes me come like you do, Logan.

I smiled at the last part, she screamed like a
banshee when I was fucking her and I always wondered if her husband made her
scream like that.
Filthy you wanted, filthy you’re about to get,
I
thought, as I checked my watch and headed out to meet James, my driver.

‘Evening, Sir,’ he smiled as he held the back door
of the Merc open for me.

‘Evening, James. How are you?’ I enquired as I
rubbed my hands together and blew out a breath, the steam showing against the
chilly night.

‘Excellent, Sir.’

‘I hope that you’re caffeinated, it’s going to be
a long night.’

‘Of course, Sir. Have I ever let you down before?’

‘Never,’ I smiled as I curled my six foot one
frame under the roof and into the backseat. Only a handful of people knew my
real identity, as well as my sexual one, James was one of them. As well as a
driver, he was an ex-marine, handy to have around in the event of a night where
there may be trouble, and given my plan for the last portion of the evening,
that was a real possibility. He climbed in and secured his seat belt before
pulling out.

‘Are you seeing Miss Beresford again, Sir?’ he
enquired, meeting my surprised gaze in the rear view mirror.

‘No. Why would you ask that?’ I frowned. He never
discussed my clients unless I prompted the conversation, or asked a favour of
him, for extra payment of course, like I had for tonight’s arrangement.

‘She seemed like a very nice young lady, that’s
all.’

‘As opposed to the normal ladies I see?’ I arched
an eyebrow as I looked for his reaction.

‘Yes, Sir.
Much
nicer. In a completely
different league.’

‘She was. Is,’ I corrected myself. ‘Far too nice
to be mixed up with the likes of me.’

‘If you’ll forgive my impertinence Sir, you’re a
very personable young man, but you’re not getting any younger. At some stage
you’ll have to think of giving up this lifestyle and settling down.’

‘I’m twenty-eight not thirty-eight, James,’ I
laughed.

‘I know that Sir, but nice young ladies of …
breeding
age
, that you’re attracted to as well, don’t seem to grow on trees.’

‘Yes, thank you for that insight,’ I sighed,
annoyed to be reminded of my feelings for Summer. ‘Can we avoid the topic of my
lack of a personal life from now on?’

‘Certainly, Sir. I didn’t mean to offend you.’

‘No offence caused, but I’ve got plenty of time to
worry about my personal life, right now I have the rather demanding and feisty
Mrs. Taylor to focus on.’

‘That you have, Sir,’ he smiled with a deferential
dip of his head as way of apology.

‘Yes,’ I nodded in return and placed my elbow on
the doorframe, stroking my bottom lip with my index finger as I mulled his
observations over. I wasn’t sure if settling down with kids was really in the
picture for a guy like me. I liked my bachelor lifestyle and the comforts my
job afforded me. Plus I wasn’t going to have this level of sexual stamina
forever, I had to make the most of it while I could, ensure that I was set for
life before I even thought of retiring from my profession. I closed my eyes and
an immediate picture of Summer, looking adorable with her freshly fucked rosy
cheeks as she stood in my shirt came into my mind. God damn her, why wouldn’t
she leave me in bloody peace?

‘We’re here, Sir.’ James’s voice startled me out
of a very pleasant fantasy scenario of my own, where I had Summer shackled to
my cross and was flicking her clit with a long crop, stroking myself as she
screamed with pleasure. She would have been an excellent submissive with the
right training. I liked my women feisty and challenging out of the bedroom, but
compliant in it. I reached down and adjusted my pulsating cock in my suit
trousers.

‘Then you’d better confirm our arrival over the
intercom,’ I advised as we idled on the gravel drive of her gated property. I
wondered how much filler or liposuction she’d had done for this appointment.
She’d been a damned attractive brunette the first time I’d met her in that box.
She’d only just started seeing Eoin Taylor, the premiership’s rising star at
the time, but as his fame and fortune grew, so did her additions. She looked
more and more fake each time I saw her. Fake tits, fake nails, fake orange
bloody tan, fake hair extensions, a nipped and tucked body to turn her into a
size eight, instead of that sexy size twelve I’d met. I preferred my women a
little more natural, than this forced Barbie doll look. Did most guys seriously
prefer that to a real woman? I’d take Summer every day over Yasmin and her
other little group of plastic WAGs I was paid handsomely to fuck. Thank God all
footballers’ wives didn’t bow to that pressure. Thank God most women in general
didn’t, they were being set a seriously bad example by some of these
celebrities in the media every day.