One of Us Is Dead(10)

Bryce picked up his phone. “Stephanie, call that salon on Peach Street. You know the one.” He looked up and smiled at me, “With me, babe, there is no wait list.”

I smiled back, but inside I was screaming. I knew it would be a mistake.





6

Olivia


The front door opened and closed quickly. I knew he was here, and I was waiting for him in the upstairs bedroom, draped in a red leather corset with matching thong, black fishnet tights, and red-bottomed heels. My hair was slicked back, my lips were a deep red, my eyes were smoky, and my patience was thin. He was late. I’d punish him for that. I stood with one hand on my hip, waiting for him to enter the room and then me . . . when I’d allow him of course. I ran the flogger up the outside of my thigh, slapping it against my toned leg. It stung, but I didn’t wince. I was just testing out how hard I’d hit him with it—enough for it to hurt, but not so much that he wouldn’t want to come crawling back to me. That was the name of the game. Just enough, not too much.

He entered the room with a smile, and it quickly diminished when he saw the stern and annoyed look on my face. He was six two and looked like a yuppie from New England, completely out of place down in the South, but he still carried himself with a tremendous amount of confidence.

“You’re late.” I slapped the flogger on the gold sheets of the California king bed.

“I know, I know.” He flicked off his shoes, removed his pants and shirt, and put his hands up as if he were surrendering to me. “I got caught up with a patient.”

“No excuses. Kneel,” I commanded, and he did. “On all fours.” He listened well because I had trained him well. I walked to him and whipped his shoulders, back, butt, and thighs—until he used our safe word, or should I say words.

“Karen’s a bitch,” he yelped.

I stopped immediately and smiled. I had texted him earlier our new safe phrases for tonight. His body was covered in splotches of red, and his face was flushed from holding his breath to counteract the pain signals. I typically never went this hard right away, but he pissed me off with his tardiness and Karen pissed me off at lunch.

“What do you want to do to me?” I propped the flogger beneath his chin, pulling his head up.

“Whatever you’ll allow me to do, Mrs. Petrov.”

“I’m in a giving mood tonight.” I raised an eyebrow. “Stand up!”

He stood before me, his body fully erect. His penis followed suit. I knew exactly how to push his buttons. I knew what he wanted, and I knew how to get what I wanted.

“I’d like my allowance first.” I smirked, sticking out my hand for payment. He grabbed his wallet from his pants and placed the money from it into my hand. I didn’t have to count it to know it was well over $2,000. I threw the money on the bed and turned back to him as he waited for my next command.

I pointed to the money that was strewn about on my silk bedding. “That money.”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“I want you to fuck me on it.”

No other words were spoken. He picked me up and flung me onto the bed, ripping off my corset, fishnets, and thong. He left the heels on, and I kept the flogger in my hand. He liked to be in control, but only for small periods of time. I let him kiss and lick me from my neck to my vag, and then I slapped him. It was always about teasing. Never let him have too much at once, or he’d walk away forever. It was how I controlled him, how I made him mine.

I forced him to lay on his back, and I flogged his chest and stomach until he used another one of our safe phrases.

“Chairwoman Olivia Petrov,” he yelled.

“Good boy.” I kissed his chest, his stomach, and made my way down. I looked up at him like the girls do in porn films. He smiled, and then I consumed him. His eyes went wide. His body tensed up. His legs jerked. Before he could relieve himself, I sunk my teeth into him, waiting for another safe phrase.

“Shannon’s reign is over,” he cried out.

Opening my mouth a little wider, I pulled away. I thought my safe sentences were going to be too much for him to remember, but he was a smart boy. He exhaled heavily, a combination of pain and pleasure. I crawled back up to him and whispered in his ear, “I want you inside of me.”

Two seconds later he was inside, and thirty seconds after that, he was lying beside me, panting like an overweight English bulldog and telling me how great I was.

I got out of bed and wrapped a little black silk robe around myself. He was still gasping as if they were his last breaths. I was entirely composed.

“Goddamn, Olivia. You’re a damn goddess.”

“I know. I’m going to shower. Stack up my bills after you catch your breath.” Before I left the room, he was already collecting my money, his breath still ragged. Dogs are so easy to train, especially the stray ones.

Dropping my robe to the tiled floor, I stepped into the shower. The warm water splashed and slithered on my skin. I leaned my head back into the stream of hot liquid and closed my eyes. My mind was practically blank. Wealth will do that to you. Make you not worry. I know this. I learned this. Because there was a time when I didn’t have the security of cash. But there was also a time before that when I did. They say it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all . . . the same is not true for money.

As a child, my family was rich . . . like Oprah rich, but not the legal way. Apparently, there’s a difference. But try explaining that to a fourteen-year-old. Try telling a teenager they have to sell all their stuff, that their father’s going to prison, that they’ll have to transfer to a public school, that their friends would no longer be their friends, that everything they’ve ever known would come crashing down around them and be nothing more than a cruel memory, a dream just short of reach.