The Roosevelt Hotel Bar
She looked at the elegant silver wrist watch clasping her wrist like a delicate collar. She found it beautiful and enjoyed wearing the watch, though she generally did not like wearing watches. She had an aversion to the tick-tock mentality of people who were slaves to time, and He could make her forget the time. Not the only reason she wore a watch at all was to pleas Him. He'd sent it to her last Christmas with a tiny inscription on the back "At 12:30 you will grow wet". Deliciously decadent and audacious. That is exactly what happened to her at that hour every day. Without her even thinking about she obeyed like clockwork. Caught in that thought, she shook her head indiscernibly and glanced at the time again: a quarter to five Los Angeles time marked the tiny brilliant silver hands against a stark black watch face. Two in the morning her time and she felt anything but feel tired, knowing He'd be here soon.
She smiled in quiet amusement at His choice of a place to meet: Their venues varied according to His schedule and this time He'd chosen the bar in the Roosevelt Hotel in Hollywood. From the outside it looked like one of those cubic monuments they'd built in the 1930's, with angry red neon letters burning into the night. On the inside it looked very old school; something between a British pub and an American law school alumni club.
She'd never cared for Hollywood when she'd lived in California, and it didn't look as if it had improved much in her absence. Hollywood reminded her of a circus which never struck its tents; a perpetual parade of the most curious, bizarre and at times the most frightening people she'd ever run across.
Walking into the lounge, she chose to move to the far corner of the bar, ignoring the friendly smile of the cocktail waitress, whose sassy black frilly dress and over-politeness made her nervous. No, she felt more at ease standing a comfortable distance away from the neatly groomed bartender polishing glasses.
He turned towards her. "What can I get you?" He smiled.
Her eyebrows flinched into a slight frown, just noticing his huge purple-blue beaten eye. Don't mention it, she reminded herself.
"Plain soda with ice would be very nice, thank you,"
The change of weather was nice, though she felt a little out of place standing there in her dark Baseler skirt and jacket, wondering if He would find her over- or under-dressed. Definitely under-dressed, she concluded. Omitting panties is most definitely under-dressed. Not that anyone would notice it here, except Him. It would be better to say, He'd extract his due if she hadn't paid attention to details like that.
A moment later a boisterous group of men entered the bar. Judging by their volume of their voices, she assumed this wasn't the first bar they'd hit. They blinked in the relative dimness, their eyes adjusting, and shuffled over to a table. The cocktail waitress sallied over to their table and took their orders, when she turned to go to the bar the man sitting on the outside of the table booth pinched her on her deriere.
Her eyebrows flinched again; curious as to why the waitress didn't even register it.
Taking a hasty sip of water and an errant drop ran escaped the corner of her mouth. With one finger she dabbed at it, locking eyes accidentally with the man, who'd pinched the waitress. Her eyes narrowed in disdain. Quickly she turned her back on him to stare at the smoke-coloured mirror in the back of the bar shelving. She couldn't see him clearly, but it looked like he might be staring at the back of her calves in the sheer stockings disappearing into a pair of plain black heels.
Apparently he seemed to like Baseler's fashion idea of the neat little zipper running up the back of the skirt, which had to remain partially open so she could walk. Finishing his cocktail quickly, he sauntered over the bar swanking like a drunken tom cat. He sat down only two stools away, and cleared his throat theatrically.
She ignored him, shaking the melting ice cubes in the glass to the back of her throat. The bartender took his order - a Harvey Wallbanger.
"And whatever the lady wants", he added.
That was the third time her eyebrows flinched into a slight frown.
Hollywood! she though sighing then turned to face him, pulling herself up to my full height; almost six feet in heels. She looked him up and down. A hint of a five o'clock shadow; button-downed collar; tie bound in a sloppy four-in-hand; turned up cuffs on his trousers; his classic penny loafers worn and scuffed. Over-worked lawyer, divorced, and desperate she concluded.
Reaching into her jacket pocket she pulled out a flat silver case. She opened it, extracted a Sobranie Cocktail cigarette in lavender and lit it.
A wry smiled crossed her face. He didn't even bother to look for a lighter. The bartender was still waiting for her order. "I'll have a Suffering Bastard, if you know that one, please." The bartender nodded curtly, and filled a fresh glass with ice.
The drunken lawyer frowned slightly at her choice. "Hey… that sounds like a good one." His forced smile seemed to disguise his lack of imagination as he looked down at his scuffed shoes then back up again. "How ya doing?"
She puffed on the Sobranie regarding him in silence. His question didn't seem like it merited an answer. Not that she really enjoyed cigarettes. It was more the look, feel and the scent which appealed to her and the Sobranies seemed to impress people because of their bright colours. Politiely she blew the smoke in towards the floor, setting it down in an ashtry as the bartender served her the cocktail.
"Thank you", she said to the bartender.
"No problem babe", the drunken man said brightly. "Hey, you look pretty hot."
Her eyebrow arched. Folding her arms, she took another drag on the cigarette. "Do I? I thought I felt air conditioning when I came in here", her voice dropping to a temperature cooler than the drink in her hand, but she remained polite. Sir would never approve of rudeness to anyone.
He snorted a laugh, and as he edged over towards her she could smell the strong scent of Bourbonl on his breath.
She picked up her drink, took a light sip and turned away towards the bar room, giving a slight glance at her watch again. Five minutes before five. She watched a trio of girls walk in, talking softly amongst themselves.
"You're not from here, are you?" the lawyer demanded, his voice slurred.
No, that was another lifetime ago that I was from here, her thought drifting off without answer for a long moment. "Whatever gave you that idea?" Her accent was mixed. It almost sound British, unless she was speaking to the British. They were the only ones who could instantly recognise it was simply foreign. She took another sip.
He mumbled a laugh. "It don't matter. I still think you're pretty damn hot. What do you say?"
"To what?" she replied rhetorically, enjoying the soothing bitter-sweet of the Suffering Bastard.
She nearly gagged on the liquid, taking the glass from her lips and coughing hard. Of course, she was no 'child of sadness' as they said where she came from, but his utter lack of finess was as disappointing as it was offensive. True, there had been times when she'd felt desperate and randy, but asked like that - as casual as if someone had asked the time of day or for a cigarette - struck her as cheap as plastic sunglasses at a filling station.
She eyed him warily, and took another light puff. "Excuse me? What did you say?"
"Wanna fuck me?" he repeated somewhat slower, grinning like she'd already consented.
She stared at him, blinking in disbelief as if trying to picture the epitomy of stupidity and uncouth audacity, a flash vision crowding into her mind picturingf him in a some dry-thru restaurant with a double polyester uniform on, asking her if she would like fries to go with that fuck.
As if on cue, her eye caught movement in the doorway and to her enormous relief He walked in, punctually, like the exact tick in the elegant watch on her wrist. A smile spread over her face, her eyes softening in recognition. When He entered the room, He always carried an aura of presence with him; of unspoken import. She was at a loss to define it. Whether it was how His broad shoulders filled the classic light grey summer suit He was wore, or the manner of His subtle gestures. Even as a man of advanced years, He still possessed that je-ne-sais-quois character which turned women's heads. It was tangible as the faint scent of He wore that carried all the way across the room. He had a face you just don't argue with, though He never raised His voice. He didn't have to loudly. It must have been the diabolical look His greying hair and neatly trimmed beard gave Him.
The drunken imbecile finally noticed that she was no longer paying attention to him anymore. "What do ya say?" he prompted.
"No!" she snapped.
"Well, how about just feeling me up", he pressed.
She turned to face him again, childish maliciousness taking hold of her. She leaned over, murmuring in the man's ear in a low seductive voice, "You see that very attractive gentleman standing in the doorway?"
He nodded numbly.
"I'm fairly certain by the end of this evening, I will be sucking His cock. But definitely not yours."
"Uh…" he turned around to take a good look at Him, but seemed unruffled. "Then can I watch?"
"No, you may not!" The tone in her voice should have signaled the conversation was over, but he still seemed to flounder for some kind of snappy comeback in his foggy brain. She crushed out her cigarette, picked up her drink and walk over to greet Him.
"Ah, there you are, my dear. Did you have trouble finding this place?" His smile was controlled; a mask of enigma. It was hard at times to know if He was pleased or not, unless He told her. His thoughts were like dark currents running through massive blocks of granit, where one never knows how deep, how fast or how cold they were until they erupted at the surface. Reaching up to carress her cheek fondly, she touched His hand and lightly kissed His fingers, closing her eyes.
"Good evening, Mr Lennox. It's a pleasure to see you again, Sir."
"Good evening, my dear. Did you have a pleasant flight?"
"Yes Sir, I did."
"Let's have a seat, shall we?" He escorted her over to a booth, the waitress sassy dress appearing out of nowhere to take His order. Then he turned to her to ask what she was drinking.
"A Suffering Bastard, Sir."
His smile disappeared for a moment, and setting her heart racing at fear of his displeasure.
"Good heavens, my dear! That sounds perfectfully dreadful. What is it?"
She licked her lips nervously, now regretting she'd ordered it in the first place. But she never held back an honest answer. Not to Him. Not ever. "Gin, rum, ginger ale and bitters, Sir."
His smile returned, but her nervousness failed to dissapate, and then came the sting of disapproval, like a tight slap in her mind. "The bitter with the sweet, my dear? We'll have to change that, won't we?"
He motioned to the waitress and whispered the order in her ear. She nodded, and dissapearted to fetch the drinks.
It was the little things He did like this, which caused her to be consumed with the curiosity of cat. He enjoyed it, knowing her like He did, because she knew He could feel how her curiosity burned a slow hole into her soul, consuming her from the inside like a slow-building lust.
Oh, she knew it was permissable to ask, but the manner how she asked Him would determined if He rewarded her with an answer or not.
"I trust you ordered something sweet, Sir, but nothing which would upset my stomach."
He stared at her, His eyes narrowing until her eyes diverted to look down at the table top. That was close. There were limits to baiting Him. Still, she couldn't resist testing His mood sometimes.
He changed the subject, but to one not of her liking. "Have you been making new friends, my dear?"
Her heart thudded a long moment before she recovered. Of course, He'd always told her He would allow her to take pleasure with others, but it was conditional on His approval. But she never went that far. She didn't know if His offer was geniune or the ultimate test of her loyalty. Now she was sorry she'd even looked at that idiot again, because nothing escaped His notice.
"I haven't had the time for that, Sir. I do hope what you ordered isn't all that sweet, Sir. I'm not that fond of sweet drinks." Playing the question game with Him was much safer than being caught talking to people He didn't approve of.
"Were you enjoying yourself with that gentleman before I came in?"
"No Sir, I was not."
His eyebrows raised slightly. "Was he bothering you?"
"Not really Sir. I just think he deserves some sort of prize for being the rudest man I've met today."
"Is that so?"
She snorted a laugh. "Yes Sir. I've met men who have asked me out on a date, men who have asked me to dance, but I don't think I've ever been asked anything quit that bluntly."
"What did he ask you?"
She shook her head, scoffing again.
He caressed her cheek gently. "What did he say?" he repeated more forcefully whispering into her ear.
She drew a breath sharply. "He straight-out asked me if I would fuck him, Sir."
His chuckle was throaty and deep. "Well, that's perfectly understandable, my dear. But what did you tell him?"
The colour ran from her face, and His throaty soft laughter resonded again. She felt trapped for the moment. She could lie, but if she lied now, she would lie again, and that that would eventually make everything a lie.
"What do you say, my dear?"
"I…uh... " She felt trapped. She couldn't lie to Him. It just wasn't in her. But telling Him the truth would bear consequences.
"Yes?" His eyes burned intensely.
She stealed herself. "Forgive me Sir, but I couldn't resist."
"Out with it!" he demanded
She sighed. "I told Him that by the end of the evening I would be sucking Your cock Sir, but definitely not his."
She worried, knowing that look on his face; like the shades being drawn in a window, so to her defense she added, "I only said it for his sake, Sir. You know I would never…" she swallowed hard, "… not without Your permission, Sir."
"I see", He commented quietly, reaching into His jacket for a cigarette.
Her lips pressed tight, her heart beating so slow and loudly, it now threatened to stop. She knew Him as well as He knew her, and the very fact he was taking out a cigarette was proof he was displeased. It was His way of suppressing His disappointment.
The waitress returned with two cocktails, setting something clear and sparkling before Him and something red in her glass with a piece of orange in it. They touched glasses, and she worried how she was going to remedy the situation.
"Did that upset him?" he persisted.
The corners of her mouth jerked into a momentary smirk. "Apparently not, Sir. He asked if he could watch."
"I see." His voice reflected no emotion, which was not a good sign, and her stomach tightened in the inner anger at herself for letting her impulsiveness get the better of her again.
In the meantime, the drunken lawyer ambled over to the table of women and proceeded to apply his inflated ego and luck on them, crashing their conversation. Distracted for a moment, she couldn't help but stare at him. The audacity of his conversation echoing on her face in the form of slight frowns of disapproval. He watched her face; the parade of subtle gestures of outrage and scorn crossing her features while she observed the drunken lawyer.
A wry smile curled upon His lips. "Do you fancy him?"
She laughed lightly. "Most definitely not, Sir. I do not fancy him whatsoever."
"Then why are you watching him?"
My brow flickered a half-frown. "It's like watching a vulture with a broken wing flounder. Morbid fascination of how such a repulsive imbecile could believe he could have any success with such manners."
"I see." He drew his breath in sharply then exhaled in a long sigh. Her face snapped back to His as He studied her face again with those dark enigmatic eyes. He smiled broadly and changed the subject.
Inwardly she sighed with relief as He beegan to speak about artwork and books, His hand stroking hers, occasionally caressing her face affectionately. She forgot the drunken imbecile, now fully consumed by his presence feeling deliciously wonderful, like sitting in a hot scented bath. They digressed to the point she was explaining something He'd mentioned, and she stopped in mid-sentence the moment she noticed his eyes following the lawyer as he staggered out the door.
He leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Do you trust me, my dear?"
He stood up quickly and leading her by the hand, she followed him out of the bar, not having the faintest idea what He was up to or where He was taking her.
She suppressed a laugh, when she saw where He wanted to go. The men's room. No… that's definitely not His style, she consoled herself. Still, she knew better than to question His motives. But when He opened the door,she caught the sight of that idiot pissing in the urinal. Panic seized her, slowing her steps. Mr Lennox didn't slow at all and pulled her behind Him half-dragging her, with a firm grip on her wrist. Her teeth clenched. So this is how she would pay for her childish arrogance. He didn't say anything, but she'd already guessed whatever it was, it would have to do with that voyeuristic imbecile, who'd just turned from the urinal, grinning like an idiot.
The disappointment was written in her face when she saw that he hadn't closed his trousers. No, was was anticipating the show Mr Lennox was about to deliver, and wasted no time in gently massaging his cock into a half-hard-on.
Gently He pushed her into one of the toilet stalls, brushed her cheek and asked her again, "Do you trust me, my dear?"
It was a rhetorical question. He knew the answer, but this was the test. If she wanted to leave now she could, but there would be more hell to pay later than there was now. "Unconditionally, Sir."
"Good." He leaned over and kissed her cheek fondly, before his voice vibrated in a soft, seductive whisper in her ear. "Enleves-tu tes partie supérieure, s'il tu plaît."
Then he turned to wash his hands in the sink before she heard the distinct zip of his trousers and saw him lean towards the sink to wash himself. Silently, without a word, she hung her jacket on the back of the stall door and unbuttoned her cotton blouse. With a few paper towels he patted himself dry, giving the drunken lawyer casual side-long glances. He wasn't paying much attention to Mr Lennox - his eyes were rivetted to her bare breasts as she turned towards John Lennox, her eyes fixed to the black and white tiles on the floor. Rigid and in absolute silence she awaited His further instruction, emptying her mind of everything except for His voice. Nervous still, she shifted, her heels clacking against the tiles, until she was admonished by the distinct clearing of His throat. She froze.
The drunken lawyer took it as a cue to pipe up. "Hey man! Your girlfriend's like… really hot."
Enigmatic cold dark eyes stared back at him, saying nothing. She stole a glace. Mr Lennox's back was turned to her, but she could tangibly feel that icy dark look He gave the drunken idiot. She heard his scuffed shoes shiftingd impatiently on the floor, balancing on one foot then the other, uncertain if would be allowed to watch, or he should make a quick exit. The drunken man decided to let his cock do his thinking for him.
She waited attentively for Mr Lennox's cue, still uncertain if this was His lesson for her impulsiveness. He rarely punished, though He was often displeased with her runaway impulsiveness. He knew she wasn't always happy with her spontaneous nature, though sometimes it pleased Him. Still He wanted her to discover a better scense of perspective and timing, and sometimes that required lessons. Lessons were sometimes heard, but he made it a point to distinguish the difference between a lesson and punishment. Punishment was when He ignored her completely. Lessons often entailed putting her in a precarious situation, in which she always had the free choice to continue or walk away. Lessons also entailed overcoming some aspect of something she disliked or feared, such as the feeling He would ask her to do something to degrade or abuse her. No, He would never do that. Of that she was as certain as the sun setting in the Pacific.
In curious surprise, she watched Him reach into His pocket and produce sort of plastic wedges, which He fitted into the door seams of the men's room. Now the door couldn't possibly be opened from the outside. He flashed her an endearing smile, which increased the pace of her heart, coming closer to plant a kiss on her mouth.
"Hey, go for it, buddy!" the drunken lawyer encouraged Him.
She swallowed hard at that frosty look in His eyes as He broke off the kiss, to turn around and walk over to stand next to the man.
"Lovely, isn't she?" He said softly.
"Hey, fuck! This is fucking fantastic", he mumbled his swollen eyes glassy as he pulled slowly on his half-hard cock.
John Lennox remained composed. He reached into His pocket to take out an elaborate ring in gold and slipped it on. It was quickly followed by three others, until all four fingers were adorned. Her eyes widened in silent fright at the way He flexed His fingers. It was moments like this, where she vascillated between trust and fear. She'd always sensed that monster in Him; the one He always kept under tight control - much tighter than the control He held over her. But every now and then, it threatened to surface caused ripples on His composure, like now. Those tiny gestures of intimidation. She never knew if He took pleasure in watching her struggle to banish her fright or He struggled Himself control that darker side of Himself. His hooded eyes revelled nothing. He stared at her for a silent moment, before His hand snapped up so quickly she flinched slightly, before she checked herself exhaling silently.
"C'est bonne, chérie", He praised quietly, caressing her face again.
Mr Lennox reached once more into his pocket, quickly uncoiling a long thin plastic strip and threading a loop. Then, before the drunken man realised what was happening, John Lennox pulled his hands behind his back and pulled the cable binder with a crisp zipping sound until the sharp strip edges cut into the man's fleshy wrists. He whimpered in pain, protesting until Mr Lennox stuffed the moist paper towels he'd used into the man's mouth. Before he could spit them out, He loosened the man's sloppy tie and gagged him with it. The lawyer's ineffective cries muffled against the wet paper towels as he hastily backed away from Mr Lennox.
"No! Stay where you are!" He commanded in a raised voice that would accept no refusal. "You said you wanted to watch, and watch you will!"
John Lennox grabbed him by his arms and hung him by the hook on the back of the stall door. He screamed against his gag and thrashed about on the stall door.
His hand went for the lawyers throat, pressing against it, as his other squeezed the man's balls. His face went purple as he screamed again.
"You said you wanted to watch, didn't you?" John Lennox asked in his Master's voice. "Didn't you!" He thundered.
A small sheen of sweat beaded on his head.
"Nod, if you agree!" He demanded. The man struggled again, desperately trying to free himself. She flinched slightly when she heard the material of his jacket tear slightly, but froze again, like a rabbit caught in a trap.
"Stop your struggling or I will have to hit something precious." He held up His right hand, ornate and heavy with gold rings.
The man's eyes bulged in naked fear. He went motionless.
"You may watch now. You may watch, because I want you to see what you will never own. Do you want to know why you will never own this?" He gestered towards her. She stood ridgid, her nipples rock hard, her eyes cast down to the tile floor.
"Do want to you know?" He thundered again.
The frightened man shook His head furiously.
"Because, my dear fellow, you treat women like bitches in heat who deserve no more respect than the urine you just flushed away. I want you to remember that when you see this kind of adoration; the kind you will never know. Nod if you understand this."
The man nodded furiously, a bead of sweat running off his forehead.
Mr Lennox turned his attention to her. He kissed her face, sliding His hand under her breast to cup its fullness, thumbing her nipple. He shrugged off His jacket, folding it neatly before He dropped it on the floor. Leaning over, He whispered into hey ear, His lips brushing her lobe, "Agenouillez vous, chérie."
He held her hands as she kneeled on His jacket, before He unzipped His trousers to pull out His half-hardened cock before her face. Cupping her jaw, he tilted her face up and smiled at the look of adoration in her eyes. She steadied herself pressing warm hands against the soft material of his trousers.
"S'il vous plaît, ma chere." His voice was soft and composed again, as He guided her lips to His erection, His warm fingers caressing the shell of her ears. She kissed His cock, tentatively at first until it grew harder and thicker by the minute. One kiss followed the next until her tongue snaked out to stroke the sensitive tip of His cock. The gentle massage of her tongue was rewarded with a bead of liquid. She lapped at before she welcomed the full length of Him inside her mouth. He held her head prisoner against Himself, her tongue gently pumping in reflex on the underside of his cock. He drew His breath sharply against the gentle motion of her tongue.
Her hands wrapped around the back of His thighs drawing Him closer as she savoured His fullness, losing herself in His essence. A moment later He wrapped His hand in her long dark tresses and began to move in and out of her mouth in long slow strokes, growling at the sensations when she sucked Him hard when He withdrew. His breathing grew more shallow and faster, matching his strokes.
"Stop!" he growled suddenly.
She froze. He gently withdrew the full glistening length of His blood-engorged cock from her mouth, before He bent to kiss her, His tongue delving deep inside, mingling with her hot tongue and the exotic saltiness of His pre-cum.
He straightened up. "Open your mouth!" He commanded.
Obedietly she did, closing her eyes.
He caressed her face again. "No! I want you to look at me."
Her eyes snapped open and locked onto His. He began to move his hand against His cock, pumping furiously until a moment later a hot white spurt of liquid life jumped from His throbbing cock tip towards her opened mouth. It missed and slid down her cheek. His fingers snaked out to wipe it away, then plunged them deep into her mouth for her to suck them clean.
He sighed and cradled her head towards His throbbing lance, now slowly losing its stamina, let her tenderly lick the last drops of cum from it. She smiled against His cock, gently teasing its oversensitive head with light kisses and licks und His growls of pleasure told her He'd reached His zenith. He stepped back caressing her face for a moment before He turned to step over the sink and quietly wash Himself.
She sat back on her heels, still and silent staring at the tiles on the floor and blending out the idiot who was hyperventilating through his nose.
He patted Himself dry and closed His trousers with a resounding zip, then turned around to assist her to her feet. He bent His head to kiss one nipple, His tongue flicking at it for a long enjoyable moment, before administerubg the other. "So lovely", He whispered, then in a more authoritive voice, "Please get dressed now."
She retrieved her blouse, enjoying the way He gave her sidelong glances while she buttoned my her blouse. He appeared to have lost all interest in the man hanging precariously on the back of the toilet stall door, saying not another word to him as He pulled the wedges out of the door.
A few minutes later, while driving her back to her hotel, He mentioned casually, as if in passing, "I'm afraid we won't be able to go back to that bar again, my dear."
She stared out on the brightly lit lanes of the crowded freeway, seemingly fasinated the passing hoardings, silently wondering how long the man must have hung there before he was rescued, and how he would have explained how he got into that situation. She looked away smiling with wicked pleasure. She had stolen glace while He'd washed Himself, and saw that even in his fear the man's cock had been rock hard. "Oh, that's no trouble at all, Sir. I never cared much for Hollywood anyway."