‘Delivery to go Dr J, I believe?’ the first one said, his finger stroking the damp gusset of my briefs. I was transfixed with terror - delicious, tremulous terror. I gawped up at the man but, of course, I could not see his eyes. I knew they always wore dark glasses. Dark glasses, dark suits, and neat, professional hair, so slick with gel, the colour was indiscernible. They were interchangeable - six feet tall, broad-shouldered, passive of feature, their faces carrying only a hint of what they could - would? - do to me. For a moment I thought they would fuck me right there in my own hallway, with the front door open and people passing by on their way home from work. But no, that wasn’t what I had ordered. De luxe means just that. I was going for the big one. The luxury deal. It was expensive but I knew I deserved it.
Removing his finger from my crotch, Number One smiled briefly. Then they took an arm each and escorted me forcibly to their vehicle. I was glad I had already fed the cat. The de luxe could take quite some time, I had heard. They pushed me into the back of the gleaming black limousine and closed the door. There were no handles on the inside and the windows were blacked out so I could not see where I was being taken. I sank back into the leather seat, shaking violently. A glass partition separated me from my captors; I could just make out their chiselled profiles as they exchanged glances.
Then we were off.
From: THE LOVE MACHINE, The Stiletto Heel and Other Stories
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