Silk and Champagne by M.M. Brennan

 
     
     
     
     
    Silk and Champagne
    M.M. Brennan
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Copyright 2013 P.D. Kyner
     
     
    All rights reserved.
     
    Silk and Champagne
    An Erotic Bondage Story
    Book design by P.D. Kyner
    Cover Image Copyright © Lisja | Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Two months ago I would never have imagined I'd be standing in the lobby of a D.C. Marriott waiting to meet a man I'd only known via an online community. Not just any community, either, but one centered around sex, kinks, and fetishes. A community that I actually worked for. That's right, I was a webcam model, performing various solo sex acts for a nominal fee. It's not worth explaining how I got into that line of work. Why is all that matters, and she was laying in a hospital room that very moment, a shadow of the girl she'd been only months before.
     
    I suppose the same could be said for me. I could hardly remember the girl I'd been before my descent. But somehow, even as I stood in the hotel lobby, I knew I wasn't that kind of girl. The kind of girl who bartered her body for cash. The thought of what I was about to do sickened me, and in that moment, I wasn't sure what kind of girl I was anymore.
     
    I shook my head. Of course I knew. I was the desperate kind. The kind who had sat in a hospital room nearly every day for the last three months and watched helplessly as my niece whither while doctors struggled for an explanation. I was the kind of girl who knew my sister couldn't afford to take off work to be with her daughter as she endured countless tests, let alone the resulting medical expenses. I was the kind of girl who wasn't going to stand idly by while my family suffered, especially my niece.
     
    We had an unexplainable umbilicus connection, she and I. My heart beat when hers did, broke when hers did. I could feel her pain. It was real to me and the only thing that mattered. I'd do anything to stop it, give anything, sacrifice anything ... even my morality.
     
    I scanned the hotel bar, and spotted him quickly. I'd only seen one picture of him. He wasn't unattractive, simply unremarkable in every aspect of the word. Nevertheless, I was sure it was him. I watched him from across the lobby as he brought a glass tumbler to his thick lips and took a long sip. Scotch, I imagined. Top shelf, no doubt.
     
    I took a deep breath and let it go slowly, stealing a moment to marshal my resolve. "You can do this," I whispered. I had to do it. My niece needed to see a specialist, which the hospital wouldn't send her to until her expenses were caught up. They didn't say that, of course, but we knew. I'd grown up poorer than dirt and still was. I knew how the world worked, the unspoken rules that separated the impoverished from the upper crust.
     
    I smoothed my hands down my hips to keep them from shaking. My dress was short, red, tight, and probably cheaper than the scotch in his hand. My heels black and too tall. I felt eyes on me as I strode across the lobby toward the bar. I refused to meet any of them. Not the knowing glances from hotel staff, the scornful gazes of women sipping sherry, or the probing eyes of their husbands. I lifted my chin an inch as I walked past them. A show of pride, though I had none left in me.
     
    He saw me then and I tried to smile, but failed. I couldn't make my lips turn up or my stomach stop roiling. He pushed his stool away from the bar and took me in an awkward embrace. I tried not to pull away too soon. He seemed to sense my unease and let go.
     
    "Care for a drink?" he asked, as if this were a date. To him, perhaps it was.