Broken Record

Chapter 11: Benton

The room was dark and the air flowed through the vents at exactly the temperature he liked it. Benton felt the cold smooth, metal object in his hand, the weight of it pressing into his palm. He could hear the woman's breathing but he tried to block out the sound and focus on his own. Here, he wasn't Mr. Benton West, CEO of Pacific Records. Here he was simply Mr. X.

"Hello?" A slightly frightened female voice called out to him through the darkness and he rolled his eyes. It was always the new ones. The women who signed up all too willingly, excited and over-eager, only to find that they couldn't stomach it. Benton wasn't the violent type. Never had been. But he liked suspense. Silence. Control. He wasn't here for intimacy or reassurance. And he didn't like women who needed either of those things. That was, after all, why he managed his needs in a place like this rather than at home in his own bed.

"Are you, um, are you still there? It's really dark and you're being really quite--"

"Stop. Talking." Benton growled out before softening the blow of his words with a "Please." He knew he was distracted and he was hoping that this evening's session would help him get his mind off of her. But so far that goal was proving unsuccessful.

Benton placed the hard metal object on a table to his side. There was no way this woman would be able to handle it. And he didn't get off on pushing people towards places they really didn't want to go. What he wanted was to push a woman to a limit that they did want, but weren't able to get to on their own. That turned him on. He slid his hand up the side of her thigh, feeling her leg tremble in response. Jesus, was she a virgin? So not his kink. He'd have a chat with the host after this session. Even though Benton had more money than he rightfully knew what to do with, he wouldn't be paying for an obscenely expensive membership if it wasn't giving him what he'd explicitly asked for.

He moved his hand over the top of her thigh, covering her most sensitive area with his palm. He was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath and began moving his palm slowly, applying the perfect amount of pressure to the area.

"Do you still want me to stop?" Benton's words were a drug, referring to the woman's earlier doubt and hesitation.

"No, god no, don't stop." Her voice was frantic, desperate. Definitely a newbie. Benton closed his eyes, not seeing the woman on the padded table below him but instead picturing Stevie. Her pale blonde hair and electric green eyes. He imagined that she wouldn't be nearly as afraid or as sensitive. She'd require a much firmer hand, a higher level of involvement and discipline to bring her to release. The woman beneath needed barely more than a massage. He inserted one finger below her panties, feeling the expected slickness at her arousal. This is too easy, he thought. He could pick up women like this in bars. He needed a worthy counterpart. A fucking challenge that would light the fire inside of him and allow him to express the full extent of his needs. Why did he keep picturing Stevie's doll-like face as these needs flashed through his mind?

He kept moving his hand, allowing the woman to ride out her orgasm on his fingers, her overly eager moans filling the dark room and making it too crowded. Once he finished, he removed his hand and wiped it quickly on a towel, turning back to the table only when he felt a pair of hands on his chest.

"Your turn now." She cooed at him, trying so damn hard to be sexy. Benton gently gripped her wrists in both hands and removed them from his bare chest.

"I don't think so." His response was like a bucket of cold water to the face and the woman began scrambling off the table in search of her clothes. She may have been a newbie but even she knew this was a definite bad sign for her first night.

"I--I'm sorry. I'll do whatever, whatever you want. I just...I'm new and this--"

"Stop. Talking." Benton's words were spoken low. He wasn't trying to chastise her but he sure as hell didn't come here for this. His entire days were filled with stress, putting out fires, negotiating multi-million dollar contracts, talking eccentric talents like Jelena Kingston down from a ledge. He came here for him. For release. And tonight, he'd gotten neither. He gathered up his clothes, slipping into his slacks and black t-shirt quickly, the woman still awkwardly standing in the center of the room.

"Don't be in one of my sessions again. Otherwise, there's no issue here." Benton nodded at her, not even fully seeing her face. She nodded gratefully and Benton turned before exiting the room, not wanting to be near her for a moment longer.

Benton made his way down a dark, spiral staircase and ended up inside a normal, upscale looking bar with tufted leather booths and backlit top-shelf bottles behind the bar counter. He slid into an empty seat and flagged down a waiter.

"What will it be tonight, sir?' The waiter had a 1920's vibe and was wiping down a bar glass as he spoke to Benton.

"Basil Hayden's. Neat. Double. And a ruby sapphire." The waiter paused for a moment before nodding knowingly. He returned shortly with Benton's drink and within moments another man, slim in stature with gray hair, slid into the seat next to Benton. He wasn't old in the face, but the color of his skin and hair would have a person thinking otherwise. His eyes glittered with untold secrets, ones that he'd surely take to his grave.

"Mr. X, good evening." He didn't look directly at Benton, but instead kept his gaze behind the bar.

"I've been very clear. I don't like new girls. Or virgins. Or near virgins. I want women. Women who want to be there. Not for the money or the thrill but because they need it, like I need it." Benton's voice was deathly low and he took a healthy pull of his drink before he continued on. "What the hell happened tonight?"

The man with gray hair cleared his throat but otherwise didn't appear to be nervous, despite the threatening tone of Benton's words. "Sir, I'm very sorry to hear and I can assure it will not happen again. But, as you requested a blonde, whereas you usually prefer a brunette, the only blonde I had on for this evening was a newer addition to the group."

Benton held his drink in midair for a moment, just an inch or so from his lips. This explanation was valid but still not good enough. The man next to him ran the most elite underground sex club in LA. There's no way he couldn't find a more experienced blonde last minute. Hell, have a brunette dye their hair for much they were being paid. But the thought that consumed more of Benton's mind was the reasoning behind his blonde request. The distraction that hadn't left him, but had only grown over the past several weeks.

"Understood. Next time," Benton finished his drink with a healthy gulp, his neck working as he emptied the glass, "have your best girl dye her hair." The gray headed man nodded as if this was the most normal, benign, simple ask that a friend could make. Benton stood from the bar and pulled on his sportcoat before exiting through the front and back out into the street.