Eightman
Eightman by Meg Silver
Info and excerpt(s) for Eightman: episode 11 of Meg Silver’s Fantasy Heights erotic suspense serial.
“Eightman” Description
Episode 11: High hopes follow Sophie through a complicated second week at Fantasy Heights.
Her investigation into Ben Oliver goes nowhere, her make-or-break performance with Carl Hurst goes sideways, and a surprise windfall from Amanda Tate introduces Sophie to the Eightman — Fantasy Heights’s most wanted.
“Eightman” Info:
Length: 33k
Release Date: August, 2014
Deleted Scene
Goodreads Page
“Eightman” Purchase Links
“Eightman” Excerpt
Excerpt from Eightman, Fantasy Heights Episode 11
Sophie’s back arched as cool oil dribbled between her legs.
Bound at the wrists and knees, she lay nude and helpless on a soft exam table. She couldn’t see a thing through a green satin blindfold. She couldn’t speak around the ball gag, either.
A gentle, feminine hand pressed between Sophie’s widely spread legs and began to rub, smearing the oil.
Megan, another performer, spoke to their client. “Now, the most important thing to remember is don’t be tentative. If you want to build a memorable orgasm, you have to mean business.”
Megan let her hand rub more firmly over Sophie’s mound and downward over her labia. The firm, warm pressure and a titillating swell of anticipatory arousal made her insides sparkle like warm champagne.
Their client, Oscar, sounded unconvinced. “I don’t get it. Last week you said ninety percent of the battle was seducing someone’s mind, and now you’re making me practice on a blindfolded toy who barely knows me. Sophie and I have only been on set together once.”
Sophie could hear the indulgent smile in Megan’s voice when she spoke again. “Oh, Oscar. There are all sorts of ways to seduce someone’s mind. Not everything is about roses and romance. Sometimes a person likes to be commanded and dominated, you know?”
Oscar grumbled, dubious.
“What’s the matter with you today?” Megan asked. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m distracted, but it’s got nothing to do with either of you.”
“Is it anything we could help with?”
“Nah,” Oscar told her. “I’m sorry. Please continue.”
“Okay, then let’s not keep our toy waiting. The first thing I want you to do is rub your hand over her pussy. Nice and firm, in big circles.”
Sophie inhaled, bracing herself for Oscar’s touch. Personally, she didn’t think he needed much practice. Last week, on the outdoor set, he’d almost made her come in a shockingly short amount of time.
He pressed his warm palm over her slit. His fingers, like everything else about Oscar, were long and thin. He rubbed wide circles, applying some extra force each time the heel of his hand passed over her clit.
She could feel her body shift its attention onto pleasure as the stimulation grew more intense. Heat spread from the friction of her client’s hand. Her body rushed to supply the nerves there with a generous helping of blood flow.
Megan said, “And now I want you to sing to it. Sing to her pussy.”
Even blindfolded, Sophie turned her head toward Megan. She couldn’t be serious.
Oscar felt the same way. “Wait. What?”
Megan laughed. “I was joking, Oscar. Jeez. No sense of humor today.”
Sophie tried not to laugh out loud, but the strain coming from Oscar made it impossible to hold back, rather like the urge to laugh at a funeral.
He didn’t appear to mind. She heard him snort out a guffaw while zeroing in on her clit. He rubbed back and forth, hard and fast, in mock punishment.
Sophie squealed with delighted approval.
Megan’s quiet laugh tickled her left ear. “She’s so sensitive. No control at all. I think you should bang her cunt for being such a good little toy.”
Sophie groaned again against the gag. She shifted her pelvis, straining to spread her knees wider in invitation.
Oscar did not bang her immediately. He paused first to run his thumbs along her slit, parting her lips. He stroked up and down along the sides of her clit until the heating and swelling sensation made her spine feel liquid. She relaxed her torso, no longer straining, though a new urgent hunger for penetration made her inner muscles clench.
“Stop,” Megan instructed. “See how she’s panting already? Finger-fuck this girl or she’ll have a clitoral orgasm, and we’re trying for something different today. Bang her. Hard, the way you bang me.”
Two very oily, knobby fingers sank into her pussy. Against the pressure of his hand, Sophie could feel how swollen and sensitized her own flesh had become. Every tiny movement resonated like a droplet sending waves across water.
Oscar crossed his fingers inside of her and began to pump them in and out. Slow and deep at first, the forceful penetration felt fulfilling to begin with, but doubled the urgency for release.
She felt a flickering spasm on her inner walls, an unfamiliar shuddering sensation.
Oscar felt it, too. He stopped pumping.
“What was that?” he asked. “She’s like… quivering inside. Is she coming?”
She flinched as a second set of fingers wedged themselves in to join Oscar’s. Both of them began to pump again, restarting the jittery spasms.
“Ooh, nice,” Megan said. “No, that’s not an orgasm. It’s an involuntary thing with the internal muscles. I do it sometimes, too, and the quivering is supposed to feel insanely good on a cock. Ease off the throttle for a bit. I want you to work on stimulating her g-spot. Remember how?”
Oh, did he ever. Oscar turned his palm up and curled his fingers forward, pressing against the inside of her pubic bone.
She squirmed. He hadn’t hit the sweet spot yet, but he had managed to find it without trouble last time. His other hand brushed against the inside of her left thigh before a finger pressed between her buttocks.
Sophie tensed up as a powerful zap of sensation glowed red-hot inside.
A slapping sound proceeded Megan’s scolding voice. “Don’t you dare,” Megan warned. “Sophie hasn’t been trained for anal yet. She’s can’t be trained for another week, yet, so don’t penetrate her ass.”
“All right, all right,” Oscar relented. “My bad. Sorry, Sophie.”
Caught between relief and disappointment, Sophie made a murmuring sound around the gag. She had never been penetrated anally. She wasn’t sure that she looked forward to it, either, but if she were lucky enough to stay for a third week, anal training would be mandatory.
Her mind strayed, imagining how it might feel to have Ben Oliver slide a fingertip into her ass. The mere thought set her on fire.
She writhed.
Megan and Oscar took it for impatience.
“Back to business before the poor toy melts,” Megan said. “Today, I don’t want you to worry about finding the most sensitive spot. This time we’re just going for lots and lots of stimulation. You want to keep your fingers curled and jerk up and out of her, really working on that tissue inside that feels kinda’ rough. While you do that, put your other hand up here on her belly and push down.”
Oscar’s other hand settled lengthwise between her hipbones.
Sophie felt her insides compress, and a renewed surge of pleasure.
“Keep some pressure there,” Megan told him. “Now start pumping inside again. Start slow and steady. The more she writhes and whimpers, the harder and faster you go.”
Sophie let herself relax, learning how it felt to be stimulated this way right along with Oscar’s lesson. At first the feel of him working his fingers that way was mildly pleasurable. A pressure began to grow apart from the force he applied against the inside of her pubic bone. A deeply hot and primal glow of sexual stress overshadowed her awareness. The fog coaxed her down into that lovely haze of sensual freedom where her entire existence was no bigger than that flurry of activity inside her pussy.
Megan’s voice barely registered as she spoke out in approval. “There you go. She’s really succumbing to it, now. Harder and faster, please. Don’t give her a chance to backslide.”
Oscar began to jerk his hand more forcefully. Faster. So fast and so hard that she could hear a soft, wet slapping sound.
Sophie’s last thought before the onslaught of sensation rolled its way up her belly was a borderline incoherent Oh, God.
While Oscar continued to punish her g-spot, she fought not to orgasm. She could feel a new type of pressure begin to build, as if she had a balloon inside swelling in size, pressing against everything else. She didn’t want to let it go. Instinct told her to hold on. Let the tension wind up as long and as strong as possible to find out what might happen when she could no longer contain the pressure.
Megan threatened that control by placing the pad of one index finger directly onto Sophie’s clit. She leaned down and spoke very close to her ear. “Do you feel my finger?”
Sophie whimpered a response.
“Good, sweetie. You’re doing great. Concentrate for me, please. I want you to push against me. I know your pussy wants to tighten up and clutch onto Oscar’s fingers, but instead I want you to relax and bear down as much as you can. Work on relaxing first, then push against my fingertip. Got it? Can you try?”
By that point, to please Megan and Oscar, Sophie would have willing swum across the Atlantic. And she did try to obey Megan. She tried to regain control of her breathing first, but she had to stop to cry out as Oscar increased his pace, making her thigh muscles flex, pressing her legs even farther open for him, so close to orgasm that she stopped breathing entirely.
Megan made a hissing noise to Oscar, and he eased the pace and pressure somewhat.
Sophie began anew, trying desperately to obey Megan’s command. Relaxing her inner muscles felt like trying to throw a car into reverse while rolling downhill. She drew in several shaky breaths and tried to release her pussy’s grip on Oscar’s fingers. In fits and starts, she managed not to clutch at him.
Bearing down took much more effort. Behind the blindfold, she squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on pushing. But as soon as she made the first real progress, she felt a shift in the pressure inside. Oscar’s hand on her belly pushed down hard, and as Sophie managed that first pulse of force against Megan’s fingertip, she felt a point of white-hot orgasmic pleasure take hold against that fingertip.
The pang blossomed outward like a billowing thunderhead, deep and strong and dangerous in its intensity. The pressure inside began to clench inward, tensing every muscle from knee to sternum before detonating in an excruciatingly fierce orgasm.
Sophie checked out, mentally. She had no idea how long her body took over the helm, letting her writhe and whimper and expend all the tension Megan and Oscar had created.
When she returned to herself, Megan was laughing softly. “Maybe next time, if she’s more relaxed. Getting her to squirt even that little bit is quite an accomplishment. Usually that can’t happen until a toy is way more experienced, and way more relaxed. You did good. And it’ll be awesome if your toy learns to squirt. Female ejaculation is huge right now. So many clients want to learn how.”
Oscar asked, “Can you squirt?”
“Sure I can. Want to try?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“This’ll be fun. But let’s free the toy before we get too distracted.”
The pair worked to free Sophie from the restraints, blindfold and gag. She was too muzzy and shaky to manage much more than a smile before making a wobbly beeline to the greenroom door.
Inside the small, deserted side-room, she paused for a minute to close her eyes. Her body clung, stubborn, to its pleasured state. She would love to stay this way, glowing, warm and tingly. But a full day of work awaited if she planned to remain at Fantasy Heights beyond this week.
Yesterday, she had set straight to work investigating Ben Oliver. Fueled with enthusiasm, she hadn’t sensed the brick wall in her path until she’d slammed straight into it.
Ben Oliver did not exist.
The usual sweep of public records had turned up nothing. Her deeper scrapes into not-so public or legal records gave her a social security number leading to a useless, shallow history.
The man lived under an assumed identity—an expertly and expensively crafted one. As with the Rylie investigation, Sophie had precious few sources of useful information. She had already visited Director Cornell’s filing cabinet and found it completely cleaned out. That left only two options: the Internet and Ben himself.
She planned to manhandle the Internet later that evening. First, she needed to make contact with last week’s subject, Rylie Vaughn.
After one last quiet moment of appreciation, Sophie showered, and collected her satchel. Rylie should report for duty, soon. Still in possession of Rylie’s shoe, a handy excuse to say hello and assess the fallout from Friday night’s disastrous visit to Andrew West’s house.
She hurried to Rylie’s gigantic corner dressing room where the door stood open.
A few steps shy, Sophie heard a familiar deep voice.
Hector. And he was angry. “You have to stop doing this. Do you ever stop to think about the consequences of your obsession? Did you ever stop to think what might have happened if West had been home? Both you and Sophie could be dead right now. Maybe you don’t care, but I sure as hell do.”
Taking cover, Sophie darted into the nearest open door, her mouth rounded into an O. Man, could she ever pick the worst times to show up unannounced.
Rylie didn’t even try to defend herself. “I’m sorry. It was a fuckin’ stupid thing to do, and you can stop now. I’ve been yelled at by half the county already.”
“I don’t care. How can you be so good at your job and do something so boneheaded at the same time? I don’t understand it. I just don’t understand.”
“Gosh, Hector. Anyone would think you cared about me, the way you carry on.”
“I do care about you. Now if we could just get you to care about you, maybe I’d be able to sleep at night.”
Rylie tried to deflect him. “I can think of funner ways to lose sleep. Want some help with that?”
“God dammit, Rylie. This is serious. Get it through your head—your life is not just about you anymore. You’re not alone. There are people here who care about you, and your actions affect us just as much, if not more, than they affect you. And I’m telling you, if you endanger anyone the way you endangered Sophie that night, I will do more than yell next time.”
Not even Rylie had the moxie to argue with that threat. When she spoke again, her voice softened with genuine remorse. “Hector, I’m sorry. I really am. Are you and Sophie a thing now, or what?”
Sophie squeezed her eyes shut. That was positively the last thing she wanted to hear coming from Rylie.
“No,” Hector said. “Have you talked to her? Apologized?”
“She called me yesterday, but I haven’t called her back yet. I suppose I better. She probably thinks I’m a total head case.”
“You are a total head case.”
“Thanks a lot, Heck.”
This time, Hector’s voice softened, too. “I just want you to be safe. That’s all. I gotta go. I’m supposed to relieve Max in a minute.”
“Get out of here. Catch you later.”
Sophie waited for time to pass before stepping out of her hiding place. She counted to sixty, listening to Hector’s departing footfalls fade away.
Figuring she could approach without rousing any suspicions about eavesdropping, Sophie regained the hallway and approached Rylie’s door. Inside the dressing room, the tall, leggy lead performer stood before her closet, grabbing a couple towels.
Sophie stayed in the doorway. She got Rylie’s attention with a light knock on the doorframe.
The moment they made eye contact, Rylie’s mild look of inquiry morphed into hardened discomfort.
Embarrassment. Displeasure. Defensiveness.
Knowing she wouldn’t help matters any, Sophie took the bright red stiletto heel from her satchel.
She placed it on an expensive glass-top end table. “I figured you might want this back.”
Rylie focused on the shoe, and for a split second, her eyes flashed relief. She blinked it away before fixing a frank stare onto Sophie.
“Get in here and close the door,” Rylie ordered.
Cautious, Sophie obeyed. She didn’t like the signs she could see: Rylie’s stiff, clipped speech, the tension in her frame, the way she kept her shoulders turned away.
Angry. Hurt. Not dangerous as a physical threat, but perhaps an emotional one.
Tone still hostile, Rylie asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you’re a Prescott student?”
Uh oh. “I—”
“Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to learn something like that while our bosses are screaming at one another about my drunken stupidity? You have any idea how that might feel?”
Sophie cringed. “I’m really sor—”
“You know what?” Rylie interrupted. “Don’t even bother. I know how you people are. All you’ll do is excuse one lie with more lies.”
The right thing to do right now—the smart thing—was to leave. Get out of the dressing room before she lived down to Rylie’s expectations. Except seeing the hurt and disappointment struck a nerve with a deep, painful pang she hadn’t felt in years.
She liked Rylie. She sympathized with her desire to avenge her father, and she worried whether Milazzo planned to use Rylie as a weapon against Andrew West. But what bothered her most of all was her own role in this state of affairs. She hated to be the bad guy, the source of hurt and pain. An overwhelming need to apologize and make things right again climbed into the ring.
Don’t do it, she thought. Let her be angry. Keep your distance. One way or another, you won’t be here long. Don’t get attached only to get hurt later.
Her mouth opened anyway. “I’m sorry, Rylie. I didn’t realize my Prescott connections would matter to you.”
“Right, like you would have told me, otherwise. I hate liars. I fuckin’ hate being lied to.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that. Were you spying on me? Were you only nice to me because your creepy little boss told you to be?”
Sophie wanted to groan. “I was nice to you because you were nice to me.”
That seemed to catch Rylie up short. The other woman stared for a moment, scowling, before she put her hands on her hips. “Why did you have to make me like you? You’re all quiet and shy like a whipped dog who isn’t sure they want to come out of the bushes to get affection. I feel like a total, complete idiot, falling for that shit.”
Sophie didn’t dare try to apologize again. A hot denial wouldn’t help, either.
She had never been any good at this kind of thing. She had grown so used to people only coming to her when they needed help that friendship and social situations had become foreign territory.
Uncertain how to explain herself, she stared helplessly until the sound of nearby raised voices sent the pair of them into the hallway.
They didn’t spot the source of the quarrel immediately. They followed the familiar sounds of both Max and Hector’s voices before spotting the men on the far end of the next hallway.
When she saw the third man in the small group, Sophie stopped walking, brows raised.
Oscar. He couldn’t have been off set for more than a couple minutes. He looked furious, leaning toward Max with Hector standing between the two combatants, trying to make them stop yelling.
“You promised me!” Oscar argued.
Max’s mouth tightened into a firm line as he reined in his temper. “We promised to help you find her, not break every law known to man. Use your head, Oscar. You know why we have to proceed with caution.”
“Screw caution. If it was your wife out there, how would you feel about caution?”
“Hey,” Hector snapped. “This is not the time or place, gentlemen. Let’s take this downstairs.”
Hector grabbed handfuls of shirtfronts and hauled Max and Oscar away.
Standing next to Sophie, Rylie said, “Close your mouth. You’re drawing flies.”
“What was that about?”
“A girl. What else?”
“What girl?”
“Oscar’s ex-girlfriend. She left him to work for Eighth Empire. So he made a deal with my boss’s kid to get her back.”
“Wait… huh? Your boss’s kid?”
“Scott Milazzo. He and Oscar are old gaming buddies. Oscar’s some sort of genius with network security, I guess, so they made a bartering arrangement. Oscar revamps our data security, he receives the resort’s services, as well as the Accord’s help to rescue his girl from Andrew West and crew.”
No wonder he’d sounded so strange on set. “I hope they find her.”
“It’ll be a neat trick if they do,” Rylie said. “The girlfriend went to work for Eighth Empire of her own free will. It’s hard to rescue someone who doesn’t want saving.”
“That sucks.”
“It sure does. And trust Hector to play peacekeeper.”
Sophie braved a look at Rylie. “If I say something about Hector, will it make you madder?”
Rylie looked sour, but waited for Sophie to speak.
“All I wanted to say is I’m not a threat to you. I like Hector, but not romantically.”
“Really. From what I hear, the two of you almost lit that set on fire last week.”
“Only because Hector is good at his job.”
Rylie regarded her a moment, processing the words. Then she asked, “Am I that obvious?”
“About liking him? What’s not to like? He’s gorgeous, he’s nice, he’s talented, and he treats people well. You’d be crazy not to like him.”
“But he’d be crazy to like me.”
Ouch.
Rylie turned her back and sauntered away, leaving Sophie to wish she’d kept her mouth shut about Hector. She would have to give Rylie time and space to realize the apology was heartfelt, and her interest in Hector benign.
She sighed and thought about checking on Max and Oscar. Maybe not. She felt for Oscar, but what could she do about the girlfriend? Nothing, except get herself in more trouble. Right now, she needed to make progress on Ben Oliver.
