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Perdition
by Topaz Eyes
Notes: Set between 5 x 20, "A Simple Explanation" and 5 x 21, "Saviors," but nothing specific. Many many thanks to shutterbug_12 and karaokegal for whipping this into shape. Brilliance is theirs, gaffes are mine.
~~~~~
Dita stood at the front door of 221B Baker Street, taking a minute to straighten her mini-skirt and fluff out her hair before meeting her customer. Mentally she reviewed this evening's assignment, making sure she had everything straight. She'd been working only a few days for the escort agency; while she had her own stable of assigned clients, she'd been asked to fill in on short notice.
In fact, the owner of the agency had pleaded with her to take it. He was one of their main clients, the owner had said, and they couldn't afford to lose him. Dita felt flattered, being the new girl, though she did wonder why no one else wanted the assignment. Still, that didn't matter, she thought as she raised her hand to knock on the door. She was getting double the pay for this, and more experience. It was all good.
She rapped smartly. After a moment, she heard uneven footsteps approach. The door opened halfway to reveal a very tall, older man, slightly stooped from leaning on his cane. She looked up and grinned widely.
"Hi, Dr. House? I'm Dita. The agency sent me."
He didn't smile in return; rather the man's eyes narrowed, looking suspicious. "Where's Crystal?"
She smiled sympathetically; she knew Crystal was one of his regulars. "Something came up and she couldn't make it tonight."
House peered at her up and down, dispassionately, like a specimen. Dita stood her ground under the piercing intensity of his gaze. When he spoke his face and voice were carefully neutral. "You'll do," he finally said, and nodded briefly. "Brought what I asked?"
She nodded, patting the oversized tote on her shoulder. "It's all in my bag."
"Good." He angled his head to his right. "Bathroom's that way." With that he pivoted and limped heavily down the hall ahead of her.
Dita closed the door behind her, assuming he was heading to his bedroom to get himself ready. She'd heard from Crystal and a couple of the other agency girls as well, that Dr. House always knew what he wanted, and that he wasn't into niceties. The second part was true at least, she thought wryly.
She glanced around the room on her way to the bathroom, noting the stacks of books and magazines, the gleaming baby grand and vintage guitars hanging on the wall in the living room. Also the half-bottle of Scotch with its cap sitting loosely on top, plunked squarely on the scuffed coffee table, and a half-empty tumbler beside it. Well, she could understand the Dutch courage.
She went into the bathroom to prepare. A few minutes later she emerged with her bag and padded towards what she figured was the bedroom. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the way, she couldn't help but think she looked a little--understated for the part. Dark hair twisted into a demure ponytail, minimal makeup. A simple black camisole, a flesh-colored strap-on. The life-size dildo held by a plain jock-style harness. Not even killer stilettos--nothing sensual, completely utilitarian. Not that it should mean anything, just that it was so specific a request to make. Most of her clients who were into this didn't care if the dildo were bright purple.
The bedroom door was ajar; she rapped gently. "Dr. House?"
"It's open."
She slipped inside. He sat on the edge of the bed, naked from the waist down, hands on his knees and shoulders rounded. He wasn't aroused yet. Well, the guy was old, he had to be pushing sixty, so he probably just needed some extra stimulation to get going. Or he was nervous. Or probably both. She smiled with encouragement.
"Dr. House--may I call you Greg?"
"No." He did not look up.
Her smile faltered a bit, but she soldiered on. With new customers, professionalism was always the best way to go. "Well, the most important thing about enjoying anal penetration with a strap-on is to relax and not rush anything. We're booked for the evening, so we have all the time--"
He looked up and scowled. "I'm not paying you to talk."
Dita blinked, forcing the smile to stay on her face. "I just thought you might have wanted some reassuring. Most guys find their first time a little daunting--"
"I'm not paying you to think, either." He gestured at his still-flaccid penis. "Time's a-wasting."
"Uh. Okay, then. Just let me adjust this first?" She slid her hands to her harness. He nodded just a fraction.
Dita took a minute to tighten the straps of the harness around her hips, fidgeting inside under his disdainful gaze. She was there to be used for the customer's enjoyment, she knew that, but at this level of prostitution there was usually some acknowledgment of her basic humanity. Crystal had told her Dr. House was a grade-A ass, but he generally treated the girls well. Just her luck to get an off-night, maybe.
She stepped toward the bed. Dr. House didn't move; he simply stared at her approach, his face furrowed behind the salt-and-pepper scruff. Crystal had been right, the man did have gorgeous blue eyes. He also had a haggard, tired reluctance that felt completely wrong. Not all guys liked pegging when they tried it, but at least they acted eager and adventurous. Dr. House just seemed--resigned. Weird.
He raised his head briefly when she stood directly in front of him, then his eyes flickered down to the strap-on. The dildo stuck out just about at the level of his mouth. He licked his lips until they glistened; for a surreal moment she thought he was going to go down on it. Some guys liked blowing the dildo as part of the play. Again though, this felt very off...
He met her gaze again. "Go down on me," he said instead, emotionless as he spread his legs.
Dita duly knelt and withdrew a condom from between her breasts. A few strokes with her hand brought him, or at least his penis, to life; she rolled the strawberry-flavored condom on with her mouth and went to work. She focused directly on his penis, rolling her tongue around the glans through the latex, sliding her tightened lips around the shaft, and avoiding looking at the huge, whorled scar that ate at least half his right thigh.
He braced himself on the edge of the bed with his hands, tilting his head back with a sigh. Within minutes his abdominal muscles behind the T-shirt were tensing and he was rocking his hips upwards, urging her to take him all in. Dita went with it, her head bobbing as she worked her mouth up and down. Maybe sucking him off would be better than pegging tonight, she thought as she listened to the mattress springs creak. He seemed to be responding to her mouth well enough. Assuming he'd go for it, she could always issue a rain check for later, when he might be in a better mood to enjoy--
He stopped thrusting, and she looked up. "Enough cocksucking," he said. "Time for the main attraction."
Damn. So much for that. She nodded around him and withdrew with a wet slurp. Sitting back on her heels, she smiled again, hoping for cheerful. "Okay, then. For pegging I always suggest doggy-style for the first time, it's easier on the bottom and most seem to like that." She nodded at his thigh. Crystal had told her, just take it in stride. "You'll want lots of pillows for supporting your hips and bad leg."
He glared at her, but she gamely continued. "So I'll just set up a bit and then we'll get going."
She pulled more wrapped condoms, lube and latex gloves from her bag as he twisted around with a slight hiss to grab pillows. He rolled the used condom off, tossed it to the floor, and clambered onto the bed. Dita waited until he assumed the position, as it were: lying on his stomach, ass and hips raised on pillows, legs slightly apart, knees bent and head resting on his hands.
Usually the sight of her customers lying like this, splayed and vulnerable as they waited to be fucked up the ass, made her feel delighted to be in control. This time, it just felt unsettling. Still, she was a professional, she reminded herself as she rubbed the bottle of lubricant between her hands to warm it up.
"We'll take our time and see how it goes," she began. "My job is to make this feel good for you. Any time it hurts or you feel uncomfortable, let me know and we can slow down or stop--"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now less talking, more reaming."
Dita bit her tongue, but complied, kneeling between his legs; she donned a glove and squirted a generous glob of lube on her fingers. He shivered a bit when she spread his cheeks open; probably just the cool room air against his skin. He trembled again when she smeared lube over the pink, puckered opening.
"Here's the first finger now. Just let yourself relax." She felt his muscles contract, along with a sharp intake of breath as she worked her index finger in. She stilled, and heard a long, slow exhale. Gently she rotated it inside, stretching him open while she massaged his buttocks with her free hand.
"How does this feel?"
"Like there's a finger in my ass," he replied snappishly. "What do you think?"
She rolled her eyes. You certainly don't want to make this easy for yourself. "I'm going to withdraw, then put two fingers inside. You may feel some burning and fullness at first, just breathe through it--"
"I don't need a fucking play-by-play of you stretching my asshole."
Dita gritted her teeth. She wondered if Crystal had been screwing her around when she filled her in about Dr. House. She withdrew, squirted more lube on her fingers, then inserted two. He flinched, but accepted them stoically, as he did her flexing.
Dr. House remained oddly still as she slid three fingers inside. She might as well have been performing a prostate exam rather than slicking him up. He was so passive--it was almost like he didn't really want to be doing this. Yet so very relaxed at the same time; he looked like he could melt into the bed; and when she pulled her fingers out, he was stretched enough to accommodate. Very weird.
She stripped off the used glove and rolled a condom over the dildo. As she covered it with lube, she said, "I'm going to enter you with the strap-on now. Bear down when you feel the head press. It's going to feel really full--"
He raised his head and twisted to look at her. "God, do you ever shut up?"
Not thinking, Dita snapped, "Do you want me to peg you or not?" She then bit her lip. Damn it.
He regarded her with a thoughtful look. "So you do have a spine. Good. Do a wham, bam, thank you ma'am and you'll do us both a favor." He lay his head back down and wriggled his ass.
All right, then. She spread his cheeks open and pressed the strap-on against his hole. She felt him obediently bear down, then she tilted her hips forward, slipping inside with ease. Too much ease at that. Bastard, she thought. This wasn't his first time, either. She could have spared herself all that time spent preparing him.
Still, he groaned and tensed at the girth as she slid home, so she did not thrust at first. Ass as he was, in both meanings of the word, he was still the client, so she had to let him set the pace. They remained still for what seemed like several minutes, the only sounds being his rather ragged breathing as he adjusted to the fullness. Her lower back began to twinge with the motionless and prolonged forward tilt.
Finally he angled back a bit, experimenting, and started to rotate his hips. Slowly they began to move together until they established a rhythm. Several times he winced, and she wanted to ask if she should slow the pace. She kept her mouth shut. She had the feeling that his comfort was the last thing that mattered to him right now. Let alone enjoyment--
She startled when he acknowledged her. "Dita, right?"
Oh, so now he wanted to chat. "Uh-huh."
"Your name short for Perdita?" he asked, arching back to meet her thrusts. "If that's true, your parents either really hate you or they suck at Latin. Or both."
Annoyed, Dita plunged hard at that, secretly reveling at his surprised, and slightly pained, gasp. "It's 'Aphrodita,' actually," she replied brightly, not letting up. Oddly enough, her real name was not something she minded sharing with her customers. Most assumed it was her working name anyway. Usually they got a kick out of it.
"The Greek goddess of love, sex and beauty. Also, the cult of Aphrodite. You come by your trade honestly."
On the other hand, they could be real dicks about it, too. "You know nothing about me," she said coolly.
"What if I said you're a graduate student in psychology at Princeton, who works the trade because you like screwing with your johns more than you need the money?"
She blinked and stilled mid-thrust. "You checked up on my background? How--?"
Dr. House, however, kept going. "I check up on every potential hire. Saves on the nasty surprises." He wriggled beneath her, urging her on.
"Except those nasty surprises you can't predict," she replied off-handedly, "because they're from those you never expected--"
He stilled at that, his whole body tensed in a knot. When he finally did reply, it was taut and bitter. "You're a whore. Own your whoredom and do your job, Perdita."
He thrust back with such force her whole body jarred. She had half a mind to pull out right then, walk out and leave him ass-up and wanting on the bed the way he deserved. Unfortunately word always got around quickly and she didn't need to be blackballed from the agency. So Dita increased her pace.
From there it went quickly, and soon enough he was grunting and cursing and reaming himself on the dildo as if nothing else mattered. Dita gripped his hips, holding herself steady against his onslaught; with him doing most of the work, she barely had to thrust. She watched beads of sweat glue his hair into damp curls at the back of his flushed neck; the soaked cotton of his T-shirt clung to the hollow of his back. As much as she tried to keep herself distant from the guy now, she wondered how much of his teeth-clenching and groaning was from pleasure, and how much from pain. This much exertion on his part had to hurt, given the weight on his damaged leg, not to mention the dildo pounding in his ass. How could he still be aroused at this point?
She reached around between the pillows to grasp his penis, finding it hard, straining, and slick at the head with pre-come. Jesus, he was literally throbbing. She squeezed, and her touch sealed it; within a minute of closing her fist around him, he shuddered and came with a gasp over Dita's hand and onto the sheets.
The next thing Dita knew, he was reaching back and grabbing her other hand, pulling her off-balance. She toppled on him with a short cry. Beneath her, the smells of Zest soap and fresh sweat mingled with the semen; she could feel his heart pounding, his chest heaving as he clutched her hand, his eyes squeezed shut.
Still inside him, Dita lay as motionless as possible as he came down. He was still moving beneath her, small adjustments, trying to pull her down closer. Good God, after treating her like a brain-dead mannequin most of the night, he wanted some human contact now--? You don't need a hooker, you need a shrink, Dita thought as he rested his forehead against her knuckles. She was going to ream Crystal for not warning her about Dr. Schizophrenic Batshit.
"Okay, you're done," he said a couple minutes later, startling her out of her thoughts as he pushed her hand away. "Now get off and get the hell out."
Dita gaped. She didn't expect effusive gratitude from her clients, but--not even a thank you, you prick? "What about my payment?"
"Envelope. Table by the front door. Bye." His voice was already drifting, muffled against the pillow.
Peeved at his dismissal, Dita reared back on her haunches and pulled out none too cautiously. He didn't even flinch, despite the redness of the exposed anal tissue she saw before the hole closed up. He won't be walking comfortably for a while after this, she thought as she retreated to the bathroom to clean up and dress.
She couldn't help but feel a pang of pity as she packed the harness and dildo away. Whatever issues he had going on--whomever he thought had fucked him over, or whatever he felt he had to atone for--they weren't going to be solved by a whore with a strap-on.
On her way out, she found the envelope as promised, the full amount in cash as agreed. God, this guy would make a perfect example for her thesis on sex and transference, she thought as she closed the apartment door behind her.
The next time Dr. House requested her, Dita said no.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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