“You didn’t say you wanted to take over the dungeon. You told me to shut it down.”
“You’re mincing words and I’m losing my patience,” she hissed. “Be honest.”
Resolute, Maxwell sighed. “I let my curiosity get the best of me. I wanted to see the inner workings of an S&M establishment.”
“You’re disgusting and unworthy of my attention. In fact, you’re beyond unworthy; you’re total scum.”
“Yes, I agree. I’m scum.”
“You disobeyed me and look where it got you.”
“You’re right. I disobeyed you and I suffered greatly.”
“By the way…?”
“Yes, Mistress?”
“Why did you allow yourself to be strapped to Veronique’s table?”
“She invited me to take a tour. I…I…,” he stammered. “I found myself excited by all the dungeon equipment and the idea of bondage. Veronique noticed my…uh…erection and offered to cuff me. Just for fun. Then she took advantage of me.”
“Your dick got hard for another woman?” Milan slapped him across the face. “You’re a dirty whore, Maxwell. You belong to me; you’re my property and yet you permitted that hideous hunchback to strap you down, beat you, fuck you, and worst of all, you allowed her to remove your collar.”
Maxwell rubbed the handprint left on his face. “I’m so sorry, Mistress. I told her that I belonged to you, but she wouldn’t listen. After I’d allowed her to strap me to the table, she told me that after she introduced me to the pleasure of pain, I would have to relinquish myself to her.”
“And you believed that crap? Jeez, how did I get saddled with such a dumb, disgusting sub?”
“I was shackled. There was nothing I could do. I couldn’t stop that big brute from cutting off my collar. Do you realize that I was violated in the most depraved way?”
“Are you blaming Veronique and BodySlam?”
“Yes!” His face reddened with rage. “I was victimized. I’m innocent.”
“You’re a liar.”
Maxwell reached for Milan’s hand and showered it with sloppy kisses. “I love you and only you. I’m completely devoted. Sowing my wild oats came with a great cost. I’ll never stray again. I promise you.”
“Shut up. You were disloyal and disobedient. You thought you could get away with cheating on me. But you got caught.” Milan pointed her finger in Maxwell’s face. “You’re going to pay.”
“Good night, Ms. Walden,” Hilton said, holding open the back door of the Rolls.
Milan gave Maxwell a hard shove after he exited the car. The tycoon took a few stumbling steps before steadying himself.
“Why are you so friggin’ clumsy?” Milan poked him in the back.
“I apologize, Mistress,” Maxwell mumbled in embarrassment.
She looked over her shoulder at Hilton and sighed at the injustice of being laden with such a klutz. Hilton wore a stoic expression.
Knocking Maxwell around in full view of her chauffeur was making her pussy twitch. She wondered if her mistreatment of her slave was giving Hilton an uncomfortable hard-on.
“Get in there,” she hissed at Maxwell and gave him a swift kick in the shin after pointing a remote to unlock the front door. Obeying her, Maxwell quickly limped inside.
Milan studied Hilton’s face, looking for a sign that he wanted some na-na before he hit the road. All he had to do was say the word and she’d strip naked and splay her lean body on the backseat of the Rolls. Hell, she’d get down and dirty and let him hump her in back of the house on the lawn, against the oak tree, or they could stay where they were and do the nasty on the friggin’ hood of the car.
Other than the almost imperceptible tension in Hilton’s face, his expression remained unchanged. And what did that look indicate? Was he fighting back passion? Struggling against the fervor of coursing blood that rushed to his loins? Milan leaned against the door, studying Hilton’s face.
“Have a pleasant evening, Ms. Walden,” he said, dashing her hopes as he got inside the Rolls.
With hunger in her eyes, Milan stared as Hilton parked the Rolls, willing his straining dick to lead him back to her.
Business before pleasure? What a laugh. She was in heat and nothing else mattered. Maxwell had a small pecker, not nearly enough dick to satisfy her needs. She wanted Hilton. She wanted his big hammer, dammit!
But apparently Hilton didn’t want her. He climbed inside his SUV and pulled off. Milan’s heart sank at the sight of the taillights. That she had to watch good dick drive away, leaving her with a tingling vagina that didn’t bode well for Maxwell Torrance.
She waited a few moments longer, giving Hilton some time to come to his senses. She envisioned him speeding up the driveway with his pants unzipped to release the strain from his aching loins. Stroking his dick, he’d rush toward her, prepared to pummel her na-na until it caved in.
But Hilton didn’t return. She yanked the front door open. Maxwell assumed a submissive position down on the floor, placing fervent kisses upon her shoes. There’d been times when such ardent worship could induce intense arousal, making her juices flow like water, but tonight Maxwell’s wishy-washy adulation provoked intense loathing.
Had she read her dominatrix training book or taken lessons from a pro, she would have known how to handle Maxwell. She’d be attaching a leash to a collar around his neck and walking his sorry rich ass down the basement stairs to torture and terrorize him. But under the circumstances, she’d have to curb her curiosity and venture down to the dungeon at another time to inspect the torture mechanisms that Sumi had hired a crew to install.
Milan often admired the ominous devices at Pure Paradise but didn’t have any idea how any of them worked. She’d never bothered to find out. In fact, no one used the menacing furniture. They were mere props set up to enhance the mood for freaky couples.
She kicked Maxwell out of her way and sauntered across the room. Waiting for her instruction, Maxwell remained in homage position.
Milan sat down on a high-backed chair. “Crawl to me,” she said sternly. He crawled and when he reached her feet, she ordered him to stand. “What’s the name of that fragrance you brought me back from Japan?”
Maxwell looked puzzled.
“Do I have to beat the information out of you?”
“No, no. I was trying to think.”
“Well, hurry up.”
Maxwell frowned in concentration. Impatiently, Milan groped inside her purse and pulled out the attractive bottle of perfume.
“Oh! It’s called Kimochi. It’s a Japanese word that’s used to conveys inner feelings such as gratitude, joy, friendship, love, and apology.”
“I guess now would be a good time for you to express your kimochi—apologize!”
“I’m so sorry, Mistress.”
Milan sucked her teeth. “That’s not the kind of apology I was thinking of.”
“How can I show you my deep regret and my sincere remorse for running out on you?”
She stood and took a couple steps forward. “You can have the manufacturers of Kimochi deliver tons of the stuff to my salon. I’m not paying one nickel, so you better figure out how you’re going to make that happen. I want the perfume, the Eau de parfum, the Eau de toilette, the cologne, the body splash, body lotion, bath gel, and any other accoutrements. Got it?” She pushed her face so close to his, she could see her lovely reflection in his anxious eyes.
“Yes, yes,” he agreed hastily. “Consider it done. I’ll have a large shipment delivered the day after tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!” Milan insisted, unreasonably, considering the business day in the States was over. She didn’t know or give a damn what time it was in Japan. All she knew was that she wanted truckloads of Kimochi, immediately.
“Certainly. You’ll have the shipment tomorrow, Mistress.”
“Good, now show me some real kimochi and take down your pants!”
From her open purse, she withdrew the metal-studded leather glove and pulle
d it over her hand. Maxwell swallowed hard and did as he was commanded. With a combination of dread and excitement in his eyes, he lowered his pants.
“Over my lap, you cheating slut.” Her voice was razor sharp; she sounded like a true dom. Good thing she’d been practicing spankings on Royce because she’d need to read a few more chapters of Dominatrix for Dullards before she was qualified to inflict a more severe and complicated punishment on Maxwell.
CHAPTER 15
Ellen, the licensed manicurist, soaked and dried the client’s feet, sloughed off rough skin from the bottoms, clipped her toenails, trimmed the cuticles, and buffed her toenails to a nice smooth shine. Her component of the procedure was complete. Wearing a gratuitous smile, the manicurist accepted a tip and exited the room.
Sitting behind her desk, Milan sipped cappuccino as she stared at the monitor. As if waiting for the next scene in a titillating film, she leaned forward, eyes glued to the screen.
Moments later, Shin, a handsome young Asian, came into view. Shirtless and flaunting a heavily muscled torso, he bedazzled the client with dancing, flirty eyes and then bestowed her with a gleaming smile that any fool should have been able to interpret as insincere and practiced.
Despite their differences in age, physical attractiveness, and muscle mass, the client—a stalking, middle-aged “cougar”—was flattered and ready to pounce. She patted her stiff, newly coifed hair as if she possessed some indefinable inner sexy that Shin would find irresistible.
Kneeling before her, he took her foot in his strong hands. Reverently, he gazed at the arched upper part of her foot and then kissed the smooth sole. Shin squeezed lotion into the palm of his hand and began to massage the client’s foot, seductively inserting a lotion-covered finger in the spaces between her toes, creating a squishy sound that mimicked sex.
The fortunate beneficiary of the erotic foot massage appeared to be sliding out of the chair in ecstasy.
Seated across from Milan, Sumi beamed. “Well?”
“I’m impressed. Remind me to start hanging out in China Town.”
“Shin is Korean!” Sumi was fired up, her small nostrils flared. “You’re so narrow-minded. All Asians are not Chinese.”
Milan sighed. She hadn’t deliberately dissed the Koreans, but how the hell was she supposed to tell the difference? One of these days she was going to tell Sumi that her flaring nostrils was totally unattractive and her sensitivity regarding the Asian half of her heritage was turning her into a terrible bore. But not right now. Sumi was too angry to be reasonable and something hot was occurring on the monitor.
Simultaneously, Milan’s mouth and that of the client, who’d been getting her foot massaged, dropped open. Milan was gaping in shock, and the client was taking Shin’s dick inside hers.
“What the hell is going on? Are you trying to sabotage my business? As you well know, sexual acts between a client and a member of my staff is considered prostitution!”
“Not in this instance,” Sumi said, pointing to the screen.
“She’s sucking his dick and that is not acceptable. Go in there and put a stop to it right now!”
“Calm down, Milan. There’s been no money exchanged between Shin and the client. She tipped Phoebe. He’s a magnificent male specimen and you can’t blame her for wanting a taste of his virility.”
“Oh my God!” Milan covered her mouth in shock as she witnessed Shin swiftly extract his cock from between the client’s collagen-filled lips. Aiming downward, he spurted cum all over both her feet, then continued giving the foot massage, now working his semen between the woman’s curling toes.
“Kinky, huh?” Sumi smiled widely, obviously no longer feeling the sting of Milan’s racial slur. “We’re touting Shin’s semen as a natural skin softener,” she added proudly. “He’ll be assisting with facials.” Sumi giggled. “He’ll also be helping the shampoo girl out.”
Milan held up her hand. “Don’t tell me…Shin provides hair conditioning as well?”
Sumi nodded. “He’s multi-talented.”
“You didn’t mention the many uses of his cum when you displayed the new Pure Paradise specialties. That’s sort of underhanded, Sumi. I don’t appreciate being left out of the loop,” Milan said, cutting an eye at the monitor.
“I wasn’t being underhanded. When I showed you the new website, I wasn’t aware of Shin’s many abilities. You haven’t been exactly accessible lately,” Sumi said accusingly and then folded her arms.
“You’re right,” Milan conceded. “I’ve been going through a major issue with Maxwell.”
Knowing Maxwell was the money man behind Pure Paradise, Sumi’s eyes narrowed warily.
“The problem’s been resolved,” Milan assured her. Bored with Shin’s shenanigans, she clicked off the monitor.
“Thank goodness. Listen,” Sumi went on, “since we posted the specialties on the website, we’ve attracted more clients than staff can accommodate.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. There’s a long waiting list.”
“That’s not good.” Milan shook her head.
“Why not? We’re in demand. How’s that not good?”
Milan pondered briefly. “I don’t like the idea of losing money. Tell your assistants that they weren’t hired to sit on their asses all day.” Milan shot Sumi an evil look. “Nor were they hired to titty fuck during working hours. This is not a non-profit organization. Tell those two bitches to pound the pavements and find me some more good men.”
“Okay, I’ll have them get on it ASAP.” Suddenly, Sumi’s dark eyes lit with glee. “So, how’d you like it?”
“Like what?” Milan asked, now distracted by thoughts of Hilton.
He’d given her a quick sideways glance when she stepped outside, swathed in French couture. That look spoke volumes. It assured her that she looked more stunning than ever, but most important, there was hunger in his furtive gaze. He missed her na-na and could no longer fake it. That tough guy routine last night had been merely an act. Ha! He couldn’t wait to get in her bed. Tonight, she intended to fuck him senseless. On top, she would ride him like he was a wild stallion, humping him hard and fast until the back of his head banged against the headboard.
Spanking Maxwell last night had given her a hell of a rush. She felt powerful. So very dominant.
Hilton didn’t know who he was dealing with. Showing him no mercy, she would fuck him into a state of semi-consciousness. Milan felt a mild quiver as butterflies tickled her insides.
“Earth calling Milan,” Sumi said, waving her hand in front of Milan’s face.
Snatched out of her wonderful reverie, Milan’s eyes bore into Sumi’s. “What?” she snapped.
“How’d you like the dungeon?”
Milan twisted her face in annoyance. “I didn’t look at it yet.”
“You told me that you needed it right away. I worked like a damn mule, finding all that equipment and then tracking down workers to set it up with such short notice.”
Milan shrugged indifferently. “I’ll look at it tonight. And by the way, I’m going to need a competent person to show me how the stuff works.”
“Can’t Veronique—”
She flung Sumi a contemptuous look, cutting her off. “Don’t mention that hunchback bitch’s name ever again. Now, tell your assistants to get to work.”
Sumi rose. Surprisingly, she didn’t sulk. Gathering her purse and notepad, she showed no signs of hurt feelings. In fact, she looked visibly relieved.
Sumi claimed her affection for Milan was true and deep. “I love you, Milan,” she’d proclaimed numerous times. Once, she even went so far as to suggest that they fly to Vermont or Massachusetts and join hands in same-sex marriage. Now, Milan suspected that Sumi had an emotional connection with Lily, but pretended the relationship was purely sexual.
Fuck you, you cheating whore. Go ahead, rush out of here so that silicone bitch can give you a titty fuck.
What a deceitful slut Sumi had turned out to be. She deserved
to be suspended from her work duties, demoted, or fired! She’d deal with Sumi’s unfaithfulness at a later date. Preoccupied with thoughts of getting Hilton back in her bed, Milan was forced to push thoughts of revenge aside.
Milan checked the time. 4:15. She turned the monitor on and clicked to the spanking room and there she was; Mrs. Tamburro, the cheating spouse, pacing nervously. Her stupid husband would have been better off taking her over his knee. A spanking from his loving hand, rather than bringing out her inner freak, may have filled her with outrage and curbed her adulterous affairs.
But her session with BodySlam had introduced her to her submissive side and had kindled a passion she hadn’t known she possessed. Now, she wanted more. Behind her husband’s back, she’d been calling Pure Paradise daily, pleading for a secret session with BodySlam.
Feeling no loyalty toward a client who was too cowardly to whip his own wife, and not being one to turn down money, Milan had finally gotten the opportunity to whisper in BodySlam’s ear. She’d made him an offer that he couldn’t refuse.
“Come work for me or I’ll have you deported. You’ll find yourself on the first boat back to Haiti.”
If Veronique had planned on keeping BodySlam joined at her hip, she should have married the illegal alien and made him a citizen of the United States.
Dressed in her usual business suit, sensible pumps, and upsweep hair-do, Mrs. Tamburro was rocking the sexy librarian look. Wringing her hands and biting her bottom lip, Mrs. Tamburro looked terror-stricken.
From her own experience with Gerard, Milan knew all too well that fear was part of the turn-on for a woman who enjoyed being submissive.
CHAPTER 16
The door burst open and banged against the wall. Mrs. Tamburro flinched at the sound. Also startled, Milan nearly jumped out of her chair. “Damn!” she muttered as she reached for the remote and then turned the volume down.
BodySlam was not wearing the leather executioner’s hood. This time, he arrived with tribal paint smeared across his face, his shaved head adorned with an ostrich-feathered headdress. Wearing a buckskin loincloth, leather wristbands, and a saber-toothed neckpiece dangling at his chest, BodySlam looked like an African warrior, ferocious and primitive.
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