She’d grown so accustomed to barking orders at staff; Milan forgot that there were two people in the world who didn’t take her shit…her mother and her sister.
“I’m sorry, Sweetie.” Milan carefully monitored her tone. “There’s so much going on here today. You don’t understand how hard it is to run a business.”
“Whatever! Look, I didn’t call to hear you bitch about the trials and tribulations of living the glamorous life. I called because Mommy wanted me to talk to you.”
Milan closed her eyes wearily and gave a sigh. “Talk to me about what?”
“She said you’re not helping her out. And she’s right, Milan,” Sweetie said, sounding indignant.
“Whoa! You’re kidding, right?” Milan took a few deep breaths, gathering her wits. “I bought both of you brand-new houses, so what’s her beef?”
“Mommy’s getting up in her years and she can’t be pulling out weeds, trimming hedges, and doing all that yard work. She wants you to hire a gardener or sell the house and put her in a condo or someplace where she doesn’t have to worry about taking care of shrubbery and shit. I bet you have a gardener for your big-ass, chateau-style home.”
“Of course, I have a gardener; my home is sitting on three and a half acres. But Mommy doesn’t need a gardener for that tiny plot of grass in her backyard, and that skimpy cluster of bushes and shrubs in the front of her house doesn’t require much maintenance. They only need to be trimmed every now and then. Can’t she hire a neighborhood handyman to trim her hedges and mow her miniscule lawn?”
“She feels you should have taken her lawn care into account when you put her in that fancy house.”
“I didn’t force her to move in that house. She asked me to buy it and I did. I bought both your houses—paid for them in full,” Milan exploded.
“Milan. Damn, don’t shoot the messenger,” Sweetie said, peeved. “I’m not complaining; I appreciate all you’ve done for my family. I’m speaking on Mommy’s behalf. She said it’s hard for her to talk to you.”
“Oh, really. I wonder why?” Milan felt old resentments resurfacing.
“Why don’t you send your gardener over her house every other week? That would satisfy her,” Sweetie suggested.
Milan went silent in amazement. “My gardener would think I’ve lost my freakin’ mind if I sent him to work on Mommy’s non-existent lawn. No, I can’t send him there. Absolutely not.”
“If you can’t spare your precious gardener, then move Mommy into a condo so she won’t have to worry about getting her grass cut and shit like that.”
“I refuse.”
“You refuse what?”
“I refuse to lift a finger to do anything else for such an unappreciative mother.”
“Come on, Milan. You know you ain’t right. You can afford it. Why you hatin’ on your own mother?”
“I’m not hatin’ on her,” Milan said, reverting back to the vernacular of her youth. “But I’m seriously getting sick and tired of Mommy’s abuse and I’m not buying her a condo.”
“Abuse!” Sweetie gasped, clearly appalled. “Our mother never laid a hand on me or you.”
“You’re right, but I’m emotionally abused,” Milan whined, near tears. “She loves you, Sweetie. She always has. But she hates me.”
Sweetie sighed. “Oh, damn. Here we go again with that ‘Mommy never loved me’ mess. You’re so dramatic. Look, Milan, I have to go pick the boys up from day care. What do you want me to tell Mommy? Are you going to buy her a condo or what?”
“The housing market is terrible right now. I won’t be able to find a buyer for her house.”
“Can’t you ask your boyfriend…um, Maxwell, to help you come up with a solution?”
“Maxwell is not my boyfriend; he’s my slave.”
“Whatever.” Sweetie couldn’t mask her disgust. “He’s well-connected. Can’t he help Mommy out?”
“No, he can’t! Listen, I’m not trying to sell her home or buy her another one,” Milan said stubbornly. “She’s going to have to learn to love the home she’s got. I’ve done everything I could to make her proud of me, but all I get in return is scorn and ridicule. I’m sick of the way she treats me and I’m through with trying to buy her love. I really am, Sweetie. So, call your mother and tell her what I said.”
“You gotta be tripping if you think I’m gon’ tell Mommy all that bullshit you’re kickin’. Obviously, you’re going through something…so, I’ll give you a call in a couple of days.”
Yes, she was going through a lot. Being unloved by her own mother was most likely the root of her problem. Milan hung up the phone, dropped her head on her custom-made desk, and cried.
A few hours later, Milan left the GYN’s office feeling as if she’d been given a new lease on life. She’d been too embarrassed to explain to the new physician that she had a creepy feeling that some silicone may have squirted into her vagina, so she didn’t mention it. It wasn’t the nosey doctor’s business. She said she was there for a complete checkup. After undergoing a series of tests, she was told she was A-okay—no infections. Yea!
She dreaded having to deal with Maxwell. But he enriched her life with all the wonderful trappings that money could buy and she’d do whatever she had to do to keep the money flowing. Beating his ass regularly would seriously cut into her free time. But a girl had to do…
Arriving home, Milan sighed heavily as she took the wooden stairs that led to the lower level of her home to investigate her remodeled basement. She flicked on the light and gawked in astonishment. Her S&M dungeon was superb. Leather and highly polished chrome and stainless steel bondage furniture and torture devices were spaced around the large basement.
Milan felt total appreciation for Sumi. Her assistant had done an outstanding job. From the hexagonal cage and the bondage bed to the steel jail cell, every item was top-notch and designed to provide the physical distress that Maxwell deserved.
The S&M mood was enhanced by a collection of shiny dominatrix outfits. Thigh-high boots and stilettos were visible through the partially opened doorway of a cedar closet. A highly polished chrome bondage head cage was prominently set on a shelf, ankle and wrist cuffs hung from hooks as well as a butt plug harness, a suede paddle, a stainless steel ball crusher, a leather ball separator, and an assortment of painful-looking sex toys.
For extreme bondage, there was gauze-like wrapping for mummification along with an instruction guide that was propped up with the front cover facing outward. Milan nodded. Maxwell could probably benefit greatly from being tightly bound and having his movement completely restricted. She made a mental note to flip through the pages of the mummification guide after she finished the dominatrix manual. Jeez, being a mistress certainly required a lot of reading. Maxwell had some nerve, getting bored with licking her shoes and lapping her cunt.
She glanced around at all the complicated equipment and frowned. Just imaging herself struggling with the numerous intricate buckles, straps, chains, and complicated locks exhausted her. Maxwell’s desire to live in erotic servitude was going to be time-consuming and physically exhausting for her. Lucky for him, his massive wealth left Milan no choice but to settle down and study the art of discipline.
She picked up and examined an odd-looking leather penis cage. The lower straps could be tightened to inflict pain in the scrotum while the many buckles kept the penis confined—a male chastity belt.
She set it down. A feeling of uneasiness came over her. Maxwell was a shrewd player. He’d upped the stakes, silently threatening to give his money and devotion to another if she couldn’t meet his demands. Sure, Milan was mean as a snake. The challenges she’d faced in life had left her with no choice but to strike first. But Milan was not a physically violent person. Her vicious ways came in the form of verbal assaults and money swindling. She could dole out humiliating emotional cruelty without batting an eye. And yes, she could handle a light paddling quite easily. But to actually progress to the extreme domination that Maxwell now crave
d did not sit well with her. She wasn’t into using whips and other torture devices that caused tearing of skin and bloodshed. It was a nauseating thought.
She got hot from exerting power, not dispensing brutal beatings. So, what was she going to do? She flopped down on the bondage bed and pulled the yellow dominatrix training manual out of her handbag.
CHAPTER 18
His driver delivered him. Under Milan’s orders, Sumi and Harper were to prepare the slave for his first night of debauchery. Clad in black masks, black latex corsets, and thigh-high boots, Sumi and Harper were waiting for him in the foyer. Without uttering a sound, the two women took charge, taking his hands and walking him through the vast house and toward the narrow stairs that led down to the dungeon.
Maxwell was of average height, about five ten or so, while Sumi and Harper were tiny little things, and standing between them he seemed much taller than his actual height. The excitement of being dominated by the two petite women whom he should have been able to easily overpower made his palms sweat and had him trembling with anticipation.
“I bet his little pecker is hard,” Harper muttered.
“It better not be. His mistress is extremely jealous and she won’t be pleased if she finds out that he’s been aroused by anyone other then her.” Though Sumi’s voice was low, the threat in her tone was loud and unmistakably deadly.
A rush of pleasure pulsed through Maxwell so violently, his knees almost gave out. Mistaking his faltering steps for defiance, Sumi gave his arm a hard yank. “It’s too late for a change of heart. Your fate is sealed, cunt.”
Maxwell let out an aroused whimper. He dragged his feet across the shiny hardwood floor, barely able to walk with his penis hardening and quivering inside his pants.
Harper swatted his backside in a most disrespectful way. “Pick up your feet. Move it!” she commanded, sounding like a prison guard. And Maxwell felt like a captive. For a man who toppled corporations and put fear in the highest paid CEOs, relinquishing his power and allowing himself to be controlled by a woman was the ultimate sexual high. He hadn’t anticipated being deprived of liberty by two anonymous females and judging by the way he was wriggling with excitement, it was obvious to him that tonight he would reach a level of erotic pleasure never experienced before.
Eager to begin the adventure, he obediently kept pace with his captors. The sound of their heels clicking against the dark parquet floors was at once ominous and tantalizing, triggering an erection so severe that he struggled against an explosive release.
Down in the dark dungeon, Maxwell’s hands were released. He waited patiently for his captors to turn on the light. Suddenly, music, loud and irritating, filled the room. At the same time, overwhelmingly bright light, practically blinded him. His head spun as he attempted to take in the sights—the two shapely masked women, the numerous disciplining devices—with eyes that were squinted as he tried to adjust to the blinding, sharp light.
“Dance for us,” Harper said dispassionately.
“What?” Maxwell gawked at the masked woman, whom he noted had succulent red lips.
“Are you defying me?”
Though she hissed the words through angry curled lips, he found himself transfixed by her curvy figure and didn’t respond as quickly as was expected.
“Answer me!” Contempt flashed in Harper’s hazel eyes and Maxwell became deeply aroused by her anger.
Sumi detected the bulge in front of his pants and gave him a sneering smile. She stalked across the room, yanked a whip off a rack, and prodded him in his chest with the handle. “Dance, bitch,” she snarled.
“I…I’m not very good—”
Thwack! The tails of the whip flashed across his thighs, bringing stinging pain along with burning humiliation. She turned the whip around and again used the handle, this time giving him a hard jab in his side.
“Ow! Hey, not so hard. You could damage—”
Harper slapped him across his face. “Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.”
She was serious. Her glinting eyes dared him to give her a reason to do him more bodily harm.
“Show us your dance moves.” Sumi stroked the tails of the whip menacingly.
He swallowed and closed his eyes in shame.
“Shake your ass, you moron!” Harper confronted him, standing on her toes, her face so close to his, he could feel the warmth of her breath. Titillated by her lovely cruelty, he fought to control the urge to kiss her glossy red lips.
Reminding him of the order he’d been given, Sumi struck his expensive leather shoes with the hard handle of the whip. Following the order to dance, he swiped his left foot to the side and repeated the stupid movement with his right foot.
“Put your ass in it. Dance like a bitch.” Sumi rolled her dark eyes.
Desiring to please the exasperated woman who normally treated him with the utmost respect, he wiggled slightly as he moved his feet. He was without rhythm and completely out of step with the hip-hop music that poured loudly from the speakers.
Shaking her head, Harper gave a loud sigh of exasperation. “I can’t watch this.”
“Milan wants him to dance,” Sumi insisted.
Wearing a ridiculous expression of utter shame, Maxwell continued his choppy movements, not daring to stop unless instructed to do so.
“Can’t we move on to the next thing on the list? I feel like I’m the one being tortured if I have to keep looking at this jackass trying to dance.”
Sumi snickered. “You’re right. His dance skills are terrible.”
“And very hard on the eyes,” Harper pointed out. Both girls began giggling, nudging each other as they pointed out his flaws. “Shake that ass!” they chorused and laughed even harder as he danced badly with his eyes focused on his shoes.
Maxwell’s face was crimson with shame but his privates were enflamed with desire. Their jeering was giving him a powerful hard-on.
The laughter suddenly halted. Maxwell’s eyes shot upward in alarm at the very moment Harper’s open palm slammed across his face. “Who gave you permission to stop shaking your ass?”
The sudden slap had practically knocked him off his feet. Stunned silent and trying to regain his composure, he couldn’t think of a quick response.
“Oh, so the cat has your tongue?”
After a series of smacks on both sides of his face, words finally tumbled out.
“No one gave me permission,” he blurted. “I didn’t realize I’d stopped. I’m sorry,” he said. With his lips set in a firm, determined line, he danced faster and shook his ass horribly. Tears brimmed in his eyes from the harsh face slapping he’d taken. He wiped his eyes and gave his tormentors a weak smile of apology.
“Okay, he looks creepy. That’s enough dancing. Seriously, Sumi, what’s next on the list?”
“She didn’t write out instructions.”
“Well, what else does she want us to do to him?”
Sumi shrugged. “I guess it’s time for an inspection.”
Harper grabbed him roughly by the front of his crisp shirt. “Stop dancing.” As if by magic, the earsplitting music ceased to play. Tugging him by his Versace tie, Harper yanked him over to a leather-covered bench. “Take down your pants.”
He bit his lip as he unbuckled his belt, terrified of what would happen next. He lowered his pants, revealing a pair of white briefs.
Harper grimaced. “Ugh! What are you, gay or something? Only a flaming fag would prance around in tight underwear.”
Maxwell nodded in agreement just in case Harper was poised to slap him around again. Her small hand had done enough damage to make his cheeks chafed and sore.
“Pull down those tightie-whities, bend over, and spread your ass, you panty-slut.”
He hesitated for a millisecond and then, completely humiliating himself, he bent over as he was told, pulled down his underwear, and separated his buttocks.
Harper moved behind him. “Press your forehead against the bench and keep it there.”
&
nbsp; Sumi strolled to the rack of whips and replaced the one she’d been carrying. “I don’t like that whip,” she said aloud but was clearly talking to herself. Her heels clicked threateningly as she strolled back and forth, perusing the collection of whips.
Maxwell gasped. Harper was rubbing something cold and moist into his quivering butt hole. “Loosen up, tight ass,” she snapped. His anus clenched in apprehension.
“Oh, here’s the perfect whip,” Sumi murmured delightedly. With his forehead positioned on the bench, Maxwell could only see her boots and thighs. The weapon she wielded and snapped in the air was out of his view, but the terrifying sounds made his scrotum tighten and his cock rise. He craved the suspense and the fear but dreaded the pain that Milan’s minions were all too happy to provide.
Something was eased inside his ass. It hurt a little, but it was a mild probing when compared to the harsh ramming he’d taken from Mistress Veronique. She’d strapped on a monstrous cock that her black boyfriend, BodySlam, had lubed, helping to prepare it for their newly acquired slave. Maxwell had watched in fear as she tested her big greasy dick by thrusting it in and out of BodySlam’s hand. Terror-stricken, Maxwell had instantly changed his mind about giving himself over to the crazed pair. But he was gagged and couldn’t scream out in protest as BodySlam’s strong hands pried open Maxwell’s trembling buttocks, allowing Mistress Veronique complete access to jam her huge shaft up Maxwell’s virgin ass. She’d thrust with such violence and seeming hatred, Maxwell had actually shed tears. Throughout the horrible rape that had caused his ass to bleed, the sadistic couple had kissed each other passionately.
His asshole had just started to heal.
“You took that like a champ,” Harper whispered, bending down to his level, her arms draped across his shoulders, her mouth close to his ear. Unfortunately, a raspy moan escaped his lips when he felt her pert breasts pressing into his back.
She bolted upright and made a gasping sound that broadcast her displeasure. “You stinking pervert! Look at your little wiener sticking out!” She pointed accusingly at his smallish erection.
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