Pure Paradise

by Allison Hobbs

  Milan, desperately needing the hardened steel of his arousal, quickly undid her jeans. The sound of unsnapping metal seemed to jolt Hilton out of his spell. In an instant, he began assisting, tugging and pulling down her skin-tight jeans.

  He led her over to the granite island, the closest available space. He hoisted her up and then gently laid her down. Standing over her, he took in the mocha-colored perfection of her long slender body. Bending down, he kissed her lips. His skilled fingers quickly unclasped the front of her bra. He dipped his head and licked her bared nipples and then hungrily took in mouthfuls of her small oval mounds.

  She sucked in a deep breath. Was she drunk from lust or was it the wine that had her head spinning? At any rate, the room seemed to rotate, and Milan had to grasp the sides of the island to steady herself. Hilton’s strong hands kneaded her thighs, his thumbs pressing deeply as they worked upward to the soft texture of her thong. Pulling the elastic, he slid the fabric to the side, exposing her most intimate body part, the part of her that needed him most. She shuddered as the cool air chilled her womanhood. Instantly, he warmed her slick passageway with the heat of his tongue. Trembling, Milan released a long sigh of delight. She dug her fingernails into his deltoids and drew up her legs, knocking over salt and pepper shakers as she kicked out. With her knees widely spread, she urged him to probe deeper.

  He lathed her soft flesh with his tongue, moaning in enjoyment at the tart taste of her womanhood. Heat swept over her skin and concentrated on her distended clit. He sought and captured her straining bud between his lips, tugging and pulling at the sensitive knot of nerve endings until she cried out, pleading for him to stop.

  He repositioned Milan, turning her body horizontally, pulling her forward until her long limbs dangled off the sides of the granite and her pussy faced him. Milan lifted up halfway, talking a long lustful look at the brawny dick he pulled out of the slit of his sweatpants. The tip of the huge knob glistened with pre-cum. She would have gladly placed it close to her lips and licked it clean if it weren’t already being fitted against her silken opening, making her vibrate with wanton need.

  Surrendering, she eased down on the cool granite. Standing, Hilton pushed himself inside her. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he explored her tunnel with deep, driving thrusts. Groins locked, their bodies writhed together in a primitive dance, she felt a fever burning inside her, quickly convulsing a chain of spasms. Biting down on his lip, Hilton fought to hold back, but persuaded by her rapid cunt-clenches, Hilton let go, flooding her with his white-hot explosion.

  Later, in bed, her head resting upon his chest, he tenderly stroked her hair, which was unpinned and had come completely undone. She reached up and caressed his stroking hand until their fingers affectionately entwined.

  His pattern of breathing changed, telling her that he had lapsed into a sound sleep. Milan propped up on an elbow and stared down at his beautiful face, marveling at his dark lashes that were even longer than she’d realized. Unable to resist, she brushed his heavy lashes with her fingertip. His lashes fluttered, but his eyes remained closed in sleep. She studied his sleeping face a little longer and then touched his cheek.

  “Guess what, Hilton Dorsey?” She paused. “I think I’m in love with you,” she whispered, knowing he was somewhere in dreamland, unable to hear her confession. She gave him a quick kiss and then snuggled close, draping an arm across his waist and molding herself into him. Then she contentedly drifted off to sleep.

  He lifted her hand, pressed his lips against her long finger, before placing her open palm next to his beating heart and whispering, “I love you, too.”

  Milan awakened with a start as if the soft-spoken words had been shouted and echoed inside the bedroom. Was she in the midst of a sweet dream? Or had she actually heard Hilton say, “I love you, too?” She forced her heavy eyelids to stay open, sat up, and peeked at him. He was so deep in slumber; his snoring was a loud and rumbling vibrato of sound.

  Yup, she’d been dreaming, all right. Disappointed, she eased closer to Hilton, running her hand against the expanse of his back, and pressing her cheek against his skin. She threw a leg over his, cozying up even closer, seeking comfort from his body heat.

  CHAPTER 22

  The next day, Milan sat at her desk daydreaming about Hilton. The buzz of her phone brought her out of the sweet reverie.

  “Royce was late for work,” Milan’s secretary said briskly.

  “So? What makes you think I care?” How annoying to be disturbed with such trivial information.

  “He’s downstairs at his post, but he wanted me to extend his apologies for being fifteen minutes late.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Milan said without interest.

  “He’s on the other line,” her secretary persisted, “waiting to find out if you want him to come to your office to discuss his tardiness.”

  Briefly perplexed, Milan frowned. “Why would I want him to—” Mid-sentence, she had an “aha” moment. She hadn’t spanked Royce in weeks and it had been ages since she’d utilized his abnormal tongue. She’d assumed that he appreciated the respite from her mistreatment, but apparently he’d developed a proclivity for the harsh treatment, crude name-calling, bondage play, the long and rigorous tongue strokes she required of him, and of course, the sting of her paddle.

  “All right,” Milan said dryly. “I guess I should discuss disciplinary measures with him. Send him to my office.”

  Shame-faced, Royce entered her office minutes later, his cap respectfully in his hand, his hair showing premature streaks of gray. He closed the door discreetly and in the next instant, he began unhooking his handcuffs, head lowered, repentant.

  “What can I do for you, Royce?” she asked coolly.

  “Didn’t your secretary tell you—I was fifteen minutes late.”

  “I’ve made a note of it and, of course, I’ll have to dock your pay.”

  He grimaced and then wiped his hand over his face as if he’d just been informed that she planned on garnishing all his future earnings.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “No.” He shifted his feet and started to perspire. “Well, I thought we had an understanding, Ms. Walden.”

  “And what would that be?” she asked, feigning innocence.

  “You said you wouldn’t dock my pay if I did those things for you that you like me to do.”

  She leaned forward. “Royce, I have good news for you. You’re off the hook. You don’t have to worry about being physically reprimanded anymore.”

  He didn’t take the good news very well. He flinched and actually looked as if he were about to tear up. Milan went on. “If it makes you feel better, I won’t dock you. But I won’t be so generous the next time you’re late.”

  Royce brightened. “Whatchu gon’ do to me next time, Ms. Walden?”

  She sighed. She’d created a monster. “What would you like me to do?”

  “I can take all your punishments.”

  “Which do you prefer?” she asked out of curiosity.

  Scratching his head, he looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “It’s a toss-up. But since you’re making me choose. I think I’ll go for the paddle.”

  “Why?” She really wanted to get a better understanding of male submission.

  He shrugged uncomfortably. “I can’t explain it.”

  “Try,” she persisted.

  He took the liberty of lowering his large frame in the seat across from her.

  “At first I was mad. I didn’t like the way you ordered me around and had me doing all those unnatural things. Then you stopped sending for me and I was relieved, at first. But I found myself trying to get my wife to treat me like you do. But she never really liked oral sex. She’s holy and sanctified, considers it a sin. I joked around with her to see if she might have some interest in paddling, but she screwed her face up like it might be time to get me some type of counseling, so I just left the subject alone.”

  “You haven’t answered my question
.”

  “What?”

  “Why do you like getting paddled?”

  Royce wiped his face with his roughened hand as if trying to remove the embarrassment. “I’d be lying if I said I like getting paddled. That thing hurts. For me, the pleasure is all mental. I like the idea that a member of the weaker sex can command me to drop my pants and order me to do all sorts of nasty things. Just thinking about you taking control of me gets me in a heated state that makes my nature rise.” Royce shook his head in bewilderment. “I would have never guessed I was capable of having such a freaky nature.”

  His admission wasn’t in depth and she hadn’t unraveled any deep-seated, psychological mystery. She surmised that like her—like most people—Royce had a tendency toward sexual deviance. He just needed the right person to unleash his inner freak.

  Until Milan introduced him to his submissive side, he hadn’t realized that being docile, a sexual doormat, was such a powerful aphrodisiac. Milan knew. She’d already been down that path. But never again. Or at least she hoped not. Never say never, she reminded herself again.

  She smiled, wondering if Hilton had a secret kinky side. And if so, where was the chink in his armor? She had strong feelings for her driver and if he wanted to, he could most likely bring out her dormant submissive side. She’d kiss Hilton’s feet in a heartbeat, but would prefer doing it because she wanted to, rather than being directed to do so.

  She pulled herself away from her thoughts and refocused her attention on Royce, who was turning puppy dog eyes on her, quietly waiting for her to command him to pant and drop his tongue out like a begging dog.

  “Royce,” she said softly. “As you’ve noticed, Pure Paradise’s clientele is expanding. To be honest, I don’t have time to dole out discipline—”

  Royce sagged in his seat. “I won’t be in your way, Ms. Walden. I can crawl under your desk and lick you while you’re taking care of your business.”

  “I’d be distracted.”

  Judging by Royce’s woebegone expression, one would have thought that Milan had handed him a pink slip.

  “I’m going to recommend someone.”

  “I’m hooked on you—”

  “You don’t have a choice,” she said sternly. She lifted the phone and pushed a button. “Royce is in my office,” she said into the mouthpiece. “I’m going to have him fill out a new disciplinary form and then I’m sending him to your office to be reprimanded.” Milan scowled in thought. Sumi was in a terrible mood and she might take her frustrations out on Royce, harming him to the point of hospitalization or maybe death. Milan gulped. “Better yet, why don’t you come down to my office; I need to observe and make sure that things don’t get out of hand. Royce only requires mild disciplining; nothing harsh.”

  “I want it harsh,” Royce whispered in the background.

  Milan rolled her eyes at him, gave him a hand flip, and continued talking on the phone.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying? I want you to go easy on him; I don’t want to see a repeat of last night.” She hung up the phone and tapped her finger on the desk in thought.

  “Who’d you send for, Ms. Walden?”

  “My assistant will be handling you from now on.”

  Royce exhaled hard. Disappointment crumpled his face. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do and everything, but seriously, Ms. Walden, I need somebody who knows what she’s doing. A strong black woman like you. That tiny little Sumi couldn’t hurt a flea.”

  Milan gave him a smirking smile. “Don’t underestimate Sumi. I think you’re going to be pleasantly surprised.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Sumi was so harried, her once perfectly formed bun now drooped as she suffered under the oppression of an unrelenting taskmaster. Tension lined the features of her beautiful face. It wasn’t easy, trying to placate a boss who never lifted a finger to help out, who seldom left her office to conduct business but preferred to view a monitor for enjoyment and adult entertainment, and often summoned members of her working staff to put out the fires of her insatiable sexual desires.

  Sumi’s eyes flared with anger at Milan.

  “Where’s your paddle?” Milan asked.

  Royce was a perfect target for her aggression and misplaced anger.

  “You should be better prepared, Sumi,” Milan said, goading her. “There are plenty of extra paddles in the spanking room, as you well know.”

  “At your insistence, that room is being occupied,” she spat vehemently. She tilted her head. “Ms. Warminster paid for an extended treatment, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Milan mumbled. Sighing, as if Sumi had asked to borrow a pair of her underwear, Milan grudgingly opened a desk drawer and retrieved her personal paddle. It had only been used on Royce, so it wasn’t as if his behind would contaminate the weapon.

  But it was the principle. “This is my personal paddle and I’m not comfortable loaning it out. In the future, I expect you to be better prepared. Is that clear?” She knew she sounded unreasonable, but it was important to keep Sumi in line.

  She was so irritated by Sumi’s lack of preparedness, Milan didn’t notice Royce slinking backward toward the door.

  But Sumi noticed. The instant she had the handle of Milan’s personal paddle within her grasp, Sumi sprang across the room and stood on her toes as she seized Royce by the collar. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “I, uh, have to get back to my station,” he sputtered.

  Sumi hooked him in the jaw. Stunned, the security guard’s hand flew up defensively. She tossed the paddle over to the settee and then, with a slight bend at her knees, Sumi moved into a fighting stance position, hands held up to guard her face.

  “What the fuck is wrong with her?” Royce asked Milan, cowering as he moved out of Sumi’s range.

  Next, she brought her knee up, her ankle flexed downward in a chamber, a technique where her foot was positioned to generate power and to control of the speed of the kick.

  Seeing her foot quickly snap out aiming for his groin, Royce dropped down. Sumi’s small but powerful kick landed in his chest. Coughing and heaving, he rolled away from further harm. Crawling as fast as he could, he scurried to the other side of Milan’s desk.

  “I can’t deal with all that jujitsu and karate and whatnot,” he said, sniveling as he squeezed past Milan’s long legs and wriggled until he had squeezed himself under the cover and safety of her enormous desk. “I don’t like the way she operates,” he complained, face frowned up, voice raised in indignation.

  “I told you not to underestimate her,” Milan said, leaning downward, speaking in an amused tone.

  “Get over here!” Sumi snarled.

  Royce would not leave the safe haven beneath the desk. Curled in a ball, he shook his head adamantly. His widened eyes beseeched Milan to save him from the petite tyrant who threatened to do him bodily harm.

  “Scared?” Milan taunted.

  He nodded. “Make her go,” he said in a whisper. “If you let me stay right where I am, I promise I’ll take care of you, real good.”

  “I’m sorry, Royce. You were late. And Sumi has taken over that aspect of the business—”

  “And I have zero tolerance with sorry bastards who can’t show up for work on time.”

  Sumi crossed the room, breathing fire. Milan scooted back, allowing her access to Royce. She dragged him from his hiding place and pulled the large man up.

  “All right, all right,” he yelled, holding up his hands in surrender as if Sumi had a gun pointed at his head. “Beat me with the paddle. I was late; I admit it. I deserve to be punished,” he said, as he unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down.

  Sumi retrieved the paddle from the settee. “You better get your ass to work on time! Do you understand?” she yelled as she smacked his ass with the leather paddle.

  Royce flinched, his body thrust forward with each forceful smack of leather against his skin.

  Milan watched with mild interest. Her na-na wasn�
�t in an uproar; she wasn’t even moist. In fact, she was bored and was about to suggest Sumi continue lighting a fire to his backside in the privacy of her own office, when Royce suddenly shot a load against the side of her precious desk.

  “I’m sorry,” he whimpered.

  “Lick it up!” Sumi shouted, looking deranged and haggard. Her hair was now completely undone and she’d ripped the seam under the armpit of her jacket.

  “I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Sumi,” Milan intervened.

  “Why not? He needs to learn the rules. I didn’t tell this moron to ejaculate.”

  “I understand,” Milan said patiently as if talking to a mental patient. “However, as skilled a tongue as Royce possesses, I don’t think he can manage cleaning my desk in a way that would suit me. I’m very particular about my desk, Sumi.”

  Coming to her senses, Sumi nodded in understanding, then she shot a menacing look at Royce. “Are you deaf or something? Get out of here and get back to your post.”

  Royce hurried out of Milan’s office.

  “I hope you’ve relieved of some of your frustrations. Do you feel better?”

  “Yes, much better.”

  “Okay, get my desk cleaned. I’m going downstairs to get a pedicure.”

  “From Shin?” Sumi asked curiously.

  “No, I’m going to have Ellen give me a regular, old-fashioned French pedicure.”

  Sumi cocked her head to the side curiously as Milan rose from her chair.

  “Make yourself presentable before anyone sees you,” Milan suggested, giving Sumi an up-and-down, disapproving glance before she whisked out of her office.

  As her feet soaked in the whirlpool jet tub filled with a mixture of essential aromatherapy oils, Milan relaxed and allowed her thoughts to wander back to Hilton. Smiling, she recalled the sweet dream where he’d mumbled that he loved her. Suppose it hadn’t been a dream, she asked herself, enjoying the warm feeling that coursed through her. Supposed she’d actually heard his confession of love? Yeah, and then what? What would I do about it? What could I do about it? She gave a helpless mental shrug. Love wasn’t in the cards for her and even if it were—even if by some remote chance, Hilton actually loved her—what did she know about giving love in return? Absolutely nothing!