by Katie Ford
“Well, I’ve always wanted to get Lacy’s portrait done. Not just one portrait, but at least a dozen of them. So she can be everywhere in the penthouse. I may have a few done in Florence for the Italian property. But we need some real New York style paintings of her for my penthouse in the meantime.”
“Wow,” marvels Margaret. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. I’ve got the artist coming over today to do preliminary sketches before we hop on a private jet. Lacy did tell you we’re going to Italy right?”
I can almost hear Margaret’s head bobble up and down happily.
“Oh she’ll just be so delighted. She’s always wanted to hit up Rome and Milan.”
I laugh.
“Well we’ll be going to my estate in the Tuscan countryside, but I’ll make sure we do some side trips too.”
Margaret chortles.
“My beautiful niece. I love her so much. She only deserves the best.”
That makes me stop as my heart pounds. Because I have to tell someone this incredible revelation.
“I-” my breath falls short. “Margaret. I- I love her too.”
I hear Margaret take in a short gulp of breath. She can feel my emotions even through the phone.
“Well you tell her that Howie. You tell her that during sunset at your villa over some beautiful red wine and ripe tomatoes. You tell her that because my beautiful girl deserves to know.”
“Will do,” I promise. “Absolutely.”
Margaret beams again.
“Bless you darling. Now have a good time. Toodle-oo!”
I hang up with a smile on my face, the phone dropping from my still fingers. Because this is it. I’ve said it aloud. I really do love Lacy, and the realization is mindblowing, yet also freeing. Before, I always thought love was about cages and being locked down. But now I know that truly loving someone is like soaring into the heavens with a bursting heart.
I walk down the hall, my mind filled with my beautiful girl. The walls are full of portraits of strangers but soon, they will be replaced with portraits of Lacy. There will be regal portraits, and there will be a couple of sexy ones for my private collection, on display only in our love room.
Because I had one of the extra bedrooms converted into, well, something special just for Lacy and me. It’s going to have every toy imaginable, plus a walk in shower and sauna for when we want water games. Like I said, every accommodation will be at our fingertips.
But when I don’t find Lacy in the bedroom or the bathroom, my brows draw into a frown. I see that the woman’s luggage set is neatly packed, except for one small bag. A small leather suitcase is flipped open, and I catch a glimpse of a new set of bright red lingerie. Garters and crotchless panties. Perfect. We’ll be having a good time in Italy.
Next, I look in the bathroom but she’s nowhere to be found. This leaves only one place. She’s in our special room. I just know it. Slowly, I walk down the hall and unlock the metal door. Pushing the heavy slab open, I enter into the darkened space. The couches inside are made of leopard print. There are silky black marble floors as Indian music plays over the speakers. On the ceiling is a mirror with purple flowing fabric coming down in sheets from a splendid chandelier. On the pink circular bed in the middle of the room is my princess.
I should have known. I got her a virtual truckload of sex toys the other day, and she hasn’t gotten a chance to try them yet. She’s wearing a little black teddy and her blond hair falls over her shoulders in rapture. She can hardly tell I’ve entered the room because my princess is in the middle of shoving a big glass dildo in and out of her hot slit. In her other hand, she holds a bulbous vibrator to her clit. Her back is propped up with pillows.
She’s in such a deep state of ecstasy that it’s a pity to disturb her. I walk closer and closer. I can smell her now. She’s leaking all over the pink satin. My little waterfall. She’s so hot and wet, my cock rises and threatens to pop the seam of my trousers. Oh, my little princess. Look at her writhing!
I’m standing over her now. She still doesn’t know. Her eyes are closed and she’s moaning. I see the glass dildo going in and out, fucking those hot pink folds. Oh no. Don’t come like this, not when I’m here. My dong is bigger than that dildo anyways. I unzip my pants and let my erection bulge outwards. The tip of my cock hits her knee and finally, she notices. She opens her eyes and smiles.
“My lover,” she breathes. “Just in time.”
With that, I’m lower my pants down quick.
“I need some of that pussy baby. Were you keeping it from me?”
“No Howie, you were on the phone and- AHH!!”
I thrust into her with all my might and take her tit in my mouth. I suck and suck, arching my back as I thrust. I remember the first time I dunked my huge cock in this little peach. It was amazing, and only gets better each time.
“How’s my slut?” I growl and tease her, going in a little and then a lot. I grab clumps of her hair and thump my cock into her sweet pussy. She opens her eyes and smiles. I’m hypnotized. She’s such a little whore, but right now, the woman’s way beyond that. There’s something in those eyes that has awakened the volcano of my soul. One look and I’m done for.
Suddenly, I’m coming inside of my perfect princess. I grab her thighs and launch my sperm deep inside. Then I collapse by her side and start to stroke her hair. She smiles like a little girl. I lower my hand to her pussy, wet and freshly waxed for our trip. Our perfect little mound. I pat her perfect clit and she mewls while craning her head for a kiss. I kiss her back like she’s the ultimate truth. We stick our tongues in each other’s mouths and find the secret grooves. She moans, drinking me in. She puts her hands inside my shirt and feels the granite slabs of my chest. She’s really pouring all of her love to me. I get so turned on by the way she needs me, by the way she aches, by the way all her little movements say, “I’m yours Howie, take me.”
I feel my cock rising up again. She flips over me and lowers herself down onto it. She lets the hard shaft enter her pussy once again.
“That’s perfect baby, unnnh,” she moans, tilting her head back. But then her eyes snap open and she smiles at me coyly. “You know, my pussy just doesn’t feel complete without you inside me.” She lowers herself to me and kisses my lips. God, her whole mouth fits in mine. Her hands fit in my hands. Her body is almost obscured by my huge chest and strong legs. But her ass, and her boobs, my god, they go on for days. I move her against me gently, lifting her up and down my cock.
“That’s it princess. Play on my cock. Make my cock your special toy.”
Lacy does it. She pulses up and down, letting out louder and louder moans until I’m about to come again just watching her pleasure.
“Oh baby, Oh, Howie! Howie!” She lets out a giant gush of cum and my whole crotch is drenched. I hold her back gently with my massive hands and spurt my seed deep inside her while she reels from her orgasm.
“That’s it baby, that’s it, take my come.” I hardly make a sound as I come for the second time. I just give it to my princess. She deserves my all.
But still, we have a trip to Italy planned, so reluctantly, I disengage, pulling my dong from her sweet folds.
“You ready?” I murmur, caressing her with my eyes. “The plane leaves in two hours.”
She leaps up.
“Absolutely,” she flushes. “Let me just clean myself up.”
The woman scurries off, and I follow minutes later. Now Lacy’s in the bathroom, brushing her hair. She’s changed out of her teddy and into something more business casual. An ivory pantsuit with golden buttons. She has a red scarf tied around her neck. She looks positively glamorous.
“So Lacy,” I say. “You know how I’ve always wanted to get a portrait done of you?”
“Well yes, I’ve heard you mention it.”
“That’s right. The portraits in this penthouse bore me. They’re all of people I don’t know who appear to be sixty, so I’m thinking of replacing them. With portraits of you, sweetheart.
”
She flushes.
“Really? But that would mean at last twenty paintings!”
I laugh.
“Well, we don’t have to put all twenty up at once. But maybe one or two, so people can see how beautiful you are.”
She flushes.
“I’d like that,” Lacy murmurs, biting her lip. “Also, I forgot to mention. With all this seed in me, there may be a baby growing in me soon.”
The idea sends a shockwave through my body. There was no reason for me to feel like Lacy was anything less than mine, but implanting my seed in her womb would seal the deal. She would be no one else’s. My cock started to rise for a third time that morning just imagining her growing round with my children. Oh shit, it was absolutely right, and suddenly, I wanted it so bad.
But I didn’t want to scare the female, so instead, I changed the subject back to our original topic once more.
“Anyways, Lacy, my little princess. Before we head out, I’m going to have you meet with the portrait painter. They’re going to be doing about twenty different portraits of you, so this is just a preliminary sketch to inform all the others. And yes, what you’re wearing is fine.”
“Who’s the artist?” Lacy applies bee pollen cream to her face and lines her eyes with expensive liquid liner. She’s gotten used to luxury, and it looks good on her.
“Oh, I don’t know. Somebody Edwin found. He’ll escort you to the studio on the third floor after you’re ready.”
“Well sure, I mean, what a special experience!”
“You’re just so beautiful baby. I want you all over this place. Every goddamn wall. And we’re even going to get a couple sexy portraits for our special room.”
“The Jungle Room,” she murmurs coyly.
“What?”
“Let’s call it the Jungle Room. Just like Elvis Presley had in his house. I loved Elvis as a little girl, those blue eyes, that dark, sexy hair…”
I pounce on my princess.
“As long as the only other man that comes to your mind is a dead old rock star, we can call it The Jungle Room. Whatever you wish, sweetheart.”
She smiles, and my heart turns over.
“Thank you, Howie. And I promise, there’s only you in my life.”
The words are so sweet that I feel like I’ve entered into a fairy tale. Before, Lacy thought she was Cinderella ensconced in a dream that could disappear at any second. But instead, maybe I’m the one who’s lost. Maybe Prince Charming deserves a fairy tale of his own … because I’ve fallen head of heels in love with the blonde, and I need her to know.
CHAPTER 9
LACY
I meet Edwin in the hallway. It’s a little weird how I went from being below him on the career ladder to this. Now he calls me Miss Brewster and bows to me whenever I enter or exit a room. And as expected, he bows as I walk up to him.
“Edwin, gosh. You don’t have to bow to me.”
“Well, I do, my dear. You are technically my superior now.”
“But I’m not really! Really, I’m not.”
I love Edwin. I’m sure he’s as gay as the tooth fairy. He even gets manicures down the block from Howie’s place. He’s always clean and smells like peppermint aftershave.
“Whatever you say, Miss Brewster. Has the master found out that you’re not twenty-one yet?” he says.
“Yes, he has. I don’t think Mr. Bates minds at all how young I am.”
“Still, it’s always better to stick to Shirley Temples. This city can drive a lady to drink!”
I laugh.
“Well, New York has been good to me lately. Let’s hope my luck holds out.”
Edwin beams.
“Of course, my dear girl. You look impeccable, might I add? Like a blond Sophia Loren. It’s every small town girl’s dream to come upon a life like this, and you are perfect for the part.”
I smile but it’s tremulous. Why did he say I was playing a part? Have other women inhabited this role before?
But I shake my head, determined not to let the words get to me. Edwin is an elderly man, and I’m just reading into things when actually, there’s nothing there.
We walk to the private elevator within Howie’s penthouse. Before, I didn’t even know people had private elevators. Such is the luxury that Mr. Bates has introduced me to.
I press the ivory up button before Edwin has a chance. Sometimes, I like pushing the buttons myself and pretending I’m still a lowly maid pining after my boss. Edwin scowls at me.
“It’s my job to take care of you now,” he admonishes as we step into the elevator.
“Edwin, I don’t have any reason to doubt it- but- well, promise you won’t say anything?” I look the butler deep in the eyes.
“What is it Lacy? Your secret is safe with me.”
“It’s just that, well … um, do you think that Howie really, really loves me?”
“Oh, Angel.” Edwin hugs me as the elevator slowly moves downwards. “You know, in all my years of working for Mr. Bates, never once have I seen him bring a woman into such close quarters. Never once have I seen that look in his eye, the melting softness of his heart. It’s never happened before, my dear. You are the only one that has broken through the Howie force field, so yes, I’d say he loves you. If he hasn’t told you of his feelings with all these gifts and treats and trips, well, he will soon. He will. Now, step this way please.”
Edwin steps out of the elevator and leads me out onto the third floor. How strange. I’ve been staying in Howie’s penthouse for a month and yet I’ve never been to this part of it. Not even to clean when I was a maid, this place is so huge. I would get lost in here if it wasn’t for Edwin.
“Have you ever posed for an artist before?” the butler asks kindly.
I shake my head as he laughs.
“You’ll be wonderful, darling. Just choose a pose you can hold for a while. That’s my only advice.”
I giggle as well.
“So, who’s the artist anyway?”
“Oh, he’s someone ….”
“He?” I interrupt, stupefied. I can’t believe Howie would actually let me enter a private room with another man. My alpha is so possessive and I love it.
“Yes, he. He’s somebody I found off of the Veteran’s Artist Collective website. It’s a good cause that helps vets get work as artists in the city. Besides, this particular vet had a very good portfolio. I was incredibly impressed, and to be honest, he’s a lot better than most of the painters showing in the Chelsea galleries. So I made an executive decision and called him. He was happy to come by. He’s a great emerging talent Lacy. Just be careful, okay? Some of these guys have a lot of trauma. Anything can arouse old feelings and bring back memories of combat.”
Still, I was puzzled. Something didn’t seem kosher.
“So Mr. Bates doesn’t know that the artist is a man?” I asked slowly.
Edwin stops at the door to what must be the studio.
“Well gosh, I guess not. Mr. Bates was so busy that I just didn’t have time to tell him. Besides, many of the great artists are men, so why does it matter? Michelangelo, Rembrandt, and Vermeer were all men, and they did perfectly lovely work. Anyways, go on in. The artist is waiting for you already.”
I pause again.
“You’re not going in with me?”
“No need. I don’t want to disturb the perfect energy between the artist and muse. Please proceed.”
Edwin walks away down the hall, his back retreating slowly. I don’t know what it is, but I have a sinking feeling in my gut. I don’t know what’s behind this door, but part of me wants to scamper back to the elevator and find Howie. Part of me wants to seek the comfort of my lover’s arms.
But that can’t happen. Besides, I’m acting crazy. What’s so bad about getting your portrait done? So I tell myself that this is what Mr. Bates wants. He wants my portrait painted twenty times over. He wants to see me all over his penthouse. Plus, this is for a good cause. The Veteran Artist’s Collective
is the kind of organization Howie and his Princess should support.
Taking a deep breath, I push the door open and enter a giant room, full of drawing tables and Greek columns on the walls. There is a man in the center with his back towards me. He doesn’t move a muscle when the door screeches against the cold marble of the studio floor. My white outfit matches the room perfectly. I walk over to the painter. My heels sound dreadfully loud on the polished floor.
But it turns out that my Spidey sense was right on point because when the artist turns his head, I almost drop dead.
It’s Charlie. My ex-boyfriend. The one who convinced me I had to get all dolled-up and act slutty for men to like me. The one who played video games while I looked for work to support us both.
I should have guessed. In my heart of hearts, I knew as soon as Edwin mentioned the veteran’s collective. Because not only was Charlie a veteran, but the last time I saw him, he’d taken up watercolors. All those times he said we were going to be together, when he watched TV and slugged beer, he’d had a sketchpad on his lap. Near the end of our relationship, he’d bought a cheap watercolor set from the children’s section of the toy store. Now he was a full blown commissioned portrait artist? What were the chances?
To his credit, Charlie’s almost as surprised to see me as I am him.
“L-L-Lacy?” he stammers awkwardly. He drops his graphite pencil, eyes opening wide.