Gretel's Game

by King Key

  “Oh, it’s you,” Jessica complained. “Cleverness doesn’t become you. You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “You mean he’s not Mr. Leckie?”

  Rich emerged from his office before the tiff could escalate into a brawl. Gretel lowered her sunglasses enough to gaze into Rich’s eyes. Her green eyes brought a smile to his face. “It’s OK, Jessica. I’ll be in my office with Ms.—”

  Gretel put her finger to her lips.

  “With Ms. Bag Lady,” Rich smiled. His flexing finger beckoned Gretel.

  “Mr. Leckie…” Jessica tried to warn Rich.

  As if reading her thoughts, he said, “I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.” He headed back to his office with big, confident strides.

  Jessica shook her head in dismay and frowned reproachfully at Gretel.

  Rich closed his office door behind them. And Gretel pushed the button to lock it.

  He raised his eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?”

  “A small party.” She deposited her shopping bag on the floor, peeled off her overcoat, and tossed her coat beside the bag. “We’ll really celebrate later this afternoon. At the hotel.” Gretel took off her wig and sunglasses and put them in the shopping bag.

  “Now you’re truly elegant,” he said. “Incredibly sensual. Nevertheless,” he grinned, hugging her waist, “you’re still my backstreet girl.”

  She gritted her teeth behind her smile. “Casper’s, too.” She put her arms around his neck. “He prefers this backstreet girl to his hardest working business brokers. He just fired Kurt.”

  Rich kissed her passionately. “You splendid bitch! You told me Casper would dismiss Kurt. How did you do it?” He walked over to his desk.

  She picked up her shopping bag and followed. “Not me,” she protested innocently. “Sidney.” Her hands moved down to his waist. She unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his waistband, and zipped his pants down. “I’m just the messenger. Maybe Sidney is blackmailing Casper.” She pushed Rich’s pants and boxers down to his thighs.

  “What’s your hurry?” His mouth twitched.

  Gretel knew Rich worried about his ability to perform. In fact, she knew more about Rich than he could imagine. But she’d save that embarrassing tidbit about his fickle penis for later. Perhaps she’d entice him to the threshold of delight and embarrass him as a means of denying him at the critical moment. “No hurry,” she smiled. She opened her shopping bag and took out her gloves.

  “Another touch of class.” He watched her sensually don her gloves.

  “Bend over your desk.”

  “Gretel!”

  She grabbed his shoulders, spun him around—he didn’t resist—and pushed down on his neck. Once he was in position, she took a jar of Vaseline from her shopping bag and greased her gloves.

  “What are you—Unh!”

  She rammed her gloved middle three fingers of her left hand into his anus.

  Despite the lubrication, Rich felt sharp pain—and an instant, huge erection. Almost as soon as his cock popped up, Gretel’s right hand grabbed it. She formed a circle with her thumb and middle finger to regulate the tightness of her strokes. She began tentatively, teasing his cock, while her left hand pushed rudely and insistently in and out of his ass. She stroked rhythmically with her right hand to increase the tempo, coaxing his body into complying with the dictates of her hands. She stopped.

  “Keep going! Please!” Frustration drenched his voice.

  “Call your self-righteous bimbo and tell her to print out the contact sheet for your board of directors. She can put it in the receptionist’s ‘Out’ box.”

  “Gretel, you know I can’t do that. And she’s not—”

  “I’ll call her in here myself.” Gretel held Rich captive with her strategically placed hands and said, in a normal voice, “Jessica.”

  “She’ll hear you!” Rich complained.

  “Very perceptive. Shall I raise my voice?”

  “Don’t you dare!” Rich buzzed Jessica’s office on the intercom.

  “Yes, Mr. Leckie?”

  “Jessica, could you do me a favor?”

  “Are you OK, Mr. Leckie? Your voice sounds funny. Can I help you?”

  “No!” Realizing he raised his voice, he tried to regain his composure. “Really, I’m fine, thank you. I need a list of our board of directors.” Rich realized how absurd his request sounded. Why couldn’t he simply print the list himself?

  Gretel must have read his mind. She pointed to his computer with her left index finger and made a circling motion at her temple with her right index finger.

  “My computer is acting crazy,” Rich said. “I need the contact list. You know, with their names, business addresses, and e-mail addresses.”

  “I’ll bring it to you.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself. Please, just leave the list in the receptionist’s ‘Out’ box.”

  “I’ll print you a dozen copies,” she said. “You always say to go that extra mile.” Her volunteer perkiness usually inspired Rich but now irritated him.

  “Carry on,” he said, repeating a line from a forgettable movie that Jessica liked. He punched the button to end the call.

  While Rich talked on the phone, Gretel prepared a surprise.

  “What’s that smell?” Rich asked. “Unh!” Gretel rammed him again. In addition to the pain, Rich felt a tingly sensation.

  “Ben Gay.” Gretel’s guttural laugh stung as much as the ointment. “Spread ’em and relax. You’ve got nothing to lose.” Her hands lost their finesse, following the most direct course to make him shoot off.

  Gretel played Rich’s cock with cynical precision, and the hot sensation of the cream on her gloves overstimulated his cock and anus. Abruptly Rich ejaculated on the side of his desk, with occasional shots of jism squirting across the desktop. He felt like an animal forced to perform for a sadistic audience of one: Gretel. Hunched over his desk, gasping for breath, he asked, “Are you totally depraved?”

  “If I’m your backstreet girl, you’re my backdoor man.”

  “Don’t ever do that again! And why didn’t you just ask me to print the list?”

  “Silly boy! Then no one else would know you’re giving away BizMart secrets.”

  “You calculating bitch! I’ll get you for this!”

  “Absolutely. I’ll let you in the backdoor this afternoon. Meet me in the lobby at the hotel. At five.”

  “You’re insane! Why should I see you after what you did to me?” He turned with outrage on his face.

  “Don’t be coy. You loved every minute of it. Or should I say, every inch? Join me around five, or I’ll tell Casper you gave me the contact list for your board of directors.”

  “I don’t think so!” Rich lurched toward Gretel but almost fell because his pants were around his thighs. He bent down to pull his pants back up.

  While Rich’s guard was down, Gretel slapped his face with her left hand—still wearing the glove she had shoved up his anus. He reached up to rub the foul stench off his face. Gretel stooped, pulled his pants down to his ankles, and pushed him backward. Unable to regain his balance with his ankles tangled in his pants, Rich fell ingloriously on his butt. Grabbing her tweed coat and shopping bag, Gretel ran to the receptionist’s desk in the hallway of the suite of offices. Jessica rushed out of her office. “What have you done this time?” she demanded. Without waiting for an answer, she ran to Rich’s office.

  With an insolent, victorious grin, Gretel announced, “He’s all yours.”

  At Rich’s door, Jessica shot back, “You’ve gone too far!”

  “I satisfied him! In a way that you’re too finicky to handle.” Gretel silently reprimanded herself. She didn’t have time for anger or jealousy.

  The sound of Jessica’s voice diminished while she headed into Rich’s office. “Are you all right?” Then her explosive laugh reverberated throughout the suite. “Oh, Mr. Leckie! Look at you. I wish I had a camera!”

  “Think this is funny, huh? You’r
e fired. I’ll get Mr. Waverly to make it official.”

  I’ve already made Jessica’s firing official with Casper, Gretel thought exultantly, gloating at her triumph over both Jessica and Rich. Running into Jessica’s office, she peeled off her gloves and deposited them in the center of Jessica’s desk. She rushed back to the receptionist’s desk and put her wig, sunglasses, and coat back on. Stuffing all twelve copies of the board of directors contact list into her shopping bag, she slinked down the hall and into a stairwell before anyone spotted her. Pausing on a landing, she pulled out her cell phone, flipped it open, and made a call.

  Without preamble, she told Bruiser, “Pick me up where you let me out. I just invited someone to join us at the hotel. If he doesn’t, his ass will be in a sling.”

  “How about if I put his ass in a sling?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Gretel paused. “Actually, Bruiser, that sounds like a plan. But don’t beat him up. Just intimidate him. Your parole, you know. When you pick me up, I’ll outline exactly what you must do. Follow my orders, and I’ll be very nice to you.”

  “You gonna give me some?” he asked bluntly.

  Gretel strung him along. “We’ll talk about that on our way back to Chimera.”

  “I knew it was too good to be true.” Bruiser realized when Gretel said, “Maybe,” she meant “No.” (And “No” meant “Hell no!”)

  “Quitters never win,” she chided him. Her voice turned husky. “Short answer: I’m not going to give you some. Long answer: If you obey me explicitly, bust your hump, and give me the results I demand, maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to earn some.”

  Gretel hung up.

  If Bruiser delivered for her, she’d con somebody else to get in the sack with him. Maybe Jessica. Gretel considered her own tail too precious to share with Bruiser.

  Chapter Six

  Favorite Fetishes

  Kurt shot his classic red Corvette through Baltimore’s busy traffic, refusing to concede a single mile per hour to the streets lined on either side with cars parked in front of row houses. He used his horn in lieu of brakes when something or someone popped into his path.

  When he got to Dr. Lila Krafft’s street, blessed with a tree-lined median, he expertly parallel parked his Vette in the first available space. He suspected that the attractive neighborhood was dotted with home offices, like Lila’s.

  Dr. Krafft greeted him at the door. She stood nearly as tall as he and exuded elegance. But her nearly violet eyes, black hair, and white skin gave her an air of cold beauty. She looked a few years older than he, perhaps forty. Small touches of gray reinforced the air of wisdom already conveyed by her serious facial expression.

  “Kurt Merchant,” he extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Krafft.”

  She took his hand in a firm, measured grip. “I’ve been expecting you, Mr. Merchant.” She looked into his eyes, more with the precision of a surgical incision than a warm glance. “Please follow me. My receptionist has the afternoon off.”

  “Friday fever hits many receptionists. Nice of you to see me on such short notice.”

  She turned to face him. “Likewise.” In contrast with her sage, aloof bearing, Dr. Krafft’s slight smile seemed like a warm ray of sunshine.

  Following her into her darkened office, Kurt thought, I shouldn’t complain. This visit is inconvenient for me. For her, seeing a reluctant patient must be hell. She and I are in this situation against our wills. It’s Us against Them. She’s not the enemy.

  Shelves of thick books lined Dr. Krafft’s office, just as Kurt had envisioned. Spotting a couch, he said nervously, “So, that’s where I lie down and spill my guts.”

  “Sounds painful,” she smiled indulgently. “I hope you’ll be as comfortable as you can. Lie down if that suits you. Or sit up. Do whatever comes naturally.”

  “There’s nothing natural about this process.” Suddenly Kurt felt very tired. He reclined on the couch. Wrestling with the Waverly-Leckie tag team had drained his psychic energy.

  “Relax,” she said softly. “No style points for being a tough guy.”

  “Why don’t I just take a nap? That’s what I need.”

  “Hypnosis will benefit you more than a nap.”

  “Here we go! Just like in the movies. You’ll dangle this watch in front of my face and tell me I’m getting sleepy.”

  “As a matter of fact, winding down to the point of sleepiness will benefit you, but you can help me if you stay awake. Let your burdens float away and vanish in the air. I’ll assist you in going at your own pace. Please let me help you. The first step is to trust me.”

  “Sorry, Dr. Krafft.” Kurt sat up. “It’s hard to trust anybody. Oh, I knew Rich Leckie was devious. But I thought Casper Waverly was my friend, not just my boss. Casper betrayed me. I think Rich knifed me in the back. And someone else—or two other people—helped. Maybe I could accept my fate if I knew why I got fired.” His eyes were adjusting to the darkness.

  “Stuff happens,” she smiled. Her powerful eyes peered into his with a glint of warmth. But even when Dr. Krafft tried to portray the gorgeous, refined analyst who could reach out to the “common man,” she couldn’t bring herself to say “shit.”

  He put his head down. “Your voice is soothing. Slight lisp. Where’s your medical license and all that jazz?”

  She stood and walked to her desk. Taking a key from a pocket in her dress, she opened the middle drawer, pulled out her framed MD certification, and held it up. “People who bombard their visitors with trophies seem a bit unsure of themselves. Would you like to see the rest of my credentials?”

  “No, I trust you. Let’s do the hypnosis thing.”

  “First let me put you at ease.” Dr. Krafft talked Kurt through the process of tensing, then releasing, his muscles from head to toe and back again. “Let go of all of those bad vibrations,” she encouraged him.

  “So peaceful.” He sounded subdued. “Thanks.”

  “You’ll feel a wonderful change if you let it come to you. Imagine yourself in the place that makes you feel the best.” Noticing a devilish smile crossing his face, she admonished gently. “Not that, penis brain.” His smile broadened. “Think of sunning at the beach,” she continued, “or wherever your surroundings soothe you and put you at ease. You choose. Then put yourself in that place.”

  “Hot tub.”

  “Excellent choice, Kurt. I find hot tubs very relaxing. Listen to my voice. That lispy sound you like will be the hot tub, bathing you in warmth, soothing your muscles. My word-pictures will be jets of water, constantly refreshing you.”

  Watching Kurt close his eyes and breathe heavily, Dr. Krafft continued, “Your problems are far away where they can’t reach you. You are safe. Clear your mind. Let yourself go. I am your guide. I have your well-being at heart. Even if I tried to challenge your personal values, your conscience would prevent me from taking you anywhere that disturbs you. Are you with me?”

  Kurt smiled and nodded.

  Dr. Krafft lowered the pitch and volume of her voice and spoke more slowly. “Your mind is floating down, as softly as a cloud, from full consciousness to an alpha state, relaxed but completely comprehending. Visualize your soft, peaceful landing while I count backward from ten to one. When I reach one, you’ll be completely in a state of hypnosis. After I bring you back to full consciousness, you’ll be completely rested, more than if you had a full night’s sleep. But you will remember nothing from this session.”

  Dr. Krafft counted Kurt down to tranquility. His rapid adaptation to hypnosis pleased her immensely. From Casper’s remarks, Dr. Krafft thought Kurt might resist, if not actually rebel against, therapy. She felt a bond with Kurt during this, her favorite phase, when a testosterone-charged male actually became docile enough for her to help him. Beyond this quiet interlude, however, her therapy radically diverged from conventional practices.

  She began, without preamble, “Many men experience frustrations in their love lives and careers. I would like to concentr
ate, first, on your love life. Is that all right?”

  Kurt nodded his approval. “Sex life. Don’t have a love life right now.”

  “Love will come when you are ready,” Dr. Krafft reassured him. “A psychiatrist named Theodor Reik said men find love through sex, and women find sex through love. Do you feel frustrated in your sex life? Is anything missing?”

  “I have abnormal sex urges.”

  “If they’re normal for you, they’re normal,” Dr. Krafft assured him. “I believe, and perhaps you believe, too, that the important concept is ‘consenting adults.’ Nothing against either partner’s will, and nothing involving children.”

  He nodded to show that he agreed.

  “Then you should find someone who shares your sexual interests. Or at least someone who will indulge you in your sexual wishes. What sort of desires do you have?”

  “Women in sexy clothes.”

  “Before sex? Or during sex?”

  “Both.”

  Dr. Krafft picked up a notebook and pen. She leaned closer to Kurt. “Imagine you’re face-to-face with the woman of your dreams. What does she look like?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “My intentions. Romance: she’s a brunette, tall and graceful. Like you. I mean…”

  “I’m flattered, but you’re relating to my looks—not to me, since you don’t know me. You look uncomfortable. Let’s shift away from your romantic interest. Describe your ideal woman if you’re interested in sex.”

  “Blonde. Stacked. Impudent face. Like she’s daring me to fuck her.”

  Dr. Krafft started taking notes and continued writing throughout Kurt’s hypnosis. “What is she wearing?”

  “Are we in a chat room?” He smiled. “Bad joke. Shiny black dress. Pearls—she’s rich. Shiny gloves—she has class. Or she’s a thief. Doesn’t want to leave fingerprints.”

  “Interesting. What’s her dress made of?”

  “Wet look, silk, or satin—they’re all sexy. Feel good to the touch. Vinyl looks fabulous, but too stiff. Soft leather looks good and feels good. But latex tops the rest. Looks great, feels great. And the dress has to be so tight you can see the woman’s tits and ass. Even if her belly sticks out a little, that can be sexy.”