by King Key
Kurt felt Gretel irresistibly coaxing him under her domination, feeding him nibbles of addictive stimulation with her body, luring and manipulating him into becoming her tool for her gain and his sacrifice. The tender sanity they shared in bed at Jessica’s house, moments after their frantic explosion of ecstasy, was a dream-like memory, far removed from the zenith of sex inseparably commingled with Kurt’s humble servitude to Gretel, his risk-taking intricately braided with her reward, their mutual sexual climax, founded on his confession of Gretel as his undisputed superior. Trapped in the bind of submitting to self-destruction to achieve the best sex he would ever have, Kurt gripped Gretel’s waist tightly and started humping her ass, eking out elusive stimulation to the head of his cock through the barrier of their clothing, letting her know that she could subjugate his will completely to hers by baiting him with the merest hint of pleasure.
Gretel spun out of his grip, turned around, and grabbed his cock, bunching the material of his pants around his throbbing member in the process. She throttled up and down on his cock, turning him into her mindless puppet. Building a rhythm that would peak in his inevitable climax, she stopped pumping abruptly. Gretel embraced Kurt’s head and pulled him to her, mashing her mouth into his, teasing him with her tongue, and then backpedaling toward the wall portrait, leading Kurt along with her.
Maddening frustration surged through Kurt when Gretel stopped masturbating him, and self-loathing that he’d crave this poor substitute sensation when Gretel could at least put her hand on his naked cock. Then delirious joy coursed through him when Gretel kissed him aggressively. He had to have her so badly that he willingly surrendered to any terms she dictated for being close to her. When she enticed his flesh, she imprisoned his spirit. Psychologically, he plunged wherever she wanted him.
Gretel turned the wall portrait forty-five degrees. Taking a card from her pocketbook, Gretel whispered, “I’ll read the combination to you. Open the safe.”
Her words—her order, her command, her decree, and every other term meaning Gretel directed and Kurt obeyed—flitted from Kurt’s mind to his hand in a nanosecond. His thumb and middle finger caressed the knob of the safe before Gretel read the first number. The last number barely left her mouth before Kurt opened the safe.
Gretel reached inside with her gloved hand and took out the card-stock sheet that listed the serial numbers of the bills. Quickly unlocking her briefcase, she slid the list into a compartment and zipped it shut before Kurt could get a good look at it. Then she opened the briefcase at the middle and pried open the false bottom. She pointed imperiously, but wordlessly, to the briefcase with her sexy gloved hand.
Kurt grabbed stacks of money from the safe and lined them neatly in the hidden compartment. When it was full, Gretel sealed it back before closing and locking the briefcase. She opened her pocketbook, and Kurt stashed as much money as he could inside the patent leather accessory. When Gretel lifted the hem of her dress to expose her garterbelt and stocking-clad thighs, Kurt knew his duty, but he rebelled. Gretel’s latex garterbelt even outshone her dress. Instead of cramming money in her garterbelt, Kurt felt inspired to cram something else there.
Gretel smirked at Kurt and took a condom from her pocketbook. She let him unwrap it before she slid the latex tube over his cock. Bending at the knees, he thrust upward and squeezed into her nest. He stroked her two or three more times, hard and deep, before the full impact of her delighted surprise sank into her as fully as Kurt’s cock. Wrapping her arms around Kurt’s neck and holding tight for support, Gretel acrobatically curled her right leg around his waist, pressed her pussy tightly around his cock to maintain contact, and completed her scissors hold on Kurt with her left leg.
Bracing his legs apart for support, Kurt held Gretel by her hips and moved her body up and down on his cock. She smiled with utter bliss, oblivious to any notion of degrading and arousing Kurt with her superior air. Gretel basked in utter contentment by soaking up all of the physical stimulation Kurt eagerly pumped into her. She thrust herself into the delights of this new sensation for several minutes before deciding that holding onto Kurt with her arms and legs detracted too much from where she wanted to exert most of her energy. “Lie on the floor,” she told him.
Kurt enthusiastically complied. With Gretel on top, he could indulge his kinky obsession of fucking her with her dress on—and, most important—drinking in all the details of her glisten-enhanced body while he made love to her. Watching Gretel ride him provided the extra jolt that made her physical, vaginal stimulation transcend sexual gratification, soaring past the stratosphere into ethereal, reckless, mind-blowing delirium.
Gretel quickly found the angle she needed to move up and down to maximize the friction of Kurt’s cock against her clitoris, and he diligently maintained the continuity of direction in his thrusts to stroke her with optimum contact.
Looking up into Gretel’s face, watching her blonde bob fan out and reconvene, studying the serenity etched across her face while she clamped her eyes shut tightly and held her mouth open in arousal, Kurt experienced the most powerful blend of emotions he had ever enjoyed in this life: the surge of lust, the excitement of Gretel’s beauty, the anticipation of his approaching climax, but most of all, the contentment of figuratively and literally being under Gretel.
Gretel seized complete control of both of their wild passions. Tightening her vaginal muscles with uncanny timing that matched Kurt’s inner clock, as well as her own, Gretel managed to maintain the fleshy friction against her clitoris and ignite Kurt into a simultaneous climax with her. She opened her eyes briefly to look at Kurt, and the docile, obedient expression on his face triggered her into another orgasm.
When Kurt looked into Gretel’s triumphant face, framed by golden hair and highlighted by emerald eyes, in the dim recesses of his mind he knew she was leading him on a path of self-destruction. But he’d rather have Gretel destroy him than to have any other woman he had ever known nurture him.
They stood up. With total disregard for sanitation or manners, Kurt pocketed his condom and walked back to the safe. Snatching several thousand more dollars, he returned to Gretel and knelt before her. He lifted the hem of her dress and began cramming money into her garterbelt and the rims of her stockings.
Watching Kurt on his knees, enriching her ego and her personal assets, Gretel felt an impulse to push his face into her vagina for a quickie. But she knew she had to ration her favors to ensure that Kurt knew he had to earn her unique treats. When she estimated she could still walk with all of the money under her dress, Gretel said, “You keep some.”
Kurt stuffed a stack of bills into his inside coat pocket. After he closed the safe, he and Gretel left Casper’s office and passed the guard without incident. Gretel felt cheated of an opportunity to display her shrewdness. She wanted to fool the guard with the false bottom in her briefcase, and bless him out, in righteous indignation, for daring to suggest searching the sacrosanct realm of a lady’s pocketbook.
Safely ensconced in Gretel’s Mercedes, Kurt said, “Thank you for giving me some of the money. But bless you even more for giving me some!”
“That’s what this was all about,” Gretel smiled. “I’ll take you back to your place. We’ll play tease and denial for a few hours. If you obey my intricate commands without, shall we say, ‘leaking,’ I’ll give you a special treat. Then I’ll be on my way. And we’ll see what happens tomorrow.”
“In the words of the Bangles,” Kurt grinned, “just another manic Monday.”
Gretel leaned close, determined to cripple his resistance and paralyze his will—in the process, arousing herself to a sexual frenzy when she whispered in his ear, “I know all about your dirty laundry, Kurt, and I’m here to take you to the cleaners.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Game-Changer
Back at Kurt’s house, Gretel ran him through several classic tease and denial drills: demanding that he give his cock one hundred strokes without cumming, cajoling him to jerk fas
ter and faster before stopping abruptly, tantalizing and tormenting him with the adroit manipulations of her gloved hand, and inevitably coaxing enough cum out of his cock to deny his full release until some later, arbitrary time, completely at her discretion, to punish him with the denial of a real climax and taunt him for losing control.
She relished his visible struggles with being cheated, and his frustration excited her. But she, too, longed for that optimum zest she usually achieved by drawing out her artistic tease to its full extension, making her victim’s torture last and last, raising his hopes to graduating peaks, only to dash them repeatedly until the final ego-crushing denial. She longed for the drama of stringing Kurt along, all through the night, ultimately denying him while she brought herself to repeated orgasms.
But she was too exhausted and preoccupied with her next moves in Gretel’s Game.
Nevertheless, she complimented Kurt on a good effort and gave him the special delight she’d promised. Hiking up her dress, she took the money from her garterbelt and stockings, put it in her pocketbook, and removed her garterbelt.
“Seeing you loaded with money is very sexy,” he said.
“You may lick me,” she said, “as long as you don’t play with yourself.” She turned her back to him. “Do what I tell you, and I’ll reward you.” She waited until his tongue was inside her before she laughed and added, “Someday.”
Fortunately for Kurt, Gretel remained so aroused from stimulating and rejecting him that she quickly manipulated herself in a rapid succession of climaxes. She wanted to stay the night with him, knowing how desperately he needed her. Having him at her mercy comforted her in a twisted way.
Instead of relenting, however, she warned him, “Don’t touch yourself without my permission. I require sex on demand—and I can tell when you’ve drained the reservoir.”
“Please don’t go.” He openly begged.
“I want you to appreciate to the fullest extent what you are missing,” she explained candidly, “and then your desire for me will consume you the next time we meet.”
On her way out, she was already planning how to overcome Lila’s efforts to thwart her financial coup d’état and keep Kurt on her short leash—and out of jail. Her afterglow of victory still lingered when she fell on her bed, exhausted, and let sleep overcome her.
She awoke before sunrise, sensing events would rush toward her with accelerating velocity. After showering thoroughly, she dabbed on the odd-scented perfume that drove Kurt wild, and wiggled into her figure-hugging gold dress, her new favorite-weapon for seduction. Gretel intended to ravish her lawyer, Judas Cheatham—who discouraged the use of his first name for obvious reasons—to seize controlling interest in BizMart.
As matters turned out, her voluptuous sartorial gilding, and the way she filled it out, packaged Gretel as a sacrifice to be ravished by an erotic force even greater than hers. Gretel would offer herself as a rare altruistic gift to benefit someone else, one of her vanquished foes, and this bit of serendipity would cleanse her with submission.
Gretel’s Game was about to change forever.
Daylight was breaking when her cell phone rang. Receiving a call at such an ungodly hour seemed a barometer of the winds of change.
“Yes?” Her voice sounded cross, even to her.
“Sorry to bother you Ms. Fox. I’m Florence Barton, Judd Workman’s nurse. He’s in pain and has asked to see you again before…”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Gretel reached Johns Hopkins in ten, although Baltimore traffic was already heavy.
Judd was alert but obviously suffering when Gretel rushed into his room.
“I know how to pump some life back into you!” She advanced toward his crotch.
Judd smiled wanly. “See my lawyer. Sign papers. All yours.” He stopped for breath.
Nurse Barton explained, “Mr. Workman wants to sign over his possessions to you.”
After her manic zeal to bring Judd down as a “corporate person,” an intriguing business fiction, and devour his financial remains, Gretel felt her appetite wane at the frailty of Judd’s tangible flesh. Her triumph over a cancer victim would be hollow.
“Keep battling,” she said. “After you get well, I’ll clean your clock in a fair fight.”
Nurse Barton lowered her head.
“You won, Honey,” Judd smiled. “I’m done. What a way to go!”
Gretel turned toward the door to shield her welling tears from Judd’s view. A dark-haired man with graying temples stood at the entrance. Wearing a lab coat, he held Judd’s medical charts on a clipboard.
Gretel strode over to him. “Gretel Fox,” she reached out. “Are you Judd’s doctor?”
He shook her hand, then his head. “I am Jonas Bernard, a consulting physician specializing in oncology research and surgery. Mr. Workman’s attending physician called me in for my diagnosis.” He interlaced his fingers. “And my prognosis.”
“And what is your prognosis?”
Dr. Bernard inhaled sharply. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”
“I’ve known Mr. Workman for years,” Gretel said, blithely ignoring that Judd had been one of her mortal enemies until Friday night. “What can I do?”
“I admire your attitude.” He looked down but continued speaking. “We must map out his malignancies—he has several—and the repercussions of surgery on other organs. Conduct the surgery. Chemotherapy. Rehabilitation. Hospital care, prescriptions, home health care…”
Gretel blurted out, to her own surprise, “Money is no object. I’ll pay.”
“We’re talking about two or three million dollars.”
Gretel swallowed hard. “I’ll find a way.” Her conscious mind fumbled with her reasons, but her intuition sorted them out. Instinctively, she knew Judd was a good person and a shrewd businessman, providing a rich friendship she overlooked in her hasty greed. He was indispensable to her as a sounding board, despite his self-destructive gambling habits. She would rein him in tightly and make him obey her for his own good.
And, despite Judd’s gruff exterior, he would find Gretel’s iron fist comforting.
Judd also mentored Kurt, although both men would deny such a touchy-feely bond. Kurt would be crushed if he lost Judd. Gretel yearned to believe she was all Kurt needed, but Judd was part and parcel of Kurt’s identity and, perhaps, his being.
“Without being too crass,” Dr. Bernard nearly whispered, “How do you plan to…?”
How, indeed? The full impact hit Gretel. “Let me check my purse for loose change.” She flashed her pearliest smile but wilted before the doctor’s stern expression. “I didn’t mean to sound flippant. I’ll sign the necessary hospital forms. I’ll commit to pay all costs. It will take time.”
“Of course,” he smiled, turning sheepish. “Mr. Workman’s health is our utmost concern, but the medical center cannot swallow expenses of that magnitude.”
Gretel said evenly, “In effect, other patients end up paying the costs for uninsured patients. They’d be furious if they knew.”
Dr. Bernard looked at his watch. “You’re listed as the responsible person for Mr. Workman’s care. Our financial department will call you tomorrow.”
Nurse Barton hovered nearby and took Judd’s charts from the doctor.
“Thank you,” Gretel said.
“No,” he said, shaking her hand again, “thank you!” And he was gone.
Gretel returned to a quiet corner of the waiting room and dialed Honey Bates on her cell phone. “Mom, I’m in deep yogurt. Know where I can borrow three million? Maybe your friend, Roman Candle, the bank executive.”
Honey laughed. “Catherine Roman is not an executive; she is the CEO of Savings and Trust Bank.”
“How gauche of me to speak lightly of royalty.”
“Gretel, don’t take her lightly. Remember that snake-in-the-grass who framed me for murder? Mrs. Roman cleared me. So, I owe her, big time. Besides, she’s not the kind of woman you want to
cross.”
“You’re just saying that because you have a crush on her.”
Silence.
“Seriously?” Gretel asked.
“Mrs. Roman is the archetype of sensuality.”
“Get real! She’s ancient.”
“She’s forty-seven.”
“I guess that’s young to you—No offense! Anyway, ask her—nicely, of course—if she could send one of her bank reps to structure a three-million-dollar loan. I’ll use my business holdings as collateral.”
“Darling, why do you need so much money?”
Gretel felt almost guilty in confessing her good intentions. “You know how sick Judd is. He needs surgery. Cutting-edge cancer treatment—pardon the expression.”
“I thought you hated him.”
“I feel sorry for him. He looks so pitiful. And he’s been a father figure for Kurt. Life is more important than money.”
Gretel could hear her mother sobbing on the line before Honey managed to say, “I’m so proud of you!”
“Please, don’t embarrass me.” Gretel felt her face flushing. She was grateful no one in the waiting room noticed her.
“You realize, for such a huge loan, Mrs. Roman will want to talk to you in person.”
“I can’t go to New York, not now.” Gretel felt pressured. “I have to take over BizMart formally and get a quick-and-dirty audit of LAIR: a snapshot of by business health for the lender.” She paused. “And some personal matters—bringing Kurt in line.”
“Gretel Chastity,” her mother used Gretel’s full name to reproach her daughter. “You definitely need to fine-tune your dealings with others—your fiasco with Sidney and Bruiser, for example.”