by King Key
“They were out to get me.”
“You should have had Bruiser stiff Sidney. Didn’t you pick up on that with your Greg routine? Sid wants to be the bitch. Bruiser is uber-Alpha.”
“I didn’t want them to have fun!”
“Why not? The best way to control people is to lure them into their temptations.”
“But you said Bruiser was so Alpha!”
“He wants to plug in wherever it feels good. But he’d never confess he enjoys back-ending a man. I think Sidney offered himself to Bruiser, to let him get even. And I think they both liked it.”
“Sidney hinted all around it. You know how coy he can be. Besides, he didn’t want to upset Bruiser. Blunden has to be ‘forced’ into it, the way some transvestites need to be coerced into feminization. They yearn to be sissies but get hung up on how their mommies and daddies raised them.”
“Yeah, Caspar drools when I make him my sissy. But how could Sidney get Bruiser to ram him?”
“Maybe blackmail. Let Sidney get the upper hand over Bruiser. You can make it happen. Think! Then Sid can lure Bruiser into sex. Bruiser can get his private kicks, even if he denies it publicly. Whatever you do, tune into their feelings. If it isn’t happening, don’t force it. That goes for you, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“For a three-million-dollar loan, Mrs. Roman may come on to you. Think of how much she’d profit from the loan! If you find yourself turning on to her, don’t fight it.”
“Mother!”
“Let’s be frank. You and Lila are more than friends, aren’t you?”
“We were lovers. But that’s different.”
“Mrs. Roman is different, the most elegant, irresistible woman I know. If she decides to lend you the money, she’ll visit immediately. One of her lovers, Sable Brandenburg, will lend Mrs. Roman the use of her Learjet.”
“Thanks for the warning. Bye.” Gretel voiced her words half in jest, half in the electric anxiety of meeting a beautiful, powerful woman like Mrs. Roman. She scoffed at the idea of falling, even for such a heralded goddess, the first time they met.
And yet…
She dialed Cheatham’s number while driving to her home. “I need to consolidate my financial holdings. Do the paperwork for me. Pronto.”
“I’m with a client right now.”
“Fuck him. Or I will. But I’ll make him pay dearly. Now, get your ass over here.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Moments after Gretel entered her house and sat down, Cheatham arrived with his portfolio. He pulled out two pie-charts and an executive summary of Gretel’s holdings. “I put this together last night,” he grinned. “I knew you’d want them.”
“Simplify.”
He held the pie charts side-by-side.
“Before you pulled your stunts, here’s how the ownership of BizMart stood: Casper Waverly had 60 percent; Lila Krafft, 20 percent; Rich Leckie, 15; and Kurt Merchant, 5.”
“Poor Kurt,” Gretel grinned. “He adds the most value to the company and has the least to show for it. And I’m about to strip him of the meager share he does own.”
“Now it’s 60 percent for you, 35 for Caspar, and 5 for Kurt,” Cheatham summarized. “You persuaded Casper to sign over 25 percent to you and made Rich give you his 15 percent. Lila secretly sold her 20 percent to Judd.”
“How did Judd pay her?”
“He swapped her Workman’s Auto Repair for her share of BizMart.”
“I’m holding his company as collateral for his gambling debts.”
Cheatham frowned. “We’ll sort the details out later. Lila wanted to keep you from getting your hands on her 20 percent, but she knew you’d seduce her to get her share. And then Judd had me draw up the papers to give that 20 percent to you. All you have to do is sign some papers I brought.”
Gretel provided her signatures and kept her copies. “Judd will keep his company.”
“He’s gravely ill. You saw him.”
“He’ll get better!” Gretel snapped. “Or I’ll die trying to help him.”
“Here are the papers for Kurt to sign over his five percent of BizMart.”
Gretel signed those documents, too. “Would you be a dear and take them by his house for his signatures? His car has been impounded for a criminal investigation. Also, drive him to that kicky shoe store downtown. He’s going to buy me a present.”
“I hate to object…” Cheatham hedged.
“If you’ll do these favors for me,” Gretel said in a measured tone, “I will not tell anyone about the bad legal advice you gave me on several occasions.”
“You got me drunk.”
“You were so funny!” she taunted. “Still, you don’t want to be disbarred, do you?”
“This is blackmail, plain and simple,” he groused.
“Protection,” she smiled. “Blackmail would be threatening to show your wife those sizzling pictures of you going down on me.” She studied his erupting, unguarded lust and his twitching mannerisms. She didn’t desire him in the least, but watching him squirm gave her a mild rush.
“Yes, dear,” he conceded with the universal male white flag. “When should I fetch Master Merchant?”
“The sooner the better. Return him to his house after his purchase.”
“Your wish is my command,” Cheatham stated the obvious. “Good day.”
As soon as Cheatham exited, Gretel’s phone rang.
“Gretel Fox.”
“Hank at Workman Auto Repairs. How’s Mr. Workman doing? The hospital gave me the runaround instead of the truth.”
“He’s not doing well,” Gretel admitted. “But a Dr. Bernard has suggested surgery. Look, Hank, pardon me for being blunt, but if anything happens…I know Judd wants you to have the shops.”
“He told me he wanted you to have the company. You treated him like a prince when he was sick as a dog. And you wrote off his debts. He appreciates your class.”
“Giving me the Workman Auto Repairs would be like giving an illiterate a library.”
“Good one!” Hank laughed. “I can run the shops, but I’m not a business guy.”
“We’ll work out the details—if it comes to that. I’m sure Judd will thrive after his surgery. He’ll be back cursing everyone out in no time—except me. I’ve got his number.”
“Gee, you’re A-OK, Ms. Fox,” Hank said, “despite Mr. Workman’s remark.”
“And what was that?” Gretel couldn’t keep the iciness out of her voice.
“Forget I said anything.” Panic filled his voice. “Please.”
“I demand to know!” She backed off. “Please.”
“He said your gold dress is the perfect fit because you’re a shameless gold digger!”
Gretel laughed in spite of herself. “They say the truth hurts, but this time it’s funny.” She veered back on point. “Hank, don’t worry about changes at Workman Auto Repairs. I’ll goose the advertising into the twenty-first century. But I don’t plan to take over.”
“You’re as good as gold, Ms. Gold Digger,” he laughed.
They hung up.
Gretel felt a sense of equilibrium, as though she’d previously lost her balance and was now restoring it. But she also felt a growing, tingling sensation—not quite a fear—about the chemistry between her and Catherine Roman.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Gretel Tightens Up
Kurt slept fitfully after Gretel left his house Monday night but kept trying to go back to sleep because he felt utterly adrift after Gretel stripped him of his career as a business broker. He craved her. He clung to his need for Gretel’s degrading humiliation rather than face his now-aimless existence.
Unable to relax, he showered and shaved, even though he had no plans.
The phone rang. He answered hopefully.
“Good morning, Kurt.”
“Oh, Gretel! I’m so thankful you called!”
“Have I absolutely ruined you? Lavish me with tributes to my victory.”
&
nbsp; “Such as?”
“Sign over your five percent of BizMart. My lawyer will bring the papers by.”
“Of course. I meant to give you my share of BizMart before now.”
“Then buy me a pair of black, shiny high-heeled boots. Spike heels. Over the knees. They’re prettier than sensible footwear. Bitchier.”
“Yes! What size?”
“Six and a half.” She named the elegant Baltimore store. “Mr. Cheatham can drive you to the store. Use the money I gave you last night. Then return to your house and wait for me.”
Was she setting him up? Kurt recalled when he bought boots for Mrs. Hipps—at another store in another town—with an eerily-similar scenario. Mrs. Hipps marked Kurt’s money to entrap him, but Gretel hadn’t marked the money they stole from Caspar’s safe.
Besides, he suffered from the textbook definition of addiction to Gretel: He had to have her, not matter the cost. But he felt compelled to ask, “Are you trying to screw me?”
“You haven’t earned your release.”
“You know what I mean.”
“And you know what I mean. You can’t have one without the other. Surrender everything to me until you ache with giving and you have no more to offer me. Then I’ll treat you to unmitigated bliss! Buy me those boots, and you can put them on me.”
“And then?”
“Isn’t that reward enough?” Gretel hung up.
Kurt’s doorbell rang. He realized she’d sent her errand boy before calling.
“Gretel said you had some papers to sign,” Kurt said. He led the way to his office in the den and sat at his writing desk.
Cheatham spread the documents. “Then we’ll go shopping. Ms. Fox’s orders.”
“She’s so demanding,” Kurt smiled ruefully. He signed the papers and stood to put them in his wall safe. Twirling the combination, he placed the papers inside.
Cheatham asked, “Mind if we stop by Sid’s place first? I need to pick up the business licenses and other documents for Chimera. He’s signing the company over to Gretel.”
“Great!” Kurt said. “Sidney asked me to pick up the incriminating letters Greg Messick wrote him—and hold them for safekeeping.”
Cheatham gave Kurt a dubious expression that would have made Jack Benny proud.
“Serious,” Kurt said. “Gretel doesn’t know anything about this.” He brandished the key Sidney gave him at the hospital. “This opens his filing cabinet holding the letters.”
“If Gretel gets her hands on Greg’s love notes, she can steal his inheritance. Sid can’t blackmail the family any longer. They’ll have to surrender Greg’s assets.”
“Greg’s possessions are rightfully Gretel’s—according to his will.”
“Because he forgot to change his will after she swindled him into divorce.”
“I like her chutzpah: She made Greg cheat on his wife with his wife. Her.”
Cheatham’s twisted lips transformed him into a troll. “You’re letting Gretel use you like a—like a wad of toilet paper—to betray Sid.”
“Schisslinger was blackmailing the family. He’s no victim.”
“You’re missing the point!” Cheatham threw his hands in the air. “Sure, Gretel’s gold dress turns your brain to shit, but that doesn’t mean her pussy is gold-plated!”
“It’s better than that. Gold would play hell with my cock.”
Cheatham whirled and stormed out of the room, toward the front door.
Once they reached Sidney Schisslinger’s house, they were in and out within five minutes, still not speaking to each other.
At the tony shoe store, Cheatham looked on disdainfully while Kurt painstakingly weighed different boot traits: five-inch heels to boost Gretel’s height, shininess but not the stiffness of glossy patent—too uncomfortable for Gretel to wear, and, certainly, over-the-knee length to give Gretel her kick-ass swagger.
Even the woman helping Kurt select the boots gave him peculiar glances, as though she wondered if he secretly wanted to buy the boots for himself—ignoring that his feet were clearly too large. Or she may have thought him peculiar for choosing boots that so dramatically established his woman as the ruling partner.
She never voiced her queries; her expression said it all. Kurt felt like telling her that anyone who had to ask why Gretel must look the tyrant would never understand.
He realized this paradox applied to each person’s kink. If Sidney took pleasure in being reamed, he was following his desires, not making a choice. If Caspar got off by letting Gretel mother him, he yielded to his heart, not his head. Kurt’s craving for Gretel, no matter how she abused him, also defied logic. As for Gretel’s need to rule men…
Kurt was eternally grateful.
The telling moment in the shopping expedition came at the cash register.
“I’ll pay with cash,” Kurt said, withdrawing a wad of bills.
The sales clerk raised her eyebrows, as if she knew a secret she would keep to herself. She held out her palm until Kurt finished counting the amount of the purchase. After recounting the money, she secured the stack with paper clips on each side. “Just in case you bring the boots back,” she explained.
“That makes no sense,” Kurt protested. “You don’t need the identical bills to make a refund.” He watched her place the stack on top of the cash register instead of inside. “Or maybe you’re setting them aside for some other purpose.” Their eyes met.
A flicker bordering on triumph flashed in her eyes, as though she had trapped him, but a trace of fear lurked in her eyes, too. She forced a fake smile. “Hurry! See if your girlfriend will accept those boots. Few women prefer the bitchy look.”
“I don’t like the looks of this,” Cheatham said. “Want me to hang out at your house? I have a sneaking suspicion you’re going to need a lawyer.”
“Thanks, but you need to get back to your income-producing work.”
Soon after Cheatham left, Gretel showed up at the door in her gold dress. She looked at the box inside the door. “Boots!” she exclaimed in mock surprise. “For me?”
Kurt removed the slim, shiny symbols of power from their box. “Do you like them?”
Gretel plopped down on the living room sofa and tossed her coat beside her. Kicking off her shoes, she wordlessly extended her right leg, pointing her toes archly to form a line from her hip to her toes.
Kurt blinked involuntarily. Gretel wore a garterbelt to hook her sheer black stockings and stretch them taut against her legs, but no panties.
Unzipping the right boot, he slid it over her foot and ankle before smoothing it past her firm calf. He consciously willed his hands to stop moving up her leg just past her knee, although he ached to slide his circling hands all the way up to her loins. The crisp sound of the zipper, wrapping Gretel’s flesh and stocking inside the material that showcased her shapely leg, briefly sobered Kurt enough to continue his sublime mission.
Kneeling before Gretel, encasing her in the authoritative footwear that would grind his resistance under her heel conjured up fleeting visions of his brief servitude to Jessica Saturday morning. Jessica’s dominance cast a pale shadow compared to his current surcharged obeisance to Gretel. Giddiness up surged and threatened to overtake him.
Gretel put her right, booted foot on the floor. Kurt prostrated himself and kissed it.
Both of them accepted his gesture as perfectly natural and expected.
Gretel extended her left leg with the same ballerina precision. This time, after Kurt enfolded her foot and the portion of her leg extending past her knee in leather, he reverently placed her left heel on his right shoulder to allow her to rest.
“I love how you suck up to me,” she hissed. “Hurry and you can really suck me!”
Zipping up her boot, he lifted her other foot to his other shoulder and leaned forward to clamp the insides of her booted calves against his cheeks, then his neck.
She pinched her legs together to squeeze his neck tighter with her ankles, to extend the firm attentio
n she used to control him. “Give me face, Kurt. Right now, quickly, so that I can give you a treat before anyone comes to see you.”
“Who?”
“Could be anybody.” She teased him: “You’re a popular guy.” She eased her feet off his shoulders onto the floor. Flexing her powerful thighs to raise her ass inches off the sofa, she grasped the skirt of her dress and squirmed to maneuver the shiny material over her waist and leaned back to pin the encumbrance away from her delta.
She slumped back down, deciding to leave her garterbelt in place and let Kurt deal with it. When their guests arrived, she’d be dressed with the flip of her skirt.
His face zoomed in quickly. He touched the latex garterbelt. “Sexy.”
“Stop talking. Don’t even nibble. Inhale!”
He nuzzled her affectionately, licking the whole time, picking up the pace faster than she expected but meshing into her plans to squeeze a quickie out of him before she hit him with her big surprise. In fact, her zeal to steal her orgasms while humiliating Kurt hastened the onset of her ripples of climaxes.
She moaned without restraint, and her erotic wails triggered Kurt to dig more deeply and eagerly, miraculously riding a rhythm that matched her own tempo and moods. Her unison with Kurt vibrated deeper than her harmony with anyone else.
Far past the stage of exhaustion, Gretel thrust her hips to pound Kurt’s face with her vagina, her body articulating silently in its own language: More! More! Keep giving! Let me use you up, consume you, warm your heart, humble your ego. You’re mine, forever, Kurt!
She could sense he heard her message and sought to obey her explicitly because he squeezed her ass cheeks desperately, pulling her muff tighter to his face, attempting every physical trick he could conjure to intensify her gratification.
Gretel felt like a goddess accepting a sacrifice—Kurt—at her altar.
There was a knock at the door. “Police. We’d like to talk to you.”
“I’m coming,” Kurt called.
Gretel hissed, “Me too! Once more.”
Kurt pressed his face tightly into her vagina and flicked his tongue back and forth across her clitoris.