by King Key
She shivered with delight, probably more psychological than physical. “Thank you, Kurt. Now, answer the door.”
He stood up. “You set me up. Just like Greta when I was a freshman in college.”
“She used you for sport and ran away.” Gretel stood and smoothed down her dress. “I entrapped you so you can’t escape from me.”
Kurt soaked in her sensuality with his eyes. After all she had done to him, he craved her more intensely than ever, fully cognizant of her intent to torment him to her heart’s content—until she tired of him. “You had a list of the serial numbers on the bills I spent,” he realized. “I can’t beat you, Gretel. And don’t want to. So, I guess you’ll head to your next conquest.”
“No, Kurt, I’m going to keep you forever. On my terms.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Legal Servitude…and Its Rewards
That night Kurt and Gretel stood before an attractive brunette, the night court judge. Kurt thought it oddly appropriate that his fate lay in the hands of two women.
He whispered to Gretel. “How in the hell did you arrange this?”
“I get what I want. Never forget that. And I want more,” Gretel smiled wickedly.
Turning to the bench, Gretel raised her voice. “Judge Hammer, Your Honor, may I offer some facts relevant to this case?”
“By all means.”
“I have recently gained controlling interest in BizMart, Inc., the company from which Kurt Workman is accused of stealing cash.”
The judge leaned forward. “Ms. Fox, after your social engineering with Brewster Blunden, I can see your train of thought to its inevitable derailment. Proceed, anyway.”
“The money was taken from the BizMart CEO’s discretionary fund. As the de facto CEO of BizMart, I have the authority to make decisions on the use of the money.”
“And?”
Gretel approached the bench and whispered, “Not to sound vain, Your Honor, but the defendant—”
“This is a hearing, not a trial. He’s not a defendant. Yet.”
“Kurt Workman is in love with me. He took the money to buy me gifts. Like these boots.” Gretel stuck out her leg to display her stylish footwear.
“Love is no defense for theft.”
“But if I, as the head of BizMart, prefer not to press charges—”
“Here we go again.” The judge raised her face heavenward and sighed heavily.
“If you will remand Kurt Workman to my custody—” Gretel began.
“—Until such time as his behavior shall demonstrate that he is a model citizen … That’s the same line you used with Mr. Blunden. Why should I listen to you again?”
“Here’s the difference, Your Honor. I secured a criminal records check.” Gretel pulled the document from her briefcase, feeling brazenly smug, because the briefcase still held thousands of stolen dollars in the false bottom compartment.
The judge looked at the document. “This search pertains to Baltimore County only. What about the other counties in Maryland? Or other states, for that matter.”
“Kurt Merchant has—”
“Why do you keep referring to Mr. Merchant by his full name?” the judge asked.
“Because I don’t respect him enough to call him mister.”
The judge’s patrician, stern face broke into a smile. Fighting to regain her judgelike demeanor and angry at Gretel for cracking her façade, the judge demanded, “What about Kurt Merchant?”
“He has lived in Baltimore County for nearly twenty years. There’s no need to search criminal records in other counties or states. Your Honor, think of the time and paperwork you’ll save by dismissing this case. Your court has such a backlog.”
“Don’t tell me how to run my court!” Judge Hammer demanded.
Kurt saw Gretel intimidated for the first time. “No, Your Honor,” she said meekly.
“See the clerk.” The judge waved her hand dismissively.
“Excuse me, Your Honor…”
“Yes?” Her mouth was twisted in contempt.
“You were scheduled to hear another case at this time, and you were kind enough to squeeze us into this same slot. Our case is interrelated with the other.”
“Yes,” the judge said wearily. Donning her reading glasses, she peered at the docket. “Sidney…” She paused to do a double-take. “Schisslinger.” She scanned the courtroom belligerently. “One peep out of anyone, and I’ll hold you in contempt of court.”
Returning to the sheet, Judge Hammer summarized. “Sidney—I’ll use his first name for simplicity—has charged Brewster Blunden.” The judge paused to glare at Gretel over her reading glasses. “The same Brewster Blunden?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
The judge frowned. “Sidney has charged Mr. Blunden with aggravated assault. If proven, this charge could send Mr. Blunden to prison for parole violation.” She addressed the uniformed deputy sheriff. “Bailiff, bring Sidney and Mr. Blunden before the bench.”
While the bailiff left to escort the two men back into the courtroom, Gretel entreated, “Your Honor, I can persuade Sidney to drop the charge against Bruiser—Brewster.”
Judge Hammer looked toward the ceiling and silently beseeched heaven again while the bailiff arrived with Sidney and Brewster.
“All of you, in my chambers,” the judge snarled. She pointed to Cheatham, who remained mute though he was ostensibly there for legal representation. “You, too.”
On the way inside, Gretel whispered to Sidney, “I’m giving you your chance to have Bruiser in your custody. You’ll have him by the balls. Wouldn’t you like that?”
The man with the exotic-bird beak stared at Gretel but guardedly refused comment.
Although Judge Hammer nominally presided over the proceedings, Gretel deftly guided the conversation to get her way. With Sidney’s blackmail letters in hand, thanks to Kurt, she could now get her hands on Greg Messick’s assets. In return, Gretel would let Sidney keep Chimera. She handed over the business licenses and other documents.
“So, Sidney,” Gretel said, “why not drop the assault charges against Bruiser? Maybe the judge will remand him to your custody.”
Sidney shocked her. “No. Bruiser’s dangerous. I’d rather let you have Chimera than free Bruiser.”
Judge Hammer looked at Gretel sternly. “Mr. Schisslinger is right. The result of Mr. Blunden’s previous charges distressed me. In a Scottish court, he would have been found Not Proven instead of Not Guilty. I am convinced he assaulted a dozen women—and probably more who were afraid to speak up. His latest crime violates the provisions of his parole. Bailiff, take Mr. Blunden away.”
“When I get out,” Bruiser barked at Gretel, “I’m coming to get you, bitch.”
Gretel’s blunder in judgment felt like a splash of ice water in her face. The judge’s public chastisement felt, oddly, like warm guidance from another woman. But Judge Hammer was not through reprimanding Gretel.
“And don’t think you’re doing Mr. Schisslinger any favors by letting him keep his own business!”
“No, Ma’am.”
“I am not anyone’s madam.”
“No, Your Honor.”
Judge Hammer’s angry mood hung heavy in the air.
And then Cheatham turned unlikely hero, volunteering the saving detail few of them knew: “Don’t worry about Gretel getting Greg Messick’s money. She’s borrowing millions of dollars for Judd Workman’s cancer surgery. She’ll use up all of her money repaying the loan.”
Gretel became the center of attention—nothing new—but this time her bad girl image dissolved, and she felt uneasy.
Judge Hammer relaxed. Although the legality of letting Gretel go troubled her, Gretel’s noble intentions gave the judge an out. “All of you, out of my chambers, out of my court. I’ll dictate my ruling to the clerk—a summary of what we’ve decided here tonight—and see that you all get a copy.”
“Your Honor, this is highly irregular,” Cheatham protested.
“
If I ever see any of your faces in my court again, I’ll charge you with every offense I can think of. That includes you, too, Mr. Cheatham. Contempt of court, parole violations, even a parking ticket if that’s what it takes to get my hands on you. I’ll throw the damned book at the lot of you!”
As they walked toward the clerk of court to pay court costs, Gretel nudged Kurt. “Remember what Judge Hammer said.”
Kurt said meekly, “Yes, Your Honor,” to the new judge of his life.
Gretel took Kurt back to her house, where an undefined doubt about various items haunted her—a throw rug here, an open door there, and other subtle hints that her house was less orde4ly than she’d left it. She told Kurt to shower and wait naked in her bed while she showered.
She dressed in the bathroom adjoining her bedroom, strapping on her garterbelt and stockings, sliding on her slinky black dress, and applying red lipstick and blue eye shadow just beyond the bounds of good tastes.
Stepping into her bedroom, she brought Kurt to his most rigid erection when she wiggled her hands into her long black leather gloves. Immersing herself into the Greta Hipps persona, she even lit a cigarette. Opening her dresser drawer, she told Kurt, “I found your money. Come get it.”
Kurt walked over to Gretel and naively reached for the money.
Her hands were quicker than he imagined, darting away from his futile grasps, ensnaring him in her irresistible embrace. Sinking into the softness of her luxurious flesh, tantalizingly wrapped in slick, black ciré, Kurt muttered, “Keep the money.”
“You’ll never find another woman who pleases you as much as I do.”
“Not a chance.”
“You didn’t think so when I joined Sidney’s PR firm. I wore glasses then. And my hair was more light brown than blonde.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“Of course not. You walked right past me to meet with Sidney.”
He searched her incredible eyes. “I am so sorry, Gretel. Can you ever forgive me?”
“You’re forgiven if you surrender to me. I’ll exploit you for the rest of your life.”
“As if I had a choice. When will you release me to have another climax?”
Gretel handed Kurt a new set of underwear and a new silk shirt. “The suit Mom bought you is in the guest bedroom.” She kissed him warmly. “Take a look at it.”
Kurt put on is new underwear and slipped into the silk shirt while hurrying into the guest bedroom. He caught a glimpse of it on the bed. “Gray,” he frowned. “Couldn’t your mom find something less boring?”
“Put the suit on. Then decide.”
Kurt stepped into the pants. “They fit fine.” When he held up the top part of the “suit,” the rows of metal buttons—one horizontal and the other diagonal, roughly in the shape of a 7—spelled out his fate. “It’s a chauffeur’s uniform!”
Gretel’s eyes glinted. “Do exactly as I say, or your ass belongs to Judge Hammer. After tonight, she’s ready to ream you.”
He sighed. “I made a wish to stay close to you. You granted it in a devilish way.”
“I felt guilty about removing Bruiser from the picture—until I realized he actually committed multiple sexual assaults. And now assault and battery against Sidney.”
“And now I’m as vulnerable as Bruiser.”
“We understand each other.” Gretel rubbed herself against Kurt, arousing him with no sign of gratifying him. “The difference is, I never gave myself to Bruiser.”
“Thank you, you incredible, edible Gretel.”
“Take your clothes off,” she smirked. “I’ll pussy whip you all over Baltimore, and you’ll cherish every second, won’t you?”
Kurt nodded in agreement, with a wry expression reflecting his bittersweet anticipation of divine bliss and humiliating hell. “But I humbly ask to stay dressed a little longer. Black ciré completely undoes me.”
“I know.” For someone with such a Type A personality, Gretel turned cool and detached, igniting Kurt’s passions more thoroughly than overt aggression.
Gretel looked at Kurt with an inscrutable expression. “How does it feel to be completely at my mercy?”
“After the way you’re helping Judd, I’m willing to do anything you tell me.”
Gretel grabbed Kurt’s neck and kissed him wetly. “Be my chauffeur. Drive me!”
At some point Gretel picked up a pearl necklace and held it in her gloved hand. “I understand this belonged to your mother. Put it on me.”
While Kurt stood behind Gretel clasping the necklace around her neck, her sensuality overwhelmed him again. Fleeting images passed before his eyes: standing before the night court judge again, being cuffed and led away like Bruiser, and the harsh clang of the bars closing electronically behind him.
He didn’t care. He had to have Gretel. His arms snaked around her waist and held her tightly. Arching his back, he pressed his pent-up cock against her soft, warm ass, tucked safely inside her gloriously shiny dress. “I don’t care what you do to me. Destroy me, if that’s what rips a searing sensation through your loins. Chew me up and spit me out. Just let me—please!—have one more piece of your tail.”
“Why should I?
“I’m giving you my soul, if you want it. It’s no use to me if I can’t have you.”
To Kurt’s surprise, Gretel turned and faced him with a smirk. She walked over to her bed and sat on the edge. Pulling the skirt of her dress over her waist, she challenged, “Give me everything you’ve got—physically, financially, emotionally—and don’t stop bowing to my demands. I will accept your soul; it is a good one, like Judd’s.”
He took a condom from his pocked and slipped it on. Bending at the knees, he drove into her with a smooth stroke born of the necessity to be inside Gretel, regardless of any clothing or any other obstacle. His breathing turned to gasps. Dizziness overcame him. But he kept driving inside her, delirious with this inverted gesture of submission through aggression. Having Gretel own him completely galvanized him. But he wheezed terribly.
“Don’t turn into another Johns Hopkins patient! Rewrite your will, first!”
“Cheatham took care of that Monday.” His grin bordered on insanity.
Gretel humped back, knocking him on the floor and—inevitably and appropriately—squirmed on top. “You adorable lump of putty,” she teased—her friendly, disciplinary whiplash. She rose sublimely and crashed against him repeatedly in her punishment-as-reward, I’ll-get-mine and screw-you madness. His cock, finally released, shot repeated loads into his condom, treating him to his first multiple climax.
Gretel matched him, explosion for explosion, until they thoroughly exhausted each other and lay side by side on the floor. He propped himself on his left elbow and gazed awestruck at Gretel in her glimmering, but now totally unkempt, dress. “God, you’re magnificent!”
She turned on her right side to face him. “True,” she smirked.
“I give myself to you. Everything I have. How can I earn your domination?”
“You can’t.”
He cast his face down. “That’s what I thought.”
“You can’t earn my domination,” she said. “And you can’t earn your freedom. I promised Judd I’d keep you forever.” Kissing him gently, she added, “And I will.”
Abruptly the bedroom door opened from the hallway, and the most imperious lady Kurt had ever seen marched in. Her high heels elevated her to six feet tall, and the chignon atop the back of her head pulled her hair tight to highlight her high, aristocratic cheekbones. When her nearly-black eyes rested on them, she dominated the room.
In fact, Gretel lowered her eyes as if to avoid affronting this bold goddess by gazing directly into her eyes. She mumbled awkwardly, “I didn’t expect you, Mrs. Roman.”
Chapter Thirty
Gretel Feels the Earth Move
Catherine Roman, the bank CEO from Upstate New York, struck one of her haughty poses for Kurt to admire her. The satin of her cardinal red sheath clung tightly to her flesh, and
her opera-length black leather gloves lent an alluringly cruel aura, a candid reflection of her character.
“You haven’t told him, have you?” Mrs. Roman asked.
“Told me what?”
“Did I speak to you?” Mrs. Roman asked.
“Cheatham, my lawyer, mentioned I was trying to get a loan,” Gretel said. “Kurt, this is Catherine Roman. You may call her Mrs. Roman.”
“Consider the surgery and follow-up treatment taken care of,” Mrs. Roman smiled. Turning to Kurt, she said, “I am financing Judd Workman’s medical bills.”
Kurt spontaneously knelt before the ravishing brunette. “How can I thank you? Is there anything I can do to repay you? I’ll do anything you ask.”
“I know you will.” The glamorous tyrant took Kurt’s head in her gloved hands and pressed his face to her mons veneris. “You shall repay every cent I spend to cure Judd.”
“Gladly! You’re saving his life. I couldn’t possibly afford the medical expenses. I’ll reimburse you as fast as I can. Please tell me how.”
Mrs. Roman turned to Gretel with a sly, smug grin. “I hate to abrogate your slave, but I have to break him in for you. Make him appreciate your favors for what they are: rare, undeserved treats, doled out at your discretion, to be treasured while they last and to console him during his long months of Blue Balls.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Gretel relived the warm sensation of acquiescing to Judge Hammer.
“As for you,” she tilted her head to give Kurt a condescending smile, “you shall work for me until you’ve paid off your debt. I’m embarking on a series of mergers and acquisitions to make my bank one of the biggest players in the nation.”
“I can’t work as a business broker,” Kurt said, sinking his head.
“Your no-compete agreement doesn’t cover New York,” Mrs. Roman cooed. “You’ll work for me for no salary. I’ll provide you meals and a place to stay. You must sell your house, car, and other assets to start reimbursing me.”
Gretel couldn’t help frowning.
“Don’t worry!” Mrs. Roman laughed. “I can’t watch this work mule 24/7, Gretel. You’re my designated enforcer. Use him like the mule he is, to pleasure you in any way you see fit. And if he balks, off to jail with him!”