“Please, s-sir… s-sir.” Her body responded still, billowing with sexual energy—feeling as though it were about to burst… and yet, her mind was a wreck, battling with her body for supremacy. There was no surrender…actual or pending, nothing close to the thoughtlessness she’d known when she was with the man before, or with Michael Pitts at the very best times…or even with borrowed masters in scenes at Cleo’s Sanctuary. “Sir-r….” she tensed anxiously, wishing with all her heart that he could read the signals of distress her body gave him, wishing that she didn’t have to “safe word” out of the scene, and turn it into the last incident… perhaps just a misunderstanding, something they could forgive and forget…
When the torture ended, he was at her back again.
“You’re not ready for me, kari,” he spoke the truth for them both.
“Yes, sir, and I’m sorry.”
“I was so hoping, but it seems my first impressions were correct.”
She wondered what those were.
He untied the ropes so she would slump to the floor at his feet. Her knees hit hard, another insult.
“I am sorry, sir,” she looked up at him imploringly.
“I’m sure you are,” he decided. He was no kinder, no easier, no more pleasant than he’d been before. “We’ll take our time,” he added a little more graciously, but there was so little compassion in his voice that she wasn’t sure she cared anymore.
“Yes, sir.”
Sir Malcom stood nearby, catching her eye as she was allowed to rise. The meager clothes were in tatters, something she could shake off with a few quick movements until she was completely naked. “You should be careful about the masters you go after… you may think you have the heart of a true slave, but I think you need to take a closer look at yourself.”
She’d hoped for sympathy, especially from this master, but he offered her none and putting her back on Justin Booker’s arm he turned away retreating into the dark underground of Trevor’s basement.
She dressed in the bathroom on her master’s command and left with him, driving in silence to her apartment where his only message as she left his care was terse but vague.
“I would reconsider yourself.”
Reconsider what? She wondered through the long night and for most of the next few days.
Justin Booker’s Lexus sped away, heading for the expressway. He was deep in thought reevaluating his plans. He deceived himself with kari. She’d be some master’s good slave, but she was not what he presumed she was. Not that she might not have suited him at another time in his life, but the urgent desires pressing him now required a woman of extremes, who would not balk.
Maybe he’d keep kari just for fun, soften his tactics and nurse her wildness a little while longer. The thought was useful, but unattractive. He kept thinking of Emily. Yes, his wife. Thinking of her in the clothes and culture of his sadomasochistic life. She didn’t fit, like a round peg in a square hole… He put her there, dressed her up in leather, in corsets and lace. She would look lovely, but it was a perverted thought. Why couldn’t he deliver on this one—he’d tried stranger things than seducing Emily to this deviant life. Now, he didn’t even want to look at her. It had only been hours since she confessed her wily schemes and he hadn’t the stomach for courting her wishes… except in the most obscene of his thoughts. Could he go there? Could he replace kari with his Em? He would think of that sometime.
But not tonight.
Tonight he’d sleep and let all these matters rest.
Chapter Five
Monday morning
Emily Booker grabbed her bag of books from the hall coat tree and bolted through the front door. She was late for work—which mattered only to Emily since no one at the research institute clocked in. They worked on the honors system, all too proud, too educated and responsible to punch clocks and worry over the small stuff when they were dealing with life-threatening matters such as global warming and animal extinction.
Emily had been working at the institute for five years as a research librarian with a gift for investigations—someone said she should have been a detective. She liked the intrigue behind her work… must have been an innate gift lying fallow for the perfect moment when she let her efforts shine. Her talent had truly come in handy in the last few days when she unearthed her husband’s puzzling secrets. Her entire being raced with excitement when she found what she was looking for, but never so profoundly as when she discovered the minefield of covert adventures that kept her husband preoccupied and presumably satisfied in ways she could have never fathomed.
She’d been dwelling on the facts of modern day slavery… going far beyond websites and a common BDSM crowd that pasted the Internet with provocative pictures and inventive stories of bondage, discipline and graphic servitude. This was mainly consensual stuff. Emily’s mind went further. With a little digging, she found the real thing—captured women held against their will by terrorist organizations. She stumbled on sex syndicates that traveled around the world with collared and tattooed women for sexual orgies. She researched branding, Japanese bondage slaves and Gorean training camps. Her body was in an uproar every time she discovered another article that tread in this mysterious underground territory. She believed there were levels of Dominance and submission…from consensual to non-consensual, from simple humiliation to gross degradation, levels of mind control from the softest tease to the ruthless abdication of personal liberty—the play was as serious as the players involved. Emily looked for extremes and found them. She found in the wake of her discoveries that her body was hot, exhilarated and needy. She had enough material to write a doctoral thesis on the subject, but that was not the purpose of her investigations.
So far, Justin had ignored her since the big announcement, but she intended to confront him again in an effort to push him further toward her stated desires. Until then she would dream.
Emily was sorting books, a mundane but necessary task. Stuck in the stack of periodicals in the back of the research library, she was alone and dreaming again where her thoughts were most often anymore. Lost in thought, she didn’t hear the footsteps, as they swished gently across the bare linoleum floor. She didn’t feel a thing until she sensed a body standing just inches from her back. She flinched then turned around.
“Justin! What are you…?”
“Hush!” He pressed his hand to her mouth… gently, but with a firmness that strongly suggested she keep quiet.
The foreboding mood in his brown eyes alarmed her, while her body quaked from deep in her core, from a place that her dreams knew well, but where her physical self had never been. “At last,” the waiting side in her reluctantly, silently spoke, “at last.”
“Take off your clothes,” he said in a breathless whisper.
“What?” She stared at him in disbelief, fear jumping into her throat.
His eyes grew darker still—mesmerizing and confining—she felt as if she’d shrink underneath their powerful gaze. In all her years with him, she’d never seen her husband look so beautifully frightening.
“Take off your clothes,” he repeated.
Did he mean this?
His posture was unwavering, his expression penetrating and accusing.
“But here, Justin? I can’t here.”
“You say you want to submit to me; you want me as your master. The first rule is trust. If you can’t give me that, then you give me nothing and there’s no use moving on.” He made a move to leave.
“No! Justin, please.”
He turned back, critically appraising her.
“I didn’t ask for this, but it’s what you want… how can I deny you?” He appeared honestly miserable over his dilemma.
“I thought you’d be happy,” she stared back at him perplexed.
“I don’t like subterfuge—which I suppose I should expect from you as good as you are at it. I prefer slaves I create for myself.”
“You don’t think you’ve created this one, too?”
; He thought a moment, let her stew and finally answered, “Perhaps. But let’s not waste time, Em. Take off your clothes.”
She stood—listening, frightened and in awe. In awe of herself as she began to strip—there in the stacks, in the back of the research section on global warming, between massive crates of case material, she was taking off her clothes. Reaching underneath her skirt, she pulled her panties down, unhooked her garter belt, and followed with her nylons. He wasn’t telling her to stop, even seeing how frightened she’d become. Grabbing for the hem of her sweater she slowly drew it over her head, while her eyes dampened with tears. She gulped, in her expression a plea for mercy, but Justin simply nodded her on.
Though she quivered petrified by the thought of exposure, she was curiously surprised to find her body on fire and oddly seeking more excitement. She gazed around, nervously, while trying the hook on her bra, fingers almost too fidgety to work. As the clasp let go, her breasts fell free to the chilly air.
Stomach tittering excitedly, goose bumps rising on her flesh, her breath shortened and more tears burned her eyes.
Please! Her heart pleaded desperately now. But the answer was still the same. Justin was unmoved by her pleas and desperation.
“Your skirt, Em,” he prompted.
“Yes, sir,” she mouthed the reply, quietly, instinctually—she should address him with respect. Feelings of submission poured through her anxious and eager soul.
As her skirt fell against the cold linoleum, a wild tremor let go, one that made her shiver from crotch to thighs to shoulders as if she was about to cum right there without a single stroke to the ripe channel between her legs. While her anxious heart skipped beats, her pussy grabbed for something solid on the inside.
Naked.
Completely naked. Feeling as if she were bound by those cruel, familiar eyes.
Was it just a dream—surreal and absurd like dreams often are? Would she awaken to find that her bravery was for nothing? The disrobing only fantasy? And at sometime, in some other place, would she be put to the real test and forced to go through this wondrous nightmare once again?
“You surprised me, Em,” Justin acknowledged. His voice was as cruel as his eyes, even with the compliment. “Put this on,” he handed his wife her khaki trench coat, which he’d plucked from the hook by her desk. “Use one button at the waist and tie it there.”
Emily followed the demand, only to happy to be clothed again.
“And these.” He pulled a pair of red stiletto heels from a shopping bag.
Her eyes widened, her tummy clenched again.
“Put them on.” She was forced to lean against a bookcase to keep her balance as she slipped the shoes on her feet and teetered precariously as she righted herself.
“As soon as I’ve left, stash your purse in your desk and check out of the office for the day. Take the twenty,” he stuffed her hand with the bill, “and hail a taxi. While you’re in the car, keep her bare ass on the seat and be sure to part the coat so if the driver really looks he’ll catch a glimpse of your pussy. Give him this address,” Justin handed her a card. “Philippe’s is a small restaurant. Once you’re there you’ll know what to do.”
“I’ll know what?” her desperation had returned.
“I said you’ll know. Trust me. Now do as I say, Em. Slaves don’t question. You have tests to pass before I’ll consider your request of me. So far, you’re doing fine, but you have a long way to go.”
Justin scooped her clothes from the floor and stuffed them into the shopping bag. Before Emily could spit out another question, he was gone, disappearing into the maze of library stacks from where he’d come.
Emily stood motionless for some seconds feeling abandoned, though her arousal zoomed forward. She fingered the twenty-dollar bill and the card, staring at them for some time, waiting, wondering if she’d awaken from this dream…
Her day was done. How could she explain herself in trench coat and red heels? If her coworkers saw her, what would she say? Her mind reeled backward remembering what her husband told her… and with her body more on fire with the naughty, dangerous thoughts, she began to move. Stuffing the twenty and the business card in the pocket of her coat, she threaded herself through the maze of shelves, darting quickly for her desk once she was in the open again. She checked for her purse nestled in the bottom drawer of her desk. Closing the drawer firmly, she locked it, pocketed the tiny key and sped off toward the elevator.
The day had threatened rain with the sky dark and forbidding, the air thick, close as though the clouds were binding shrouds. It was hot, too. Too hot for trench coats, but this would have to do. Emily’s nakedness beneath her coat stirred every sex hungry atom. Her pussy creamed, while her breasts, belly, and her thighs rubbing against the silky lining of the coat felt each sensuous move her body made. How strange… the coat covered more than the clothes she’d given to her husband, but she felt more naked with just this one slim piece of fabric separating her from complete exposure.
Cars zoomed by the busy sidewalk as Emily clutched the coat to her body. She raised her hand to hail the next taxi, sure that any minute the coat would fly away. They’d see the red shoes first, like a neon sign advertising live sex acts in second-class dives. A humid wind whipped the bottom wide, she held it down, and blushed, thinking she’d just given the guy across the street a show of her upper thighs. Grabbing the coat sash, she pulled the ends again until she thought she’d cut herself in two.
When a cab pulled to the curb, Emily checked her pocket for the twenty and the card, then dove inside, sighing, happily and relieved.
“Here, please,” she handed the card to the driver. “You know where that is?”
“Sure do.”
He sped off, winding his way through the heavy afternoon traffic.
“How long do you suppose it will be?” she asked.
“You don’t know, lady?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Twenty minutes, this time of day. Place is cross town.”
“I see.”
She settled back to ride out the trip. Though without her purse, without her clothes… pieces of herself were missing—and it was more than those simple physical things absent. Her mind was vacant, barely able to function.
Her thoughts drifted strangely as the remembrance of her husband’s unexpected appearance flashed before her eyes. Then she started suddenly with Justin’s orders coming to her like a bolt out of the blue. Sit on your bare ass… part your trench coat… She looked around self-consciously, then at the taxi driver who seemed busy maneuvering his way through the congested streets. Wiggling in her seat for a moment, she followed the directive, finding more naughty stimulation as the aging, crinkled leather seat caressed her naked ass. Carefully adjusting the coat to open as she parted her legs, she wondered if the man would see. It was dark and mysterious between the two sides. Even if the driver looked, he wouldn’t see much. Was this what Justin wanted, or did he have some more graphic exposure in mind? Propriety, still nagging at her consciousness, prevented a more overt display; yet, even this much provoked her arousal and her body stimulation soared.
Abandoned, titillated, defenseless, petrified. The twenty minutes to Philippe’s restaurant took twenty-five and nearly all of the twenty-dollar bill her husband gave her.
“Here, keep the change,” she told the driver as they pulled in front of the tiny neighborhood establishment and she handed him the money.
She had nothing now, not even a quarter for a phone call.
Abandoned, titillated…defenseless, petrified…what would she do if Justin weren’t there?
He said she’d know.
Still early, there were only a few diners in the restaurant. Entering, Emily stared around looking for the answer to a million questions—particularly to the one big one that knocked against her mind and scared insides.
Her seconds of useless contemplation ended when a smartly dressed hostess greeted her.
“Em?”
&n
bsp; “Yes, Emily Booker.”
“Ah! I didn’t know your other name.”
Other name, what other name?
“Please, come this way,” the woman said.
Her sense of loss was no less profound, though for a moment, Emily felt taken care of by the efficient woman. She wore a green knit sheath, and her dark hair was piled atop her head in an attractive bun. Moving toward the back of the small restaurant, she stopped at the last table, and waited for Emily to catch up. “Sit here,” she said, smiling pleasantly as she motioned to a seat that faced the back of the establishment.
Emily nodded, smiled nervously and took her seat.
“Your coat…” the woman said.
“No, no, I-I can’t…” she stopped unable to explain herself.
“Yes, I know you’re naked underneath,” the woman said quietly, though firmly. “Undo the sash and button, and open your pussy wide.”
Emily’s hands and fingers froze. Her mind was numb, her body aching with desire, but scared.
“You’re sitting with your back to the other guests, no one will know,” the woman in green assured her.
“I-I just…”
“I know the difficulties, Em. I’m a slave to Philippe. But now is not the time to balk. You have your needs; don’t let them suffer for your fears.”
“No, certainly…” The woman made sense, her poise calming and her message valid. “Settle back and I’ll bring you a glass of wine.”
The comely brunette waited while Emily carefully undid the sash around her waist, as she unbuttoned the single button and opened the coat to reveal her torso. The woman’s smile broadened as she gazed at Emily’s perfect breasts… and how they jiggled softly, how the mellow light in the lovely restaurant made them look almost iridescent. The skin was perfect, and Emily’s body was now so warm with arousal that she begged for the touch of a single hand to take that arousal to a sensuous peak.
His Latest Acquisition Page 7