by Lulu Astor
Lucien’s handsome face lights up at my words. “I’m delighted to hear you say that, Ella.” He takes his wallet out of his jacket pocket and fishes out a card. “Here’s my business card. It lists my cell number as well as my email address. You can contact me at either one. May I ask you for a definitive answer in 48 hours? Normally I wouldn’t rush you, but I need that interview with Picasso’s assistant’s daughter and I’d like to nail it down as soon as possible.”
“No, I understand. I’ll give you my answer within 24 hours, Lucien. Sound okay?”
“Absolutely. I cannot stress enough my gratitude in your coming here on such short notice. It’s very much appreciated.”
“No problem. I was casting about for something worthwhile to do when this just fell into my lap. I feel like the fortunate one.” I look over at Ian but his face is inscrutable. “Well, Lucien, we’re going to leave and let you get back to your packing. I’ll be in touch very soon.”
“Thank you, Ella. Would you happen to have a card with your contact info on it?”
“Uh, yes, actually.” I dig in my bag and find a couple, handing him one.
“Great. It was a pleasure meeting you,” he says, shaking my hand and then extends his to Ian. “Mr. Blackmon, very nice to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise. Enjoy your trip to Paris. It’s lovely this time of year.”
“Yes. Certainly. I get homesick for the city every now and then, especially in autumn, for some reason.”
After we leave Lucien’s, we head straight to the Met and spend three hours wandering the galleries. Never having been to New York City before, I am simply amazed at the sheer number of famous works located in one place. It’s beyond exciting, especially for me, since art history is my academic focus.
Ian takes me out to lunch at Balthazar’s, a restaurant that’s apparently impossible to get into most of the time but he somehow manages it. We head back to the hotel around six.
After a two-hour nap, he wakes me up by undressing me and kissing me up and down my naked body. There are worse ways to wake up.
“Do you want to play tonight?” he asks me.
“Play how?”
“My way,” he answers, his eyes gleaming.
“Do you mean by going to a nasty club?”
“No, that’s not what I mean. But I do mean kinky fun. Are you in?”
I narrow my eyes, mulling over my answer. “Okay. What do you have in mind?”
“You’ll see.”
He leads me into the shower and we take turns washing each other. I never realized how much fun a shower could actually be before I met Ian. By the time we’re through, he has a huge hard-on and I’m hot enough to make friends with a doorknob or something. The strange thing, though, is he makes no attempt to scratch the itch—for either of us. I’m beginning to wonder if his version of kinky fun involves sexual torment and I have a strong feeling it does.
Ian dries us both off and we go into the bedroom to get dressed.
“Here. Wear this one,” he says, pulling my short black cocktail dress out of the hotel room closet. The dress is made of slinky fabric and it has three-quarter sleeves and a plunging vee-neckline that’s held together by satin lacing, providing peek-a-boo glimpses at what’s inside.
“Okay.” I take the dress.
“Do you have a garter belt?”
“No. But I do have silk stockings that stay up without a garter. Do you want me to wear those?”
He nods. “And your black stilettos, please.”
It’s not until we get in the taxi that he makes his next request. Once he gives the driver an address, he leans in to whisper in my ear. “Take off your panties.”
I look at him as if he’s lost his mind. “What?”
“You heard me. Do it.”
“In here?” I screech, thinking about all the people and… stuff… that’s been on these car seats. “It’s not hygienic.”
He shakes his head, a gesture he uses when he is dismissive of my concerns. “Keep the dress underneath you, but do as I say, Ella.”
I look at him with suspicious eyes but my hand slowly travels under my hem. Watching the driver in the rearview mirror, I surreptitiously slide down my panties, being extra careful that my butt does not touch the icky car seat. When I work them down off my ankles, Ian holds out his hand and I give them to him. He pockets them without taking his eyes off me and those eyes? Smoldering.
“I’m not sure I like this, Ian.” My voice is shaky.
His voice is smooth and deep. “My money says you do. Care to make it interesting?”
“How interesting?”
He shrugs. “We’ll keep it manageable. Say a thou?”
I chew my lip nervously and nod my assent. His hand snakes up my dress and he touches me intimately, then thrusts a finger up into me. Then two. After only a moment, he withdraws his hand and holds it up in the glare of the streetlights outside. His fingertips are glistening. “I win,” he whispers and licks my ear. Again I glance at the driver and see his eyes in the mirror. Nosy bastard is watching us and I can only hope he didn’t manage to see anything worthwhile.
In a few minutes we reach our destination. Ian comes around to open my door and help me out—and, believe me, with no panties, a rather short dress, and high heels, I need help. He pays the driver and leads me to a shop front. I look up. A jewelry store?
“Why a jewelry store, Ian? And why is it still open at nine o’clock, by the way?”
“No questions. Tonight you’re my sub: just be quiet and follow my lead. Okay?”
I nod. I can do this—it’s exciting and it may just be fun. I’ll play nice for now. “Lead the way.”
Before we could get in, his phone rings. Checking the caller, he frowns but takes the call. “Talk,” he orders the poor slob on the other end of the line.
He listens for a long moment. “Please tell me you’re not kidding? This is good news, Jonas, the best news. Have Terence get his ass on a flight to Beijing ASAP. Oh? Well, then, have him follow them to Hong Kong or around the fucking world, for all I care, as long as he gets to them quickly. No, Terence speaks fluent Mandarin and can muddle his way through Cantonese; he needs to be the one to court them. And notify Jackson Delacroix about the offer. Tell him we’re definitely interested but we need to show a healthy profit on the sale—we’ve sunk too much into it already. Have accounting do their best to pretty up the books—to the legal extent possible. Keep me posted.”
“Good news, I take it?” I ask after he disconnects.
“If I ever say I don’t believe in God, remind me of this day, Ella. I just received a gift from heaven, routed through China. We’ve been bleeding out on this solar panel company we took on, hoping for tax waivers into 2020. With recent budget cuts, the government phased out the waivers starting next year. We were set to take a bloodbath on it. A Chinese firm offered to buy us out. They can make it profitable because it’s an open secret that the Chinese government illegally subsidizes their green energy companies so that no American company can effectively compete. If they take it on, it’s a win-win for everyone involved. Especially me.”
“It’s a good night for you; you also just made a cool thou in the taxi.”
His response is the most lascivious grin I’ve ever seen on anyone’s face—it travels right into my girly parts—as he takes my hand and we enter the store.
It looks like an ordinary jewelry store—nothing different at all. The saleswoman is a blonde, mid-forties, tan and fit. She immediately assesses Ian, up and down. I know what she’s doing: besides ogling his beauty, she’s appraising him for wealth. Having worked in an upscale shop, I know how these commission hounds operate—especially in New York, where they can tell volumes about a person just by his or her shoes.
Ian is cool as he asks, “May we shop in the rear store, please?”
Blondie nods impassively and steps over to a door, rapping her knuckles on it twice. I hear it unlock and then the door opens and Ian leads me
inside.
Oh my God.
Inside the rear store is a sex shop that has every imaginable (and many unimaginable, believe me) toy and accessory anyone could ever want for sex. I’ve never seen anything like it and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to see it again. It’s the dildo section that causes me the most distress while also fascinating me: every shape, size, color, and material, is on display. Are there people who will shove anything remotely phallic up there? I gape at Ian and he smiles reassuringly before he begins to completely ignore me. Oh, that’s right: I’m the sub—or second-class citizen—tonight.
Taking my wrist, he pulls me toward a counter that has silver and leather chokers. It takes me a minute before I realize what I’m looking at. Not chokers, dear stupid Ella.
Collars.
There’s a thirtyish woman in purple hair and black leather, manning the counter. If I had to choose one adjective for her, I’d pick formidable even before female. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes,” Ian replies smoothly, “I’m looking for a gold or sterling collar. Something with clean lines, simple yet elegant.”
The woman looks at me curiously as I watch her. Ian catches her glance and whispers in my ear. “Eyes down, Ella.”
Oops. I’m a bad submissive, apparently. After a second, I realize that eyes-down is actually a kindness in this place. I hope he doesn’t think I’m going to kneel on this scuzzy floor, though.
“I like this one. Do you agree?”
I look up to answer him, only to realize he’s speaking to the saleswoman, not me. Apparently I’m not to be consulted for my own collar—and that sounds just so wrong.
“Yes, that one would look lovely on her.” She hands it to Ian and he sweeps my hair to one side to put it around my throat. “Yes. We’ll take this one.”
Chancing a glance up, I see the woman looks delighted. I take a wild guess that the collar is pricey and she just scored a hefty commission.
“Here’s my credit card. Don’t close out the balance until we’re finished shopping.
“Of course, sir. Will she be wearing the collar or would you like it packed up?”
“Wear, I think.” Still holding my wrist, he leads me to the other side of the store. An older man, also in black leather, is managing this side and I immediately feel way more uncomfortable, especially seeing the items Ian is homing in on. Oh, no.
“May I see that one?” he asks the man. “The one with the gemstones?”
The man says nothing but efficiently removes the item requested, handing it to Ian. I sneak a peek, trying to figure out what it is. It’s sterling silver and it’s thicker on one side but the narrow side ends in a wider piece and is surrounded by those gemstones. I’m not sure but I think it goes up a person’s butt so the gemstones stick out—jewelry for the ass is taking the whole concept of adornment a bit far, in my opinion.
While I’m keeping my eyes down, Ian buys some other things. I don’t even want to look anymore: I’m so ready to leave. After he pays for the items he’s selected, he asks for the use of a private room and the redhead ushers us through yet another door. I feel as if each door sends me into an alternate universe. Now Ian and I are alone in a small red and purple room with a huge gilded mirror and an antique plush-velvet couch.
He sits on the couch. “Ella, come here. This,” he holds up the silver thing, “has been sterilized—I just watched the salesman do it. I’m going to put lubrication on it and insert it in you. I want you to wear it until we get back to the hotel. Any questions?”
“Just one. Where are you going to insert it exactly?”
“In your pretty little hindquarters.”
“I don’t think so, Ian.”
“You agreed to play with me tonight: my way, my rules. Leave everything to me. Now turn around, bend over, and grasp your ankles. It will only take a few seconds.”
I stand there, chewing my lip. I did agree to play tonight but I didn’t know playing involved sticking things up my butt. However, what’s the big deal? I’ll try it and if I don’t like it, then I’ll remove it. No big whup. I spin around and bend over, trying not to dwell on what I must look like in this position.
I feel him pull my dress over my back and hear him opening a package. Then something trespasses in a place that should be entirely private. It’s his finger. He pushes it in and out a few times and then I feel something cold and heavy start to slide in. “Push against me, Ella, and it will be easier.”
I do and it goes in slowly and uncomfortably. After a protracted moment, he pulls my dress back down and adjusts it. “All done.”
I stand up and turn around and as soon as I move, the plug shifts and sends all kind of strange sensations through me. Ian sees the look on my face and smiles. He knows what I’m feeling—which is precisely why he wanted it there. He’s going to drive me insane with need before he slakes the thirst.
“Where’s yours?”
“Mine?”
“Don’t you get anything up your ass?” I ask sweetly.
“Not tonight,” he grins. “Just you. Do you want to see how pretty it looks?”
Shaking my head, I say, “Not particularly. I can feel how pretty it looks—those gemstones are not the most comfortable thing, you know.”
His eyes sparkle with evil intent. “Wait until you sit on them.”
“Something to look forward to, I guess. Now what?”
“Now,” he says rising to his feet, “we go out for dinner.” He kisses my nose.
I knew it. I’m not going to get any satisfaction for hours and by the time we get back to our hotel, I’ll probably let him do anything he wants—and he’s counting on that, the Machiavellian bastard. I just know it.
It’s bad enough that I have no panties on, but when you add a short dress and a butt plug to the mix, it makes for one uncomfortable Ella. Ian takes us to an elegant French restaurant on the Upper East Side that serves dinner until eleven. We just make it in by 10:30.
“A little late for dinner, don’t you think?”
“This is the city that never sleeps, Ella. When in Rome…”
“We’re not in Rome,” I say grumpily—those gemstones are starting to smart.
All through dinner, he pays constant attention to me: hanging on my every word, smiling, winking, and oozing charm in general. He also touches me quite a lot, his fingers brushing across my shoulder or the middle of my thigh. At one point he places his hand on the small of my back, almost on my ass but not quite. I’m sitting on the plug—carefully—and it’s becoming excessively uncomfortable, despite my frequent squirming to make it less so. By midnight, I’m more than ready to get back to our hotel downtown and deal with it all.
We get into another taxi but Ian doesn’t give him our hotel address. To my consternation, he takes us to a club. I look at him questioningly, my disappointment surely on my face.
“An after-dinner drink, Ella. Then we’ll go back to the hotel.”
“Why can’t we have the drink at the hotel bar?” My voice sounds whiny.
“You’ll see. Let’s go.”
He leads me into the club that’s literally wall-to-wall people: there’s barely room to move through them to the bar. After about twenty minutes we finally get there and Ian orders two scotches, neat and straight up. “I’m drinking scotch?” I ask.
“Apparently.” He lifts one glass to my lips, offering me a sip and then we go in search of a place to land. Of course there are no tables available but we find a piece of a wall we can claim that has a shelf nearby for our drinks. Ian puts his arm around me and pulls me close.
“Now,” he says, “you wanted to know why we couldn’t go to the hotel bar? I’ll show you.” I feel his hand go right up my dress and he starts finger fucking me right there in full view of everyone. I whip my head around, horrified, but no one seems to be paying us any attention. The room is dark, crowded, and loud with voices and music. My knees have just about gone out on me. Between Ian’s fingers and that damn butt plug, I’m secon
ds away from an orgasm. He knows it too because just as things start to contract, he stops completely, taking back his hand and kissing me deeply as I feel my climax melt away entirely. I can’t help it: I stomp my foot.
“That was mean!”
“I’ll make it up to you soon, Ella. Just hold on a bit longer.”
“Why?”
“Do you really want to come here, with all these people around you?”
“Right now I don’t give much of a damn. But you know that, Ian, since you’re the one doing it to me.”
His hand goes back up my dress but this time he starts pulling on the plug, inching it out and then back in and twisting it back and forth. With the same hand, he slides his thumb into me in front. It should be obviously apparent to others around us as to what we’re doing since he has to bend his knees to put his hand up my dress… but the idea that people may be watching does not horrify me as it should. What is wrong with me? When my eyes are locked with Ian’s, the whole world recedes into the background like a blurry photo of a crowd. My knees buckle again and I lean my head on his shoulder. Just as I move into the orgasm, he stops again.
Okay, fine! Two can play at the same game. Without caring if anyone can see, I put my hand over his crotch and start rubbing it in earnest. He smiles and remains perfectly composed. How the fuck does he do that? I’m never going to win with him as my opponent. Ever.
Nevertheless I keep it up (excuse the pun). When I feel him get even harder than he was already, I stop and wait a few moments. Then I start up again. While I’m rubbing him, I kiss his throat, lick his ear, suck his earlobe, and finally bite his neck—hard. As soon as he feels my teeth sink into his flesh, his eyelids flutter closed for a brief moment, and then he grabs my hand, roughly leading me out of the club and right into a waiting taxi. I can’t help but smile.