Manhattan Master

by Jesse Joren

  Manhattan Master

  A Short Erotic Romance

  As told to Jesse Joren

  The characters and events in these stories are a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons is purely coincidental and unintended by the author. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any method without express prior written consent of the author.

  Text copyright © 2015 Jesse Joren

  All rights reserved.

  Once upon a time, an innocent Southern girl went to meet a gentleman in Manhattan.

  Only she wasn't that innocent.

  And he was no gentleman.

  "Anything you want. Anything at all. Use me."

  My words fade into the thick, carved silence of the room. All I can hear is our breathing, and the muted sounds of downtown Manhattan traffic. The streets teem below, filled with traffic and horns, the occasional siren.

  Yet here I stand in this quiet hotel room, unable to say more than those few words.

  Who could have known that a business meeting could have led to this? You came to Atlanta to buy a loft for the times you're there on business. If I hadn't been the only agent in the office that day, I might never have met you.

  After many weeks I found exactly what you wanted in Peachtree Plaza. Western view from every room. Hand-cut stone tiles in the foyer. Private elevator.

  It was hard work to meet your exacting standards, and I was triumphant to find such a perfect match. What I didn't know was that you cared very little about the expensive penthouse. You'd already found exactly what you wanted.

  Me.

  Cell phones brokered our long-distance romance. You pursued me with diamonds and orchids. I gave my heart to you.

  Now my body has followed. I've left behind the familiar Southern life I know to give myself into your hands. No limits. That's what you require, what I crave.

  I glance up at you through my lashes, trying to read something behind your impassive expression. I kneel between your muscular thighs, the position you instructed me to assume as I entered.

  The warm day and my excitement have left my body misted with sweat. The thin, cornflower-blue cotton of my dress begins to cling to my skin.

  The air conditioning is on. I can hear it, but it does little to cool me. My body's flush is not all from the day's heat. Can you smell my arousal coming through my pores?

  The thought excites me.

  "Really. Anything?" you ask in that soft, deceptive tone that still makes me weak.

  "Anything," I repeat, my voice more high-pitched than usual.

  You thrill me, but you also make me nervous. The mixture is part of what makes you like a drug, something I can't resist.

  "Pull up your dress and let me see your body," you say. Half teasing request, half stern command. Totally irresistible.

  I raise my skirt to my thighs, my waist, my breasts, slowly baring my body to you. As you instructed, I wear nothing under the dress.

  I look down to see myself as you do. A smooth, lightly-tanned body. Rounded breasts and dark pink nipples. The mild, shaved rise between my thighs.

  Your eyes give nothing away when I glance at you. How much I want to please you.

  "Pull your left nipple tight," you say.

  I take the little bud and tug, pulling it out from my breast. I tense when you reach into your pocket and pull out a small pocket knife, the something else. It looks like fishing line.

  Something in my expression makes you smile.

  "Hold it out. Don't let go," you say. "Hold onto the very tip and pull."

  I pull hard as you cut a piece of the twine, wrapping the length around the base like a tiny noose. Tighter and tighter it pulls until a little moan escapes me. Your fingers are quick as they make the knot.

  "Let go," you tell me.

  When I release my nipple it protrudes, aching and erect. I feel a familiar tingle between my thighs.

  "Good. Now the other side."

  The sting of the twine wraps around the base of my right nipple, yanking it erect to match its mate. You wrap one more cruel twist around each base, trimming away the excess line.

  The clear strip is almost invisible, sunk deep into my swollen flesh. Those lines won't be coming off until they're cut.

  "Very nice," you say, brushing your palms over the aching tips. They harden to the point of pain under your touch.

  "These don't show as much as clamps would. I might be taking you places where it's better to be slightly more discreet."

  I have no idea what you're talking about. I thought we agreed only to meet in this room, but I've given myself to you. If the trust wasn't there, I would have stayed home.

  That doesn't mean that I don't also feel fear. Part of me still wonders what the hell I've gotten myself into.

  "Aren't you going to thank me?" you tease, flicking the tips with your nails.

  "Thank you. I love how that feels," I stammer.

  Again you flash that smile that makes my heart beat faster, then you pat your lap.

  "Lay back on the floor and raise your legs," you say. "I want to see your pussy up close."

  The crude, matter-of-fact request feels calculated to humble me, and it works. I feel my face go red as I hesitate.

  A frown begins between your eyes. I don't fear your anger, but I can't bear to be a disappointment to you. Not after all this time, all of these dreams.

  I let my dress drop back into place, easing into the floor between your feet. I lay on my back and raise my legs up to drape over the arms over the chair. I try to keep my thighs closed with poor success.

  Slowly your fingers slip deep between my lips, rubbing and exploring. My thighs part like water, the dress falling back to my waist. I feel cool air and your finger inside of me, rubbing away the light cream of my excitement.

  Your fingertip strokes me, feeling the firm little knob that swells as you play, stretching out to meet your touch.

  "Open to me," you say in a soft voice of steel.

  My hands find my smooth lips, pulling them apart, exposing the deepest pink to you. The hard little center of my excitement. The tiny place where I pee. The soft opening to the deepest part of me.

  "Good. Don't move."

  I squirm when your fingertips squeeze my hardness, gripping and stretching it until I gasp. There's the soft whicker of fishing line being unraveled. The cool twine closes around the base of my stretched clit.

  The tightness becomes a burn. My flesh swells, fevered and throbbing in protest, but all I'm aware of is the excitement building inside of me. I look up, disheveled and flushed, seeing that little grin on your face as you set the twine and knife aside.

  "You can let go now," you offer. How generous.

  My inner thighs are soaked with soft wetness, like I have a fever. Your finger slips into me one final time, teasing the hard little nub back and forth before withdrawing.

  "Stand up and pull your dress down. Let's see if it shows."

  I stand, my legs quivering as I smooth the dress back down over my hips. Even just standing still, the rubbing sensation is maddening.

  My nipples are pressed against the thin cloth, clearly visible from any angle. Anyone looking at me with more than a passing glance will notice, unless they happen to be using a white cane and seeing eye dog.

  Your little chuckle tells me that you've read my mind.

  "You'll just have to move fast so that no one gets more than a peek," you say.

  I resist the urge to stick out my tongue at you, wary of that fishing line I saw go back in your pocket. "Where are we going?"

  "To my office. I need to make some calls." You smile. "Pretty boring stuff." Your voice takes on a new note, husky with secrets.

  "Plus I thought you might want to
come with me and see what I have installed under my desk."

  A slow throb of excitement twists in my belly.

  "What is it?" I ask, feeling a rush of damp heat between my thighs.

  Your eyes gleam in a way that makes my trussed parts throb. "You already know that answer, Gabrielle."

  You take my hand to lead me from the room. Before we reach the door you stop, snapping your fingers.

  "I almost forgot. One more thing."

  You reach into the inner jacket pocket of your expensive suit, removing a small, elegant-looking little vibrator. The stainless steel gleams softly in your palm.

  "Obedience comes in many forms." Your beautiful mouth curls into a smirk. "Put it in, then we're ready for our walk."

  Wordlessly I stare at you. Surely this is a joke. How can I walk and hold that inside of me out on the city streets?

  "I'm waiting."

  Your eyes lock on mine, testing me as you stand there, so perfect with your dark hair and blue-gray eyes. A dark angel, waiting to make me fall.

  With slow steps I walk to the desk, turning so that I face you. I raise my leg and put my foot on the edge of the desk, pulling my skirt back so you can see me.

  In this position, one leg raised and stretched out to the side, everything I have to offer is in full view. As your eyes dip lower, I know you see what I can feel: the clear, trickling juice beginning its slow course down my inner thighs.

  My hand trembles a little, but I find the entry to my sleek opening with the tip of the vibrator. I slide the little toy up inside my tightness. There's a momentary spasm that makes me tremble.

  "I need panties or something to keep it in," I say with desperation.

  "Put your leg down," you suggest.

  I lower my foot to the floor, sending the smoothness of the vibrator higher into my wetness. My knees tremble as though I've run up a dozen flights of stairs.

  "You can hold it without any help," you say. "It's just a short walk across the street, across a lobby, into an elevator, down a couple of halls. That's all."

  A tiny smile hovers in your eyes. I almost smile back.

  "What if it falls out?" I challenge. "Can you stand that kind of embarrassment, right where you work every day?"

  "Not the least bit embarrassing for me," you say as you take my arm and lead me to the door. "It won't be me that let it fall."

  My face is on fire. I clench my inner muscles, determined not to let it slide out. Each step I take makes the flesh between my legs throb. This isn't going to be easy.

  After you close and lock the door behind us, you steer me toward the elevator and the outside world. I glance back at the silent door. Half an hour ago I was afraid to enter in. Now it looks like a sanctuary.

  The elevator is sleek and modern, thankfully empty. Once the doors close I glance at you, and what I see in your eyes makes my knees like jelly.

  You reach to smooth my hair, to stroke the back of my neck. The tension begins to melt from me. Sighing a little, I lean back into that strong touch. In spite of your stern demeanor, how gentle you can be –

  That's when I feel the vibrator start to slip. I straighten, pulling in with all the muscle power I can. I manage to control it just as the elevator doors open. No one gets in the car. Maybe they decided to take the stairs. But still…

  I turn on you.. "You did that on purpose!"

  Your smile doesn't deny it. "Don't get too relaxed," you say.

  When the elevator opens on the ground floor, I'm dismayed to see that the vaulted lobby is teeming with people. I glance down at the hard little nubs of my nipples. Am I just paranoid, or they really are that noticeable?

  A bellboy passes and does a double take. His eyes crawl all over the front of me. I have my answer.

  "So we're going across the street?" I ask, trying to speed my steps, to hurry us across the lobby. Again I can feel the vibrator trying to slip. I doubt you'll let me walk on if it does.

  "Yes. Right through those doors," you say, gesturing at the tall, stately building across the street. "What's the hurry? Slow down. I'm proud to have you beside me."

  Your eyes burn down into mine, your smile slow and rich.

  "I waited a long, long time for you, Gabrielle."

  The sound of my name on your tongue makes my legs weak all over again. I've never really liked my name, but on your lips it becomes something new, something exotic and unexpected.

  You take my arm in a gentlemanly fashion, smiling down at me. Several people around us, older women mostly, smile in obvious approval of this courtly gesture.

  If only they knew.

  Outside I start to charge across the crosswalk, trying to get under cover as quickly as I can. Again the firm pressure of your hand on my arm stops me.

  "Let's get lunch," you say, steering us toward a bright yellow food cart parked on the street. "Have you ever had Salvadorian food?"

  I shake my head no. A very long line of people stretches from the truck. The smoky, rich aroma of beef and spices curls into the air.

  My stomach growls. I was too nervous to eat breakfast, and it smells delicious. But the madding presence of the vibrator inside of me makes it impossible to think of food.

  "Please, can we wait?" I ask under my breath.

  You pause just out of earshot of the other customers. "Are you sure? They make the best pupusas in town."

  No way am I going to ask what a pupusa is and expose my ignorance.

  "Please," I whisper, looking down at the sidewalk. My nipples are protesting more loudly, the ache deepening with every moment. I'm still uneasy, unprepared for this public arena you've chosen.

  I hold my breath as we approach the truck…then we go past it, heading for the bank of mirrored glass doors.

  "Thank you," I say softly.

  You just smile as we enter the building. Randall Towers, the engraved plaque announces grandly.

  "Good morning, Mr. Randall," a security guard greets you immediately. And why shouldn't he? You command this building, and everything in it. Me included.

  Cool air washes over my hot skin as you steer me into an alcove. Being this close to you makes me dizzy.

  "We probably won't be alone on this elevator," you say. "You're my real estate agent, finding me some property upstate. Very confidential. That's all you have to tell anyone. Stick to the essentials."

  "Don't worry. Essential is my middle name," I say, a tiny spark of my usual smartass finally peeking through.

  Your voice caresses me like silk. "Yes, you are. "Much more than you know yet. But you will."

  The words thrill and terrify me. How did I get here, in this huge, teeming city where I know no one but you? In so many ways, I don't really know you either…but that whisper of instinct inside of me tells me that you would never let anything harm me.

  The elevator doors open. As you predicted, others rush in with us, packing the car. I end up standing just in front of you, our bodies barely touching.

  Like everyone else, I look up at the numbers. I've never understood why people do that. Now I wonder if they're all like me. Maybe everyone is harboring some secret sex toy, looking for anything to distract them.

  In spite of the people all around us, I feel your hand on my ass, stroking through my dress. My nipples try to harden, but they're already pulled into artificial arousal by the twine. They tingle as you rub me under the cover of the packed bodies.

  Each time the elevator pulls to a stop, I feel the vibrator shift inside of me. I squeeze hard, trying to hold it in place.

  I hear you laugh under your breath. You must be able to feel my ass clench under your palm.

  "Good girl," you whisper, so low that no one hears but me. "My good little slut."

  Finally the doors open as we reach your floor. Thank God.

  You guide me down the hall, making several introductions. Everyone is so well-dressed, so poised and confident. I don't miss several looks of veiled scorn from some of the polished women. Is it my jutting nipples? The simple,
inexpensive dress and sandals?

  I don't know what causes it, but I know that look when I see it.

  I mechanically repeat the thin cover story you've given me, trying to smile and act nonchalant. How can anyone believe such a trumped-up tale? I glance at you, and something about the smile I see around your eyes steadies me.

  By the time I'm introduced to the last person, the vibrator is slipping despite my best efforts. I can only imagine how strained I must look. We arrive at your office, and I race in as soon as you open the door.

  A wall of glass frames the city below, the Hudson River in the distance. The room is expensive and understated, a room with authority. For the first time I see the wide cherry desk I've heard you mention. The desk that has been a cornerstone of so many discussed fantasies.

  "You did fine," you say. I'm surprised when you take me into your arms, rubbing your hands up and down the length of my spine. "Now was that so bad?"

  "I thought I was going to drop it," I say against your shoulder, soaking in your scent.

  I can't resist reaching around your hard waist, letting my palms slide up under the jacket of your suit. Under the crisp, starchy white shirt, the hard ripples of your muscular back move under my hands.

  You tilt my head up, and then your lips are on mine. Our first kiss, slow and sensual, your tongue coaxing my lips apart, claiming my mouth as your own.

  Behind the tenderness is the firm steel of command, but in this moment I melt into you. Your lips tell the truth of your strange and heated love for me. My heart trip-hammers.

  You draw back from me, touching my breasts, rubbing against the hard little mounds of my nipples. I bite my lip and look down at our feet. Mine are in white sandals from Target. Yours gleam in expense-be-damned Stefano Bemers.

  "Do these hurt?" you ask.

  I nod, but it's only a partial truth. The hurt is part of my dark excitement, what makes the juice run down my thighs.

  "Take off your clothes. I'll see if I can make them feel better," you say.

  Some lingering shred of caution makes me hesitate. "But there are people all over the place. Anyone might walk in."