Tormented

by EM BROWN

  “You never do it in a public place, pet?”

  She frowned. “Not in a bathroom.”

  He pulled out his cock and stroked it. “Then where?”

  “In one of the library study rooms at Stanford.”

  “Where else?”

  “In a parking lot of a grocery store—inside the car, at midnight.”

  “That it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Now you get to add coffee shop bathroom to your list.”

  She groaned.

  He held his cock, which he had gotten erect for her. “Come on, pet. After the blow job, you can get the chastity belt off.”

  She looked at the bathroom floor and grimaced. It didn’t look bad to him. He had gotten it on in worse places.

  “Come on, pet.”

  Grudgingly, she knelt down, took his cock and wrapped her mouth over the tip.

  Fuck.

  He closed his eyes, relishing the magnificence of her mouth, before opening his eyes to imprint the sight of her thick lips wrapped about him in his memory. She took him fast and deep, probably because she needed to piss badly. He could be a true asshole and hold off on coming, even though the pressure of her wet, hot mouth was sending delicious vibrations up his prick and down his legs. But he wanted to save up for her punishment later.

  He cupped the back of her head and pushed her a little farther down his length. Not yet adept at deep throating, she started to gag. He pulled her off to allow her to stop coughing before he shoved her back on his cock.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  “Being used,” he called out.

  Holy shit.

  She was sucking harder, her cheeks caved in from the force. Her tongue scraped the underside of his shaft with every bob of the head. She tried taking him deeper of her own accord. With her right hand, she grabbed his bollocks, tugging them just enough to create discomfort.

  Fucking marvelous.

  While holding her head so she couldn’t retreat, he pistoned his hips. For the most part, she was able to keep up, and yanked his scrotum if he made her gag.

  Another knock at the door interrupted his rhythm.

  “Piss off!” he returned.

  He slammed his hips at Kimani. She squeezed his balls and sucked like she was trying to take his cock off.

  He exploded into her mouth, shuddering and bucking, grunting and roaring. She swallowed his cum to prevent it from spilling onto herself or the floor.

  “That’s it, pet, lick it all off,” he said with a ragged breath as a final violent tremor shot through him.

  Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep breath. Fuck, that was bloody good.

  “Master?”

  After replacing his cock and zipping up, he took out a small key and unlocked the chastity belt. She looked at him, waiting.

  “You’re not leaving, are you?” she asked.

  “Why should I?”

  She frowned but sat herself on the toilet. Laying the belt over his shoulder, he watched as she relieved herself. When she was done, she went to wash her hands. He barely waited for her to dry them before grabbing her and pinning her face-forward into the wall with her wrists above her head. Pressing her in place with his body, he released one of her wrists, then reached around and under her skirt.

  “How’s my pussy?” he murmured against her braids.

  His digits slid between her folds, then fondled her clitoris. She moaned.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered, using her free hand to push herself away from the wall.

  “It’s no fun putting on a chastity belt if your pussy isn’t dripping wet. And because you gave such great head, I might let you come.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Her body was responding already to his caresses. Would it always? Would she never gain control?

  “Seriously?” she half-whimpered. “There are people who need to use this bathroom.”

  “Are you saying you don’t want to come?”

  No! I do want to come. Make me come...

  “Yes...that’s what I’m saying.”

  He slowed his stroking of her clit, then withdrew altogether. With his body no longer pressed against her, she was able to take a breath, albeit a shaky one. He took the chastity belt off his shoulder. She groaned, not wanting to put that thing back on again. But she didn’t have much of a choice. So she lifted the skirt and allowed him to wrap the belt about her and lock it in place.

  When they exited, they had to walk past three people waiting in line. Kimani felt her face burning and couldn’t wait to get out of the coffee shop. Now she would never be able to look at a coffee shop restroom the same way again.

  “Uncle Gordon,” Ben said into his cell when they had stepped outside. His face darkened, but his tone was light when he spoke. “Meeting was fine. Just one of several Dawson and I will have.”

  There was a pause, then Ben said, “If you’re in the city, I can easily meet for lunch...I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  As Ben hung up, a Porsche Panamera pulled up.

  “What happened to Wong?” she asked when he opened the car door for her.

  “I gave him the rest of the day off,” Ben answered.

  Bataar greeted her as she entered the car and settled onto the buttery leather seat, which she could have enjoyed much better without the chastity belt.

  “Maybelle’s,” Ben told Bataar after sitting down next to her.

  She started. “We’re going for soul food?”

  “It’s Uncle Gordon’s favorite place in the city.”

  “Really?”

  Maybelle’s was located on the edge of the Potrero Hill and Bayview districts. The eatery served a mean sweet potato pie, in addition to succulent ribs and perfectly fried chicken.

  “He knows the owner somehow.”

  “So the meeting didn’t go so well?” she ventured.

  He glanced at her in surprise. “What do you mean?’

  “Your meeting with Dawson. You didn’t look too happy about it.”

  “I didn’t?”

  “You didn’t, even though you told your uncle it went ‘fine.’”

  “I didn’t want to get into it over the phone.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “He made a request I can’t fulfill.”

  “What kind of request?”

  “It’s expected that a major development like ours must include a certain amount of community space. Dawson Chang wants a childcare center. That’s going to take up too much square footage, and the use doesn’t fit the property. He knows that.”

  “Dawson’s a smart guy. Why would he do that?”

  Ben looked at her carefully before answering, “I don’t think he expects to get it. It’s just the starting point for negotiation, but I think it’s an unreasonable ask to begin with. I think he thinks he can push it because Uncle Gordon is running for mayor.”

  “Do you know where he wants to end up?”

  “He probably wants me to buy him out. Instead of building the childcare center at the waterfront property, we’d be money ahead offering to build it somewhere else.”

  “Why can’t a childcare center be profitable for you? There’s great demand for childcare.”

  “It’s not more profitable than condos.”

  “Do more condos serve a greater good?”

  “We’re taking a poorly utilized property, increasing its value and contributing to the local economy.”

  “Would it really hurt the value of the development to have a childcare center? I bet you would make out comfortably either way.”

  “Are you working for APCA?”

  “Just trying to understand where you’re coming from. So what are you going to do with his request?”

  “We’ll meet more, look at options, come to a compromise.”

  She made a wry grin. “You’re capable of compromise?”

  “What are you saying, pet?”

  “You seem to like everything on your terms.”

&
nbsp; She risked perturbing him with talk like this, but he seemed amused.

  “I do like things on my terms. Lift your skirt.”

  She glanced over at Bataar, who had made no motion, as if he hadn’t heard anything, but he had to have heard.

  “Do it,” Ben said.

  She lifted her skirt to reveal the chastity belt. He put his hand at her crotch and rubbed the belt. Instantly, her mind imagined him stroking her sans the belt between them. He had already aroused her prior to putting the damn thing back on.

  How was it she hadn’t yet learned to keep her trap closed around this guy? Inevitably she said something that would come back to bite her in some way.

  Not wanting to draw Bataar’s attention, she remained silent as Ben tapped the belt. She could feel the faintest of pressure on her private parts.

  “Maybelle’s, boss,” Bataar announced.

  She let out a huge sigh of relief. Bataar came around to open the door for her.

  After he had driven away to park the car or do whatever he normally did till Ben needed him, she murmured to Ben, “You pull that kind of stuff around Bataar often?”

  “He’s seen a lot more.”

  “Don’t you think it makes him uncomfortable?”

  Ben looked down at her. “I don’t think it bothers him. And if it did, I compensate him plenty for his discomfort.”

  “Just because you can take advantage of someone doesn’t mean you should. You can still treat him nice.”

  He caught her chin in his hand, lifting her face up to his. “I’m not a particularly nice guy, but you’ve already figured that out, eh, pet?”

  After he let her go, they walked into the small establishment sandwiched between a laundromat and a barber shop. Like the restaurant in Chinatown, Maybelle’s had crammed enough tables and chairs into its space to risk being a fire hazard. The chairs were all folding chairs, mostly mismatched. But who cared about mismatched chairs when the most amazing aroma of barbecue permeated the air?

  “It’s about a ten, fifteen-minute wait, hon,” a waitress called to her as she set down collard greens before a table of patrons.

  Just then, a man in his early fifties entered behind them. He stood nearly a good six inches shorter than Ben and wore thin metal glasses over an easy and friendly countenance.

  “Uncle Gordon,” Ben greeted.

  Unlike the stylish and perfectly tailored suit that Ben sported, Gordon Lee wore a much more modest suit. Kimani tried to match their likeness. Gordon had a rounder face, a kinder expression, and faint wrinkles about the eyes suggesting that he liked to laugh a lot.

  “This is...Montana,” Ben introduced.

  Gordon’s handshake was warm and firm, his tone welcoming, as if he were truly pleased to meet her. “Gordon Lee.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said, already drawn to liking him.

  Gordon called to the waitress who had spoken to Ben and Kimani, “Aisha, can you put me down for a table for three?”

  “Hey there, Mr. Lee,” the waitress replied, flashing him a broad smile. “Table for three, coming up.”

  She turned to a table of two young men. “Charles, Winston, move your butts.”

  “No, no,” Gordon interjected. “We’re fine waiting.”

  “They’re done, Mr. Lee. Been doing nothing but warming the chairs these past ten minutes.” She glared at the two young men, who promptly paid their bill and rose from the table.

  “But you have other patrons in line.”

  “Ma would never let me live it down if she came to find you waiting for a table.”

  “You tell Maybelle I refuse to jump the line.” He gestured to the patrons who had arrived ahead of them to take the newly vacated table.

  Aisha put a hand on her hip. “You making trouble for me, Mr. Lee?”

  He spotted a highboy where the patrons had just finished up. “No trouble, Aisha. It’s all worked out.”

  “But you should get to sit, Mr. Lee.”

  “Sitting around too much makes me feel old.”

  The waitress gave up, wiped down the highboy and said, “I’ll tell Ma you’re here.”

  They stood at the table. Gordon smiled at Kimani. “Have you been here before?”

  “Quite a few times,” she answered.

  “You live here in the city then?”

  She hesitated, not remembering what she might have told Ben. “I do. But I don’t want to get in the way of your meeting with Ben. You can pretend I’m not here. You must have a lot to talk over.”

  Gordon waved a dismissive hand. “Just boring stuff. And it’s not urgent.”

  The last thing she wanted was for Gordon to ask a bunch of questions about her, so she said, “But it’s probably best to talk about the meeting with Dawson while it’s fresh on the mind.”

  “You work for Ben?”

  “I told her about the meeting,” Ben supplied.

  “You said it went fine. That’s pretty vague and could be interpreted as good or bad.”

  Ben gave his uncle the same information he had given Kimani. Meanwhile, plates of brisket, ribs, sweet potato pie, corn, dinner rolls and collard greens were set before them.

  “We do need more childcare,” Gordon said. “We don’t do enough to support parents and young children. The early years are so important when it comes to health and success later in life. Research shows that kids who attend quality preschools have higher math and reading skills, are better prepared for kindergarten, behave better in class, and are more likely to graduate from high school and go to college.”

  “I turned out okay.”

  “You’re an exception, not the rule.”

  Gordon stared intently at Ben, leaving something unsaid. Ben bristled and looked away.

  Gordon thought for a moment. “There’s actually a building in Chinatown that would be a great location for a preschool or childcare facility. The owner hasn’t made any improvements to the property and is just sitting on it.”

  “Phillip Ma,” Ben acknowledged. “His asking price is ridiculous.”

  “What else did Dawson want?”

  “The usual. Use of local labor for construction and transportation improvements because Chinatown is already impacted by surrounding developments.”’

  “We’ve had three pedestrian injuries this quarter.”

  “I almost told Dawson his childcare center proposal was a non-starter, but I know his support means a lot in the mayoral race.”

  “You do what you have to do. I was thinking of his support when I asked you to meet with him, but that was selfish of me. I should not be a consideration. You have to act in the best interest of the Lee Corporation.”

  “You’re family, Uncle Gordon.”

  “I appreciate that, but you know that it wasn’t my idea to run for mayor.”

  Kimani had read in the paper that more moderately liberal politicians and the business community had pushed him to run because the other candidates were considered too radical for them. She kept quiet as she scarfed down the food.

  “If I don’t win the election, I go back to the life I know, which is a pretty good one.”

  At that moment, a petite elderly woman approached the table. “Gordon Lee, why aren’t you sitting at a table?”

  “Because I can stand perfectly well,” Gordon replied, giving the woman a hug. “Maybelle, this is my nephew, Ben. And this is his guest, Montana.”

  Maybelle shook hands with them before returning to Gordon. “You know there’s always a table at Maybelle’s for you.” She turned to Ben and Kimani. “This man saved my life.”

  “I did nothing of the sort,” Gordon insisted.

  “Without him, I would have been evicted from my apartment while I was recovering from cancer treatment. The landlord was trying to get rid of his Section 8 tenants. Gordon took us on as clients pro bono. Which was good, because I could afford next to nothing. I thought I was going to lose it all: my home, my business.”

  So that’s why he’s treated as royalt
y here. Kimani took in the affection beaming from the proprietress’ face as she looked upon the mayoral candidate.

  Clearly trying to steer the attention off himself, Gordon said, “Maybelle, how are you doing these days?”

  “Thinking to open up a second location. Maybe in Oakland. Wish you could come over here and run for mayor so I could vote for you. Hope you still come to see me if you get elected mayor of Oakland.”

  “Nothing would stop me from coming, Maybelle. Your sweet potato pie is too good.”

  “It’s to die for,” Kimani added.

  “Then I’m sending you all home with an extra helping.”

  After Maybelle left to chat with another table, Kimani couldn’t resist asking Gordon what sort of law he practiced.

  “I started out in housing and employment,” he answered, “usually discrimination cases.”

  Ben grinned. “Father said he was an oxymoron: a penniless lawyer. He thought it was a waste of a law degree, doing what you did.”

  “Your father came from humble beginnings. He should know that not everyone’s cut out to be a billionaire businessman.”

  “I’m sure your work must have been very rewarding,” Kimani said to Gordon.

  “It is,” Gordon acknowledged.

  Kimani returned his smile. Shoot. She liked the guy. A lot. The few times she had seen him on television, he hadn’t come across as very charismatic or well spoken. His demeanor suggested he was more bureaucrat than politician. But up close and personal, his sincerity and affability radiated.

  “I don’t want to dwell too much on Dawson,” Gordon said, returning to their prior topic, “but you know it’s hard to get past the commission without the support of APCA.”

  “I’ve been in conversation with all the commissioners. I think we could get the votes. Williams, De Reyes, and O’Conner.”

  “You’re not supposed to tell me that kind of stuff. It’s against the Brown Act.”

  “You have to recuse yourself. You don’t count.”

  “You’re counting on De Reyes?” Kimani asked. When Ben fixed his stare on her, she thought perhaps she shouldn’t have said anything.

  “Why can’t I count on him?” Ben inquired.