by Frank Martinet
"Trust me," Don said. "You are in for a treat."
Kimberly looked at him hesitantly. She was nervous, excited, and as horny as a teenager on prom night. She ran her hands across Don's shoulders and then embraced him. "Take me," she whispered. "Take me now."
Don gently plucked her hands from him and pushed her away. "You know the rules. No sex for seven days prior."
"He'll never know."
"Oh, he'll know. One look at you and he'll know."
Kimberly threw herself back into her seat and crossed her arms in front of her and pouted. "I hate you," she said nastily. "You're a big, ugly brute. You'd rather fuck him than me," she added, indicating the driver of the limo.
Don laughed. "The brat act's not going to work. Don't worry, you'll be getting yours soon enough."
"Are you sure this guy's worth it? I mean, ten grand - for one night?"
"Don't worry," Don said. "We've waited two years for this. You'll get your money's worth and then some."
"Hummpf," muttered the woman. While she sulked, Don made a quick telephone call. By the time he was finished, the limo was pulling up in front of a tall building in a classy section of town.
"This is it?" asked Kimberly.
"This is it." When the door opened, Don exited. He offered her his hand, and she accepted. He helped her out and they turned and looked at their destination. The skyscraper loomed massively above them, scores and scores of floors.
The doorman called ahead and confirmed their arrival, then ushered them to the elevator. "The penthouse suite," commanded Don, and the elevator man nodded.
In minutes, they were there. A press on the doorbell, while Kimberly waited nervously, and then it opened.
The man standing there surprised her. She had no idea what to expect, but had vague images of a tall, scary creature dressed in leather and covered with tattoos. Instead, this man was not much taller than her. He was normal-looking, handsome in a routine sort of way, heavyset. He was dressed casually in dark slacks and leather shoes with a burgundy turtleneck sweater. His smile was pleasant, almost kind, but there was something intense about his eyes. They were small and black, and they radiated fierce intelligence. Immediately, Kimberly felt herself cringe in fear; there was something intimidating about this man.
"Good evening," he said, and his strong voice was rich of tone with no trace of an accent. When he spoke he spoke toward Don, but his eyes were locked on Kimberly. She shivered.
"Don. And this is Kimberly."
The man nodded. He bowed, drawing Kimberly's hand to his mouth for a gentle kiss. His eyes never left hers, and finally she had to look away, a gentle flush overcoming her cheeks.
"Please. Come in."
The entryway was on a small landing that overlooked a magnificent living room that spread out 180 degrees in front of them. The place was white. White walls, white carpet, white furniture, white stone fireplace, white television, white everything. And everything was impossibly immaculate.
Kimberly felt intimidated by the purity of her surroundings. "Wow," she finally said. "This is impressive."
The man, dressed in dark colors, stood out in the sea of white. It made him seem taller, more powerful. He was a ruler, a god, and this was his domain.
He led them to a white sofa and bid them to sit. A white decanter of coffee sat next to three white china cups and saucers. "Would you like some coffee?"
The brew looked impossibly black in the snow cups. Kimberly watched as three white cubes of sugar disappeared into the blackness and she felt similarly overwhelmed. Nervously, she sipped from the cup, her tongue telling her it was remarkable, but she was too distracted to notice.
"Perhaps it would relax you if we got started," said the man calmly, leaning back and drinking from his cup.
Kimberly stared at him blankly. "Uh, yeah, I guess. Look, I -"
"Disrobe, please."
Kimberly almost dropped her cup. "Excuse me?" she gasped.
"You heard me. Please comply."
The room spun strangely and for a second, Kimberly wondered if he'd put something in her coffee. But they were all drinking from the same pot. Maybe he'd doctored her empty cup?
Then she decided she was being ridiculous. After all, she knew why she was here. His request was not unexpected, it's just that he'd caught her off-guard. She'd figured he'd take her to a playroom of some kind before they... got down to business.
She placed the cup and saucer on the table and stood. She was dressed in red high heels and a stunning crimson gown. The back was bare almost down to her ass, the front equally daring. The waist was tight, showing off her slender figure, and the dress flared out over her hips, cascading downward in a shimmer of red. She looked and felt like a lady.
Kimberly carefully stepped out of the shoes. She placed them a few steps away, then deliberately slid the straps off her shoulders and let the dress fall to her ankles. She wore no bra, and the translucent white panties were closer to lingerie than underwear.
For a moment, there was silence. The man was watching her carefully, drinking in the sight of her naked body. For the first time in many years, Kimberly felt embarrassed by her nudity, but her pride wouldn't allow her to show that shame. She remained rigid, waiting for him to make the first move.
After several minutes, Kimberly began to sweat. The man was just watching her relentlessly. Don sat in his chair and looked between the two of them and sipped his coffee. Another minute passed.
Finally, the man gave a brief nod, and Kimberly knew what that meant. She turned her back to him, showing him her ass. She was proud of her ass. At one point in her life she'd cursed it, for her wide hips had made it too prominent for her to get the top modeling jobs, but then she'd discovered that in certain circles, a large butt was a tremendous asset.
She slipped her thumbs in the waistband of her panties and slowly, wiggling her hips, slid the underpants down to her ankles. Then she daintily stepped out of them. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the man was still watching her with the same serious expression, like a student cramming for a final exam. She turned and faced him.
His eyes slowly drank in every part of her body. He studied her face, then her breasts, her belly, her crotch. She was suddenly grateful she kept her pussy hair so neatly groomed. She knew how she looked; surely he couldn't be finding fault?
It was impossible to judge anything from the man's studious concentration. He never smiled, not even his eyes. He was all business.
"Sit," he said, waving a hand at the sofa where Kimberly had been sitting. "Drink your coffee before it gets cold."
The mention of cold made Kimberly realize she was chilly: the room was cool, a few degrees below comfort level. Naked, she noticed it acutely. The hot coffee sounded wonderful. She hurried to her chair and sat, gulping the coffee and trying not to think about how exposed she was.
The man and Don talked quietly about nothings: the rain, the Red Sox, the stock of some biotech company. It was as though Kimberly wasn't there. She stared at them indignantly. 'Hey, I'm sitting here naked,' she wanted to scream, but drank her coffee instead.
Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Neither man said a word to Kimberly, but continued to quietly talk sports and stocks. Twice she almost said something, but chickened out. Finally, she got up and crossed to the penthouse window and looked out at the city skyline. In the glass she could see a faint reflection of the room behind her, Don and the man sitting and talking. More distinct was the reflection of her bare breasts, reminding her of her nudity.
She glanced back at the men. It was like they never noticed her get up. She wanted to scream, but she was half-afraid that would get things started. She wanted this, yes. But she feared it as well. That was part of the reason she wanted it, of course. It was supposed to push her beyond her normal limits, beyond her safety zone.
Kimberly must have zoned out, for suddenly she was aware of a presence. Her eyes opened in alarm and she tensed. In the glass in front of her, she saw the man was standing behind her, so close he was almost touching her. If she moved, she'd run into him.
His expression was harmless, innocent, blank. Yet she didn't believe it. His presence was malevolent and dangerous. He was very dangerous, she suddenly realized, and with a start she saw that Don was no longer sitting on the sofa.
"Don -"
She started to turn, but he caught her. His fingers were incredibly strong, his grip masterful. She felt helpless in his power, like a fly trapped in a web with the spider approaching.
"Your husband is gone."
The way he said it, it was almost like Don was gone forever, dead. Kimberly felt panicky for a moment, then relaxed. Don would never leave her if this wasn't safe. It was safe, right? She could trust this stranger?
She looked into his eyes but saw nothing recognizable. He was intelligent, determined, and arrogant, but she already knew that. There was nothing there that reassured her.
"Are you ready to be whipped?" he whispered. He said it blandly, the way one might ask, "Are you ready to go to dinner?"
Kimberly's mouth went dry and she felt momentary terror. But then, between her legs, she felt an incredible surge of desire. She was desperately hungry, and she nodded.
"After you," he said politely, indicating the direction she was to go.
Nervously leading, Kimberly padded forward. She went down a narrow corridor past two closed doors and stopped in front of a third. At his nod, she opened it.
Her first impression was that it was a Jazzercize room. The walls to her left and right were covered with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. They reflected each other infinitely, making the room seem much larger. Then she realized it was a dungeon.
But it was unlike any dungeon she'd ever seen. Dungeons were always black and dark. This one was brightly lit, white, and antiseptically clean. It was more like a hospital's operating room, or perhaps more accurately, as she spotted various harnesses and stainless steel mounts, a gynecological examination room. It was terrifying in a different way. Everything was so cold and sterile, so clean on the surface, that it stirred the imagination to wonder what evil could lurk beneath. Thus every item in the room took on an ominous tone. Kimberly's palms began to sweat.
"Here," said the man. He indicated a white cord hanging from the ceiling, a white cloth cuff on the end.
She wrapped the cuff around her wrist and fastened it firmly, but comfortably, her heart thumping louder and louder as this was becoming more real. She realized with surprise that the ceiling cord wasn't rope, but an elastic band.
Another band was dangling from the other side of the ceiling, and the man took this and brought it to her. She had to stretch her arms wide to reach, and even then the distance was such that she was on her tiptoes to make it work. The man locked the cuff and Kimberly realized with a tremble inside that it was now truly over: she was his. She could not possibly escape. Don was gone, and this man could do whatever he wanted to her and there was nothing she could do about it.
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