Pandoras hideaway, p.5
Pandora's Hideaway, page 5
“Is that why you’re here?”
“Yes.”
“Why not send me a letter?” he grinned wryly.
“I think some things are best said in person.”
“So, put yourself back into a vulnerable position with a man who knows you better than the man you love? Is that really a good idea?”
She thought a moment, not disagreeing with him. “Maybe not.”
“Frankly, Mariel, I think you’re lying—if not openly, then to yourself. You’re here because you can’t stay away from what I represent. What you think I know. What you think you might be with me. You want to be led, to be taken, used the way you were that day. You want to flaunt yourself that crazily.”
“That’s not true,” she looked pained and indignant. “I love Albert. The sex I have with him is terrific. I couldn’t ask for more.”
“Then why so easy with me? That’s the real question. Why are you here?” He seemed annoyed, flustered and frustrated. “If you love Albert, how could you possibly let me fuck you on the balcony of the family home while your unsuspecting fiancé is down below wondering when his beautiful fiancée is going to be at his side to toast the New Year? You can’t get over it. And now you want absolution.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Well, you’re not going to get it from me. I don’t think you belong with my brother, not because you’re bad for him, but because he and his way of life are bad for you.”
“Oh, so this is some noble gesture on your part.”
He shook his head. “We were both full of champagne. Yes, it was a mistake. But you know the old saying… learn from your mistakes or you’re destined to repeat them.”
She had little to say. Nothing that she imagined for the afternoon was turning out as she planned.
“I can’t hurt him,” she finally said.
“Then be honest with yourself,” he spat back exasperated.
She sighed, she strolled the room again, looked out the window, tapped her fingers on the old oak framing and sighed again, finally giving the appearance of leaving as she picked up her coat and purse from a nearby chair.
“Mariel,” he interrupted her departure, “I know what I saw in you at the island and on New Year’s Eve. If you want to go down that road, I’ll take you.”
She stared at him a good long while, fishing for appropriate words. “We’ll have to talk another time,” was all she managed to say.
After that unfortunate reply, Mariel couldn’t remove herself from the studio quickly enough. Why had she left any door open for her return? “We’ll have to talk another time.” How could she even think that?
***
On a crisp January day, Mariel met Jack in the back of Harvey’s Tavern—the very last booth in the back of the bar where they would least be noticed. Just to be safe, she sat across from him, looking friendly, not as if this was a romantic, clandestine tryst.
“What is it that you’re so convinced I need to know about myself?” she opened the conversation, after they were served their beer.
“And why are you asking me now? What’s changed your mind?”
“I’m marrying your brother in June—at least I think I am. If there is something in me that I need to know about, I want to explore it now, get it out of my system. Be done with it.”
“I’m not sure what we’re talking about can be that easily dispensed with.”
“Either way, I’ll know.”
“You are serious?” he couldn’t be certain; she was a very sly woman.
“You said you’d take me down that road… what is that road?”
He mused a bit, wondering if this was just a trap for another of her uncertain conversations, looking for justification. “Sexual surrender,” he finally said just to see where she really was, “the kind of lust that my grandfather’s mistresses wrote to him about.”
“What makes you so sure that’s what I need?”
“It’s what turned you on in the attic, what inspired you in the warehouse, what keeps bringing you back to me. It’s what I read in your face every time I see you. There’s a natural strain in your eye and on your lips that can only be eased by giving in to your real desires. The romance is fine, Albert is doable, but you really in your gut want more.” As he spoke, her eyes grew wide, her heart began to race and her tummy fluttered with excitement.
“Then quit telling me about it and show me!” she blurted out at last.
“You’re sure?”
“Very.” Her eyes were like two laser beams.
“Then tomorrow night.”
“Why not tonight?”
“Because unless I tie you up and whip you myself, I have nothing to show you tonight.”
“Okay, tomorrow night. What do I wear?”
“Anything that’s comfortable. You’re not putting on a show.”
***
Climbing in the car beside Jack, Mariel took a deep breath. She’d already looked about, as if she expected Albert to be watching them drive off into the night. Of course, he wasn’t there.
“I told Albert that I was going out with friends tonight—girlfriends.”
“Was that wise?”
“It was the only safe thing to say. But it’s all right, he and your father have plans—a preliminary board meeting that should take them well into the night.” She paused, looking down at her plain, black sheath, “You think I’m dressed all right?”
“You look fine… conservative, but black is always appropriate.”
They drove through town stopping in front of an upscale apartment house. After parking on the street, they walked arm and arm inside—Mariel needed Jack for support. The elevator in the lobby shot them up to the penthouse floor at the top of the seven-story building.
“This is a private club in a private home,” Jack explained, whispering in her ear as they waited for someone to answer the doorbell.
“And you’re a member,” she whispered back.
“Not exactly. Let’s just say I have well-situated friends.”
The mood was dark as Mariel expected—incense, candles, the elegantly dressed and the leather clad mixing as if they belonged in the same universe. Instantly overcome by a rush of potent sexual energy, Mariel was dizzy for a while, clinging to Jack’s arm as if he owned her.
A small platform was set at one end of a large, richly paneled living room, a runway intruding into the center. Velvet-covered chairs had been pushed to the side, along with a settee and tables. Jack and Mariel sat in two empty chairs on the sidelines, drinking sips of brandy offered by a starched, professional butler. Other guests were seated, some stood, some mulled about while they waited for the main attraction to begin.
After some minutes, a door to the right of the stage opened, allowing a parade of women to enter. Each, dressed in various states of attire designed to accentuate specific body parts, moved humbly into a designated position. Each were cuffed at the wrists, arms raised and attached to an overhead bar from which they were one by one pulled from the group, their manacles reattached to a wire cord and their bodies shoved down the runway.
Men interested in the merchandise came forward, groping the properties, prying thighs apart, forcing fingers into sexual orifices, generating gasps and moans from their subjects. Once inspected, the property stood straight as an arrow, arms in the air, gazing at the audience around them as the bids were made. When the deal was final and the cash changed hands, the new property owner released the manacles from their prize and most often leashed them, pushed them to their knees and made them crawl submissively behind them to a private room.
Mariel watched two women auctioned, each a sassy, snarling bitch who needed the snap of a riding crop to keep her tame. She gasped in awe at the red welts that rose high on their flanks, and shrunk back afraid, as if the crop might stray from the target and hit her.
“I don’t understand this,” she whispered in Jack’s ear.
“Not your cup of tea.”
“I don’t know.” She was flustered, feeling a surge of unexpected arousal crashing through her body. She rubbed her neck, thinking for a moment that her throat had been collared just as these women’s had been.
“You see yourself there?” he asked.
“No, no, I don’t think so.” She wasn’t sure. “What happens when they leave here?” she wondered.
“Perhaps we’ll see.”
A petite woman with sandy-red hair had just been led forward down the runway, tethered to the wire. Unlike the first auctioned properties, this girl had less sass, less bite in her expression and a sorrowful look in her hazel eyes—sorrowful, but seductive. Mariel shivered watching her mesmerizing expression. She had a narrow waist, nicely rounded breasts, a trim tummy, shapely hips and fleshy thighs. She was nearly naked, except for leather, thong panties and a simple, leather, cutout bra that showed off nipples pierced with thick, silver rings. Her long curly hair floated about her shoulders like a pale orange cloud, giving her an ethereal look. Her lips were painted pink, her eyes rimmed with black, her name Laurel.
For several minutes black-clad men assaulted the waifish submissive—the girl responding like a limp rag doll, allowing her body to be flagrantly fondled, slapped, poked and prodded. She looked as if she had no will, but beyond her sad and empty face was a sense that this amazing theatre aroused her entire being. Her lips parted, her hooded eyes grew sultry, she seemed one step from the throes of orgasm, but the men suddenly drew away, giving her good reason to be sad.
“Oh my!” Mariel gasped softly.
“Something wrong?” Jack asked.
“No,” she replied, quaking to her core, something that Jack surely noticed but would not mention.
The bidding for this piece of flesh took some time, much longer than the other offered properties. Several times, the bidding men waltzed about the redhead’s fainting form, gazing at it with critical eyes, as if they were stalking prey, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. Two men were particularly interested in the waif—a muscular, baldheaded, black man who loomed high above her, and a short, handsome Latino, with a quick-witted expression and cagey, black eyes. Each man was cool and calculating, but with a fire burning behind their placid manner. They circled her warily, the black man with a leather riding crop that bit into her thigh, the Latino with a single tail whip he used to flick against her ankles when he wanted her attention focused on him. Mariel prayed for the black man to buy her; she saw some evil in the other man’s eye—although he strutted sexily and fired her own hungering crotch.
When the bidding ended—a silent process this time, almost conducted as a conference between buyers and seller—the black man took the girl away, leading her on his leash, though she wasn’t required to crawl.
Jack stood seconds later, taking Mariel by the hand, out the living room door and down a corridor, giving her no explanation—although none was necessary when they entered the same private room occupied by the black man and his redhead. A look of recognition passed between Jack and the Master in charge; not a word just a look, and the observing couple sat down side by side on a button-tufted, paisley couch.
“On your knees, whore,” Ladner, the black man, boomed, and the girl immediately obeyed, her bare knees sinking into the plush carpet, her head dropping to the floor, touching the tip of his shiny, black boot.
The picture was an awesome sight—of master and slave; of humble beauty and magnificent specimen of masculinity, naked from the waist up, waist down dressed in silky trousers tucked in knee-length boots.
“What is your pleasure, lass?” he asked the bowed woman.
“To serve you, sir,” she whispered loud enough for him to hear.
“Good. You know your place. Take to the rack, belly up with your legs spread.”
Mariel had hardly noticed the device behind the master and slave, the apparatus of wood and bolts tucked into a corner, half-covered in a velvet drape. On Ladner’s orders, the girl rose, stripped the rack of its cover and tugged the heavy thing a few more inches into the room. As though she’d been through this ritual before, she mounted the device, laid down as ordered and waited for the master to continue.
There were straps to anchor her wrists and ankles to wooden struts beneath her, a strap that buckled around her waist, and thin ropes dangling from a frame above that Ladner tied to her nipple rings, stretching the flesh taut.
The redhead beauty languished in this simple torment. Her breathing deepened, her chest expanded, her hips rocked within the small space as if they were seducing a man to enter her there. Ladner moved between her widely bound legs, teasing her, running the tip of a tiny baton around the opening of her vagina. She shivered and jerked, tried to bolt away as the pleasure over took her common sense. The severe pull on her nipples brought her back instantly, with a tiny bit of anguish emitting from her mouth.
“You don’t learn well, do you, slut?” he said, reaching out to stroke her stretched nipples. He plucked the ropes like the strings of a guitar and listened to her gasp. With two fingers in her cunt, she was filled with pleasure, clearly orgasmic, but frustrated when the master removed them. “Not so fast, my slave. I’ll have my satisfaction long before you get yours. He smacked her thighs like he would bongo drums until their color turned pink; then he swiped a flogger from a nearby table and used it on her voraciously. When he laid it on her belly lightly, she shuddered. When he struck her thighs she seethed and screamed depending on the harshness of the blows. When he flogged her breasts, her shrieks were plaintive—but curious. For a moment they seemed pitiful, then they turned sensuous, as if her body found the feelings pleasurable.
The music of her body made Muriel’s crotch tingle. She could feel her cunt soften, the nectar gathering at the doorway, while her heart started to race again and her imagination alone made her spasm. “I have to get away,” she whispered to Jack, feeling desperate.
“No, you don’t,” he answered quietly, angrily. “I’m not asking you to do anything, just watch.”
Ladner turned. “She as good a sub as my Laurel?” he asked, strolling her way until his hefty body was standing tall in front of Muriel’s shaking one. “She wants what Laurel wants, you can see it in her eye.”
“I’ve been trying to tell her that.”
“Too bad, she can’t have her turn without the auction.”
“Of course, she’s safe,” Jack answered, with a sarcastic tone in his voice she’d not heard in a while.
“You can’t be serious,” Mariel said, staring up at the black man’s broad chest.
“Hush. You keep still, or you’ll be on the auction block—permission granted or not.” He grinned, his white teeth bright against the black of his dark face. He was toying with her, taunting her, poking fun at her fear. She wanted to beat his chest with her fists in denial, but that was only a momentary desire.
He brought his smile back to his racked Laurel. A buoyant grin bore down on her, getting through her fears, but she would hardly be appeased. He started with small, connecting, pinching clamps, working a line of them down from her right stretched breast to her belly, and then lower to her left thigh. Each new clamp drew a gasped breath from his submissive. But this wasn’t pain. Endorphins rushed her body like water flowing through a narrow canyon. She seemed to drift, lose focus of anything but the compelling desire. Her eyes closed out the sight of her Master, though likely not his memory. She would be dreaming of him, floating along that river of desire and sensation, happily taken there.
Mariel viewed the scene, awed by the connection between this pair of lovers. They could hardly be strangers. She wanted to understand them, get inside their brains and bodies, pick their thoughts. After a time, however, even her own mind drifted off on the strength of physical sensation. Her flesh burst with heat as if it were aflame. She wanted to flee, but Jack’s hand and determination held her in place. She was practically panting as Laurel panted—straining to endure what must be rapidly rising pain.
“Ma chere,” Ladner was bending down, his thick lips whispering lovingly in her ear. He tugged the end of the cord attached to the line of clamps, “you will survive… trust me…” He tugged the end a little harder and she seethed inwardly. “Runaway with me, love, runaway…”
Muriel’s pulse was rapid, as if it were she under the dominion of this master and waiting for him to pull the cord.
With a quick flick of his wrist and an upward motion of his arm, he ripped the entire string of clamps from his victim’s torso.
Her head fell back, “Yeeeeawwwwwwwww! Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.”
Her chest rose, her breathing shortened until she let out one long sigh. The master then rubbed at the bruised, pained places on her chest and thighs, sending a second round of sensation through frayed nerves.
He loved her with kisses, with his full lips planted on her lips, with the feel of his hand, finally, fondly caressing her skin. She groaned, raised her body to his, wishing she could press herself against his chest, but it was just too far away. The longing look in her opening eyes told plenty of tales to the silent audience—of how she needed to be loved, of how her beingness responded to pain and fear and torture. She sought more with that glance, and he responded with a wicked smirk as he moved in position between her legs. There, he fooled with her sopping pussy—anyone could see how her body had voraciously responded. But when he fingered her in the lower regions beneath her clit and cunt, and she replied with a self-satisfied sigh to his intentions, Mariel reported a new jolt of fear, mingling with disgust, mingling with arousal.
Ladner bared his cock, full, proud, curved like a bow, its dark head pressing into the rosette of Laurel’s ass. The girl jerked from the shock of entry, then settled quickly into the rhythm of her master taking pleasure from her inner depths. Her head and her hips swayed back and forth, even the strain on her nipples didn’t deter her now. The pair fucked in tandem, his consistent prodding of her darkest region taking her into another kind of ecstasy that Mariel did not understand.
