Stealing Simone

by Reese Gabriel

  He reached around and gave her ass a healthy smack, loving the feel of the grooves from her last beating. “Get a move on, girl. I'll be in quick enough."

  Dara dropped to all fours for the trip to the bedroom. While he'd said it wasn't punishment, she'd obviously decided to apply the general rule for beatings, which was to go to them on her hands and knees. She was a well-trained girl, and he was quite proud of her. She'd probably be a good mother, too, though he wasn't sure he was up for any more kids. Lord knows the first three he'd fathered had turned out less than spectacular.

  A psychologist would probably say he kept dara as a slave to make up for some of those life failures, but what did they know? The two of them lived this way because they both needed it and wanted it. It made him feel good, more than anything else in the whole world.

  Except maybe for revenge. And that was where his mind kept drifting. Gargano was seemingly untouchable, except for one weak link. Simone. What if he could punish him through her? Tie it all up in one neat little package with a ribbon?

  For starters, he could arrange for him and some of the boys to have a little fun with her. Nothing heavy-duty, just some nice, safe sex. And a little dungeon fun thrown in employing the tools from his specially finished basement. It wouldn't be much different from what she did with Mick Gargano now, if half the rumors were true.

  Yea, he'd have her begging for it soon enough.

  And in case she got cold feet afterward and wanted to go to the police, he would go to Gargano first. With a little hard evidence of what the two of them were up to on a daily basis. Shouldn't be hard to get that, should it?

  Might even be some blackmail in it. At very least, he could look that prick right in the face and tell him they were even. He'd fucked the man's bitch. Fucked her silly. Made her his.

  Which was a real possibility, actually. With the others it would be quick in and out stuff, but a man like Charlie could get under Simone's skin. Change her way of thinking. Make her see some deeper needs. Like the need to be possessed by a real man. To be put in her place once and for all.

  Charlie shoveled the lasagna down his gullet while he figured out what he'd need to do first. To begin with, dara needed her beating. Then he needed to fuck her and call Samuel Martin. Not necessarily in that order.

  Martin was the man. The guru in tech support, undisputed king of gadgets and toys. If anybody could figure out a way to electronically capture Mick and Simone in action, it would be him.

  Scraping his chair on the floor he gave in to a burp. Too much garlic. That would cost dara a few extra swings of the cane. It was good to be the master, he smiled to himself. Very good.

  * * * *

  Simone licked the mousse desperately off Randy's finger. Dinner had left her hot and bothered and hungry. She'd been allowed only three bites of his fillet mignon, though he'd made sure she'd taken some deep sips from his wine glass.

  She was being punished for her earlier disobedience. He had let her know there would be more to follow, as well, including the use of a ruler on her ass and on her breasts.

  He'd never done this to her before, so he explained in detail how she would be made to hold up her naked tits in her hands while he smacked them with the seemingly innocuous wooden device.

  Meekly, she'd pointed out how she would have a hard time explaining any marks there if she wore too low cut of a shirt, to which he asked if she would prefer to have her pussy beaten instead.

  She said no, though she was ready to take everything he had to dish out and then some. It was uncanny how into this he was tonight. Was it just a coincidence, or was she sending out some new kind of vibes, secret submissive signals being generated by her very mixed but potent reactions about tomorrow night?

  Could he somehow tell how she'd been opened to a new level of readiness, a profound preparation to be taken places she'd never gone before at the hands of uncompromising, even ruthless men?

  If so, did he himself have these desires-to put her in his power in a much fuller sense? What would happen, she wondered, if she were tell Randy what had been going on at work the last six months since old man Gargano's death and the subsequent takeover of his lecherous son? The cop would flip out, for sure. He would want to beat up Mick and anyone else he could get his hands on, and then, as an afterthought, bring up any charges he could muster.

  But what would he do with her? Come up with some creative, extended punishments? Put her under house arrest? Or would he have a more profound response-wanting to exercise a far stricter control over her life. She had to admit she did not hate the idea. She'd had fantasies in that direction, certainly. Of living with Randy and taking care of him, washing his clothes and cooking his meals and having him in turn, pick out and approve all her outfits, not to mention keeping her on a strict, figure preserving diet.

  Would he be an easy guardian, allowing her to stamp her foot or pout to get her way, or would he make her beg? Worse still, what if she could do nothing at all to sway him? What if he left her no choice but to obey him, totally?

  Simone could only imagine how hot the sex would be. He was liable to take her anytime, anywhere. Bent over the dryer or the kitchen counter, downstairs in the car park, over the hood of her car whenever he wanted to teach her a lesson or just show her who was boss.

  She could come right now thinking of all the possibilities. If only Randy wanted her like that. If only he found her worthy of that kind of attention as a woman.

  His woman. The words sent shivers up and down her spine. It's what she wanted. It's what she craved. And up to now she'd done everything but stand on her head to show him, too.

  She hoped he'd stake some new claims tonight, mark some new territory. Toss her down on her bed or his and demand her submission, looking so deep in her eyes that he would know her pain, her sorrows and all her secrets.

  Most especially he would see what Mick was planning for and how she was going along with it, so that once he'd seen it, he could stop it. Giving her no choice but to do what was in her own best interest.

  A little bit later, when they got back in the car, Randy made her pull her dress up to her waist and open her legs. The position left most of her bare ass and part of her thighs tingling on the leatherette seat, not to mention how her hypersensitive sex lips breathed the cool, conditioned air. She'd been without her panties throughout the meal and every time his finger would graze her mouth with something for her to eat, it was like he was touching her down there, making her spasm, keeping her on the brim of climax.

  Simone was not above begging for him to play with her at this point or to allow her to play with herself, but she knew she must wait. This was not like on ordinary nights when she might reach for his hand during a car ride and put it wherever she liked or else take her own and use it to explore some of the more interesting parts of his anatomy.

  No, this was control night, and manufactured or not, her punishment, her suffering was intended to be very real.

  "You're keeping something from me,” Randy turned his head, startling her with the insight.

  The sudden shift, combined with subtle delivery was pure cop behavior, pure interrogation. So was his trying to sniff out her ulterior motives in asking him out tonight.

  "Baby, I'm just under a lot of stress at work,” she purred, kissing his neck. “I needed you, that's all."

  He slid his hand to her hot spot, one of those places he could never go to in a real interrogation. “Are you seeing another guy?"

  "No,” she moaned, not sure whether to be glad he hadn't hit on the truth about Mick. “I swear it, baby."

  Randy brought her to oblivion, then held her in midair, his fingernail dangling over her clitoris. “Look me in the eye."

  She did, not really sure who was going to watch the road anymore.

  "Okay,” he said at last, sparing her his devastating baby blues. “Because if you were, I'd never stand in the way, you know that, right?"

  "Yea ... sure I do.” Her heart sank, thinking wha
t a gentleman he was. A totally standoffish, indifferently cold gentleman. “Randy, I'd like to go home now ... alone, if it's all the same to you. I have a headache."

  "Oh. All right, then.” His voice betrayed no emotion as he switched lanes, veering away from the exit leading to his place.

  A perfect gentleman, she thought again, fighting back the tears.

  "Call you next week?” He leaned out the window as she practically leaped onto the sidewalk in front of her apartment building twenty minutes later.

  "Uh huh. Next week,” she forced a smile. “Sure thing. And thanks ... for the dinner."

  Not till the deadbolts were turned on her apartment door did she start crying for real. Collapsing onto her sofa, she let it all out, not caring what the hot, salty rain might do to her pretty dress. The one she'd worn for him.

  What did he care, anyway? She could go out with anyone, do anything as far as he was concerned. Well, he'd see just how far she'd be going out on a limb after tomorrow. Hell, if the vice squad should happen to raid that suite at the Plaza they'd be using, he might just end up having to bail her out.

  Wouldn't that just serve him right for being so fucking calm and decent about everything?

  * * * *

  Charlie loved to hear the cane singing as it whistled through the air. It told a story with each and every swing. About how men were meant to rule, from time immemorial, and how the shapely, wider woman's ass was made for just one purpose-to take her husband's discipline. He had some buddies who'd fought in Vietnam and brought home some nice oriental wives. Now there was a culture knew how to keep its women in place. You could see it in their artwork even, right down to the exquisite beauty of Japanese bondage photography.

  Charlie should have done that, too, gotten himself a nice, submissive Eastern girl. Would have saved a hell of a lot in alimony and lawyer's fees. But he did have dara now and he honestly wouldn't trade her. For one thing, she was young, pliable and earnest, and she could also take a caning like nobody's business.

  Five strokes so far, and this warhorse of an ass was just getting started. For variety, he'd spaced her ankles with a leg spreader, adding to her overall feeling of vulnerability. She was also wearing nipple clamps, the large screw on kind, which at the moment were flapping in the air along her tits, the motion in rhythm with her writhing, up thrusting ass.

  Had he mentioned there was a vibrator in her pussy, bringing her off every few minutes or so as she writhed on all fours on top of his king sized bed?

  It was a beautiful exercise in sado-masochism, because he was able to time the strikes of the cane with her orgasms, so that she would scream out each time in a blood curdling cry that mingled equally both pleasure and pain.

  There was a blindfold, too, just to insure she had no visual input. Stroking his cock, he watched her body in motion, the helpless anticipation of the pain; her vain attempt to still herself and even shrink back when all the while the vibrator was pummeling and loosening her, battering her defenses and forcing her open. The young body, so deliciously tormented, so eagerly, naively full of life. His natural, completely trusting submissive, getting off on her own humiliation.

  Jeezus, was he ever gonna sink his pussy into the glistening pink hole, as soon as he got his little piece of business out of the way. Without putting down the cane or abandoning his post, he dialed the number.

  Martin answered on the fourth ring, sounding like he'd just been awakened from a sound sleep. Of course the man always sounded this way, even when you called him at his desk in the middle of the day.

  "Hey, if it isn't Martin the Martian. How's it hanging?"

  "Jenkins?” The man cleared his throat. “Isn't it past your bedtime?"

  "Nah, I'm having a sleepover,” he grinned. “Say hello to the gentleman, honey.” Charlie held out the cell phone as he wailed on the slave's ass, giving her full opportunity to shout out her presence.

  "There's gotta be a special place reserved in hell for you, Jenkins,” Martin declared good-naturedly.

  "Want me to put in a good word for you?"

  "Nope. All techies go straight to the Ninth Circle of the Inferno automatically, along with Bill Gates for giving us Windows."

  Jenkins laughed as he pulled the vibrator from the girl. “Fair enough, Martin. So how'd you like to hear about a little business proposition?"

  "I don't know, is it your idea?"

  Charlie replaced the artificial stimulator with his penis, pushing it smoothly into the bound slave's hole. “As a matter of fact, yes."

  "In that case spare me the details, I already know it sucks."

  Jenkins chuckled. Martin was the one guy in the world, outside his brother Hank that he could take a joke from. “So I can count you in, or what?"

  "I don't know, is it legal?"

  Dara was pushing against her master, begging for release. He gave her a firm no, smacking her ass to signal she must wait for his pleasure. “Hell, yes, it's illegal. What do you take me for?"

  "Oh, good.” Martin breathed a mock sigh of relief. “In that case, I'm all yours."

  "That's my man.” Jenkins grabbed her full hip for leverage, punching his cock in and out. His slave wife whimpered, denied the right to obtain her natural release. She would wait minutes or hours, or come not at all, depending on his whims.

  And if she should happen to lose control, she would find a long night ahead of her, in strict bondage. On the floor in a hog tie, maybe, or shackled at the foot of the bed. Better still, she could become better acquainted with her cage.

  What he wouldn't give to see that look on her face again, the day he'd brought it home from the pet store.

  "Is master getting a dog?” She'd asked. He had just laughed at her sweet ignorance.

  "Master already has a pet,” he'd opened the door for her, inviting her to crawl into the tiny metal container made of fine wire mesh.

  Jenkins had openly masturbated watching her lower herself to the floor to crawl into her little prison. There was something about the first time with each newly inaugurated punishment or humiliation that surpassed all the other times put together.

  Finding new ways to degrade his wife, honestly, was getting to be a challenge. She'd already been stripped and broken, reduced in so many ways to a subhuman level, and yet he was under constant internal pressure to find more and do more.

  Without it, sooner or later, he was sure his dick would go soft for good.

  "Here's what I need from you, Martin.” Charlie paused to puff, hating to admit how much more winded he was getting with this shit lately. “And I know you can do it in your sleep."

  Dara cried out in misery as her husband and master pumped her to climax. He didn't skip a beat, didn't let up one little bit as he proceeded to explain over the phone how he wanted some device, some way to record what went on in Mick's office.

  Naturally, Martin was curious what he was looking for specifically. Jenkins didn't think there was any harm in telling the man. Besides, he had already been leaning toward giving the man a share in their little party fun.

  Martin whistled when he was done laying out the kidnap and blackmail plan. “That's some serious shit, hombre. You're talking federal crimes ... FBI stuff."

  "The FBI is narrow minded,” he bluffed. “No imagination.” Jenkins pulled his cock out of the unfulfilled slave girl. Moving to the side of the bed, he tapped her head significantly. She turned her head like a little bird, desperate for the cock just out of range. Leaning across, she found it, taking as much in her mouth as she could manage.

  Dara knew the key to her orgasm lay now in making hard once again. She also knew, contrarily, that if she failed, more punishment awaited her naked ass and tits.

  "It's a victimless crime,” Jenkins reasoned. “Mick gets to give back the money he stole, we have a good time and Simone gets to discover her inner slut."

  "They say she's done a pretty good job of that on her own with Gargone."

  "Well, then we're giving her a chance to divers
ify.” Jenkins had the girl move closer on her palms so she could take his whole dick in her mouth. Early on, she used to gag quite a bit, but he'd trained her rather effectively in that department. Enough so that he sometimes shared this particular part of her anatomy with some of his friends nowadays.

  This made him quite popular, though he did it primarily for himself. Watching her service other men as his slave was one of the biggest turn ons he had. And afterwards, when he'd fuck her, reminding her what a little dick slut she'd been, he would find himself shooting off in less than a minute, he was so excited.

  Martin could hear him grunting. “What the fuck, Jenkins? You still fucking that bitch?"

  "No ... blowjob,” he wheezed.

  Martin, whose primary action was the palm of his hand and a digital monitor screen, cursed pointedly. “Meet me at the diner at half past six. I'll have what you need."

  "And I'll have what you need. Some nice, tight pussy. Grade A. The boss’ private stock."

  "All tied up and nowhere to run, right?” He laughed. “That's the only way I'll see any action in this lifetime."

  Charlie laughed with him as he clicked off the phone, but the funny thing was, Samuel Martin really didn't need to kidnap sex partners. Aside from his army surplus wardrobe, he was hands down the best-looking guy in the building.

  Must be a computer geek thing, he decided. Some nerd code of honor not to do well with the opposite sex. Charlie, on the other hand, might not be the best looking guy in the world, but he had a decent body, he exercised, and he had a slave.

  Plus a girlfriend on the side no one knew about, but that was another story. The point was that his life was going to get back on track. He was going to get Mick Gargano by the short hairs and hold on for all he was worth. For once in his life, Charlie Jenkins was going to come out on top.

  "That's it,” he caressed the head of his blindfolded, bound wife. “Make it nice and hard, cause it's going in your ass next."

  Her shoulders slumped just a little. She'd been hoping for an orgasm but she was going to have to earn it. And he was not in a very easygoing mood tonight either.