OBEDIENTLY EVER AFTER II

by Reese Gabriel

  OBEDIENTLY EVER AFTER II:

  Mastering Miranda

  By

  REESE GABRIEL

  A Renaissance E Books publication

  ISBN 1-58873-748-9

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2005 Reese Gabriel

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.

  For information:

  Email publisher@renebooks.com

  A Sizzler/B&D Edition

  CHAPTER ONE

  Miranda was ready to quit her new real estate career. After two weeks busting her butt showing off ticky-tack suburban box homes to a lot of silly families with squawking kids, Miranda had squat to show for it. Other than bunions on her feet, a sore throat and a ton of "I told you so's" from her smart ass husband Rob.

  That's when Mr. Wright, her boss, called her into his office and asked if she was ready to stop fooling around and go to work for real.

  She told him she thought she already was working, but he told her so far he'd been letting her languish in the guppy pond, so he could whet her appetite for the real ocean.

  "I didn't hire you fresh out of real estate school for your knowledge of interest rates and mortgages," said the balding, stocky Jeff Wright. "I hired you for your physical assets, Miranda."

  Miranda, her long auburn hair tied back in a pony tail, green eyes glazed, stood there in shock. Had her boss really said something like that – in this day and age?

  "I know, that's considered harassment and all that bullshit," he acknowledged. "And you can file a complaint with EOC if you want. In about two years, maybe you'll get enough money to buy a new pair of sneakers to stand in the fucking unemployment line. Or, if you like, you can play board with us here at Centron One and make a shit load of commissions off our flagship property. The listings we save for our high quality girls. Our special girls."

  He took her silence as an invitation to continue. Basically, she was in shock and had been since his use of the word assets and her name in the same sentence.

  "Our best clients are wealthy and powerful men," he explained. "They like to be catered to by pretty women. Women like you. It's a different mindset from you and me, Miranda. They can buy whatever they want. Anything at all. Play along, get them in the right mindset, and they will open their wallets. Big-time. And you can be there, to catch the nicely sized crumbs off their table. So what do you think?"

  She stared at him, open-mouthed. What did she think? She thought the man was either crazy or ... completely evil. "But ... I don't think I'm that pretty." She said the first foolish thing that came into her head.

  "Oh, I don't know about that, sweetie. I doubt many men would kick you out of their bed. I'll tell you what," he put his hands behind his neck, fingers interlaced. "Before you say no, take a little ride along with Cammie. Let her mentor you and see if that doesn't motivate you a little."

  Miranda's cheeks were deep crimson. Who the hell was he to talk about her ... in bed ... with men? She ought to lean over his desk and slap him, or just run off. Had she sunk so low, was she so desperate to find a way out of her lonely life?

  Or was there something here that genuinely intrigued her? In a naughty kind of way. Could it be a part of her wanted to play the bad girl, the vixen, for the first time in her life?

  "You know I'm married," she said.

  "Yea," he shrugged. "A lot of the girls are. So what?"

  "I have boundaries."

  "Go with Cammie," he repeated. "Then we'll talk."

  Miranda agreed. What did she have to lose?

  Her new mentor Cammie Wilson had long, gorgeous blonde hair, and a body to match. She was trying to break into modeling and/or show business. In the meantime she sold houses. Expensive ones in the canyon.

  Miranda could see why men would fall all over themselves to please the woman, including buying big houses. She was more than just attractive. She had that star quality thing going.

  Was that what this was about? Teasing and flirting?

  "I think Jeff made a mistake with me. I'm not really good with men," Miranda confided on the drive over in Cammie's fully loaded luxury SUV. "I'm ... shy."

  "No reason to be, Miranda. You're a very attractive woman."

  Miranda resisted the urge to argue. Only one man had ever made her feel attractive. And that was Rob, during their first two years. The good ones. Before the other two had followed. Bad to worse.

  "You just watch and learn," Cammie assured her. I'll show you what makes a house showing really special."

  The first clue that Cammie's showings were indeed "special" came as soon as they arrived, winding their way up the long, driveway to find the prospective buyer already waiting, practically drooling at the front door of the twenty room split-level.

  "Lucky me," grinned a turtle-necked athletic man in his late forties as Cammie and Miranda got out of the SUV. "Two for the price of one."

  "She's a trainee," said Cammie, sidling past him in blue high heels and a tight, blue skirt and company blazer. "I'm the one you're dealing with."

  "Suit yourself." The salt and pepper man in the black shirt and pants winked at Miranda. "It's your loss."

  God, he was practically leering. And with Miranda, a married woman, too. Albeit, not a particularly happy one at the moment, what with her husband Rob's seemingly endless stream of sarcasm floating in a bed of indifference.

  "Cammie, I think I should wait in the car."

  "Don't be such a baby," chided the fresh-faced former high school cheerleader, five years Miranda's junior. "You want to make it in this business, or not?"

  Miranda wasn't sure what she wanted. She had taken the real estate course to have something to do, and to show her husband she wasn't the worthless stay at home wife he seemed to think she was.

  Of course she wouldn't be at home so much, nor would she feel so deflated if Rob spent a little more time with her and made her feel like something other than a nuisance.

  "Why do you make things so complicated?" Rob had thundered at her recently when she'd complained about having to cancel a trip to the beach to go to another of his law firm's stupid dinners. "We have to do this, for our future."

  All Miranda had wanted was to be with him, instead of those creepy people he worked with, who always made her feel out of place.

  "I do," Miranda vowed. "I do want to make it."

  "That's the spirit," said Cammie.

  Miranda followed them inside, into a large foyer and adjoining two story living room.

  "The ceilings are cathedral," Cammie began to rattle off the salient details. "Crosspieces of stained Lebanon cedar. The glass is beveled. Hand crafted Zurano. The carpet is a super-soft syntho fur, surprisingly stain resistant." She described the wall-to-wall whiteness beyond the slate entryway.

  The man licked his lips, his eyes feasting on Cammie. "Stain-resistant, you say?"

  "Yes, sir. All protein based, animal substances and most artificial ones, too."

  Miranda blushed at the obvious reference to cum.

  "If you'd like to walk on it, sir, we need to take our shoes off." Cammie extended her hand, inviting the man to steady her as she kicked off her left pump.

  "I'd like to do more than walk on it," he said gruffly, taking her other hand as she removed the second shoe.

  Cammie dug her bare, brightly painted toes into the thick, deep fur. "Yes, sir," she said, maintaining a perfectly professional tone. "It does look good enough to sleep on. Have you any pets?"

  "No, but I'm fond of pussy."

  "How nice for you, sir." She smiled engagingly, flipping her fabulous blonde locks. "If you will remove your shoes, too, we can continue the tour."

  He didn't need to be tol
d twice to take off his tasseled loafers. Miranda could see the hard-on outlining his pleated trousers. Cammie was good, Miranda had to admit it.

  Miranda took off her own shoes, a pair of heels with wispy straps. She wasn't sure she looked quite as good as Cammie in her own blue Centron One blazer and skirt, but she was attractive enough.

  Enough to have caught the attention of her husband Rob five years ago, when he was still in law school, and she was waiting tables at a little diner across the street from the campus.

  He'd loved her so much then. The world rose and set on her. He'd said she made his heart soar, that she was the secret color to his otherwise gray world.

  Before you I survived. Now I live.

  These days, they were drowning. At least their marriage was.

  Cammie was talking about the picture windows, directly overlooking the canyon. Well, not talking so much as ... radiating. Her every little breath was carefully designed; engineered to spell sex. The way she lifted her breasts, the way her hands moved just so, drawing a little attention here, teasing there. The hair flips, the little digs of her toes behind her, calves flexed, the way she rested her palm on her thigh...

  Talk about being an actress – she was making him think she was more goddess than human.

  "You wouldn't believe the expense to build a place like this," said Cammie. "It's imbedded in the rock. Look straight down from this window and you can see five hundred feet down into the valley."

  The buyer was getting impatient. "I can see the view anytime."

  Cammie allowed him to come up from behind and put his hands on her waist. "I can tell the place excites you," she teased as he pressed his erection into her taut ass.

  "That's right," he rasped, kissing her neck and reaching around for her breasts. "I think I'm ready to begin negotiating the price."

  She let him cup her full, straining breasts for only a second. "But you haven't seen the whole place," she wiggled free.

  The buyer was heavily panting, his dick ready to burst his pants wide open. "I saw what I wanted already ... and I'm looking at it."

  "Easy big boy," she put out her hand. "This property isn't yours yet."

  He stopped short, Cammie's palm against his chest. "Whatever you say," he smiled slyly. "But I'm buying, girlie, and don't you forget it."

  Cammie kissed him, disarming him with lips and trailing fingertips, down his torso, all the way to the bulge in his pants. "I'm counting on it," she crooned. "Sir."

  The buyer chuckled, appeased.

  "Ready for the rest of the tour?" she asked innocently.

  "Sure, why not," he shrugged.

  Cammie bit her lip, pretending it was the worst thing in the world to not be touching him, even for a few minutes. "Promise you'll fuck me hard?" she asked. "Promise you'll use me ... like a slut."

  "I don't think that will be a problem," he assured her. "Now let's get this house thing over with."

  The buyer moved her perky ass along with a good-natured slap. Cammie sighed in return, releasing an audible noise of pleasure. "This is the kitchen," announced the barefoot, sex siren/real estate agent as they reached the next part of the tour.

  "Good place for a woman," commented the buyer. "When she's not in the bedroom."

  Cammie slithered up and put her arms around the buyer's neck. "Miranda," she said teasingly. "I do believe we have ourselves a genuine male chauvinist pig here. What do you think?"

  Miranda watched the buyer slide both hands up and down, over Cammie's ass. The look in his eyes was somewhere between awe and sheer demonic possession. "I think ... I think I should be in the car, Cammie."

  "What a chicken shit," Cammie condemned.

  "Don't worry about her," the buyer told Cammie. "You got all you can do to keep me happy."

  "I want you to be happy, sir," Cammie assured him.

  The buyer unbuttoned her blazer and slid it off her shoulders onto the Mediterranean tile floor. She was down to her white blouse. The opening was stretched by her protruding bosom. "Sure you do. A little slut like you lives to make men happy. And there's only one way for you to do it, too."

  Cammie half-opened her mouth, her lips forming a wet little O. "May I get on my knees for you, sir?"

  "Not until I see the tits."

  "Yes, sir." She unbuttoned on command.

  "Fuck..." hissed the buyer as she parted the halves of the material. Underneath she wore white lace, a pushup bra so small it barely covered her nipples.

  "Do I please you, sir?"

  He flicked her nipples free. "I'd like to pierce these babies," he said as though Cammie weren't there, weren't a person at all. "And chain them to my headboard."

  "Oh, sir," she moaned softly. "You know how to handle a woman, don't you?"

  "Damned straight I do. Now get that bra off and let me see what I'm buying."

  It was a front clasping model. The kind you couldn't find in stores anymore. Cammie must have had them made special. For occasions like this.

  Miranda drew a breath as Cammie undid the clasp, lifting the cups off her twin mounds. For a moment all three stood there, absorbed in the moment of sexual charge.

  Such beautiful breasts; perfectly shaped and sized, the nipples taut and ready for the next step.

  "Completely off," the buyer signaled. "The blouse, too."

  Cammie made herself naked from the waist up.

  "Hands at your sides," the buyer ordered, his voice sounding a little more on the aggressive side.

  Cammie put herself into position. Her easy obedience seemed to be getting him worked up. "You take pain?" he wanted to know.

  "No," she said, firmly stating her limits. "You can spank me, fuck me in any position and verbally humiliate me. But no S and M."

  "Yea, I bet you like that, don't you cunt," he took immediate advantage of the verbal humiliation clause. "I'll bet you like it good."

  "Yes, sir."

  The buyer grabbed her waistband and pulled her close. "How would you stop me if I did want to hurt you?"

  "You could try," she acknowledged. "But you wouldn't get away with it. Miranda would call the cops. Or I'd call them myself afterward."

  "Who would they believe?" He was pinching her nipple. "I'm a millionaire developer."

  "And I'm an actress." Cammie moved swiftly, kneeing him in the groin.

  The buyer jumped backward, howling. "Son of a bitch," he moaned over and over.

  "Are you all right?" asked Miranda, bending over with him.

  "I'm fine," he grunted. "I had it coming."

  "You did," agreed Cammie, a veritable poster girl for coolness under pressure. "But I won't hold it against you."

  "This is crazy," said Miranda. "I'm out of here."

  "Miranda, wait," Cammie called. "Don't make a mountain out of a mole hill."

  "Yea, please don't go," said the buyer. "I'm sorry. To both of you."

  Miranda's feet were fixed in place. She could hardly believe she was just standing here, watching this – this freak show. She was wrong too, of course, but then again, maybe she should stick around in case something went wrong again.

  "Are you ready for the rest of the tour, sir?" Cammie asked.

  "Actually, Blondie," the buyer turned surly once more. "The only thing I want a tour of, is between your legs."

  Miranda had to remember that this was part of the agreed upon rules. Verbal humiliation only, no pain.

  Cammie spoke in a small, subdued voice. "Do you want me naked, sir?"

  "Unless you want your freaking clothes ripped off your body."

  "No, sir." Cammie undid her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Miranda noted how she kicked it away, along with her other clothes. No doubt in an effort to keep them clear of any action the buyer might have in mind.

  The buyer sighed in satisfaction at the sight of the little white lace panties. Cammie placed her fingers just under the waistband. "Sir?" she whispered.

  Miranda could see her, slipping into another role.

  "What is
it?" asked the buyer.

  "I ... I've never done this before. It's just... It's just I need the money so bad."

  The buyer picked right up on the pressured damsel routine. "You say you've never given yourself sexually to sell a house?"

  Cammie lowered her head, feigning shame. "No, sir."

  He lifted her chin. "It's all right," he took the opportunity to play into his own fantasies. Cammie had probably done this hundreds of times, but she was going to give him the illusion of being the first. "You don't have to be scared – or ashamed. Women use their bodies all the time, for bartering. It's the natural order."

  "Yes," she said softly. "Sir."

  "It turns you on, doesn't it? The idea of being a slut? A whore, even?"

  Cammie bit her perfect lip, looking trapped.

  "You can admit it," he encouraged. "All women like the idea. Deep down."

  Miranda was thinking she very much did not like the idea, but she could not argue that something was happening between her legs. A twinging, warm and pervasive. She used to feel things like this with Rob, back when he was strong with her, back when he wanted her.

  Back when they used to have sex.

  "It does make me wet," confessed Cammie. "And my nipples are pretty hard, too."

  "You're gonna be a good little lay," he caressed her breast. "You're gonna give me a lot of pleasure."

  "Oh, sir ... when you touch me like that..."

  "You want me to do things to you, I know," the buyer supplied ideas straight from his own ego. "You feel overwhelmed. No one's ever had this effect, right?"

  "Oh, yes, sir. How did you know?"

  Miranda could see through the act they were putting on, but it was making her burn up, anyway, just as if it were real. She wanted to touch herself so badly, under her skirt, through her blouse.

  "Because I've known little sluts like you since before you were born," the buyer bragged. "You dream of strong men. You want to be their property. Just like this house."

  "Oh, god," Cammie breathed with the force of revelation. "I ... I think you're right. I want ... I want you to own me. I want you to own this house. Oh, sir, screw me, please, right here on the island. Right on the imported tile, hand-crafted by Luigi Ghelloni. Please ... make me come in this fabulous, state-of-the-art, Paris Culinary Academy quality kitchen!"