by Galia Ryan
“With being pampered? Never.”
“So typical of a woman.” Sam eased the sponge up and over her knee and along the inside of her thigh.
“But you like us this way,” she breathed.
“I do.”
The sponge travelled back and circled her toes.
“I would like to ask you something,” he said.
“Mmm?” It was all she could manage.
“I’m going to come back in a few weeks. I’ll be bringing someone with me. Someone important. Not only to me, but to my industry.”
Sam turned his attention to her other leg, but now she sensed a cautiousness in him.
“It’s important my friend is given the utmost consideration.”
Her eyes remained closed, but she was nonetheless alert. “What exactly does that mean?”
“I would like you to host a dinner.”
The sponge continued to glide over her skin.
She kept her voice even. “And this dinner, it would be for who?”
“Just myself and my guest.”
She had a sinking feeling. She knew where the conversation was leading. “I see. And exactly what would you expect of me?”
“That you would understand the point of the exercise.”
Pulling her leg away angrily, she sat up. “Let him fuck me, in other words,” she spat. Water cascaded and splashed onto the tiled floor.
“I was hoping it wouldn’t be a case of your letting him, more of your encouraging him,” Sam said reasonably.
“You want me to whore for you.” Her voice was chilly.
“I do.”
She glared at him. But her mind was racing.
He leaned down to retrieve the bottle of champagne, and, glancing at the contents, offered to top up her glass. “Should have brought another one in,” he said.
“You should,” she agreed. She waited until both glasses had been recharged. “If I do what you want, I will need an apartment.”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. She was pleased she had taken him by surprise. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
“There is a need for discretion, surely,” she went on, pressing the point home.
He looked thoughtful. “You could be right.”
He was obviously considering the advantages.
“It should be in a prestigious area, and it will need furnishing. I will need clothing.”
She lifted her glass to her lips.
“I will take care of the apartment,” he said at last.
“And the rest of it?”
“I will provide you with an allowance.”
She held out her hand. “Then we have a deal.”
He lifted her fingers to his lips. “Remind me not to get into negotiations with you again. You know, you will be merciless in a courtroom. I pity anyone who comes up against you.”
Stephanie understood that his words had been intended as a compliment, but her heart ached. For no matter how many applications she made, no matter how many vacancies she followed up, she was still far from finding acceptance in her chosen profession.
Later that evening, after they had enjoyed dinner, Sam calmly told her she was to be punished. Her breath had caught at the sheer audacity of the man.
“Your suggestion for an apartment was a good one,” he said with a smile. “Unfortunately you did little to hide the fact that you thought you had one over on me.”
Of course he was right. She was wise enough to remain silent.
“Once we have finished here,” he continued, “we are going to return to your suite. There, you will have a lesson in humility.”
Her mouth was dry. “And if I don’t agree?”
“That is of course, your prerogative. But you will, won’t you?”
He lifted his brandy balloon and took a mouthful.
He tied her to the bed using her own stockings. Having nothing but unopened packets in her underwear drawer, she looked on in dismay as Sam carelessly ripped open the expensive packaging. Even his tugging and twisting the sheer nylon to determine its strength seemed intentional.
Without being told she took off her clothes and got onto the bed. He moved her legs into position and secured each ankle to a corner of the bed. Then he did the same with her arms, looping a stocking around each wrist before securing them to the frame of the headboard.
He lay down beside her and kissed her lovingly, his mouth gentle on hers. She strained upwards to return the kiss, in part to demonstrate her acceptance of what he was doing to her.
His mouth nuzzled her breast. Taking the nipple between his teeth, he gave it a tug and flicked his tongue back and forth over the tip. As her body responded, she struggled in her bonds. She wanted to touch him. To hold his head against her. But the knots held firm.
His fingers were between her spread-eagled legs, playing with her clit. Then they were gone, and it was her other breast receiving his attention. He would first nip at her rounded flesh, then suck firmly. She realised the intention was to leave evidence of his domination. The purple bites and bruises would last for days.
“I’m going to blindfold you.” He looked deep into her eyes, as if asking for her consent.
“Okay,” she whispered.
He picked up another stocking. “Face the wall.” The soft binding was slipped under her head. It was pulled across her eyes and tied firmly. “You can turn back.”
She did as she was told. She could see nothing, not even a chink of light. He had already dimmed the room. Now everything was an intense black.
“Here are the rules.” His cheek was against hers, and he was whispering. “You cannot talk. You cannot cry. You cannot scream. Do you understand?”
Stephanie nodded tentatively.
“I will let no harm to come to you.”
Shut away in her darkness, Stephanie nodded again.
“I am going to leave you for a short while. There is something I need to do while my office in the States is still open. You will be quite safe.” He kissed her again. “I’ll order some champagne for when I come back. It might be a long night.”
She felt the mattress rebound when he stood up.
She wanted to ask where he was going, and how long he would leave her there. But she didn’t.
She heard him straighten his clothes. He went into her bathroom. Water flushed, and there was the sound of a basin being filled and emptied. Moments later his footsteps were heading in the direction of the main door. She recognised the chafing of the carpet as it was pulled open then allowed to close again.
Surely he hadn’t really left her? She listened intently, straining to hear his breathing. If she could just make that out, she would know she hadn’t been abandoned. She thought he might be standing where the bathroom and bedroom walls met, watching her.
Imagining him doing so made her feel even more vulnerable. She tugged at the stockings holding her ankles so achingly wide apart, but there was no give. Rather, the nylon tightened and caught her skin. She wouldn’t do that again.
She lay still and held her breath. She moved her head slightly so that her ear was directed towards where she believed him to be.
Nothing.
She couldn’t believe it.
He had truly gone.
She let out an enraged cry. How dare he do this to her? Then realised she had broken one of his rules. She was torn, part of her so furious with him that she wanted to tell him she didn’t give a toss for his rules. The other half was a little more prudent.
If he knew you had disobeyed him, he might find an even worse punishment.
She lay still.
Okay, if that’s what he wanted. She would simply wait for his return. Patience wasn’t usually one of her virtues, but in this case it wouldn’t be a hardship.
She must have dozed off, for she woke to the sound of the door opening. She attempted to ease her arms and legs. They were definitely getting stiff. Thank God he was back. Now he could release her.
She heard a sound she coul
dn’t identify and the muted footsteps of someone walking over the carpet. Each pace was measured. Precise.
There were more sounds. The chink of glasses being placed down. The dull ring of a bottle accidently hitting the side of an ice bucket. The crunch of ice inside.
Oh no.
I will be only a short while. I’ll order some champagne for when I come back.
They must have delivered it early.
She held her breath again. Had she been seen? She was mortified at her predicament. How shocked would the room attendant be when he—or she—saw her? And what would they do? Run out and inform the management that there was a naked women tied to the bed in one of the suites? She could never stay there again. It would be far too embarrassing.
She heard breathing, regular and heavy, and knew instinctively she was being stared at.
Her heart began to pound.
She heard the footsteps again. This time slow and hesitant. They were coming towards the bed. She wondered if she should say something. But what?
It had to be Sam. Of course it was. Well, two could play that game.
She pressed her lips together. She would stay silent, just as he had demanded, however much effort it took.
But she couldn’t help the mewl that escaped when his finger touched against her breast. Then lingered on her nipple. She stifled a groan when the hard nub was grasped and twisted.
She tried to calm her breathing. He knew exactly how to play her body.
The other nipple was pinched. This time the pressure was harder. It was as though an electric current had passed through her.
Her breasts were being squeezed and moulded together.
She felt a sudden panic. Not Sam. These were not his hands. They were definitely male, though. She tried to think what to do before realising there was actually little she could do.
There was a rustle of clothing as her tormentor leaned over her. His breathing was fast, erratic. She could smell him, too. The lingering odour of cigarette smoke was unmistakable.
A finger was fumbling at her entrance. It was pushed inside her. Roughly. At the same time her nipple was being pinched again. She gasped. Instinctively she lifted her hips.
There was a groan and an audible gulp. Then her tormentor became more daring.
One finger was joined by another. And then a third. Her hole was being stretched to its limit. Silently she prayed that whoever it was he would be satisfied with that and not try to force a fourth finger into her.
The fingers were pulled out, and she breathed a sigh of relief. There was the rasping sound. She recognised it immediately. He was pulling down his zip.
He was going to fuck her and there was nothing she could do to stop him. Unless she screamed.
And then what? He would run out of the door and disappear, and she would have to explain to the hotel management exactly why she had let herself be tied up in the first place.
Her heart was pounding.
She felt the mattress give as he got on to the bed.
He was working on her nipples again. The sensation was almost unbearable.
She bucked her hips, trying to get him to understand that she needed his fingers on her clit. She didn’t care who he was anymore. She just wanted some relief.
His knees were hard against her side, his body moving rhythmically. She suddenly realised what he was doing. One hand might be on her breast, but the other was stroking his cock.
She felt demeaned. He didn’t want her after all. He was taking advantage of her, tied up and helpless, to get himself off.
She felt him change pace and slow down. Suddenly his hand was at her cunt again. Probing and revelling in her wetness. She felt the bed shift as he clambered over her. Her juices were being smeared between her breasts and she could smell her own arousal. Then they were forced together and something hard was pushed in between.
His cock.
No one had ever done this to her before.
He was gasping, groaning, thrusting hard and squeezing her breasts even tighter around him.
She was being used, truly used. It felt wonderfully liberating.
He was murmuring, over and over, “Oh yes. Oh yes. Oh yes.”
Almost immediately there was a wetness on her chest. She felt a splatter on her chin, then another. But most of the viscous liquid had puddled in the hollow of her throat.
He had cum, and she had served her purpose.
Her body throbbed with both need and disappointment. She felt him get off the bed and wondered what would happen next. There was the sound of a zip being pulled up and clothing being tidied. He was breathing deeply, as if in appreciation.
He had only taken a few steps towards the door when she heard him pause. Somehow she knew that he had turned to take a long last look at her. Then he was gone.
She lay in the darkness. Her cunt ached where it had been violated. But more than that. She badly needed to cum. Her nipples were on fire, and there was nothing she could do.
She wondered what Sam would say when he returned to find her covered in another man’s cum.
Or had he arranged the whole thing? It was certainly a possibility.
She closed her eyes and waited.
Some twenty to thirty minutes later she heard the door open for a second time.
“Hope you’re okay. I didn’t expect to be so long.” She heard Sam cross the room. “Ah, good, the champagne.”
There was the slush of ice being disturbed and the distinctive sound of the neck of a bottle touching the rim of a glass. She couldn’t stop the tears trickling from under the blindfold.
“Have you any idea how beautiful you look?”
His voice was close.
She shook her head.
“And did you cry out?”
She shook her head again.
“Did you cum?”
“Nooooooo.”
His fingers stroked down her belly. Tantalisingly, they skirted over her mound to trail down the inside of her thigh. The sensation was overwhelming, and without thinking she pulled at her bonds.
“Have you been punished enough?” His voice was low and hypnotic.
She nodded frantically.
“And do you now understand your place?”
She nodded again, lifting and clenching her bottom as his hand skimmed ever closer to her throbbing clit.
Then he was massaging it, teasing it, his fingers moving faster and faster. She was close, so very close. Her back arched.
“You’re a slut.” He was whispering in her ear. “You’ve been used, and it’s blown your mind. Hasn’t it?”
“Yes,” she screamed. “Yes.”
Her orgasm was powerful as wave after wave of intensity surged through her body. She was lost. Drowning in it all. She dragged on her restraints with such force that in the morning she would discover not only purple bruises on her breasts but angry red welts on her wrists and ankles.
Sam leaned down and kissed her.
Chapter 22.
Stephanie had found the ideal apartment.
In one way it was sadly poignant. History was repeating itself. Six years earlier Charles had offered her an apartment in this town in return for her virginity. Now Sam was doing the same. Although not for the same reason, unless her moral virginity counted.
She had soon discovered the most sought-after apartments had minimum lease periods. The one she thought most suitable required a tenancy of six months. But it was fully furnished. More importantly the location couldn’t have been better. La Croisette and its elegant boutiques and restaurants were only a few hundred metres away.
She inspected the kitchen and peered into the two bedrooms and the bathroom. Venturing out onto the balcony, she observed that it wasn’t huge, but it did have more-or-less uninterrupted views of both the town and the sea.
She signed the lease then and there and arranged for the details to be faxed to the number Sam had given her. He had explained that he would not be a party to the lease, nor would any com
pany he had an interest in.
She understood. Any connection to her had to be difficult, if not downright impossible, to uncover.
She didn’t care. Sam had told her he would be in the States for most of the time, so she would have the apartment to herself. She hugged herself in delight. Things were falling into place. She had somewhere to live and six months to decide what direction she wanted to take. Whether there was room in her future for a deep and meaningful relationship with Sam Theriot was anyone’s guess. It was unfortunate, since he had shown such promise in the beginning. Now it seemed he viewed her as little more than a plaything to be picked up and put down at will. Even lent out to his friends.
Well, she had nothing else on the horizon, so if that’s the way he wanted it—provided he met her price—it was fine with her.
She had managed to make a reservation at a Michelin-starred restaurant. Not easy, given that tables were highly in demand. She hoped Sam would appreciate the effort.
When she arrived he and his guest were already seated. Both men rose to their feet, and he kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I’m impressed,” he murmured.
“So you should be.” Her retort was equally discreet. Paid for out of Sam’s unexpectedly generous allowance, her strapless dress was stylish and sophisticated. But it wasn’t just the design that had appealed to her, it was also the fabric. Midnight blue taffeta silk with an iridescent shimmer. She had known it would be perfect for the occasion.
Cooper John L. Gibson was almost a caricature. A little larger than life in both energy and girth, he was clearly proud of his birthplace in the Southern United States. “The Old South,” as he referred to it all too often. Over dinner he regaled Stephanie with the history of the Confederacy, often emphasising a point by waving his fork at her.
For her part, she knew a little of the history of the South, mainly from books and movies, and was able to hold her own—just. Admittedly, his American accent with its long vowels was a challenge.
At first, uncertain of her grasp of English, he’d addressed her slowly and deliberately. Zut alors, she thought, we’ll be here all night. But her fluent and almost faultless English soon impressed him.
