I stared open mouthed. It was like hearing another man. A, surly, hypocritical, one at that. Incredible as it sounded, the smooth talking son of a bitch was actually sitting there in his polo shirt and Rolex watch trying to make me out to be the bitch.
Instinctively, I put my silk-covered back up for a fight. “Do you have any idea what kind of man you are, Mr. Rainier? Last night you make me get all dolled up for you, and then you stood me up. As a result, I lose a whole night’s sleep, and then, the very next morning I turn around and what do I get? Roses? Candy? An apology? Hah! No, I get some joker with a note, a man you sent for me to—to suck off, in my own office!”
“I never indicated I would see you last night.”
I blinked. The bastard was right. He hadn’t. “Well you implied it!” I accused.
He shook his head, maintaining perfect equanimity. “I implied nothing of the sort. It seems what we have, on your part, is a case of wishful thinking.”
My hands balled to fists. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that! You broke our agreement and you know it!”
“How?”
“You sent someone to my office—you interrupted my job.”
Rainier leaned back, templing his fingers thoughtfully under his chin. “Were you not finished fellating Mr. Jones prior to your first appointment?”
My head swam under his sudden cross-examination. “Technically, yes, but—“
“And did I in any way disturb you from the time of your first appointment up until now? In other words, did I in any way contact or demand anything of you during those intervening working hours?”
“No,” I admitted reluctantly, “you didn’t.”
“Whereas you, on the other hand,” he pointed out, “have come here and disturbed me during my working day. Isn’t that true?”
“I want to call off the bet,” I decided, not liking the direction of the conversation. “This isn’t funny anymore.”
“That is your decision.”
“Yes,” I said with as much contempt as I could muster. “It is.”
He went back to his work without comment, and after a few moments of feeling small and foolish in front of him, I turned to leave.
“So I assume then, since you’ve called off the bet that Krissy is mine?” he asked waiting till I had my hand on the knob.
I said nothing.
“I intend to sell her, you know.”
“S—sell?”
“Through a small import-export house affiliated with my relocation service, yes.” The words rolled matter-of-factly off his tongue as I stood there, my forehead resting against the wood grain of the door. “She’ll fetch a decent price,” I heard him say, his voice hitting me from behind. “She’s young enough and eager, though she still has much to learn. Most likely some wholesaler will grab her up.”
He was baiting me and we both knew it. Powerless to resist, I set myself up for his next blow. “Where?” I whispered, unable to look him in the face. “Where will she end up?”
“That’s hard to say. We have a large number of Mexican buyers. She might well find herself on her back chained to a cot in a brothel in Tijuana or the Federal District. Then again, the Asians have been well represented as of late, too. If we play up the wholesome American angle, put her in a cheerleader’s costume, maybe, we might interest a private collector or harem stocker.”
“Don’t,” I hissed, my voice barely audible. “Don’t do it.”
“I can’t hear you. Kindly turn and face me.”
I did so, leaning heavily against the door with my back. Unable to make eye contact, I stared at the toes of my white pumps.
“Please,” I began, my voice cracking from word to word, “don’t…sell…Krissy.”
“Look at me, Emerald.”
Rainier examined me, his eyes probing, testing. “Krissy is happy; you should know that. She’s found joy in giving herself, unconditionally.”
“The bet,” I gasped, reaching for my only ace in the hole. “I have a month to win her back.”
The man nodded. “That’s true. Are you saying, then, that you desire the terms of the wager to continue?”
Despair fell upon me. I couldn’t take much more of the man’s ‘terms’ today and he knew it. And yet if I threw in the towel, Krissy would end up a slave whore in a stinking brothel or a doll in some harem. “It isn’t fair,” I blurted, on the verge of tears. “It isn’t fair.”
“Fair or not,” he said dismissively, “those are my conditions. Surrender now and Krissy will be branded and sold while you walk away scott free. Continue with the wager and the possibility of victory will still be yours. I’ll give you ten seconds to make up your mind.”
He was looking at his watch. My head was pounding; I was confused and stricken with fatigue.
“Eight,” he announced. “Nine.”
“The bet is on!” I cried as he opened his mouth for ten.
Rainier acknowledged my heart rending concession with a small nod and went back to signing his papers. Once again, I was left without direction or purpose. Was the man trying to drive me crazy?
“What do I do now?” I blurted at last, unable to bear the silence any longer. “Tell me, damn it!” I slapped my palms on his desk to get his attention. “I’ll bet you don’t like that, do you—when I rattle your cage for a change? Why don’t you punish me, then? Take off your belt and beat me, like you do poor little Krissy!”
I was treated to a cursory glance. “Go and stand in the corner, Emerald. By the flag, facing the wall.”
“Ooh,” I snapped sarcastically. “There’s a tough punishment.”
Actually it was the worst punishment he could give me at that moment and he knew it. Were he to take me up on my challenge to beat me, he would have been allowing me to take subtle control. Likewise, if I’d been sent away from his presence, or even sentenced to some sexual ordeal, that would be a kind of victory, too for it would have been me calling the shots. Instead, he made me feel like a child. As if my entire outburst was irrelevant, nonsensical.
Within minutes, my thighs were chafing with need. Hands at my side, I counted seconds, craving his attention, his anger, anything to engage me as a person. For the better part of an hour he left me like this, exposed, unable to see him or protect myself. At any point I knew he could come and flip up my skirt, subjecting me to the belt or even his own cock. In this regard, without once touching me, he’d done his worst, capturing my imagination.
“You may go home now,” he declared at last.
Mounting loud, pouting protests, I huffed my way to the door. I was halfway across the threshold when he called my name. “Emerald, I would prefer you to leave your panties with me.”
The blonde was at the desk again, alone, working busily at a computer screen.
“Leave the door open on your way in,” Rainier added, insuring the secretary would be witness to my humiliation.
Rainier didn’t even bother to watch as I slid my hands under the waistband, gliding the underwear over my hips and down my bare legs. The panties were damp to the touch and fragrant.
“Put them on the corner of the desk,” he instructed.
As gracefully as I could manage, I surrendered my intimate covering and made my exit. The secretary, who a few moments had been moaning loud enough to be heard through the door, remained stoic, completely ignoring my departure.
Chapter Four
So now he knew it was turning me on.
The rough treatment, the humiliation. If he’d needed firm evidence, he certainly had it in the proof of my sex juices, saturating the panels of my underwear, the tiny, feminine bit of material that now graced the corner of his formidable desk.
Rainier was beyond a bastard. He was the epitome of cruelty. The height of male brutality. My only motive had been to protect an innocent girl—indeed, a whole slew of them, and all I had to show for my trouble were perpetually slick thighs and a constant state of panic.
The note was waiting for me when I got home,
taped to my front door. A piece of cellophane tape covering folded legal paper. Before I opened it, I knew it would be bad, though I had no idea the depths the man was willing to go to debase me.
Emerald: Your task for this evening is to find a stranger and allow him
to make love to you. Inside you will find the clothes you are to wear,
no more, no less. –GR
The first thing I did was laugh out loud. As a psychologist, I recognized it as a stress induced reaction; as a woman, it terrified me beyond all measure. My emotions were coming unglued. Rainier was succeeding in brainwashing me, creating optimal conditions to remake my behavior in accord with his wishes.
Dependent on him is what he wanted me. Vulnerable. Submissive. Sexy.
You can take a guess what sort of dress had been left on my bed for me to wear. I dropped my pocketbook the minute I laid eyes on it. It was blue sequin. Low cut, short, with high-heeled silver shoes. Questions sifted through my mind. How had his operatives gotten into my apartment? And how did he know my dress size? And above all: where were the bra and panties to go with it?
The dress slid wickedly over my lean body, hugging every curve, leaving nothing to the imagination. I nearly fainted when I looked in the mirror. There was no way people wouldn’t mistake me for a whore, not in this get up. Would that discourage men from following me home or encourage them?
I put my feet into the open toed silver heels Rainier had picked for me. It was like he was touching me himself.
Fear gripped me. Suppose I couldn’t get laid at all?
Shuddering feverishly, I doused myself in perfume. A good smelling woman attracted attention, I knew that much. So did a sexy one; the more revealing her clothes and obvious her attitude, the better. I’d never gone out to a bar to meet a man before, much less with orders to find one for sex. Where did one go for such things? I’d been to a few strip bars at the invitation of some of the girls I worked with, but I’d hardly been in the market for a man. A stranger to whom I would offer my body.
According to Rainier’s note, I was not to get away with a blowjob this time. The man would be making love to me. He’d be fucking me, in other words. Unwittingly, my hands traversed my hips, down to the hem of the sequined dress and onto my nude thighs. I had no stockings, nor any other form of undergarment. The bodice of the dress was tight and designed to push my breasts up and outward. Both nipples pressed piteously excited against the material.
How would I sit down? How would I walk? How would I—
The phone. It was ringing. Not my regular one, but the cell phone in my pocket.
“Hello,” I whispered, my hand shaking.
“Are you dressed?”
“Yes.”
“Are you wearing exactly what I left for you?”
“Yes.”
“How does it make you feel?”
I closed my eyes. “Like a cheap hooker.”
“Feel between your thighs. Are you wet?”
“Please, Rainier, don’t. . . .”
“Now, Emerald.”
My hand dropped below my waist, scooping under the sluttish material. My knees were weak. Subtly, I parted my thighs, dipping tentative, timid fingers. Fingers that felt like his and not my own.
“Well?”
“Yes,” I stammered. “I am.”
“Yes, what?”
“I—I’m wet.”
“Good. You will keep your hand inside yourself while we talk. Massage yourself vigorously.”
I tried to keep my breathing steady. My mouth was half open, slack with desire. I wanted a man. I wanted Rainier.
“Listen carefully, Emerald. On your kitchen table you will find a pair of earrings. One contains a tiny microphone, the other a receiver. I will communicate to you through the former, while you will keep me apprised with the latter. We will use these to guide your every move tonight, step by step. Do you understand?”
“Oh, yes. God, yes.” My affirmation came out more as a moan. Between what he was saying and what he was making me do, I was ready to explode. Combined with this was an inexplicable sense of relief, peace almost, in knowing that Rainier wasn’t going to send me out there alone.
Instead he was going to be controlling me, like a doll.
“Oh, Gustav,” I moaned. “I’m so close.”
“No coming, Emerald. Take your fingers out of your cunt right now. Lick them completely clean.”
“I—I can’t,” I whimpered. “It’s too disgusting.”
“You can and you will.”
I had never tasted my own juices before. To me it was a revolting act, unfit for a self-respecting woman.
“You didn’t come before, did you? Answer ‘yes or no, sir’”
“No,” I croaked, the pussy juice on my lips and tongue, sharp and pungent. “No, sir.”
“Good girl,” he crooned, the approving tone of his voice doing wicked things to my belly. “I promise you, when you finally do come tonight, Emerald, it will be under very different circumstances.”
A dark chill passed through me as I tried to imagine what ‘circumstances’ the man had in mind.
“Go to the kitchen, Emerald, find the earrings.”
“Yes, sir.”
They were smaller than I’d expected. Diamond studs, bearing no resemblance to anything remotely electronic.
“Do you have them? Good. Put down the phone and put them on. They are already activated.”
The tiny posts were cold on my sensitive, blood filled ear lobes. Everything felt so alive to me now, so vital. I could hear the tiny click as I secured each one. Like tiny bonds. Metal, pinching, holding me fast.
“Can you hear me, Emerald?”
I turned off the cell phone. The tiny voice was reverberating directly in my ear. “Yes, sir, I can.”
“Good. There’s a cab downstairs, waiting for you.”
I went to the closet to get a coat.
“No. You may not cover yourself.”
A terrible dread filled me. So he could see what I was doing after all; there must have been cameras here, hidden ones.
“Downstairs, Emerald. Now.”
Zombie-like I walked out my front door and down the hall. Exercising as much normalcy as I could manage, I hustled past the doorman.
“Doc Tallow?” he asked, the shock in his voice painfully evident. “Is that you?”
“Ignore him. Keep walking. Slower, more sensuously.”
I did as he told me, playing the part of a hooker to a tee.
“You are going to the Rusty Nail, Emerald, it’s on 40th and South.”
My buttocks settled into the worn vinyl seat of the taxi. “The Rusty Nail,” I told the bearded driver.
Disbelieving brown eyes filled the rear view mirror. “Say again, lady?”
I repeated the name of the bar that no lady in her right mind would go to alone.
“It’s your life,” he snorted, putting the cab in gear.
“I want you to masturbate on the way over, Emerald. Bring yourself right to the edge and then hold it.”
My lower lip retreated between my teeth. What he was asking was impossible and yet how could I argue under these circumstances?
“So,” the driver pried, still trying to figure my angle. “You got a boyfriend at the Rusty Nail? The owner or bartender maybe?”
I slid forward in an effort to hide what my hand was about to do. “Just a friend,” I smiled, allowing my fingers to slide into my moist hole.
“Tell him you’re going to get a man, Emerald. Any man. You’re horny and you need to be fucked.”
I was going to pass out. My lips were parted, but nothing was coming out.
“Take off your shoes, dig your toes into the carpet. Then rub your clit and tell him you are off to the Rusty Nail to find a real man to satisfy you.”
I slipped off the slutty shoes, placing my feet on the sticky, gritty floor mat. Pressing hard on the balls of my feet, I slid my hips forward, far enough to clench my vaginal muscles against t
he bones of my fingers.
The words slid out now, hot and easy. “Honestly, sir,” I confessed, letting the dirty talk heat me to boiling. “I’m looking for sex tonight. I need—a man—any man.”
The driver’s eyes bugged. “You’re shitting me.”
“No,” I gasped, my hips rocking on the springy seat. “I’m so horny I could die.”
“Tell him,” the demon voice whispered. “Tell him what you’re doing.”
“I—I’m masturbating. Right now. See?”
He whipped his head around so fast we nearly had an accident. “Holy cow, you really are. Damn, what are you on, ecstasy?”
“If you only knew.”
“Don’t be rude, Emerald. Sit back. Put your feet on the divider screen; let him see everything.”
I planted myself like I was in stirrups at the gynecologist’s office. The juices were so thick I could feel them dripping down the crack of my arse. The divider was dirty. My left foot half covered the picture on his professional license; my right attached itself to a ketchup smear.
“Spread your nether lips, Emerald. Tell him you wish you could lay for him.”
“Charlie,” I heard myself say, using the name on the license. “I need you bad. Do you have a hard cock for me?”
“You’re improvising without permission. Take your other hand, grab your nipple through the material of your dress. Twist it, hard. Consider it punishment.”
I winced from the pain. There’d been no question in my mind of my obeying this cruel command and that frightened me. How far was I sinking into Rainier’s world of depravity?
“Jesus, lady? What freakin’ planet are you from?” The driver looked close to apoplexy.
Out the left window I heard honking. My, God, I’d forgotten; the show wasn’t only visible from the driver’s seat. I turned my head right. A pair of young men in a late model sports car were leering.
“Don’t stop, Emerald.”
“But—but I’m going to come,” I wailed.
Sold!..To The Highest Bidder Page 5
