by Ella Ford
I think about the whole encounter when I lie awake at night. I replay it in my mind. I savor the thrill of discovery, the overwhelming newness of the sensations that flooded through me. I think about the sight of her, kneeling before me, head bowed, awaiting my command. I think about the feeling of her on me, in me. The soft warmth of her skin, the eager stroke of her tongue. I think about her muted cries of pain as I bring my hand down on her…
I shudder and drop my hand between my legs. I’m wet already and my fingers sink between my moist lips to begin their familiar work. I catch my clit between my index and middle finger, squeezing gently as my mind drifts back to that far away night. The sights and smells, the taste and touch; the gaudy Vegas night and the dry warmth of the desert air.
How did it all begin? How did I find myself here? Like most things, it began with a single phrase...
Chapter 1: Temptation
“I’m sorry Mr Martinelli, the state of Nevada will not be issuing you with a license at this time,” I stated matter of factly, not allowing the grandiose office in which I sat to intimidate me.
I shuffled in my seat, awaiting a response. I expected a plea, a bribe or perhaps a threat. Vincent Martinelli had a fearsome reputation in Nevada. A second generation Italian immigrant and owner of several mid-sized casinos and clubs on and off the Las Vegas Boulevard, he was a man for whom getting his own way had become a defining characteristic. His long history of skirting the boundaries of legality in pursuit of what he wanted was well known in government circles, yet he’d never been careless enough to cross the line in an actionable way.
Martinelli stared at me, his hands held together under his chin with the tips of his index fingers touched together and held against his lips. He was a big man, heavy set and muscled. His complexion was dark and Mediterranean, with receding, oily hair slicked back against his head. The suit he wore was expensive and tailored, his gold cufflinks glinted with inset diamonds in a gaudy display of wealth and power.
He didn’t appear angry or disappointed at the rejection, in fact, he almost seemed amused by it. His eyes regarded me thoughtfully and his mouth turned upwards in a smirk. He turned to the woman who sat next to him and whispered something behind his hand to her. She smiled herself and nodded. The woman had been introduced to me only as “Summer”, Martinelli’s assistant. She was quite beautiful and sat stiffly beside her boss with a straight back and hands crossed neatly in her lap. She had yet to say a word in the meeting.
Martinelli turned back to face me, grinning broadly.
“Miss Lacey… Or may I call you Charlotte?” he asked.
“Miss Lacey will do for now,” I replied, keen to not succumb to his manipulations.
He smiled again, not missing a beat, “Miss Lacey, I appreciate your candidness in this matter. Might I ask what caused the board to reject our application?”
I fished in my bag and pulled out the case file, opening it on my lap and retrieving the relevant form. I read from the case notes directly. “The application for a liquor license on behalf of The Kneeling Girl club,” I paused, allowing my disgust to briefly flash across my face, “is summarily rejected. The board finds that the application does not comply with state laws on moral decency and promotes a dubious view of sexuality that it is not in the state’s interests to allow.”
Martinelli’s smile never faltered, he simply nodded along silently as I read the remainder of the judgement. As I reached the closing remarks, he returned to his contemplative stare, then finally spoke.
“And you Miss Lacey, were you involved in this decision?”
“Mr Martinelli, as you know fine well, I was principal investigator on this application,” I replied.
“And the judgement reflects your views?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as though the very idea of a woman having influence in such weighty matters surprised him.
“Yes, yes it does,” I shot back, coldly. I could feel a rising sense of indignation.
“I see,” he spoke and paused again. “If I might be so bold, what was it about The Kneeling Girl club that you find so objectionable?”
I felt anger brimming over inside me. A defensive urge to lash out at this misogynistic man and tell him exactly what I thought about his sordid venture. I forced myself to remain calm and took a breath. “I think the wording of the judgement says everything that is required Mr Martinelli. Your application was simply not morally acceptable to the state of Nevada. We had no choice but to reject it.”
This made him laugh. He threw his head back and clutched his stomach, a rumbling guffaw that echoed around the room and caused the dainty teacups on the conference table to rattle in their saucers. Beside him, Summer smiled demurely, never once flinching from her perfect pose.
He finally stopped laughing and wiped his eyes with his fingers. “Why Miss Lacey, you speak about the state of Nevada as though it were some high paragon of moral virtue!” He stood and walked to the full length glass window that overlooked the desert city before us. “Look around Miss Lacey, this is Las Vegas! There are no morals here, haven’t been for a long time. Proud home to a thousand vices and perversions, no shame or judgement. If you want it, you can find it in Vegas.”
I narrowed my eyes, the rising tide of my dark mood threatening to overwhelm my better judgement. “Mr Martinelli, all of what you say is true. Vegas is indeed an anything goes city and the state provides some latitude in this regard. Yet even in this liberal utopia, your application was deemed too much. Now, what does that say about you, Mr Martinelli?”
He turned to face me, his composure slipping for just a single second before he reigned in his anger and spoke in a friendly tone. “Miss Lacey. This is the real world. And in the real world, certain people, both men and women, wish to possess girls and use them for whatever purposes their sordid desires dream up. It is simply the fact of it. And mark my words, without a legitimate outlet, these people will find a way to fulfill their cravings. What The Kneeling Girl provided was just such a legitimate outlet. A consensual and safe venue for exploration and stimulation.”
I finally allowed my anger to flood out of me. “It is wrong Mr Martinelli,” I spat, “you are asking the board to legitimise slavery! The girls who you will be offering are not simple sex workers, they would be possessions, toys to be used and abused and discarded at will!”
He breathed out through his nose, gathering himself. His expression softened and the pleasant smile spread across his face again. He returned to his seat on the other side of the conference table and sat down.
“I’m genuinely sorry you feel that way Miss Lacey. I wish I could have convinced you to see things from my perspective, but if that is your final decision, then there is little point in continuing this conversation. I wish you a good day and a pleasant stay in Vegas.” With that, he turned to the paperwork in front of him and said no more.
I gathered my own papers, and stood to leave, nodding at Summer and wishing Martinelli a curt good day as I marched out of the office.
---
I took a taxi back down the Strip to my hotel, still trembling from the confrontation. I felt angry with myself for losing my temper like that, it was most unprofessional. I gathered myself together and thought about the meeting.
I expect that Martinelli thought I was a hopeless prude. A recent divorcee in her mid-thirties, bitter and broken and furious in her hatred of men. But that wasn’t the truth. In my decade working for the state licensing commission I had issued countless licences to brothels and casinos. I had no problem with women using their bodies for sex, if that was what they wanted.
But there was something about Martinelli’s proposal that didn’t sit right in my mind. The idea of girls consenting to be owned and used by the rich members of an exclusive club was wrong. I didn’t understand how it could be anything other than that. It sent a bad message to young girls in the state, that money could buy anything - even people. I couldn’t be a part of that, simply couldn’t.
The taxi arrived at
my hotel and I paid the driver, then decided to head to one of the restaurants in the casino for some dinner. It was beginning to get dark outside, the oppressive heat of the desert night illuminated by the endless colored lights of Vegas-after-dark. City of sin, where everything was permitted and nothing was shameful. I shuddered, hating the overwhelming tackiness of it all and longing for my early morning flight back north to Reno to arrive quickly.
---
After an unsatisfying meal of bland Chinese food, I headed up to my room to turn in for the night. My employers had booked me into a decent hotel for a change and I’d been upgraded to a luxury suite on check-in, something I didn’t think anything of at the time. But as I look back now, it all seems a little fortuitous.
As I rode the elevator up to the fifteenth floor, I massaged my neck and rolled my head, thinking of the warm jacuzzi bath that I would take when I got to my room. It would be good to relax after such a stressful day in this choking heat. I reached my floor and stepped out into the corridor, wandering off down the endless identical hallways to my room.
Arriving at my door, I used the keycard to let myself in. I flicked the lights on and headed past the bathroom, dropping my bag on the chair by the wall and beginning to unbutton my blouse, eager to get into the tub as quickly as possible. I stopped, suddenly realising that I was not alone.
On the large king-sized bed by the far wall a girl lay on her back. She was almost completely naked, wearing nothing other than a blindfold and a pair of black high heeled shoes. Around her neck, a ribbon was tied in a perfect bow. Her hands were crossed over her stomach, her legs were straight and she lay perfectly still in the center of the mattress. At the end of the bed was an ice bucket with a bottle of Champagne in it. Attached to the bucket was a cream envelope.
A sudden fear that I had the wrong room flashed into my mind and I looked around to orientate myself. Sure enough, there was my suitcase, propped up against the suite’s sofa where I’d left it. If I was in the right room, then surely this girl wasn’t.
I inched towards her, clearing my throat to alert her to my presence. “Ex-excuse me,” I stammered, “I-I think you might have the wrong room…”
The girl didn’t respond, and I suddenly thought she might be unconscious, or … worse. I stepped forward again, moving to within a few feet of the end of the bed. I stopped, suddenly sure I recognized the girl who lay before me. I thought for a second, then remembered: Summer!
What on earth was Martinelli’s assistant doing in my room? I thought, my mind racing.
She stirred, shifting her hands on her stomach slightly, almost imperceptibly, but reassuring me that she was indeed alive. I spoke again, more forcefully this time, “Okay, I’m not sure what Martinelli’s game is, but it isn’t funny. I’d like you to leave this minute Summer.”
The girl didn’t respond. I looked around, wondering whether I should call hotel security and trying to imagine how I would explain this situation. My eyes fell on the Champagne bucket at the end of the bed. I caught site of the envelope again and noticed that something was written on it:
Miss Lacey, please read me.
I moved to the envelope and pulled it off the silver bucket. I turned it in my hands, not sure what to expect and scared to read the contents for reasons I couldn’t explain. I finally plunged my fingers into the envelope and pulled out a rectangular cardboard note, embossed with Martinelli’s corporate logo. The note was written with a delicate handwriting, flowery and precise. It read:
Dearest Miss Lacey,
It is my deepest regret that we were not able to reach an understanding today. As a gesture of my goodwill and to prove there are no hard feelings, I offer you the gift of Summer. She is yours for the night. Enjoy her as you will.
Yours,
Vincent Marinelli
I looked over the note, my earlier anger returning with a vengeance. How dare he try to bribe me? How dare he break into my room and violate my privacy like this? How dare he put Summer in this situation?
I threw the note to the floor and turned to Summer. The girl remained on the bed, unmoved since the moment I entered the room. I put my hands on my hips and spoke with a tone that articulated my rage. “Summer. I want you to take off the blindfold, stand up and put some clothes on, then leave. You can tell Martinelli that the board will hear of this and his future applications will go very badly indeed.”
Summer sat up instantly and lifted the blindfold from her eyes. She blinked, unaccustomed to the light in the room and looked around. “Yes mistress,” she finally spoke. Her voice was soft and lilting, the faintest hint of a southern accent coloring her words.
As she stood, I found myself staring at her naked body. She was young, in her early twenties perhaps, and she had a good figure. Slim and toned, with a light tan on her soft skin. Her breasts were perky and firm, with pink nipples that were hard and firm. My gaze fell to her crotch, lingering on the smooth skin of her womanhood, perfectly hairless with not a single blemish on her flawless skin. Her long blonde hair fell in wavy cascades down her back and ended at the base of her spine. Her face was heavily made-up, with bright red lipstick across her full, pouting lips and dark, smokey eyes.
She brushed past me as she walked across the room and I caught her scent in my nose. A clean hint of soap under the overwhelmingly sensual aroma of her perfume. I found myself closing my eyes as it washed over me, breathing deeply to capture as much as I could.
I turned to follow her as she tottered across the suite on her precarious heels. She seemed utterly unconcerned about her nakedness, not making a single effort to cover herself. As I watched, she reached down to pick up a bag that was propped against the wall by the bathroom. She bent at the waist and I caught a glimpse of her pussy lips between her legs as she rummaged in the large bag. I found myself unable to look away from the plump mound of her labia, darker than the rest of her skin, a complex maze of folds that seemed to invite me forward.
I shook my head, not sure what was happening. My heart was pounding hard in my chest and I felt a warm flush spreading up my chest and neck to burn my cheeks. As Summer continued to search the bag, I studied the round curve of her ass, the long line of her slender legs, her calf muscles pulled tight by the tall heels on her feet. And, of course, that tantalising bulge of flesh between her legs.
I sensed unfamiliar feelings warring within me. I considered myself straight and had never even thought about women in that way before. While most of my friends confessed to innocent explorations in college, or drunken fumbles in dark alleys, I’d never once felt that desire within me. I appreciated women aesthetically, but never sexually.
What was happening inside me now was different. It was beyond an aesthetic appreciation, more an animalistic longing. I found myself thrilled by the novelty, and terrified by the implication. I allowed the feeling to dominate, to push aside my anger and reservations. I embraced it, probing the desire to test its boundaries and limitations. I looked within myself and found a deeper thought, a thought that burned within my mind like a dark star. A forbidden thought that made me tremble as I looked upon it and pondered its curious content.
I wanted to own Summer.
How had this happened? Not an hour before, I was firm in my certainty that Martinelli’s venture was wrong. That it flew in the very face of my feminist instincts. It was wrong for women to give themselves to others to use. But was it so wrong if it was consensual? Wasn’t the greatest power of all the power to offer yourself unconditionally? Wasn’t such submission the ultimate expression of self-determination? A paradoxical empowerment that relinquished power. My mind raced with conflicting thoughts, raging against each other for control.
As desire clashed with inhibition and fought for control of my actions, something loomed in the background, burning like a beacon in the night. Five simple words, words from Martinelli’s note.
She’s yours for the night.
Finally, I spoke. Interrupting Summer as she pulled her clothing from the b
ag.
“Wait, Summer. I-I want you to stay.”
Chapter 2: Exploration
Summer stood and turned to face me, a brief look of surprise flashing across her face, then she returned to her previous expression of placid docility. “Yes mistress,” she nodded and walked back over to where I stood.
It was my turn to be surprised as she immediately fell to her knees before me. With her head bowed, she crossed her arms behind her back, pushing her breasts forward provocatively. “What does mistress desire?” she purred.
My mind raced, not sure what to do next. In the fevered considerations of the past few minutes, I had been acting on blind instinct, embracing strange desires and longings, but never really stopping to consider the implications of those desires. I had no idea what to do next, what latitude my position gave me. I had only the faintest concept of what women did together and yet this meek and subservient girl was looking to me for orders. My heart pounded in my chest, a growing feeling of panic rising through my body and threatening to overwhelm me. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, reminding myself that I was not obliged to do anything. That I was in control of this situation and could end it whenever I wanted.
I sat back on the bed and studied the kneeling girl before me. The sight of her seemed to settle my thoughts. The gentle rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed, the firmness of her smooth thighs, her red lips, glistening in the dim light of the hotel room.
“I want to take a bath, would you prepare it for me?” I decided to start with my original plan.
Summer jumped to her feet. “Yes mistress,” she whispered, and scampered off to the bathroom. Within seconds, I heard the sound of water filling the large whirlpool bath. I took the opportunity to collect my thoughts and think about what was happening. I felt a rush of excitement as I considered the situation. It was exotic and unfamiliar, the intoxicating feeling of power overwhelming the nervous anticipation of my first time with another woman. I allowed my mind to roam over the plains of possibility, pondering acts that I’d never previously considered.
