by Nikki Sex
Carmen’s New York Romance Trilogy
By
Nikki Sex
Copyright 2013 by Nikki Sex
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All rights reserved.
Table of Contents
Carmen’s New York Climax
1. Call Girl
2. The Man
3. The Maid
4. Maddened
5. Exposed
6. Instinct
7. Tease
8. Snug
9. Grateful
10. Dyson
11. The Expert
12. Oops
13. Fear
14. Smitten
15. Slut
16. Top
17. Bottom
18. Poetry
19. An Interruption
Carmen’s New York Escape
1. Gone
2. André Chevalier
3. Nightmare
4. Slave
5. Self-Training
6. Fantasy
7. Slave Life
8. Slave Mindset
9. Sub Space
10. Pleasure Object
11. Three Weeks Later
12. Close Call
14. "Truth"
15. Together
16. Hunger
17. Climax
18. The Godfather
19. Spanking
20. Something New
21. Oral
22. Tongue
23. Gift
24. Secrets
25. Friends and Lovers
26. DEA
Carmen’s New York Love
1. Kurt
2. While I was Sleeping
3. Eruption
4. Land Mine
5. Memory
6. Five Years Previously
7. Breakfast
8. Submission
9. Hot For It
10. High Maintenance
11. Contest
12. In a Lather
13. Defense Attorney
14. DEA
15. What Carmen Wants
16. Kurt's Home
17. Working Gear
18. Kurt's Ex-Girlfriend
19. Party
20. Interrogation
21. Park Benches
22. Rabid
23. Shameless
24. Road Block
25. Systematic Desensitization
26. Perverts
27. TV Coverage
28. André Chevalier
29. Goldilocks
30. The Monkey on Her Back
31. Foreplay
32. Ménage à Trois
33. Facing Her Fears
34. Whipped
Epilogue
Carmen’s New York Climax
1. Call Girl
"Bravo! I salute you! We are of the same mind, mon ami. Heart and soul, you admire and respect women. You trust them enough to genuinely enjoy being Topped by a woman, despite your natural inclination to Dominate. Oui, oui, from you I find no ingrained sense of male superiority. This quality is rare my friend, comprenez vous?"
--- André Chevalier, conversation with Kurt Nielsen
~~~
What the hell am I doing here? Kurt Nielsen asked himself once more.
Wired with tension and anxiety he had arrived at the rendezvous two hours early. Wearing a white terry towel bathrobe, he paced the Ritz-Carlton hotel room floor like a caged animal. With natural gentlemanly deference to his unknown escort, Kurt had shaved, bathed, and jacked off in the shower. There was no need to be too horny or desperate.
It would be better for all concerned for him to take the edge off.
He found that the hotel gave him the choice of a silk or plush terry robe. Being a practical man, Kurt went with the more absorbent terrycloth.
Striding back and forth across the lavish suite at the Ritz-Carlton New York, Kurt frowned at the waste of his friend's hard earned cash. This room was ridiculous. Why did he need such luxury when he had only come for sex?
The suite had all the trappings of affluence combined with the casual ambiance of a comfortable home. Classy original artwork, expensive oriental rugs, an oversized marble bathroom, and a view overlooking Central Park. It wasn't that Kurt couldn't afford it, he could. But such opulence seemed wasteful, and despite his wealth, he was a man of plain tastes who believed in the sensible use of capital.
He looked out onto Central Park, admiring the fall colors with the foliage on the turn. It was early October, the end of a long Indian summer. A clear day, it had been 65 degrees outside when he had arrived at the hotel at 2 p.m. this afternoon.
Exhaling a deep breath, Kurt walked over and sat down on the plush, three seater couch. It was upholstered in an expensive silk fabric, designed in gold and cream, with large, soft feather cushions at either end. A man could sleep comfortably on this couch. There was no need for the double King bed and down duvet in the room next door.
For a moment his eyes rested on the box of condoms and tube of lube (with the special nozzle for insertion) that he had placed on one of the gilded end tables. Kurt snorted and had to grin over the mismatch. It reminded him of that game: 'Which of these things is not like the others? Can you guess which thing doesn't belong?'
Never mind. It was still a classy place.
Sitting back, he used the remote and flicked on the state-of-the-art entertainment system, catching a news break, and then hitting mute when the commercials came on.
Just over average height, Kurt had shoulder length blond hair and bright green eyes that proclaimed his Nordic heritage. As a construction engineer and architect, he had maintained a high standard of fitness, with the taut solid build of a light to middleweight boxer. Kurt regularly worked on site, tying his long hair back into a pony tail. His friends teased him about it, but despite the inconvenience, he liked his hair long.
His phone whistled from the bathroom where he had accidentally left it. Kurt jumped up and made it there in time to answer.
"Laura Thomas" was calling, his phone informed him.
Kurt muttered a vicious oath and hit 'reject.'
Now she suddenly wants to talk? he thought, irritated and baffled. Why? When for months she refused to return any of my numerous phone calls?
He sent a text to her, all in capital letters yelling: STOP CALLING. IF YOU WANT TO CONTACT ME GO THROUGH MY LAWYER.
Kurt had made so many futile attempts to deal with everything out of court. What a royal pain in the ass. Over the last two weeks his ex-girlfriend had phoned at least twenty times, and Kurt had refused to answer. Laura never left a message. The settlement was done and dusted - the woman had her money, and had made his life hell to boot.
Three months previously, Kurt had experienced a horrific breakup with his girlfriend and honestly, he hadn't dated, considered sex, or even looked at a woman since then. A civil lawsuit had been filed against him for "physical abuse and suffering."
Physical abuse and suffering! Kurt had to firmly suppress his black temper because he was still so enraged over the injustice of it all.
Now men looked at him with a curious, speculative eye and women with uncertainty and alarm. He had lost a couple of building contracts, too, and there was no doubt more income losses to come. Was there anyone out there who didn’t think he was guilty of domestic violence? That he was some sort of woman beater? It had cost him a fortune to keep only a small portion of that bullshit out of the papers.
<
br /> Kurt felt like a social pariah and was still laying low.
He hadn't even returned André Chevalier's phone call. Andre would probably cheer him up and make him laugh about it all. Yet somehow he was so embarrassed he couldn’t even face André. Kurt felt like an injured animal, wanting to simply hideaway and lick his wounds until everything blew over.
But would it blow over? The paparazzi were, as ever, still on his case.
If they found him here, waiting for a high class escort, he would be in even more hot water. But Kurt had taken extreme care. They had no idea where he was right now.
He wondered for the thousandth time, how could Laura have done this?
But Kurt knew the answer. Laura loved a good spanking, particularly with a belt. Laura's overbearing mother had somehow seen welts or bruising on his girlfriend's ass. And Laura, submissive in bed and unfortunately also submissive in life, had been utterly unable to stand up to the bitch. Laura's suddenly devoted parent had wanted a payout, and suing the rich guy had no doubt seemed like the perfect way to get it.
He flicked the cable channels, seeing 'Family Ties,' 'I Love Lucy,' and numerous others, but nothing that would take his mind off his problems - not to mention the combination of anxiety and excitement of what he was doing right now.
I am waiting for a call girl to arrive, he reminded himself, still astonished by that fact.
Brett and Maria Jones, two of Kurt's best friends, also happened to work for him. Maria had a supervisory position in accounting, and Brett was his right hand man. Those two had met at his firm and been happily married for three years. Like Kurt, they were members of the local BDSM club. With all the media attention on him, Kurt had decided to stay clear of the club. Besides, he had found his last girlfriend there, and didn't need the reminder.
Brett and Maria had come up with the idea of hiring him a high class sex worker, and they had arranged everything, including the expensive hotel suite. Both were tired of his moody irritability and had wanted to cheer him up. Sex was the answer, Brett had informed him, because he had gone without for far too long.
Probably not long enough, Kurt realized ruefully, wondering what trouble he was going to get himself into now. Would he ever be able to trust a woman again? All his customary self-confidence and carefree joy concerning the opposite sex had utterly deserted him
Kurt frowned. Well. There was nothing wrong with watching porn, fantasizing about his perfect partner, or relying on his hand. At least his hand had never let him down… or had taken him to court.
"One good screw, that is what you need, buddy," Brett said. "Get back on the horse… or in this case a woman."
Kurt shook his head, still doubting that this was a good idea at all.
2. The Man
His friends had spent some time convincing him.
The escort came at a high price, and he had been assured that "she is the best." Kurt had never paid for sex before – not that he had paid this time either. His mind was alternating equally between discomfort and fascination with the whole idea. Did the woman have any particular limits?
"No, none at all," Kurt had been assured.
"Do what you want with her buddy," Brett had said. "We told her of your Dom preference, and she says she adores submission. She's going to come in dressed as a hotel maid – she has a whole scene planned – you'll love it. She brings a man with her for protection, but don’t worry about that. He'll stay out of your way and be discrete. I'm telling you, the woman is gorgeous – I interviewed her myself. She says she loves sex, and is up for anything. "
Anything? Well, Kurt could think of lots and lots of things… but without any props or toys, he shouldn’t be able to get into too much trouble.
This time, anyway.
He TV surfed some more, and when Kurt flicked to a news channel again he saw his own face staring back at him. Shit.
Kurt turned mute off and listened to the pretty blonde newsreader.
"Is violence against women becoming accepted in today's society?" she said with a concerned frown of disapproval on her young, attractive face.
"New York construction billionaire, Kurt Nielsen, was sued three months ago by his now ex-girlfriend for physical abuse," the newsreader continued. "While specifics of the case were suppressed, there is speculation of a hefty out-of-court settlement. The controversial thirty year old, once considered New York's most eligible bachelor took over the family construction empire five years ago. Nielsen declined to comment, but sources say…"
Dangerously pissed off, Kurt slammed the TV off and jumped to his feet.
Jesus, he thought. Are these media sharks ever going to give me a break? The case was finalized three months ago and they are still milking this crap for all it's worth.
He considered getting dressed and leaving. What the fuck was he doing here?
Quite honestly, Kurt wondered if he could even get it up. The entire subject of sex was a downer and hardly worth the effort. When, if ever, would he find what he was looking for in a woman?
He had genuinely cared for Laura, and had enjoyed her company. They got on really well. Kurt didn't feel an all consuming starry-eyed love for her, but he hadn't discounted the possibility of marriage. He had hoped that perhaps, in time, what they did have might grow into something more.
But Laura had screwed him over, making him question his lifelong Disneyland romantic fantasy of true love and happy ever after.
Love is for suckers, he thought with a grimace. And I'm such a fool.
Despite everything, like a zealous religious fanatic, Kurt still 'believed.' And he wanted the real deal: Love, marriage, and that bond of happiness that comes from such an unconditional union. No prenuptial for him – at least that is what he had always imagined.
His grandparents had shared that kind of love and commitment, so why couldn't he?
Kurt didn’t like dating and screwing his way through a series of women. He wasn't a player, or stuck in that obsessive sexual stage that he had known so well as an adolescent. He was done with all that. What he wanted was a partner, but also someone who enjoyed his kinks. Someone who was sexually compatible, intelligent, and fun.
Is there a woman like that out there somewhere, just waiting for me to find her? He wondered. Is she also looking, hoping to find someone like me?
And on the tail end of that thought, the door to his suite opened, and the call girl "maid" came in.
Kurt could only stare for a moment, stupefied by the heavy heat of desire that spiked through him. His forlorn, neglected dick stood instantly to attention.
Dressed in a modest beige dress with a white apron, the trim, curvaceous woman held a stack of towels and walked with purpose. Head up, hips swinging, she had the kind of youthful, healthy spring in her step that any man would notice.
Kurt noticed.
In fact, Kurt couldn’t believe it. If you had asked him what he lusted after, he would never have come up with this woman's physical characteristics in a million years. He usually went for tall, leggy blondes, sized six or eight. This woman was probably a size twelve.
Was she Hispanic? About five foot four, she had a smooth coffee with cream complexion, and shiny dark brown hair. Either way she reminded Kurt of Eva Longoria, but with an even fuller, hourglass figure.
Her long silky hair was pulled back in a tight shiny knot and damn! Was the woman a consummate performer or what? Kurt smirked. Actress indeed!
The maid's dark eyes widened with innocence and surprise when she saw him, and she dropped her towels in feigned shock and fright. That one action gave Kurt a dark thrill, and instantly brought his wolfish instincts right to the fore.
Did he want to chase her down, capture her, and then have his evil way with her? You bet your sweet ass he did!
Oh yeah, clever girl. Perfect.
The high class escort his friends had hired for him was seriously fucking hot. Kurt had an immediate, overwhelming animal impulse to slam her up against a wall.
And the
re was no reason in the world why he shouldn't do just that.
3. The Maid
Twenty-two year old Carmen Wilson was also stupefied.
She had been told by her supervisor to bring fresh towels to this suite and had been assured that the suite was quite empty.
It was clearly not empty.
The green-eyed, blond-haired hunk was muscular, solid and much taller than she was. Holy shit! Carmen felt as if she had walked in on 'Thor the God of Thunder.' Her first impression had been one of unrestrained power and menace. Initially he had appeared firm-lipped and furious, and her pulse had instantly quickened.
Carmen had been frightened by the dangerous look he gave her – not to mention the threatening aspect of his manner.
Her next thought had been of sex - no holds barred, toe curling, teeth grinding, spine curling, pelvis arching, steaming, screaming, reaming hot sex.
As Carmen's eyes met his, an air of erotic, sexual animal tension surrounded them both, thick and electric. Goosebumps rose on her skin, her stomach flip-flopped and her internal muscles clenched.
Such instant, devastating arousal! she thought, suddenly breathless. How can I possibly contain it?
Carmen felt her face heat, and she knew that she was blushing under the man's intent male gaze. She licked her lips. Good Lord. It had obviously been far too long. In fact it had been months since Carmen had enjoyed that kind of pleasure.
Carmen's sexual appetite was always there, under wraps, straining against the reins. Sometimes it seemed like she was locked up tight, just waiting to be unchained, hoping for release. At times – like now - she felt that others could perceive some kind of sensual vibration coming off of her, languorous, electric and explosively intense.
It was as if she was ready to sexually detonate, overwhelming herself and everyone else nearby.
Was it pheromones? Did the 'God of Thunder' know? Could he feel it?
To be honest, while she had last experienced intercourse four months previously it had been inhibited, frightening and disagreeable as hell. Talk about chained, both figuratively and literally. Carmen had managed to become the unwilling slave of her "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" boyfriend.
What she craved was the physical joy of having open, crazy, unrestrained wild-monkey sex. No wonder she was undergoing a heated, whole body reaction to this compelling hottie.
