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Was she making a mistake?
Would he see this effort as some kind of a taunt and not as she intended it; as a peace offering and an attempt to please him?
Gabriele saw her nightdress lying at the foot of the bed, and she pursed her lips, torn with indecision. She could simply change her clothes and be asleep within minutes. Randall would never know…
She got to her feet and then suddenly froze in horror. She could hear a key jangling in the front door lock.
Gabriele tumbled back onto the bed, flicking the bedside lamp on so that the room was bathed in a soft intimate glow. Then she hitched up the tight hem of her skirt to the top of her thighs and spread her legs wide, laying flat on her back with the pillows propped behind her to elevate her head. She reached up for the strap of the leather belt and wrapped one wrist around it to mimic the illusion of being bound and helpless.
Quickly she shut out all the distracting thoughts about the next day’s meeting and forced her mind to rehearse all the words and phrases that Randall had complained she never uttered. She drew a last deep breath. Jittering anxiety and doubt made a nerve at the corner of her eye tick.
The apartment beyond the open bedroom door was shrouded in darkness. Gabriele heard Randall muttering darkly to himself and then the clatter of his keys as he tossed them onto the kitchen table. A moment later she saw a stark shaft of light from the refrigerator as the door was opened… then closed. She listened to the scuffle of his shoes on the bare floor boards, and then their more determined echo as he finally came down the hallway towards the bedroom. Gabriele felt a wild flutter of apprehension and panic. Her heart was racing.
Randall appeared in the bedroom doorway, his tie askew, his hair disheveled, his jacket somehow loose and ill-fitting.
Gabriele made her eyes wide and simmering.
Randall stood, rooted with surprise, for long seconds. Then he came slowly into the bedroom, his gaze clouding with predatory lust.
“Master…” Gabriele panted like a breathless damsel in distress. She spread her legs a little wider and traced the outline of her lips with the pink darting tip of her tongue.
Randall stood by the edge of the bed and scraped his palm across the stubble of his unshaven jaw. He was a year older than Gabriele, with a sallow, gaunt face and features that had been blurred by heavy drinking. He gazed down upon her, and the desire was naked in his narrowed calculating eyes. He ran his hand possessively along the inside of her thigh, sliding his palm beneath the stretched hem of her skirt until he was brushing the lace of her panties with his fingers.
Gabriele gulped dramatically, playing her part, but her eyes were tense with uncertain anxiety. She slowly undulated her hips for him.
“My tight little pussy needs Sir’s cock,” she breathed the words she had been rehearsing for hours, still tripping awkwardly with the mild profanity. “I’ve been such a good submissive girl waiting for you.”
Randall’s eyes flashed, triggered with wicked arousal. He leaned over the bed and fisted his hand into Gabriele’s hair. She gasped in shock and pain, but crushed down on the squeal that leaped to her lips. Instead she winced, and let her mouth fall open with a soft moan.
“Beg me to fuck you,” Randall hissed the words, and there was a streak of gloating malice in his tone. His voice was slurred, but Gabriele could smell no alcohol on his breath.
Gabriele nodded. With her free hand she reached for Randall’s cock, flattening her palm against his crotch and feeling the impatient lump of his erection strained within his pants. “Please, Sir,” she recited her lines, “my tight little pussy needs you to fuck me hard.”
“Now say it like you mean it, slut.”
“I do!” she appealed.
He was looking down on her, and his face was a mask of cruel power and savage contempt.
He unbuttoned the front of her dress while she dutifully continued to rub his hard cock through his pants. He was grunting. When the dress was open all the way down to her flat toned navel, he reached inside and cruelly pinched one of her nipples. Gabriele gasped and felt the prickled sting of tears leap into the corners of her eyes. Randall was watching her expression with a bright shiny gaze, in the same dispassionate clinical way a scientist observes a laboratory specimen. Gabriele turned her whimper of pain into a breathless moan.
Randall stood, sneering but satisfied. He undressed quickly and Gabriele closed her eyes as he covered her body with his. She felt his hands, clumsy with haste, as he tugged aside her panties, and then the weight of him as he settled above her. His cock stabbed against her abdomen, then he forced it between her legs. Gabriele tensed and drew a deep hissing breath. She wrapped her arms around him to feel the intimate connection of their entwined bodies, but he shrugged her hands away, then started to rut and snuffle over her.
“Fucking slave,” he muttered as his features contorted and strained in the race to his climax. “The only good place for you to be is on your back being fucked!” His words became strangled.
After just a couple of minutes, he went suddenly limp with a wheezing groan of breath. When he rolled off her, he was panting, gazing sightless at the ceiling until his pulse settled. He got to his feet without another word and disappeared behind the bathroom door. A moment later Gabriele heard the hiss of running water.
She let go of the leather belt and slumped on the bed, cum seeping slowly from within her. Her body was trembling with a confusing blend of unrequited desire and crawling revulsion. Randall’s orgasm had happened so quickly that she felt only sullied and violated. Her body ached with a vague craving that Randall hadn’t been capable of satisfying, which left her to wonder fretfully whether this was all that sex would ever offer.
Gabriele shrugged out of the dress and drew her nightgown over her head. She knew the rest of the night would pass slowly; her dreams haunted by her own erotic fantasies, and her soul unsettled by a creeping sense of loathing.
In the morning Randall ate his breakfast in silence then suddenly shrugged on his jacket and snatched up his keys. Gabriele noticed a packed suitcase at the front door. She frowned, suddenly overcome with a dark sense of ominous foreboding. Randall’s face was stony with impassive resolve. He had his hands deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched. His mouth was a bitter slash across his face.
“I’m leaving you, Gabriele,” he said callously. “I can’t live the rest of my life sexually unsatisfied.”
Gabriele recoiled in devastated shock and disbelief. “But… but what about last night? Wasn’t that the kind of sex you wanted?”
Randall grunted. “Too little, too late.”
His eyes were dead and black, his face waxen and drained of all color. Gabriele felt seeping cold numbness creep across her chest until it was strangulating her heart. Impulsively she opened her mouth to tell Randall about her plan to meet Master Joshua – but the plea became choked in her throat by a shuddering gasp for breath. With one last scorching look of contempt, Randall slammed the door behind him like he had done a hundred times before.
By the time she could draw fresh breath he was already gone.
“But I love you…” she whispered lamely to the empty space where he had been standing.
For long moments Gabriele stood stunned and reeling. She felt her world begin to crumble down around her but right before she collapsed, a small instinctive voice in the deep recesses of her mind called just loud enough to be heard through the pounding of her heart and the first sobbing tears.
“Try to win him back.”
Chapter 2:
Gabriele had thought they might meet at a public place like a café – that would have made sense to her. She had never visited an art gallery before in her life.
She caught a cab into the city, paid off the driver on Main Street, and then walked the rest of the way under a warm sunny sky. By contrast her thoughts were dark and troubled. She had wept through the morning and picked up her phone twice to call Master Joshua and cancel. She was torn between grieving the loss of
Randall from her life and the realization that to win him back, she must take urgent and decisive action. In the end, it had taken her an hour to fix her make-up, leaning over the bathroom vanity to touch up her reddened eyes, while the handful of tranquilizers from the night before remained a dark and final provocation.
The city’s gallery was an imposing old building with tall marble columns that stood like sentry guards before vast open doors. Gabriele went quickly up the broad stone staircase into a high-ceilinged building filled with the echoes of people’s voices and hollow footsteps sounding on the marble floor.
She paid a token admission fee, picked up a leaflet that promoted the current exhibits, and then began wandering the labyrinth of corridors that were hung with paintings amidst sprinkles of hushed art admirers.
