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“These will look exquisite when the gold studs have pierced them,” he said. He pinched them both hard, and she jerked with a pain that reached all the way down to her thighs. She remained silent.
“You’re sober now?” he asked.
“Very,” she answered.
A maid came and went with a steamy breakfast and coffee. She did so without as much as a raised eyebrow. Was this a common sight for her to see, a half-naked woman fondled as she served her employer his breakfast? Was it so common that she would hardly take notice of them?
“On your knees, Tessa,” he ordered her.
She was prepared to serve him any way he chose, to caress and fondle his cock, and bring him to a vibrant orgasm. But Miles had something else in mind.
“Turn around,” he ordered her, when she was on her hands and knees. She was puzzled, but complied, presenting her rear to him.
“You have a fine ass,” he observed, as his hand moved over her leatherclad bottom. In this position, the skirt was beginning to ride up against her thighs, so that every aspect of her rear and cunt below was becoming visible for Miles’ inspection. He raised the skirt further with his hand, exposing everything, and slapped her bottom with a resounding crack. “This is the heart of a woman,” he charged, as his hand made a thorough journey about her private parts. “Such plump labia,” he observed. He pulled at the flesh of her cunt. “These, too, will be pierced.”
She cried out, and he slapped her again. She regrouped, and found herself taunting him, waving her rear as if she were asking for more.
A finger pressed against her anus, and she breathed deeply, letting him penetrate as far as he chose. Two fingers slipped into her pussy, and his whole hand began to pound its way deep into her opening.
The night before had left her sexually charged with no satisfaction; now, in seconds, she was at an edge and ready to explode.
Knowing this, Miles withdrew his hand.
“You like this, don’t you?” he teased. She groaned, waiting for him to fondle her more, but he wouldn’t do that.
“Stand up,” he ordered.
She hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since she’d awakened, and was suddenly feeling as inebriated as she had the night before. “You won’t finish what you started?” she moaned, desperate to have him bring her to orgasm. “What can I do to please you?”
Begging was a good sign, Miles thought to himself. “You can do many things to please me,” he suggested, “but are you ready to do anything that I ask? Are you ready for pain and submission, and the reckless abandon that you really want? Or are you just toying with such radical notions?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You appear docile, submissive, pliable. I could mold your sex life into something extraordinary. But I don’t want a childish brat countering me at every turn. I want a serious decadent like myself, who knows herself well enough to let me have her anyway I want, who will let me do with her anything I will, because it pleases me and arouses her.”
Tessa didn’t reply. Her clothes askew, her hair undone, her loins throbbing with need, she was tongue-tied, unable to speak. Miles Bryce had stunned her loquacious nature into silence.
“I’ve overwhelmed you?” he suggested.
“Yes.”
“Good. I intended to. Go home and come back when you want what I want of you.”
She hesitated, still so bewildered that her limbs were frozen and she couldn’t move.
“Need I explain more?” Miles inquired calmly.
“No, not at all,” she finally said. Re-buttoning her bustier, she left the room and his house.
Chapter Two
Tessa burst into her apartment, catching a whiff of some oddly familiar aroma she didn’t expect after a night away. A fruity tea was brewing on the stove; and in the living room, her roommate, Martine, was sitting on the sofa with her legs, playing with her pussy. On another day, Tessa might have immediately succumbed to the surprise, immersing herself in that delightful cunt. Instead, she plopped down on the other end of the sofa, ignoring the woman’s masturbation.
“Where were you?” Martine asked, her bold, black eyes probed her determinedly.
“With Miles Bryce,” Tessa answered.
“The painter?”
