Manhattan Master (2 page)

A bellboy passes and does a
double take. His eyes crawl all over the front of me. I have my
answer.

"So we're going across the
street?" I ask, trying to speed my steps, to hurry us across the
lobby. Again I can feel the vibrator trying to slip. I doubt you'll
let me walk on if it does.

"Yes. Right through those
doors," you say, gesturing at the tall, stately building across the
street. "What's the hurry? Slow down. I'm proud to have you beside
me."

Your eyes burn down into
mine, your smile slow and rich.

"I waited a long, long time
for you, Gabrielle."

The sound of my name on
your tongue makes my legs weak all over again. I've never really
liked my name, but on your lips it becomes something new, something
exotic and unexpected.

You take my arm in a
gentlemanly fashion, smiling down at me. Several people around us,
older women mostly, smile in obvious approval of this courtly
gesture.

If only
they knew
.

Outside I start to charge
across the crosswalk, trying to get under cover as quickly as I
can. Again the firm pressure of your hand on my arm stops
me.

"Let's get lunch," you say,
steering us toward a bright yellow food cart parked on the street.
"Have you ever had Salvadorian food?"

I shake my head no. A very
long line of people stretches from the truck. The smoky, rich aroma
of beef and spices curls into the air.

My stomach growls. I was
too nervous to eat breakfast, and it smells delicious. But the
madding presence of the vibrator inside of me makes it impossible
to think of food.

"Please, can we wait?" I
ask under my breath.

You pause just out of
earshot of the other customers. "Are you sure? They make the best
pupusas in town."

No way am I going to ask what a pupusa
is and expose my ignorance.

"Please," I whisper,
looking down at the sidewalk. My nipples are protesting more
loudly, the ache deepening with every moment. I'm still uneasy,
unprepared for this public arena you've chosen.

I hold my breath as we approach the
truck…then we go past it, heading for the bank of mirrored glass
doors.

"Thank you," I say softly.

You just smile as we enter
the building. Randall Towers, the engraved plaque announces
grandly.

"Good morning, Mr.
Randall," a security guard greets you immediately. And why
shouldn't he? You command this building, and everything in it. Me
included.

Cool air washes over my hot
skin as you steer me into an alcove. Being this close to you makes
me dizzy.

"We probably won't be alone
on this elevator," you say. "You're my real estate agent, finding
me some property upstate. Very confidential. That's all you have to
tell anyone. Stick to the essentials."

"Don't worry. Essential is
my middle name," I say, a tiny spark of my usual smartass finally
peeking through.

Your voice caresses me like
silk. "Yes, you are. "Much more than you know yet. But you
will."

The words thrill and
terrify me. How did I get here, in this huge, teeming city where I
know no one but you? In so many ways, I don't really know you
either…but that whisper of instinct inside of me tells me that you
would never let anything harm me.

The elevator doors open. As
you predicted, others rush in with us, packing the car. I end up
standing just in front of you, our bodies barely
touching.

Like everyone else, I look
up at the numbers. I've never understood why people do that. Now I
wonder if they're all like me. Maybe everyone is harboring some
secret sex toy, looking for anything to distract them.

In spite of the people all
around us, I feel your hand on my ass, stroking through my dress.
My nipples try to harden, but they're already pulled into
artificial arousal by the twine. They tingle as you rub me under
the cover of the packed bodies.

Each time the elevator pulls to a
stop, I feel the vibrator shift inside of me. I squeeze hard,
trying to hold it in place.

I hear you laugh under your
breath. You must be able to feel my ass clench under your
palm.

"Good girl," you whisper, so low that
no one hears but me. "My good little slut."

Finally the doors open as
we reach your floor. Thank God.

You guide me down the hall,
making several introductions. Everyone is so well-dressed, so
poised and confident. I don't miss several looks of veiled scorn
from some of the polished women. Is it my jutting nipples? The
simple, inexpensive dress and sandals?

I don't know what causes it, but I
know that look when I see it.

I mechanically repeat the
thin cover story you've given me, trying to smile and act
nonchalant. How can anyone believe such a trumped-up tale? I glance
at you, and something about the smile I see around your eyes
steadies me.

By the time I'm introduced
to the last person, the vibrator is slipping despite my best
efforts. I can only imagine how strained I must look. We arrive at
your office, and I race in as soon as you open the door.

A wall of glass frames the
city below, the Hudson River in the distance. The room is expensive
and understated, a room with authority. For the first time I see
the wide cherry desk I've heard you mention. The desk that has been
a cornerstone of so many discussed fantasies.

"You did fine," you say.
I'm surprised when you take me into your arms, rubbing your hands
up and down the length of my spine. "Now was that so
bad?"

"I thought I was going to drop it," I
say against your shoulder, soaking in your scent.

I can't resist reaching
around your hard waist, letting my palms slide up under the jacket
of your suit. Under the crisp, starchy white shirt, the hard
ripples of your muscular back move under my hands.

You tilt my head up, and
then your lips are on mine. Our first kiss, slow and sensual, your
tongue coaxing my lips apart, claiming my mouth as your
own.

Behind the tenderness is
the firm steel of command, but in this moment I melt into you. Your
lips tell the truth of your strange and heated love for me. My
heart trip-hammers.

You draw back from me,
touching my breasts, rubbing against the hard little mounds of my
nipples. I bite my lip and look down at our feet. Mine are in white
sandals from Target. Yours gleam in expense-be-damned Stefano
Bemers.

"Do these hurt?" you ask.

I nod, but it's only a
partial truth. The hurt is part of my dark excitement, what makes
the juice run down my thighs.

"Take off your clothes.
I'll see if I can make them feel better," you say.

Some lingering shred of
caution makes me hesitate. "But there are people all over the
place. Anyone might walk in."

Your blue-gray eyes take on
a steely look.

"That door is locked. No
one come here without my asking. Unless I want them to. Right now I
want you all to myself."

You settle into the leather
chair behind your desk, then make a brief "off-with-it"
gesture.

"Strip," you say.

A rush of shame and
excitement steals over me. Stripping for you, here in this very
expensive office high above Manhattan. How many times have I made
myself hot, thinking about this?

There isn't much to remove.
My dress is a simple one-piece pullover, no buttons or zipper. With
one motion I tug it over my head. I smooth the folds and lay it
over a nearby chair.

My heart gallops as I stand
naked before you except for my sandals. I'm acutely conscious of
the voices I hear passing outside in the hall. They seem loud. And
close.

"Look at me, Gabrielle."

I drag my eyes up, seeing
your eyes appraising me.

"You still have your toy
in. Take it out. Put your leg up on my desk so I can
watch."

My face burns, but the
excitement throbs between my thighs as I approach your desk from my
side. I lift my leg up, placing my sandal on the polished surface.
I'm almost not fast enough to catch the vibrator. The open position
makes it pop out, gleaming and slick.

The corners of your mouth
twitch as though to smile.

"Now put it back in. Your
ass this time."

A wave of light-headedness
makes the room seem to rock. Carefully I move far enough in front
of your desk so you can see me as I bend over from the waist. I
reach back and spread my ass cheeks wide with one hand, exposing
the tight little opening to you.

My free hand positions the
tip of the vibrator against the puckered little hole. With a hard
push I slip the warm, wet toy up into inside of me. The fullness
makes my clit tingle.

Maybe it's only intuition,
but I think I hear a change in your breathing behind me. A tiny
surge of triumph runs through me, and I decide to tease you a
little. I arch my back, thrusting out my ass and running my hands
over the smooth curve of my butt.

Your voice definitely has
lost a shade of its control.

"Come here," you say
curtly. When I look over my shoulder, you beckon to me.

I straighten and walk
around the desk to in front of you. You put your hands on my waist,
pulling me closer. Your mouth is level with my nipples. When your
tongue snakes out to taste them, the warmth and wetness of your
mouth seep into me.

It feels good, and it
hurts. There's the sensation of a warm tongue bath, but also the
pain as you excite me, making my nipples swell against the twine.
My clit is on fire down between the aching lips of my pussy. You
close your lips over my nipple and suck hard, making me
gasp.

"Does that feel better?"
you ask against my skin.

"Yes," I gasp, and it's
mostly true.

"I think it's time for you
to see what's under my desk."

You push back your chair,
motioning to the space between your legs. I lean over to peer
underneath.

So you weren't teasing me
after all. There's the head harness, mounted under the crosspiece
of the desk. I can't see every detail, but I can make out limp
leather straps, the soft metallic gleam of a tiny
padlock.

"Want to see if it fits?" you
ask.

I can only nod, not
trusting my voice.

"Then get into your
position, my little bitch." Your voice lingers over the words,
making them both an insult and an endearment.

As I drop to my knees, my
last view out the window is of life going on as usual down on the
crowded streets. Those millions of people scurrying about their
daily business with no awareness as we play our private game high
above the city.

I crawl under the desk,
feeling the little toy pressing into my ass. I turn to face
outward, the harness hanging in front of me. Your hands adjust the
leather harness, untangling the contraption so I can see how it
works.

"Put your chin over the bottom strap,"
you instruct.

I lean forward, fitting the smooth
leather strip under my chin.

"Open your mouth."

Your fingers pull up
another piece of the mask, a leather-covered, two-prong affair that
you position at the right side of my mouth. I feel another strap of
leather pass across the back of my head, attached to the prong. A
second prong gets fitted at the left side of my mouth.

With a firm tug you adjust
the strap behind my head. The leather-covered prongs suddenly pull
back, forcing my mouth into a wide-open position that I can't
close. A leather-wrapped spider gag, made just for me.

You seem to be checking
your work more by touch than by sight. I can't turn my head, but
from the corner of my eye, I see your hands slipping the little
padlock through a set of double-rings at the side of my
head.

There's a click-click as the lock
closes. I'm secured in the harness, my mouth held wide, unable to
speak or move my head.

Your hands close over my
right wrist like a vise, pulling my arm to the side. I can't quite
cut my eyes hard enough to see, but I can feel what happens.
Something hard and metal closes over my wrist, fastening me to
desk.

"Now the other one," you murmur above
me, working by touch. My left wrist is stretched and attached to
the opposite side of the space under your desk.

Oh shit. We'd talked about the
harness. The cuffs take me off-guard.

He could
do anything to you right now,
my mind
whispers. The thought only increases the heat inside me. It's
always been like this with him.

Your fingers brush my lips,
coating them with something oily and fragrant. I detect the sweet,
familiar odor of coconut. Possessively your fingers enter my mouth,
spreading the smoothness over my lips and tongue.

"That will keep your mouth
from getting dry. Are you sure you want to be my little captive
cocksucker?" you tease.