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“I will.” I smile at her as the doors close.
Finally alone, I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I focus my energy, readying for the task ahead. I have an important meeting tomorrow with all three heads of the family. The last thing I need clouding my mind during my presentation is this unwanted feeling that’s settled itself deep inside me.
As the elevator rises, so does my need.
Over the years I’ve somehow tangled my need for sexual release with my need for retribution against that pretty, harmless-looking girl who almost destroyed my life. A psychiatrist would have a field day with me. I know it’s fucked up; still, my muscles tighten with anticipation, my fists clenching and unclenching as my palms grow damp with sweat.
The tension feels like a physical weight in my gut, pressing down in my core, squeezing it tight. It's like an electric current of need running through my body. The energy inside me rises, a hissing and bubbling pressure that threatens to burst like a geyser.
The elevator comes to a stop. I walk down the gray hall to the sleek, black double doors. Fresh, clean air greets me. The white walls rise about sixteen feet, then the ceilings angle up and in for the next ten feet, windows set inside the rectangular peak. Dark night and city lights fill the picture frame of the large windows.
There’s a plush tawny-and-white rug, a shiny black grand piano, a massive white stone fireplace with modern, sleek lines. Taupe curtains hang from floor to ceiling at the large windows overlooking the 843 acres of beauty that is Central Park.
I bypass all this, heading straight for the doors that lead to the rooftop terrace. The night air caresses my face, infused with the scent of the city. It’s quieter up here than down on the street, the sound of my steps echoing around me.
I reach the glass doors that open to the main bedroom. As instructed, the girl’s pulled the curtains back, allowing me to look in. She stands motionless with her back to the doors, dressed elegantly in a deep-plum shift dress.
She steps out of her high-heeled shoes. Her fingers reach for the zipper at the back of her neck. I glance down at my watch. Nine p.m. on the dot. Perfect.
The dress slips from her shoulders, falling to the floor, revealing a black silk camisole and matching panties. My chest grows tight as she steps to the right, leaving her dress in a puddle there while lifting the hem of the camisole up and over her head.
Her movements have the grace of a dancer. I’ve asked for this. I always get what I ask for, what I pay a high price for.
But this…
This is uncanny.
The tightness in my chest is now a vise grip around my lungs. Breathing is difficult. I force myself to take in a long, shuddering inhale of the warm night air. I’m mesmerized as she pushes her panties to the floor. Then she steps back into the high heels.
She stands before me, fully nude other than the shiny heels that make her calves and ass look perfectly toned.
She waits a moment, then, as instructed, keeping her back to me, she tidies the room, picking the clothes up off the floor and folding them neatly. She makes a stack on the corner of the bed, the outfit ready for her when she’s been dismissed.
Still keeping her back to the door, she goes to the closet, reaching her hand in and retrieving the soft, black leather, collar-like necklace. She returns to her spot, hooking the collar around her neck. Again, she waits a moment while I watch.
Now, she’s kneeling down on the carpet, the cheeks of her ass resting on the back of the heels of her leather shoes. Raising her arms in the air, she puts her hands behind her head, interlocking her fingers together.
And she waits.
I stand, staring at her, that unsettling, unwanted urge clawing at my belly. I need to go into that room and punish her. I need to see the marks of my belt across the pale skin of her ass. I need to hear the crack of the leather as it snaps across her curves. I crave the sound of the cries that will leave her lips.
Nothing less than her total submission will do.
The sound of pain warmed by the rise of a woman’s desire and longing. The most beautiful sound in the world. One I need to hear to clear my mind.
I slide the glass door open, stepping into the room, then close the door behind me. Her shoulders rise as she takes in a shaky breath.
She’s followed all my instructions up to now. Will she pass my next test?
I slip the black silk blindfold from my pocket as I approach her. “Hello, thank you for coming.”
She doesn’t answer. Perfect. She’s been instructed not to speak to me. Not to look at me. Not to address me whatsoever.
She shudders a little bit as I take a step back. My hands go to my waist, the metal of my belt buckle the only sound in the room as I undo it. I tug at the belt, letting the leather slide through the belt loops of my pants.
Her spine is straight and tall, her muscles ridged with anticipation. I give her permission to rise, to lay herself over the bed. She drapes her upper body across the top of the bed, stretching her legs down behind her, balancing her weight on the balls of her feet, her shoes pressing into the soft carpet.
I take my time, doing a loop around the bed, observing her. I hold the belt in the air. Give it a loud crack. The sound makes her ass cheeks clench together. The anticipation has been building.
