~ Jameson ~I free her from her restraints. Rub her wrists. Then I remove her blindfold.She bats her lashes at me. She smiles, beguilingly, looking quite satisfied and dreamy. Her eyelids are only at half-mast, the partial irises shimmering.Her chest is rising and falling a bit quicker than normal, but not erratically. Her skin has a light rosy tint to it and the hint of goosebumps.I see a shiver run through her and she sighs contentedly.“That was…” Her lids flutter closed. She laughs softly. Then they open and she says just one word: “Fantastic.”I chuckle. “I do aim to please.”“Oh, God…” Now, her eyes all but roll into the back of her head. “Do you ever.”I like how she doesn’t temper her responses when she’s this entranced, this euphoric.I peel back the covers on my side and maneuver her under them. Then I crawl in next to her and she immediately snuggles close to me, her body curling into mine. Her flesh is warm and her curves are enticing.She twines her arms around my neck
Indicate the sexual activities you consent to participate in (check all that apply).Oh. My. God.I’m actually doing this.I stare at the questionnaire on my cell phone, thinking there’s no way in hell I can do this!Then I quickly remind myself… There’s no way in hell I can avoid doing this!I have the insinuated you owe us money and we’ll break kneecaps to ensure we’re paid evidence burned into my brain to back this up, in the form of a typed note that more blatantly declares: “You have until Christmas Day, 9 pm.”That’s it. That’s all. No exceptions and no negotiations. No phone number for me to beg and plead for additional time. ‘Cause five days isn’t going to cut it for me. Not when it comes to the amount of cash I’m required to hand over to save said kneecaps. And they’re not just mine…A part of me wants to scream. A part of me wants to strangle my older sister Ria for… Well. For a lot of things, in addition to this hellacious debt she’s incurred, for which I’ve dutifully assum
I immediately reach for the glass of champagne that’s been poured for me in my “dressing room.”I’ve been scrubbed and buffed and polished to within an inch of my life, and under the silk robe I’m wearing, my breasts are ridiculously plumped up and spilling over the scalloped edges of my white-lace and sparkly-silver demi bra, with a dainty, deceptively innocent baby blue satin ribbon poised in the valley of the rounded inner swells. A matching thong, white thigh-high stockings and stunning, skyscraping white pumps, bejeweled with Swarovski crystals and mini ostrich feathers, complete the ensemble.I have no idea how many billionaires (or close-to-being billionaires) I’ll be prancing in front of, but given this is the eighth annual auction, I venture to guess it’s a successful enough event to garner global interest.Unfortunately for me, I’ve no real way to prepare myself for the evening ahead. I don’t have a clue as to what sort of kink sheiks, prodigal sons, heirs to empires or angs
I walk toward the sofa, my long legs crisscrossing one over the other. I perch myself on the arm and toe off my six-inch heels. I cross my legs and lean forward, giving a full visual of my overflowing breasts.I spare a glance at my timeclock, watching it quickly countdown, because there’s another round of women who will replace the six of us within minutes.I stand and go straight for the bolder, more daring moves. I toss my long, blown-out chestnut hair over one shoulder, place a knee on the cushion of the far end of the settee and prop an elbow on the rolled arm for support as my other arm reaches around behind me.I smack my bare ass, quite soundly, so that it echoes in this small space and hopefully resonates beyond.The sting certainly radiates throughout my entire body, and I have no doubt I’ve left a red mark on my pale cheek.This is the extreme I have to go to—and I’m more than willing to do so.I slip two fingers beneath the delicate lace of my thong and stroke my cleft. Al
How I arrived at the “auction house” earlier is precisely how I leave. Micah has blindfolded me and escorted me to what must be a service elevator, capable of descending directly to the underground parking garage without making a single stop along the way.He helps me into the back of a spacious vehicle, and we’re whisked away. I have no idea in what part of Manhattan we’re in, what building we’ve just left—or where we’re headed.There is a natural hesitancy running through my veins. All this secrecy and cloak-and-dagger mysteriousness tweaks my nerves. I grasp it’s necessary, though. I’m not supposed to be able to retell this story to anyone else, with any amount of detail. Not that I could do that, anyway, without having my ass sued off. I signed a non-disclosure agreement. What happens with the Kinky Kringles Christmas Auction stays within the institution of the Kinky Kringles Christmas Auction.Perhaps that’s the other reason I’m on pins and needles. Kinky Kringles… What the hell
It’s not his ominous words that jolt me straight to the core.It’s his voice.My gaze snaps up—and connects with his, in the reflection of the glistening windowpanes.My jaw drops. There is no preventing this, uncouth as it is. My eyes widen.He’s standing all the way across the room, but as with every single workday, I can feel his commanding presence, taking up space, filling it, heating it. I can smell the faint tinge of his imported cologne—from the Oman region, no less—mixed with his innate virility. No, the latter shouldn’t have a scent associated with it. With this man, however… It naturally exudes from him.My heart is lodged in my throat so that I can’t pull in a steady stream of air.Nor can I form a coherent sentence. Not that that’s relevant. I can’t speak around the lump clogging my esophagus to say more than one word: “You.”He gives a slight nod of his head, though his sinfully delicious, melted chocolate gaze doesn’t waver.His eyes are so rich and swoon-worthy, it’s a
His gaze holds mine again, unfalteringly. Only this time, his eyes do something I’ve never witnessed before. They smolder.So sensuously, so scorchingly, so…beseechingly.My breath catches in my throat.The tingle along my clit is now an incessant cry for him to touch me, to taste me, to take me places I’ve never gone before.Oh, Jesus, I want nothing more than to close the small gap between us and feel my curves meld to his defined sinew. Tilt my head and let his mouth crash over mine.I’d used the moniker for this evening as a play on the name of the auction. If “kinky” was what drew attention, then I’d follow that lead. Currently, however…I don’t need to present the illusion of an erotically naughty side of me. There’s no illusion at all—a wickedly wild part of me is emerging with every breath I take.I absently deposit my flute on top of the chessboard—somewhat symbolical, I’d say, though I hadn’t planned that. It was just a convenient resting spot. I tug the sash at my waist so
I force myself not to shoot a pleading look Jameson’s way. This is now his game. Like Lisa, Amber and Alex, I’m a mere pawn, completely at his disposal, to do as he wishes as he moves us around his chessboard. Or, more accurately, what I surmise will be an imaginary Twister board.While we’d left my coat on the floor in the anteroom, I’m still wearing the lingerie. I don’t make an attempt to divest myself of anything, just follow the direction given and settle myself on the luxe comforter that feels like heaven beneath me. I concentrate on this, rather than the fact that Lisa reaches for my right arm and lifts it upward and toward a post, where she collects a blue-satin-padded cuff and secures my wrist.Pretty Blonde Amber swoops in on my left and repeats the process. Of course, I’m inclined to pull on the thin chains, to test them.Yeah, they’re the real deal. I’m not freeing myself.Which begs the question: “Shouldn’t I have a safe word?”Jameson’s brow crooks, quizzically. “What do