Manhattan Master by Jesse Joren Page A

Part of me still wonders what the hell I've
gotten myself into.
    "Aren't you going to thank
me?" you tease, flicking the tips with your nails.
    "Thank you. I love how that
feels," I stammer.
    Again you flash that smile
that makes my heart beat faster, then you pat your lap.
    "Lay back on the floor and
raise your legs," you say. "I want to see your pussy up
close."
    The crude, matter-of-fact
request feels calculated to humble me, and it works. I feel my face
go red as I hesitate.
    A frown begins between your
eyes. I don't fear your anger, but I can't bear to be a
disappointment to you. Not after all this time, all of these
dreams.
    I let my dress drop back
into place, easing into the floor between your feet. I lay on my
back and raise my legs up to drape over the arms over the chair. I
try to keep my thighs closed with poor success.
    Slowly your fingers slip
deep between my lips, rubbing and exploring. My thighs part like
water, the dress falling back to my waist. I feel cool air and your
finger inside of me, rubbing away the light cream of my
excitement.
    Your fingertip strokes me,
feeling the firm little knob that swells as you play, stretching
out to meet your touch.
    "Open to me," you say in a
soft voice of steel.
    My hands find my smooth
lips, pulling them apart, exposing the deepest pink to you. The
hard little center of my excitement. The tiny place where I pee.
The soft opening to the deepest part of me.
    "Good. Don't
move."
    I squirm when your
fingertips squeeze my hardness, gripping and stretching it until I
gasp. There's the soft whicker of fishing line being unraveled. The
cool twine closes around the base of my stretched clit.
    The tightness becomes a
burn. My flesh swells, fevered and throbbing in protest, but all
I'm aware of is the excitement building inside of me. I look up,
disheveled and flushed, seeing that little grin on your face as you
set the twine and knife aside.
    "You can let go now," you
offer. How generous.
    My inner thighs are soaked
with soft wetness, like I have a fever. Your finger slips into me
one final time, teasing the hard little nub back and forth before
withdrawing.
    "Stand up and pull your dress down.
Let's see if it shows."
    I stand, my legs quivering
as I smooth the dress back down over my hips. Even just standing
still, the rubbing sensation is maddening.
    My nipples are pressed
against the thin cloth, clearly visible from any angle. Anyone
looking at me with more than a passing glance will notice, unless
they happen to be using a white cane and seeing eye dog.
    Your little chuckle tells
me that you've read my mind.
    "You'll just have to move
fast so that no one gets more than a peek," you say.
    I resist the urge to stick
out my tongue at you, wary of that fishing line I saw go back in
your pocket. "Where are we going?"
    "To my office. I need to
make some calls." You smile. "Pretty boring stuff." Your voice
takes on a new note, husky with secrets.
    "Plus I thought you might
want to come with me and see what I have installed under my
desk."
    A slow throb of excitement
twists in my belly.
    "What is it?" I ask,
feeling a rush of damp heat between my thighs.
    Your eyes gleam in a way
that makes my trussed parts throb. "You already know that answer,
Gabrielle."
    You take my hand to lead me
from the room. Before we reach the door you stop, snapping your
fingers.
    "I almost forgot. One more
thing."
    You reach into the inner
jacket pocket of your expensive suit, removing a small,
elegant-looking little vibrator. The stainless steel gleams softly
in your palm.
    "Obedience comes in many
forms." Your beautiful mouth curls into a smirk. "Put it in, then
we're ready for our walk."
    Wordlessly I stare at you.
Surely this is a joke. How can I walk and hold that inside of me
out on the city streets?
    "I'm waiting."
    Your eyes lock on mine,
testing me as you stand there, so perfect with your dark hair and
blue-gray eyes. A dark angel, waiting to make me fall.
    With slow steps I walk to
the desk,