A Bona Fide Gold Digger (21 page)

With her arms held out at her sides, hands pointed upward, Milan’s limbs were positioned to resemble the prongs of the coat rack on the other side of the room.

M
ing stepped back and observed her work as Milan, confused and humiliated, stood naked in the ridiculous position. She paced back and forth in front of Milan. “You’ve been reduced to an item of furniture; you’re nothing more than a coat rack,” Ming spat. “A very sturdy coat rack,” she added with bitterness. “So don’t you dare move. And if you allow my chinchilla to touch the floor, there will be severe consequences.” She dropped the weighty fur coat on Milan’s right hand.

The coat was incredibly heavy, and hot. But to get back in Gerard’s good graces Milan had to function as a sturdy coat rack.

Satisfied, Ming pranced over to Gerard. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I was fuming mad when you left me alone upstairs so you could be with…” She turned and glared in Milan’s direction. “So you could be with that dirty trash with those big feet.”

Dirty trash! Big feet!
At that moment, Milan was ready to drop Ming’s coat and whip her ass like she would have when her sister made her fight the kids who taunted and teased her back in the projects. But Sweetie wasn’t here and Milan was without power. She’d lose Gerard if she defied his command.
Big feet, stinky stink, Milan.
She was sadly reminded of the terrible taunting she endured during her childhood. And she was as helpless as she’d been before Sweetie had taught her how to fight.

It was as if her life had gone full circle and once again she had to endure the jeers and taunts that exist in the life of a despised person. Admittedly, she was despicable. She supposed she’d always been aware of her wretchedness but had succeeded in fooling the public. She’d successfully convinced her classmates and later her coworkers that she was superior. She’d even convinced herself. For a while. But now she had to face the glaring truth.

Dr. Kayla Pauley and the board at Pure Paradise had finally come to realize her deficiencies. That’s why they got rid of her, sending her right back to oblivion where she belonged.

Gerard had instantly seen through her façade. And she was grateful to him for allowing her the freedom cast aside pretenses. For as long as he allowed her, she would grovel at his feet, thankful to him for taking the time to teach her the many aspects of submission.

Gerard was an awesome trainer. Being relegated to the position of an inanimate object was humiliating and thrilling at the same time. It was also quite painful. She’d only been in position for a few minutes and already the muscles in the arm that held Ming’s chinchilla throbbed. But knowing Gerard was testing her limits, she persevered, suffering through the pain.

“You always know how to please me,” Ming cooed. It was the first time Milan had heard the vicious woman use a soft tone. Then Ming wrapped both arms around Gerard’s neck. “Why won’t you let me leave my husband so we can be together?”

“Ming,” Gerard said, removing her hands from his neck. “A relationship between two dominants won’t work. We can always play together, but a twenty-four-seven relationship between us wouldn’t last. You know that. I’ve been honest with you; I’ve told you what I’m hoping to achieve with Milan. I want to own her for life and that’s a very serious undertaking.”

“Milan!” Ming screeched. “Why do you want to own her? Ugh. She’s so unattractive. And she has those big clumsy feet. In China, her feet would have been bound at birth.”

Milan cringed at Ming’s insults. But other than grimacing slightly, there was nothing else she could do.

“Listen, forget her. You can be with me as an equal partner. If I divorce my husband, I’ll get half his money. This house and the SUV I bought you are nothing compared to the fabulous life you can have with me. I could buy us a bigger mansion than the one my husband and I own. And I’d be willing to share my beautiful submissive girls with you. They could serve us both around the clock. So why do you need
her
?” Ming asked, her pretty face contorted in disgust.

“I’ve already told you, I don’t want a full-time relationship with another dominant. You’ll have to enjoy the time we spend together when we open the training center,” Gerard said firmly.

The training center!
Milan was suddenly enlightened. Ming and Gerard didn’t plan to open a fitness center, they planned to open a facility where they would train submissive people. It was a brilliant idea, but she hated the idea of Ming being near Gerard for many hours of the day.

Milan resolved that she’d have to use her submissiveness—her unrelenting loyalty and devotion—to win Gerard’s love. Somehow, she’d figure out a way to get Ming out of his life, forever.

“Does that unattractive scum know?” Ming nudged her head in Milan’s direction. Her malicious words brought Milan out of her delicious revenge fantasy. “Did you tell her that it will take years of servitude before she can earn the privilege of having her fuck hole filled with your dick?” Ming shot Milan a smug look and then returned her focus to Gerard. “How long do you think she’ll grovel, bow, and scrape when she finds out that I’m the only woman deserving the pleasure of riding your beautiful, immense, black dick?”

Gerard chuckled. “You just had to ruin the surprise. I’m sure my little pet suspected that she would have to jump through numerous hoops to get it, but she had no idea of your position.”

“For your information, little mutt,” Ming turned her slanted eyes on Milan, “
this
belongs to me.” Ming caressed Gerard’s groin. The gesture sent a flurry of arrows through Milan’s jealous heart. “Come, darling, let’s give the big-foot slut a spicy demonstration.”

Stripped naked and forced to stand stock still while holding up Ming’s coat was humiliating enough, but she felt a powerful surge of shame when Ming and Gerard approached, inspecting her closely. “What happened to her cat?” Ming asked sarcastically, referring to Milan’s shaved pussy. Ming bent slightly to scrutinize Milan’s vagina. “What an ugly cat. It’s covered with disgusting bumps. That’s not a professional wax job; looks like she used a razor on her snatch.” Ming turned up her nose. “Ugh. How primitive.”

Ming’s insults stung, yet, oddly, Milan felt a bead of moisture ooze out of her pussy lips. Ming saw the lust that bubbled out of Milan’s vagina. “Look! Her bald snatch is drooling.” Ming scraped her finger between Milan’s pussy lips and held it out, showing Gerard the incriminating sap. “Her cat’s creamy. This bitch is hot for you,” she informed Gerard as she buried her finger inside Milan’s syrupy pussy again and extracted more evidence.

Using her finger like a dagger, Ming finger-fucked Milan, daring her to move a muscle or even grunt or moan. For Milan, the stimulation was unbearable, erotic torture. She wanted to hump Ming’s viciously probing finger, she yearned to spread her legs so her pussy could feel the jabbing pain more deeply but, denied the right to make a sound or move a muscle, Milan instead bit down on her lip until she tasted blood.

Gerard inched closer to better observe Milan taking the pussy stabbing. Milan’s eyes darted to Gerard’s crotch. The bulging outline that began to form in the front of his sweatpants filled her with hope. But that hope was quickly dashed.

Ming smeared Milan’s juices over Gerard’s crotch. “See how his penis grows big for me?” Ming slipped her hand inside Gerard’s sweatpants and gripped the enormous dick that Milan had yet to see in the flesh. Then Ming grabbed Milan’s free hand and lowered it to the crotch of her own jeans. “Feel what the touch of his big machine does to me,” Ming uttered breathlessly. Milan could feel the Asian woman’s spicy nectar seeping through the thick fabric of her jeans.

Gerard swept Ming up in his arms and carried her toward the stairs. Ming wrapped her arms around him and began uttering love cries and soft cooing sounds. Gerard stopped his stride. “Ah, Ming,” he said, his voice filled with warmth and adoration for Ming. Then he leaned down and placed a love bite on Ming’s neck.

Milan felt helpless and unworthy. Like scum.

Overcome with passion, Ming began kicking out her tiny feet. “Put me down, I don’t want to go upstairs. Do me in front of your slut bitch.”

“You want Milan to watch?” Gerard murmured, his accented voice a low rumble of sexiness.

“No, she can listen to the sounds of our passion. She is not allowed to view the penis that belongs to me! Let her suffer the torture of desiring something she can never have.”

He eased Ming down. She began peeling off her clothes, revealing a magnificently toned body, the kind of body Gerard wanted Milan to possess. Proudly flaunting her nudity, Ming strutted over to the area where the exercise mats were stacked. “We can fuck back here. On the floor.”

Gerard nodded, looking pleased by Ming’s bright idea.

Milan watched helplessly as her trainer strode past her. She couldn’t see him but could hear the rustle of his clothing being shed. She wanted to scream,
Don’t do this to me. Please. Help me. Don’t leave me with a damp, empty pussy.
But she knew her cries would go unheeded. Nothing she said would stop Gerard from filling Ming with his wonderfulness.

She’d forgotten about the pain in her arm, but the disappointment of being left with an unattended throbbing pussy made her begin to focus on her stiff neck and cramped muscles.

She hated Ming. She wanted to fling the fur coat down to the floor. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She had to bear any humiliation Gerard dispensed if she expected to become his property. Milan understood that holding up her adversary’s prized possession allowed her to experience the degree of humiliation necessary to explore the depths of her submissive nature.

Stripped of her identity, she remained in the degrading position of a human coat rack while Ming and Gerard fucked behind her back. She closed her eyes and tried to blink back the tears that wet her lashes as she was forced to listen to Ming cry out in pleasure, speaking at first in English and then switching to a love language that sounded like Chinese.

“T
he jeweler was here,” Irma told Milan. “You weren’t here so Mr. Brockington asked me to guess your ring size. I told him my guess was that you wore a size six.”

Milan shrugged. She wore a size five and a half, but didn’t feel like quibbling over the size of a ring she’d be wearing for only a short time.

“Mr. Brockington wants to have an engagement celebration. He’s waiting for you in his room.” There was a warning tone to Irma’s voice.

After the atrocious punishment she’d experienced at the hands of Ming, Milan was too physically and emotionally drained to care about the liberty Noah had taken in selecting her ring and involving her in an impromptu engagement celebration. Who would be the guests? she wondered, but she really didn’t care. All she cared about was getting Noah’s money, and being wealthy enough to match the gifts Ming showered on Gerard.

After the bitch had relieved Milan from coat rack duty, she’d had the audacity to order Milan to clean Gerard’s cum from her Asian pussy. She got the bright idea to transform Milan into a human bidet, but thankfully Gerard had come to her rescue, telling Ming that functioning as a coat rack was sufficient punishment for Milan. Milan was
his
possession, he continued, and
he’d
determine when she began training in pussy licking.

Then he patted Milan on the head, telling her she’d been a good pet.

“I shouldn’t have to wash myself when she’s perfectly capable of using her tongue to clean my pussy,” Ming had said and grabbed Milan’s arm.

“No, she’s tolerated enough of your abuse.” Gerard pulled Milan away from Ming. Milan flushed at the memory. Never had she felt so loved, so protected. Furious that Gerard had stood up for Milan, Ming began cursing. Her angry words came out in a hot flurry, a hateful mixture of English and Chinese.

When Milan was finally alone with Gerard, he treated her with a tenderness he hadn’t shown before. “Do your arms still hurt, my pet?”

“No,” she lied.

“Don’t lie to me. If you lie, I’ll have to discipline you.” He spoke so softly. His accent was so damn seductive, Milan was tempted to lie again. To get his undivided attention, she was willing to tolerate another punishment. But fearing he’d call Ming back and enforce the pussy licking, Milan quickly told the truth. “Yes, my arms hurt, sir.” Milan hoped she’d never be forced to taste Ming’s pussy. She wasn’t a lesbian. Sure, she’d allowed married women to eat her pussy at the sex club, Tryst, but she’d never given
them
any head. She prayed Gerard would use her mouth for his benefit only. In the meantime, to avoid his wrath, she’d be sure to walk a very straight line and obey his every command.

Gerard reached out and rubbed her shoulders and forearms. Then he kissed her forehead and told her it was time for her to leave. Milan would have stayed with him forever if he wanted her to but, satisfied with his show of tenderness, she gathered herself and left.

With Irma present as the only invited guest, it turned out that the engagement party wasn’t much of a celebration at all. Milan and Irma gathered at Noah’s bedside and when he presented the ring she thought she’d faint from fury. The ring was a hideous silver relic with a cloudy diamond.

“Do you like your ring, my dear?” Noah asked after placing the ugly thing on her finger.

Refusing to pretend to be impressed, she grimaced at the ring. “How many carats?”

Noah chuckled indulgently. “It’s not the size that matters. It’s the clarity, my dear. Why, that one carat is absolutely flawless. Hold it up to the light.”

Without enthusiasm, Milan held her hand toward the chandelier and glanced up. “You see,” Noah said excitedly. “It’s absolutely flawless.”

The cheap bastard had bought her an ugly one-carat engagement ring. But amazingly, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except pleasing Gerard. And because Noah’s nurse had insisted on shaving her pubic hair, she had failed to please her trainer today.

Milan didn’t know whom she hated more—Noah, Ruth, or Ming. While she pondered the hatred she felt for each individual, Noah rattled on about the clarity of her revolting engagement ring.

Noah would die soon, she told herself, and then Ruth would go away. Ming, however, would remain a stubborn thorn in her side. Thus it was Ming, Milan decided whom she hated the most.

Irma poured champagne into three crystal flutes that were set on a silver tray. To get the engaged couple’s attention, Irma cleared her throat and tapped delicately on her glass. “I’d like to propose a toast. Congratulations to you two lovebirds, Milan,” Irma said dully.

“I’m honored to be the guest at this important celebration.” Irma’s words rang false as if she were reading from a script, but Noah didn’t seem to notice. He looked appropriately touched, smiling and beaming at each insincere word that fell from Irma’s lips.

“I hope this marriage lasts for years to come and produces a house filled with children.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Noah said, taking a sip of champagne.

A house filled with children!
Milan almost choked. How did Irma know about the childbearing clause in her prenup? Was the cook in on the scheme? Did she also have a hand in the plot to burden Milan with a dead man’s kids? To calm her frazzled nerves, Milan turned the flute to her lips. Guzzling down the champagne, she added Irma’s name to her hate list.

Thank God she was on the pill.
But contraceptive pills aren’t one hundred percent effective,
she thought worriedly. It didn’t matter, she reassured herself. Noah’s sickly sperm couldn’t impregnate her or anyone else. His baby-making days were over.

Drowsy from too much champagne, Noah nodded off in the middle of the celebration.

“You can go home, Irma, the party’s over,” Milan said in a hushed voice, escorting Irma out of the bedroom suite.

“What you’re doing isn’t right, Milan,” Irma whispered out in the hallway. “Now, I’ve held my tongue all this time, but I’m gonna speak my mind. You can try to fire me but as long as Mr. Brockington is alive, he’s going to keep me on.”

Milan glared at the meddlesome woman and shot a look at Noah’s closed bedroom door. “Can we have this discussion in private?” She ushered Irma down the staircase. “Now, what does my marriage to Noah have to do with you?” Milan asked when they reached the downstairs landing.

Irma put her hand on her hip saucily. It was a defiant gesture, and Milan was taken aback. The cook hadn’t gotten feisty with her since she’d been put in her place. “Marrying that sickly man just so you can get your hands on his money is a sin and a shame,” Irma said, her bottom lip protruding in disapproval.

“What’s it to you? Really, Irma, how does my marriage to Noah concern you?”

“I’m just trying to warn you. Mr. Brockington isn’t right in the head.” Irma tapped her temple area for emphasis.

“Obviously,” Milan said, and chuckled sarcastically. “Still, I don’t see why his mental status would be of any concern to you. Your position here is…what? A cook, a scullery maid? A poorly trained scullery maid,” Milan added viciously. “So mind your business. I’m not stupid, Irma. I know where this conversation is going. You want to blackmail me. Again! But there’s not a chance in hell that you’re getting your grubby fingers on one penny of Mr. Brockington’s fortune—”

“Mr. Brockington is so proud,” Irma interrupted. “He told me about the contract and the heir he plans on leaving.”

Milan smiled. “If it’s any of your business, which it’s not, we’re planning on having a passel of children to carry on the Brockington name.” Milan did a wide sweep of her hand.

“Well, I know you’re not planning on honoring your contract,” Irma blurted. “You’re on the pill. I know where you hide them, and I count them every day.”

This time Milan did choke. She had a fit of coughing so severe, Irma smacked her hard on the back and then gave her a glass of water.

After Milan settled down, Irma informed her that she’d keep quiet if Milan signed a document promising to keep Irma on after Mr. Brockington’s death. Irma expected a pay raise at five times her current salary, and a one-million-dollar bonus when Milan secured her deceased husband’s fortune.

“I’m tired, Irma. Can we discuss this tomorrow?” Milan asked wearily.

“All right. But remember, if I don’t get what I want, I’m gonna start singing!”

Start singing!
Irma sounded like a character in an old gangster flick. It was all too much for Milan. Every time she thought she had things figured out, someone threw a monkey wrench in her plans. She didn’t know how much longer she could put up with the insanity in the Brockington household. Noah was looking and acting healthier by the minute, there’d been a reversal of power between her and the nurse, and now Irma’s greedy ass was hounding her for a part of her inheritance.

Milan was walking a tightrope; something had to give. Distraught, she wished she could talk to Gerard. Just being near him would be a comfort. But she wasn’t allowed to contact him without permission. Desperate for solace and some type of understanding, she picked up the phone and called her sister.

“Hey, Sweetie. Can we get together somewhere so we can talk?”

“Oh, really? You must be in trouble again, otherwise, you’d still be hiding out. It’s a shame the way you treat your family, Milan. You won’t give out the number to that house you’re living in. You don’t call nobody and you won’t answer your cell. After I didn’t hear nothing else from you about the wedding, I got worried. Tried to get in touch with Tookie’s mom, but she was on a cruise. When she got back, she had the nerve to be acting all tight-lipped—wouldn’t give out that ol’ man’s phone number or address. Tookie’s my girl and everything but her mom made me so mad, I told Quantez that we might have to get one of them young thugs he works with to go rough Miss Elise up.”

Milan laughed.

“That shit ain’t funny, Milan. You got family and you’re supposed to keep in touch.”

“I need to talk, Sweetie. It’s serious. Can you meet me somewhere?” she asked her sister.

“How you gon’ be calling me from out of the clear blue and expect me to just stop what I’m doing and come running to you. Bring your ass over here. I’m in the middle of cooking dinner for Quantez and the kids.”

“Sweetie, please. I can’t come over; it’s a very private matter and I need some sisterly advice. Please. It won’t take long.”

Sweetie became quiet. “How come you never call Mom for motherly advice?”

Milan sighed. “Mom doesn’t care about me, Sweetie. You know that. She only loves you.”

“That’s not true, Milan. She loves us both the same.”

“No, Sweetie. She hated my father and she hates me. But I didn’t call you to talk about that. Are you going to meet me or not?”

“Okay, Milan. I guess Quantez can watch the food. Where do you want to meet? And don’t go choosing no high-siddity place because I’m coming as I am; I’m not changing my clothes.”

“Let’s see…how about that KFC at Sixty-first and Lancaster Avenue? Is that ghetto enough for you?”

“See. There you go, acting like you’re better than everyone else. That’s what Mommy don’t like about you—”

“I was only kidding about the ghetto part. I thought it would make you laugh. And for your information, Sweetie, Mommy doesn’t like
anything
about me.”

“Whatever. I’ll see you in an hour.” Sweetie hung up.

Milan checked on Noah, making sure he was still conked out before she slipped out of the house.