Pure Paradise (14 page)

T
he next day, Milan sat at her desk daydreaming about Hilton. The buzz of her phone brought her out of the sweet reverie.

“Royce was late for work,” Milan’s secretary said briskly.

“So? What makes you think I care?” How annoying to be disturbed with such trivial information.

“He’s downstairs at his post, but he wanted me to extend his apologies for being fifteen minutes late.”

“Okay, thanks,” Milan said without interest.

“He’s on the other line,” her secretary persisted, “waiting to find out if you want him to come to your office to discuss his tardiness.”

Briefly perplexed, Milan frowned. “Why would I want him to—” Mid-sentence, she had an “aha” moment. She hadn’t spanked Royce in weeks and it had been ages since she’d utilized his abnormal tongue. She’d assumed that he appreciated the respite from her mistreatment, but apparently he’d developed a proclivity for the harsh treatment, crude name-calling, bondage play, the long and rigorous tongue strokes she required of him, and of course, the sting of her paddle.

“All right,” Milan said dryly. “I guess I should discuss disciplinary measures with him. Send him to my office.”

Shame-faced, Royce entered her office minutes later, his cap respectfully in his hand, his hair showing premature streaks of gray. He closed the door discreetly and in the next instant, he began unhooking his handcuffs, head lowered, repentant.

“What can I do for you, Royce?” she asked coolly.

“Didn’t your secretary tell you—I was fifteen minutes late.”

“I’ve made a note of it and, of course, I’ll have to dock your pay.”

He grimaced and then wiped his hand over his face as if he’d just been informed that she planned on garnishing all his future earnings.

“Is there a problem?”

“No.” He shifted his feet and started to perspire. “Well, I thought we had an understanding, Ms. Walden.”

“And what would that be?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“You said you wouldn’t dock my pay if I did those things for you that you like me to do.”

She leaned forward. “Royce, I have good news for you. You’re off the hook. You don’t have to worry about being physically reprimanded anymore.”

He didn’t take the good news very well. He flinched and actually looked as if he were about to tear up. Milan went on. “If it makes you feel better, I won’t dock you. But I won’t be so generous the next time you’re late.”

Royce brightened. “Whatchu gon’ do to me next time, Ms. Walden?”

She sighed. She’d created a monster. “What would you like me to do?”

“I can take all your punishments.”

“Which do you prefer?” she asked out of curiosity.

Scratching his head, he looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “It’s a toss-up. But since you’re making me choose. I think I’ll go for the paddle.”

“Why?” She really wanted to get a better understanding of male submission.

He shrugged uncomfortably. “I can’t explain it.”

“Try,” she persisted.

He took the liberty of lowering his large frame in the seat across from her.

“At first I was mad. I didn’t like the way you ordered me around and had me doing all those unnatural things. Then you stopped sending for me and I was relieved, at first. But I found myself trying to get my wife to treat me like you do. But she never really liked oral sex. She’s holy and sanctified, considers it a sin. I joked around with her to see if she might have some interest in paddling, but she screwed her face up like it might be time to get me some type of counseling, so I just left the subject alone.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“What?”

“Why do you like getting paddled?”

Royce wiped his face with his roughened hand as if trying to remove the embarrassment. “I’d be lying if I said I like getting paddled. That thing hurts. For me, the pleasure is all mental. I like the idea that a member of the weaker sex can command me to drop my pants and order me to do all sorts of nasty things. Just thinking about you taking control of me gets me in a heated state that makes my nature rise.” Royce shook his head in bewilderment. “I would have never guessed I was capable of having such a freaky nature.”

His admission wasn’t in depth and she hadn’t unraveled any deep-seated, psychological mystery. She surmised that like her—like most people—Royce had a tendency toward sexual deviance. He just needed the right person to unleash his inner freak.

Until Milan introduced him to his submissive side, he hadn’t realized that being docile, a sexual doormat, was such a powerful aphrodisiac. Milan knew. She’d already been down that path. But never again. Or at least she hoped not.
Never say never
, she reminded herself again.

She smiled, wondering if Hilton had a secret kinky side. And if so, where was the chink in his armor? She had strong feelings for her driver and if he wanted to, he could most likely bring out her dormant submissive side. She’d kiss Hilton’s feet in a heartbeat, but would prefer doing it because she wanted to, rather than being directed to do so.

She pulled herself away from her thoughts and refocused her attention on Royce, who was turning puppy dog eyes on her, quietly waiting for her to command him to pant and drop his tongue out like a begging dog.

“Royce,” she said softly. “As you’ve noticed, Pure Paradise’s clientele is expanding. To be honest, I don’t have time to dole out discipline—”

Royce sagged in his seat. “I won’t be in your way, Ms. Walden. I can crawl under your desk and lick you while you’re taking care of your business.”

“I’d be distracted.”

Judging by Royce’s woebegone expression, one would have thought that Milan had handed him a pink slip.

“I’m going to recommend someone.”

“I’m hooked on you—”

“You don’t have a choice,” she said sternly. She lifted the phone and pushed a button. “Royce is in my office,” she said into the mouthpiece. “I’m going to have him fill out a new disciplinary form and then I’m sending him to your office to be reprimanded.” Milan scowled in thought. Sumi was in a terrible mood and she might take her frustrations out on Royce, harming him to the point of hospitalization or maybe death. Milan gulped. “Better yet, why don’t you come down to my office; I need to observe and make sure that things don’t get out of hand. Royce only requires mild disciplining; nothing harsh.”

“I want it harsh,” Royce whispered in the background.

Milan rolled her eyes at him, gave him a hand flip, and continued talking on the phone.

“Do you understand what I’m saying? I want you to go easy on him; I don’t want to see a repeat of last night.” She hung up the phone and tapped her finger on the desk in thought.

“Who’d you send for, Ms. Walden?”

“My assistant will be handling you from now on.”

Royce exhaled hard. Disappointment crumpled his face. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do and everything, but seriously, Ms. Walden, I need somebody who knows what she’s doing. A strong black woman like you. That tiny little Sumi couldn’t hurt a flea.”

Milan gave him a smirking smile. “Don’t underestimate Sumi. I think you’re going to be pleasantly surprised.”

S
umi was so harried, her once perfectly formed bun now drooped as she suffered under the oppression of an unrelenting taskmaster. Tension lined the features of her beautiful face. It wasn’t easy, trying to placate a boss who never lifted a finger to help out, who seldom left her office to conduct business but preferred to view a monitor for enjoyment and adult entertainment, and often summoned members of her working staff to put out the fires of her insatiable sexual desires.

Sumi’s eyes flared with anger at Milan.

“Where’s your paddle?” Milan asked.

Royce was a perfect target for her aggression and misplaced anger.

“You should be better prepared, Sumi,” Milan said, goading her. “There are plenty of extra paddles in the spanking room, as you well know.”

“At your insistence, that room is being occupied,” she spat vehemently. She tilted her head. “Ms. Warminster paid for an extended treatment, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” Milan mumbled. Sighing, as if Sumi had asked to borrow a pair of her underwear, Milan grudgingly opened
a desk drawer and retrieved her personal paddle. It had only been used on Royce, so it wasn’t as if his behind would contaminate the weapon.

But it was the principle. “This is my personal paddle and I’m not comfortable loaning it out. In the future, I expect you to be better prepared. Is that clear?” She knew she sounded unreasonable, but it was important to keep Sumi in line.

She was so irritated by Sumi’s lack of preparedness, Milan didn’t notice Royce slinking backward toward the door.

But Sumi noticed. The instant she had the handle of Milan’s personal paddle within her grasp, Sumi sprang across the room and stood on her toes as she seized Royce by the collar. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“I, uh, have to get back to my station,” he sputtered.

Sumi hooked him in the jaw. Stunned, the security guard’s hand flew up defensively. She tossed the paddle over to the settee and then, with a slight bend at her knees, Sumi moved into a fighting stance position, hands held up to guard her face.

“What the fuck is wrong with her?” Royce asked Milan, cowering as he moved out of Sumi’s range.

Next, she brought her knee up, her ankle flexed downward in a chamber, a technique where her foot was positioned to generate power and to control of the speed of the kick.

Seeing her foot quickly snap out aiming for his groin, Royce dropped down. Sumi’s small but powerful kick landed in his chest. Coughing and heaving, he rolled away from further harm. Crawling as fast as he could, he scurried to the other side of Milan’s desk.

“I can’t deal with all that jujitsu and karate and whatnot,” he said, sniveling as he squeezed past Milan’s long legs and wrig
gled until he had squeezed himself under the cover and safety of her enormous desk. “I don’t like the way she operates,” he complained, face frowned up, voice raised in indignation.

“I told you not to underestimate her,” Milan said, leaning downward, speaking in an amused tone.

“Get over here!” Sumi snarled.

Royce would not leave the safe haven beneath the desk. Curled in a ball, he shook his head adamantly. His widened eyes beseeched Milan to save him from the petite tyrant who threatened to do him bodily harm.

“Scared?” Milan taunted.

He nodded. “Make her go,” he said in a whisper. “If you let me stay right where I am, I promise I’ll take care of you, real good.”

“I’m sorry, Royce. You were late. And Sumi has taken over that aspect of the business—”

“And I have zero tolerance with sorry bastards who can’t show up for work on time.”

Sumi crossed the room, breathing fire. Milan scooted back, allowing her access to Royce. She dragged him from his hiding place and pulled the large man up.

“All right, all right,” he yelled, holding up his hands in surrender as if Sumi had a gun pointed at his head. “Beat me with the paddle. I was late; I admit it. I deserve to be punished,” he said, as he unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down.

Sumi retrieved the paddle from the settee. “You better get your ass to work on time! Do you understand?” she yelled as she smacked his ass with the leather paddle.

Royce flinched, his body thrust forward with each forceful smack of leather against his skin.

Milan watched with mild interest. Her na-na wasn’t in an
uproar; she wasn’t even moist. In fact, she was bored and was about to suggest Sumi continue lighting a fire to his backside in the privacy of her own office, when Royce suddenly shot a load against the side of her precious desk.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered.

“Lick it up!” Sumi shouted, looking deranged and haggard. Her hair was now completely undone and she’d ripped the seam under the armpit of her jacket.

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Sumi,” Milan intervened.

“Why not? He needs to learn the rules. I didn’t tell this moron to ejaculate.”

“I understand,” Milan said patiently as if talking to a mental patient. “However, as skilled a tongue as Royce possesses, I don’t think he can manage cleaning my desk in a way that would suit me. I’m very particular about my desk, Sumi.”

Coming to her senses, Sumi nodded in understanding, then she shot a menacing look at Royce. “Are you deaf or something? Get out of here and get back to your post.”

Royce hurried out of Milan’s office.

“I hope you’ve relieved of some of your frustrations. Do you feel better?”

“Yes, much better.”

“Okay, get my desk cleaned. I’m going downstairs to get a pedicure.”

“From Shin?” Sumi asked curiously.

“No, I’m going to have Ellen give me a regular, old-fashioned French pedicure.”

Sumi cocked her head to the side curiously as Milan rose from her chair.

“Make yourself presentable before anyone sees you,” Milan
suggested, giving Sumi an up-and-down, disapproving glance before she whisked out of her office.

As her feet soaked in the whirlpool jet tub filled with a mixture of essential aromatherapy oils, Milan relaxed and allowed her thoughts to wander back to Hilton. Smiling, she recalled the sweet dream where he’d mumbled that he loved her. Suppose it hadn’t been a dream, she asked herself, enjoying the warm feeling that coursed through her. Supposed she’d actually heard his confession of love?
Yeah, and then what? What would I do about it? What could I do about it?
She gave a helpless mental shrug. Love wasn’t in the cards for her and even if it were—even if by some remote chance, Hilton actually loved her—what did she know about giving love in return? Absolutely nothing!

Ellen nudged her away from her nagging thoughts with an almond loofah scrub that was ticklish in a wonderful way. By the time Ellen had dipped her feet in warm paraffin, Milan had the brilliant idea of giving Hilton an at-home pedicure and foot massage.
Tonight!

“Skip the white tips, just apply a base coat and the peach-colored top coat. I have to get back to my office,” Milan told Ellen excitedly.

After applying the final layer of top coat, Ellen slid foam slippers on Milan’s soft and smooth feet. “By the way, Ms. Walden?”

“Yes?”

“Are you expecting another shipment of that Japanese fragrance? The customers love it. It sold like hot cakes, and now we’re completely out.”

Normally, Milan would have flipped over such a glaring oversight. She should have been notified the moment the fragrance was down to the last case, but recalling Hilton’s words that Kimochi was her very own unique scent, she had no intention of ever again sharing her signature scent with her clients or any other woman here in the States. If they wanted Kimochi, Milan suggested they plan a trip to the Far East. Good luck on getting it past Customs. She smirked, grateful she’d had enough foresight to stash away a case of the fragrance, lotion, and bath gel safely in her home.

“Kimochi’s no longer for sale.”

“What!” Ellen gawked as if Milan had informed her that Pure Paradise was going out of business and would soon be selling all the equipment and merchandise at a garage sale.

“I lost my connection.” Milan gave Ellen a pitying smile.

“But we have…like, a trillion orders.” Ellen stared at Milan, her mouth open, her hand resting on her hip, as if waiting for Milan to admit that her statement had been a prank.

Realizing Milan wasn’t kidding, Ellen smacked the countertop in frustration. “I kept meaning to buy a couple bottles for myself…”

Ellen scowled so deeply, the lines in face seemed pronounced and several rows of wrinkles instantly developed on her forehead.
Poor thing
. Instead of worrying about Kimochi, she should have been investing in Botox or Juvéderm injections. Why go around looking haggard when there were a ton of youth-restoring remedies available to stave off the signs of aging? Ellen’s lined face was not a good representation for Pure Paradise. Milan would have to speak to her about her appearance. Not today. The woman was bereft over the Japanese
fragrance. But she’d definitely have to discuss her fine lines and wrinkles in the near future.

Milan wondered briefly how she’d react to getting old. How would she stave it off? At twenty-eight years old, aging was unthinkable, a misfortunate reversal of beauty and youth that happened to others. Not her. Not ever!

“I’m sorry you didn’t get hold of a bottle or two.” Milan patted the top of Ellen’s hand, which was traversed with thick blue veins. Ugh! She pursed her lips in repulsion. The poor woman was totally falling apart and she was really starting to feel sorry for her, but not enough to part with even one box of her signature scent. She wondered if Maxwell could persuade the manufacturers to take it off the market. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. With all his influence, he should be able to scare the company into producing the product exclusively for Milan. Hell, there were plenty of other fragrances that Japanese women could wear.

“We’re going to have a lot of disappointed customers,” Ellen said with a sigh.

“I know. It’s a pity. But good things don’t last forever. Pass the word on, okay?” With that, Milan sashayed back to her office. Heads would roll if she detected even a smidgeon of dried cum on her desk.