The Playboy's Proposition (4 page)

“How? Because they were all freshly showered?”

It was impossible to miss the sarcasm in his tone. And yet
there was no world in which I would tell him that I had thought the glass in
that room was a one-way mirror. It was too embarrassing. No chance.

I copped out with, “I don’t know. It’s just different.”

Michael shook his head. “I want you to think about all of
this, and try to understand what’s keeping you from acting on what I believe is
a natural tendency toward exhibitionism.”

“I’m not an exhibitionist.”

“How do you know?”

I sighed. “I don’t know, Michael. It seems like that’s all I
can ever answer. I don’t know.”

We rode in silence for a few minutes, then Michael said,
“You should understand that it’s common in the BDSM community for Doms to show
off their subs to others. I’m one of those who enjoys doing it. I think that
you’re someone who would be aroused by being shown off in public, regardless of
what you think yourself.”

He continued, “If you wish to please me, then I hope you’ll
work with me on this. Obviously, I was mistaken about your comfort level, and
pushed you too far tonight. I’m prepared to go slower with you, if you’re
willing to keep an open mind and trust me to guide you.”

I thought about what he said. A part of me fought against
him characterizing me as someone who didn’t know her own mind. It made me think
of a man patting a woman on the back and saying, “Don’t you worry your pretty
little head about it. I’ll take care of everything.” I bristled at the very
thought.

And yet, the way Michael spoke, it didn’t sound
condescending. He sounded like someone who genuinely believed I was unaware of
my deeper desires, and that he could help me discover and accept them. What if
he were right?

I remembered being at the club with Michael. Yes, in the
club at large, I knew people were watching Michael play with my breasts. It was
a heady feeling, all those eyes on me, but I wasn’t really showing anything.
Then in the private viewing room, I hadn’t realized I was being watched. I was
embarrassed when I discovered the truth, though most of the embarrassment
stemmed from my stupid assumption about the glass.

Then there was my encounter with The Businessman, Gibson
Reeves, in the back hall of that bar, something about which Michael knew
nothing. I remembered Gibson taunting me with the possibility of someone
discovering us back there, and I distinctly recalled how his words excited me.

Maybe Michael was right. Maybe I didn’t truly know myself.
And maybe it was time I faced up to some uncomfortable truths. He said he would
go slow. And so far, he had kept his promises.

I said, “Okay. I’ll try to keep an open mind. And I’ll trust
you, Michael, to guide me, for now.”

He smiled, his teeth a flash of white in the dark car.
“Good. You’ve made me happy, Sweet.” Then he reached over and squeezed my knee.

I laid my hand over his and smiled. I told myself, you can
do this. And I believed I could.

We arrived back at my apartment building not too long
afterward. He jogged around and helped me out of the car, and I waited in the
entryway while he dug through the bags he had tossed in the trunk.

Once we were in my apartment, Michael kissed me gently on
the lips then said it was late and since we both had to work the next day, we
should call it a night. He told me he had plans for the next night, but that if
I were free the night after that, he’d like us to get together again. I told
him that would be fine for me.

Before he left, he handed me a small package. It was the
little, pocket-sized vibrator he had purchased for me.

He said, “I want you to use this before you go to bed
tonight, at least three times tomorrow and one time the morning after that.”

I took the vibrator and said I would do what he wanted.

Michael looked into my eyes and said, “When you use it,
think of me, and what I’ve done with you, and what you might like me to do with
you. But most importantly, right before you’re ready to come, I want you to
think of someone else being there with us, watching us, watching you. When
you’ve done that, you have permission to come. Do you understand?”

I told him I did.

He continued, “It’s important that you obey me in this.
You’re not allowed to come until you fantasize that someone is watching us. If
the fantasy keeps you from coming, then so be it, you won’t come. Understand?”

“Yes,” I said, regretfully.

He said, “One last thing. Stop thinking so much, and
worrying over everything. This is supposed to be fun. Sexy and fun. Promise me
if you start analyzing, you’ll stop yourself, because I’ve asked you to ... and
because it will please me. Say you’ll please me and obey me. Say it properly.”

I said, “I promise I’ll please and obey you, Master.”

He said, “Good,” then reached a hand behind my neck and
pulled me in for a deep, long kiss. I was half breathless by the time he
released me.

We said our goodbyes, and too soon I closed the door behind
him. I leaned back against the door and stared at the little vibrator in my
hand. I had homework. I smiled at the thought. Best homework I’d ever gotten,
assuming the intrusion of a third person in my fantasies didn’t blow the whole
thing.

And I had been ordered to stop worrying, over-thinking. That
thought made me smile even more. It was like being given permission to be
reckless and wild. Not that I needed a man’s permission to be reckless and wild
but ... oh no, I was over-thinking again. And I had promised not to do it. Stop
it, I chastised myself.

In a few moments, I had stopped. Good for me. Excellent.

And then I realized I was starving. Hungry at last. I headed
off to the kitchen.

Chapter 3

The night of my next date with Michael, I arrived home from
work to find a package waiting for me at the security desk. I rushed to my
apartment and opened the card that had been taped to the wrapping. It read:
“Wear this tonight. Put your hair up. And don’t forget the rules. 
--Michael”

I laid the package on my dining table and sat down. I looked
at the present for a few moments. How long had it been since a man had given me
a gift? I couldn’t recall, exactly. Three, four years at least.

Then it came to me. The last gift from my ex-husband. It had
been Christmas and he had given me a small ham, which I discovered had come
from his buddy who had received it at work as a bonus. The buddy didn’t like
ham, so he gave it to my ex, who kindly gave it to me to cook for him for
Christmas dinner. I couldn’t choke down a bite of it.

They say it’s the thought that counts, and that gift, like
many before it, was no thought at all. After that, I told my ex not to bother
with presents for me, since money was tight and I didn’t actually need
anything, or that was the excuse I gave him. Better no gift, I had thought,
than a second-hand ham. Really? A ham?

It occurred to me that perhaps that was why I had been so
difficult with Michael when he wanted to buy me things at the adult book store.
I pushed the thought aside. I promised Michael I wouldn’t over-think things,
and I intended to keep the promise.

I had kept my other promise to Michael, having masturbated
according to his wishes. The tiny vibrator was surprisingly powerful and
pleasurable. Hard to believe such a little thing could pack such a wallop.

Whenever it was time to insert a watcher into my fantasy, I
tried to side-step the rules and instead of choosing some stranger to witness
Michael and I, I chose a clone of Michael to watch us. Okay, maybe that wasn’t
exactly in the full spirit of what Michael wanted of me, but he never said that
he couldn’t be in my fantasies twice.

Using Michael worked the first time. Then the second time,
something interesting happened. I imagined Michael sitting in a chair watching
Michael and me writhing around on a bed. I was close to coming and I looked
over at the chair, but Michael wasn’t sitting there anymore. He had changed. He
was older, and more muscular. His dark hair was shorter and brushed away from
his face. And his eyes weren’t blue. They were dark, and intense. Inscrutable.
This man wasn’t Michael.

This man was The Businessman. Gibson Reeves.

The realization instantly drove me to orgasm. I came so
powerfully that every time I masturbated afterwards, I used Gibson as my
imaginary voyeur.

I mentally placed Gibson in the shadowy corner of a room
while Michael undressed me and stroked and squeezed me. When Michael tied me
spread-eagled on the bed, my legs open wide, my body ready to be entered, I
looked to the corner, and Gibson stepped out of the shadows and into a shaft of
light coming from the hallway.

He wore the same suit he was wearing the first time I saw
him, complete with open collar and no tie. His eyes swept down my naked body
and I noted his tense jaw, the intensity of his eyes.

Then Michael shoved his dick into me, and at that moment,
Gibson met my eyes. I held his gaze while Michael fucked me.

Gibson asked, “Is that what you want? To be fucked?”

I said, “Yes, Sir.”

“Would you like it harder?” he asked.

“Yes, please, Sir.”

And Gibson nodded, and Michael pumped into me harder and
faster.

“Is that what you want?” Gibson asked, never taking his eyes
from mine.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

He said, “Tell me how you like being fucked.”

“I love it, Sir.” I was panting.

He smiled just the tiniest bit, a slight lifting of one side
of his mouth. He said, “Good.”

And with that word, the word that when Gibson said it, set
off the good-girl tingle in my belly, I began to come.

The first time I had this fantasy, after my release, I
wondered what the hell it was about. It was hot, this scene in my head. More
erotic than any other fantasy I’d ever had.

I used similar scenarios at other times, varying up the
location, the things Michael did, and what Gibson said. I felt drenched in sex,
ready for more. I’d even gone beyond Michael’s original order that I masturbate
the morning of our date; I locked my office door twice that day at work, giving
myself a quickie during my lunch hour and another one in the late afternoon.

That little pocket vibrator had gotten quite the workout in
little time.

I wondered if this is what the expression “sexed up” meant.
If it had been Michael’s plan to have me hot and ready for our date that night,
it had worked and then some. I was more than ready for whatever he wanted to do
with me.

I admired the pretty wrappings of Michael’s gift for a few
moments, then I tore off the paper. I opened the box and pulled out a beautiful
pale blue dress.

The fabric was a wonder. It was silk, I imagined, but finer
than any silk I’d ever seen or touched. The material shimmered in the light,
and was fine, thin and smooth, flowing over my hands and between my fingers
like an enchanted, fluid thing.

I took the dress and headed off to the bedroom where I
stripped off my clothes and slipped on the dress. It felt wonderful, so cool,
the fabric caressing my skin.

I stood in front of the full length mirror on my closet
door. The light blue color complimented my skin tone. The dress was short,
falling a few inches above my knees. The hem along the bottom created a fluted
petal effect. Flirty. The skirt fell straight from the waist, fitting loosely,
but the fabric itself, due to its clinging nature, hugged the curves of my hips
and the flat of my belly.

It was the top of the dress where the magic happened. It
kind of reminded me of a toga, except it wasn’t one-shouldered. The fabric was
gathered at both shoulders, in tiny pleats, and wrapped around in a fine gold
thread. When adjusted properly at the shoulders, the dress fell in folds over
my chest with a scoop neck shape. This might have been bulky with a heavier
fabric, but the gossamer quality of the fabric was perfect for the style.

The arm holes were cut very long underneath, about half-way
down my upper arms. I’d have to be careful not to expose myself from the side,
I thought.

The back of the dress was as dramatic as the front, the
folds of the dress falling all the way to the bottom of my spine, resting just
above my ass, leaving my back entirely bare. Even if I wanted to ignore
Michael’s rules of no under-clothes, I couldn’t have worn them with this dress,
perhaps not even a g-string.

In all, it was spectacular, sexy, and completely unlike
anything I’d ever owned. I assumed I would be going out in public in this
dress. Good Lord.

After removing the dress and laying it on the bed, I pulled
on my robe and dug around in the closet looking for a pair of shoes and a purse
that would compliment my outfit. I found what I thought would do, though they
weren’t nearly of the sort of quality a dress like that demanded.

I spent a ridiculous amount of time getting ready, shaving
and plucking and nitpicking to my heart’s content. I fussed with my hair for
ages, finally going with what I imagined to be something of a Roman or Greek
kind of thing, wrapping a fine gold chain into and around my up-do.

I took more care with my make-up than usual, and I tried on
every pair of earrings I owned until I found something that worked. I left my
neck bare but did slip a thin braided gold bracelet onto my wrist.

Then I put on the dress again, and the shoes, and checked
myself in the mirror. I thought I looked pretty damned good, although most of
the credit had to go to the beautiful dress.

I barely had time to admire the whole effect, when I heard a
knock at the door. I looked at the clock. That would be Michael, right on time.
He had bypassed the buzzer system, just as he had the first evening. It would
be easy for him to charm his way into any building, I thought.

When I opened the front door and saw Michael, my entire body
warmed. God, he was good-looking, wearing his clothes with such casual ease,
the lightweight sport jacket and pants perfect for a summer evening out, the
fabrics draping faultlessly on his toned body. He appeared every inch the
playboy tonight.

As I looked into his pale blue wolf eyes, I realized what he
had done. The color of my dress matched his eyes. I couldn’t help but smile.

He greeted me with a brush of his lips across mine. After I
closed the door, he had me model my dress for him.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Turn around and let me see the back.
Yes, perfect.”

He ran his fingers down my naked back, stopping only where
the fabric fell in folds above my rear. “You’re so sexy. Every man will envy me
tonight.”

He had me turn back to face him again. He smiled down at me
and traced the edges of the dress across my chest. He asked, “Did you follow
the rules?”

I returned his smile and answered, “Of course I did.”

“Of course I did, what?”

“Oh, sorry. Of course I did, Master. I’ll get the hang of
this, I swear.”

He said, “It’s a good thing you look so delectable right
now, or I’d be tempted to punish you. I think though, that I need to check and
make sure you followed the rules. Raise your arms straight out to the side.”

I did so. He reached out both hands and slid them into the
large armholes on the side of the dress. He squeezed my bare breasts under the
silky folds of fabric. I shivered under his touch.

He said, “You’ve got to love easy-access clothing. As soon
as I saw this dress, I thought, beautiful ... and practical, too.”

He removed his hands and said, “Plus, multiple modes of
entry.” He reached out and tugged on the shoulder straps of the dress, pulling
them down slowly. I watched as the scoop neck of the dress went lower and
lower, revealing more and more cleavage, until at last, he had pulled it low
enough that my breasts were entirely uncovered, the folds of the fabric now
falling beneath my breasts.

He said, “Magic, huh? The back is higher, but the front is
lower. I enjoy options.” He flicked one of my nipples and I moaned lightly.

“But there’s more to check,” he continued.

He left my breasts exposed then reached down and slipped a
hand under my skirt. He told me to spread my legs, and when I did, he cupped my
pussy in his big palm. His fingers tickled me and slid between the folds of my
flesh.

“You’re already wet,” he said, his voice lower now, his gaze
on my bare breasts.

I fought to control my breathing and keep my arms raised
properly out to the side.

He said, “You’re too tempting. Come here.”

He grabbed one of my hands and pulled me over to the dining
room table. He lifted me up and sat me on the edge, pulling up my dress in the
process so my bare ass rested on the polished wooden surface.

“Spread your legs,” he demanded. “Now lift the dress.”

He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a
small black velvet bag. After loosening the corded tie, he upended the contents
of the bag into his hand. It was two shining golden balls connected by a narrow
chain.

I said, “Those aren’t the Ben Wa balls you bought for me.”

“When I checked the others, they weren’t good enough. I got
these for you today.”

He dangled the gold balls in front of me. “Think of this as
jewelry that only you and I will know you’re wearing. They’re rather big,
though, and need lubrication before they go in. Open your mouth nice and wide.”

He pushed one of the balls into my mouth. “Now suck on it.
Yes, like that. Good and wet.” He stroked my lips with his thumb. With his
other hand, he pinched one of my nipples. I moaned.

He smiled a wicked smile and tugged the ball out of my
mouth, then popped in the other. “Suck away,” he told me. “You’re going to want
to do a good job. Trust me.”

With another little tug, he popped the ball out of my mouth.

He said, “Lean back with your palms flat on the table.
Beautiful. Open your legs wider. Stop.”

With his free hand, he spread my labia apart, then centered
one of the balls against my opening. The metal was cold against my flesh, even
though it had just been in my mouth. Michael appeared to be enjoying what he
saw there for a few seconds, then he slowly began pushing the ball into me. I
groaned.

He laughed lightly and said, “I guess I could have readied
you for that a little more. Does it hurt too terribly bad, my sweet?”

“It’s not terrible, Master,” I answered.

“Pity,” he said, then he with a quick shove, he pushed the
ball the rest of the way into me.

I stifled a gasp, but didn’t keep it repressed for long when
he immediately crammed the second ball into me. Two of his fingers followed the
balls into my pussy. I could feel him pushing the balls up farther inside me.

He played around inside me for a few minutes until I was
nearly ready to burst, then he pulled out his fingers and said, “Too bad I have
reservations, or I’d fuck you right now. Better yet, I’d like to see you on
your knees in front of me, with your tits hanging out of that dress, and my
dick filling your mouth.”

He sighed then said, “Oh well, anticipation will add to
delights later. Come on, hop up. No more time for this. We’ve got
reservations.”

I pretty much let him move me around like a puppet. He
lifted me off the table, rearranged my dress so I was covered again and
smoothed the fabric. He directed me to find my purse, then ushered me toward the
door.

With my first few steps, I felt the impact of the Ben Wa
balls inside me. It was a strange feeling, the sensation of the balls within
balls rolling around. I clamped my muscles, though I doubted that the gizmo
could possibly fall out of me. But you never knew, and besides, clamping down
added to the pleasure.