An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Noblesword

ISBN 9781419921414
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Noblesword Copyright © 2009 Katalina Leon

Edited by Mary Moran
Cover art by Syneca

Electronic book Publication July 2009

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales
is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

N

OBLESWORD

Katalina Leon

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the

following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Vertigo: Universal Pictures

Noblesword

Chapter One

Golden September sunlight filtered through the stone transom of the Noblesword

wine cellar.

Gwen squirmed nervously in her chair, so much so she had to continually tug her

skirt back over her knees. It became a losing battle to maintain an air of dignity as she
sat mesmerized in front of the elegant Miss Chantal. Her obvious excitement and a
thousand questions bubbled to the surface.

Miss Chantal was a classic beauty in her forties. She looked like one of Alfred

Hitchcock’s cool, sophisticated blondes. She didn’t resemble the prototypical image of a
Dominatrix, but Gwen knew that she was.

Gwen felt antsy. There was so much to learn and the day was slipping away. She

knew a single afternoon with Miss Chantal was simply not enough time to have all her
questions answered.

She struggled to grasp all that Miss Chantal told her. She wished someone had

explained everything this clearly to her twenty years ago. If they had her life would
have been completely different. Hell, she would probably still be married! Oh well…
Divorce was all about personal growth and learning, and Miss Chantal had been kind
enough to give her a clue.

Miss Chantal paced slowly around the wine cellar, speaking in a smoky whisper of

a voice. “Libido and creativity walk hand in hand. Think of Noblesword Vineyards as a
place to express your creativity.”

Gwen’s mind opened to new possibilities. She focused on Miss Chantal’s words

with razor-sharp clarity. Today had come as a complete surprise. She had arrived at
Noblesword Vineyards with her defenses up, expecting to be shocked and disgusted,
but instead she was shown something utterly compelling. She knew she was being
seduced into agreement.

Miss Chantal strolled behind Gwen’s chair, deliberately hovering at the edge of

Gwen’s peripheral vision.

It made Gwen nervous to not see what Miss Chantal was doing. She craned her

neck.

Miss Chantal gracefully glided out of view. “For many years I made myself

miserable by denying my true nature. You’ve done the same—haven’t you, Gwen?”

Gwen flinched slightly before slowly nodding her head. Was that a rhetorical

question? Did Miss Chantal expect an actual answer? She felt tongue-tied. Her eyes
flitted nervously around the room.

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Katalina Leon

The wine cellar where this odd interview took place resembled a medieval

dungeon. She knew this room was used for more than aging wine—manacles and other
intimidating apparatus dangled from the roughly hewn granite walls. Her eyes drifted
toward the surrounding stones. She had been sitting in this wine cellar for so many
hours that some of the stones were beginning to take on distinct personalities. She saw
grotesque faces hidden amongst their rough texture.

Miss Chantal stepped in front of Gwen’s chair, steepled her delicate fingers beneath

her chin and sat down on the edge of a desk. Her voice barely rose above a provocative
whisper. “Gwen, in your own words, I’d like you to tell me why you are here.”

Gwen was drawn back to reality. Her mouth went dry, her tongue flicked at the

side of her lips. This was no time to be honest and get herself kicked out of Noblesword
Vineyards. There was a protracted moment of obvious hesitation. “I’m here for
adventure?” She didn’t sound very convincing, she sounded completely terrified.

Miss Chantal arched a meticulously groomed brow as she sat perched on the edge

of the burlwood desk. Her skin radiated health, her makeup was subtly perfect. She
brushed a strand of platinum blonde hair from her eyes as she began to read over the
thick questionnaire in her hands.

Gwen’s hand was cramped from spending the afternoon clutching a metallic pen in

her trembling fingers while she filled out that lengthy questionnaire. That strange
questionnaire had taken hours to complete. It was like taking a damn college exam! The
questionnaire made her so nervous. She continually apologized for her handwriting
being a mess, but Miss Chantal dismissed the issue by saying her handwriting was as
revealing as her actual answers. She held her breath, now it was time to hear the results
of those nervous answers.

Miss Chantal tossed the heavy questionnaire on the desktop with a dramatic splat.
Gwen leapt in her chair from the unexpected noise and gulped a breath of air. If she

was going to get through this, she needed to calm down.

Miss Chantal’s smile ticked upward when Gwen flinched. She seemed pleased to

see her so off balance. “Your answers are very transparent.”

A lump formed in Gwen’s throat—transparent? Was that a good thing? It felt as if

Miss Chantal’s next words had the power to determine her fate. She wanted to interrupt
and ask for specifics—What do you mean by “transparent”?—but she knew that
interrupting would be frowned upon. She nervously crossed her legs and tugged her
skirt back over her knee, willing herself to sit still and listen.

Miss Chantal rapped her fingertips against the questionnaire. “I rarely see such

decisive questionnaires. Most people are a blend of many different personality types,
but you are not.”

Gwen sucked in a breath. What did that mean? Was this good or bad? What exactly

was Miss Chantal telling her?

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Noblesword

Miss Chantal moved closer to her. “I think we have established some trust. I

certainly know a lot more about you after reading over your questionnaire. I think this
is a good time to go over specifics.”

Gwen swallowed hard and shifted once again in her chair. Here come the specifics!

Her spine tightened from the tension. She focused on Miss Chantal’s platinum brilliance
in this dimly lit room. Miss Chantal was the gatekeeper of secret knowledge and she
was about to hand over the key.

Gwen’s eyes narrowed in concentration. She licked her dry lips. She distracted

herself by taking a sip of iced tea. This was really happening! She was really here. This
was the most surreal experience she had ever engaged in. How many hours had already
passed? It didn’t really matter. What mattered was she had finally forced herself to
come to Noblesword Vineyards, to feed her curiosity and conquer her fears. Within an
afternoon, the self-righteousness and jealousy she had walked in the front door with
had been transformed into sheer awe. She studied Miss Chantal’s confident demeanor.
She felt a painful jab to her ego. She did not possess this level of confidence and never
had. With women like this at Noblesword Vineyards, no wonder her husband Jeff had
been tempted to stray.

Miss Chantal glanced down at the questionnaire. She tapped a discreetly lacquered

sheer-beige fingertip against the thick stack of papers. “I’m so pleased with what I’m
seeing here. I think you have amazing potential.”

Gwen felt her shoulders relax. She took a deep breath. She hadn’t realized how

terrified she had been that Miss Chantal would stop the interview and politely ask her
to leave.

Miss Chantal continued to speak casually, not realizing that her words were life-

changing revelations. “You are exactly what Noblesword is looking for. We definitely
have a place for a woman like you.”

She took a deep breath. She couldn’t believe Miss Chantal took her seriously and

was treating her like a valued member of a secret circle.

Miss Chantal slid off the desktop and paced beside her. “Gwen, you would be

surprised how many mature women have a preferred following of clients—who remain
loyal to them for years. Many men desire the companionship of a skilled and discreet
lover who truly understands the agenda.”

Miss Chantal’s acquisitive hand gently brushed against Gwen’s thick, dark hair.

“Especially our ‘intense needs’ clients, whom I’ve already spoken to you about. Our
clients want to feel safe. They expect professionalism. Absolutely no drug use or illegal
behavior—nothing that could attract unwanted attention to their high-profile lives.”

Gwen’s mouth twitched toward a frown. She knew Noblesword clients didn’t want

high-profile divorces either.

Miss Chantal’s arched brow carried a stern warning. “And by attracting unwanted

attention—I also mean no gossiping about what a client shares with you in his most
vulnerable state. When you meet a client off-site, there will be no whorish clothing, no

7

Katalina Leon

accepting of money in public, not even an envelope—nothing you could be questioned
about. It’s wise to set up an offshore electronic account under your working name.
Have your clients transfer funds to that account.”

She sat sheepishly as Miss Chantal circled her chair like a wolf on the scent.
Gwen wanted to know all this, but she had no intention of practicing it. She

struggled to maintain a neutral expression.

Miss Chantal pulled her shoulders back and placed a defiant hand on her trim hips.

Her stance was intimidating. For a petite woman her presence was huge. “Remember
your goal is to pass for a fellow executive. Most of our clients prefer the company of an
equal or peer. When you walk into a restaurant with a client or check into the same
hotel, no one should look at you and think ‘call girl’. Be discreet. Discretion is what
Noblesword Vineyards is all about.”

Miss Chantal pointed proudly to a corbelled doorway where a glittering mosaic of

Italian tiles testified to all who entered Noblesword Vineyards that We never get caught.

Gwen’s eyelid involuntarily twitched with rage.
Miss Chantal’s perfect smile looked menacing. It was as if she were deliberately

rubbing salt into Gwen’s wound. “That’s our motto at Noblesword Vineyards. We
never get caught!”

Gwen exhaled a pent-up breath but her eyelid continued to involuntarily twitch.

She found the Noblesword motto extremely provoking. Obviously the mosaic was
meant to be reassuring, especially to new members. She fought the impulse to
contradict Miss Chantal. She wanted to shout, “You did get caught! I know all about
you!” But she held her tongue. There was no sense in blowing her cover now. She felt
mocked. It was hurtful and shocking to know that there was such a well-organized
industry devoted to helping men cheat on their loved ones.

Miss Chantal strolled around the desk and removed a handful of bobby pins from

the top drawer. She had flawless legs, which gracefully balanced on stiletto-heeled,
Italian pumps. The crisp gray suit she wore exactly resembled the outfit Jimmy Stewart
begged Kim Novak to wear in Vertigo.

Gwen found this detail odd. Vertigo was her all-time favorite movie.
Miss Chantal’s tapering fingers began to expertly coax her cool platinum hair into

the same rosette-style up-do Kim Novak wore in Vertigo. She achieved the sophisticated
hairstyle within moments with a few bobby pins and no help from a mirror, as if she
had performed this task a thousand times.

Gwen’s mouth gapped. It was like a magic trick! Now Miss Chantal’s resemblance

to Kim Novak was too great to be an accident.

She loved the tension and romance of Vertigo. She found the relentlessly obsessive

behavior of Jimmy Stewart’s character “Scotty” heartbreaking.

Miss Chantal continued to pace in front of the desk. “We do a lot of planning at

Noblesword Vineyards. We leave little to accident or chance. It’s safer that way, for

8

Noblesword

everyone.” She picked up the questionnaire and held it against her heart as if she were
holding a child. Her stiletto heels clicked crisply across the stone floor as she paced back
and forth. “Based upon personality tests we administer at the time of membership
application, we know exactly what our members want. The questionnaires the members
fill out are nearly identical to the questionnaire you have just completed, except the
questions posed to the Noblesword staff are more blunt.”

Gwen had found the questionnaire odd. There were reams of questions to answer,

but very few questions actually dealt with sexual matters. The questionnaire asked
ambiguous questions such as—A bus driver seems to be distracted while driving, would you
say something to the driver? or You see a pattern of brown, gray, green, and pink, which color
feels wrong?

Miss Chantal lightly tapped Gwen’s shoulder to get her attention. “Am I boring

you?”

Gwen’s chin jerked upward. “No!”
“You had that faraway look.”
Gwen recrossed her legs and tugged her skirt back down. She was still irritated by

the Noblesword motto.

Miss Chantal set the questionnaire down on the desktop. “These questionnaires are

essential. When a gentleman or a couple arrives at Noblesword, we already know their
boundaries and expectations. I’m proud to say our customer satisfaction rating is
excellent. Noblesword is successful because we know what people really want, not
what they say they want. For instance…”

Gwen held her breath as Miss Chantal flipped through her questionnaire, stopping

at the middle pages.

Miss Chantal’s green eyes focused intensely on her. “Your psychological tests

indicate a strong desire to be dominated—in every way, yet your verbal answers reflect
more politically correct behavior from a partner. I wonder why you see a conflict in
desiring both?”

Her chest felt tight. She felt exposed, like a specimen being examined under glass.

She stalled to answer.

A staff member opened the door and peeked into the wine cellar. The staff member

was a pretty young woman with ink-black hair and a short fringe of bangs. Her nostrils
were studded with tiny gemstones. Her earlobes were pierced with a dozen tiny silver
hoops. She lurked in the doorway, looking like a gothic Betty Page pinup.

Miss Chantal motioned for the girl to enter.
The girl crept into the room carrying a velvet jewelry box. She handed the jewelry

box to Miss Chantal. “This just arrived from Mr. Ferguson—” The girl bit her lip. “Mr.
F!” She quickly corrected her serious faux pas of speaking aloud a client’s last name in
front of others.

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Katalina Leon

Gwen’s attention focused with laser clarity. “Ferguson” was the last name of Jimmy

Stewart’s character in Vertigo. Was that a coincidence?

“Thank you, Pyra.” Miss Chantal lightly stroked the velvet box as she dismissed the

girl.

Pyra quietly exited the wine cellar.
Miss Chantal opened the velvet box. She pulled out a ruby necklace with gold

filigree setting that looked exactly like the heirloom necklace worn in Vertigo. She
fastened the necklace around her throat.

Gwen chest swelled. She had been silent long enough, the words leapt out of her

mouth, “I can’t help but notice that your clothing, your hair and your jewelry look
exactly like Kim—”

Miss Chantal swept her a dismissive hand through the air that cut her inquiry short,

“Noblesword is a sexual boutique. We cater to sophisticated and particular tastes. We
are not an ‘exotic dancers on call’ service. Noblesword, as our name implies, has a
harsher edge. If you’re squeamish, judgmental or simply have no imagination—you
don’t belong here.”

Gwen reeled as if she had been slapped in the face. She found herself longing for

this woman’s approval. “I’m not judging you, Miss Chantal. I’m admiring you.” She
was sincere. She had been searching for that exact gray suit her entire adult life!

Miss Chantal thrust out her pert bottom lip. “I just want to make it clear that

Noblesword Vineyards is a free play zone. As long as no laws are broken and no one
gets hurt—in a bad way—play in all forms is allowed. If you join us, you will have to
get over self-consciousness. You will have to get over what you look like when you’re
‘doing it’. You will have to stop asking yourself ‘why’ and ask ‘why the hell not?’ Do
you think you can do that Gwendolyn—Smith?” A sneer colored that final word. Her
eyes narrowed over the unoriginal and fake name Gwen had given. “And you will have
to give me your real name before you leave today. Along with the medical exam, we do
a thorough background check on everyone.”

Gwen stuttered. If she gave her real name Miss Chantal would recognize it from her

client list. She would look like a spy, which she was. Her cover would be blown and she
would get no further than this wine cellar. She gnawed nervously at her bottom lip,
trying to think up a convincing name.

Miss Chantal glared impatiently.
Her chin fell in defeat. She knew she would fail the background check. Her driver’s

license stated her legal name. She had already come this far. She needed to see more of
Noblesword Vineyards. She gave in to the inevitable and she spoke her real name, “My
legal name is Gwendolyn Bel Geddes.”

“Oh!” Miss Chantal crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “Mrs. Jeffery Bel

Geddes? I suppose we will have to chisel that mosaic away and change our motto to
Sometimes we do get caught?”

Gwen shifted uneasily.

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Noblesword

A glower dimmed Miss Chantal’s lovely face. “I wish you had been honest and

confronted me. You wasted my entire afternoon, which is a shame because I thought
you were truly interested in joining the Noblesword team. I had already paired you in
my mind with several of our most particular clients.”

Her pulse raced. She knew this was the moment to plead her case. It was now or

never. In a moment or two a security guard would show her the door. She blurted out,
“It’s not been a waste of time! I’m so grateful for your expertise. I do want to be part of
the Noblesword team! My entire life has been leading up to this.”

Miss Chantal smirked at her sincere appeal. “You’ve been lying to me for hours!

You can’t be here just to spy or try to guess what your husband did or who he did it
with. That’s self-destructive. Go away and join a women’s support group, do your
healing or your raging with them.”

Gwen rose from the chair, she was much taller than Miss Chantal, yet she felt like a

child beside her. “I don’t want to rage anymore! I want to understand what I’m missing
out on. I want to understand why my husband came here. I want to have some control
over my life.”

Miss Chantal corralled her and drove back into her chair. “I find that hard to

believe. Your submissive scores on the written and verbal exams are among the highest
we have ever recorded at Noblesword. If you were not on the rebound, I would
welcome you to Noblesword with open arms, but being Jeffery Bel Geddes’ soon-to-be-
ex-wife, I can’t trust you to be stable and discreet with our staff or clients. You’re
looking for revenge.”

“That’s not true!” Her hands fluttered nervously above the armrests. “I’m looking

for answers and a fresh start. Noblesword is where my old life ended, and Noblesword
is where my new life must begin!” As she pleaded, she almost believed in the symmetry
of this insane plan. She reached for Miss Chantal’s hand.

Miss Chantal jerked her hand away.
She slumped back into the chair. Weeks of unspent emotion began to cloud her

eyes. “I’ve gone over this a million times in my mind. I need to know why I lost the love
of my life—why Jeff drifted away from me. I know the answers are here. If I can make
someone else happy while I heal—that would be a positive thing!” Tears threatened to
spill. “I need to know that I can make someone else happy.”

Miss Chantal’s lip curled into a sneer. She loomed over Gwen. “What about you?

Don’t you need to be happy? I hate it when women confuse ‘sexual submissive’ with
‘martyr’, it gives everyone a bad name.”

The breath whistled out of her. Was she a really a martyr? She hated that word. Jeff

and her saucy daughter Megan had accused her of being a martyr on many occasions.
She couldn’t bear to be called a martyr by this sleek lady in the Italian pumps. It was
such a pathetic image to embrace. She needed to find out what she was really made of.
For months she had been obsessed with Noblesword Vineyards. It had taken weeks to
work up the courage to call and set up an interview with the enigmatic Miss Chantal.

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Katalina Leon

She took a deep breath, mustering all of her dignity—all of her strength, “Please give
me a chance…”

Miss Chantal’s skepticism showed on the stiff upper edge of her lip. “I wish you

had just sent me a simple hate letter, spray painted angry words on my fence or thrown
a moldy pumpkin into the front seat of my car. Spending the afternoon with you makes
this much harder for me.” She pulled her shoulders back, rage simmered behind her
green eyes. “You’re such a nice person. I love your look. Your score on the
questionnaire was excellent. My European clients would drool over you, but please get
the hell out of Noblesword Vineyards—and don’t come back.”

“No!” She cringed in the face of Miss Chantal’s wrath. It felt as if a fist had struck

her throat. She hadn’t come this far for nothing! “Don’t send me away! I admit I came
here for other reasons but you’ve shown me a glimpse of a whole other world. Give me
a chance, a beginner’s trial! I want to do this for my own growth. Please, I truly feel I
need to do this…” She couldn’t believe she was begging to be turned into a prostitute.
She wanted this opportunity so badly it frightened her.

Miss Chantal pointed a condemning finger at her. “I have a bad feeling about this.

You’re raw and you don’t know what you’re getting into. The biggest problem with
people who don’t know their own desires and boundaries is they don’t know their own
desires and boundaries! Those people always end up disappointed and hurt, and
someone else is always to blame.”

She knew she didn’t want to be a martyr anymore, sitting on the sidelines,

wondering what Jeff and the rest of the world was doing. Everything Miss Chantal told
her today had kindled her desire to know more. She had come too far to be turned
away now. An unexpected spark of strength lit inside her. She quietly replied, “I’m an
adult. I want to be here. I promise to be open-minded and blame no one.”

Miss Chantal circled Gwen’s chair. “My goodness, those tears cleared up quickly.

Apparently you can assert yourself when you have to. Perhaps you do have a real
desire to explore? I’d hate to think we completely wasted our afternoon. I do wonder
how sincere you are.”

Gwen nodded her chin. “Completely.”
Miss Chantal’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe, but one never knows until you actually

take the risk.” She marched to the front of the desk and started rummaging through a
drawer. She pulled out several plastic packets filled with blood-red liquid. She
unbuttoned her jacket, revealing a swath of creamy cleavage and impatiently shoved
the plastic packets into the cups of her lacy bra. “I don’t have time to argue. I need to be
getting ready for my own client. In less than an hour I’m going to have to thoroughly
convince a man that I’m in love with him before I throw myself from a bell tower.” She
turned on Gwen. “Do you really want this job?” She stuffed the gory-looking packets
between her breasts. “It’s a lot of acting—but the emotions are real. There’re no strings
attached between players—but humans always dare to hope.” She turned on her heel
and stared down at Gwen. “Honestly, you seem overly fragile to me. You look like the
first harsh word or selfish act would crush you.”

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Noblesword

“Please…” Gwen lifted a pious hand to her heart. She heard the plea coming out

her mouth and knew it was the desperate cry of her inner masochist wanting to know
more about Jeff. Why didn’t she just go home? She didn’t need the money. What was
wrong with her? Call it a “Vineyard”, call it a “free play zone”, call it whatever, but this
was still prostitution! Why was she so convinced prostitution would be healing? All of
this felt so strange, as if she were a speeding train that had switched tracks and now
found itself at some unexpected destination. Miss Chantal’s seductive indoctrination
had been so compelling she had to go further with it. She had come here as a spy ready
to gloat over Jeff’s undoing. Now she was anxious to understand Noblesword and even
take part in it. Some curiously wanton part of her desperately needed to go on this
adventure. That deeply buried part of her screamed I’m a sexual being too! As crazy as all
this was, she needed to understand this on a physical level. “Please let me stay. I need
to understand why Jeff came here…” The masochist in her just wouldn’t shut her
mouth.

“Don’t beg,” Miss Chantal smiled sardonically, “it only provokes my cruel streak.

I’m going to let you prove to yourself that you’re here for the wrong reasons. I doubt
you’ve thought about the repercussions of what you’re doing. One comes to
Noblesword to explore one’s true desires and boundaries—you do not come here to
snoop on an ex-spouse.”

Gwen winced like a scolded puppy that had been caught peeing on an antique

couch. Her original reason for being here now sounded so pathetic. She realized once
again she had sold herself short. She too had desires, fantasies and an unlived life to
explore. She had her own legitimate reasons to be here. “I can assure you I am not the
same woman who walked in the door this morning.”

A hint of confrontation glowed in Miss Chantal’s eyes. “Because you scored so well

on the questionnaire, against my better judgment, I’m going to allow you a limited
novitiate.”

Gwen sighed. She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath.
Miss Chantal planted herself defiantly in front of her. “Cooperation and attitude are

paramount. You must follow instructions to the letter, and you must show aptitude to
learn and submit to the will of others, but that shouldn’t be too difficult for someone
like you…”

Gwen blanched. Was that a compliment or an insult?
Miss Chantal leaned closer. She lifted Gwen’s chin with a dainty finger. “If I am

ever going to trust you as a Top—you must first learn to be a good Bottom. Can you
imagine what I’ll put you through?”

She gulped as fear and excitement shimmered through her.
Miss Chantal’s eyes filled with green fire. “I’ll have to go on the record as saying I

don’t think you’re ready for this.”

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Katalina Leon

She bristled at Miss Chantal’s denouncement. She was eager to prove Miss Chantal

wrong. It was a personal quirk with her, if someone told her “no” she persisted until
they said “yes”. All her life she had secretly yearned to prove her doubters wrong.

Miss Chantal summoned Pyra back to the wine cellar.
Pyra walked into the room smiling. The girl’s sunny-sweet disposition and

wholesome beauty was at odds with her pierced body and fully tattooed arms, which
were inked in scenes of Grecian splendor.

Miss Chantal pointed at Gwen. “Pyra. Miss ‘Smith’ is our new novice.” She hissed

the name “Smith” like a reptile. “I will not be available to take Miss ‘Sssmith’ through
her novitiate trial. Tonight, I will be with Mr. F. I am entrusting you to instruct and
prepare Miss ‘Sssmith’ to my exact specifications. Please have Miss ‘Sssmith’ ready for
the eight o’clock party in the cognac room.”

Gwen’s body jolted with alarm. “Party?”
Pyra beamed with pride. “Thank you, Miss Chantal!” She dipped a prim curtsey to

her mistress. “Will she really be using the name ‘Miss Smith’? We’ve already had so
many Miss Smiths. Can’t we give her a more creative name?”

Miss Chantal nodded toward Pyra. “You may name her.”
Pyra’s eyes lit up over the honor delegated to her. She seemed delighted with the

responsibility.

Gwen bit her lip, she nearly protested the fact that a stranger was going to choose

her novice name, but she stopped herself.

Pyra scanned Gwen features before squealing with delight and blurting out a string

of ridiculous names. “Velvet? Kitten? Cushy Cat? Dixie? Shotzy? Ferrari? Bubble-bum?”

Bubble bum! Gwen though she might retch. Pyra could not have chosen a more

hurtful name. Throughout her teen years her older sister had relentlessly teased her
with the name “Bubble-bum”. The name left her painfully self-conscious about her
prominent ass. It was only as an adult that she realized her skinny-hipped sister was
jealous of all the sexual attention her luscious bottom received, but by then the damage
had already been done.

“Don’t name her Bubble-bum.” Miss Chantal’s attention was absorbed in

readjusting her seamed stockings.

“It’s not an insult!” Pyra insisted. She grabbed Gwen by the shoulders and turned

her bottom toward Miss Chantal. “She has a great ass! Big and round. If butts wore bras
she would be at least a C-cup. Wouldn’t Mr. B love it? Mr. B loves round buttocks. He
would build a shrine around it!” She gave Gwen’s bottom a swift smack. “It’s a bit firm
for a purist but it still has some jiggle…”

Gwen’s face flushed red. Her butt was a painfully emotional topic.
Pyra looked Gwen over. “She reminds me of that sensual Italian actress, the one

with the round mouth.”

“Yes,” Miss Chantal agreed. “I know who you are referring to.”

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Noblesword

“She has such a soft, earthy look.” Pyra stood directly in front of Gwen and

continued to talk about her as if she were not in the room. “Let’s name her for one of the
softer red wines—let’s name her ‘Shiraz’.”

Miss Chantal lifted Gwen’s chin and looked her in the eye. “During the time you

are a novice, you will be known as ‘Shiraz’. At a later date—if you get that far—you will
be allowed to choose your own name. As a novice you will be starting at the ‘bottom’.”
Miss Chantal gloated over her bad pun.

Pyra giggled.
She felt profound relief that Miss Chantal was letting her go through with this, but

she hated the growing feeling of humiliation.

Miss Chantal wore a cruelly amused smile. “Perfection is not expected at this stage,

but flexibility of mind and personal courage will be demanded of you. Before I waste a
moment more, are you ready to fully accept this, or are you ready to go home?”

“I am ready to accept this, Miss Chantal.” Gwen couldn’t believe she was agreeing

to this, but her heart knew she needed to say yes.

Miss Chantal walked toward a rustic wooden chest wedged into a corner of the

cellar and slid a brass skeleton key into the weathered iron padlock. “I am your trial
Mistress.” She unlocked the chest and pulled out a deckled-edge parchment written in
sepia-ink calligraphy. The parchment looked like the kind of magical treasure map a
hook-handed pirate chief or an enchanted boy might possess. She removed a golden
fountain pen with a purple plume from the desk and printed the name Gwendolyn Bel
Geddes along a blank space and handed the parchment to Gwen.

Gwen stared down at her neatly printed name, feeling a sharp swell of pride just for

getting this far. The presentation was a bit theatrical, but she was in. They were taking
her seriously, and that’s what counted. She was going to know at last why Jeff had
come here. She took a quick glance at the decorative parchment laid out before her.
Miss Chantal was making a ritual of this and it was going to be pure fun! Then her eyes
widened on the contents of the parchment and her jaw sagged in horror.

The parchment stated that during the next twelve hours she would become the sole

property and responsibility of Noblesword Vineyards. With Noblesword’s permission,
the members were free to enjoy her within the confines of her role as a novice.

Gwen’s stomach flip-flopped. What did that mean? She was afraid to ask. A bit of

her newfound bravado faded.

Miss Chantal handed her the fountain pen and asked Gwen to sign under her legal

name. “Do you agree to this?”

Gwen glanced furtively around the room, feeling as if her entire life were catching

up to her. She picked up the pen; her hand froze above the contract. What exactly was
she signing? What was she giving permission for? Why was she so eager to do this to
herself? Terrible conflict roiled inside her. She gently tapped the pen against the
desktop to mask the trembling in her hand, but the purple plume shook in the air,
giving her tremble away. She wanted to know what took place inside Noblesword

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Katalina Leon

Vineyards. She had to know what unspoken desires had drawn Jeff here. She absolutely
needed to explore her own desires. For an unsteady minute the parchment lay
untouched, vast and daunting beneath her quivering hand. Then with a swoosh, all her
rage at Jeff, her hurt and unspent desire raced forward to animate her reluctant hand.
She watched like a detached witness to a car accident as her own errant hand signed
away twelve hours of her life, and a crazed flock of butterflies swooped in her belly. In
a flash it was done, she almost threw the signed parchment at Mistress Chantal. She
gulped hard, now there was definitely no turning back.

“I hope you won’t regret doing that.” Mistress Chantal swiftly retrieved the signed

parchment and locked it securely in the wooden chest. “Pyra, prepare Shiraz for
tonight’s party.” She turned her back on Gwen and walked away. The retreating click of
her stiletto heels echoed across the stone floor.

Gwen sat stunned in her chair, desperately tugging her skirt over her knees. Dear

God, what had she done to herself?

16

Noblesword

Chapter Two

Pyra took Gwen by the hand and led her away from the wine cellar.
Gwen felt lightheaded as if she were in shock.
Pyra patted Gwen’s hand and gently guided her forward, as if she were leading a

lost child to safety.

Gwen surrendered. She let herself be pulled by the hand. She no longer wanted to

struggle with thought or reason. She had made a short-term commitment and she was
determined to keep it. She knew this was how curiosity killed the cat.

Pyra led her through a stone corridor toward an adjoining wing of the building.
The Noblesword compound was laid out in a giant U-shaped configuration. There

was an open courtyard in the middle of an arched arcade, accented with massive
boulders. The courtyard was landscaped with an uneasy mix of defensive cacti and
fragrant mounds of lavender, sage, rosemary and fluorescent orange California poppies
that lent some color to this somber, grayish-beige desert garden.

Pyra pointed out a sealed well and weathered hitching posts. “Noblesword used to

be a stop on the El Camino Real—the King’s Road—back in the days of the Spanish
Missions. The winery was once a monastery.”

Gwen glanced at the rusted hitching post, wondering what the friars would think of

their monastery now.

They walked along the far leg of the arcade. The afternoon light had faded. The

rolling hills beyond the vineyards glowed pink from the setting sun.

Gwen shook her head in disbelief. She hadn’t realized the entire day had already

vanished—it was nearly nightfall. The eight o’clock party in the cognac room loomed
large in her mind. “What time is it?”

“Relax, we have plenty of time.” Pyra pushed against a roughly hewn, timber door

that opened into a small stone chamber with a sunken bathtub set into the floor. “These
baths are old wine vats.” She turned a spigot and the tub began to fill with warm water.
She uncorked a brown bottle and drizzled a stream of thick liquid into the tub. The tub
became redolent with the scent of lavender and rosemary. The fragrance was reassuring
and clean. She stirred the tub with her hand. “We make the bath oil from organic herbs
grown right here in the vineyard.”

Gwen inhaled the pleasing scent of the bath oil. She wished she could climb into the

tub with a glass of Noblesword’s excellent Cabernet and call it a day. She began to
worry about the upcoming party. The word “party” was disturbing. It implied multiple
men. She was a fairly sane, self-respecting adult. She had no desire to throw herself to a

17

Katalina Leon

mob of strange men to be used. Her fears grew even as calming clouds of lavender
filled her nostrils.

“Take off your clothes.” Pyra tossed a thick towel and a plastic hair clip to Gwen.

“Don’t let your hair get wet. We won’t have time to dry it.”

Gwen took a fortifying breath and tugged her sapphire blue silk blouse from the

waistband of her navy skirt. Her confidence hadn’t been completely destroyed by her
pending divorce. She knew she had a sensual body, at least she still had that going for
her. Her curvy body had appeared unexpectedly one day, nearly complete, in junior
high school. By the eighth grade she had been forced to shop in the women’s
“foundations” department at a time when her friends were wearing cute “Little Kitten”
white cotton bras.

Her fingers fumbled with the tiny pearl buttons on the French cuffs of her blouse.

She was keenly aware of Pyra’s eyes on her cleavage as she parted the silk.

Pyra reached over and ran an approving finger across the swell of her bosom.

“You’re about a D-cup?”

Gwen shrugged, she wasn’t sure. Maybe she was a “C”—time tends to march down

hill and she had lost weight since Jeff left.

Pyra squeezed Gwen’s breasts. “You’ve got a nice shape and you’re still firm.”
Gwen’s face warmed. She was grateful she had worn a flattering, lace balconet bra

that showed off her full bounty. She had dressed cautiously today, not knowing what to
expect. She wanted a make a good impression on the Noblesword staff. She had
certainly not wanted to wear her usual school-marm outfits that she wore to the grocery
store, nor had she wished to look cheap.

She stepped out of her skirt and slid the blouse from her shoulders. She set her

conservative clothing down on a wooden bench. She had dared to spice up the outfit
with a wild pair of golden spike-heeled sandals adorned with leopard print insoles and
roses. The shoes hinted at an abandoned spirit. She protectively moved the shoes a safe
distance away from the steaming tub. She grew increasingly nervous about the
upcoming party. “May I have a glass of wine?”

“No, you’re working. You can have a bottle of water.” Pyra opened a cabinet and

retrieved a small bottle of mineral water. She carefully studied Gwen’s nakedness as she
handed her the water.

Gwen’s mouth felt dry. She took a long sip of water before peeling her stockings off

and stepping into the tub. She never undressed in front of strangers. Even at the gym
she would slip into a private cubicle to take her clothes off.

“I’m an artist.” Pyra tipped her head to the side to better view Gwen’s figure as she

stepped into the tub. “I love to look. You have great proportions. You’ll have an easier
time fitting into the costumes than I do.” She flexed her arms, showing off her broad
shoulders.

Pyra was a bit tomboyish but sleek. She was built like a competitive swimmer.

18

Noblesword

Gwen closed her eyes and let herself sink into the warm tub, hiding herself below

the foamy waterline. The clean scent of lavender teased her nose. “I wanted to be an
artist…” A pang of loss shot through her. At the age of twenty she had voluntarily
abandoned the dream of becoming a painter to marry Jeff, falsely believing the sacrifice
was necessary and would be appreciated.

Pyra picked up a soft brush and began to scrub Gwen vigorously from shoulder to

foot. “I wish I could just let you soak but we have a lot to accomplish.”

Gwen winced slightly at Pyra’s zealous exfoliation. “What will happen tonight? I

haven’t agreed to gang rape—have I?”

Pyra laughed. “No!” She briskly scrubbed Gwen’s back.
She leaned forward, allowing Pyra to reach her lower back. “What’s going to

happen tonight?”

Pyra scrubbed harder, almost to the point of pain. “It’s a surprise—you’ll surprise

yourself.”

Gwen turned around. “You’re not going to tell me?”
Pyra smiled. “No.”
Gwen sipped her bottle of mineral water and studied Pyra’s tattooed arms.
Pyra bent Gwen’s body into several uncomfortable positions and scrubbed

vigorously.

Gwen noted Greek writing, furious gods and willowy goddesses decorating the

length of Pyra’s arms. “What is the story of your tattoos?” She was determined that
Pyra give her some information about something!

Pyra stopped scrubbing long enough to straighten her arm. “My left arm is the

Eleusinian mysteries—the journey to meet the Oracle. See those masks?” She leaned
closer. Her forearm was covered in an Escher-like puzzle of tiny theatrical masks. “The
road leading to the temple of Eleusis was lined with shrines and masks that pilgrims
were expected to stop in front of and reflect upon. It symbolized a shedding of the false
personas everyone carries or the ritual of ‘dropping the mask’. My right arm is
Herodotus’ tale of the sacred prostitute, but I don’t want to talk about that.”

Gwen’s heart leapt at the phrase “sacred prostitute”. Her soul recognized the

phrase even if her mind didn’t. The tale of the sacred prostitute was the tale she wanted
to hear. “Is the story too personal?”

“No, it’s too complicated. We have to get you ready for the party. Please stand up.”

Pyra beckoned Gwen to stand up in the tub. She scrubbed her buttocks and thighs until
her skin glowed pink.

“I have to get your size…” Pyra set the scrub brush down. Her hands drifted to

Gwen’s waist. She measured the dip in her waist with her thumbs before letting them
slide over Gwen’s round hips. “I know how I’ll dress you! I’m going to fetch an outfit
for you. Just soak in the tub—I’ll be back in a minute.”

Pyra walked out of the bath chamber.

19

Katalina Leon

Gwen exhaled an anxious breath. Now what? Both Miss Chantal and Pyra had been

so evasive with their answers she still didn’t know exactly what she had gotten herself
into. She really didn’t want to be alone just now. She felt her resolve fading. Her martyr
self began to speculate, her thoughts grinded over the details. A party of strange men—
what was she thinking? Her back muscles grew tense. She soaked in the tub, growing
more anxious as the seconds ticked past. She tried to enjoy the warm lavender-scented
bath, but she couldn’t relax. Butterflies swooped erratically in her belly. Despite the
warm water, every muscle in her body tightened to the point of discomfort. When the
bath brush accidentally clattered to the floor, she bolted in alarm.

She was grateful she hadn’t eaten the delicate sandwiches Miss Chantal had offered

her earlier, surely she would have thrown them up by now. She bit her lip, fearing that
in a moment Pyra would return with some slutty outfit and tell her it was time to
entertain the boys in the cognac room.

Her eyes flitted around the stone chamber. What had she done to herself? Why was

she torturing herself? All she had done was sign a ridiculous piece of paper. She wasn’t
legally bound in any way. It wasn’t too late to get up and run to her car. She looked at
the wooden bench—her clothes were missing! Pyra had carried them away.

She could still run to her car, wearing a towel. She noticed her purse was missing

also. She had no car keys. She wasn’t even sure where her car was parked. At noon, she
had voluntarily surrendered her car keys to a stunningly handsome valet. She had been
too distracted by the valet’s dark beauty to notice or care where her blue sedan had
been parked. The valet had been exceptionally gorgeous. She almost sighed when she
handed him her keys. The valet leapt into her sedan on graceful long legs and drove it
around a curving driveway obscured by towering oak trees, never to be seen again.

She slumped into the bath water, feeling vulnerable. She had no transportation and

no clothing. She realized her car was an utter mess and felt a wave of embarrassment.
The car was full of recyclable plastic bottles, gym clothes and paper coffee cups. She
should have cleaned Jeff’s—whoops, she did again—her car out before she came here.
Once again she caught herself mixing Jeff into the equation. It was her car now. That
handsome valet shouldn’t have been subjected to all that clutter. The car had been Jeff’s
favorite, and she just didn’t care enough to keep it tidy. She soaked in the tub,
wondering if the valet had rifled through her glove compartment, perplexed by her
extensive collection of cheap sunglasses and sugarless gum wrappers. He probably
thought she was a slob.

Ouch! She accidentally banged her funny bone on the side of the stone tub. She

shouldn’t be here. She was a decent woman—Jeff had not been a decent man! That was
the real problem. Jeff was amoral. She glowered at the stone wall. She was miserable
and the car was a mess—all this was Jeff’s fault!

She plotted how she might flee this ill-advised situation. There must be a way out of

this? As the bathwater cooled, she dreamed up several elaborate escape plans. She
could hold a broken bottle to Pyra’s throat and demand the girl hand over her clothing.
She could run barefoot across the vineyards toward the main highway and hitchhike

20

Noblesword

home. She could run out of here wearing a towel and call a taxi. She realized she could
do any of these things, but then she’d never know what had attracted Jeff to
Noblesword in the first place. That single thought held her immobile until it was too
late.

Pyra returned to the bathhouse, her eyes bulged with feigned surprise. “You’re still

here!” She carried an armload of black leather. “I usually have to hunt the new girls
down in the gardens or the carport. Thank you for not running away and getting your
feet dirty.”

Gwen had waited too long and they had her over a barrel now. “Where’s my

purse?”

Pyra let the armload of glossy patent leather plop onto the wooden bench. “Your

purse is locked inside the pirate chest along with your clothing, car keys and contract.
You can have it all back tomorrow morning at six a.m.”

She groaned. There was no turning back now. She had crossed the point of no-

return. She wanted to drown in the tub. Her head started to slip below water level.

“Don’t get your hair wet!” Pyra grabbed Gwen’s arm and pulled her from the tub.

“Stand on that tiled dais.” She began to briskly towel Gwen off.

She stood frozen on the dais; her skin glowed pink from the zealous brushing.
Pyra reached for a vial of oil. She sprinkled the oil onto her palms and rubbed it

into Gwen’s skin. The oil smelled like lavender and disappeared into Gwen’s skin on
contact, leaving a silky texture behind.

“We make the body oil. Also,” Pyra must have sensed that Gwen was curious, “it’s

our own special blend of herb and fruit seed oils. At Noblesword everything we use on
your skin is edible. We use nothing false that would offend the senses. After the oil is
absorbed into your skin, I’m going to ‘sugar’ you. Please—place your hands behind
your head.”

Gwen did as she was told, feeling like a pampered but resentful pet.
Pyra reached for a leather shaving kit. “I don’t have time to wax you, part your

legs.”

Her skin tingled at being directly ordered to do something so intensely personal.

She pretended to reluctantly part her legs but she felt a secret thrill.

Pyra looked directly at Gwen. “You like to be ordered about, don’t you?”
Gwen scoffed, “That’s hardly the case…”
Pyra bit down on her lower lip. “Whatever.” She picked up a tiny pair of sharp

manicure scissors, kneeled at Gwen’s feet and began pruning stray pussy hairs.

Gwen held her breath and tried not to move. It was extremely uncomfortable to

have someone who was not a trained clinician or lover so close to her sex.

Pyra trimmed close to the skin, exposing the lips of Gwen’s pussy and other

intimate details. “You’re going to be gorgeous.”

She was highly aware of Pyra’s warm breath on her thigh.

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Katalina Leon

Pyra leaned back to evaluate her work. “You have a very high slit and a nice, round

fat pad on your mons. There’s an entire fetish following for these features, did you
know that?”

Gwen shook her head. She had never given these details a moment of thought.
“Those pronounced dimples above your ass could earn you a nice pair of diamond

earrings from Mr. B.” Pyra trimmed Gwen’s pubic hair so short it looked like a military
buzz cut.

Gwen swayed on her feet. She tried to tune out the rising rush of sensation as Pyra’s

delicate fingers swept back and forth across the lips of pussy.

Pyra walked to a cabinet and brought back two covered bowls. “This is body

sugar.” She displayed two celadon green bowls. “It’s not really sugar, it’s an edible
body powder that’s slightly sweet and has a lot of shimmer. It looks great in
candlelight.” She uncovered the bowls. One dish contained a glittering cream-colored
powder, the other dish contained a pale pink powder. Her eyes deliberated between the
two bowls. “I think I’m going to use the pink powder.” She reached for a furry powder
puff, large enough to buff a car. “Whoops…I nearly forgot the stain!”

Gwen glanced down at her short, fuzzy pubic hair and zealously scrubbed skin.

What stain? She didn’t see a stain.

Pyra grabbed a tiny bottle from the shelf and shook it vigorously while hunting

through a drawer with her free hand. She located a small paintbrush and held it up for
Gwen to see. “This is a Kolinsky-hair paintbrush. The sable hairs are whisper soft. I
can’t believe I almost forgot my favorite part.” She dipped the paintbrush into a vial of
wine-red stain and wiped the excess liquid from the tip of the brush. “This stain is made
from crushed grape skin and rose petals. It will deepen your natural color…” Her lips
tensed in concentration as she carefully painted two rings of ruby stain around Gwen’s
prominent nipples.

Gwen flinched. It was hard to stand still. The stain was cold. When the wet brush

stroked her skin, her nipples puckered.

Pyra filled the circles in with deep red stain.
She glanced down, the dark stain made her areolas look like two huge erotic

targets.

Pyra blew puffs of warm breath against Gwen’s nipples and fanned the air with her

hand. “Dry, hurry up and dry…” She seemed anxious to complete the task in a timely
manner. After applying a second coat of color to Gwen’s nipples, she expertly painted
the stain onto Gwen’s mouth.

Gwen parted her lips and looked upward to avoid the intimacy of staring into

Pyra’s gentle blue eyes. The stain had a faint bitter taste and a floral scent that reminded
her of nibbling on a corsage.

“The stain looks very nice against your olive complexion.” Pyra applied two coats

of red stain to Gwen’s lips before dipping the brush one last time and painting a bold
streak of wine-dark color along her newly exposed slit.

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Noblesword

Gwen sucked in a breath when the cool, wet brush slid across the front of her sex.
“There,” Pyra stepped back, “they’ll be able to see your crimson pussy from across

the room.”

She gulped. Who was going to see her crimson pussy? Why didn’t she just run out

the door and call a taxi when she had the chance?

Pyra dipped the big furry puff into the bowl of pale pink powder.
Gwen gently sniffed the bowl when Pyra held it under her nose. The powder

smelled like peaches and pink champagne.

“Hold your breath.” Pyra clapped the powder puff against Gwen’s breasts, buffing

it in tiny circles. She was overly generous with the body sugar, burnishing the
shimmering powder over Gwen’s entire body.

“I’m turning you into a pink lady.” Pyra’s eyes lit with amusement as she polished

Gwen like a pearl. She picked up a makeup brush and dusted some sparkling powder
across Gwen’s cheekbones. She held a wooden boar-bristle brush in her other hand and
used it to smooth Gwen’s hair. She worked so quickly she resembled a multi-armed
Shiva with an instrument of transformation in each hand. “We’re cramped for time but
we have to look like we made an effort!” She haphazardly piled a few loose curls on top
of Gwen’s head and pinned them in place. The rest of Gwen’s thick brown hair was
allowed to hang straight and unencumbered by hairpins.

Gwen glanced in mirror. A few flirty locks of hair hung over her face and the crown

was pinned high in loose curls. Her hair looked casual but flattering, the style was in no
way fussy. It was a refreshing change from her usual strict ponytail.

Pyra held up a black leather corset and pressed it against Gwen’s body to gauge its

size. “These are custom made for us in San Francisco by a devoted corsetiere. Our fetish
clientele demand we use quality corsets. Usually each girl is custom-fitted and has time
to begin getting used to a true corset. Unfortunately, we don’t have that kind of time.”
She grabbed Gwen and wrapped the black leather around her midsection.

Gwen sucked her stomach in. The steel closures were cold against her bare skin.
Pyra began to spread the laces apart. “I won’t lie to you, the first time you wear a

corset the steel boning can be quite uncomfortable. You’ll only be able to bear it for a
couple of hours. I won’t lace you too tightly because I don’t know how long you will be
in the cognac room. I don’t want you to faint.”

The butterflies in her belly burst into flight. She was so grateful she had passed on

those dainty sandwiches Miss Chantal had offered in the wine cellar.

Pyra circled her finger in the air, as if she were commanding a trained pony. “Turn

around and brace your hands against the wall.”

Gwen whimpered in resignation. The corset intimidated her. It looked like an

utterly confining instrument of oppression from another age, yet she dutifully turned
around and placed her hands against the wall.

23

Katalina Leon

Pyra reached under Gwen’s breasts to fasten the steel closures on the front of the

corset. “Raise your arms.”

She raised her arms and tried valiantly to suck her stomach in.
“I’ve got to make more room here.” Pyra loosened the lacing so she could get the

steel clasps to meet.

What? The corset had to be let out? She knew she wasn’t skinny by any means, but

she took good care of herself. Her waist was still slender. She had half expected a
reprieve from the corset along with the flattering words, “You look great! You don’t
need this thing!”

Pyra wrestled Gwen’s unwilling flesh into the corset. She looped her fingers under

the back tabs and began to pull the laces tight.

The breath huffed out of her in a long, quiet whistle. It was shocking. She could feel

her ribs shift! She prayed Pyra was finished lacing he corset. “Isn’t that too tight?”

“No, it’s not nearly tight enough.” Pyra tugged harder.
Gwen closed her eyes as Pyra cinched her waist inward. Images of Scarlet O’ Hara

came to mind. Poor Scarlet, she had been so certain she could win Rhett Butler back.
Too bad real life wasn’t so simple. In real life, once one lost a man, he seldom came
back. Hell, most the time he wasn’t wanted back.

She struggled to breathe as her waistline shrank by several inches. The corset ended

below her breasts, it pushed her bust sharply upward over a tiny steel-reinforced ledge
that thrust her breasts upward into space.

Pyra tightened the laces farther. “Hold your arms above your head, breathe out and

bend backward,” she ordered Gwen.

She did as she was told, feeling her flesh shift into place.
Pyra hooked her fingers under the side tabs and gave the laces another firm tug.
“Ouch!” Gwen felt her kidneys squeezed. As her waist contracted, her bosom and

hips bloomed outward. She hiccupped. “Excuse me!”

Pyra ruthlessly cinched the corset tighter. “That’s not all that will happen.” She

whispered the cryptic warning through clenched teeth.

Gwen remembered that on several occasions Jeff had asked her to wear a corset.

She felt self-conscious about indulging him and had flatly refused to wear the corset.
She used the excuse that that corsets were old-fashioned, restrictive and demeaning to
women, yet she continued to do so many other outdated, restrictive and demeaning
things to herself—like dieting. One birthday, many years ago, Jeff gave her a corset
made by a Parisian master. She promptly donated the corset to a charity auction—
unworn with its elegant tag still daggling from it.

Pyra tugged on the laces so hard, Gwen squeaked.
“Are you okay?” Pyra stopped tightening the corset.
“I’m fine,” she wheezed. Her ribs felt crushed, but she was determined to go

through with it.

24

Noblesword

“Let’s go a little tighter.” Pyra jerked on the laces. “It looks great. The corset will

loosen a bit as you breathe and move. You’ll be surprised how calming it is.”

Strangely, that was true. The corset imparted an unexpected sense of security. Its

constriction made her feel safe and under control. After a few moments, she started
taking shallow but conscious breaths and felt herself calming.

Pyra dangled a pair of spike-heeled black boots in front of her face.
Gwen’s eyes narrowed as she viewed the towering five-inch heels with suspicion. “I

won’t be able to walk in those!”

“You’re not supposed to.” Pyra handed her the shiny black boots. “These boots are

not as vicious as they look.” She flipped the boots over and showed Gwen how flexible
the soles were. “A Bay-area Dominatrix designed these boots for relative comfort. They
have a spring-loaded support system built in to the heels, which is a must if you work a
long scene. Though the Dominatrix who designed the boots admitted it was easier for
her to remain stern with her clients when her feet hurt.” She laughed before slipping the
towering boots onto Gwen’s feet and zipping them up.

Gwen wiggled her toes into the boots. The boots were made of buttery black leather

that reached midway up her thighs. They encased each of her thighs in a snug caress.
Despite the spike heels, the boots were also oddly comforting to wear.

She looked down at the boots. All her life she had shied away from tall boots,

fearing spike-heeled boots looked too racy. Jeff had loved boots. He got a hard-on at the
mere sight of them. She had rejected tall boots as slut-wear, and perhaps they were.
Having the soft leather hug her thighs made her feel like a slut. The boots made her
desperately want to rub against something. They smelled good too. Some thoughtful
person had polished them to a high gloss with an earthy-scented leather cream.

Pyra snapped a flowing leather skirt around Gwen’s hips. The leather skirt was

supple enough to drape to her ankles in fluid ripples. The skirt had gored panels in the
front and the back, which could be held open or closed with silver snaps. She snapped
the front panels of the skirt open so Gwen would remain completely exposed from her
painted slit to her leather-encased thighs. She also left the back panels of the skirt open
so curious hands could reach underneath the leather skirt and touch Gwen’s bare skin if
they so desired.

Gwen bit her lip. She worried that the back of the skirt had been left open. She

wished Pyra had fastened it closed. She was just about to complain about it…

Pyra grabbed a tiny pink phone and held it to her ear. “Shiraz is ready to go, please

send Raphael to assist.” She flipped the phone closed.

Gwen’s stomach lurched. She reeled in shock, swaying on her towering boot heels.

Preparation time was over and she was not anywhere near being mentally prepared.
She muttered, “Who’s Raphael?”

Pyra took Gwen’s hand and carefully led her toward a full-length mirror. “Look at

yourself.”

25

Katalina Leon

Gwen took a teetering step forward. The bootheels were so high she could not flex

her ankles to walk.

Pyra held her elbow and steered her toward the mirror.
She looked in the mirror, her breath caught. She was a sexual stranger to herself.

She looked like an erotic postcard. She looked like a worldly woman who knew what
she was doing, which was nice for a change! Her skin glowed. Her lips were rich
berries. Her breasts looked like two pink confections set upon a dessert plate. The corset
shaped her into an exaggeration of the female form, which was stunning. She had never
seen herself this way. She never dreamed such a transformation was possible. She
wasn’t allowed enough time to take it all in.

“We have to hurry.” Pyra guided her to a small bathroom and gave her instructions

to use an herbal mouthwash.

She was left in privacy for a few minutes to swish lavender-sage mouthwash

through her mouth. Her eyes continually strayed toward the stranger in the mirror.

26

Noblesword

Chapter Three

“Raphael” arrived. He strode up to Pyra, dominating the room with his big

presence. “Let’s have a look at her.”

Gwen saw that Raphael was the same valet with the snapping black eyes and wavy

dark hair who had parked her car. His classically handsome face carried an echo of
Valentino but with the wicked edge of a gigolo. He was far too dashing to be merely
parking cars in a place like this. She imaged his stunning good looks attracted the
lustful attention of both men and women.

Raphael’s large eyes looked Gwen over with approval. “Good costume choice, Pyra.

She looks absolutely perfect.” He pulled Gwen’s leather skirt aside and examined her
shimmering thighs. His eyes sparkled with interest. “Turn around.”

Gwen wondered if a valet had the right to make such demands. Such matters had

not been discussed with Miss Chantal. She decided to do as she was told. She turned
carefully on her high heels but got snagged on the edge of a flagstone and started to
topple.

Raphael grabbed her elbow, his strong fingers bit into her arm and kept her from

falling.

Her ankles wobbled as Raphael righted her. She hissed from the strength of his

grip. How was she going to survive in these spike heels? How was she going to avoid
making a fool of herself or breaking an ankle?

He took firm command of her arm. He held her still and parted the back of her

skirt, exposing her pink “sugared” bottom. He took a long look at her. “Yum!” He
slowly stroked his broad hand between her thighs.

She closed her eyes and tried to block out the feeling of humiliation and the sharp

thrill of being on display to admiring eyes.

Raphael’s eyes darted hopefully toward Pyra. “What can I do to get things started?

Does she need a warm-up before we leave? A quick over-the-knee spank?”

What! Gwen teetered backward. Her face flushed red at the thought of being held

over this gorgeous man’s knee and spanked by his broad hand.

“Look! She’s blushing.” Pyra spun Gwen around so Raphael could enjoy the

expression on Gwen’s crimson face. “I think she would love to be spanked, but I’m not
going to let you. We’re running late and your spanking would blow all the sugar off her
bottom.”

Raphael flashed a devastating smile. “I’d love to fuck her right now. But I’m willing

to wait. I’ll eventually get my way with her.”

27

Katalina Leon

Gwen gasped. It felt as if the corset were crushing the life out of her. She couldn’t

catch her breath. No doubt this man was used to getting his way. She thought his
attitude was extremely arrogant for a valet, but Miss Chantal had warned her to be
obedient and cooperative with the staff. She considered the possibility that this was a
test. She stood quietly while Raphael leered at her sugared bottom.

“You’ll need to wear this.” Raphael picked up a simple brown cape that looked like

a Franciscan robe. He draped the cape over Gwen’s shoulders, deliberately brushing his
fingertips over her thrust-up breasts. He leaned over her. “Gorgeous tits. It’s a shame to
cover them.”

She wriggled her shoulders until the cape draped properly. The cloth of the cape

was nabbed and felt rough to the touch.

“This is a novitiate’s cape.” Raphael fastened the cape at her throat. “You’ll receive

a velvet cape later. The humble brown cloth will remind the other Noblesword
members that you’re a novice and certain restrictions apply.”

Pyra impatiently tapped her imaginary wristwatch. “You had better get going.”
Without warning, Raphael scooped Gwen into his arms and started marching out

the door with her.

“Aaww!” She squeezed her eyes shut, in dread that she might see Raphael wince

under the strain of lifting her, but she rose into his arms with ease.

Her feet dangled from Raphael’s strong arms, aside from his car-parking skills and

good looks, Raphael’s physical strength was probably the best reason to keep this
arrogant young man around. She clutched the cape around her. Her boot heels
protruded into the air.

“Go…” Pyra waved them off and shut the bathhouse door behind them.
Gwen wrapped her arms securely around Raphael’s neck as he took long, swift

strides across the arcade.

The sun had set and the stars were out. The air felt crisp and dry, she was grateful

to be covered by the brown cape. A peacock shrieked in the nearby vineyard. The rising
moon caused the bulbous cacti in the desert garden to cast obscenely shaped shadows.

She nervously avoided making eye contact with Raphael, fearing he might talk to

her. She needed a private minute of silence as she headed toward moral oblivion.

Fortunately, Raphael seemed to sense that. He was quiet as he marched along the

arcade but his roving eyes needed no interpreter. He stared down at her wine-stained
breasts that bounced gently beneath her cape. He didn’t make the slightest effort to
mask where he was looking.

She hadn’t been looked at in this way for a long time and her face grew

uncomfortably warm.

Bong! Bong! An old Spanish bell tower at the front of the Noblesword complex

began to chime the hour. The adobe bell tower soared a hundred feet above the
vineyards. Eight bells chimed. It was exactly eight o’clock and she was being delivered

28

Noblesword

as promised to the cognac room. Apparently, Noblesword was as exacting as the space
program in the execution of their schedules.

Just as she was beginning to feel the first chill of the evening air, Raphael carried

her indoors.

The cognac room was elegant and masculine in decor. Its dark hardwood floors

were softened with the occasional ivory sheepskin rug. Everything in this room was
substantial and solid. A dark, open-beam ceiling made the room feel intimate.

Raphael set her down a few feet from a hulking stone fireplace.
She felt the radiant warmth of the crackling logs against her bare backside. Her eyes

swept across the pleasing room.

The room was furnished with a wide variety of leather couches and ottomans,

which were upholstered in reddish cognac brown leather. The tables were made of
rustic oak and ornamented with chunky handblown glass ashtrays.

A glass cabinet on the far wall of the room displayed a highly pedigreed collection

of decanted cognac. Each crystal decanter bore an engraved silver tag that stated its
maker and year.

Raphael set a large silver platter on the floor and ordered Gwen to stand on it.
Her ankles trembled as she carefully stepped onto the slick surface of the silver

platter.

“Raise your arms above your head.” Raphael turned a small crank that was

anchored beside the fireplace mantle. A pair of padded leather wrist cuffs descended
from the ceiling. He took hold of Gwen’s arms and deftly buckled her wrists into the
cuffs.

He worked so quickly that she hardly had time to question what he was doing.
Raphael cranked the winch upward.
She glanced up in alarm. Her spine straightened, her wrists rose toward the ceiling.

The cape fell away from her breasts. Her crimson-stained nipples were exposed. They
looked like rosy Christmas ornaments in this subdued brown room. She thrashed her
shoulders back and forth as her arms rose upward, trying to wriggle the cape back in
place.

“Don’t struggle!” Raphael’s eyes narrowed. He gave one of her crimson nipples a

firm pinch.

She gritted her teeth, trying to stay still. A warm burning sensation shot to her

groin.

Raphael seemed extremely pleased with her reaction. He pinched her nipple

again—harder.

“Ooww!” She stifled a cry. Her nipple stiffened painfully in his hand. She tried to

pull away from him but nearly toppled off the platter.

29

Katalina Leon

He wouldn’t let her pull away. “You’re not going anywhere.” He caught her

around the waist and pulled her closer. He ran his palm over the curve of her breast
and made her jiggle by giving her breast a light slap.

Her spine stiffened when he bowed his head to her breast. She didn’t trust him.
He dragged the flat of his tongue across her nipple and then teased her with its wet,

pointed tip.

She was acutely aware of his wet mouth on her breasts. Her wrists yanked at the

cuffs. What was he doing? What if he went too far?

His fingers plucked at her nipple again with slow-building pressure.
She moaned. Her nipples peaked. Her hands twisted in the cuffs. She wanted to

lash out at Raphael, but she didn’t dare.

His thumbs rolled the tips of her nipples until it they looked like two red cherries.

“That’s a good girl.” His voice was soft whisper in her ear. “Blushing, writhing—very
exciting display.”

She strained against the cuffs but they held her taut. Her chin dropped.
He moved directly in front of her face, his eyes flashed. “Be grateful I’m not

carrying my crop. I enjoy whipping tits like yours.”

She blanched and tried to twist away from him. He wouldn’t dare! She had not

given anyone permission to whip her. Why had she ever thought Raphael was
handsome? He was a demon!

He squeezed her breasts together until they spilled over the top of the corset. He

lowered his nose between her breasts. His nostrils flared as he nuzzled between her
plump curves.

She closed her eyes in a moment of extreme self-consciousness.
He tapped his finger under her chin and forced her to look up at him. He stared

intently into her eyes and smiled, revealing his strong white teeth.

She shivered at the sight of his pronounced canines.
He bent down and rubbed his face against the swell of her bosom, making clicking

noises with his teeth. He pressed a light kiss against her breast.

She flinched, afraid that he might bite.
He gently dragged his teeth across the stiffened nipple.
She panted, waiting for the jolt of pain. Her back arched but she didn’t cry out.
“Beautiful!” Raphael stepped back to admire the sight of her trembling with her

arms above her head. He cast an opinionated look at her nipples. “Personally, I would
have chosen a darker stain for you.” He didn’t look too disappointed. His eyes fed on
her generous curves. His hand lowered to his crotch to readjust his erection. “I’m glad
to see that you submit so easily.”

She chocked on his words. His pronouncement condemned her. She locked her

knees together. The word “submit” both terrified and inflamed her.

30

Noblesword

He reached for her cape and pulled it over her breasts. “I’ll let our guests have the

pleasure of undressing you.”

She became aware of male voices in the next room. Panic swept through her. She

wanted to run!

“We’re entertaining some foreign clients tonight.” Raphael stood so close, his warm

breath flooded her cheek. “With the change in time zones, they think they are eating
late. They’re almost finished with dinner, and guess what?” His grin twisted. “You’re
the dessert!”

The breath whistled out of her. She wasn’t ready for this. Her arms thrashed

frantically in the cuffs.

“No, no, no!” He scolded her like a naughty child. “Stop struggling. Or should I

say, stop struggling until you have a real audience who will appreciate the show.”

She bit back a whimper and tried to remember why she was here. A wave of hatred

for Raphael flooded over her.

“Don’t panic, you have some control.” He pointed to the overhead beam. “The cuffs

will descend every ten minutes to allow you to rest your arms. You’ll hear a soft chime
before the restraints slacken. The rest of the time the cuffs will be static and able to
support your weight. You’ll find it’s a great relief to simply hang from them.”

The hall door to the cognac room swung open with a crash.
She jumped at the obtrusive sound.
Some members of the kitchen staff, dressed in crisp white uniforms, rolled a

catering trolley into the room. They started to unload the trolley in front of her. They set
out platters of fresh fruit, brightly iced cakes and a tureen of melted chocolate.

A handsome man with a thick head of silver hair appeared to be the head chef. He

ordered the other staff members about like a general on the march. He walked over to
where Gwen stood and personally took charge of decorating her silver platter.

The chef knelt at her feet and heaped her platter with flowers and honeydew

melons. The melons had been scooped out and carved with intricate patterns. They had
tea-light candles inside them that made them glow like spherical, jade-green lanterns.

She shifted nervously on the platter as the decorations were stacked around her feet

and up her ankles. Now there was truly no tolerance for movement. She didn’t dare
move an inch. Her heels swayed precariously on the platter’s slick surface.

The chef wound a cut vine of climbing roses around her ankles. The thorny vine

clung to her boots.

She stared down at what he was doing. Was he crazy? She wanted to kick free of

the briar patch he was creating. She knew he was setting her up for disaster. She shifted
nervously on the platter.

The chef continually reminded her to, “Stand still!”
The more the chef scolded her to stand still, the more she shifted around. She

couldn’t help it.

31

Katalina Leon

The chef glared at her uncontrolled fidgeting. “I thought you enjoyed being a

martyr?”

What? Her knee jerked. She slipped and accidentally kicked over a melon. The lit

melon rolled a few feet across the hardwood floor. “I’m sorry!” She felt so clumsy, and
there was that horrible word again—martyr. Strangers were calling her a martyr! She
looked down with despair at the pyramid of flowers and melons piled around her
ankles. How could she not kick them over? Why was the chef creating such a precarious
situation? She couldn’t fathom Noblesword’s reasoning.

The chef was quick to retrieve the melon. He scowled at her as he relit the tea-light

candle with a long lighter. He stacked the melons even closer to her ankles.

She huffed. Idiot! What was he thinking?
“Don’t move!” The chef’s brows glowered in concentration as he stacked several

melons into an unstable little pyramid.

Fool! Now she was getting angry. It was quite unreasonable to have to put up with

this. She did her best to stand still but it wasn’t easy. She focused her attention across
the room where Raphael was meticulously hand-polishing some crystal cognac snifters.

The chef continued to stack lit melons and snips of rose vines ever higher around

her ankles.

She took a deep breath and tuned him out. She struggled to master her fidgeting.
The chef glanced up at her with surprisingly compassionate eyes. His eyes nearly

glowed a bright aqua in contrast to his moonbeam silver hair. His hand reached out to
reassuringly pat the side of her thigh. “Remember, you begged for this.” He spoke
softly and confidentially, as if he understood exactly what she was going through. “Try
to relax and enjoy the experience.”

Her shoulders tensed. She had begged for this! A lump rose in her throat. She

stared down at the chef, a moment of sympathy passed between them. The chef’s
unexpectedly kind gesture had caught her off-guard. Did he really know what this felt
like? Had he stood in her place? His eyes looked as if he did know…

Raphael stopped polishing the crystal snifters; he looked directly at her and smiled.

“Shiraz, we know exactly how you feel. We’ve all been there.”

She looked at Raphael’s warm, dark eyes. Okay, maybe she didn’t hate him.
The chef finished decorating her platter. He rose from the floor and left the room

without saying anything more to her.

She felt a sudden pang of loss as he walked away. The chef had at least been a

compassionate soul. She had no idea who was waiting for her in the other room.

Raphael also ignored her. He pretended to be absorbed in the task of polishing

cognac snifters.

The catering crew buzzed with activity around her. They hurried to finish their

work before the dinner party in the other room adjourned.

32

Noblesword

She watched with awe as the catering crew assembled a tray filled with the most

gorgeous chocolate-covered strawberries she had ever seen in her life. She adored
chocolate-covered strawberries, especially the tart ones dipped in the darkest
bittersweet chocolate. She lifted her nose to sniff the air. The berries were sweetly
fragrant. They brought back a thousand memories of anniversary and birthday dinners
with Jeff at their favorite restaurant. Her corseted stomach growled, preparing to face
the discomfort of sampling her favorite treat.

Chocolate-covered strawberries set out of reach—how cruel! Who planned that? It

was as if someone were deliberately adding to her torment. She unconsciously tugged
on the overhead cuffs, wishing she could reach one of the mammoth-sized berries that
sat only inches away.

The conversation in the other room grew louder.
Her attention jolted back to her current predicament. Apparently the men were

getting ready to enter the cognac room. She heard a distinctly German voice along with
the accents of the East Coast and Britain. Her heart fluttered with anxiety, wishing she
could use superhuman kinetic skills to hold the men at bay. What the hell was waiting
for her in the other room? Trouble—that’s what! She really wasn’t ready for this.

The catering crew finished their work and fled the room, wheeling the clattering

trolley into the hall.

She panted tiny shallow breaths, feeling the crackling fire at her back. Was the room

getting hotter, or was she just imagining that? She felt dizzy.

Raphael dimmed the recessed, overhead lights. The room glowed a soft orange

from the blaze of the fireplace. He retrieved a large wooden box from a locked cabinet
and set the box on the coffee table. The wooden cigar box had an ornate label featuring
a 1920s Art Deco style naked Cuban beauty riding a flying cigar.

Gwen’s brows knit as she stared at the cigar box with dread. She hated cigar smoke.
Raphael noticed she was glaring at the cigars. He puffed his chest out defensively.

“The men will be allowed to enjoy their cigars.” His surly attitude defied her to say
otherwise.

Her lips twitched upward. She almost laughed at the dourness of his warning. At

that moment, second-hand smoke was the least of her worries.

Raphael focused on her with an odd intensity. Suddenly he leapt toward her,

crossing the room in three long strides. He came to an abrupt halt mere inches in front
of her startled face.

She reared backward, afraid that he might pinch her.
He smirked but didn’t touch her. “Lower your head.”
She hesitated before bowing her head. What was he up to? Her fear edged toward

irritation.

His eyes flashed orange from the firelight. He pulled a piece of black cloth from his

back pocket.

33

Katalina Leon

She squinted. What was that? Oh God. She thrashed in her cuffs. “Don’t…”
He reached for the sides of her face and tied a blindfold snugly over her eyes.
She gasped. The blindfold was lined with fur, not a speck of light leaked through.

She shook her head from side to side, trying to shake off the utter blackness. “I need to
see—take it off!”

His hands cupped her face. “Settle down. You don’t need to see a thing.”
She froze at his stern command.
“Don’t fight it.” He smoothed a stray strand of her hair.
She did want to fight it! She wanted to scream! She was completely vulnerable now.
He leaned against her. His lips brushed her cheek and his breath warmed the edge

of the blindfold. “It has to be this way. You must wear the blindfold.” He gently kissed
her lips.

She felt herself shaking from the gentle brush of his lips.
“You look quite fuckable like this.” His words were hushed. “I wish it were my

turn.” He gave her bottom an unexpected smack.

“Ooww!” She jumped, her heels slipped.
Raphael grabbed her around the waist before she could knock anything over. He set

her upright on her feet. “Now stand still.”

Her bottom stung where he had smacked her. Her lip trembled from the conflicting

emotions that shot through her. She felt like an obedient pet that had been unjustly
reprimanded.

Raphael made sure she was steady on her feet before walking away.
She felt Raphael moving away from her. He had been a barrier between her and the

fire, the heat of which now flowed freely toward her. Her eyes strained against the
blindfold, feeling a stab of panic. “Are you leaving?”

He didn’t answer.
She heard the door close as Raphael left the room, followed by the echo of his

bootheels clicking against the hardwood floor in the hallway, but soon even that
familiar sound faded and she was alone. The cognac room was silent except for the
muffled conversation next door. Her arms tingled above her head. She struggled to
stand still and not topple the precariously stacked pile of fruit and flowers at her feet.
Her eyelashes fluttered persistently beneath the black fur of the blindfold, as if their
delicate fringe could scrape away the blindfold. A thousand worries clouded her mind.
Dear God. What had she gotten herself into?

In the next room, the men’s voices rose in volume and became a mingled blur of

noise. She heard the sound of heavy chairs scraping across the floor as they were
pushed away from the table.

What was waiting for her in the next room? What kind of man attended a

Noblesword party? The spoiled and the bored? Cheaters? Predatory monsters? Selfish

34

Noblesword

louts? Her thoughts wandered toward dozens of disturbing possibilities. She would
find out soon enough. She worked herself into a highly agitated state but fought the
impulse to squirm, fearing she would kick over a lit melon.

She tried to quiet her racing heart and strained to hear what was going on in the

next room. There was lots of casual talking and laughter, but she couldn’t make out a
single thing that was being said. She desperately needed to know what was going on in
the other room. Who were these men? She waited, taking tiny, quiet breaths until she
ended up feeling lightheaded. She strained to listen to events in the other room, hearing
only a dull throb where the blindfold covered her ears. What was taking so long? When
the hell were they going to finish dinner? This was taking forever. They could have
come in here, smoked their damn cigars and been gone by now. She wanted this over
with. Her back tensed, she couldn’t take much more suspense. She held her breath and
waited, her nerves felt like a rubber band ready to snap.

A log on the fire popped, making a sound like gunfire.
She squealed in alarm. Her knees buckled. Her nerves couldn’t take this. Her pulse

pounded in her ears. What did these men expect from her? She wanted to scream. She
was afraid her boot might kick over a melon lantern and set the room on fire. She was
afraid she would twist her ankle in these spike-heeled boots and fall. She was afraid she
would make a fool of herself. Her legs trembled. She realized there was no way she
would be able to get herself under control.

A few moments later she got herself under control. She calmed herself and tried to

listen to what was going on the other room, but the crackle of the logs was all she heard.
The other room was inexplicitly silent, as if it had been deserted. She began to believe
the men had changed agendas and had skulked quietly away to some other nefarious
activity. She listened hopefully to the silence in the other room, hearing nothing. She
almost convinced herself that the men had left and she was off the hook when a loud
burst of male laughter snatched her hopes away.

Her body twitched with alarm. The men were still there. She repeated this

agonizing cycle several more times during the following minutes.

Finally she just surrendered to the inevitable. The men would finish their dinner,

the men would enter the cognac room—and there was nothing to be done about it. She
stood still, allowing the cuffs to hold her up. She willed herself to keep taking calm
breaths.

A heavy double door swung open on the far side of the room.
She sucked in a breath, her corset was crushing her. Here it comes!
At least half a dozen men walked into the room.
Her wrists fidgeted in the cuffs. Now she could clearly hear their conversation and

the scuff of their heels on the hardwood floor.

The conversation flowed uninterrupted as the men entered the room and made

themselves comfortable.

35

Katalina Leon

No one verbally acknowledged her or made any comment about her at all. It was as

if she were an unnoticed piece of furniture in front of the fireplace.

A German gentleman seemed to dominate the conversation. His voice boomed over

the other men the room.

She did not speak German, but she was able to make out a few words. The man was

particularly loud. He was doing a lot of talking about wine. Sherry seemed to be his
chosen topic.

The men broke up into groups of twos and threes throughout the room, but when

the door of glass cabinet was unlocked, they all gravitated toward the cognac cabinet.

She heard the bell-like cling of crystal decanters and cognac snifters clicking

together. The single most requested cognac was a mature blend from the 1880s.

She breathed shallowly, afraid to make the slightest noise or call attention to herself.

She was surprised by the civil tone of this gathering. The men were discussing business
matters. There was no coarse language and no crude remarks.

The lid of cigar box creaked opened. She could smell the rich burst of humid

tobacco from where she stood.

The men dove into this treasure trove, praising the high quality of the Cuban

rarities.

She heard the cigars being clipped by a tiny handheld guillotine that snapped their

tips off. Puffs of cigar smoke soon reached her nose. She flinched. Cigars were not
among her favorite things, though her beloved grandfather had smoked them. Fresh
cigar smoke was barely tolerable in a well-ventilated room, but she had to admit these
Cuban cigars had an intriguing dark aroma.

The men mooned over the high quality of the cigars.
She mentally tried to pinch her nostrils closed, but all she accomplished was a

twitchy face. After a few sniffs, she admitted the cigars were distinctly masculine and
interesting. She marveled over the differences in male and female preferences. The men
were thoroughly enjoying their pungent cigars while chocolate-covered strawberries
languished near by.

She stood perfectly still, like an animal that uses lack of motion to enhance its

camouflage. She listened carefully to the men, eager to divine who was in the room.

Two gentlemen were holding a polite conversation on thickly padded chairs to her

left. At first she thought the men might be British, but after a few moments of careful
listening, she began to hear the subtle Dutch undertones in their speech. She came to the
conclusion the men were South African.

The loud German gentleman and two men from the East Coast stood near the

fireplace. Their voices bounced around the hard surfaces of the room.

Other voices came and went from the room, but one male voice in particular kept

coming to her attention. One man had a mild western accent, perhaps he had lived in
Texas. His deep voice was hoarse—as he claimed—from his plane flight to San

36

Noblesword

Francisco. The cigar smoke seemed to be provoking his hoarseness, which grew audibly
worse within minutes. His voice cracked when he laughed. Even though he was hoarse,
there was something comforting about his voice, but he stayed just out of her range and
she was never able to clearly hear his side of the conversation. She hoped he would stay
but wondered how long he and his hoarse throat could tolerate this smoky room.

The men seemed comfortable and well acquainted with each other. She guessed this

was a business meeting with treats on the side. She was just beginning to feel pleasantly
invisible when she heard the soft chime of the overhead winch, warning her the cuffs
would lower.

She was ready to rest her arms. The cuffs slowly lowered a few inches. She held her

weight on her heels and tried to stand still. The blood returned to her fingertips, making
the length of her arms tingle.

A minute later the winch pulled the cuffs taut. They pulled her slightly too high. An

involuntary little squeak escaped her lips. Her back arched as she dangled from the
cuffs, her cape parted and fell over her shoulders, exposing her breasts. She thrashed
side to side, trying to get the cape to fall back in place, but it remained draped behind
her.

“Take that ugly brown cape away!” the German voice barked. “It reminds me of

what I am not allowed to do to her!”

She froze. She could feel the men’s attention focus on her.
A man came forward to remove the cape from her shoulders. The man was tall, she

felt his presence looming over her.

The man unfastened her cape and tossed it aside. He stood too close to her.
Gooseflesh prickled her skin when the man’s warm breath exhaled next to her ear.

She smelled the cigar smoke on him.

The man ran his hands over her bare shoulders.
She sighed and lowered her head.
The edge of each of the man’s fingers was calloused. The calluses slightly grated

against her soft skin.

She shivered. She found the sensation interesting. She could tell this man made his

living with his hands. Jeff had worked on a computer all day—his hands had been
completely smooth.

The German shouted at her from across the room. “Part your legs! I can’t see

anything!”

The man standing in front of her stepped aside.
She winced, cursing the blindfold and cuffs. She started to wiggle her boot to the

side. She was afraid to kick over a candlelit melon.

The man with calloused hands knelt and took hold of her ankles. He moved some

decorations aside and guided her boots a few inches apart until she found a safe stance.

37

Katalina Leon

Her splayed legs made her feel like a nutcracker, precariously balanced on the

platter. She wanted to bring her legs together and cross them just to deny the German
his view, but she continued to hold herself steady in this exposed position, keenly
aware of the other gentleman at her feet.

The man kneeling in front of her let his finger tenderly stroke the length of her tall

boot. His finger traveled upward all the way to the top of her bare thigh.

She felt the trajectory of his touch. She knew where it was heading. She held her

breath. Extreme embarrassment tightened her throat when she felt moisture beading
between her thighs.

At first the man’s touch on her skin was light and barely perceptible.
She held her breath as the blood rushed between her legs. She wanted to hide,

knowing that beyond the blindfold others were quietly watching her.

The man stroked a calloused finger across her crimson-stained slit. His finger

parted her slick folds.

Her hips rocked forward when he touched her. She was startled by the strength of

her reaction. She desperately wanted to cross her legs together and get herself under
control.

The man leaned toward her and gently rubbed his nose against her pussy, deeply

inhaling her scent. He pressed a soft, wet kiss against her mons.

Uhhh! She gulped back a faint moan. God that felt good. The kiss was hot and

shocking to her long-ignored sex. She bit the inside of her lip to avoid saying or doing
anything else encouraging. She wanted to return to her anonymous status in the room.
She was grateful the blindfold hid the languid look in her eyes. She consoled herself
that her thoughts were private, no one else in the room knew what she thinking, but her
hips pressed tellingly forward.

The man’s hands slid beneath her leather skirt and stroked her thighs. He pressed

his face against her and kissed her harder with a warm, generous mouth. He teased her
with the wet tip of his tongue before plunging his tongue inside her.

Heat flushed through her. She was so nervous, so aware of others in the room.
His wet tongue slid across her sex. He sucked her clit between his teeth and gently

held it captive.

The breath rattled out of her. The sensation became sharp, almost painful. Her hips

thrust forward. Her body liked this man even though he was a stranger. She wasn’t
sure if she should accept the pleasure or kick the man away.

“Move aside!” the German demanded. “I can’t see anything!”
The man’s mouth let go of her, he moved away.
Her legs trembled. She felt instantly cool where his warm mouth had been. She

gulped the deepest breath she could but the corset squeezed her like a vise.

The man who had been caressing her rifled around on one of the dessert trays. He

returned to her side and held a chocolate-covered strawberry under her nose.

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Her nostrils sniffed the first heavenly hint of chocolate before smelling the sweet

berry beneath. Even in this smoky room, the fragrant berry triumphantly transcended
the smell of cigars. Her mouth watered.

The man offered her the berry by gently tapping it against the lush cushion of her

bottom lip, encouraging her to part her lips and take a bite.

She cautiously tasted the berry. It was delicious. A flood of tartness filled her

mouth. The chef had dipped the perfect berries in a dark ganache. She licked a clinging
flick of chocolate from her lips.

The man stood inches from her face, she could feel him breathing. He reached for

another strawberry.

She heard the juicy sound of his teeth sinking into a berry. A moment later she felt

the cool wetness of half the strawberry being rubbed against her nipple. A sticky rivulet
of juice trickled down the underside of her breast and into her corset.

The man bent down and dragged the flat of his tongue slowly across her breast,

licking the juice from her nipple.

Her nipples stood up for him.
He gently sucked her stiff nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it.
“Oooh!” The sensation stunned her as her nipple was slowly drawn out. His touch

felt so good she arched in heavenly surprise.

His broad hands squeezed her hips and pulled her closer. He nuzzled against the

plump under-curve of her breasts. His teeth faintly grazed her nipple and gently
nipped her.

She jerked away from the sharp edge of teeth and lost her balance.
The man caught her by the waist before she toppled and held her braced her against

him.

She felt his erection pressing through his trousers. She wanted to wriggle away

from the blatant confrontation.

Several gentlemen in the room approvingly pronounced her “sensitive”.
Her face blushed hot. For a moment she had forgotten about the others in the room.

She was so keyed up that tears welled behind the blindfold. She reeled from the
unwelcome reminder that she was on public display.

The man rummaged through his coat pockets, searching for something.
She heard the clink of metallic objects.
“Would anyone object?” The man addressed the other gentlemen in the room. His

hoarse voice had faded even further due to the cloud of cigar smoke in room. His voice
was now reduced to a low rasp. It sounded as if it pained him to speak.

There was the muttered response of, “Go ahead… Take your pleasure…” from the

other men in the room. The others seemed content to smoke, sip their cognac and
watch.

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Katalina Leon

The man lifted her breast slightly and plumped the nipple until it stood high.
She leaned backward as if she could escape his reach, but there was nowhere to go.
He cupped her breast and applied a small clamp to her nipple.
She flinched from the unexpected touch of cold metal against her warm skin.
His fingers expertly screwed the clamp shut, trapping the nipple.
As the clamp tightened on her, she twisted in the cuffs, expecting a painful

sensation, but instead she felt the bite of excitement rush through her. The clamp’s grip
was firm but not so tight that it was painful. Her nipple throbbed in the grip of the tiny
clamp, making her highly aware of her breast. Warmth pooled at the tip of her breast
and in a strange way the feeling became highly pleasurable. Her first response was to
shake the clamp loose and be free of this sensation magnet, but by the time the man
reached for her other breast, she was already eagerly anticipating the second clamp’s
cool embrace.

One of the men from the East Coast commented, “Is she a true submissive, or a

Domme in training? I’d be happy to break her in.” The man laughed.

Another man commented, “I love her mouth. A submissive needs a sensual mouth.

You spend a lot of time there.”

She felt self-conscious. A wave of heat rolled over her face and chest. She knew she

was blushing.

The man tested his handiwork by tugging on each of the clamps to see if the clamps

were twisted snugly enough to stay securely in place.

Her breasts became so sensitive, she nearly yelped.
The German gentleman’s voice boomed through the room. “I’m always confused

about what you can and cannot do with a novice. Why can’t I remember?”

Everyone in the room laughed.
A South African man answered from across the room. “Alfred, that’s because you

don’t want to remember!”

Everyone laughed along with him.
She heard Alfred leap out of his chair and stomp across the hardwood floor. He

shoved the other man aside and stood in front of her. She smelled a whiff of cognac on
his breath.

“Let’s have a look at her! Let’s see what we will be bidding on tomorrow night.”
She flinched in Alfred’s presence. Bidding on tomorrow night? What was this rude

man talking about? She didn’t want this loud man touching her. She bit her lip to keep
from saying there wasn’t going to be a tomorrow night. With her luck, Alfred would be
the wealthiest and most aggressive bidder in the group. As far as she was concerned,
when six a.m. came and her car keys were returned, this little adventure was over.

Alfred grabbed her breasts and fondled them. “They’re heavy.”
She recoiled from his touch and instinctively turned her face away.

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Alfred’s hands reached under her breasts and lightly bounced their weight on his

fingertips. “They have a nice shape.” He slightly lifted each breast. “But the clamps are
too loose.” He gave each clamp another sharp twist.

Ouch! She gasped. Now the clamps really hurt. Alfred’s actions left her breasts

aching.

Alfred moved behind her and parted her skirt. He ran his hand between the cleft of

her buttocks and thighs. “Very nice.” He completely unsnapped the back panel of the
skirt and left her exposed to the room. He spoke directly to her. “I’m quite interested.”

She smelled cigar smoke on his breath.
“Do you have any special talents?” Alfred moved in front of her face. “What can

you do for me?”

Her jaw dropped, her tongue froze. Her mouth refused to form words. She had no

interest in enticing this man in any way. Perhaps she was not Noblesword material after
all. She wasn’t willing to play intimate games with obnoxious strangers. She had been
desperate to understand Jeff’s fascination with Noblesword Vineyards, now she was in
real trouble. What made her think she could do this?

“Well?” Alfred addressed his colleagues. “Why isn’t she answering?”
“Dunce! She’s a novice.” A South African gentleman came to her defense. “A brown

robe is not allowed to speak.”

“Oh! I always forget!” Alfred tried to cover his mistake by delivering a sharp swat

to her bottom.

She jumped.
“I suppose I’m not allowed to fuck her?” Alfred rubbed his bulging erection against

her thigh.

Laugher rang through the room.
Someone abruptly pulled Alfred away from her.
“You’ll have to place a bid, just like the rest of us.” The man with the hoarse voice

brushed his hand across her shoulder and stood protectively between her and Alfred.

Alfred stomped away, snorting with agitation. “I’m going to have to call for

Sherry!” He threw himself into on a chair. The leather cushions released a sharp whistle
of air under his sinking weight.

Good! She exhaled a tense breath as she heard Alfred settling into a chair. She

hoped Alfred would be content to sit in the corner and some drink some sherry. She
heard the click of an intercom button.

Alfred whined, “Send Sherry in.”
A minute later the doors opened and a woman’s high heels clicked into the room.
“Good evening.” The woman politely greeted the gentlemen in the room. She had a

soft Swiss accent. The woman’s high heels clicked toward Alfred’s chair.

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Katalina Leon

“Sherry, get over here!” Alfred screeched impatiently. He sounded extremely

irritated as if he had seen something that left him enraged.

Sherry’s high heels sped across the wood floor. “Yes, Alfred.” The sheepskin rug in

front of Alfred’s chair muffled the click of woman’s heels.

Aha! Sherry was a person, not a drink. Gwen dangled from the overhead cuffs,

fascinated by the tense little drama playing out in front of her.

Alfred’s tone toward the newly arrived woman was peevish. “Kneel and unzip

your jacket! Why are you even wearing a jacket?” He marveled at Sherry’s stupidity.
His surly attitude inundated the unfortunate woman.

Gwen was grateful the attention had turned away from her, but she felt pity for the

other woman. She tipped her ear toward Alfred and Sherry, straining to hear all that
was going on in the room. She heard the soft fumbling of Sherry’s fingernails on the
zipper of her jacket. She noted that except for the crackling logs on the fire, the rest of
the room had grown silent. The other men said nothing.

Swack! Alfred forcefully slapped his palm down on the leather armrest. “When I call

for you, I expect you to arrive naked! Take that bra off! I should not have to ask you.”

Gwen heard the sound of Sherry’s slight whimper as the woman hurried to unhook

her bra. She knew when the woman’s breasts had been free because she heard a few soft
sighs from the other men in the room.

“Sherry, fetch the rosewood case.” Alfred clapped his hands in the air.
He sounded like an irate toddler having a temper tantrum.
Gwen heard Sherry’s high heels clicking toward a far wall. A cabinet drawer rolled

open. Sherry’s clicking heels quickly returned to Alfred’s chair.

“Kneel.” Alfred sounded absolutely put out by Sherry’s misbehavior. “When I call

for you after dinner, you are to arrive bare-breasted. Those big tits of yours will give a
lot of pleasure to the men in this room. Lift them up for me.”

Sherry sighed.
“Push them higher!” Alfred sounded indignant that he had to remind her. The

rosewood case creaked open. His voice dripped with arrogance. “I’m going to
demonstrate to everyone in this room how to properly apply a nipple clamp.”

Gwen became freshly aware of her own nipple clamps. The clamps felt heavy and

her skin felt hot. The deep throb had become a dull ache. She considered giving the
clamps a little shake to see if she could knock them loose but decided that might attract
too much unwanted attention. Everyone was focused on Sherry instead of her and she
decided to keep it that way. She felt sympathy for Sherry, knowing firsthand that
Alfred had a rough touch.

Sherry made a multitude of tiny frantic sounds as Alfred plumped her nipples and

turned the screws on her.

“There!” Alfred announced proudly. “Look at those big tits! Please no one feel sorry

for her—she loves it!”

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Noblesword

Sherry made pleading little sounds.
“Lift your skirt!” Alfred barked. “Bend over the ottoman. You’ve been a bad girl.

Which will it be—the paddle or the hand?”

Sherry whispered softy, “Please, Sir. It won’t happen again.”
“That’s not what I asked you!”
“The hand,” Sherry sighed.
Alfred’s command was blunt. “Hang over the edge of this ottoman so everyone can

see your shamed face.”

Well, not everyone could see Sherry’s shamed face. With the blindfold on, Gwen

couldn’t see a thing, but she tilted her ear toward the action.

There was a loud swat.
Sherry bleated, though she didn’t sound terribly distressed.
Swat! “Oooo…”
Swat! Tiny meowing sounds floated from Sherry’s lips. Swat!
Gwen’s spine straightened with every swat. The sound was shocking, but Sherry

didn’t sound as if she were being hurt, she sounded ecstatic.

Swat! “Aaaa…”
Alfred must be cupping his hand to cause a lot of sound and fury minus the

damage of a hard blow. He continued to spank Sherry in his own style, which was
abrupt and loud. He rubbed his hand vigorously across Sherry’s bottom between swats.
“This is hurting me a lot more than it’s hurting you!” He groaned. “Get up! Show these
gentlemen your pink bottom…”

Gwen heard Sherry walk to the center of the room; her heels clicked in a circle.
“Very good!” Alfred praised Sherry. “You may come back and claim your reward.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Sherry’s voice was a reverent whisper. She hurried back to the

leather chair where Alfred was seated.

Alfred’s voice softened. “You may take him out and caress him.”
Gwen heard the metallic click of a zipper sliding down its track.
Alfred sighed as Sherry undressed him. The leather upholstery of his chair

squeaked as he slumped down.

Sherry made sweet, adoring sounds as she administered wet kisses to Alfred’s cock.
Alfred sternly reminded her to, “Lick the balls…”
Sherry dutifully did as she was told, and Alfred groaned in appreciation.
Gwen heard the wet sound of Sherry’s sliding mouth, feeling an odd shudder rising

within herself.

“Do you wish to sample this cognac?” Alfred demanded.
“Yes, Sir.” Sherry gasped between caresses and tongue strokes.

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Katalina Leon

“This cognac is very expensive,” Alfred droned. “Over a thousand dollars a glass.

Don’t waste a drop of it.”

Gwen heard the sound of cognac being trickled into Alfred’s lap, followed by the

furious sounds of Sherry lapping it up.

“Don’t be lazy, take him to the back of your throat,” he growled at Sherry as she

slurped and sucked harder.

The other gentlemen in the room remained silent and were presumably enjoying

the show.

Gwen listened to Sherry’s soft, sloppy sounds and Alfred’s groaning. A minute

later Alfred came loudly.

“Ah! That was good, Sherry! I take it all back, you’re not a bad girl, you’re a good

girl! Come sit on my lap.”

The sounds of tender kissing followed.
Alfred unclipped Sherry’s nipple clamps. The metallic clamps were tossed on the

coffee table.

Sherry moaned pitifully. Apparently there was some discomfort involved in

removing the clamps.

Alfred invited one of the South African gentlemen to lean over and fondle Sherry’s

breast. “Feel how hot her skin is.”

Alfred continued to hold Sherry on his lap. He kissed and cuddled her and

whispered baby talk to her in German. There were soft whispers and praises spoken.

Gwen could not hear all that was being said, but it didn’t really matter. It was

obviously Alfred’s and Sherry’s version of pillow talk. She instantly became
uncomfortable as she felt the attention in the room drift back to her.

Several men rose from their chairs and approached her. They stood uncomfortably

close.

At least four men encircled her.
A stray hand dipped beneath her leather skirt and fondled her ass. The man’s hand

gave the round swell of her buttocks a squeeze. His finger traced a line across her
deeply shadowed cleft.

She sucked in a deep breath and held it.
Another pair of hands casually plucked the clamps from her nipples and gently

stroked the undersides of her breasts as the blood returned.

She winced, feeling a rush of bristling heat. Her breasts were unbearably sensitive

as the normal sensation flooded back to her nipples.

A man stood beside her who had a polite South African accent. He made the

comment, “She has a nice shape—she looks how a woman should look.”

Her lip curled. She felt vaguely offended by his comment. She took the innocent

comment as code-speak for the fact she did not look like the modern ideal of what a

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woman should look like. She was too earthy, too fleshy to pass for a gamine nymph,
and she knew it. Then she caught herself. This was no time to indulge a poor self-image.
She wanted to get beyond that. She realized the man had spoken the words reverently
as he brushed his hardness against her leg. She decided to accept the entire gesture as a
compliment. She chided herself for her ridiculous insecurities. She wondered when did
calling a woman a “woman” become an insult?

The men in the room moved toward the dessert tray. As their hands reached for the

tiny iced cakes, they also took the opportunity to freely stroke and fondle her.

She struggled not to overreact. The touches were light but escalating in frequency.

She had no idea who was touching her or how far they would go. A man might stroke
her back or run a finger lightly between her breasts and then continue talking business
with his cohorts. Another hand would stroke her thigh. She became confused about
who was standing where. Everyone in the room felt too close.

Several men were highly aroused, either by her, Sherry’s performance or both. She

felt their straining trousers brushing against her thighs. She wondered if she would be
expected to perform the same services as Sherry if the gentlemen asked. The butterflies
in her stomach churned wildly.

The bell tower chimed the nine o’clock hour. She shuddered from the powerful

resonance of the bells against her eardrums.

The bells boomed across the hardwood floor and for a moment all conversation and

touching stopped.

She tugged against her cuffs, her arms felt numb. She waited for her own bell to

chime, it was time to give her arms a rest. She worried about what this room full of
aroused men had planned for the nine o’clock hour.

A man stood close behind her, breathing down her neck, rubbing his hardness

between the cleft of her ass.

She closed her eyes behind the blindfold, trying to hang on to a calming thought.

She held perfectly still, afraid wiggling would only encourage the man behind her. Why
was she standing here half naked, cuffed to the ceiling beam? She reminded herself of
the many reasons she was here, her lips quirked toward an inappropriate smile. She
realized she could do this, she could be brave. She had only to turn inward and be still
while these life-changing lessons unfolded. Despite the constriction of the corset, she
discovered she was able to take a deep breath and noticed she no longer needed to rest
her arms. Her nervousness was replaced by a sense of achievement. She could master
herself. She only needed to be calm.

A woman’s shrill cry rang from the top of the bell tower.
All action in the room stopped as the sound of a screaming body plummeted

toward the ground.

Gwen heard a sickening thud, followed by a moment of disturbing silence.
A male voice from outside the cognac room wailed for help. The man’s voice

cracked, he sounded hysterical. Incoherent panic poured out of his mouth.

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Katalina Leon

The men in the cognac room threw open a side door as they ran outside to

investigate.

She felt cool air on her skin as the men rushed toward the bell tower, leaving the

door of the cognac room open as they fled.

Cries of, “Dear God! Oh God! I can’t afford to get involved…” filtered through the

open door. The men made heated arguments about whether or not to call the police or a
private security team.

Were they talking about Miss Chantal? What was wrong? She needed to know what

was going on! Anxiety churned in her stomach. She twisted in her cuffs and nearly
toppled from her heels. She was desperate to get free. She realized she had been
completely abandoned in this room. Her arms were aching. “Can someone help me?”
she shouted across the echoing floor.

No one answered. The others were preoccupied with their own flight to freedom.
“Can anyone hear me?” Her voice echoed in the hallway.
Apparently not—no one answered. The minutes plodded past. She heard frantic

activity in other parts of the compound. “Can someone help me?” Her cries went
unanswered.

She listened as the Noblesword guests called for their cars to be brought around so

they could flee the scene of the mishap.

“Please! Can someone hear me?”
If they could hear her, they refused to stop and help her.
The Noblesword guests were evaporating before the police arrived to question

them.

There was a final commotion in the front foyer as the last of the guests scrambled to

gather up identifiable personal belongings and flee.

She heard the sound of tires spinning and gravel flying as cars raced away from the

Noblesword compound.

“Please—help me!” She shouted until she grew hoarse. “I’m in the cognac room!”

Her voice croaked, she didn’t recognize it as her own. The cigar smoke had thoroughly
irritated her throat and robbed her of her voice.

As the last set of tires squealed out of the driveway, she was left to wonder, did

anyone even remember she was even here?

The halls of Noblesword were silent. The cracking of logs in the fireplace was the

only sound she heard. No human sounds or signs of activity betrayed themselves to her
ears. The only living thing to pierce the silence was the shrill screech of a peacock.

Many tense minutes passed and no one came to free her. She hoped a member of

the kitchen staff was still on duty and would soon come to her rescue, but no one
arrived.

The overhead bell chimed and her cuffs lowered. She struggled to wiggle out of the

cuffs. She thrashed, trying desperately to loosen their hold, to no avail. She felt like a

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Noblesword

trapped wolf frantically gnawing its paw free of a hunter’s snare before the cuffs were
tugged upward again.

In her struggles she accidentally kicked a melon over and heard it rolling across the

floor. Damn! She hoped the candle had guttered out and was not causing a fire on the
sheepskin rug. She had no control here, her panic soared. “Somebody help me!”

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Katalina Leon

Chapter Four

Footsteps echoed across the hardwood floors of the hallway. Someone was walking

toward the cognac room.

“Help! Please help me.” Gwen’s voice was reduced to a rasping whisper.
The footsteps were heavy and decidedly masculine. They stopped in the doorway

and lingered there.

“Thank God! I’ve been standing here forever!” She could hear the man breathing.

What was he waiting for?

The man marched straight toward her.
“Get me out of these cuffs,” she rasped, wishing she could see through the

blindfold. “Poor Miss Chantal! What has happened?” She waited to be freed from her
restraints, rattling her cuffed wrists to call attention to them.

The man stood in front of her. He whispered hoarsely in her ear, “Everything’s

fine.”

What? She felt his warm breath against the side of her face. She recognized the

sound of the man’s voice. He smelled faintly of Italian cologne and Cuban cigars, but so
did the rest of the room.

He stood close to her, making no moves to unbuckle her cuffs.
What was wrong with him? She shook her head from side to side. “Take off my

blindfold. What has happened?”

He said nothing. His fingers smoothed a strand of hair away from her face.
She was getting hysterical with impatience. Why wasn’t he helping her? Couldn’t

he see she needed help?

He moved closer. He began to casually stroke the side of her face. His calloused

thumb traced along her bottom lip.

Her lip trembled. She became so angered with his slowness to free her that tears of

frustration soaked the fur of the blindfold. “Take off my blindfold!”

“The blindfold stays.” His voice was more smoke damaged than hers. He barely

had a voice, the cigars had reduced it to a low rumble.

She snapped at him, “Take it off! What gives you the right?”
He lifted her chin gently until her face was level with his. “You’re cuffed and that

gives me the right.”

She sucked in a deep breath, her mind filled with rage. “Like hell it does!”
“Hush!” He pressed a finger to her lips. “No talking, novice.”

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Noblesword

She snarled at him. She tried to bite his finger but he yanked it away. Now she

really felt like a trapped animal. She was ready to fight. Her boot lashed out at him but
her kick didn’t connect. She lost her balance and reeled backward, dangling from the
cuffs.

He caught her. His big hands wrapped around her waist, steadying her.
She tried to wriggle away from him but slipped.
“Stop fighting! I’m not going to harm you.”
She hissed at him, “Don’t touch me!”
“Then why are you here?” he croaked hoarsely.
She froze, terrified her traitorous mouth would provide an answer.
His hands drifted across her bare shoulders. “Why did you sign the contract?”
A knot tightened in her stomach. “That’s none of your business.”
His fingers carefully traced over her face and tangled with a strand of her hair. “Tell

me…” His voice was a harsh whisper.

Her knees shook. She pressed her lips together to prevent a confession from

pouring out. She was humiliated enough without having to say she was a jilted,
snooping housewife.

“Tell me why you signed the contract.”
She heard the man breathing in front of her, waiting for an answer to his question,

but she didn’t want to answer. She felt exposed and on the verge of tears, so she sealed
her mouth shut.

He leaned over her and kissed her lips until her rigidity melted.
For some reason she allowed it, perhaps kissing was easier than confessing. She let

the tension she was holding inside relax. “Uncuff me.”

He ignored her request and continued kissing her instead.
Against her will, her body reacted strongly this to man, it wanted his touch.
His soft kiss was merely a brush against her lips, but it acted as a bridge between

two strangers, a thousand impediments were crossed in a single stride. “Why did you
sign the contract?”

Tears welled in her eyes. The hesitation inside her uncoiled, humiliation, betrayal

and loss flooded forward. She pressed her lips closed, again for fear she would foolishly
confess everything to a stranger.

“Hush…” He tenderly kissed her forehead. His voice was reduced to a quiet rasp.

“It’s hard to be trusting and turn yourself over to another.” His lips brushed her cheek.
“But you must. You’re mine now. I claim you until tomorrow morning.”

A jolt of excitement and alarm shot through her. Was she really going to let this

happen?

His arms enveloped her, holding her steady as he kissed her, taking charge of her

with ease.

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Katalina Leon

All her resistance faded when she tasted the faint salty tang of her tears on his lips.

She knew she needed to do this. She had already shed too many tears, wondering what
went on here. She needed to honor her agreement with herself, and she had agreed to
explore this. She lifted her face and parted her lips.

He pressed the length of his body against her, kissing her mouth while pressing his

hard cock against her belly. He became enraptured with stroking his thumbs across her
tiny, corseted waist.

Her first instinct was to pull away and not encourage a stranger, but then she

remembered that was precisely why she was here. She rubbed against him like a
wanton.

“Will you submit to me?” The question rumbled almost inaudibly past his lips.
She halfheartedly nodded her head.
“Be clear,” he insisted as he pressed a warm kiss to her throat.
She swallowed hard. Her body awoke with a rush of heat. “I’ll submit to you.” She

whispered the words as if whispering made them less valid. Why did she say yes? This
was a dangerous and stupid thing to do. This was madness, but she let her thigh rub
against his.

He pulled her closer, his kiss deepened, he parted her lips with his tongue and

plunged into her.

She sighed as he slid past her lips in a single slick, voluptuous motion that

demanded surrender. She mentally handed herself over to him, believing that a man
who could kiss like this couldn’t be all bad.

His hands firmly cupped her face as he loomed over her, pressing every bit of his

body against her.

Her slightest movement, her every breath was completely occupied by him. She

breathed into his kiss. This man was amazing! She wondered if this was Raphael, taking
advantage of the situation. This man was as tall as Raphael. He felt as lean and
muscular as Raphael. She was afraid to ask who he was and possibly lose her chance of
being freed from the cuffs, but she couldn’t resist. She pulled slightly back from his kiss
to whisper, “Who are you?”

He pressed a silencing finger to her lips. He made it clear there would be no more

talking.

She felt helpless. He wished to remain a stranger and there was nothing she could

do about it.

He pushed her cape away and ran his palms over the lush swell of her breasts. His

thumb and forefinger gently squeezed a trapped nipple.

She arched her back, longing to be touched.
His warm mouth skimmed over her breast as he dragged the wet tip of his tongue

across her stiffened nipple.

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Her shoulders protectively rolled forward. Her breasts were still sensitized from the

clamps. Even the gentlest touch felt sharp.

He sucked a nipple into his mouth and flicked it with his tongue until it stood up in

a stiff, tiny peak.

She twisted in his grasp as fire shot through her.
He covered her breasts with wet kisses.
She felt hot and full everywhere his mouth touched her. She loved to have her

nipples sucked, it put her in a blissful dream state when she felt that erotic tug deep
inside her. She arched backward, offering herself to him.

He buried his face between her lush curves, pulling a nipple deeper into his mouth

and making wet, pleased sounds as he sucked on her.

She felt a throbbing pulse building deep inside her.
One of his exploring fingers slid between her thighs to feel how wet she was.
She was drenched. Her hips rocked forward at that first jolting caress. She was

shocked by how sensitive and slick she was. She parted her thighs for him, longing to
be touched.

His fingers gently pressed against her wet pussy but did not penetrate her.
She rubbed against his hand, craving deeper sensation.
He seemed to be testing the waters, and now that he had all the evidence he

needed, he pulled his slick fingers away and held them under her nose.

She smelled her own aroused scent on his fingertips, making her nostrils flare in

surprise. After a confrontation like that, she couldn’t deny he was getting her excited.
Reason began to argue with her that she shouldn’t be doing this kind of thing with a
stranger, but her body didn’t want to hear the yammering warnings of reason.

He walked to the side of the fireplace and lowered the winch. The cuffs descended

from the ceiling. He unclipped them from their overhead position.

She slumped forward with her arms relaxed at her sides. The blood raced back to

her arms, causing a rush of pins and needles. She reached for her blindfold but the man
abruptly stopped her hand.

He pulled her arms behind her back and clipped the cuffs together.
What? Her glimpse of freedom was snatched away. Cuffing her wrists behind her

drew her shoulders sharply back and forced her breasts to jut forward. She was far from
free, but she was still grateful to have her arms lowered. She started to totter forward on
her heels and lost her balance.

He grabbed her around the waist to prevent her from falling.
Her body slammed into his muscular chest and there was a lot of him to fall

against. He had a tapering V-shaped build that reminded her that once upon a time Jeff
had possessed a body like this, but sitting at a computer all day had softened him.

He picked her up with ease and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

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Whoosh! The air whistled out of her when her belly struck his broad shoulder. The

corset made it impossible to bend easily at the middle or breathe. She gasped and hung
over his shoulder with her bottom high in the air. Her circulation-starved arms prickled
behind her back.

He started stomping out of the room with her.
She struggled in his grasp. Where was her voice? Was she going to let a stranger

just walk off with her? She almost screamed, “Stop!”

He felt her struggling. His hand reached up to calmly stroke her back. His gentle

touch drained the fight from her.

She moaned in resignation, allowing herself to hang limply over his shoulder. She

admitted to herself that she wanted this man to spirit her away and offer her a one-time
forbidden adventure.

He opened the door.
The cool rush of night air made her skin pebble.
He hesitated at the door of the cognac room. His hand tapped restlessly on the back

of her leg. He seemed undecided about to do. After a moment he closed the door,
turned around and marched back into the cognac room.

She felt the heat of the fireplace drawing closer.
He walked up to the room’s central grouping of sofas and dropped her onto the

rounded arm of a leather couch.

She huffed as she landed belly down on the arm of a massive leather couch, sinking

deep into its thick padding. The arm of the couch was at hip level, her ass hovered high
in the air as her toes stretched toward the floor. She tried to roll over.

His hands pinned her shoulders to the couch, preventing her from moving. He

completely unsnapped the back of her leather skirt and pushed the panels aside,
exposing her round ass. He groaned in approval and ran his hands across her naked
curves.

Her mouth went dry when she felt how vulnerable she was bent over the sofa.
His fingertips gently grazed her inner thighs, tracking along a telltale streak of heat

and moisture. He nudged her boots apart and stood between her splayed legs. His
hands locked on to her hips, encouraging her to lift higher.

She rose on her tiptoes, her legs trembling from tension as she held herself in this

provocative position.

He unzipped his pants and ripped open a condom wrapper with his teeth.
The discarded foil wrapper brushed against her leg as it fluttered to the floor.
His breathing got rougher as he rolled the snapping latex down his shaft. He

reached toward her, his fingertips raked a direct line from the nape of her neck, down
her spine, across the curve of her ass, finally disappearing between her thighs into her
warm cleft and gently sinking a calloused finger deep inside her.

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She arched her back, stroking against his plunging finger like a cat begging to be

pet.

He parted her wet lips and pressed the tip of his cock against her, lubricating

himself. He held himself at her opening, getting used to her heat.

She was so slick, there was no denying she wanted it. Her boots made her toes

cramp from holding her weight on them. She reminded herself to breathe.

His hands pressed down on her shoulders, pushing her flat against the cool leather

upholstery.

This position made her feel helpless. God! She was lightheaded from holding her

breath. The blunt head of his cock felt silky but intimidating.

He slowly dragged the sheathed tip of his cock back and forth against her opening,

coating himself in her wetness. His hands almost shook as they wrapped around her
hips and he rubbed himself against her. He growled as he plunged inside her. “Fuck!”

She jolted and bit back a soft cry. The first stroke was harsh. She tried to shift under

his weight.

His hands pinned her firmly against the couch. He stilled and held himself inside

her before plunging deeper.

She couldn’t budge an inch. Her back shivered from the suspense of not knowing

what was coming next. Was he going to be cruel or kind?

He stroked her hips and thrust slowly.
She surrendered to it. Only the first thrust was hell, the next were heaven.
He pulled out completely and sank into her in slow increments. He showed her he

had all the power and all the control. He was the master, he would set the pace. The
fuck would last exactly as long as he wanted it to last. He poignantly showed her he
could do whatever he wanted with her. Thankfully he chose to be gentle.

The fur of her blindfold was wet with cathartic tears. She couldn’t stop crying. The

tears came not from terror nor from pain but from the emotional release of surrender.
She smelled the sharp sexual scent of excitement on his skin. No one could mistake that
scent. It was not sweat, it was not a scent that came from hard work. This scent was
laced with something mysteriously other. She deeply inhaled his scent. Her muscles
tensed, feeling she desperately needed to move against his stroke.

He wouldn’t allow it. He gently pinned her down by the back of her neck and took

short, shallow strokes, choosing to take complete control of her. “I’m not hurting you,
am I?” His voice was a whispered croak.

She shook her head. Her eyelashes flickered behind the blindfold as a ray of

recognition bloomed. Domination. She had always craved it somewhere deep in her
soul. She had always wanted to give up control, stop putting others first and stop being
perfect. She just wanted to be. She was grateful the blindfold hid the shimmering
revelation she knew shone brightly in her eyes. She celebrated by squeezing her
muscles tight as he sank into her.

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He gave a pleased grunt. His hands stroked her shoulders with affection.
She could tell by the twitch of his cock that he was closer to the edge than he

wanted to be. She teased him by wagging her hips from side to side.

He smacked her bottom and abruptly pulled out of her, panting to catch his breath.
A sense of satisfaction spread through her. It pleased her that even in her role as the

submissive, she wasn’t entirely powerless.

He didn’t move far away. He rubbed against her, seemingly starved for her. He

tentatively thrust inside her, groaning, and dared to take a determined stroke or two.
His legs trembled before roaring “Fuck!” in her ear as a burst of fast, uninhibited
strokes overtook him. Now he was in the mood for a deep, fierce fuck and that’s what
he gave her. His body curled over her as he pumped furiously inside her. His balls
slapped the back of her thighs.

His enthusiasm for her was an aphrodisiac. Her own excitement peaked. This man

wanted her and she surrendered to his desire. The blindfold and the cuffs absolved her
of all guilt. For the first time in a long time she was able to completely let go.

His strokes hit a cadence that caused a wrenching spasm to ripple through her.
A flush of heat spread across her chest. An orgasm of unexpected proportions took

her. It hit so hard and fast it shocked her. The contractions pulled at her core. She rolled
her hips to intensify his harsh strokes and bucked against him just to see how high she
could go. Wow, what a climax! And to think she had believed all this surrendering had
been for his pleasure? She wanted to laugh.

The breath hissed out of him. His muscles tensed. He lifted her hips higher as he

pumped himself into her. He continued to stroke back and forth inside her until his
shaking legs forced him to stop.

She moaned and lifted her head. The leather couch beneath her face was damp—

were those tears or had she drooled? God, she hoped she hadn’t drooled! It became one
of those beautifully candid moments when one is reminded that humans are animals.
She wiggled her fingers in the cuffs, wishing her hands were free.

His breathing shuddered. He held himself inside her, hovering over her for what

felt like a long time. He bent down to kiss the curve of her shoulder. The gesture was
surprisingly tender. He smoothed a strand of hair away from her face and checked to
see if her blindfold was still in place before helping her to sit up.

As she did so, a trickle of moisture dripped down her thigh. She suffered a moment

of sinking self-consciousness. Now what? She wanted to speak with the man. Have
some contact with him on a social level. Her throat was dry, she had grown thirsty
standing in front of the fire. “May I have a drink of water?” she asked softly, believing
even a novice would be allowed to ask for something as simple and necessary as water.

The man pulled away from her. He walked toward the fireplace.
She heard the condom sizzle and smelled a whiff of burning latex. Then she heard

the sounds of the man’s shoes walking on the hardwood floor. The weight of his

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footsteps was substantial but muffled. She imagined he wore buttery-soft Italian loafers
with vulcanized heels. She tried to form a clear mental image of the man but got no
further than his muscular V-shaped torso and heavy cock. It occurred to her that he was
still dressed and she was lying exposed on the couch.

He opened a creaking cabinet door and rustled around, searching.
She sat on the couch with her wrists shackled behind her back, listening for the

sounds of others but hearing nothing. It disturbed her that so many people had
abandoned the grounds so completely on what was a scheduled party night. She
worried that something had gone wrong and that she was alone with a stranger. She
knew Noblesword Vineyards was secluded, set a mile or more from the main highway,
but she wondered why she didn’t hear some activity. She dared to ask, “Is anyone else
here?”

The man did not answer.
She heard the hiss of a bottle cap twisting open and water fizzing into a glass.
The man returned to the couch, he held the glass of water to her lips.
She took a cautious sip. It was sparkling water, the rising bubbles stung her nose.

The water’s aftertaste had the faint bite of minerals, but she was thirsty and grateful for
the drink even if it was a bit stingy.

Along with the water, he also brought the plate of chocolate-dipped strawberries.

He held the berries under her nose.

She inhaled the berries’ heavenly scent, favorably impressed that he had thought to

offer them to her.

The man chuckled softly when her nose twitched eagerly at the scent of the

strawberries. He held a berry to her lips.

She felt the coolness of the strawberry a micrometer from her lips. She opened her

mouth to take it.

He pulled the berry slightly out of reach and made her tongue search for it.
She leaned forward, her tongue darted through the air like a snake, scenting for

prey.

He laughed gruffly. Her reactions amused him. He kissed her before letting her

have a taste of the strawberry.

The chocolate-dipped strawberry was delicious. She drank in its extravagant dark

sweetness as if it were the last thing on earth she would ever taste. Her heightened
emotional state and the blindfold greatly intensified the sensation.

He reached over to lick a trickle of juice from her lips. Then he fed her several more

berries just so he could kiss the juice from her lips.

She kissed him, tasting the chocolate and strawberries on his breath. Her tongue

flicked a bit of chocolate from his lips, like an eager hummingbird searching for nectar.

He stroked her hair and kissed her softly between bites of strawberry.

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She began to relax with him and enjoy his gentle attention. He seemed to be

gauging her mood.

Abruptly, he pulled her off the couch and forced her to kneel in front of him on the

sheepskin rug with her wrists still clasped behind her back.

Her knees sank into the thick, furry rug.
He remained seated on the couch with his knees splayed wide on either side of her.
His sudden actions surprised her. His air of relaxed gentleness instantly

evaporated. She took a deep breath. Now what? She felt him studying her. She settled
into the sheepskin rug, trying to get comfortable. Her tall boots protected her knees, but
her toes curled sharply under and cramped in this position as she stalwartly held still.

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her toward him.
Her corseted breasts jutted upward and bumped against his pant legs.
He made her hold that pose so he could enjoy looking at her. His hands skimmed

lightly over her breasts, as if deciding how best to put them to use.

Her pulse raced, fearing the return of the clamps.
His fingers began to casually toy with her. He started softly but soon he was

drawing her nipples out with a tugging, rhythmic motion.

She deliberately whimpered, wanting him to know how much she dreaded rough

treatment.

Her whimper was punished with a firm pinch that left her breast feeling hot and

heavy.

She gasped. A clamp would have been less painful. Did he mean to be cruel? She

wished she could see his face. She was no longer certain the man was Raphael. He felt
older, more experienced in the way he was handling her. She heard the metallic grind
of his zipper sliding down.

He hooked his arm around her waist and dragged her to the edge of the couch. He

pushed her shoulders back farther, forcing her breasts even higher. His hands reached
for her breasts, stroking their rounded under-curves with his fingertips.

She shivered from his acquisitive touch, knowing that he was studying her with

intensity. Raphael had mentioned he liked whipping tits, perhaps this man did too. Her
shoulders rolled forward protectively.

He stopped her. He made her straighten her spine and raise her chin up. His hands

lifted her breasts and pressed them together until they formed a soft valley he could
bury himself in. He began to rub the head of his cock between her breasts.

She felt his hard flesh bumping against her nipples, a drop of fluid moistened her

skin.

She arched backward to give him better access, digging her fingertips into the

sheepskin rug for balance.

He groaned, taking short, fast breaths as he stroked himself into her soft cleavage.

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She heard his excitement mounting.
He dragged the tip of his cock against her nipple until her nipple stiffened. The tip

of his cock wept a drop of hot liquid onto her, which he massaged into her skin. He
lifted her breasts and sank between them with a stifled sigh.

She prepared herself to offer her body this way. She waited for his cock to pump

against her and drench her breasts in cum. She wished she could see his face as he did
it.

He bent down to kiss her mouth. His kisses still tasted of strawberries. His hand

cupped the back of her neck as he held her against him.

She swooned backward.
His kisses were fierce. His tongue demanded she open for him. His kisses became

increasingly aggressive, his teeth gently nipped her lip.

Her bottom lip buzzed where he had gently nipped her. The warm sensation left

her acutely aware of how easily she could be dominated.

His hand slid to the back of her head and gently guided her head downward. He

led her facedown into his lap and thrust his hard cock into her mouth.

She let him slide between her wet lips. Her warm mouth closed tightly around him.

He was thick and he felt right, she liked thick cocks. His cum tasted slightly salty. She
held him in the wet grip of her mouth, swirling her tongue across his crown.

Sounds of immense pleasure escaped his lips.
It felt good to be desired this way and to give so much pleasure to someone

appreciative. Her slick mouth slid down his shaft while wishing her hands were free to
caress him.

He held her tight, encouraging her to take him with slow, shallow strokes.
She took her time with him, taking victorious pleasure in his every uttered sound.
He sank deeper into the couch, melting under her touch. He lightly tapped the side

of her breast until she reached a tempo he liked.

She felt like a pony being told to “Giddy up!”
When he was convinced she was fully cooperating, he released his grip on her and

let her find her own best position to take him.

She pressed her body between his legs, depending on him for balance.
His long arms held her close as she bent over him. His chest labored. He panted and

bucked his hips on the couch.

He felt hot and heavy in her mouth. As she sucked his cock, he seemed to grow

impossibly hard. Perhaps it had just been too long since she had held a hard cock
between her lips. She let her lips get extra wet.

He thrust with abandon against the tight circle of her lips. He was losing control.
She took him deeper. She loved the sneaky feeling of control she had over him.

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He didn’t warn her he was coming. He simply thrust his hips forward and pumped

himself into her mouth with an explosive stroke.

She nearly gagged as a flood of hot liquid filled her mouth. She usually spit cum

out, which always left Jeff frowning, but today she rolled it over her tongue and
swallowed all of it, enjoying its complicated bitter-tinged taste.

He gently stroked the sides of her face, encouraging her to swallow it all. It seemed

to please him that she did.

He pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her in an enveloping hug.

He wiped the side of her mouth with his sleeve, nuzzled her throat and released a deep
sigh as if he were thoroughly spent.

She assumed he was finished with her. She had enjoyed him. It surprised her that

she could surrender so readily to a stranger. Perhaps she was a submissive after all and
she had been right to explore her options at Noblesword.

He slumped low on the couch, holding her to his chest. His breathing slowed, he

sounded like he was falling asleep.

She cuddled against his broad chest and tried to rub the blindfold off her face.
He noticed what she was doing and stopped her. He put the blindfold back in

place.

Then he began to doze off while leaning against the arm of the couch.
She shifted uneasily on his lap. If she tried to move off his lap even a millimeter, he

grabbed her and pulled her back into place.

He kept his arms wrapped tight around her as he dozed on the big leather couch.

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Chapter Five

The bell tower chimed the eleventh hour.
She lifted her head from the man’s shoulder when she heard the hollow boom of

the bells echoing through the empty hallways.

The man roused from his brief nap at the sound of the bells. He immediately

checked her blindfold to make sure it was still in place. When he was satisfied that it
was, he lifted her off his lap, retrieved her novice’s cape and draped the cape around
her shoulders.

After lying against the heavy silk of the man’s shirt, the raw, nabbed fabric of her

cape felt especially itchy.

The man hovered over her for a moment before scooping her into his arms.
She was startled by his actions. Her wrists were still cuffed behind her back. She

wanted her arms freed so she could hang on to him. Her weight shifted chaotically in
his arms. She wanted to shout, “Don’t drop me!” But she held her tongue.

He had a secure hold on her and ferried her easily out of the cognac room.
As soon as they moved away from the fireplace, she felt the chill of the night air on

her skin. She smelled the clean, almost medicinal scent of rosemary and lavender and
assumed they were walking through the desert courtyard. She gratefully pressed
herself against the man’s warm chest because the evening temperatures had grown
much cooler.

He brought her to a room off the main arcade and pushed the door open with his

foot.

She heard the rustic creak of a timber door opening and knew they must be on the

far side of the arcade where the original monastery once stood.

He carried her into the room and tossed her down on a mattress.
She sank onto the bed. The springs of the firm mattress squeaked under her weight.

She heard the click of an iron bolt sliding into place as he locked them both inside the
room. She perched on the edge of the mattress, shivering from nerves and chill. Now
what?

He casually strolled through the room, opening drawers, closing drapes and

turning down the sheets.

The room smelled like clean laundry, reassuring and fresh. She waited with her

head bowed, unsure of what was coming next.

He walked into the bathroom and peed into the bowl with the door wide open.

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She huffed in disgust at the lack of consideration. For some prudish reason this

action shocked her.

He was a tall man and he created a big splash. He pissed on and on.
She imagined that substantial splash was traveling outside the bowl. How could it

not? Was he distracted or just sloppy? She instantly pictured a mess. How arrogant, she
thought. He assumed the poor maids at Noblesword would clean up the splash. Her
husband Jeff did things like that and she concluded this was universal bad behavior in
men. She almost commented but stopped herself when she realized she couldn’t see a
thing and she was making assumptions based purely on her experience with Jeff.

He ran his hands under the water then he came back for her. He held her by the

elbow and guided her toward the bathroom.

She could barely walk on her high heels. The corset was crushing her, and she now

realized that she truly needed to pee. She wanted to be alone. She did not want to play
kinky games. As she blindly shuffled into the bathroom, the toe of her boot kicked into
the toilet bowl. “Ooww!” A jolt of pain raced through her cramped foot. She tottered
backward on her heels.

The man caught her before she fell. He unfastened her cape and removed her

leather skirt. His hands lovingly traced across the bare skin at the top of her thighs.

She knew she was breaking the novice’s rule of silence, but neither Miss Chantal

nor Pyra had even mentioned the rule to her. “Please, may I be alone for a minute?” In
her mind a personal boundary had been crossed.

The full reality of this evening caught up with her in an instant. A lump rose in her

throat. She had allowed a complete stranger to have sex with her and to her knowledge
that stranger had absconded with her—unsupervised and unnoticed. He could use her
for God knew what for God knew how long. For all she knew, this man was a valet or
chef with no rights whatsoever to be doing what he was. Her original plan to come here
and snoop had really gotten out of hand. Was she really this soul broken and this
desperate to know who she was? Fresh tears trickled down her cheeks from beneath the
blindfold.

He saw that she was crying and blotted her tears with a towel. He was very tender

with her and softly kissed the top of her head.

His gesture made her feel small in a sweet way, like a child being kissed on her first

traumatic day at school. In many ways Noblesword was a school, and she really needed
to cry on her first day.

He wrapped his arms around her in a warm bear hug. He held her while she

finished crying.

The shed tears were cleansing. The black fur that lined the blindfold was soaked.

She could not believe how many personal boundaries she had already broken in a
single evening. The residues of fear and old anxieties washed away with the tears.

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He helped her blow her nose with a tissue. He unhooked the wrist restraints that

held her arms behind her back. He tapped lightly on the side of her blindfold. “I know
it’s damp but the blindfold stays put.”

She froze when she heard his voice. For a second he sounded so familiar. His voice

was less hoarse than an hour ago. He sounded identical to one of the men in the cognac
room. At least she knew this man was a Noblesword member and hopefully
trustworthy, but he was still a stranger.

He left her alone in the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
She hiccupped a tearful breath and leaned against the sink for support. At the same

moment the bathroom door closed she lifted the blindfold. The bathroom had a dimmer
switch, which had been turned very low, but her eyes still smarted from the sudden
flood of soft light. She realized he had known she would peek and had been thoughtful
enough to turn the lights low to lessen the shock of lifting the blindfold.

She laughed quietly. She had been caught playing an odd game of “I know you

know” but all she really knew about this man was he was tall, probably from a western
state, and he was more sensual than sadistic in his style of domination.

She looked around, the bathroom was well-appointed with rustic stone floors and a

stone vessel sink with a waterfall-like spigot. The room reflected its humble monastic
origins, but she knew these bathroom fixtures cost a fortune.

There was a sunken tub and steam shower. Every hard surface of the bathroom was

covered in brown stone except for a skinny row of glassy pear green tiles that outlined
the rim of the tub. A translucent block of jade green soap lent some color to the brown
stone decor.

It was difficult to sit down wearing five-inch heels. Her ankles wouldn’t flex. She

found it hard to gauge the distance between her and the toilet seat and the last two
inches were a sudden drop. She sighed in relief as she settled down on the seat and
peed in peace. The fact the man had honored a boundary this small when she had asked
helped put her mind at rest.

She immediately felt ridiculous about being reluctant to pee in front of him. Why

had she drawn the line at peeing? Peeing was a big nothing compared to handing
herself over to a stranger. She had been much more vulnerable to him and all the other
gentlemen in the cognac room. She marveled at the quirks of feminine consciousness.
Some boundaries were so arbitrary one had to ask, “Where the hell did those
boundaries come from?”

She opened a burlwood cabinet to snoop. She loved snooping. The cabinet was

stocked with everything one would need for a weekend getaway. Its contents
resembled a luxury drugstore. There were condoms and lubricants of every description,
French soap, new toothbrushes, several choices of toothpaste, lotions, shampoo, even
cosmetics.

She heard the man fumbling around outside the bathroom door. A startled little

gasp whistled out of her. She felt a wave of guilt. She was a snoop and she was going to

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get caught. He would know with certainty that she had removed her blindfold. She
quietly closed the cabinet door. The rustic hinge on the cabinet creaked, her teeth grit at
the incriminating sound. She decided she had better not dally. She quickly washed her
hands, splashed some water on her face and swished some herbal mouthwash through
her mouth before sliding the blindfold over her eyes. She let the edge of the blindfold
ride up so that she could peek out.

She carefully opened the bathroom door. She was able to peek through the gap at

the base of the blindfold. She saw that the curtains were drawn and the bedroom was
dark.

He was waiting for her beside the door.
All she saw of him was his gray tweed trousers and a pair of brown leather loafers.
He immediately reached over to check her blindfold. He knew what she was up to.

He slid the blindfold snugly into place.

She sighed as her world went black again.
He fussed with the blindfold until he was satisfied that she could see nothing then

he led her toward the bed.

She wobbled across the pile carpet in her tall boots, disappointed that she had not

seen the slightest glimpse of his face. Well, at least she had been right about the Italian
loafers.

He walked her to the edge of the bed and beckoned her to sit down on the mattress.

The bed been had been fitted with adjustable restraints. He took hold of her wrists and
gave each wrist a gentle kiss before securely cuffing it to the headboard. His actions felt
natural, deliberate, and were completely matter-of-fact.

She didn’t think to stop him until it was too late. Her wrist cuffs rattled against the

headboard.

Before she could protest, he quickly secured her ankles to the posts at the foot of the

bed. He left her in a relaxed spread-eagle position and walked to the far side of the
room.

She heaved a labored breath and tugged against the restraints, which held tight. She

was completely trapped. She tested her bonds, discovering she could move only a few
inches in any direction. Why was she letting him do this? She lay spread-eagle, feeling
terribly exposed.

He opened a drawer.
She heard the rustling sound of magazines sliding against each other.
He turned on the radio and surfed up and down the dial, searching for an

acceptable channel. Staticky music crackled through the air. The first radio station that
came in clearly was an eclectic station playing 1950s jazz classics. He settled for that.

She heard the swift sizzling scratch of a wooden match being struck and sniffed an

acrid whiff of sulfur.

He walked around the room, lighting a few candles.

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She exhaled an anxious breath. What was he up to? She smelled the fresh scent of

pink grapefruit candles. She usually loved the scent of pink grapefruit for its calming
effect, but tangy fruit wasn’t doing its job to calm her now. She was getting extremely
nervous lying here spread-eagle. Nothing could override her rising sense of anxiety.
She writhed on the mattress, constantly testing the tension on the cuffs.

He abruptly plopped down on the edge of the bed, making the mattress bounce

under his falling weight. He plumped some pillows behind his head and picked up a
magazine. The glossy pages of the magazine made a crisp, crinkling sound as he
leisurely thumbed through it.

She listened incredulously as the pages of the magazine turned. Apparently he was

relaxing with his feet up on the far side of this king-sized bed. What the hell was that
about? Was he really reading a magazine? She was lying vulnerable, spread-eagle on
the bed, and he was reading a magazine. She was both insulted and worried. What did
he have planned for her? Tense anxiety rose in her throat.

The pages of the magazine stopped turning. He settled into reading a lengthy

article as the minutes slowly ticked past.

She nervously bit her lip, her muscles tensed. She couldn’t stand the suspense of

lying here not knowing what was coming next. Her mind wandered toward the
incident in the cognac room. She felt a rush of heat when she remembered the feral
sounds this man made when he came. His need had been fierce. He had made her feel
wanted—possessed. She felt randy and wished she could squeeze her thighs together.
She jerked against the ankle restraints but they only gave an inch. She listened carefully
to the man’s breathing and unconscious muttering as he read, honing in on every tiny
sound he made. He became the sole focus of her attention. She unconsciously held her
breath as she listened to him and lay still, wondering what he would do next.

He snapped the magazine in the air to straighten the page.
She flinched in alarm like a guilty dog that heard a newspaper being rolled up.
He readjusted the pillows behind his head and lay back. His breathing was relaxed.

He continued to read quietly.

She didn’t trust the calm. Every muscle in her body coiled tight. This situation was

too strange. How much suspense could she take? The tension along her spine crackled.
She shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position, but there was none to be had.
He was a big man who took up a lot of room on the bed. She was staked down,
anything could happen. How long could she stand this? What was he going to do to
her?

He huffed in disgust. His fingers dashed against the magazine page. Apparently he

had read something he disagreed with.

She had heard that reaction before. Jeff did that kind of thing. He shouted at the

television screen when someone said something stupid or strangled books when he
didn’t like what he had just read. She realized Jeff was an idiot and she was better off
without him.

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He crossed his ankles and let one heavy leg fall across the other.
She focused on his every movement. The thought drenched her in erotic heat and

her soul cringed. How could this possibly be a turn-on? She reminded herself he could
do anything. This could easily get out of hand. She arched off the mattress, feeling the
telltale moisture seep between her thighs. The headboard creaked. How did she get
herself into so much trouble? The truth flooded her mind, this was Jeff’s fault! His
irresponsible actions had driven her to do this.

The man set the magazine down.
She gasped. This was it! He was going to pounce on her and use her in his own

brutish way.

He switched the radio station over to a classic rock channel. A moody guitar vibe

filled the room. He rearranged the pile of fluffy pillows and calmly went back to
reading his magazine.

She exhaled in relief. That was close. She settled back down and listened to the

sounds of her own breathing, along with every other sound in the room.

He continued to read in peace.
She got angry when, minutes later, he became so quiet she wondered if he had

fallen asleep. She tugged irritably against her wrist restraints, making the hardware
clatter against the headboard. She made no effort to be quiet. If he was asleep, God
damn it, she wanted him to wake up!

He reached over and slipped a finger under her restraints to check if they were too

tight. They weren’t, so he left her alone.

She pouted. He hadn’t been asleep. He was ignoring her. An epic guitar solo

started, which she usually loved, but tonight it was just tedious. An eternity was
passing in this vulnerable position. She got angry waiting for something to happen.

Suddenly he bolted off the bed. His feet hit the floor with force. He stood and

whipped his leather belt from around his waist. The belt made a tearing swoosh through
the air as he yanked it free of his belt loops. He snapped the belt above her head with a
startling crack!

“Aaah!” she squealed. Her body stiffened and arched off the mattress. The crack of

the recoiling leather belt put every nerve on high alert. Her hands balled into fists. Tears
sprang from her eyes.

He made a low, pleased sound over her intense response. He set the belt beside her

on the bed where she could feel it. He leaned over her and stroked a lazy finger against
her freshly trimmed slit.

Her body trembled at his exploring touch.
He gently blew a warm puff of air across her thighs so she would know exactly how

close he was. His fingertips strayed between her thighs and discovered her wetness. He
slid a slick finger inside her.

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She sighed. Her muscles tensed. She was so wet she could no longer keep that a

secret.

He pressed his broad hand against her sex and let his fingertip sink into her.
Her back arched off the mattress, welcoming the penetration and the all-consuming

feeling of possession it brought. She hadn’t fully appreciated the true nature of her
tension until he slid a curled finger deep inside her and began to stroke her with its
blunt tip, the spark inside her bloomed into an inferno.

While his fingers stroked inside her, his thumb glided in teasing circles above her

mons but deliberately denied her clit the satisfaction of being touched.

Her body strained upward, feeling utter frustration, but she could only move an

inch or two in the right direction.

His hands pinned her hips to the mattress. His mouth plunged down on her and his

tongue flicked at her clit before pressing down with a suctioning kiss.

She moaned and squirmed. Her fists balled so tight, her fingernails bit into her

palms. She was so sensitive, it was almost unbearable, but she raised her hips, giving
him permission to go harder.

He slid his hands under her bottom and lifted her upward. His big hands cupped

the soft curves of her ass and pulled her against his face. His mouth was warm and wet
as he buried his face between her thighs with a flicking tongue.

The slight stubble on his jaw rasped the tender skin of her inner thigh, but he still

felt wonderful. It had been so long, months of unspent pent-up passion came roaring
forth.

His tongue swirled over her and his lips pressed down on her clit in a wet, elegant

caress.

She was so sensitive she could hardly stand it. She frantically tugged against the

restraints, which held her tight. Hysterical little sounds bubbled out of her mouth. She
noted that he probably should have gagged her to keep her quiet. Joy, tension and the
release of terror rolled through her. For a moment she thought she might burst into
laughter but held back, fearing he would not understand her bizarre behavior.

Two long fingers slid deep inside her, gently coaxing her to ride his hand and come

for him.

She thrashed against the restraints, feeling completely exposed and knowing he

was watching her every reaction. This was too much, she had no control! She struggled
but there was absolutely nothing she could do to hold back the orgasm that grabbed her
and made her moan as she thrust her hips against his mouth and wet fingers. A wave of
pleasure tingled on the soles of her feet and rose toward her thighs.

“Come,” he growled, pressing his tongue against her.
Her body shook, her stomach buckled. A warm flush spread across her chest. He

wanted her to come and she came! It was as if he owned her. She gave in to the wet
warmth of his mouth as a voluptuous release washed through her. She lay stunned,

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panting shallow little breaths as the last hot ripples rolled over her. She barely moved,
allowing her body to fall into an erotic stupor.

He took advantage of her immobility. He quickly undid her restraints and flipped

her onto her belly.

She didn’t have time to register what he was doing. She felt like a rag doll rolling

over.

He was strong and he worked fast. He secured her facedown in the spread-eagle

position.

Before she realized it, he had already tucked three pillows under her hips, leaving

her bottom pitched high in the air. By the time she thought to struggle, she realized she
was once again completely trapped and this position was so much worse.

He made her kneel like this with her back arched and her hips raised high. His

hands stroked across her round hips.

She got goose flesh when he dragged his calloused fingers across the smooth skin of

her buttocks.

He spanked her ass with a single sharp swat, letting her know how vulnerable she

was, before stepping away from her.

She jolted from the swat but quickly refocused her attention on what he was doing.

She tipped her head to the side to better hear what he was going on behind her back.

His fingers fumbled to unbutton his shirt. He slipped his shoes off and kicked them

across the floor. The loafers smacked against a sideboard with a heavy thud. He picked
up his leather belt, flexed and snapped it in the air, making a threatening sound.

Her body quivered, horribly aware that her bare ass was wagging in the air.
He held the belt in front of her face.
She flinched as she sniffed the warm leather held under her nose, worrying about

what he might do with it.

He tauntingly slid the tongue of his belt over her shoulder and down her back,

dragging the leather across the rounded curve of her ass.

She tensed, terrified he would use the belt to strike her. Then she felt the tongue of

the belt stroking the tender skin of her inner thighs and shuddered at the belt’s
menacing touch.

The tip of the belt traveled toward her anus. He teased that sensitive spot with tiny

flicking strokes of the belt’s leather tongue.

Her body went rigid, feeling as if this were the greatest invasion of all. She

considered shouting for help but her mouth remained curiously quiet.

His seemed fascinated with her ass. His thumbs massaged her buttocks. His open

palm gave her butt another light slap.

She jumped in alarm.
Both his hands grabbed hold of her buttocks and squeezed the firm flesh.

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She writhed beneath him, terrified and excited by his actions.
He bent down to kiss the dimples on the small of her back. He kissed each dimple

slowly and reverently as if she were an object of veneration.

She felt his warm breath on her back as he rubbed his face against her skin. The

head of his cock poked against the round flesh of her ass. Clearly he wanted to enter
her. The sensation was exciting, it felt taboo and out-of-bounds. Her body stiffened. She
began to panic when he pressed the blunt head of his cock against her opening. She
blurted out, “I’ve never done that before!”

She gulped down her words, mortified that she had spoken. Now she would have

to explain herself. Anything to do with her ass had always been off limits or self-
consciously submitted to. There had been no spanking, though it held great appeal in
her mind, and definitely no anal. She knew this was not a professional Noblesword
attitude to take. Her lush bottom was a haunted place. Her mother’s sense of propriety
and her sister’s teasing still reigned there. A thousand dirty jokes filled her mind.

When she and Jeff were very young and still in college, Jeff had tried to plunge into

her backside without warning and without lubricant. It had been a horrible experience.
Jeff had barely penetrated her when her enraged shouts brought him to a halt. She
swung around and gave Jeff such an accusing look that the matter was never seriously
discussed again. It was ironic that her first hurtful thought when she discovered the
credit card receipts for Noblesword Vineyards was Jeff is probably enjoying someone else’s
ass.

She felt frozen as if she might start crying again. A sigh rattled out of her chest.
The man’s calloused hands reached out to reassuringly caress her hips. He bent his

head and kissed the rounded top of each cheek.

She felt herself squirming under his attention as his warm lips kissed her skin.
His thumbs strayed into the tiny dimples above her ass and explored them. He

seemed fascinated with these delicate details as his breathing sped up.

She wondered if this was “Mr. B”, whom Pyra had mentioned rewarded cushy

bottoms with diamonds.

He reached past her and slid the nightstand drawer open.
She heard him retrieve something from the drawer that buzzed softly. She

nervously tugged against her restraints.

He lifted her hips higher on the stack of pillows. His thick fingers tucked a buzzing

egg-shaped vibrator deep inside her wet pussy.

She bit her lip as the sleek little vibrator slid easily inside her. She felt its faint hum

all through her lower body.

He used a remote control to turn the vibration up a notch.
She felt completely on the spot as the tiny egg hummed gently inside her and her

ass wiggled in the air.

He kept the vibration level turned low.

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She wished he would turn it up! The feeling was subtle but exquisite. She ground

her hips shamelessly against the stacked pillows. Pleasure had trapped her and she
melted over the pillows without further complaints.

He was an expert tease. He let her lie there buzzing softly as his hands tenderly

drifted over her ass.

As the erotic heat built inside her, she realized she was willing to let him go a little

further.

He seemingly read her mind. He gave her bottom a playful smack before

disappearing into the bathroom to open a cabinet door.

She heard the familiar creak of the rustic door hinge over her own soft buzzing. One

would think that in a swank place like this someone would squirt a little oil on that
rusty hinge.

He padded back toward the bed.
She heard the snap of a plastic cap opening.
He drizzled a thin cascade of viscous liquid over her ass.
The liquid was cool and thick and didn’t soak into her skin.
He spread the lubricant over her entire bottom. It was as thick as motor oil and

smelled of lavender. He spread it around in wide circles until her skin was absolutely
slick with it. His hands surfed over her, sliding across her curves. He rubbed the
lubricant over her haunches in slow circles, feeling her roundness with his hands. When
he was satisfied her bottom was well-oiled, his broad hand delivered a sharp slap.

“Whoa!” Her body stiffened. She yelped more from the surprise of the sound than

the force of the slap.

His breathing sped up. He obviously wanted to spank her and warm her skin. He

wanted her bottom to turn pink under his hand. He cupped his hand and spanked the
roundest part of her butt.

“Ouch!” Her skin began to warm. Her bottom smarted from the smack. She knew

she was blushing as the rising heat crept across her face. She knew she shouldn’t be
letting him do this, it could get out of hand too easily. This was too dangerous,
ridiculous, intimate and primal.

He rubbed his hand in slow circles to soothe her. His hands lifted her hips higher

before spanking her again. Smack! His hand swatted the soft curve where her rump met
her thigh. Smack! His big hand chose its target carefully, making her flesh bounce under
his palm.

She gasped indignantly between swats, but she didn’t feel indignant. She was just

startled by how fast the blood raced to her core. She ground her forehead against the
bedspread as the sensation rippled upward. She was afraid to even question the dark,
erotic place this act brought her to. She tugged against the restraints, startled by the
intensity of her reaction. She imagined what she looked like with her glossy ass thrust
high into the air.

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He spanked her until she tingled and a warm, pleasurable sensation began to build.

She tugged against the cuffs, feeling embarrassed for squirming so badly under his
determined hand.

He abruptly stopped the spanking and hovered over her.
Her skin was glowing hot. She heard him panting quietly behind her.
He reacted strongly to the sight of her slick ass jiggling in the air. He took his cock

in his hand and drizzled more lubricant on himself. He slid his hardness across the
curves of her slippery skin.

Her nerves danced when she felt his first probing touch.
His breathing deepened. He clutched her hips, pulling her toward him.
She felt the underside of his cock glide over her the top of her ass. He made a gentle

sawing motion back and forth between her round cheeks, teasing her anus. A touch of
fear and an odd excitement rang inside her.

He made deep, pleasured sounds as he aggressively rubbed himself against her ass,

leaving no doubt about what he wanted to do to her.

She knew he wanted her ass and there was nothing she could do about it.
He plumped the pillows beneath her, lifting her hips even higher. He tore a condom

wrapper open and rolled the latex down his shaft. He let the head of his cock bump
against her anus to warn her that she would be taken. A slick thumb began to probe
her, pressing against her tight ring of muscle.

She flinched at the slight invasion. “I’ve never…” she timidly reminded him.
His thumb continued to circle her anus. He drizzled more lubricant on her and his

thumb slid easily inside her.

She tensed at having this almost virgin part of her taken.
He held his thumb inside her and let her become accustomed to being stretched. He

turned up the vibration level of the egg.

A thrill shot through her as the vibrations intensified. Her hips bucked

involuntarily. She impaled herself on his thumb, letting her hips rock slowly against his
hand. When he slid his thumb from her body, she clutched at it longingly, wanting to
be filled again. She was extremely proud of herself that she had been able to go that far.

He grunted softly in approval and coated himself with more lubricant. The slick tip

of his cock rubbed against her ass. He excited himself by stroking himself against her
slick skin. He pressed so close to her, his balls bumped the back of her thighs. He tested
her and pressed the head of his cock against her. He wanted to get inside her. His
breathing became shallow as he guided the thick head of his cock to her opening and
pressed down.

She tensed at the pressure on her tight ring of muscle that didn’t want to give. Her

wrists twisted in the restraints, afraid of the pain but curious.

His hands coaxed her to relax. One of his hands slid to the back of her neck and

held her still while he positioned himself to penetrate her. His fingers gently stroked the

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nape of her neck as if he were stroking a cherished pet. He knew she was scared, and he
was careful with her. He used his other hand to carefully guide himself inside her. The
head of his cock was too thick to slide in easily. He persistently pressed against her,
waiting for her to relax against his stroke. He was forced to practice patience and self-
control, though he grunted guttural sounds and couldn’t hide the fact he was eager to
penetrate. He drizzled more lubricant on himself and pushed the head of his cock past
her threshold. His cock twitched erratically at being caught in her tight ring of muscle.

The first stroke hurt. A small cry escaped her lips. Her first impulse was to pull

away from him like a drop of water jumping off a hot griddle, but he held her still
beneath him as the first searing burn passed through her.

He panted above her but did not move as he struggled to keep himself under

control. He let her get used to being stretched. His hand gently stroked the back of her
neck. He pressed down, slowly working his width into her.

She whimpered and lifted her hips, willing herself to relax.
He slid deeper inside her.
She sighed. There was no additional pain for the deeper stroke. In fact it was easily

bearable.

He clutched her hips and held still inside her before taking her with a couple of

long, slow strokes. His hands trembled, and the sound of his pleasure was immense.
The breath hissed out of him when his cock slid across the vibrating egg buried deep
inside her. Its vibrations easily passed through her warm interior. He slowly worked his
length into her, knowing he was playing with fire. He celebrated one particularly deep
stroke by slapping her ass with an open palm.

She meowed a tiny pleased sound to let him know she wasn’t hurt. The initial

burning had crossed into a feeling of forbidden excitement. She slid back against him,
reveling in the sensation of being filled. She felt his thrusts deep inside her, in the
strangest way. His cock bumped against the egg-shaped vibrator. She had never
realized that such a thin layer of silky tissue divided the two parts of her. In her mind
those two parts of her body had always been completely foreign to each other and quite
obviously they were not.

His strokes slowed, his legs trembled.
She knew he was struggling to control himself.
His legs shook from trying to hold himself still inside her. He repeatedly sank deep,

held still and then pulsed his hips against her. He made a gargantuan effort to control
his strokes and not hurt her.

Finally his willpower gave out. “I have to fuck you,” his hoarse voice warned her.

He lifted her hips higher and pinned her to the pillows. He curled over her back. His
thrusts were fast and deliberate.

She ground her hips against the pillows, panting. She tried to ride the wave of

excitement he had built.

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His hips pumped furiously against her. His body jerked as he came. He roared as if

he had been scalded with boiling water.

Her body clutched desperately at the buzzing egg, but it was turned too low to

carry her over the edge, it could only torment her. It could not finish her off. She lay
beneath him, waiting, needing her own release.

He collapsed on top of her. He lay on top of her for many minutes, panting and

stroking her hips. He eventually moved and slid free of her. He walked into the
bathroom to wash up, returning with a warm washcloth to clean her. He was gentle and
careful as he removed the vibrating egg.

She did not give a second thought to his actions. She was his to use tonight and he

had used her masterfully, but she was still on fire.

He unfastened her ankle restraints and unzipped her boots. He rolled the soft

leather down her legs and tugged the boots from her feet.

She wiggled her cramped toes as the boots were tossed to the floor.
His fingers loosened the maze-work of laces on the back of her corset. The air

flowed freely back into her lungs.

He rolled her onto her back but left her wrists cuffed to the headboard and her

blindfold in place. He placed a pillow under her head and helped her drink some water
from a cup.

She was grateful he was being kind to her, but her pussy and her ass were still

burning. She wondered what the hell was going to be done to put that fire out.

He lay on the bed beside her and pulled the covers over them both. He rolled onto

his side and groped under the covers for her breasts. His thumbs circles their hardened
tips.

She hadn’t been allowed to come from their last encounter. She was still flushed

with excitement. He had taken the vibrating egg away too soon. She wanted to beg him
to finish her off, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She was the novice and he
seemed so content.

She said nothing when he reached over and lazily took a nipple into his mouth and

suckled her.

He used her breasts to soothe himself as he fell asleep.
She arched her back as the pulse pounded between her thighs. If she could just

wrap her legs around him and rub against him she might be able to get off and get
some relief, but he wouldn’t let her do that.

He made things worse by swirling his tongue around her nipples and drawing the

sensitive tips out. He went back and forth between her swollen nipples until her breasts
stood in hard, wet points. He fell asleep, letting a wet nipple pop from his mouth.

She lay in the darkness, aching with excitement, her over-sensitized nerves

anxiously awaited release. She tried to squeeze her thighs together, but the man’s leg
looped over hers, forcibly holding her ankles apart. She struggled to bring her thighs

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together or pull her leg out from under his, to no avail. Dear God, she needed to come.
The sheets rasped against the sensitive tips of her breasts. She willfully rubbed herself
against the sheets, wishing she could touch herself and make herself come. She tugged
against the cuffs but she couldn’t reach anything.

The man’s deep breathing quickly turned to soft snoring.
She lay awake, wondering what time it was. She pressed her thighs together,

wishing she could find some relief. She wondered what this taciturn man thought of
her. How often did he do this kind of thing? Did he have any idea how challenging or
how novel this evening had been for her? Probably not, all he knew was that she was
one of the last adult women in North America to try anal sex. Surprisingly, she liked it.
It was yet another way to offer one’s self to a lover.

Anal sex was actually rather wonderful. She realized she shouldn’t have denied her

and Jeff this experience, but Jeff certainly didn’t have this man’s thoughtful finesse. Jeff
was a big man—domineering in personality and sexy as hell to look at, but she had to
admit, as a lover, he had been a bit of an oaf. Half the time he didn’t know what he was
doing. For years he had gotten by on his good looks and her charity. He was
notoriously lazy. He never took the time to hone his skills as a lover. Many of their
nights together had ended with her wondering, “Did I miss something?” That was
when her fantasy life—her secret internal life—began to take shape and dreams of
talented, domineering imaginary lovers who knew how to take charge of her unspoken
desires reigned. She realized Jeff actually knew very little about her.

She was still warm and wet. She wished this man would wake up and want to

make love again. For purely selfish reasons, she wished he would demand his money’s
worth from her.

She tugged against the cuffs, they held tight. She stroked her foot along the man’s

leg, hoping to wake him.

He groaned in his sleep and flopped over.
The man’s actions reminded her of Jeff. She and Jeff could climb into their king-size

bed together and simply not exist to the other. They had gotten good at the game of
“live and let live”. They loved each other without actually bothering to love each other.
It had happened gradually over the span of a decade and little had been said or done to
stem the subtle tides that pulled them incrementally in opposite directions.

This last year had been especially lonely. Her daughter Megan had left for college.

Megan had taken Gwen’s car and personal laptop with her. “Take them—you need
them.” She’d heartily encouraged Megan to rob her of her personal property, proving
beyond doubt she was a submissive masochist after all.

Megan was beautiful, smart and bossy—just like Jeff. She often wondered if she

shouldn’t have dropped out of art college to become a full-time mom. Jeff had not asked
her to, but she assumed he would love her all the more if she did. They were fortunate
enough that both she and Jeff could have completed college. It would have been tough,
but she could have asked for help with independent little Megan. Instead, she had

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chosen to sacrifice her artistic dreams—and then breathlessly awaited the accolades for
her selfless sacrifice, which of course never came.

She had recently come to the realization no one asked to see an artist’s college

degree, they ask to see the art. It wasn’t too late. She could start painting again, she
really needed an outlet for all this unspent creative passion in her life.

Coming to Noblesword had been the right choice. It was ill advised, inappropriate

for a lady of her age and downright foolish. That was exactly why coming to
Noblesword was a perfect idea. It was totally unexpected and out of character for her.
No one who knew her would think her capable of doing such a shocking thing. She was
smugly proud of herself. She had taken herself out of her comfort zone. She had taken it
up the ass with a smile on her face and made someone else happy in the process—take
that, Jeff!

Her heart lurched. What If Jeff found out? Her victorious mood collapsed. She

yanked her foot away from the sleeping man. This would probably blow up in her face
in divorce court, but how convincing could Jeff be calling the kettle black? She had
plenty on him. In fact they could sign the divorce papers in Noblesword’s wine
dungeon if he liked. Jeff deserved that. As soon as he showed his face or came back
from wherever his lawyer was hiding him, she would kick him in the ass with a five-
inch spike-heeled boot.

She smiled in the dark, secretly hoping Jeff would find out about everything and eat

his heart out. She would show him. He wasn’t the only one who could sneak off to play
games.

The man continued to sleep peacefully beside her, his hand drifted around her

waist and pulled her closer.

She felt a sparse line of silky chest hair running down his lean torso. She started to

doze off, obsessing about Jeff. She tried to get off the “Jeff” topic but found it
impossible. Sex and Jeff traveled together in her mind. She had not been a virgin when
she met Jeff. She’d had one sweet but clumsy boyfriend before him. From the first day
they met, Jeff had been the only man in her life, but that fact was sometimes blurred
because her imagination was so vivid and her dream lovers so varied. Her heart
occupied an odd space where her real-world experiences were strictly limited, but her
fantasy-life experiences were vast.

This evening at Noblesword had been a good thing. She had always known this

was who she truly was at heart, but she had been unable to be “this person” in front of
an unappreciative audience. The imaginary moral police had convinced her this sort of
behavior was at odds with monogamous love and motherhood. She was convinced
Jeff’s fantasies and desires did not include her. He loved her but he was bored of her,
and she was bored of him. Their bedsheets chafed from their stubbornness to make
changes in their marriage or talk honestly.

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Apparently, Noblesword had also been good for Jeff. After many years of failing to

coax her onto the playground, he had found new friends to play with. She shouldn’t
have been so surprised.

Her heart ached. Jeff was still so handsome and she was still beautiful. They both

covered the unwelcome gray hairs that appeared at their temples. Their lives had just
passed the cusp of summer, but they could still get away with looking younger than
they were. Too bad they were also getting away from each other.

She finally fell asleep.

* * * * *

She had no idea how long she had been asleep. She awoke with the man’s mouth on

her breasts.

His wet lips tugged gently at her nipples until they stood up for him.
The familiar stab of fire between her thighs roared back to life.
The man rolled on top of her and parted her thighs. He was extremely hard, his

cock reared upward. He rubbed the head of his cock against her until he was drenched
before plunging into her.

She’d awoken with her flesh on fire. She was so wet he slid easily inside her. In her

half sleep it felt like a dream. The man swooped in on her and helped himself to her
body.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and moved slowly, working his thick

cock into her before taking her with a rougher cadence.

Her hips lifted and her muscles clutched at him, fully aroused. She wasn’t about to

lose this opportunity to come. She was determined to not be the partner left stranded on
smoldering sheets, not this time. She pressed herself against him, this time she was
definitely going to come first. She stroked her body wantonly against him, rolling her
hips until her hard little clit was sliding against his shaft.

He realized what she was doing. His hands pinned her to bed. He pistoned in and

out of her, racing her for the finish line.

She bit her lip and arched upward. Her muscles gripped him and pulled him

deeper. She felt her elusive orgasm building. She lifted her hips and bucked against
him, searching for the sweet spot that would push her over the edge. Her body had
been denied release for too long. Another firm stroke or two would easily push her over
the cliff.

His strokes sped up.
Her breath caught, her body buckled, she started to come. A beautiful moment of

satisfaction washed over her as he slid against her wet flesh. She gave in to the pleasure
she’d been waiting for, realizing she won.

They came at the same moment, in a burst of mutual release that climaxed in

laughter.

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The man’s hoarse voice cracked when he laughed.
She laughed too. Her body was still pulsing. She wrapped her legs around his hips,

trapping him on top of her. She rocked gently side to side.

They both gave in to laughter, tangled in the sheets, sharing a moment of joy that

felt so freeing, so intimate.

“Please tell me your name.” She laughed to cover the feeling of risk she was taking.

Instinctively she knew he would not wish to tell his name, but first names were not
against Noblesword rules. Even if the man was married, eccentric, famous, compulsive
or suffering from strep throat surely he could commit to sharing his first name?

He said nothing and pulled away from her.
She felt empty. Her foot brushed his leg as he pulled away. The distance between

them grew cool.

He got up and began to get dressed.
She had offended him or broken a rule of privacy. She shouldn’t have said

anything, now she would be accused of being a snoop.

He set something on the nightstand.
She assumed it was the tip she had earned.
He sat beside her on the edge of the bed and ran his hands tenderly down the

length of her body before getting up and leaving the room. He left her blindfolded and
shackled to the bed as he closed the door behind him.

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Chapter Six

She felt hollow. A stranger had shown her tremendous pleasure, even trustingly

fallen asleep beside her before vanishing into the courtyard. The act had been
completely anonymous, and now it was over. She lay handcuffed to the headboard,
thinking of Miss Chantal’s prophetic words that this job required a lot of acting, but the
emotions felt real. The emotions did feel real. She was in tumult. It hurt her heart to be
left alone cuffed to the bed.

No doubt a great deal of the man’s pleasure stemmed from the fact he could simply

walk away and remain anonymous. She had really misjudged him. She had been so
certain he would tell her his name and remove her blindfold. Now she assumed this
man must be one of Noblesword’s “intense needs” clients who was neurotic, quirky,
famous, married or all of the above.

“Good morning,” a silky female voice greeted her as the door opened. “I apologize

that you were left unattended in cuffs for even several minutes. It will never happen
again.”

The woman walked into the room and opened the curtains. Then she unclipped the

wrist cuffs and removed the blindfold.

Gwen squinted into the dim light of dawn as her blindfold and wrist cuffs were

removed. She sat up with a start. The woman beside her was Miss Chantal. She grabbed
Miss Chantal’s hand to make sure it truly was her.

Miss Chantal looked quite different from yesterday. Her platinum hair was scooped

back in a pert ponytail. She wore matching pink velour sweatpants and a zippered
jacket with no makeup on her glowingly perfect skin. She appeared fresh and cheerful,
she didn’t look like a ghost.

“How did things go last night?” Miss Chantal perched on the edge of the bed. “Our

client was beaming with happiness when he left. He said you were very compliant. He
also said there were a few tears, but Dominants expect and understand that from a
novice. I don’t think it will lower your overall score.”

She felt stricken. Overall score? Was she to be scored on this performance? A shiver

rippled over her shoulders. Then she remembered her suspicions. “Mistress Chantal, I
thought you had an accident last night. I thought you fell from the bell tower.”

“I did!” Miss Chantal squeezed her hand enthusiastically. “Actually I leapt, but I

placed a crash pad beneath the bell tower first.”

Gwen stretched her arms. “It sounded horrible! I thought your appointment had

gone terribly wrong.”

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Miss Chantal’s green eyes widened. “That’s what Scotty was supposed to think.

The illusion of unplanned tragedy added to the excitement. I have to keep coming up
with little twists on what Scotty expects me to do or else he’ll get bored. Last night
nearly did him in, but in a day or two he can have the pleasure of finding me alive and
well wandering in San Francisco. I plan to go the flower market and the Palace of the
Legion of Honor to look at the art. I’m looking forward to it actually.”

Gwen broached her own confused situation. “The man who took me from the

cognac room last night.”

Miss Chantal spoke over her. “Has paid his bill and had our blessing. You were

never in any danger, but admit it, a little danger is fun. You’re a novice, and I really
didn’t know how good your acting skills would be. Some new girls are just terrible,
they’re so eager to act out a cliché. Noblesword is better than that. The experience needs
to feel real with real emotions for both partners. That’s why we are better that a mere
call-girl service. There are enough of those around. You believed the situation was real,
and your client felt the benefit of that. When your heart and your emotions are present,
everything is a lot more fun.” She coaxed Gwen to get out of bed. “But I have to warn
you, you’ll have to learn to turn it on and turn it off. Your client is free to walk away
from you. He pays for that privilege.”

A crisply dressed member of the kitchen staff wheeled a trolley into the room. The

clattering trolley was loaded with fresh fruit, scrambled eggs, whole-grain bagels and a
carafe of steaming coffee. The young man parked the trolley beside Gwen’s bed and left
the room without smiling or saying a word.

Gwen’s stomach growled at the inviting sight and smell of food. She noticed the

wooden pirate chest that contained her car keys, purse and clothing was stashed on the
bottom of the trolley.

“It’s nearly six a.m.” Miss Chantal rose from the edge of the bed. She looked as if

she were ready to go jogging. She leaned forward to stretch her hamstring muscles.
“Your contract is up. You’re free to leave when you’re ready, but you’re also welcome
to stay. Personally, I hope you’ll stay. Why don’t you make your decision after
breakfast?” Miss Chantal cheerfully jogged out of the room, closing the door behind
her.

Gwen walked over to the trolley and sniffed the coffee, it was a rich European-style

blend. Coffee was what she needed, but it would have to wait. She walked into the
bathroom to splash away the last of her melted mascara. She nearly shrieked when she
saw her face in the mirror! Thank God she’d been blindfolded! She looked like a manic
raccoon. Her hair was tangled in the hairpins at the back of her head. She didn’t waste a
moment yanking the hairpins out. How could Miss Chantal look so fresh after a late
night of falling to her death? Obviously there were tricks to be learned. She struggled
out of the corset and found a pair of thick bathrobes hanging behind the bathroom
door. She put one on and went into the bedroom to eat breakfast.

She curled up on the bed with a plate of scrambled eggs and cup of coffee. The

breakfast was delicious. It felt like the most welcome meal of her life. Yesterday while

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preparing to come to Noblesword, she had been too nervous to eat. This morning she
was famished. As she savored her buttered bagel, she had already made up her mind to
stay one more day at Noblesword. Perhaps she could catch a glimpse of her mystery
man.

In her mind, her mystery man was tall, dark and definitely handsome, but that may

not be true. He could be a pockmarked troll and she would still think he was a
wonderful lover. The man had certainly been a refreshing change from what she was
used to. He was sensual, decisive and sexually confident. Lazy old Jeff just couldn’t
compare.

She sipped her coffee curled up on the bed like a cat and noticed a burgundy velvet

box sitting on the nightstand beside her. She knew that burgundy velvet boxes came
from the ultra-chic exclusive jewelry store Armand’s of San Francisco. Her eyes fixated
on the elegant little box, wondering if this was what the mystery man had left behind.
The box had a fortune cookie balanced on top of it. Her heart raced. Of course this is
what he left behind. She grabbed the fortune cookie and crushed it.

The message inside the fortune cookie read Thank you.
She gulped back a tiny sob of emotion. It had been so long since anyone had

thanked her for anything so personal. She stared down at the message, thinking it was a
thoughtful touch. Even if the man turned out to be a troll, at least he was courteous.

She investigated the jewelry box. Despite the box’s good pedigree, her expectations

were not high. It probably contained something generic, not that she was feeling
ungrateful, she just wanted to remain in a sensible frame of mind. She carefully pried
the box open while tamping her expectations down and peeked inside. A matched pair
of sparkling pink diamonds winked back at her. She couldn’t believe it. She held the
diamonds to the light for a thorough examination. Each diamond was more than a
carat. Pink diamonds were rare, and these two were perfect twins. Her pursed lips
released a thin little whistle as she tipped the diamonds into the morning light, shooting
sparks of green and red darted across the bedcovers. Wow!

She took the earrings out of the box and pressed them to her earlobes. She had not

worn earrings for several months. Her pending divorce had left her too depressed to get
dressed up. It took a painful jab or two to relocate the pierced holes in her ear lobes. It
hurt, but it was worth it. She doubted she would ever willingly take these earrings out
ever again. She wondered if these pink diamonds were a gift from the dimple-loving
Mr. B. She decided a little of the Noblesword lifestyle might do her some good.

She wore the earrings into the shower. The shower was difficult to figure out. She

had never operated a waterfall before. She turned on the shower while staring up at the
stone ledge above her head. A wall of cold water dumped down on her. She squealed
and leapt back, waiting for the warmer water to arrive.

She finally figured out the plumbing and enjoyed the wide selection of luxury

products that had been left in the cabinet. She had found two brands of elusive French
shampoo she had heard lavishly praised for years but had never tried. She couldn’t

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decide which to use so she washed her hair twice and enjoyed them both. She did the
same with everything else in the cabinet. The novelty of choice was overwhelmingly
decadent.

She began to wonder what life choices she would make if she decided to stay with

Noblesword. What name or persona would she adopt? She would be free to choose
anything she could convincingly carry off. She could be anyone she wanted be. That
thought alone was absolutely mind-boggling.

She picked up a beautifully scented bar of clear glycerin soap that reminded her of

an apothecary’s herb garden. She rubbed the rosemary-tinged lather over her breasts,
imagining how she must have felt to last night’s mystery man. Her hands skimmed
across her wet curves, she felt lush, soft and comforting, no wonder he had spent so
much time at her breasts, snuggling against her.

Her hands soaped her trimmed pussy. At first she was startled by the feeling of

utter exposure. Her usually bushy pussy had been given a military cut that felt foreign
to her fingertips, which she had not touched until now. Her lathered fingers slid
between the slick folds. There it was—that devilish little clit that caused her so much
agony last night. Last night she would have paid any price to have her hands free to
stroke it. She would have traded anything for the freedom she now had. She pressed
her knuckle against her clit, letting the sensations soar. The image of the men from the
cognac room leapt into her mind. She thought of them crowding around her and all
taking turns fucking her in their own eager way. She realized her ass still ached from
being butt-fucked by a demanding stranger who paid her in pink diamonds. She came
so quickly it was astonishing. Why didn’t she do this in the shower every day?

She was so clean by the time she finally wrenched herself away from the shower it

was ridiculous. The moist steam in the bathroom smelled like a meadow in the south of
France. She used two different flavors of imported toothpaste and went back to sniff the
shampoos and soap again, hoping to commit their fragrance to memory. Why rush an
experience like this? After all, she wasn’t going anywhere today.

She started pawing through the cosmetics. Everything was expensive, sealed and

new, and none of it was familiar to her. There was a Swiss under-eye concealer—thank
God for that. She reached for the concealer first. Perhaps this was Miss Chantal’s secret
weapon? There was a sheer mineral, bronzing powder, a neutral pink lipstick and
glossy black mascara, which was the rival brand of the mascara she usually used.

Today, she would have to skip her usual liquid foundation, powder eye shadow,

contour, etcetera, and it would probably save her half an hour of trouble.

Nearly twelve years ago, some “expert” cosmetics counter clerk had talked her into

a makeup regime that she dared not deviate from. She had honored the professional
beauty makeover as if it were religious doctrine, never to be challenged. She had been
professionally “typed” and ordered never to wear pink in any shade, shape or form.
Though she loved pink and it made her feel good, she resisted the color pink the way a
celibate monk resists flirtatious women.

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She held the Noblesword shade of frosted pink lipstick to her mouth, taunting the

bathroom mirror. She was a “fall” and she was about to willfully smear “spring” on her
lips. The lipstick looked nice. Its light, fresh color was barely there. This was more a
Megan lip-gloss than something she would have chosen for herself. It was not
sophisticated or severe, which was why the shade was perfect for her this morning. The
bronzer took her from “take her pulse” to “healthy glow” in about thirty seconds. She
decided adopting the Noblesword lifestyle was easy.

She went into the bedroom to collect her clothes. She lifted the pirate chest onto the

bed. The chest had been left unlocked. When she opened the chest, she not only found
her own clothes and purse, but also an assortment of casual daywear, identical to the
pink velour sweat suit Miss Chantal had worn. She wondered if the pink sweat suit was
a uniform at Noblesword. There was also a pink bra, panties and white slip-on sneakers
with silvery-pink trim.

Hooray! She slipped the velour pants on and reached for the lacy pink bra. She was

being “forced” to wear pink and that condemning lady behind the cosmetic counter
would never find out about it.

After she was dressed, she stepped out of the doorway of her courtyard-facing

room. The key to her room had been left dangling in the lock. She locked her door and
took a stroll through the Noblesword grounds. She wanted to enjoy the autumn
morning with a brisk walk through the vineyards. She was getting fresh air. She refused
to admit she was snooping.

She walked to the end of the courtyard and immediately veered away from the

vineyards to go searching for the carport. She wanted to find it and see what make of
cars were parked there and divine what she could about the members of the
Noblesword staff.

As she walked along a flagstone path, she saw a crushed Noblesword matchbox

lying on the ground. She picked up the tattered matchbox and stared at it. The
matchbox was identical to the ones she kept finding last spring in Jeff’s pockets. She
remembered the stormy spring day her hired investigator had handed back one of these
Noblesword matchboxes—along with the bad news that Noblesword Vineyards wasn’t
selling wine by the glass.

The personal detective told her everything he had been able to discover about

Noblesword.

She had been shocked. Her world tipped on its side. It was much worse than

hearing Jeff had slept with a coworker at a Christmas party but it meant nothing. This
meant Jeff had grown tired of going without. It meant Jeff had moved forward without
her and made a decisive choice to be happy in his life. He had relieved his boredom
with talented professionals who occupied another realm of existence. He had given in
to living the rich fantasy life she had denied herself—and she hated him for it.

She came down on Jeff like a pallet of bricks. He was locked out of their house that

same day. His personal belongings were shipped to storage. She drained their joint

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bank account and hired a bloodthirsty lawyer who forbade her to communicate with
Jeff for any reason.

Jeff willingly walked away from a successful career as a chemist for a major

pharmaceutical firm. He had no other job that she knew of. The detective followed Jeff
like an aggressive paparazzi, recording Jeff’s every misstep.

Her lawyer and detective hounded Jeff so relentlessly that finally the detective

informed her Jeff had fled the country. She really had no idea where he was currently
living or what he was living on.

Jeff did try to call her but she ignored his phone calls. When he called, she hung up.

Jeff had called Megan several times in the last few months. Megan was a daddy’s girl,
no doubt about it, but even loyal Megan had been shocked by her father’s actions.

Megan had pleaded with her to, “Just talk with Dad and find out where he is”, but

she refused to do any such thing. Besides, her lawyer had forbidden her to accept Jeff’s
calls under any circumstances. Now she didn’t even know where Jeff was. Months later
Megan had hinted to her, “Dad has new business contacts and might be living in
Vancouver.”

She walked up to an airy structure surrounded by twisting oak trees that served as

the Noblesword carport. She looked around guiltily to see if she was being watched.
There was no one in sight, so she crept into the carport to snoop around.

In the far corner she saw the blue sedan she had confiscated from Jeff. Megan had

driven off to college in her dependable little compact car. She had tried to share a car
with Jeff for several months, always feeling as if she were not getting her fair share of
car time. After Jeff’s misdeeds were discovered, in her rage, the first thing she did was
grab Jeff’s comfortable sedan away from him. Jeff loved his cars—he pampered them.
He kept them meticulously clean and was overall very particular about them. She
fervently hoped Jeff was without a car and forced to hitchhike or use public
transportation in Vancouver. She hoped he had to crowd his big frame onto a tiny
corner of a gum-wad-laden bus seat, to sit next to a mad “cat lady” wearing a stained
caftan. She hoped Jeff had to ride a belching bus every day while sitting on wads of
chewing gum, lots and lots of chewing gum.

She sighed. She knew she had to stop thinking vindictive thoughts, it wasn’t good

for her, but it was so difficult not to give in to them. Everything in her adult life was
connected to Jeff. Everything she owned reminded her of what she no longer had. It
was bizarre. She tossed the crushed matchbox into the bushes.

Next to her car was a white van with the words Noblesword Vineyards painted in

gold filigree letters on its side. The back of the van was open and she could see that it
was being loaded with cases of wine.

Next to the white van was a larger catering truck with the same golden lettering

Noblesword Vineyards. We plan special affairs logo on its side. The corner of her lips sank
into a smirk. We plan special affairs indeed.

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Parked next to the catering truck was a tiny, square van that had every inch of its

surface except for the windows painted in psychedelic grapes and naked nymphs. That
side panel read Noblesword Body Care. Ravish the senses.

She huffed. Apparently Noblesword had some legitimate forms of income aside

from being a front for a sexual fantasy boutique.

The carport was filled with an impressive assortment of exotic cars. She knew some

of these cars would require instruction at a professional racetrack to drive them safely.
There were a few non-descript compacts parked on the other end of the carport as well.
There was nothing revealing about them, but one car in particular caught her eye.

A little turquoise-blue vintage sports car was wedged into the corner of the carport.

The side windows of the car were covered with wild stickers depicting snarling tigers,
dragons and voluptuous fairies. She would bet big money this flamboyant little car
belonged to Pyra. It looked like Pyra—bold and fun-loving. She imagined Pyra lavishly
decorated it and drove it to the Burning Man festival, dressed in a butterfly costume.
She felt a sharp stab of envy, wishing she lived a more expressive life.

She turned around and started walking back toward her room. The sun had risen

and was warming the flagstone beneath her feet. As she navigated her way through the
garden’s many twisting pathways, she walked past a beautiful woman perched atop a
boulder amongst the cacti and the sage. The woman had long blonde hair and golden
skin. She looked like a lioness guarding the garden. Her eyes were closed and her face
was tipped toward the low morning sun. The woman was wearing a pink velour suit
identical to hers, but she had unzipped her jacket to expose her golden breasts to the
morning sunlight. She held a bowl of cereal in her serene hands.

Though her eyelids were closed, the woman sensed Gwen’s approach and greeted

her. “Good morning.”

Gwen halted and did a double take. She recognized that soft Swiss accent. This

must be Sherry, the unfortunate minion of the obnoxious Alfred. She stopped to study
the woman in greater detail.

Sherry’s eyes were squeezed shut and her chin lifted toward the morning light like

a flower tracking the sun. She had a beautiful face with light golden skin and broad
cheekbones. She slowly opened her eyes when she realized she was being stared at and
smiled at Gwen, which made the tiny lines around her amber eyes flare into delicate
fans. On her these tiny lines looked like enhancements, the woman looked healthy and
happy as if she smiled all day. “How are you this morning?”

“I’m fine.” Gwen didn’t know how to launch this conversation, considering how

they knew each other. She wondered what she should say next in a situation like this.

Sherry tossed a plastic bag of cereal into Gwen’s hands. “Try it,” she offered. “It is

superior to what you can buy here. I make it myself and always travel with some. I
refuse to eat your fatty American breakfasts.” Her voice was soft and polite but her
attitude sounded terribly arrogant.

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Gwen shook some cereal into her palm and tasted it. The cereal was a type of

toasted muesli with lots of raisins and nuts. It was far better than anything her health
food store was currently offering. “It’s very good.” She had to admit it was delicious,
and there were no frighteningly petrified bits of fruit or nutshells to crack her molars
on.

“The raisins were grown at Noblesword Vineyards,” Sherry explained. “I fell in

love with them when I worked here last year. I had an entire case of these raisins sent to
me in Switzerland.”

“Do you do this full-time?” Gwen broke the polite facade by asking a blunt

question.

The woman looked defensive. “I am who I am all the time, but I am only Sherry a

few weeks each year. The rest of the time I am a chemist for a Swiss cosmetics company,
but it’s boring.”

A wave of jealousy flooded through her. Gwen immediately handed the bag of

muesli back to Sherry. Sherry was beautiful, kinky, well educated and in the same line
of work as Jeff. She could clearly imagine there would be an attraction between the two.
She wondered if Sherry was Jeff’s contact here at Noblesword. Perhaps they knew each
other from work. She could only imagine the depth of conversation those two could
engage in after they were finished with kinky sex. For some reason the thought of Jeff
sharing ideas, respect and conversation with Sherry was as difficult to handle as the
thought of them having sex.

“Don’t even ask.” Sherry raised an imperial hand into the air to preemptively

silence Gwen. “Don’t ask me to describe who was in the cognac room. It’s none of your
business. Miss Chantal has already warned me you are a snoop. I’ll see you later at the
meeting.” She fell silent and returned to her lizard-like sun-worshipping.

What meeting? Gwen stood dumbly, watching Sherry bask in the sun, but the

woman had no more to say to her. After a few awkward moments of silence, she
decided to walk away.

She headed toward the bell tower. Two workmen were deflating a crash pad and

rolling it into a tight cylinder. When she approached them, the men stopped working
and impatiently stared at her until she got the hint and walked away.

She strolled toward the front of the Noblesword compound where a platoon of

delivery vans and catering trucks had pulled into the driveway. She watched as
workmen unloaded acres of white vinyl tent material and aluminum poles. It looked
like the makings of a lavish wedding party until two huge fiberglass statues were
unloaded from the back of an eighteen-wheeler truck. One massive statue was a faux-
stone casting of a bull, the other was a casting of a snarling wolf. She watched in awe as
a team of workmen carried the twin titans to an enclosed patio.

“How’s your investigation going?” A man stepped behind Gwen and placed his

hands on her shoulders.

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Gwen jumped in alarm and spun around. Raphael stood behind her. Her face

flushed with guilt that she had been caught snooping again. Her jaw dropped when she
noticed that Raphael was even more stunning in daylight. He looked like a show horse,
glossy and handsome. He was wearing a pair of tight cycling pants that clearly revealed
an impressive bulge. Her eyes became trapped between his muscular thighs and his
narrow hips. “I was just taking a walk…” Her flustered voice squeaked.

“Sure you were.” Raphael smirked at her. “A quick snoop through the carports, a

brief interrogation of Sherry. I’ll save you some time and trouble,” he pointed to the
trucks and the workmen, “Noblesword’s hosting a celebration fund-raiser tonight. Two
hundred of our Platinum members and investors will be attending. Be sure to take a
nap this afternoon.” His hand possessively squeezed her bottom. “I sure like that ass of
yours.”

She scooted out of his reach. Raphael was certainly flirtatious and forward but he

didn’t feel like the man from last night. His voice and demeanor was completely
different. He was less serious and more playful. She felt certain she could rule him out
as her mystery man.

Raphael laughed at her and pointed her down a flagstone path. “There’s some good

snooping down this path, it leads to the vineyards and the guest houses.” He smiled
knowingly at her, turned around and approached the workmen to help unload the
trucks.

She gawked at Raphael’s heavily muscled, sculpted buttocks as he swaggered away

from her. After a minute of ogling this spectacle, she was finally able to tear her eyes
away and walk down the path he had suggested. The flagstone path took her past a
sunken garden that was partially hidden behind a thick adobe wall. She saw some
workmen setting up a faux-stone altar on a raised patio.

The workmen saw her peeking through an ornamental iron grate. They stopped

working and stared back at her.

She felt self-conscious and walked on.
She walked along the path, under some gnarled olive trees that had dropped their

bitter fruit to the ground and stained the flagstones blackish-purple. She descended
down a flight of shallow stone steps that led to the rolling vineyards.

The vineyards were on a steep slope overlooking the valley. Rows of golden green

arbors undulated across the valley floor.

She left the stone path and started strolling along the clay soil between the rows of

grapevines. It was late September and most of the grapes had already been harvested.
Some of the leaves were already speckled with red and gold. A few of the grapes were
so ripe and blue they almost looked black in the sunlight.

She heard the startling sound of loud snuffling near her feet and jumped back.
A small animal bumped its way out from beneath the vines. The creature was a

tiny, round sheep, no larger than a dog. Its wooly coat made it look like a dirty cotton

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ball scraping around beneath the vines. The little sheep bleated at her and scampered
away on its tiny feet to nibble weeds beneath the grape arbors.

She walked farther into the vineyard. A peacock crossed her path, dragging its

emerald green tail behind him. She held her breath in awe when she saw the bird’s
magnificence in full sunlight.

The peacock confronted her, its tail instantly flared into a shimmering fan, which he

quivered at her in an intimidating fashion.

She leapt backward in surprise.
The peacock spoiled his heavenly iridescent splendor with a shrill, ear-splitting cry.
She covered her ears and went the other way to avoid provoking the irritable bird.
She hurried toward some square adobe buildings.
A black and white Border collie bounded toward her, barking. The overly

protective dog ran circles around her and jumped on her pink velour pants, smearing
them with mud.

The collie flattened itself to the ground, froze and stared intensely at her, waiting

for her to make the slightest move, thus giving him permission to knock her to the
ground. The dog’s assessing amber eyes pinned her to the spot and stared her down.

She froze. Too intimidated to move and horrified by the realization a collie was

dominating her. If she made the slightest movement the dog snapped at her and
scuttled into her path. She was trapped. If she even crooked a finger the dog barked and
crept closer. Raphael was a bastard for telling her to walk this way.

“Brute! Get over here!” Pyra emerged from one of the adobe buildings, clapping her

hands above her head and calling Brute to her side.

The collie scampered toward his mistress.
“I’m sorry, Gwen!” Pyra walked toward her with a big smile on her face. “How did

it go last night? I wish I could have been there, but I had a scene to work in San
Francisco. Come in.” Pyra motioned for her to follow her inside the adobe building.
“Come see what I’m working on.”

She rushed to Pyra’s side, eager for some sanctuary from the cunning dog.
Brute trotted beside Gwen, looking up at her with loving eyes, wagging his tail and

asking for forgiveness.

Gwen reached down to pet the dog and make peace. As she leaned forward, she

noticed Pyra was wearing a pair of sparkling, pink diamond earrings, identical to hers,
tucked amongst the rest of all the other head-shop clutter she dangled from her ear
lobes.

Her heart skipped a beat. A jolt of jealousy gripped her. Her fingers rose to her ear

lobes to make sure her own earrings had not evaporated. Apparently at some earlier
date her mystery man had also rewarded Pyra for her good work. For some deeply
buried reason that stung unbearably.

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Pyra beamed and took Gwen by the hand. “I’d love to show you a project I’ve been

working on.”

She didn’t really care about Pyra’s project. She couldn’t stop staring at the girl’s

pink diamond earrings.

Pyra noticed Gwen staring at the side of her head and correctly guessed what she

was fixated on. Her fingertips brushed against her pink diamonds. “Wasn’t that a nice
little tip to find on the nightstand? At Noblesword, you only get pink diamonds when
you go the extra mile.”

“Yes, it was a nice surprise.” She tensely nodded her head, feeling pure jealousy to

think of her mystery man enjoying Pyra. She certainly wasn’t ready to hear about Pyra’s
“extra mile”. She worried that if Pyra said another word about the earrings, she would
have to tell the girl to shut up.

Pyra led Gwen inside the adobe building, which was an art studio. There were

easels and canvases stacked against all the walls. The paintings were boldly colored
abstract canvases of grape vines with tiny naked ladies hidden among the vines.

“Who’s the artist?” Gwen asked, knowing what the answer would be and feeling an

even greater stab of jealousy.

“Those paintings are mine.” Pyra beamed. “Come over here, this is what I want to

show you.” She beckoned Gwen toward the back of the studio where a furnace glowed
hot orange. She opened the hatch of the furnace and a shimmering wave of heat rose
upward. She slipped a heat-protective shield in front of her face and plunged a steel rod
into the furnace and spun the rod until it collected a lump of molten glass at its tip that
glowed a hypnotic golden yellow.

Pyra plunged the molten blob into the furnace a second time to heat the glass even

further. When the lump of glass turned white, she swung the rod onto a metal table and
rolled the glass back and forth, coaxing it into a smooth cylinder. She repeated the
process several times, cooling the cylinder of glass, scooping more molten glass to its
tip, heating it and rolling it smooth again. The cylinder quickly grew in size. “Can you
guess what I’m making?” Her eyes lit with amusement.

Gwen studied the cylinder of molten glass. “Is it a champagne flute?”
“No, it’s not a champagne flute, it’s a magic flute. It will make you sing a different

song.” Pyra laughed and took a pair of metal calipers and began to pinch and shape the
tip of the molten glass. A few deft touches and some smoothing rolls along the metal
table produced a perfectly shaped phallus. “Now do you recognize it?” She grinned
and pinched the phallus free of its supportive steel rod with a steel caliper. As the
phallus cooled, it flattened a little on the bottom, making it look even more realistic.
“Here is where you get to help.” She picked up the glass phallus with the metal caliper
and placed the phallus in a steel vise.

Pyra called Gwen over to a metal table, which contained dozens of jars filled with

slender rods of colored glass, each as thick as coated wire. She handed Gwen some
protective eye goggles and a small propane torch.

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Gwen slipped the goggles over her head. She stood in front of the metal table,

wondering what would be asked of her. She was surprised to feel Pyra hands brushing
against the back of her waist.

Pyra leaned closer to Gwen until her lips nearly touched her ear, letting her breasts

lightly press against Gwen’s back.

Gwen skin prickled with an odd excitement. Was this girl flirting with her?
Pyra’s thigh bumped against the back of Gwen’s leg as she sandwiched Gwen

between herself and the table.

Yup. She was flirting.
“Standing close makes it easier to instruct you.” Pyra’s voice dropped to a faint

whisper. “Watch.” She picked up a slender rod of purple glass and heated the rod with
the propane torch until it began to bend like a strand of boiled spaghetti. She brushed
some adhesive flux onto the glass phallus and let the melted thread of glass drizzle onto
it in a lazy spiral. The melted glass fused onto the surface of the phallus. She then
softened the edges of the spiral with a blast of heat from the torch.

Pyra looked up from her work. “Do you think you could do this?” She searched

Gwen’s face for clues, assessing her confidence level and interest. “I have quite a lot of
these to finish before noon.”

Gwen looked around the art studio. It was thrilling and intimidating to be there.

“I’ll try. Do I need protective gloves?”

“No, but you’ll have to be careful. Touch with the calipers, not with your hands.

Gloves are not any safer for this kind of work, by the time you feel the heat on your
glove you’re irretrievably burned. If your hand feels warm set everything down.”

Pyra wrapped her arms around Gwen’s waist as she stood behind her and glanced

over her shoulder. Her hands errantly glided beneath Gwen’s jacket to gently cup her
breasts.

Gwen was startled by the decidedly intimate gesture. Pyra’s touch had been purely

businesslike last night when she had prepared her for the party in the cognac room.

Pyra’s fingertips traced across Gwen’s bra and teased the tip of a pointed nipple

that poked against the lacy pink fabric. Her lips gently kissed Gwen’s ear lobes. “Did
you enjoy going that extra mile last night?”

The words were spoken so softly Gwen strained to hear them. After she registered

what had been said, she vividly remembered the man and the blindfold. She felt herself
blushing furiously as she allowed Pyra’s delicate hands to explore her jacket.

Pyra’s warm breath passed across Gwen’s throat. “Of course you enjoyed it, that’s

why you’re still here.” She wrapped her arms tighter around Gwen’s waist. “Have you
ever made love to another woman?”

Gwen shook her head imperceptively.
“It’s delicious,” Pyra raved. “There’s really no comparison.”

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The hairs on the nape of her neck quivered, her nipples became painfully hard.

Why was she letting this girl tease her? She self-consciously glanced down at Pyra’s
sleek arms. Her eyes fixated on a tattoo of a voluptuous goddess in a flowing gown
with a stormy head of hair. The goddess looked electric, powerful. She wondered who
the goddess might be. She took slow breaths, becoming acutely aware of every place
that Pyra’s hands wandered to.

Pyra’s fingers suddenly retreated from beneath Gwen’s jacket.
She gulped, feeling like a confused wanton for wishing Pyra’s hands would

continue to caress her.

Pyra pretended to innocently give Gwen a little more hands-on instruction before

giving her a quick pat on the bottom and leaving her to work entirely on her own.

A hum of excitement built inside her. That was odd. She never flirted with other

women, not like that, but she found herself extremely interested in Pyra. Her gaze
continually tracked the girl’s graceful motions from the corner of her eye.

Pyra caught her looking and gently reprimanded her, “Go on! Get to work.”
She took a deep breath and turned her full attention to the worktable. The rods of

colored glass dazzled her eyes. Where would she start? She could choose to do anything
she wanted—every color and all designs were available to her. She remembered the
arrogant peacock that had confronted her in the vineyard. She reached for some jewel-
toned rods of glass in both clear and opaque shades of emerald, cobalt blue, aqua and
bronze. She heated the glass rods and drizzled their brilliant colors onto the glass
phallus, dragging a metal pin across the molten surface to create feathery “eyes”.

She tried concentrating on the glasswork, but her distracted mind drifted toward

thoughts of stroking Pyra’s pink pussy with her tongue. Heat flared inside her. She was
surprised how willingly her mind turned toward such a radical thought, but was it
radical? Pyra was beautiful and adventurous, obviously she would be a lot of fun to
play with.

Pyra peeked over her shoulder and looked at the peacock phallus. “Oooo! Gwen,

that’s gorgeous! I want to keep that one for myself! You’re a natural at this. Can you
repeat that?”

She was greatly bolstered by the praise. “I’ll try.”
Pyra rested her hand lightly on her shoulder. “It’s so nice to have another artist help

me with all this work.” She returned to the furnace to scoop up more molten glass. She
worked quickly, and as the morning wore on, she completed a neat row of glass
phalluses, awaiting ornamentation.

Gwen was still glowing from the generous praise. As she worked, she thought of all

the colors of the vineyard and fused an abstract profile of a bull onto one phallus and
purple liquid grapes onto another. Her eyes furtively followed Pyra around the studio
as she speculated about what sort of lover Pyra might be. She couldn’t believe she was
considering making love to another woman, but suddenly exploring the allure of soft
hands and soft lips felt like the next logical step in this journey.

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She was vaguely aware that the morning was passing because it was passing so

pleasurably. She heard the bell tower chime nine o’clock, eleven o’clock.

Pyra was generous with her help and her praise, along with the occasional fleeting

touch.

Gwen loved being in a studio with another artist. She noticed how easily the

morning fled.

Shortly before noon Raphael came looking for Gwen and Pyra to summon them to

the noon meeting.

Gwen gently set her newly ornamented glass phalluses aside, wondering what

purpose this “meeting” could possibly serve.

Raphael carefully picked up one of Gwen’s glass phalluses and studied her

handiwork with approval. “I hope a few of these are for us to keep? These are
amazing.” He picked up the sparkling peacock phallus and held it to the light for closer
inspection.

Gwen felt a swell of pride over learning a new skill and creating something

beautiful. The morning had been spent in the most satisfying way. She had to laugh that
making fancy glass dildos had infused her with such a sense of value.

She and Pyra cleaned up their work areas and washed their hands.
Raphael studied Gwen from the corner of his dark eyes before finally confronting

her. “Has Pyra been flirting with you?”

Gwen quickly denied it. “No!”
Raphael loomed over Gwen, lightly brushing his fingertips across her cheek. “I

think you’re fibbing.”

Pyra laughed. “He’s fishing, Gwen! He loves to watch women kiss.”
Gwen felt a conflicted little jab of desire.
Pyra stepped behind Gwen and wrapped her arms around her waist. She leaned

her face against Gwen’s hair and inhaled deeply. “Oh you smell good.” She rubbed her
cheek against Gwen’s velour jacket before allowing her hands to wander beneath
Gwen’s jacket once again. Her delicate fingers headed straight for Gwen’s breasts and
gave the cups of her bra a gentle squeeze. Her hands lingered over Gwen before gently
tugging down on the lacy cup to free a plump nipple.

Gwen gasped in surprise when Pyra gave her nipple a firm pinch.
Pyra spoke casually to Raphael as she slowly massaged Gwen’s breast beneath her

jacket. “I love big, soft tits, don’t you?”

Raphael’s eyes gleamed with interest. “You know I do.”
Pyra slowly drew the zipper of Gwen’s jacket down. “Watch.” She bared Gwen’s

pink bra to Raphael.

Gwen glanced down at herself, feeling slightly embarrassed that one smooth breast

had already spilled over the top of her bra cup, its pink nipple pointed upward.

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Pyra’s pale hand lifted Gwen’s breast and toyed with the flushed nipple.
A shudder of abandon raced through her.
Raphael focused on the two women with growing intensity. He sounded almost

angry as he ordered Pyra to, “Kiss her.”

Gwen’s nerves started to dance.
Pyra smiled at Raphael. “That’s why you showed up early, isn’t it? You were afraid

to miss out on this.” She slid in front of Gwen before she could protest and took her face
in her hands.

Gwen found herself at eye level with a pair of innocent, bright blue eyes framed in a

fan of thick black lashes. At that moment Pyra looked so sweet and guileless, but she
knew in her heart that couldn’t be true.

Pyra had a pretty little Kewpie-doll mouth, which proved to be a misleading

distraction because she kissed like a hungry tiger. Her hand gripped the back of Gwen’s
neck to prevent her from wriggling away as she crushed her lips against Gwen’s
startled mouth and forced her tongue between her lips.

Her head was spinning from the crushing kiss as Pyra drove her back against the

worktable and slid her tongue into her mouth. Pyra’s nimble tongue darted sinuously
past her lips. She was both startled and excited by the girl’s aggressive action as Pyra
parted her thighs with her knee and crowded her slender body between her legs.

“I’ll bet you thought girl kisses were soft and sweet?” Pyra’s lips ravished Gwen’s

startled mouth as her hands unzipped Gwen’s jacket and slid a narrow bra strap from
her shoulder. She rolled her thumbs over the lacy cups of the bra until Gwen nearly
spilled out of it. Her sneaky fingers deftly crept around Gwen’s rib cage and unsnapped
the back of her bra. She triumphantly spread her palms across the newly exposed
expanse of soft skin and buried her face between Gwen’s warm cleavage.

Gwen reeled and clutched at the fallen strap of her bra.
Pyra’s flicking tongue returned to Gwen’s mouth. “We’ve broken the ice, now open

for me.”

With some trepidation Gwen parted her lips as Pyra slowly slid her silky tongue

against hers, feeling as if her mouth had been invaded by a dancing pink devil.

Pyra brushed the pointy tips of her perfect little braless breasts against Gwen’s lush

curves. Her soft lips explored Gwen’s mouth with voluptuous searching strokes as her
fingertips skimmed across Gwen’s naked skin.

Gwen moaned into the kiss, admitting to herself that this forbidden kiss was a

complete turn-on. She realized she had already been seduced, Pyra had conquered her
resistance and she wanted more. This had to be the softest possession of her life.

Pyra’s body pressed against her with teasing pressure. Her fingertips kneaded

Gwen’s breasts through the lacy cups of her bra.

Gwen’s eyes flickered shut to savor the sensations. She wanted to slide the clothes

from her body and feel Pyra’s warm hands on all of her bare skin. She opened her eyes

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and let them stray toward Raphael who had slid his cycling pants down his lean hips
and was now stroking his thick erection in the palm of his hand.

Raphael’s eyes focused directly on the women. He roughly squeezed his thick shaft

and dragged his palm downward until a tracery of faint veins bloomed across the
surface. The heavy head of his cock already glistened with an opalescent drop of
moisture.

The sight was so compelling Gwen couldn’t look away.
Pyra slid down Gwen’s body until she was kneeling and wedged her face between

her thighs. She nuzzled Gwen’s mons with the tip of her nose and gently nipped at her
pussy through the clingy velour with her even, white teeth.

Gwen gasped as Pyra’s warm, moist breath passed through the soft fabric and

bathed her pussy in wet heat. Her hips rolled forward, eager to be caressed by Pyra’s
bold mouth.

Pyra’s hands gripped Gwen’s hips and began to tug her pants downward.
Raphael stopped Pyra’s hand. “Don’t,” he gently warned Pyra. “Shiraz belongs to

another Noblesword member.”

Gwen jolted. What did he just say? Her fingertips unconsciously reached toward

her pink diamonds. Who did she belong to? She didn’t belong to anyone. Why did he say that?

Pyra pulled away from Gwen. “Pity.” She slinked toward Raphael on her hands

and knees like the tigress she was.

Gwen’s legs trembled and her body cooled where Pyra’s warm mouth had

abandoned her.

Raphael greeted Pyra by tangling his fingers in her hair and forcefully drew her

face to his waiting groin.

Pyra took Raphael between her lips and began to lash the head of his cock with her

tongue.

Raphael lowered his heavy, dark brows and stared back at Gwen as Pyra’s tongue

slicked the length of his shaft before forcing himself into Pyra’s mouth and sliding to
the back of her throat with a feral grunt.

Gwen looked back at Raphael in conflicted fascination.
Raphael’s big cock slowly slid past Pyra’s lips, grotesquely stretching the girl’s

pretty little Cupid’s-bow mouth. He pumped back and forth between her lips as he
stroked Pyra’s shiny black hair.

Gwen wanted to watch but she also wanted to touch, but clearly she was being

excluded from the action. She wondered if the man from the cognac room had staked a
claim against her without her prior knowledge. She felt a little shiver of pride and
resentment at the same moment, a forced smile twisted across her lips.

Raphael reached down to unzip Pyra’s pink velour jacket and push the fabric from

her shoulders. His roving fingers knew she wore no bra. His broad hands were quick to

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expose and take possession of her firm cone-shaped breasts as she sucked diligently on
the head of his cock.

Suddenly Pyra stopped sucking and let Raphael slide free from her mouth. She

looked up at him with pleading eyes.

Raphael’s eyes lit with a strange fire. He removed a small leather crop from a

narrow pocket sewn into his pant leg. The leather crop was as thin as a switch with a
supple leather paddle at its tip, no larger than a thumb. He swooshed the crop through
the air, making a loud snapping noise, which left Pyra trembling.

Pyra placed her hands behind her neck as she stared up at Raphael, panting softly.
Raphael’s fingertip lightly traced across one of Pyra’s puffy pink nipples. He

pinched her nipple and gently tugged the trapped nipple upward.

Pyra closed her eyes, threw her head back and swayed slightly on her knees like a

cobra.

Raphael struck the rounded underside of Pyra’s breast with the tongue of the crop.

The soft flap of leather made a loud slap against the tender skin, causing her breast to
bounce.

An ecstatic groan escaped Pyra’s lips. She lifted her rib cage higher.
Raphael aimed the next strike at her other puffy nipple. The nipple flushed a deep

rose after the tongue of the crop gave it a stinging little lick.

Pyra panted frantically. Her breasts heaved up and down.
Raphael swatted her breasts with a barrage of short, slapping strikes that landed on

the swelling undersides of her breasts.

Pyra swooned backward with an enraptured expression on her face, her breasts

turned pink, and her eyes watered. She leaned forward, took Raphael’s bobbing cock
into her mouth and sucked with renewed vigor.

Raphael moaned and pumped his cock deeper into her mouth. He held the crop

against Pyra’s shoulder to remind her it was there, and he could use it again if she
stopped sucking. His strokes became short and determined.

Pyra’s throat gurgled from his enthusiastic thrusts.
Raphael’s body shuddered violently and started to come. He immediately pulled

back and pumped his cum across Pyra’s flushed breasts, coating each puffy nipple in a
wet blanket.

Pyra swirled her fingertips through the hot liquid and smeared it into her skin. She

brought one wet fingertip to her lips and licked her finger clean, casually commenting,
“You taste salty.”

“Lick me clean,” Raphael demanded.
Pyra dutifully kneeled before him, lapping at his cock with a flat tongue like a

mother cat.

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When she was finished, Raphael helped Pyra to her feet. His eyes shone with

admiration for her. He stopped her hand before she could wipe her breasts dry. He
started to rezip her jacket, along with the admonition, “Let it stay.”

Pyra smiled at Raphael and finished rezipping the jacket over her cum-drenched

breasts.

Gwen felt slightly scandalized at the clear view of Pyra’s swollen nipples and a

damp spot showing through the stretchy velour.

Raphael twined his fingers around Pyra’s and sweetly kissed the top of her head.

He picked up the peacock phallus Gwen had decorated and slipped it into his pocket.
“Ladies, we should be going.”

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Chapter Seven

Raphael led Gwen and Pyra back to the main building.
Gwen’s mind remained in tumult over what she had seen and heard. Fire blazed

shamelessly between her thighs when she thought of Raphael availing himself on Pyra
in such a brutal but exciting manner. Noblesword was really changing her, or had she
always harbored this spark? Bondage, girls, domination… What was wrong with her?

She wondered which Noblesword member had staked a claim on her. It had better

be that man from last night. He had been very enjoyable. She could go for another
helping of him. Her fingertips lazily stroked the pink diamonds that pierced her
earlobes.

They entered a Mission-style dinning room with a large, stone fireplace at exactly

the same moment the bell tower chimed twelve.

Miss Chantal stood in the corner of the room staring at the screen of a palm-sized

computer. She glanced up as Raphael approached and removed a tiny earpiece. “Where
is it?”

Raphael quietly handed Miss Chantal the glass phallus.
Miss Chantal’s appraising gaze studied the phallus and slipped it into a golden tote

bag set on a near by tabletop.

Gwen watched the covert exchange, wishing she knew what Miss Chantal was up

to. She surveyed the broad double doors on the side of the room, guessing that this was
the dining room that opened onto the infamous cognac room.

A rustic oak table ran the length of the room. The furniture was monastic and

simple, the decor felt warm and unpretentious. The single source of color in this shades-
of-brown room was a huge plein-air canvas of a rolling California hillside covered in
orange poppies and purple lupines. Her eyes skimmed across an engraved tag that had
been bolted to the painting’s heavy frame. Hillside in April, C. Jensen 1912.

Gwen stared at the painting. Its sheer beauty made her heart ache. Noblesword

certainly had good taste in art. She could hardly believe she was looking at a genuine
Jensen. She knew there were very few Jensen canvases on the open market and she had
never seen one of this size and beauty.

The painting was deceptively simple in appearance. Seen up close, it was merely

streaks and blobs of pigment, but when she stood back, the painting created the illusion
of light, form and movement. A single moment in the springtime of 1912 had forever
been preserved as a cloud passed over a Napa Valley hillside, casting a blue shadow
across a field of windblown wildflowers.

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She stood breathless in front of the painting, her heart opened to its utter beauty.

She realized without doubt she needed to start painting again.

Raphael called Gwen over to a buffet that had been set up on a side table. He

started filling a plate with fresh herb salad and grilled salmon.

Sherry entered the dining room and headed straight for the buffet.
Gwen’s eyes followed her across the room as Sherry’s graceful, golden-skinned,

hourglass form stood in front of the buffet table, analyzing the salads. The woman was
absolutely stunning. A twinge of jealousy flared. Jeff would have adored Sherry even if
she had not been an intellectual peer.

“Good afternoon.” Miss Chantal glided around the room wearing her pink velour

suit and carrying a stack of folders in the crook of her arm. She set a folder down in
front of Pyra, Raphael and Sherry’s dining chair, but she didn’t give a folder to Gwen.
“Everyone, please eat a big lunch today. We won’t have time to stop for dinner because
the event will be well under way. I’ve already sent information to the Platinum
members and briefed the auxiliary and the catering teams—”

The deafening roar of a lion interrupted Miss Chantal’s speech. She stopped talking

as the lion bellowed a second time with a deep reverberating roar that could be felt
deep in one’s chest.

“Is that a real lion?” Gwen’s eyes widened. “Is this a circus-themed party?”
Everyone laughed.
“It’s a Roman Bacchanal!” Miss Chantal’s green eyes focused on her with hawklike

intensity. “You might as well hear it now, Shiraz, as our novice, you will be playing the
part of the sacrificial lamb.”

A lump rose in Gwen’s throat.
Pyra looked sympathetic.
Raphael laughed out loud.
Sherry smirked. “You are so lucky.”
Gwen was so flustered she couldn’t tell if Sherry’s droll comment was sincere or

sarcastic.

Miss Chantal continued. “Shiraz, you will be auctioned off to the Platinum

members. You were not given a script this afternoon because the Platinum member will
be allowed to dictate the action and the top bidder will decide your fate.”

Gwen blanched.
Miss Chantal helped herself to some grilled salmon. “You won’t actually be thrown

to the lion, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“But will I be thrown to the Platinum members?” Gwen huffed, thinking they

sounded a lot more dangerous.

Miss Chantal looked amused. “Your performance last night in the cognac room was

excellent! You really have nothing to worry about. To be honest, your blushing and

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your naiveté are a big bonus! I don’t want to overexplain things to you and ruin the fun.
All you really need to know is, only the people in this room will be allowed real access
to you. We’ve all played the sacrificial lamb. We know how it feels. We will honor your
boundaries.”

Gwen’s jaw dropped. How could Miss Chantal know her boundaries? She wasn’t

even sure she knew her own boundaries. Her eyes drifted toward Sherry to see how she
reacted to this comment.

Sherry remained neutral in expression.
Gwen squinted at Sherry, unable to shake the feeling that Sherry was the “other”

woman—the one who had tempted Jeff to stray.

Miss Chantal tasted her salmon with an ecstatic expression. “One of our visionary

members, Mr. B, is missing from this meeting. There were too many conflicting
meetings scheduled this afternoon, but Mr. B will attend the Bacchanal. Mr. B saw
Shiraz in the cognac room last night and was favorably impressed. Mr. B will be playing
Jupiter tonight. Raphael, you will be playing the role of Faunus.”

Raphael snatched up his folder to read its contents. “Faunus? Who’s that? I thought

I was playing Adonis or Hercules?” He flashed a blinding bright smile.

Miss Chantal shook her head. “Not tonight, love, we need a ‘horny’ fellow who can

switch hit. Faunus is the Roman incarnation of Pan. You’ll still get to wear hooves and
torment people.”

Raphael leered at Miss Chantal. “Thank God for that. I suppose you’re playing

Venus?” His tone was mocking.

Miss Chantal proudly announced, “No, I’m going to play the wrathful Juno. Juno is

more my speed. I’ll thoroughly enjoy punishing the naughty ones.”

Miss Chantal turned toward Gwen. “Tonight, you will be working without a

blindfold. I want you wide-eyed and terrified.”

Gwen blinked. That should be easy. Her mind was still pretty murky about what

was going on.

Miss Chantal took a delicate bite of grilled salmon. “Everyone needs to be in

costume and in character by seven thirty p.m. The guests will start arriving at eight.”
She picked up a large gold lame tote bag and emptied its contents onto the tabletop. “I
want to show everyone the gift bags that will be given to the Platinum members.”

The golden tote bag contained a bottle of vintage Noblesword Cabernet Sauvignon

with a golden Bacchanal seal stamped upon the label. There was a golden tube of high-
quality silicone lubricant from Germany. A dozen condoms wrapped in golden foil to
resemble ancient coins stamped with the somber profile of Julius Caesar, and a leather
collar with a golden Noblesword dog tag embossed on it. There were organic chocolate
truffles wrapped in gold foil and a black-velvet bag that contained one of Pyra’s
handmade glass phalluses. Miss Chantal proudly held up a phallus for everyone to see.
“These are truly objects of art! They turned out beautifully, Pyra. We can’t thank you
enough for the weeks of work that you spent on these.”

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Gwen noticed this tote bag contained her peacock-feather-inspired phallus.
Miss Chantal singled Gwen out to praise her handiwork. “This gorgeous glass

phallus was decorated by Shiraz.”

Everyone nodded their heads in approval.
Gwen wondered how Miss Chantal knew the peacock design was hers but that

question was quickly overridden by the glowing feeling of being praised for her
creativity. She realized how starved she had been for just such an opportunity, and how
ridiculous it was to be flushed with pride over her hand-decorated dildos.

Miss Chantal pulled an assortment of gold bottles from the tote bag. The bottles

were labeled Noblesword Luxury Body Care. She held the bottles up for everyone to see.
“These just arrived yesterday. This is not the final packaging but the products inside are
finalized. All the major ingredients for our body-care line are grown on Noblesword’s
vineyards and affiliated organic farms. I’m really proud of these products and I want to
thank Sherry for all her hard work.”

Sherry stood up and took a bow. “Thank you very much.” She acknowledged Miss

Chantal. “I believe these body-care products are superior to any you can currently buy
in America today.”

Gwen frowned. Of course Sherry believed that. This shampoo wizard sure had an

ego, but Jeff wouldn’t have condemned Sherry’s egotism, he would have highly praised
her attitude as kick-ass confident.

Miss Chantal addressed Sherry in a whisper, “As our experienced submissive, I

want you to keep an eye on Shiraz tonight.”

Gwen flinched at Miss Chantal’s request. There was no way that she wanted the

“other” woman looking after her.

It was funny. She had almost forgotten Sherry’s performance last night with that

obnoxious German man. She had stopped thinking of Sherry as a submissive after
discovering she was a chemist for a Swiss cosmetics company. Gwen wasn’t sure why
one of those facts should negate the other. Why couldn’t Sherry be both a sexual
submissive and a well-educated, over-confident achiever?

Everyone drifted back toward the buffet, eager to heed Miss Chantal’s warning that

they would be skipping dinner.

Gwen tried to discreetly peek at Pyra’s folder when Pyra walked toward the buffet

to get more salad.

Miss Chantal caught Gwen trying to peek and wagged an admonishing finger in

her face. “No, no, no, that’s not for your eyes.”

Gwen sheepishly set Pyra’s folder down and served herself some salmon and a

fresh herb salad, forcing herself to eat. She had no appetite, but she knew she was in for
a long night.

Sherry sat across the table from her, chatting amicably with Pyra and Raphael.

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Gwen’s eyes narrowed to slits as she tried to picture Sherry and Jeff together.

Where did Jeff meet Sherry, she wondered? Here or through work? She imagined that it
had been Sherry who corrupted Jeff and lured him to Noblesword. She imagined Sherry
had provided Jeff with the keys to freedom. She envisioned Sherry and Jeff sharing
kinky sex, intimate emails as well as sharing links to the weird science sites that Jeff
loved to marvel over. As she watched Sherry daintily nibble her lunch, her jealousy
grew to immense proportions.

Her heart pounded. She realized how corrosive jealousy could be, it could easily

ruin her life. She had to get a handle on it—Jeff was gone. He was probably riding the
bus in Vancouver, sitting on a wad of gum, and he was not coming back—not after the
way she and her lawyer had treated him.

Miss Chantal noticed Gwen pouting. “What’s wrong?” She put her hand on Gwen’s

shoulder. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. Working the Bacchanal is an
honor! It’s not too late to get someone else to be our “lamb”, but tell me now. Don’t sulk
and try to back out at the last minute—that’s not professional.”

Gwen looked into Miss Chantal’s deceptively innocent-looking green eyes. “I want

to be here, I truly do! I was thinking of something else.”

“Aha!” Miss Chantal raised her chin triumphantly. “You’ve been snooping around

and driving yourself crazy wondering who slept with your husband. I warned you
about this, didn’t I?” She turned toward the others and loudly addressed the group.
“Who here has had sex with Jeff Bel Geddes?”

Miss Chantal surveyed the room. No one answered.
Gwen remained skeptical. Her eyes tracked directly to Sherry.
Sherry saw that she was being accused and convincingly denied it. “When I travel

with Alfred, I belong solely to Alfred. I am Alfred’s pet. He does not share me with
others.”

Miss Chantal addressed Gwen curtly. “It’s none of your business, but I have an

exclusive relationship with Scotty.”

Pyra shook her head. “Wasn’t me.”
“I think Jeff’s gorgeous!” Raphael blurted out. “He’s the American ideal, tall,

handsome, quiet in a thoughtful way. I freely admit I offered but he politely turned me
down. C’est la vie.”

Gwen sulked. “So I am supposed to believe I am sitting with a table full of sex

professionals who don’t actually have sex with their clients?” She glanced around the
table accusingly.

A garbled wave of heated denials followed.
Miss Chantal spoke with authority. “Domination games do not necessarily end in

sex. Neither does exhibitionism, body worship, fantasy role-playing, fetishism,
costumes, tutorials, etcetera. My point is there is a long list of activities to engage in that
do not end in physical sex. I call it a circus of the mind.”

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Gwen was not satisfied that Jeff had gone to the circus and not had sex with

anyone. She was tempted to ask who else worked there.

Miss Chantal tilted her head, waiting for Gwen to answer. “Are you going ahead

with us, or are you ready to back out?”

Gwen stared Sherry down. She wasn’t ready to go home. She needed to know what

exactly had drawn Jeff here. “I’m going ahead with you.” She tried to sound brave.

“Good. I’m happy to hear that. You show a lot of promise. There are several

gentlemen from the cognac room who are very interested in you.” Miss Chantal loudly
clapped her hands together. “Everyone eat a big lunch. Take a nap and be on your best
game. Bacchanal is Noblesword’s night to shine.”

Gwen picked up her fork and halfheartedly pecked at her delicious lunch.
After the lunch meeting ended, everyone gathered up their folders and excused

themselves.

Gwen and Pyra walked across the arcade to the room she now occupied.
They stopped in front of the door as Gwen searched her pockets for her room key.
Pyra’s hand brushed against her shoulder, she leaned forward and kissed Gwen on

the cheek but the kiss slipped across Gwen’s lips.

A shiver of excitement spread through her at the light touch of Pyra’s full lips. She

stood frozen, feeling her face grow warm. The kiss was a delicate, soft introduction to a
different kind of sensuality. It felt completely different from the earlier kiss.

Pyra pulled away, her blue eyes flirted behind a flutter of thick lashes. “Get some

sleep, Gwen. We have to be at the baths by five o’clock sharp!” She abruptly turned on
her heel, strode across the arcade and disappeared behind a garden wall.

“Whoa…” Gwen watched Pyra walk away before turning around to unlock her

door. She could still feel the tingling imprint of Pyra’s lips on her mouth.

Gwen sighed as she entered the room. What was up with her? First she had

willingly given herself to a strange man, now she was thinking about women. Did
every “mature” woman eventually let her morals go to hell in a hand basket?

The room was cool and calming. The bed was made and the wrist and ankle

restraints had been discreetly tucked out of sight beneath the mattress. Her belongings
had been organized and a clean, pink velour suit lay folded at the foot of the bed. The
room looked so innocent now. It was hard to believe that only a few hours ago she had
shared this same bed with a stranger, and it had been such a boundary-crushing
experience.

She wondered if her mystery man would be attending the Bacchanal. She reminded

herself this was not a prom. Her mystery man might be finished with her or bring
multiple dates to the Bacchanal—apparently he could afford it. She reminded herself to
view this experience as an adventure in self-growth and nothing more.

Her eyes roved toward the nightstand where the velvet jewelry box still sat. The

shattered bits of fortune cookie had been swept away. Her fingers automatically

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touched the pink diamond earrings as she had all through the day. She was amused by
her obsession. If she kept touching the earrings so often, she would eventually wear the
settings away.

It was good to know that she was still attractive to someone—an object of pleasure

worth rewarding. She needed this and she needed to satisfy her curiosity about
Noblesword Vineyards. She needed her sense of self returned. She desperately needed a
glimpse of life without Jeff, and she knew this was the best place to start.

She walked into the bathroom and looked into the cabinet. All the imported French

products had been replaced with new golden bottles of Noblesword’s body-care
products. Her lips curled downward in disappointment. The French shampoo was
gone. She doubted the Noblesword formula could compete with the heavenly products
she had already tried, but perhaps this was just misplaced resentment against Sherry.

She closed the cabinet, feeling cheated. Why did they have to take all the good stuff

away? She pouted as she finished drinking her iced tea and lay down on the bed to take
a nap.

She stretched out across the mattress but she didn’t fall asleep. She lay awake,

thinking about last night and the man who had shared this bed with her. He was a
stranger yet she had opened completely to him. It had been so easy. It was not merely
the presence of a blindfold and wrist cuffs that had allowed her to surrender to him.
The blindfold and the restraints helped, but it was the man who seduced her. He felt
right, he moved right. She loved how he took complete charge of her. He was confident
in demanding that she respond to him. She could almost get off just by thinking about
his calloused hands sliding over her skin.

Perhaps this was the direction to move in? It was time to confess to her innermost

self that she had expectations in life—and she expected her partner to be a skilled
dominant. Yes, she wanted to be dominated. From this moment forward there would be
no more wishing, hoping or hinting to be dominated. She would be an adult and just
ask outright for it.

She huffed. Poor Jeff. He was such a big, handsome guy, too bad he wasn’t more

sensual or a bit more teachable. Who knew what Jeff really wanted? They’d had such a
hard time trying to talk to one another about intimate things. Someone always said the
wrong thing. Someone’s feelings always got hurt. After a while it just got too difficult to
escape the plateau they were stranded on. Safe choices were made, broad avenues
traveled until both of them grew frustrated and bored with each other. She knew in her
heart if she could turn back time, she would do things completely different. She would
never have allowed Jeff to drift away.

No wonder Jeff had gone into the world to sample what was offered to the daring

and adventurous few. As she tried to put her anger and hurt aside that he had done it
behind her back, the logical answer arose that life was too short to deny true nature. She
could no longer deny her true nature. She wanted to be an artist. She wanted to create
beauty. She wanted to be a submissive and cherish the act of taking pleasure, in giving
pleasure to another. These objectives did not harm her or society, and they should no

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longer be denied. She realized she had been offering Jeff half a soul and half a heart. She
had fallen into the trap of thinking he desired no more from her beyond the familiar.

She remembered the strange calm that had swept over her the day she picked up

the phone and called Miss Chantal’s private number to schedule an interview. It was
both terrifying and peaceful to stop speculating about Noblesword Vineyards and
actually take action.

The detective she had hired gave her plenty of information about Noblesword. She

knew that Jeff had been a regular guest at Noblesword Vineyards for several months.
She knew Noblesword had recently experienced a growth spurt. Dozens of new
members had joined the ranks, along with various business ventures and extensive
development on the property. A question had been raised in her mind. Was
Noblesword Vineyards a corporation or a cult?

Brochures and enticements to visit Noblesword Vineyards continually arrived in

the mail—all of which she ripped into tiny pieces. She had thought it was odd that such
a “discreet” organization would send intimate information directly to her home.

Then one lonely August day, after Megan informed her that her father had called

from Vancouver, a golden invitation arrived in the mail. The invitation was addressed
to Jeff from Noblesword Vineyards, inviting him to partake in their Harvest Bacchanal.

She set the invitation on her dust-coated nightstand and stared at it for days. She

felt both angry and curious about what went on at Noblesword Vineyards. It finally
occurred to her that Noblesword Vineyards didn’t know Jeff’s current status or
whereabouts any more than she did or else they would never have sent a personal
invitation to his former residence.

It dawned on her that perhaps Noblesword thought Jeff was single? That thought

enraged her even more. She immediately considered responding to the R.S.V.P as a
party guest so she could snoop around the Noblesword grounds and discover what was
going on.

Then a more intricate plan formed in her mind. Why not approach Noblesword as

an insider? Why not call Miss Chantal and ask for an interview? Surly she could learn
more about Noblesword as an employee. She realized she needed to understand what
went on at Noblesword, and she needed to test herself.

Getting an interview was difficult. At first, Miss Chantal was cagey. Miss Chantal

took her phone number and then played a teasing game of phone tag with her for
several weeks.

She despaired that she would never get an interview at Noblesword Vineyards. Her

divorce was nearly final and she became preoccupied with it. She didn’t even know
where Jeff was or how she would serve him with the final papers.

Then one sunny late September day, Miss Chantal called, eager to meet her and

“train” her in time for Noblesword’s autumn influx of guests.

She had no idea what that meant and she didn’t care. Her only desire was to walk

onto Noblesword property and snoop for an afternoon.

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The entire process seemed so surreal. It was hard to believe that only yesterday she

had carefully dressed in her nicest silk blouse and driven herself to Noblesword
Vineyards in a complete daze. She had anticipated an afternoon of snooping would
have satisfied her curiosity. She had expected an assembly-line bordello type of place
hiding behind the vineyards with a few tired-looking ladies prancing around in high
heels, ready to flagellate their customers or administer enemas. Her anger at Jeff had
driven her expectations extremely low.

She was looking for closure. She wanted to know what had drawn Jeff to

Noblesword so she could dismiss him once and for all. She prayed she would not
discover that the father of her only child was a colossal pervert. By the time she drove
up Noblesword’s oak-lined driveway, she had self-righteously convinced herself that
she was there for Megan’s sake.

What a liar she was, curiosity had been killing her. She was barely forty and too

young to retire from life. She was still beautiful, had taken good care of herself. She was
bored to death with having things the conventional way.

No more boredom, she promised herself. She lay on the bed, finally able to fall

asleep. She dreamed about buying art supplies and becoming a painter.

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Chapter Eight

Knock! Knock! Knock!
Gwen awoke to golden afternoon light streaming through a slit in the heavy velvet

drapes. The bed posts of the huge rustic bed cast blue shadows across the covers. She
blinked her eyes. What time was it?

Pyra shouted through the door. “Gwen! It’s time to get going.”
Gwen’s first waking action was to check if her earrings were still secure. She rolled

off the bed to open the door for Pyra.

Pyra was wearing a sheer pink tank top without a bra.
Gwen found herself staring at Pyra’s puffy nipples. She had the most beautiful

breasts she had seen in a long time. They were not large, but they were exquisitely
shaped and curved into space above her arching rib cage. Her mind wandered toward
what Raphael had done with the crop.

“Let’s go,” Pyra urged Gwen to hurry. “Everything we need is already at the

bathhouse.”

Gwen slipped her sneakers on and locked the door behind her. She walked beside

Pyra, studying the girl’s tattooed arms. The dense tattoos created the illusion that Pyra
wore a layer of colored lace beneath her tank top. She hesitated for a moment, afraid to
sound rude, but ultimately gave in to her curiosity and pointed at Pyra’s left arm. “Tell
me the tale of the sacred prostitute.”

Pyra’s blue eyes scanned Gwen’s face. “This really fascinates you, doesn’t it?” She

straightened her sleek arm as she spoke. “In ancient Greece, girls or young women were
required to do service in the temple of Venus. The temple was not a brothel. The girls
offered their virginity to the temple as a form of community service. Men returning
from war or tragedy would come to the temple to be forgiven and reintegrated into
society. Men arrived at the temple, disheartened, disillusioned, maddened by what they
had seen or done in faraway lands. Angry, emotionally wounded men were not
allowed back into civilized company until they had been healed at the temple and made
whole again.”

Pyra reached out and grabbed and held Gwen’s hand as they walked along the

desert path. Her voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “The men would choose a girl and
pay the temple what they could afford, but no payment however small was ever
refused. The money was not important. It symbolized a token offering to the goddess,
nothing more. The girl approached the man as a priestess—an ambassador of Venus.
She represented the living embodiment of Greek culture and life itself. The man had to

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treat the girl with respect and she had to treat the man with compassion for the things
he had suffered in the name of Greek warfare and commerce.

“They were allowed one night together. The man had to leave the temple grounds

by sunrise. No names were exchanged and further contact was strictly forbidden. After
the girl had performed her act of service, she was free to go home to her village and
marry.”

Pyra pointed to a red spider web-like tattoo on her forearm. “See these red threads?

The girls were said to sit in a circle on the temple floor, each connected to a central pillar
by a red thread. The red thread may have symbolized an umbilical cord to the goddess
or Greek society. A man would make an offering to the temple, choose a girl, cut her
thread and take her into the garden or a private room. She was the lifeline that would
make him whole and presentable to society once again. I’m probably idealizing matters,
but there is so much power and humility in both acts. It’s a shame our culture has lost
its rituals for healing broken hearts and lives.”

A chill prickled Gwen’s arms. “Is this really true?”
Pyra walked with her chin raised toward the setting sun. The low afternoon light

illuminated her blue black hair with a faint halo. “It’s as true as you want it to be. It’s
impossible to look at the truths of the past without seeing the truths of the present.”

Gwen had never heard of this tradition yet it felt familiar, as if she had always

known it and known it to be true. She asked cautiously, “Did you make that story up?”

Pyra dodged a twisting manzanita branch that had grown too close to the path,

“No!” She laughed, pushing the branch aside. “Herodotus, the historian of ancient
Greece and ‘father of lies’, made it up. But it feels true, and when something feels true,
that means there is a deep wish for it to be true.”

Gwen sidestepped the gouging manzanita branch, deciding that Herodotus’ tall tale

was probably true.

They walked to the far end of the Noblesword compound, toward a block of

structures Gwen had not yet explored.

The buildings were new, but they had the feel of old Mission-style architecture. The

structures had been built around some ancient oak trees that lent the property a well-
established appearance.

Pyra pointed out a two-story adobe structure that looked like a fortified pound

cake. “Noblesword is building a spa and moving its business offices and a conference
room into this building. The bathhouse is straight ahead.”

They walked down a terraced stone path that snaked between the oak trees.
Gwen heard the lion roaring in the distance. She hoped the irritable creature was

being well cared for—and well-fed.

She and Pyra entered a simple structure that resembled a brown adobe cube on the

outside but revealed a vision of Mayan splendor on its interior. It looked like Frank
Lloyd Wright’s fantasy of a sauna and indoor garden.

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Stone steps descended on all sides toward a square pool that reflected the day’s

final moments of golden sunshine that poured through a square skylight overhead.
Square pillars with Mayan ornamentations stood like chunky sentinels around the pool.
Orchids and exotic plants clung to the walls. The warm, humid room felt like a New
World Eden.

A heavily carved door with an image of the plumed-serpent god Quetzalcoatl

guarded a communal sauna. Pyra pushed the door open.

They walked into an elegant dressing area lined with flagstone. The air was steamy

and heavy with the fresh fragrance of lavender.

Pyra handed Gwen a fluffy bath towel. “Take off your clothes and set them on that

wooden bench.” She pulled her pink tank top over her head and stood bare breasted in
front of the bench.

Gwen glanced at Pyra’s gravity-defying, cone-shaped breasts, thinking it must be

wonderful to go without a bra. Her eyes traveled fleetingly over Pyra’s trim, athletic
form. She grabbed the towel and quickly undressed while strategically wrapping the
plush towel modestly around herself.

“Don’t cover up! I love looking at you.” Pyra tried to wrestle the towel away from

her.

Gwen clutched protectively to her towel. It had been easier to stand naked before

Pyra when they were both strangers committed to a task. Now that they had flirted,
kissed and shared intimate conservations and acts, nudity carried a more dangerous
charge. She realized with some discomfort Pyra was someone she could love on many
levels. Her heart ached from the uncertainty that thought caused because she had the
distinct impression Pyra was a tease, an adventuress who belonged only to the moment
she lived in and would seamlessly move on to the next.

Pyra giggled and continued to fight for the towel. “You’re supposed to sit on the

towel, you silly thing, not cocoon in it.”

Gwen held on to the towel as if it were a life raft in rough waters.
“You’re being ridiculous!” Pyra’s fingers tickled Gwen’s soft underarm.
Oh God that tickled! The breath wheezed out of her as she squirmed helplessly in

Pyra’s grip.

Pyra was strong. Her devilish fingers found the exact spot that would provide the

greatest amount of torment.

The brisk tickling left Gwen paralyzed. Her elbows locked at her sides. She

hunched over. “Stop!”

“Drop the towel!” Pyra’s tone was slightly menacing.
“No!” She writhed in Pyra’s hold as the girl continued to tickle her. She clutched the

towel in her tensed talon like fingers. She’d never give up the towel, it was her only
security! The tickling made her knees buckle, she slid to the floor. A little thrill raced
through her. For some silly reason this childish game was the only way she was ready

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to submit to Pyra. Submitting to a beautiful, artistic, free spirit like Pyra should be easy,
would be fun but, dear God, it was also frightening. Some stodgy part of herself reared
its head and said, Your loyalties are with someone else. You shouldn’t even be playing with
another. She wanted to chase that harassing thought away. She was free. She wasn’t
cheating on anyone, but that guilty feeling clung to her.

Pyra pinned her to the cool stone floor and yanked the towel away.
Gwen lay panting and exposed beneath Pyra.
Pyra stroked her face. Her eyes lit with victory. “I knew I’d get the towel from you.”

She bent down, rubbed her bare breasts against Gwen and kissed her mouth.

Gwen closed her eyes in ecstasy. The kiss shimmered through her. It was the softest

kiss she had ever been given aside from her baby daughter Megan, but the kiss was
powerful enough to be felt all the way to her core.

Pyra buried her face between Gwen’s breasts and covered them with kisses. “Oh

you’re luscious!” She licked the tip of Gwen’s nipple. “You shouldn’t cover up.”

Gwen gasped at the heated sensation that shot through her.
Pyra’s graceful fingers strayed lower, slipped between Gwen’s thighs and softly

circled her clit. “My goodness you’re wet!”

Gwen parted her thighs as Pyra slid a slender finger inside her and stroked back

and forth, causing a pleasure riot of sensation.

“That’s enough!” Pyra giggled, jumped up and hauled Gwen to her feet.
Gwen’s eyes bolted open. She felt petulant and teased. This must be how men felt.

She snatched her towel back from Pyra’s tormenting little hands and stood still, feeling
shaky. Pyra was all about playful teasing. She had the haunting feeling this was the
opening act and that she was being set up for bigger emotional jolts. She felt herself
frowning.

“Gwen, you’ve got to relax.” Pyra stripped off her pants and moved toward the

sauna.

Her head was spinning as Pyra’s naked little butt walked away from her. She had

never been offered any real sexual contact with another woman, but she found Pyra’s
teasing attitude and physical vitality interesting to say the least.

Pyra’s face beamed with joy as she opened the glass door of the sauna and

beckoned Gwen to walk into the thick bank of steam. “Come on, you’ll enjoy this.”

She followed Pyra into the sauna with a smile on her face, secretly hoping the girl

would try again to seduce her. After all, she was here to try new things. If Pyra wanted
to kiss her or touch her in a steamy sauna, where was the harm in that? Who would
ever know? She wondered how willingly she could submit to an aggressive woman.

She squinted her eyes as she walked into the steamy sauna. She couldn’t see a thing.

Her fingertips blindly brushed against the tiled walls as she crept slowly into the
thickening mist. Her toes sensed something animate scooting out of her path. Her foot
accidentally stepped on a man’s hairy foot. She screamed!

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The man yanked his foot away with an indignant yelp.
“Whoops! Watch out! Hello!” A dozen smiling faces greeted Gwen in the steam.
Gwen reeled back in shock. The sauna was full of people. She turned around to see

how visible the floor of the dressing room was. To her horror, she saw it was completely
visible to every occupant who sat at the front of the sauna’s glass door. Everyone had
seen Pyra wrestling her towel away from her and kissing her on the floor. Her face
blushed hot. She staggered toward a tiled bench and plopped down on it.

“Hello, everybody!” Pyra waved at the crowd. She obviously knew everyone in the

sauna. Hugs were exchanged all around.

Gwen discreetly looked around. She was relieved to discover no one was staring at

her or smirking. The sauna was filled with attractive men and women of widely varying
age and description. Their only common thread being they all looked fit and well cared
for.

As her eyes adjusted, she saw the sauna was immense. There was a wading pool

with a low waterfall that poured over a rocky ledge and benches filled with another
dozen men and women on the far side of the room.

Pyra wandered away to greet everyone on the other side of the sauna.
Gwen clutched her towel to her body and smiled sheepishly at the people around

her.

A beautiful young man with a muscular body was displaying himself naked

beneath the waterfall. His thick cock curved toward his belly. He appeared to be posing
for the pleasure of all. The young man slowly turned around.

She saw it was Raphael. Oh no! Her eyes dropped to the floor, refusing to look up.
Raphael saw Gwen and started splashing his way across the pool.
Gwen clutched the towel tight around her, feeling nervous giddiness and wishing

Raphael would just go away.

Raphael stood in front of her, his erect cock bobbed in front of her face. “Please,” he

held out his hand in invitation, “you must let me wash your hair.”

Gwen kept her chin down. She shook her head. “No thank you.” She had already

washed her hair twice this morning. Her talon-like grip dug into the fluffy towel.

Raphael refused to take “no” for an answer. He stood in front of Gwen with his

hands on his hips and his cock pointing at her nose. He grabbed her by the wrists and
yanked her off the bench.

“Nooo!” She pathetically protested being dragged to her feet. She tried to dig her

heels in but the slippery tile floor made her glide toward Raphael.

The people around her laughed and cheered.
Raphael held her hand and pulled her thigh-deep into the wading pool. He tried to

take her towel away.

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“Forget it!” She swatted at Raphael with her free hand, refusing to let go of her

towel. She enjoyed watching the look of frustration on his handsome face. Obviously,
he was used to getting his way and rarely encountered a reluctant attitude. Admittedly,
there was some personal satisfaction in being his single holdout. She wasn’t even sure
why she was fighting this now. Last night had been much harder to face, but the wrist
cuffs and blindfold had absolved her of all guilt. This was different. She was here on her
own because she begged to do it and if it all went wrong she’d have only herself to
blame. She realized she wanted to be special, not a pal or a plaything to many. That was
the heart of the resistance. It was equally true she needed to relax and be more playful.
Play had been missing from her life for so long.

Raphael dragged Gwen under the waterfall where a large supply of Noblesword

body-care products had been left on a stone ledge. He reached for a bottle of shampoo
and pulled them both under the cascading water to soak their hair.

She laughed as the water forcefully poured down on her, nearly taking her heavy

towel with it.

“You’re going to love this…” Raphael sandwiched Gwen between his body and the

stone wall. He squeezed some shampoo from a gold bottle into his palm and worked it
into her wet hair.

Gwen sniffed the lather, the shampoo smelled like fresh rosemary and lemons.
“Stand closer.” Raphael maneuvered Gwen in front of him.
Temptation drew her closer. He was naked, well-hung and hard as a post. She

couldn’t stand any closer to him without rubbing against him. She took a step back.

He noticed she was staring at him. “It’s not going to bite you.” He pulled her closer.
His broad hands tangled in her hair and worked the shampoo into suds. He firmly

massaged her scalp and the back of her neck. His soapy hands slipped over her
shoulders and descended toward her breasts. He hands started to peel her towel away.

She playfully slapped his hand and fought to hold on to her towel, feeling unsure

about how far Raphael would take this. If she let him take her towel, was he free to take
her?

His hands returned to her hair. His fingers rubbed her scalp in tight circles. His

touch was strong and seductive.

She had to admit Raphael’s scalp massage felt wonderful. She closed her eyes,

leaned back and let him suds her hair.

He took advantage of her closed eyes, pulled her closer and rubbed his hardness

against her thigh.

She was both flattered and indignant at his actions but thought it futile to complain.

Raphael was such a sexual being, and she knew he was just playing.

Raphael deftly maneuvered her in front of the waterfall. “The shampoo has an acid

PH without any harsh detergents or sulfates. You can use it anywhere on your body.

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All the product ingredients are organically grown by local farmers.” He boasted about
the products with a clear, loud voice as if he were starring in a Noblesword infomercial.

Raphael casually massaged some suds across his chest. His hands followed a

feathery trail of fur down his flat abdomen and over the narrow V of his hips. His soapy
hands began to stroke his thick cock, which dripped with suds. His lathered hand
reached for hers and placed it on the head of his cock. “Wash me,” he demanded.

Her face blazed pink when she felt his soapy cock fill her hand.
Raphael squeezed more shampoo onto her palm and instructed her to stroke him

with her soapy palm. He was already thick and slick, but when Gwen’s hand grasped
his shaft, he stiffened even further.

Without permission from her higher self, her naughty hand began to obediently

stroke Raphael. His thick expanse thoroughly filled her palm. What was she doing?
Had she lost her ever-loving mind? He had ordered her to do something shocking, and
she did it. She stared up at him in disbelief. His was tall, muscular, and his olive skin
was smooth and glossy. His elegant face was classically handsome in way that she
rarely saw in the media these days. Yes, the image of Valentino kept coming to mind.
God, he was gorgeous. Her sudsy hand sped up as her other hand timidly cupped his
big balls.

Everyone else in the sauna watched.
This felt like some awkward moment from her teen years, trapped in the backseat

of a car as the captain of the football team unzipped his pants and demanded attention.
It carried that same feeling of certainty that Pandora’s box had been opened.

She did feel a small twinge of resistance. Raphael’s attitude toward her was so

casual. Without having to ask, he could pick her up, carry her around, touch her, make
her touch him, and she went along with all of it. What was wrong with her? She should
be outraged, but deep down she wasn’t. It felt comfortable, natural to be asked to bathe
and adore this beautiful man.

Pyra slid under the waterfall behind them. Her wet fingers glided over Gwen’s

shoulders.

Gwen instantly recognized the touch of those slender fingers.
Pyra kissed the back of Gwen’s shoulder and delivered a sharp nip to the nape of

her neck.

She shivered at being touched in such a sensual way by another woman. The

feeling of Pyra’s delicate hands gliding over her was unmistakably arousing.

Pyra wrapped her arms around her, pressing her naked breasts against Gwen’s

back. Her wet body slid against Gwen’s skin like a slippery eel. She reached for more
shampoo to suds them both. “It’s good to get comfortable with each other,” she
whispered in Gwen’s ear as her fingers crept beneath the towel. “It’s so much easier to
work together as team.”

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Gwen was distracted by the jolt of arousal that came from Pyra’s silky touch. Her

hand drifted away from Raphael as she turned toward Pyra.

“I’m trying to be a good team captain.” Raphael indignantly grasped Gwen’s wrist

so she couldn’t take her hand away. He pulled her against his broad chest. His dark
eyes blazed with confrontation. “Pyra, it’s my turn.”

Gwen felt Raphael’s cock thrusting against her belly. At that moment she couldn’t

tell if Raphael and Pyra were lovers or rabid competition to each other.

Pyra leaned against Gwen and Raphael. She embraced them both in an inclusive

bear hug.

For a fleeting moment Gwen was crushed between Pyra and Raphael. She wanted

to savor the feeling of being sandwiched between their slick beautiful bodies.

A look of delight spread across Pyra’s face. She abruptly wrenched Gwen free of

Raphael’s soapy grasp, laughing as she bolted away from Raphael with Gwen in tow.

Gwen felt herself being propelled into a shallower part of the pool. She glanced

over her shoulder as she lurched through the thigh-deep water.

Raphael scowled at Pyra for tricking him out of his prize.
Pyra laughed. “Get him worked up but don’t let him get off. Make Faunus save it

for tonight.” She pushed Gwen away from the waterfall then returned to torment
Raphael by thoroughly soaping her skin and then rubbing her wet, sudsy body against
him.

Raphael groaned and grabbed on to Pyra’s hips so she couldn’t pull away from

him. His soapy cock glided back and forth over her round butt. He closed his eyes in
ecstasy. His cock started to twitch.

Pyra glanced at Raphael over her shoulder. “Oooo… He really likes that.” She blew

him a kiss before swinging her body away from him, leaving him stranded with his
cock jabbing at the air.

Raphael’s eyes fired sparks of frustration at Pyra.
“He falls for that old trick every time!” Pyra came splashing toward Gwen,

giggling. She took hold of Gwen’s shoulders and kissed her mouth.

Gwen felt the hot tip of an aggressive tongue and wanted more.
Raphael pouted under the waterfall over the loss of his playmates while the women

kissed.

Pyra dragged Gwen to the far side of the waterfall to rinse their hair. All the while

keeping a vigilant eye on the sulking Raphael, making sure he didn’t sneak up on them.

Pyra opened a gold bottle of Noblesword product. She held up the bottle so Gwen

could read the label. “This hair conditioner is made with organic grape seed and
avocado oils.”

There it was again. The infomercial delivering that was so particular to

Noblesword. Gwen thought most people were content to play opera diva or air guitar

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in the shower, but at Noblesword they preferred to play infomercial under the
waterfall.

Pyra’s fingers massaged the rich conditioner onto Gwen’s scalp.
Gwen closed her eyes and enjoyed the closeness of the attractive young woman, no

longer caring if she was being teased or not. It was all fun.

Raphael stared intently at the two women the way a hungry wolf stares at fluffy

rabbits.

“Look all you want,” Pyra taunted Raphael before yanking Gwen’s towel away.
Gwen squealed with alarm over her sudden nakedness and grabbed for her towel.
Pyra quickly reached over and tweaked Gwen’s pink nipple.
Gwen’s hand rose in self-defense to cover her breasts.
Raphael flashed his broad smile. “You should never provoke the god Pan!”
“Faunus!” Pyra laughed at Raphael’s mistake. “You’re never going to get them

straight.”

“That’s because I’m not straight.” Raphael steered toward a bench full of men and

women who were enjoying the show. “I’m going to get my hands on someone!”

When the others saw Raphael heading their way, they laughed and waved him off

with good-natured cries of, “Go away, Horned One!”

Raphael surveyed the group with lustful eyes. “You’re laughing now, but you’re all

fair game later. I’m going to remember who the teases are.”

A fully dressed man walked into the sauna wearing a hairdryer clipped to his hip

like a gunslinger. “Everyone get rinsed,” he bellowed into the steam. “Nymphs on the
right, satyrs on the left. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Everyone in the sauna scrambled to quickly rinse and climb out of the pool.
Gwen dutifully followed behind Pyra, clutching the soaked towel around her.
The man with the hairdryer pulled Gwen aside and shoved her into a private

cubicle. “Lamb, you’re going to get special treatment.”

Gwen didn’t want to be separated from everyone else. Her wet towel dripped water

onto the stone floor.

The gentleman with the hairdryer pushed Gwen into the cubicle and snatched her

towel away. He surveyed her nakedness with a discriminating eye. His fingers stroked
the tapering tip of his goatee.

She cringed.
The man’s lip curled disapprovingly, “Don’t be self-conscious, I’m immune to your

charms. You are my Italianate canvas with which I shall create a Roman spectacle.” His
eyes fell on the trimmed triangle of fur between Gwen’s thighs, “Ah—body hair!” he
shrieked dramatically. “Pubic hair is not part of my vision. Somebody bring me a weed-
whacker!”

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With incredible speed the man hustled Gwen onto a padded table and started

lathering her pubic hair. He shaved a swath of hair away with a razor before she could
express an opinion.

“That’s better.” The man seemed to breathe easier now that her short and curlies

were being shown the door. “I hope your Master won’t mind that I have taken liberties
with you.” He shaved her carefully. Lifting her knee to her chest so that he could reach
every crinkly hair in every hidden place.

“I don’t have a Master,” Gwen answered curtly with her knee jammed against her

chest.

“Tonight you do, lucky girl!” The man spoke gleefully. “Don’t be coy, someone in

Noblesword’s higher echelon is interested in staking a claim on you. I see those pink
diamond stud earrings twinkling on your lobes. I wish some thoughtful and generous
man would give me a pair. Even one ‘stud’ would be enough, it’s the thought that
counts.”

She tried to take a deep breath, but it was difficult with her knee squeezed against

her chest.

The man prattled on about his fears of becoming an old maid while he shaved her

most private region.

Gwen tried to tune him out. What was this guy talking about? Masters? Higher

echelon? She wondered if the owner of Noblesword gave pink diamonds to all the girls
he enjoyed. Perhaps he had a personal seraglio amongst the Noblesword staff? She tried
not to feel depleted by that depressing thought. As a woman she wanted to feel special,
but as a spurned wife, she was ready to believe the worst—that she was common and
one of many. Her adventurous attitude faltered. She felt herself frowning and
desperately wanted to put her knee down.

“Don’t pout!” the man enthused. “You’re going to be gorgeous.”
A young lady walked into the cubicle to deliver a suit bag. “Franco, be careful with

this.” The young lady shook the suit bag in the man’s face. “This is a vintage costume
from the 1950s, from some old gladiator and chariot spectacle.”

“Perfect!” Franco squealed, and grabbed the costume from the girl’s hands.
The costume girl leaned over the table to ask Gwen a question. She ignored the fact

Gwen had a man between her legs, shaving her pubis. “What’s your shoe size?”

“Eight,” Gwen wheezed with her knee still pressed against her chest.
“That’s too bad. These sandals are size seven and a half.” The girl hurried off to

help others get dressed.

Gwen huffed. Of course Noblesword would ask her to ram her feet into a tight pair

of shoes. Her toes still ached from wearing the towering black boots. She wondered—
did sex games at Noblesword always require the pinch of uncomfortable shoes?

Franco hurried to finish the denuding process. He started drying Gwen’s thick,

dark hair with a diffuser. “Your hair has so much curl to it I’m going to let it just go

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wild.” He heated a curling iron to create a few ringlets in the front of her face. He
snapped a long hairpiece onto the back of her head and secured it with a golden diadem
of tiny laurel leaves.

Gwen’s hair now fell to her hips in loose curls. It felt like she was covered in a dark

silky veil.

Franco made her stand up so he could paint circles around her nipples with a sticky

solution. “It’s a vegetable gum and glycerin adhesive. It’s safe on your skin.” He
painted a sticky triangle over her naked mons and blew on her skin gently until it dried
to a tacky finish.

The process made her freshly shaved skin sting.
Franco took a thin sheet of hammered gold leaf and a soft brush and gilded Gwen’s

nipples and mons with real gold. He burnished the gold leaf into her skin by swirling
the tip of a soft brush on top of the thin sheet of gold. The gold leaf took on a smooth
finish. The effect was quite striking. He dusted her skin with a glittering gold body
powder.

“Don’t move,” Franco commanded Gwen as he tweezed a few shaggy brow hairs.

He started penciling her brows into dramatic arches. He applied a light bronzer to her
face, spending most of the time shadowing and lining her eyes. He painstakingly glued
a beveled row of false eyelashes to her upper lids.

Gwen began to worry. She never wore this much eye makeup. It was too tricky to

apply and it often went terribly wrong.

The costume girl walked through the room, shouting a ten-minute warning. “The

first shuttle is ready to begin ferrying people to the party. If you’re wearing a restrictive
costume, ankle shackles or if your heels are just too damn high I hope you’re ready to
go!”

Gwen heard laughter and commotion behind the cubicle wall as the others began to

leave the dressing area.

Franco unzipped the suit bag. He pulled out a sheer white gown with ornate gold

catches that held up the shoulder straps. He held Gwen’s hand as he helped her step
into the gown.

She pulled the white gown to her shoulders. The gown was deeply cut in the front,

and highly slit up each leg. The fabric swept softly to her ankles. Wearing the
translucent gown almost felt like going nude. The gold leaf on her body was clearly
visible through the sheer fabric.

Franco cinched a thick leather corset belt around Gwen’s waist. The belt pulled her

waist in and pushed her breasts high. The belt had hundreds of tiny metallic studs
hammered into it that made a swirling brass and copper pattern.

She winced as her feet were shoved into a pair of leather gladiator sandals that

laced up to her knees.

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Franco looked at his creation with pride. “It’s a dream!” he lavishly praised his own

handiwork. “Move over, Gina Lollobrigida!”

Gwen stole a peek in the mirror. She was astonished. She did look like the Italian

actress with the round mouth. She also looked like a number of other 1950s Italian
screen sirens. She had never dared to wear bold brows and eye makeup like Sophia
Loren, but it worked. She looked smolderingly dramatic. A voluptuous sacrifice fit for
the lions.

The bathhouse began to empty as the shuttle took the first group of gentlemen

away.

She got herded back into her cubicle to wait. She listened to the activity outside as

the other girls fussed with their last-minute details, calling to each other for assistance.

The shuttle soon returned to take everyone else to the party.
Franco carefully wrapped the brown novice’s cape around Gwen’s shoulders.
Gwen rode on the final shuttle, sandwiched between Franco and Pyra.
Pyra looked like an evil nymph with the tiny brass horns peeking out from her

black hair. She was dressed like a Roman centurion with leather sandals that rose to her
calves, a brass breastplate and a short leather skirt with a crimson cape swept rakishly
over one shoulder. She wore a bronze dagger strapped to her thigh and carried a whip.

Pyra smiled at Gwen. “You look great.”
“Thank you.” Gwen felt nearly naked beneath the brown cape.
Pyra brandished her whip in the air. “There’ll be two hundred people here tonight.”

She lamented, “I’ll probably get Carpel tunnel syndrome from all the whippings.”

Gwen laughed nervously. She wasn’t ready to think about the party. She was

worried about being virtually naked, body and soul, in front of two hundred people.
How could she possibly be prepared for something like that?

A high-pitched crackling sound rose from Pyra’s direction.
Pyra winced and tapped her ear. “Raphael, switch frequencies. I’m getting nothing

but static.”

Gwen noticed that Pyra was wearing a tiny earpiece hidden beneath her long, dark

hair.

Pyra smoothed a lock of silky hair away from ear and laughed. “Raphael, you

‘switch’ all the time, I know you can do it.” Her eyes focused on Gwen. “We’re already
on the shuttle…” She paused while Raphael spoke. A smile crept over her face. “You’ll
love it. It’s completely sheer. You can see everything. Goodbye.” She giggled and
stopped talking to Raphael.

Gwen leaned forward. The thought of having another way to check in with her

“team” was a comforting one. “Do I get an earpiece?”

Pyra’s lips curled in amusement. “No.”

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The shuttle skimmed past a group of twenty people in costume, who were being

fitted with slave collars.

Gwen commented to Pyra, “It must be costing a fortune to pay two dozen

professionals to work this party.”

“We’re only paying Franco,” Pyra corrected her, “and the catering staff. Everyone

else is a volunteer. They are doctors, dental hygienist, schoolteachers, store managers—
you name it. Being a slave is a labor of love for them. They just wanted to be here. A
few of them have asked to be auctioned as well.”

The shuttle drove up to the enclosed patio. Tents, torches, harp music and the

smoky scent of roasting meat wafted over the wall.

Gwen blinked at the overwhelming scale of this party, feeling every nerve in her

body jangle.

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Chapter Nine

The shuttle driver delivered Gwen and Pyra to the sunken patio garden that had

been transformed into a tented Roman circus. Heat lamps made the September night
feel balmy. Fire pits and burning torches blazed in every corner. Lounges and cushions
replaced chairs alongside low tables. A whole ox rotated on a spit over one of the fire
pits.

The raised patio platform drew Gwen’s attention. The steps were lined with blazing

torches. The giant fiberglass statues of the bull and the wolf had been set upon the
stage. They glowed eerily in the torchlight. A stone altar, equipped with adjustable
straps and cuffs, was set between the cast animals.

A lion’s cage loomed above the rest at the top of the patio staircase. The lion sat

complaisantly behind iron bars. The lion looked regal but bored. He lay on the floor of
his cage with his yellow eyes at half-mast, watching the party preparations.

Apparently the lion had already eaten his fill. A slab of well-marbled steak lay

untouched beside him.

Gwen was relieved to see the lion’s docile attitude. The lion barely twitched his tail

when she approached.

“Your cage is next to his.” Pyra pointed to a smaller iron cage that bordered the

lion’s. The cages shared a partition of iron bars. If the lion wanted to, he could come to
the edge of Gwen’s cage and bat at the bars, but the lion could not actually reach her.

Pyra opened the cage door and beckoned Gwen to enter. “Hold your wrists out, I

have to cuff you.”

Gwen offered her wrists while keeping an eye on the lion.
Pyra buckled Gwen into a pair of leather wrist cuffs, which were chained to the

ceiling of the cage.

The chains were long enough for Gwen to move several feet in either direction.
Pyra showed her there was a winch outside the cage that guests could use to raise

or lower her arms. They could even make her dangle a few inches off the ground if they
desired.

Gwen glanced at the lion as he casually spread his big paws out in front him. “The

lion can’t reach me, can he?”

The lion sensed they were talking about him. He roused from his stupor to sniff the

air.

“Only if you move past the safety mark on the floor.” Pyra pointed to a chalk line

drawn on the cage floor. “The lion can’t reach past that point, so stay on this side of the
chalk line.”

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Gwen stared in horror at the chalk line. That fragile line was her lifeline. She knew

there was nothing in this world that could make her cross it. There was nothing on
Earth that could compel her to move a fraction of an inch past that line.

“Oh I forgot to tell you…” Pyra looked guilty. “The guests will also be allowed to

reach into the cage and paw at you.”

Gwen’s jaw dropped. “That’s not what I was told at lunch.”
“Miss Chantal thought it would be good discipline for you, retribution for being a

snoop. Miss Chantal thinks you have the wrong ideas about being a submissive. She is
afraid you will become spoiled if a stricter example is not immediately set.”

Gwen huffed in dismay, the chains rattled above her head. She wasn’t spoiled. She

had been a terrific sport and gone along with everything Noblesword had dished out to
her without any complaints. She had fiercely resisted every impulse to ask about what
was coming next. What was going on. Though she desperately wanted to know, she
said nothing. She’d been a perfect submissive, nearly perfect submissive for Mr. Pink
Diamonds. She had quietly submitted while Franco prattled about his romantic
disappointments and shaved her pubic hair. She deserved credit for that. Miss Chantal
was being too harsh with her. She felt like a total martyr, and a martyr was a bad thing
to be when chained a few feet from a lion.

“Just stand still.” Pyra walked away, leaving Gwen chained to the roof of her cage.

“Try to look frightened when the guests come up to your cage, but don’t squeal too
much—it will overexcite the lion.”

Gwen sulked to the far side of the cage and wrapped her brown cape around her

shoulders. She felt truly martyred now. She wanted to fade away and not be seen or
teased by man or beast. Perhaps if she were silent, if she stood perfectly still, no one
would notice her?

She huddled chained to the roof of the cage, trying not to look directly at the lion,

though the lion stared directly at her. Her eyes fixated on the sight of the roast ox
slowly turning on the spit. The ox’s ankles had been lashed together and now thrust
stiffly into the air. She could sympathize with that ox. She reminded herself to just think
calming thoughts and no one would even notice her there.

Musicians with flutes and lyres played. They strolled around the fire pits, creating a

convincingly authentic Roman atmosphere.

Damn. She couldn’t think of a single calming thought. The butterflies in her

stomach went crazy. She watched from behind the iron bars of her cage as the guests
arrived at the Bacchanal. Many of the Platinum members were beautifully dressed in
lavish outfits. Roman generals in purple cloaks paraded across the patio, accompanied
by ladies in flowing crimson gowns, dripping with amber jewelry. These people looked
as if they had made an extensive investment in the style of costume. Maybe they
dressed this way all the time? No, that seemed a bit much. Perhaps this was their
preferred weekend wear. She smiled at the thought of her neighbors secretly lounging
around in their backyards dressed like Romans.

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Other guests showed up wearing formal black tie or snug-fitting patent leather with

a naked slave on the end of a leash.

The Platinum members greeted each other with warmth and good humor. There

was a lot of kidding and teasing amongst the guests. Apparently many people were
well acquainted.

Masters and Mistresses were eager to show off their loyal and obedient pets.
“Go ahead, touch her,” one master invited another to caress his slave.
The slave was a beautiful blonde in her late thirties who was wearing a red rubber

dress that was so tight it fit like a coat of paint and barely covered her ass. The
constricting red rubber made her body look dangerously sleek.

The woman dutifully bent over to have her shiny red bottom stroked by the

stranger. Her short dress revealed she was naked underneath.

The slave’s Master encouraged the guest to stroke his slave’s inner thigh and

squeeze her bottom through the tight red rubber of her dress.

“She’s very compliant.” The guest delivered a heartfelt compliment to a fellow

Master. “Do you ever have trouble with her in public?”

“Never,” the Master answered proudly. To prove his point he ordered the blonde

slave to kneel in front of him.

She crawled to her Master’s feet and began to kiss and massage his balls through

the fabric of his trousers.

The Master closed his eyes to better savor his slave’s attention. He ran his fingers

affectionately through her blonde hair. A visible bulge swelled in pants. “She’s been my
favorite for fifteen years now,” he boasted. “I’m going to keep her another forty or fifty
years.”

The two men laughed.
The blonde slave deftly unzipped her Master’s trousers and freed his hard cock into

the evening air. She nuzzled it lovingly like a cat before swallowing it and sucking
deliriously on the head.

Her Master’s eyes drooped at the corners. He tried to continue the pretense of

conversation with his fellow Master a moment longer but soon became silent with the
exception of some muffled groans.

Party guests stopped to watch with curiosity and approval as the man enjoyed a

loud orgasm several feet from where they were mixing cocktails.

One purple-cloaked Roman general was the first to applaud the performance and

others soon joined in.

Dozens more guests poured onto the patio.
Gwen strained to listen and watch them all but soon felt overwhelmed as mini

dramas sprang up everywhere.

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A majestic-looking woman with a cloud of wavy red hair caught her eye. The

woman was tall and lushly proportioned. Her bosom jutted in front of her like a sea
cliff. Her elegant golden gown flowed over her broad hips. The woman looked like a
contemporary version of the goddess Isis. She haughtily paraded a naked young man
on the end of a golden leash.

The red-haired woman demanded the young man kiss the hands and feet of

everyone they greeted. The woman would brutally jerk on the end of the leash and
demand her slave “heel” and kiss the feet that were offered to him.

The young man seemed to relish this task. He smirked every time he was brought

to heel. He eagerly dropped to the ground to smother the offered hand or foot in wet
kisses and adoring caresses.

Many startled guests snatched their hands back after the young man got a hold of

them and continued licking and kissing them for too long.

“Stop slobbering on them!” The redhead resorted to whacking her pet’s buttocks

with a little leather switch to bring the young man into line.

Wow! What a bitch. Gwen quietly watched the redhead from her cage and began to

relax. People were making their own fun. They were busy performing for each other
and showing off. With these shenanigans going on, who would notice or bother with
her?

The lion roared beside her, calling attention to them both. The lion’s roar was ear-

splitting and it vibrated through Gwen’s chest. The lion lunged its paws through the
bars of the cage and swatted at the hem of her gown like a kitten chasing a butterfly.

Gwen screamed and jerked her gown away from the lion’s shredding claws.
The party guests snapped their heads around and looked at Gwen. Several

immediately drifted toward her cage, eager to gloat over her predicament.

“Damn you!” Gwen glared at the lion for ratting her out.
“What have we here?” The lady with red hair was the first to reach Gwen’s cage.

She poked her leather switch through the bars, hoping to part Gwen’s cape and get a
better look at the captive.

Gwen backed away from the bars to avoid the redhead’s switch, but the lion roared

at her and sent her racing back toward the red-haired woman.

“Stop squirming, novice!” The redhead blared in Gwen’s face. “I want to inspect

you.”

Gwen winced at the word “inspect”, it sounded so condemning.
A crowd gathered to watch. The winch on the side of the cage was discovered.
A man turned the winch until Gwen’s arms rose above her head. He kept turning

the winch until she actually lifted off the floor.

Gwen’s back arched and her cape fell over her shoulders. Soon her feet were

kicking in the air. The frantic kicking and meowing sounds that escaped her lips excited
the lion. Its big paws darted between the cage bars, testing his reach.

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“What a fuss she’s making!” the redhead loudly denounced Gwen. “She’s spoiled

and lacks self-discipline. Her Master or Mistress should take her firmly in hand.”

At the mere suggestion of “discipline” the young man on the golden leash quivered

and dropped to the redhead’s feet to caress her toes.

“Not now!” the redhead threatened her pet with the leather switch.
The young man’s eyes bulged as he bolted backward in mock alarm.
A handsome gentleman with silver hair approached Gwen’s cage. A glint of

mischief shone brightly in his warm brown eyes.

A feeling of dread washed over Gwen.
Clearly, the silver-haired man was up to no good. “I think the brunette is lovely.”

He reached into Gwen’s cage to stroke his fingers across her the tips of her glided
breasts.

Gwen’s arms strained against the overhead cuffs. Her wiggling caused her to gently

swing back and forth above the floor of the cage.

The man pinched a golden nipple that shone through the sheer fabric of her gown.
Gwen writhed and tried to pull away but she couldn’t.
The man’s fingers grazed her golden mons. “She’s not spoiled.” The man praised

Gwen. “She’s inexperienced as a slave. I’d love to give her some experience. Who is her
Master, perhaps he will share her with me?”

The redhead gave the man with the silver hair a pitying look. “Jupiter never

shares.”

“I see…” The man nodded his head in agreement that it was a pity. He surveyed

Gwen with a smug expression on his face as she hung from her chains. He poked his
hands between the bars of the cage.

Gwen could not avoid the man’s touch while she was daggling.
“Lucky Jupiter.” The man fondled Gwen’s breasts. “She’s beautiful. Is that real gold

leaf on her, or is it paint?” He casually parted the bodice of her gown and exposed her
plump breasts to everyone on the patio. To satisfy his curiosity he carefully touched the
surface of the gold leaf, which began to crackle as her nipples hardened. “Real gold, I’m
impressed.” He looked her in the eye with undisguised lust and lowered the winch.

Gwen sucked in a deep breath as her feet returned to the floor. The moment her

toes touched the ground, she scurried to the back of the cage where she was barely out
of reach of both the silver-haired man and the lion.

The lion snarled at Gwen with condemning yellow eyes.
The hem of Gwen’s novice’s cape accidentally swung toward the lion’s cage.
The lion batted at the floating fabric like a toy and caught the hem of her cape on

the tip of his claw and began to gnaw on it.

Gwen squealed with alarm and tugged her frayed cape away from the beast. Her

heart pounded as she fled to the other side of the cage.

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The silver-haired man was waiting for her at the other end of the cage. “Come

closer.” He thrust his hand through the bars, trying to coax her within reach. “I want to
show you something.” He unzipped his pants and pulled out an obscenely long, thick
erection, as round in circumference as a soda bottle.

Gwen’s eyes narrowed. It took a moment for her mind to register that this massive

cock was attached to a human. Her only thought was—This man must create panic every
time he unzips his pants.

“Come over and say hello to him.” The man addressed his cock as a separate entity.

“He’d love to meet you.” The man reveled in her startled reaction, clearly he was a
proud exhibitionist.

Gwen’s jaw dropped, the man was part donkey. He was a freak. She huddled on

her side of the cage.

Everyone around them laughed, apparently this was a running joke played on

novices.

The man enjoyed Gwen’s horrified expression as she clung to the bars of her cage.

After a minute or two of unsuccessfully trying to coerce her to touch “him”, the man
zipped “him” back inside his pants and disappeared into the crowd to surprise the next
unwitting soul.

The red-haired woman and others also lost interest in her and drifted away from

the cage.

The lion became preoccupied with licking the marbled steak he had previously

ignored.

Gwen tried not to move an inch from where she stood. She was afraid to break the

moment of peaceful equilibrium, so she held her breath, willing herself to become
invisible to the lion and the other partygoers. Then she noticed a gorgeous young man
with wavy blond hair staring at her.

He sat at the foot of the raised patio, staring up at her with languid eyes. He wore

tight leather pants and a silky green shirt unbuttoned to his waist, revealing a hairless,
lean chest. His long tapering fingers toyed idly with a chunky platinum watchband. His
arched lips curled into a slight smile, which betrayed his great amusement at her
predicament.

Her eyes riveted on him, realizing it was the man’s mouth that was so hypnotic, it

looked slightly cruel and moody. His wild head of hair and his mouth made this man
resembled a young Jim Morrison.

The man’s eyes scanned over Gwen with familiarity, as if he knew everything about

her.

Her heart raced. She wondered if this was the man who had taken her from the

cognac room. Was this Mr. Pink Diamonds? Was this the man with the sensuous kisses
who knew how to own her and fuck her ass? She dared to hope. Maybe she wouldn’t
mind being a member of this man’s private seraglio.

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Sherry stepped forward. She looked stunning with her long golden-tan legs

exposed beneath a hip-length toga. She knelt in front of the Jim Morrison lookalike,
with the hem of her toga riding high.

The man spanked Sherry’s bottom with an open palm. The sound of the spank

made a loud whoosh, attracting everyone’s attention.

“Why are you wearing a thong instead of a G-string?” The blond man spoke with a

petulant Germanic accent. He demanded Sherry remove the unauthorized thong at
once.

Sherry wiggled out of her thong and tossed the offending undergarment onto the

muzzle of the wolf statue.

Gwen’s heart sank. She realized this beautiful man must be Sherry’s traveling

companion, the obnoxious Alfred. She stared in disappointment, not wanting to believe
this gorgeous man before her was the German from the cognac room. Based on his
peevish voice, she had pictured a pudgy, pink-faced, beady-eyed man, not this Nordic
beauty.

Alfred whined for Sherry to get him a drink. He acted incensed that Sherry had

approached him without bringing the beverage he expected. He complained loudly of
her idleness and threatened to spank her in front of everyone.

Sherry scampered away, returning moments later with a drink for Alfred. “Here it

is, my darling.” Her face beamed.

The drink appeared so quickly Gwen suspected Sherry had set the drink aside just

to agitate Alfred into publicly spanking her.

Sherry approached Alfred, carrying a sloshing martini glass filled to the brim.
Gwen gasped when Sherry deliberately tripped and spilled the drink onto Alfred’s

lap.

Alfred hissed at Sherry with a reddened face. He leapt up to allow the martini to

trickle down his pant leg before plopping back down in his chair with a pout on his
beautiful lips. He railed at Sherry’s clumsiness, “Get over here!” He grabbed Sherry and
tossed her over his damp knee. He lifted what little of a skirt she wore and exposed her
golden bottom to the crowd on the patio. His hand came down on her bare butt with
fury. He spanked Sherry with real gusto as an interested mob crowded closer.

Sherry’s lips betrayed the fleeting glimpse of a triumphant smile before hanging her

head in shame.

Gwen sighed. So that was Alfred and Sherry. Now she had at least two faces paired

with her experiences in the cognac room. Now where was her mystery man, Mr. Pink
Diamonds? She surveyed the crowd. There were many interesting men here, but no one
who fit the mental image of what she expected her mystery man to look like. She knew
he was tall and muscular, but she decided it was dangerous to speculate. Surely she
would be disappointed. She had certainly made a poor assumption with Alfred.

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A petite Asian woman walked in front of the lion’s cage. The woman’s

ultrafeminine silhouette was quite striking. She had a minuscule cinched waist and
high, pointy, cone breasts. The woman inched across the patio, wearing a skirt so tight
at the knees that it effectively hobbled her. The woman took prim, deliberate steps. Her
progress across the patio was painstakingly slow. The towering six-inch heels on her
dainty feet made her movements cumbersome. The poor creature looked pitiably
vulnerable as if she were in peril of toppling at any moment.

As Gwen waited in suspense for the woman to fall over, a Paul-Bunyan-sized man

with a bushy brown beard scooped the woman up, tossed her over his shoulder and
stomped away with her.

Miss Chantal appeared on the patio, looking regal in a flowing purple gown. She

walked through the crowd tickling the guests with a bundle of peacock feathers, but in
her other hand she brandished a braided white whip, which was poised to lash out at
offenders.

The doting admirers who followed in Miss Chantal’s wake never knew which of the

two treatments they would be subjected to—the tickling feathers or the stinging whip.

Miss Chantal generously administered both methods to the adoring men and

women who flocked around her.

As the party heated up, several couples and many men came over to the lion’s cage

to stare at Gwen or touch her through the bars. Everyone was cognizant they were
playing a game and their comments and behavior, though overtly sexual, were never
offensive.

Gwen began to relax and found the interaction flirty, ribald and exciting. It was

refreshing to hear what people really wanted or thought.

She was surprised by how aroused she got. After the initial nervousness passed, she

realized there was a lot of pleasure to be had from being looked at. Her inner critic, who
dutifully pointed out her imperfections to her, was miraculously silenced, allowing the
experience to become transpersonal. There was no judgment given or offense taken. She
became simply a woman being admired because nature demanded men look at women.

The men who stepped up to her cage were visual creatures. Obviously they got a lot

of pleasure just from looking at her. They gazed at her through hooded eyes. Several
stroked themselves in homage to her.

Gwen realized the men were looking at their fantasies, not at her. For the first time

in adult memory she was accepting enough of her sexuality to allow Gwen Bel Geddes
to take a mental holiday and simply become the brunette in the cage.

If men were natural voyeurs, she realized she was a natural exhibitionist. She loved

the reaction she could elicit from the men by making the slightest provocative gesture.
She became acutely aware of just how subtle she could be with a tiny shift in body
posture or fleeting eye contact. It almost felt like fishing. As new men stepped up to her
cage, she would guess what kind of fantasies or preferences that man had and exploit
the information.

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To some men she portrayed herself as utterly helpless, a damsel in distress,

quivering in chains. These men treated her with astonishing kindness, whispering
calming words through the bars or stroking her face with their fingertips.

To others she presented herself as a smoldering wanton, a creature as dangerous as

the lion she was caged beside. She fostered the illusion that the only thing sparing the
man ravishment at the hands of an aggressive female was the iron bars that separated
them.

Of course some men remained neutral and simply wanted to look.
Raphael pranced through the party dressed like Faunus, the god of the forests. He

looked completely convincing with real horns peeking out from his wavy dark hair.
Half of his beautiful body was covered in furry chaps. His black shoes were molded to
look like cloven feet. He darted around the patio kissing women and grabbing men by
the crotch and threatening to fuck everyone.

A huge flat screen television had been mounted against a patio wall. The television

screen lit up.

The partygoers looked up at the screen as the television played back scenes from

the sauna.

Gwen gasped in horror when she saw herself clutching her towel and being pulled

under the waterfall by Raphael.

When Raphael started talking about the merits of Noblesword products, the crowd

cheered in approval.

Gwen watched with increasing discomfort, knowing what was coming next.
Raphael ordered her to stroke him with a soapy hand.
Gwen’s headed wilted from embarrassment when Pyra snatched her towel away.
Everyone on the patio laughed at her reaction. The crowd watched Pyra tease

Raphael by rubbing her wet, sudsy body against his hardness. Everyone howled with
delight to see Raphael being tormented this way. This footage was a real crowd pleaser.

Gwen’s stomach knotted. She tried to look away from the television screen but

couldn’t when she saw herself lying naked on a table with her knee pressed against her
chest, being shaved by Franco. Her face reddened that she had been so exposed.

The behind-the-scenes footage had great entertainment value for the voyeurs who

crowded beneath the big screen to watch Franco’s every motion.

Gwen hung limply from her chains, swearing she couldn’t take any more.

Thankfully the next scenes were of the other men and women getting ready for the
party. The television screen filled with images of beautiful girls wiggling into corsets
and golden thongs.

There was one particularly intimate scene of an extreme close-up of a woman

applying mascara to her eyelashes. The woman applied her eye makeup as if it were a
religious ritual. Her mascara was applied slowly and carefully with rapt attention to
each tiny eyelash as her glazed-over eyes stared heavenward. Every stroke of the

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mascara wand suggested she was being transformed, becoming something “other”. The
woman’s mouth softly parted as she worked. She looked like an enraptured saint
caught in the thrall of ecstasy.

One slender young man had his body shaved and coated in liquid black latex,

which was then rubbed with gold powder so he looked like a metallic statue.

Gwen saw the golden young man on the patio, walking behind his Master, who

proudly pointed to his pet on the television screen.

The entire process behind the scenes in the sauna had been secretly filmed and

played back for the enjoyment of the voyeurs and proud slave Masters who had not
been there to watch the initial process take place.

It was an odd experience for Gwen to see those semi-private moments looped and

played back for the enjoyment of the crowd. When she saw the immense pleasure it
provided to others, her initial indignity quickly faded to a “what’s the harm” attitude.

A small army of slaves carried platters of food onto the patio. The platters were set

down on low tables and the guests seated themselves on piled cushions.

A man dressed like a gladiator began to carve the roast ox with an electric knife.
Gwen thought it was an odd sight to witness such a primal meal served with a

modern kitchen implement.

A beautiful young man with curly brown hair went cheerfully from table to table

with a ceramic urn, pouring wine into carafes.

Before the meal began, Miss Chantal approached the lion’s cage.
Gwen saw her coming and became extremely nervous, not knowing what to expect.
Miss Chantal thrust the peacock feathers through the iron bars and began to tickle

Gwen’s underarms.

The faint brush and drag of the feathers was irritating. Gwen tried to ignore it. The

peacock feathers wiggled under her nose, making her more annoyed. She was
extremely ticklish yet determined to remain quiet and not call undue attention to
herself.

Without saying a word Miss Chantal swiped the peacock feathers in front of the

lion, provoking the lion to bat at the feathers and roar.

“Aaah!” The booming roar made Gwen leap. She bolted away from the lion.
The whisking peacock feathers agitated the lion. He began to pace back and forth

on his half of the cage with a menacing growl rumbling deep in his chest.

Gwen scooted as far as possible to her side of the chalk mark.
Miss Chantal whispered to Gwen through the bars, “How far do you want to go?”
Gwen blanched as the lion paced in her peripheral vision. “I don’t want to get

hurt.”

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Miss Chantal wagged an admonishing finger in Gwen’s face. “You were already

hurt when you arrived at Noblesword. Why don’t you push yourself past where you’re
comfortable?”

Gwen bit her lip, now worried about what would be done to her.
Miss Chantal turned and walked away from the lion’s cage to socialize with and

tyrannize her other guests. She seated herself like a queen atop a pile of crimson
cushions with a gaggle of adoring men and women at her feet. She occasionally lashed
out with her white whip to strike at someone’s surprised buttocks or back.

Gwen glanced around the patio. All the guests were now seated at the tables. It was

interesting and calming to watch others for a change.

A muscular man kneeled at his Master’s feet and allowed himself to be used as a

footrest.

The musicians strolled between the fire pits, making soft music.
A proud female slave draped in dozens of colorful silk veils was ordered by her

Master to dance. She danced with the abandon of a gypsy queen. She spun at dizzying
speeds with her nostrils flaring as the veils floated away from her body one by one. Her
sensuous body had been coated in flecks of gold that glittered brightly against her
mocha skin. Her dance slowed to a sensuous tempo as she demonstrated strict control
of every muscle in her gilded body and her hips snaked in sinuous circles. When the
last veil had been cast away, the woman melted at her Master’s feet.

He enthusiastically praised her, kissed her mouth then forced her head into his lap

and demanded she suck him off while the other dinner guests ate their meal.

The guests were completely immersed in the dining experience as platter after

platter of beautifully prepared food came to the tables.

Slaves served and handfed their Masters. The Masters and Mistresses didn’t have to

lift a finger or a goblet, their slaves anticipated their every desire.

Lavish desserts arrived on golden platters. Life-sized chocolate swans cradling

pools of fresh raspberries and cream on their backs were set upon the tables.
Enthusiastic fingers began to break the chocolate swans apart and devour them.

When the meal was finished, a sensual stupor passed over the crowd as if the

chocolate had been drugged with poppies. Slaves were required to bare themselves at
their Masters’ request. Some slaves were casually traded to other Masters for acts as
innocent as foot rubs or admiring fondles to outright sexual favors. The slaves happily
did as they were asked.

Platters were cleared away to make room for the next stage of the party.
Miss Chantal stood upon a tabletop and announced in her confident low voice,

“The unattached slaves will now be auctioned off!” She clapped her hands and ordered
Raphael to herd the slaves toward the stage.

Gwen watched as a dozen men and women, who had come to the party without

Masters or Mistresses, lined up in front of her cage.

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Interested Masters, Mistresses and several couples crowded forward to inspect the

row of slaves. The slaves were praised for their best qualities and gently touched to test
their responsiveness.

The slaves were an especially attractive bunch and there were not enough of them

to go around. Every slave had several bidders intensely interested in him or her.

The lion lay in his cage, panting so loudly, Gwen had to strain her ears to listen to

what was being said on stage.

Brief questions were asked of each slave, sexuality and personal preferences were

stated.

One young woman was particularly stunning. She resembled a piece of art from

another era. She had glossy brown hair that fell in waves to her waist. Her pink
pearlescent skin appeared never to have experienced the scorching rays of the sun. Her
high breasts curved past her rib cage, her hips were rounded and broad and her large
brown eyes appeared completely innocent.

A pair of particularly aggressive Dominants argued heatedly over the girl.
Miss Chantal told them both to put their money where their mouth were.
Two attractive ladies glared at each other as they looked over a heavily muscled

young man with a V-shaped torso.

The man stood quiet and dignified as the ladies argued in front of him. A necklace

of peacock feathers sparkled against his dark skin.

The ladies quibbled over who was better suited to take this bull for a mate. They

finally decided that it was in their best interests to share him and test his limits later.

Two couples competed to possess an angelic-looking young man with soft blond

curls.

Miss Chantal encouraged the bidders to be generous, reminding them that the

money would go to a charitable cause. She promised that these slaves would be worthy
recipients of the bidders’ discipline and loving care.

The bidders presented their written bids to Miss Chantal. Miss Chantal and Raphael

moved away from the crowd to review each bid carefully. They moved toward the
lion’s cage.

Gwen overheard them discussing the bids. She was surprised to hear that not every

bid was made in dollars, many were offers of goods or services to either Noblesword or
to the larger community.

After a short debate, a final decision was made. A Noblesword collar with a golden

tag dangling from it was awarded to each of the successful bidders. The bidders
claimed their prize by buckling the collars around the slaves’ necks. The triumphant
ones quickly disappeared into the crowd or dark corners of the patio with their new
acquisitions.

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Chapter Ten

Raphael strode across the front of the stage holding an urn filled with metal tokens

that resembled Roman coins. He shook the urn and made the aluminum tokens jingle
loudly. “This auction works both ways!” he warned the crowd. “If you placed a silver
token in this urn with your number stamped on it you might find yourself at my
mercy!”

Laughter and cries for mercy rose from the crowd.
Raphael dramatically pointed at Gwen’s cage.
Gwen froze as all eyes turned toward her.
“If I choose a golden token with your number stamped on it the woman in the cage

will be at your mercy!”

More laugher and lewd suggestions rang out from the crowd along with many

hopeful offers to assist Raphael with his work.

Gwen flinched, growing increasingly uneasy. Whose mercy? What was Raphael

talking about? The crowd focused on her with an unsettling intensity. Everyone present
was a stranger to her. She had no idea who had a cruel sense of fun and who did not.
She fled to the back of her cage.

The lion adopted Gwen’s anxious mood. He glowered at her, aimlessly pacing his

half of the divided cage, shaking his mane and snarling.

An amplified male voice boomed like thunder from behind the raised patio.
The lion leapt against the iron bars of Gwen’s cage and roared.
Gwen dropped to the floor, cowering.
“This woman belongs to Jupiter!” A tall man dressed in a flowing white robe and a

golden mask stepped onto the patio. He approached Gwen’s cage. The man wore a
microphone near his jaw that amplified his voice and lent it an unearthly quality. He
truly sounded like a thundering god.

Gwen clearly heard Jupiter’s amplified breathing as he approached her. She backed

away from the bars of her cage. It was unsettling to be caught between the man and the
lion. There was nowhere in her cage to move that she was completely safe from either
of them. She found herself trapped between two threatening male forces.

The man in the golden mask loomed beside her cage. He cranked the winch that

raised Gwen’s arms above her head. The chains tightened and dragged her into the
center of the cage.

She struggled to return to the far side of the cage but the chains pulled her arms

taut and all she accomplished was some frantic thrashing. She knew this scene had been

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carefully planned and was merely theater, but she couldn’t stop herself from panicking
as she was dragged forward.

The man who played Jupiter had a muscular build and an imposing presence. For

some odd reason the sight of his broad, square hands fascinated her. The man’s hands
were all she could focus on.

Pyra and Sherry marched up the steps of the patio with flamboyant flourish and

joined Jupiter on the stage.

At the sight of the two beautiful women on stage, the crowd wildly shouted out

wolf whistles.

Jupiter’s artificially amplified voice boomed above the noise of the party, “Choose!”
The crowd became quiet and turned their eyes toward Raphael.
Raphael rummaged his hand around in the urn and pulled out a silver token. He

triumphantly held the token up and called out, “Number twenty-seven.”

A male slave glanced at the silver token in his hand and squealed loudly in mock

horror, “No, no, no!” He thrashed hysterically, trying to break free of his Master’s grip.

The Master dragged the squirming young man to the steps of the raised stage and

presented the young man to Raphael. “Here is number twenty-seven.” The Master
laughed. He thrust the bare-chested young man into Raphael’s arms. “Do what you will
with him.” The Master nodded to Raphael. “His behavior has been quite
reprehensible.”

The young man blanched in real horror when Raphael took possession of him and

bodily pulled him onto the stage. He fought Raphael every step as if he were heading
for the guillotine.

The crowd enthusiastically cheered Raphael’s actions.
Raphael pulled the young man in front of the lion’s cage.
Gwen held her breath as Jupiter and the crowd looked on.
The young man was probably in his late twenties but he had the slender build of a

boy. A dark forelock of hair swept over his face. He did not present much of a physical
challenge to the much larger and more muscular Raphael.

Raphael grabbed the young man by the scruff of the neck and stared into the

frightened man’s face. “What will it be, boy? Do you want to suck, or do you want to
fuck?”

The young man blushed furiously. His knees quaked. A strangely hopeful

expression lit his eyes. His lips ticked toward a suppressed smile before blurting out,
“Please don’t fuck me, Sir!” His denial was completely unconvincing.

“He’s not much an actor, is he?” Raphael circled the young man.
Both the lion and the crowd roared, making the startled young man scream.
“That’s not punishment. Don’t let him off that easily!” the young man’s Master

bellowed from the base of the steps. “He served my coffee lukewarm this morning.”

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The crowd hissed at the young man’s inconsiderate oversight.
“And he forgot my leather pants at the dry cleaners. I had to borrow these for

tonight.” The Master pointed with dismay to his borrowed britches. “Can you believe
it?”

The crowd groaned in disgust. This recalcitrant young man clearly deserved what

was coming to him.

“Shocking!” Raphael was in complete agreement with the crowd. He unsnapped

the young man’s pants and abruptly yanked them down to his knees.

The young man stood quivering like a punished schoolboy, wearing a pair of girlish

silk panties. His hands flew futilely to his crouch to conceal the lavender panties but
everyone saw what he was hiding and laughed.

A sickened expression curled Raphael’s lips. “Look at him squirming. He has no

self-discipline at all. Behold this shameful display. Because he’s so pretty, he has been
spoiled and spared discipline, but that’s going to come to an end right now!”

The young man’s face reddened. He tried to hide his blushing face behind his thick

forelock of hair.

Raphael called to the crowd, “What shall we do with him?”
Many disciplinary enthusiasts in the crowd shouted their lewd opinions about how

this matter should be handled.

Raphael asked Pyra to hand him the bronze dagger she wore strapped to her thigh.
Pyra pulled the jeweled dagger from its sheath and ceremoniously handed the knife

to Raphael.

Raphael held the dagger up for all to see.
The young man went pale at the sight of the knife. He tried to bolt from the stage.
Pyra grabbed hold of the struggling boy and held him still while Raphael slid the

dagger under the panties and cut the silky fabric to pieces.

Raphael threw the shredded panties at the crowd like a bride throwing her bouquet

to the bridesmaids.

The crowd grabbed joyfully at the fluttering ribbons of lavender silk floating

through the air.

The young man looked absolutely mortified standing naked with his pants puddled

around his ankles and his fully erect cock bobbing ridiculously in front of him. As long
as his hair was, he did not have enough hair to completely cover his embarrassed face.

Raphael grabbed the young man by the shoulders and spun his naked backside

toward the crowd. In the harshest tones he ordered the young man to, “Bend over!”

The young man’s hands clutched his knees. His buttocks and slender legs were

completely exposed. His pink scrotum peeked out from between his thighs.

Pyra reached over to tickle his balls with an errant finger.
The young man winced.

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Raphael pointed out the flawless, smooth skin on the young man’s buttocks. “This

is the problem.” He pumped his hips in the air in a lewd gesture that made the lion and
the crowd roar. “This pretty boy has had no discipline, bring me my strap.”

Pyra handed Raphael a twenty-four-inch strap of pliable leather.
The young man groaned in dread when he saw the leather strap. His knees buckled

forward.

Raphael called for the young man’s Master to join them on stage. “Don’t worry,” he

dismissed the Master’s look of concern for his pretty slave, “I’ll only make him sting.”

Raphael pulled his shoulders back, lifted his arm high and struck the strap across

the young man’s buttocks.

The young man yelped.
Raphael struck the young man hard directly on the spot where his buttocks curved

into his thigh. The strap made a terrible crack! where it made contact.

The young man swayed on his feet, whimpering.
The third strike was even harder. The young man moaned, a swath of pink spread

across his buttocks to the top of his thighs.

Raphael tensed his tapering back and struck again.
The crowd appeared mesmerized by the crack of the strap and the building rhythm.
The young man made odd, bleating sounds. It was impossible to tell if he was

crying or laughing.

Raphael’s broad shoulders were strong and he struck with precision as the strap

flailed through the air.

Gwen winced, praying she would not be subjected to this level of pain and

humiliation. She hoped no gold tokens would be chosen from the urn. Real worry
gripped her heart.

The man dressed like Jupiter seemed to read her thoughts, perhaps he noticed her

furrowed brow. He reached through the bars to gently stroke her face with his
fingertips. He lifted the microphone away from his lips so he could have a private word
with her. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, “I won’t allow you to be harmed.” His voice
was velvety, reassuring and familiar.

The kind gesture made her heart leap. She felt herself drawn to the man. She could

not stop staring at his hands. Was this Mr. Pink Diamonds? She tried to look beyond the
golden mask but the man turned away.

Raphael railed the strap against the young man’s buttocks until the young man’s

rump thoroughly reddened.

In his agony, the young man begged shamelessly, but it was unclear from his

garbled speech what he was begging for.

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Gwen closed her eyes, she felt embarrassed for the young man’s humiliation.

Without the visual, she realized it was the sounds that were so compelling and so
shocking. The crack of the strap was extremely loud.

The young man made a lot of noise. He had to make a lot of noise to be heard. He

was competing against a snarling lion, a cheering crowd and a slapping strap. His pleas
and mutterings were drowned out by the party’s din as his legs trembled.

The strap in Raphael’s hand stilled and for a moment the rhythm was broken.
The crowd hushed.
The young man’s body shuddered as he burst into quaking tears. He fell on all

fours in a kind of cathartic hysteria, sobbing on his knees.

Gwen noticed Raphael subtly tap an earpiece worn behind one of his prominent

horns.

Raphael softly whispered something. No one past the edge of the stage would have

heard his words.

Gwen saw Miss Chantal discreetly seated at the very back of the crowd. She too

wore a small microphone, which she tapped lightly.

Miss Chantal stared at the screen of a tiny handheld computer. Apparently she was

feeding Raphael information about the young man’s preferences and expectations.

Raphael stood back and let the young man finish crying while Miss Chantal

completed her instructions. Then he picked the young man off the ground by the scruff
of his neck and dragged him to his Master’s feet. “Kiss your Master’s boots.” He shoved
the young man’s face toward the toes of his Master’s chocolate brown crocodile boots.

The young man reverently kneeled to kiss his Master’s boots.
Raphael delivered a stern order, “Come on your Master’s boots.”
The young man shook his head in alarm. “No!” He tried to scuttle away from

Raphael.

“Shocking.” Raphael rolled his eyes in disbelief, openly sympathizing with the

young man’s Master. “I can see why you’ve had such a difficult time with him. We will
have to take him in hand.” He stood behind the young man and slid his arms around
his waist, forcibly heaving the young man to his feet. He grabbed the young man by the
balls.

The young man twisted in Raphael’s grip like an eel.
Raphael ordered Pyra to squirt lubricant on the young man’s cock.
“No!” The young man bucked in Raphael’s arms.
Pyra drizzled the lubricant liberally over the young man’s writhing body.
Raphael gave the young man a rough squeeze as he spread the lubricant across the

length of his shaft.

The young man wailed as his cock was stroked. He tried to wriggle out of Raphael’s

grip, but he couldn’t free himself and the rough goat’s fur on Raphael’s costume chafed

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his skin with every wrenching moment of struggle. He groaned pathetically as his cock
thickened and rose toward his belly.

“You’re going to come,” Raphael hissed in the young man’s ear as his fist gave

short, vicious strokes to the head of the young man’s captive cock. “Don’t fight it.”

The young man gritted his teeth and curled forward as Raphael stroked him.
Raphael rode the young man’s back, twisting the young man’s body toward his

Master’s boots.

There was a lot of yelping and protests as Raphael grappled with the young man,

forcing him to surrender with tugging strokes to his engorged cock.

Raphael threatened, “Give in or I’ll take your ass in front of everyone.”
The young man whimpered.
The crowd begged Raphael to do it.
The young man’s legs shook. He resisted as long as he could, arching his back and

squirming.

Raphael’s stroke became firm and fierce.
“Ahhh!” The young man cried out in anguish as he was forced to cum. He spurted

three succinct jets of milky cum onto his Master’s boots before collapsing at his Master’s
feet.

Raphael moved away from the young man and allowed the young man to weep. By

this time the boy was reduced to a tear-stained dishrag.

Raphael ordered the young man to kneel. “Kiss your Master’s fingertips and ask for

his forgiveness.”

The young man struggled to his knees. He did as he was told. “Forgive me,

Master.” Hot tears streamed down his face. “I love you so much.”

The Master ran his finger’s adoring through the young man’s dark forelock. “You’re

forgiven, dear one.” The Master put his arms around the young man and held him
while he cried. They left the stage hugging each other.

Gwen watched in confusion as the couple seated themselves nearby on a pile of

cushions. They sat quietly, holding on to each other at the edge of the patio. The
catharsis of the drama had brought them closer.

Raphael grabbed the urn once again and shook it to make the tokens jingle. “Who’s

next?” He surveyed the crowd with menace and pretended to lustfully fondle the urn.

One man shouted from the crowd, “I wish you’d throw that brunette in my cage!”

The man imitated the lion’s snarl.

Raphael dismissed the man’s request. “I’m sure you do, but you’ll never get your

paws on her!”

The crowd laughed and seemed anxious to see whom Raphael would torment next.
Raphael plunged his hand into the urn. His fingers churned through the tokens.

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Gwen stomach knotted in terror. She now hated the sound of the jingling tokens.

She became fearful her luck would out and a gold token would emerge from the urn.

Raphael triumphantly pulled a second silver token from the urn. He held the silver

token in front of his face.

Gwen sighed with relief at that first glint of silver.
Raphael glanced at the token and held the token aloft. “Lucky or unlucky—

depending on how want to look at it—number seventy-seven.”

A beautiful blonde woman screamed in outrage. She turned on her grinning

husband. “I can’t believe you put our token in that urn!” She was loud and theatrical in
gesture as she started to stomp off the patio.

Her husband, who had put their token in the urn, simply shrugged his shoulders.

“You ‘urned’ it, darling!”

The crowd groaned at the man’s horrible pun.
The husband scooped his wife up before she could escape the patio and delivered

her, kicking and screaming, into Raphael’s arms.

Raphael snatched the woman up and held her restrained in a bear hug. His long

tongue slowly licked the side of the woman’s pretty face as he pretended to hump her
leg.

“Oh God!” The woman wilted in Raphael’s arms.
Everyone cheered for Raphael.
Raphael leaned back to study the woman who became increasingly nervous and

started to fidget. “She’s very attractive,” he complimented the man on his wife’s beauty.
“What has she done to deserve this?”

The husband pouted. “She has a roving eye.”
“So what?” Raphael chided Mr. Seventy-seven on his priggish attitude. “It’s a new

era, women are allowed to look. If you can’t do better than that I’m going to drag you
onstage and shove a dildo up your surprised ass!”

Mr. Seventy-seven, who looked razor-straight, blanched at that suggestion. He

stuttered, “On the highway she hikes her skirt up when truckers drive by!”

Raphael rolled his eyes. “I’m not impressed. Everyone flashes truckers. You’ll have

to do better than that.”

The wife squirmed in Raphael’s clutches. She had the same frantic look in her eyes

as a pet on its way to the veterinarian’s office.

Raphael’s scanned the crowd. “Do we have any truckers here tonight?”
A beefy man raised his hand and imitated the blare of his truck’s horn. “Trucker’s

are good for the long haul and a smooth ride.”

Raphael turned the woman’s body toward the trucker. He grabbed the woman’s

dress and lifted it to her hips.

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The woman shrieked. She struggled to pull her dress down, but Raphael would not

allow it. She wore no underwear and her pussy had been waxed smooth. Her pierced
labia were ornamented with a tiny silver barbell, which was now visible to everyone.
She blushed over her exposure to the crowd, but tellingly, her hands covered her face
instead of her sex.

Raphael addressed the truck driver formally, pretending to cordially introduce the

trucker to Mrs. Seventy-seven’s pussy, “Sir, have the two of you met?”

The truck driver tipped his imaginary hat like a gentleman to Mrs. Seventy-seven’s

pussy. “I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Plenty of shoe salesmen have,” Mr. Seven-seven blustered. “She doesn’t wear

underwear when she goes shoe shopping!”

“Is this true?” Raphael gasped in feigned shock. “Now we’re getting somewhere.

What a naughty girl. What else does she do?”

“She lets our mechanic look down her blouse and up her skirt.”
Raphael pulled the neckline of the woman’s dress away from her body and peered

down her dress. His eyes bulged. “There’s lots to see down there. Have you ever
wondered why your car keeps breaking down?”

Everyone laughed at Mr. Seventy-seven instead of his wife, whom he had intended

to embarrass.

The husband was quick to pipe up with another incriminating anecdote. “She

flashes the mailman when he comes to our front door.”

Mrs. Seventy-seven gasped and rushed to deny it. “I do not!”
Raphael droned over her protests with mock pity for the mailman. “Oh that poor

mailman. He faces sleet, snow, dread of night, and now this—Mrs. Seventy-seven’s
pierced pussy. How unfair…” He confronted the husband. “I suppose you have to ask
yourself—why does the mailman still come to our house when we have a P.O. box?”

Everyone laughed at Mr. Seventy-seven.
Mr. Seventy-seven’s face turned red. “She parades nude in front of the gardener!”
“Who doesn’t?” Raphael dismissed the husband’s allegations. “Gardeners see more

skin than doctors. What’s really bothering you?” His dark eyes narrowed in on the
indignant husband. “Is it the fact she can get attention so easily and you have to work
so hard for it?”

Mr. Seventy-seven’s jaw dropped. He had obviously never considered the

possibility that he too was desperate for attention. His hands waved in protest.

Raphael slowly unzipped the back of the woman’s dress. “She’s so pretty, of course

men want to look at her. Me think you doth protest too much. You know your wife is
gorgeous and you’re eager to show her off. I think you egg her on to do these things.
Your little vixen is an exhibitionist and you love to gloat.” With a single decisive stroke
of his hand, he ripped the dress from the woman’s back.

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The woman screamed. Her hands fluttered frantically, trying to cover what they

could of her nakedness.

It was no surprise to the crowd that she was completely naked beneath her dress.

Apparently Mrs. Seventy-seven took exhibitionism seriously. She had a beautiful well-
cared-for body.

Raphael hustled the trembling woman toward the back of the stage. He cuffed her

outstretched arms between the fiberglass statues of the bull and the wolf.

The woman stood, shaking in the torchlight between the two giants like a sacrifice

offered to the gods.

Raphael tickled her ribs and made her breasts leap. “Lovely,” he commented on the

spectacle she provided. “Now we can all enjoy looking.”

Mr. Seventy-seven seemed transfixed, relishing the lustful looks his beautiful wife

was attracting as she stood bound in the torchlight in front of a randy crowd.

The woman’s breasts heaved. She lowered her eyes as if her shame were too great

to bear, but she betrayed herself with the slightest smile.

The husband rallied from his lustful stupor. “Don’t pretend to be shy!” he shouted

at his wife. “We’ve got your number, we know what you are! You’re number seventy-
seven the exhibitionist—show-off!”

“And what are you?” Raphael pointed an accusing finger at Mr. Seventy-seven. He

sent Pyra into the crowd to fetch the husband to the stage. “I have my suspicions about
you.”

The husband struggled to escape from Pyra grasp, but she took firm hold of his arm

and dragged him forward.

The crowd goaded the man to take his place on the stage beside his wife.
Mr. Seventy-seven launched into a rash of protests. He loudly denied that he was a

“show-off”.

Raphael stood behind the man and wrapped his long arms around the man’s neck.

He tipped his head and gently rubbed his horns against the man’s hair. “I think you’re a
wee bit jealous of all the attention your wife gets. It isn’t fair, is it? Especially since
you’re such a beauty yourself.”

Gwen leaned against the bars of her cage to get a better look at the man. She agreed

with Raphael that Mr. Seventy-seven was very handsome in the classic sense. The man
had distinguished strong features and stood tall and straight.

Raphael coaxed Pyra closer. “Pyra, would you come over here and undress Mr.

Seventy-seven so we can take a good look at him.”

Mr. Seventy-seven blanched and stood frozen in terror as Pyra approached him.
“I’d love to.” Pyra walked up to Mr. Seventy-seven and ran her hands across his

broad chest. “Right off the bat, I can tell he takes his workouts seriously.” She launched
into a running commentary with the crowd.

The crowd leaned forward. They hung on Pyra’s every comment.

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Pyra squeezed Mr. Seventy-seven’s biceps. “This guy is built solid. It’s so nice when

a man takes care of himself.” She reached up on her tiptoes to nuzzle her nose in his
hair. “Oooh he smells good too!”

Mr. Seventy-seven closed his eyes and let Pyra unbutton his shirt. He seemed to be

floating on all the attention he was getting.

Pyra pushed the shirt off his shoulders, displaying Mr. Seventy-seven to the crowd.

“Nice chest, broad, smooth back. I just love these arms.” She ran her hands over every
inch of the man’s exposed skin and teasingly kissed Mr. Seventy-seven’s fingertips
before sucking one of his long fingers into her mouth.

Mr. Seventy-seven’s eyes fell to half-mast.
“Let’s see what else he’s got.” Pyra started to unbuckle his pants but stopped.

“Would you like to do this yourself?” She raised an arched brow.

Mr. Seventy-seven’s smile flowed across his face. “Sure.” He whipped his belt off

and tossed it aside.

Pyra ordered him to, “Take everything off.”
The man kicked his boots off and stripped away his pants. He revealed a trim,

muscular body well worth showing off.

Pyra darted behind him and grabbed the back of his boxer shorts. She tugged

playfully at his silk shorts, running her fingers around the waistband and peeking
down the shorts. She groped her hands under the silky fabric and stroked him until an
obvious bulge began to rise. “He’s a big guy,” she shouted to the crowd. “You won’t be
disappointed.”

Pyra rolled the waistband of his shorts down an inch at a time.
Mr. Seventy-seven held his breath.
Pyra yanked his shorts down with a single swift tug. A hard red-tipped penis thrust

forward. “I warned you.” Pyra bent down and shouted at the man’s penis, “Down,
boy!”

Mr. Seventy-seven’s cock rose higher.
“Men never listen.” Pyra made an exasperated appeal to the women in the crowd,

“What shall we do with him? Who wants to suck him off?”

Mrs. Seventy-seven’s eyes bulged with shock, she tried to wriggle free of her

restraints.

There were at least a dozen enthusiastic calls from the audience, begging for an

opportunity to suck Mr. Seventy-seven off.

Pyra licked the tip of her finger until it shone shiny wet and delivered the wet kiss

from her fingertip to the head of Mr. Seventy-seven’s rigid cock, buffing her finger in
tight circles until the head glistened. “On second thought, I think we should unleash his
wife,” she announced to the disappointed ladies in the audience. “Let’s see what Mrs.
Seventy-seven can do.”

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Raphael loosened Mrs. Seventy-seven’s cuffs. He hauled her to the front of the stage

to stand beside her husband but did not let go of her. He began to stroke the woman’s
naked body with his big hands. He deliberately provoked the husband by rubbing
himself against the woman’s leg. He turned toward the husband as he licked the lobe of
the woman’s ear. “She’s lovely, would you share her?”

“No,” Mr. Seventy-seven growled at Raphael.
Raphael kissed the side of the woman’s throat. “I thought that perhaps I could take

her from the back while she sucks you off. Think about it, it would be a real time-
saver.”

Mrs. Seventy-seven quaked with rage. His face reddened as he lashed out at

Raphael, “I won’t share my wife, she’s mine. She belongs to me.”

Raphael’s arms engulfed the woman. “Now you’re just being selfish.” He arched

Mrs. Seventy-seven backward and cradled her face in a passionate kiss. The kiss was so
consuming he appeared to be drawing Mrs. Seventy-seven’s soul out her body.

Mrs. Seventy-seven went limp. She became completely compliant in Raphael arms.

Her lips parted when he plunged a demanding tongue into her mouth and delivered a
savage kiss.

Raphael’s hands stroked the woman’s naked skin as he pressed himself against her.
Mr. Seventy-seven became livid. He rushed forward to pull his wife away from

Raphael.

Raphael voluntarily relinquished the woman to her husband’s arms.
When Mrs. Seventy-seven came up for air, her eyes were glazed over with desire

and she stumbled toward her husband like a zombie.

Mr. Seventy-seven grabbed his lust-dazed wife and pulled her protectively behind

his back.

“I envy you,” Raphael spoke directly to Mr. Seventy-seven. “You’ve got something

I want.”

The husband possessively wrapped his arms around his wife, hugging her close to

his body. “I can’t share you,” he whispered in his wife’s ear.

The audience watched quietly.
Raphael leaned closer to the couple. His voice floated into the wife’s ear. “He

worships you. Worship him.” He gently pressed down on the woman’s shoulders,
forcing her to kneel at her husband’s feet. His fingers tangled in the woman’s hair as he
pushed her face in front of her husband’s cock. “Take him,” he ordered her. “Slowly
and respectfully like you’re pleasing a god.”

Mrs. Seventy-seven took Raphael’s words to heart. She knelt in front of her

husband like an act of communion. She was one of the fortunate few who possessed a
perfectly hearted-shaped ass, and she looked like an exotic cat stroking her husband’s
shaft and balls with her long, pink tongue. She concentrated on him as if her next breath
depended on it.

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The husband’s head tipped backward, his fingertips brushed against his wife’s

shoulders. For a man who craved attention and envy, he was getting an ample share of
both at this moment. He looked down at his wife as she caressed him. His eyes lit with
intense fascination as she slowly took his slick shaft in and out of her mouth with
adoring strokes. He began to pump his hips gently against her mouth.

Her delicate hands worked faster to keep pace with him.
He closed his eyes and let the breath rattle out of him. He was finally being

worshiped in front of an audience and it thrilled him. He smoothed his wife’s long hair
away from her face.

She continued adoring him while rubbing her naked body against his legs.
He became impatient, gripping the sides of her face and pumping harder. His

expression twisted into a snarl and the breath hissed out of him. He wasn’t at all ready
for this to end but he started to come anyway. He gritted his teeth as he jetted a thick
stream of cum across his wife’s mouth and breasts.

She continued to lovingly caress him.
His fingers absently slid around the curve of her wet breasts. He stood with his eyes

closed and his legs trembling. When he finally opened his eyes, he appeared startled to
see a patio full of people staring back at him. The reality of where he was and what he
had done hit. He stood stunned on the stage.

Mrs. Seventy-seven clung quietly to her husband’s leg. She too looked disoriented.
Raphael helped the woman to her feet and handed her dress back. He walked the

dazed couple quietly off the stage.

Mr. Seventy-seven helped zip his wife back into her dress before putting on his own

clothing.

An inexplicable modesty overcame the couple. They stood holding each up as if

they were slow dancing—or in shock.

The crowd on the patio milled around with excitement. They were busy inflaming

their own desires with their own chosen partners, but the voyeurs in the crowd wanted
more. They demanded Raphael pull another token from the urn.

Gwen fidgeted in her cage. She wasn’t sure how she felt about seeing Mr. and Mrs.

Seventy-seven exposed so thoroughly in public. She had mixed feelings. On one hand
the couple had endured a mock public trial of sorts and prevailed. They had both been
“forced” to expose their truth in front of everyone. Actually, they seemed to enjoy it. No
doubt this event would haunt their fantasies for years to come.

She wondered how couples came to these decisions. Who brought this matter up?

Who said, “It will be good for our souls to air our insecurities in public. Get dressed,
sweetheart, tonight we are going to expose our most personal issues in front of dozens
of strangers.” Who would say yes to that kind of thing?

It seemed to work for the “Seventy-sevens”.
Gwen watched the couple on the edge of the crowd.

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The husband’s arms were wrapped tenderly around his wife. Their bond as a

couple had been renewed. The man looked as if he truly would not share his wife. He
held her close to his heart.

A minute later they were both smiling and talking to others in the crowd.
She couldn’t image weathering a public drama like that with Jeff. Jeff was too

private. He would not want people watching as his true desires and insecurities
surfaced. He dreaded showing his true feelings in public. He dreaded showing his true
feelings in private. He would have resented her for even bringing the matter up.

She remembered after their many disagreements she would try to help Jeff express

what he was feeling, but her guesses were always off-track. Jeff would often say,
“Gwen, I don’t feel that way.” But he never did explain exactly what he was feeling. She
and Jeff, along with many other married people she knew, had learned to play intimate
guessing games while studiously avoiding the facts.

She glanced up when she felt someone staring intently at her profile.
Jupiter stood beside her cage, studying her.
She tipped her head, hoping to glimpse the man’s eyes behind the mask. She

couldn’t see beyond it, yet she felt the man’s gaze like a physical touch. His presence
calmed her. She returned his gaze. Did they already know each other as lovers, or was
he a future lover?

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Chapter Eleven

Raphael held up the urn and shook the tokens menacingly.
Gwen’s attention snapped back to her current predicament.
The crowd hushed in anticipation.
The lion yawned in her face.
She smelled the creature’s warm, meaty breath.
Raphael thrust his hand into the urn, making the tokens tinkle. He pulled out a gold

token and held it up for the crowd to see.

The crowd cheered for the gold token and turned their attention toward Gwen’s

cage.

It took a moment for her mind to register that Raphael was walking toward her

holding a gold token. Time stopped. Sheer dread flooded through her. A gold token
had been chosen, it was her turn. She bit her lip. Now a Platinum member would be
allowed to call the shots on the stage and she would be asked to submit.

Jupiter turned his face away and stepped back.
Raphael approached her with a malicious smile.
She panicked and shuffled to the far side of the cage, wanting to become invisible.

This game was too much for her. She had mentally accused Jeff of being emotionally
shut down, but that was doubly true for her. Especially after watching others take their
just deserts, she felt completely vulnerable. Raphael’s favored style of domination, with
its emphasis on public humiliation and exposure, was definitely not her thing. Her skin
broke out in a cold sweat as she squirmed in the cuffs.

The lion reached into her cage. He tried to bat at the hem of her gown with his big

paws but he couldn’t quite reach her so he roared in frustration instead.

She cringed. This was torture!
Raphael held the gold token in the air. He scanned the patio. “Who is number fifty-

two?”

“We are number fifty-two.” The red-haired woman who had taunted her earlier

stepped forward.

Gwen’s stomach lurched with a queasy, panicky feeling.
The red-haired lady bustled toward the cage with her chin held high, dragging her

naked male slave behind her. She proudly brandished a leather switch in her gloved
hand. She eagerly thrust her face against the bars of the cage and stared at Gwen.

With a growing sense of dread, Gwen looked into the woman’s pale blue, almost

colorless eyes.

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The red-haired woman pushed Raphael aside and poked the switch through the

bars, taking a swift swat at Gwen’s thigh.

Jupiter lurched forward to halt the strike but wasn’t fast enough.
“Ouch!” Gwen flinched. Her thigh smarted from the sting of the switch.
“A novice must not look a mistress in the eye unless permission is given. This

novice is completely undisciplined. Truly I’m shocked.” The redheaded woman turned
toward Raphael. “This novice could not possibly be an apprentice of Miss Chantal’s.
Miss Chantal would never allow such lax behavior.”

Pyra came to Gwen’s defense. “Shiraz is new. This is only her second day of service.

She has already proven she is courageous and cooperative. Lady Delilah, please feel
free to test her.”

Gwen bit back a curse. Her thigh stung. What was Pyra saying? She didn’t want

this uppity redhead swatting at her through the bars.

Miss Chantal glided across the stage. Her gown trailed behind her like a purple

tide. She addressed Lady Delilah directly. “What is more important in a submissive—
their aped mannerisms or the intentions of their hearts?”

Lady Delilah’s lip curled into a smug smile. She tugged on the golden leash in her

hand, bringing her obedient slave to heel. “Their hearts of course.”

Miss Chantal reached down to pet Lady Delilah’s slave.
The slave nuzzled his face against Miss Chantal’s palm, his lolling tongue stealthily

tried to lick her fingertips.

Miss Chantal yanked her hand away before the slave slobbered on her. “Shiraz is a

special case. I am grooming her to be claimed by a specific Master. His criteria are quite
different from your own. He appreciates dignity in a submissive. He does not want a
lapdog.”

Gwen’s ears pricked up. She wasn’t sure how she felt about this news. Things

moved too fast at Noblesword. So she was being groomed to an admirer’s
specifications? She didn’t know if she was ready for that. “He” might not be Mr. Pink
Diamonds. “He” could be someone as yet unseen, someone she had not had contact
with. “He” could have been secretly watching everything that had happened since her
arrival. The thought was a bit creepy—this was not how lovers should meet.

Lady Delilah struck the leather switch against the bars of the cage with a loud crack.
Gwen leapt into the air in terror.
“There are cat people and there are dog people,” Lady Delilah announced with

dramatic flair. “I am a dog lover, and I can see that Shiraz is a spoiled little cat. Give her
to me for several days and I will guarantee her improvement.”

Jupiter slowly shook his head. “No.”
“This is a farce.” Lady Delilah pouted. “I knew Jupiter wouldn’t share.”

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“What do you suggest we do?” Miss Chantal nodded politely to Lady Delilah. “You

will not be allowed to strike Shiraz, and I will not lend her out, but you may make a
reasonable request.”

Lady Delilah pursed her lips. “I should like to know how ‘courageous and

cooperative’ Shiraz is truly is. May I unleash my ‘dog’ on her?”

Miss Chantal nodded. “Yes.”
Gwen’s nostrils flared. She felt betrayed. A naked slave on the end of the leash

would be allowed to torment her.

“If I am displeased with her response,” Lady Delilah’s robust form began to winch

Gwen’s arms high above her head until her feet fluttered above the floor, “for her own
good, I will ask that Shiraz be punished.”

Miss Chantal’s reply was curt. “I am so confidant that Shiraz will cooperate I will

happily agree to that.”

The crowd cheered approvingly.
No! Don’t say that! Gwen couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Why did Miss

Chantal agree to this? What was Lady Delilah’s idea of punishment? She was certain it
was something she would hate. She groaned in defeat as Lady Delilah winched her high
into the air. The hem of her gown swished around her ankles, enticing the lion to bat at
it. Her eyes fell pleadingly on Miss Chantal.

Miss Chantal’s expression remained inscrutable.
Gwen tried to send the telepathic message. Please do not let this red-haired fury take

liberties with me!

Miss Chantal’s expression softened. Her gaze was calm, direct and it inspired trust.
Gwen was left wondering was this another tricky game? Another screaming body

falling from a tower? An illusion of danger just for the thrill of it? Of course it was.
Nothing bad was going to happen. Noblesword could not afford the lawsuits. She
began to relax.

The cage door was opened. Lady Delilah’s slave was released into Gwen’s cage.
The man crept toward her on all fours, growling and barking like a dog.
Gwen tried to wriggle away from him.
The floating hem of her gown fascinated the lion. The lion went berserk, batting his

big paws through the bars as if she were a dangling cat toy.

The slave made a beeline for her kicking feet. He crawled beneath her and began to

caress her toes.

Gwen winced, feeling the slave’s moist breath panting across her sandaled foot,

making her feel overwhelmingly self-conscious.

The slave slowly kissed each of her toes before drawing one of her tender toes

lovingly into his wet, enraptured mouth and sucking dreamily upon it like a lollipop.

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Gwen twitched, afraid her foot would inadvertently kick the man in the face. It

tickled so badly she whimpered but managed to remain still and keep her eyes
squeezed shut. Her back muscles tensed as she willed herself not to cry out.

The slave’s warm moist tongue darted between her toes, lapping at the intimate

places in between.

It was excruciating to quietly endure his licking without laughter or protest. She felt

her face warming.

His tongue flicked between her toes, looking for sensitive nooks and valleys to

torture.

She grit her teeth, acutely aware of the man’s humid breath fogging her feet. It was

all she could think about. Even with her eyes closed, she could picture what this
spectacle looked like. She heard the loud sucking noises the dog-man made as he
nibbled on her feet and she squirmed.

He growled at her to hold still, knowing his ministrations were impossible to

ignore.

Her body tensed as she dangled from the cuffs. She became lightheaded from

holding her breath.

The crowd watched in suspense as Gwen tried not to writhe, cry out or kick.
She bit her lip. A strange tension traveled up her legs toward her groin, causing a

tingling flush of anxiety. The sucking sounds and the man’s warm breath were driving
her mad. The tickling became unbearable.

Lady Delilah shook her head disapprovingly, unimpressed with Gwen’s self-

control. She ordered her slave to, “Remove a sandal. I don’t think she’ll be able to hold
out.”

The slave unbuckled Gwen’s sandal with a disturbing glint in his eye.
Gwen curled her toes, feeling helpless as her feet were completely exposed. Now

the dog-man could reach the sensitive sole of her foot.

He began to softly rake his fingernails across the bridge of her foot as he drew her

big toe deeper into his mouth. He sucked her toe farther into his mouth while lightly
scratching the arch of her foot.

She groaned, feeling the jagged ridges on the man’s teeth. She couldn’t stand it. She

bit her lip and swayed gently while trying not to kick the man. Her face burned. She
was acutely aware of everyone staring at her—especially the man dressed as Jupiter.

Jupiter moved closer to Gwen’s cage. Beneath his flowing robe he had a raging

hard-on.

Her face flushed hotter.
“She’s looking at Jupiter,” Lady Delilah complained indignantly. “Eyes down,

novice!”

Gwen obediently looked downward.

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The dog-man grinned up at her, thrusting his tongue between her toes and wagging

it back and forth. The man had an odd gleam in his eye. He was really getting off
sucking her toes.

Gwen suspected he derived greater joy from causing discomfort. Her reaction to

him was intense if not disturbing. The man seemed to feed on her writhing tension. In
his lowly, groveling submissive state she realized that he was actually dominating her.
He was doing what Miss Chantal had told her about—topping from the bottom—and
she was completely at his mercy.

He fondled her feet, lightly rubbing his scratchy chin stubble against her ticklish

instep.

She arched and hissed. The man’s chin felt like fine-grit sandpaper. Every nerve in

her body pulled taut. She wanted to jerk her feet away from the dog-man’s grasp.

He growled and dragged his teeth against the soles of her feet with irritating little

nips.

Gwen screamed, “Stop!”
The dog-man pulled away from her before his nose got broken.
“I knew it!” Lady Delilah raised her leather switch into the air. “She’s poorly

trained. Let me in that cage…”

Miss Chantal stopped Lady Delilah from entering the cage. She didn’t seem at all

surprised that Gwen had cracked. “Lady Delilah, what punishment do you choose?”

Gwen felt defeated, tears pooled in her eyes. She hung limply from the cuffs. Now

she was in trouble. The crowd was eager to see her fate. She really didn’t want Lady
Delilah to touch her.

“She seems awfully proud.” Lady Delilah sneered at Gwen. “She seems to think

she’s special.”

Miss Chantal defended Gwen. “She is special, and a special Master shall claim her.”
The crowd gasped at that comment. Now they too wanted to see Lady Delilah

punish the overly proud woman in the cage.

Lady Delilah confronted Miss Chantal. “I believe you’ve made a huge mistake in

spoiling Shiraz, setting her apart from the others and letting her think she’s special. I
would prefer to perform the chastisement myself, but I understand Jupiter must carry it
out.”

The breath rattled out of Gwen lungs. Her bottom lip quivered. They were not

playing nicely.

The man dressed as Jupiter marched toward her. He lowered the winch that held

her aloft.

Her feet returned to the floor. She limped toward the far side of her cage on one

bare foot and one sandaled foot. She felt a bit frightened and ridiculous at the same
moment.

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Jupiter walked into her cage. He lorded over her. His golden mask obscured all of

his face except for the faint sparkle of his hazel eyes. He removed her wrist cuffs and
pulled her against his chest. He forced her to face Lady Delilah. “What is to be done
with her?” The man spoke in an amplified voice that thundered across the patio.

Gwen winced and pulled away from the microphone that boomed so close to her

ear.

“I think she should be humbled.” Lady Delilah knew she could only make

suggestions to Jupiter, she could not enforce her will. “Shiraz is holding back on us. We
deserve to see the whole person, not a performance. I want to see real emotions, real
responses from your ‘special one’.”

Gwen shook in Jupiter’s arms.
“You’ve scared her.” Jupiter’s voice rumbled through the microphone. “You’ve

made my work a lot harder. I don’t want her frightened.”

Lady Delilah smirked. “She’s spoiled.”
Jupiter picked Gwen up and carried her to a heavy wooden bench that had been set

in the center of the stage.

“Whoa!” Gwen was surprised that he could swing her into the air with such ease.

Perhaps this was the man from the cognac room?

Jupiter sat down on the bench and threw Gwen over his knee. He held her captive

on his lap while he called for Pyra to assist him.

Pyra hurried to Jupiter’s side.
Gwen tried to wiggle away from him, but his broad hands clamped down on her

hips and held her captive.

Lady Delilah smirked, taking extra delight in Gwen’s frantic struggles.
Gwen looked out at the crowd, feeling overwhelmed. The faces in the crowd ran the

spectrum from the eager to the disinterested. She could not bear to be humbled before
an indifferent crowd. She thought she might cry. Then she saw Alfred sitting at the
front of the stage.

Alfred was really enjoying this. His eyes shined with intense interest that spread to

every facet of his face.

Gwen knew for certain that Alfred enjoyed spankings.
Alfred locked eyes with her and shifted uneasily in his seat.
She found it hard to look away. Alfred’s cold blue stare mesmerized her. He

seemed fascinated to see what would become of her. She sensed the rise in his nervous
tension and honed in on his gaze, taking comfort from the fact this was providing a
great deal of pleasure to him.

Alfred licked his lips. He obviously enjoyed watching others humbled. He pulled

Sherry onto his lap so he could fondle her while he watched the spectacle onstage.

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Jupiter ordered Pyra to hold Gwen’s arms straight out in front of her. He lifted

Gwen’s gown to her thighs and began to stroke her legs.

Gwen felt cool air on her thighs and squirmed over Jupiter’s lap. The entire crowd

craned their heads to better see what was happening, but in her mind the crowd had
been reduced to one. She coped with her anxiety by pretending only one man was
looking at her. It was easier to escape the situation by concentrating on only one face,
and that one face belonged to Alfred. In her mind she was performing for an
appreciative crowd of one.

As Alfred watched her squirm, his beautiful mouth twisted into a cruel smile.
Jupiter held her fast across his knee. When she tried to wiggle away, his big hands

pinned her belly across his thighs.

She writhed against Jupiter’s groin, feeling his cock stiffen and press against her.

She heard each deep breath he took. She could tell he was thinking of what he would do
to her, mentally measuring the force he would apply and wondering how far he would
take it.

His hand began to gently stroke her inner thigh. He pulled her gown to her waist,

completely exposing her bottom. He let his thumbs make tiny circles between her legs
while he took a moment to formulate his plans. His fingers brushed against her wet sex.

She whimpered, which made Alfred’s eyes narrow to slits. It provoked an

unjustified sense of power to know that the amount of emotion she allowed herself to
show was directly related to the intensity of pleasure that Alfred would receive. She
was being stripped and fondled in front of a crowd of two hundred, yet this was a
private performance, being played out between her and Alfred. The exhibitionist in her
sighed in contentment as her thighs were stroked by Jupiter’s big hand.

Without warning, Alfred’s eyes lit with a look of strange delight.
Before she could question the change in Alfred’s expression, a broad hand swooped

down on her butt with a loud swat.

She jumped. The swat startled her.
Jupiter cupped his hand and the swat made an impressive amount of noise.
She gritted her teeth. Her bottom stung like hell from the swat.
Jupiter spanked the other cheek, on its roundest part.
She tried to scramble off his lap.
He clamped a big hand on the back of her neck while Pyra held her arms.
He spanked her until her bottom was on fire.
She couldn’t hold still. She rubbed her belly shamelessly against him.
He was already hard from her squirming and her emotional display. His cock

poked at her belly.

She crushed the leather corset and its brass embellishments against him, wanting

him to suffer along with her.

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He groaned and shifted his weight. His hand stopped spanking her just long

enough to run a searching finger between her moist thighs.

The spanking left her unbearably sensitive, even his gentle touch made her cringe.
Alfred watched it all through hooded eyes.
Lady Delilah marched forward. She pushed Pyra aside and took her place, kneeling

in front of Gwen.

Gwen’s gaze dropped to the ground, not wanting to look into Lady Delilah’s cruel

eyes.

Lady Delilah grabbed Gwen’s chin and forced her to make eye contact. “Look at

me.”

Gwen reluctantly looked up. Lady Delilah was beautiful, but her icy blue eyes

lacked the slightest hint of warmth. The woman’s detachment was frightening. She
genuinely looked like the type of person who enjoyed humiliating others.

“You will keep your face up so that we may see you. You will not be allowed to

hide behind all that hair.” Lady Delilah reached for the gold clasps on Gwen’s gown.
She unlatched the clasps and let the straps of the sheer gown fall forward.

Gwen’s gilded breasts tumbled out. She now hung facedown and bare-breasted

over Jupiter’s knee.

Lady Delilah’s fingertips reached for Gwen’s breasts and bounced the heavy globes

against her palms. She gave one golden nipple a sharp pinch.

Gwen thrashed and frantically tried to cover her breasts with her hands.
Lady Delilah smiled as she grabbed Gwen by the wrists and held her still. Her grip

was like iron. She yanked the gown down to Gwen’s waist with a swift tug, which left
Gwen’s breasts dangling. “That’s better. Now we can watch you jiggle as you’re
spanked.”

Gwen could do nothing to defend herself. She sensed the lion, Lady Delilah, Alfred

and Jupiter were all ready to pounce on her. Her back stiffened as her hips rose into the
air.

Jupiter spanked the meatiest part of her bottom. His palm landed on her with a

loud smack that ricocheted across the patio.

Gwen gritted her teeth and tensed, trying not to move, but a ripple of heat poured

down her spine that made her breasts tremble. She glanced at Alfred, instantly
becoming transfixed by the sensual stupor that shone on his face.

Alfred eagerly drank in the spectacle as he slumped splay-legged across the

cushions.

Lady Delilah noticed who Gwen was looking at. She bombastically addressed

Alfred, “Has this creature been staring at you?”

“Yes, she’s quite a tease. She has been ogling me the entire time.” Alfred made the

accusation with a straight face.

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Lady Delilah was eager to inflame conflict. “Jupiter, how do feel about your little

treat Shiraz making eyes at that gorgeous man? She seems to have a hard time
remembering who’s in charge.”

Jupiter immediately hoisted Gwen to her feet.
The straps of Gwen’s gown tangled with her corset. Her hands grabbed for the

straps to raise them but Jupiter stopped her.

He left her exposed. He wrapped his solid arms around her and clutched her by the

waist. He turned her body to face the crowd.

Gwen was forced to look directly at Alfred while Jupiter held her. His warm breath

made the fine hairs on the back of her neck prickle. His hardness pressed against her
stinging bottom. His hand crept over her hip and slid between her thighs. She gasped
and tried to cross her legs, but he held her tight, making her arch backward against his
chest. His fingers wedged themselves between her moist thighs.

“Order her to part her legs,” Lady Delilah demanded.
Jupiter gently stroked Gwen’s thighs apart.
Gwen willingly gave in to him, hoping to avoid Lady Delilah’s intervention, but she

soon realized it was a mistake to give in to Jupiter!

He lifted her gown and slid his fingers across her wet folds. His circling fingers

began to rub her gold leaf away.

She bucked her hips at his first demanding caress. Excitement shot her when she

looked down and saw tiny flecks of gold on the tips of his calloused fingers. This was
the man from last night. It had to be. Those were his hands.

He stroked his fingers in tight circles. His knuckle pulsed against her until her hips

involuntarily pressed forward.

Gwen froze, appalled at the thought that he could make her come in front of

everyone. She wanted to keep her eyes closed and become invisible.

Lady Delilah hectored Gwen to keep her eyes open. “You’re supposed to be

teaching her respect,” she huffed at Jupiter, “not cuddling with her in the backseat of a
car.”

Erotic images of desperate pleasure in the backseat of a car raced through Gwen’s

mind.

Lady Delilah dropped one of the ornate glass phalluses into a bucket of crushed ice,

with a wet splosh. She thrust the ice bucket toward Jupiter.

The partygoers on the patio pushed their way closer to the stage, eager to see what

would happen next.

Jupiter clutched Gwen tight around the waist as he retrieved the glass phallus from

the crushed ice.

She warily eyed the ice-cold phallus and fought to escape his grasp.

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Jupiter held her pinned to his chest as he lifted her gown and dragged the smooth,

icy-cold phallus across the lips of her pussy.

She jolted in shock. The sensation of cold was intensified against her over-sensitized

skin.

Jupiter dipped the phallus back into the crushed ice to rechill it then he lifted the

back of Gwen’s gown and dragged the cold glass across her spank-warmed bottom.

The breath rushed out her. She huddled against him. Her nerves were completely

confused, at first the icy glass felt like a red-hot branding iron. Her hips undulated
against its strokes. She looked down at the phallus in his hand and realized it was one
of the phalluses she had decorated that morning. She had embellished and beautified
the instrument of her own undoing. Noblesword certainly had a cruel sense of humor.
Her mouth twisted up and down between a smile and a frown. She didn’t know if she
should laugh, cry or scream. She struggled to keep her knees from buckling. She
wanted to curl up into a ball.

Lady Delilah interfered once again. “A true submissive enjoys giving pleasure to

her Master—test her.”

Gwen’s body shook. She did not want to be humiliated onstage for Lady Delilah’s

pleasure. She was just about to say so. She was about to speak up. Enough was enough.

Jupiter wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. His voice boomed over

the patio. “I’m pleased with her. I don’t need to test her.”

She leaned against the man’s chest for support. The way this man held her was very

familiar. She became certain he was the same man as last night. This was definitely Mr.
Pink Diamonds. She tried to get a glimpse of his eyes. She craned her neck to look back
at him, but the contours of the mask made glimpsing his face impossible.

“I’ll take her on the altar.” Jupiter dragged her toward a faux-stone altar set

between the cast statues of the bull and the wolf.

What? Gwen struggled not to collapse into panic when she felt herself being hoisted

onto the stone altar.

The crowd cheered.
Raphael joined Jupiter. He helped lift Gwen onto the altar and held her shoulders

down while Jupiter reached for a condom.

Tears flooded Gwen’s eyes. This was a boundary she was unwilling to cross. She

could not pretend to enjoy herself while having sex in front of strangers. She felt too
emotionally raw for that. The act would fulfill no need within her. Titillation,
excitement and a little exhibitionism had been fun, but what she had shared with this
man last night felt intimate and not for public consumption. It had been a healing act to
perform. She had enjoyed submitting to him in private, but being taken in front of two
hundred strangers on a patio didn’t feel right. She thrashed wildly against Raphael’s
grip.

The crowd pressed closer to the stage.

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“I warned you Shiraz was spoiled,” Lady Delilah jeered.
Jupiter saw her tears, and whispered, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She felt terribly self-conscious and feared the crowd on the patio could hear her

every word. She tried to speak as softly as possible. “I shouldn’t be here. I’m going
through a divorce. I can’t do this. I’m sorry…”

Raphael whispered in her ear, “The rule at Noblesword is when the game stops

being fun, the game stops. Gwen, are you ready to stop?”

“Yes,” she hissed.
Jupiter stepped back.
Raphael pulled her down from the altar.
Gwen scrambled to her feet and lifted the straps of her gown over her shoulders.
Raphael turned toward the crowd. “I’m going to let this one go and I shall pick

three others. Those next three had better cooperate!” He rocked his hips in a lewd
pantomime.

Dozens of people clamored for the honor of being thrown on Raphael’s mercy.
Many Masters were eager to prove their slave was more receptive and better

trained than the fickle Shiraz.

Raphael chose two curvaceous women and a strapping young man from the crowd.

He pulled the gorgeous threesome onstage to do his bidding.

Gwen slunk to the sidelines, feeling numb. She stood frozen on the edge of the

stage, not knowing what to do. She was no longer part of the entertainment, and no one
seemed surprised or disappointed she had baled out. Even the lion looked blasé.

The crowd’s attention was focused solely on the new performers who stood

grinning and nervously wringing their hands in front of Raphael.

As the action rekindled onstage, she realized her presence had been forgotten and

she was free to leave. She picked up her discarded sandal, slipped over the side of the
raised stage and started hobbling toward the patio exit.

Jupiter tried to take her hand. “Don’t go, I need to talk to you.”
She twisted free of his grasp, wanting to flee the patio without another incident. She

hurried toward the exit before Jupiter made a more forceful attempt to stop her.

Miss Chantal blocked the exit, her hand reached out to Gwen. “Where are you

going?”

Gwen looked down, she couldn’t answer. Her knees trembled and she felt guilty

about ruining Miss Chantal’s carefully choreographed scene.

“Gwen…” Miss Chantal’s soft voice conveyed a depth of compassion.
Gwen found the courage to look up.
Miss Chantal wasn’t angry, her eyes brimmed with concern. “Are you all right?”

Her fingers gently brushed Gwen’s shoulder.

Gwen’s chin fell to her chest. “I’m sorry I just couldn’t do it.”

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“You did admirably.” Miss Chantal wrapped her arms lovingly around Gwen

shoulders. “You could have said no at any time. Actually, you went much farther than I
thought you would go. Now you know where your concrete boundaries are. On your
psychological test, you alluded to a strong interest in public ravishment, but now you
know that desire should remain in the realm of fantasy. Do you know why you couldn’t
go through with it? Did you feel ashamed—guilty?”

“Yes!” Just saying it made her feel lighter. “For some reason I felt like I couldn’t do

this to Jeff. Isn’t that foolish? That man dressed like Jupiter had Jeff’s hands! I’m not
sure why I should care what Jeff thinks and really it’s too late. I totally gave in to that
man in the cognac room.” She pulled her shoulders back, and confessed, “I feel
obsessed. Jeff’s presence haunts this place. I look at other women and think Jeff would
have loved her. I look at a man with square hands and he reminds me of Jeff. I think I
hear Jeff’s voice everywhere. It’s odd. He was my only adult love and all other men are
being compared to him. I’m aware of it, but I can’t stop myself from doing it. You were
right, I’m not ready to be here. I haven’t gotten over Jeff.”

Miss Chantal gently smoothed Gwen’s hair. “Promise me you won’t drive home

tonight. Let’s talk about this at breakfast. I have a bonus to pay you.” Her earpiece
crackled, Raphael was asking a question. Her attention quickly returned to her
computer as she communicated information to Raphael. “Mr. Angelo is straight. Do not
approach him in a sexual manner. Play the part of the threatening rival. Let him protect
the women from you. Scare the girls, get them running toward Mr. Angelo, he wants to
be the hero.” She glanced up at Gwen and gave her a knowing smile before refocusing
her attention on controlling the situation onstage.

Gwen quietly stepped back. She had expected a scathing dismissal from Miss

Chantal or a lecture on her lack of professionalism, but instead Miss Chantal’s attitude
was surprisingly warm and accepting.

Gwen had an epiphany as she glanced over Miss Chantal’s shoulder. Miss Chantal

had plenty of important details to attend to at that moment, yet she remained calm and
focused, assisting Raphael by sharing personal information about the people onstage,
always careful to provide tension and thrills for everyone without going too far.

Gwen realized this was the true secret of Noblesword. Unlike real life it was safe to

relax and explore boundaries here.

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Chapter Twelve

Gwen hobbled into an empty corner of the patio and laced her sandal back onto her

foot. Now what? Her eyes scanned the party. Everyone was mesmerized by the
escalating action onstage. No one paid any attention to her.

Raphael’s taunting voice boomed above the roar of the lion. “I’m going to eat you

alive!” He gnashed his teeth at the two hysterical women he had cornered onstage and
attempted to lash the wiggling girls to the altar.

Mr. Angelo heroically rushed to the ladies’ rescue. He threw himself between

Raphael and the girls.

Gwen realized she was free to leave. The party was back on track. Everything was

as it should be. She slipped unnoticed out a side exit and walked along a torch-lit path.

The pleading cries of the captive women rose above the patio walls as Mr. Angelo

fought for their dignity.

Gwen’s shoulders relaxed, it was someone else’s turn to be the entertainment.
The catering crews were busying cleaning up after the lavish meal. They bustled

back and forth, carrying away empty platters while delivering trays of drinks. A few of
the staff knowingly smiled at her as she walked past.

Thankfully, no one asked her why she was sneaking away from the party.
Instead, the caterers proudly offered Gwen a plate of food, packed to go, knowing

they had really knocked themselves out on this showcase meal.

“What time is it?” Gwen asked a young woman who filled a container for her with

fresh organic and locally grown food.

“It’s just past midnight.” The girl handed Gwen a glass of Merlot along with her

food.

Gwen’s eyes widened when she heard it was only midnight. It felt as if it were four

a.m. She thanked the young woman and walked away with her food, hoping to locate
the key to her room. She self-consciously approached the reception area at the front of
the complex, draped only in her transparent Roman gown. She held the takeout
container in front of her, knowing it didn’t hide much. She approached an exhausted-
looking man behind the counter. “May I have my room key?”

The man looked at the empty hook where the key should have been. “It’s not here,”

he apologized.

She remembered leaving her room key at the sauna. “Never mind.” She turned

around and walked away from the reception area, sipping her Merlot as she strolled
along the oak-lined driveway toward the bathhouse. The thick leather straps of her
gladiator sandals began to rasp her feet.

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She limped past an endless row of cars. The driveway had turned into a congested

parking lot. At least a hundred cars were packed tight along its twisting lane. Even if
she had wanted to leave, there was no way to get her car out of the distant carport while
the Platinum members were parked here.

The farther she moved away from the heated patio, the chillier it got. Her scanty

costume provided no protection from the autumn night. Her bare arms prickled with
gooseflesh, but it felt good to be walking and clearing her mind. The cool night air was
sobering. She walked along a curving path that arced beneath some shadowy oaks
trees. A peacock screeched in the vineyards beyond. This part of the property felt lonely
and deserted. Its austerity suited her mood. Everyone else was on the tented patio
enjoying the gala or working in the main building and she felt unfit for company.

She had the eerie feeling that she was being followed. She continually looked

behind her but saw nothing except the glowing red eyes of the security cameras,
perched in the treetops. There were no human sounds at all in this part of the
compound and that fact added greatly to her sense of unease.

She hurried toward the square adobe bathhouse. Its door was open so she quickly

ducked inside and locked the door behind her.

The air inside bathhouse was warm and humid. All the lights in the bathhouse were

out.

Moonlight filtering through the skylight overhead provided the only illumination.

In the semidarkness, the bathhouse atrium resembled a spooky jungle, its spiky
bromeliads casting vicious shadows against the walls.

She set her takeout container down on the edge of the square pool and removed her

sandals and loosened her corset. She dipped her foot into the warm water of the pool,
causing the moon’s reflection to scatter across the surface. She opened the takeout
container and sampled the delicious food the caterers had prepared for the Bacchanal,
eating her meal in peace.

Her feet slowly splashed back and forth in the water as she nibbled on a pungent,

black truffle-laced quiche. Her thoughts turned toward the party. It hadn’t been a
complete washout. She thought about all she had learned about herself, deciding it had
been worth a little discomfort to find out who she was really was and what she really
wanted. As it turned out, she wasn’t so keen to be publicly ravished by a god on a stone
altar. Who would have guessed? It sounded great as fantasy. She wondered if she
should have stayed at the party and watched how Raphael’s other victims reacted to
their situations and taken part in their stories.

She asked herself, was it bad form to walk away when the action no longer centered

on her? Was that like leaving the school Christmas play the moment after your child
was finished performing? Was that a selfish thing to do? This was all new to her and
she was still learning. For the moment it was all too much. For tonight, she was certain
she had gone as far as her conscience would allow, or had she? She imagined herself
pinned beneath Jupiter, being fucked for the entertainment of the cruel masses. Her

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body tingled with an urgent rush of excitement. Her pussy was drenched at the thought
of it. Yup, it still worked as a fantasy.

After she was finished with her meal, she got up and pushed the carved

Quetzalcoatl door open and flipped on a bank of lights that lit the dressing room and
shower area. She saw her pink sweatpants and sneakers neatly folded on the bench
where she had left them. The room key was still in her pocket.

She decided to get undressed and leave her costume neatly hung in the cubicle

where Franco had dressed her. She unclipped her waist-length hairpiece. Her head
instantly felt five pounds lighter. She set the sandals, the corset belt and the gown
gently on the table. In her highly nervous state she had regretfully left sweat stains on
the gown. Hopefully the women in charge of the costumes knew that the gown would
need a trip to the drycleaners after this crazy night and not hold it against her.

She decided to shower before she put her clothes back on. She wrapped a towel

around herself and went looking for a hair clip. She found some mouthwash and
bottled water on the countertop. She helped herself to both. It felt good to do something
normal, to come back to herself. She could shower and return to her room, or perhaps
she would wander back to the patio and enjoy the rest of the party as a spectator.
Maybe that was the thing to do? She knew a decision that complicated could only be
made after the last of the gold leaf was washed off her nipples.

She looked in the mirror at the dramatic Sophia-Loren-style eye makeup Franco had

created for her. Amazingly it still looked fresh. She turned to the side and gazed back at
herself. She looked like a different woman, and she loved it. It seemed a shame to wash
it all off. She chose to spare the eye makeup and enjoy it a little longer.

She pinned her hair up and sat in the sauna pool instead of taking a shower. She

sank up to her shoulders in the warm water, enjoying the fragrant scent of lavender and
sipped on her bottled water.

Without warning the lights in the sauna turned off. The bathhouse went black. She

tensed, sat up straight and looked around but could see little in the darkness. Only a
silver of moonlight from a narrow skylight allowed any visibility at all.

“I’m back here!” she shouted, into the darkness, hoping someone had turned the

lights off by mistake.

No one answered. Perhaps the lights were on timers or motion sensors.
She decided to investigate the problem and moved toward the steps. Suddenly she

heard splashing at the far end of the pool, and shouted, “Who’s there?”

No one answered, but someone was quickly swimming toward her in the dark.
The tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickled. “Who’s there?” She bolted toward

the steps.

Two big hands grabbed her and pulled her back into the water.
“Aaaah!” she shrieked at her highest volume. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

She mustered all her strength to elbow the assailant in the chest.

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The man wheezed and released his grip. “I was just saying hello,” the man hissed at

her with a German accent.

It was Alfred.
Her body tensed, ready to fight, her words filled with venom. “You can’t do this

kind of thing! You can’t sneak up on someone in the dark! I locked that door, how did
you get in here?”

Alfred whined, “I am a Platinum member. I have a key to the sauna. I refuse to put

up with harsh artificial lighting. Typical American wants to turn on every light when
we have a beautiful full moon. Why are you so upset? Did you think the sauna was just
for you?”

Alfred’s unapologetic tone made her blood boil.
Sherry tossed her skimpy toga aside and waded into the pool behind Alfred.
A dozen other people drifted into the sauna pool. They were laughing and

splashing at the far end of the pool. The darkness seemed to suit them just fine.

Gwen felt humiliated. She was eager to leave. Her heart raced from both the scare

and Alfred’s arrogant comments.

When Sherry saw that she meant to leave, she took hold of Gwen’s wrist and pulled

her back. “Don’t go. Miss Chantal said I was supposed to keep my eye on you.”

Gwen disentangled herself from Sherry’s grip. “I’m done for tonight. I’m going

back to my room.”

“No, no, you can’t do that,” Sherry insisted. “Don’t run off, someone special wants

to meet you here.”

“I’m not interested. I think I need to be alone for a little while.” Gwen dragged

herself from the pool and marched into the dressing area.

Sherry followed close behind. “I’ll go with you.”
“Please don’t…” Gwen reached for her pink sweat suit and sneakers and put them

on as quickly as possible.

Sherry started to put on her clothes as well.
“Really, I don’t need a chaperone.” She tried to discourage Sherry from coming

with her. “What about Alfred, are you just going to leave him here by himself?”

Sherry paused, seemingly deep in thought. “Alfred will follow later.”
Yuck. At that moment Gwen didn’t want anything to do with Alfred. “Sherry, I’m

going to back to my room alone—to sleep.”

Sherry shook her head knowingly. “No. I don’t think you’re going to sleep.”
She didn’t like Sherry’s insistence. “I am going to sleep!”
Sherry hopped on one foot, struggling to slip her shoe on. “Jupiter is looking for

you.”

“I don’t care!” How much clearer could she be?
Sherry’s brow arched in genuine confusion. “What do you mean you don’t care?”

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Gwen slipped her shoulders into her terry-cloth jacket, “I don’t think I belong

here.”

Sherry loomed closer. “I thought that was the whole reason you came to

Noblesword—to find out where you do belong?”

That comment hit home. Gwen turned away from Sherry to hide the frown that

creased her forehead. Her fingers absently fumbled with the zipper on her jacket.
“Sherry, I just want some sleep.”

Sherry waved Gwen’s comment away like a bad smell. “You’re just running away.

You’re stubborn and foolish. So much planning and effort wasted on you. Go ahead, be
a foolish girl.” She kicked off her pink sweatpants and stalked back to the pool and
jumped in making a loud splash.

Alfred and the others in the pool cheered loudly at Sherry’s return.
“Where is she?” Alfred grumbled.
“She’s sleepy.” Sherry comment was filled with sarcasm.
Gwen cringed, feeling like a coward for running away.
Alfred droned, “That’s a pity—I was hoping she’d want to play.”
Oooo, I don’t think I’m ready for that. Gwen eavesdropped on the goings-on in the

pool as the many couples began to splash around together. She was relieved to be alone
in the dressing area.

What was Sherry talking about? Had she really ruined a lot of planning and effort

by not playing along with all the games at Noblesword? She had tried. This sexual-
boundaries thing was tricky to figure out.

She finished pulling her sweat suit on and hurried away from the pool before she

overheard any more comments. She knew she wasn’t ready for a group scene, but was
she cheating herself? She had always wanted to watch how others brought themselves
to ecstasy. Porn was fake, not the same thing at all. It lacked the intimate details of a
personal encounter. She imagined real life would be much more surprising. Her mind
began to reel at the image of a pool full of attractive people fulfilling their fantasies.

She stopped at the edge of the dressing area. Maybe she should go back? Maybe

Jupiter was worth knowing? Sherry and Alfred’s encounter in the cognac room was
exciting enough when it was merely heard, but what would it look like? She deliberated
for a moment in front of a wall of steam-fogged mirrors.

No, she shook her head to sober her thoughts. She wasn’t ready to run wild on the

playground, maybe she’d never be ready, but, God help her, she did want to watch. She
was severely tempted to spy on the people in the pool, but she stopped herself.

She pushed the heavy Quetzalcoatl door open and walked into the front atrium.
“Hush!” A woman’s voice giggled in the shadows of the atrium, a male voice

beside her groaned.

Gwen froze in her tracks when she heard the couple rustling in the darkness.

Damn, this place was crawling with people. Getting involved with others was the last

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thing on her mind. She dropped to her hands and knees and ducked behind a potted
palm, holding her breath and hoping no one had noticed her enter the atrium. She crept
forward on all fours, slowly moving toward the now-distant front door, hoping to
discreetly dart past the couple who had moved out of the shadows and were now
standing beneath a moonlit skylight.

Despite the giggling, the woman’s voice had an ominously confrontation tone. “I

always follow through on my promises. Did you think I was joking?”

An agitated male voice answered, “I’m ready. I want it.”
“So you think.” The woman laughed. “We have to hurry. I’m on my break.” Her

fingers ripped at the man’s shirt buttons.

Terrific. Gwen realized she had walked in on a tryst, and just as she approached the

exit and freedom was almost hers, the front door opened and a cloven hoof stepped
inside. She gasped and pulled back into the shadows.

It was Raphael, he stood with his back to the moonlight, laughing. “Where is he?”
“Oh God, not him. Why did you choose him?” The man sounded extremely scared.

He stumbled backward and knocked over a potted plant. The plant crashed against the
flagstones.

“Raphael!” the woman shouted from the darkness. “Mr. D’s over here, but you

better hurry before he runs away.”

“He won’t get away.” Raphael entered the atrium and locked the door behind him.
Gwen flattened herself to the wall to avoid being seen by Raphael as he strode past

the potted palm she had scurried behind.

Raphael’s horns peeked through his wavy hair, casting a devilish shadow on the

atrium wall.

“No! Keep him away from me!” Mr. D rushed toward the far side of the reflecting

pool in an attempt to flee Raphael.

The woman sprinted after Mr. D. She took a shortcut by splashing knee deep

through the shallow pool and cornered him on the other side.

Raphael moved in to quickly block Mr. D’s escape route.
Mr. D tried frantically to get past the woman and avoid Raphael but soon realized

he was completely trapped. He threw his arms into the air in despair. “Fuck!”

“That’s right.” Raphael lunged at the man and tackled him in a headlock. “You’re

going to get fucked.”

Mr. D bucked, shouted and thrashed wildly, trying to wriggle free of Raphael’s

bullying grasp.

“Hush…” The woman gracefully stepped out of the pool and stalked toward the

struggling Mr. D. A moonbeam struck the side of the woman’s face—it was Pyra. Her
tapering fingers stroked Mr. D’s frightened face. “Remember, you begged for this.”

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Mr. D shuddered, he stopped thrashing in Raphael’s grip but his body continued to

shake violently. “Please…”

Pyra leaned forward to kiss Mr. D’s lips. “Please, what?”
Mr. D’s body went limp, he didn’t answer. He groaned in compliance, allowing

Raphael to wrench his arms behind his back.

Pyra’s fingers unzipped the man’s fly and freed his semihard cock from his pants.

She wrapped her slender fingers around him and tugged.

The man’s cock visibly lengthened and leapt upward.
Gwen clearly saw the threesome’s silhouettes in the moonlight. Mr. D had a tall,

slender build and a clean-cut, handsome profile.

“Take him!” Raphael’s voice was harsh. He locked a thick arm securely across Mr.

D’s throat.

Mr. D thrashed halfheartedly from side to side within Raphael’s grasp but froze

when Pyra sank to her knees in front of him.

Pyra took the man’s cock between her lips, swirling her tongue over its head. She

licked and sucked at the swelling tip until a glistening drop of moisture appeared.

The man moaned with pleasure and arched back against Raphael torso, nuzzling

the side of his face against Raphael’s bare chest.

“Is this so terrible?” Pyra squeezed and kneaded Mr. D’s balls, which made him

rock back and forth ecstatically in Raphael’s arms. She completely swallowed Mr. D,
taking him to back of her throat and sucking hard.

Mr. D’s body bucked forward, a high-pitched gasp floated out of his throat as he

pressed against Raphael, clamping his hands securely around Raphael’s wrists and
holding on tight.

“Do you want to fuck her?” Raphael licked Mr. D’s ear.
Mr. D stammered, “God, yes!”
Pyra slowly pulled away from the man. She made him wait patiently with his cock

pointing into the air while she unwrapped a golden condom and slipped it into her
mouth. She plunged her lips over the tip of his eager cock and carefully rolled the
condom downward. Her snug lips and curling tongue fought the condom into place.

Mr. D pumped his hips with abandon as she struggled to sheath him in latex and

take him to the depths of her throat.

When the condom was on, Pyra gently pulled back and delivered a wet kiss to the

head of his gilded cock.

Mr. D’s cock leapt when Pyra kissed it.
Raphael’s hold on Mr. D tightened, sensing that the man was ready to pounce on

Pyra.

Pyra took a step back and leaned against the atrium wall where the skylight half lit

her trim body. She slowly unfurled the crimson cape from her shoulders and casually

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let the cape fall to the floor as she tugged at the laces of her leather corset. Her beautiful
little breasts with their broad, swollen tips spilled out. Her hands reached up to stroke
her newly free breasts until her nipples stiffened to hard points.

Mr. D swallowed hard, his chest heaved. He tried to reach out to Pyra but Raphael

pinned him against his chest and deliberately held him back.

Pyra arched back against the wall. Her eyes narrowed on the man in front of her.

She cupped her breasts in her hands and gently squeezed them together until the
plump little twins kissed.

Mr. D groaned and tried to shake himself loose of Raphael’s grip.
Raphael jerked the man’s shoulders back and held him firmly in place. “Not yet.”
Pyra’s hand drifted downward. Her fingers lifted the hem of her short leather skirt

and skimmed between her thighs. Even in the shadows it was obvious she wasn’t
wearing underpants when her finger slid easily inside her without restriction. She
closed her eyes and sighed as her fingers stroked against her wet pussy. She gazed at
Mr. D, making sweet little sounds as she fingered her clit.

Mr. D groaned, “I’m gonna lose it!”
Pyra lifted her skirt higher. “If you want this, you have to say yes to everything.”

Her finger plunged deep inside her.

Mr. D barked, “I want it!”
With an abrupt shove, Raphael thrust Mr. D away from him and propelled the man

toward Pyra.

Mr. D stumbled toward Pyra. He grabbed her hips and pinned her to the wall. In a

single, swift motion he lifted her hips and thrust himself inside her. “Dear God!” His
body started to shake.

Pyra threw her head back and arched against the cement. Her fingers curled into

claws that scratched down the wall.

Mr. D held himself still inside Pyra, afraid to thrust and test his limits. When he felt

he had some control, he slowly pulled all the way out, rubbing the head of his cock
against her clit before plunging deep again.

Pyra moaned in encouragement. Her eyes looked lost in the sensations as she

wrapped her legs tight around Mr. D’s waist and took his harsh thrusts.

Raphael stepped behind Mr. D, his hands slid down the man’s thrusting body to

cup his buttocks. A probing finger gently parted the cheeks of his ass. He whispered
into his ear, “Don’t fight it and it won’t hurt as much.”

Mr. D’s head reared back, he looked terrified. “What?”
Raphael grabbed the back of Mr. D’s neck, pushed his ankles farther apart and

began to grease the man’s anus with a thick coat of glistening lubricant.

Mr. D shuddered at the first touch of the cool lubricant but he didn’t struggle, he

merely let his cock sink deeper into Pyra.

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“That’s right.” Raphael rubbed the lubricant liberally over the length of his shaft.

“Let me fuck you.”

“Oh God…” Mr. D took a deep breath and tensed as Raphael began to nudge the

head of his thick cock against his virgin opening.

“Push out,” Raphael warned him, “or it will really hurt. Hell, it’s going to hurt like

the devil regardless.”

Pyra let her hips rock forward, taking Mr. D deep inside her. She kissed his lips as

he groaned in anxious anticipation. “Breathe and push out.”

“Ooww!” Mr. D panicked at the first scorching-hot moment of having his ass

stretched. He tried desperately to twist away from Raphael, causing his stiff cock to stab
wildly inside Pyra.

Raphael’s hands locked onto Mr. D, not allowing the man to struggle or thrash the

least bit. He used his considerable strength to hold the man’s writhing body perfectly
still. He fiercely gripped his hips, aimed downward and pushed with determination,
fighting his way into the man’s tensed ass.

Mr. D bucked and whimpered piteously as the invasion began. He tried to pull

away but couldn’t because both Pyra and Raphael held him locked between them. He
couldn’t pull out of Pyra and he couldn’t pull away from the burning tip of Raphael’s
thrusting cock.

“Relax…” Raphael grabbed Mr. D from behind and slid the full length of his

greased cock inside him until he could go no deeper. He held himself still inside the
man as he stretched the tight opening.

Mr. D’s back stiffened, his jaw dropped in utter surprise when Raphael hit his sweet

spot.

Raphael ground his hips against Mr. D and gently pulsed back and forth deep

inside him.

Mr. D’s hips began to pump involuntarily against Pyra, but as he did so he created

more friction for himself. He howled like a trapped animal as he bucked against
Raphael’s slick cock. “Slow down, I’m gonna come.”

Raphael thrust slowly and deeply into Mr. D’s ass. He gritted his teeth. “My God,

you’re tight! You’re as hot as a furnace.” The movement of his hips immediately sped
up and his strokes became brutal. He casually spread his fingers across Mr. D’s scalp
and grabbed hold of a handful of hair. He yanked the man’s head back and rasped in
his ear, “Keep fucking her!”

Mr. D’s hips pumped furiously into Pyra. The harder he pumped into Pyra, the

harder he got pumped by Raphael. He groaned at Raphael’s harsh style of
reciprocation.

Pyra locked her legs around Mr. D just to hang on.
With the added momentum, Raphael clutched onto the man’s hips and pounded

into his ass at a blistering pace.

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Mr. D howled at the intensity of the stimulation. His orgasm shrieked out of his

mouth. His legs quivered as he stilled inside Pyra.

Raphael flattened the man and Pyra against the wall as he took his final harsh

strokes inside the man before coming with his own rumbling yell that rolled on for
many seconds.

“Oh my God!” Mr. D panted in exhaustion as he slumped against Pyra. “I can’t

move.”

Pyra laughed. “If you’re smart, you’ll get up and run or else Raphael will fuck you

again.”

Raphael leaned over the man’s shoulder and kissed Pyra’s lips. “Or we can switch.

It’s my turn to be in the middle.”

“Or mine!” Pyra’s cheerful voice floated across the atrium. “Actually, we should

just jump in the shower and get back to the party.”

“You’re right.” Raphael put his arms around Pyra and Mr. D and led them toward

the dressing area.

Gwen froze behind her potted palm as the threesome walked past her and pushed

open the carved Quetzalcoatl door. Light from the dressing area flooded into the
atrium. Raphael and Mr. D walked past her, oblivious to her presence, but Pyra
hesitated in front of the potted palm, looked directly at her and smiled. There was no
mistaking the fact Pyra had known she was hiding there all along—watching.

Gwen sheepishly smiled back at Pyra. What else could she do?

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Chapter Thirteen

Gwen snuck out of the bathhouse and darted into the cool night air with her room

key clutched in her hand like a switchblade.

Her eyes strained in the darkness to secure her footsteps, being cautious not to walk

into a cactus or a pointy manzanita bush. The garden path was sparsely lit. Tiny solar-
powered lights glowed close to the ground but did little to illuminate the surrounding
walkway. Only dappled flecks of moonlight penetrated through the dense oak leaves.

She was glad to be outside. She knew she wasn’t up for whatever was taking place

in the bathhouse. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being
followed. She sighed, feeling a hum of excitement between her thighs at the thought of
being sandwiched between two demanding lovers. Wow! What a show. The sights and
sounds of the threesome still rang in her ears. A moment of compassion for poor Mr. D
crossed her mind. She knew his ass must be aching from such a brutal first fuck. Still he
didn’t look as if he regretted it and she wasn’t at all sorry she had looked.

The party in the enclosed patio was still booming. She heard the loud cheers of the

appreciative audience as Miss Chantal teased some new people onstage. She felt her
curiosity drawing her back to the party. She realized she wanted to see more. She was a
rational adult, where was the harm in watching?

A rustling sound rose from the bushes.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She jumped away from the bushes.
A man stepped out of the shadows, blocking the middle of the path like a looming

phantom.

Gwen gasped and came to a dead halt, prepared to pivot the other way, but her

quivering legs refused to follow her orders.

The man extended his hand to her.
In the darkness she saw the glint of a golden mask and realized it was Jupiter.
His curled finger coaxed her closer. “Come here…”
She was startled to hear him speak in a normal voice. His microphone was turned

off.

The man’s voice sounded completely average, there was no hoarseness to it,

booming amplification or charisma. His bland voice did not sound familiar. “I’ve been
looking for you. What happened on the stage?”

She felt cornered. “I’ve already spoken with Miss Chantal. I told her why I couldn’t

go through with it.”

He stepped closer. “I want to hear it from you.”

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A lump rose in her throat. “I’m not ready for this. I’m still married.”
His voice rose. “So?”
Her shoulders tensed, her voice quavered. “So I have issues with my husband.” She

shouldn’t have to explain herself to this man. This felt ridiculous. “I can’t talk to you
while you’re wearing a mask.”

The man crossed his arms defiantly over his chest. “I want to keep it on.”
She had trusted him and made love to him and didn’t feel she was asking too much.

“Please take the mask off, I want to see your face.”

His big frame blocked the garden path. “What can it matter to you?”
“What?” She was taken aback. How could he say that? Of course it mattered. This

man was not all that she hoped he would be. He was too quirky and impersonal if he
couldn’t understand that she needed to see his face. What they had shared was intense,
at least from her viewpoint. He was only the third man she had made love to in her
adult life. His attitude made her grateful she had said no to him when she had. This
adventure at Noblesword had been an exciting but harsh lesson. She decided it would
be best to cut her losses and walk away. She blurted out, “It does matter to me. I want a
trusted lover, not a stranger—no matter how exciting they are.”

He shrugged. “Not everyone feels that way. Now you know where your

boundaries are.” He stepped closer, corralling her between two prickly manzanita
bushes.

She wanted to move away from him. He was standing too close and she felt

trapped. Her eyes dropped to his soft Italian loafers.

His voice boomed, “You went a lot further than you thought you would, didn’t

you?”

She backed away from the man, looking over her shoulder for a safe escape route

that wouldn’t spear her onto a manzanita bush or throw her into a clump of cacti. The
man’s words sounded indifferent, even rehearsed. She wondered if Miss Chantal
coached everyone to say the same thing as she cautiously stepped away from the man.

The man’s long legs closed the distance between them. He tried to grab her wrist.

“Do you regret it?”

She jerked her arm away from him. His aggressive gesture made her

uncomfortable. The garden path was dark and there was no one else around. She took a
step backward, hoping to give herself some space. “No, I don’t regret it—not at all. I
enjoyed my night with you very much. You’re an exciting lover, but I’m not ready—”

His words blared in her face. “Let’s be clear, you enjoyed what you did last night

but you’re still in love with your husband?”

This didn’t feel right. She desperately wanted to get away. They were discussing

personal matters and he was almost shouting in her face. Why did this man have to talk
so loudly, did he want everyone to hear? She glanced around, disheartened to see that

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no one was within earshot. She whispered, “I’m not over my husband, is that what you
need to hear?”

Without being asked, the man slid the mask from his face, revealing rugged

features with arched black brows and deep-set brown eyes that lent his face an air of
intensity. He stood in front of her, awaiting judgment.

For a moment it felt as if time had stopped, a tinge of guilt churned in her stomach.

She didn’t know this man at all. He was a complete stranger. She felt a tremendous
wave of loss and she couldn’t say why. She studied his face and had guessed correctly.
He was tall, dark and handsome, but oddly, as intimate as they had been, there was
nothing familiar about his presence.

As he stood quietly in front of her, she realized she was holding her breath. Last

night his voice, his touch, his overall vibe had felt right. It had been so easy to surrender
to him. She realized the feeling of familiarity must have been a figment of her
imagination, a mirage to soothe the guilt of giving in to a stranger. Had she merely
wished for him to feel right? Had she created a perfect image in her mind to submit to?
The sense of unease made her skin crawl.

Looking at him, she had to admit he was an attractive man in his early forties, but at

this moment she felt no attraction to him. This man did not evoke the new and
improved spirit of Jeff as she expected he would. He wasn’t even vaguely the Jeff type.
Disappointment washed over her, but she felt she should say something
complimentary, after all he had taught her so much. Her hands reached out to caress
the sides of his face. “You’re very handsome.”

His response sounded faintly defensive. “Thank you.”
“You’re married, aren’t you?” She was afraid to know the answer. She didn’t want

to be the instrument of someone else’s pain.

The man’s posture softened, he seemed less aggressive. “I’m not married anymore.

I frightened my first wife away. She didn’t understand what I wanted, and I was too
stupid to understand that I had frightened her.”

At least he was being more pleasant about this. Her eyes scanned his face, hoping to

sense something familiar about him, but found nothing. “I need to go home and do
some emotional healing before I can come out to play.”

“I understand.” The man stepped closer. “May I kiss you?”
She nodded her head and looked up.
He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her against his chest and kissed her.
The kiss was warm, unhurried and pleasant, but something was wrong. Something

was off. Perhaps it was the odd mood she was in, but the kiss felt—flat. It was not the
same kiss as last night. The kiss did not feel right—it lacked fire. The man did not feel
right. She was horrified to realize that their erotic encounter had been entirely in her
mind. In discomfort, she pulled away from him. Her fingers reached toward her
beloved pink diamonds. “Would you like these back? I’m not sure I should keep them.”

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The man shook his head. “Those belong to you. Will you come back to the party

with me?” He held his hand out, ready to lead her down the garden path.

“No.” She was too emotionally wrung out to even contrive a more polite excuse.
“Then I’ll say goodbye.” The man didn’t look terribly disappointed with her

rejection. He turned around and slowly walked into the shadows.

She watched him disappear behind a twisting row of oaks before realizing she had

forgotten to ask his name, and it was too late now.

The party raged on in the distance, she heard laughter and shouts. It didn’t make

sense to return to the party after this odd encounter. She knew she would feel horribly
self-conscious standing anywhere near that man. She walked along the winding path
that led back to her room.

By the time she reached her room, she was emotionally exhausted. Every step

required greater effort. The man from the cognac room was not part of her future, nor
ever would be. Kissing that handsome stranger without the blindfold or the mask had
spoiled the illusion. They truly were strangers with nothing in common. There was no
chemistry, camaraderie or feelings of trust. They were not fated lovers. She realized she
had projected a massive dose of dream Jeff onto an utter stranger.

She slid the key into the lock and slowly pushed the door open with her fingertips.

She hovered in the bedroom doorway, staring into the darkness, hesitating to enter the
lonely room. The hulking four-poster bed loomed in the shadows. The bed was the
scene of the crime. In that bed she had completely abandoned herself for a few hours
and forgotten all the rules. Now the rules had caught up to her.

She sighed. Last night, it had all felt real, which was a shame because she had been

under the delusion that Mr. Pink Diamonds could really kiss. She had thought him a
terrific lover. He had dominated her body and her senses in the most sensual way. He
knew how to take charge of her. Jeff never took charge of her so thoroughly. Poor Jeff,
even with all his faults, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

In the dark a man walked up behind her, locked his strong arms around her waist

and hoisted her into the room.

“Help!” Gwen screamed at full volume, hoping someone would hear her.
The lion roared at the same moment.
She thrashed in the man’s arms as he lifted her off the ground.
The man tossed her onto the bed and kicked the door shut behind him. The room

turned pitch black when the door slammed shut.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She struggled to get off the bed,

convinced that this was the man she had said goodbye to on the path.

The man’s weight landed on top of her, pinning her to the mattress.
Her blood rushed. She struggled to free herself from his crushing weight,

fortunately he wasn’t holding on to her too tight. In a flash she was able to roll from
underneath him and push him away from her. She leapt to her feet. “Get out of here!”

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The man’s large silhouette stumbled a step back in the darkness.
She dodged to the far side of the bed, feeling along the floor for a handbag, a book

or anything she could use as a weapon. She was ready to fight like a hellcat.

“Don’t be afraid. I just want to be with you.” The man’s hoarse voice once again

had that familiar overtone.

“Go back to the party, I want to be alone!” She should have known that he expected

more from her for the price of pink diamonds. He must be here to prove to himself that
he was irresistible.

“I don’t want to be at the party without you. Last night was so wonderful.” He

bumped into a bedpost and yelped. Obviously, he couldn’t see any better in the dark
than she could.

“Leave. You’re scaring me. You’re acting like a creep.” Her hands searched in the

darkness for something to hit him with, but everything in this room was too heavy to
lift. “Get out of my room!” She took off her sneaker and blindly threw the shoe in his
direction.

“Ouch! Gwen, that hurt.”
She froze. The man called her Gwen instead of Shiraz. What did that mean? Miss

Chantal must have shared her true identity with this man. That didn’t feel safe. “Get
out of here. Last night was a one-shot deal. You know who I am, and I know nothing
about you. I don’t trust you.”

“You trusted me last night…” His voice dropped to a low purr that sent chills up

her spine. “You let me shackle you to the headboard. I loved it. Admit it, you loved it
too.”

She had loved it, but she would be damned if she would admit it under these

circumstances. She bent down and slipped the other sneaker from her foot, prepared to
smack him with it.

He anticipated what she was doing. He lunged forward to still her hand before she

struck him a second time. He toppled her onto the bed, his warm body landed
forcefully on her, pinning her arms to the mattress and nuzzling her throat. “Stop
hitting me with your shoes.”

She gave an anguished cry at being tossed around this way, but in a dangerous and

unwelcome way his big body pressing against her and his warm breath on her throat
was arousing.

“I would never hurt you,” he whispered. His attitude was softer and sincere.
She lay still beneath, the will to fight slipped away.
His grip lightened, he dared to lean forward and kiss her mouth.
In the dark, her mind played tricks on her. That beautiful feeling of familiarity

returned, fear washed away.

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“Gwen, I’d never hurt you.” His mouth pressed down on hers in a demanding kiss

that hijacked her common sense. His weight glided over her, forcing her to relax
beneath him.

She whimpered, feeling confused that in the dark he now felt right. She stopped

struggling and just gave in to him.

He kissed her softly, taking his time and putting her at ease. His tongue urged her

to open for him. There was a determined tenderness about him. He would have her,
and she would submit. There was nothing more to consider.

She parted her lips with a tiny moan of surrender, letting his tongue explore her

with slow, silky kisses. It worried her that she could fall under his spell so easily.

His fingertips lightly grazed her shoulders.
Her arms were free. She could have pushed him away but she didn’t.
His calloused hands slid down her thighs. With little effort he took command of

her. He pressed himself against her, nudging her legs apart.

She parted her thighs and arched against the rising bulge in his pants. It excited her

to feel his excitement.

His breathing became heavier as he brushed his hardness between her thighs,

reveling in the physical contact. His warm hands traveled over the stretchy cloth of her
jacket and tugged the zipper down. He pushed her jacket aside, discovering that her
soft breasts were completely naked underneath. He groaned with approval as his
calloused hands skimmed across her, blindly searching for their favorite curves.

Her body waited with mounting anticipation to be adored by him.
He kissed her breasts, slowly tonguing and sucking her nipples until they stiffened

to hard little points. He ground his pelvis against her, refusing to let her up.

She lay limp beneath him, making no motions to free herself as her own fire began

to rise.

He tugged a highly sensitized nipple into his mouth and feather stroked it with a

flickering tongue before pulling away from her.

She arched beneath him, wanting him to take her back into his mouth. Her wet

breasts now felt cool where his warm mouth had been.

His kiss traveled up her throat. He kissed her mouth with full commitment,

confident now that she wanted him.

She had to admit, this time his kisses felt right. This was the skilled lover of last

night, the one who had tempted her to break her old boundaries.

As his tongue teased her lips, she was surprised how easily she gave in to him.

After kissing him on the garden path and feeling no attraction to him at all, she had
thought she was through with him. On the garden path she had felt nothing for this
man, but here in the dark, pinned beneath him, her passions flared. She wanted to
ignore her suspicions, but she had to ask herself, was this the beginning of an addiction
to sex with unseen strangers? She hoped not, he felt far too good to resist.

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His voice was a harsh whisper. He took his hands off her, freeing her to escape from

him if she chose to. “Do you want me to leave?”

That was the last thing she wanted. “No.”
“Will you consent to be bound?”
“Yes.” Her voice cracked. Bound? Why did she say yes? What was wrong with her?
He reached into his back pocket and retrieved the fur-lined blindfold. He slipped it

over her eyes and secured it.

She felt slightly dizzy and took a deep breath as the blindfold was tied around her

head. The room was already so dark there was really no need for the blindfold, but the
black satin and fur brought their own comforting feeling of security and peace.

He slipped the leather cuffs around her wrists and clipped them to the headboard.
She didn’t protest his actions in the least. She couldn’t, she wanted this with all her

heart. She merely sighed in resignation when he tightened the buckles on the restraints.

She tugged against the cuffs to test how much freedom she had. There was little

give. The cuffs held her arms firmly above her head, allowing her only a couple inches
of movement. Her heart raced when she realized how willingly she submitted to his
will.

For a moment he hovered over her.
She felt his warm breath on her face. With the blindfold on, she was forced to

concentrate on him, and only him, which was unsetting. His presence filled her world.
The slight calluses on his hands were amplified. She felt their rough edges skimming
over her skin. She smelled the warm scent of skin mixed with a light hint of cologne. Its
scent was mossy and crisp without a touch of sweetness. His moist breath near her ear
consumed her senses. Her ears focused on his breathing to gain the slightest clue to his
mood. She waited for him to speak so she could float on the sound of his voice.

Why was this man so much more exciting when he remained unseen? Was this her

personal shallowness to prefer fantasy to reality? She comforted her wanton sense of
abandon by imagining a familiar image. Her mind formed a vivid picture of this man.
She felt a bit guilty for imagining Jeff’s face, instead of the handsome but unfamiliar
face she had met on the garden path. She knew this private wish must remain her guilty
secret and she knew she was setting herself up for disaster.

His warm mouth plunged down on her lips and consumed her.
She jolted from the initial roughness. The contrast of his warm mouth and the cool

night air flowing over her naked skin stunned her. It made her feel vulnerable to have
her arms pinned above her head as he kissed her. She strained against the cuffs. Had
she truly consented to this, or had she fallen under an erotic spell? She forced herself to
lie still, but she wanted to thrash from the tension that built along her spine.

He squeezed her breasts together. His thumbs slowly circled the tips, toying with

them. He dove down to nuzzle her breasts, burying his face between them. His breath
warmed her skin. He teased each nipple with tugging kisses, drawing them into his

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mouth, adoring her. The flat of his tongue slicked her skin, leaving her trembling in the
cool air. His hands slid beneath the waistband of her pink sweatpants and tugged them
down her thighs.

She lifted her hips to assist him. There was something so sweetly naïve about this

gesture. It reminded her of being undressed by eager hands in the backseat of a car.

He peeled the last of her clothes from her body and tossed them aside.
She stretched out naked beneath him, feeling the chill of the room. She had been

exposed to him before, but now she truly felt naked. She self-consciously crossed her
ankles in a coy gesture.

He would not allow her ankles to remain crossed. He wanted to see her. His warm

hands stroked her thighs apart. He buried his face between her thighs and slid a wet
tongue along her sex.

She arched against the intense sensation, parting her thighs farther so he could

easily reach all of her.

He pulled her hips toward him and bore down on her with his mouth. His tongue

stroked her like a big lazy cat, humming instead of purring. His tongue searched for
sensitive places to caress. If she writhed the least bit he zeroed in on that spot, flicking
his tongue against her and making her squirm hysterically.

She couldn’t stay still. She pulsed her hips against his mouth, feeling a dizzying

lack of control. She was so close to coming. She wanted this so badly she would have
agreed to anything to keep his mouth on her.

After delivering one especially drenching kiss, he pushed himself off the bed and

began to undress.

No. She was left aching on the mattress, arching her hips and wishing his mouth

would return. She heard the clink of a heavy wristwatch tossed on the nightstand and
his shoes being kicked away. He climbed onto the bed, making the sinking mattress
squeak. He lay across her. His solid, warm body covered hers like a shield against the
cool September night.

He kissed her again, letting his tongue slid past her lips.
She tasted her own tartness on his lips. It was incredibly intimate to explore a

mouth that had explored her. Her body went fluid beneath him, knowing she would
grant any request he might make. She fully surrendered to this impractical and ill-
advised act. At this moment surrender felt right all the way down to her soul, though
she would have sincerely advised anyone else in this same situation to sober up, grab
their clothes and run. More than she wanted her next breath, she wanted him to take
her back to the place they shared last night.

His weight wedged against her. His cock prodded her thighs apart. It pressed

between her thighs with its tip dripping wet.

She lifted her hips and let her body slide against his rigidness, but he didn’t

penetrate her, he merely teased her with a couple of slow strokes across her wet clit.

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His lips dipped toward her ear, he whispered in a hoarse voice, “Why not pretend

this is the first time?”

She was confused by his improbable but seductive request, unsure of which “first

time” he was referring to.

He rose up on his elbows. His body arched above her. His voice was so damaged he

could barely whisper, “Why don’t you pretend I’m the first and only man you’ve ever
loved?”

Her throat tensed. His words pierced her. Why did he have to say that? Did he

mean to be cruel? Her chest felt tight, as if her heart might try to leap free of her rib
cage. She shouldn’t take his words to heart. This was crazy. Why was she letting a
stranger manipulate her feelings? She reminded herself this was just a sexual game, but
she was sorely tempted to give in to this emotionally risky little farce. The rules of this
game were harsh—submit, get swept away in make-believe, sober up—cry. She almost
uttered the name Jeff but managed to hold her tongue.

He kneeled on the mattress, taking hold of her hips. He pulled her toward him. He

lifted her leg, draping her ankle over his shoulder, and gently kissed the inside curve of
her knee. He held her leg aloft, pressing himself against her exposed sex until he was
slick from her wetness.

She closed her eyes beneath the blindfold, her fists clenched in the cuffs. Her body

surrendered. She knew this feeling. She knew this position. With her arms above her
head it was easy to imagine she was lying in the cramped backseat of Jeff’s candy-apple
red muscle car with his big frame wedged between her thighs. How had they managed
to make love in that backseat for so many months? For that matter, how had a king-
sized bed ever become too small for them? Her life flashed before her eyes. The backseat
of that red car was probably where Megan got her start.

He hovered over her.
She held her breath. What was he waiting for? She felt vulnerable, exposed. She had

done this to herself. She had agreed to play a game with unclear rules. He could really
hurt her on many levels if he chose to. Every nerve in her body hummed from a rush of
adrenaline. Her bottom lip trembled.

He leaned over her and gently brushed his thumb across her mouth. “Think of the

first time,” he whispered the words, and kissed the tension from her lips.

She shuddered at his unexpected tenderness. His kiss reached twenty years into the

past and healed a thousand little wounds, a thousand resentments and a thousand
regrets.

He pulled her hips closer, rubbing the head of his cock against her. He didn’t

penetrate her, he just held himself against her, becoming a big bear-sized body and a
warm source of comfort.

She wondered why it was easier to re-create this intense moment with a stranger

and not Jeff.

He plunged inside her.

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The first stroke was harsh. She gulped a breath. It did feel like the first time.
He groaned and held still. His body pulsed as her heat gripped him. He struggled

for composure.

She felt him twitch inside her and knew he was close to the edge. She tensed, too

afraid to move.

He slowly pulled back and took a slow, short thrust, exciting her clit. He pushed

deeper, burying himself inside her, as if he needed to lose himself in her and blur the
dividing line between them. His breath quickened to a pant as he continued to slowly
push deeper even after there was nowhere deeper to go. He tensed. “Don’t move.”

Her hips undulated beneath him, wanting to move freely and feel him stroking

against her.

His strokes were infuriatingly slow.
Her hips began to gently rock, searching for her own rhythm.
“Stop…” His cock leapt and hands locked onto her hips, taking complete control of

her.

Now she had no freedom to move.
He slowly plunged into her, barely moving until he hit just the right spot. He took

his time letting the tension build, treating her as if it truly were her first time.

She was eager to intensify the motion and feel more. She lifted her hips and slid

back down, trying to stroke against him at the perfect angle and speed.

He wouldn’t allow it. He held her still beneath him, insisting on a leisurely pace. He

slowly stroked in and out of her, sharing the teasing pleasure of thrusting so slowly.

She felt him swelling inside her and rolled her hips forward to intensify the

sensation.

He quietly groaned, “Stop moving!” and held her immobile beneath him until she

got herself under control.

Oh! She was so close to coming. It was cruel to hold her still. Her muscles fluttered

around him, trying to coax him over the edge. His insistence on completely controlling
the motion was driving her mad. She sighed in frustration, gradually accepting the fact
that at that moment he was the driver and she was an extension of him. As she adjusted
to his tempo, she found it freeing to be the vessel of someone else’s pleasure. All she
could do was make the tiniest sounds and movements, tempting him to let go.

He kissed her mouth to silence her. His tongue slipped past her lips. The invasion

became a meld as his limbs tangled with hers. His rasped breathing became her breath
and the salty tang of his skin mixed with her scent.

This was something she had striven toward all her life, and she had finally arrived

at a perfect point of equilibrium where she was no longer certain if his labored moans
were not actually her own. It was no longer his moan, it was merely a moan. All
boundaries became blurred as ecstatic sounds filled her ears. There was no sense of
separation between her and her lover. There was the distinct feeling there was only one.

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His breath came in labored pants as his thrusts sped up. His entire body tensed as

he fought to hold back his climax just a few seconds longer.

She gritted her teeth as her body keyed into his, feeling every bit of the shared

tension as his body began to retreat. Without willing it, her belly tightened then began
to undulate in an orgasm that would not be held back. The tension rolled up her spine
as every fiber and nerve released themselves. She might have made a low, rolling
growl, or perhaps he did—she couldn’t tell the difference. Her scalp tingled as she
gaped in surprise at coming this hard.

He knew she was coming and rushed to join her. He rose up on his arms and

plunged faster. He had been holding back and knew he couldn’t stay there a second
longer. His strokes were uninhibited and wild. His entire body tensed as he clutched
her shoulders. A loud, slow growl rose in his chest and his body shuddered through
each spasm as jets of hot come shot out of him. He plunged in and out of her for a few
more moments then fell against her, cradling his face between her breasts, panting.

It was oppressively hot lying beneath his weight. She wanted to gulp cool air. She

thought she felt tears sliding down his face, but it might have been sweat, she couldn’t
tell. It had all become indistinguishable.

His body shuddered on top of her as he tried to catch his breath.
She shifted beneath his weight. As the joy passed, she felt disoriented. Now

everything felt so right, but in a moment she feared it would turn to indifference.
Would the indifference she had felt on the garden path return? She dreaded it. She was
made to bring pleasure to this man, he was made to bring joy to her, but she felt no
attraction to him beyond the blindfold or the bed. It worried her.

The man lifted his weight onto his elbows. His voice sounded strangled as if he

were fighting a lump in his throat. “I knew you’d take me back—”

“Don’t say that.” She quickly stopped his comment, worrying that when the

blindfold was removed they would once again be strangers to one another. Perhaps it
was true the only way this man could feel safe with someone was when they were
bound, blindfolded and he was in control, but she knew in her heart the real truth was
they both needed the blindfold and the cuffs to relate to each other. She felt pity for
him, but she also felt pity for herself. She dreaded the removal of the blindfold. She
didn’t want to face the fact that everything had been an illusion, an empty, self-created
fantasy to fulfill her unlived desires.

The man’s breath came in halting gulps. He was crying. He kissed her face, leaving

wet tear streaks on her cheeks. A few warm tears slid uninhibited down his face. His
mood was terribly unsettling.

It made her want to cry. Her throat tightened unbearably. She wanted to sob for her

unlived life and all the wasted years. She wanted to cry because she had gone from
being a college coed to a middle-aged woman in the blink of an eye. She wanted to cry
over Jeff. Lying beneath this stranger, she realized her heart had overstayed its welcome

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at Noblesword Vineyards. She realized when fantasies became the most real thing
about Noblesword, it was definitely time to go home.

The man began to unfasten her blindfold.
“Don’t!” She panicked. On the road to Eleusis one was forced to remove their

masks, but she insisted on wearing hers a little longer.

His hand stilled when he heard the panic in her voice. He was tense as well. He left

her blindfold in place and nuzzled her body, hanging on to her like a lifeline. He
wrapped his arms around her and lay beside her, saying nothing.

Minutes passed, they were both afraid to speak. A mutual tension held them both

in silence.

In the darkness she thought of Pyra’s tattooed arms and the tale of the sacred

prostitute. She became sharply aware of the man shifting uneasily beside her. Even if
this man had paid the temple with pink diamonds, he was still required to leave by
sunrise. She decided it was better not to ask his name. Perhaps they should remain
strangers and keep the act pure. Tomorrow she would fade back into her ordinary life.
She would once again become the woman who forgot herself. She would scoop her hair
back into a ponytail and wear frumpy clothes to the supermarket, and only those with
the keenest eyes would notice her potential. Her secret self would once again become a
buried secret.

She stopped herself. That thought didn’t feel right. She couldn’t entertain it even in

a self-pitying way. It didn’t suit her anymore. That attitude was like a tight cocoon,
which she had outgrown, shed and could not wriggle back into. She knew who she was
now, and that true self needed space to grow. She decided to transform Jeff’s home
office into an art studio. Truly frumpy clothes would go to charity. She had no time to
feel sorry for herself—she had too many lost years to make up for. Her sacrifices had
already been placed on the altar and the fire had accepted them. It was time to move on.

The man beside her fell asleep.
She heard his deep breathing and occasional soft snoring. She was shocked. How

did men do that? How could they fall asleep so easily beside a stranger? Even in his
sleep his hands gripped her shoulders. He wouldn’t let go of her. The man rolled onto
his side and spooned her the way she and Jeff had slept years ago. She came to the
conclusion spooning must be a universal position. His body became comfortably warm
to sleep beside, but she still wished he would just let her go.

She lay awake, knowing her mind would be churning for hours. She wiggled in his

grasp to avoid becoming too comfortable beside him. She feared she might fall asleep,
and what would be wrong with that? She thought about it. There was nothing wrong
with that except sleep was for lovers who trusted one another, not strangers who were
planning their escape.

After a while she got tired of battling her emotions. Why not give in and fall asleep?

She wished he had uncuffed her, but she wasn’t uncomfortable enough to wake him up

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and ask. Despite her anxiety she found herself thinking about painting, and without
realizing what was happening she drifted off into a restful, dream-drenched sleep.

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Chapter Fourteen

Gwen awoke the next morning—alone. Her foot blindly searched the mattress for

the man’s body but found no one there. His side of the bed was cool, apparently he had
been gone for some time.

Her cuffs had been unclipped from the headboard. The cuffs were still on her wrists

but they were no longer attached to anything. She was free to remove them. She
tentatively pulled the blindfold from her eyes and peered out a crack in the drapes. The
sky was turning a rich shade of blue. It was almost daylight. The warm shades of dawn
had yet to arrive.

She unbuckled her cuffs and set the blindfold aside before getting up to search the

room, but she found nothing. There was no trace of evidence a man had been there
except for a discarded condom wrapper beside the bed. Sadly, there were no notes or
jewelry boxes either.

She walked into the bathroom and reluctantly looked in the mirror. Again her eye

makeup had smeared beneath the blindfold, leaving her looking like a mournful
raccoon.

She turned on the shower, deciding to enjoy the golden bottles of Noblesword

products one last time. She opened the cap of each bottle and took a good whiff. The
products were wonderful, their fragrance was clean and uplifting, especially the
grapefruity tang of the shampoo. She was forced to admit the Noblesword products
that Sherry had helped formulate were superior to the imported French products.

She sampled everything in the cabinet, including the cosmetics, and guiltily

dropped the mascara and sheer lipstick into her purse as the only physical souvenirs of
her escapade at Noblesword Vineyards.

She slipped into her conservative navy blue skirt and silk blouse and coaxed her

long dark hair into a loose ponytail before buckling her gold sandals onto her feet.

She looked longingly at the pink jogging suit strewn on the bed. She loved it but left

it behind, vowing silently to buy herself something similar when she got home.

By the time she left her room the sun had risen. It was a lovely cool morning with a

crisp blue sky. She remembered she had left a sweater in her car. She wished she had it
now. She walked toward the carport, trying to muffle the click of her high heels by
shuffling forward on her toes. It was far too early to be waking others.

Her stomach growled. She was ready to leave Noblesword and find someplace cozy

along the highway to have breakfast. She needed coffee and she craved hash browns.
She wanted to feel like herself again, but she couldn’t completely envision how that
might feel.

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Everything had changed. Her old life had scurried away. She realized she was no

longer angry. She was no longer a martyr and she was completely free to write a new
chapter in her life. She had the terror, thrills and pleasures of Noblesword to thank for
that.

She walked beneath the oak trees that lined the driveway. Most of the cars were

now gone, but there were still a few extra cars parked along the curb. She figured that if
she was very careful and drove very slowly, she could squeeze her way down the
narrow driveway and leave unnoticed.

She found her car jammed into a corner of the carport. She peeked through the side

window and saw her sweater thrown across the backseat. She rummaged her hand
through her purse, searching for her car keys, unlocked the door and climbed into the
driver’s seat. The leather seat felt cold against her bare legs. She reached into the
backseat to grab the sweater and wrapped it around her shivering shoulders. Hot coffee
sounded great right now. She slid the key into the ignition and it clicked but nothing
happened. She turned the key again. There was complete silence. The car was dead.

The breath hissed out of her. She threw her head back in frustration. What horrible

luck. Her stealthy escape was thwarted. Now she would have to ask for help. She
clutched her sweater around her and marched back toward the main building, clicking
her heels loudly against the flagstone and no longer caring if she woke everyone up.

Raphael strolled toward her, carrying a shopping bag and a coffee mug.
She was not in the mood to talk to him. She tried to avoid him by darting down

another path.

He called out to her, “Gwen!”
She froze.
“It’s too late, I already saw you.” Raphael padded toward her wearing a charcoal

gray sweat suit and sheepskin boots. “I wondered where you went. These are for you.”
He handed her the shopping bag.

The bag was stuffed with new bottles of Noblesword body care products and it

weighed a ton. She was reluctant to take it all. It felt like stealing. “My battery is dead.
Do you have any jumper cables?”

Raphael looked scandalized. His snapping dark eyes made drama of everything,

“You don’t own a pair of jumper cables?”

The jumper cables had gone to college with Megan. Gwen’s nose twitched. She

could smell the coffee in Raphael’s mug. “Where did you get the coffee?”

He joked good-naturedly with her. “Oh! Now you expect me to fix your car and

fetch coffee? And to think, last night I was almost a god.”

She smiled at him. “If you get my car started you will be a god in my eyes.”
Pyra quietly approached Gwen and Raphael, carrying two sloshing mugs of coffee.

She had on a pink sweat suit and comfy sheepskin boots. Only the glittering pink
diamonds decorated her earlobes, all the other head-shop clutter was gone. Her face

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was bright and fresh and her glossy black hair was parted in two girlish pigtails. She
handed one of the steaming coffee mugs to Gwen.

Gwen reached for the offered coffee. “After last night, I’m surprised everyone is up

so early.” Her mind immediately flashed on last night’s naughty scene in the atrium.
She could feel her cheeks pinken.

Pyra rolled her eyes heavenward. “We haven’t been to bed yet.” She looped her

arm through Gwen’s arm and steered her toward the new buildings. “Come and have
some breakfast with us while Raphael looks at your car.”

Gwen found herself following Pyra without question, but she wondered if she

would regret it.

They walked across the gardens toward the spa. The new building was a rambling

adobe structure with a conference hall and a small dinning room attached to it. Despite
the early hour a lavish breakfast buffet was already set up.

Gwen’s eyes fell on a pan full of golden hash browns.
Miss Chantal, Sherry and Alfred were already eating breakfast. They smiled at

Gwen when she entered the dinning room.

A handsome man with thick silver hair was seated next to Miss Chantal, sipping his

coffee.

Gwen recognized the silver-haired man as the chef who had decorated the dessert

platter in the cognac room.

Miss Chantal rose from her chair and came forward to embrace her. “Good

morning, Gwen, are you feeling better today?”

Gwen wasn’t sure how she felt. She noticed both Miss Chantal and Sherry wore

pink diamond earrings. She felt a jealous little jab of confusion. “My car won’t start.”

“It will.” Miss Chantal lifted her chin with conviction. “I disconnected the battery. I

didn’t want you to leave before we had a chance to talk.” She gracefully motioned for
Gwen to take a seat at the table.

Gwen’s brows knit. She really didn’t want to linger. An uneasy quiet spread

through the room. She sat down, deciding a cup of coffee and a scoop of hash browns
might do her some good.

Alfred and Sherry smiled warmly at Gwen and invited her to sit beside them.
The friendly gesture surprised her. She sat cautiously beside them, not knowing

what to expect. She commented on the first thing that came to her mind. “I used the
Noblesword products this morning and they are amazing.”

Sherry beamed and responded politely, “Thank you, I could never have done it on

my own. I had a lot of help from the rest of the Noblesword team.”

Gwen was surprised. There was not a trace of the arrogance Sherry had shown on

earlier occasions.

Alfred leaned toward Gwen and addressed her in a soft, deferential voice. “Did you

enjoy your trial novitiate at Noblesword?”

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She was taken aback by the drastic change in Alfred’s demeanor. It was as if this

were different man. “I learned a lot about myself.”

Alfred laughed quietly, his eyes crinkled slightly at the edges. “Everyone does.” He

looked even more like Jim Morrison in the daylight. “I work every day with very picky
clients, I have to be polite and bite my tongue all day at work. I relish being Alfred, it’s
the only time I get to publicly speak my mind.”

Alfred was a fictional alter ego? Gwen’s jaw nearly dropped, she felt stunned.
Miss Chantal joined in. “Owning up to what you really want, not what you say you

want, is always traumatic. Everyone gets a shock.” She introduced Gwen to the dapper
silver-haired gentleman on her right, “This is Scotty, my husband and business
partner.”

Scotty thrust his hand out.
Gwen felt disoriented. It took a moment for her to realize Scotty expected her to

shake his hand. She lurched forward uneasily to take his hand, and blurted out, “Are
you really a chef?”

“Yes.” Scotty was soft-spoken but proud. “I managed several five-star kitchens on

the Michelin Chateau and Ralais circuit in France, Switzerland and Germany.” He
glanced around the table. “And I made a lot of friends along the way.”

Pyra crowded closer and thrust her hand out to introduce herself. “Jane Morrow.”
Gwen blinked her eyes as her mind scanned its memory banks. The name Morrow

sounded familiar. Was Pyra the heiress to the Morrow auto-parts fortune?

Pyra smiled and walked over the coffee decanter to refill her mug. “I’m an artist

and an equal here. At Noblesword I found true freedom.”

Gwen felt an odd sensation sweep through her. Apprehension crept into her

thoughts. “I suppose Raphael isn’t a valet or a struggling actor?”

Everyone laughed.
“Raphael is a struggling actor.” Miss Chantal speech was droll. “He also owns

Noblesword Vineyards. In fact his great-grandfather used to own this entire valley.”

Gwen bolted out of her chair. The butterflies in her stomach churned. She had been

at some sort of kinky masquerade party. No one was who she thought they were. She
had stupidly bared her soul to strangers and they had taken advantage of her open
door. She worried that Mr. Pink Diamonds was watching and laughing at her naiveté.
She felt completely foolish. It was suddenly hard to breathe. It felt like the wind had
been knocked out of her. She wanted to sit down before her knees buckled. She had
given in to her curiosity and abandoned herself to her desires, and now she was so
sorry.

“What’s wrong, Gwen?” Miss Chantal took her hand. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “I just need to go home.”
Miss Chantal handed Gwen an envelope. “Open this before you leave.”

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Gwen slit the envelope with her fingernail. The envelope contained a golden card

and a notarized certificate that proclaimed her the owner of Jensen’s plein-air
masterpiece Hillside in April.

She glanced up at Miss Chantal, feeling dizzy, “Are you giving me that painting in

the large dining room?” Purely covetous feelings and anxious apprehension poured
through her. “It’s too much. I couldn’t possibly accept it.”

Miss Chantal dismissed her statement with the sweep of her hand. “The painting is

not from me, it’s from your admirer. You should accept it. You’ve earned it. I’ve already
had the painting crated and shipped to your home.” Her brow arched impatiently.
“There’s more in that envelope.”

Gwen ran her fingers inside the envelope and discovered an embossed silver card

that declared Gwendolyn Bel Geddes was a Platinum member of Noblesword
Vineyards.

She swept her fingertips across the card as if she could read by touch. Her fingers

accepted the card but her mind was struggling with all of this.

“Gwen…” Miss Chantal used her most provocative voice. “I hope you’ll consider

joining us.” She walked up to Sherry and pulled her long golden hair away from her
face, exposing Sherry’s delicate ears. “As you can see, all the principal women at
Noblesword are awarded pink diamonds. Consider them your badge of courage, a
reward for your hard work. I see tremendous potential in you. You would be a great
asset to Noblesword. We need someone who has your compassion and creative talent.”

Gwen reeled in disbelief. Was this a sales pitch? What exactly did this elite group of

people want from her?

Miss Chantal inched closer. She perched on the edge of the table in front of Gwen.
“Noblesword Vineyards was founded a short while ago. It started out as a safe

place for adults to play and express themselves, but the response has been astounding.”

Gwen took a deep breath. She knew a sales pitch when she heard one. She wanted

to tune Miss Chantal out, but the pitch was so compelling her resistance faltered and
ears fixated on her every word.

Miss Chantal’s eyes glowed with enthusiasm. “We have been inundated with

requests for membership. Couples from all over the world want to come here and play.
We were forced to start some side businesses just to account for the growth at
Noblesword Vineyards. Frankly, our side businesses are booming as well.” She slid off
the edge of the table and stalked around the room. “People want what we’re offering
and we can’t keep up with the demand. We have plans to branch out into other
markets. We want our organic foods and body-care products to become the industry
standard. Early next year we will be opening Noblesword Spas in Vancouver, Costa
Rica, Chicago, Atlanta and New York. Ideally these spas would be places where couples
can reconnect with each other, heal their hurts and take their masks off.”

Or keep their mask on… Gwen smirked. She was flattered they were trying to seduce

her, but she knew it wouldn’t work. There was a hole in her heart that needed mending

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and only time and privacy could accomplish that. She decided not to waste a moment
more of Miss Chantal’s time. “You know I’m going through a divorce, and frankly, I’m
feeling pretty confused. I’m not ready to come out and play, and I would be a hypocrite
if I tried to offer help or advice to anyone else.”

“You’ve been honest and flexible in your thinking,” Miss Chantal corrected her.

“Consider joining Noblesword. It would be good for everyone.”

“I’ll think about it.” She felt every eye in the room looking at her. The sensation was

quite unsettling. She excused herself from the table, wanting to leave before Mr. Pink
Diamonds confronted her. The thought of seeing him by the light of day and realizing
once again their attraction was an elaborate illusion was unbearable. She fled the dining
room into the pale sunlight of the September morning with her heels clicking against
the flagstones. No one was following her but she ran as fast as she could toward the
carport. Her heart raced from the brisk jog, but she still felt cold and empty, as if she
had somehow missed the entire point of this strange encounter. Her golden sandals
were not made for sprinting, her ankles wobbled when she reached the carport’s
gravelly surface. Why did she feel the need to run away so fast? She had not even taken
the opportunity to drink her coffee. She thoroughly regretted leaving the steaming mug
of coffee behind. Perhaps she should have stayed and really listened to Miss Chantal
with an open mind. Would five more minutes have made any difference? She shivered
and wrapped her sweater tight around her to ward off the morning chill.

The morning sun had yet to reach the carport. The oak trees surrounding it cast the

interior of her car in deep shadows. She walked up to her car, feeling irritated to see a
head of dark hair sitting in the driver’s seat. She frowned at the back of Raphael’s head.
He was not someone she wanted to deal with at this moment. She wanted to be alone.
How long did it take to reconnect a battery cable anyway? She felt a little stab of anger
at Raphael’s lingering presence. Even though he was there to help her and she was
grateful, she just wanted to make a clean getaway from Noblesword without any
entanglements or foolishness. She didn’t have a speck of energy left in her for social
curtsies. Raphael would just have to understand.

She clenched her jaw, marched determinedly to the driver’s side window and

rapped her knuckles against the glass. “I need to get going.”

He turned toward her. Jeff’s hazel eyes looked directly at her.
She screamed and jumped backward. She was so startled and so angry that she

smacked her leg into the car parked behind her. She spun around and fell against the
little turquoise blue sports car, trying to get some traction as gravel flew from beneath
her kicking feet.

“Gwen!” Jeff opened the car door and leapt out. “Please talk to me!”
The butterflies swooped in her stomach. It all made sense now. She scrambled away

from Jeff, feeling foolish as her heels sank deeper into the gravel. “Bastard! I thought
you were hiding out in Canada.”

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Katalina Leon

“What?” He caught up to her and grabbed her around the waist. He pulled her

against his chest. His grip was firm, his big body was warm. “Please…”

His breath on the back of her neck gave her gooseflesh. She stopped struggling as

an uncomfortable realization crashed down on her. Her knees trembled. “How many
times was it you?”

“It was always me.” He gently kissed the back of her neck. “Deep down you knew

it was me in the cognac room, on the four-poster bed and as Jupiter. I could never share
you with anyone else.”

“Did you enjoy watching me make a fool of myself?” She waited for him to answer,

but he didn’t say a thing, which was so like Jeff. His silence infuriated her even more.
“You’re supposed to be in Vancouver. What are you doing here? Who was that man on
the garden path?”

“The man on the path is a friend, forgive me. I needed to know what you were

feeling.”

“Sneaky bastard.” She turned around and eyed him with suspicion. “What have

you been doing all these months? You seem to have learned a lot of new tricks.” She
tried to sound as snide as possible.

His grip tightened, he looked determined to say what he needed to say, before she

bolted. The words poured out of his mouth in a steady rush. “There was a lot I needed
to learn—you know that. Don’t begrudge me that. We were so unhappy for so long. I
made a new a life for myself at Noblesword. I helped formulate the organic body-care
line. It’s a thousand times more satisfying than reformulating the same old toxic
housecleaning products. I helped organize the Vancouver division of Noblesword.
Gwen, I needed a new life. I needed to break free. I was dying…”

She snorted in disgust. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He might as well have stabbed her

in the heart. She tried to wriggle free of him.

He clamped his arms tighter around her, and whispered, “We’re rich, Gwen. I

didn’t have to tell you that before the divorce was final. I could have hidden it from
you, but I want to share it with you. I want to share everything with you! I realized after
a few months that I didn’t want to leave you—I wanted to start our life over.”

She kicked her way free of his grasp, causing some loose gravel to rain down on the

hood of the vintage turquoise sports car with an almost musical ping, ping, ping.

Jeff darted protectively between the sports car and the flying gravel. “Hey, that’s a

new paint job!”

Her mouth gaped in astonishment. “This is your car?” She stared in disbelief at the

cheerful little car. Who was this man? Dull, conservative Jeff was driving around in a
whimsical turquoise blue bathtub? Hell, there were tigers and winged fairy stickers all
over the side windows! “Jeff, why are you driving this car?”

His fingertips brushed lightly against her arm. “For the joy of it! I probably won’t

keep it. I just wanted to try it. The only thing I want to keep is you.”

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Noblesword

She pulled away from him. “You’re too late!”
“Gwen, I knew you wouldn’t like the idea of Noblesword Vineyards. I knew if I

suggested it you’d be appalled. I’m sorry I did so much behind your back. I wanted to
secure a new job here. Later, after I met the other couples I wanted a whole new life. I
wanted to be like them. I left Noblesword matchboxes in my pockets for you to find. I
sent invitations to the house, hoping you would come snooping. Miss Chantal told me
to be patient, that I couldn’t force you into this. She told me you had to do this on your
own for your own reasons. I wasn’t ready to walk away from you without trying one
last time. Was I completely wrong to put you through all this?”

“I don’t know…” She felt shaky. Hadn’t this all been her idea, an adventurous

experiment purely for her benefit? Her heart tried to wall itself off but she felt certain
that just wouldn’t work this time. “I feel tricked and betrayed.”

His eyes shone brightly. “I’m so sorry about that. It was always my intention to

invite you here and show you everything we could share together.”

She groaned. “Jeff, I’m not a complete fool. What you did was a real trust breaker. It

made me feel so low and miserable.”

Jeff scowled. “In the last several years there were some days you wouldn’t even talk

to me.”

That was true and she felt badly about that. She shut her mouth and really looked at

him, truly seeing him for the first time in his entirety with all his assets and flaws. She
saw his forty-two years, she saw a hint of Megan, and she saw the beauty in his big
square hands that still bore a wedding ring. If she were to meet him casually on the
street her heart would jump.

An uneasy thought entered her mind. “You told Miss Chantal everything about me,

didn’t you? How could you expose me like that? You told her I love the movie Vertigo.
You told her I don’t wear pink…” The accusations froze on her lips as the entire scope
of the scheme became clear.

Jeff nodded his head. “I can’t take credit or blame for that. I thought I knew

everything about you, but apparently I know very little. Miss Chantal gleaned most of
your personal facts from my questionnaire. At the time I filled it out, I didn’t realize
how much I was exposing about us, but I’m not at all surprised that facts about you
filled my questionnaire, you’ve always been my biggest fantasy.” He wrapped his arms
around her and rubbed his face against her silky blouse. “Admit it, what we shared
here felt right.”

Her knees went limp. She allowed him to hold her up but she admitted to nothing.
He kissed the top of her head. “You were more open to me when I was a stranger.”
She noticed he was much leaner and more world weary than she remembered him.
“Jeff, you feel like a complete stranger now.”
“Look at it this way, you were ready to let me go. We already said goodbye. We

have nothing to lose. Why don’t you try getting to know me again? I love you, and I

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Katalina Leon

think you still love me.” His grip tightened on her. “I know that I can’t force you into
taking me back, and I know that I’ve done things that hurt you, but I still believe there’s
so much more for us.” He suddenly let her go. He stopped holding her and stepped
back.

The moment she was free of his arms, she felt bereft. All the energy fled her body,

as if the life had been crushed out of her. She wanted to immediately climb back into his
arms. She realized she could let him go, but at what cost? How much of her heart would
get pounded in the process of deposing of Jeff? She wasn’t a stupid kid anymore. She
was a grown woman who owed herself the courtesy of a sound decision. Their lives
stood on the cusp of autumn. They were imperfect. They both made terrible mistakes,
but there were many good years ahead. “It’s true,” she whispered, “it felt right. I
enjoyed you as a stranger.”

He pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her. He opened the passenger

door of the little turquoise sports car. And held her hand while she sat down.

She sank slowly into the car’s bucket seat, her body felt heavy, as if she were

moving in a dream. She tried to imagine what a new life with Jeff might look like. Her
mind raced wildly in a thousand directions, but she couldn’t really imagine what it
might be. She decided maybe that was a good thing. It was probably better to find out
as their destiny took shape. She remembered how easy it had been when she was
young, to hope for guarantees but never demand them.

Jeff climbed into the driver’s seat and turned sideways to smile at her.
She instantly smiled back. She couldn’t help it. He had a cocky, winning smile that

listed slightly to the right. For a moment she saw the boy she met at a sorority mixer so
many years ago.

He turned the ignition key and threw the stick into reverse. He drove the little car

with the precision of a racecar. He expertly drove backward down the narrow
driveway, threading his way between the maze of parked cars.

She watched his profile as he twisted backward to look over his shoulder. “Where

are we going?”

His hand brushed against her hand. “We’re going to get hash browns. I know a

good diner on the highway.” He grinned at her. “I know more about you and you know
more about me, but there’s still a lot more to know. Let’s pretend we’re two strangers
getting to know each other over breakfast.”

184

About the Author

Writing is a new love of mine. I recently arrived at Ellora’s Cave after feeling

inspired to share my overblown vision of reality with my friends. I started my life as a
fine art painter and illustrator but became frustrated that I couldn’t crowd everything I
wanted to say onto a canvas. I was forced to put down the paintbrush and pick up the
pen to explain myself in greater detail. I’ve been fortunate to live an adventurous life
with the love of my life, and fellow artist, at my side. We share our lives with a
wonderful son and a very sweet border collie.

Ps: I still paint. Just because I have a new love doesn’t mean I’m ready to abandon

an old one. One can never collect enough old “loves” or have enough joy in life.

The author welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email

address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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Also by Katalina Leon

Blue Apples

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