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Authors: Jesse Joren

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Manhattan Master

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Manhattan Master
A Short Erotic
Romance

 

As told to Jesse Joren

The characters and events
in these stories are a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual
persons is purely coincidental and unintended by the author. No
portion of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by
any method without express prior written consent of the
author.

Text copyright © 2015 Jesse
Joren

All rights reserved.

Once upon a time, an
innocent Southern girl went to meet a gentleman in
Manhattan.

Only she wasn't that
innocent.

And he was no
gentleman.

"Anything you want.
Anything at all. Use me."

My words fade into the
thick, carved silence of the room. All I can hear is our breathing,
and the muted sounds of downtown Manhattan traffic. The streets
teem below, filled with traffic and horns, the occasional
siren.

Yet here I stand in this
quiet hotel room, unable to say more than those few
words.

Who could have known that a
business meeting could have led to this? You came to Atlanta to buy
a loft for the times you're there on business. If I hadn't been the
only agent in the office that day, I might never have met
you.

After many weeks I found
exactly what you wanted in Peachtree Plaza. Western view from every
room. Hand-cut stone tiles in the foyer. Private
elevator.

It was hard work to meet
your exacting standards, and I was triumphant to find such a
perfect match. What I didn't know was that you cared very little
about the expensive penthouse. You'd already found exactly what you
wanted.

Me.

Cell phones brokered our long-distance
romance. You pursued me with diamonds and orchids. I gave my heart
to you.

Now my body has followed.
I've left behind the familiar Southern life I know to give myself
into your hands. No limits. That's what you require, what I
crave.

I glance up at you through my lashes,
trying to read something behind your impassive expression. I kneel
between your muscular thighs, the position you instructed me to
assume as I entered.

The warm day and my excitement have
left my body misted with sweat. The thin, cornflower-blue cotton of
my dress begins to cling to my skin.

The air conditioning is on.
I can hear it, but it does little to cool me. My body's flush is
not all from the day's heat. Can you smell my arousal coming
through my pores?

The thought excites me.

"Really. Anything?" you ask
in that soft, deceptive tone that still makes me weak.

"Anything," I repeat, my
voice more high-pitched than usual.

You thrill me, but you also make me
nervous. The mixture is part of what makes you like a drug,
something I can't resist.

"Pull up your dress and let
me see your body," you say. Half teasing request, half stern
command. Totally irresistible.

I raise my skirt to my
thighs, my waist, my breasts, slowly baring my body to you. As you
instructed, I wear nothing under the dress.

I look down to see myself
as you do. A smooth, lightly-tanned body. Rounded breasts and dark
pink nipples. The mild, shaved rise between my thighs.

Your eyes give nothing away
when I glance at you. How much I want to please you.

"Pull your left nipple
tight," you say.

I take the little bud and
tug, pulling it out from my breast. I tense when you reach into
your pocket and pull out a small pocket knife, the something else.
It looks like fishing line.

Something in my expression
makes you smile.

"Hold it out. Don't let
go," you say. "Hold onto the very tip and pull."

I pull hard as you cut a
piece of the twine, wrapping the length around the base like a tiny
noose. Tighter and tighter it pulls until a little moan escapes me.
Your fingers are quick as they make the knot.

"Let go," you tell
me.

When I release my nipple it
protrudes, aching and erect. I feel a familiar tingle between my
thighs.

"Good. Now the other side."

The sting of the twine
wraps around the base of my right nipple, yanking it erect to match
its mate. You wrap one more cruel twist around each base, trimming
away the excess line.

The clear strip is almost
invisible, sunk deep into my swollen flesh. Those lines won't be
coming off until they're cut.

"Very nice," you say,
brushing your palms over the aching tips. They harden to the point
of pain under your touch.

"These don't show as much
as clamps would. I might be taking you places where it's better to
be slightly more discreet."

I have no idea what you're
talking about. I thought we agreed only to meet in this room, but
I've given myself to you. If the trust wasn't there, I would have
stayed home.

That doesn't mean that I
don't also feel fear. Part of me still wonders what the hell I've
gotten myself into.

"Aren't you going to thank
me?" you tease, flicking the tips with your nails.

"Thank you. I love how that
feels," I stammer.

Again you flash that smile
that makes my heart beat faster, then you pat your lap.

"Lay back on the floor and
raise your legs," you say. "I want to see your pussy up
close."

The crude, matter-of-fact
request feels calculated to humble me, and it works. I feel my face
go red as I hesitate.

A frown begins between your
eyes. I don't fear your anger, but I can't bear to be a
disappointment to you. Not after all this time, all of these
dreams.

I let my dress drop back
into place, easing into the floor between your feet. I lay on my
back and raise my legs up to drape over the arms over the chair. I
try to keep my thighs closed with poor success.

Slowly your fingers slip
deep between my lips, rubbing and exploring. My thighs part like
water, the dress falling back to my waist. I feel cool air and your
finger inside of me, rubbing away the light cream of my
excitement.

Your fingertip strokes me,
feeling the firm little knob that swells as you play, stretching
out to meet your touch.

"Open to me," you say in a
soft voice of steel.

My hands find my smooth
lips, pulling them apart, exposing the deepest pink to you. The
hard little center of my excitement. The tiny place where I pee.
The soft opening to the deepest part of me.

"Good. Don't
move."

I squirm when your
fingertips squeeze my hardness, gripping and stretching it until I
gasp. There's the soft whicker of fishing line being unraveled. The
cool twine closes around the base of my stretched clit.

The tightness becomes a
burn. My flesh swells, fevered and throbbing in protest, but all
I'm aware of is the excitement building inside of me. I look up,
disheveled and flushed, seeing that little grin on your face as you
set the twine and knife aside.

"You can let go now," you
offer. How generous.

My inner thighs are soaked
with soft wetness, like I have a fever. Your finger slips into me
one final time, teasing the hard little nub back and forth before
withdrawing.

"Stand up and pull your dress down.
Let's see if it shows."

I stand, my legs quivering
as I smooth the dress back down over my hips. Even just standing
still, the rubbing sensation is maddening.

My nipples are pressed
against the thin cloth, clearly visible from any angle. Anyone
looking at me with more than a passing glance will notice, unless
they happen to be using a white cane and seeing eye dog.

Your little chuckle tells
me that you've read my mind.

"You'll just have to move
fast so that no one gets more than a peek," you say.

I resist the urge to stick
out my tongue at you, wary of that fishing line I saw go back in
your pocket. "Where are we going?"

"To my office. I need to
make some calls." You smile. "Pretty boring stuff." Your voice
takes on a new note, husky with secrets.

"Plus I thought you might
want to come with me and see what I have installed under my
desk."

A slow throb of excitement
twists in my belly.

"What is it?" I ask,
feeling a rush of damp heat between my thighs.

Your eyes gleam in a way
that makes my trussed parts throb. "You already know that answer,
Gabrielle."

You take my hand to lead me
from the room. Before we reach the door you stop, snapping your
fingers.

"I almost forgot. One more
thing."

You reach into the inner
jacket pocket of your expensive suit, removing a small,
elegant-looking little vibrator. The stainless steel gleams softly
in your palm.

"Obedience comes in many
forms." Your beautiful mouth curls into a smirk. "Put it in, then
we're ready for our walk."

Wordlessly I stare at you.
Surely this is a joke. How can I walk and hold that inside of me
out on the city streets?

"I'm waiting."

Your eyes lock on mine,
testing me as you stand there, so perfect with your dark hair and
blue-gray eyes. A dark angel, waiting to make me fall.

With slow steps I walk to
the desk, turning so that I face you. I raise my leg and put my
foot on the edge of the desk, pulling my skirt back so you can see
me.

In this position, one leg
raised and stretched out to the side, everything I have to offer is
in full view. As your eyes dip lower, I know you see what I can
feel: the clear, trickling juice beginning its slow course down my
inner thighs.

My hand trembles a little,
but I find the entry to my sleek opening with the tip of the
vibrator. I slide the little toy up inside my tightness. There's a
momentary spasm that makes me tremble.

"I need panties or
something to keep it in," I say with desperation.

"Put your leg down," you
suggest.

I lower my foot to the
floor, sending the smoothness of the vibrator higher into my
wetness. My knees tremble as though I've run up a dozen flights of
stairs.

"You can hold it without
any help," you say. "It's just a short walk across the street,
across a lobby, into an elevator, down a couple of halls. That's
all."

A tiny smile hovers in your
eyes. I almost smile back.

"What if it falls out?" I
challenge. "Can you stand that kind of embarrassment, right where
you work every day?"

"Not the least bit
embarrassing for me," you say as you take my arm and lead me to the
door. "It won't be me that let it fall."

My face is on fire. I
clench my inner muscles, determined not to let it slide out. Each
step I take makes the flesh between my legs throb. This isn't going
to be easy.

After you close and lock
the door behind us, you steer me toward the elevator and the
outside world. I glance back at the silent door. Half an hour ago I
was afraid to enter in. Now it looks like a sanctuary.

The elevator is sleek and
modern, thankfully empty. Once the doors close I glance at you, and
what I see in your eyes makes my knees like jelly.

You reach to smooth my
hair, to stroke the back of my neck. The tension begins to melt
from me. Sighing a little, I lean back into that strong touch. In
spite of your stern demeanor, how gentle you can be –

That's when I feel the
vibrator start to slip. I straighten, pulling in with all the
muscle power I can. I manage to control it just as the elevator
doors open. No one gets in the car. Maybe they decided to take the
stairs. But still…

I turn on you.. "You did
that on purpose!"

Your smile doesn't deny it. "Don't get
too relaxed," you say.

When the elevator opens on
the ground floor, I'm dismayed to see that the vaulted lobby is
teeming with people. I glance down at the hard little nubs of my
nipples. Am I just paranoid, or they really are that
noticeable?

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