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Authors: LaVie EnRose,L.V. Lewis

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BOOK: The Venture Capitalist
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We go through the parries, slowly again and again, all while advancing and retreating, until Keisha is familiar with them all without my assistance. “Now, these will be executed very quickly, but we’ll go slow until you get the hang of it.”

Holding back slightly at first to give her time to figure out how to block my attacks gives her confidence as the moves become second nature to her. Because I begin relatively slow in the beginning, she’s able to think fast and position her foil so I don’t score against her every time. As I gather speed, even though she parries successfully to block, I still hit several targets on her chest.

As I’m doing this, at some point I begin to think about cropping her breasts and I lose my concentration, allowing her to score a point. I smile as my focus returns, and I score three successive points against her until she retreats off the strip.

“No fair! You have me at a complete disadvantage,” she says

I stop and flip my mask, fold arms and cross my legs at the ankle. I hold my foil in one hand and beckon for Keisha to lunge again with my other hand.

She pushes her mask back and shakes her head. “You’ve got to be crazy if you think I’m lunging at you again right now.”

“You were doing well for a beginner if we discount the odd moments when you were whacking me like you were trying to chop vegetables on a cutting board.”

“I’m a girl. We always resort to flailing during fighting, didn’t you know this?”

“I’ve seen you hit someone, remember? You don’t flail when you fight, so don’t do it while fencing. In fact, if you treat fencing the same way you do boxing, you’ll do fine. Practice the moves enough, and they’ll become second nature to you. Use the gym when you’re here and in a few months, you’ll be fencing like an amateur.” I grin partly at her and partly at my stale joke.

She fakes a smile then her face becomes serious. “Funny, White.”

“Okay, I’m going to use my left hand during this final bout. This should give you some advantage.” I move to my place on the strip, and Keisha takes her place again.


En garde
,” I say.


En garde
,” She responds.

We fight a near equal match, because I’m using my non-dominant hand. However, I still win in the end, pressing toward her using a swordplay routine I learned from Tim Morehouse himself
.
The scores I make are on or near her breasts, and in one final move I relieve her of her foil, and score in a place that is likely to get me disqualified in a formal match.

Keisha looks down at the tip of my foil between the juncture of her thighs. “I don’t recall that being a target area.”

“It’s always a target for me.”

I drop my foil, pull her into my arms, and kiss her until her knees go weak. Our tongues fence, but there’s no clear winner, despite the sheer number of targets we both hit. This is the first time I can recall ever not caring who wins during a fencing match. From the look in Ms. Beale’s eyes when we part, I’m sure she feels the same way.

 

 

As neophyte submissives go, Keisha is top-notch. She is teachable, obedient, and eager to learn. Her ace in the hole is most likely that roommate of hers, who for some inexplicable reason rubs me entirely the wrong way. Yet, I’m grudgingly indebted to Jada for helping Keisha in ways that ultimately benefit me. I can’t be sure, but I believe she may have been convinced by Ms. Jameson to try anal sex.

We canceled our formal role-play weekend because of the opening, but she spent the night at the condo on Thursday. After enjoying a leisurely session in the Grotto, she was looking through the chest of drawers that contains many of my smaller sex toys and came upon my butt plug collection.

“What are these?”

I peer over her shoulder into the drawer. “Butt plugs.”

“Oh.” She is always so cute when rendered speechless. She turns to look up at me, holding one of the hard metal plugs in her hand. “So this would be inserted in my…”

“Yes,” I say. I take the hand in which she is holding the plug. “You’re a big girl,” I tease. “You can say ass in my presence.”

She makes an impatient noise. “It’s not that I can’t say it in front of you. It’s just this still freaks me out tremendously, but at the same time I’m curious.”

I pin her eyes with mine. “Do some research. Make an informed decision just as you would about anything else.” I squeeze her hand and release it, allowing her to feel the weight and heft of the plug without my support again. Inwardly, I am hoping she will relent and agree to try anal sex, because it is something I enjoy doing from time to time, when I’m in a particular mood.

I take the bedding Keisha gathered from the bed and drop it in the chute in the ensuite which delivers it to the laundry room on the second level.

“I’ve done the research,” she says. I didn’t realize she’d followed me into the ensuite, and I turn, hopeful that she will make the decision I’ve been desiring.

“And?” I move into her personal space, taking her forearms lightly in my hands.

“I think I want to try it…eventually,” she says.

“Are you sure?”

She bobs her head with a bit of ambivalence then answers with enthusiasm. “Yes, I’m sure.”

I hug her before my mind registers what I’m doing, then release her to look into her eyes again. “You won’t regret it. In fact, I think you’ll like it as a change of pace from time to time.”

She shrugs. “Okay.”

“In the meantime, we’ll need to train your virginal ass,” I say, taking the plug in her hand and striding over to the chest of drawers to replace it. “You will need a relatively small one, at first.” I open the drawer and spot the one I have in mind, quickly, before she changes her mind.

“Here, take this one, and a tube of lube.” Then I change course. “In fact, I should probably demonstrate this for you.”

Her eyes grow wide. “Uh, I think I can figure it out,” she says quickly and takes the items from my hand.

I grin lasciviously. “Are we being coy again, Ms. Beale? After all the things we’ve experienced together?”

“No, I just need to do some…” She clears her throat. “…prep before using it. Otherwise, you know…could be messy.”

It dawns on me then that she has done some research, or asked some pertinent questions of someone who has done this before.

“Okay.” I don’t push any further for demonstration.

After the grand opening, I will push Keisha in regards to her training to limits I haven’t wanted to explore while she’s been busy on-boarding staff and preparing for all the events that make for a successful opening. By then she won’t be pulled in so many different directions and will be able to focus on more hardcore facets of BDSM.

 

 

Today is the grand opening of Kente Studio Records. It makes for a rather minute project in my portfolio, but pays big dividends in my private life. Having the co-owner as my submissive is a huge perk that it took some machinations on my part to make happen, but I wouldn’t change anything, other than the drugging debacle at Wicked, which reminds me that I need to follow up with Velasquez on that situation. Soon.

As I step from the limo in the parking lot behind KSR and duck directly into the building, I enter the hubbub of activity going on in the building just half an hour before the doors open to the public. Lines are already forming outside, and Velasquez and his team are on the job, manning the crowd.

I peek first in the window of one of the studios. I notice several celebrities inside chatting, eating and drinking. This must be the makeshift greenroom. I don’t go in, because I don’t want to be caught up chatting with anyone right now, especially Darnelle, who still has a bone to pick with me, as it were. She’s heard through the grapevine that Keisha is my new sub, and isn’t particularly happy with me right now. She’ll get over it.

I stop by Keisha’s office first, and as expected, she isn’t there. She’s likely in the showroom where the stage and seating is set up for the program. Her newly hired uniformed staff look professional and competent.

Tracey, the receptionist, greets me as I enter. “Good morning, Mr. White.”

“Tracey.” I acknowledge her as warmly as I dare with a female staffer. “Where’s your boss?”

“In the showroom putting some final touches on the program.”

“Thanks.” I make a beeline for the door to the showroom.

As I enter, I see Nathan and Jada directing a group of employees cordoning off a section stage left for the media, and Keisha has a clipboard in hand, jotting things down, and crossing things off of a list, no doubt. When she looks up and sees me, she smiles, but then she is approached by a couple of staffers with questions. I remove my jacket and roll up my sleeves to help Jonah Sairu, my Kenyan designer friend, who is balanced precariously on a ladder hanging a KSR Banner in front of the stage.

I hold the ladder at the base. “Why is it always the vertically challenged guys who try to do jobs they’re not equipped to handle?”

Jonah peers down at me, holding the edge of the banner in his teeth as he slips a cable tie through the scaffolding holding the klieg lights. His face lights up with a smile, then he attaches the end of the banner, talking as he comes down. “It is because tall guys like you are never around when you need them. Your brother seems content to follow one of the co-owners around, so even he was not available to help me with the banner.”

I release the base of the ladder when he has only a few rungs left to descend. When he is safely on the floor, he grabs my hand, shakes it vigorously, and pats me on the back simultaneously. I suppose this is the enthusiastic Kenyan version of the man-shake.

“I must thank you for sending Kente Studio Records to me. No other designer in Chicago could have done them justice.”

I look around at the décor. “You’re right about that. Considering the name and the brand they are hoping to portray, you were the first to come to my mind.”

The studio is decorated appropriately for the celebration layering Jonah’s design signature throughout the showroom. Statement walls are interspersed between the windows alternating with solid colors that complement and enhance the tapestries of the Kente cloth wall fabric. These are accessorized with authentic African musical instruments used as objet d’art that relate specifically to the products that will be sold in each area.

As Jonah tells me about his newest project for HGTV, I see an older woman, who could only be Keisha’s mother, entering the showroom. I know I’m right when Keisha greets her with a hug and takes her on a tour, skirting the seating area. Mrs. Beale peruses the showroom in awe, stopping several times, looking as if she is overcome with emotion.

When Keisha cuts a glance at me which registers as a plea for help, I spring into action.

“Excuse me, Jonah,” I say. “I need to assist Ms. Beale with getting her mother seated.”

“Oh please, go ahead. I’m going to take this ladder into the back and return to my seat for this spectacular event. Let’s have a drink together later, my friend.”

“Of course.”

As Tracey is delivering rack cards containing today’s program line-up and studio contact information to be distributed to the guests, I stop her.

“Would you bring a glass of water and a box of tissues out here stat?”

“Sure thing, Mr. White.” Tracey returns to the office area while I approach Keisha and her mother in a corner near the front of the showroom. As I near them, I hear Keisha say.

BOOK: The Venture Capitalist
12.48Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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