Private Box

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This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design: Newsite Web Services, LLC, P.O. Box 1286, Loganville, GA 30052 Private Box © 2009 Barrie Abalard eXcessica publishing All rights reserved

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Private Box By Barrie Abalard

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Chapter 1 Elizabeth Lawrence vowed that, even if she couldn’t have the career she longed for, she would at least have the sex life she wanted, and the family name be damned. The family name—she’d always thought of it in letters fifty feet high, its font something understated yet classic, like Garamond or Goudy Old Style. The family name, the thing she’d sold her soul—or at least, her calling—to tend. Well, no more. She looked down from her private box at Boston’s Symphony Hall to the audience below. Money traveled in small, select circles, so she recognized a number of people in the orchestra seats. Some of them were clients of her family’s investment firm, the firm that had yanked her out of the world of art, and dumped her into the world of numbers and formulas and currencies. Choosing a man she’d never seen before, she studied him. Perhaps he was new in town, or using a regular’s ticket. His thick brown hair, streaked with grey, was expensively-styled, and his shoulders seemed to span the width of the aisles. Best of all, she saw no female companion. She had to have him. She was alone in the box, as she always was. The rest of her family found classical music boring. She attended the Symphony because she loved music, but she pretended she took it upon herself as her duty to represent the Lawrences there. When the Symphony had named the entire mezzanine level after your ancestors, someone had better damned well show up for the occasional concert. No one in the family knew that her rebellion, her personal sexual revolution, had begun in the box. With no one above her and only the top third of her body visible to those below, she had found it easy to finger herself at her leisure. She’d used dildos and quiet vibrators to good effect, managing to time her orgasms to coincide with the orchestra’s wildest efforts. But tonight, the idea of solitary sex bored her. She needed to take her sex life to the next level. The symphony would end their performance with Beethoven’s “Fifth Symphony,” whose fourth movement would begin with a soaring climax. It was sex in a series of notes, and she wanted to have sex during that series of notes. She wanted to match her orgasm with the symphonic one while fucking a stranger. So, when she spotted the thick broad-shouldered man, she decided she would enact her most secret fantasy, one of perfect, heart-stopping public sex. As she watched the man, he gazed at the various private boxes above him, almost as if he were studying them. Once he saw her, their glances caught, and they held eye contact for a long moment. She smiled. He smiled. When the conductor strode on stage, she broke the contact. She could barely contain her impatience during the first half of the night’s performance, and touched herself to calm down. Ten minutes before intermission, Elizabeth positioned herself by the wine bar. The fact that the man might have been gay, or simply not interested, never entered her mind. Instead, she focused on the fifteen minutes or so she would have to convince him to join her in her box for pulse-pounding sex. Her assumptions were correct—the man drank wine, and liked sex with women. She 4

approached him after he received his glass of red, not sure what she would say. She thought it a good sign that he checked out her cleavage. She smiled with teeth, and he returned the favor. “And what’s your name?” he asked. “Aphrodite,” she said. “And yours?” “Dick.” He reached out to slip his finger under her dress’s only strap, his digit slipping to the swell of her breast. “I’m an ER doctor. Lovely dress, very artsy, brings out the silver in your eyes. What do you do?” She allowed herself a moment of personal pride. Her asymmetrical, shimmering-gray dress highlighted her figure, yet she wore it because it was, as he said, artsy. Stepping close enough to brush her body against his, she said, “Investment banker. Care to join me in my private box?” His hard length pressed against her belly. When the lights flickered, signaling that the audience should return to their seats, he said, “I’d be delighted.” Once they were alone in the stairwell that provided entrance to the boxes, one of his hands clasped her bottom as she climbed the stairs. He pinched—hard—and the twinge jittered her heart. He looks like an older version of— She coughed to cover her nerves. Tonight, she would act out a favorite fantasy and flip off the family name simultaneously. She would not allow any other reasons—or any emotion whatsoever—to cloud her mind. When they reached her box, she locked the door behind them before they sat. Leaning toward him, she murmured, “Here’s how it’s going to happen. We’ll sit and watch the orchestra perform Beethoven’s Fifth. You are free to touch me below the waist, as I am with you. No one will be able to see anything as long as touching is limited to our lower halves. Remove my clothing, if you can do so without attracting attention. “At some point, we’ll fuck back there–” she pointed to an area in shadow, where a dark curtain hung, “–where we’ll be free to do whatever we wish, as long as we’re fairly quiet. You’re not a shouter, are you?” When he shook his head, she continued. “No one will be able to see us, and we won’t be able to see anyone, including the musicians, though of course we will hear them. I don’t care how many times you make me come, or how many times you come, as long as we’re fucking when the third movement crescendos into the fourth, because I want to come at that precise moment, with you inside me. Do you know what I’m talking about? You’re familiar with the Fifth?” He nodded. “Three rules apply. One, tonight is a one-time deal. Two, no anal sex–I don’t care for it.” Well, in actuality, she cared for it quite a lot. But he didn’t need to know that. “Three, no talking once you agree to these rules. Do you?” she said. His only answer was a smile, his hand already on her knee. She settled back in her seat, closing her eyes. When the music began, she let her fingers wander to his crotch while his slid under her dress. She ‘d worn thigh-high stockings and the briefest of thongs, so he would have no difficulty accessing her pussy.

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Though he didn’t try to, not at first. He skimmed his fingertips up and down her inner thighs until she slumped in her seat, legs akimbo and trembling with anticipation. The first movement came and went, and he was still caressing her legs. By then, she’d progressed to unzipping his trousers to pull out his cock. He was cut, with a lovely shape and size that her hand loved. She opened one eye to peek at it, and caught him staring at her. At that moment, he moved his fingers to her pussy, raising his eyebrows when he felt smooth hairlessness. She preferred to shave her entire genital area. The nakedness, as well as the idea of the nakedness, aroused her. Plus, it served as one more private rebellion against her white-bread background. She played her fingers over the head of his cock, teasing the hole, rewarded with a bit of moisture. Meanwhile, he had pulled aside the thin gusset of her thong, exploring her cunt for wetness before sliding his fingers toward her clit. She bit down on her impulse to gasp, affecting what she hoped was a neutral expression. The man definitely knew his way around a pussy. His finger lightly circled her clit, each orbit drawing closer to her engorged nub. By now, she was having trouble concentrating on his pleasure, but struggled on, grasping him with her full hand to masturbate him. It was his turn to swallow a noise when she increased her hand’s speed and motion. Their gazes locked, each of them trying to make the other come first. The competition was an unexpected bonus of fulfilling her fantasy. His free hand covered hers, stopping the masturbation. Expression unreadable, his eyes shone with a darkness she hadn’t noticed before. Bringing his lips to her ear, he said, “Are you sure you’re the one in charge here?” Then, he bit the nape of her neck, his fingers vibrating against her clit. She enjoyed her first orgasm with him, even as the sting of his teeth lingered. During one of the louder portions of the second movement, she slid to her knees, ensuring that her head wasn’t visible above the box’s rim, and took him in her mouth. He could no longer touch her, and that fact forced him to focus on his own pleasure. She had always enjoyed playing the skin flute. She licked his hard length, the way one would a candy stick, several times before concentrating on the sucking, one of her hands gently manipulating his balls. His cock pulsed once, though he didn’t come. But when his hands grasped her head, she knew he couldn’t hold out much longer, so she redoubled her efforts. Locking his legs around her, he held her head down so that she had to take all of him while he came. He restrained her head a good long time, so that she would swallow–her punishment, no doubt, for making him come so quickly. The third movement of the symphony began. After he let her remove her mouth, she looked up at him. His eyes glittered as he leaned over to reach inside her dress, pulling out her breasts to pinch both nipples. It hurt, but she liked it. Eyes closed, she remained in a submissive posture while his fingers tweaked and twisted, feeling the pain that was pleasure deep inside. She’d played such games before, but had rarely enjoyed such blissful torment as this man was producing. He played the game with gusto, fighting her for control, their contest pushing the pleasure of her secret rebellion to the edge. When he withdrew his fingers from her aching nipples, she opened her eyes. He slid out of his chair, indicating wordlessly that she should crawl behind him to the rear of the box. There, out of sight of others, he pulled her to standing, her

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breasts still out of her dress. She braced herself, the odd stiffness of the wall’s brocaded covering scratching her bare back. His hands rucked up the dress’s skirt, tearing off her thong with one strong jerk. Pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, his mouth covered hers in a rough kiss, his tongue marauding. The other hand claimed her pussy, two stiff fingers stabbing inside while his thumb massaged her clit. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth, biting it more than once, while his hand continued manipulating her pussy. She writhed, very near to orgasm. Abruptly, he released her lower lip, and she explored the bitten areas with her own tongue. Closing his lips around one nipple, his sucking and biting grew painfully exquisite. The music broke through her sex-fogged mind. The build-up to the crescendo in the Fifth was nearly at hand, as was her orgasm. He held her nipple between his front teeth while worrying the tip with his tongue, still violating her pussy. Her orgasm broke over her in waves that rippled into her extremities. She needed all her self-control not to cry out as pleasure washed through her. His pussy-stroking and nipple-biting continued until she grew limp. She barely noticed when he let go of her to flip her around, so that her cheek, breasts, and belly pressed against the wall. The fuck must have been perfect, because all she could recall later was the sensation of impalement when he thrust inside her. She felt stretched by his cock, even though she knew he wasn’t terribly large. She suspected her feelings were more psychological than physical as he rammed her. She gave back as best she could, fucking with all her strength while touching her clit. His mouth sucked one side of her neck, and his hands found her nipples. The one he’d bitten screamed in protest when he rolled it between his fingers. She masturbated, unable to keep from moaning as he fucked her fast and made her nipples ache so prettily. The crescendo seconds from starting, he moved his mouth to her ear lobe. She never heard his groan, because by then she was coming again. Her pussy contracted fiercely when electricity shot down her legs and up her torso until she thought her head would fly off, glorious Beethoven pounding her eardrums, his cock pounding her cunt. Afterwards, she sagged against the wall, her nipples and pussy throbbing from the rough treatment. Never had she been so viciously, and yet enjoyably, fucked. She realized that she truly was a bit of a pain slut, a fact that, previously, she’d only suspected. He slid out of her. With a fond pat on her bottom, he left, and she sank to the floor in sheer exhaustion. Several minutes passed before she realized he hadn’t simply gone to the men’s’ room—he’d departed. She’d lost control of the scene that was supposed to be all hers, the scene that would scream her protest at having to do as her family wished. If only she didn’t like having money so much. And yet, without money, would she have found tonight’s partner? Tucking her breasts back into her dress, she located her torn thong, stuffing it inside her purse. When she used a small mirror to check her face, it appeared slack-jawed and stunned, her makeup smeared, her hair in wild disarray. If any of her clients saw her now, looking as if she’d had the stuffing fucked out of her, they’d have no doubts about what she’d been doing in her private box. Such a possibility would not do. Her brother and she handled money even older than their own, and their image banked on decorum and propriety. She left before the Fifth Symphony was over. For her, doing so was a sin against great

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music, but she knew she had to escape the crowd. In the ladies’ room, she smoothed her hair and fixed her face. Outside in the dark, she would appear normal, as long as no one stepped close enough to discover that she reeked of sex. Then she phoned her driver, ordering him to pick her up a block away, the better not to run into any clients. She kept her head down until she was through the Hall’s front doors. The doorman tipped his hat to her as she left, but she pretended not to see him. On Huntington Avenue, breathing the cool air, she regained her composure. She turned the corner and waited in the shadows. When her driver arrived, she told him to take her home, pleading a terrible headache, which nicely short-circuited any chitchat. When they arrived at her narrow brick townhouse, she asked him to pick her up the next morning at six. The financial world never closed, so she rose as early as she could stand, to get a jump on her competition. Once out of the public eye, she relaxed, pouring a Scotch and carrying it to her nubbed-silk couch. The experience had shaken her more than she’d expected. Closing her eyes, she let the evening’s pleasure meld with memories of Hunter, the match that lit the fuse of her frustration back in B school. Her relationship with Hunter had begun as an experiment. In her second year at Harvard Business School, her anger had raged just beneath the surface of her false equanimity. A life devoted to the arts, her passion, had been subverted by her father’s demands. You’ll go to Business School and afterwards help your brother run the family business, he’d said. That’s what we Lawrences do. And if you don’t like it, you can try supporting yourself for a change, and see how you like that. Or you can find someone suitable to marry. Your choice. Then, Father had taken away her Jag and her cute little Cambridge pied á terre. He’d also taken her name off family credit card accounts, and had stopped depositing money in her bank account. She’d tried. She’d truly tried. But she’d been a colossal failure at starving for her art, which had meant waitressing and file-clerking and living with two other bohos in a three-bedroom Somerville dump. She missed the money too much to keep living in Slummerville. Marrying some boring old-money Yankee in her family’s social circle had never been an option. For one thing, they all reminded her too much of Father. She’d lasted all of fourteen months before she’d filled out her B school application and given it to Father, who had immediately funded another cute Cambridge residence and restored the rest of her toys and privileges. And, he’d gotten her into HBS, despite her lack of a suitable undergrad major. Fortunately, she’d always been good at math, so she’d succeeded at learning the ropes of finance during her first year. She’d worked hard to keep up. During her second year, with most of her learning curve behind her, her fury at feeling backed into a corner had erupted. The only way she could rebel was to make her private life shocking, even if she was the only person who knew exactly how shocking it was. She’d needed a release from always being in control, from keeping her feelings tightly-wrapped. Enter the aptly-named Hunter Folkman, an aggressive middle-class guy from Queens who was determined to reach the upper classes, and the B school was his ticket. He’d matched her rage at having to conform to upper-class values with his own anger at how much he despised the upper class he longed to be a part of. He’d seen her simmering below the surface, and had, without pretense, pursued her. He’d been hot, so damned hot, and kinky as hell. They’d shared an intensity she’d never

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repeated with anyone else. Except maybe Dick. She pushed Dick out of her mind in order to let Hunter fill it. In his sad little furnished efficiency, she’d let him restrain her and do… things… she’d never let anyone else try. Bondage. Sexual hurts and humiliations. Not being allowed to climax for hours on end, while he’d taken his own pleasure and shown her no mercy. In the bedroom, she’d given over control to him, and she had loved it all: every welt, every delayed orgasm, every anal sex session, her pelvis propped up with pillows while spread-eagled on his bed, wrists and ankles bound and straining. Her experiment of ceding control, the relief of just being, of experiencing superb pain and pleasure, had carried them both through most of the second semester. Then, she’d had an emotional implosion in early May, throwing a trash can through the front window of a Harvard Square sandwich shop. Father had made her arrest, for disturbing the peace and vandalism, go away, after which he’d shipped her to a tony private hospital for the summer. You can fall apart all you want until September, he’d said. Then it’s back to school. Remember our agreement. She stood abruptly, splashing another couple of fingers of Scotch in her glass. Hunter was old news; Dick was new. She liked new. Recalling the marvelous fuck with him, a stranger, in public yet unseen, with glorious Beethoven filling her head–well, she had to have more. Retiring to bed with a dildo, her fingers toyed with her clit until the satisfying tingles resulted in a mellow orgasm.

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Chapter 2 A week later, again in her private box, she scanned the crowd below while thinking about the sex toys and accessories hidden in her large, boxy purse. She’d decided that she wanted to be butt-fucked in her private box. And Dick was just the man to do it. Never mind the why of what she wanted. It was only another experiment, like the one with Hunter. And this time, I won’t implode. I can walk away from the sex any time I want. But Dick didn’t show. She ended up masturbating while sitting on a giant dildo. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t what she wanted. She needed a partner to indulge her needs. Two weeks later at the Symphony, Dick sought her out at intermission. She pretended not to notice him, but he backed her into a corner, his hands pressing the wall on either side of her head as he leaned over her. “Feels like such a long time since we’ve seen each other. As I recall, you enjoy a bit of rough.” He dropped one hand to her breast, where her nipple stood at attention, and tweaked it hard. Already wet, she hungered for him to join her in her box—or did she? Now that he was here, pinching a nipple and pushing his erection into her mound, her sheer need for him scared her. Remember how the “experiment” with Hunter turned out. She couldn’t go through that again. She was older, wiser, and more wary these days. Striding away as fast as she could in stilettos, she knew the hound would follow the fox, and that fact made her pussy shudder, even as she attempted to escape. He caught her by the arm just before she entered the stairway to her private box. “You know you want it,” he said. “I can smell you.” She kept her tone chilly. “Sorry. One time only. You agreed, remember? Now, let me go.” He pressed his erection into the cleft in her buttocks. “Stop the bullshit and go on up to the box,” he muttered. She resisted. He shoved her forward, and she stumbled up the stairs, her heart in her throat, her breasts feeling warm and pleasantly heavy. He sat, pointing wordlessly at the floor. Her ambivalence—and her anticipation—were choking her. She knelt before him as he unzipped his trousers and removed his erect cock. She sucked him until he came, which didn’t take long. Afterwards, he held her head in place, indicating she should continue sucking. It felt like forever until he stiffened the second time. Her jaw muscles hurt. Then, he moved them both to the back of the box, where the brocaded wall and curtain hung. Until now, he hadn’t touched her in any of the places she wanted to be touched. When he bent her forward, she braced herself, palms against the wall. He raised her dress, pulled down her panties, and pressed his still-wet penis against her anus. Her jaw still aching from the extended fellatio, her ass began hurting in the familiar way she craved. He worked at slipping the head of his cock inside her, opening the back door that had been closed since Hunter. She couldn’t help keening a little over her discomfort, but after she did, he murmured in her ear, “Hang on tight, and don’t make a sound.”

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With that, he gripped her hips and jerked her to him, so that his last few inches penetrated her with force. She bit her tongue against the pain, but it receded soon enough. Dick held her perfectly still while he fucked her ass in earnest, until she knew that the slightest touch on her pussy would set off an avalanche of orgasmic bliss. She remained in place, bent over, her ass taking its delicious reaming, and bit her tongue again, this time to keep from pleading with him to touch her clit. He pounded her until, with one final thrust, he came. He made no noise, but she could tell by his frenzied movements that he’d reached satisfaction nicely. And she hadn’t. She removed one hand from the wall to touch herself, but he grabbed her wrist, pulling it behind her back. She removed the other hand to touch herself, only to put it back on the wall to keep her balance. She twisted her head around, mouthing only one word: “Please.” He smiled and withdrew from her body, leaving a terrible emptiness. And she still hadn’t come. She waited, bent over. She couldn’t believe he’d leave without giving her some pleasure. Even Hunter had, if she’d waited long enough. He found the wipes in her toy bag, using two before placing his dick back in his pants. Positioning her so that she stood, her back against the wall, he grasped one of her hands. He placed it on her mound, mouthing, “I want to watch you.” Hunkering down, he knelt, his face scant inches from her pussy. At first, she thought he would lick her—and what a relief that would have been—but he didn’t. He gently pulled her nether lips apart, caught her glance, and nodded in the direction of her pussy. She slid two fingers inside, sensing something like an electric shock when she touched her G-spot, hot and swollen like the rest of her pussy. Once her index and middle fingers were wet, she withdrew them, sliding them slowly toward her clit, with him still holding her labia apart. His gaze riveted on her sex as it responded to her fingers’ approach. She longed to close her eyes and lose herself in the sensations, but watching him watch her while she masturbated in her private box rocketed her lust. She strummed her exposed clit as he brought his face closer to her pussy. He stuck out his tongue, and she removed her fingers. He shook his head. No, there would be no licking for her. She wet her fingers inside herself again, and stroked her puffy, sensitive clit. He wiggled his tongue as if he were actually licking her, when he was actually an inch away. Seeing him do so increased her arousal. She swore she could feel his tongue moving between her inner lips, laving her trembling clit. When she finally came, it took all her concentration to keep her eyes open and watch him watch her, her pussy pulsing and clenching. The intimacy of it, and his obvious pleasure from it—he smiled—pleased her. Once her orgasm faded, she removed her fingers. He kissed her pussy gently—no tongue, just tenderness—and let her go. Now that she’d climaxed, she felt the ache in the aftermath of her butt-reaming. He pulled down her dress, whispered, “So much for your rules,” and left. God help her, but she wanted the man more madly than before. She’d been in love once, with Hunter, and it had ended badly. She now recognized the signs, the signs in her that indicated the man had engaged her emotions. And she didn’t even know his real name.

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Fuck. **** The following day, her jaw and anus jockeyed for the position of which one hurt more while she attempted to concentrate on income projections and risk assessments. She told everyone in the office that she’d had dental work done, and no wish to talk more than was essential. Her brother had picked a fine time to run off to an island and leave her with his work as well as her own, but then again, it was fall, a very good time to leave cold, rainy Boston in favor of Curaçao. Her assistant called to her from outside her office. “Delivery for you.” “Just put it in my inbox,” Elizabeth said. They were wooing a new client, and she needed all the research she could wrap her wonky mind around to make the firm’s case. “It won’t fit,” her assistant said. “Rather, they won’t fit.” “Unless it’s a personal invitation from the President to dinner, or the building’s on fire, I don’t care.” Really, why couldn’t Tracey leave her alone? “Ms. Lawrence, please.” Annoyed, Elizabeth stood to close her office door, only to discover what her assistant had meant by “they.” Flowers in vases, a good dozen bouquets, surrounded the assistant’s desk. Another dozen were sitting on a sideboard. Tracey looked at her, shrugging helplessly. Then she saw the boxes, at least six of them, clearly embossed with the initials of the most exclusive boutique on Newbury Street. Another six smaller boxes were the robin’s egg blue shade favored by Tiffany’s. What the hell is going on? “Tracey,” she said, “please put the flowers wherever you can, I don’t care where, but get them off the floor. Mr. Landsman will be here momentarily. As for the boxes, I’ll stash them in my closet.” She bent over to pick up the ones from the boutique, only to hear her assistant clear her throat. Elizabeth stood, arms full of packages, and dropped them all. “Dick” stood before her. Saying nothing for a moment, she finally choked out, “How may she help you?” He offered his hand. “I’m Stephen Landsman. I have an eleven o’clock meeting with you, Ms. Lawrence.” His eyes betrayed no former acquaintance. When she shook his hand, her body responded to the feel of his skin. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Landsman. Please come in.” Stepping aside, she motioned for him to precede her into her office. As he passed, his subtle scent made her pussy squeeze. “No, interruptions, please,” she said to Tracey before closing the door. While she walked to her desk, she sensed his gaze on her. Sitting, she said, “I understand you have some money you’d like to invest?” He lounged in the guest chair, facing her, and his doing so emphasized his height and build. He was almost a dead ringer for Hunter. Christ. Why hadn’t she realized that before? “I’ve come into some money, yes, and I want to ensure that it will grow steadily, if not rapidly.” His eyes regarded her, an insolent smile curving his lips. “Lawrence and Company has a reputation for turning a bit of money into something much larger, while not sacrificing safety.

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And you, Ms. Lawrence, are extremely skilled at making something grow larger. As we are both perfectly aware.” She walked to the minibar, keeping her back to him. “Would you like something to drink, Mr. Landsman? I have ice water as well as stronger liquids. If you’d prefer tea or coffee, I can ask Tracey to bring some.” “Water will be fine, Ms. Lawrence.” She poured two glasses from a sweating pewter pitcher. After handing him his crystal tumbler, she sat and sipped hers, waiting for him to say exactly what he wanted. She wasn’t buying his story about coming into some money. Lawrence and Company didn’t usually accept clients with less than eight figures to invest. If he had that much, her contacts in the money world would have made her aware of it. He drank all the water, placing the glass on a nearby table before returning to his relaxed slouch. “I’m not bullshitting you. I have inherited several million, and I want to invest it. With you.” “Give me a break,” she said. “We invest most of Boston’s big, private money. We’re a shark in a very small pool. If a Stephen Landsman—and I don’t for a minute believe that’s your real name—had inherited a sizeable chunk, I’d have heard about it before you arranged an appointment with me.” He shrugged. “You don’t have to believe it. All you have to do is invest the money for me.” He tossed a letter on her desk that listed his accounts and their amounts. She noted that all of the money resided in off-shore financial institutions. “You have something to hide?” she asked. “I don’t want to involve my family’s firm in anything illegal.” “You’ve never had a client present you with funds not held by a U.S. bank?” His gaze said, Cut the crap. I know the score. “Well,” she managed, her sexual need inside her screaming, “I guess it’s not unprecedented.” He placed a photocopy of an ID from Suffolk County General Hospital, the largest and most prestigious in the area, on her desk. The picture of Stephen K. Landsman, Emergency Department Chair, matched the man sitting in front of her desk. “IDs can be faked.” Something smelled hinky to her, despite his bona fides. “Oh, Christ, this is getting tiresome,” he said. The wallet he produced was clearly an expensive one, and the IDs he lobbed, one from Suffolk County General and the other from the Massachusetts Registry of Motor Vehicles, both matched. “You’re a great fuck. I thought it might be fun to have you manage my money. After all, if you do it well, I can think of a hundred ways to reward you, and if you don’t, I can think of even more ways to punish you.” She leaned toward him, drawn to him the same way she had been both nights at Symphony Hall. “How did you find out who I am? And why haven’t I heard about your inheritance before now?” His smile had an edge to it. “It’s not too difficult to discover who owns a private box at Symphony Hall. Once I saw the last name, I was pretty sure I knew who you were—after all, you did tell me you were an investment banker that first night we fucked. That’s close enough to what you really do. After our first time, I hired someone to photograph everyone coming and

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going from your building in a twenty-four-hour period. You were shown entering in the early morning and leaving about twelve hours later. “I deliberately stayed away from the Symphony, knowing your need for me would grow to insatiable proportions—” “That's pretty goddamned arrogant,” she cut in. “It’s also goddamned true,” he shot back. “As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, I stayed away to heighten the anticipation of our second meeting last night. Yesterday, I called to arrange an appointment with you. I even spoke to you personally. As to why you haven’t heard about my money—” he shrugged again “—that sounds like your problem. Maybe your grapevine isn’t as good as you think it is.” He stood. “But investing with you is turning out to be a lot less fun than I’d imagined it would be.” He picked up his IDs and the letter from her desk. “I’ll show myself out, Ms. Lawrence. Have a nice day.” “Wait a minute,” she said as he moved toward the door, suddenly realizing who he was. “Was your father Jonathan Landsman? In New York?” When he faced her again, the smile on his face made her want to slap him—and fuck him. “As in, the Head of Manhattan Memorial? The most famous neurologist on the east coast? Yes, that was my father.” She’d read about the fortune that Landsman senior had amassed with careful investing of his income, and the smell of money was making her nose itch. “He died a while back.” “Yes, seven months ago.” “I’m sorry for your loss.” “I suspect you’d be sorrier to lose the business. I noticed how your face changed when you realized my money is real.” He came around to her side of the desk, standing too close. “You ready to take me on?” She had to look up, way up, to see his face. “We don’t usually take accounts of less than ten million. You’ve got four and change. What’s in it for me?” “Besides the money, you mean?” He reached down with one hand, ensnaring it in her hair, tugging. It hurt a little, and had the result of her moving her head wherever he pulled it. “You like that, don’t you? My pulling your hair as a way to make you move your head?” Why lie? “Yes.” He slipped between her and the desk. “If you want the account, suck me.” She considered refusing, but not for long. With his looks, she’d been secretly wondering if he were related to Hunter. Now that she felt confident that he wasn’t, her emotions no longer felt in danger. Moving into position, she reached behind her to drop the blinds, but he stopped her arm with the hand not tangled in her hair. “No. You’re going to suck me, and you’ll leave the blinds up, so that people in other high-rise buildings can see what you’re doing. Of course, all they’ll see will be your head bobbing up and down in front of my groin, hardly an X-rated sight, and none of the other buildings are terribly close to this one. Still, it’s an embarrassing situation for you, potentially.” 14

She stopped trying to draw the blinds, so he let go of her arm. He unbuckled his belt and undid his trousers. When his cock sprang free, it looked bigger, somehow, than the last time she’d seen it. He pulled her hair toward him so that her lips touched it. “Suck.” “My jaw hurts from last night. I sucked you forever.” Her voice sounded whiny even to her. “Like she gives a shit,” he said, yanking her hair. “Last chance. Suck me now, or I’m leaving, Elizabeth.” Her nipples had been hard for several minutes, her pussy, wide and wet. Dick-slash-Stephen’s commands made her hot, as did the money she would make. Christ, I’m venal, but I already knew that, giving up my art for a mess of pottage or, more accurately, for a townhouse, a Jaguar, and a black American Express card. She sucked, opening her mouth as wide as she could, engulfing him, the effort making her groan. Her jaw really was sore from the previous night’s workout. He guided her head up and down, which helped a bit, and he talked while she sucked. “I expect reasonable performance from your management of my money. You’ll have to beat certain financial indices we’ll specify in writing. If you do, you will be rewarded. If you don’t, you will be punished. Are you with me so far?” She moaned something that sounded like, “Yes.” His free hand unbuttoned her blouse. She couldn’t help flinching when he pinched a nipple, and he jerked her head in response. “Mind what you’re doing. That’s my cock in your hot little pie hole.” His fingers moved to the other nipple. She shut out the pain and arousal as best she could, and sucked. “Rewards come in many different shapes and sizes. For example, all those flowers and gifts—I was the one who sent them, in case you were wondering. You were amazing last night.” She didn’t know how he managed it, but somehow he put his hand between her legs, winnowing his fingers beneath her panties. His arms must be long, she remembered thinking when his digits invaded her. “Likewise, punishments will vary. Perhaps I’ll introduce you to certain toys in my playroom. Maybe I’ll give you an old-fashioned paddling right here in your office, so that your assistant can hear every swat I land on your bare buttcheeks.” She shuddered with lust. A hard whipping, with hand and belt and paddle, was one of her favorite punishments. “Or perhaps I won’t fuck you for weeks, yet demand that you service me daily.” His hand pulled her hair hard, moving her head faster. “Pay attention now, Elizabeth dear. I’m almost ready.” She swirled her tongue up and down his shaft while sucking as intensely as she could manage. Her jaw was killing her. His fingers rubbed her G-spot, and his thumb massaged her clit. Dick-slash-Stephen had stopped talking, his breathing loud and irregular. Abruptly, he yanked her head back. “Stop.” She waited. She’d suspected today’s encounter would not stop with a simple blow job, and she knew that he was close, very close, to coming. Her mouth was still near enough, though, for her to lick him, so she did, once, enjoying the way his cock jerked. Yes, he was definitely close. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Do not test me.” He tugged her hair toward the ceiling, to force her to stand, then pulled so that her head 15

tipped back. His mouth found the hollow between her neck and shoulder. He bit her once—later, she would find a blood-bruise—before he stripped off her blouse and bra one-handed. Then he took one nipple in his mouth and sucked and bit until her distress was real. She wanted to rid herself of his merciless teeth, even though the agony ratcheted her arousal to new heights. God, how deliciously her poor nips throbbed and stung. She’d stopped caring who might be watching in one of the nearby buildings. She lived only for each jerk of his hand that pulled her hair, and the nasty bites his teeth inflicted on her neck and breasts. She barely noticed when he led her to the other side of the desk to bend her over it. Papers and pens pressed against her flesh, and her nameplate dug into her abdomen. After all the preceding drama, he slipped inside her rather gently instead of ramming himself home. Unable to stop herself, she moaned loudly at his sweet hardness. She could only hope that Tracey had gone to lunch. She reached down to touch herself, but when she did, he’d already slid out. Before she could say anything, he began pushing into her puckered hole. She cried out, as much in lust as in pain. He’d given her back door quite the workout the night before. “Keep touching yourself,” he murmured. “Go on, come if you want. It’ll help you loosen up.” She opened her eyes, staring at the nearby buildings. As far as she could tell, no one was watching. She felt a strange thrill of disappointment at not seeing someone staring back at her, naked above the waist and her ass full of cock. He thrust fiercely, burying his entire length in her, making her cry out again. Then, like the night before, he gripped her hips and took her with no thought to her comfort. Unlike the night before, however—she must have been getting used to him—the hurting receded quickly. She had most of the fingers of one hand buried in her cunt, the remaining ones strumming her clit. She swallowed her urge to scream when she came, the wave of pleasure a physical blow—a sweet, insane riptide of intensely pleasurable sensation. She felt him come immediately after she did. Collapsing on top of her desk, with him atop her, neither said a thing until he pulled out. “Draw up the papers. I’ll sign any damned terms you want, as long as I can keep fucking you.”

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Chapter 3 Their relationship remained intense and satisfying, and Elizabeth found that letting go of sexual control with Stephen was as therapeutic as she had found it with Hunter, back in B school. Stephen visited her office to fuck her, and, of course, they sucked and fucked in her private box during musical performances. At the one-month mark, she failed to meet the agreed-upon monetary goal, and suffered through a spanking. Fortunately, he scheduled it after office hours, so she could let herself cry when his belt licked her with fire. Afterwards, tears still running down her cheeks, he reamed her ass hard, came, and then left. There would be no orgasms for the woman who failed to meet her goal. Not caused by him, at any rate. That night’s impalement had not been designed primarily for her pleasure. After she arrived home, she masturbated to orgasm twice before soaking her sore bottom and anus, enjoying a stiff, anesthetizing drink while the warm water and bath oils soothed her wounded parts. At the end of the next month, his investments were on track. He took her out for drinks and dinner at a dimly-lit boîte in Cambridge before bundling her onto the Red Line around midnight. She hung from the metal hand-hooks while he lifted her skirt to take advantage of her lack of panties. She’d stopped wearing them, at his demand. They had no trouble finding a deserted car, so she could let herself moan as loudly as she wanted while he crouched between her legs, his mouth sucking her clit. While he made love to her swollen little nub, she unbuttoned her blouse so that her demi-bra bustier, a present from him, displayed her breasts to the world. When she was ready to come, he approached her from behind, sliding into her cunt as if his cock had been specially designed to fit only her. That’s how he felt to her by then—as if they’d both been created specifically for each other’s pleasure. They swayed to the motion of the train, one of his arms wrapped around her, its hand tugging at her bared nipples, his other hand fingering her clit. As the train crossed the Charles River, the lights extinguished for a moment. She gazed at the Boston nightline with Stephen fucking her, his fingers tenderly massaging her clit. Their challenge was to continue fucking no matter what. No one had been at the Kendall Square stop, but people often used the next stop, Charles, at all hours, due to its proximity to a hospital—Stephen’s hospital, Suffolk County General. As the train shuddered to a halt, she found herself staring at a middle-aged man holding a briefcase. Stephen fucked her harder, twisting a nipple while strumming her clit. The man’s mouth fell open as she moved her pelvis in time with Stephen’s. She didn’t see the man after that, because she was coming, and coming hard. The train started again. When she opened her eyes, she realized that the man was still standing on the platform, goggle-eyed. He’d been so shocked, he’d forgotten to board the train. The next stop would be full of riders, even after midnight. Stephen hadn’t come yet, so he tucked himself back into his pants, and she threw her coat over her semi-nakedness. They left the train at Park Street and found an alley, where she sucked him until he came. Before he took her home that night, he promised that, one rush-hour morning, they’d grope each other amid the crush of riders.

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They did so the very next week. He rubbed his clothed hard-on in the cleft of her bottom while she straddled one of the train’s poles. Commuters were packed so tightly, she figured no one would notice as he ground against her backside, pressing her mound rhythmically against the steel pole she’d wrapped her legs around. The pole vibrated—an unexpected bonus. They rode the train from Park Street all the way to Alewife, and back again. She came three times, grinding against the pole like a demented stripper, her cunt aching to be filled. One time she came, she knew a conductor had seen them, because he’d smirked and grabbed his tented crotch. But he left them to their manic quest for one more orgasm. Because both of them had become addicted to the head rush of public sex, they searched for bigger risks to take. Once, he put her across his lap in his Mercedes and spanked her bare ass in a busy parking garage. People actually stopped to look, then hurried away. After he’d reddened her butt with his hand and a flat-backed hairbrush, he masturbated her until she came. They would have fucked in the car, but a security guard ordered them out, bare moments after she’d writhed in ecstasy with Stephen’s fingers filling both her holes. Another time, they went for lunch at a busy businessperson’s bar, where she sucked him under their booth’s table, no tablecloth to hide her. The waitress brought their dishes while she was working on Stephen. She heard the waitress ask if they needed anything else about five seconds before he came. He asked for extra napkins, which he passed down to her so she could wipe her face—in front of the waitress. Then, she remained on her knees, scuffing her thousand-dollar shoes, while he fed her from his plate. Her pussy ached for satisfaction, so she touched herself, a forbidden action. She thought he hadn’t noticed, but she was wrong. After lunch, she paid for her disobedience. By this point in their relationship he’d acquired a genuine British school cane, because during one night’s pillow talk she’d let slip how much she hated being disciplined with one. She was no stranger to the cane, having attended an old-money prep school where Headmistress had used traditional discipline often, and with a bit more relish than Elizabeth liked. With her palms flat on her desk and her legs spread, he laid six stripes on her ass, each one more painful than the last. She did her best to bite her lip, but when the last stroke landed, she shrieked. Tracey had been instructed never, ever to disturb her, regardless of the noises she heard, when Stephen visited. At least she was spared the humiliation of her assistant witnessing her welted bottom and her tears. She was scheduled to join a conference call, so he sat her down bare-assed on a hard, unforgiving chair, settling in to eat her pussy while she participated in the call. Thankfully, the call wasn’t video-conferenced. Stephen, on his knees between her legs, licked and sucked her for an hour. Her challenge was to stay focused on the call—millions were at stake—and to come only when she could mute the speaker. She found it impossible to be completely silent. Stephen liked it rough, and not just the sex. Danger made him hard. One evening, he sent a car service to pick her up and bring her to him, in a busy yet unsavory part of the city. She knew this meeting was to be of the punishment variety, because she’d lost him money. Barely a minute after she arrived and he sent the car on its way, he pulled her into a nearby alley. She could hear drug deals and twenty-dollar-whore-sex echoing farther down the alley while he lifted her skirt and shoved himself in, pressing her breasts against a brick wall that hadn’t been cleaned since the nineteenth century. What he did to her hurt, and perverse creature that she was, that hurt opened her, turned her as wet as Boston Harbor. Stephen finished that night by ass-fucking her, and she came, knowing 18

full well that others in the alley were watching, her face stinging from being scraped on the nasty wall. The last time they did it at the Symphony, however, they went too far. She’d worn a long, full skirt with no panties, and had sat on his erection. They listened to the music, moving together in what she thought was an unobtrusive manner, his fingers on her clit. Once she’d come, she raised her hips to sit on him, only this time, she let him in her back door. She discovered how difficult it was to take a cock up your ass rapidly, even if you’ve grown used to it. The longer you hover, working it inside you, the odder it looks to others. She thought she’d managed it gracefully, but the following morning, she received a phone call, politely asking that she refrain from “certain activities” in her private box. She quit attending the Symphony after that. As much as she loved the music, she knew she’d miss the sex too much to enjoy herself. **** They lasted four months, about as long as her relationship with Hunter had endured, before Stephen’s past broke them apart. However, when Elizabeth reflected later, she realized that the breakup had been on the horizon for a while. For one thing, Stephen had become too demanding, too controlling. She’d also worked out most of what she had to, emotionally, to heal the unfinished business with Hunter. Not only that, she was close to her financial goal. Once she reached it, she planned to tell her father to go fuck himself, quit Lawrence and Company, and open the art studio she’d been dreaming about. This time, she would pursue her calling, and she’d have sufficient money to do so. She’d invested her performance bonuses well. One unseasonably warm but clear winter night, she was unlocking the door to her townhouse after an evening with friends when an arm snaked around her middle, the other arm’s hand clapping across her mouth. “Don’t scream, it’s me,” Stephen said, removing his hand. She exhaled loudly. “Jesus, you scared the crap out of me.” He placed his mouth on her neck’s right side and bit hard, not letting go for several seconds. Somehow his hand disappeared up her skirt and inside her panties before she’d even drawn a breath, his index finger slipping inside. When he released his teeth, he said, “God, I love how you get wet as soon as she bite you—or whip you—or hurt you in some private spot on your body.” She sighed, leaning against him while his finger massaged her G-spot. “I’m rather fond of it, herself.” He removed his finger, licking it with gusto. “A nice night for a walk in the Public Garden, don’t you think?” Boston’s Public Garden, on the west side of Boston Common, wasn’t the safest place for a nighttime stroll. Refusing Stephen was something she’d learned not to do, but tonight, she did, having grown sick of his demands despite her arousal. Placing her hand on his shoulder, she said, “Wait. We’ve never done what I told you I wanted to do.” “Remind me again?” He smiled, running a finger under her nose. She could smell herself on it. “You know. Outside, exposed, and safer than the Public Garden at night.” 19

“Outside where?” “On my balcony,” she snapped, peeved that he didn’t recall what she’d wanted to do for months, while she’d fulfilled his every fantasy. “No need to get bitchy.” He touched his belt’s buckle. “If you know what I mean.” She truly didn’t want a session with the belt, but her frustration bubbled out. “We’ve done all of your fantasies, from ass-fucking to, to, whatever begins with ‘z’.” “Zealously whipping you?” The streetlight glinted off his teeth when he smiled. “You got it. So, my balcony?” “Tell you what,” he said while he slipped his hands under her shirt, the better to torment her perpetually-sore nipples, “I get the run of your toy box, and also get to whip you as well as fuck you on the balcony.” “Not with the cane.” Her tone was grudging. “Fine, not with the cane. If you’re done pissing and moaning, can we go inside?” Once they were in her living room, he faced her, an edgy smile playing across his lips. “Strip.” “What are you going to do to me, Dick?” she said, shucking her silk T-shirt and unzipping her matching skirt. “Who’s Dick?” he said. “You remember, our first night. You were Dick.” For some reason, it amused her that he didn’t remember the detail that she did. “Wipe that smug expression off your mug, Aphrodite.” “Mmm, sounds like you remember after all. I can’t wait for your dick, Dick.” No doubt about it, she was having fun. Maybe this kink-fest would last another month. “Dirty little rich girl, taking strange men up to her family’s private box for fucking.” He pinned her wrists behind her back, positioning his lips two inches from hers, whispering, “I adore the way you get off on doing it in public. I like it almost as much as I like seeing you writhe in pain, desperate to come.” The clean scent of his spicy soap revived body memories, and hers responded. Once she was naked, he gripped the back of her neck, propelling her to the terrace off her living room. It faced a courtyard, and any of the other townhouse residents would be able to see everything they did, if only someone looked out their windows. A number of them were lit. She wondered if anyone would watch. Heat grew low in her belly, even as the chilly air puckered her nipples. She stood, waiting, while he opened her toy box. Two suction devices, the better to torment her nipples, appeared in his hands, as did a roll of duct tape. “Tear off two pieces of tape, each about a foot long. Give me one strip of tape before using the other to tape a wrist to the railing.” She did as he asked. Once she’d secured one wrist, he taped the other. After spreading her feet apart about eighteen inches, he knelt to tape her ankles to the vertical iron bars that supported the railing. The net effect was that she was cantilevered forward, her legs spread, her pussy and anus open to anything he might want to shove inside them. Her teeth chattered, but she wasn’t really feeling the cold. All she knew was that she longed to hurt exquisitely, to be filled

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beyond her ability to endure it. After taping her ankles, he slapped a piece of duct tape across her mouth, saying, “Got to keep you quiet, because I plan—what’s the saying?—to get a little medieval.” From behind, he lowered his mouth to one shoulder, nipping her while sliding his clothed erection between her ass cheeks. She shut her eyes when his hands cupped her breasts, his fingers twisting them the way they both liked. He pulled the nipples hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. When he stopped, the cool breeze emphasized the hot ache he’d produced. He licked the insides of the suction devices, pinched them to chase out the air, covered each nipple with one, and then let them go. The extreme sucking effect was immediate, and she was glad she had tape across her mouth. It hurt like a bastard. Kissing her cheek as she moaned, he said, “Ah, such a lovely night for tormenting my kinky lover. Just look at that moon.” He slapped her bottom with a leather paddle, the sting causing her to jerk against her bonds. “Your moon’s almost as full as the one in the sky, darling, and I do so love it when your moon’s red and sore.” One of his hands wandered down her torso, pressing her belly just above where her pussy’s hair would have been, if she didn’t shave. His other hand dipped between her legs, wetting two of his fingers inside her. He chuckled again upon hearing another muffled moan. “You’re really getting off on this, aren’t you?” She raised an eyebrow at him. He laughed softly. “Right, dumb question.” The two wet fingers came to rest on either side of her clit. To her surprise, his touch was gentle as he rolled her nub between them. She had expected him to pinch her clit forcefully enough to be uncomfortable. His digits worked quickly while his other hand continued pressing the lowest area of her belly. When she was about to come, he stopped, and she groaned her disappointment. He slapped her ass. “You’ll get yours, I promise.” He invaded her with one hard thrust, and he came surprisingly quickly. By now, she was actively working against the restraints. She longed to come soon, her pussy repeatedly clenching his softening cock. She would have given hard cash at that moment for an orgasm, for a tongue, for a finger, even a nasty, rough one. He slid between her ass cheeks, masturbating against her while leaning to one side. She turned toward him as far as she could, whimpering, so badly did she want him to remove the suction cups from her nipples. When he did, the sensation, simultaneously excruciating and exciting, had her screaming. “See why I taped your mouth?” His fingers played with her throbbing nipples—the cups’ suction had engorged them with blood until they were absurdly large—while he continued rubbing his cock in the split of her buttocks, creating friction across her anus that she loved. He let go of her. For a wild moment she thought he was gone, leaving her naked and restrained on her balcony, but the loud slap of leather proved otherwise. Her toy box held a nasty, nasty length of thick leather. Rarely did she allow anyone to use it on her. She signaled with her eyes that he should stop, but he smiled, and this time, his smile was downright ugly. “You’re a filthy-rich little bitch who deserves every lick of this strap. Plus, it has the added advantage of being loud. Perhaps we’ll rouse an audience on this fine evening.” She shook her head, tears in her eyes. He held her gaze while smacking one buttock with the tip of the strap. The intense burn produced more tears—and more wetness down below. She had no doubts these days as to exactly how big a pain slut she was. Stephen had expanded the 21

boundaries that Hunter had initially defined. He whacked her repeatedly with the punishing leather, and the deep-down smarting heat opened her wide, even as tears coursed down her cheeks. God, the sting, the hot fiery sensation—she would have died to stop it, and yet died to have more. Just one more biting kiss of the indifferent strap. She writhed when another fierce leather lick branded her sitting area, the crack almost pistol-shot loud. Then, the hot, wet soothing of his tongue on what she discovered later were large welts quieted her. He bit her behind, something he’d never done before, as a prelude to shoving a dildo, a large one, up her cunt. Her need to come had her body shaking as if a strong wind were buffeting her. Stephen slammed his way up her ass, but she was used to his enthusiastic impalements. That night’s ass-fucking was hardly the roughest she’d ever endured—or, more accurately, enjoyed. By now she was moaning non-stop behind the tape, both her holes squeezing hard, her orgasm building to unprecedented intensity. With a hard pinch of a nipple and his fingers strumming her clit, she came, shrieking behind the tape. For a moment, she thought, she might have lost consciousness. She came to, collapsed against him, dizzy from the hot thrills coursing through her body, her pussy pulsing as her climax refused to fade. He supported her with one arm, his fingers still whipping her clit while his cock reamed her ass. She’d never come twice in rapid succession before, but that night, another orgasm caught her unawares. She screamed again behind the tape and her toes curled hard, their nails scratching the terrace’s marble. Dazed fatigue washed over her. She barely noticed his orgasm, or him sliding out of her, or him removing the dildo. In fact, she was so completely relaxed that her bones felt bendable, given enough pressure. Stephen removed the duct tape from her mouth, ankles, and wrists. Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her from the balcony into the living room. They stared into the barrel ends of two pistols, held by Boston’s finest. One of them hurried to snatch her from Stephen’s arms while the other snarled, “Hit the floor, asshole.”

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Chapter 4 A few minutes later, her nakedness covered with a cashmere throw and her orifices commencing their usual post-Stephen-fucking aching, she wondered how it had come to this. “Officers, really.” She struggled to speak normally, and not as if she were drugged, which was how she felt after her orgasms. “This man is my lover. He didn’t force me to do anything.” Stephen, on the carpet with his hands cuffed behind his back, snapped, “I’m going to sue your asses off, you blue-uniformed bastards.” “Are you sure, ma’am?” the taller of the two officers replied. “Neighbors said they heard noise, saw you restrained naked on your balcony, squirming as if you were being tortured—” “Tortured with the best fucking she’s ever had,” Stephen cut in, and the shorter officer kicked him, none too gently, in the ribs. “Shut up.” “Seriously, no problems here.” Elizabeth clutched the throw around her tighter. “Now, would you please leave?” “Well, ma’am,” the taller officer said, “there’s the question of lewd and lascivious sexual behavior in public. I’m going to have to take you both in for that, seeing as how two different callers reported your activities.” “If you charge me, I’m ruined. My family’s company will be ruined. Please, no.” As much as she loather her father, she didn’t want Lawrence and Company to fold. Stephen spoke up. “Don’t beg, Elizabeth. It’s beneath you.” The officer picked up her skirt and blouse, handing it to her. “Get dressed. You’re both going downtown.” **** Several hours later, she sat in wrinkled clothing, clutching a coated paper cup half-full of the worst coffee she’d ever tasted. Her world was crashing around her. When her parents found out, as they eventually would, she suspected they’d wish they could send her back to Headmistress for a rousing good caning. Scandal had never touched their family’s firm. Not until now. The real Stephen Landsman, she was told, resided in Europe. The man who’d been fucking her was actually named Humphrey Sands, and he was no doctor, unless you considered what he’d done, stealing several million from a company in Chicago, a kind of monetary surgery. As CFO, he’d certainly carved out a nice piece of change for himself from company funds. Of course, he no longer worked for that company, having moved to Boston, using several pieces of false identification to erase his tracks. Someone in the station had recalled seeing his picture in connection with the theft on an FBI posting. When the police had confronted Stephen with his real identity, he’d caved, blurting out details she’d had no interest in hearing. She’d been stupid, she’d been blind, she’d let her pussy lead her around, her nose permanently open for Stephen-slash-Humphrey. As her father would doubtless say, it served her right. “Ms. Lawrence?”

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She lifted her head. A dark-haired, dark-eyed man had seated himself across from her. “Detective Everett. I need to speak with you.” “A detective. Hell. Up to now, no one’s asked me anything. I guess I’d better invoke my right to counsel.” “Are you invoking?” She thought about it. “Not yet, not officially.” He nodded. “Okay, then. Tell me, you didn’t know who Sands was, did you?” She shook her head. “Of course not. Our firm doesn’t need business that badly, to manage tainted money. I never would have opened his account, except—” She stopped herself before she could say, except I wanted to fuck him so badly, I would have sold my Mayflower-descended grandmother into white slavery. “Relax. No criminal charges will be brought against Lawrence and Company, or you. Of course, you’ll have to give back all the money you earned from managing Sands’ account.” The idea of giving back money stung almost as much as her hindquarters did. “Ouch,” she said. “You really know how to hurt a gal.” He flashed a grin at her, a grin that made the pit of her stomach stir pleasantly. “From what the arresting officers told me, you don’t mind certain kinds of hurt.” Words popped out of her mouth she had no intention of saying, until she did. “A spanking’s one thing. Giving back money, now, that’s agony.” Shoving the coffee cup at him, she buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God, that was most inappropriate. I apologize.” “Don’t. I was wrong to say what I did, and I apologize for my crudeness,” she heard him reply. Her face, still covered by her hands, was burning with mortification, she knew. She always blushed when she was embarrassed. “I have something else to tell you.” “Go ahead,” she said, bracing herself for the inevitable. “No charges are being filed against you. You’re free to go.” That snapped her head up. When she looked at his expression, it registered with her that he had a crooked nose she found charming. “What? Not even the public sex charges?” He shrugged. “Everyone’s so fuckin’ happy we nailed this guy, no one cares about what you did. You’re considered the innocent, injured party in this mess. Besides, public sex is a misdemeanor. No one gives a crap about that, because we busted Sands.” She stood. “If I’m free to go, I will.” He extended his hand. “A pleasure meeting you. Tell your lawyers what happened, so we can begin the process of giving the money back. We’ll keep it out of the press if we can, but no promises.” She shook his hand, and little chills raced up her arm. She pulled her hand away, fighting the urge to rub it against her thigh, to erase the lingering tingle in her palm. “You felt it too, huh?” His sneaky, sexy grin returned. “I’m not going to lie to a detective,” she said. “You’d better not. When people break the rules, they get disciplined. And lying’s definitely against the rules.”

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She put a hand on her bottom, and rubbed, holding eye contact. “I’m not very good at following the rules, I’m afraid.” Inside, she was screaming, What the fuck are you doing, Elizabeth? But she knew what she was doing—she was picking up the pieces and going on with her life. Stephen’s betrayal, she was surprised to notice, didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would. Perhaps she was finally done with this phase of her life, her need to send her father an unequivocal fuck-you message no longer urgent. She was done with Hunter, and done with Stephen. But not, she hoped, done with kinky sex—the orgasms were phenomenal. He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “Anyone ever call you Lizzie? You strike me as being a Lizzie.” She batted her eyes twice, a small flirtation. “No, but you go right ahead, Detective.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear, and his hot breath hardened her nipples, tender as they were. “Lizzie, I have handcuffs. The real deal. I also have a police-issued belt that’s just perfect for discipline, and you wouldn’t be the first young lady to feel its sting. But I don’t do public sex.” She had the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl, an urge she tamped down into a smile. “That’s fine. I don’t think I have an appetite for it any more.” An image of Stephen ripped through her head, one of him kissing her tenderly après sex, and pain she hadn’t expected to feel twisted her heart. Maybe she wasn’t as done with him as she’d thought earlier. After all, fucking someone for a few months would cause most anyone to suffer from some emotional involvement. “Listen, give me a few weeks to—recover. Understand?” He nodded. “Of course. I didn’t mean to suggest—” “I know,” she interrupted, lightly touching a finger to his lips. “Steph—Humphrey and I were never about love, just sex. Despite that, I don’t feel too good inside at the moment.” “When you’re ready, call me.” He handed her his card. “I have a feeling I can make you feel good inside.” “Me, too,” was all she said. Outside the station, she hailed a taxi to start her workday, the sky in the east pink with promise.

The End

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ABOUT BARRIE ABALARD Barrie Abalard has worked as a radio personality, technical writer, taxi driver, bank clerk, and ad copy writer, but she has always returned to her first love, fiction writing. Since 1995, she has written short stories, novellas, and novels that explore various aspects of kink in both romances and non-romances (erotica), and in both straight and gay relationships. She writes for DisciplineAndDesire.com as “Belle,” and has also written in the past as “Miss Lee.” Barrie is married with a grown child and lives in the Middle Atlantic area, along with their persnickety cat. You can learn more about Barrie and her stories of politically-incorrect love by visiting her website: http://barrieabalard.com. If you enjoyed PRIVATE BOX, you might also enjoy:

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A STEP TOO FAR Jennifer Campbell Gina Tortomelli and Nikki Manning have been friends since childhood, but now with college over and the stresses of working life, things are beginning to come unraveled as lovers. Nikki is moving further and further into an exploration of her submissive desires, which Gina is uncomfortable following her into. In a local newsmagazine, Nikki discovers a new, avant-garde company specializing in bringing women a submissive sexual experience in a safe environment. Anxious to try bondage, Nikki raises a fuss when Gina doesn’t want to play, forcing her lover to investigate the company. Calling the paper, Gina finds out the company has been checked out thoroughly by the PD, and she meets Andrea, a police officer who is also inexperienced but curious about bondage. Gina invites Andrea into her relationship with Nikki, hoping for a friend and ally, but then sparks begin to fly. Gina’s insecurity flares and Nikki becomes bitchy in return when Gina feels Andrea is getting closer to Nikki than she is. Nikki continues down a slippery slope of submission, trying to attract Andrea and at the same time confusing and repelling Gina. Eventually Nikki meets Jack Gabriel, who is not at all what he appears, but seems to the submissive to be all she desires. As Nikki is slowly drawn down the road to total enslavement, Gina moves in a surprising new direction, and Andrea struggles to keep the three of them together. Will Nikki give in to full submission, and will Gina find herself as she becomes a person she never thought she was. In a tale of change and renewal where everyone has something to lose and something to gain, who will take the step too far?

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Warnings: This title contains graphic language, domination, bondage, sexual use, male chastity and male feminization. Excerpt From A STEP TOO FAR: “Danny, Gina and I want to play a game. We want you to be our Master, and make us serve you as your slaves. Please understand, I want you to be dominant, take control of the situation. Do you understand what I’m asking?” His erection now waved in her face, but she waited patiently for his answer. “Ya, okay, you want to get kinky, and have me tell you to do things. I can do that. You do as I say, right?” Nikki shook her head. “No, I want you to master me, make me do what you want, not just tell me.” Now Danny seemed confused. “Make you? You mean physically force you?” Now Nikki smiled and nodded, and Gina shivered glad she still had her panties on. She had watched Nikki do this before, with different guys, with varying results, but Nikki had never been satisfied. However each time Gina watched, she thought of how hard it would be for her to put herself in Nikki’s position, the submissive. “Suck my cock.” The command came out of Danny’s mouth with authority, an authority he assumed would make Nikki jump to the task, but he was wrong. In her desire for real domination, Nikki simply knelt there, looking sexily up at Danny with her mouth open but unfilled. She had no intention of sucking his cock at his command; she wanted his action to force her. Danny moved his shaft toward his mouth, figuring he could simply take possession of the warm wetness, but Nikki was having none of it. Folding her arms over her breasts, she closed her mouth, refusing him entry. For Nikki, what Danny did next was a moment of truth. As Danny stopped in his tracks and looked down at her with confusion in his eyes, her heart sank. It doesn’t look like he’s the one. “Okay, so what is this, a cock tease? You say you want it but then you refuse.” Danny’s confusion could perhaps be forgiven, in the climate of politically correct sexual relations, but what Nikki wanted was not politically correct. “No cock tease here, If you make me suck I’ll suck, and I’ll love it.” Again Nikki opened her mouth, and her knees, perhaps to add to his desire to have her. Letting her right hand find her labia, she slipped a finger into her moist tunnel. “I’m wet, ready to be fucked, but you have to take me. Can you do that, Danny.” Looking like someone had stolen his toy, Danny sighed. “Okay, babe, it’s your game, what do you want?” “I told you, to be mastered, made to suck you. Can’t be any plainer, Danny.” Nikki voice was raised, and Gina simply couldn’t believe how determined she was. Clearly amazed, Danny was speechless for a moment. “Well, I don’t know, that’s not

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something girls usually want. You’re telling me you really want that, for me to grab your hair and force myself down your throat? I’m not sure I can.” “Why are you not sure, Danny?” “I’ve never done anything like that before. I’m not sure I could do it.” His voice sounded sheepish. “Listen to me; I’m saying I want it, so just do it.” Exhaling and looking scared, Danny wades in the deep end and grabs hold of Nikki’s mane. Not jerking her head to take control, he simply holds her still so as not to hurt her. Moving his erection into her mouth, he doesn’t have a chance to get all the way in before Nikki moves her head deftly, dislodging his cock and pulling away from his grip. Danny is outraged. “What the fuck, I’m trying to give you what you want, bitch. Can’t you cooperate at all?” “No, I can’t and I won’t. That’s the point you don’t get, I want you to force me. It was a crappy first attempt, but now you’re mad, so maybe you’ll do better.” To Gina’s amazement, Nikki opens her mouth to prompt him to try again. Danny is mad now, but he is still Danny. Grabbing her locks again, he jerks her head back but cringes as he does it. Feeding his shaft into her warm, wet mouth, he gets all the way in before he hears her gag. Proving his lack of real dominance, he pulls back asking her as he does. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Ripping her head from his groin, she looks up at him with disappointed eyes and sputters her response. “No, Danny, I’m fuckin fine, but you’re done. Get the fuck out of here, your time is up.” “What, you fucking cock tease, you’re not throwing me out. Not before I get some pussy.” Standing up, Nikki aggressively moves toward him despite her smaller size. Reaching out, she slaps his face and grabs his cock. “There’s no pussy you can get here, just pussy you can take if you can, but you can’t.” To make her point, she twists and pulls up on his shaft, making him squeal in agony. Suppressing tears, Danny throws parting shots and retreats to a chair where his clothes lie. “Fucking cock-tease bitches, you’ll get yours some day.” Dressing as Nikki watches, he remarks to her. “You play this game too long, bitch, you’re gonna get hurt.” Cool as the other side of the pillow, Nikki stares at him until he looks away. “Perhaps, but not by you, so get the fuck out.”

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