Indecent Intent Page 7

  Verity shrugged, as though the answer was perfectly obvious. ‘There always are.’ He pushed her down into one of the sumptuous seats and indicated that she should fasten her lap strap. With one last look out of the window, out into the heat haze above the city, he settled himself into his own seat. ‘I’m a very rich man, my dear, and so the glossies are always interested in what I do, who I’m with, what my girls are wearing…’ He paused, a wry smile on his lips. ‘Or not wearing, as the case maybe.’

  Gabrielle was all too aware of the tight confinement of the black leather, but also aware of her partial nakedness. How on earth could she be expected to walk through a gaggle of photographers dressed so immodestly?

  She heard the undercarriage lowering and saw the ground rise up to meet the jet. The flat state of Florida, the water-locked peninsula with the blue river of the Intracoastal splintering it close to the Atlantic coast was again to be her home, for the foreseeable future, at least. The thought made her shudder; some home when she was to be subjected to all kinds of sexual humiliation whenever it pleased her master!

  The plane slowed to a halt and Verity released his seat belt, holding out his hand to help her up. Hers trembled as she placed it in his. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said. ‘It won’t be so terrible.’ He bent and pointed out of the window. ‘Look, a few of the other girls are waiting to welcome us.’

  Gabrielle followed his point and sighed with relief, because there were other girls and they would hopefully dilute the attention she might otherwise attract. They were all dressed in similar figure-hugging black leather to hers, which would make her less of the centre of attention she had initially feared. Gathered around the foot of the small boarding steps they waited for their master and his new acquisition to alight. She could also see the photographers across the shimmering tarmac and held back, pulling on Verity’s hand.

  ‘Oh no,’ he said, ‘none of that coyness, if you please. You look beautiful. There is nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about.’

  Gabrielle tried to hold her head high, but there was a niggling doubt in her mind. He was hiding something from her – she was sure of it. She was going to be made a spectacle of, somehow.

  ‘Stand at the top of the steps,’ he ordered, ‘facing the plane.’

  Gabrielle hung back once more. ‘Facing it?’ she echoed in a disbelieving whisper.

  ‘Yes, you heard me,’ he said patiently. ‘Hands on hips and look over your shoulder with a smile on your face.’

  The door slid back on itself and the heat of the Miami Spring hit her. The steps had already been placed and Verity stepped out, his hands held high in greeting. The photographers moved closer and pushed and elbowed each other out of the way, jostling for position.

  ‘Remember your orders,’ Verity said under his breath before walking down the short flight of steps, so taking a deep breath, Gabrielle stepped into position and turned her back to the onlookers. Knowing she had to obey the man, she gave her hips a provocative wiggle and placed her hands on them. She was conscious of her bare bottom lewdly framed by the black leather, but she was unprepared for the murmur of approval, and particularly the comments, from the waiting photographers.

  ‘There’s his usual trademark,’ one sniggered.

  ‘Yeah, the red hand of Marshall Verity,’ another concurred as the cameras whirred and clicked.

  ‘And she obviously loves it,’ said a woman. ‘Look how she poses and smiles.’

  And Gabrielle suddenly wished she could skip back into the relative security of the plane and hide there as she remembered her bottom, and the slaps that had rained down upon her fleshy globes during the flight, tinting them a rosy hue of blotchy pink. Somehow, framed in black leather, stark against her pale skin, the palm marks had made her his possession more than any money in the world could ever have done.

  Marshall Verity was standing at the foot of the steps, holding out his hand to her, a smile of triumph lighting up his features, so Gabrielle, with a display of courage that hid how mortified she really felt, tossed her hair back and held a proud posture as she turned to descend, joining him, her face impassive.

  ‘She’s a bold one,’ remarked one of the gathered photographers.

  ‘I’m very pleased with you, my dear,’ whispered Verity as she reached him, cameras catching her front and back, lenses zooming in on the pert buttocks marked with the stark handprints.

  The other girls then followed as Verity lead Gabrielle to a few gleaming stretch limousines in front of the airport buildings, each with a uniformed chauffeur waiting beside open rear doors. There were other men too; men in dark suits and tinted glasses, looking furtively this way and that as Verity and his entourage approached.

  Just how rich, she wondered, was this man?

  Chapter Six

  Susan smeared creamy lather over Gabrielle’s sex mound. ‘You’ve some growth here,’ she said, her voice as emotionless as ever. ‘I’m surprised the master didn’t send for me earlier, especially since he would have been intimate with you during your flight here…’ she paused and looked deep into Gabrielle’s eyes, ‘…and probably in the gym as well.’

  And she was absolutely right in her assumption…

  Upon arrival at Marshall Verity’s mansion Gabrielle had been totally overawed by the place. It stood alone on a small peninsula, a slightly raised bank of the Intracoastal.

  There seemed to be many servants; liveried footmen and maids dressed in short black satin uniforms with frilly white aprons. Verity showed her around his home. There were countless rooms and hallways, and beautiful girls everywhere, who always appeared to be chatting companionably until Verity and Gabrielle made an appearance, and then they fell respectfully silent.

  ‘They don’t like me,’ Gabrielle sulked, once again feeling alone and insecure.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Verity, as he opened a pair of double doors off the hall they were in. ‘Now, you’ll spend a great deal of time in here. I like my girls to keep trim and fit at all times.’

  The large room was a fully equipped gymnasium with a bank of exercise bikes, stair climbers, rowing machines and numerous weightlifting devices.

  ‘Would you like to try one of the machines?’ he asked, and she knew she had no choice as he looked at her intently, daring her to decline the offer. She had to try one, she knew that; it was the beginning of yet another game.

  Verity began peeling open the clinging leather garment, and Gabrielle shivered as he sensually revealed her. She stepped out of it, holding his arm for support, and he took the bundle away to a cupboard, returning with a grey T-shirt and shorts for her.

  ‘The stair climber’s fun,’ he said. ‘Let me see you on that – and be sure to work hard; I want you to get up a good healthy sweat.’

  So, obediently placing her bare feet on the treads, Gabrielle began to climb.

  ‘Make sure I see your thigh muscles working,’ he said, ‘and your calves. Let’s see how fit you are. Bring your pulse up to at least a hundred and forty.’

  The soft cotton of the shorts and top caressed her body as she trod the stair climber. Sweat began to gather under her arms and on her breasts, causing her skin to glow healthily. The salty fluid of her exertions trickled between her breasts and began to soak through the top.

  ‘Good,’ Verity mused, as he pondered the damp patches beginning to soak the grey cotton. ‘Look at the little screen on the handles. What’s your pulse rate?’

  Gabrielle used one hand to wipe the sweat from her brow and tossed back her head to keep her damp hair from clinging to her forehead and cheeks. ‘It’s a hundred and nineteen,’ she told him, wondering how she would ever get it up to the rate he’d demanded; she was young and worked out regularly.

  Verity narrowed his eyes as he always did when annoyed. ‘Work harder,’ he ordered sternly. ‘Put the resistance up to a higher level and work harder. Come on – pump those legs.�
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  Gabrielle was panting heavily now and could feel her heart pounding in her chest, but the rate on the screen only said a hundred and twenty-five. ‘It… it just won’t go any higher,’ she wailed, her legs beginning to feel like jelly as she pumped harder and harder, her muscles burning. Verity moved out of her line of vision, hovering behind her, watching her toned body as she obediently worked as hard as she could. The grey T-shirt and shorts were now dark with her sweat.

  ‘Okay,’ he eventually said, ‘that’s enough for now. At least you tried. Now you’d better stretch down.’

  With her chest heaving and her legs and arms aching intolerably, Gabrielle managed to slow the machine and climb down, her legs almost giving way beneath her as she stepped off it. She carefully lowered herself to the floor and reached forward to grab and pull back her toes, keeping her knees locked and legs straight, stretching her calf muscles and hamstrings, her damp breasts squashed against her glistening thighs, and then she gasped with surprise as she looked up; Marshall Verity was naked, his immaculate clothes in a neat pile nearby, his erection pointing at her glowing face.

  ‘You did very well,’ he said. ‘Despite failing to achieve the pulse rate I stipulated, you tried hard to get there and so I am pleased with you for that.’ He took two steps, stood astride her thighs, held her damp hair with both hands, and without another word he fed his erection between her parted lips and penetrated her mouth.

  Despite knowing how insatiable the man was, Gabrielle was still taken by surprise and could do nothing but sit there, her back straight and her hands resting inertly on her thighs, and suck the length of flesh stretching her lips apart. Verity used his hands to guide her head back and forth, using her to gain his own pleasure, thinking nothing of her weary discomfort.

  It was not long before he was approaching his climax. Gabrielle knew it was nearing and braced herself. She could feel the tension in his cock, and then his fingers clamped even tighter onto her scalp as he erupted into her mouth, and she had to earnestly swallow his glutinous emission to avoid choking. Then he pulled from her mouth and pulsed again, spraying warm jets of his creamy seed onto her dark grey T-shirt where it clung wetly to her breasts.

  ‘Be careful – I nearly cut you,’ said Susan, as Gabrielle shivered lustily from the memory of that last encounter. Then the chill of the razor continued a more careful glide over her sex mound, refreshing its silkiness. She had become used to the sensual smoothness, the complete nakedness.

  ‘You’re wanted in the viewing room as soon as I’ve finished preparing you.’

  ‘The viewing room?’ Gabrielle asked uneasily. ‘What’s that?’

  Susan chuckled softly. ‘You’ll find out soon enough. We all have to find out initially.’

  Gabrielle was rinsed of the remaining foam and patted dry. ‘Next, we’ll have you put this on,’ said Susan, holding a sexy black basque, designed to nip the waist tightly, hold the breasts boldly, and present the bottom brazenly. Complementing the alluring garment was a pair of sheer silk stockings and a pair of black stilettos.

  ‘I’ll help you dress,’ Susan told her, and was clearly not to be argued with.

  Gabrielle slipped down from the couch she had been lying on to be shaved, not even glancing at her freshly denuded mound as she did so; such nakedness was now normal to her and not at all strange. ‘I think you’ll have to,’ she said with a nervous giggle, looking uncertainly at the narrow-waisted garment and the lacing at the back. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get into that by myself.’

  Gabrielle wrapped the confining material around herself and Susan moved behind her and began to tug at the complex system of lacing which would give Gabrielle the required hourglass figure.

  ‘Put your hands on the couch and brace yourself,’ Susan instructed her. ‘It’ll give me more purchase.’

  Gabrielle obeyed, and her breathing became shallower as the corset was pulled ever tighter, Susan even lifting her knee against Gabrielle’s bottom to help gain the required leverage. Her waist became tinier and her breasts pouted over the upper edge of the bodice, and her buttocks seemed to become fuller as the basque nipped her into the most voluptuous shape imaginable.

  Once the laces were secured and poor Gabrielle felt as though she was in a vice, Susan helped her into the gossamer silk stockings, rolled them up her legs, and clipped them to the suspenders that hung from the hem of the basque.

  ‘Step into the shoes, Gabrielle,’ she said, unusually using her name. ‘There you are,’ she concluded, stepping back to admire the gorgeous redhead standing before her. ‘You look lovely in that little ensemble. How does it feel?’

  ‘Tight,’ Gabrielle responded truthfully. ‘Everything feels very tight.’

  ‘I think that was the master’s intention. I think he feels you need more discipline.’

  That piece of information sent a shard of fear into Gabrielle’s inner being. She searched her mind; what had she done to deserve more discipline? What had she done wrong? She couldn’t think of anything.

  ‘I’ll take you to the viewing room now,’ Susan went on, unconcerned or oblivious to Gabrielle’s returning trepidation.

  ‘But, I don’t think I want to go,’ Gabrielle protested.

  ‘Oh, you don’t?’ Susan mocked. ‘And why ever not? You’re not afraid, are you?’

  They had left the room and were walking along a hall that was brightly lit and mirrored, like so many other areas of Verity’s property. Gabrielle could see her voluptuous self, whichever way she looked, and despite looking overtly tarty, she had to admit she also looked stunningly alluring.

  ‘Is the viewing room far?’ she asked, feeling more and more uncomfortable as the minutes passed.

  ‘No, not far now,’ and after another few steps Susan threw open a pair of double doors. ‘Here we are…’

  Gabrielle stepped into the room, and was met by a dozen or so men sitting in comfortable chairs, all of them watching her, her entrance distracting them from the large video screen in one corner of the room. Fragrant cigar smoke drifted in layered clouds, and crystal brandy glasses sparkled in the light.

  Gabrielle stood motionless, not knowing what to do, and then she almost died on the spot with shame as her gaze took in the video screen, and she recognized herself… lewdly masturbating!

  Verity appeared by her side and snaked a possessive arm around her waist. She instinctively tried to pull away, but his hold on her was too strong. ‘Surely you are not embarrassed by what you see, my dear girl?’ he said smoothly. She trembled in his hold.

  ‘She is playing the blushing virgin, gentlemen,’ he announced to his guests.

  Gabrielle could not tear her eyes from the shameful image on the screen. She was approaching an orgasm, her body trembling and her knees threatening to give way. Where was she? Clearly a hidden camera had spied on her, but where? She was so confused with everything that had happened since meeting Marshall Verity that, for a moment, she could not think clearly or remember.

  Then it came to her… she was on the plane!

  Oh, no. How could he be so cruel? Her face burned with embarrassment and she desperately wanted the floor to open up and swallow her – anything to get her out of such a terrible situation!

  Verity stroked her buttocks. ‘For such a shameless performance these cannot go unpunished, my dear,’ he said. ‘You do understand that, don’t you? My respected guests would suspect me of going soft if I did not take the correct action deserving of such a wanton display.’

  There was a quiet murmur of concurrence around the room, and Gabrielle was desperate to run from there, to get away from their accusatory stares.

  ‘And my guests agree with me,’ he went on, and there was another general murmur.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ Verity address his guests, ‘would you care to choose your implements?’

  Crystal glasses were placed on occasional tables and f
ine cigars rested in ornate ashtrays as the men stood and gathered around a large cabinet, which Gabrielle could now see contained a formidable array of whips and canes and paddles.

  ‘Be brave,’ Verity chided, feeling her cringe against him. ‘We all know you’re not a shrinking violet.’ He nodded towards the screen where the video still played her masturbating, not that such evidence was particularly necessary.

  He held her to him, one arm still around her tightly cinched waist. ‘I know you’re excited, my little whore,’ he goaded. ‘What is it that’s turning you on so? Watching yourself behaving so disgracefully in my jet, or the thought of what my guests are about to do to you?’

  Gabrielle began to tremble; there were so many of them, all looking at her with eager intent. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered truthfully. ‘I don’t know what’s exciting me.’

  ‘Oh, you do know, my lovely little whore.’ He hissed the words in her ear, and then he gripped her bare shoulder and forced her down over a nearby table, his abrupt action and the hard edge of the polished surface pressing into the tops of her thighs making her squeal with alarm and discomfort.

  Without allowing her time to recover he pulled her arms forward and quickly and efficiently bound silken cords around her wrists, easily pinning her there, vulnerable and at the mercy of the guests, who were gathering around her with their chosen implements of discipline.

  Two more lengths of the silk dangled down from the nearest edge of the table and Verity instructed one of the men to nudge her feet apart, and then her ankles were secured to the table’s legs, immobilizing her even more effectively.

  ‘Head up,’ Verity demand curtly. ‘Watch your vulgar behavior on the screen while my chosen guests teach you a lesson you will not forget in a hurry.’ He stroked her hair, his considerate touch contrasting severely with his harsh words, combining to send her spinning emotions into utter confusion. ‘You are such a naughty thing that I hardly know why I care for you so much,’ he said, and then stepped away, merging into the huddle of men.