OBEDIENTLY EVER AFTER II Page 2

  The buyer lifted her up and set her down on the edge of the island. "Idiotic panties," he growled at her underwear, trying to work his zipper at the same time.

  "Rip them," she begged, opening her legs wide. "Rip them off me. You're the master of this house. I'm your little naked property ... a puppy crawling for you on the life-time guaranteed linoleum floor, one-of-a-kind from the catalog of Urtelli the Magnificent."

  The buyer groaned, his eyes inflamed. "You bloody commercialized, mercenary cunt! I'll give you what you need!"

  Cammie's feminine panties, frilly and wet, shredded in the man's grip. Miranda felt a tightening in her belly as she saw Cammie's pussy, the pink, puffy lips, covered in glistening, tell-tale moisture.

  So she really was aroused.

  It wasn't all an act...

  "Oh, sir, what a cock you have," she eyed his exposed erection.

  "The better to screw you with," he parodied the Big Bad Wolf.

  Cammie stopped him short of penetration. Showing she had never really lost control, she shook her head and reminded him of his need for a condom. "Where's your little red riding hood, Ace?"

  He fished in his pocket for a rubber. "I'm going to fuck you harder than you've ever been fucked in your life, you know that? I'm gonna pound your hot, tight little body so you finally understand what your kind does to men."

  She helped him roll the condom over his thick, veined cock. "Less talk, more action..."

  "I'll give you some god damned action."

  "Yesssss..." She gritted her teeth as he shoved himself forward. "Yes, yes."

  The buyer's erection was swallowed whole. Cammie's thirsty; seemingly bottomless tunnel had no problem absorbing the would-be conqueror.

  "You like that?" the buyer asked. "You like being used as a fuck hole?"

  "Oh...yea," her voice tremored. "I'm a fuck hole ... a total fuck hole. A complete and absolute real estate, fuck hole whore. I want you to do me in every one of these rooms, baby. The master bedroom with mirrored ceiling, the dining room, with built-in custom display shelves, the Roman tub with whirlpool, the indoor gymnasium ... I want to be a sex slave in this house. Keep me in a tiny little cage in the four-car, air-conditioned garage..."

  "You deserve it, bitch," the buyer drooled. "You deserve to have a fucking collar on your throat and a tattoo stamped on your ass..."

  "Oh, yea, baby," she crooned. "A tattoo with your initials. You're such a big, hard man. What a mind! What a cock. What a hell of an awesome cock."

  He was pumping her like mad. "You need to come. You need to explode all over my cock with hot, woman juice, don't you?"

  "I do," she agreed, picking up on his cue without missing a beat. "I need it so fucking bad. No one's ever had me like this."

  "Now," he commanded. "Come for me, like a little slut, in front of your little real estate friend. Are you watching close?" the buyer called out to Miranda. "You can be next if you want."

  Miranda took a step back, her hand on her heart.

  "Oh ... oh god," Cammie was moaning.

  "Yes," he cried, unleashing his own climax. "Give it up, bitch."

  Cammie's breasts were flopping like mad. Her body was bucking on the counter. Miranda could smell her heat. She could see the glistening juices down the front of the counter.

  Idly, she wondered who would have to clean that up.

  "F-fucking ... coming..." the buyer cried out, stating the obvious.

  Their bodies ricocheted off each other, flesh to flesh, muscle to muscle as Cammie took his emission deep inside herself in spurt after spurt. Her head was rolling; her mouth contorted into a thousand expressions. She had her eyes closed and it was clear she was totally enjoying herself beyond all measure.

  "Omifucking god," she exhaled at last, falling against his shoulder. "Do you know how much you just owned me?"

  The buyer grabbed her hair, damp with sweat. Tilting back her head, he kissed her, deep and hard. She started spasming against him all over again, whether real or faked, Miranda couldn't tell.

  "I told you this was natural," the buyer crowed.

  Cammie looked wasted, trying to hold herself up as he disengaged. "What you did to me ... I never saw it coming. You must have slaves of your own," she looked at him with awed eyes. "My god ... I bet you could really do this to any woman, couldn't you?"

  The buyer chuckled. "I've been known to break through some female barriers."

  Miranda wondered if the client believed Cammie at this point or if he was still enjoying the illusion. She supposed it didn't matter in the end. At least not judging by the very real arousal she was feeling herself.

  "May I clean you up, sir?" asked the well-screwed blonde.

  The buyer helped her down off the counter. Cammie went immediately to her knees, dabbing her tongue along the surface of his still half-hard cock.

  Looking like a dream of pleasure, any male's fantasy, she licked every inch of his manhood, including his heavy, hairy balls.

  He allowed her to service him until he'd had his fill. "That's enough," he pushed her lovely, blonde head away.

  "Shall we finish the tour, sir?" she asked, still on her knees.

  "Sure, what the hell." He lifted her back to her feet.

  Cammie moved to retrieve her clothing only to be stopped by the man's hand on her arm. "No," he told her. "You stay as you are."

  "As you wish, sir."

  Miranda felt a surge of white hot heat between her legs as Cammie moved to the door. There was something so very erotic about the scene. The man and Miranda both dressed, the beautiful Cammie stark naked, exposed by the will of the buyer, completely vulnerable to his commands.

  "This is the first guest bathroom," Cammie announced, turning on the lights to the small room. "It features full copper fixtures, brass workings and an old-fashioned shower stall."

  The buyer was right up behind Cammie, cupping her breasts, weighing them. She made no effort to resist as he took his pleasure.

  "Have you ever been handcuffed in a shower?" he wanted to know.

  "No, sir."

  "Too bad. It's an experience. You should ask your boyfriend to do it to you."

  "I don't have one," she sighed, her body moving subtly against him.

  The buyer chortled. "Well don't look at me," he spun her about, smacking her ass into the hallway. "I gave up girlfriends for Lent – and wives, too."

  Cammie was looking hungrily at his cock, which was, again, tenting his pants. "Sir, would you like to see the master bedroom?"

  "If your little friend here doesn't mind, sure. What's her name again, Marcie?"

  "She's Miranda, sir. And I'm Cammie ... in case you were curious."

  "Oh, I got plenty of names for you, Goldie, don't you worry. By the way," he moved up to put his hands between her legs. "Remind me to compliment your boss on getting me a natural blonde."

  Cammie sucked in her lower lip as the man played with her thatch. "Sir ... you don't know what you're doing to me..."

  "The hell I don't, cunt." The buyer put his wet fingers to her lips so she could lick her own juices off his finger. "I've been doing this shit since before you were born."

  Cammie opened her lips, allowing him to insert. Her eyes turned to narrow slits of desire as she took the fingers like a penis, deep. She bobbed her head slowly, up and down.

  Miranda could see the man working at his fly with his other hand. He was ready to go at it again. Popping the fingers out, he prepared to push her up against the wall.

  "The bedroom, sir," she exhaled, a tiny line of saliva extending from her mouth to her chest. "I have to show you the bedroom."

  "I don't give a shit about the bedroom," he growled. "I want in that tight, little snatch again."

  "Sir, please ... I could lose my job."

  "You want to show me that bad?" He decided. "Then crawl. On your hands and knees."

  "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," she replied eagerly.

  Miranda watched the near goddess lower herself, cat-like do
wn onto all fours on the polished wood floor.

  "Sir?" She looked up at him coyly. "May I tell you this floor is Norwegian pine? Specially imported?"

  The buyer bent to smack her ass. He left a delicious, round pink mark, a hand print that made her yelp. Miranda remembered how Cammie had said spanking was allowed. Did she enjoy it or was it part of what she swallowed – part of the expression – to make her money?

  The buyer stroked her head. "You're an adorable little thing, you know that? Are you sure you don't come with the house?"

  Cammie purred and rubbed herself against his leg. The gesture made the buyer laugh. Miranda's knees went weak. She was imagining herself down there, degraded, deliciously so, relishing in the man's power over her ... and her own keen, naked sexuality.

  Drawing a ragged breath, Miranda touched her stomach with a damp palm. The feel of her own hand made her toes curl in her shoes. If that were the buyer's hand...

  Or any other man's.

  What a slut she felt like, needing this, and wanting it. Pulse racing, she unbuttoned her jacket and moved a finger tip to touch her nipple through the blouse. Just one little touch. One little fantasy of being swept off her feet, possessed. Controlled.

  "Want to join the party?" she heard a male voice rasp.

  Miranda started from her reverie to see the man grinning at her. It was a look of sheer male arrogance and lust.

  She folded her arms over her chest, feeling totally naked under his gaze.

  "Yea, I bet you do," he answered the question himself. "How about you take those clothes off, and show me if you've got a body like Goldie's."

  "Please," she said, her voice scraping over the back of her parched throat. "I have to go."

  "The hell you do, bitch. Take the clothes off, or I'll call your fucking boss and tell him you're both a couple of deadbeat cunts."

  "I can't," Miranda sobbed. "I won't."

  "Sir," Cammie intervened from her place of subjugation. "Please ... let me be your slut. Just me."

  She sought to distract him by unzipping his pants. As soon as she'd pulled his cock out, she rubbed it all over her face, the thick veiny cock sliding across her golden, model's cheeks.

  The buyer enjoyed the caresses as he considered his options. Miranda knew this was her fault. Her presence here and her refusal to participate had pissed off the customer, giving him leverage over them both. She wondered now if they were as safe as Cammie claimed.

  "I'll leave the brunette prig out of it," the buyer decided. "But you'll take it in the ass," he told Cammie. "Pain, too. You'll take pain. Otherwise, you'll both end up unemployed."

  "You can pull my hair," Cammie bargained. "And slap my tits. No marks. That's out of the question."

  "Nipple pinching," he countered. "I get to pinch the daylights out of those fuckers and you don't say shit."

  "Cammie, no," Miranda said. "Don't do it. We can go back to Jeff. He'll understand."

  "Shut up, Miranda," said Cammie crossly. "Just shut your damned mouth and keep it that way."

  Miranda bit her lip.

  "I'll agree to it all," Cammie told the buyer. "But there's a half hour limit. Miranda will time it."

  "We'll use my watch." He took off an expensive, solid gold one and handed it to Miranda. "And by the way, Goldie ... I have toys in the trunk."

  The buyer made Cammie crawl to the master bedroom on her belly. Things had shifted, very definitely. Cammie's limits had been pushed back, and the buyer's power over her expanded.

  Miranda gave in to tears. "Just let us go," she pleaded. "I didn't mean to make you angry."

  "Why don't you take your little slut friend's advice and shut up?" The buyer handed her the keys to his Rolls. "Better yet, make yourself useful and get the little black case in the trunk."

  Miranda was shaking all over. Should she call the police? What if Cammie got mad at her, though, for getting her in trouble, too? Should she run for safety herself, instead? But where would she go? They were miles away from the next house. There was no telling what he would do to Cammie in the mean time. Especially if Miranda pissed him off anymore.

  She opened the trunk, buying time. There were two leather cases. The black one was unlocked. Her heart stopped as she saw the so-called "toys" inside. Silver handcuffs. A rubber gag, with a mouthpiece in the shape of a penis. Various clamps and clips. And a little whip with lots of leather strands.

  God, he was some kind of sex fiend.

  Miranda had seen pictures of things like this. Once in a magazine she found in Rob's desk while she was cleaning out. "Slavery For Her" it was called. When she confronted him he insisted it was just something Mark Wyatt, one of the partners at the firm had given him. He couldn't throw it out for fear of offending the man, since apparently Mark was into that sort of thing.

  If only she could call her husband for help. But what would she say?

  Miranda got a sudden idea. She could call Jeff. He had gotten her into this situation, hadn't he? Surely he'd know the way out.

  "Wright here," he picked up his cell.

  "Jeff," she exclaimed, grateful the signal had gotten through. "You have to help us, please."

  "Miranda? What's wrong?"

  "We're at the place, you know the house. And the buyer, he..." Miranda was trying to talk and catch her breath at the same time. "He and Cammie, they did some things, only then he wanted me to take my clothes off. I couldn't and he got mad, and now he's making Cammie do more stuff."

  There was a pause. "What kind of stuff."

  "You know ... sex stuff."

  "Details, Miranda, give me details."

  "Anal ... anal sex," she managed.

  "Okay." He seemed unimpressed.

  "And he has this briefcase," Miranda hastened to add. "With ... with things in it. A whip, handcuffs. Clamps."

  "Right. Where are you calling from?" He asked, sounding far more concerned about her location than the potential torturing of Cammie.

  Miranda explained about being sent out to get the case and sneaking a call with her cell phone.

  She heard a sigh on the other end. "Miranda, you really shouldn't be irritating John Falconer like this. He's a straight up guy. Not some serial killer."

  Miranda couldn't believe her ears. "But he's a ... a sadist."

  "That's right, Miranda, he is. He is also a multi-millionaire developer who is buying property like its going out of style."

  "You're not worried about Cammie?" she asked astonished.

  "She's a pro, Miranda. She can take care of herself. And by the way, I have been with her myself. She fucking enjoys this shit, trust me."

  Miranda was dumbfounded.

  "Tick tock," Jeff snapped, breaking into her silence. "Time's wasting. Get your pretty little ass back in there and give the man his toys. And pray you haven't done anything already to mess up this deal, got it?"

  She fought back a sob. "Yes, sir."

  "Aw, hell," he grumbled. "Don't cry on me. Look, I'll see to it you get a fee out of this, all right? How about a thousand if the deal goes through?"

  Miranda heard herself agree and hang up the phone. Just like that, she had become an accessory. A party to an act of perversion, not to mention prostitution.

  And the hell of it was she was actually looking forward to going back in there. Not just for the money, which was very, very nice, but for the opportunity to watch.

  To see that sweet young body of Cammie's submitting to the man's lusts.

  Quickly, she closed the trunk.

  They were waiting for her. The buyer, called John Falconer, and the naked blonde. The comely young beauty who was about to be handcuffed, gagged with a rubber penis, pinched, slapped, whipped ... and fucked in the ass.

  And she was going to like it...

  Miranda was about to turn the doorknob and go back inside when she remembered the time. Checking her watch, she saw it was nearly four already. There was no way she'd be out of here and through rush hour traffic to make it home by six.

&nb
sp; Rob would have to fend for himself – assuming he weren't working late himself, which he did all too often these days. If he weren't such a complete dud when it came to all things sexual, she might accuse him of having an affair.

  "Rob, it's me," she said. "I'm going to be late showing a house."

  "Great," he replied sarcastically. "And what am I supposed to do?"

  A few choice ideas came to mind. "There's leftover London broil," she said instead.

  "Never mind," he said icily. "I'll just grab something on the way home."

  "Suit yourself."

  "I hope this is all worth it," Rob snapped.

  "Oh, don't worry," she offered sweetly. "I'm learning a lot. I think it could start paying off any time now."

  Miranda had half a mind to really start doing it, too. What would Rob care if she used her body to sell real estate?

  It wasn't like he had any use for it.

  "Talk to you later," he said.

  "Goodbye," she hung up coldly.

  Rob was pushing her too far, and one of these days, he would be sorry. In that event, she wouldn't just call him to say she was going to be home late, she would be calling to tell him she wouldn't be back at all.

  Here goes nothing; she went back inside, the case in tow.

  Closing the door behind her, Miranda could almost feel it.

  The birth of something new inside her. The soaring, beautiful butterfly from the humble caterpillar.

  Or was she destined to be like the moth – plunging headlong into fire?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rob hung up the phone irritated as hell. Why did Miranda have to get a job, anyway? He was making more than enough at the firm. And once he made partner, with Mark's help, their future would be set.

  As long as Miranda didn't screw it up with her flighty behavior. Rob already knew that Mark was skeptical about him having a wife working outside the home. Mark was a traditionalist, as were the other partners, all of whom were male. Together they had some pretty firm opinions about the place of women in the world.

  Mark's wife Erin was a demure, lovely blonde who raised their two children and put in her requisite appearances at parties and benefits. She hung close to her husband at all times and deferred to him in all things. The times they had gone out to dinner, Mark had ordered for her and if the waiter ever asked her a question, say about a refill of wine, she would allow him to make the decision.