The Accidental Billionaires Series

Chapter 6

Kenneth Marshall changed out of his suit and into a much different outfit. He glanced at his watch and calculated that if Anita decided to stay, by the time she found out how to open the door into The Playground, he still had at least nine minutes before she came in. He decided to read. Not anything work related - no reports or whitepapers, no business books. The Playground had a small collection of books but he didn't go for any of the erotica, either. If Anita came through the door to him, he'd be having plenty of s*x over the next couple of days, so he didn't need to read about anybody else having it. And he certainly didn't need any outside inspiration to be excited about the woman kneeling in the living room. The way she instinctively deferred to him, called him Sir, and acquiesced to him when he spoke to her with his Playground voice excited him as he hadn't been excited in many months. She had a fine, slender body, and it certainly didn't hurt that she had a very striking face with intelligent, dark eyes that seemed to take in everything around her, the most adorable little upturn on the tip of her nose, and a tiny mouth. Marshall loved watching a woman with a tiny mouth service him.

With those thoughts in mind, he took an old science fiction novel off the shelf and sat in The Playground's armchair. He was comfortably settled in and getting into the first few pages when he heard the beeping of the alarm. When it shut off a few seconds later, he knew that Anita was still in The Retreat. The alarm had interrupted him mid-paragraph of his book, so he went back to reading, because he hated to leave a thought half-finished. With the muffling effect of the carpeting, the sounds of Anita moving around looking for the hidden entrance did not interrupt his reading. It was only when he heard the click of the hidden door unlatching that he placed a finger on the page to mark his place and shut the book, holding it in his lap.

While Anita stood in the doorway, looking over the furniture and the toys in the room, he remained silent. Judging by the look on her face, she'd never seen an actual dungeon or play room before. Her eyes lingered over the spanking benches, and he could see her puzzling out their purpose before looking to the next thing that caught her attention. He did have to steal a glance toward a small chest on top of one of the tables. He had instructed her to remove all of her clothing before entering The Playground, and she was standing there fully dressed. While the thought of going into the chest to get something to strip her with actually got his mouth watering a bit, he was also disappointed to see that she had missed that instruction. Thus far, she'd been very compliant and obedient, and that was the mood he had desired for the weekend.

Taming a high-spirited woman had a certain joy to him, but Anita did not really push those buttons for him. He knew she had some fire and iron in her, but in his first few meetings with her, the way she naturally bowed down to his authority had set his intentions on a different path. He wanted to take her in and use her for whatever pleasures he desired. He wanted them to be given freely, not taken from her.

Maybe, he thought to himself, he'd need to just give her one solid push to start the weekend, to put her in her place and make sure she understood that until he released her, she existed solely to serve him. He was just about to get up and adjust to this change of plan as she started to step across the threshold, but she stopped herself just as her foot left the ground. She bowed her head, looking at the floor, and took two careful, precise steps backwards.

Anita reached behind herself, and removed the simple silver barrette she wore, allowing her shoulder-length hair to spill down. She brushed it behind her ear on her right side, but left the other side to fall free, halfway covering her eye. Next, she started unbuttoning her blouse, using just the fingertips of both hands, slowly slipping each button free and pulling the blouse as far open as she could before needing to undo the next button. Two buttons down, and he got his first glance of a very nice electric blue bra. It looked like it was satin, with tone-on-tone embroidery in a matte thread. The next button made him wonder if it were actually a bustier or a corset, but the next button after that showed flesh again, revealing it to be a long, strapless bra. Once all of the buttons were undone, she took her right hand across her body to slip bare her left shoulder, and let that side of the blouse drop down. Then left hand to right shoulder, and she arched her back, pushing her breasts up and out and letting the blouse slowly slide down her arms.

Instead of letting it fall to the floor, Anita caught it, and with very precise motions of her hands, folded it into thirds, then bent down to fold it once more as she set it on the floor. Only then did she raise her eyes to Marshall, and that for just a stolen glance to make sure he was watching her. There was a definite question on her face, and undeniable need to know, 'Do you like what you see, Sir?' Anita did not speak the words aloud, but they were written large in the silence.

The skirt went next, Anita keeping her body faced toward him while she unbuttoned the waistband and unzipped it. He was much more accustomed to women turning their backs to him to take a skirt off. Often times, it was shyness, a need to not look directly at him as they shed their lower garment. Whatever the reason for it, he liked when they did it, because it gave him the lovely visual of their behinds as they bent over. That Anita did not turn her back to him made him wonder if she was actually self-conscious about that particular part of her body, but that didn't quite seem to be it. The look on her face was still questioning, still wondering if he approved of her.

Like the blouse, she did not just let it fall to the floor, but she carried it down. After stepping out of it, she carefully folded it, just like the blouse.

When she stood back up, he saw that she was wearing a pair of suspender panties that matched the brilliant blue fabric of the bra, and thigh-high, sheer stockings that also had a blue tint to them. The effect of the color on her skin was striking. Black, white, red, and pink were the colors he saw most often in the lingerie of women who came to him. The choice of that deep blue was bold, different.

If she had raised her eyes to him, she would have seen an approving look on his face at her choice of underthings. Instead, she just stood there for him. He could see her swallow hard and struggle to keep her eyes on the floor. Anita held her arms tightly to her sides, and kept her legs just slightly parted as if despite her nervousness, a part of her was still making it clear that her body was open to him.

As he let his eyes take in the sight of her trim body and its very lovely wrapping, he felt a sudden pang of guilt when he realized this was not just something she'd had laying around at home. The lingerie was clearly very new, probably purchased specifically as a visual indulgence for him, and before she had a chance to show it off, he'd told her to get completely naked.

He made a mental note to make sure that he took the opportunity to appreciate it at some point in the weekend. Nobody liked to have their efforts overlooked, after all.

Still, he had told her that she needed to approach him completely naked, and it would not do for him to change his instructions, no matter what the undergarments had cost her, or how much effort she'd put into choosing them for him. An order was an order, and he needed to make sure that she understood in no uncertain terms that they were to be obeyed. So he stayed silent while she stood there, on display for him. She knew what her instructions were, and she needed to comply with them.

Anita swallowed one more time, then reached behind herself to unhook the bra, and slowly lower it, repeating her ritual of folding it before setting it neatly on the stack of other clothing that was already off. Her breasts were small and firm, with stunningly dark n*****s. Anita was not a pale woman, but even against her light olive skin, the color of her n*****s was rich and deep, and they were nicely erect. He put his tongue between his teeth, and bit down ever so slightly, anticipating how they would feel in his mouth. Just thinking of what he wanted to do with those breasts, his breathing got deeper and faster.

Once again, he could tell that Anita was forcing herself to keep looking at the floor instead of looking at him. By now, he could see a tiny tremor in her left hand while she stood there letting him see her.

Vulnerability.

Marshall figured it out. Why she had continued to face him as she took of her skirt, instead of shyly or coyly turning her back to him while she took of the skirt and bra, while she slipped her feet out of her heels and prepared to remove the final couple items of clothing. By keeping her face to him, where he could see her expressions, she was leaving herself vulnerable to him, to his judgement. If she had her back to him, she would be much less tempted to look at his face and see his expressions. She could pretend he was pleased with her back to him, but facing him, all it would take was one dart of the eyes to see what his face said.

And with her face to him, he could see all of her expressions. She could not hide anything from him. Not her body, as she shed her clothes, and not her thoughts as they played across her face. She was choosing to make herself just that much more open to him, to not only show him her body, but also herself. That choice to give that part of herself to him caused him to mentally erase the demerit she'd earned for not being naked already when she opened the door to The Playground.

When she got the tremor in her hands under control, Anita unclipped the suspenders from her stockings and with much more stroking of her legs than was really necessary, peeled them off. That left her with just the panties, which she hooked with her thumbs and very slowly lowered. Immediately, Marshall saw that she'd either waxed or shaved completely for him. The pretty little cleft of her outer lips was clearly defined and nicely full. Despite her fairly thin frame, she looked to be nicely padded around the vulva, a feature that he appreciated. Not only for the lovely aesthetics and the little cushion when he went for a really good, hard round with a woman, but because there were certain attentions that seemed more intense when applied to such a body.

The very last thing Anita did, after carefully folding the panties and adding them of her little pyramid of clothing was to take off her watch and place it on top. She stood upright again, hands to her sides, again, legs slightly parted again, but this time a little wider than before. Marshall suspected that she was just open enough that if he leaned over or slouched down in his chair a little, he'd be able to get a better view of exactly what she looked like in between her legs. Such behavior was way too lewd for him, though, trying to sneak a peek like a high school boy angling for a shot up a girl's skirt.

Besides, there was no need for him to try and catch a fleeting glimpse. All he had to do, really, was tell her to come lay on the floor in front of him and open all the way for him if he wanted to. Despite the vulnerability she was displaying as she stood there in the doorway, he had no doubt that if he gave that command, she'd do it without hesitation. She had that reaction when he used that tone of voice and facial expression and body language.

From the table beside him, Marshall picked up his bookmark so he could close the novel and set it aside. Also on the table was a collar. It was leather, black and a little more than two fingers wide, with three stout metal rings hanging from it. The hardware jangled against itself, and at that cue, Anita dropped down to her hands and knees. He kept his eyes on her face as she did so, seeing a lot of thought, questioning going on. From her reaction to seeing the dungeon, Marshall could not guess if she ever had been collared before or not. Seeing her get down on all fours and crawl across the floor to him, he suspected she hadn't, and without any obvious instruction from him, was trying to weigh out his desires against her initial reactions to try and puzzle out the correct actions. Marshall was curious enough to let her do so, to see how her sense of Submission naturally played out against his Dominant presence. The crawl to me was a nice start, he thought, as she approached.

When Anita reached him, she lowered her upper body almost to the ground. She kissed his feet, then knelt tall, reaching behind herself to grab her hair and pull it all up off of her neck.

"I expect obedience and compliance from you. I've told you this already. But once this collar is on, I expect it to be complete and unquestioning. No wiggle room, no brattiness or resistance, no back talk or half-stepping. You ready for this?" Marshall asked.

"I am, Sir. I will be completely obedient and compliant."

"You'd best be. Your punishment will be immediate and harsh if you violate the agreement that comes with this collar."

"I will do everything I can to uphold my end of the agreement, Sir."

"That is the best I can ask of you," Marshall said, and he wrapped the leather band around her neck. He put one finger between it and her skin as he tightened and buckled it. "This collar belongs to this place. It does not belong to you. It will never leave The Retreat."

"I understand, Sir."

"Hands and knees, to the left of the chair here. Back level with the floor, facing the door."

Anita immediately did as she was told, except for a slight bow in her back. It definitely enhanced her curves, but that was not what Marshall needed from her right then. He stood next to her and inspected her posture, then took his foot and lifted her belly slightly to straighten out her spine. "Like this. Level, not sexy."

Marshall got up and went to the kitchen, coming back with a cutting board with some cheese and fruit on it, a bottle of wine and a single, wide-based tumbler, and a bottle of water with a straw in it. He set the cutting board on Anita's back, and sliced the apples, strawberries, and the blocks of cheese. He put the knife on her bare back, next to the cutting board, and then opened the bottle of wine. Marshall poured himself a glass, and swirled it around.

"What color is the carpet below you?" he asked.

"Light gray, Sir."

"What color is this?" he asked, showing her the glass.

"Red, Sir."

"Exactly." Marshall placed his hand on her back, feeling out the muscles and bone structure. When he found a spot that suited him, he set the glass there and sat down in his chair. He took his novel and started to read again, occasionally taking a bite to eat from the cutting board on Anita's back, sometimes a sip of wine. Every time he took something, he carefully looked at her skin, checking to make sure she was still keeping her back steady, but also looking for tremor or any tilt that would indicate she was becoming fatigued.

A few more pages into the novel, he set a hand on Anita's shoulder. "Have you eaten anything today, Miss Rhodes?"

"I had a light breakfast, Sir."

"Have you ever had a seven-dollar strawberry?"

"No, Sir."

"I'm not talking about seven dollars a pint at the boutique natural foods store. I'm talking seven dollars per berry. More than that, actually, when you consider the cost of having them imported to arrive within a day of being picked."

"Definitely not, Sir."

"Here," he said, picking one of the berries off the cutting board, already stemmed, and placing it in front of her mouth. Anita carefully took it from his hand, and chewed very slowly, he presumed so there'd be no risk of upsetting the glass of wine between her shoulder blades. "The Japanese have this tradition of carefully growing perfect fruits. It's a labor-intensive process, selective breeding of the plants, culling weak or imperfect buds, raising them in very tightly controlled greenhouses, tending to them daily to ensure the fruits are evenly lit and not resting on or touching anything. They're given as gifts, often. There's no practical purpose to spending that much time to create a literally perfect piece of fruit, no reason to spend the kind of money it demands, except as an ostentatious display of generosity."

"May I speak, Sir?"

"Yes."

"The flavor is astounding, Sir."

"Yes. The care they put into growing them to visual perfection has the pleasant side-effect of really enhancing the flavor. Here, try some of the apple."

Anita accepted another piece of fruit from Marshall's hand. "That was also very good, Sir."

"My favorite grapes are not currently in season. If you like the apple, you'd die for the grapes."

"I would kneel like this all day for you to try one, Sir."

"You'd kneel like this all day if I told you to, perfect Japanese grape or no, Miss Rhodes."

"I would, Sir," Anita said.

"Yes, you would." Marshall selected a slice of twenty-year cheddar and offered it to her. "Fortunately for you, I have way more interesting things in mind for your body than just using it as a table."

"This body is yours, Sir."

"That is enough talking out of you for now, Miss Rhodes," Marshall said, but he also offered her a drink of water. He continued reading until he finished his chapter. He took a break then, fed Anita more fruit, cheese, and water, all the while watching not only her back, but also her arms and legs to make sure she still had enough endurance to keep the position. He had mostly finished the wine in his glass, but did not top it off. He had strict standards for himself about not playing while impaired, so a small glass of wine would be his limit until dinner time. He was not planning any truly intense play until after Anita had served a certain physical need, at least, which would give the modest amount of wine, savored slowly, time to clear his system.

He knew there was no way that Anita would last on her hands and knees all the way through another chapter, but he was still curious as to just how much self-control and discipline she had, so he turned the page and continued reading. Another page in, and he started to keep one hand on Anita's back, in between slipping her little nibbles and sips of water, so he could keep monitoring as he noticed her finally starting to flag.

When he felt her starting to genuinely shake, he kept the book in front of him for appearances, but he started to watch her body more intently. Making a table out of her was an exercise that required him to maintain a certain erotic detachment. As he'd told Anita, level, not sexy, was what he needed from her. He wanted to know how willing she was to process physical discomfort without any sort of s****l contact or sensual experience going on as well. Holding position like that was a challenge for the body, but did not come with the endorphin release that other kinds of activities did. Getting caned or flogged, choked or slapped, being dragged around by the hair or furiously pounded was like sprinting. The pain was often localized, intense, delivered repeatedly with breaks in between each blow, each stroke. Being put into a position and made to hold it as long as possible was just a lingering discomfort, a slow erosion of the body's ability to maintain and sustain. It didn't come with the thrills to the other senses - the sound of impact, the scent and taste of sweat and leather, the biting and growling, the feel of someone's hot breath on your neck.

Because of Anita's lack of s****l thrill as a result of the table exercise, Marshall had to also not dwell on his own s****l self while he made her do it. To put her in that position and think of how much he'd want to take her or use her, he'd end up distracting himself from the task he'd set her to, he'd rush it so he could hurry up and move on to other things. He'd have a hard time finding out what her limits were, if he were too riled up to wait until she hit them.

So he'd read his book, eaten a bit, had a little wine, and thought about anything but the lovely naked body on all fours beside him. But the time for that detachment was finally coming to an end. His hand on her shoulder started to feel the structure of the muscles below the skin, thinking of how they'd take a lash or a stick. He simply reveled in the smooth texture of the skin itself under his fingertips, and let his mind wander to how much softer other parts of her would be when they engulfed an even more sensitive part of his body. He let his eyes take in her entire body, the long line of her spine, the narrowing of her waist and the widening of her hips. She had the kind of ass that looked like an inverted heart when she was on all fours and viewed from behind, the nice round cheeks curving seamlessly into the hips and then suggesting a flow that should converge at a nice point. He liked that figure, because it put the hips in the most comfortable place for his hands to get a good grip for a nice, solid f**k from behind.

Too bad for Anita that wasn't what he had in mind next. No, he needed to let her get out of that position for a while so her body could recover. His next task for her was to be of more active service to him. He put his hand in her hair and offered her a final drink of water.