Satan Wears Satin

Chapter One-3

He shook his head, Yes.

Nastassia mounted her assault: a direct route to bring Vance’s climax, and he psychologically settled in to let her ride him across the finish line. But she stopped again!

“I’ve decided to let you sign the contract to be one of Sable’s Centurions,” Sable said. She placed the paper on the concrete bench.

Nastassia unlocked the handcuff on Vance’s right hand. “No funny business, or you’ll get some of this,” she said, whacking him with her nightstick at the back of his knee. He stumbled and nearly collapsed. He signed the contract quickly and let Nastassia cuff his hands again.

He stared into Sable’s dark blue eyes, bewitched by the power lust in her glare. She embodied distilled essence of filthy s*x, fanning Vance’s desires into a conflagration because of her incredibly erotic body with its slight surplus of flesh, hinting of her fondness for excesses and proclaiming that she’d exploit Vance for a few cheap thrills before spoiling his chances with other women and casting him aside; because her curves trapped Vance in his instincts—even though she teasingly denied him the satisfaction of her flesh; but mostly because Sable represented the penultimate s****l grail to Vance, the vessel that promised to bind him with voluptuous pleasure while punishing him with edgy, nasty degradation that fascinated him even while it destroyed him.

Her aura promised that she would use and abuse him to gratify herself and magnify her thrills by thoroughly frustrating him before giving him a nibble of hope to keep him hooked. Sable got her psychological jollies in the gazebo, watching Vance suffer physical and mental ruin, and he suspected she’d somehow use him for her physical thrills, too. She’d always get her kicks at his expense, and the faint hope of gratification, even if it came from Nastassia’s hands, would make him crawl back for more. In fact, he already craved Sable’s cruel way of leading him on and letting Nastassia pleasure him.

After all, Nastassia excelled at Magic Gloves. Her knowing grip on his throbbing c**k glided into graceful slides, running up and down the scales of his emotions, repeating the up-tempo movement of her sonata, because she really did play the organ: this time, his. She accented the delightful slides across his c**k with an expertly-timed, rhythmic squeeze, release…squeeze, release…squeeze, release…until Vance focused his attention on Sable’s face. Then Nastassia brought him to climax, being sure to fuse Vance’s physical pinnacle with his vision of Sable to fuse his ecstasy with her spoiled, earthy countenance inseparably. While Nastassia drained the last shot of jism from Vance, Sable dropped her cigarette at her feet and crushed it out vigorously—making Vance shiver with her raw gesture of power. He fought that part of his mind that wanted him to be the cigarette. If he even hinted at willingness to suffer for her, he knew she’d gladly crush him.

Nastassia peeled off her gloves and put them in Vance’s right inside coat pocket.

Vance, too spent to protest, could barely stand up straight. Surprisingly, Nastassia unlocked is cuffs and removed Sable’s panties from his mouth. After he pulled his pants up and buckled them, Sable handed him the cell phone she was holding. “Take pictures of Matt while Nastia rides him with her dildo. OK, darling?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Matt began to whimper.

“What’s going on?” Vance asked.

“It’s no concern of yours,” Sable said crisply. Turning to Nastassia, she said. “Let Vance go about thirty minutes after I leave. After you’ve punked Matt, call the police. Shake Matt down for whatever hush money you can extort from him.”

“No!” Matt screamed.

Nastassia smacked him hard in his ribs with her nightstick. Taking a ball gag from her large pocketbook, she gagged Matt. She smiled at Vance. “Get ready to take some good pictures.”

“Whatever you say, after you played the Brandenburg Concerto on me.”

“Just the overture. Wait till tonight. What was your phrase?” Nastassia taunted. “‘Bought and paid for.’ Add your name to the list. After you pay for your own slavery.”

Sable kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll see you at six tonight, darling. Remember your check for twelve thousand dollars. And Elise’s check.” She refreshed her scarlet lip-gloss, inspected herself in her compact mirror, and smiled wickedly at Vance. “And write ‘gift’ on the memo line for each check.”

Vance stared at her. “I’m just like my college buddy, Frank Prince. He’s Catherine Roman’s hopeless slave.”

“I know her and admire her work. Building a banking empire in New York. I bank at their Philadelphia regional office. But there’s the rub: She works at dominance too hard, rather like Honey Bates. They should pile up wealth and let their capital work for them. Like me.”

Vance felt used, turning into Sable’s tool, letting her bilk him to enrich herself. Now that he committed to give her twelve thousand dollars and con Elise into doing the same, he had to ask, “Will you ever show any appreciation for my gifts?”

Sable unleashed her provocative, erotic giggle, seducing Vance all over again. “I’ve already explained. You’d never get into Brandyhaven Country Club without my approval. Joining my Century Club is an even higher honor. But my biggest favor is saving you from Elise.”

“Don’t try to sound noble. You’re just selfish,” Vance chaffed.

“Her first two husbands killed each other in a shootout.”

“You’re kidding!”

Nastassia interjected, “I started a file on her soon after she moved to Philadelphia. I’m always suspicious of fabulously rich widows. The law enforcement agencies in Colorado sent me copies of newspaper clippings.”

Letting Vance draw his own conclusion, Sable bowed out grandly. “I love gifts!” she exulted. When she sashayed away, turning Vance on with the temptation of her beautiful ass in sinuous motion, he knew he’d learn to enjoy giving Sable all the gifts she wanted.

Especially if his alternative might be a death sentence from Elise.