His Latest Acquisition

Chapter One A Tuesday night in April … Three A.M. Like a fluorescent glaring in an empty warehouse at the late night hour, Dylan Kincaid’s computer screen burned the dark. Guild files only opened after one a.m., and the best flesh wasn’t posted until after two. This night there was nothing new to see…but still good videos and stills of randy stripping off her suede suit, standing with feet wide on an Oriental carpet and fingers clasped behind her neck in the pose of inspection. Tawny skin, handsome but modest breasts with dark, pert n*****s rising to a hardened state of arousal. Felt between the thighs, she’d sport a wet p***y and clenching cleft. randy looked perfect collared. Thick, black leather suited her long neck and angular lines…Xena, Princess Warrior, he thought every time he viewed another advertisement for her s****l services. Dylan was looking for a more sensuous slave. gia, the buxom redhead from New Orleans had been in the files for several months… shopped around by owners looking for a sale not a loan. Dylan wasn’t ready to buy—but he wasn’t interested in a loan either. Besides gia was not what he was looking for… he wanted sensuous, unique, naïve, perhaps… or soulful… and the mysterious woman in his imagination was not yet in this current catalog of available properties… Powering down the computer, he went to bed. Wednesday Afternoon …Two P. M. Justin Booker received his clients with a warmhearted grin and an extended hand. “Good afternoon,” he ushered the two men to chairs before his opulent desk. They were impressed by a view, six stories above the sidewalk and the city streets, looking out past high-rises and squalid neighborhoods toward the greening hills. Focusing their eyes back inside the office, they stared in wonder at the man behind the desk. Justin Booker was perfectly impeccable… as immaculate as his office, but without the coldness that these contemporary furnishings conveyed. He was a man of averages… height, weight, brown hair, with no peculiar features, and no flaws. Altogether, he cut a picture of handsomeness that would not stand out in a crowd, but that remained pleasing on its own. While charm oozed through every smiling pore, he left the trained eye and the untrained heart to wonder if his unburdened grace clouded something treacherous beneath the perfect surface. George Claravoy peered over his thin-rimmed glasses—he was a man of the same inclinations as Justin Booker, just a little older, greying, with a gentle sag to his attractive face. “The prospectus is exactly what we were looking for,” he announced with an air of finality. “Good,” Justin replied confidently. He looked toward Earl Heartsell seeking the same confirmation. Earl was a less gracious man—a frowning burly sort with eyes that narrowed, a forehead that wrinkled in thought, and lips that rarely formed a smile. He nodded his approval rather than voicing an opinion. “There was that other matter,” he finally added with his face lighting beyond its dour expression. “Yes, of course,” Justin replied, anxious himself to get on with the ‘other matter’. He picked up the phone, buzzed his secretary, and after delivering his message, let the receiver fall back into the cradle with a gentle clatter. George Claravoy looked obviously impatient, while Earl Heartsell remained as passive as before. Yet, when brit opened the office door both men looked her way, watching attentively as the raven-haired secretary walked toward her employer’s desk. Her dark hair was brushed back into a neat bun, with a few stray wisps falling free to soften what was, on first impression, an austere demeanor. Her clothes were modest and appropriate for the office—a plain grey suit with a shorter than average skirt and a thin but well-hidden pink blouse underneath her smartly styled jacket. The only distinctive accessory to her subtle feminine statement was the three-quarter inch choker she wore around her neck. The silver band fit snugly, was engraved with an intricate design, and closed so flawlessly that the clasp could not be detected without a close inspection. For a second brit fingered the collar, then she took her place to Justin’s left, with her hands clasped lightly in front of her. She gazed down—on nothing in particular. With each successive second, her prim manners eased until she was so meek it appeared as if she’d blow away with one simple puff of air. While her shoulders remained proudly posed, they relaxed; her eyes melted and the energy in her demure body thawed so that she breathed with another kind of life and exuded satisfaction and contentment. The transformation was effortless, as though she’d executed the metamorphosis many times. All three men were amazed—including Justin who had seen it many times. He was the author of this submissive attitude and it made him proud, even surprised every time he experienced the beautiful sight. “You keep her closely guarded,” George decided as he admired the presentation. “It helps to have her working as my secretary,” Justin agreed. “But no one knows her position?” Earl grumbled as his narrowed eyes inspected the woman. “I’m a married man, gentlemen. I don’t dabble in affairs. I have slaves. While most people would understand common infidelity few would understand the life I lead.” “How true,” George agreed. “Your situation is unique, I think.” “It’s what I’ve created. I hate dabbling in dungeons and at parties… this suits me much better.” He made a thoughtful perusal of the quivering brit, seeing the normal signs of apprehension and excitement in her otherwise calm appearance. His erection made an impressive jolt, warming and enlarging as his thoughts took flight in fantasy. “And what does your wife say?” Earl wondered. “She doesn’t know.” “About none of this?” “No. And she won’t.” “Have you suggested it to her?” George wondered. “I felt her out,” Justin smiled at the pun. “Early in our marriage, but there was not one inkling of interest in my alternative lifestyle… so I do this in secret.” He smiled broadly. “Secrets make it all the more enticing for me. You aim to make your wife your slave?” he asked George—a trace of biting sarcasm in the delivery. “She knows my predilection.” “But not the facts.” “Sometimes we actually play with bondage,” he admitted. “But simple bondage isn’t enough for me,” Justin replied. “I don’t play those games with the women I master—I want to master them, own them, they are my property. Anything less feels false and unsatisfying.” “Well, I give you credit for creating this glorious creature.” George could hardly take his eyes from the yielding woman. “brit, remove your clothes for my friends,” Justin ordered. “Yes, sir.” Without a second’s hesitation, the secretary unbuttoned her suit jacket and removed it to a chair behind her, revealing as she did, the transparent film of cloth of her pale pink blouse. Underneath, her bra was equally transparent which allowed the men to see her brown areolas and the darker n*****s in their centers as distinctly as if they were nakedly displayed. Even more fascinating, however, were the gold rings pierced through the centers of those small brown buds, making each small n****e slightly erect and growing more so in response to the enthralled gaze of Justin’s friends. Smiling shyly, brit continued. Undoing the buttons of her blouse, she tossed it aside with her jacket. Then, she unzipped her skirt and let it fall silently to the floor. As if the previous revelation of her n****e rings were not thrill enough, the most surprising aspect of brit’s attire became immediately apparent as the pair of gawkers spotted the flush-fitting harness at her groin. A simple band fit around her lower waist, while a second band thread her crotch. The supple black leather breached the cleft of her ass, then split in two as it hit the opening of her v****a and ran along either side of her c******s, keeping her labia pressed back wide. The view was stunning with the glorious attributes of her privates shamelessly exposed as though she were about to hawk street traffic to her w***e’s boudoir. “She wears it every day?” Earl wondered—he was slightly knocked off his proverbial grim center seeing the amazing picture of lust attack his eyes. “Often,” Justin replied. “Though I don’t let my slaves get bored with repetition.” “Do you care if she’s bored?” he wondered. “I care that they are at the peak of their s****l desire. It keeps me aroused.” “Ah!” George was impressed. “You can stop undressing now,” Justin told his secretary as she was about to unhook her bra. Left in just bra, harness, garter belt and nylons, the lovely brit was stunning. “But turn around and bend over so they can see what’s in your ass.” brit obeyed, straightening her legs as she bent at the waist, holding the position while her admirers stared at the pair of lovely rounded buttocks with the leather bisecting the two orbs. “Spread your ass cheeks with your hands,” Justin went on. She did that, too, giving the men a peek at the deepest recesses of her nether regions where it looked as though a sizable dildo had speared her ass—although the bulk of the device was so wholly lodged within the channel that it was impossible to know what kind of travail she’d been forced to endure. “And she wears it this way all day long?” George asked. “As long as I want her to. Squat, brit,” the order shot out like dragon fire. The slave squat with knees bent, her ass resting on her calves, and a pink blush rising on her cheeks before the men could catch their breath. Some things she did as though her life depended on it—this was one. Keeping her gaze lowered, she adopted the pose, remaining as dutiful and submissive as she’d been when she arrived in the office on Justin’s command. “Look up at me,” he ordered. The smoldering look in brit’s gentle grey eyes sought his encouragement. Hers was a valiant effort; the pose excruciating—but affected with diligence and good grace, something Justin valued, something he required and bred in any woman who called herself his slave. “Take off your bra,” he told her. Little of the appealing and mild-mannered gentleman remained in him now. His gaze was ruthless, his voice the same. By his look, he might kill—but this was what the woman craved. Justin’s guests could see that in her expression. brit struggled as she unhooked her brassiere, though she kept the squat the entire time, and finishing, she waited for another command, hardly surprised when her master ordered her to, “Show off your t**s. Raise them high.” “I’ll bet she’s wet between those legs,” George concluded as the slave’s feral expression grabbed his gut and his d**k below with a salacious lust he’d not felt in some time. “You give her away?” “I’m deciding that right now; I’ll see how she performs today. She needs her ass stretched, and while my c**k might be adequate to screw her, it’s not the kind to widen her properly—that’s why the anal plug.” “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to help you there,” George remarked. “But to taste her juices with my c**k does have its appeal.” “You want a spear worthy of your project, Justin, I’ll put myself in the running,” Earl jumped right in, now more animated than he’d been in some minutes. His beady eyes probed the slave’s humbly raised face with such intensity that she shivered cold staring back at him. It seemed as if there were hollow places in the man where there should be eyes, a void where there should be s****l vibrancy. He was not unlike the masters she’d been with—including her current one. She thrived on soulless guises, quaked deep as these men unearthed the core of her submissive desire. brit was petrified to think the man might plunge his aching weapon in her ass. But the desire for it was real as well. She raised her breasts like gifts to the burly man’s eyes, while her cunt was drenched with her female elixir oozing from the parted spaces. “I’d like to see her tested,” Justin advised both men. “I would do that,” Earl swore without being boastful. Though he might be eager for the task, he remained unruffled by the prospects of screwing the ass of a woman so appealing. Like a game of dice—if he rolled right, he might well win the prize. If not, he refused to be disappointed. No man would put him in that place. brit’s eyes did not waver from the Dom in question, though she remained with her ear trained to hear her master’s next command. “Get up,” he finally drilled the air with the order. Even a practiced slave would find compliance difficult from her squat. Drawing out of the pose took zealous effort and a determination she’d learned from months of following this kind of demand. Though she’d failed many times to gracefully accomplish such a task, failure was not as important as the will she put into the act. This was where her master was fair, unlike other masters who didn’t care how hard their slave tried. They expected perfection immediately, punishing any faltering attempt. Justin Booker was often fair, but never easy.