Gretel's Game: Seduction, Power & Female Dominance

Chapter One Gretel at Play The woman in the frumpy tweed overcoat, black wig, and sunglasses leaned forward from her back seat in the black Lincoln. “Stop here, Bruiser.” The driver, Brewster Blunden, couldn’t shake his Velcro-like nickname nor the woman’s dominance. He pulled over but pointed to the “No Parking” sign on one of the busiest streets in Baltimore’s Inner Harbor. Because of his six-four frame, his chauffeur’s cap almost touched the ceiling of the Lincoln when he turned to face her. “Sure, you’ll take a chance, Ms. Fox, when my butt is on the line.” “Now, Bruiser,” she taunted, “a parking ticket would hardly be considered a parole violation. Do as I say or maybe Mr. Schisslinger might find out about your background. Then you’ll be unemployed again. It’s your choice.” She was a full foot shorter than he and relished bossing him around. Bruiser pulled within inches of the curb. “How’s this, Ms. Fox?” “See? That wasn’t so hard,” she cooed. “And you don’t have to call me ‘Ms. Fox’ all the time.” He turned to look at her quizzically. “You may call me Boss,” she said. Ignoring her dig, he returned to his main concern. “You don’t know how policemen think,” Bruiser said. “I was on the force. They’d start with a parking ticket. Then they’d ding me for driving you around without a chauffeur’s license. After that, God knows what. But they’d be on me like stink on—” “Just use your head,” she interrupted him. “I’d like to use something else,” he muttered. “I’d wear you out.” She flipped open her cell phone and dialed. An oily, male voice came on the line. “Sidney Schisslinger. What’s up, Gretel?” “I’m at the Inner Harbor now. Going to visit Casper Waverly, like you told me. Think I can persuade him to fire Kurt Merchant?” “Sure. Then we’ll hire Kurt. At half his current salary.” “You were brilliant to think of this scheme,” she gushed. “Really?” Sidney’s voice wavered. “Wasn’t it your idea?” “Don’t be so modest!” she persisted. “Anyway, we’ll get what we want.” “You always do,” he said dryly. “Speaking of what we want, has Percy Meeks signed on with us?” “Tough sell.” Sidney said. “His educational DVDs are great. So he doesn’t think Chimera can improve his public relations.” “Let me do my number on him,” she rasped. “Give him a fighting chance!” Sidney chuckled. “At first, anyway. What’s your secret for snagging clients, Ms. Fox? Do you bed them?” “As a last resort. Leading them on usually works.” “What about your female clients?” “Why, Mr. Schisslinger! I didn’t think you liked women.” Sidney was silent for a moment. “See you at the hotel. Around six?” Chimera provided public relations services to one of Baltimore’s prominent hotels in exchange for the unlimited use of several rooms and suites during low occupancy seasons. “How about five?” Gretel prodded. “I plan to bring a special guest.” “Rich Leckie? I don’t know…” “You want to compromise Rich. To weaken Casper’s hand. With Kurt gone and Rich totally obedient to us, BizMart will be vulnerable.” “But, blackmail?” “Whatever it takes. Besides, you’re dying to watch. See you at five.” As a formality, she added, “If that’s all right with you, sir. It’s your choice.” “Sure,” he sighed. “Just like the lyrics in ‘Damned If I Do,’ that Alan Parsons song: ‘It’s my choice, but your decision.’ But you get results. Five it is.” They hung up. “You absolute prick teaser,” Bruiser said, as much in admiration as accusation. “Thank you!” Gretel slid out of the black Lincoln with the agility of a twenty-eight-year-old that belied her dowdy appearance. “You may leave, but be ready for my call.” “All right,” he groused. Forcing a smile, he added, “Boss” and sped away. The brisk November air and the sun glistening off the waters of Baltimore’s Inner Harbor invigorated Gretel so much she had to shorten her stride to avoid drawing attention. She slowed to a stroll, the confident huntress stalking Casper Waverly. She would ambush him in his own magnificent cage, steel and glass housing his office. The throng of tourists, residents, and white-collar workers gave her wide berth. Her dry-cleaning parcel looked respectable, but her rumpled shopping bag nullified any semblance of grace. She hid her shiny black purse in her shopping bag to avoid exposing her deception. In the lobby a security guard approached from his post, eager to banish her. Gretel held out the business card, her passport: Casper M. Waverly, President and CEO of BizMart Business Brokers. Frowning, the guard waved her toward the elevator. After she stepped inside, the other passengers subtly avoided her. Her masquerade as a bag lady thrilled her. These chumps would never suspect that she would swagger in and bag the CEO of BizMart. When Gretel entered Casper Waverly’s outer office, Casper’s administrative assistant-gatekeeper nodded her recognition to give Gretel permission to enter. Gretel removed her black wig in Casper’s inner office and dimmed the lights. At the window she glimpsed at tugboats guiding a freighter into dock, then drew the blinds to darken the room. Her excitement mounted while she strolled into the adjoining private bathroom. She put her wig and sunglasses in the shopping bag and stripped to her bra. Reaching into the shopping bag again, she removed a girdle and stockings, and stared at them ambivalently. The quaint lingerie felt like armor, but Gretel knew she completely enslaved Casper whenever she packed herself into the girdle he bought her. She squirmed into the white, elastic anachronism. The pressure on her hips, rump, and belly soothed and stimulated her. Rolling up each black, seamed stocking while she sat on the lid over the toilet made Gretel’s skin tingle. But once she hooked her garters to her hose, she felt confined. Still, when Casper stared helplessly at her patches of thigh between her girdle and stockings, he would be her tool. She felt elated imagining how she would use him. She visualized Casper, humiliated, dropping to his knees before her, and she slid her hand under the rim of her girdle. No, the Roman numerals on Sidney’s wall clock indicated one-thirty. No time for tossing herself off, because Casper would return from lunch soon. Gretel pulled her blonde hair into an upswept chignon, in the fashion of the classic Betty Grable photo, and secured her mane with a beret. Taking her makeup kit from the shopping bag, she layered her face with powder, aging herself to at least forty years old. She applied excessive rouge to her cheeks—Casper never appreciated subtlety—and signed her facial caricature with ruby lipstick that commanded Casper to kiss her. Gretel removed the plastic laundry wrapper from her black silk dress and wiggled into the slinky outfit. Hooking the diamond necklace and pinning on the earrings, she exulted in her brazenness: strutting around Baltimore with Casper’s wife’s expensive jewelry. She stepped into black patent pumps with four-inch heels and felt like a little girl playing dress-up. Gretel picked up her long, black leather gloves, turned out the bathroom light, and sauntered over to Casper’s huge mahogany desk. She heard his quick footsteps, the door opening, and silence. Casper realized why the lights were dim. His stillness revered Gretel, and she felt a warm glow. “Hold my calls,” Casper told his administrative assistant. “No visitors.” He closed the door. His formerly confident stride slowed to a meek shuffle in Gretel’s presence. Despite his baldness, the fringe of gray hair around his temples and the back of his head made him look distinguished. Gretel would fix that. Casper’s wild stare paid visual tribute to her domination. His head and shoulders slumped. His body language told how thoroughly, and eagerly, he capitulated. He approached Gretel for more abuse. “Sit down.” She examined him. “Light gray suit. Good boy.” Casper kept leering at Gretel while he settled into his desk chair. The brilliance of her green eyes always took his breath away—so rare in a world of blue and brown eyes. When her right hand and arm slithered into her glove, causing a rippling, soft glimmer in the leather, his Adam’s apple bobbed. He licked his lips. During Gretel’s tantalizing show with her left glove, Casper reached into his hip pocket and took out his wallet. Gretel stepped close to him, teasing him with her voluptuous body while denying him the pleasure of touching her. She took his wallet from his hand, removed all of the bills, and tossed his wallet on the desk. “Have you been a good boy?” she asked. The fifty-five-year-old boy replied, “Yes, ma’am.” “Time for your allowance.” She peeled the bills off and let them fall carelessly, counting, “One hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four hundred, twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, five hundred, twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, ninety, ninety-five, six hundred and one, two, three dollars.” “Thank you!” he exclaimed. He fell on his knees to gather his allowance. Gretel’s touch transformed his own money into Gretel’s precious gift. With Casper’s eye level at her legs, Gretel tapped her foot, treating him to the vision of her flexing calf muscle—compressing her sensuality and power into one motion. To exasperate him further, Gretel held her pose and tapped her foot faster. Her haughty stance paralyzed him. She felt a mild rush while he fumbled with the money. She snapped, “Hurry up!” “Yes, ma’am.” He gathered the bills in a stack. “You’re very generous.” “You can’t have all of it.” She snatched the stack from his hand, peeled off three one-hundred-dollar bills, and handed the rest of the money to him. The sharp intrusion of reality into their game rankled him. “That’s not fair!” She stroked his cheek with her left gloved hand. “I know! You get horny when I cheat you. You crave me so much you could explode, and you can’t resist my cruelty.” Lifting the hem of her dress with her left hand, she tucked the three hundred dollars inside her stocking. Casper couldn’t avert his eyes from Gretel’s legs. Gretel rotated her right hip up slightly in a stance full of hubris that drained Casper’s resistance, snaring him in one of her favorite traps. “What are you staring at?!” she demanded. “You rude little boy! You don’t deserve an allowance.” She pushed the hem of her dress down. “Please! I won’t do it again. Give me another chance.” Gretel lifted the hem of her dress with both hands, enough to flash him with her thighs and girdle. When Casper powerlessly gazed at Gretel’s irresistible bait, she smirked. “Put the rest of the money in my stocking.” Gretel felt aroused watching the pained lust in Casper’s eyes. He would surrender all of his cash just to touch her thigh. When he knelt again, she wanted to press his face into her crotch. Casper pulled softly, reverently at the rim of her stocking and tucked the money inside. Gretel stepped back to smooth out her dress and cover Casper’s cash tribute and her bait. Casper he protested, “You’re malicious!” She took both of his cheeks in her gloved hands. “And you love it! Stand up.” “Please don’t embarrass me.” But he stood anyway. And she embarrassed him anyway. “What’s that?” She pointed to the tent his pants formed over his rigid tent pole. “May I sit down?” Casper admired Gretel’s face. Her tiny mouth suggested stinginess with her kisses, but her lush, thick lips made each kiss a precious treat. “You’re happy to see me, aren’t you?” “And it has nothing to do with a pickle. Please let me sit down.” “You remembered that Mae West line!” Her luscious lips inched into a smile. “Sit at your desk and be a good little boy.” Even in her high heels, Gretel stood several inches shorter than Casper. But psychologically, she talked down to him. “Thank you.” He sat, staring at Gretel’s soft, sensual cheeks. A few fleshy spots accented her lean face and made him think of a rich b***h who would always boss him around, even after his years of worry, sweat, and sacrifice to build the best business brokerage in Baltimore. “Don’t get too comfortable. Why did you hire Jessica Noble?” “She excels at marketing. Handles advertising and PR like a pro.” “Get rid of her. Come to me for all your needs. I’ll take good care of you.” “You’re too expensive. I mean, your company. Sidney’s company.” She grinned at his discomfort. “You must pay dearly for the best. That’s me. Jessica can’t make BizMart shine, and I hate her being in the same office suite with Rich Leckie. Fire her.” “First thing Monday.” “Today.” He fidgeted but swallowed his protest. “She’s efficient and pleasant. Rare combination. Jessica and Rich make a great team.” “More than you know. Get rid of Mary Poppins. Give us your PR account.” “Yes, ma’am.” He gazed up, longingly, eager for Gretel to shaft him. “Punish virtue and reward vice.” She moved beside his desk, moistened her gloved finger, and stuck it in his ear. “What’s my name?” “Gretel Fox,” he said, licking his lips. He knew the upcoming routine by heart. Gretel turned her back to him, hiked up her dress, and bent over to model her shapely, girdled ass. She peered over her left shoulder. “Sure I’m not Girdle f***s?” “That’s so sexy! But you won’t let me use bad words.” “Dear little Casper, go ahead and say it.” She wiggled her rump at him. “Girdle Fucks.” She winked at him over her shoulder. “But don’t play with yourself.” Her wink implicitly invited him to masturbate. With Gretel’s implicit permission to misbehave, Casper rammed his hand inside the waistband of his pants, grabbed his throbbing c**k, and stroked while he chanted, “Girdle f***s, Girdle f***s, Girdle f***s—” Gretel let the first squirt of c*m darken his light gray pants before whirling around. “Nasty Casper! You’re disgusting!” She harshly disrupted the fantasy that fueled his approaching ejaculation—and sadistically ruined his climax. “I said not to play with yourself. That’ll cost you. Pay me from your piggy bank.” “Piggy bank” was their code word for Casper’s wall safe. Robbing the fantasy piggy bank always cost Casper real money. With a contorted face, he said, “I can’t—” “You can’t afford me?” she taunted. “That’s just part of your punishment.” She slapped her right, gloved hand into her left palm. The thump of leather against leather snapped Casper to attention. Gretel was strong enough to bring him to tears when she spanked him. No one would hear his muffled cries. The idea that wicked Gretel would get away with copping an orgasm by beating him up—and charging him for her enjoyment—made Casper’s c**k throb. He walked to the wall portrait under the clock, turned the picture to a forty-five-degree angle, and spun the knob to the numbers of the combination to the safe behind the picture. Casper, halfway between torture and ecstasy, looked like someone snitching the grocery money to buy a fix or a bottle. “How much?” he asked. “One thousand dollars.” “Oh, Gretel!” he literally whined. “Fine,” she bluffed. “I’ll leave. And you won’t see me after the business awards presentations tonight.” His face twisted in horror. That night was supposed to culminate months of Gretel’s cajoling and promises, when she would give him his ultimate treat—s*x with her. “Please!” he begged. “Wait.” She turned and glared at him, ready to laugh in his face. She planned to tease and deny his c**k that night before she thoroughly, but not physically, screwed him. She smiled before subduing him with her favorite phrase: “It’s your choice.” Casper’s lust prevented him from realizing that her statement really meant, “You have no choice but to let me have my way with you.” “You win.” Counting out a thousand dollars from a stack of bills, Casper returned the rest of the stack to the safe. He took a sheet of cover-stock paper with an extensive list of numbers on it from the safe and removed his pen from his coat pocket. Checking the serial number of the first bill in the thousand he had counted out, Casper drew a line over a number on his list. He checked the last bill in his stack and drew a line under the corresponding serial number on the list. After connecting the lines with two vertical strokes to form a box, he wrote the current date and the letters “Ent” beside the box. He replaced the list of numbers, closed the safe, and turned to face Gretel, whose gaze indicated she was deep in thought. “Are you always this anal-retentive?” she smirked. “These discretionary funds are mine,” he said. “But I have to account for them.” “What did your notation mean?” “Today’s date and the purpose: entertainment.” “Yeah, I’ll entertain you!” She winked at him. “You won’t be able to sit down for a week.” Lifting the skirt of her dress again, she said, “Put the money in my stockings. I like you on your knees.” Casper’s eyes glistened. His knees hit the floor hard. His hands trembled while he separated one small stack at a time from the large wad of bills. He dispersed the money around her legs inside the rims of her stockings. When he was through, he pushed his lips inside the rim of her girdle and kissed Gretel’s thigh. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Tonight, I’ll grant you the honor of kissing me between my thighs until I get tired of it,” she promised. “As if I’d ever get tired of it!” “My first time,” he confessed. “I’ll initiate you into many tangy habits. But right now I’ll give you the old-fashioned whipping you so richly deserve. Stay on your knees and bend over. Put your head on the floor. First comes the spanking. Then you come.” Casper verged on tears—of joy, not sorrow—while he obeyed Gretel. She knelt beside him, raised her hand, and hit his butt as hard as she could. Casper almost climaxed from the physical force of Gretel’s first spank—and the psychological quirk that his pain gave her pleasure. Gretel’s second and third smacks got harder and harder, as though she were warming to her task. Her fourth blow was the hardest of all, sending ripples of pain out from Casper’s anus, down his legs, up his back, but mostly through his c**k. He reached inside his pants again. “Naughty little Casper,” Gretel whispered. She watched his body go limp at the soothing sound of her voice. Then she whacked him furiously. Casper pumped his c**k each time Gretel spanked him, and she deftly adjusted her spanking to a rhythm that helped him build to a climax. When he began to convulse in ecstasy, she exerted her maximum strength until his spasms stopped and he slumped over, exhausted. “Finished?” She breathed heavily. “Yes. Thank you.” He rose and sat at his desk. She stood up, towering over him. “Call Kurt Merchant.” “He’s my best worker. Why sacrifice him?” “Because I want to. But mostly because I can. I really get off making you obey my every whim. Especially when you try to resist. Crushing your will turns me on.” He visibly wilted when she lightly stroked his forearm with her gloved hand. “I can’t resist you.” Casper’s face flushed when he said the words. Total, abject surrender to Gretel completed his catharsis. And his shameless humiliation always gratified a part of Gretel’s soul that her larceny and orgasm couldn’t reach. “You’ll never be able to resist me,” she confirmed, bringing closure to this episode and a sense of the infinite to their spanking ritual in the future. Gretel’s demeanor turned businesslike. “Fire Kurt.” “If I must.” Casper’s expression hung somewhere between the afterglow of his cleansing and the crucible of confronting Kurt. Gretel carefully chose her words. “This is Sidney’s idea.” She took two damp note cards from inside her bra and handed him one. “He prepared this script.” Casper examined the card. “That’s your handwriting.” “I wrote down what Sidney dictated.” Gretel realized her miscalculation when Casper’s brown eyes flashed. She intended to pin the blame on Sidney for firing Kurt. But Casper preferred Gretel, not Sidney, to triumph over him. “Why should I fire Kurt? Especially if Sidney likes the idea?” “Or does he?” she asked archly. “Was it Sidney’s idea to fire Kurt? All you have is my word. And I love to deceive you. Either way,” she paused to brush his shoulder with her hip, “I’m luring you into punishing Kurt. For my pleasure.” “Just don’t mention Sidney. He’s destructive. They call him The Spoiler. I refuse to be one of his victims.” “You’re my victim.” She put the second note card on his desk, away from him. Taking his head in her hands, she made him look into her eyes. “Forget Sidney. I’m taking advantage of you, and you love for me to screw you.” “You’ve gone too far.” “Should I call your wife? Lila, isn’t it?” “She kept her maiden name. Her number’s unlisted.” “You think that would stop me?” “She screens her calls with caller ID.” Gretel smiled because she had a secret. Caspar’s efforts to keep her from his wife were futile. “Suit yourself. Let’s call your senior staff in here to see the stains on your pants.” “Why do you have to be so cruel?” he pleaded. “That’s your choice, too!” she smirked. “You crave my abuse.” “Is this some kind of game?” “It’s Gretel’s Game,” she smiled, presenting her gilded rear end for a smooch. After Caspar capitulated again, pressing his lips against the fabric highlighting her ass, Gretel added, “And I always win Gretel’s Game—because I’m a woman.”