Indecent Intent (6 page)

Gabrielle barely heard him, so engrossed was she in the magical feelings his hands were creating in her shoulders and neck. But then the fingers stopped moving and left her.

‘Now, my dear,' he went on, the termination of the massage bring her awareness back to his words, ‘I'm going to strike a bargain with you.'

Gabrielle opened her eyes. ‘A bargain?' she could hear her own voice tremble. ‘What sort of a bargain?'

‘You can enjoy all this luxury and more for one year,' he explained, moving away to gaze out of the panoramic window, his back to her. ‘If Tom will allow me to buy you for that year.'

Gabrielle stiffened. He could not be serious! ‘B-buy me?' She could scarcely speak, so she reached for and sipped some of the glorious champagne to wet her suddenly dry mouth.

‘Just for a year,' Verity repeated, confirming his proposal. ‘And for that I will pay two million dollars.'

He said the sum so calmly.

Gabrielle's breath caught in her lungs and her pulse quickened, pounding at her temples.

‘However, if he loses the money with his gambling…' Verity turned and stared at her, his hands resting comfortably behind his back, his stare more intense than she had ever noticed before. ‘If he loses the money,' he said again, stressing the clause, impressing upon her the likelihood of such a loss occurring, ‘you are mine forever, and he works for me for the rest of his miserable life.'

‘But – but you know he will—'

‘Lose?' Verity laughed. ‘Of course he will lose. The man is a born loser. And then you will belong to me, fair and square.'

‘And if he refuses?'

‘If he refuses…?' the amusement vanished from his face, to be replaced by a cold, threatening stare. ‘My dear, your husband is already in debt to me… he has no choice but to accept my offer.'

‘Two million dollars?' Tom's eyes flashed with greed. ‘Two
million
dollars?' He gazed around Marshall Verity's suite, imagining how it would feel to occupy such luxurious surroundings.

Gabrielle hung her head. Once again in the black dress she looked both deliciously sexy and demure. She knew what Tom's answer to the proposal would be, but maybe he would soon win at poker or craps and be able to pay all the money back to Verity early, but she knew it was a vain hope. He'd never been on talking terms with Lady Luck, so why should she befriend him now?

What would happen to her, she wondered, when the inevitable happened – when he lost the lot? Yes, she'd earlier been on the verge of leaving her moron of a husband, but so she had been many times before, and hoped to be many times again in the future. But she loved him, and she could not help but love him.

‘Only for a year?' Tom didn't seem able to believe his luck or his ears. He looked at his wife, his face a confusion of emotions. She lifted her face and looked back at him, pleading silently with her sparkling eyes. Perhaps he would come through for her. Perhaps at the last minute he would change his ways and do the right thing by her – do what he knew he should do.

But the greed was still there. She could see love in his eyes, too. She could see loss, and even pain. Yes, he did love her, despite the selfish way he treated her most of the time. But the greed was still there.

‘And I have Gabrielle,' Marshall Verity confirmed. ‘She is mine to use as I wish. Her body, especially, is mine.' His hand rested possessively on her bare forearm. He stood beside her, looking intently at Tom, safe in the knowledge that his offer would be accept.

‘And you will give me two
million
dollars?' He was looking at Verity again, the deal being struck around Gabrielle, her input not asked for and not wanted – her feelings bypassed.

Verity's hand moved and his arm slipped around her shoulder, pulling her closer to him in a symbolic gesture of ownership. He was closing the deal. Even if Tom wanted to decline the proposal, it was now too late. Verity knew that, Tom knew that, and Gabrielle knew that.

She hung her head again.

‘So, it is agreed,' Verity said, concluding the transaction, and despite her closeness to him, Gabrielle stood alone, belonging for a moment to neither man. She had never felt more lonely in her young life.

‘She is mine… for a year.'

She noticed how the man paused for a brief moment before confirming the timescale of the arrangement, emphasizing it, and an ominous shiver ran down her spine.

‘I'll arrange the money for you immediately.' Then, as if to stress the rules of the deal, his hand slipped down from her shoulder and cupped her breast through the soft black silk of her dress. He stared directly at Tom, and his hand began to move in slow circles over the firm orb.

Tom rocked forward a fraction, as if to protect his wife, but then realization dawned.

She was no longer his.

Gabrielle closed her eyes in a childishly futile attempt to hide away from the dreadful scenario, and her cheeks flushed pink.

‘It's a little late for coy poses, my dear,' said Verity. ‘Too late for false modesties, particularly when we've all seen your deepest desires, your basest instincts.'

He looked at Tom, disdain suddenly evident on his face. ‘You may go now,' he said, arrogantly dismissing him, his hand still mauling her breast. ‘And just to clarify, for the duration of your stay here which, I suspect, will be a short one, if you see your wife you may not talk to her, and you may not, under any circumstances, touch her. Do I make myself clear? You've given up ownership of your wife. You've hired her out to me.'

Tom looked forlornly at her, as though at last realizing the full import of what he had agreed to, and then turned and left the luxurious suite.

Gabrielle watched the door close quietly behind him, her vision blurred with tears.

The following morning, after a night spent alone in one of the suite's luxurious bedrooms, Gabrielle was taken by Marshall Verity and Susan in a luxurious limo to some kind of a private health club.

It was a beautifully sunny morning.

In the plush reception area Verity stopped to talk to an austere man whom he seemed to know very well, and Susan, reacting to his silently nodded instruction, led Gabrielle along a corridor, hushed with expensive fitted carpets and maple-paneled walls, to a private room.

It was small, but as clean and sterile as any operating theatre. The walls were white, as were the cupboards and shelves that lined them, and in the centre of the tiled floor was a black medical chair. The sight of it made Gabrielle shudder. Metal stirrups rose from the lower corners of it, and leather straps dangled ominously from the arms and headrest.

‘Take off your clothes,' said Susan, interrupting the overbearingly hushed atmosphere of the room, and despite her reservations and despite wondering why on earth she was there, Gabrielle, with trembling fingers, felt utterly compelled to obey. ‘Take them all off, your underwear too,' Susan qualified the order.

And then the reason for the visit seeped slowly into Gabrielle's thinking, and she knew what was to come. Verity liked his girls to be hairless, and she was to be shaved smooth. Well, she could live with that.

‘H-how long have you been here?' she ventured to ask, as she dropped her T-shirt on an available chair and began to twist her hips to help ease her tight jeans down.

Susan shrugged and Gabrielle heard the clatter of metal from the surgical cart beside which she stood making preparations. The noise made Gabrielle shudder, and she hoped Susan's hands were steady.

‘Don't you know?' she persisted. ‘Don't you know how long you've lived with Mr Verity?' she kicked her shoes off and her bare feet felt chilled by the tiled floor as the jeans joined the T-shirt, and then her bra joined them, on the chair.

‘We don't ask questions,' Susan said, ‘we are done to. It is our duty to do no more than what we are ordered to do.' She moved to the chair and patted it in invitation. ‘Sit here,' she continued, ‘and place your legs in the stirrups.'

Gabrielle, determined to be obedient and brave, sensing it would help her time under the ownership of Marshall Verity, did as she was told and slipped elegantly onto the chair, and then lifted her ankles into the stirrups. Susan strapped them tightly and then did the same with Gabrielle's wrists, securing them to the padded black arms of the apparatus. Then her head was positioned on the waiting rest and the leather straps there secured firmly around her forehead, and she was effectively pinned, unable to move.

‘Have you ever had your sex shaved before?' asked Susan, smoothly and proficiently adjusting the chair until Gabrielle was almost reclining fully back.

Gabrielle shook her head fractionally, just as much as the straps would allow.

‘You'll find it makes you very sensitive,' Susan went on, with a little knowing glimmer in her eye.

With her ankles locked in the stirrups Gabrielle felt extremely open and vulnerable, aware that her plump sex lips were parted to reveal her flushed inner flesh and the erect bud that nestled there. Susan gazed down at her bound possession for long silent moments, and then roused herself and took a razor from the utensil trolley that stood beside her, offering a wide variety of instruments for her usage, most of which Gabrielle could see from the corner of her eye and which made her cringe inside.

‘You have an extremely inviting clitoris,' the girl remarked, and Gabrielle blushed deeply at such an intimate and bizarre observation. ‘Extremely inviting…'

Gabrielle's cheeks darkening with embarrassment, she closed her eyes, as if this would shut out the humiliation she felt. Then a fingertip touched the sensitive peak of her clitoris and slid back and forth, the cultured touch quickly bringing her so close to a climax, but as suddenly as the titillation began, it stopped.

A soft slopping sound reached Gabrielle's ears and she opened her eyes to see what was happening, feeling strangely empty after being teased so. Susan held a stainless steel bowl and a shaving brush.

‘You must keep very still,' she said. ‘Very still indeed.'

Such was the hold of the chair, how could Gabrielle do anything else?

The shaving foam felt warm and comforting as it was gently applied, and Gabrielle began to relax and enjoy the feel of it on her hot flesh. Once satisfied her charge was liberally and efficiently coated, Susan placed the bowl back upon the utensil trolley and picked up a razor.

‘You're doing very well,' said Susan. ‘Now remain as still as possible while I…'

The touch of the razor was as light as the touch of a feather and Gabrielle began to relax again, gradually beginning to really enjoy the intimate attention. But Susan was extremely efficient, soon the task was complete, and warm water rinsed the remains of the foam from her, and Susan was especially gentle when she patted her dry. She was right, Gabrielle realised; it did seem to make her very sensitive. Even the soft white towel being patted gently between her legs and over the denuded skin made her feel breathlessly aroused.

‘Would you like to see what your sex looks like now?' asked Susan.

Gabrielle felt confused, unsure how to react to the question, but the choice was taken from her as Susan held a mirror between her parted thighs.

‘I love to see a freshly shaved girl,' the blonde breathed huskily. ‘What do you think of my handiwork?'

Gabrielle knew she was blushing still, but looked in the mirror and gasped at the nakedness she saw there. The flesh of her mound was very pale and looked plumper than usual. The outer lips, too, seemed more swollen and much paler than she had ever seen them. By contrast the inner lips were scarlet against the pale flesh. The little bud, too, was darkly flushed, prominent and proud. It seemed to be asking to be petted.

With her wrists and ankles still tightly secured, Gabrielle remained helpless. ‘Will you please release me now?' she asked tentatively, not wanting to comment on the question.

Susan moved gracefully round and stood between the stirrups. ‘Why?' she asked. ‘Are you not enjoying all the attention I'm heaping upon you?'

‘No,' Gabrielle answered timidly, ‘it isn't that…' but the words caught in her throat as she sighed, the deft stroke of a finger making her shudder softly.

‘You like a girl's touch,' Susan remarked confidently. ‘I could tell at the dinner table last night. So would you like to feel my tongue on your inviting little clitty while you're so available to me?'

Gabrielle closed her eyes. At that moment she didn't have a clue what she wanted. What the girl was suggesting was shameful, yet she could not help but yearn for her to do it.

‘You shouldn't ignore me when I ask you a question,' Susan said, and although the words were spoken softly, there was an unmistakable underlying threat to them.

The fingers continued to tease, Gabrielle sensed movement – the slight whisper of clothing as the female moved – and then she inhaled sharply as a tongue eased into the moist opening of her sex. She felt it push into the softness of her, and sighed with wanton pleasure. A finger rhythmically and expertly rubbed the tip of her clitoris, inducing her hips to roll sensually on the partly reclined surgical chair. She moaned and strained in the grip of the restraints, pulling on the wrist straps and trying to lift her head.