Indecent Intent (8 page)

Her chest heaved as she breathed deeply, and her hands slid down to the hollow flatness of her belly. What had he done to her? Why was she more sexually aware than she had ever been before? With trembling fingers she gingerly touched her shaven mound. Had it always been so full and proud? She frowned, confused, allowing her fingers to ease down to the moistened divide between her swollen sex lips. Surely her clitoris had never been so sensitive or so raw. The very tip of her finger touched it and she gasped with pleasure and rested her head back against the door, her eyes dreamily closed. She parted her outer lips and arched her back to inch her sex forward, and it took only the lightest and quickest of rubs to bring herself to yet another wondrous climax, gently biting her lower lip so as not to make a noise that might alert the man that owned her.

When her secret pleasure ebbed away she felt a terrible shame and leaned, trembling all over, against the small marble washbasin. Her whole body glowed from the pleasure she had given herself, but what would Verity say if he knew?

She soaked and soaped a washcloth in cool water and bathed herself, drawing it over her tender breasts and under her arms. She toweled them dry and soaked the cloth once more to wash her belly and bottom, incredulously aware that the man had ignited something so strong and consuming that merely performing her intimate ablutions could very well get her aroused yet again. She and Tom had always enjoyed sex, regular sex, and sometimes, she had to admit, it was more than a little kinky, but he had never made her feel like this. Never.

Gabrielle wondered whether she was supposed to wear the filmy dress again or return to the cabin naked. Not that it really mattered because the fine silk almost revealed as much as it hid. She shrugged at her image in the mirror and decided that it scarcely mattered if she wore nothing at all, so with the dress draped over her arm she opened the bathroom door, and Verity was waiting for her.

‘I trust you feel refreshed, my dear,' he said, and there was something in the tone of his voice that Gabrielle did not like too much.

‘Yes, thank you, I do,' she said. ‘But I wasn't sure what you wanted me to wear.'

Verity rose and walked to a narrow closet let into the bulkhead. ‘I want you to wear this,' he said, holding out a black garment on a hanger. ‘Put it on; we'll be landing soon.'

Gabrielle took the garment. It was soft black leather and felt deliciously cool and naughty to the touch.

‘You may find it a little closefitting,' he said, a mischievous glint in his eye.

It was somewhat more than closefitting, Gabrielle discovered. The legs were tight and molded to her shapely calves and thighs like a second skin, and to her dismay it was cut so as to leave her buttocks totally bare. Her belly, too, was naked, and the cut of the garment nipped her waist acutely, the contours leading the eye up to the snug fit of the leather over her breasts, pushing them firmly up and out and highlighting the deep shadow of her cleavage. The sensual material also molded enticingly to the outline of her tender and still erect nipples, as though offering them to be caressed by hungry lips or nipped by inquisitive fingers. Even though she was clothed in the tight garment she might as well have been naked, for such was the cut that it enhanced her already shapely figure, showing off the features of her sexuality.

‘You are very beautiful, my dear girl,' he said, lifting her fall of freshly brushed hair to fasten a tiny pearl button at the nape of her neck. ‘Wasn't it worth the effort to look so delicious?' He held her to him, stroking the fullness of her buttocks, presented naked and pert by the suit.

‘Excellent,' he decided. ‘Absolutely delightful.'

He let his fingers drift across the flat expanse of her naked belly and his touch made her close her eyes and sigh softly.

‘Calm yourself,' he said. ‘We're beginning our descent into Miami. There will be photographers waiting for our little entourage.'

‘Photographers?' Gabrielle opened her eyes and stiffened in his arms. ‘Why should there be photographers waiting for us?'

Verity shrugged, as though the answer was perfectly obvious. ‘There always are.' He pushed her down into one of the sumptuous seats and indicated that she should fasten her lap strap. With one last look out of the window, out into the heat haze above the city, he settled himself into his own seat. ‘I'm a very rich man, my dear, and so the glossies are always interested in what I do, who I'm with, what my girls are wearing…' He paused, a wry smile on his lips. ‘Or not wearing, as the case maybe.'

Gabrielle was all too aware of the tight confinement of the black leather, but also aware of her partial nakedness. How on earth could she be expected to walk through a gaggle of photographers dressed so immodestly?

She heard the undercarriage lowering and saw the ground rise up to meet the jet. The flat state of Florida, the water-locked peninsula with the blue river of the Intracoastal splintering it close to the Atlantic coast was again to be her home, for the foreseeable future, at least. The thought made her shudder; some home when she was to be subjected to all kinds of sexual humiliation whenever it pleased her master!

The plane slowed to a halt and Verity released his seat belt, holding out his hand to help her up. Hers trembled as she placed it in his. ‘Don't be afraid,' he said. ‘It won't be so terrible.' He bent and pointed out of the window. ‘Look, a few of the other girls are waiting to welcome us.'

Gabrielle followed his point and sighed with relief, because there were other girls and they would hopefully dilute the attention she might otherwise attract. They were all dressed in similar figure-hugging black leather to hers, which would make her less of the centre of attention she had initially feared. Gathered around the foot of the small boarding steps they waited for their master and his new acquisition to alight. She could also see the photographers across the shimmering tarmac and held back, pulling on Verity's hand.

‘Oh no,' he said, ‘none of that coyness, if you please. You look beautiful. There is nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about.'

Gabrielle tried to hold her head high, but there was a niggling doubt in her mind. He was hiding something from her – she was sure of it. She was going to be made a spectacle of, somehow.

‘Stand at the top of the steps,' he ordered, ‘facing the plane.'

Gabrielle hung back once more. ‘Facing it?' she echoed in a disbelieving whisper.

‘Yes, you heard me,' he said patiently. ‘Hands on hips and look over your shoulder with a smile on your face.'

The door slid back on itself and the heat of the Miami Spring hit her. The steps had already been placed and Verity stepped out, his hands held high in greeting. The photographers moved closer and pushed and elbowed each other out of the way, jostling for position.

‘Remember your orders,' Verity said under his breath before walking down the short flight of steps, so taking a deep breath, Gabrielle stepped into position and turned her back to the onlookers. Knowing she had to obey the man, she gave her hips a provocative wiggle and placed her hands on them. She was conscious of her bare bottom lewdly framed by the black leather, but she was unprepared for the murmur of approval, and particularly the comments, from the waiting photographers.

‘There's his usual trademark,' one sniggered.

‘Yeah, the red hand of Marshall Verity,' another concurred as the cameras whirred and clicked.

‘And she obviously loves it,' said a woman. ‘Look how she poses and smiles.'

And Gabrielle suddenly wished she could skip back into the relative security of the plane and hide there as she remembered her bottom, and the slaps that had rained down upon her fleshy globes during the flight, tinting them a rosy hue of blotchy pink. Somehow, framed in black leather, stark against her pale skin, the palm marks had made her his possession more than any money in the world could ever have done.

Marshall Verity was standing at the foot of the steps, holding out his hand to her, a smile of triumph lighting up his features, so Gabrielle, with a display of courage that hid how mortified she really felt, tossed her hair back and held a proud posture as she turned to descend, joining him, her face impassive.

‘She's a bold one,' remarked one of the gathered photographers.

‘I'm very pleased with you, my dear,' whispered Verity as she reached him, cameras catching her front and back, lenses zooming in on the pert buttocks marked with the stark handprints.

The other girls then followed as Verity lead Gabrielle to a few gleaming stretch limousines in front of the airport buildings, each with a uniformed chauffeur waiting beside open rear doors. There were other men too; men in dark suits and tinted glasses, looking furtively this way and that as Verity and his entourage approached.

Just how rich, she wondered, was this man?

Susan smeared creamy lather over Gabrielle's sex mound. ‘You've some growth here,' she said, her voice as emotionless as ever. ‘I'm surprised the master didn't send for me earlier, especially since he would have been intimate with you during your flight here…' she paused and looked deep into Gabrielle's eyes, ‘…and probably in the gym as well.'

And she was absolutely right in her assumption…

Upon arrival at Marshall Verity's mansion Gabrielle had been totally overawed by the place. It stood alone on a small peninsula, a slightly raised bank of the Intracoastal.

There seemed to be many servants; liveried footmen and maids dressed in short black satin uniforms with frilly white aprons. Verity showed her around his home. There were countless rooms and hallways, and beautiful girls everywhere, who always appeared to be chatting companionably until Verity and Gabrielle made an appearance, and then they fell respectfully silent.

‘They don't like me,' Gabrielle sulked, once again feeling alone and insecure.

‘Nonsense,' said Verity, as he opened a pair of double doors off the hall they were in. ‘Now, you'll spend a great deal of time in here. I like my girls to keep trim and fit at all times.'

The large room was a fully equipped gymnasium with a bank of exercise bikes, stair climbers, rowing machines and numerous weightlifting devices.

‘Would you like to try one of the machines?' he asked, and she knew she had no choice as he looked at her intently, daring her to decline the offer. She had to try one, she knew that; it was the beginning of yet another game.

Verity began peeling open the clinging leather garment, and Gabrielle shivered as he sensually revealed her. She stepped out of it, holding his arm for support, and he took the bundle away to a cupboard, returning with a grey T-shirt and shorts for her.

‘The stair climber's fun,' he said. ‘Let me see you on that – and be sure to work hard; I want you to get up a good healthy sweat.'

So, obediently placing her bare feet on the treads, Gabrielle began to climb.

‘Make sure I see your thigh muscles working,' he said, ‘and your calves. Let's see how fit you are. Bring your pulse up to at least a hundred and forty.'

The soft cotton of the shorts and top caressed her body as she trod the stair climber. Sweat began to gather under her arms and on her breasts, causing her skin to glow healthily. The salty fluid of her exertions trickled between her breasts and began to soak through the top.

‘Good,' Verity mused, as he pondered the damp patches beginning to soak the grey cotton. ‘Look at the little screen on the handles. What's your pulse rate?'

Gabrielle used one hand to wipe the sweat from her brow and tossed back her head to keep her damp hair from clinging to her forehead and cheeks. ‘It's a hundred and nineteen,' she told him, wondering how she would ever get it up to the rate he'd demanded; she was young and worked out regularly.

Verity narrowed his eyes as he always did when annoyed. ‘Work harder,' he ordered sternly. ‘Put the resistance up to a higher level and work harder. Come on – pump those legs.'

Gabrielle was panting heavily now and could feel her heart pounding in her chest, but the rate on the screen only said a hundred and twenty-five. ‘It… it just won't go any higher,' she wailed, her legs beginning to feel like jelly as she pumped harder and harder, her muscles burning. Verity moved out of her line of vision, hovering behind her, watching her toned body as she obediently worked as hard as she could. The grey T-shirt and shorts were now dark with her sweat.

‘Okay,' he eventually said, ‘that's enough for now. At least you tried. Now you'd better stretch down.'

With her chest heaving and her legs and arms aching intolerably, Gabrielle managed to slow the machine and climb down, her legs almost giving way beneath her as she stepped off it. She carefully lowered herself to the floor and reached forward to grab and pull back her toes, keeping her knees locked and legs straight, stretching her calf muscles and hamstrings, her damp breasts squashed against her glistening thighs, and then she gasped with surprise as she looked up; Marshall Verity was naked, his immaculate clothes in a neat pile nearby, his erection pointing at her glowing face.

‘You did very well,' he said. ‘Despite failing to achieve the pulse rate I stipulated, you tried hard to get there and so I am pleased with you for that.' He took two steps, stood astride her thighs, held her damp hair with both hands, and without another word he fed his erection between her parted lips and penetrated her mouth.