Andre
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He's been watching her. She is close, but not quite right. She wears a ring that catches the light, but it isn't a diamond. It’s a little silver skull. She wears it on her middle finger instead of her ring finger in a subtle "fuck you".
She flirts because she can't help herself but to flirt. She intrigues him because she isn’t fully polished. She's just like all the other women he meets at things like this. Except she's not going to be too high and mighty to get down and dirty when the time comes. And she's going to toe the line because he has much more power and money than she could ever imagine and you can do things with that. When he wants something, he gets it, one way or another. He wants her. Wants to not just rent her, but own and possess her. If it takes some money to do that, no big deal. He'll make more.
He's made more while he's been standing here thinking about it. Hundreds of thousands more. Maybe even a million if that damned overseas deal has finally closed. Doesn't matter. What matters is having her sprawled on his sheets, servicing his every whim, adoring him, riding him, performing for him. She's young and beautiful. She'll be even more beautiful naked and sweating, straining when he ties her up. He'll have her arms above her head, her ankles tied to the footboard, pulling her uncomfortably tight. He'll touch her and she'll twitch. For him. He'll fuck her hard, for his own pleasure. He won't have to pretend to care if she comes or not. She will though. She won't be able to help herself. But he won't have to care either way.
He'll whip her. Not the little pretend slap on the butt he has to give one of those trophy wife types. He can make the heat radiate off her skin. He can put stripes on her ass with his flogger. Or her tits. And he can call them tits. He doesn't have to call them breasts and pretend he's looking into her eyes when he talks. He can look down her shirt and grab a feel. Hell, he'll have her naked all the time. No messing around with hundreds of designer dresses that really all look the same to him. And the shoes. The dozens of fucking shoes all these girls seem to like. This one will be barefoot and naked unless he wants her dressed up.
And when she is dressed up and he takes her out, she'll wear his mark on her. A choker is so trite. A bracelet. No, an ankle bracelet. Something unusual so that people will notice and comment, but it won't be blatant. There's one at Tiffany. A hinged bangle. But he'll have the jeweler lock it on her so it won't come off her ankle. Ever.
She'll beg to serve him. She won't be able to help herself. She already lives for the fuck. She'll die for his fuck. And his attention. And the joy of pleasing him. And the fear of annoying him. All her focus will be on him. She won't eat or sleep or pee without his permission. She won't sulk or whine or cut him off when she wants her way. Her way won't matter. Her only way will be his way.
All he has to do is get her. That's the easiest part. He'll entice her. He's got power and prestige and she likes that. If she didn't, she wouldn't be here right now. She'd be at a playground somewhere pushing a stroller instead of dirty dancing in a room full of people. She might resist. That will only make it more fun. He'll triumph because he is who he is. And because she is who she is, she'll submit. And that will be just the first time she submits to him. She'll spend the rest of her life submitting to him once she takes the first step.
She is standing by herself at the bar. The guy she was dancing with is nowhere to be seen. He’d never leave her alone.
He's been watching her. She is close, but not quite right. She wears a ring that catches the light, but it isn't a diamond. It’s a little silver skull. She wears it on her middle finger instead of her ring finger in a subtle "fuck you".
She flirts because she can't help herself but to flirt. She intrigues him because she isn’t fully polished. She's just like all the other women he meets at things like this. Except she's not going to be too high and mighty to get down and dirty when the time comes. And she's going to toe the line because he has much more power and money than she could ever imagine and you can do things with that. When he wants something, he gets it, one way or another. He wants her. Wants to not just rent her, but own and possess her. If it takes some money to do that, no big deal. He'll make more.
He's made more while he's been standing here thinking about it. Hundreds of thousands more. Maybe even a million if that damned overseas deal has finally closed. Doesn't matter. What matters is having her sprawled on his sheets, servicing his every whim, adoring him, riding him, performing for him. She's young and beautiful. She'll be even more beautiful naked and sweating, straining when he ties her up. He'll have her arms above her head, her ankles tied to the footboard, pulling her uncomfortably tight. He'll touch her and she'll twitch. For him. He'll fuck her hard, for his own pleasure. He won't have to pretend to care if she comes or not. She will though. She won't be able to help herself. But he won't have to care either way.
He'll whip her. Not the little pretend slap on the butt he has to give one of those trophy wife types. He can make the heat radiate off her skin. He can put stripes on her ass with his flogger. Or her tits. And he can call them tits. He doesn't have to call them breasts and pretend he's looking into her eyes when he talks. He can look down her shirt and grab a feel. Hell, he'll have her naked all the time. No messing around with hundreds of designer dresses that really all look the same to him. And the shoes. The dozens of fucking shoes all these girls seem to like. This one will be barefoot and naked unless he wants her dressed up.
And when she is dressed up and he takes her out, she'll wear his mark on her. A choker is so trite. A bracelet. No, an ankle bracelet. Something unusual so that people will notice and comment, but it won't be blatant. There's one at Tiffany. A hinged bangle. But he'll have the jeweler lock it on her so it won't come off her ankle. Ever.
She'll beg to serve him. She won't be able to help herself. She already lives for the fuck. She'll die for his fuck. And his attention. And the joy of pleasing him. And the fear of annoying him. All her focus will be on him. She won't eat or sleep or pee without his permission. She won't sulk or whine or cut him off when she wants her way. Her way won't matter. Her only way will be his way.
All he has to do is get her. That's the easiest part. He'll entice her. He's got power and prestige and she likes that. If she didn't, she wouldn't be here right now. She'd be at a playground somewhere pushing a stroller instead of dirty dancing in a room full of people. She might resist. That will only make it more fun. He'll triumph because he is who he is. And because she is who she is, she'll submit. And that will be just the first time she submits to him. She'll spend the rest of her life submitting to him once she takes the first step.
She is standing by herself at the bar. The guy she was dancing with is nowhere to be seen. He’d never leave her alone.
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