Saturday, February 4, 2017

The Portfolio



I stepped up to the front door and rang the bell, my weight shifting from one foot to the other as I waited. It was the heels I was wearing, the five inches of lift forcing each foot into a delicate, visually stunning arch while making both my feet and back ache. The portfolio book Kari had given me forty minutes before was in my right hand, heavy and cumbersome, no doubt filled to the brim with drawings and material samples. As the seconds ticked by I had to remind myself that the house itself was huge, with eight bedrooms, four and a half baths, a stroke pool, spa and even a sauna. More of a mansion really, than a house. If Mr. Darsten happened to be on the other side of the massive floorplan, it could literally take him a minute or two to get to the front door. The last time I’d been there I’d joked that he needed one of those Segway scooters, just to get from the master bath to his bedroom.

I smoothed down my dress. I hadn’t been expecting to get sent out on errands when I’d slipped into my attire that morning. Of course Kari had bought the outfit, not to mention requested me to wear it, so it wasn’t like I had a choice. She purchased all of my so called “work clothes”. I was grateful, but I sometimes wished that they all didn’t go a few steps beyond risqué and venture into the “almost pornographic” category. The top half of my dress was nothing but two strips of sheer white fabric barely covering my full breasts and the gold piercings and padlock that decorated my nipples were obscenely in view. So were the full, pink circles of my areola. I’d driven to work with one arm wrapped around my top, just to keep other drivers from getting a glimpse of something that made them want to get a second look - thus causing a wreck.

The skimpy top half of the dress then melded into the bottom, which was a mix of black and white, again in long panels, that went down mid-calf. I liked the length, but none of the panels were connected, leaving every swing of my leg literally stepping out of the dress itself, exposing an indecent amount of skin. I had to be careful too. Large steps could show way more than I’d have preferred.

I glanced back over my shoulder. The yard was brown, thanks to the south Texas winter, which was at that particular moment a comfortable seventy-four degrees and I took a deep breath. If Mr. Darsten was actually home, I could drop this off and I’d be done for the day. No more humiliation sitting in the front of Kari’s office. No more stimulation enduring one of Kari’s sex toys. Just me. I could get out of the ridiculous, sexually suggestive outfit and into blue jeans and a tee shirt, or maybe gym shorts. Yeah. Gym shorts…

I heard the door open behind me. I whirled and Mr. Darsten stood there, his penetrating brown eyes taking in my outfit. I felt the blush creep across my cheeks. He’d done the same thing two weeks before when I’d come out with Kari to do the initial evaluation. Of course the outfit I was wearing then wasn’t quite as indecent as the I had on now, but it had some suggestive elements that left little to the imagination. It hadn’t helped that I’d been stuffed with a vibrator that day either. My hips hadn’t stood still a single moment and he’d certainly noticed my indiscretion. Cumming in front of other people, even quietly, isn’t the sort of thing they forget.

I swallowed, then smiled with nervous embarrassment. “I’m sorry to disturb you Mr. Darsten. I’m not sure if you remember me but my name is…”

“Breanne. You are Kari Ander’s assistant,” he said both promptly and with a smile. “How could I possible forget you? Come in, come in. I presume you’ve brought some of the initial designs?” His eyes flickered down from my chest to the leather portfolio case in my hand.

I grinned. I guess he did remember me. But then, considering he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off me the day I’d walked around behind Kari, dressed in the stiletto heels, black mini skirt, and white button up blouse with my breasts threatening at every moment to pop what few buttons had been left on the shirt, I can kind of understand it.

I held up the portfolio case. “Yes sir. I have it right here.”

He backed up and gestured, a polite, welcoming motion of the hand and I stepped into his home. No Segway. He must have walked. Mr. Darsten was in his late fifties, his hair shot with silver, and he had a warm, engaging smile. I had no idea what he did for a living, but whatever it was had served him well. His home was huge and filled with art. In fact, that’s what Kari had been hired to handle. He’d wanted one room turned into something resembling a gallery. In a cave. With a water feature. Not easy, but something my best friend and boss could easily handle. He led me down the hall and to the left. I expected him to show me into one of the sitting rooms, but instead he walked me through the massive great room in the center of the house and then to the dining room. The table was designed to seat at least twelve and I had a pretty good suspicion that sixteen could have feasted easily enough. Had I been laid out like a buffet, tied end to end I wouldn’t have stretched across more than half of it.

“Here, just put it there,” he said, pointing at the table.

I nodded and lifted the case. It was leather and easily the size of a brief case, with a heavy metal zipper down along the side. As I put it down I noticed him staring at me.

“Mr. Darsten?” I asked. “Is everything alright?”

He blinked and looked up at my face. I’m actually used to that. Many men seem to become focused on my chest. Sometimes it baffles me, since I’m not exactly sporting a pair of double d’s here. I’m a “pair of grapefruits” only, which is hardly something to get excited about unless you’re about to give them a good whipping.

“What?” He said suddenly. “Oh. Yes. I’m sorry. I just got distracted.”

I smiled again, the heat of my blush going down my neck this time. “I’m sorry if I’m causing you any undue distress sir.” I apologized. I didn’t say for what, though I would have thought that obvious. Gosh. I’m sorry for walking into your house dressed like a hooker?  Gosh, I’m sorry that my physical presence is making you think of throwing me down on your expensive table and fucking my brains out?

My open-ended apology made his eyes narrow in confusion. But then he took the gentleman’s way out.

“Distress? On the contrary, I’m just an old man graced to be in the presence of a very attractive young woman.”

Well, there was no chance my blushing cheeks were going to go back to normal. Not after that. I bit my lip and took a deep breath. I couldn’t help noticing that his eyes had gone right back to the white covered mounds with the gold tips at the front of my dress. I turned a little way and bent over the table, my fingers finding the zippers of the portfolio. Without my breasts to look at, I hoped that he was focusing on what I was doing, but a quick glance back told me I was out of luck. Evidently my ass was way more interesting.

Still, when I opened the case his natural curiosity and superior human intellect took over. Life isn’t just about procreation. Or recreation for that matter. He’d hired us… okay… he’d hired Kari… to do a job and he was understandably curious about what she intended. Here were some design options for him to look over. All I had to do was stand there, answer any immediate questions to the best of my ability and refer him to Kari for the tough stuff. I unfolded the case and laid it out.

And froze.

The contents were mostly what I was expecting. There were some preliminary drawings, two or three in colored pencil, along with some magazine clippings. There were some pictures too of various rock structures, waterfalls, even some fountains. None of this was out of the ordinary and I’d been expecting it. Hell, I’d sat there watching as she’d put much of it together. But there was one item there on the very first page that made my mouth run dry and my pussy run wet. I blinked, trying to figure out a way to ignore it. Maybe he’d just think it was an office product, like a paper clip, or a binder clamp or… or…

“What’s this?” Mr. Darsten asked, pointing at the eight inch long steel chain. I stifled the groan that threatened to escape my throat and I shifted my weight again, not because of the heels, but because of my body’s usual reaction to situations like this. I licked my lips, trying to figure out what to say. I reached down and pinched open the alligator clamp that hung on the left of the drawing, then unclipped the other side. Now he could see the illustration without impediment.

“Oh,” I said nonchalantly. “That’s uh… that’s for me.” I took the chain and cupped it in my palm, hiding it away.

He blinked, clearly inquisitive. “May I see it?” He asked.

I bit my lip, but nodded. I held it out and let one end drop. Close examination would make it obvious that it wasn’t something we picked up from Office Depot.

“Curious,” he said, running the chain through his hands until the electrician’s clamps on either end were held between his fingers. He stretched the chain outward as I turned toward him. “What is this for?” He asked.

It might have been rhetorical. But then again it might not have been. I’m many things, but one thing I’m not is a liar. Oh sure, I may exaggerate - especially in my writing because I’m not only going from memory, which is far from reliable, especially when remembering the exact order of how some sadistic dominatrix attached clothespins to your sensitive parts, or what I said while screaming in orgasmic ecstasy. But for the most part, I like to keep things straight in my head. And that means being open and honest.

“It’s uh… jewelry,” I blurted. “For me. Kari must have felt that I’d want it.” I held out my hand. “If you’ll give it back I’ll put it away.”

His eyes narrowed skeptically. “Jewelry?”

I looked away, getting even more uncomfortable. “Yes sir.”

He smiled. “You don’t have to put it away. In fact, I’d love to see it on.”

I didn’t physically flinch, but emotionally I did. Half of me wanted to run while the other half wanted to pull open the white fabric covering my tits. Instead I blushed furiously, this time with the heat creeping all the way down to my chest.

“I’m… I’m not quite sure it’s appropriate sir,” I whispered.

He held up the chain, almost as if he already knew exactly where the clamps were going to go.

His head swung to the side. “It’s not appropriate? How so?” He asked innocently.

I licked my lips, then made the decision. I brought my hands up and for a second I think he believed I was going to take the clamps and chain from him. He pulled back. Instead I put my fingers against the hollow of my throat. My eyes were locked on his, but he wasn’t looking at my face. Oh God no. My fingers slid downward along the sides of the white panels, but where they billowed outward to enfold my breasts, I stayed straight, pulling on the material. It wasn’t elastic or even stretchable, and as I drew my fingers down to each nipple the cloth covering my bosom had no choice but to yield. Mr. Darsten’s eyes widened slightly as my nails got to the center of each breast and I felt a tingle of excitement, my nipples hardening instantly. I drew the material outward, which had the added effect of pushing my breasts together and making an impressively dark cleavage.

“You can put them on me now, sir.” I said softly. “Behind the piercings, please.”

For a long moment neither of us moved. He stared at my exposed breasts, the nipples hard and wanting, pierced with gold hoops, the right side further weighted by the gold padlock emblazoned with a black enameled rose with gilded petals. Soon the only thing I could sense was the deep, chest lifting breaths and the beat of my heart. Then, slowly both clamps opened, his fingers squeezing the ends tight.

My lips opened and a little shudder of expectation just made the whole thing sweeter. Slowly Mr. Darsten’s hands got closer and closer. I felt a light tremble as the excitement rushed through me and I gasped a little as the cold metal grazed my flesh. Finally he let the steel toothed jaws close on the pink tips with a sigh of satisfaction.

From him. I on the other hand gasped as shards of pain burst at the tip of each breast, shot through to my heart, found my spine, and then went straight down to the sodden swamp between my legs. I groaned, not even realizing that I’d thrust my hips forward lewdly. Every part of my body seemed to vibrate with need and I had no idea that just the act of having my nipples pinched and clamped could be so… so… so exotically vibrant.

He let go, letting his thumbs graze my nipples and the weight of the chain pulled down on my chest. I took another deep breath, more pain shooting through my body and I looked up at him, meeting his gaze. I could feel the tingling throb already beginning as my heart labored to push blood into my steel bitten nipples, but it was nothing compared to the throbbing need I felt between my legs.

I took another deep breath, then nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

The words seemed to shatter the spell and he blinked, tearing his eyes away from my clamped tits. “Uh… yes. I mean… very nice.”

I tilted my head sideways. “Does it please you?” I asked.

He grinned. “It does indeed. But I have to ask. Doesn’t it hurt?” He glanced down at the clamp on my left nipple.

I nodded. “A bit sir. But these clamps aren’t as bad as my clover clamps. Those hurt much worse.”

That made his eyes widen slightly. “Oh. So you like it?”

I bit my lip. How to explain? Did I confess that part of me hated it, the exposure, the pain, the humiliation of it? That some little innocent, good, more wholesome aspect of my personality cringed and cried, thrust into some tiny little closet to be tortured every time I was subjected to something like this? Or did I try to articulate how the demon inside me needed to be fed, fed on the tears of that sweet, innocent little girl in the closet? Could I even make sense of how her humiliation, her pain, her abuse only made the demon’s arousal stronger, more powerful, and how when satisfaction came it was her suffering that made it all worthwhile? Could I explain the dichotomy of that relationship?

I licked my lips. “Yes sir. It turns me on.”

He thought about that for a moment. “I see.” He said nothing else and the silence stretched out until it became uncomfortable. Finally I straightened, my nipples throbbing, but I didn’t cover them up. Instead I turned back toward the portfolio. I had a presentation to give.

I began laying out the pictures. They were beautiful. Kari really had a gift and Mr. Darsten dutifully looked at each and every one. He even asked a few good question, some of which I had to politely defer to Kari. But through it all there was the unspoken fact that my breasts, clamped and bare and hanging like ripe fruit in front of him, were ever present and waiting.

Close to finishing the presentation, I turned the last page of the portfolio. Kari usually placed material worksheets in the back and once more I froze. Mr. Darsten didn’t say anything, but his hand reached forward and picked up the small leather paddle that had been stuck between the estimates, one detailing the cost of stone, the other of textured concrete. My mouth went dry as my eyes widened and he held up the sap, studying it, trying to discern its purpose. It was short and rectangular, with a flexible pad of ebony colored leather. A shrewd eye might have seen the faint discoloration, the stains marking the leather, wetness absorbed from repeated beatings. The handle was a rich, dark wood, rounded and smooth, the perfect width and knobby shape for being held firmly by the hand, or to be slid deep into a waiting, wet receptacle.

His eyes shifted toward me and I could tell he was trying not to grin. “I presume this is yours as well?”

Another blush. I was getting good at it.

Was the sap mine? I suppose one could argue that point of view. I’d felt its bite more times than I could possibly recount. It had tasted my flesh, kept abreast, and struck my very soles. It had loved me and hated me and hurt me and penetrated me. I’d touched every part of it but never held it. But how could I explain this to the man in front of me? There was such depth here.

“Yes sir. It’s mine,” I whispered. “But not as its wielder. Only as its target.”

He studied my expression, seeing both my reluctance and hunger. I could feel the wetness of my arousal sliding down my thighs and I didn’t even realize that I’d pressed my pubis against the edge of his table, grinding in need.

“I see,” he said softly. He held the sap up and tipped it forward until the soft, flexible leather edge rested upon one of my clamped nipples. “And what part, exactly, has been the target?” He lifted the sap away from my breast, then let it fall softly. The impact was physically light, only the barest of taps, even though my nipple was already clamped, sensitive, and turgid. But inside me, spiritually, it was a blow that could fell the strongest will. I let out a short gasp, my entire body trembling and I reached up to my shoulders. Our eyes met and his gaze burrowed into my soul, stripping away the simplistic truths, unraveling my thoughts and words until I was left with nothing but deeds. My hands slipped, catching the shoulder straps of the dress. And the whole thing fell free, dropping to the floor around my high heels.

“Every part, sir,” I said softly. I reached out with both hands, but while my right found the hand holding the leather sap, my other found the growing bulge in his trousers. I pushed his hand back, lifting the little paddle from my breast.

“Please sir? Please?” I begged, pleading. “Please use me? Please hurt me? Please take me?”

His hand twitched and a look of indecision crossed his face. “This is what you want? You like this?”

Did I want it? To be paddled, hurt, abused and used? Finally. I sighed in relief, my eyes brightening, my mouth curling up into a smile. I leaned backward and put my palms down on the table behind me, even as I spread my feet wide, the high heels clicking on the floor, exposing the dripping petals of my slit. His eyes feasted upon my body even as my expression changed into one of sultry, seductive, provocative irresistibility. The words formed on my lips as I offered myself up. This time there were no half-truths, no obfuscations.

“Yes,” I said assuredly. “Oh yes. I want this. Whatever you want to do to me. Use the paddle, smack my breasts, my pussy, my bottom. Touch me, clamp me, pinch me, hurt me. I’m yours.” Then I closed my eyes, lifted my chin, and held my breath. The leather sap swung downward. I heard it. Then came the sharp sting and my breast was smashed flat for just a moment. The alligator clamp twisted and I cried out, knees buckling slightly as the pain rushed through me. I gasped and straightened, totally expecting another stroke. But Mr. Darsten stood there, his face flushed with excitement, hand raised, but frozen.

Our eyes met and I could see a slight uncertainty in his eyes. He was unsure. Had he done to much? Was I going to yell and scream and run? Was the naked girl in front of him really the kind of woman who enjoyed being abused?

I smiled and the disquiet left his eyes. The corners of his mouth curled upward and we looked at each other, one of us dressed, one of us naked, both of us needing.

“Where next?” He asked, wiggling the leather sap.

I moved my foot even further out, my soft, pink folds wet and desperate. My clit seemed to swell with need, peeking out of the clitoral hood with urgency. I gave him another steamy, sultry smirk.

“Where ever you want, sir,” I said. “But that sap works better, when you’ve gotten it a little bit wet.”  I brought one hand forward and traced a line down from the chain clinging to my nipples, around my belly button and down to my soaked slit. I pushed a finger in, pumping eagerly, only to pull it out and put it in my mouth. His eyes widened.

“You’d like that?” He asked as he brought the sap downward to his hip.

I had to put my hand back down on the table, but I nodded. “It’s not about what I like, but what you’d like. But if you really want to know… then yes. Yes please. Right there.” I closed my eyes, chest panting with the stress, the pressure, the urgency. Had I communicated properly? Had I explained how this all worked? Were there doubts? Questions? Concerns? Did he…

The leather paddle swung upward and smashed hard into my pussy. Shards of light and agony burst through me and I cried out in sexual perfection, hips thrusting, pumping wildly. The sap smacked me again and I lost it, whimpering and moaning, reveling in the sweet sensation, rough and smooth, light and dark, innocence and desire. I opened my eyes.

“It’s wet now,” Mr. Darsten said, holding the sap. He was tense, his body straining and I could tell that he needed to fuck me. “But I don’t know what to do. I want to use this, all over your body, in every nook and cranny, until you’re so mindless with need and hurt that you beg me to fuck you. And I want you now, I want to throw you down on this table and just ram myself into you. I’ve never felt this torn in my life,” he admitted.

I twisted and pushed the portfolio down the massive table, clearing a space. Then I hopped up, spreading my legs, laying back. He watched me wildly, hungrily, like a cheetah prepared to spring, like a wild boar thinking of charging. Then, knees bent and spread, my pussy there at the edge, dripping onto the wooden table top, I said the only thing I could, the only thing that would encompass everything he was feeling.
 
 


Our eyes met and I licked my lips. The hell with gym shorts or blue jeans. This was what I was meant for. Mr. Darsten looked at me, every fiber of his being wanting something that I could give him. He didn’t have to choose. Not when I could do it for him. I crooked a single finger and motioned him closer. One step. And another, until he was there, right there, inches away. Then I spoke the words we each needed to hear.

“Why not do both?”

Gregory Darsten smiled, one hand unbuckling his pants even as he lifted the soaked leather sap up high.

And both is what he did.