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  “Again, why’d you add Sunshine to his name?” Milan repeated, irritated.

  Sumi took in an enthused burst of air. “Well, he’s going to do group sessions. He claims he’s a master at transforming spoiled housewives into obedient and happily submissive housewives.”

  Memories of Gerard formed a cloud over Milan’s face. “How’s he going to achieve that lofty goal? I can’t imagine a pampered housewife being eager to hand over her five-carat tennis bracelet in exchange for a pair of metal handcuffs.”

  “Well, you saw how BodySlam whipped Mrs. Tamburro into shape.”

  “That was different. Her husband forced her into that spanking session. That crackpot was holding a prenup over his wife’s head.” Having had firsthand experience, Milan knew the obscene lengths a woman could go to in order to get her hands on a rich man’s money.

  “Rich husbands are signing up their trophy wives for obedience training,” Sumi clarified.

  Milan shook away the bad memories of Gerard and her scoundrel of an ex-fiancé, Noah Brockington. She drew in a revitalized breath. “Sumi, this is great. Your assistants did all this in less than twenty-four hours?”

  Sumi beamed. “Pretty amazing, huh?”

  “I’m impressed.” Milan tried to infuse cheer in her tone but her melancholy over Maxwell’s disappearance seeped out.

  Sumi’s smile faded. “Are you okay?” Her beautiful eyes grew large with concern.

  “I’m fine,” Milan said tersely, unwilling to share her secret fear that she’d lost her power over her benefactor. Worse, was the trepidation that he was coming after Pure Paradise, guns drawn, salivating with revenge.

  “I have the perfect remedy for what ails you.” Sumi bestowed Milan with a radiant smile.

  “You have nothing to offer me,” Milan blurted, her voice dripping acid. Irritated by Sumi’s uncomplicated existence, she spit more venom. “Why do you think your ancient Chinese remedies can resolve the complex issues in my life?”

  “I’m not Chinese. I’m half Korean,” Sumi fired back. “I don’t appreciate the way you lump all Asians together. It’s disrespectful and very ignorant,” she ranted.

  Before the fiery half-Asian got worked up enough to split Milan’s beautiful desk in two, Milan quickly placated her. “I’m sorry, Sumi…that was rude of me. What exactly did you have in mind?”

  Sumi’s brightened eyes indicated that the storm had passed and all was forgiven. “As I’ve said, my assistants are not only business geniuses, they’re both freaks. Lily can give you an orgasm in the most unusual way.”

  “I know she gives good head. You told me about the assistants’ oral expertise when you hired them.”

  “Lily’s freakier than Harper,” Sumi added.

  Milan was bored but indulged her assistant with a weak smile, half-heartedly encouraging Sumi to continue.

  “If she wasn’t such a great asset to business, I’d put Lily on the new Pure Paradise menu. I’m serious, Milan. Do you want her to give you a demonstration?”

  Milan briefly considered the offer, but decided to decline. After the hard humping she’d gotten from Hilton last night, her libido was sluggish. “I don’t feel like participating. I’ll watch.”

  “Watch? That’s it? I’m shocked because you’re always horny,” Sumi exclaimed, giving Milan a suspicious glance.

  Sumi knew about Milan’s sexual dalliances with Maxwell and Royce, but she didn’t know that Milan was fucking her chauffeur. She believed that her boss hated the cocky former jock and that she only put up with his insubordinate behavior because she’d inherited him from Maxwell and had to honor Maxwell’s promise to Hilton that he’d always have a job.

  “I have a lot on my mind, Sumi. I’ll meet Lily another time.”

  “Milan, Lily is the de-stressor that you need. Trust me on this,” she urged. She winked at Milan and snapped her cell open. “Hi, Lily. I want you to join me in Ms. Walden’s office—ASAP.” Excitedly, she turned to Milan. “Take off your panties, Milan.”

  “No, I said I’m not in the mood. I’m willing to assume the role of voyeur, but that’s it. Lily can demonstrate her talent on you.”

  “Okay. Have it your way. I could go for another big O. I was simply trying to save you the trouble of hastily struggling out of the panties that will, without a doubt, end up on the floor.”

  CHAPTER 12

  With a devilish gleam in her eye, Sumi sat on the settee waiting for Lily to appear. Milan sat behind her desk hugging herself, something she did when she was tense. Her mind was on Maxwell and money. It had been a grievous error to loosen her grip on the man to whom she was financially beholden.

  Sick with fear, Milan had no interest in viewing sex tricks, but hoped that the entertainment might distract her from her disturbing thoughts and keep her mind occupied until Maxwell resurfaced.

  The desk phone rang. Milan grabbed it. Her heart sank further when the receptionist announced Lily’s arrival instead of telling her that she had Maxwell Torrance on the line.

  “Send her in,” Milan said dryly.

  Lily trotted in, quick and proud, like a prize-winning filly. She wore a skimpy tank top and tight jeans that were low-cut, showing off the youthfully taut skin of someone recently out of her teens. Milan gave her a quick, competitive sizing-up, panning from the dark tresses that fell in lustrous waves down her back and around her shoulders to her pointy-toed ankle boots.

  Pilates kept Milan in shape but the nine- or ten-year difference between her and Lily was painfully apparent. Lily didn’t have a drop of makeup on, yet her face was luminous and flawless, her heavy lashes ink black and fluttery. And unlike Milan’s fake butterfly lashes, Lily’s were real.

  Lily was a self-assured, frisky little thing with a pretty, doll-like face, bow-shaped lips, pale porcelain skin, and large brilliant blue eyes. Slim and curvy, the hot little number was only about five feet tall with a tinier waistline than Sumi’s, small rounded hips, and disproportionately large and jutting breasts. Stung by instant breast envy, Milan consoled herself with the fact that Lily’s boobs looked like jugs—too large and totally unrealistic. The little bitch had probably been cursed with pitiful breasts as small as Milan’s.

  As if Milan and Sumi were paying patrons at a titty bar, the brazen little heifer pulled off her snug-fitting top without prompting and flung it to the lush carpeted floor. She was braless, yet her giant, pink-tipped, white torpedoes, needing no support, sat up high and proud. Apparently feeling that going topless was a sufficient exhibition, Lily kept on her jeans. Milan made a mental note to tell Sumi to inform her assistant that tank tops and jeans were not appropriate attire in the workplace.

  Lily threw her head back, arched her back, and fondled her ample bosom. Sumi was drawn to her feet and moved toward her as if magnetized. Though also petite, Sumi was several inches taller than Lily. She ducked her head and softly brushed her lips against each rosy areola. She delivered a series of quick, moist kisses to the rosy tips and then, as if afraid of overindulging, she abruptly abandoned Lily’s breasts for her lips.

  The two women kissed, gently at first, and then with more ardor. Their arms tightened around each other, their bodies swaying together, lips locked in a deep kiss.

  Sumi and Lily obviously had the hots for each other. Milan wasn’t jealous in the least, but she refused to be a captive audience to this lustful exhibition. Making her watch was most likely getting the two freaks off. Averting her gaze, she became lost in thought. Her mind began to wander until it found its way back to her miserable predicament. Maxwell! Who would have ever thought he’d be out to get her! She emitted a soft sigh. Why, oh why, did I banish him? His fortune would be still within my grasp if I’d only allowed an hour or two of shoe-licking pleasure.

  A sudden shrill cry caught Milan’s attention. No longer feisty, Lily looked like a fragile creature, standing still with her arms hanging helplessly at her sides, her head thrown back as if in ecstasy while Sumi viciously twisted her nipples until they becam
e extremely elongated and hardened into fleshy cones.

  Milan’s mouth fell open and remained that way for several moments as she watched Lily come out of her trance and grasp Sumi by the shoulders, leading her backward toward the settee. Lying on her back with her knees spread and squirming, Sumi uttered anguished moans while Lily gripped one of her big pointy titties, crouched between Sumi’s legs, and penetrated her with her unnaturally large and conical nipple. Like a big dick with a pointed glans, the firm, torpedo-sized breast glided in and out of Sumi’s tight cunt.

  It was an intriguing sight, sending a succession of shivers knifing through Milan’s coochie. And as Sumi had warned, Milan’s juices overflowed, soaking through her panty crotch and wetting the seat of her chair.

  Her first impulse was to sound the alarm and call on Royce, but Milan was so entranced her finger could not find its way to the emergency button that would alert Royce and send him rushing to her aid. Besides, she didn’t want what Royce had to offer. She wanted what Sumi was getting—a silicone titty fuck. Before she made her needs known, Sumi helped Lily out of her tight jeans and she and her assistant switched positions on the settee.

  Lily was now on her back with Sumi straddling her chest, talking dirty in Korean, using her snapping pussy to nip at the tip of Lily’s coned breast. Extremely limber from years of studying martial arts, Sumi reached behind her back. Without missing a beat, she doubled Lily’s pleasure, giving her a severe finger-fuck, her probing finger working its way deeply inside Lily’s cunt. Meeting Sumi’s finger thrust, Lily’s hips jutted forward, her body undulating as though it was liquid. Meanwhile, Sumi’s tight little pussy bit and twisted Lily’s flushed nipples, giving her lucky new assistant immense pleasure.

  None too pleased that she’d been left out, Milan squirmed in sexual agitation as she swallowed the lump of yearning that formed in her throat. She preferred another session with Hilton’s good dick but would settle for getting her kitty licked by her security guard. Then it occurred to her that Royce’s lumbering ass would take forever to leave his post, ride the elevator, and trudge down to her office to put out her fire. Desperate, she started yanking open desk drawers, looking for a dildo, a vibrator—something to masturbate with. All she found was files and folders. In the middle drawer, she eyeballed a foot-long ruler, gave a lingering glance to a plump pen, but refused to stoop that low.

  Then a light bulb went off inside her mind. She rooted through her creamy tan leather handbag and located the phallic-shaped bottle of Japanese perfume. French manicured fingers caressed the frosted glass and then she slid the container in and out of her vagina until she felt a familiar rush of heat.

  Ever the businesswoman, though she was hanging at the edge of an orgasm, Milan reminded herself to tout the dual appeal of the heady Japanese fragrance to her patrons…the marvelous scent and the convenient fuckability of the phallic-like container.

  Aiming upward, Milan located her hidden spot and pressed the smooth rounded perfume cap against her G-spot until she felt the big bang. One right after the other, the three women climaxed. A medley of high-pitched sounds denoting feminine release filled the executive office. Sucking in a shivering gasp of air, Milan dropped her head, resting it on the desk.

  With sexual relief came a soft peacefulness. A clear mind came next. And then enlightenment, so luminous it caused Milan’s head to jerk up. She looked around her office. Lily and Sumi were gone, having left behind the heavy aroma of pussy and a whisper of perfume. Milan was grateful for the solitude. Her revelation required privacy.

  Call it feminine intuition, gut instinct, or clairvoyance, but it was suddenly crystal clear that Maxwell had made a personal visit to Veronique’s dungeon. Milan knew with certainty that within a brief matter of minutes, the seasoned dominatrix had sized Maxwell up. The pasty ghoul smelled money and recognized prey. With her twisted and sadistic mind, Veronique had lured Maxwell into the type of captivity his warped heart had been longing for.

  Sure, Milan had treated him miserably, abused him in the only way she knew how, dispensing verbal and emotional humiliation on a regular basis. In hindsight, Maxwell’s impertinence had gotten out of hand. He’d been silently pleading to be taken to task. But she was not a trained dominatrix and admittedly, she’d grown lazy, never bothering to improve her performance or dress in an appropriate dominatrix wardrobe. She owned no sexy leather lingerie, no zippered latex, and no intimidating chains dangled from her body, clinking and clanging, announcing her menacing approach.

  She’d never reprimanded Maxwell with heavy lashes from a cane or whip, nor had she bothered to learn how to skillfully utilize the metal torture devices that she kept on hand and displayed on the lower level, role-playing fantasy room. The numerous devices were merely for show, promising pain and heightening the torture chamber ambience. Sure she’d practiced paddling Royce, but it was more to humiliate him and keep him humbled than to actually cause pain. She was a fraudulent mistress and had been bullshitting Maxwell all along. But now that he’d had a taste of the real thing, how could Milan compete? She wrung her hands in despair.

  Holding her chin up, she vowed that the gaunt and ghastly Veronique would not win her prize. She’d rack her brains until she figured out a way get her billionaire out of the hands of that vicious, ugly, and undeserving hag. Pronto!

  CHAPTER 13

  Though she would have preferred to order her dominatrix wardrobe online, there really wasn’t time. Maxwell was prime chattel and it was imperative that she retrieve her valuable possession from the gnarled hands of Veronique, an undeserving and horribly unattractive shrew. Milan would have to act fast if she expected to regain custody of her wayward slave.

  Inside a dimly lit sex paraphernalia shop on Walnut Street in downtown Philly, Milan tried on quite a few outfits: a lace-up leather corset, a very revealing leather-strapped teddy, a ribbon-trimmed spandex bustier, a studded leather thong and matching pushup bra, black lace-topped fishnet stockings, stilettos, and thigh-length rubber boots.

  Feeling vampish in a black and pink plastic outfit with full-length gloves, Milan sauntered up to the counter and plopped the other items on the glass countertop.

  “Need some props? A whip…cat o’ nine tails?” the creepy-looking, elephant-eared clerk asked, his eyes twinkling with sexual mischief as they darted toward a display of whipping devices.

  “No, I don’t need any of that.” She had more than enough flogging implements in the paddling room at Pure Paradise.

  “How about a paddle? A lot of fellas enjoy the sting of a good paddling,” the salesclerk recommended, practically frothing at the mouth, his big ears seeming to flap with excitement.

  Refusing to be to be lured into fulfilling the creep’s lust for dirty talk, Milan wrinkled her nose as if something stank. Pulling out a credit card, she scrunched up her lips, intensifying her expression of disgust. Pervert!

  Loaded down with six bags of new dominatrix gear including a studded leather glove the creepy clerk had coerced her into purchasing, she exited the shop wearing a pair of “you know you want to fuck me” heels and the shiny, pink-cupped, black plastic dress.

  On point and professional, Hilton got out of the Rolls and relieved her of her bags. He didn’t bat an eye at her brazen and outlandish attire.

  “Where to?” he asked, closing the back door and returning to the driver’s seat.

  Veronique’s so-called “dungeon” was actually housed inside a plush downtown loft. Calling it a “lair” would have been more appropriate. “Eighteenth and Arch,” she absently instructed as she flipped through the pages of Dominatrix for Dullards, a yellow-covered, quickie how-to guide. She could have kicked herself for not reading the manual and mastering the techniques back when she first acquired Maxwell.

  At that very moment, Sumi, Lily, and Harper were orchestrating the transformation of Milan’s basement into a fully equipped dungeon. Milan had considered taking an online crash course in dominatrix training, but changed her mind. She’d rely
on her rage and fury to persuade her into cracking a whip across Maxwell’s ass. His reckless disappearing act had jeopardized her sense of financial security and for that transgression, Maxwell would be shown no mercy.

  There was nothing like the fear of losing one’s assets to get the creative juices flowing. At least a dozen devious ways to inflict pain flitted across Milan’s mind. Once her runaway sex slave was back in her grasp, Milan intended to flog and torture him for hours.

  “Mr. Torrance is in apartment 1224. Tell him his true mistress is waiting inside the car,” Milan told Hilton. “If he’s hesitant about leaving, inform him that he’s displeased me and—” she groped for harsh and threatening words—“tell him I said to get his ass downstairs, immediately.” She’d worked herself up and her nostrils flared as she heaved in angry breaths of air.

  “Yes, Ms. Walden.”

  Milan made a mental note to give Hilton a raise after she’d reclaimed her goods. His humble and professional behavior was greatly appreciated during this very tense and critical time. She felt charmed that he could forgo his cockiness and put her interests first. But then again, Hilton wasn’t stupid. His own survival instincts had kicked in, alerting him that Milan’s loss would affect his lifestyle as well. A two-to-three-hour-a-day job that paid the salary of a ten-hour day, with sexual perks, was nothing to sneer at.

  Her desire for Hilton was simmering and not boiling over. The threat of losing money kept her libido in check.

  Only Hilton could look stately in a chauffeur’s uniform and cap. Striding proudly, he proceeded to the entrance of Mistress Veronique’s high-rise building and then disappeared inside.

  “Please don’t let me be too late,” Milan whispered as if in prayer. For all she knew, Mistress Veronique could have seduced and tortured Maxwell into transferring his entire fortune to a Swiss bank account in her name. Oh God! She felt so vulnerable. And feeling helpless made her mad as hell.