The watersports warning applies to this chapter, as well as some more extreme BDSM scenarios.
Thank you again to everyone who's been rating and especially giving feedback on the stories. I appreciate hearing from readers.
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"I'll take it," to the shady salesman of my first car.
"I love you," to my first boyfriend right after he took my virginity.
"I'm game," to my sorority sister when she passed out pills.
All of them are things I shouldn't have said, hallmarks of stupid decisions. I wonder for a day and a half if "I want to be there for it" needs to go on that list.
Where some people look forward to a weekly after-work drink session with their coworkers on Thursday nights, I'm packing an overnight bag, trying to figure out what the appropriate attire is for staying with a multimillionaire in his mansion and interviewing his sex slaves. Some would argue it's "nothing"; he's clearly had no compunction about undressing in front of me; he dropped his pants and started having sex with Alexa with me less than a foot away. He's also said multiple times he's not trying to seduce me. I don't have a reason to disbelieve him; he has three women who willingly and literally bend over for him whenever he wants, most of them with more attractive bodies than mine, at least conventionally. There's the star factor to consider, except it's all but confirmed he enjoyed the full and intimate company of one of the country's top pop stars for a year or more. I'm a local news anchor. On Saturday mornings. Sure it can get me drinks for free with the right crowd, but Talbot's circles are much higher.
Fixating on the clothes is, of course, a distraction. What I don't want to think about is my request, borderline demand, that I be present when he punishes Alexa. I got my instructions from Talbot in a hand-delivered message slipped under my door in the morning. I imagine he gave the doorman a nice bonus to do that. The paper is black with gold embossing on the front saying "Invitation." Inside, the writing is neat, flourishing cursive you don't see outside of period dramas, but I can tell it's been handwritten in silver ink.
They're my instructions for the evening. I'm informed a car will pick me up at 9:00pm and take me to Talbot's house. I have driven myself every other time, and my car was returned by someone after he called a car for me last time, but apparently I'm to be conveyed by carriage.
The note also includes a warning at the bottom.
"You will be delving much deeper into my lifestyle, and my secrets. The realities disturb many people. I can promise you nothing you will see or experience is illegal or dangerous, but it stretches the sensibilities of delicate folk. You have expressed misgivings about your experiences. I can promise you those misgivings will increase. I can also promise that sticking with them, and pushing through them, can open up a new perspective for you. But if you do not wish to embark on that journey, please call the number below. Simply say "cancel order 4878." Everything will be taken care of, and I will bid you a good future. Otherwise, I look forward to seeing you Thursday evening."
My hand stays on my phone for the whole day after receiving that note. I lose count of the times I pull it out. Slightly less often I open my phone app and start dialing. Once I let it ring.
In the end I stand on the curb outside my building, overnight bag with laptop and tablet in hand. I also have a garment bag with the dress from the other evening; there is no way I want to be responsible for keeping that dress. A black towncar pulls up and the driver lets me into the leather upholstered back seat.
It's fully dark by the time I arrive at the mansion. Talbot greets me at the door, which is somewhat different. Every other time I've been met by Rose (her "nothing but an apron" attire had been my first shock of the whole endeavor). Rose does appear to take my things, then he escorts me to the kitchen where there is some cordial and a light snack. The round table brings back a shocking amount of feelings, but this offering isn't served on Alexa's naked body.
We make small talk about some current events. He asks my opinion about some local politics and odd news stories he's come across. He's very adept at meaningless small talk that nonetheless applies directly to my interests. I play along for a while, but the anxiety and the tension builds to a breaking point within me.
Eventually I blurt out, "How did you know my sizes?"
I expect him to be confused and ask for an explanation, but he just smiles slightly. "One of the businesses I owned for a time was a design house. I got close with the head designer. She educated me about sizing and women's garments of all types. Also because of my...personal interests...I've developed a keen ability to size a woman up."
Unspoken between us is the knowledge that "size a woman up" only partly has to do with her figure and measurements.
"We have some business now," Talbot finally says.
I nod and follow him. He leads me down some stairs to a basement. At first it is what I would expect from such a building; dusty, unfinished concrete foundation making up the lower area (the mansion isn't an older one; it was built 50 years ago at most). But then he leads me to a finished wall and unlocks a heavy door. As it swings open, I see the inside is padded.
I walk into a dungeon right out of a BDSM porn set, or the staging for 50 Shades of Grey. Padded walls with deep red upholstery, dark brown wood accents, the occasional full length mirror on the walls, and furniture featuring a lot of rings and chains with leather padding.
"Wait here for me to return," he says.
He leaves me in the room alone. It is eerily quiet; I can tell the room soaks up sound. I have no idea how long he'll be gone so I don't explore, but it isn't hard to guess what I would find if I peek in the drawers and cabinets.
I don't check the time but it isn't too long before the door opens again. Alexa comes in slowly, her head down, her whole posture nervous. Talbot steps in behind her. Alexa glances around skittishly and then notices me and tenses.
"M-master?" she says.
I'm amazed at the difference. Gone is the cocksure, aggressive woman from the other day. I don't even see evidence of the wanton sexpot from the dinner or the party. Alexa is scared. I begin to worry exactly what I asked to be involved in.
"Strip," Talbot says.
Alexa's eyes are still locked on me. If she heard Talbot she doesn't react. That proves to be a grave error.
Talbot's hand snaps out and grabs her by the hair. Her own hands go up to grip his and she whimpers a bit.
"I hope you weren't overly fond of this outfit," Talbot says.
There's a click and I see him holding an imposing fold-out knife in his hand. He places the point in the middle of her back and Alexa goes stock still, as most people would, I think. She came in wearing a sports bra and bicycle shorts like the ones she wore when she visited me before the party. He slides the knife up her back. He only needs to pull the knife a little bit for it to split the bottom seam of her sports bra; the blade must be razor sharp. With the tension gone, her breasts drop a little below the fabric, the curve of her underboob visible now. Keeping a grip on her head, he reaches around and pulls at the bra. She lets her hands fall from his arm so he can pull it off, and then lets them fall at her side. Next he makes a simple cut on the waistband of her shorts. The rest of the shorts are loose enough that they simply fall off when the elastic is severed. Under the shorts, unlike her visit with me, she has on a pretty purple thong with jewels running along the seams.
"M-master-"
"You know the rules," he says.
