Eric Johannsen lived in a penthouse in the Buckhead area of Atlanta. It was not an overly tall building, but it was convenient and he liked it. There were two floors that he owned at the top that were solely for him, his family, and a few friends. He had two grown sons who occasionally stayed there, both of whom were involved in the family business. He had a female chauffeur, Lydia, who was sleek and blonde and very protective of his privacy.
The rooms on the top floor were mostly for parties or family gatherings. The rooms opened onto a terrace that was lined by trees, all moved by crane at great expense. There was a pool where he could swim without having pitying eyes look at his legs, and a small lawn with flowers at the edges. It was peaceful, a garden in the midst of a city, and he enjoyed it.
The floor below held his rooms, baths, guest rooms, kitchen, and a place for his therapist to give him a private workout, or for a massage. He could take an elevator to the floors below and enter directly from his suites to his office, or even enter the boardroom privately.
When he had answered Anthony's call, he had been overseas, so it had taken a few days for the message to reach him, that he was needed. He remembered the girl, so petite and fiery, lovely, so willing...
After flying home, therefore, he'd gone immediately to the rescue, and indeed, the whole group had come with him: Anna, Anthony, Mama San and Auntie K. The twins had finally decided to go to California and try their luck with the movies. Eric was betting that he knew what kind.
He'd put the four into two guest rooms, with strict orders to his guards who were allowed in his private quarters to make sure they stayed away from Shawn.
Shawn, he kept near him.
She'd been very sore at first, tired. He'd had his own doctor check her and ignored the raised eyebrows. The stings had been treated. Eric had thanked Anthony.
Eric was also convinced that there was more to this little group, and Shawn, than they were telling. He'd encouraged them to stay as his guests for a while, and they'd accepted. It seemed to him as though the Mistress, Anna, was a little nervous. Interesting. Eric did love a good mystery.
Shawn had rested and begun to recover quickly. He was curious about her. She didn't talk. Couldn't? Or wouldn't? or -- some trauma? He was intrigued.
But the fieriness he'd remembered had returned fully, and he did enjoy that so much. The look on Lydia's face! Priceless. He grinned to himself.
About two weeks after he'd brought Shawn and her group to his penthouse, Shawn had apparently begun feeling well enough to masturbate. He'd watched her, quietly, a voyeur more than twice her age, at least, as she had stroked herself.
A few days after that, he'd brought her into the boardroom with him. He'd been alone, and the outer doors were locked. Eric had called a friend and invited him to lunch.
Shawn was wearing a little cutaway black leather jacket; its sides only 2 or so inches under her armpits, full length sleeves, the front cut open. The small flaps of leather only brushed the beginnings of the sides of her breasts. She wore a black leather collar; she had on black sheer lace gloves with no fingers, just the palms and wrists covered, though the wrists had leather cuffs in place.
The same sheer black lace was used for her hose, thigh high, with the tiniest of black dots embroidered here and there in the silkiness of the hose. Black pumps with heels to kill for, and ankle cuffs. A single gold chain around her waist, fine and strong. It glittered around her waist when she moved.
David was 57 and an old friend. He arrived for lunch, cheerful and glad to see Eric again. They shook hands, and Eric called out for Shawn.
"Wait til you see this, David." Eric motioned for Shawn. She walked over to him and leaned against him, her left arm around his neck and shoulders. His right arm curled around her waist, and her right hand went over his. His hand moved down a little until his hand was on her right hip. She eyed David, unembarrassed.
David whistled. "What? Where the hell -- Eric!" he laughed and shook his head.
"Come on," Eric waved him over. "Take a closer look."
David moved over almost timidly. Eric tsked.
"Shawn, he's shy. Help him out."
She moved away from Eric slowly and went to David, who stood still, watching. She took one of his hands and placed it on her hip, and took the other and pulled it to her breast. He breathed in deeply.
"Oh damn."
"At least," chuckled Eric. He wheeled closer.
David shook his head. "Go on back to Eric," he said, smiling. She smiled back and returned to Eric's side.
"I want to ask you to take a look at her, David."
"I just did!" David pulled out a chair and sat down.
"No, I mean her mind." David was a neurosurgeon. Eric explained about Shawn's inability to talk. "I want to know if she can't talk, or if it's some kind of trauma. Also -- " Eric rolled a little closer. "I tried teaching her some letters, David. She grabbed her head and started shaking it, like it hurt, a lot."
