Chapter Two
After that raining night in May, Nicolette never returned to her hole-in-the-wall apartment near NYU or lived with her parents again. Stephen promptly hired a tow service to haul Felicity's totaled rattletrap of a vehicle to a local wrecking garage for disposal and a moving crew gather up Felicity and Nicolette's belongings. By the following weekend, the two females had moved lock, stock, and barrel into his two homes. And Nicolette, that nasty dominatrix, immediately set about constructing her elaborate torture chamber in his Pocono Mountains' retreat. Ordered via the Internet and charged to Stephen's platinum credit card, items that required inconspicuous brown packaging began flowing in daily. And, although the items were addressed to Stephen, the contents belonged to Mistress Nicolette.
Upon hearing the news that Stephen wanted to marry his daughter, Nicolette's father tossed aside his doctorate decorum and reverted to his redneck ways, taking off his leather belt and beating Stephen off his Pocono Mountains' property. While Stephen could find no humor in remembering it, Nicolette would explode in fits of uncontrollable laughter at the slightest mention of the incident. The image of the middle-aged billionaire screaming and running for his life, being chased by a violently cursing middle-aged baby doctor struck most of Nicolette's silly girlfriends as hysterical too. Perhaps in time, Stephen thought he might feel the same way, but the feel of leather against his retreating buttocks was still too vivid.
A few weeks after the whipping incident, Nicolette's parents cooled down enough to meet Stephen in Manhattan for litchi martinis and a long, lecturing conversation. In the end, they acknowledged there was nothing they could do about the relationship. And, while Nicolette's mother, his ex-girlfriend, still turned his heart to jelly, Stephen resisted the urge to melodramatically confess his feelings. It was relatively easy to do, given that she was distant and cold to him now. Stephen wasn't an unscrupulous man, and his ex-girlfriend's animosity stirred up immeasurable guilt. For weeks, in the dark, in his sleep, his moral conscious would speak, and he would wake up, shaking, his sheets drenched with sweat. His stomach would be churning and he would make haste for the toilet, ridding himself of that evening's dinner. After a while he grew comfortable with himself again and the anxiety attacks ceased.
Since the evening he had become entangled in sadomasochism, Stephen spent numerous hours researching the topic to better understand the Nicolette and Felicity's bizarre relationship. And, many of his inherit realization regarding Nicolette were validated. In normal sadomasochistic relationships, the submissive had a word she used to let the dominant know the pain level had slipped into unbearable, but Nicolette provided Felicity no such outlet, and any protest from the slave drove Nicolette from sadist to the brink of murderess. Far and few between were the times he heard Felicity complain to Nicolette about the treatment, and Stephen had to accept that Nicolette's relationship with Felicity was more willing human toy than submissive. The person who should have had the control, Felicity, had none, and Nicolette's control meant that the treatment was too often dangerous. Stephen remembered when, arriving home from work one evening, he found Felicity alone in the Manhattan brownstone; bound so tight with ropes that her arms and breasts had turned blue. He didn't know how long Nicolette had been away, but she didn't return for another two hours. Then, to his horror, she began to rant and rave at him for unbinding Felicity! When he attempted to explain the dangers involved in leaving a bound person alone, Nicolette refused to listen. But, while she never admitted making the poor judgment decision, she also never repeated the performance. But, the binding incident was just one of many insanely dangerous stunts Nicolette pulled toward Felicity.
The outside world didn't know of Nicolette's slave any more than they knew Nicolette's true personality. The old adage about a man wanting a lady when the sun is up and a whore when it goes down fit Stephen perfectly. As Nicolette had predicted, he enjoyed showing her off at upscale, uptight, upper West Side soirees. She was knowledgeable on a variety of subjects, from world politics to celebrity sightings and everything in between. With her genius intelligence, she easily mingled with the wealthy executives' wives, and Stephen quickly realized that she took sadistic sexual pleasure manipulating the socialites, 'the ladies who lunch', with her false personification. Beneath demure designer dresses, she wore no panties and was virtually dripping wet from the sadistic manipulation. After the parties were through and the door closed on their chauffeur-driven stretch limousine, Nicolette would demand nasty sex while the black vehicle sped toward their brownstone in the Battery. And, her mouth was so foul; spewing out lustful obscenities as Stephen did a jackrabbit number on her. "I love it when you pound me like a street whore!" "Make me pay for being such a liar!" It quickly got to the point where seeing a mere invitation made him hot and insatiably horny for the psychosexual girl.
But, Nicolette was a little girl in many ways. Instead of seeking honesty and deeper meaning in life, she chose deception and manipulation, perhaps the cornerstones of emotional immaturity. And, she was extremely jealous and thought almost every female Stephen associated with was a former lover or someone he was looking to screw. After interrupting a business meeting between Stephen and a very attractive female advertising executive, Nicolette became incensed that Stephen was having an affair and no amount of logical conversation could convince her otherwise. Given her penchant for manipulation, he wondered if her jealousy was just an elaborate performance, but he couldn't imagine any person being capable of pulling off such a convincing show. In their Manhattan brownstone, agonizing tears turned black from mascara ran down the teenager's white face, and she couldn't speak coherently through the hiccuping, childlike sobs. Then, she began hyperventilating, bending over at the waist and breathing too deeply. Seeing the woman he loved in such a pitiful condition stirred up every sympathetic emotion in him. He would have done or said anything to make Nicolette's self-inflicted agonies go away and make her well.
There was definite element of father-and-daughter in their relationship, and Stephen knew it. When she didn't understand or was confused, she looked to him for guidance, her big ebony eyes shining on him with childish hero worship. And, it was his protective, fatherly feelings toward her that gave him the infinite patience needed to handle her countless psychological disorders. But, beneath the surface was the constant vomit he swallowed knowing that Nicolette could have – should have – been his daughter. Legal incest, it excited as much as repulsed him. Stephen thought about Nicolette constantly, obsessed about her at work. Though he psychoanalyzed her like a pinned moth, he couldn't get over or see through her. She drove him insane, fascinated him with her every movement and kept him in constant suspense wondering what she would do next. One afternoon, he was thinking about how dishonest she was and began questioning whether he really knew her at all. So, he fabricated an excuse about not feeling well and spent time stalking his fiancée.
She had told him that she was going to spend the day shopping, and he mentally recalled her favorite department stores – Saks Fifth Avenue, Bloomingdale's, Henri Bendel, and Macy's. After an exhausting search of Saks Fifth Avenue and Henri Bendel, he found her solo on the fourth floor of Bergdorf Goodman. Given the compact vastness of Manhattan and the number of haute couture shops available to Nicolette, it was nothing short of a small miracle that he found her. Ducking behind a rack of Narciso Rodriguez's dresses, his stomach tightened with tension, excited yet repulsed by what he was doing. He watched, with a strange, obsessive fascination, as Nicolette charged a slew of expensive designer outfits to his platinum credit card while discussing Jimmy Choo shoes with the salesclerk.
He thought about what he might discover, about the unknown elements to Nicolette, and his heart began racing with anxious tension. I'm too old for this, he thought. Either I trust the girl or I don't. He was about to give up the ghost when Nicolette turned in the opposite direction and made way toward an elevator. Looking down at his hands, they were shaking uncontrollably. "I'm having a nervous breakdown. I'm marrying a teenager that's going to eventually drive me into a mental institution." He walked down the stairs to the first floor of Bergdorf's on weak, wobbly legs. "And, I'm talking to myself . . . in public." When he reached the bottom floor, Nicolette was already exiting the store. From inside Bergdorf Goodman's display window, he watched her place shopping bags in the back of his silver Maybach. Then, she drove away.
Running into the street, adrenaline forcing him forward, Stephen anxiously hailed a taxi. "Follow the silver Maybach, the silver luxury vehicle up there." He ordered breathlessly, plopping into the backseat of the yellow taxi. This request would have probably raised eyebrows anywhere else in America, but not in New York City. "There's something extra for you in it." The turban-clad driver slammed down hard on the gas pedal, peeling into traffic without checking first for safety. Several vehicles honked their annoyance, and Stephen was flung back against the backseat.
Stephen could count on one hand the number of females he knew who enjoyed driving in New York City, and Nicolette was one of them. With all the skills of a professional racecar driver, she aggressively zigzagged her way through the heavy traffic, cutting off several taxis. Even in his frantic mental state, he couldn't help but be impressed by that rather unprecedented fete. But, the reckless maneuvering through midday, midtown Manhattan traffic did little to calm Stephen's nerves. By the time Nicolette arrived at her next destination, The Sea Grill on 49th Street, it was very difficult for him to breathe, and he was on the verge of putting his own head between his legs.
Looking elegant and unbelievably cool in the humid summer heat, Nicolette entered the restaurant while Stephen remained safely out of view, ducked down in the taxi. Once she was safely inside The Sea Grill, he settled the fair with the taxi driver, handing him a large bill. "Thanks, man. Keep the change." One of the greatest perks of wealth was witnessing the gratitude of others after throwing trifle amounts of coin to them. On that subject, Nicolette differed with Stephen. Surprisingly, she was genuinely caring toward the downtrodden. And, it was another morsel of his wealth, handed to the maitre de, which provided Stephen a discreet view of Nicolette's table. He buried his face behind a menu, ultimately ordering the same lunch as Nicolette.
He watched as she met up with a group of her unbelievably desirable NYU co-eds. She lunched on the house specialty lobster salad while planning her wedding with the gaggle of giggly girls. Then, the group of masturbation-worthy females, forks in hand, split a variety of luscious looking desserts – crème brulee, chocolate mouse, tiramasu, and poached pear Helene. When Nicolette asked for the check, his platinum credit card in hand, the waitress informed the group that the horny Oriental businessman waving to them from the bar had already taking care it. While the other co-eds thanked the businessman and engaged in some harmless flirting, Nicolette remained seated at the booth, looking calmly through wedding magazines.
A younger, much more desirable version of the ladies who lunch, Nicolette and her friends had forsaken the usual co-ed wardrobe of old, comfortable jeans, the mandatory oversized NYU sweatshirt, and Sketchers for innocent-looking pleaded skirts and button-up blouses. When the girls bid their farewells, embracing and giving sweet lip pecks, Stephen felt his cock give a strong twitch, and he imagined their little girly show had probably turned on most of the heterosexual males at The Seafood Grill. And, in his lovelorn eyes, Nicolette was the most beautiful of the beauties.
He thought that Nicolette had left the restaurant, but, when he stood to leave, he spotted her talking to the Oriental businessman at the bar. His heart leaped to his chest and froze. Oh, God! Nicolette's face was flushed and animated, and she was moving her hands about wildly while she spoke. The horny businessman was smiling broadly, intently listening to her. It was too much, and Stephen felt his body shake uncontrollably. Was this place, The Seafood Grill, their rendezvous location? No wonder he picked up the check and she ignored him while her friends were around! Oh God! He moved in to confront Nicolette, but she was too engrossed in the other man to notice him.
"I'm sorry," she was saying, "but I'm not really all that familiar with Manhattan myself, otherwise I'd love to show you around. I'm from Iowa and just recently moved here myself to be with my fiancée. He lives in the Bronx."
Such a liar! Stephen thought, feeling the familiar sexual stirring that her lies brewed in him. Damn her for slipping sex into her deception!
