After the last car has deposited the last guest, the tall security gates slide together with a soft mechanical whir. The champagne is chilled, the hors d'oeuvres neatly arranged on silver trays. I always hire a few college kids to serve. They seem to get a kick out of dressing in the skimpy little costumes, and it's an easy couple hundred bucks for a few hours work. The guests know they are hands-off. My girls will provide all the hands-on action they desire. It looks like the party's getting started. I must see to the comfort of my guests. Welcome to my home. I'm your host, Destiny. Of course that's not my real name, but then again, not much is real in this business.
In the living room I pause to straighten a crystal vase of fragrant blossoms and discreetly observe my guests. There's Don Aimes, the city councilman chatting with Jasmine over the chessboard. She is a sharp girl, and can easily beat him in a few minutes. But I know she will let him win, no matter the game they play. Over near the fireplace Chloe is charming a prominent local attorney and a doctor. I envy that girl sometimes. Her silky skin is the lovely color of rich coffee with just a dollop of Irish Cream, and the men can't resist those big hazel eyes framed by all that luxurious dark hair.
I pause for a few moments to exchange pleasantries with Lenny. I remember when he started out as a two-bit thief, boosting cases of cigarettes and running home-repair cons. A few years vacation courtesy of the state penal system taught him the error of his ways, and now he uses his snake-oil charm to sell real estate. But I see that a portion of his profit still goes straight up his nose. The poor man can't stand in one spot without at least rocking back onto his heels as he fidgets with the change in his pocket, his nervous glances constantly scanning the room. I'd bet my new diamond bracelet that he's waiting for Janie. Sure enough, his eyes light up as he spots her descending the wide staircase, her dress shimmering and clinging to her petite figure like liquid silver.
From the dining room I hear the tinkle of Savannah's infectious laughter. She's never been south of the Mason Dixon, but it amuses her to talk in that heavy southern accent. But she obviously knows what she's doing; the men always seem to flock around her. Marko is behind the bar, keeping a close eye on my girls as he serves up cocktails. He has a Masters Degree in something or other, but doesn't mind the extra money he picks up playing bartender/bouncer for me. And he looks great in nothing but those little shorts and a bow tie.
Out on the wide wrap-around porch, nestled in a shadowed corner, is my most surprising patron, the Honorable Reverend Michael Glassmoor. With his rosy cherub's cheeks and his baby-blue eyes, he looks like someone's grandfather. I'm sure no one in his congregation would ever guess the depravity of his carnal desire. I'll have to watch that one later, but for now Denise is safe enough with him. I follow the stone walk that meanders around the large, private yard, pausing to listen as faint rustling and a soft moan catch my attention. It's coming from near the small bench tucked behind one of the flower beds; let's go have a look.
Of course it's Gina, on her knees between Trevor Martin's, her head bobbing up and down in his lap. I find it strangely amusing that the man who owns a chain of quick-lubes likes nothing better than a good lube-job himself. Looks like he's about to blow. Yep, there he goes, his body stiffening as he grasps her short blonde hair, fitting his cock in her throat as she gulps his hot load. Another satisfied customer.
I stroll on to the rose garden, and find another pleasant surprise. Megan Philips, owner of the town's largest grocery chain is gazing thoughtfully at my water-nymph fountain, her eyes following the trickles of water down the gleaming alabaster breasts. I have extended several invitations to her, but until tonight had been politely refused. I wonder what changed her mind. Just as I am thinking of stepping from the shadows to speak with her, I suddenly understand. Monique has just returned from the house bearing two crystal flutes of champagne. I am constantly amazed at the way the little tart uses her high school French to make everyone believe she is a continental delight. Oh well, whatever works, I say.
I travel back through the dining room, the large kitchen with its cozy breakfast nook, and onto the back deck. Already the bubbling hot tub is drawing a small crowd. No wonder; Amy is peeling Erika's top down slowly, revealing her lovely full breasts before latching onto a rosy nipple with her hungry little mouth. Erika tosses her chestnut curls and moans softly as Amy works from one peak to the other, mesmerizing the onlookers. Just as things are starting to heat up, I feel a soft buzz in my pocket. It's the special beeper I carry, letting me know that someone has entered one of the three large bedrooms upstairs. It's a bit early yet, so let's go see who's feeling so frisky this early in the night.
I spent a small fortune remodeling the old rambling Victorian house, but it was worth every penny. From small, hidden passageways in the upstairs, I can observe any of the three rooms without intruding upon the business at hand. Always a good idea to keep a close eye on your investments, I say. I make a quick visual inspection of the downstairs on my way up, then slip unnoticed into the somewhat cramped space between two of the rooms. When I have silently removed the cover from the peep-hole, my gaze is immediately drawn to the large bed.
It's the attorney, Adam Donovan. Celia has bound his arms and legs to the brass bed frame, and is just straddling him to tie a silk scarf over his eyes. Next she'll get the big, fluffy feather out and tickle him until he begs and cums all over himself. He's harmless enough. Likes a little kinky stuff now and then, but not enough to venture below-stairs into my private dungeon. The beeper alerts me that the sensor in a second room has been triggered, so I carefully turn in the tight space and peek into the next room.
Damn, it's the good Reverend, leading Denise into the room with that comforting manner he uses on distressed parishioners. Now I'll either have to neglect the rest of my guests for a bit, or pull one of the other girls away to play watchdog. I think maybe I better stick close for a little while; Denise is not the pain-slut that some of the others are, but then I'm sure that's why he picked her. As they perch on the side of the bed, his big hand progresses up her arm in a gentle caress, until he works aside the thin strap from her shoulder. The silky material falls in fluid waves, revealing the smooth curve of her breast. He speaks in a low murmur until he's practically talked the dress down around her waist. Her dainty nipples pucker as his finger tips graze them slowly, back and forth until her back arches toward his touch.
"You naughty whore," he croons. "Tempting a man of God. I'm afraid you'll have to do penance now." He pulls her onto his lap, dragging the dress down her legs to expose her naked flesh to his lust-glazed eyes. His meaty grip locks onto her jaw, forcing her face around to smash her lips with his wet kiss until she squirms against him. "As a representative of the Holy Church, it's my duty to punish you for your sins, whore. Are you ready to receive your punishment?"
She squeals as he drags her up onto the bed, pulling her arms up to shackle her wrists to what appear to be innocent looking wall sconces. I know they are not. They are specially made restraints that will bear up to 200 pounds of weight, allowing the subject to be restrained in a squatting position against the wall above the bed. He brushes the strawberry-blonde hair away from her face, and then steps back to admire his handy-work.
Denise looks a little frightened, but he likes that, so it may just be part of the act. A drop of saliva glistens at the corner of his lips as his eyes devour her creamy skin. Her nipples are a beautiful rosy pink, stiff with either excitement, perfectly positioned on the pert breasts that rise and fall with each breath. His gaze never strays from her as he slowly removes his clothing, all the while telling her what a dirty whore she is, her soul condemned for eternity but for his saving grace. When he is naked, his flabby body glowing a sickly pallor, he steps into the bathroom to remove his teeth. I'm not sure whether he does it for his own comfort, or to gross-out the girls; probably a little of both.
Returning to the bedroom, he stands at the foot of the bed and glares up at Denise hanging helplessly. "Are you ready for your punishment whore?" His voice is taking on that nasally whine it gets when he begins to get excited, and his stubby cock is filling beneath his paunch. "Please Reverend," Denise begs, her voice quivering just the slightest bit.
"You will call me Father, whore," he growls at her, stalking around to the side of the bed where he can reach her. She whimpers as he reaches up to pinch her nipple and twist it between his thumb and finger. "You like that, don't you whore?" His meaty paw grips her breast in a vise-like grasp, leaving faint red marks when he moves to the other. "Please Father," she whimpers as he kneads her tender flesh.
"Please what, whore?"
"Please don't hurt me Father."
His low chuckle has a menacing quality as he replies. "How else is a dirty whore to repent, except through pain?" He stalks to the armoire and retrieves a leather flogger, pulling his fingers through the knotted strands as he returns to her. Denise's eyes widen in fear as he approaches. "Please Father," she entreats once more.
"Shut your filthy mouth, whore!" he orders as he strokes the leather across her breasts. His lips curl in a satisfied smile as he makes her cry out softly with the flogger, raising thin red welts on her breasts. His litany of filthy names grows as he continues to strike her. Dirty Bitch of Satan and Cum-Dump Slut seem to be his favorites, but he has an imaginative vocabulary full of many more.
It doesn't take long until his cock is bobbing beneath his gut, a drop of moisture glistening on its fat tip. "Repent whore!" he orders. "Repent!"
