This story can only be found bundled with the Erotic Novella “Audition Inside”
Confirmed. The Maestra. Suite 1701. 8 pm.
Alex looked at his wife sitting out on the balcony of their Central Park condo to see if she’d heard his phone beep. She hadn’t. She was engrossed in reading; not a novel, but the score to her orchestra’s current symphony.
Erin was pretty. Elegant. Bookish. Alex loved her to death. And even more so in the moments he knew he wasn’t giving Erin everything she deserved.
He looked back at the text message. Strange. Usually he told the agency where, and they’d send the girl. But there it was: “The Maestra.” He knew the historic hotel had some of the most expensive rooms in Manhattan. But the firm would cover him anyway, so what did it matter?
The Maestra. Luxury and elegance intertwine where our guests come to indulge. Expect world-class service inside our walls, and a bottle of Dom Perignon waiting inside your suite.
When Alex entered suite 1701 that night, he was greeted by not just a bottle of Dom, but a dominatrix, too.
He should have known something was up. The agency knew his tastes: brunettes and redheads, no surgery or silicone, and two girls preferable to one. He had never mentioned leather and cuffs.
Still, he thought, when a tall woman in thigh-high boots and a black leather corset tells you to strip naked and get on the bed, it’s hard to argue.
Alex felt the luxurious linens against his back and legs as the Mistress began to tie his arms down with soft, silk rope that could have come off the suite’s nine-foot-tall red velvet curtains.
All our suites feature the finest from the old world, including antique armoires and hand-carved four-poster beds.
He studied the Dom’s face as she wrapped the line around his ankles; her eyes read “girl next door” more than professional disciplinarian. After tying the last knot to the bedpost, she put on her short black overcoat, turned on the television, and said, “I’ll be back,” leaving Alex lying naked and restrained.
The program she left him with showed a woman in a bedroom stripping in front of some men. Bent over a bed, her backside facing the camera, she slid her skirt slowly over her ass until it fell to her feet, her bottom bare except for the thin black straps of her garter belt. Two studs in boxer shorts watched from either side.
So he was supposed to get warmed up watching porn until the girl returned? She certainly picked a low-budget flick dim lighting, just one camera angle. He couldn’t even tell if the actress was hot or not. But with his hands bound to the bed, he couldn’t exactly switch to the hockey game.
Alex relaxed into the pillows as the woman on screen climbed onto her bed and laid down. A black-lace cupless bra propped up her pert tits, and her stockings and garter belt framed the dark hair of a well-trimmed pussy. The men both fit and muscular kneeled on the bed next to her.
Just then someone from off-camera crossed in front of the scene. What kind of budget crap was this? Alex wondered. The scene then jerked as if the camera had been picked up from a tripod. At least he might see some close-ups now, he thought.
The camera focused on the four masculine hands caressing the woman’s thighs, brushing against her sex. It followed them up her body as they stroked the underside of her breasts, gently pinching her nipples. Alex felt his cock stir in anticipation of this starlet getting fucked by two capable studs. He wanted to watch; but even more, he wanted that dominatrix to get back and take care of his growing need.
Then, as the camera finished its journey up the woman’s body, the actress lifted her head from the pillows and looked straight into the camera. Alex gasped.
The cheekbones. The long eyelashes. The eyes! Sixty familiar details from her face raced through the wires onto his screen and jolted the neurons in his brain. He wanted to jump up to the TV to see if his eyes were deceiving him, but the ropes kept him pinned to the bed, powerless. He looked again. It was definitely her. It was Erin.
It hit him all at once. Erin knew about the trysts, knew about the call girls. And she apparently planned an elaborate scheme to get revenge on him. She wasn’t the vengeful type, he reflected, but discovering a cheating spouse can push anyone to extremes.
He averted his head from the screen even as his eyes fixated on the picture. The guys were now stroking themselves through their boxers, and the woman Erin was cupping and squeezing her breasts as she watched them masturbate.
When the hell did she record this?
Suddenly the scene swung around, and the face of the cameraman camerawoman, actually filled the lens.
“Hi, Alex,” she said, in a pouty, falsely apologetic tone. It was the Mistress. Who obviously wasn’t who she’d claimed. A friend of Erin’s? Or someone from her orchestra?
“I’m Jane, we haven’t formally met yet. Erin’s kinda busy right now, but she wanted you to know that this isn’t a recording we’re live.”
Allow yourself to be entertained by our wide-screen, high-definition flat panel televisions streaming premium movies, satellite channels, and the world wide web.
On Alex’s screen, the guys now sported erections beneath their boxers. He watched as Erin’s hand slipped from her breast down the length of her body and her middle finger slipped in between her labia.