snare of love

Chapter 1

The early summer sunlight caressed Marsha’s bare skin like the tips of a lover’s fingers. She rolled over very comfortably like a cat, searching for the warmth of Richard’s flesh.

Richard was still snoring. Marsha’s fingers traced mischievously along the long curve of his spine, her small, pointed fingernails just gently touching the fuzz on his bronzed skin.

“Wake up, Richard.” She leaned in close and breathed into the nape of his neck and kissed it. “Wake up and make love to me.”

A small smile appeared on Richard’s face and the corners of his mouth twitched. That meant he was fully awake. Just when Marsha thought he would play dead forever, his eyelids flickered open and his blue eyes sparkled in the morning sun. In a flash, he rolled over onto his back, grabbed one of her arms, and pulled her on top of him, crushing her in his suddenly emotional embrace.

Her thighs were spread wide as she sat on his toned body, her pubic bone pressing against the hard thing that was erect. The hard thing turned out to be like a sleeping snake lying flat on his flat belly. She would awaken it soon enough. It felt good to lie on top of him like this.

She began rubbing her pubic bone against his erect penis, twisting against him with the weight of her entire body, forcing him to acknowledge the power of her lust.

“Crazy girl, I have to teach you a lesson.”

He reached behind her back, tugged her thin silk nightgown upward, and slapped her violently on her bare back. She screamed and tried to break free, but he held her in a tight grip, determined to take full advantage. His slaps landed like rain on her bare bottom, causing her to tingle and her ass to redden. But more than that: along with the pain and humiliation came an even more tantalizing sensation, a tingling warmth, and it quickly spread this most wonderful pleasant sensation, deep inside her.

Now, because of her erotic erection, Marsha’s sex organs were glowing, burning, on the verge of combustion. Her clitoris swelled up into a hard leido, throbbing with desperate need. All pain and anger behind her, she stopped struggling and passed on her own lust to her husband. He was already panting, and each loud, powerful slap he delivered on her back stimulated his own straining cock even more.

To help him, Marsha slid a hand between her body and his and managed to grab a handful of his arms that heated him up, sliding off of him and kneeling between his thighs. She leaned down and grabbed his cock, taking it into her mouth and sucking on it, making it harder. It tasted a little salty, like some kind of real sea creature, fresh from the ocean. Earth imagined herself and Richard in the cold water, deep in the waves, connected tightly, not needing to breathe, just kissing, sucking and making love.

She knew that he would endure this delightful torture of her tongue for a while, but he would not let her suckle him to orgasm. Richard was now very eager to be close to her, to be inside her. She let her pry his mouth open to release him, hoping he would be bolder than usual today. Perhaps he would even repeat that beautifully intoxicating night not so long ago, when he had thrown her down hard on the sitting room floor, carefully spread her ass, and plunged deep into her like a knife into butter. She even now, recalling his wonderful wildness, found herself dripping wet.

But things didn’t happen. Though she was sure Richard had beaten her spine red, and she had flinched from the pain when he had rolled her over onto her back and opened her legs, yet Richard had ignored the pain in her back. Now that she had teased him fully awake, he needed her, and he needed her now. He didn’t even want to take the time to fondle her breasts from under her nightgown or to stimulate her clit with his fingers as he usually did.

Very gently he opened her pussy lips and placed the head of his cock against the entrance to her female body. In just one stroke, he was already inside her. Marsha moaned and pushed her hips upward, allowing him to enter her even deeper. She scratched and clawed at his bare back with her fingernails, trying to stimulate him to reveal some kind of fierce passion. She wanted him to see her as an animal, so as Richard’s cock slid in and out of her cunt and jerked, she imagined she was an animal in the forest, being mounted by a snarling beast whose cock was already glowing as it plunged into her cunt, and thrusting without an ounce of false tenderness.

She tried to continue to stimulate him with cries and powerful thrusts of her hips, but Richard was always, and indeed was, a courteous man, and he continued to make love to her tenderly, as if he were embarrassed by the passion that her bare spine aroused in him.

“Want me! Want me violently! Ride me, ouch, ride me!”

Previously, if he had wanted to punish her, he could not have done so more effectively. In doing so, Marsha couldn’t reach orgasm even though her clitoris was almost quivering in pain to turn away. Richard sighed and… impaled himself on her, kissed her, and rolled over onto his back on the bed in one fluid motion. It was obvious that he was completely unaware that he had failed to satisfy her again.

Furious, Marsha grabbed one of his hands and placed it between her legs, forcing him to scoop up his own cum and rub it into her engorged clit.

“I’m sorry, honey. Did you not have an orgasm?” Richard recognized his transgression and made began a gentle slide on his clitoris. Gradually, Marsha reveled in the enjoyment of the flesh, and although it made her angry, she forgave him.

Her erotic climax had left her bathed in waves of warmth, relaxed and at ease as she buried herself in her bed. They lay in bed together for a while, feeling lazy in the early morning sunlight that streamed in through the half-open blinds. Richard, obviously content, lay there with his arm around Marsha and one hand caressing her breast.

But Marsha was uncomfortable, and she still wasn’t satisfied. She needs more-some kind of fancier, out-of-the-safe-range, enjoyable, good-to-make-friends male. What was it? Is it danger? Pain, or fear? She hadn’t the slightest idea. But her clitoris was hard, throbbing once again, demanding attention.

When Richard got up and went to take a shower, Marsha pulled up the bedspread and put her hand pleasurably under the sheet. She closed her eyes, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth, and began to caress the curves of her body.

She was a very attractive woman, there was no doubt about that, other women might worry about their bodies, but not Marsha. She’d had a few men and one or two women pursuing her when she was younger. They were just too convinced that she was a desirable person. She wasn’t just any beauty-no, with her thick red hair cascading around her face and the lines of her face visible and vibrant, she wasn’t classically beautiful. Her eyes were a pair of sea-green mirrors, and her lovers were enamored of them, but they rarely revealed the fluctuations of her own feelings.

She ran her fingers over her ample breasts as she imagined her ideal lover. This lover was not Richard, although he was kind to her in his own way. On the whole, she was happy with Richard, although at times his amiable indifference drove her mad enough to want to punch him. Or was it true that she wanted him to hit her?

Her fingers slid silently down to her belly, reaching into her thick pubic hair, playing with the strands, tangling them around her fingers. She pulled on them hard, gently at first, then with greater force, enjoying the pleasure of this wonderful pain that heated her pubic bone and blazed her swollen labia.

She let her left hand go to her nipples, stroking and pinching one, then the other, until she felt warm lust inside her. Then, with the fingers of her right hand, she opened the petals of the flower of her pussy and let her index finger plunge in, like a diver parting the warm waves of some tropical coral reef.

Soon she searched out the small protrusion of her throbbing clitoris. She was eager to touch it, for she knew that touching it was some kind of harbinger of pleasure. Only Marsha knew this secret password to the pinnacle of personal carnal enjoyment, and so she began to rub her clitoris-very gently and slowly at first, and then, as she felt the pleasure begin deep in her belly, she rubbed it with greater vigor.

In her mind’s eye, she was making love to a man whose face she couldn’t see. She knelt on her hands and knees in the dark shadow of the cold brick. The coldness of the stone felt good against her warm flesh, but it was better still that her back felt hot, which shivered from the cuts of the knife and the lash of his whip. When he entered her from behind, albeit very roughly and without the slightest regard for her discomfort but only his own need to climax, she squirmed and felt pleasure inside.

She didn’t dare to scream out, even though he was stabbing her so hard that her back hurt like pins and needles, and his cock kept slamming against her cervix. She dared not make the slightest sound, for any disobedience on her part would incur his severe punishment.

Her entire body was in the throes of an erotic orgasm, like a clear sea-green liquid in a crystal vase, when a moan of pleasure escaped Marsha’s lips. She lay down on her back on the bed, finally satisfied.

She opened her eyes to see Richard standing in the doorway, his cock shrugged upward.

He smiled silently for a moment and quietly burrowed under the sheets, apparently the shower forgotten, his tongue probing deep into her warm, amorous giveaway, licking up the sweet juices of her happy deception.

A couple of her sister’s capricious kids had been playing here all week and had now gone home, so there was no one here to get in the way of their raunchy breakfasts so late in the day. But, as usual on weekends, Richard had to go to work. It wasn’t long ago that Marsha had taken it upon herself to think that there was nothing more glamorous than doing nothing but looking forward to it.

She put on her pajamas and wiped out the litter box, then lazily stretched out on all fours on the couch and watched a half hour of children’s television programs. She planned to take a shower soon, then turn on the computer to check the financial markets. But she was so immersed in the sun and her libido that she felt lazy.

She had to doze, she recognized as soon as she awoke with a start: there was a rattling, a rustling.

There’s someone in the house!

She got up from the couch, pulled her pajamas over her body, and quickly decided what she was going to do. Grabbing an iron door-maker as a weapon for courage, she crept into the kitchen. She stared near the front door.

There’s nothing there. There’s no one there.

Then she felt a pair of hands: touching her gently, holding her shoulders tightly, pulling her backward. The nightgown was undone and slipped off, its silk fabric snapping, leaving her naked and blowing the aroma of her sex into the warm morning air. She opened her mouth to cry out, but couldn’t.

Those hands grabbed her waist and spun her around.

“Hey, Marsha, I surprised you, didn’t I?”

Marsha was flabbergasted and stared blankly at Alex. Donaldson’s face. She didn’t know whether to hit him or laugh.

“How the hell did you get in here? I never gave you a key.”

He grinned triumphantly like a mischievous middle schooler.

“You left the outhouse window half open. It’s easy to climb in. Have a piece of cake.” Noticing the look of fear on Marsha’s face, he added, “It’s okay, no one saw me. Our little secret is insured.”

She wanted to shout at him, to tell him that if he was trying to make a joke, he’d better get over it. But he looked so shy, almost childlike, as he stood there, a strong hand resting gently on her hip, as if begging her to come to him, to forgive him, to make everything better.

He removed his fingers from her waist and began to examine her. Marsha looked down and saw the nightgown slide off her shoulders and fall to the floor, revealing her hard, glassy bud-like nipples and the golden-red triangle between her two thighs, and she watched as if frozen in place as Alex’s hands began to move over the top of her pale skin. It made it feel as if she was in another woman’s body, experiencing everything she was feeling. She began to tremble with pleasure and sudden bursts of lust.

By anyone’s standards, Alex Donaldson was a beautiful man. Alex Donaldson was a beautiful man: fully thirty-five years old, muscular, thin-waisted, broad-shouldered, healthy, sexy, with naturally wavy blond hair and a short, cropped beard. For a financier who spent most of his day sitting behind a mahogany desk in the middle of the city, there was little to look forward to. Marsha could spend hours just stroking his smooth, toned muscles. But they rarely had hours of hedonistic fun. Their relationship was such that wherever there was a possible excuse to be alone together, they seized the opportunity for a little private pleasure. For Marsha, it was easier. Out of the house at work, sitting at her computer terminal, all she had to do was connect to her answering machine and the world could be forgotten. But with Alex it was different: every moment of his day was planned in advance. Plus, they couldn’t let anyone see them together. It wasn’t that Richard would have a fit: he was very understanding about that, and he was very open-minded.

As Alex’s strong, powerful fingers tugged and twisted her hardening nipples, Marsha thought to herself that this was distinctly too imperfect.

Most of the time, sex with Alex was quick, substandard lovemaking in a spare half hour. But it was very passionate sex. The erotic orgasms she had with Alex were much more intense than those she had with her husband – intense, she was sure, because of the dangerous fun and the fear of discovery. With Alex in the hotel room, in the closet of the warehouse, in the bushes just a few feet from the club garden party, she enjoyed the pleasure of making love. Without Alex, her life would be rather monotonous. Even with him, something seemed to be missing.

But today she wouldn’t think twice about his flaws. Not even close. As she looked down at his hand, she noticed a bulge in the crotch of his hand-sewn suit. Instinctively, she reached out and touched it, letting its warm cum flow into her hand. There was a passion in the life of his hard, erect thing that made her wet as well, which was to be expected.

He pushed his nose into her neck.

“You exude a fragrance, my dear.” He kissed her neck, her lips, the front of her neck, her breasts vigorously. “It’s a feminine odor.”

She was still stroking his cock, sliding up and down along the zipper line, feeling it swell, harden, and snug inside his pants, and feeling his joy. But when she was about to grab the zipper and pull down hard, he stopped her with a kiss and, taking advantage of her surprise, fell to his knees in front of her and pressed his face firmly into her pubic hair.

Marsha began to moan softly as Alex’s strong, powerful hands slid between her thighs, wrenching them apart and forcing her to slide her feet across the smooth floral tile floor. She gazed downward at her lover, who wore the black business uniform of Bjorn, his gold mining chain clasped around his Pauline B. Streeter’s shirt gleamed on its clean white cuffs. By this time she felt light-headed and had become dizzy. He looked so distant, cold, perfect, impersonal.

It was almost like being raped by a robot.

She wondered what it would be like to have a cold steel cock inside her, moving in and out of her soft, wet cunt like some sort of weird piston. In, out; in, out; feeling the steam gathering, ready to jet; metal and flesh in unnatural harmony.

Alex’s face was pressed firmly against Marsha’s labia minora as his tongue searched out the core of her illicit sexual relationship. She could give off her sensual aroma, that carnal odor of Richard’s semen, her own sexual fluids and sweat mixed together. And she also knew that he radiated and felt that odor as well, and that it was stimulating him, driving him wild.

Her clitoris had fizzed to the expected heat and the lust was impossible to quell unless a man made love to her. She tried to tell Alex, but the only sounds that came out of her mouth were the moans of a sexually charged slut, the slurred cries of totally spent lust.

Alex looked upward at her. His lips were wet with the mixed aroma of her bodily fluids and Richard’s cum. His gaze bore the symbol of her own sluttiness, so arousing to her that eventually she felt her own voice.

“Fuck me, Alex, please fuck me! Please fuck.”

She was shivering like a little red doe, waiting for a buck to ride her. She needed the wild fury of the beast, the kind of simple wild intercourse like that in a forest clearing.

As if he sensed her thoughts, Alex leapt to his feet and grabbed Marsha by the arm.

“You’re hurting me. What are you doing?”

Without answering, Alex dragged her past the kitchen, through the back door and into the garden. Her silk nightgown slipped off her shoulders and trailed on the ground. She was naked now, vulnerable in the unforgiving August morning sun.

A shiver ran through her body as she looked up into his face, knowing what he wanted.

“No, Alex, we can’t! Not here.”

But Alex simply ignored it. Instead, he unbuckled the waistband of her nightgown, pulled it off in one swift motion, and tossed it onto the warm grass beneath the apple tree.

Richard and Marsha had chosen the small cottage because it had an orchard: a dozen or so fruit trees, their knobby branches forming an arch over the clumped lawn, crisscrossing in places to form a mottled green waffle. At the end of the garden was a stream, and on the other side of it were more small cottages, and a little country store. On the other side of the brook were some more houses: some big, opulent houses where decent merchants lived, and every Saturday night they set up their racks and made love to their wives in comfort. As she looked their way, Marsha thought she saw the fluttering of curtains and activity behind the gasoline lights.

She held up her hands to cover what was left of her shyness, but Alex was anything but shy at this point. He tightened his grip on her wrists and pulled her hands down, exposing her bare breasts to the hot summer sun and whatever his eyes happened to be gazing at.

Marsha’s head was a little dizzy and she couldn’t cope with Alex’s sudden and strange initiative. The fear of being seen by her strict neighbors made her shiver, but it was only because of fear. Or was it because of the turmoil she felt inside! She thought of the Colonel and his wife, and of old Mr. Pearson, who had probably not had a woman for twenty years. What would he think if he looked out of the window now? Would his limp old penis twitch with vigor? Suddenly she wished to imagine herself as a believer in the resurrection, to think of that old man gazing dully at her cream-colored breasts, at the beautiful, smooth curves of her buttocks, at the red triangle that indicated the gateway to her sex organs. She imagined him with one shivering old hand clumsily unbuttoning his pants, pulling out his cock for the first time in years and playing with it with a skill she was about to forget.

What about James Lacey’s family over there in the big house? What about the Lacey family? Marsha was pretty sure that Andrea James Lacey hadn’t suffered from it for years. James Lacey hadn’t had it in years. Her fat, middle-aged husband, who worked so many hours a day, couldn’t possibly have an erection. She politely submitted to her lover’s reckless embrace, which had just been concealed by the arching apple tree branches. At that point she thought, Well, Andrea, this one’s yours.

It seemed that he wanted to force her to exert all her charms as he bent her body and made various obscene positions. How incredible it seemed that she was naked and had lost all her secrets while her overly energetic lover stood in front of her with his clothes on, directing her humiliation like some demonic circus director.

Now she was bending backward, her knees bent, her soft spine formed an arch, and finally her hands touched the soft grass, so that she became a shameless quadruped with her face turned toward the heavens and her sexual organs open to the eyes of the whole world.

The wind rustles through the apple trees. The hypnotic buzzing of the bees indicated that the secret was no longer concealed, that there was a person whose greatest desire was also its greatest foundation. Marsha’s willingness to fall, she welcomed it like a new lover; she had begun to realize that only a new stimulus could completely shear away her atrophy, which was constantly eating away at her, threatening to seal her forever in the monotony of total existence.

But her guilt-ridden, semi-realistic dream wasn’t finished. All at once Alex’s serious masquerade of a conqueror grinned as he threw his head back and laughed. A fit of rutting had been interrupted, the pleasure of depravity had vanished in the interval of a single breath.

Alex rolled her over on one side so that she was lying on her back on the soft grass, and with a strong jerk of the waistband of his pants, he jumped on top of her in one fell swoop. She reciprocated his embrace, immediately amused by the novelty of the tease and disappointed that she hadn’t achieved maximum satisfaction.

She stroked and searched for his cock. It was hot and smooth in her palm. Her fingers slid from the moist glans to the silky-smooth shaft below and lubricated it with its own slippery cum. The channel between her legs felt like a river of boiling lust, hot, wet, and pulsing with its own secret rhythm. She wanted a finger on her clit so badly, wanted a cock to strain her sex organs, needed a passionate rush of thrusts to drown her lust. The air was filled with the heady aroma that emanated from inside her body, a mixture of cum and lust. Marsha’s head was spinning with desperate need.

“Fuck me, fuck me, now!”

With only one violent thrust, he slid into her, his eager movements causing her soft, white flesh to press against the shoots and stones of the grass. This discomfort only stimulated Marsha more. She gasped as his hard thing thrust into her body, desperately trying to hold onto him, her fingernails poking into his back through the fragile white cloth of his shirt. The two of them clung to each other, now completely oblivious to prying eyes, and rode together with a view to great carnal enjoyment.

Marsha’s erotic climax came soon after. A spasm was enough to make Alex shoot pearl after pearl of cum into her.

Just as they lay on the grass, panting with satisfying lust, Marsha realized that there was another need within her, an unsatisfied need. This realization filled her with fear, with a strange thrill, a thrill that she had never experienced before.

Alex is gone. Marsha poured herself a glass of chilled wine and took a hasty shower. Just because her husband and her lover had cast her aside during the day, that didn’t mean she couldn’t indulge herself. She was already immersed in a sea of bubbles.

Later, she skimmed through (Lloyd’s Recreation Poster) and (Financial Times), and then she started work and decided to do some work.

The computer was downstairs in the back room, and Richard was tempted to use it as a darkroom. But Marsha immediately saw that it could be used as an office. In that argument, as usual, she always had the upper hand. After all, if she was going to live far away from home to run her freelance writer’s management consulting business, she needed a decent office, and that meant not being banished to the kitchen or the booth room.

She sat down in front of the VDU and flipped the switch. The screen lit up, put in the disk, then punched in the command JUNO and waited to pick up the net.

The financial markets are light today. The dollar was two feny over the Deutsche Mark, but nothing that would change the content of the report she was writing. She skimmed through a set of charts and typed up a couple of stats for the next board meeting. If she started writing the report now, then she could set a deadline to get it to the home office the next morning. When you’re a freelance writer management consultant for the internationally syndicated conglomerate Glenwald and Baker, you’re not the least bit unserious.

She pulled out a folder, and instead of looking at the blank pages, she found herself gazing with skepticism at a message that slowly appeared to be written on the fluorescent screen:

Don’t fool yourself, Marsha. Your secrets are ours too. We know exactly what you’ve done. Omega knows everything.

Chapter II

Marsha moped around all day, and when she woke up the next morning, she wondered: who the hell did this prank? Why was it named Omega again? OMG! Please have mercy on me! What on earth was the intention?

Of course, it probably didn’t make any sense. Indeed, it was no secret at all that there were many at Glenwold and Baker who were jealous of her ability to sway the chairman, and a couple of naughty boys who’d graduated from Oxford and Cambridge last year and their innocent and lovely girlfriends, one of whom, a girl named Billinda, sensed her displeasure. Marsha, a woman still in her twenties, was married, and she wasn’t the type to give orders.

Indeed, when Steinaberg. Myers decided to hire a management consultant to get the company back on track, many people at Glenwald and Baker were not happy, and they certainly didn’t expect someone like McLean Marsha. The fact that someone like McLean Marsha was doing her consulting work from home added to their irritation. After all, you couldn’t do serious full-time work from your living room, could you? She sensed that they were categorizing McLean’s counseling office alongside the sex toy and tabor pottery parties.

Of course, she was the first to admit that she had a liberal lifestyle, but she hated sitting there all day drinking coffee or having a handsome face with a stupid head. Listen, despite hating her, their eyes still stare straight up her back, or like lewd boys hovering at the bottom of the stairs waiting to look up her skirt. The problem is that she is a trained management consultant, not a simple-minded frivolous woman with a master’s degree in business administration.

Not to be outdone, they had also heard whispers of her flirting with Alex. They probably had a vague feeling that it had nothing to do with a specialized profession, but most likely just that they were filled with jealousy. Half of it was certain, however, that they preferred her as a secretary.

Well, today’s meeting would prove that her mind was not stuffed with cotton wool. The report she had researched and studied had laid out very clearly that Glenvall and Baker’s would increase the efficiency of the supermarket to ten percent the next time they cleared their books, if they accepted the plan she had drawn up. It was sure to bring on the beacons, but Marsha wasn’t worried about confrontation. If anything, the mood of the meeting was aligned towards her, often going straight home after the meeting and pleading with Richard to make love to her; she desperately needed a hard cock.

She removed Richard’s arm from around her waist and got out of bed, leaving him lying in a daze, arms and legs spread out. His back was broad and firm, she thought to herself, glancing at his tanned skin as he lay there, face down, thighs apart, like an innocent child and at the same time like a lusty man who had just fallen asleep after an indulgence. His large testicles were clearly visible between his parted thighs, bronze-colored fuzz covering the wrinkled red skin, and the pair of fruits looked so tantalizing and exciting that Marsha longed to taste them. She intended to let her hand run gently between those bronzed thighs, to take that full fruit of pleasure into her mouth, to let her tongue lick all over that skin, to make it tense with extreme arousal.

A warmth flowed out of her pussy, her nipples hardened pleasantly at the touch, and she knew that if she could just get her hand between her legs, between the already parted lips of her cunt, there, just rubbing for a moment, she could satisfy herself and relieve this terrible pressure. But there was no longer time to satisfy her sexual desires. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand; it was seven-fifteen, and she had laundry to do, garbage to take out, and a note to leave with the electrician. She decided not to wake Richard, today, he wasn’t working, let him dream. She wondered who he would dream about.

Getting a grip on herself, she turned her attention to the closet, opening the doors and scanning the clothes hanging on the transom with a critical eye. This blue outfit? No good, a bit too proper and serious, how about an Armani outfit? Was the style outdated? She took it out and compared it to herself, admiring herself in the mirror as well. Stylish, that was for sure, but was it too much? Today, she wanted to look like a stunner, sexy and with a touch of danger.

In the end, she decided to wear the bright green dress with a necklace; it had worked in the past and there was no reason why it shouldn’t work again. All right, she was going to succeed on her own merits, not her gender. However, she was going to use the help she could get, and she came up with a brilliant idea: bra-less breasts clinging to a line-filled dress would be enough to dampen their resistance. It might be easier to convince them if they focused on her gender. Marsha had no qualms about engaging in a nasty struggle. After all, besides no one else was doing it, so who knew? She might even get a clue or two on the Omega message, the prankster part. Whoever he was, he was also smart, and even if he was already wired into the system, he either knew her instructions or had found a way to access her system directly without them.

With all her self-reliance, that thought made her shudder.

She took a quick shower and rubbed a little perfume between her breasts before putting on the green dress. It was a well-chosen outfit, showing off her long, slender legs and firm breasts to the fullest, and was finished off with light stockings and elegant leather shoes.

Richard was still asleep, his arm around the pillow like a child hugging a teddy bear, when Marsha clipped on her earrings, grabbed her handbag and headed downstairs.

Going to work was like cleansing, the car had a new transmission installed and was still in the garage, so she had to take the train. Squeezing into a stuffy compartment with hundreds of expressionless, briefcase-carrying people really didn’t do anything. Plus, unfulfilled libido pulsed irritatingly between her thighs. Her concentration looked like it was about to disintegrate as she gripped the luggage rack tightly, wedged in amongst the dense mass of travelers, her back brushing against the man standing behind her, an involuntary friction of the train’s movement, and yet, she was guiltily aware that she liked it. Was it her imagination? Or was he returning the favor by pressing his sex organ against her back? She’d long ago felt a hard thing begin to swell in her pants.

Now he was close to her, so close that his breath could be heard, and on her back was his hand stroking along the curve of her hip? Was it slowly sliding down toward the folds of the short skirt? She felt her breathing quicken and become a little husky. A man she didn’t know, who she hadn’t even seen, was rubbing up against her in the most public place she could think of, those nasty hands caressing her skin. Now he was tugging his skirt upwards, exposing her back to just a small pair of petticoats, the dense crowd keeping her from being exposed to the masses, and God only knew what he was going to do next.

By this time, her nipples were hard and her clitoris was eager for him to go further, and further.

Her fingers had touched something and now he had grabbed her hand. What was he endeavoring to do? Neither could she withdraw her hand even if she wanted to, her other hand clutched the luggage rack, she was in his grasp and he must be sure of it. She was a willing victim.

Her heart was pounding, no longer resisting but feeling her hand being pulled back further until the inevitable contact, her fingers instinctively moving closer to the man’s bare cock, exposing it, feeling its arousal, its agility. He guided her hand to tell her what he wanted her to do, but she had already guessed. He wanted her to masturbate to him. The arousal of this man she hadn’t met throbbed in the palm of her hand, and his fulfillment was her own, yes or no.

Not daring to glance backward for fear of what she might see, Marsha began to expertly play with the cock of her unseen lover, slowly and tentatively at first, then increasing her intensity, railed Marsha’s desire to end this satisfactorily, quickly, so that he would walk away and leave her alone, though she preferred to let it go on forever, prolonging the carnal enjoyment of this man, so that he would remember her that The redhead in green had occupied his soul one day. It was a new thrill for her to see what she was capable of, and that’s when Marsha realized that this unacquainted lover was trying to turn her around, silently pleading for his deepest needs and sexual desires to be met, realizing that she would have been full of joy as she plunged her engorged cock into the pantheon of her female body.

The clear love juice oozing from the glans made the penis slippery, and the foreskin was as smooth as satin as Marsha slid her fingers up and down the hot, thick skin. All of this seemed incredible, to be groping the erect penis of someone she had never met in the midst of dozens of indifferent travelers, some of whom were mere inches away from her, and who hadn’t even begun to speculate about what was going on in between. Marsha did her best to imagine the man whose prick she was fingering, and she imagined his testicles, taut as expected, and that marvelous cock, clashing like an arrow out of his snazzy, nice work pants, and that was all Marsha could imagine. Was he a young man? Or an older man? She had no way of knowing. But the penis looked like a young man’s, angry and hard. What if she was wrong? Could she be stroking a lewd, toothless, bald old man?

Even this speculation did not spoil her pleasure; in a sense it was this very mystery that made her happier and happier; she felt degraded, immoral, unshackled from the shackles of traditional customs, and her body became useful, not as a follower of this man’s pleasures, but as a believer in her own, and this pleasure was in the grasp of this hot and firm hardness in her hands.

The train braked harshly and Marsha noticed people trying to turn around, struggling to get up from their seats and take their briefcases off the luggage racks. Waterloo already? The sight of the bowed beam structure overhead startled her, sobering her back to reality. She, a young finance director on her way to an important meeting, stood there with her skirt tugged upwards across her back and rubbing the erect penis of a man she had not met.

The train came to an eastward stop on platform seven, passengers pouring out of the compartment like grains dumped from a torn paper bag, and Marsha lumbered about doing her best to pull her hand out, straining with the other to pull down her skirt to cover her exposed skin. The lover she hadn’t met quickly took control of her again, stopping her with all his strength, telling her that maybe she was mistaken, that she might not be the one to handle herself after all.

Just as Marsha was convinced that she had not been noticed, she felt the man begin to loosen and let go of her hand, and with a relieved gasp Marsha drew her hand back from the man’s cock. It all seemed trance-like and borderline, and she still stood there like a tree stump, not daring to either move or look back, and its then that a low, husky voice, tinged with a bit of menace, rang in her ears, “We’ll meet again.”

With that, this terrible and powerful man walked away, and she, pale and trembling.

“Miss, I’m sorry.”

She dodged out of the way to let an angry merchant and pregnant teenager walk past, watching them walk toward the platform. Was that him? Was the man in the blue jacket the one who had gotten her into the dangerous and exciting game? No, it couldn’t be, he didn’t sound like it. Marsha watched the group carefully as they headed toward the platform that led to the suburbs, and there was no way to figure out which of the gray-clad throngs was her temporary sex partner in the crowded carriage.

She picked up her briefcase and stepped out of the compartment, merging into the hot summer morning as she raised her hand and closed the door behind her with force, a heavy perfume floating earth from her hand, a forbidden perfume, forbidden to be used during sexual intercourse.

As Marsha walked into the conference room, Jeremy, Steinaberg. Miles glanced up at her and nodded, amused to see him trying not to let his eyes linger too long between her breasts.

Marsha took a seat at the conference table, legs gracefully crossed, revealing just a bit of silky smooth thigh, all eyes on her, which was exactly what she was expecting.

She placed her briefcase on the mahogany table, which was as smooth as a mirror, and pulled out all the slides as well as copies of her report, handing them out, and as each board member took her report, she asked herself, Is he an Omega?

In short, it wasn’t Steinaberg Miles, the chairman, who was boring and humorless. The chairman was dull and humorless, a man of distinction who spent little time with his wife, Maylene, and their four children, who were left alone to play games, and probably not with Peter James either. Neither did Peter James, especially after helping her out of trouble with the Delhi program, which had been very kind to her.

“Looking through this data, can I just recommend you?”

Marsha stood up, walked over to the chart, picked up the scribe, and began to scribe, to explain, to convince them, to seduce them, knowing in her heart of hearts that they were rejecting her, and that, in principle, it wasn’t because of a logical argument over factual evidence. There was no logical argument about factual evidence, she was absolutely convinced. Besides, their faces were covered with doubt and hatred. All right, then: she was going to use that factual evidence against them. It would be much better if gender could draw a little role in the argument.

When she spoke, she analyzed and explained the situation, paying particular attention to the charts that had taken weeks to draft, and she looked at her peers in the room for clues. Once she knew who he was, she would be able to find out why and then retaliate.

Jenny Robertson, the marketing manager, was staring at her as if to penetrate her soul. Robertson, the marketing manager, was staring at her as if she were trying to penetrate her soul. Marsha turned her eyes away uneasily, knowing that Jenny had never liked her, had always hated Marsha for her ability to influence Steinbrenner Miles, and had probably wanted to do something to hurt her. Maybe she’d been trying to do something to hurt her for a long time, but Jenny didn’t know anything about technology, so she couldn’t have pulled a stunt like that, no. Jenny Robertson. Robertson would have resorted to more sophisticated, more brutal methods.

Marsha turned on the overhead projector and put in a slide about planned savings, a cost-cutting measure she had proposed. Inwardly, she was still going through the list of possible opponents, Harry Gates, Luren B. Harry Gates, Loren Palmer. Harry Gates, Loren Palmer, Joan D’Arcy Fan. D’Arcy Fan, they were all possibilities, young, naive, full of ambition. Marsha Doyle, the chairman’s middle-aged buyer. Marsha Doyle, the chairman’s middle-aged buyer, could be motivated by jealousy or simple psychological rivalry, which seemed unlikely. Now, Marsha is convinced that she is dealing with someone in the company in a foreign country, if not an outsider altogether.

“These savings have risen and fallen perversely when the pound has moved,” Liancifan spoke, “and what would be the result if a trend suddenly emerged in the currency markets?”

“Nice,” Palmer said with a nod of agreement, a horrible and complacent look on his face, no wonder his girlfriend poured gray-green paint all over his brand new designer clothes. “These are all very nice measures, but do you really think the staff at the store will accept them? We have other ways to get rich.”

Marsha bent down, put her hands on the table, stared right into Palmer’s face and said, “It’s not a matter of choice,” very calmly, very subdued, “If we don’t implement these programs, this company will be out of business in two years, and by then everyone will be out of a job, and that includes you. “

A silence fell over the room after those words were spoken, and Marsha suddenly became aware of warm passion overflowing in her belly and pubic region. Power and aggression were literally aimed at her, and in her thoughts, she suddenly saw herself in a black leather jacket, grinding a high-heeled leather boot into the loathsome face of Loren Palmer. Palmer’s loathsome face.

“Of course,” Jenny added, “that’s just your side of the story.”

“True,” Marsha replied coldly, no longer fooled, “but I’m not going to stay here and watch the company collapse if these measures aren’t implemented. Many of the other staff members are more receptive to a sensible long-term financial plan.”

“Ah!” Palmer smiled, “Does every one of them want you to come out of your warm, cozy home and work? By the way, how is Neb & Co. doing now? Besides, is your work exhausting you and you need a good rest?”

The revealing remark worked on everyone. If it wasn’t a myth, Marsha’s sexuality was at least a consensus in the company. She was beautiful, attractive, and rather picky about her lovers, and those who had tried, and failed, to win hearts were understandably filled with anger.

She had a sweet smile on her face.

“Mr. Palmer, you can sustain this company with your life, but you can’t let us all make the same mistakes you did.”

Her clitoris was throbbing urgently, regularly, a throb of sexual desire, a desire that seemed like a raging sea assaulting her entire body as her heart contracted, and she wondered if the others in the room would be able to detect the hard nipples, clinging to the fitted green dress. The thought of each and every one of them staring at her breasts, witnessing the arousal of her sexuality, only turned her on more.

The meeting was followed by no more moving scenes, the board somewhat compromised Marsha’s plan, and they passed a budget for next year that hardly negates the conclusive evidence that the key lies in this three-fifty plan back-up. One thing was clear, however, that this would not be concluded in a single meeting.

“All right, I’m going to suspend the meeting,” said Steinberg-Myers. Miles, “Marsha, I want to thank you for the preparatory work you’ve done in categorizing the data so thoroughly, and personally, I don’t have the slightest doubt as to the necessity of the basic measures, but it will obviously require further, methodical discussion to distill the essence.” He glanced meaningfully at Palmer and Darcy Van, “Besides, I don’t want to let personal opinions get in the way of the right decision.”

Marsha gathered up her papers and was, on the whole, satisfied with the way things were going; she really hadn’t expected to make it acceptable in the first round, and besides, these objections were to be expected, and in fact, all the things that had been considered were, at one time, quite reasonable. Of course, it helped that she was so absolutely convinced of the prepared data that she almost forgot to dress deliberately for attention.

Though she didn’t speculate further on Omega’s true identity, for some reason Palmer seemed too obvious, and his innuendo like a magnet did arouse her suspicion; was it a two-faced bluff? Oh, God, now she was being foolish.

It occurred to her that she was alone, and she was about to turn away when she noticed that Harry B. Gates was hovering at the window, as if waiting to ask her about some incident. She passed him without paying any attention to him, but, as she was reaching for the door handle, he came after her.

“Marsha!”

“Yes?” She turned and looked at him in confusion.

“Go out for a drink, okay? Or maybe dinner? I’m staying at the Portland Hotel, just around the corner, do you have to rush home? We might be able to spend some time together and get to know each other better ……”

“I’m sorry Harry, some other time if possible.” She patted his hand gently, rather more like his mother than a potential lover. He was very gentle, really. Maybe …… not, her sex life was already quite convoluted and she didn’t want to add any more chance variables. “Listen, next time you’re in Fergie after a meeting, go for a drink over lunch, will you?”

Harry failed to hide his disappointment and walked down the hallway, down the stairs. He always took the stairs, hated elevators for some reason. It was obvious that he was a bit of an anomaly, or had a serious morbid phobia, and no one took the dirty stairs simply out of pleasure.

Marsha turned to the left, towards the elevator, snapped the button and waited. The elevator took a while to come down from the fiftieth floor, and there was no one around. Secretly, she unbuttoned the top button of her dress and slipped her hand inside, touching her nipple with her fingertips, still hard, like a little piece of warm iron that wouldn’t yield to touch and was very, very sensitive, as if her fingertips were electrically charged, cracking through her breasts inside her body and raging along every vein, every nerve, all the way to her belly, her pussy, her ass and then her fingertips, completing the cycle.

A dull cacophony alerted Marsha to the sound of an elevator running. She glanced at the indicator board: twenty-eight floors. Only a few more floors to go, she politely withdrew her hand and buttoned the top button, her petticoats were uncomfortably wet, and Richard would be getting more than expected by the time she got home, just in case he didn’t want it, all right, so she’d have to keep her eyes peeled.

With the clang of steel cables, the elevator arrived, swinging to a stop on the thirtieth floor, and the doors opened, and Marsha noticed that it was packed with people; apparently there was a meeting in the roof room, because everyone was wearing those ridiculous plastic badges, and Marsha didn’t pay much attention to them as she stepped into the elevator and huddled behind the doors, and people politely dodged out of the way to let her in, and Marsha squeezed backward into the midst of her traveling companions.

The elevator shook again and began to slide slowly downward, a journey that seemed like a century long as it stopped at each floor to let people out or in. The elevator was incredibly crowded now, and Marsha could hardly breathe, feeling a hand on her back and thinking, Is this by chance, is that all she’s thinking? In such a cramped space, where body-to-body contact was inevitable, one could not escape.

But, no, there was feeling behind her again, palms sliding slowly, cautiously over her hips, probing the area, so firm in the flesh tightly encased in linen. Marsha’s heart pounded, not for the first time that day. Did this human world just have designs on her flesh? A cold shiver ran through her at the thought, not exactly uncomfortable.

Now, the hand was bolder, or was it the same hand? The same hand that had met its demands on her in the crowded compartment a few hours ago? Never, but she was somewhat familiar with the touch. She did her best to turn around, to get a glimpse of just who was doing this to her, but she was quickly stopped by the tightly packed delegates, and she could have asked one to come and help her, but something pressed against her back, and perhaps, she should have gotten out on the next level, but the hand, slowly and lewdly, reached under her skirt and took control of her panic, and it was as if she was on a leash.

The elevator stopped on the fifteenth floor and the doors opened, most of the delegates swarmed out of the elevator, no doubt heading for the executive dining room. Marsha collapsed a step forward after them, but her wrists were suddenly grabbed firmly, and she made a startled attempt to turn around and vent her wrath on him; however, several hands pressed down on her, preventing her from moving, forcing her to stand frozen, staring desperately ahead as the doors began to close, cutting off any path she could have taken to escape.

There were only fifteen floors to go, and what could any one do to her in so short a time? Though she could not see them, she knew that there must be five or six others with her, standing behind her and her captors, and that if she cried out, one would surely come to her assistance.

Between the fifteenth and fourteenth floors, the elevator wobbled slightly and suddenly, with a noisy rattling sound, stopped. The lights flickered a few times, then went out. The elevator was dead silent, with only the faint thin light of the emergency lights breaking the sinister gloom.

No one moved or spoke, not a sound from the people whose faces were unknown behind her, and only their breath told Marsha that she was not alone: their breath, and fingers as hard as iron jabbed into her wrist joints and clamped down on her neck like a vise, and that she shouldn’t panic, shouldn’t show her fear.

Suddenly she felt the soft, silky brush rubbing against her cheek, and she jerked her head away, but it was no use; the silk scarf suddenly covered her face, blotting out the last bit of light, this last bit of comfort.

Now she was in darkness before her eyes, alone, worried, unable to see anything, lost. The hands were getting bolder now, ignoring her fears, teasing her flesh, turning her on, the elevator stopping motionless and starting up again, which could take minutes, or hours, as she was dominated by someone she hadn’t met.

“Obey,” a voice breathed close to her face, and she could hear that it was the voice of the man on the train. “Obey the pleasure principle and you will not be harmed.” She was so angry she wanted to scream and protest, she was a woman, not a sex object, and besides, she, Marsha B. McLean, was not in the habit of obeying, and she was unwilling to accept that this self-appointed lover, who had insulted her dignity, was imposing his sexual desires on her. However, she said nothing, for she remembered the day before, that wild afternoon, when Alex had dragged her into his garden and stripped her naked without a trace of pity in his eyes, she remembered the taste of his cock in her mouth and the unexpected skill with which he had suddenly thrust himself into her, and she remembered the pleasure of her own suppleness.

Now the hands were on her shoulders, pressing her down, down, and down, and she knelt quietly on the floor of the elevator, aware that her other senses had become sharper, and that the scent of her sex organs enveloped her whole, filling the stifling, non-flowing air. The sound of a zipper made her shudder, her nipples hardening again, already predicting what was going to be asked of her next.

Fingers that penetrated the scent of her pussy forced her mouth open, and the hand around her long, red hair suddenly pulled her head forward.

The man’s prick had a strong salty flavor, and to her surprise, he didn’t fill her throat and choke her like most men. At first, only a little bit of the glans was allowed to touch her, and then, gradually, in and out of her mouth, her tongue lapped all over the head of the penis with dizzying fascination, tracing, mentally, its crimson head, depicting the heavy testicles and the taut flesh as his excitement mounted.

She knew with every movement of his lips, tongue and throat that he was close to ejaculating, and that she was waiting for the pinnacle of pleasure: the salty liquid spilling out, the hot white jets stuffing his mouth. Already she could hear his panting more huskily, could smell his arousal, could taste it on her tongue, and she wanted to reach out and touch the testicles, but, with her wrists still firmly grasped, suddenly she wondered who was there holding her, and how many people were in the elevator compartment with her, who were watching, and waiting, and reveling in it? She wondered if they were masturbating to her, wondered if she was giving them as much enjoyment as she was giving physical pleasure to this man with the large, smooth prick, whose face was unknown.

His prick throbbed against her tongue, and immediately, about to spasm with uncontrolled pleasure and spurt forward to spurt semen into her mouth, her own power undeniable and more erotically charged than she’d ever thought possible, she wanted to just let him stay at that level, on the brink of orgasm, because he’d kept her on her knees in front of him, and she was going to play with his pleasure enjoyment, make him realize that it was all up to her, and that, given the could choose, she could keep him from getting this satisfaction he so desperately needed.

To her dumbfounded surprise, he suddenly drew his prick back, and all of a sudden, she lost touch with reality, but it immediately became clear what he was trying to do: he was telling her that, no matter what she was thinking, he was full of power, was her master, and was the only one in control of her own pleasure.

Several hands grabbed her and set her down on the floor of the elevator compartment, the rough carpet stinging her tender skin like a bed of nails. She was passive, at the mercy of these hands, curious, not so much afraid of what might happen to her.

The voice drifted over again, seeming to echo from another planet.

“Masturbate yourself.” She didn’t respond for a moment, then her right hand was grabbed and brought to the golden-red triangle beneath her flat stomach, and now, she understood.

“Show me how you masturbate, I want to know exactly how you do it when there is no man to fuck you.”

“But …… why?” Marsha stammered, finishing her question and realizing it was a mistake.

“Don’t talk,” the hand covered her mouth, mingling the odors of perfume, leather, sweat and sex organs, “not until I give you permission to talk.” Marsha’s trembling fingers parted her labia, and her middle finger traveled along her groin, plunging into the warm, dark cunt, which was already wet; all day, after all, she had been in an aroused, open-threshold condition. Now a new stimulus had come to awaken her clitoris, “Touch the clitoris,”

“I ……”

“Don’t talk, show me, you can talk, spread your legs a little more, I want to see you enjoy your pleasure.” Marsha’s fingers trembled as they slid over the firm stamen between her labia majora, the odor of the sex organ floating into her nostrils, deepening the humiliation received; her arousal. Sexuality was now aroused, conviction cast aside, and it was clear that it wouldn’t take more than a few minutes for her to reach the peak of her pleasure. The thought of this dark, elevator car with unknown faces silently watching her naked, after masturbating, only added to her passion.

There was power in this small demonstration, too. The strong, smooth left thumb pressed rhythmically against her clitoris, the fingers of her right hand groped and stimulated her nipples or teased the pleasure palace of her ass, knowing what she had to do to this faceless master, her cruel lover, knowing that his prick was askew from relaxation. The thought of it sent warm pleasure like a raging wave from her belly throughout her body, her pleasure enjoyment was coming, her clitoris was oozing love juices, just a few more strokes, just a few more strokes, and she was about to climax.

“Stop,” the hand came back up, gripping her wrist tightly in its leather glove, “haven’t you gotten your kicks yet?” Pleasure? It didn’t suit Marsha’s point of view, for her pleasure had always been as simple and easy as picking chocolates out of a box, and that thought infuriated Marsha. Who was this faceless man? Who was the man who wouldn’t let her have the orgasms she needed? And she desperately needed her carnal enjoyment, her clitoris pulsing with unbearable pain from falling short.

She couldn’t protest, or ask him why, as rough hands grabbed her shoulders and rolled her over onto her hands and knees, spreading her thighs and exposing her bare ass.

He clawed inside her with precision, and there was silence except for his incoherent gasps, an oppressive silence. In the heat, her sweat dripped from her shoulders to her waist as the man rammed inside her again and again, that thick cock causing the walls of her vagina to dilate, and he wasn’t even thinking about making her happy, just rhythmically pursuing his own fulfillment. Unreal and mechanical, Marsha didn’t realize what she was doing and began to respond to his pounding, stretching out her hips for the next lubricating piston, the rough blanket bruising her knees and palms, but she felt no pain at all. She was in another world. Without making a sound, he shot his cum into her and pulled out quickly, leaving an unsatisfied Marsha alone on the floor, she did her best to move a little, but the gloved hand was there again, at the back of her neck.

“Don’t move, I won’t allow it!” The odor of quality leather, mingled with the scent of intercourse, filled the suffocating, stifling air.

Just then the elevator creaked and resumed normalcy, and through the thin silk scarf, Marsha saw lights flashing on her back. They moved one, maybe, two floors, and then the elevator stopped again, and she heard someone snapping buttons, and the doors opened, and feet passed; and they were gone! They couldn’t leave her unattended like this!

As his faceless lover stepped out of the elevator, he turned and spoke once more, his sombre voice laced with sarcasm, “We shall meet again.”

With that, he walked away, the elevator doors closing behind him.

Marsha was left alone in the elevator and realized she had to act quickly, luckily the elevator stopped, she had to get dressed before someone came in, she couldn’t be seen in this state, she pulled the silk scarf from her eyes and pressed her face against the small glass window of the elevator door, squinting in the low light, there was no one in the hallway outside.

She darted into her dress and shoes, pulled on the shorts she’d abandoned aside, and cleaned herself up as best she could. The peculiar experience was everywhere: the entire elevator reeked of intercourse, and on the carpet, there were a few white blemishes.

Finally ready, she took a deep breath and pressed the button to the strata.

What would happen in her life? She picked at the black silk scarf, a guilty excitement like a raging wave, and deep down, she knew: the change in her life was irrevocable.

Chapter III

She arrived home to find Richard lying on his back on a sunbed in the garden, limbs outstretched, a cold beer in his hand, looking at her with a smile on his face.

“Come here and lie down together.” He scooted over, clearing a spot so she could lie next to him.

“Okay! I have to take a shower first, though.” Though Marsha had showered in the office washroom, the pleasant scent of guilt-filled guilt still emanated from her clothes and skin that she couldn’t erase. Never before had she felt such guilty joy, and yet, after all, it wasn’t her fault. What had happened to her lying on the floor of the elevator that had strangely aroused her had led her to shamelessly seek pleasure from men who didn’t even know God. She wanted both to wash what had happened out of her mind, to forget it completely, and to keep it deep in her memory to stimulate her, to seduce her, to mesmerize her into a wild excitement she had never experienced before.

She stripped off her clothes and threw them in the washing machine, then walked up the stairs and unscrewed the switch on the shower, gasping for breath at the cold water that felt like thousands of tiny needles stabbing into her body. But it was just enough to comfortably wash away the day, her summer heat, her worries, the stress she’d been under at the meeting. She rubbed the soap against her tired skin to revive it back to its original appearance and welcome the exuberance.

She put her hand between her legs and a stirring of lust made her forget everything that had happened during the day and her breasts became rock hard. Since the water was too cold, she turned it up a bit so she could relax in the warm water. She spread her legs and slipped her fingers into her cunt. She slid a bar of soap around in her labia, the perfume laced with the scent of her body, both unpleasant and sobering, the creamy lather calming and raging. Her fingers slid around the top edge of her clitoris, and though this was only a distant touch, it was very stimulating. Slightly fine warmth trickled down to her belly and up her thighs. If she didn’t come this time, it would really kill the dormant desire.

As she masturbated with the bar of soap, the figure of Richard in daylight came to mind; making love civilly on the soft grass in the sun, her tightly closed eyelids flushed as her carnal desires slowly reached their climax, a strong spasm automatically traveled up her thighs and a shadow appeared in her perspective, blocking out the light coming from the sun, forcing her to open her eyes to see him, to acknowledge his presence. A dark figure; only a body without a face, horrible and terrifying. She knew that as soon as she opened her eyes she would see a long, round, hard dick exposed in black pants and her carnal desires would be aroused again.

An ambiguous and husky voice rang in her ear, “I want you, I want you ……” A hand gripped her tightly, and her lust literally came with a shudder. She realized that this pleasure-seeking was exactly what she had been looking for on the real Green Island.

The fishman’s orgasm in the love cauldron receded, and Marsha opened her eyes to realize that it was no other than Richard. Now naked, he moved slowly as usual.

“I miss you, Marsha.” After a moment of silence, he crawled over to show her his hard dick, so big and beautiful that Marsha wanted to embrace it in her mouth, but Richard had other plans. He squeezed her ass and effortlessly propped it up so that her legs were coiled around his waist. He easily and gently sheathed his cock as she clung to him, tickling his back with passion. His cock plunged into her cunt, controlling the motion so that she wouldn’t be delirious and unsettled before long.

He had her recline against him so he could take her breast into his mouth. Marsha loved the way he sucked on her nipples like a sweet child greedily sucking on his mother’s milk. As he teased her breasts gently with his tongue and teeth, Marsha’s arousal was imminent. He pumped, pumped, pumped continuously inside her in an almost unbearably slow motion.

“I’m almost there!” She panted, feeling the pleasure come from her pussy, then travel to her thighs, her ass, her breasts, and finally explode in fragrant cum. Richard’s cum squirted into her with such force that Marsha felt it had jetted onto her cervix, a dizzying experience. Marsha collapsed onto his shoulder like an impotent exhausted doll.

The night afterward, she opened her office door and went in to get some paper. Darn, forgot to turn off the computer. She really didn’t want to use it to store any confidential information.

She crossed the office to turn off the computer. When she pressed the “Exit” key, the screen flashed: Message in mailbox.

She punched in her instructions and pulled up her e-mail. There was only one message for her. She read it and inexplicably felt shaky.

Do you still want to have fun in the elevator? Omega has found it very enjoyable with you so far. Would you like to do it again?

“Oh my God; Marsha, I’ve come to help you.” Sonia B. Graham poked her head into the room and scanned it, seeing a messy scene with only a foot of soapy water on the floor.

“The damn washing machine is acting up again.” Marsha, barefoot and in shorts, fought a losing battle with the flooding, and instead of sweeping the water out of the house, it was rising.

“Must turn off the washing machine,” Sonia said as she took off her shoes and waded through the kitchen with her skirt. “Careful, or you’ll be electrocuted to death!” She turned off the washing machine first, then tightened the faucet. The washer stopped spinning and the water stopped spraying.

Marsha and Sonia looked at each other at the receding water and smiled.

“Listen,” Sonia said to Marsha as she grabbed a mop and bucket, “Let’s get this place cleaned up, then I’ll take you to town for lunch.” Marsha took a deep gulp of the cool mineral water, then sat down in the wicker chair.

“This is a great place and I love coming here, thank you very much. These days, when I forget to be a chest-thumping entrepreneur, I start thinking about being just Mrs. Mope again.” Marsha stuck a slice of avocado and licked the butter off of it with her tongue. Marsha looked up to find Sonia staring at her with an enigmatic smile.

“Hey, Alex. How’s Kes?” Marsha grinned.

“Hush, you shouldn’t know either. Remember why?” “Oh, come on, Marsha, you know, it’s something I haven’t said to anyone. You’re so great, and that’s where Jem and I started to fall. Do you remember that time you cheered me on? And took me to see the half-naked dancers?” “How could I forget. I remember how you made out with that dancing man.” Sonya grinned as she laughed.

“Don’t you accuse me, I was truly intoxicated by that lechery, don’t you remember, like a melon lad? He was tall, strong and muscular, and asking me to stroke his prick through his covering would have been too much for any normal hot-blooded woman to resist.

“What happened after he let you into his dressing room? You never told me, and every time I asked you, you just squinted and frowned to deal with me.” Sonia took a big sip of white wine and rinsed the avocado in her hand.

“Well, since it’s you, I’ll tell you, and besides, you must have already made an inference from the situation. Rick, that’s his name, ran into me backstage and invited me into his masquerade room, and it was a real shock when I walked in there and he wanted to play with me with two other guys, and I nearly turned around and quit.” “Rick saw how worried I was and told me to sit down and relax, he was really sweet. I mean, he poured me a drink and talked to me, and eventually, I did start to feel cozy with him, and I thought there must be a stimulant in the drink because I’d never dared to be in a room with three half-naked men, and I wasn’t nasty enough for that.

“I thought that two of Rick’s friends; Andy and Jed would get dressed and leave, however, they too sat down and chatted with me, they complimented me extremely on my hair and my dress, and Jed leaned over and fondled my right breast and felt the texture of my dress with his hand. He and I both knew it was nothing, and in short, I felt, completely changed, my nipples firming up, very hard. I was not wearing a bra because my dress was backless and, of course, made it clear that I am very receptive to other people’s ideas.

“I was quiet and calm and very composed, but when Rick stood in front of me and began to undo the crotch cloth, I stared at him in awe. Rick undid the bows on either side of the crotch cloth, letting it hang there just out of the way of his marvelous treasure, and then Rick very gently grabbed my right hand and instructed me on what to do.

Marsha leaned back against the table, curiosity on her face.

“What exactly did he want you to do?” “He wanted to take off his crotch cloth, so I did, and hey, he had the most beautiful, beautiful prick I’ve ever seen.” “Even better than Jim’s?” “Oh, it was a full inch and a half long, and flaccid, and I couldn’t estimate how thick it was, it was almost as big as Jim’s erection, and in any case it wouldn’t always be hitching around like that. At that point, Rick asked, “Would you like to see a little trick I’m going to perform?” Surprisingly, like a fool, I said, “Yes.” Guess what, the man had it fully erect in less than ten seconds, as fast as he wanted it.

“At the time, all I could do was giggle one way or the other, and the drink made me lose control. I was also bursting with desire, and when Jed and Andy took off their crotch cloths as well, I felt warmth and dampness growing between my legs. Marsha, I was so desperate to fuck whoever it was, but I was a little hesitant to have fun with three horny lechers.

“Rick made it a crime to make me undress, he just knelt between my legs and put his hand under my skirt, I wasn’t wearing any socks and he made it a crime to remove my petticoats, he just pulled the crotch piece of his pants to one side and pressed into me. Marsha, it was amazing, he had a long tongue and knew exactly how to use it, he licked his tongue around my labia majora, it felt wonderful, but I couldn’t last long while he sucked on my clit. After a while, with his mouth working, I had an orgasm and moaned for him to do it all over again. Even now, just thinking about it makes my pussy wet.

“At the time, I didn’t care if anyone found out what I was doing, I knew these guys and I could only make love to them one by one, and these horny bastards were old hands at it, so when Rick pulled me over and told me to sit on his prick, I was so excited that I couldn’t get my limbs up, and he plunged inside of me like a warm, sharp knife into butter. He lifted my skirt up to my waist and spread my legs wide so I could see myself clearly in the mirror across the room, and of course, Jed and Aaron were able to get the most out of it, and now, with their pricks all stiff and ready, I guessed that I was the one they were playing with.

“Watching myself make love to a stranger was one of the most incredible things I’ve ever done, and one of the most arousing; the scene was like watching a pornographic movie. I could see Rick’s cock going in and out, and I could feel it, too: the hard spear seemed to be lubricated, even though it was so big, and it slid in and out without a hint of pain, and I was mesmerized when his fingers touched my clit and started rubbing it.

“When my orgasm hit, I yelled and screamed, I could see my pleasure in the mirror in front of me, my sex organs highly tense. As Rick’s semen shot into me, it overflowed and dripped onto the seat.

“Thinking that one quick fuck might be the end of it, I got dressed and got ready to go out, and I wasn’t even thinking about Aaron and Jed because they had already had their pricks gently stroked while they watched me fuck their friends, and they knew I was going to continue to have sex throughout the night, and they were just too happy to oblige.

“I hadn’t fully recovered from fucking Rick when I suddenly felt a pair of strong arms wrap around me and lift me up, Aaron skillfully unzipped the zipper on my skirt and took it off to my ass, letting it slide down to my feet, Rick’s cum dripped down my thighs while Jed knelt in front of me, licking and eating the cum from my skin and licking it all up, he licked upward to my pussy, sliding his tongue around my labia like a cat greedily eating cream, you can imagine how I felt, it was soulful.

“After he was done, he and Aaron yanked me to the floor again and made me lie down on my side, one of them, I thought, wanted to fuck me, but who knew, it was actually both of them fucking me together. Jed squatted down in front of me and grabbed his big smooth silky organ inside me, at the same time, felt Aaron behind me and started to gently wrench my anus open, oh Marsha, I was so scared, no one had ever fucked me like that before, I was afraid he was going to hurt me. But he penetrated my anus without any pain, he must have put some kind of grease on his prick and it felt really wonderful.

“I was sandwiched between two lovers like that while the third watched and stroked his own prick until it was rock hard, and the sensations in front of me and behind me were so amazing that I was dying! I had a burst of pleasure, and finally, they shot their treasures inside me, and we lay sprawled out on the floor, enjoying the pleasures of the flesh, and eating and laughing.” Marsha ate a bit of the chicken and pressed on, “That’s amazing, how did it end?” Sonia laughed.

“Oh, it’s still early, and as soon as we’re all recovered, it all starts again. I don’t think I’ve ever done it so many times in a week before, let alone in one night, but of course Aaron and Jed and Rick are perfect for it, being total dancers, their stamina is amazing, and they can go on and on again and again, and I stayed in the chemist’s room the whole night, learning things I never dreamed of, let alone tried.

“I left the next morning and told Jem that I was going to be with a girlfriend in the evening to discuss our problems, and you know, what happened that night was so strange for me, having previously considered myself unwelcome and in no way a sexually adventurous person, but after that night, I suddenly realized that sexual intercourse didn’t just mean that I had to lie there and wait for Jem to hurry up and get it on. I don’t think Jem could understand what was happening to me. I made a blatant show of intimacy, and we stayed in bed all day, with Jem barely getting a chance to flex his muscles.

Sonia paused to catch her breath as she exuded a look of struggle, her bright eyes glowing as she remembered the wonderful wonders of her personal life.

“How are you? Marsha, what has been going on since I last saw you? , you must have thought my voluptuous affair the other night tiresome.” “Oh, you know, my life hasn’t been so exciting,” Marsha retorted, “Richard’s hardly ever at home, they’re working on this new plan for the Cabinet, and Alex is a fun guy, but, I need more than that sometimes.” Sonia’s eyes widened.

“Marsha, you already have a sexy husband with a big enviable prick and a very doting lover who guards you like a stallion and can fuck twenty-four hours a day if you want to, and besides, you have an excellent job and a whole closet full of clothes, so what’s wrong with your life? I’d be perfectly content if I were you. Why don’t we swap? Give you Jaime and my obnoxious job, and I’ll have Richard and Alex, as well as the keys to the laundry room.” Marsha pondered this for a moment and burst out laughing.

“You’ve kept me from stepping out of line,” he said, and placed his hand on Sonia’s, and suddenly Marsha longed for intimacy. “It’s not that I’m dissatisfied with my life, in many ways it’s very nice, maybe a little too nice. I can’t really figure it out.” “But, Sonia, something very peculiar has happened lately, and I’m afraid, really so delayed, that there’s a world I don’t understand, it’s dark and frightening, and it gives me excitement. What do you think of it? Sonia!” “I don’t understand, what are you talking about?” “I can’t be sure yet; but, in the last few days, something very strange has happened to me. In a crowded train car I made love to a man whose lids I hadn’t even seen; imagine what would have happened if someone had found out. In the elevator, I was again raped blindfolded by this man, who I’m sure is him, and to this day, I still don’t know, who the hell is he? Why are you staring at me?”

Sonia gazed at Marsha in great confusion.

“Sounds incredible Marsha, don’t you think this is an elaborate concoction of mischief?” “Sonia, if it is, then it is indeed something else that has been carefully orchestrated, and I am receiving information.” “Information! What do you mean?” “The messages that appeared on my computer screen, it was creepy when I got home and found this mysterious messages in my e-mail, some constructive, some purely obscene, all from a guy named Omega.” “Maybe Richard left the messages on your computer to add a little spice to your sex life?” “Maybe.” Marsha was a little skeptical, “But, Sonia, Richard doesn’t know how to use my computer, doesn’t know anything about computers at all, you know that, and yes, he may have learned, but there’s no way he could have known my password! Definitely not, it’s absolutely confidential, I’ve never divulged it to anyone, not even him. Besides, there’s no point in telling him that sort of thing, I even confronted him with recent information and he looked very confused. I can only assume it was some bastard at Glenwald and Baker trying to intimidate me or something.” “Could one of the nasty guys be obsessed with you? It’s not like you’re going to the office, or who’s jealous of your success, could it be an underhanded act by someone who wants to blame you for the drop in your stock price last year?” Marsha sighed.

“Maybe. But it does intimidate me, but sometimes ……”

“What?” “Sometimes, again, it turns me on.” She found Sonia both shocked and curious; was she going to tell her what had happened that day in the elevator compartment? Should she tell her that just three days later, a man shoved something strange and silver into her hand? Marsha reached into her pocket and removed the object, placing it in front of Sonia, it was very small, about an inch long and shaped like an alligator clip.

Sonia stared at the thing in confusion.

“A silver clip? What for?” Marsha looked around; the two of them were sitting in a dark corner of the restaurant where no one would see them. She unbuttoned the top two buttons of her dress, revealing a breast with a rose-colored nipple, a silver clip fastened tightly, greedily, to that tender skin, and a burning, sudden, sharp pain coursed through her entire body, and she stifled a moan.

Sonia stared at Marsha in disbelief.

“It didn’t hurt you, did it?” “Pleasure and pain are just so incredibly intertwined.” Marsha’s voice was soft and flat. It’s as if her mind is filled with that feeling, which is a pleasure I’ve only just learned to enjoy.” Marsha sobered up a bit, let go of the silver clip, put it back on the table, buttoned up her shirt, and Sonia picked up the clip and peered into the light.

“There seems to be something engraved on it, a kind of symbol that I can’t remember for the moment.” “It’s the Greek letter O,” Marsha explained, the smile on her lids fading.

“I don’t understand.” “Omega.” That night, Marsha finished her work late and went quietly to bed, laying down beside Richard, thinking he must be asleep, and she lay there for a while, listening to his breathing, which was rhythmic one moment and slurred the next, and nothing could affect her; the whole carefully orchestrated plan was nothing more than this: that the man who hated her was doing his best to try to expose the weaknesses of her libido and disgrace her, and that, even now, they were still collecting some of her evidential material.

At the thought of herself, naked in the elevator compartment, willing herself, Marsha’s stomach began to tense, and hot stuff flowed out of it’s cunt, glistening on her parted thighs; her sexuality had always been a simple thing. Just get satisfied, now, it was becoming complicated and bothersome. Could feel it growing in power, unwilling to be limited by obligation or repression. She feared its power, feared that one day she would be in some horrible and unchangeable situation.

Instinctively, she moved closer to Richard and pressed her naked body against his back; the evening was hot and muggy, and there were thin beads of sweat on his body, and his body odor bolstered Marsha’s confidence as she very gently stroked his back and buttocks, like a breeze brushing by.

Richard moved and rolled over, wrapping his eager arms around her, his hard thing pressed against her belly, begging to be thrust in.

“Honey, want to make love?” He slid under her body, caressing her with his tongue and lips, flicking over her nipples, leaving a trail of kisses between them, then sliding down to the soft waist, his tongue licking from belly to lick into the dense forest of her pubic hair, teasing her curly hairs, almost intensely, into the center of her female body’s pleasure.

Marsha began to moan softly, writhing her body in this wonderful agony, her hands instinctively gripping Richard’s shoulders, his bronzed hair and his face, wanting to experience the taste of his tongue licking and eating her clitoris, and also the amazing warmth of fire in her belly as the first spasms tormented her.

“Oh Richard, lick me, come on, come on.” He licked slowly, as if that, would eternally open the valves of her arousal, and then gently stroked the labia, before spreading them apart to reveal the beating heart of her sex, as Marsha stretched her thighs out and gathered her knees, inviting him to plunge in and ease the torment she was enduring.

But his tongue, smooth and dexterous, wasn’t satisfied, and he continued to stroke Marsha, sliding the tip of his tongue inside her outer labia, composing sensual music on her urgent skin, where clear sex juices were flowing out of her cunt, fragrant and sweet. Richard lapped up this love juice with the agility of a baby bird sucking manna. Then he began to stroke the labia minora, brushing her clitoris like a light breeze, and it was almost inconceivable what Marsha could feel with just that little touch, and she began to feel herself up, hoping that by pinching her nipples, she would satisfy herself without Richard, but he was adamant, and his skill was very important to her. She was swimming in a sea of lust, feeling herself floating on the edge of perpetual, wonderful arousal, wishing that Richard would send her to the peak of her arousal, so that she would hang in perpetual supreme joy.

Richard’s tongue wouldn’t touch the clitoris directly yet, and Marsha pressed his hand deep between her thighs, trying to convince him with sweet words, but it was obvious that he wanted to play with her for a long time.

An idea suddenly occurred to her, a wicked, lascivious thought that appealed to her strongly, like a fox seeing its prey.

Clip, silver clip.

Her hand reached for the nightstand, pulled open the drawer, and pulled out the clip, it was cold in her hot hand, its clamping tabs cruel and unfeeling, showing no hint of mercy.

It was dark and Richard didn’t see it, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have cared. He would accept her little whimsy. She opened the clamping tab with force, and with one trembling hand she clamped it over her already sucked right nipple, and the clamp closed with a blatting sound.

The pain burned through her entire body like a blaze, Marsha couldn’t help but curl up, the pain quickly disappeared and was replaced by an equally intense feeling of pleasure, the burn turned into a warm stimulation that traveled through her entire body and roused every nerve in her, her pulse was quickening and her blood was boiling, when a vision came to her mind.

There seemed to be a black-gloved hand squeezing the silver clip tighter and tighter, getting pleasure from her as surely as the pain from the clip.

Marsha cried out softly, a cry beyond pleasure and pain, as she met the oncoming pleasure, intense spasms causing her cunt to contract over and over again until the last bit of the wave of pleasure subsided and the illusion of the gloved hand faded away, leaving her exhausted and trembling. Frustrated, Richard pushed his cock inside her, determined to receive even more intense arousal from her, and he kissed her lips, Marsha savoring the juice of her own pleasure as Richard rode her like a man possessed.

Then the two of them tangled and twisted together, lying on the crumpled sheets, Richard passed out, and Marsha took advantage of the situation by quietly removing the clamps and placing them gently on the bedside table.

chap

The message is clear as day.

Omega knows that that Richard has never satisfied you. Tomorrow, you will receive a blue letter, open it and come to the address on the letterhead, the time has come for you to be educated.

Marsha pounded the keyboard hard and angrily, deciding to stop playing these childish and ridiculous games. Work wasn’t going as smoothly as she’d hoped, and even though Richard was out of town on a business trip, she couldn’t get anything done tonight, and, besides, he couldn’t go to the ball with her tonight.

That was his excuse, or at least, Marsha was pretty sure it was an excuse. Because Richard didn’t like to socialize unless he was in a hotel room soaking up the company of a pretty woman, or at an all-male gathering of the intercollegiate rugby club. It was Alex, not Richard, who had accompanied her in the evening to the annual garden ball at Glenwold and Baker.

Richard may not be a very romantic man, but he’s also the last person to be jealous. Although they were an enviable couple, he was aware that in many ways he and Marsha had their own sky. He didn’t interfere with it, and, when he went out at night, Marsha never asked him where he was going; she knew that if she asked him, he would tell her, but, for some reason, that spoiled the fun of the game, or perhaps, she just didn’t want to know.

If Marsha needed a warm, fast fuck in the back seat of a fancy sports car I-beam, she had Alex, skillful, graceful, and so attentive that his prick was already ready to bring a wide variety of stimulation into her life, it was fun. Her friends, most of whom found her life enthralling, had become monotonous and boring over the last two or three years. Attending board meetings, where everyone was leering, spending long days and nights alone, staring unseeingly at a relentless computer screen, having polite, civilized sex with Richard, it was all tiresome, and even the money was sometimes infuriating, and everything you had wasn’t always what you needed. She had needed Alex as much as she needed food and oxygen, and her intercourse with him had become an addictive drug.

It was always fair and sunny when it began, and imagine warm feelings, naked under an apple tree, lying in golden corn, and thinking of nothing but enjoying instinctive, innocent, sweet carnal pleasures.

But is that enough? Pure sex, like pure sugar, can be cloying. The more refined the food is eaten, the more one needs stimulation, incredible dishes, Richard is a reliable fucking machine, and Alex, the handsome lover, anticipates her every need, every whim. Both were satisfied; hadn’t Alex once played master and servant for her?

However, these little games only intensified her sexual hunger, and gradually, and with certainty, dark lusts and vague longings would take over her life.

She put the copy on a hard plate and listed it, she turned off the computer and thanked God that there was no news this time, she remembered the words that had flashed at her on the screen that morning: the time has come for you to be educated. Her mouth suddenly went dry at the thought, on the one hand, she was extremely excited, and at the same time, felt compelled, and worried, but the bigger part, she wanted to know more, she must not travel with this pantomime crossword puzzle. If this jokester was going to pester and wait for her, he was going to be waiting a long time.

She closed the door and went upstairs to change. Alex was going to be here soon. Should she wear this red cocktail dress? Or the blue silky turtleneck dress? She opened the cupboard door and was immediately drawn to the black velvet miniskirt, which she’d bought a year ago and never worn in public, it was what hookers wore, literally, open low at the neck and back, wrapped tightly around her body, perfect, and, with the thighs open high, maybe.

No way. She can’t wear this dress in the presence of the chairman’s wife, a sad and disciplined woman. Merlene Steinberg. Starnberg-Miles hated her. Miles hated her: she was absolutely opposed to everything about Marsellus, especially her intelligence and her position, and Merrilyn Steinberg-Myers was a very good woman. Stainaber Miles thinks that women are meant to be in life. Miles believed that a woman was meant to support her husband in life, to be an independent, concrete pillar, basking in the glory of his success. The thought made the inappropriate dress look even more glorious, and an evil impulse caused Marsha to reach up and remove it from the transom.

She took the dress off the hook and spread it out on the bed, ready to try it on. As she put the hook back in the closet, she found a velvet pouch dangling from the silk thread, she unhooked it, pulled it open at the neck of the bag, rummaged around, and finally dumped the entire contents into her hand.

The silver light flashed and she began to tense up.

Another silver clip came into view, identical to the first, this tiny, delicate, instrument of pain and pleasure was engraved with a Greek word: Omega.

Marsha couldn’t help but be creeped out, her fingers instinctively tensing as she felt something crumpled inside the bag. She shivered and took the bag, a small note fell out of it, she smoothed it out and saw this line: a wise choice Marsha, Omega is happy for you.

Enraged, Marsha picked up the dress and hurled it violently across the room, where it hit the wall and slid down, crumpling into a pile. Marsha sat down on the bed, her mind scrambled.

Did Alex do it? It can’t be. Don’t be a fool. Alex went to Edinburgh last week, she even spoke to him there on the phone and he drove straight here to pick her up. Well, what about Richard? He must have something to do with it. But it wasn’t likely. She had always known what time he went to bed and, besides, he didn’t like to play pranks and would never indulge in this kind of torture; Richard was kind, benevolent, disinterested in cross-examination, and naturally uninteresting.

And it certainly wasn’t Richard who was on the train that day, and in the dark, suspended elevator car between the second floors.

She was scared out of her wits, and if it wasn’t Richard, which she was certain it wasn’t- then someone must have come to her house, rummaged through her clothes, and violated her as much as the man who grabbed her in the elevator and hadn’t met her.

This is no longer a prank!

A thought suddenly flashed through her mind as she pulled open the top drawer of the pine chest, the aromatic scent of lavender emanating from it, but that wasn’t where Marsha’s interest lay as she turned the underwear all over to see if there was anything else suspicious.

Nothing. She was relieved that at least Omega’s hands hadn’t gotten here yet. Just then she saw something half-wrapped in a pink lacy bra at the bottom of the drawer.

For a moment, she couldn’t guess what the contraption was. A shiny black PVC belt with a buckle. Marsha picked it up and saw a slip underneath.

Marsha, tie it on tonight. Behave yourself. Omega will be pleased.

She really wanted to take the belt downstairs and throw it away, or burn it, but then, as she held it, it felt marvelous and mesmerizing, and her anger turned to curiosity. Try it on, she thought, and immediately throw it away.

Marsha deftly removed her petticoats and slipped them into this armor, tying it around her waist and fastening it securely with this black PVC belt, chic, simple. One belt wrapped around her waist like a thin thread, several others wound tightly in a criss-cross shape to cover her hips, and a final belt passed between her legs. Marsha immediately understood the double meaning of the belt, not only to cover the wearing sex organ, but also to intentionally stimulate it. On the inside of the belt, there were rows of small flexible rubber spikes that rubbed and moved between the labia as Marsha walked, bringing out the most subtle sensations.

Omega must have guessed that she would try it on and knew that, once she had the belt on, she wouldn’t take it off again. Imprisoning her in her own sexuality.

Marsha turned and looked in the mirror; she was naked except for the thin, shiny belt around her waist and hips, and the sight of this image of herself frightened her into immobility. Stood frozen for a moment. Then she slipped a hand between her thighs and gently squeezed the belt, and immediately, flaming passion spread throughout her body, her clitoris was burning, her pussy was already wet, and she wanted desperately to masturbate, to allow herself to enjoy the pleasure, to alleviate the pain of her lust, and yet she thought that no matter how many orgasms she had had, the desire for carnal enjoyment would never cease.

The sound of a quarter of an hour brought Marsha to her senses; in less than half an hour Alex would be there, she couldn’t let him see her like this, and after a last look at the “armor”, she didn’t have the courage to take it off, she had to keep it. She realized that the fear had turned into an anticipation, it felt so wonderful, so gently stimulating the sensitive skin between her thighs, that she was going to wear it under her velvet dress, and no one would have guessed that such a strange, unglamorous stimulation would excite her.

She quickly got dressed and put her long red hair up on top of her head and used some pins to hold it in place, and at the back of her neck, left a few wavy curls.

At that moment the doorbell rang, Alex had arrived and it was time to go, she glanced at the silver clip on the bed and put it in her evening bag along with the other one, if Richard happened to come home very early, hopefully he hadn’t seen it.

She slipped on her heels and ran downstairs into Alex’s warm embrace.

“Good evening, my dear, your charming husband, not here tonight?” Merlin B. The smile on Miles’s face was growing cold, and his eyes were full of contempt. The smile on Miles’s eyelids was growing cold, and both eyes were full of scorn, yet her husband gazed at Marsha with great pleasure.

“It’s good to see you again,” Marsha said against her will, crossing her arms behind her back, “Richard’s away on business, and this is Alex. This is Alex Donaldson, a good friend of the family,” she added, “Jeremy always talks about you,” which was true. Jeremy ran the school at My Wife Doesn’t Understand, and had always been committed to placing any freshman young administrator, male or female, who would listen to his pleas. Ironically, despite the unequivocal tenderness and graciousness he offered Marsha, she had always been unwavering in her refusal to approach him, and even though people talked behind her back, she wasn’t about to sleep or rest in her pursuit of her goal.

She and Alex left the cold Mrs. Steinberg-Miles cheerfully. She and Alex left the cold Mrs. Staineburg Miles and crossed the broad lawn toward the big tent, knowing all too well that Merrin had been spreading rumors about her, which, in spite of her imagination, were at least ninety per cent. false, and that Mrs. Staineburg Miles could be the mastermind behind the hateful battle. Could Mrs. Stannable Miles be the mastermind behind this abominable campaign? No, absolutely not, don’t be ridiculous, there was a man behind it all, that much was clear, she warned herself.

It was at this point that Alex, recognizing someone he had worked with on the reinsurance program, apologized to Marsha and walked away, leaving her to talk to a group of female employees, most of whom were very young, very smiley, and surely very talkative, who had only one topic of conversation, and that was: sex.

“What do you think of that Gary Martin? Martin?” A blonde girl asked Marsha, clearly taking her opinion as an authority.

“He’s nice, why do you ask such a question?” “He’s been staring at you all night since you arrived.” “You’re kidding,” said Marsha, stealing a glance, hoping to see him but not wanting to be caught.

“Yes, it’s true”, Sheila cheered up, the light black girl with the long fingernails, “there he is, over at the barbecue, talking to that tall guy with the mouse gray hair, see?” Marsha looked over toward the barbecue and saw a dark-haired young man, olive skinned, athletic and handsome. Gary B. Martin was highly regarded at Glenwald and Baker, supposedly, because of his beautiful physique. However, Marsha had always kind of avoided him; there was a soft menace about him. He had done his best to seduce her at the Christmas party, and when he drank, it was even more blatant, and Marsha had rejected him outright, at which time he had been very unhappy about it. Later, however, they had maintained a better relationship. At least, that’s what she thought.

Their eyes met and her heart thumped and she turned her eyes away. What if Gary Martin was behind this? What if Gary Martin was behind it? Should she go over to him and bravely confront this despicable villain?

No, this wasn’t working. The more she agonized over it, the less she knew, the more confused she became, and the situation went nowhere. Any one of the hundred people over there could be Omega. Besides, she didn’t understand it very well. There was no point in making a joke out of it. It was best to remain calm and pretend that the incident didn’t affect her at all; besides, there was a certain amount of excitement in this game, and she wasn’t quite ready to have to come up with the answer to the riddle.

She left the group of female clerks and wandered across the lawn to get a closer look at Martin. Martin kept gazing at her, but when Marsha walked past, he averted his eyes.

“Hello Gary, having fun?” He grunted and spoke a vague reply, turning away in a hasty manner. It wasn’t surprising, really, because the girlfriend holding his arm must be wondering why her man was paying so much attention to Marsha.

Marsha crossed the lawn under the admiring gaze of the crowd. The gazing was like caressing her skin, and tight clothes, arousing her, mesmerizing her. It felt so good. Matter of fact, that night, Marsha felt very satisfied with the armor that brushed gently between her thighs, seductively, and knew that she had to take action right away to alleviate the sharp pain from her swollen clitoris. Finding Alex in a group of attractive women, she dragged him over. There was a band playing in the big tent and they both drank a lot of champagne and danced for a while. They were swaying around the dance floor, to the music, and Marsha felt Alex lusting for her, eagerly and passionately, and he pressed his body against hers, his prick hard and ready for her long ago, and she lifted her head and looked into his face, and his lust seemed to dissolve her into his light blue eyes. Of course, she hadn’t thought of Marsha’s agony, the belt was brutally grinding her most tender cunt muscles, and no matter what, she had no choice but to get rid of this wonderful torment.

She must make love.

She put her hand between the two bodies, outside of his pants, and began to stroke the hard shaft, making clear her request and desire. He responded with equal passion.

Alex bent forward and kissed the back of her neck.

“Follow me.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the big tent and across the lawn toward the bushes.

“No, we can’t,” Marsha ate and giggled, wishing she hadn’t had so much champagne. “I mean just ……,” but, in her mind, she had already spread her legs and mounted her naked lover, feeling him plunge his cock into her. At this point, the shiny belt on her body was tearing at her, letting her know that she was a slave to her lust. But Alex couldn’t be allowed to see this, or he’d be sure to inquire about the ins and outs.

She did her best to stop him from fooling around so much that the heels of her shoes poked into the grass, and now, with the darkness, she hoped no one had seen them both.

“I’ve changed my mind. Let’s wait a little while before we do it, a little while, when we get home, there’ll be plenty of time for sex.” Alex turned and eyed her, wide-eyed and confused.

“Why? Just a little play? Marsha, it’s not like you, my dear, I think, you’re already full of lust.” He didn’t know what the other guests were doing, or what kind of interests they might have, and Alex insisted on taking her by the arm and embracing her into the bushes, with Marsha too terrified to cry out, because there were already too many rumors about her to give Melin Stanabal Miles more fodder for his disgusting machinations. There could be no more fodder for the disgusting machinations of Melin Stanabal Miles. So, Marsha could only cling to him helplessly and let him do what he wanted.

This part of the garden, with its dense foliage, seemed to be transported into a tropical jungle, and Marsha began to eat and laugh again, and couldn’t help it. She cursed the champagne, her pussy was already hot and wet, there was just no way out! It was all too late now, Alex would have found the armor and would have figured it out, if he had wanted to.

He gasped and struggled to keep her on her feet while she fell through Alex’s arms onto the soft, dusty ground. The brightest stars were just peeking out of the high navy sky, and the voices coming from the dance floor were as distant as the stars.

She reached forward and pulled him against her, his warm, heavy body crushing her. She rolled to the side and fumbled around, finding the button-covered fabric. She tried several times, failing to unzip it, when she touched the button, and it turned out, he was wearing pants with buttons, and what was this seriousness, this wearing of buttoned pants, when he knew that his woman had lusted after him?

Now he kissed her, overflowing with intense passion, his tongue like a gourmet, savoring everything in her mouth. Marsha thanked him for his help and began to unbutton her buttons, returning his kisses as she struggled to lift the covering with her fingers.

She finally made it. Put her hand inside. He was wearing silk shorts, and the split opened up in the wind as his cock tried to duck out of the way and into the door area, and she tried to help it along, but first ……

Marsha squirmed forward on her knees and bent over, pulling Alex’s prick out of his pants, she gently stroked it as she admired the smooth hardness, then took the testicles as well, large, firm and angry. Obviously, he had been saving them for her and deserved a reward. Marsha opened her mouth and swallowed the hard thing, the swollen glans oozing rich and clear love juice, its salty flavor making her happy.

Alex, beneath her, was moaning, “Awwww!” In a frenzy of lust, he grabbed her breasts tightly and squeezed them desperately.

She sucked him hungrily, her teeth gently grazing that skin, her tongue rolling over the glans, then down, sucking on the shaft, slow and carnal at first, and as her excitement mounted, she held her hand over her testicles, the weight of which made her happy: a vast fountain of white pleasure would be offered to her this evening.

To have the power to own a man with her mouth, so marvelous that it was entirely within her grasp. In this precious, brag-worthy moment, if she asked him for the world, he would fulfill her without a second thought, for she was the keeper of his joy, his protector, his rescuer, she was his angel, his demon, to choose his destiny any way he wanted: rescue? Or damnation? Which does she choose?

She stopped playing with his cock and squeezed his balls hard with her fingers until he gasped for air. Marsha smiled knowingly when she heard him moan, knowing very well: the pain intensified his carnal pleasure.

Now, Alex was moaning in a low voice, with a rhythm, that rhythm being an indefinite pitch, and out of pity for him, Marsha finally began to lick and eat and suck him again. It was said that in licking and sucking there was another woman who could match a man’s skill, and yet, Marsha knew this glans as if it were her own, and was comfortable with all the nuances of the movements of her lips, tongue and teeth, and knew exactly whether it was to inspire or to infinitely delay this oblivion.

The game was an amusement, but Marsha was eager for her own carnal pleasures as well, her sex waiting to be filled, waiting to be stroked, pulsing gently as she sucked harder on Alex’s swollen, engorged cock, only to hear a shuddering gasp as semen spurted into her victorious mouth before he collapsed backward, exhausted, onto the sun-warmed floor.

Marsha let him rest for a while, but not for long. Alex’s main attraction was the amazing sexual function, she had never met a man with that ability, to get a quick erection again soon after ejaculation, a few gentle taps, fingers held tightly at the base of the penis, and before long, back to hardness. She needed him badly, very, very badly.

Alex’s sex organ was beautifully shaped, slightly longer than the average standard, with thick blonde pubic hair around the root, his testicles resembling mounds of curly blonde hair, and the whole of the picturesque pleasure earth had been tanned a deep amber color by the blazing summer sun. Against the pale blue gloom, he looked like a graceful statue, smooth and elegant, carved out of white sandstone. She patted him tenderly, admiring all the while his strength and the curves of the muscles in his arms and thighs, and the taut belly that led relentlessly downward.

Alex suddenly unfolded his arms, wrapped them around her waist and pushed her to the side, Marsha lost her balance and fell gladly to the soft grass, happily obliging to his eager lust, she completely forgot about the dishonorable secret while his fingers began to lift the skirt of it, exposing her thighs and buttocks.

Alex gasped and stroked the black, glossy belt, he seemed mesmerized by her kind submission, the sturdy, intricately shaped belt criss-crossing Marsha’s skin, the glossy PVC cage closing off everything he wanted.

He quickly realized what it was for and placed his hand between his thighs, moving it upward until his fingers slid rhythmically back and forth, pressing the little rubbery prick hard against her sensitive female body.

Marsha wanted to scream out loud but, fearing discovery controlled herself, flipping silently to and fro under Alex’s skillful fingers, Marsha relished the pleasures of this flesh, and just when she thought she could have nothing more to do, Alex forcefully twisted the strap around her thigh ask aside, exposing her tormented pussy.

He plunged inside her immediately, forcing his way into her throbbing wet area against this firm belt, her hips lifting upward eagerly to meet the stroke, thrusting as deep as he could, letting his testicles slap heavily against the entrance to her female body.

He squeezed and fondled her breasts and Marsha panted with excitement. Cum and pussy juice mixed together and gushed out, flooding the armor and the folds of her dress. And the dry earth, quietly drinking it in.

She lay there, letting the good feeling go on without beginning or end, not realizing that Alex had taken the drink. This excess of pleasure still made her dizzy. The armor was now back where it belonged-between her thighs-again causing her clitoris to stir with eager lust.

After lying down for a while, she stood up and smoothed her dress. No one could guess what she had done. Just in front of the jungle, there was a wooden bench and she decided to sit down and watch the entertaining scene while waiting for Alex to bring drinks.

Martha B. Stainaber Miles is a town commissioner, a defender of public morals and a dedicated do-gooder. Myers is a town commissioner, as well as a defender of public morals and a dedicated do-gooder, and Marsha’s heart blossomed at the sight of her embarrassing drunkenness. It was obvious that Marsha’s sugared fruit had been swapped and smelled like a mixture of vodka and gin. Masha was clinging to Gary Martin, a young man who was very adept at the art of making a good living. The young man was very good at using his advantage. If the chairman’s wife wanted to make out with him, he would not refuse.

Marsha’s hands slid up his buttocks and along its edge, millimeter by millimeter, reaching for the enlarged penis. Marsha thought to herself that if Marsha were a true defender of morality, she should have been horrified when she realized what her shameless hands were about to touch. Now, with her left hand on Gary B. Martin’s active back, pinching and squeezing the firm skin beneath the tight silky khaki pants. Marsha smiled fondly, imagining how Marsha would feel when she remembered what she had done the next morning.

Gary was very happy that even though Martha wasn’t his type of person, she liked him, and that these days, Jeremy B. Jeremy Steinbrenner. Miles had been grimacing, perhaps because his wife was always sulking, but if she wanted Gary Martin to alleviate her frustration a little, he was the perfect man to do it. Anyway, if she wanted Gary Martin to ease her frustration a little, he was the man for the job, he was very discreet, and as such, he had a thousand ways of cheering up her barren, underused body.

Still eating her laugh, Marsha walked across the lawn toward the lobby, the first floor of the building, brightly lit, and upstairs, where many of the windows were dark, a man and a woman tucked away in a secluded corner helped to get to know each other better.

Marsha wondered where Alex had gone with the champagne, her eyes were drawn to a group of lovely typists, their tight mini-skirts and bright red lips stood out, the ladies and young ladies from the other departments stared enviously at them, sighing to themselves, turning away red-faced, while these typists pretended not to have seen anything and drank in a sea of compliments around them. Marsha wondered what she would be like if she were seventeen again. Seventeen, intoxicating age, full of lust, not easy to grasp.

“Just one person? Marsha,” came a low voice from behind her, Marsha looked around and saw no one. The thick foliage behind her was motionless, there seemed to be nothing.

“He left you alone? If a lady and I had such a wonderful fuck, I wouldn’t leave her alone.” Marsha turned around, but a pair of strong hands grabbed her shoulders and pinned her to the bench.

“No, no, don’t turn around, Marsha, look ahead, I want to see a lovely, bare back. Want to caress your soft, smooth skin.” The voice was soft, somber, like bitter-sweet chocolate, and she was shocked to realize that it wasn’t the voice of the man in the elevator, and then it wasn’t the man on the train. It was strangely unimaginable. Marsha really wanted to turn away, to look away, but the hands gripped her like a vise.

“What for? What do you want from me?” “To help you, to teach you. It’s time for you to start your education. You know, Marsha, we can’t waste time.” The time has come for you to start your education, Marsha. It’s time to start.

Marsha’s heart thumped against her ribs, beating faster and faster, and she could no longer tell what she was feeling: was it worry, fear? Or was it wistful enthusiasm and excitement? Maybe it was a mixture of all those emotions.

Now, these hands were caressing her body, and she could have run away, screamed out, broken away from the momentary embrace, but any little noise or movement would have brought attention to her, and besides, she was already worrying if she’d been noticed by the other guests who’d found out about the attention, but it didn’t seem like the others had seen her, they were far away, delirious from the drink, and besides, there was… …

Not daring to move or make a sound, she glanced downward, her eyes glancing up, and saw the leather-gloved hands, gently stroking along the curves of her thighs, instinctively probing the tops of her legs, the warm, fertile valley still wet with the lust of both her and Alex, and tormented by the small thorns that filled the black PVC belt. This lover he’d met at the end of the day, did he know? Did he want the world to know of her shame? He loosened her skirt Yu a bit so that it was easier to reach under the tight, stretchy belt.

There was dead silence all around her, and Marsha stared at the gloves with a mixture of worry and pleasure; she hadn’t seen them before, but knew what they meant, and they were exactly as she’d imagined: black in color, soft and smooth, and on the middle finger of her left hand there was a silver-white stamped ring engraved with a familiar mark: Omega. A premonition sent shivers down her spine, and her thighs involuntarily loosened and parted to allow the gloved hands to reach her most secret place. hand to her most secret place, the index finger pressing mercilessly at the center of the strap, forcing the pliable rubber spikes to kill the tender, sensitive pussy, arousing her carnal urges once again.

“You are an obedient student, and Omega will be pleased.” Marsha gasped as her fingers stopped pressing on the belt and withdrew from between her thighs. At that moment, the hand began to caress her abdomen and chest again along her thighs, up the curve of her hips, and the hand passed over both breasts, and she immediately understood the intent of the touch as worry and turmoil gripped her abdomen.

“Now I realize that you are not very obedient; you should not have tested Omega’s patience, Marsha, you should not have scorned Omega’s gift so callously.” Marsha looked down to see the gloved hands picking up her purse; had all her secrets been discovered?

“These, let me help you, Marsha, wear them proudly, they are the mark of Omega.” Those hands roughly pulled down the dress with its low opening, exposing one breast, then the other, the silver clamps blazing down on the lust-filled nipple, and Marsha couldn’t help but let out a little cry and began to moan in soft, sweet pain.

“Marsha, remember that you must obey Omega’s instructions absolutely. We shall meet again soon.” These whispered words of farewell circled Marsha’s mind for a long time, the two silver mysteries now hidden under the tight velvet dress, Marsha mechanically fingered her breasts, only the slightest outline giving away her inner turmoil, the pain and the pleasure were as strong as each other, she wanted to shout, she wanted to laugh, she couldn’t help but not to shiver and shed tears.

Alex finally came across the lawn. With a bottle of champagne in his hand and two glasses on a tray, she looked up at him with an inquiring and desirous look on her face, and she saw a whole new world.

“Take me home, Alex, take me home now, take me to bed.”

Chapter V

As promised by the message on the computer screen, the first batch of this blue envelope arrived. Marsha hesitated for a moment before casually tossing it into the word basket with the rest of the promotional mail; this so-called Omega couldn’t overcome her. If he wanted Marsha in his palm, he would have a new trick up his sleeve, and she stopped paying attention to the matter, thinking of a delicious breakfast for herself and Richard: croissants and honey. Convinced that she had finally put the shadow of Omega behind her once and for all. After half an hour, she found the letter again and tore open the envelope with trembling hands.

A piece of black letter paper with silver-white piping and silver-white lettering would have struck Marsha as tacky and inelegant under normal circumstances, but recent events had made her realize that the clichés of horror were more frightening than the horror itself, and such a piece of paper was permeated with ombre, with silver letters that glowed faintly and weighed heavy with fear.

“Marsha, go to-morrow at noon to a house with a red door on the corner where Church Road and Abbot Lane meet, where Omega has summoned you.” Marsha stared silently at the letter-paper for a moment, then pulled open a drawer in the cupboard and dropped it inside, the drawer slamming heavily shut. Out of sight, out of mind, but, as she walked away, those words echoed in her mind again.

Omega summoned you.

All morning she had been completely absorbed in her work, and everything that should have been considered had not gone very well at Glenwold and Baker. Of course, Jenny B. Robertson had succeeded in convincing the chairman that Marsha’s cost-cutting program was neither necessary nor possible. And it’s not hard to see how Marsha B. Stainaber Miles had tried hard to convince her husband that the cost-cutting program was neither necessary nor possible. Miles had worked hard to turn her husband against Marsha. The manager of the management department, Guy Branch, was all too aware of the situation and apologized.

The more Marsha thought about it, the angrier she became, and if her plans had been completely incorrect or inappropriate, she would have agreed to override them. But here’s the most infuriating part: knowing that these plans would help Glenwald and Baker out of the recession. Jenny, Robertson is so jealous of her that she really sees the small picture; she’s been running around trying to keep Marsha out of the position so much that she can’t see the reality of these plans. If Glenwald and Baker had failed, Jenny Robertson would not have been jealous. Robertson would have no more work to be jealous of.

Marsha thought, “I’m going to lose my job too.” Frustrated, she tapped away at her keyboard, pulling up her planned sales charts for the second half of the year. It didn’t look good, Glenwald and Baker was her most important client, and with the abominable and stupid Omega incident, she was sure that “Omega” was someone at Glenwald and Baker, but who could it be? Who hated or wanted her so much?

She had to figure out who was behind this, and maybe the only way to do that was to follow this mime crossword puzzle. It wouldn’t take long in any case, until then she was going to play hide and seek with this thing until she found out the truth, and once she did she would be able to spill her guts and get some rest and relaxation.

She was reluctant to admit, even to herself, that it wasn’t just worry and fear that made her do it, but that it was exciting to predict.

“Marsha?” Marsha rolled over and moved closer to Richard, snug in the crook of his arm like a cat.

“Hmm?” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her into his warm, bronzed body, the soft summer morning sun shining on his naked torso. Marsha could smell the sweet, strong tingle emanating from his bronzed skin. A sudden desire arose in her to lick and eat the wonderful, uplifting perfume of his skin, to let the scent fill her mouth and roll over her tongue.

“Marsha, I …… how has Alex been?” What an innocent question! And with a little hesitation, as if there was an unspoken question in it.

Marsha moved closer, not wanting to think of tiresome old Alex, especially now that there was no rush to get out of bed on such a warm summer morning.

“Well, he’s nice.” An awkward silence ensued, Marsha knew exactly how Richard felt and thought, if only he had stayed home a little more, had spent more time with his wife, perhaps, she wouldn’t have needed this small suitable adjustment, it wasn’t jealousy, no, never, it was guilt, this gentleman, married to the most sexually aroused woman he had ever met was the one woman who could, on all occasions, at all times, arouse his of lust, and he, on the other hand, spends most of his time away on business.

She knew that was what was going on in his head, and besides, sometimes, she felt no resentment. She was not a natural loner in character; she needed male companionship, and men needed her more; in short, there was no question of her being under-supplied; there was only a difference between liking it and not liking it very much, and she suddenly remembered Omega as if he were a dark shadow flying across an azure sky, and shuddered, and she would not like to think of such a thing on such a beautiful morning, and there was plenty of time for her to settle the score with Omega.

Marsha is a very practical woman. Richard loves his job, probably more than he loves her, and success for him means being away from home on a regular basis, which is more than either of them can handle. However, she wouldn’t sit around and muse if she didn’t have all the time in her marriage, she’d have fun in time, which allowed Alex to take advantage of the situation. Yet, despite his recent boldness, she was beginning to tire of him, yet Alex was always Alex, gracious, urbane, handsome, and no matter how hard it was to do her best to play the cruel temptress, it was always Marsha who asked for the shot.

“Marsha, have I been neglecting you?” Without waiting for her answer, Richard continued, “Yes, of course I have a little. You’re sexy, Marsha, and beautiful and energetic, and it’s no surprise if you become withdrawn when all I can do is leave you and leave you alone.” “I want to be nicer to you, spend more time with you, go out with me for a while, okay? I’m going up north on business today and have invited me to spend some time with Lloyd B. Thuringham and his mother, the Duke, and others to stay with us temporarily, and I know that they will be very glad to see you, and we’ll be back on Thursday, and you won’t be able to remember Glenwold and Baker for this day or two.” In Marsha’s mind, a voice was broadcasting the previous day’s announcement: noon tomorrow, Marsha, noon tomorrow.

She rolled onto her back, propped herself up on her elbows, looked down into her husband’s dark blue eyes, and placed a soft kiss at the base of his nose.

“Sounds good, when do we move.” Richard laughed with delight, wrapping her tightly in his strong arms and pulling her to him with such force that she finally collapsed on top of him, and he moved to kiss her, his tongue searching between her willing lips, probing the wettest of mouths, which still retained the sweet, aromatic scent of fresh orange juice, and whose entire body was like fresh, juicy, ripe fruit, waiting to be picked.

One of his knees went between Marsha’s thighs, forcing her thighs apart, her golden pussy long since fresh and wet, her arousal stirring for him, desire overflowing her narrow female vessel.

Marsha eagerly pressed her body against Richard’s, feeling with all her being against her pussy port, the still swelling hardness, as she moved her body downward, one hand slowly plunging between their stomachs, feeling downward, finally grasping what she sought.

Richard’s heavy scrotum was full of life and filled her hand, she stroked it with sophistication, her movements were gentle and skillful, her efforts were rewarded as the soft scrotum began to tense, then her hand moved forward between Richard’s thighs and began to tease it, letting a little fingertip trace lewdly from the anus to the base of the testicles, he moaned and arched his back in heartfelt pleasure and spread his thighs wide open.

He reached out and began to fondle Marsha’s nipples as they grew firmer, a satisfied smile on his face as he pinched and pinched them harder while Marsha remembered with guilty pleasure that the silver clips were still tucked away at the bottom of her handbag and hadn’t used them. Even just remembering that thrilling pleasure made her pussy pulsate with frustrated lust.

Marsha voluntarily spread her thighs and straddled Richard’s hips, grasping the cock and placing it at the mouth of the warm, wet, female body melt. Richard didn’t object, just wished he could feel himself thrusting inside her like a short sword into a jeweled decorated scabbard.

Marsha teased him for a while, once again reveling in her powerful sexuality, conquering herself and enjoying the ecstasy. She held the head of Richard’s swollen cock against the entrance to her secret cave, and Marsha let it slowly work its way in, bit by bit, along the crack, a very wonderful sensation for both of them, Marsha feeling that the silky, eager cock was no longer a plaything, but like a slave to her every sexual desire, and that, once she had decided to give herself the pleasure of physical enjoyment without letting her victim enjoy it, it was the Queen of Sex and the Goddess’s most notable virtue.

Richard twisted and pulled her nipples more forcefully this time and with devastating proficiency, her resolve collapsed and Marsha let the glans brush her throbbing clit like a light breeze, her libido could no longer stand to be teased like this, such silky contact, and with a sudden jerk of her thighs she engulfed him.

She rode him hard, using her weight and balance to control the pumping of his hips, and she decided to give him pleasure only when she gave him a fucking orgasm, but of course he had the initiative, and the skillful insertion of her fingertips between the cock and the concave was enough to give Marsha a sudden and very intense top. Marsha fell forward on top of Richard, gasping for breath. Admiring his winning technique, she gasped and lay back on his stomach, and Richard took the opportunity to gently nibble on her nipples, arousing her once more, a renewed carnal desire that made her moan again.

It didn’t take long for her to start retaliating, riding him again, this time with increasing speed, forcing him to get aroused to the point of honoring her supreme artistic skill.

Richard couldn’t contain his sexual desire and with suppressed sobs, he let the fountain of pleasure jet inside her and she laughed out loud with pleasure and fell onto his chest.

They lay together for a while, dazed by the morning light, knowing in their hearts that soon they would have to do it again, and not wanting to rush and rush and ruin the wonderful atmosphere.

Marsha was doing her best to erase the sombre murmur from her mind, the unkind reiteration of which disturbed her thoughts.

“Tomorrow at noon, Marsha, Omega summoned you.” She slid out of bed and kissed Richard deeply on his enlarged penis; nothing would spoil a good day, nothing could overcome Marsha B. McClain.

They rode through the woods, the markings on the horse’s belly glowing gray-green in the sunlight, and Marsha was delighted that she had agreed to come to Thuringham House with Richard, not only because of the pleasure that Lloyd B. Thuringham and his mother had given them, but because the house and the surrounding botanical gardens had a peculiarly romantic atmosphere. It was not only that Lloyd Thuringham and his mother had made it pleasant for them, but that the house and its surrounding botanical gardens had a peculiarly romantic air, with their undulating hills. Trout lounged in the clear, transparent water.

She remembered that the night before she and Richard had sneaked out and had had extraordinary intercourse on the grouse high moor, in the heather. Poor Richard had had to juggle a whole lot of business, Marsha thought to herself, forgetting that it was vacation from work as usual. Hell, she should have brought her briefcase full of reports with her, something to do if she got bored. It didn’t seem like it would get tiresome, though. Fortunately, when Richard was often away, Lloyd and Ms. Thuringham managed to keep her entertained, with Katina B. taking her for walks. Thuringham took her for walks and introduced her to the historical sights of the neighborhood, and her son, Olliver; as Marsha found out this afternoon, was an excellent rider.

“Exhausted, aren’t you?” He asked aloud in a sneer as they rode to the ridge, turned around, and descended back into the forest. “I’m fine,” Marsha panted, exhausted, in fact. She had been a good rider in middle school, but it had been a few years since she had ridden a horse. In the past few years, she had been using her stamina in a way she hadn’t thought of before.

“Listen, let’s go over there, by the creek, and take a breather”, Olliver, Thuringham suggested aloud, kicking the horse with the spurs of his boots as he did so, “and let’s race.”

He darted out a long way. And Marsha watched sullenly as Tony had cleaned the door of the five horizontal logs; did she try her best to jump over them? Or go her own way? Dismount and open the gate?

Olliver, Thuringham grinned at her from the other side of the field, his gaze giving her endless courage and boldness to forget she hadn’t ridden a horse in all these years. This horse of hers was tall, sturdy, and easily capable of crossing the gate, if only she would take a little angle and hold on to him.

The horse literally leaped over the gate, and was inches from the transom! Marsha, however, did not, and with only a whimper, fell to the sun-dried ground, where she lay motionless and senseless, as if floating in the air.

“Are you okay? Marsha, oh God, this is all my fault, I shouldn’t have egged you on like that, are you okay? Say something!” Marsha opened her eyes and shook her head, looking into the concerned brown eyes of Olliver. Thuringham’s concerned brown eyes.

“No problem, I’m still alive, I might swell up tomorrow, my back looks like it’s been trampled by an elephant.” She struggled to sit up, her head spinning, it was worse than she had expected.

“Let me help you.” Olevo spoke, “Let’s sit in the shade by the stream over there.” The bone wasn’t broken, but it was the worst she could remember, and Marsha accepted Olevo’s offer of an arm and let him assist her as they walked across the baked grass to the shade by the brook, where they sat down on a soft patch of grass.

He soaked his handkerchief in cold water, made a move to remove Marsha’s shirt, then took a bottle of whiskey from his saddlebags and poured a little on the handkerchief.

“What are you doing?” He smiled and said, “You’re scraped all over, Marsha, see for yourself, all those bruises need to be sterilized, otherwise, they’ll get infected.” Marsha couldn’t help but think that Olliver B. Thuringham was very concerned about her abrasions, and in fact, some of them were so small that even she couldn’t see them. Still, she allowed him this gentle touch, and even didn’t object when he moved her bra to rub the small cuts on her breasts, and the cold whiskey rubbed into the cut skin, and Marsha felt a sharp sting and flinched backward.

Unconsciously and with great embarrassment, Marsha noticed that her nipples had hardened, and there was no doubt that Olevo was very handsome, no older than twenty-one-five, tall, slender, with flawless skin with a slight olive tint, probably inherited from his Italian grandmother, Marsha thought to herself. In short, he was nobility personified, so it was no surprise that Marsha was captivated by him.

Now, his attention shifted to the bottom, and he pulled off Marsha’s riding boots with all his might, undoing his breeches to ease the pain of the wound on his hip. Normally, it would have been too brazen to expose herself like this to a de facto outsider, but for the moment, Masha still blushed with shame, but didn’t move away, and, moreover, she wasn’t willing to deny him. Olliver noticed her reaction, he wasn’t ashamed, and very insidiously pulled off her white panties.

Naked, Marsha appears in front of OLIVER SERLINGHAM. She felt like she was floating in a hallucination, perhaps the fall was more dizzying than she thought, or perhaps the whiskey Olliver had forced her to drink was affecting her mind, and she was dizzy and light and at the mercy of her body.

Remaining gentle, Olliver decided to wrench Marsha’s thighs apart and began to rub the bruises on the leg’s question and forcefully pull out the thorns that had embedded themselves in the skin.

“Poor Marsha,” he whispered, “such a beautiful person enduring such pain.” The pure whiskey burned like fire on the blossoming flesh, and Marsha stole a moment to gaze into Olliver’s face, and felt in it a perverse pleasure, a pleasure that comes from pain.

His hands were getting closer and closer to her thighs, and she was just lying there, letting him do what he wanted. Now that her arousal was aroused, she could see the outline of Oleaver Thuringham’s swollen cock, his tight breeches outlining it clearly. The outline of Thuringham’s swollen cock, clearly outlined by his tight breeches, and the fact that he was obviously thinking of her, excited Marsha, and her cunt began to throb with the secret rhythms of carnal desire.

“You’re so beautiful, tortured Marsha.” His hand slid between her labia majora, her breath coming in short gasps as the whiskey stimulated her most sensitive skin.

All at once Olevo took his whip out of his saddlebags again and swung it in front of her, his prick bulging with menace at the front of his pants, and Marsha, aroused to the point of sudden, sobering realization of what brought him sexual enjoyment, knew, despite the blinking of her eyes, that she couldn’t accede to his perverted sexual desires. Slowly she stood up and violently pushed him away from her body, and to her surprise, Olliver did not stop her, only his eyes were filled with genuine sadness, a sadness of loss.

“Oh, Marsha, sweet Marsha,” he breathed, “just show me how you enjoy carnal pleasure.” She gazed into those eyes for a moment, the tenderness in them stirring her thoughts; was this a fool who got his pleasure by whipping his partner? Or a misunderstood angel who could give himself pleasure?

Marsha finally decided to gather her clothes and quickly put them on, straddled her horse, and galloped across the moors to Thuringham House.

“Richard, it’s not funny here, it really isn’t.” Richard couldn’t help but laugh as Marsha glared at him angrily.

“Come on, Marsha, there’s a bit of a strong argument there, and you’ve got to admit that the skillful, handsome nobleman, undressed his victim, held down, and cracked the riding crop!” “Richard, you make fun of me!” “I’m sorry, baby, but one thing’s for sure, his behavior did go a little too far, but for a woman, Olliver B. Thuringham must be an excellent treat.” Marsha got angry, picked up a pillow and threw it at Richard’s head, he ducked down and out of the way and grabbed her to pin her to the bed.

“How about a ride? Little girl.” He moved to unbutton her shirt.

The next morning, Marsha wanted to drive to the local municipality, and as she was dressing, she noticed this black card with silver trimming pressed underneath the breakfast tray; it must have been brought in by the valet. Richard had left early in the morning to attend a business meeting.

Taking up the card with trembling hands, the message glowed brightly, and glared at her angrily: you were not present at the meeting I had prepared for you, Masha, and Omega is very unhappy, and Omega is going to teach you, how to obey orders, to-morrow at noon, at the door of the house with the red door, to-morrow at noon, and, Masha, do you dare to irritate Omega once more?

Marsha lay on her bed, wondering if it was right to tear up the second card, if saving it would, perhaps, be some clue that would help her get off the trail of the mysterious Omega.

Richard, sleeping next to her, was snoring softly, and she rolled over to look at the clock. It was now three o’clock, and in two hours it should be light, and even now, the sky was slightly blue.

She could no longer sleep, so she got out of bed gingerly, put on her slippers, and light robe, and went downstairs to the kitchen, turning on the light with a kata.

She poured herself a glass of orange juice and went into her study, perhaps to work for a while.

On her desk, there was a gift-wrapped box, about six square inches, sitting in front of the computer monitor, the package wrapped in a metallic silver ribbon, and Marsha stared at it with a blank expression and unblinking eyes. The frivolous pink color, and the silver wrapping sandwiched between a pile of financial reports, statistics books, and keyboards, stood out in a very incongruous way.

Marsha ignored it all, turned around, went upstairs, and went back to sleep. Waking up, it all felt like a dream and she was no longer worried or scared. The note that had teased her was so far away she couldn’t make out the words written on it, it was probably a gift that Alex had left for her before he went to take care of business, and it was her own stupidity. Alex loved to do the stupidest and most romantic things, and he had always spoiled her.

She tore open the wrapping paper and opened the box than, inside, a pink cotton paper wrapping, underneath a contraption she hadn’t seen before …… a tiny yellowish stopper, carved from ivory, smooth, pure, like the stopper on a pristine bottle, which must have been very old. The smooth, silky surface had tiny yellow textures in the shape of a cross. She wondered what it was for, turning it over in her hands and playing with it. A meaningless little object. It was then that she noticed, underneath it, a small slip of paper half-hidden in the cotton paper.

This is Queen Josephine’s plaything to make you happy, Marsha, to make your elegant ass happy. Omega hopes so.

At first, she wasn’t quite sure what it meant. But instead of a question, it was a demand, and she felt excited and repulsed at the same time. Omega, the infuriating liar, wanted to play games with her life by making her masturbate with an ivory plug. And it’s Queen Josephine’s butt plug. And she does that!

It was absolutely ridiculous! Marsha couldn’t help but eat and laugh as she tossed the ridiculous thing into the air, catching it again in one hand, but then shivering with excitement at the thought of its use; never before, had she used anything so strange, and she was fascinated by the wickedly bewitching plug, and what it would feel like to fill it in the most secret of places, expanding it and thrusting it in. However, she was very surprised to realize that she was still quite restrained inside.

Well, now that it’s been delivered, why not give it a try? Why not? There was no one, not even Omega, who would know if she could withstand the temptation; it was her secret, alone. The attempt wouldn’t be entirely uncomfortable.

There was a small, soft lambskin rug on the floor, near the open window, and the fragrant breeze wafted in from the garden with its warm, sweet scent of jasmine and pale red glass. Slow and strong, it intoxicated her. She took off her robe and dropped it to the floor like a pile of pale blue silk, and then she stretched out and lay down on the rug, experiencing the feel of this soft wool touching her sun-red skin.

The cold night breeze brushed gently over her naked torso, and her nipples felt pleasantly firm and hard as they were teased. Marsha straightened her knees and placed her left hand quietly under her ass, feeling for the secret entrance to her female body.

Cold ivory, strong against her flesh, her hand shrank back in sudden fear of continuing. But, despite the apprehension, her arousal was turning gently to vent. So, she placed her finger on the tiny, wrinkled opening of the cave again, pressing gently, and to her surprise, the door was immediately revealed, and the fingertip curled in, and with a little effort, the whole finger went into the warm, moist cunt, and the sensation wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable, even though, well, the plug was much larger and thicker than her fingertip.

As if in a dream, Marsha tried to press the end of the ivory plug against the secret entrance. No, it wouldn’t work, it was too big too, it would never get in without severe pain, and she didn’t want to do this.

The plug slipped inside her, and the rebellious flesh accepted the intruder with joy, straining it with a brand new passion, a drifting sensation so intense it took her breath away, something she’d never experienced before. Her right hand groped between her thighs again, locating the throbbing clitoris.

Her pussy lips had parted, dripping with erotic love juices, her middle finger slipped into her slippery cunt, her thumb elegantly stimulated her clitoris in rhythm, her body seemed to detach itself from her will, her soul, and her hands seemed to make full-scale motions out of their own volition, her pussy and ass tensing in superb coordination with each wonderful impact. Now Marsha was chasing pleasure, vaguely sensing that it was still far away in the fragrant darkness, and she had to go after it or surely lose it, and Marsha ran faster and faster. Fingers skillfully played with her flesh, making it stir up new pleasures, she was the master of her own pleasure, not the Omega. It took only a few seconds for her to reach orgasm, aroused to the core, and she fell to the small lambskin rug with a long sigh, when the love juices gushed out like a tidal wave, more than ever before.

She lay on the carpet, still dizzy from the intense feelings she had just experienced. The hum of a machine cleared her mind a little, and a transmittal came out of the machine, curling about the paper and dropping to the floor, with the words in large, black, ominous letters: ‘You get the picture, Omega knows what’s best for you, Masha, tomorrow at noon, and this time it’s imperative.’

The house with the red door appeared in front of her, its unadorned windows reflecting the midday sun, a beautiful Georgian three-story house in a quiet residential section of town. Hardly any of the staff or customers saw her standing there with a look of uncertain despair. She glanced at her watch; it was just about noon, and the glare of the sun was intense as she watched this absurd prank.

Reaching into her pocket, she felt the card, long ago torn in half and tucked quietly in her dress pocket. What to wear to a rendezvous with a man named Omega? The more Marsha thought about it, the more ludicrous it all seemed; it had taken her an hour to decide what to wear, and for God’s sake, the fellow could be an eccentric, seeking to seduce her and destroy her for the sake of what she had. Now she hated being happy: she had left herself a note on the hall table for Richard, telling him where she was headed, and that if things went well, she would be home before him.

Marsha, on an impulse, raised her hand and snapped the brass doorbell; it rang, but no one came, and she tried again, pressing her ear to the door, and not a sound came from within.

Is there no one at home? It was futile for her to be here. It was better this way, instead, that all was safe and sound, and she could have turned around, gone home, baked cakes, weeded the garden, taken a shower, and had to feed the cat, and, in short, returned to normalcy and exorcised her demons, only to realize that it had been a complete and elaborate hoax. She could have cooed loudly with relief.

But she should try again. Lifting her hand to the clasp, the heavy door creaked as her fingers touched the brass lion’s head, suddenly swinging inward off its lightly rusted hinges. Her eyes were unaccustomed to the sudden dichotomy of light, the darkness of the house, and she squinted for a moment as the brocade curtains ran along the foyer blocking out most of the light coming in from the small windows. Marsha stepped inside, scared and curious.

It was an ordinary house, albeit rather old-fashioned, and she was really disappointed that it wasn’t the Alex family mansion anyway; she quickly scanned the foyer, which was spotless, so the place was occupied.

“Is anyone home?” Her voice echoed in the stairwell, and no one answered.

“Hello?” Still no answer. Or it was just her, or it was a more well-intentioned excuse than she’d thought, for thinking she’d come and leaving the door open on purpose, with the live bolt fastened, of course. Now she didn’t know what to do: go home? Or go in? She pushed the door open carefully, sure it was bolted, just in case ……

The tiled hall echoed with the clatter of her leather shoes, and she regretted not wearing something more sensible; there were three doors at the end of the hall, one on each side, and another in front of her, of which, two were closed, and the one on her right was half-open and half-hidden. Could this be a code word? Or a trap?

She decided to ignore the half-open door and walked straight forward, pushing it open in one swift motion and standing there, hesitant as to whether or not there would be someone or something behind her, pouncing on her.

The room Marsha walked into was dim, a kerosene lamp with a red corded flannel shade sat on a table in the center of the room, heavy curtains were drawn across the window, the red light from the shade was the only light, it was madness, Marsha regretted coming in, but she still walked forward slowly, shivering, darting glances to her left, her right, each shadow seemed to be a sinister humanoid with a repulsive face and a mouth full of sharp teeth.

A letter lay on the table, a black and white envelope, her hands trembled as she opened it and held the card up to the faint light: “Your gift, Marsha, take it and go your way!” Marsha looked down to see a black and white note taped to the handle of a small drawer in her desk, she grasped the handle and the drawer came open.

The curly black leather shimmered in the rose-red light, so unreal, yet extraordinarily intimate, and she reached out and took the handle of the thing, and instantly, it became new and distant yet even more timid, a nine-tailed whip, an instrument of human suffering!

It’s also an instrument of pleasure.

What did Omega mean by sending this? Did he want her to use it to hurt herself? The thought disgusted Marsha. A silver clip was one thing, and this was very different. The trivial pain from the clip could easily be turned into a pleasure, and the thought of the whip invading her tender skin made Marsha shiver with fear.

A journey? What kind of journey did Omega want her to undertake? Bewildered, she gripped the handle of the whip tightly and walked towards the door towards the next room, in case of an attack, at least, the whip could be used as a weapon. The handle in her hand was warm and angry, and the anger in her heart was growing and spreading, filled with a desire for justice and revenge.

Walking through the door, now, she was hardly scared at all, not wary of the dangers that might lurk in the next room.

The room was empty, dimly lit, and once again, a small table, a lamp burning, and a black card with white writing.

“Next room, Marsha, your desires will be satisfied.” It was a trap, for sure. Someone was waiting in the next room to do her unspeakable harm. She should turn around and go back, it wasn’t too late to get out of this nightmare, back to the sunny world, back to the mundane and comfortable reality.

Nevertheless, still clutching the whip, Marsha continued forward, crossed the room, and pushed open the door.

The sudden brightness made her squint, and she couldn’t adjust to the intense light at once, and almost fell down the six stone steps leading down to the basement, a windowless room with a cold, bare stone floor that, as she could tell from the peeling walls, had probably been a pale green color before.

The light was from two hundred candles that were stuck in wrought-iron candle holders throughout the room, horrible, blackened candle holders twisted and turned in all sorts of strange shapes, some evocative of association, some merely stereotypical and menacing.

A naked, gagged man hung in the center of the room, the chains binding his wrists attached to iron hooks in the ceiling, his feet just reaching the ground as he did his best to keep his balance. Upon seeing Marsha walk into the room, her eyes widened in horror, and she knew that it was because she was holding the whip.

Her first reaction was to find a way to save the man. But how to save it? There were chains around his wrists, no doubt locked and securely attached to the ceiling, but it would be possible to remove the gag that was in his mouth, but what good would that do? He would only be screaming from pain and fear, and she would be powerless to help him. There was one thing that was very attractive though, and that was his helpless nakedness and suspension. He was completely in her grasp.

She walked down the steps and entered the room. The heat from the candles was like a slap in the face, it was unbearable. She was too hot, just too hot, and as she approached the man, she realized that his muscular, bronzed body was covered in little beads of sweat that were falling off in droplets, and how wonderful it would be to lick and eat those droplets! Just like she lapped up Alex’s.

Marsha stood in front of the man and curiously reached out to touch the shimmering skin. The sight of him flinching, trying to avoid her, but unable to do so, sent a satisfaction she had never experienced before through her entire body. His cowardice excited her, fueling her desire to experience what it would feel like to dominate him. His tingles were real and intense even as he rested, and for the first time in her life, Marsha actually had a man at her mercy, his body fully exposed for her to do whatever she wanted with it.

Does she give him pleasure? Or make him suffer?

A small smile appeared at the corner of her mouth as Marsha unbuttoned her skirt and unzipped it with such force that the leather skirt fell to the floor with a soft rustling sound, all that was left underneath was a tiny pair of petticoats with lace; did the poor man want her to take off her petticoats and show him what was inside? Right now, he was watching her intently.

She was going to torment him for a while, Marsha put her hand inside her pants and provocatively stroked her pubic bone, and to her surprise, this victim’s prick did not respond. Probably, he needed a more stimulating evocation.

Marsha pulled down her shorts, lifted her feet and stepped out from them, pressing her fragrant pubic bone against his face, letting him breathe in the tangy scent of talcum powder and sex organs. He let out a slight moan, but still didn’t have the kind of reaction Marsha had hoped to see.

She sat down, with her back against the wall, and spread her legs widely apart as far as he could see them in full view, in the light of the candle’s fire, and knew very well what effect it would have: complete nudity from the waist down, with slender thighs spread apart, revealing the treasures of womanhood to him.

Marsha picked up the whip and gave it a few gentle strokes over her body, teasing her nipples, stomach and thighs, then, suddenly, she turned the whip upside down so that the handle was facing her, and leaned the tip of it close to her wet pussy.

“Did you see that?” She taunted him, “I don’t need you, I don’t need any man.” Just for a moment, the handle of the whip pushed in smoothly, disappearing into her cunt, and the intensity of the pleasure it brought surprised even Marsha, who paused for a moment just to enjoy the wonderful sensation of the distension.

But she couldn’t resist the temptation for long, and immediately began to push the handle of the whip into the soft, wet cunt again and again, faster and faster, and all the time staring at the face with its fearful, wide-open eyes.

Her pleasure was immediate, and she fell backward against the wall, panting, and to her exasperation, the man’s prick remained disappointingly limp and loose. At that point, she stood up, certain that he wanted her.

With the whip held tightly in her hand, Marsha lifted her arm without thinking and lashed it tentatively against his bare cojones, an instinctive action, as natural as breathing, but it was like a voracious mouth on his glowing skin, and so many violent lashes were to no avail that Marsha was stunned.

The man gasped softly, writhing under the lash, unable to scream because of the gag in his mouth, and could only begin to moan lowly, his eyes wide open in terror.

Marsha lashed out frantically, a warmth welling up in her belly, a tremendous amount of power focused on her arms, a voice in the distance, was it really a voice? Or was it a hallucination in her mind? Calling to her, urging her on, the whip landed again and again on glowing skin, dark red whip marks appeared on the man’s back and buttocks as he cowered and moaned in pain.

It was with this lash that his prick began to twitch and revive, like a sleeping snake, stretching out and suddenly alert for the stroke. Each successful gasp seemed to endow it with greater vigor, and Marsha’s own excitement grew, realizing the power he had over this man he did not know. His heavy balls tightened and his cock twitched. Only pain could bring pleasure. As he ejaculated a thick white spring, Marsha tore off his shirt and let the warm semen shoot across his chest; he had finally fulfilled his nagging obligation and was still an able man.

As she stepped onto the steps and walked back into the darkened house, she didn’t even think to look behind her.

Chapter VI

Marsha relaxed into the seat of the rental car, casually tossing her briefcase in the car.

“Waterloo Station, please.” Then they drove off into the afternoon traffic, dodging bicycling letter carriers and people who were dizzy and dozing from the hot sun along the way.

“I’ll get off at the Elephant Station and stop there,” said Greg Baxter. Baxter leaned forward and said to the driver, and he turned to Marsha and smiled the same kind of smile he had given to every one at the meeting, dazzling and inscrutable. Said he, “We made up?”

“Honestly, Greg, I don’t really know why I agreed to ride in this car with you. How would you feel if I had closed the car door and left you standing there?”

“Everything is wonderful in the heat of the moment, and besides, it’s in our mutual interest. Marsha, I always thought you were an insider.”

“But unfortunately, you’re not.” Marsha added, “Logical reasoning is one thing, what’s in your heart is another, is that why you always object to everything I say?”

“I just don’t think your numbers are right, that’s all.”

“What a straw man,” she said as she pushed him away and changed the position of her thighs so that his hands slid down her black stocking-clad thighs. At that moment, alarm bells went off inside her, could Greg Baxter be Omni? Could Greg Baxter be behind the Omega Trap? There was no doubt that he had all the psychology of a young man, and rumor had it that he had some very special sexual preferences. But if he was really Omega, why was his behavior so crude? Why is he so unapologetic? Whoever was behind Omega had the means and the intelligence to access her “secure” computer terminals, and no, it couldn’t be Baxter. On the other hand, he had been seducing her wholeheartedly for months. In the meantime, the whole thing had run out of steam, and like a mechanical rule, was a mere farce.

Up until this point, she was so sure it was no longer a game.

On the concrete ruins outside the Elephant subway station she let Baxter off the train and stared at his back until he disappeared into the ticket hall, whether he was Omega or not he was a very nasty piece of work anyway, she hated the fact that she might have done everything right if he hadn’t objected at the meeting, why is he working against me? To be so uncooperative for no reason at all? He knew full well that her figures were correct, and that if he had not mobilized the others at the meeting to join in opposing her, her plan would have long since passed muster that morning. Everyone would have seen that she would realize everything she had said. God! She had already won them a million-dollar deal last year, and what more proof did they want!

To make matters worse, Jenny Robertson is particularly vicious. Robertson is particularly vicious, and it’s clear that Jenny hates Marsha. It was easy to imagine why. She was ten years older than Marsha, but her small amount of seniority hung in the air like a thin thread, and she wasn’t as capable, as authoritative, or as smart as Marsha. She was well aware of all this herself. She felt threatened, and no matter what Marsha did it wouldn’t change those circumstances. In fact, Jenny Robertson had been using Marsha since the first day she stepped into the office of the head of Glenwald and Baker. Robertson had been using her meager power to try to change her situation, but the reality was that it was getting worse.

Ironically, in the beginning, it was Jenny who had arranged for Marsha to come up from the grassroots, arguing that TV-switched calls would be the future of industrial development, which would give Marsha more freedom and opportunities to utilize her talents, which was really saying something. There was no doubt that arranging to have a very go-getting consultant at her side was something Jenny would never do, the addition of such a person to her tiny circle could only be detrimental, no, she had to get Marsha out, preferably out of her former place of work altogether. The funny thing was that this arrangement of hers had caused Marsha to take deep root.

Above all, of course, she had first to get Marsha away from Steinberg-Miles, for reasons best known to herself: she had become enamored of the superior. Miles, for reasons best known to herself: she had become enamored of the boss, and not just for that reason, nor as if it were in his power to turn her against Marsha.

But she did flip out. Marsha recalled working late that afternoon over six months ago in the computer room at Glenwald and Baker, when she had only a tiny desk lamp on. So she figured no one would realize she was there, and when she stood up to leave at about seven-forty-five minutes past seven, all the offices were dark, and only the nightlights in the walkways were still on, making the place seem like an eerie, scary basement. She walked briskly through the corridor towards the elevator, thinking to herself that she wouldn’t get locked in, since the security staff had to make their rounds at eight o’clock at night.

She was almost to the elevator door when she heard some noises coming from the office of the Director of Sales, and she knew that Simon, the Director, was on a business trip to Scotland, and seeing as the Director’s personal secretary had gone home from work with the others at five-thirty, there really shouldn’t be anyone else in the office.

She knew that she should call for security and find someone to come up and see what the hell was going on in there, most likely industrial espionage or just plain night burglary. Besides, it wasn’t wise to get involved in something you couldn’t get out of, but she should probably take a quick look around first to confirm the fact that her suspicions were correct, in case it was a two-bit janitor working late inside.

She tiptoed closer to the door of the sales manager’s office, which was open a crack, and through the one-inch crack Marsha could see a ray of light coming from the inner office, the office outside where the secretary worked was empty.

Carefully, she pushed open the outer door, merely allowing her to sidle in. To her right, the door to Simon’s private office was half open. She held her breath, wary of breaking and grabbing, the sounds coming from within. Soft whispers, sickly laughter, mixed with an intoxicating cocktail. She thought she had heard who it was, but how could she be sure?

She slowly approached the door, and peered into the inner room close to the wall; there was no need for her to worry about being discovered: for the interest of those within was entirely in each other, and no attention would be paid to any one else.

Jenny Robertson was lying across Simon’s desk. Robertson was lying across Simon’s desk, her skirt up to her waist, her bare thighs looking unusually pale under the fluorescent lights, her face tilted backwards, her long brown hair spread out almost to the floor like a curtain of light, her eyes closed tightly, her mouth open, and she was gasping for breath as she ate and laughed. And at the moment Steinaberg. Miles was pumping hard inside her. His clothes were still on, just showing his big cock and balls, which were bit out of his pants for this moment’s mistress. He groaned as he thrust into her flesh, completely oblivious to everything around him.

Marsha watched all this in silence, completely mesmerized. She had always thought before that Jenny B. Robertson’s interest in the chairman was out of respect, even admiration. Now she knew Jenny’s true feelings. This was really unexpected. There were many rumors about the chairman’s strong sexual desire, so what was so strange about it? Marsha thought of poor, cold-hearted Marsha B. Steinaber, Miles. She humored herself with the thought that Marsha had probably arranged this fornication for her own convenience, and for twenty years Miles’ dead weight had been weighing her down. Now it would be time to rest and relax for a while.

Something else as far as the eye could see disturbed Marsha’s thoughts: the door to the filing cabinet was open. The table on which Jenny had been tossing was covered with confidential papers. Steinaberg. Miles might have had access to the files, but Jenny would never have allowed it. Simon was away on a business trip, but how could he have let these papers be spread out in his office for anyone to look at? Such a thing was absolutely unthinkable. Besides, his exceptionally competent secretary wouldn’t be so negligent. Marsha watched, thinking, she couldn’t and didn’t want to figure it out.

Marsha didn’t realize what was going on until a few weeks later when Simon was summoned to an elaborate conference room and told that he had been transferred out of the company. That night at the office, Simon had been officially fired. And Jenny and Steinaberg. Miles are making love on his grave. This was just the beginning, Marsha mused, not only were Jenny and Stamper Miles involved. It wasn’t just Jenny and Stannabal Miles who were involved, it was Graham Edelton. Graham Edelton, Jon Dasilvan. D’Silvain, Sadie, Plath, Ann Hamilton. Hamilton, who, for one reason or another, were unfit to remain at Glenwald and Baker, would be removed from the company, and would therefore all be implicated in the incident. Marsha began to worry whether she would be the next to be purged.

The cab rocked all the way to the square in front of Waterloo station. Marsha got out and paid, striding up the steps.

“Hey, honey, what’s a lovely lady like you, such a sexy one, doing in such a hurry? Can’t you slow down?” Marsha looked back and saw the cabbie grinning at her. He wasn’t hard to look at, quite young, with nice tan skin and a sleeveless sweatshirt.

“You must have thought the car was bumpy all the way around, so why don’t you try sitting back down again? This time, I’ll make sure you sit comfortably.” Very tempting, but Marsha dared not accept it, turned a deaf ear to his words, and quickened her pace, almost half-running up the steps, past the people who were coming out of the station and heading downward, each with a predatory grin and a pair of greedy hands. It was like leaving the real, bright sun and returning to a cold, dark world in which she hardly even recognized herself.

What is she doing? What was she becoming? Looking back over the past few weeks, it seemed like a series of strange and bizarre dreams, like in the movie “The Darkness”, where she seemed to have entered a dark world. There, she had used inexplicable actions to drive away unacceptable sexual desires.

She closed the door of the train car and sat down, when she remembered the helpless young man, chained by his hands, hanging lifeless in the air. The whip had lashed him, leaving a red welt on his flesh. Why did she whip him? What strong urge drove her to do that? The sight filled her heart, causing her lust to surge earthward like a tidal wave, an unstoppable desire for a painful pleasure and dominance. Lust, the Omega had shown, the learning she had not known, now mastered.

What happened to her? And what has Omega done to her soul and body? Mere sex is evolving into a dark, yet seductive world of mysterious pain. A wonderful hobby that quickly becomes habit-forming and is not so easily given up.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. McLean.” The colonel took off his hat in greeting, as he always did, with excessive modesty. Was that a knowing twinkle in his watery blue eyes? Marsha dismissed the suspicion. Ever since she and Alex had made love with impunity in the orchard, she’d been worried that someone had seen them. The rumors had spread very quickly like a prairie fire, and there had long been some gossip and some vague, suggestive comments. They may or may not have meant anything.

“Good morning to you, Colonel, and how is your health?” “My health is better when I see you. Marsha, haven’t seen much of you lately?” “Oh, I’ve been away on business,” Marsha replied flustered, “Richard’s been away a lot too, see you later.” The key turned a few times in the lock hole and stepped into the cool foyer, the only sound was the seconds of the desk clock ticking reassuringly, Alex was coming to keep her company in the evenings so she wouldn’t be alone.

Marsha kicked off her shoes than, stripped off her clothes, and stepped into the bathroom to prepare for the shower. The cold water irritated her nerve endings like needles, and her sober sanity flickered away as long as she did while she began to moan, very softly, very softly, not daring to indulge.

Marsha loved living in Littleholme, but sometimes it seemed like there were a million eyes on you, and everyone wanted to know what was going on with you, unlike in a city like that, where you were just one of them, a number, and here, where sometimes you had a lot at stake in a panic-inducing space. Marsha thought back to the nameless man in the darkened elevator compartment that day, when there she had ended up a slave to her passions, not just the others’ but overwhelmingly her own, without will, without respect, without thought.

It’s the biggest void of all.

Nowadays, emptiness seems to be popular, even fearful, and it doesn’t matter, like a helpless child, at the mercy of the world, throwing oneself into the arms of the aspiring and passionate seems to be the only worthwhile orientation. Sometimes thought is pain, and pain is the most pleasurable of physical pleasures.

She dressed, grabbed the mailbox, poured herself a little drink and walked outside into the garden. The heat changed toward the cold skin that was solid as a wall, and in a few moments she was sunburned. In the distance, the brook at the far end of the orchard was running noisily over the smooth stones, and beyond the trees she could see only the thin, bony figure of Mrs. Dionne Miles. The bony human form of Mrs. Miles, the parish councillor, the local writer, and the most meddlesome of men. She pretended to dip her basket in the water, knowing to be wary of any scandal or gossip. Alas, today, she would have to wait a while.

Marsha sat on her daybed and opened the letter, but there was nothing strange or horrible in it except an advertisement for gas. The two books she had ordered, “The Court” and “The Principle of Pleasure,” had arrived in the mail, and she put them aside to read before going to bed; perhaps she and Richard could gain some secret.

The last envelope was A4, tan in color, with no postmark and only a Methot code, obviously promotional mail, and she didn’t even open it before she tried to throw it away, when suddenly, on an impulse, she ripped it open and drew out the contents.

It was a catalog book of iconic costumes, dazzling and sleek, and the siren on the cover wore a short black leather skirt with two holes in her blouse, leaving her breasts exposed, stiff nipples, creepy, and Marsha suddenly noticed that the woman’s reddish-stained nipples were pierced with tiny silver rings, and that a heavy silver chain linked the two rings together.

She turned the page and entered a whole new world that was almost too much to imagine it existed. It was the world of masters and hired hands, mistresses and slaves. On the opposite side of the page, a woman in a tight rubber dress and a pair of thick, high-heeled leather boots was dragging an unfortunate young man, who had only a tiny leather pouch over his prick, and whose resistance had been completely useless since she had put him on a diet with a thickly painted brass penny wrapped around his long, slender neck, and the expression on this Mistress’s face was one that Marsha had never seen before: grotesquely ridiculous with a touch of hostility and fervor.

Turning the page revealed photographs of naked men and women, all restrained with leather straps, both male and female owners dressed in leather suits, rubber, and PVC, and masks, full of sinister, leather boots, masks, and armor identical to the ones she had worn at the Garden Ball. She looked at the pictures and desire came in like a tidal wave, longing to belong to the world, where there, servitude was safety. What about being a mistress or a hired hand? Find a way, it didn’t matter a bit, just redistribute and be free.

The sound of the doorbell snapped her back to reality and she glanced at her watch: three-thirty, she didn’t want anyone to come, she’d been working last night until the early hours of this morning, attending a meeting in the morning with the intention of having a quiet afternoon and making love to Alex in the evening. Reluctantly, she stood up and went to open the door.

Outside the back door stood a slender, motorcycle rider in a black leather suit, his face completely concealed by a black helmet and mask, who had brought a box and writing pad, and when Marsha glanced toward his car for the purpose of receiving a signature in the packet, was astonished to find that the car did not bear the name of the deliverer’s company, and that he had parked on that side of the villa, in the isolated gardens, as if he did not want anyone to see it.

She handed the writing pad back to this wordless delivery man, collected it in her bag, and walked to close the door. But the biker came along and unexpectedly grabbed her and pushed her into the hall.

He closed the door behind him with a click, and in the silence of the house, it was just the two of them.

“What do you want?” Marsha tried to run away as leather-gloved hands grabbed her arms, not gripping her tightly or restraining her, just touching her bare skin, a touch that made her feel like an electric shock, and the scent of leather and sweat intoxicated her with sudden desire.

A man hiding behind a plastic glass mask, a face and two eyes, are those eyes cold? Or are they kind? Are they alert? Or stupid? Marsha no longer wanted to know, and in the face of fear, desire and excitement, she said nothing.

His hands began to undress her, and Marsha was so invigorated that she wanted to cry out, but there was also some fear that this non-speaking man might actually hurt her, so she obediently, almost numbly, acceded to his urgent lust, which she seemed to feel nothing about. As her body, from top to bottom, erupted with unfulfilled sexual desire, the appearance was like that of a boiling swamp gushing in a somewhat dim, mysterious swamp presentation.

Apparently her nudity pleased him, for his hands stroked her torso from top to bottom, and she moaned with pleasure as she willingly made contact with the soft, raw, cold leather, her nipples protruding and becoming hard and rosy-colored at this unfamiliar flirtation.

Beside this strange, robot-like man hidden in leather and plastic glass, Marsha was naked and felt extra vulnerable; was there really a man in this sinister black dress? Was there nothing in this lidless hood? Was she being seduced by a beautiful, lustful human-like automaton?

At the thought, Marsha’s thighs became damp and slippery at the parting of her thighs, and her breaths were sharp, shallow and short, and inside those gleaming black armors, were they metal claws? Instead of fingers? She couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of the metal skeleton beneath the leather, like a strange insect, or like an animal from the depths of the ocean, and the metal claws, slowly wimping against her bare skin, aroused and fascinated her again.

Marsha reached down to pull the zipper of the biker’s leather pants and he didn’t stop her. Marsha’s hand reached inside and there was nothing between the hot skin and the warm leather. Her hand grasped the upturned cock firmly and pulled it out, finding it as beautiful as it felt: smooth, thick and long with a plump, shiny glans that she desperately wanted to lick and eat, to suck on, to taste the milk of this life.

But when she bent over to suckle him, the biker pushed her away and had his way with her.

The biker opened the back door, filling the kitchen with sunlight, and he seemed to become even more surreal, his leather clothes glistening in the sudden light coming in. His prick clung to his black leather pants like carved ivory, and that’s when he grabbed Marsha by the wrist and led her outside into the relentless blazing sun.

“No, I can’t, someone will see.” She struggled desperately, but it was no use, he simply ignored it.

The woods and shrubs were like a barrier separating the small garden from the highway, and from the rest of the garden, where, normally, Richard worked on the car with the tools he’d acquired, but right now, it was all over, and some of the specialized work could be hired to be done on the automated system. Marsha looked around quickly. Was there a danger she hadn’t noticed? Were the trees and bushes really going to shield the nasty things she was doing from being seen by the village? Strangely, for once, she was thinking of honor, not safety. She thought of Mrs. Myers in her inner agony, alert at all times, dipping the hanging basket in the water. Whatever it was, she was sure to find out and tell the rest of the village.

But she didn’t think long about it; the biker had other ways of treating her, and the smell of his Harley-Davidson motorcycle excited her. His Harley-Davidson shimmered in the afternoon sun, and Marsha’s fingers ran over the sun-warmed seat, the smell of motor oil exciting her.

The biker gently pushed her against the car until her back was against the back wheel. At first, Marsha didn’t understand what was being asked of her, then it became clear. He lifted her waist and spread her legs apart so that she was straddling the seat bench with her back toward the handlebars, and he gently placed her head on the gas tank again and tied her wrists loosely to the handlebars with a not-too-long piece of rope.

The biker thrust his cock inside her with agility and efficiency and began thrusting in and out of her cunt, moving up and down like a piston in an extremely lubricated cylinder. His cock was silky smooth in the soft, wet cunt, her hips responded accordingly to each stroke, and their rhythmic fucking was so precise it was mesmerizing.

Now she was part of the machine, the machine that was being ridden, like Harry B. Davidson. She gazed up at the sky, the reflection of sun-polished chrome making her squint.

She couldn’t help it and let out a cry, a cry of ecstasy, as Marsha arched her back to better receive his raging cum.

He was quietly enjoying the pleasure, only a slight trespassing shiver giving away his pleasure, and beneath him, Marsha lay there moaning, tossing and turning in the realm of oblivion, a victim of her own secret desires, a willing victim.

Then he untied her and rode away, disappearing like a ghost into the dusk sky.

The next morning, Alex drove her to the airport, but Richard was too busy talking to an “important client” to come and see his wife off.

“I’ll pick you up on Saturday, sweet baby, have a nice trip.” Marsha returned his innocent kiss and opened the car door, she wanted to tell him everything but in the end she didn’t, she smiled and got out of the car and headed over to get her boarding pass.

Whether this trip to Berlin was an unexpected favor or a nuisance that should be cursed depends on how you look at it. Marsha didn’t want to go in the first place. She needed to get to the bottom of this Omega thing, she needed to do something about the hostility at Grunwald and Baker, and she didn’t need to spend two days abroad and try to deal with a lot of unnecessary events if G. Baxter wasn’t so difficult to deal with. If only G. Baxter wasn’t so difficult to deal with.

The plane landed at Templehof Airport, and Marsha hailed a cab and went straight to the hotel, a four-star glass-heated room and chrome-plated monster. The meeting with Herr Niedermeyer was scheduled for the next morning. Niedermeyer’s meeting was scheduled for the next morning, and she could spend the day at large.

She should have tried to persuade Alex to come along and, at least, now, not feel so alone. Berlin was considered the amusement park of Europe, and now that night had fallen, Marsha didn’t want to experience too much nightlife. Perhaps, she could go to a movie, or to the theater. Hey, welcome to the opulent hotel.

She finished her dinner in solitude, looking at magazines, she was bored, surely it wasn’t safe for a single woman to go to a bar for a drink, and when the phone in her room rang she was planning not to go, the night had just begun.

“It’s McLean. Flaw?” “I am.” “There’s a guest of yours, tell him to go to your room, okay?” “Me, OK, no problem.” It must be an agent from Berlin, she thought to herself, Steinaber, and Miles mentioned that he might want to make a come-on.

She took the papers out, brushing herself off in passing, and waited a few minutes when she heard a knock on the door. “Come in.” The door opened, and Marsha hesitated in sudden alarm, and when she returned to the window and glanced down toward the street below, she saw what she dreaded.

A shiny black-and-white Harley-Davidson. Davidson.

The biker was still as he had been before, unaware of his name like a robot, the mask that blurred his vision was worn tightly, there was no sign of any human expression, and he still spoke in a flat, cold voice. Marsha saw the shock and thought to herself that in a sense he stepped out of the electronic manipulation.

“Omega summons you.”

“That’s what you’ve come to tell me, what if I don’t want to go? I can call reception anytime I want, and there will be six physically imposing security men coming in to clean up after you, and won’t I have someone kick you out?”

“Because you dare not displease Omega; Omega’s displeasure is your pain, Marsha, and his pleasure is your pleasure, and Omega has a very pretty present for you.”

“Omega is very generous. Marsha, look at the gift I brought you.”

She took a few steps toward the bed and looked down at the box, her heart stopped beating for a few seconds, took a breath, and remembered the picture in the catalog book she’d received in her mailbox the day before, the leather-clad, chained, rubberized, glittery PVC portrait that was the most outlandish she’d ever seen in her life.

Marsha’s hands trembled as she tore open the outer wrapping of the box and inside was the finest of modern, black leather, fragrantly scented clothing, which she pressed against her face, breathing in the heady aroma.

“Put it on, Marsha, now. Omega wants it.” Perhaps not even thinking of refusing, Marsha deftly unbuttoned her shirt, pulled off her skirt, stockings and bra, and finally her petticoats, and the strange thing was; undressing in front of this stranger, who, just the day before, had ridden astride her on the seat of his motorcycle, Marsha didn’t seem to feel like undressing in front of a man, absolutely not. Now, she stood naked, nude, in front of this faintly glowing, black robot.

She picked up the jumpers and held them closer to examine them, there was a zipper in the center of the back that seemed to be the only access point to get them on, Marsha pulled the zipper downward, slipped her feet into the thin legs, tightened them with a thin zipper and buckle pulling at the ankles, then spammed the garment upward, then slipped her arms and breasts into it, her back turned toward the nameless biker the upward zipper pulling sounding like the key turning in the latch of a small single-roomed door, and like a mother’s good-night kisses Because of this bondage, the restriction was also her safety.

“Now, put this on.” The biker handed her a smaller black leather mask meant to cover her entire head, which she slipped over her head and zipped downward. At first, it was cold against her face, and she couldn’t breathe and felt unbearably suffocated. Only the holes for her eyes, nose, and mouth made it hold, pressing, and she began to experience the pleasure of it, and like this helmeted rider, she thought she felt safe in the world of her nameless sex.

She walked over to the dressing mirror and was immediately stunned by what she saw, not Marsha McClain. It wasn’t Marsha McClain. No, not anymore, she was no longer the kindly-bosomed, smiling redhead. The person in this mirror was a horrible creature, both imprisoned and a prison wardress, black masked, sinister and evil, the whole person encased in black leather, two terrified green eyes looking around. Marsha noted with sudden excitement the tiny zipper moving rather strategically to her breasts, the zipper opening from her navel down between her legs, it wasn’t hard to imagine what kind of pleasure this could easily satisfy, perhaps she wanted to enjoy this game in her hotel room.

“It’s time to go now.” Marsha turned around, her heart divining.

“Go?”

“Omega wants it that way, Marsha.”

“But I can’t go anywhere dressed like this.” The rider grabbed the thin, high-heeled leather boots and another helmet and handed them to her.

“Put them on.” With trembling hands, Marsha slipped the frontal helmet over her head, now that the strange visor was covered, and desperately tried to get her feet into the narrow, tight boots, fiddling awkwardly with the side buckles; she was a full six inches taller, and she could barely walk; did she really dare to go out on the street in this condition?

“Follow me.” Marsha was surprised to hear a mechanical voice coming from her helmet, it turned out to be a contact system and Omega thought of everything.

To Marsha’s distress, instead of leading her up the back stairs, which were a shortcut to the street, the driver made her walk ahead, past the conference room, up the stairwell, and into the hotel’s main foyer.

Thank goodness for the helmet, Marsha thought. Her face burned under the mask, and all eyes looked at her, but at least, no one knew who she was, and surely no one could have guessed that this leather-clad queen, adorned with zippers, buckles, and straps, and rattling around in stiletto-heeled boots, was none other than the demurely dressed redhead who had come to check in for her stay a few hours earlier. However, shocking costuming is not uncommon in Berlin.

He follows her closely, but does not touch her. However, his presence was everything around her, forcing her to step forward; it seemed to say, don’t hold back, Omega has great hopes for you, don’t let him down. Unaccustomed to such a high heel, she fell on the stairs, and he immediately held her with his leather-gloved hands, avoiding misfortune, and suddenly she felt safe and proud.

They stepped out of the turnstile and onto the sidewalk outside, the golden evening sunlight looking eerie and grotesque through the blurred mask. The heat burrowed into the leather outfits, and tiny beads of sweat oozed from Marsha’s skin.

The rider held up the shiny motorcycle and rode across it, no recoil start, just the touch of a button and the engine roared to life, it was electronic ignition, only for Omegas. The faceless mask turned its head toward her.

“Get on.” Marsha had never been on a motorcycle before and had no idea how to get on. Cautiously swinging one leg over the seat, she touched her toes to a sympathetic footrest and sat up high, feeling especially vulnerable. The powerful horsepower of eleven hundred sesterces vibrated her body like shaking a toy doll made of rags.

It was sexy, robotic human voice, and it seemed to come not from the front, but from inside her own head, and Marsha hesitantly placed her hands on either side of the biker’s waist.

“Hold on tight or you’ll fall.” She panicked, the leather was smooth and hard to grip, Marsha finally hooked her hand around the rider’s belt but still felt insecure and wanted to get off.

Unfortunately it was too late, only a roar from the throttle valve was heard, the Harley jumped forward and Marsha was thrown against the backrest, for safety’s sake she clung to the biker and leaned against his hard body like a helpless drifter in a backward current.

The car winds her through the streets of Berlin, not slowing down even as she turns corners, the fear exciting, her heart starting to beat faster, and she just realizes that the laughter echoing in her head is coming from herself.

The zipper pressed relentlessly between her labia, the hard metal wires teasing it to life; every vibration of the engine was transmitted to the skin between Marsha’s thighs, the subtle influence of that throbbing cunt dominating her.

At that moment, there was a hush in his ears.

“Lovely little woman, Omega will be pleased with you.” It was the rider’s voice.

The shrill electronic pizzicato overpowered the roar of the wind, pulling her back to reality, what was she doing? How did she feel? A lone woman wrapped in leather and wearing a mask sat in a car with a man whose face she’d never seen before through a city where she didn’t know a soul. The fear aroused her desire, her clit throbbing urgently in time with the rhythmic hum of the engine, the warmth coming to life between her thighs.

Even though Marsha had never been to Berlin before, she could tell that they were now walking into the former eastern district, a dead, monotonous, featureless maze of houses crowded together in a dirty, narrow street, with houses so close together that no sunlight ever seemed to reach the deepest, darkest corners.

As they bumped through the cobbled streets, the metal zipper pressed more firmly against her clit, and the zipper on her chest began to rub against her nipples. Despite her fears, her nipples hardened.

“Almost there. Marsha, I hope you do great things tonight, don’t let us down, don’t let Omega down.” Anger and fear caused Marsha to cry out, overriding the heightened carnal desires.

“But who? Who is Omega?” The rider’s head turned sideways toward her, and it was certain that a thin, cruel mouth sneered beneath the dark mask.

“Omega is desire, Marsha, and Omega is your libido.” He abruptly turned off the engine and slid down the slope, coming to a stop outside the sleaziest, most ornate nightclub Marsha had ever seen. A neon red and blue advertising sign showed a naked woman in an arousing position, and yellow pictures outside the entrance showed men and women wrapped tightly in leather and rubber, with muscular men threatening the leather queens like executioners, raging their carnal desires into the mouths of the naked “slave girls”. A statuesque young woman, her large breasts wrapped in a tightly wrapped leather jacket, held a whip in her hand as she punished the naked man kneeling in front of her. Marsha couldn’t help but shiver, realizing how much she longed to see these horrible women.

“Here we are, Marsha do you like it? Come down.” Marsha got out of the car slowly and hesitantly, she didn’t want to walk into this club, never. She looked around for the best way to escape. A motorcycle? No, too big for her to master. She could still run, but the tall, muscular rider would surely catch up and grab her. Where could she go even if she ran away? If she went back to the hotel, Omega would surely find her.

Omega seems to be everywhere.

“Take off your helmet and give it to me.” She took off her helmet, her visor revealed in the darkness of the night, and to her surprise not a single pedestrian twisted their face to look at her, they certainly didn’t. Outlandish weirdness was the normal fad in the dirty, nasty part of town. What would be the result of her leaving here in this state?

She followed the biker through the narrow sidewalk, every step passive and reluctant. She didn’t want to go there, didn’t want to walk through the curtains that were caked with dirt and adorned with tiny beads into the carnal underbelly of society, the noise that was reaching her ears from the basement of the nightclub, and she couldn’t go.

And yet she wanted to go again, so very, very badly that her whole body was crying out for her to walk over and enter the dreamy world.

“Follow me!” Silently, trembling, she crossed the sidewalk on her heels and lifted the beaded curtain.

Chapter VII

As soon as Marsha’s foot crossed the highest step, a wave of sound came at her. The nightclub was very dark. However, swirling colored lights cut through the darkness, transforming human faces and bodies into countless phantoms.

The people in the Justine Club were more eccentric and offensive than any of the yellow advertisement pictures. Is that tall man over there, with his silver hair and tightly wrapped rubber suit, really a woman? It’s only the striking wrinkles on his face that give away his secret. The man dancing with “her” doesn’t seem to care, probably because he’s too tall to be a woman.

Strong, ear-piercing music seems to emanate from the walls, the floor and the ceiling. The same snapping sound as the whip that struck the bare skin over and over again, toward these writhing bodies.

Several beautiful men danced on lift boxes suspended from the ceiling like bats in a dark cave, their naked torsos glistening, their smooth skin coated with sweet oil paint, not a trace of body hair to see the lines of their muscles. Marsha looked at them, unable to control her raging passion. Their firm, vibrant skin quivered gently as they jumped and twirled for the strange pleasure of their Master and Mistress, and it was obvious that they were being looked at because they had delightful pricks. They were all just as big and just as thick. The music became louder, more frantic, and their hoses became firm, hard, like dying snakes, glans outstretched, about to strike, and Marsha watched in awe. She wondered if she could tame their frenzy.

The biker was there too, in front of her, his hands on her waist, dragging her out of the large group of dancers, and Marsha’s feet hit something soft and looked down to where two naked women were lying on the floor, warmly licking each other’s clitorises, and one of them had a bright emerald glinting in her navel.

Suddenly someone grabbed her and the biker turned toward her, shouting to drown out the noise.

“He wants you to hit her, the poor man.” He kicked the dry, flat old man away, and the poor man seemed to take pleasure in the moderate pain. For his prick swelled up under his leather pants.

“Look, who can say they can’t enjoy their lust before dawn?” Marsha couldn’t help shivering, and instinctively moved away, only to enter another crowd of even more desperate people. The two women were fondling her now, the ivory handles of the whips moving down the lines of her breasts and belly. Both of their faces wore pale self, cruel masks that revealed bright red lips, like vampires. Vampires who want me to bleed them only, vampires who quench the thirst of their terrible desires, Marsha thought to herself.

Marsha turned away from them. In a daze, walking across the dance floor, the aroma emanating from the incense burners and this lively scene made her dizzy. These people, these sexually perverted monsters mesmerized her and made her lose her will. Her flesh was uncontrollable, and she came to their unashamedly depraved world in a high cry of pleasure. Her flesh laughed in the face of this evil, forbidden desire.

A hand from nowhere put something tight around her throat, and Marsha reached up to try to block it. And realized what was going to happen. Now, it was too late to resist. The leather ring with the studs had been wrapped around her neck, a symbol of modesty. Now the biker led her ahead, not by grabbing an arm, but by pulling on a heavy chain at the front of her neck, like leading a gentle animal. Her belly grew warm from the excitement. In this air, like an injection of leprosy, she felt her mind light and detached from her body.

Two naked men leaned over, tiny gold chains linking the sides of their pierced nipples. They are extremely similar, like twins, including below between their strong thighs. Dangling wealth of glory. Their pricks were not trimmed and shaved like the young boys’. Marsha saw these two thick cocks arching up from the dark undergrowth of curly pubic hair, and couldn’t help but shudder and shiver as she reached out and grabbed one in each hand, greedily reveling in the feel of the warm, hard skin in her hand. Gently letting them rub against her loins, knowing that she could make them squirt their pearly love juices into her palms, or one into her mouth and one between her eager thighs? Their strong physiques were nearly perfect, their hips well-proportioned and slender, their energy amazing. Marsha could have enjoyed many, many sexual pleasures before the cum shot into her.

However, Marsha’s escorts have other ways of dealing with her.

“Come, Marsha. You’re the one who’s going to do this job, and you’re the one who has to get the job done.” She was pulled to the edge of the dance floor. Finding her and the rider standing in front of a door that said “Private” in nasty letters. Without knocking, the biker pushed the door open and ushered Marsha inside.

Three men sat inside, average looking, dressed in everyday clothes, and were found hiding in the back room of a sleazy nightclub. To be treated to a private special service they dared not ask for publicly. Their faces showed a hint of wretchedness, embarrassment. One was a balding, middle-aged man, the other two were very young and relatively handsome. Marsha, now in the throes of excitement. They each looked satisfied. Marsha could make love to them. That was important.

“This is the task Omega has set for you,” the knight’s voice used to emanate from his impersonal plastic glass visor. “You are to fulfill every one of their desires. They pay a high price for such enjoyment.” He turned toward Marsha. The tight metal chain coiled around her neck nearly suffocated her. “You, too, will pay a high price. Marsha, you cannot fail.” With that, he disappeared. The door closed softly behind him, leaving Marsha alone in the grubby chamber with these three strangers, waiting for her with three greedy mouths and three pairs of eager hands.

On the huge television screen in the Justine Club, a masked woman in a black leather outfit was seen slowly beginning to undress the first man, peeling off his jacket, unzipping his pants, and cupping his swollen prick.

With a sigh of relief, the biker sat down in the long black and white chair and took off one glove. The bronzed hand was very elegant, not that of a rude mechanic. His fingers were all carefully manicured, and on one, he wore a silver ring, something Marsha would have been able to name at a glance had she been present. A simple symbol engraved with dominance and submission.

Through the visor of his helmet, he saw the woman grinding the heel of her nail-like leather boot against the middle-aged man’s naked body, the heel now digging wonderfully into his asshole. There was no sound in this video, only the man’s mouth opening and closing, was it pain? Or was it extreme pleasure? Is he begging her to stop? Or does he want her to push harder? The relentlessly throbbing cock provides the answer.

The biker unzipped his leather jacket and pulled out his prick. It was hot and hard due to the contact between the rider and Marsha’s voluptuous body, and she hadn’t yet realized the amazing power of her warm-smelling flesh. Around him, all the men and women jerked their bodies in ecstasy, and their shared pain made for the greatest pleasure.

After serious consideration, he too began to slowly play with his cock for the lasting enjoyment of this carnal pleasure. On the screen, the young women were arching their backs toward the camera as she bent forward over a chair. One of the young men unzipped the zipper from the port between her thighs and she bent over, that ivory ass and lovely pink female body exposed to the camera’s lens. Of course, she hadn’t expected to be filmed. But the Omega had to have proof of her submission.

A shower of slaps rained down on the woman’s bare buttocks, turning them into red, white interlocking marbles, and she cried out. Their cries could not be heard, but her face overflowed with a look of utter joy, and her eyes filled with tears of joy. Apparently, enjoying such joy and not being able to help showing it was very rare for her. The biker watched the screen while rubbing his cock and shaking his balls with greater vigor. Despite the leather collar around her neck, this young woman was no one’s slave. And all those watching were her slaves. For her palms, her breasts, and her fragrant, warm pussy held their pleasure.

She was an intelligent student and knew to whip the cowering wretch with his own chain as he knelt before her. She opened her bodice to reveal a full, luscious breast. Stuffed into his hungry mouth, his prick spurted white cum. She doesn’t want to have magnificent sex with these playthings, but enjoys herself in front of them, in this filthy room. She was so glorious. As the faceless knight watched her plunge the smooth handle of her whip into her soft, wet female body and stroke her clitoris with her graceful, practiced fingers, he shuddered and climaxed, the white jets soiling the mirror-smooth black leather outfit. She was a complete success.

Marsha lay in her hotel bed as the city slowly awoke on a summer morning. Her mind was filled with worries, excitement, depression and fantasies. It was the fantasies of that night.

If she hadn’t seen the leather bell-bottoms tossed over the back of the chair, she would have thought it was all just a dream she had had. The leather pants looked friendly and lovely in the golden morning light. The soft pants had no power to harm or corrupt. Strangely enough, it had taken over her mind and led her to depravity.

She recalled the look of pleasure on the men’s faces, the high pitched screams as she tortured their skin. Their greedy mouths and fingers nibbling each of her breasts, grasping the lovely treasures of her female body. This strange evening began with her humiliation and ended in her glory. Never before had she experienced the ecstasy of domination.

However, her mind was a blur of dark shadows again causing her to feel fear and confusion. She couldn’t see Omega’s face as he was slowly approaching her, grabbing her and not letting go. Omega knew everything she did. Sometimes, it felt like he could even see into the depths of her mind.

Glancing at the clock, she knew it was time to get up. In an hour she would be meeting Hélène Niedermeyer, and no matter how tired she felt, she could not keep him waiting. No matter how tired she felt, she could not keep him waiting.

She had just gotten out of the shower, walked to the door, opened it, and saw no one, but a plate on the floor held a hearty breakfast: coffee and hot rolls, covered with a clean white napkin. Marsha walked back into the room, pushed the door closed gently with her foot, and then, placed the plate on the nightstand.

The coffee was steaming, and she downed a full cup of sweet, warm coffee, then lifted off her napkin.

In the soft white roll of flour lay a videotape with a small folded note left on it. She picked it up and looked at the words on it.

“Keep it safe; it is your honor and your shame. Soon, very soon, you’re going to meet Omega.” Videotape? What did it mean? Marsha felt a wave of nausea as she walked over to the cassette recorder, put the tape in, and pressed play.

The opening paragraph was a series of blurry colored lights flashing aimlessly against a gray background. Marsha didn’t need to look any further; she already understood. Still, she sat helplessly as the grainy image on the screen flickered into a special shot. A slender, slim woman wearing a mask. Head to toe, tightly encased in black leather. She was stroking a naked man’s erect penis with her sharp fingernails. At the savage passion of this mistress, apparently, he shivered with terror. Brain-shamed, Marsha walked quickly over to him and pressed the pause button. The tape settled on the image of this leather-clad queen holding an erect penis in one hand and laughing as white cum sprayed down the front of her leather jacket and studded collar.

Marsha slowly walked up the steps, past the main door and into the reception room.

“Hello.” Her German was terrible, and despite her hesitation, she knew she should try to say it in German. Her mind was still filled with that videotape. The receptionist smiled encouragingly, and Marsha gathered her courage and said, “I’m going on a date with Herre, Niedermeyer.” “Are you Mrs. McLean?” Marsha nodded, there was no need to speak German again. “I have a date with Herre… Niedermeyer has an appointment at ten o’clock.” “Please wait, I’ll let him know.” Five minutes later, the shiny aluminum elevator doors opened and a young man with thick, light brown curly hair stepped out, reaching out in greeting.

“Are you Herre. Niedermeyer?” “Sebastiani Niedermeyer. Ernst, I am Herre Niedermeyer’s private secretary. I’m Herre Niedermeyer’s private secretary.” He smiled, no doubt enjoying Marsha’s embarrassment, and she flushed, not merely from confusion, but because the young man was so beautiful. She looked him up and down, a pair of hands as slender as a pianist’s, a lover’s hands. Marsha thought to herself.

They stepped into the elevator together, the doors closing softly, and Ernst climbed politely into conversation with her, not seeing the slightest romantic interest in her. She felt faintly disappointed. As the elevator slowly made its way upward, Marsha was reminded again of this breathtaking afternoon. Only a few weeks ago, there had been a weaving together of different emotions and powerful forces in an elevator at that time, and she had gazed into the light brown eyes of Sebastienne B. Ernst. Ernst’s light brown eyes and felt his mind tremble.

These few short weeks had completely changed her. She had learned to use the power of her sexuality. To stop being afraid of it and to take pleasure in it. Last night, at Club Justine, she had mastered it. Her life had been completely, and forever, changed.

The elevator rose to the twelfth floor and the doors opened onto a glittering, luxurious walkway of black, and red marble. In the center were arranged figurines made of snow-plastered stone. Luxurious in a tacky sort of way, but original, unique, and no expense spared. Hurley B. Niedermeyer was perfectly capable of investing in Glenwald and Baker. But would he? Could I convince him of the benefits of doing so?

Martha was a little sorry when Ernst introduced her into the inner sanctum of Niedermeyer’s office and released her hand. Such a beautiful young man, with skin like polished gold, truly a golden boy.

She took a seat in the leather chair and waited for the big man to arrive. No doubt the big man liked to keep his guests waiting for a few moments before he walked solemnly into his office. Marsha’s mind kept thinking about all these silly things. That funny statue of Lladró, the little girl holding a little lamp of her baby, the grunge was just too much to bear. But it was just the kind of pretentious stuff Sonia liked to collect. She must call Sonia when she got home and tell her of this grotesque adventure, and now that she had thought of it, she paid attention to the decoration of the whole office. Opulent, but a little intimidating. She did not know that the interior of this Herre… She wondered how much the designer of the interior had paid.

The door to the office opened and a tall young man walked in, very young, broad-shouldered, white with red skin. Marsha recognized him at once.

“Good morning. Mrs. McLean, I’m sure my assistant will take good care of you, yes?” For a split second, her heart stopped and her face turned pale.

“What’s the matter, Mrs. McLean, are you not feeling well?” Obviously, he hadn’t recognized her, yeah. How could he? What about the last time he’d seen her, she’d been a queen in a mask and a leather dress? The same mask that made him happy and made him miserable.

“I …… am fine, thanks. It’s the exposure to the sun. It’s good to see you.” As she placed the briefcase on his desk and gently opened it, Marsha wondered if he could see her shaking so badly. His gray gaze seemed to pierce her lidded cheeks and penetrate her brain, exploring her deepest secrets.

How could he sit there and laugh? So calm and rambunctious? Only a few hours ago, he had been her naked wretch. Beads of sweat glistened and reflected on his shoulders, on his back. His mouth opened in a silent scream as the heel of her shoe stepped into his firm, tender flesh. Each of her agonizing, yet wonderful strokes made his beautiful, slender cock erect over and over again. But now it was all so accurately rewarded. Marsha shuddered as she thought back on it. She hadn’t thought she’d be rewarded like this.

Oh, how he reached out to her, pleading with her to grope her leather-wrapped body. And reached through the zipper opening of her leather dress to touch one of her immaculate breasts. But she had no mercy. He might ruin his interest by doing so. Because Hélène Niedermeyer, although she was a member of this company. Niedermeyer had always been the victim, even though he was the manager of this company. Now, Marsha cringed at the sight of his beautiful bulge and squirted cum at the only Mistress who really knew the secret of his sexuality.

She closed the box and set it on the floor, at her feet.

“I brought all the data.” She began, sounding as much of a connoisseur as possible. “Glenwald and Baker are strong and have a promising future, you won’t object. If you decide to invest in our Warsaw program, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed, and I predict an excellent return on your initial investment.” Four eyes met, her gaze aggressive and sparkling, and she kept her eyes on him as she spoke.

Niedermeyer flipped through the data, then put the file down and sat back in his chair, arms crossed.

“Very tantalizing figures, Marsha B. McLean, but what are these meager profits to me? You know that Niedermeyer Industries is not short of capital. At the moment, I really don’t intend to diversify my funds. Marsha MacLean. MacLean, you must repay me for subsidizing my investment in your company’s intended plan.” Marsha stared intently at the German entrepreneur in confusion, full of doubts and unable to believe her ears.

“Herre. Niedermeyer, your subsidy? You might know better if you looked at the financial ledger.” Marsha pointed to the bar graph she’d pulled from her computer yesterday, “Your own product has a 15% share of the UK market, that’s clear.”

“No, no. My dear Marsha B. McLean, you don’t understand me,” said Niedermayer, reaching across the table and touching her arm, and she remembered, as if electrified, that last night on the floor the roles of supplicant and abuser had been reversed.

“You know, I’m very discreet and serious, and I’ve been making preparations. I know you’re beautiful, capable, and sexy, and extraordinarily discreet.” The one rival of hers at Glenwald and Baker who prepared this trap for her?

“What exactly do you suggest? Herre. Niedermeyer.” “I want you, Marsha B. I’m going to enjoy your body, and I’m going to need your undeniable intelligence. You’re in a position of responsibility at Glenwald and Baker, and you’ve been able to steal some interesting market information, and by handing it over to me, personally, of course, as a liaison between our two companies, you’ll need to meet with me on a regular basis. Are you not interested in that?” Now his hand rested on Marsha’s, moving around like a well-nourished spider consuming its food, and she watched the moving fingers for a moment, unable to pull them out, staring, unblinking.

“You want me to be your mistress, to be your secret agent, and in return you invest in the Warsaw program.” “Absolutely right, my dear. You are so lovely and intelligent. I suppose you will agree. The amount you are asking me to invest, my lady, is a small one, but a large one in terms of time and technology. I have to be sure there’s value in it, so I have a compromise. Think about it, Marsha. MacLean. What a difference the successful consummation of this agreement will make to you at Glenwald and Baker, and how perfect you will, at the same time, be able to experience intercourse with me. As far as I know, your husband and lover are very kind and forthcoming, and it is certain that they will not object.”

Marsha was both angry and amused, and when the words were spoken calmly, calmly, she didn’t know if she could let out a hysterical fit of laughter or desperately lose her voice.

“Herre. Niedermeyer, may I suggest that you consider another factor in our negotiations?” He looked at her with astonishment, his gray-green eyes full of charm and carnal desire, making her tremble, making her want him unconsciously. But she was angry, resolute, and she would not play this vile game. “I’m sure your wife, mother and two sisters will be interested to hear that your entire membership is at a club in downtown East Berlin, and they don’t need to mention your managerial department, one of whom, I think, is a bishop. It’s the Justine Club, by the way, that’s the name.” Niedermeyer’s eyes widened in surprise? Or panic? It was difficult to distinguish.

Marsha pulled the videotape out of her handbag. It was marvelous, her sixth sense had told her to bring this with her, she had been worried in case someone at the hotel got it.

Marsha gives Niedermeyer a look, his hand can’t be constructed.

She was confident that Omega wouldn’t be stupid enough to not make another copy. However, she couldn’t take the chance.

“Last night, Herre. Niedermeyer, at the Justine Club, though you don’t know it, there were many people interested in your pleasure.” His eyes were full of panic, the gaze of a man with no way out and threatened.

“Not bad, my dear Herre…. Niedermeyer, some people are watching and taking notes.” “How do I know this isn’t an elaborate ruse? How do I know that what’s on this videotape is exactly what you say it is?” Marsha stood up, walked over to the cassette recorder and put the tape in, letting the soft Venetian blinds tilt over a bit to block out a little of the light, which was fine-grained picture, not wanting the poor man to miss any details of his brilliant character. Marsha pressed play and stood back, watching the expression on Nid Repaiye’s face.

The industrialist, pale and depressed, sat in his reversed chair, his eyes glued to the front, and Marsha didn’t have to look at the TV screen to guess every movement, every gesture, from Niedermeyer’s changing expression.

His sharp gaze was on Marsha.

“How did you get it?” A small smile surfaced on Marsha’s face as she was in this ironic situation where she was present, toying with the defiled teenager who had always watched the flickering TV screen of her taking pleasure from his pained to the core body. He would never know how she became his Nemesis? Why?

“It doesn’t matter where it comes from, where it infests may be more important.” “Are you threatening me? Marsha B. McClain.” “What makes you think that?” His eyes turned to the cassette recorder.

“You know, it won’t take me long to destroy the tape.” Bluffing wasn’t hard at all.

“You really think there’s no copy?” There was a brief silence, the image still moving across the screen.

“I underestimated you.” He said, staring into her eyes with both admiration and regret, “What do you want?” “Your support, your financial resources and technology. As agreed, there is no time limit. It’s clear to me and to you that you won’t eclipse your money for this, and it’s an important deal for your company.” Niedermeyer took a breath and picked up the contract Marsha had pushed to him about from his side of the table.

“It’s such a shame, lovely Miss British Indifference, we should have done something brilliant together. Teach you some of the secrets of pleasure.” “You can’t think that,” Marsha replied as she picked up the signed contract and carefully placed it in her briefcase along with the precious videotape. “But you already did.” Realizing her power, this glory surged like a tidal wave of desire and passion, and her head seemed’s to swoon for a split second as she forgot her fear.

Whatever Omega’s motives, he is carefully protecting her.

“My God, Marsha, I underestimated you.” Surprise filled Gray, Baxter’s face as he scrutinized the signed contract.

“I guess I have to apologize, why don’t we have a meal to celebrate?” “No way.” Marsha replied with a smile that showed her hoary white teeth, taking the papers from him and putting them in her briefcase “I’m exhausted from this trip, I need to get home and get some rest.” “I can show you my fatigue elimination technique.” “In your dreams. Fool” In the parking lot, she happened to meet Sonia and they drove back together through Surrey.

“How’s your sex life?” Sonia grinned her.

“Jim likes to buy all kinds of sex toys, and guess what? They are very exciting. Last week he took me to that sex store on the East End. It was a real eye opener, not just some scruffy old men, but also young women buying sex toys for themselves and leather outfits to dress up their toy men. We were so excited that on the way home we got out of the car in the midway parking lot and fucked in the bushes, which was the best sexy I’ve ever had, and I spotted this guy hiding in a tree with my camera.” “There’s a long way to go in the fight for women’s rights,” Marsha said sarcastically as a sharp right turn was made onto a quiet country road.

“So, how are you?” Sonia asked, “You seem very pleased with yourself, how was your trip to Berlin?” “Very well, I got exactly what I asked for, in fact, a little more than I expected.” Sonia’s eyes were full of curiosity.

“Omega again?” “It’s so exciting, Sonia, tell me, have you ever been to a leather club, where beautiful, naked men, bound in chains, submit to a crazy, masked woman with a long whip in her hand, imagine what that woman feels like, losing all normal sanity, no identity, having fun in the dark. ” “Sonia, that must sound grotesque, I don’t think I’m going to give up. But not now, first, I have to get it out of my system, it’s rather like a hobby. The more excessively it is demanded of me, the more excited I become. Right now I don’t have that desire, that is to say, I feel stimulated, yet terrified, a real panic. Sonia, what will become of me?” Marsha backed the car over and parked it outside the villa. Deep down, knowing that there was more than just Richard waiting for her inside, subconsciously, she had seen the message flashing on the computer screen.

Omega chose you, Marsha, and Omega will never let you go.

Dinner with the Colonel and his wife was uneventful and boring, and Richard and Marsha didn’t stumble into bed until around one o’clock, not quite drunk. Long ready to play the game, for once, Richard’s mind was on her in its entirety, and, probably because of the wine, he slid his hand up her thigh, which felt just as good as it had all those years ago when they’d been so passionately in love.

His baby-like skin still held the fragrance and wetness of his bath, and Marsha’s happy tongue licked from his shoulder to his torso, reveling in his fragrance, his warm, lazy lust unfurling his body like a lizard under the Mediterranean sun, a sweltering night with all the windows open, and outside, where Marsha heard nocturnal creatures crowing across the sun-dried fields, and they, too, were in the darkness seeking pleasure.

Soft, sweetly enjoyable, without a hint of shadow, if there was a kind of darkness, it was velvety, wonderful darkness, warm, aromatically chocolate-like darkness, as the tips of Marsha’s fingers gently slid over Richard’s happy skin, sliding down the side of his body, and her whole body felt the reaction of his pleasure as he craved her flesh.

Her head slid down to the cool, firm belly, and how he looked like a statue in the pale moonlight, a graceful sculpture that derived its life and vigor from her indulgent kisses.

Marsha’s fingers followed her tongue, exploring Richard’s hollows and his undulating curves, arousing every nerve end with desire, gently grazing the soft fuzz on her belly and the side of her body until each one pulled tight for the deep, lascivious strokes.

He wrapped his arms around her suddenly and savagely, like he was trying to rub her to pieces.

“Oh God, Marsha, I need you so badly, let me fuck you, right now.” “No, Richard, don’t rush it. I’m going to give you more pleasure.” She was determined not to let him spoil it by his frenzied longing; he needed her, and that was fine, before finally promising him an orgasm that would make him want her even more, and then even more. She wanted him to experience what it meant to have a sex drive. Normally, he only thought of his own fulfillment.

Marsha kissed him tenderly, urgently, on his face, his eyes, his ears, his cheeks and his flowery open mouth, letting her tentative tongue in, his mouth a warm, moist cavern and his tongue like a restless and fragile creature begging for her unstoppable lust.

Now she was on top of him, her pubic bone grinding against his, pressing hard against the enlarging cock, and the small, cool, wet shift marks on Marsha’s pubic area told her that Richard’s arousal had been highly aroused, and his breaths were shallow, short, and rapid, and his voice was a bit of a whimper, an indistinct sound which meant a great deal.

“My baby,” Marsha whispered into the back of his neck, “do you really want me?” He groaned and pressed her against him, spreading her thighs hard, trying to enter the warm, moist harbor. But she wouldn’t. Not yet.

“Miss you, very, very much.” Marsha gagged him with amorous, passionate kisses while running her seasoned hands over his eager skin, her fingers sliding downward to the side of his body, then past his chest, toward the straining shaft, never touching it. Marsha slid down under him and began to lick and eat the bottom of his belly, his thighs, his navel, the side of his body, and the lovely scrotum at the end of his massive testicles.

The touch of his scrotum to her tongue was like an electric shock, making him gasp, and he pushed his belly forward in a futile attempt to get her to suck on it. He gripped her ass. Trying his best to get his hand between them and into the secret cleft of her thigh. However, forcing his hand away from that pleasure center. Tonight, she was stronger than him, stronger than both, bigger than a sheet of supernatural power.

Tonight, her pleasure was her own, and hers alone. She suddenly put the ball in her mouth very gently, her tongue swirling around it as if it were a deliciously sweet treat.

Poor Richard, the failure of his desire drove him mad, and in a fit of intense carnal desire, Richard clung to Marsha’s back. But she was not soft-hearted enough to pity him once more, and Marsha held the other ball tightly in the fingers of her left hand, squeezing and squeezing it brutally to maximize the unity of pleasure and fear. For the first time in his proudly contented life, Richard felt a vague sense of his vulnerability. He must submit to Marsha as the price of his sexual fulfillment.

Marsha’s clit pulsed with fiendish lust. She rolled over so that her entire being pulsed along with the unobtrusive superhuman vigor.

Lust took over her entire mind, she was only there for her own desires, the rest was nothing.

She rolled over on top of Richard again and rode up on his face, he couldn’t see her, but she knew that his whole being was filled with the rich scent of her aroused female body, her pussy only inches from his face.

Her hand slowly slid between her thighs and parted her fragrant labia. Her clit glowed like a perfect pearl, accepting the kiss of the cold moonlight.

“I’m enjoying my pleasure, Richard, and that pleasure is mine alone.” The sudden contact of her index finger made her clitoris stand out strongly in a way that Marsha hadn’t expected. The sudden pleasure caused hers to buck involuntarily, and the manna from the secret flower of her pussy overflowed. It oozed out of the petals and formed fragrant dewdrops on her deep reddish-brown pussy.

Now was the time to rub her clitoris roughly and precisely, giving herself a startling erotic thrill. She cried out in ecstasy as the nectar of pleasure flowed out of it in a warlike manner, raining down furtively on her lover’s eager face.

Satisfying her own sexual desires with her own fingers, Marsha rode on top of her husband, allowing his hard looming phallus to plunge into her secret pantheon, and he cried out in pleasure as extreme arousal overcame him.

Yet there was still a way for her to ride him skillfully, slowly, and with absolute control. Marsha reached for the nightstand and opened the drawer, and inside, two silver clips glistened in the kiss of moonlight.

She took them out, just for a moment, and clamped them around Richard’s nipples, and his cries were the most perfect harmony of pleasure and pain, the ultimate delight of nerves.

Marsha kissed the pain of Richard’s lips asking and knew that Omega, would not be unhappy.

The computer made singing clicks and beeps and started up, projecting a horrible green light across the bedroom.

A message was slowly, silently appearing on the screen.

Chapter VIII

Marsha yawned and took off her slippers, feeling exhausted and irritated. Richard had gone away to make money, and had been led by the nose by his official duties. Again, he left the house early in the morning without even saying “goodbye” and got into the little red sports car and drove off towards London with a whirr. She was furious that he had come home so little lately.

Alas, if Richard would not trouble himself about being with her, she would find someone who would.

She drank a cup of coffee and ate a slice of crescent-shaped bread in the sitting-room, and then sorted through a pile of letters for a while. From all indications, it looked as if Niedermeyer was going to pay for his bargained-for shipment. Two technicians from the Hamburg factory had already arrived, and more promised to be here by the end of next week.

Jenny, Robertson was naturally indignant at this, but she said nothing, yet her eyes unmistakably expressed everything. Marsha, as management counselor to the novice Jenny, had to cope carefully, for she had been instructed that she was bound to do so until further notice. And up to now, still no word had been received. For the first part of her time at Gwald and Baker, Marsha felt Jenny’s gaze on the back of her head. If eyes could kill, then it was funny that Marsha had a crush on her dear Jeremy Steinbrenner. Steinaberg. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have the slightest interest in Jeremy Steinberg-Miles.

Some of the managers did seem pleased with her, and some congratulated her with clenched teeth and eternal smiles. Well, she didn’t scare them. If they were acting like spoiled children, she wouldn’t play the part of a good little girl and lay down for them. Oh, never, she’d make it, and like carnal pleasures, she’d get what she wanted wherever she went.

Should type up some letters and print out the latest financial budget that has been lined up. Suppose the lads are told that when there are more than two positions waiting for them, she wonders how they should go about securing them.

She shivered at the thought of that false smile and the lust and anger that saturated her eyes, knowing that either of them could be Omega.

As soon as she walked into the office, she was immediately alerted: the green light of the computer monitor flickered. But last night before going to bed, she turned off the computer ah! Had she left it on? She walked over to it, and the words crawling on the screen seemed to invite her to read them, to save another key. Her thoughts were in turmoil and she hesitated.

Outside the window, summer mornings are a joyous spectacle of birds and flowers, huge wild bees buzzing among the marshmallows, and robust white cats lying asleep in the dappled shade of roses. The sunflowers send up gusts of fresh scent, and the golden sunlight seems to bore into their flesh, bones, and blood, as if to duel with the darker world that is bigger with flickering computer screens.

There is only one clear choice: light or darkness. Which should she choose? Should she embrace the warmth of the sunshine in the garden or accept the lure of the elusive, sinister shadows?

Marsha turned her head behind the monitor and tapped the on-off button. She could go back, there was no need to play the game Omega wanted her to. It was her life, her choice, her pleasure. When she turned the computer back on, the message disappeared.

She walks over to the phone and dials Sonia.

“Hey, Marsha, how are you?”

“Yes, but I’m bored. How about a quick breakfast together and a walk along the river?”

“Very willingly. But I am very busy this afternoon. Didn’t I tell you? A few days ago, your friend Greg B. Bagster called me and said he needed a temporary office manager. That was nice of you! Recommended me to him. I said let’s face it, because I’m only good for this job!”

Yes, it’s wonderful, Marsha mused, that only Greg Baxter has ever told me about you. Baxter never told me about you.

“Anyway,” Sonia continued, “I’ll see you on Saturday. Or I’ll see you next Monday.”

“There was a click and the line went dead. Could something have happened? Marsha was born with this ability to sense.

A mystery beyond the ordinary, or something malicious. She should have read the message from “Omega”.

To remove any doubt, she picked up the microphone again. Alex could chase away the shadows of darkness, he would wrap his bear-like arms around her and she would melt into his embrace like April snow before its intense lust could come.

Marsha glanced at her watch: a quarter to nine. At this moment, Alex should be awake from his nap, and perhaps be able to make an appointment with him before he left for the office. Lazy bastard! She dialed the number and waited for a return call.

“Hello?”

“Alex, it’s Marsha, are you busy today?” He smiled.

“Marsha, it all depends on what you’re going to do!” .

“Alex, I’m going to spend the day at your place. We can drive out to the countryside and have a picnic lunch, just like we did in our college days. The sun is shining today and I’m so desperate to see you. I need to lie in the sun with you and feel your hands all over me. Lose myself in the joy.”

“Marsha, I need you too! If you were here with me, you’d understand everything. Just the thought of making love to you makes me a little impatient. I want to feel your lips slide over the head of my cock and realize the pleasure of exploding in your mouth.”

“Why don’t you come with me? It’s hard to hold it all in here alone! I’ve never felt as strong as I do today.”

“Marsha, I’ll be waiting!”

Marsha picked up speed along the meandering path, blending in with the morning sun. It was a warm day, and sitting in the old car with the canopy, she felt like a child again. No worries. No responsibilities. Nothing to think about except how to spend the rest of this endless vacation.

She turned on the radio and sang along to the powerful beat of rock and roll, her fingers tapping on the steering wheel plate. She made a U-turn and drove onto Nai Lo, which led to Hampton Eraser. The melody changed, and she hummed the tune pleasantly. Drive slower, you’re going too fast for a full morning.

Yes, she was enjoying the beauty and warmth of the current morning at the moment, and the weather looked delightful. She glanced in the car mirror and saw a confident, innocent lid smiling at her: silky red and yellow hair bound within a loose bow of bowed ornaments made of emeralds, a stunning physique, rounded lips, expensive tiny, dainty clip-on diamond earrings. I remembered that once she had bought those earrings and treated them as a rare joyous event, only to lose one later and not wear it.

Dressing for the occasion is no easy task. How to be careless and rustic without losing her sexy features? In the end, she decided to wear a silk undergarment and a cotton skirt: casual but sophisticated, at least she hoped. Underneath the skirt, there was only pale brown, shiny, silky flesh against the pink silk lingerie.

The leaves of the trees seem to be always fresh and full of life. A drizzle at dawn seems to wash away the dust of summer, the countryside sweeps away the shabby scene and looks vibrant, tiny indistinct white clouds running across the sky as blue as a blackbird’s egg. On such a beautiful day nothing unexpected should happen. Sonia found a new position in the Glenwald Baker Company is purely a coincidence, Omega is just an adolescent prank, to find its cause is only a matter of time.

Her whole body trembled with excitement. Her heartbeat was a riot of sexual desire. She needed to reaffirm the loveliness of life, to step out and catch the sun. How she needed to be naked against Alex’s flesh! To feel the fire inside him melt her once more, to make them one.

She experiences darkness and knows its seductive power. Yet she is unwilling to be engulfed by the darkness, unwilling to get lost in the shadows by trying to embrace it. Omega may have formulated her scheme, but she is pretty sure she won’t fall for it.

Very definitely.

Almost there.

A right turn into a country lane, accelerating under the arched canopy of a store. Another right turn, and there he was: tall, smiling, dressed in a crumpled white shirt and facecloth, with yellowish hair and a soft beard that stood out in the morning sun. He stood outside the little country hotel with his arms spread out angelically, like an angel of light, a panacea for the darkness.

She stopped the car at the curb edging and he got in and sat beside her without even opening the door.

“Darling, missed you!” Strong arms wrapped around her and hungry hands cupped her breasts. She was glad to be wearing very little for him. One glance at Alex’s parted legs was enough to reveal the desire to get her right away. Good, if it was so urgent with clothes on, it would be even more fun with them off.

They drove down the lane, Alex’s hand slipping down to Marsha’s thigh.

“Sweetheart, missed me, didn’t you?” The voice was husky and full of sensuality.

“Alex, don’t do that! You’re going to make me crash the car! Stop the car and you’ll be safer!”

Alex was relentless and bold. By now his fingers had crept up her thighs and crept to the edge of her tight skirt.

“Marsha, keep driving. Just relax! Just let me give you pleasure! Don’t be nervous, you know how wonderful it will feel!”

Doing her best to stay calm and focused at the intersection, she gripped the steering wheel tightly and stared straight ahead.

Dizzying pleasure poured over her body like warm water far from the shore. Lust was on the verge of breaking the dam of sanity like a tidal wave, and she clenched her fingers around the steering wheel. If she let go, she risked drowning and being buried forever in the sun-splashed tide.

At the moment, Alex made a strong effort to lift her skirt up. She twisted and lifted her hips, first one side, pressing is the other, so that all Alex could do was grab the clothing around her hips. Her skirt had been pulled up to her waist and the secret triangle between her legs was exposed to the light of day, and she felt exposed and extremely hurtful. Luckily the soft stretchy underwear was taut around the pubic bone, thus preventing her lover from penetrating further; but he was good at this and his mind was made up.

She felt them quiver with excitement as his fingers found the three thin pearl buttons that bound the triangular band of cloth. One by one he undid them, and when the last button yielded, the silk undergarment slipped to the back; exposed was her tawny pubic hair.

She was so breathless with excitement that she slid one hand off the steering wheel and clutched her pussy.

“No, no. Alex, you can’t! It’s not here, either!”

“Marsha, just drive! Everything will be fine, just trust me. I promise you you won’t be affected.”

His fingers were warm and determined. A woman just can’t help but lose herself in this reckless temptation. A voice moaned softly from a distance, and Marsha realized incredulously that it was her own. For the moment, she drove like a robot, and a portion of the vehicles followed the road signs mechanically, while makeshift vehicles flickered past them at the junctions of the curving country lanes. The danger signals were still present in her mind, yet now she could only glimpse a vague shadow.

Her fingers touched the softest, most secret part of her body, and Marsha shivered, no longer able to hold back the wonderful flames of lust. Her clitoris was so large and elastic that she herself was only an insignificant assistant in the pleasure center. At the moment, pleasure overrode everything, and she realized that she was surrendering to lust.

She was so frightened that her pulse raced as they staggered around a corner and nearly hit the tractor of a beat-up truck full of hay. Alex’s fingers stroked her clit with gentle, sharp movements. Love juices flowed in a steady stream from her cunt, and she tried to merge her legs and push him out of her mind, but she really couldn’t resist the lure of lust.

Helpless and engulfed in a tidal wave of emotion, Marsha leaned helplessly against the steering wheel as well, her sex spasming violently.

Alex bent over silently, took the wheel, and pulled into the street parking. It was a long time before Marsha regained her senses. Even though it had been some time since she’d gotten out of the car, it still felt like she was in grave darkness when she opened her eyes in the sunlight.

Alex laughed out loud, a lecherous chuckle accompanying his warm voice.

“Didn’t I assure you that you wouldn’t be affected?” Marsha nodded, still in shock.

“Isn’t it wonderful? Doesn’t my finger massage your clit and doesn’t it flutter?”

“It’s so great! I’ve never felt anything so wonderful.” She couldn’t help but laugh when she noticed he looked downcast.

“Alex, honestly, for only a few seconds I thought you were going to kill us both. It was awesome, it really was, in fact ……”

“What?”

“In fact it’s so good I’m ready to do it all over again!”

They drove many more miles to a grassy, rolling hillside with few trees. Marsha turned off the engine and parked the car on the sun-bleached hayfield. The grass under the trees looked softer, thicker and greener. All was quiet, with only larks and lizards interrupting their secret pleasures.

Marsha looked around and said, “It’s beautiful here.” She jumps down and pulls out the basket from inside her suitcase for a picnic.

Alex crawled out, stretching his long legs and yawning.

“God, I’m tired!” He announced with a twinkle in his eye, “I think I’m going to lie down, how are you?”

“Oh, fatigue indeed.”

The two of them grinned as they had done so many years ago when they were still in college, and headed for the hillside. The breeze rattled the treetops, a hypnotic soughing filled the air, and in the grass, the whirring of crickets made monotonous mind-numbing polyphonic music.

They kissed feverishly in the shade of the green tree, their hands exploring each other’s flesh with eager dexterity. They knew each other’s needs, pleasures and desires instinctively, as if they had been lovers in a previous life. Maybe they were. Marsha’s hand went toward Alex’s erect penis. He’d been a bit of a flirt in the car, and his hopelessly unfortunate genitals had only struggled inside his pale gray linen pants, wetting a small patch of his clean, dry pants. Eagerly she felt for the zipper and pulled down hard, her hungry fingers reaching in and worshipping the stiff little rod.

And they giggled and collapsed, tumbling over the soft, fluffy European fern. Marsha briskly straightened her back for him to thrust into, she didn’t need precise, elegant play, not at this moment, not fussy play or romantic gestures. All she needed was to be possessed: here and now, here and now.

He had been ready for this for a long time, and eagerly, decisively, he poked his prick straight into her womb, and she spread her legs as wide as she could, desperately wanting to thrust as deep as she could. Her cunt belt went white hot and she screamed at the top of her lungs. There were no syllables, a stream of gibberish, such was the logic of lust. Sweat slid slowly down her breasts. Alex’s mouth pressed against hers, carving out control of her tongue. He moved upward, rubbing his nose against the nape of her neck, and Marsha heard him come up for air sharply.

“Marsha, only for you, always only for you!” She responded to his passion with her arm, and together they ran on the waves of passion toward Elysium.

With a shout, Marsha’s entire being was completely liberated in a colorful, pleasing and dazzling set.

They then lay together for a while, listening to each other’s even breathing. Marsha sat up, kicking and stretching.

“Want some champagne?” She opened the cooler and pulled out a bottle of Numm champagne, the wine still refreshingly cold. The cork was pulled out and creamy bubbles splashed on top of the European fern. They each poured a glass of champagne and toasted each other for pleasure.

As thousands of tiny blisters approached that greedy tongue all at once, she extremely appreciated the bitter and sweet flavor, the pinprick of wonder.

She felt drunk, not on wine, but on the day, when the sky and the earth and everything around her was full of life. The birds were singing, the lizards were singing, and the earth seemed to be trembling with excitement at its abundance and vibrancy.

She giggled, suddenly remembering an idea that had fun in it, there was a jar of clotted cream in the basket, what a fun game they could make with it! She was hungry, her stomach growled. She pulled the basket over and lifted the lid.

What’s going on? There was a large box sitting on top of the wrapped food, which she hadn’t put there!

Marsha glanced at her lover; Alex was leaning against the tree, contentedly overlooking the wine. She held her breath as she looked at the message on the lid of the box, Marsha, you can’t refuse Omega’s wishes; only Omega is the one who truly fulfills his responsibilities.

How did the box get to the basket? Did Alex put it there? No, of course not. The basket had been inside the trunk of the car, there was no way he could have touched it. Not daring to breathe, she opened the lid of the box and inside were a few odd items. Handcuffs, flap ribbons and belts, a whip and a pair of black leather gloves-one palm was soft leather, the other covered with large, very sharp, glittering nails.

Marsha’s thoughts tumbled and her mind was in turmoil. She needed to be possessed, yes, she needed to be possessed in the middle of this golden summer sun. But she also needed to enjoy another elusive pleasure, namely the bone-deep pleasure of being seen by Omega and mysteriously prescribed by him. An ominous yet lingering phrase echoed in her mind:

Your actions are the law.

She put on her gloves silently, shivering with excitement as the soft leather touched her tawny skin. Then she picked up the long ribbon and walked toward Alex.

As he neared him, Alex smiled.

“Marsha, how about a little game? Is it for me to tie you up? What fun!”

Her heart beat violently. He could only see the soft, shiny back of the leather glove; he could not have expected the strange gift hidden in the closed palm. Let him speculate!

“Honey, take off your clothes, okay?”

She realized that her voice was very husky and extremely sexy, as if the champagne she had just drunk had been spiked with moving drugs within it. How could a few sips of champagne have such a powerful aftertaste? She remembered how dizzy she had felt that night at the Justine Club when she had partied with Niedermeyer and his staff. Had she been drunk again without realizing it?

Alex hadn’t expected anything. He had kicked off his shoes and was taking off his shirt and pants, and the narrow black strip of cloth at the head of his boxers was showing? The black and shiny pantyhose head was more exposed than covered. Curly blonde pubic hairs burrowed out from under the tautly stretched pants, and the outline of his prick was clearly outlined.

Marsha reached out and pulled down the front of his trunks, and Alex stepped out of them with a quickness, dropping the tiny trunks to the floor.

“I’m ready!” He announced with a grin, “Now what do you want me to do, dear little man?”

Marsha quickly dodged his outstretched hand.

“No, I can’t. First I want you to be happy.” She said, “Lie back and let me caress you.”

Alex pretended to be submissive as he lay on his back in the soft grass, his physique as beautiful as an immaculate stone sculpture.

Marsha acted immediately, taking out a ribbon and tying it around his wrists and tying the other end to a tree trunk. At this point, he was an absolutely obedient slave at her mercy.

Alex opened his eyes, and it was hard to hide the inner turmoil in that seemingly confident gaze.

“Oh, what did you connect this wire to?”

“It’s my way of caressing you, trust me, just relax. I know you’ll enjoy the pleasure to the fullest.”

“But I will not be enslaved to such trash. I never thought you would be such a person!”

Marsha sneered. She remembered the day in the small garden when Alex had brutally imposed his will on her, controlling her without a care in the world.

“Sweetheart, relax. I promise it’s all about getting you decidedly alive.”

He closed his eyes and lay down again, submissively accepting her gentle caresses. Apparently he was very tame indeed; for he thought it was merely a game, with her playing the ruler and him the pleasure slave. Mind you, the roles had been reversed before, and he had happily consented to his lover; such was somewhat of an indulgence, but it was surely an extremely stimulating new gimmick.

She began to loosen her grip, exposing her leather palms and gently rubbing Alex’s thighs, stomach and chest, massaging slowly along those most sensitive areas. She longed to see him completely in her control and begging her for an end to the agonizing torture.

He groaned in pleasure as her leather glove skimmed over his cock.

“Oh, Marsha, this feels so incredible! Save me! Save me! I’m feeling so good. Now it’s all in the air!”

Perhaps fearing that the complacency would irritate her, she was filled with a strong desire. It was a desire for pleasure, but not simply to get Alex’s “hard thing” inside, to inject enjoyment into her long-awaited genitals. Don’t do that. Rather, it would be a wonderful way to curb the lust. He’d be grateful for that, and he’d love her all the more for her ingenious flirting skills.

She spread her palms and took the whip in her right hand, and for the moment, everything was ready.

“Alex, you can open your eyes now! I want you to see what I have prepared for your pleasure!”

His angelic smile disappeared as soon as he saw the raised whip about to land on his naked body and the studded gloves cleverly occupying the vantage point between his legs leading to the two little ball pills.

“Geez! Marsha, what the hell are you doing?” He struggled, attempting to dislodge the ribbon from his wrist.

Somehow she had hoped that they would do this game together, that they would be quick to meet that agonizing orgasm of sexual desire together. She was surprised and very disappointed to find him timid.

“Marsha, what’s wrong with you? You weren’t like this before. You’ve changed, and it’s hard for me to be sure I don’t like it.”

Looking down at that athletic physique. Bronze skin and a look of utter sadness, her desire actually crept away, and his toughness seemed to smoke out of her eyes, and all her lust went with it.

Feeling instantly downcast, she dropped the whip, took off her gloves, and threw them in disgust on top of Alex’s naked body.

“Marsha, let go of me! For God’s sake, stop playing these stupid bloodshed games!”

Marsha turned around and headed down the hill to her car. Slowly and calmly she got into the car, started the engine and drove towards the intersection. She was determined to go.

The town of Anti-Chester is busy. It was market day. Marsha sat outside a coffee shop on the outskirts of town, sipping her coffee and watching the crowds come and go. A good lunch, a glass of wine plus the bright sunshine all helped to dispel gloomy thoughts and unpleasant memories. Should she go back and see if everything was okay with Alex? She didn’t know. Yes, he was definitely safe and sound. The straps weren’t too thick and the knots were tied loosely, so all it took was a few minutes of shaking and he’d be free. The only thing that had been hurt, though, was his pride. Would he forgive her? Did she even care about that?

How did she feel during that war scene? Alex is right, she has changed, so what! Simple question seeking never again la. In fact, she herself wasn’t sure if she liked becoming this whip.

What exactly is it going to be? She’s young, vibrant, old and hungry for sex. Alex couldn’t satisfy her, so she was looking for someone who could. She searches the endless country town for pretty bobbing heads. Here she knows no one and no one knows her. Here she could do as she pleased and care for nothing. What’s to stop her from finding a complete stranger and spending an afternoon of “guilty sexual freedom” in a cheap hotel? Omega, Richard and Alex are all behind her: today, she has only one goal, and that is to satisfy her own needs.

No one pulled on my boxers, she mused. No one but Marsha McLean. McLean, there’s no one.

A tall young man with a briefcase took a seat across from him, nodding and smiling at each other. He’ll do, he’ll be brilliant. First, he’s young enough to be able to conform; second, he’s young enough that he’ll have enough experience.

He scowled at her and again tried to show that he wasn’t looking at her. We’ll see, she’ll make him sit up and notice her. She put her foot under the table and tried to touch his leg. He began to react, looking up at her, searching her face for signals: was it accidental? Or was it something she did on purpose?

To allay his suspicions, she deliberately bumped his leg repeatedly. She kicked off her shoes and mischievously crept her toes up his striped pant leg, and for the moment, she could almost hear the choking sound of him swallowing hard.

Marsha saw the radiant smile on his face and her toes were emboldened to climb higher. He finally understood the game and was happy to play along. He spread his feet a little so that her toes could slide down between his legs. He felt hot against her bare feet, his body was amazing and he looked energized. The thought of all the fun they would have together, which he didn’t even know about yet, made Marsha a little tingly.

She tried to relax and enjoy herself as much as possible. How beautiful life was! She was caressing a stranger with her bare toes, and the warm sun was caressing her like an amiable lover. Something or some loud noise prompted her to look at the market. The busy crowd in front of the stalls confused her for a moment, and then, suddenly, she saw something clearly.

The black silver-plated motorcycle was parked on the other side of the market, looking like a jumbled pile of shiny iron amidst the Hilas sedans and four-wheeled jeeps. There could be no mistake, there couldn’t be a second motorcycle like this one, it was chrome plated and gleamed menacingly there.

She shook her head, surely she had misread it.

She looked further back, and there stood a leather-clad biker, his black helmet covering an expressionless face. He looked like he was waiting for something.

Or waiting for someone.

Chapter 9

“Get in the car!”

The expressionless face seemed to look straight at her, and what mad excitement had prompted her to rise and walk through the downtown market toward him? Why did she obey him? Would he hurt her on this sunny afternoon in the center of this busy marketplace?

Why is she afraid of him?

She put on her helmet and pulled it downward to cover her face. Once again she was in a suffocating dreamlike dimness. The internal contact phone clicked open and an electronic voice gibbered in her head, “Get in! I’ll take you on a little trip.”

She looked at the faceless helmet and once again had the sensation of being talking to an android made of wire, glass and metal, with a pronounced steel heart hidden within the taut, belted skin. The sexbot was cold and ruthless, yet efficient; a capable messenger for Omega. Or is it Omega himself?

As if reading her mind, the voice sounded in her head again, “Marsha, I am not the one you seek, I am just a messenger of Omega, that is all. We must all fulfill Omega’s wishes.”

Marsha straddled the Harley motorcycle, clinging to the rider’s back. He quickly dashed out of the market square and onto the main road. Marsha was so mesmerized by the speed and the ever-changing, hypnotic scenery that she no longer wanted to know what was in store for her.

A flashing signpost: London 25 miles. So that’s where he was taking her. She was filled with curiosity, yet her body caught her attention even more: her skirt blew up her back, and her bare shapely legs clung to the cyclist’s leather jacket. The violent air currents lapping at her bare arms and thighs were like rough caresses on this dreary summer day, and they were penetratingly cool. She felt an ecstasy she had never known before.

Passing a sharp turn, the motorcycle leaned alarmingly to the right. Fearing a sudden fall, Marsha clung to the rider, her legs clamped tightly around his smooth, strong legs. Her breasts squeezed and flattened against his back, making a gurgling sound as her nipples rubbed up and down against his back constantly – realizing that they were only protected by a silk blouse against a studded leather jacket. Her breathing began to become heavy as the contact with him was not uncomfortable.

The miniature phone in her helmet received a voice and she heard a slight sneer.

“Marsha, lust is your master, and integrity is a forgotten worry. Omega’s not a bad choice at all.”

Instead of quenching the fire of lust within her, the knight’s words caused her emotions to rise even higher, and she rubbed harder against the knight’s back. The thought of doing as she pleased in the bright sunlight thrilled her.

Between bare legs, the shiny leather seat shook with the vibrations from the full-power engine.

The 11ooCC engine is oily and shiny, a full-on twitch-fucking type, with the piston rods going in and out of the cylinders with firmness and relentlessness.

Marsha was so excited that she couldn’t catch her breath, her moist pussy lips looked especially sensitive against the hot leather, and every vibration of the engine seemed to bore into her soul, soothing and stimulating her for a long time. The rhythm of that vibration was a full-on fuck rhythm!

She was in such a state of ecstasy that her whole body trembled, and a low moan escaped from her lips, which she could not stop. She couldn’t hide her joy, but it wasn’t the joy of the Omega.

“Masha, let it be! Lust is wonderful, enjoyment is wonderful. The only way to refuse to give is to restrain yourself.”

Marsha almost whimpered in panic and fear as she clung to the knight’s waist, her fingers turning white. She was dizzy and no longer knew who or what she was, or perhaps she was alone somewhere.

The rest of the day was spent in a daze; colorful voices and vehicles flashed past Marsha in the endless traffic lane. They stopped for a moment at a red light and threaded their way through the city center again. However, Marsha was hardly interested in what was going on around her, she was mesmerized by the overwhelming rhythm of the “Omega” will.

“Marsha, we’re here. Get out of the car and give me your helmet.”

The motorcycle pulled up next to a hotel on a busy street and Rider helped Marsha off. Her legs were stiff and shaky, and he had to help her walk across the sidewalk to a gleaming, recently completed office building that, like so many other new buildings, had no name, but rather looked like a mess of jagged glass and clean granite.

Still walking through the automatic turnstile, the knight quickly presented an electronic identification card as he passed the counter, and Marsha didn’t have time to see what it was for while the security guard standing there nodded respectfully. It was strange, she couldn’t be sure what she wanted to see, she just felt worried.

The single-mindedness of what might happen also forgot the fear of another great will. She struggled to rid herself of all thoughts as she followed the knight into the mansion.

In the middle of the hall, where there was an elaborate crossover of incoming and outgoing staircases, some leading to the ground floor, others seemingly endless to the dizzying glass dome of the upper floors, the clerks were still busy with their own business; famous and unnamed people were carrying papers and briefcases; but none of them paid any attention to Marsha. The knight ignored the stairs and led Marsha toward the elevator.

She followed her in, and when the door closed, it was like an airtight cocoon, and she shivered a little with fear. She couldn’t help remembering the other elevator: it was in that black cage that she had first encountered something dreamlike – was it a nightmare? –It was “Omega”.

There was no indication that the knight was going to touch her. Like his appearance, he appeared transcendent and depersonalized. Suddenly Marsha found herself wishing that he would have non-personal thoughts, give way to mad impulses, and reveal human attributes behind his mask. This calmness, this transcendence was even more discouraging than that of a drunkard with a slanting eye and a wink in a small alley.

The elevator lurched to a stop on the 30th floor, the doors slowly opening, and Marsha hesitated.

“Please go first!”

The knight mockingly trailed off in a hypocritical tone. That poor show of gentility irritated and frightened her.

They stepped out of the elevator and outside were gleaming marble floors. They were under a wide glass dome.

“Marsha, look down.”

Marsha obediently glanced down, feeling dizzy as she hurriedly grabbed the brass railing. The interior of the building was in full view, and the cross staircase allowed her to see the activity on each floor. Men and women in black overalls bustled about their desks and quietly ran from floor to floor. No one spoke, and there was a disquieting silence that looked like a permanent specimen that had suddenly disappeared into the ground. Vanished under hell.

“Marsha, it’s made by Omega.”

Now the knight grabbed her by the arm and pulled her over to look in the mirror on the wall. She turned tamely, and an eye-popping picture of activity unfolded before her: a colorful maze of dockyard developments; it looked like the only place that was still vibrant in the midst of a recession.

“Marsha, these are Omega’s masterpieces.”

“I can’t fathom how that’s possible.”

“Marsha, you don’t need to understand, just accept, and then just obey.”

They took the elevator down again, Marsha filled with curiosity and doubt. Omega’s influence was so far-reaching. Until it reached into the heart of the city, could this possibly be true?

They passed the reception counter and came to the door. The sun was still shining brightly. Marsha’s eye was suddenly drawn to something: a small steel sign, placed just inside the entrance, that read, Glenwald and Baker Power Load Control.

Marsha was so surprised that she couldn’t breathe: her doubts were instantly confirmed. She put on her helmet and followed the rider in a daze, boarding the motorcycle in fear as they drove into traffic, avoiding cabs and mail scooters, and heading southwest of London. As they sped past the Houses of Parliament, Marsha’s heart shrank with fear. For the rider held out his hand and pointed toward the House of Commons.

“Marsha, that’s the Omega house, and it all belongs to Omega.”

The motorcycle still lurched forward. Worried about hearing more brutal and unacceptable fears, Marsha no longer dared to break the silence. Was what the rider had said true? Or was it an elaborate farce? But her eyes did not deceive her! She saw the steel sign. The security guards recognized them, even though Marsha hadn’t been fitted with an electronic identification card, and they hadn’t even inquired about it.

The motorcycle slowed as they passed a computer showroom; Marsha remembered that it was the same kind of computer used by Glenwald and Baker. She remembered accompanying the manager of the accounts department here a year ago to pick up a connector and get a day of training.

“Listen! The Knight’s voice.” Knight said softly from Marsha’s side. By the electronic chops, she knew he didn’t mean it as a taunt. He was saying something: the Omega had infiltrated more than just one computer, right? The Omega was in any office, on any computer screen, right?

And who is the incognito messenger? Assuming she recognizes the truth in the black helmet, what other terrible truths await her?

Under the cover of her helmet, Marsha closed her eyes as if she were about to plunge into a dark abyss.

It was a plain building: a two-story, flat-roofed house on the outskirts of town. The garden in front of the door was neat and clean, and the walls were freshly painted in a striking soft gray. There was nothing about the house that warranted attention, no matter what angle one looked at it from.

Nothing but the sign that said “Made in Omega” would attract attention. As the brass key turned in the lock hole and the knight pushed open the door, Marsha muttered, “I’m not going in.” She figured it would be the last time. The last time a black brass plaque tempted her into an uninhabited house. She felt like an abandoned, naked victim. Fearfully and helplessly suspended in candlelight. She recalled a newspaper quote, “That mysterious, inexplicable flame in an unoccupied house is suspect.” That’s to say nothing of corpses and gruesome catastrophes.

“Marsha, you must go in. You must overcome your fear, or you will never overcome it.”

He grabbed her wrist, not tightly but with authority. It seemed to say, I mean you no harm, I don’t want to force you to go in there, but don’t have any illusions that I can make you do anything. She tried to move her helmet, but the biker stopped her immediately.

She used off his hand and stepped inside. At once, a suspended heart finally dropped. This was not a dark hell on earth, not dusty clothes and uncarpeted floors, this was a cheerful, bright house with liberal paintings and soft carpets, where nothing unpleasant had ever happened.

“Marsha, go upstairs! Go right up through the door in front of you and I’ll follow you up the stairs.”

She admired Renoir’s paintings and Oriental curiosities as she picked her way up the stairs and stopped at the top. Before her was a door, pink in color and freshly painted with white eggshell paint, but it was shut tight.

“Come in.”

“I can’t get in.”

“Marsha, push it!”

She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The house was painted a creamy white, and the white light was almost a color with it, a stark contrast to the rest of the place. At the very back of the room, towards the wall that was partially covered by the tape, stood two chairs.

“Marsha, sit down. I have something to show you.”

She obeyed a sensory precursor that soaked her entire body, and the Knight took the rope and pulled hard, and the curtains retracted.

At first, she didn’t quite believe the sights she was seeing. Like some crazy surreal movie that words couldn’t explain. Yet the figures were so clear, coming closer and closer to her. She scrutinized the rider with the tall, dark, hooded head.

“Marsha, everything is real. Through that mirror, they can’t see you, but you can see them.”

She turned to look in the mirror-the window of hell, in another house, where two shadows were busy with a peculiarly demoralizing and peculiar ritual. Because everything was done in silence, everything was cut off by that wall, it was all the more chilling. The naked woman, her white skin lined with red lipstick, looked garish.

She wore a light blue leather mask and moved forward toward a jagged wooden horse. Her hips were cocked back, a whiplash mark showing from the mouth of her stripped ass. A bamboo stick at her side immediately reminded Marsha of what to do in such a situation.

Around the woman’s neck was a studded leather necklace, and Marsha instinctively touched her throat, which seemed to be covered with a scar. Two chain straps were attached to the woman’s collar and two reverse bracelets, which in turn were attached to her leather belt.

She looked isolated with her wrists chained to the mouth of a jagged wooden horse, yet she smiled and laughed almost crazily. Marsha pondered this. Standing behind her was a masked man, his black clothes nearly wrapped around his torso but favoring his hips and thighs to be exposed. Marsha wished he would turn around and face her so she could see the genitals bouncing up and down.

He leaned over to the woman as she gave him her undivided attention. Suddenly Marsha caught sight of the firmness, felt the upturned curve of the shaft as very familiar, and strangely enough her misgivings vanished at once. He pried open the woman’s twinkling red lips and forced it in, at the same time he rested the stick on the floor on the woman’s arching back. She tensed for a moment, but still smiled, even as the man in the mask forced his way in.

“What does all this have to do with me?”

“Masha, be patient, everything will become clear.”

At this point the masked man jerked faster and more vigorously, his genitals forcing themselves toward the woman, his hips thrusting in response. Her face was radiant, one might even say mesmerized. Marsha found her own emotions rising as the woman’s breasts quivered in rhythm with the pumping.

He shivered with pleasure as he plunged in, his mouth open in a deep, unseen pleasure. When he pulled off the woman’s mask and kissed the open eyes, Marsha jumped in shock: it was Jenny Robertson! Robertson! Jenny Robertson, bound by mask and chain! Jenny Robertson!

At that moment, the man laughed and brought his hand up to his face, unclasping his leather mask. He didn’t stop her laughing, shaking his blonde hair excitedly in the cold-toned white light.

Meanwhile, the knight watched her, and though she couldn’t see his face, she knew those eyes were staring at her, searching her soul, attempting to come and satiate her in the midst of her shock and mutation.

Once again the mysterious electronic voice sounded in the head. She shook her head and closed her eyes. However, the voice refused to stay quiet.

“Marsha, yield to Omega! You can only be faithful to pleasure.”

“I …… I can’t!”

The knight’s long-gloved hands stroked over her, stimulating her, pressing urgently into her, and as he pressed against her belly, she could feel he’d been ready for this for a long time. The hard thing throbbed uncomfortably in the leather suit. He wanted her! In spite of the mysterious sight she had just witnessed, she couldn’t help wanting him too, wanting him to give in to the “Omega”; to give in to pleasure. Her bare skin was wonderfully receptive to the knight’s touch as he pulled her dress upward and touched the warm, naked flesh.

Her mind, her whole body, was filled with electronic gibberish.

“Marsha, ‘Omega’ loves you. Only Omega loves you.”

Fingers in long gloves touched her nipples, and the electrifying sensation brought her back to reality. She wasn’t a sex toy or a sex slave, she was Marsha McLean. She was Marsha McClain, and she wasn’t bowing to the dark world of her own thoughts. No, never! She was stronger than ever.

She grabbed the knight at once, shook off his hand, and pulled the door open with a jerk, half running, half jumping down the stairs and toward the front door.

At the same time, she pulled off her helmet and dropped it on the living room carpet. However, the knight didn’t bother to stop her.

Standing outside on the sidewalk, she looked back for a moment. The Knight hadn’t come out after her, and the liberal canvases looked like lewd and obscure clowns, grinning askance behind her. They do all the corrupting and degrading things they can under the guise of innocent frolics.

She ran down the path to a traffic thoroughfare and stopped a cab.

“To Waterloo Station.”

The cab sped away. She turned her head to look at the fading house. Somewhere behind her there seemed to be the faint sound of laughter.

Early on, as Marsha stepped off the train, exhausted and trembling, she remembered the car, the MG car parked in Hanchester’s Market Square. God only knew if that car was still there. She thought about it as she walked down the country street toward her residence. It was better now that she didn’t have to worry much about her week.

“Good night, Mrs. McLean.”

She nodded in reply to the colonel’s wife, hoping not to get involved in idle chatter at the moment.

“Did you have a nice, delicious picnic, did you?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks.”

As the colonel’s wife, with her basket of purchases in her hand, entered the old neighborhood house, Marsha nervously kept her eyes open. For she knew that the old woman was an inquisitive character, but how did she know about the picnic? Marsha hadn’t told anyone.

Walking down the secluded lane towards the residence, she stopped all of a sudden, in front of the house, the MG car was parked, she ran over to it, the car was intact, even cleaner than it was.

The brass key was on the firing mechanism and a package sat on the front seat, a blood red rose on the parcel mai. Nervously, she tore open the package, and inside was a simple black card with a simple steel logo on it.

All it said was “Omega” and nothing more, not a word to taunt her or irritate it.

She walked wearily into the house; Richard hadn’t returned yet. There was no message on the phone, and no word from Alex. Alex, wasn’t it strange that he hadn’t called?

As for Jenny Robertson. As for Jenny Robertson, it was a surprise. How long has she been involved with Omega?

Was this all connected to Glenwald and Baker? She collapsed into a chair and held her head in her hands.

A thought affected her emotions. Life must go on, must get those numbers into the computer because the meeting was on Tuesday. She made an espresso and sat down at the table.

INPUT COMMAND: The JUNO command is incorrect.

She was tired, maybe she had typed it in wrong. She tried again: juno.

The command is incorrect and the channel refuses to accept it.

Juno, Juno.

The channel refuses to accept it and the command transforms.

The computer system resisted her at the door! What’s going on? Who could change her commands? She was about to call the engineer when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Marsha, honey, it’s Richard, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all day.”

Marsha was so grateful and snotty that she almost wanted to burst into tears.

“Oh Richard, I miss you. I’m sorry I went out.”

“It’s okay. Sweetheart, listen, I’m really sorry I can’t go home tonight. Mr. Tony wants us to stay busy all night, so I’ve reserved a room at the hotel. You see, I feel like I’m slowing you down. I do feel like I’m slowing you down. How about a day out tomorrow?”

“That’s great. Where to?”

“Well, Marsha, I’m going to give you a little surprise and show you something. How about meeting in Soho tomorrow morning?”

“In Soho! Why?”

“I have a friend who just opened a wholesale store there, it’s really good, carries sexy lingerie and sportswear. Good for you, okay, just a harmless joke. The name of the store is Mistress, it’s in an alley not far from Waldo Street. I’ll meet you there, okay? Maybe we’ll both buy some interesting clothes, maybe acquire a small sex toy or two, and then we’ll go for a lunch, get our libidos going, and spend the afternoon in a five-star hotel. What do you think?”

Marsha laughed.

“It’s not like you to take such risks!”

Chapter 10

Marsha stood outside the store and glanced quickly from side to side. Would anyone notice her standing here? Should she leave, or go in?

Richard’s “little adventure”, which had seemed like a good idea last night, she wasn’t so sure about here and now.

She stood in the unforgiving sunlight outside the Hostess store, feeling nervous. How could she have expected this!

Richard said it was a sports store that ran a harmless operation; a place where you could giggle for a while and acquire a few pairs of sexy lingerie. This was something else, however; those pitch black things were what she’d been longing to eschew but was having a hard time doing so.

Still hesitant, she lingered in an unseen neighborhood located at the downtown, staring in wonder at the windows of the miniature clothing store. At once, a strange feeling rolled through her mind.

She couldn’t help but think of what had happened that night at Club Justine: of a slim figure in black, high-heeled leather boots, laughing behind a mask. For, all rights belonged to her, for she was the mistress of pleasure.

The worst part of this nerve-wracking morning was Richard’s late arrival. Marsha glanced at her watch, it was ten-thirty, and there was no sign of him. Perhaps he was too busy to get away. Work first, pleasure first, not the first time for him, Marsha thought with some heartbreak.

Maybe it’s time to leave and teach him a lesson. Go away and find something more interesting to pass the time. Why should she wait for his call and response, or a man’s, for that matter? Why should she have to be ready to put aside what she was doing when he was free? She would not be grateful to him for everything in her life, which she had earned for and by herself. No favors, good fortune or no good fortune.

There was no Omega.

She felt ashamed of herself; to be honest, Richard was annoying, but he was a real person. When she thought of what she had seen in the flat-roofed house only yesterday afternoon, and of the fact that Jenny Robertson had never seen or even expected her to be there, she could not help being overcome. Robertson had never seen or even expected her to be there, she shivered with fear. Shouldn’t she call Richard? But there was no telephone in the neighborhood. If he came and did not see her, he would think she had run away. Couldn’t leave; by promising to wait here for him, she was keeping her word. The idea of taking a risk aroused her curiosity again.

One thing is certain: even on a mid-August morning, this is not a wholesome area. It was not a place where single women could be found, and it was a place where the sun was never quick to chase away the shadows, even at midday in the height of summer. The street was no bigger than a dirty alley, lined with a few dark stores: sleazy places, sexy clubs, porno malls with abandoned windows. The “Mistress” store, however, stood out: corrupt, not mean, not nasty, but arrogant and sleek.

She hated to be seen wandering around outside sex stores, sleazy places, and mini-clothing stores; a nagging apprehension constantly warned her that she wasn’t safe here. She tried her best to walk up and down the street as if she were looking in some window, but still to no avail. For there was nothing to be seen on the surface of this dirty, unassuming side street, which was not closely connected with sexual behavior. Marsha began to think that it would have been better if she hadn’t worn seductive clothes. The short skirts and sleeveless tops chosen to please Richard were equally pleasing to others, with the exception of fools and passers-by.

A vague concern caught her attention. Again and again she stared at the black Mercedes sedan parked across the street. Inside were two men, wearing sunglasses and overalls. Marsha couldn’t shake the gut feeling that they were watching her. Maybe, she was going to have to get out of this place of wrongdoing. She turned around and walked in the other direction. Marsha felt much safer when she pulled away some distance. Richard would surely guess that something had happened to her. It was awful! Choosing such a rarefied place for a date was in itself his fault. It was only after turning a corner that the horrible truth dawned on her: the alley ended in a wall with no windows or doors, a platform where the Victorian store had collapsed. Marsha’s heart sank straight down, damn it! There was no way out except away from the two men in the Mercedes. She stood there for a moment, staring at the broken brick wall that had caused her to panic. Well, there was only to hold her tongue and walk back down the same road.

Footsteps!

Was it Richard? No: it was the sound of two men’s footsteps; the heels of their shoes hitting the stone pavement.

Footsteps came from far behind, but they were getting closer. Marsha held her breath, and her sixth sense was restless. A sixth sense forbade her to turn around, to stare like a fool at the doorless wall in front of her. Heavy footsteps, the footsteps of those two unseen men. She didn’t have that gift of being able to predict who they were. At the moment, they were right behind her, maybe they could run into her. Two black shadows appeared frighteningly on the sooty wall.

The voice was harsh but calm, almost like a whisper. He leaned in close enough that she could smell the sweet odor emanating from his breath.

“Honey, are you a professional?”

She was shocked to hear the words, and realized unmistakably the role she was being asked to play. Of course, she could have said “no”; she could have walked; or run; or cried out for help. But who could hear her?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

The lie was hollow and thus unconvincing, and Marsha’s trill sounded more like the urgency of lust than the unease of fear.

“Sweetheart, don’t play hide and seek.” At that moment, the voice implied a threat, while a hand clamped down on Marsha’s arm so tightly that it hurt her breath. She tried to shake him off, but couldn’t move those fingers. Pale, jagged fingerprints appeared on her soft brown skin, and after a while they would turn into bruises.

“Don’t play hide and seek. I could twist you like a rag doll if I wanted to.” As if to reinforce the tone, the man gripped her tighter. The grip implied great strength, the tone suggested the plain truth.

“You can’t change your fate. You’re charming, at best, and a prickly person. All you really care about is the money. Don’t worry about it, darling, it’s all good.”

“I’m not …… not who you think I am?” Marsha panted, her breath escaping her. Because the arms resting around her breasts pulled her backward against the man’s torso.

“Oh, I know very well what you are.”

An irresistible force dragged her backwards, and she attempted to resist to no avail. She couldn’t even scream. There was a certain incomprehensible thrill of fear.

Where would he take her? Was he going to take her into a hideous, horrible, nasty place? Oh, God! It couldn’t be; what would they do to her alone in this abysmal place? Where on earth was Richard?

A store presented itself, colorfully painted in black and red; neon lights displayed the sightly but acceptable blue sign, “Hostess.” They were going into this store, why? Was it an elaborate farce Richard had concocted to teach her a lesson? But it was all so real.

She was pushed against the pane of glass, and the man seemed to force her to look at the window, to understand and remember what she saw.

She’d lied, she knew exactly what he was up to; on top of that, she was ashamed to know that the other her needed to do the same. Richard had said adventure, and maybe it wasn’t the adventure he had planned, but adrenaline was pumping into Marsha’s bloodstream. She had changed in the last few weeks; the sunshine and warmth loving her was beginning to understand the allure of darkness and the charms of the cold, dank world.

Marsha said to herself, I should turn around, turn and calmly face him and tell him that I am not a slave to the lustful sea of desire. But she continued to stare at the window, for the furry hand was more persuasive than any voice. Gradually her whole body became intoxicated with the chance encounter of navigating a dirty and obscene neighborhood.

In the window were two models: one was male, dressed like an executioner, wearing a mask and holding a nail-decorated leather whip, spraying nervously, his legs bulging out at the parting. He held up a whip, about to strike the girl in front of him on her cream-colored buttocks. She wore a black brassiere and her wrists were bound behind her back and then tied to the spiked leash around her neck. She wore nothing more than the red shiny boots that came up to her legs. She was on her knees, bent forward, her long blonde hair cascading forward to cover her face. Her back was bent in an arch, her legs spread wide and her hips split in two. Masha seemed to be shaking with thirst for the executioner’s lash. It was a purely contrived sight. Yet, Marsha looked at it and felt that this was her world, her unique way of life. Like the naked girl, she was surrendering to that inquiring lust.

The strange painting showed a strange sexuality. When a thick hand rubbed Marsha’s ass, she felt a familiar heat in her belly and she didn’t dare move. Did she really want to? What if he had a knife? What if he was going to hurt her? What to do? The street was now definitively empty except for the unseen businessman and his accomplice sitting in that Mercedes. At this point, with only the men and her on the street, she was indeed alone.

Only the cacophony of the distant intersection reminds Marsha that there is a sound world far away from the underclass that uses sex as a means of livelihood. She could still fight back, could still choose freedom and sunshine. Something told her that even if she refused, this reckless and dangerous man would not hurt her. His touch was very gentle. A thrilling warmth quickly spread throughout her body as hungry fingers slid bravely and boldly down to the folds of her skirt and disappeared underneath.

At that moment, she pressed herself against the mirror as if she had become part of the scene before her, thinking to herself that she was at that moment the blonde slave willingly subjecting her soft white skin to her lover’s whipping, patiently taming or even happily accepting the tyrant-like punishment of her sex.

The leg that the hand was touching, wrapping around the stocking tie, followed by a quick upward movement. She realized with horror what her attacker would find next.

“My dear little slutty slave!” A voice twittered in her ear, “You have prepared such a wonderful passage for me!”

Marsha blushed with shame as that bare flesh accused her of playing the role she had once so bravely denied. She couldn’t stop laughing as she remembered how she had laughed that morning when she had taken off her tight short shorts and gone out for a walk naked under her skirt. It was the same afternoon that she had tried to please Richard in the hotel in that way. Despite her fear, and all at once mesmerized by the probing fingers, she subconsciously and quietly slid her legs apart until the tight skirt allowed it. The demonic lover, whom she had not met, lifted her skirt, exposing Marsha’s flesh. Her face was pressed against the cool, cool glass behind which the unashamed girl was willingly arching her back.

At that moment, a hand lurked inside her blouse, holding her breasts and squeezing the left nipple hard, she felt hard and happy. She couldn’t help but moan. The fingers stopped tormenting the hornpipe furrow of her ass and moved forward to play with the juices that flowed from a warm, fragrant river that originated from the lips of her cunt. The absence of a meeting meant that his presence was only a dark shadow in the window, hidden from the forced view. He arrived as if tempted by some lascivious ghost.

With a sudden movement, Marsha felt a quivering hardness against her naked ass, and she symbolically wrenched herself free, and he understood that. He also understood that Marsha was like this because she desperately wanted him, longed for him to dispose of her as he was prepared to do, just as the masked executioner was disposing of the quiet, willing scapegoat.

Marsha’s unseen lover parted her pussy lips like prying open a ripe, deformed fruit, quietly sliding the quivering hardness into the hot, liquid liquid, moving like a sword in its sheath as it slithered home, tightening into the warm flesh. Marsha was secretly pleased to accept this torturous tool, which was thick, hard and just the right amount of thick. However, for fear of being overheard or someone coming out of one of the stores to see what was going on, she didn’t dare scream out. To stifle the screams of pleasure mixed with pain, she stuffed a glove into her mouth. To her amazement she stood there pressed against the glass, her skirt raised to her waist like a shamelessly prodigal little creature. She suddenly longed to be that little animal herself.

The girl in the window always bowed her back mesmerized, quietly, patiently, tamely; and yet, mesmerization is always only a momentary thing.

He rode her hurriedly, and Marsha grew more and more excited, while feeling his movements more violent, knowing he was close to climax. Would he override her without regard for the unsatisfied her? One finger slid deftly inside her pussy. Searching for the center of her pleasure. Just the gentle glide of his fingertips over the outer labia inspired that refreshing, marvelous shudder that was the prelude to an impending erotic climax. At the same time, the unseen lover retracted his prick, and she instantly felt a proud splash of hot cum on her brown buttocks.

Finally, Marsha lost control completely, letting that overflowing passion pour out. She moaned with pleasure just as she shamelessly reached her erotic climax. The blonde seemed to join her in reaching the peak of pleasure.

By the time she regained her composure and opened her eyes, the lover she hadn’t met had left, and the black Mercedes drove off down the street in reverse. Outside the store, Marsha was alone: facing the intentions and suggestions, feeling a drop of love juice running down her thigh. She was indeed a little slut.

Marsha did her best to hide her embarrassment, pulling down her skirt as much as she could. Suddenly the door to the Mistress’s store opened and a man in a leather suit stood there. Marsha looked confused and panicked at the man who looked so much like the man in the black helmet, it was unbelievable.

“Marsha, come in!” The knight held out his hand toward her, iron spikes glinting at the knuckles of his glove. “You’ve done well so far; but the lessons for you are just beginning.”

The hand reached toward her, commanding her to follow. She stood frozen. Noticing her hesitation, the knight collapsed a step forward.

“Marsha, don’t be silly. You’re going to come in eventually, so don’t let us down now.”

He looked unreal but dazzling; like a man made of glass and shimmering iron, staring coldly and unblinkingly into her soul. In the depths of her mind, Marsha’s flesh cried out: obey! Obey! Obey this great will! Lost in this great intent! The fingertips within the leather gloves grazed her face, swiping back a mane of her red hair.

“Omega, love you.”

“Don’t! Get away!”

A strong antagonism caused Marsha to lunge forward at once, pushing the knight out of the way as he lost his balance, tripped backward, and hurriedly grabbed the doorframe.

This gave her just enough time to take off her shoes, and Marsha pounded barefoot toward the bright world at the end of the alley, as if she were barreling down a dark railroad tunnel, pleading not to run into an oncoming express train this time of year.

Running, running, running, she barely knew why she was running, as if she had committed a crime that deserved to be punished to hell.

Run down the street, same left or right? Glancing backward, the knight approached, slowly persevering toward her, as if he’d known she couldn’t escape his grasp and there was no need for a wild goose chase.

Now she appeared in the middle of the bright sunshine where there was a colorful, hot and busy side street. There she was sure nothing would happen, there were many people there, just walk towards someone and ask for their help.

For some reason, the street corner was empty today. A construction sign provided a clue: traffic was being rerouted to a nearby one-way street. What to do? Marsha was a little panicked. Her stomach was aching from running so fast. She had done her best and wasn’t a fool: she couldn’t outrun a young male athlete herself, even if she had to catch her.

She looked around quickly, searching for a way to escape. There, there was a policeman! But it was no use; before Marsha could scream, the policeman climbed into a Panda sedan, slammed the door, and disappeared around the corner.

Later, she saw a motorcycle with the front wheel parked on the sidewalk. Suddenly she felt that the monster who was cutting chrome with a long-handled scythe while growling looked very familiar.

Yeah, it’s the Harley motorcycle! Harley-Davidson! Davidson! She tapped the sun-warmed handle with her trembling fingertips and realized that the brass key hung from the firing mechanism, still swinging from side to side.

Ever since the scooter she bought for her sixteenth birthday broke down, Marsha… Isabelle. Claire McLean. McLean hadn’t ridden a motorcycle since it broke down on her sixteenth birthday. The bike she used to ride was light as a bicycle and not difficult to maneuver. She doubted very much that she could start it again, but it was a chance to escape! Why had the rider left the brass key on the firing mechanism? Was it a cruel decoy? She thought nothing of it. Glancing backward, her heart sank as the knight appeared like a cold, sluggish glacier at the alley.

Marsha grabbed the armrests in panic and shook them as hard as she could, and the car finally lurched onto the road. She clumsily kicked off the support frame, and the car heaved and tilted sharply to one side, and Marsha struggled to hold on to the car, because if she accidentally tilted it just a little bit to one side, it would be the end of the car and the end of the person.

She got in the car and hit the ignition switch. The car roared to life. The car had a terrifying amount of horsepower, like a fierce lion roaring. Marsha took a deep breath, took control of the clutch, drove into first gear, and opened the throttle.

The motor “popped” and the Harley vibrated forward. Marsha didn’t give in to death; she gripped the handlebars and sent the car racing down the empty street toward the vibrant, normal intersection of free traffic.

She turned slowly, cornering like a wall, and exited the bend, rushing onto the main road, above the din of midday traffic.

Let’s go! Don’t get carried away! Set to third gear, Marsha felt much more relaxed. That’s it! She was getting the hang of driving the motorcycle. The horsepower between her legs was mesmerizing, and an intoxicating pleasure spread throughout her body. She shouldn’t be overconfident, and yet, freedom! The ground wanted to laugh, to scream, to open the throttle at will, to ride! Ride! Ride!

The motorcycle coughed twice and the engine died. As the bike slowed down, Marsha grasped the heavy bike while the shadow of the huge black steel trunk like a huge black bat appeared in front of her eyes. Marsha tried her best to turn the slowing and sinking Harley around, but it was too late. She had a vague vision of several dark figures coming around her at the same time, grabbing her by the back of the collar and forcing her toward the back of the luggage cart.

As Marsha was pushed into the dark iron cage, an image flashed before her eyes, the image of the logo set into the side of the trunk.

A steel “Omega” on a black lacquered backboard.

Chapter XI

Everywhere was dark, so dark that you couldn’t see. But there were voices in the darkness, whispers like wounded butterflies vibrating their feathers filling Marsha’s mind. She fell asleep. Suddenly she remembers: the store, the motorcycle and the luggage cart. It’s gentle and soft, and she sleeps through it again.

She struggled to sit up, but felt very bleary-eyed as a strong hand forced her to lie down again on the soft, smooth silk covers.

“Is this there?”

“Marsha, you’re with friends.”

“Friend, I don’t understand.”

“You’re with Omega.”

She felt a pinprick of pain in her right arm, and gradually lost consciousness again; only the phantoms, like black angels gathered around her, sang hymns and wished her a long rest. It was a new kind of darkness, not the natural darkness of the immediate, unlit, closed door. Rather, it was an artificial darkness. Despite the heaviness of the eyelids as if they were pressed against something, they felt very comfortable. Earth tried to lift her hand to wipe her eyes, and her hand was immediately entangled! She realized that her hands were tied to the back of the chair with a ribbon. The bare arms felt particularly cool, almost a little cold. She understood with trepidation that she was stripped naked.

“Marsha, struggling is useless. Removing the blindfold object is impossible. Because the ropes around your wrists are tied tightly.”

The tone was soft, sweet and a little threatening.

“Why am I here? What do you want from me?”

Silence is the answer.

“Why didn’t you tell me what you were going to do? Why am I being punished like this? If it is money you want, I can give it to you.”

A light laugh rang through the room, for there was someone else here besides her and the demon lord.

“Masha, you have been chosen. Is your memory so bad that you have forgotten Omega’s instructions? Marsha, there are times when you are not a submissive person, and that displeases Omega.”

Marsha was so angry and scared that hot tears came to her eyes. She let the tears seep silently into the silk eye-patch objects so that no one would see that she was out of sorts.

“Why should I obey this Omega?”

“Marsha, because Omega loves you, and only Omega’s love is sincere love.”

“It is a strange love, a love that seeks humiliation and degradation.”

Another extremely authoritative yet gentle, sweet voice.

“Marsha, you’re wrong! That’s the love that seeks to become one, the love that trains the senses to a whole new level of orgasm through willing taming and inhibition.”

There was a silence. She could almost hear the man breathing, just a short distance away. Perhaps she was mistaken; the eyepatch object made it impossible to discern her direction, and she had no response. Was it possible to recognize the voices? A strange resonance altered what would have been speech, as if they were speaking to her from a deep, dark hole in the ground. More or less familiar, or unrecognizable, Marsha couldn’t be sure. What could she know if the voices were the ones she suspected? …… Her suspicions were growing, no longer “maybe” or “perhaps”.

“Marsha, are you afraid of the dark?”

The third voice was silky, gentle and lascivious, sending chills and excitement through her. She tried desperately to discover where the voice was coming from, but with the blindfold object blocking out all light, she did feel a little overwhelmed. She tried to move, but her hands were bound solidly to the back of the rickety wooden chair.

“Marsha, answer me.” The sweet voice was laced with a hint of intimidation.

“I don’t know.”

Her mouth went dry and her heartbeat intensified. Why was this happening to her? Marsha’s thoughts flew back to her life a few weeks ago. Back then, the sun had shone brightly while she had spent afternoon after afternoon lying carefree and innocent in the grass under the apple tree, with Alex kneeling between her legs, licking the insides of her thighs with his warm, wet tongue, endlessly drying her out and eventually having to let the tip of his meaty tip glide unimpeded between her plump, hairy lips.

Everything seems so far away, like a game imagined by children. Was Marsha really pure and innocent when it came to greed? In the midst of comfortable sex, was she really innocent, complacent and confident? At the moment, the reality faced was darkness.

Marsha’s heartbeat intensified and her nipples hardened defiantly. Worry and fear had been with her all day long in recent weeks; the absence of sensual spice became less stimulating and tasteless. A faintly inquiring pleasure throbbed between her legs. She felt vile and shameful; and it seemed to be that fear and shame that suddenly gave her life and made her constantly alert to every sound, every sensation. She was breathing heavily, wanting to run, but not knowing where to go, and not being able to break her bonds and be free.

Does she really want to run?

“Marsha, Omega chose you, so why resist?”

There was a silence. It was that voice again, that peculiar voice, low, sexy, impersonal, unrealistic, inhuman.

“Marsha, afraid of the dark? You must answer me!”

“I …… am afraid.”

“Tell me about your fear, I want to feel it.”

Marsha chose her words but found only a few images.

“A filthy alley in the middle of the night; mist; a hand on my shoulder. Another hand pulls my shirt, rips it from me, and I’m about to call out. There were people nearby; they would help me. But I didn’t call out. Hands, strong, cold, merciless hands. I was very, very scared.”

“Marsha, what else did you see? What did you feel?”

“A hand pulled the front of my tight pants down and I …… I couldn’t see his face, but I felt his fingers slide along my stomach and then over my pussy. I was afraid of him, but needed him so badly! My pussy became hot and wet and sprinkled.”

Marsha could scarcely believe that these words had come from her own lips; yet the picture in her mind was so vivid that she could scarcely believe that it was all true. Perhaps they had anesthetized themselves, put something in the brandy and forced her to drink it. Why she even felt those hands.

Hands, solid hands, strong, trained hands. Fingers slid over flesh, and for the first time she was clearly aware of her instinctive spreading of her legs, pleading with the hands that had met at the end of the day to do what they were going to do. She blushed with shame, yet shamelessly parted her legs and opened her flesh again for the pleasure or pain that she could not see or feel.

One finger snaked up the inside of her thigh and landed inside the small groove between her labia, and as it gently pressed against the woman’s sensitive center, Marsha was so overwhelmed with joy that she actually moaned involuntarily.

“Marsha, Omega knows that you are an inherently superior whore and that you will faithfully fulfill our wishes. You have shown us the depths of your depravity. Now that you are one of us, we will teach you the joys of darkness and the darkness of pleasure.”

The blindfold objects were removed from Marsha’s eyes, and she blinked in the orange candlelight and looked downward: a lewd, naked woman in a mask was kneeling between her legs. She struggled to escape the cruel unforgivable caress, but the fishy red nails were running along the insides of her thighs, exploring that wonderful cleft. Disgusted and lustful at the same time, Marsha began to moan uncontrollably.

At that moment, the woman’s mouth tormented her, delicately nibbling at her plump, jutting nipples, sinking the feminine curves consisting of breasts, arms, and stomach drawing a shimmering, glistening trajectory of saliva. Marsha struggled to break free of her bonds, yet there was no way out. She had to endure this slow, marvelous torture before her tormentor graced her with his presence. Skillful, deliberate engulfment endlessly teased her outer labia. And only a woman knows what secret, wonderful caresses best catalyze the flowering of femininity. Sliding her tongue into the cunt like a lizard, the woman greedily licked Marsha’s clitoris.

She is a cruel lover. She relished the use of her tyrannical hand for carnal pleasure. She smiled with great satisfaction at the sight of Marsha’s legs tensed up in anticipation of the gun of erotic climax.

Marsha reached the peak of her excitement with a cry of pleasure, the cry of a martyr who glimpses heaven at the moment of physical destruction. Marsha fell back in her chair, her head pulled forward amorously, her breathing becoming harsh and ragged.

“Marsha, look up and see who’s here to see you!”

Marsha raised her head slowly and with difficulty, gazing into the darkness beyond the wavering candlelight.

Gradually her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she could see where she was being held captive: it was a barrel-vaulted wine cellar, possibly under an apartment building or under a country house. She recognized or guessed that this was the house where Glenwald and Baker held their annual potluck party, where she and Alex had had careless sex on the warm floor. The place had always been hidden under the ground, and at this point, there were no lights, no music, no dancers twirling to percussive beats and smiling faces. Now Marsha was in a cold, dark place that, probably hundreds of years ago, seemed to have been used as a place of torment by the sexually abusive squire’s crazy wives and wayward ladies.

The shadows hidden in the shadows grew fainter and fainter, and Marsha marveled at the blurred figures of twelve naked men and women slowly moving out of the darkness. Coming toward her. Their straight cock heads and hard nipples expressed a lust that the masked faces could not.

“We are Omega!” The low voice filled the air and reverberated low again as it met the bare stone wall.

“What’s an Omega?”

“Omega is power and pleasure, pain and desire; Omega is obedience and freedom.”

A sombre, raspy voice overpowered the others, the baritone of Knights Synthesized Electronics. He emerged from the shadows, still wearing his leather suit. But the zipper of that tight skin was open, and his cock was budding in the orange candlelight.

“Marsha, you are Omega.”

“No,” she screamed, struggling in her bonds. But in her heart she knew she did. She watched in surprise as hands rose to loosen the mask and toss it aside.

“Now you know me, don’t you?”

Marsha looked at the woman who was still kneeling in front of her legs? Jenny B. Robertson’s cold, smiling eyes; those red lips still wet from the brutal seduction earlier.

“You don’t recognize me?”

One by one she watched, each discovery, each truth accompanied by greater fear and understanding.

Steinaberg. Miles and his prude wife, Merlin, stood naked and at ease in front of her; Jon Dasilvan and Gerry Dasilvan. Dasilvan and Gary Martin. Martin. More than half a dozen people from Glenwald and Baker, some of whom she barely recognized. Some were people she didn’t trust because she knew they despised her. Others she knows and trusts.

And Sonia!

Poor shy Sonia, naked and titanic, stretched her arms out toward her, and it wasn’t a coincidence that she’d just gotten the job she’d been looking for.

“Omega loves you,” trailed the knight; “and now you shall repay that love.”

He raised his hand to remove his helmet and turned to face Marsha.

“Marsha, doing Omega’s bidding will only make you happy.”

“Richard!”

He avoided her astonished gaze and looked at her for a moment before bowing his head and sidling away. Martha saw and understood his confession of loneliness and helplessness. The studded necklace he wore around his neck was tied with a cord, the other end of which was held by Merryn Steinbrenner. The other end of the cord was held by Maureen Steinbrenner. The other end of the cord was controlled by Maureen Steinaber Miles, and as she pulled hard on it, a lordly light radiated from her eyes.

At this point, hands were running over Marsha’s naked body, and her tongue was licking her nipples, legs, and warm-scented pussy lips. The head of the stiff cock burrowed into her hands, mouth, and against its breasts again.

Marsha answers the call of desire: embrace the darkness and meet it cheerfully.

Marsha lay in bed, still drowsily reveling in the end of her sex. The afterglow of the setting sun caressing her flesh made one realize that there was still a rational world out there.

The golden sunlight caresses her flesh, setting off the slight silver glow on the brown skin of her right breast. A silver ring, a silver ring through the muscle of her nipple, with a very small, small silver emblem dangling from it. The Omega logo!

Chapter XII

“Marsha, you did well. The secret pact you signed with Hurley B. Niedermeyer shall guarantee a bright future for all of us at Glenwald and Baker.”

Steinaberg. Myers put down the folder and crossed his fingers in his lap.

Now, Mr. Baxter is in a bit of a pickle. I think the most important thing right now is that we should try to persuade him to change his way of thinking to our way of thinking. He has a crucial role to play in the future of the organization.

Marsha laughed.

“I’ll start on this, and I don’t think we’ll lose faith in Mr. Baxter.” She picked up the box, left the chairman’s office, and headed for the elevator. Downstairs, Richard was waiting in her shiny black Merceeles in his new uniform. Waiting to go wherever she commanded, wherever she had to be going.

The woman with the red hair and emerald eyes sat in front of the computer monitor, lifting the keyboard.

Instructions?

Omega.

Marsha, you’re welcome to start a website. Who do I leave a message for?

She pressed the keys, a faint smile spreading across the corners of her mouth.

Send a message to Greg Baxter. Baxter. Channel number 34518.

Leave a message?

Greg. Don’t kid yourself! Your secrets are our secrets. We do know what you did. Omega knows everything.