"Call
her Mandi. With an i." Alex pats me on the butt. I dip my head.
"Man-dee." They giggle.
The seats are of the same superior leather as
the interior of the Bentley. Eddie the driver follows us on board and peels off
his jacket to show a black T shirt stretched tight over a buff torso, and a
pistol in a shoulder holster. He takes the seat in the row opposite of us,
nearest the door. His sunglasses stay on.
Michelle and Annette bring us ice water
before they buckle into seats facing us. Their skirts barely cover their
goodies. Where they sit gives them a view of mine. The plane starts to roll.
Alex places his hand where his little finger can brush the shave line of my
pubes. Michelle and Annette giggle. I sip ice water.
Alex says, "If you're not enjoying
this..."
"I'm ready." I meet his eyes, and
find there a display of his burning will to dominate. For now. Alex
doesn't miss my instant of rebellion. The only reaction I see in those intense
eyes is a glint of amusement.
The plane finishes the climb to cruising
altitude and levels. Alex withdraws his hand from the border of my cunt and
says, "Ladies, please show Mandi the boudoir." Michelle and Annette
pop out of their seats with a perky display of their tight assets.
"Man-dee." Michelle or Annette
offers a small paper cup. It holds a pill.
"A stimulant developed by one of my
pharmaceutical companies," Alex explains. "Field trials have proven
it safe and effective, and rather interesting. We're filing for FDA approval next
week."
Michelle or Annette shakes an identical pill
from a bottle and hands it to Alex. He pops it into his mouth and sips ice
water.
"You vil like eet, Man-dee,"
Annette or Michelle prompts. Alex makes a point of not watching. The pill is
plain, round, yellow, and uncoated. It
has a Y stamped on it, making it look like a pie chart with three sections. I
swallow it and drink. Michelle or Annette extends a hand. I accept her warm
clutch and rise from the seat. I'm slightly dizzy. The brush of my arm against
the childish breasts of one of the women tingles my nipples. Alex pretends to
return his interest to whatever he's reading on his pad, but I can see the
bulge in his fine slacks. I let Michelle and Annette lead me to a door in a
mahogany bulkhead. If I hadn't failed to suppress my iota of rebellion, would
Alex be walking me down this aisle?
The bedroom barely accommodates an antique
French bed. A pink silk coverlet is repeated overhead in a ceiling video panel.
So there are cameras going, and recorders. Wall sconces drip beads of crystal.
What looks like a genuine Renoir hangs above a photo of Alex Leed finishing a
marathon. A narrow doorway opens on a bathroom with hardly space to stand
between sink, shower, toilet, and bidet.
Michelle and Annette undress. Their lingerie
is sexier than mine. Nipples show darkly through sheer bras. One of them hops
onto the pink spread, cocks her head, smiles, and holds out her arms. The other
turns a dimmer to lower the lights, and puts her hand in the small of my back
to press me toward the bed. The room seems warm.
I'm facing my first
major "I quit" test. If I walk out of this room, the plane will land,
the Bentley will return me to Leed headquarters, Belle will cut my quarter
million dollar severance check, and I'll be on the street.
Michelle or Annette
encircles me from behind. Her fingers pluck the second button of my blouse. The
soft pressure on my breasts sends a wave of heat down a cord from my nipples to
my crotch. "S'il vous plaît,
Man-dee?"
"Yes. Oui."
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