A Rough Ride: Pony Girl Training in Latex and Leather (11 page)

Tapping his foot upon the cream carpeted floor, he let out a pent-up breath. At least that was one item on his agenda dealt with. He'd know who the owner of Albrecht was shortly. Toying with his cell a moment longer, he wondered whether to have Marianna ready to serve him when he arrived back at the office. Whilst not in the mood to play now, by the time he'd replayed Jennifer Redcliff being fucked by Dirty and Bastard, he'd probably need to take the edge off his hunger and cheer himself up. He decided to make the call. He would probably need to release a few endorphins if he had any chance of sleeping tonight.

'Hello Cecilia. Is Marianna still in the office? No, don't tell her I require her, but make sure she doesn't leave her apartment this evening. That will be all.'

Deposited back at his apartment a mere two hours after his brief round of telephone calls, the first thing Mark did was shed his clothes and jump into the shower. His bathroom was more of what was termed a 'wet' room and there were no cubicles, just lots of elegantly modern chrome taps and dark slate tiles. Turning on the faucet to max, he ran large quantities of steaming hot water over his body, as if it might erase the stink of his God awful day, before stepping out onto the heated floor and towelling himself off.

Quickly running a razor over his jaw, he applied moisturizer and cologne. All he needed to do now was slip into something a little more comfortable and he was good to go. His eyes flared as the image of Jennifer Redcliff, sitting on his lap in her rubber suit and squirming madly as she succumbed to the suit's first real attempt at playing with her came to mind. She had smelt of polish and sex, and bizarrely, the combination was intoxicating. He would have loved nothing more than to have been granted the honour of training her body and mind to within an inch of its life, but sadly, that was not to be and he'd do well to get over the fact.

Pulling a black cashmere sweater over his head and dragging on a pair of expertly tailored black trousers, he grabbed the keys to his Mercedes and began to contemplate his next move. It was clear he needed to get her out of his system and Marianna would be the obvious choice. At the very least she would slake his thirst for the female sex and it might be enough to appease his anger at the day's events. Stopping briefly in the kitchen to avail himself of the use of his coffee machine, he decided caffeine would be a good precursor to the evening ahead. He could certainly use some 'rocket fuel' inside his system to get him motivated. Although he could survive on just a couple of hours' sleep a day, it wasn't a particularly pleasant experience.

Flipping the switch to heat the water and grinding some fresh coffee beans, he took slow even breaths and planned his surprise date down to the very last detail. It was the control freak inside him. Every 'i' needed to be dotted and every 't' crossed. Would his blood run as hot for her as it had Miss Redcliff? He doubted it, but time would tell.

The light on the machine flashed green and he pressed the button to hear the satisfying roar of the coffee percolator come to life. Spewing forth steaming, inky black liquid into his espresso cup, he cooled the strong brew with a dash of cold water, but added nothing more. Firing the shot down the back of his throat in one gulp he banged the cup back down on the table and made for the door. Showtime.

Would the lovely Miss Morreau be wearing panties? He hoped so. He had an all-consuming need to mete out various types of punishment, and a little pain on her behalf would be a delightful end to his rather unpleasant day.

Marianna had not been expecting any callers, so when a knock rapped at her door she was immediately suspicious. She was not concerned for her safety as she knew the security around the little 'harem' Zystrom had stashed here was tight, but generally a caller would make themselves known via intercom, which would sound in her kitchen and they would ask for admittance. It was probably one of the girls then, after a cup of sugar or something. They didn't normally knock at her door, but perhaps after the recent office activities she had moved up in their esteem. Wow, things were looking up. Before she knew it they'd be round for supper and girlie gossip. She'd better brush up on her kitchen skills, which had become almost non-existent during the last year. The salads she existed on weren't much fun, but they were easy and when there was only her to cook for, she couldn't be bothered with much else.

Striding over to the large pine door, her toes curling in the beige shag-pile carpet, she peered out of the small window as her hand grasped for the handle. She got the shock of her life. There, on her doorstep, was Mark Matthews. Her first reaction was to run and hide, even though she knew he'd seen her. She wasn't ready for him. Her hair was a mess, her feet were bare, nail varnish chipped and half a dozen other reasons like the fact that he scared her senseless. Her hand hovered over the steel lever of her front door and began to shake.

'Let me in, Marianna.'

His voice was a gentle, seductive purr and whilst it might have calmed a skittish pussycat or two, it didn't do much to calm her.

'Just a second. Be right there.' Oh hell, Marianna thought, running her fingers halfway through her hair before losing them to a pile of Medusa-like writhing snakes, all of which refused to be tamed. Trying to extricate them, she almost lost a fingernail in the process and yanking her hand back out again she decided he'd just have to appreciate the ruffled 'bed-head' look. Hey, some people paid a lot of money to get their hair looking like that. Marianna just happened to be able to achieve it for free.

'I'm waiting.' The voice was cool, collected and faintly amused.

Marianna was searching the room for a pair of shoes. Any shoes would do as long as they matched and covered her toenails. Spying a pair of fluffy pink slipper-booties she rapidly worked them over her feet with one hand, while the other was pretending to open the door.

'I can break it down if you prefer? You girls like that type of thing, right?'

'Wrong.' The door opened and Marianna witnessed her boss trying desperately hard to cling on to his deadpan expression. Giving him a dark look, she said, 'Have you ever heard of a thing called
the telephone?
It's a really handy gadget. It allows you to warn people in advance of...'

'I'm well aware of what a telephone is used for, but thank you for the reminder, Miss Morreau. I wanted to surprise you.'

'Congratulations, you've succeeded.' She pulled the door open wide and stood back to allow him entrance. Her heart rate had already accelerated up 36,000 feet in the air and her stomach was on its way up to meet it. 'I thought you were away on business until tomorrow evening, Sir.'

'Change of plans.' Mark strode into her spacious modern apartment as if he owned the place, which was only slightly entertaining, considering that he did actually own the block of apartments. 'Oh, where are my manners? I've brought you a present.' He held out a shiny black rectangular gift box which sported a giant red bow and grinned at her. Mark was entertained to find that Marianna's fingers shook somewhat as they gently pried the box out of his hands.

'Thank you, but you really don't need to buy me presents. You pay me more than enough as it is.' Placing the box on her smooth pinewood dinner table and using the opportunity to catch her breath, she eventually turned to ask, 'Can I get you a drink?' She wanted a chance to escape his assessing all over gaze, put a dash of make-up on and apply another fresh coat of polish to her feet.

'No, thank you. The present isn't really for you, it's for us. We'll open it together, later.' He moved into the lounge and took a seat on her large faux-suede sofa. Crossing his legs and sinking into the soft padding, he looked quite at home. His assessment of her body continued, quite happily, until it reached her feet, where it stopped abruptly. He pursed his lips. 'Love the boots. Did you wear them especially for me?' His eyes twinkled with mirth.

'Would you like me to remove them, Sir?' She stood perfectly still, facing him, and her long black lashes batted over dark green eyes already smouldering with heat.

'Actually, Miss Morreau, I'd like you to remove everything. You'd better hope you've remembered to forgo wearing your panties and bra or you're in for a rather unpleasant start to your evening.' This time he raised both of his eyebrows in challenge, the look he was wearing one of pure devilment.

Marianna just managed to stop her face from crumpling into a look of despair. Her look would have read:
oh my God, of all the rotten luck in the world, how can this be happening to me, fuck it
. This thought was followed by:
there must be some way I can extricate myself from this mess
. Toying with a very cute and cuddly pink bootie, before flipping it off with her foot and kicking it behind her, she decided to play it cool. There was a good chance that the situation was not lost. If she could strip off her skirt and the waistband of her panties in one movement, keeping the latter hidden inside the former, she might be able to save her ass from some serious carnage. It had to be worth a try. It didn't matter that she had been told he was out of town on business or that he had never visited her before - or any of the other girls, to her knowledge - in her apartment, if she had been given a direct order to wear no panties, he would expect it to be immediately obeyed, without question, and at all times. How could she have been so stupid? In her defence it had been an automatic reaction to pull out a pair of panties as soon as she had finished her half-hour soak in the bath tub.
Arrgh
. She was going to have to bin the contents of her panty drawer to make sure she was never tempted to make such a mistake again.

Kicking off another bootie she bared her chipped 'Jungle Red' toes and wiggled them into the carpet in an effort to hide them. She needn't have bothered. His eyes were already working their way up her body for the main event.

Starting at her neck she began opening the buttons of the soft, buttery, chocolate silk shirt she had donned only moments ago. Amazingly, her hands were steady and the little brown discs almost flew open of their own accord. She let the material hang over the soft 'V' of her bared breasts before shrugging the fabric backwards, over her shoulders, and letting it drop elegantly to the floor. Her nipples immediately peaked and the aureoles surrounding them deepened in colour.

Mark's eyes had darkened. His easy, relaxed posture remained the same, his hands in his lap and his back folded into the chair behind him, but something had changed. There was the scent of danger in the air. 'Congratulations. No bra, Miss Morreau. This is a promising start.'

Marianna could feel tiny little beads of sweat beginning to form behind her ears and at the back of her neck. Oh, why hadn't she thought of the panty thing before she opened the door? Worrying about her hair and chipped polish seemed rather silly in comparison to the mess she might shortly find herself in, if her performance did not go to plan.

'Is there something you wish to tell me, Miss Morreau?' Mark had a smug grin on his face and if she didn't know better she could have sworn the man had x-ray vision, feeling his stare melt through the delicate satin of her oyster-grey skirt to reveal the white wisp of lace panties below.

Marianna shook her head firmly, put on her best coquettish smile and let her hands caress her naked torso as they made their way down to her skirt. A bead of sweat trickled down her back. Thank god he couldn't see it. Concentrate, Marianna, she berated herself, and smiled. Gripping the waistband of both skirt and panties at the same time, her hands did not give themselves away in the slightest. There was no discernible tremor, no tell-tale wobble as they slid down her delicately perfumed flesh. If she was honest, she would have to admit that she was looking forward to getting naked. There was no embarrassment to be had in revealing her body, not an ounce of fat graced it and not a single blemish dared to accost the expanse of subtly tanned flesh that covered her both front and back. Although Mark's visit had come as a shock, her body was already looking forward to being used and worshipped by his. So there was only one last obstacle standing in the way of a night which could be painful, pleasurable or a decadent mixture of both. She was not entirely sure which option she preferred.

Feeling moisture begin to bubble between her legs, she tried to summon her thoughts together to complete her striptease. It was one simple move, one mere flourish of her hands and then the offending items could be tossed into a corner to be forgotten for the evening. Her thumbs hooked under the waistband of both skirt and panties combined and, with a deep breath she pushed them deftly to the floor, before one lithe, long leg kicked the offending articles away from her. She did not risk a glance backwards to check upon the landing position of her wardrobe. Instead she moved forward, towards the man who had been the object of her desires for so long and asked seductively, in her soft, breathless voice, 'How may I please you, Sir?'

That and her near-nakedness should have been enough to distract any normal man from perusing the discarded items of clothing in too much detail. But of course, Mark Matthews was not in the least bit normal.

'You may please me, Marianna, by fetching me your lovely skirt. I wish to inspect its contents.'

Marianna's face dropped faster than a skydiver with no parachute. Trying to quickly repair her blunder she plastered on a bright smile and brought her eyes up to meet his. It was too late, though, for he had spotted her mistake and his grin became an awful lot wider. She had no choice but to run and fetch the offending article of clothing for his deliberation. There was no question that she could get rid of the panties inside the skirt without a great deal of rummaging about, and that would simply mire her deeper into the land of immense trouble she had created for herself.

With a heavy heart she walked the few paces needed to pick up her skirt, examined the landing spot and found that no hint of her panties was visible from within its fallen folds. How on earth had he known? Bending down she clutched the floaty fabric in her hands and made short work of delivering it to her Master. Her fate would be decided in short order, and due to her error and the lie, albeit of omission, she would probably be in for a trying evening - to say the least.