A Bona Fide Gold Digger (18 page)

“Not yet,” Milan muttered, her eyes cast down to her patent leather Mary Jane shoes.
Damn!
Her chances of getting some quick loot out of Noah looked rather dismal.

“There’s no kind way to say this, Milan.” He cleared his throat. “Your apathetic approach to planning our wedding hints that there’s a propensity toward laziness and possibly a lower IQ than I’d thought. That type of genetic flaw could have a profound effect on the intelligence of our offspring. Perhaps I should rethink—”

“Rethink what? Our wedding?”

“No, I try to be a man of my word. I’ll go through with the wedding, but I may have to rethink parenting a child with you. DNA evidence has proven that—”

“I completely understand. If you don’t want me to bear your child, it’s fine with me,” Milan interjected, greatly relieved that Noah didn’t think she was intelligent enough to bear his children. She was brilliant and she knew it; it didn’t matter what Noah thought as long as he gave her his money.

According to a recent study, Milan had learned, it was concluded that men over forty were predisposed to father autistic children. Noah had a hell of a nerve being worried about her genetic contribution to the intelligence of their child when he needed to be concerned about the damage his old ass would wreak upon innocent offspring.

“My dear, instead of assisting me, you’re standing there looking lost in thought. If you don’t mind, I would appreciate some private time to try to pull together a respectable wedding.”

“Of course, darling,” Milan said sadly. Then, while she still had Noah’s attention, she made a last-ditch effort to encourage his cooperation. Darting her eyes toward the drawer where the leather paddle was contained and back to Noah’s face, Milan said, “I guess I’ve been a very naughty girl.”

“Indeed you have. And what happens to naughty girls?” he asked, his eyes suddenly bright with mischief.

“Naughty girls get spanked,” she said, attempting to sound contrite while giving the impression of being a bundle of nerves as she dramatically gnawed at her bottom lip.

“No! Naughty girls are sent to their own room. Good night, Milan,” Noah said sharply and returned to his note taking.

Milan was stunned. It was bad enough that she’d have to dip into her savings to pay Gerard, but being kicked out of Noah’s room was an embarrassing disgrace.

T
he next morning, Milan slipped past Noah’s suite while he and Irma huddled together. She figured they were creating a wedding menu because she heard him remark, “Roasted Chinook salmon with white truffles is very impressive.”

Milan deduced that Noah was dictating what he wanted to serve his prestigious friends.

So…Irma was finally being made to earn her pay. Milan figured Irma was probably freaking out over Noah’s lofty menu. With experience comparable to that of a short order cook, the self-proclaimed caterer had to be sweating bullets. She hoped Noah’s affluent friends enjoyed fried wing dings and soup because without an explicit recipe and preparation instructions, Irma was pretty much useless. She doubted the woman had ever heard of a truffle.
Lots of luck, Irma,
Milan thought with a smirk as she crept down the stairs and out the door.

“Welcome,” Gerard said when he opened his front door. The single word—so unexpected yet so appreciated—resonated as if it echoed. With a smile in her heart and an overpowering desire to please, Milan stepped inside. As usual, Gerard looked magnificent. His smooth and silky dark skin always appeared to have a glow.

She noticed right away that Gerard’s feet were bare. Even his feet had that luminous glow. Was he testing her? Would it be in good taste to immediately drop to her knees and kiss them in gratitude or should she wait for him to order her to do so? Milan wished she knew the rules of training. However, not knowing was intriguing and kept her on point. She hoped his bare feet were a sign that he intended to train her upstairs.

“Among other muscles, Ming marked your deltoids. They’re easy to develop, so we’ll start with your shoulders, using light weights,” Gerard informed her, the welcome gone from his exotic voice.

Just hearing the Asian drill sergeant’s name put a bad taste in Milan’s mouth. “Follow me,” Gerard said brusquely and headed toward the basement stairs. He stopped and slipped on his flip-flops, which were situated in a corner at the top of the stairs.

Milan was perplexed. Why had his mood gone sour? She didn’t want to go down in the basement and work out—she wanted to stay upstairs and kiss his feet, suck his dick, and if there was a God, perhaps she’d get fucked.

In the downstairs gym, Gerard pointed to the coat rack. “Hang up your coat.” He sat behind his desk as Milan crossed the shiny tile floor to do as she was told. She hung up her coat and dutifully waited for further instruction.

“You can pay the fee now, Milan.”

With cash in hand, she rushed over to Gerard. He counted it and put the money in a cash box and locked it. He stood and walked over to gleaming rows of stainless steel dumbbells. After studying them, he selected a pair of ten-pound dumbbells and passed them to Milan. “We’ll start with the military press. Your knuckles should face the ceiling as you raise the weights to your shoulders,” he said, demonstrating the movement.

Forty-five minutes later Milan, drenched in sweat, completed the grueling training session. Her shoulders ached from performing a series of exercises that included the military press, side lateral raise, front lateral raise, upright row, bent over row, and twenty agonizing push-ups.

After performing the last push-up, she lay flat on her stomach, too exhausted to budge. “Great job,” Gerard told her. “Milan, is there something you want to ask me?” His tone took on a tenderness that Milan hadn’t heard before.

Not wanting to waste an opportunity, Milan rose to her knees and whispered, “Yes, there is something I want to ask you.” She took a deep breath. “Can I give you oral sex?”

Gerard shook his head solemnly. “No, I can’t let you do that.” He turned his back. “Not yet,” he said, walking away. He stopped, facing her as he leaned against the desk.

Milan, a few feet away from him, remained in position—on her knees. “Why not?” she asked, her voice cracking with emotion. “I did the exercises; I didn’t complain.”

“You’re not ready. I want to take you through the stages slowly. Submission is a total lifestyle change.”

S
ubmission.
Ah! He’d finally spoken the word. And the sound of it was at once exhilarating and humiliating, causing Milan’s pussy to emanate intense heat. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the heat burned a hole in the crotch of her pants, allowing smoky pussy fumes to filter through.

“Gerard, please tell me what to do?” she pleaded.

“Do you have any experience being submissive?” he inquired.

“No,” she responded, shaking her head. “Not really. I role played with this older man, let him spank me with a paddle, but I was just pretending to be submissive. With you…when I’m with you, I’m really powerless. I want you to take total control of me.”

“Why do you want to relinquish your authority to me?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never experienced what I’m feeling now. It’s as if I’d be willing to subject myself to any humiliation—even physical abuse—just to be with you. If you knew the personality I show the outside world, you’d know that this humble person you’ve come to know is totally out of character for me.” She looked off in thought. “It’s so bizarre and farfetched, but when I’m with you, I feel this liberating sense of excitement knowing that behind closed doors the mask I wear is stripped away and I can expose myself—and show how vulnerable I am.”

“I’m not surprised that others consider you a confident and strong-willed person. Because you are.”

Milan shook her head. “No, deep inside, I’m very weak and self-conscious. My mother and my sister are the only people who know that I keep up a false front. And it’s such a burden to pretend to be someone I’m not.” Confessing had a purging effect. Milan felt emotional, close to crying.

“I believe it takes a very strong person to be able to submit completely, to place yourself under the power of another. I’ve had lots of relationships with women who expressed the desire to become submissive,” Gerard confessed. “I am dominant by nature and perhaps women sense it and are aroused by it. Practically every woman who has hired me as a trainer eventually wants me to train her on a personal level.”

Milan felt an instant letdown. Intense envy enveloped her. Was Ming one of the submissive women he spoke of? Milan didn’t want to be a part of a harem. She wanted Gerard all to herself. Hadn’t he previously confided that he was looking for a mate?

As if reading her mind, Gerard said, “But it didn’t always work out. I’ve discovered that sporadic erotic power exchanges with a variety of women have left me unfulfilled. Those women—my initiates or apprentices, if you will—for one reason or another always fail to give me what I really want. I’m looking for a twenty-four-seven life partner, not an occasional playmate. I want complete ownership. A marriage of sorts.”

Marriage? Milan gulped. Should she tell him about her pending nuptials? The urge to be honest with Gerard was overwhelming. Maybe it would be best to quietly call off the wedding to Noah and run off into the sunset with Gerard.
No!
She shook her head as she quickly changed her mind. It would be foolish to drop Noah when he only had a few months to live. His money would ensure that she and Gerard could begin their life together financially independent. Also, having Noah’s millions would be a surefire way to get that pesky Ming out of the picture. For good.

“Are you looking for a twenty-four-seven situation?”

Deciding that she’d just have to wing it and juggle the relationships with Noah and Gerard, Milan nodded eagerly. Still on her knees, she looked up and gazed into his eyes. “Yes, I’d love to.” It was absolutely unbelievable that this devastatingly gorgeous man wanted to be with her twenty-four hours a day? Milan was flattered. Honored, actually. And beside herself with joy.

Gerard looked down at Milan. “It could take months before I decide you’ve been properly trained and ready for a long-term commitment. In addition to achieving a perfect body, you’ll have to learn how I want to be served, not how you wish to serve me.”

Milan looked puzzled.

Gerard enlightened her. “You asked if I would allow you to perform oral sex. Once you’ve learned the art of surrendering, you’ll know when it’s appropriate to ask to service me. You’ll be sensitive to what pleases and displeases me and know when it’s appropriate to service me with your mouth or any other part of your body.”

His words stimulated her. She was intrigued by the mystery that surrounded her new lifestyle and warmed by the idea that the time would come when she’d know exactly how to give Gerard pleasure.

“Going through a series of physical exercises is not proof of your devotion,” he told her. “I won’t agree to formally own you until your behavior reflects an enthusiastic desire to put my needs before your own. So let’s start off with some ground rules. You are never to address me by name. Address me as sir.”

Though Milan didn’t dare ask his actual age, she guessed he was in his early thirties. She considered him an authority figure, so calling him sir didn’t seem absurd at all. In fact, it seemed completely appropriate. Milan nodded in agreement. When Gerard gave her a hard stare, she realized her error. “I mean…yes, sir,” she quickly corrected.

“The moment you step foot inside this house I expect you to bow your head and greet me formally. I’ll want you on your knees occasionally, but being on your knees too often will damage their appearance and that won’t please me. There will be some limits to the degree of servitude you display when we’re out in public, but if and when you’re collared—”

“Sir?” Milan questioned, not quite understanding the meaning of being collared.

“Never interrupt me. If you want to speak, ask permission. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, looking at the floor, embarrassed that she had to be admonished so soon. “May I have permission to speak, sir?”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ve heard of people involved in S&M wearing collars. Is that what you’re referring to?” She felt equal amounts of fear and excitement. Did Gerard plan to lead her around with a leash attached to a collar? It was not the type of scene she would have ever pictured herself involved in, but for some reason the idea of wearing a collar was so bizarre, so kinky, she winced in sexual agony. Bending at the waist, she cupped her crotch and pressed her fingers against her clitoris.

“Why are you touching yourself?”

“I can’t help it; I’m horny.”

“Remove your hand. You need to exercise self control.”

Reluctantly, she pulled her hand away. Being deprived of the calming effect of her fingers pressing against her clit was torture, a kind of torture that stirred her to an even higher level of arousal. Clenching her thighs together, she forced herself to endure the smoldering flames that licked at her vaginal walls.

“Look at me,” Gerard commanded her. Her head snapped up. “Come,” he said.

Milan did not stand. Instinctively, she went to him, crawling on her hands and knees like a bitch in heat.

When Milan reached the area where Gerard stood, he slipped off his sandal and began to caress her lips and her face with the ball of his foot. “You like crawling to me, don’t you?” he asked, looking down at her.

“Yes, sir. I do,” she replied between the kisses that she tenderly placed on each of his toes.

He pulled his foot away and slipped it back inside the sandal. “But I distinctly told you that I didn’t want you to damage the appearance of your knees.” He sighed. “I’m disappointed, Milan. Deeply disappointed.”

Panic seized her. “I’m sorry; I forgot…sir.”

“It’s time for you leave, Milan. Go home and think about our session. I’ll call you in a few days.”

“Please, sir. Don’t make me leave. I’m so very sorry. It was a lapse in judgment; I swear it won’t happen again.”

“Milan,” Gerard said, using a patient tone. “I don’t enjoy dispensing corporal punishment. It shouldn’t be necessary this soon.” He solemnly walked around the desk and sat in the swivel chair. “Obviously, the only way you’re going to learn is through discipline. I want you to get undressed. Hurry! Take off your clothes.”

“Everything?” she asked worriedly. She was sweaty from the workout and didn’t want to offend him with body odor.

“Yes, get naked and lie on top of the desk,” he ordered her as he cleared away papers and other clutter from the surface of the desk.

Milan twisted her torso to pull the spandex top over her head. Burning with shame, she stripped down to bra and panties. Gerard sat in the swivel chair and coolly observed her as she nervously shed her undergarments.