A Bona Fide Gold Digger (20 page)

I
nside the suite, Ruth Henry had set up a makeshift examining room. Milan bristled at the sight of the sheet-draped metal table and a smaller table with a measuring cup covered with Saran Wrap and carefully laid out medical instruments on top. Milan nearly passed out when she noticed that intermingled with the gleaming medical apparatus was, of all things, a plastic turkey baster.

The nurse wore a white coat, and a stethoscope hung jauntily around her shoulders. After assisting Noah back to bed where he was provided an unobstructed view of the proceedings, she picked up a clipboard and turned to Milan. “Have a seat. I need to ask you some questions and then I’ll take your vital signs,” she told Milan crisply. Her voice was filled with a self-important tone Milan hadn’t heard before.

Somewhat dazed, Milan slumped into the velvet chair. Ruth asked her a series of questions: the date of her last period, if she’d ever had an abortion, was she taking birth control. The nurse listened to Milan’s heartbeat and then stuck a thermometer in her mouth. “Okay,” she told Milan a few moments later. “I have to check your blood pressure.” The nurse wrapped the cuff of the digital machine around Milan’s arm and pressed the start button.

“All right, let’s get you prepped. Go get undressed,” she said, pointing to Noah’s private bathroom. She handed Milan a paper gown. “Leave it open in the front,” she instructed. Next she gave Milan a small plastic cup. “I’ll need a urine sample.” Milan hoped the lab that tested her urine didn’t detect traces of the contraceptive pills in the urine sample.

Obviously the nurse had been briefed by Noah prior to today. She’d ordered the materials from a medical supply company. It couldn’t have been by chance that the woman was so well prepared and fully equipped with the tools of the trade.

The session with Gerard had left her pussy in such bad shape, urinating was extremely painful. While sitting on the toilet, Milan nervously ran her fingers against the hard, singed ends of her pubic hair and against her irritated labia and clit. There was no way to conceal the damage Gerard had done to her feminine parts. Besides, she feared the procedure Ruth was about to perform was far worse than she feared exposing the condition of her pussy. When Milan emerged from the bathroom, her uncooperative legs would not move toward the examining table.

“Don’t be nervous, my dear,” Noah called excitedly from his bed. Depraved as he was, Milan would bet her savings that the pervert had a hard-on beneath the covers.

Ruth went into the bathroom carrying a basin filled with soapy water. “You need to lie on the table with your knees bent and spread wide apart, so that I can see your vulva clearly.”

Feeling like a battered warrior, Milan didn’t ask any questions, she just did as she was told. Ruth returned, snapped on a pair of surgical gloves. She let out a gasp and gawked at Milan’s burned pubic hairs and bruised genitalia.

“Can you please get started?” Milan snapped. Her pussy, she knew, looked like it had been to hell and back, but Ruth didn’t deserve an explanation.

Shaking her head and grimacing, Ruth sponged the badly singed forest of hair. She rooted though the tools on the table and a razor materialized in her hands. “For sanitary purposes, I’m going to shave, uh, your pubic hairs,” Ruth said, sounding uncomfortable.

Knowing that protesting would be pointless, Milan nodded. She stiffened in fear as Ruth brought the menacing blade close to her vagina. But it turned out Ruth was an expert. After four or five skillful strokes, Milan’s pussy was sheared clean.

The nurse removed the plastic wrap from the measuring cup that served as a semen container. She stirred the nasty contents with the turkey baster and positioned herself between Milan’s trembling legs.

Ten thousand now and five thousand a day
, she repeated over and over as if the words were a religious mantra.

“I’m going to slowly glide the syringe into the vagina. I have to get close to the cervix to coat the outside and deposit as much sperm as possible,” Ruth said, her head slightly turned as she ignored Milan and spoke to Noah.

“Good, good. Make sure you get it all in, don’t waste one drop of that freshly ejaculated sample,” Noah responded, his breathing heavy and lustful.

The nurse returned her attention to Milan. “Before I inject the semen, I need you to have an orgasm.”

“What? This is starting to sound really freaky. Shouldn’t this procedure be, uh, more clinical?”

“It is clinical. But you need to have a powerful orgasm,” Ruth remarked. “Having an orgasm helps the cervix suck up sperm. It helps get more sperm up there, and may increase the sperm’s travel speed.”

Milan felt fury surging through her. Lifting her head, she yelled, “Are you crazy? How can I have an orgasm under these circumstances?”

“Well, what works for you? I have a vibrator on hand. Can you get a big climax from clitoral stimulation?”

“Use your finger, nurse,” Noah ordered from his bed. “She’ll have an orgasm quicker if you use manual stimulation.”

Ruth squeezed the bulb at the end of the baster, filling the tube with Noah’s vile seed. Milan closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to watch as she was degraded and defiled. Without permission, the nurse boldly massaged the hood of Milan’s clitoris, rubbing it rhythmically with a latex-covered finger. The nurse increased the tempo and Milan’s body unwittingly responded to the stimulation. When the veins in her forehead began to protrude and her breathing escaped in small pants, the nurse slowly inserted the semen-filled turkey baster.

The next day Milan underwent a second treatment and was paid five thousand dollars. She douched repeatedly before journeying to Philly for her training session with Gerard.

“My pet,” Gerard greeted her with a smile. His honeyed baritone voice caressed her ears and had the effect of a fast-acting narcotic, filling her with instant euphoria.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she replied and nodded in deference to her trainer. Her heart soared. She quickly pushed the violation of being injected with Noah’s slimy sperm from her mind. Here with Gerard she could forget all her problems. Here she could be her true self. This was close to heaven. If she could be granted one wish it would be that Gerard would forgo the exercises and allow her to worship him without restraint. But her yearnings would never be considered. She was not there to experience erotic satisfaction.

“It’s a great privilege to serve you. I’m here to fulfill your every desire,” Milan said breathily and then dropped her eyes submissively. She’d done her homework. Through research on the internet and even in Noah’s expansive library, she was learning the fundamental rules of the S&M lifestyle. Gerard looked impressed. He closed the door behind her and nudged his chin toward the floor, gesturing for her to bow down. He didn’t grant her permission to remove her coat, so she dropped to her knees draped in full-length leather.

Gerard had just finished a workout. She could tell by the way his dark skin gleamed from perspiration, and she could smell his musky masculine scent. It turned her on. She wanted to bury her face in his groin, inhale his scent, but she had to follow the routine. He was barefoot, an indication that she should honor him by kissing his feet.

Adoringly, she kissed each toe and licked his feet. Gerard’s fingers snaked into her hair. Grabbing a handful, he pulled Milan upward until her face met his crotch. With his hand holding her head firmly in place, she inhaled deeply, as if he emitted oxygen of which she’d been long deprived. Perhaps today she’d be allowed to fondle his dick. Maybe he’d let her stroke his dick until he came in her hand. With her head filled with delicious fantasies, she moaned as she took in his scent.

“Today, I’m going to give you a total body workout,” he told her abruptly, his words catapulting her out of her private heaven. She was so overcome with disappointment she could have cried.

“Stand,” he commanded. Milan stood up immediately. “Go downstairs and hang up your coat. Take off everything except your socks and sneakers. We’re going to do circuit training for an hour but before we start, I want you to warm up on the treadmill. It’s set for thirty minutes, and I’ll see you afterward.”

After Gerard went upstairs, Milan heard voices.
He’s watching TV
. She gave a satisfied smile. She’d earned his trust. He knew that she would follow his orders without his scrutiny while he kicked back and watched TV. Having his trust warmed her. She beamed as she quickly undressed.

Surrounded by mirrors, Milan understood that Gerard wanted her to view her slackened body from every angle. Her self-consciousness about her body image would be an incentive to work harder. Alone and naked, she considered her reflection. The dark skin of her hairless pussy startled her; she’d forgotten that Ruth had shaved it clean. Her inner lips, no longer hidden by a thicket of public hair, jutted outward. No longer red and sickly looking as they’d been after being doused with melted wax, her pussy lips had regained their dark hue and healthy puffiness.

She could feel her nipples hardening at the thought of the sweet torture Gerard had inflicted upon her. She gazed at her image, then got on the treadmill. Exercising face-to-face with her reflection, she watched as her hand moved involuntarily, grazing her small breasts. Her fingers caressed and then pinched the swollen nipples. Her pussy twitched at the memory of the nipple clamps. More than anything, Milan wanted to explore her dark damp tunnel, but there was no time for self-indulgence. Gerard expected her to work out on the treadmill for a half hour.

At the precise second that the timer went off, she heard Gerard’s footsteps on the stairs. When she saw his beautiful image in the mirror she gave him a proud smile.

“Good job, Milan. Now, I want you to…” His speech halted. A look of surprise registered on his face. Then a scowl of disapproval hardened his features. “Who told you to shave?” he asked sharply. He then pointed angrily in the vicinity of her vagina and abruptly paced toward his desk.

Milan hung her head in shame. She couldn’t tell Gerard the truth. She suspected he’d make her leave—banish her from his life forever if he knew of her relationship with another man. “No one told me to shave, sir,” she said and swallowed nervously. “I took it upon myself. I thought it would please you.”

Gerard didn’t comment. He seethed quietly, his silence speaking volumes, letting her know that a severe reprimand was forthcoming. Overtaken by fear, Milan held her breath. A quiver moved through her body as she awaited the fate that would be a duet of pleasure and pain.

Soft footsteps were heard coming down the stairs. “Ah, Ming,” Gerald whispered fondly. Milan gasped, realizing that the voices she’d heard earlier hadn’t come from the TV at all. Ming had been in the house all along; she’d heard them conversing.

Ming came into view, looking flustered. Her coat—the beautiful full-length chinchilla Milan had seen her wearing weeks ago—was draped over her arm.

“I thought we were going to spend some time together, but obviously you have other plans,” Ming said, shooting a hateful glance at Milan. Trying to hide her nakedness, Milan reflexively covered her private parts with both hands. “I’ll leave you with your new playmate,” Ming said sarcastically. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Sayonara, baby.” Ming whirled around.

“Wait. What are you talking about?” With an expression of bafflement, Gerard looked around. “I don’t see anyone else. There’s no one here except you and me.”

Ming brightened suddenly and gave Gerard a wicked but knowing look. Milan was completely mystified and couldn’t take the look of bewilderment off her face.

“Now, go upstairs and hang up your coat,” Gerard said warmly.

“I don’t feel like carrying this to the upstairs closet. I’m too tired,” Ming whined. She held out the heavy coat for Gerard to take. “Here darling, do something with this.”

“Leave it down here. Hang it on the coat rack,” Gerard told her.

Ming looked around dramatically. “Where?” she asked and shrugged her shoulders. “There’s no room on the coat rack.”

The conversation between Ming and Gerard was so bizarre, Milan momentarily forgot her embarrassment over her nudity. She twisted her neck to check out the coat rack, which held only her leather coat. Totally baffled, she gazed at Gerard and Ming. It was bad enough that Ming was in the house, but they were speaking in code and Milan felt like an uninvited guest.

“You’re a creative woman. Milan’s limbs are compliant, why not fashion yourself a coat rack?” Gerard suggested.

Though Gerard referred to her, he didn’t give Milan so much as a glance. She had no clue what he was talking about but sensed that trouble was brewing.

Briskly, Ming crossed the room. “Take off those socks and sneakers. You look like a fool.”

Milan quickly wedged off her sneakers and kicked them aside. “Take off the socks and get those cheesy sneakers out of my sight,” Ming barked.

Cheesy!
The sneakers cost ninety dollars, an acceptable price for a pair of sneakers. But Ming was wearing Gucci bamboo sneakers, so Milan supposed her own footwear paled in comparison.

“Take your Nikes over there.” Gerard pointed to the vicinity of the desk. “Put them under the desk, Milan,” he told her in an amused tone.

No sooner had Milan tucked her disdainful sneakers under the desk than Ming stormed over to her and yanked her by the arm. Dragging a perplexed Milan to the nearest corner, Ming gazed over at the coat rack as she manipulated Milan’s arms, roughly bending each arm at the elbow.