The Love Of Money - S02 E167

Story 2 months ago

The Love Of Money - S02 E167

Read Story: SEASON 2 EPISODE 167

It's time to interrogate Mrs. Tana

Monday, September 16th, 6:15pm

On the way to the dungeon, I was distracted by a call from my brother. He wanted to doublecheck to make sure I was still cool with him moving in this week. Not only did I tell him I was cool with it, but I also offered some of my security team to help with the move, which he readily accepted. After that, Natalie called.

I debated answering. I wanted to talk to her, but considering what I was about to do, I wasn’t sure if she would be able to pick up on it. And despite our conversation about me continuing to see other people, I still felt weird talking to her right before going to do something that had the potential to be especially kinky.

Texting, though… I could do texting.

I began typing: Hey. Can’t answer right now, but would love to see you.

That’s okay, she replied. I’m just driving home and thought I could use the opportunity to talk.

Then came an image. The phone was held at a high angle, giving me a shot of Natalie’s beautiful face, her big eyes staring up into the camera. The angle allowed for a decent amount of cleavage from her plunging neckline—provocative but tasteful.

I replied, I love it. It makes me want to go spelunking…

Spelunking?

Cave diving.

I know what it is, Natalie said. It’s just a fivedollar word for talking about my breasts.

I’m slipping. You’re worth tendollar words at least.

So flattering.

She sent me another picture—a simple selfie with her pretty, smiling face. It looked like she was driving. It was all so wholesome compared to my regular sex life, which was a breath of fresh air.

I smiled, enjoying the simplicity of this. When can I see you again?

It took her a few moments to answer. I’m busy tomorrow, but what about lunch on Wednesday?

Done… and take the rest of the day off.

Marcus, I can’t do that!

I grinned and texted back: I’m your boss.

She didn’t respond for nearly a minute, and I started to think maybe I’d pushed her too far. She was a strong woman, and she had her limits.

Fuck. The concern that I’d screwed up intensified threefold.

Finally, she responded: That was hot.

Okay, so maybe I didn’t know her limits quite as well as I thought.

Wait till you see my performance review for you, I responded.

I started back down the hall, realizing that more time had passed than I’d thought, and I had people waiting on me.

I texted her: See you Wednesday?

Can’t wait, she responded.

I headed the rest of the way to the dungeon with mixed feelings—elation over my flirtation with Natalie, which was something I had wanted for so long. I was also feeling trepidation over what I was about to do.

Reaching the dungeon a few minutes later, I opened the door cautiously, bracing myself for what I might find.

I wasn’t disappointed. A veritable wet dream was set up in front of me.

Helen was there, dressed in her dominatrix finery. The collar I had given her went brilliantly with the black leather corset and matching leather skirt that stopped midthigh. Black heels completed the ensemble. Her makeup matched—eyeliner much darker than usual, and black lipstick painted her perfect lips. Her hair lay about her shoulders in soft waves, contrasting with the harshness of everything else.

Erin stood next to her, wearing the same clothes I’d last seen her in—something vaguely secretarial. Only, the way she wore her outfits, they were always just on the verge of being inappropriate attire. Her blackpainted fingernails and deep purple lipstick were common traits that gave her the look of someone who belonged in a place like this. She’d removed her glasses and wrapped her hair around a pen, using it haphazardly to keep it all up in a loose bun.

Bobbi, on the other hand, was completely nude save for her own collar. Helen had her wrists bound behind her back as she straddled an Aframe sawhorse. Its peak was blunted just enough to keep it from being dangerous, but the wood grain was smooth and soft, making it challenging to stay mounted on it without the pointed tip grinding into sensitive genetalia. Even from this distance, having just entered, I could tell that Bobbi was shaking with the strain on her legs. Squeezing them together for God knows how long to keep that wood from invading her slit must have been exhausting work.

I could really only see the back of her because she was facing a fourth person who had been made to stand in the middle of the room.

Carla Tanaka was bent over at a ninetydegree angle, forced into that position by a pillory—her head and hands locked into place by a wooden structure that stood perpendicular to the ground. It made me wonder if I should have brought rotten fruit to throw at her.

She was fully dressed, but even though she was facing me as I began my slow approach, I couldn’t tell how she felt. It was impossible, given that she wore a mask over her eyes, a pair of headphones, and a ball gag secured between her jaws.

I hadn’t expected this.

As I approached her, I could see her fingers trembling and noticed the small muffled whimpers coming from her.

“Whose idea was this?” I asked, peering down at Carla. She didn’t seem to react to my question—I suspected she couldn’t hear.

“That would be mine,” Helen said. I detected a hint of smugness in her voice. Over the months I’d gotten to know Helen, I’d discovered that she could be quite proud of her imagination when it came to breaking women.