Danica Williams
The Master
She shivered at the command in his voice. This was supposed to be a business meeting of equals, but Harland Wells had no equals. He was not arrogant, and his manners and clothing were European and impeccable…and as far as Samantha Gordon was concerned, he was the sexiest man she had ever met. She was wondering how she was going to explain the wet spot in her panties to her husband Ron when she got home…and in the mood she was in, Ron was going to be ravaged when she arrived.
Sam had arrived at the elegant restaurant with two other attorneys to discuss the needs of Wells International during its expansion into the Savannah area. She was well dressed in an expensive designer little black dress that she could wear to parties, combined with a black bolero jacket that permitted it to masquerade as formal business wear. Modest black three inch heels gave her already gorgeous legs an even more shapely look. Her sandy brown hair hung to her shoulders with a classic pageboy cut curled inwards at the bottom enhanced her high cheekbones and intense green eyes. The only jewelry she wore was a strand of perfect white pearls around her neck.
They were guided to a private dining room with heavy curtains and an elegantly set table. Real china and silver adorned the table, and the tablecloth and napkins were crisply starched linen. An assortment of wines was arrayed across a serving table, all opened and breathing. An incredibly old bottle of brandy and snifters sat there as well.
Wells had taken control of the conversation from the moment of introductions. After dinner had been served, Wells instructed the wait staff to leave the room and that they were not to be disturbed. The self locking door closed quietly behind them.
Sam had barely been able to focus on the details of his requirements, although she had managed to scribble the important details on a scratch pad that had been provided for her along with a very expensive pen with Wells International’s logo on it.
Wells had a habit of cocking his head to one side when he was thinking, exposing the sprinkling of gray in his wavy dark hair to the soft lights of the restaurant. At the moment, his steely gray eyes were boring into Sam’s, and she realized that it made her feel naked…and she liked it. She took a sip of her brandy and unconsciously her legs spread a little under the table. If Harland had been really looking, he would have been able to clearly see the lacy black thong she was wearing.
Sam was glad that she had decided to wear the bolero jacket, because her nipples had been pushing against the little black dress from the moment he had shaken her hand. The bold stare of this stranger actually gave her the desire to display herself before him like an ancient slave girl before her master. The utter ridiculousness of the idea made her mentally snort, but the image wouldn’t leave her mind.
“I think I have covered my requirements plainly,” he said. “I expect to hear your thoughts and propositions on my needs by Monday. If you have nothing further…?” All three of them thanked him as they stood up and gathered their notepads, and they walked towards the door. When they reached the door, Wells said, “Excuse me Mrs. Gordon, could you stay behind for a moment?” Sam inhaled sharply, “You’re a happily married woman,” she thought, “this is wrong.”
“Of course,” Samantha told him, frightened and exhilarated at the same time.
The other two filed out silently and Wells led her back to the table. Instead of waiting for her to sit as he had before dinner, Wells sat down in his chair and crossed his left leg over his right knee. He sat there calmly as he looked her up and down. If anyone else had done that to her she would have been incensed. Harland Wells inspired a different feeling in her altogether.
She watched his eyes undress her and she instinctively posed for him, her legs apart, her hips and breasts thrust towards him, her hands on her hips. “Take off your jacket Mrs. Gordon,” he said softly. There was that command in his voice again, and she would no more have thought of disobeying him than she would have cut her own throat. She reached for her bolero jacket, her purse and notebook falling to the floor.
“Slowly,” he said, “this is for my pleasure, and for yours.”
Her arms thrust out behind her and the jacket slid slowly to the floor.
“Raise the front of your dress and show me your panties,” he said. Her blood froze. The urge to grab her jacket and run was strong. Her unwilling desire, her lust to obey him was stronger.
Her hands moved to the hem of her dress, and slowly, she raised it until the black lacy thongs were exposed to his eyes. His finger made a circling motion in the air and she turned, keeping her eyes locked on his. Without being told to, she moved her hands to her sides and began to slide the back of her skirt up until the white cheeks of her ass were exposed to him.
“Bend over,” he whispered. Sam shivered as she leaned forward, bending at the waist and twisting to keep her eyes locked with the steely gray orbs of Harland Wells. She had to bite her lip against the exquisite pleasure from the thin strap of her thong pressing against her labia and the utter thrill of submission to this masterful mans’ will. An inner voice cried out in indignance at being used, at being an object, but the voice was slowly being beaten into submission by her own perverse desires. For the first time in her life she was totally owned.
“Show me your breasts, Mrs. Gordon.”
Sam turned and stood erect, her legs spread apart, and she reached slowly for the spaghetti straps of her dress and slipped them off her shoulders. She peeled the dress down, relieving the pressure against the sensitive nipples and exposing her small, perfectly formed breasts. Another thrill coursed through her and she gasped at the sharpness of it. She was shamelessly thrusting her naked breasts out for this gorgeous man to see…she, who would normally have put on a sweater to hide the fact that they were hard from the guys at the office!
Wells said nothing, he simply gazed steadily at her. Sam’s pussy was in an uproar, the muscles in it contracting and the dampness between her legs had become a flood, her panties soaking in her fluids. For the first time Sam looked at the crotch of Wells’ pants, trying to see if her nakedness was stimulating him. His pants were cut full, his legs were still crossed, and Sam felt frustration at not being able to tell if he was affected by her show of wantonness. “Am I going crazy?” she asked herself, “This is insane!”
Wells gestured nonchalantly at the dress, and Samantha swayed and wriggled the dress over her hips. When she stood, her hips thrust forward and she could smell her own aroma rising from her pussy. “My god, I want him,” she thought. All thought of Ron, her marriage, her career fled her in a cloud of lust.
“The panties,” Wells said. Slowly, teasingly, she slid the panties down her legs, and when they were around her ankles, she lifted one foot out of them, and kicked them away with the other. She drew her hands up past her pussy, over her taut breasts, and raised them above her head, gathering her hair in her hands and gathering it behind her head.
Wells gazed at her, drinking in her loveliness. “It’s too soon,” he thought, “she just thinks she’s giving in, but she’s not giving in to me, she’s giving in to her fantasy.” Wells stared at her, apparently unaffected by her nudity. “On your knees,” he commanded.
Sam knelt proudly before him, knowing her body was perfect, knowing she was desirable. She was right in front of him but his damned legs were crossed and she couldn’t detect any sing of hardness in his crotch. She looked from his crotch to his eyes and saw no trace of emotion.
Wells’ finger stabbed out at a button on the table, and a voice immediately responded to him from an overhead speaker. “Yes Mr. Wells.”