Wicked Intentions

[Veroe]

((Closed for Myself and Biker_Faerie))
​

IC: Christopher Stanton
​

"Tonight she'd let him fuck her first and then tell him why later...hmmm...good line, she'd have to remember it for later."

"Pick a number between one and one hundred. Take your time deciding." She gave him a sly wink, "I'll need it to decide which whip I want to use on you tonight."

"A whip?"

"I might be having you pick out how many minutes we play in my bed tonight or I might be forcing you to choose how many kisses you get from this nasty bitch," She lifted one of her heavier single tail whips for him to see...
​

The words, the story, the woman haunted him ever since that day.

Chris had found the book in the trash weeks ago. He hadn't known why his mother had thrown it in there. She was usually so fastidious about her job and the care of the books she was given to read. Thinking it must have been an accident that led it to him finding it in the trash he was taking out as part of his chores. It was just a plain book with no cover art. Intending to return it to his mom he deposited the trash bags into the garbage chute.

When he went back inside the apartment his mom was busy typing away furiously on her laptop. He knew she hated to be interrupted when she was working so he thought he'd return the book to her after. He grabbed a soda and a leftover slice from the fridge for supper and returned to his room. Chris glanced over to his backpack and the English Lit homework he still needed to finish, but Emily Bronte was soooo boring. He collapsed onto his bed with an exasperated sigh. He wasn't really a good student. His mom had pulled strings trading on her relations with the dean at NYU to get him admitted. She always fixed things for him. She always did that. How in hell was he supposed to grow up and be the man of the house if his mother still went around treating him like he was six and incapable of making his own decisions.

Hell, even him going to college was her idea. Majoring in English Lit again, her idea. He wasn't even asked what he wanted. She just assumed he'd follow the path she had laid out for him. Ever since Dad died she'd only gotten worse, controlling him like he was her little puppet going along with the script she'd written out for his life.

Sullenly he pouted and noted the book from the trash lying there next to him. On a whim he picked it up and opened it to a random page and read a line...which became another...and then another...

"...He had chosen to split the difference of course. Fifty. It was perfect. He had chosen neither how long they'd play in her bed or how many strikes he'd get from her nasty bitch of a whip. No, it was fifty minutes. how long he'd have to wait until she let him inside of her. Time enough for her to introduce him properly to the nasty bitch in her hand. She set her stopwatch to fifty and hung it on the wall directly in front of his face. That way he'd watch as those fifty minutes shrink second by second, strike by strike..."

..."Green," She asked at the seventy-fifth kiss from her nasty bitch. "I won't think any less of you if you say yellow or red, you know."

"Still green..." His breathing had turned ragged and he sagged in his restraints leaning his weight against the firm stability of the st. Andrew's cross. His back was a red masterpiece of art from shoulder down to buttocks and thighs. She took the time to admire the craftsmanship of her work. Her nasty bitch was a master painter. "I just need a minute, if it pleases you, mistress?"

"You do, very much," She said softly leaning in and placing the smallest of kisses to the tip of his ear, "I'm getting wet for you, lover. Tell me how much longer you have to wait for it."

"With a lust-fueled groan his eyes lifted to the stopwatch hoping beyond hope to see nothing but zeroes..."
​

He hadn't experienced anything like this before. He read on that night his mind blown paragraph by paragraph. He could feel himself stiffening in his shorts. His eyes poured over every word, his mind transported to a completely different world than he ever knew. He did not notice his hand drifting down to the swollen erection he was so involved in the scene he was reading.

He'd read the book almost every night since. He'd kept the book with him all the time in his backpack. If his mom found it in his room or something...well...best not to think about those consequences, but he'd be a dead man walking. He couldn't just ditch it though. This book was a part of him now somehow.

So, he kept it and today he was sitting in a coffeeshop just off campus. The book was in his backpack and the english lit textbook on the table his latte nearly empty in his hand. He sighed turning a page only half-read. Whoever wrote this wasn't any good. Not like the woman that wrote the book in his backpack.

Then someone came up to the table pulled out a chair and sat down across from him. It was a woman....and what a woman. Chris had never seen anyone that beautiful in real life before. She introduced herself with some sort of ridiculous and corny joke.

He laughed a little nervously at it just the same. Why was she even talking to him?

"Hi...uh..." He managed to reply to her, "...I'm Chris. Can I help you with something?"​

 

[Biker_Faerie]

IC: Tara Morgana

Paul Wiseman, head of trading for Worldcorp bank, stood by the door of the expensive suite he'd hired at the Wall Street Hotel. He was suited and freshly showered now and ready to return to his office for an afternoon of decisions that would affect the values of companies and pension funds across the country. He felt rejuvenated but the marks on his backside would remind him of how he'd spent his lunchtime for hours to come. He'd have to be careful not let his wife see, but his wife hadn't been interested in seeing any of Paul's slightly flabby body for a while now. They had separate beds these days and so that wasn't likely to be a problem.

In front of him stood two women. One was hardly a woman at all, more of a girl really. He'd been assured she was over age though, a student at NYU in fact. She was a pretty blonde, ever so petite and with a body so taught it had to be seen to be believed. She also had marks on her backside. He felt a bit guilty about that now, but he'd enjoyed it at the time. She stood there naked with a broad smile on her face and he wanted to believe she'd enjoyed what he'd done to her.

The other woman was a different proposition completely. Taller, with lustrous dark hair and full breasts. Now covered in a short nightdress, she had earlier stood in front of him in her lingerie, her pussy poised just inches away from his face, yet forever unattainable.

"As agreed Tara," Paul said handing the dark haired woman an envelope.

"Thank you, Paul," she replied. "It's always a pleasure, isn't it Tink'?"

"Always," the blonde giggled.

Paul Wiseman reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Opening it he pulled out two hundred dollar bills and handed them to the blonde.

"A little something extra," he told her, feeling guilty for what he'd done to her. "I know being a student can be tough."

"Thank you Mr. Wiseman," the blonde said rewarding him with a kiss. "And thank you for letting me stay in the suite tonight."

"It's paid for, so enjoy it" he told her, then added. "But please, no parties."

"I promise," the blonde giggled again.

"Until next time then," Paul said and then he left, careful to make sure he didn't open the door too widely and expose the scene to any passing strangers.

The dark haired girl looked into the envelope, counted out some of the hundreds inside and handed them to the blonde who received them willingly, adding them to the ones Paul had already given her.

"He likes you," she told the blonde. "You could have a good life as his mistress. It would see you through college."

"I prefer working for you," the blonde replied.

The dark haired girl took the delicate blonde into her arms and they kissed passionately.

"You need to think of your future," she told her, cradling the blonde's head to her bosom. "Now lie on the bed and i'll put some lotion on those weals for you."

***

Tara Morgana, at the age of twenty nine had already established herself as the most sought after Dominatrix in New York. Her beauty helped immensely but her understanding and attention to her clients needs was what really contributed to her success. That and her discretion of course.

Unlike many in the BDSM world, Tara understood that meetings needed to be tailored to the needs of the client not the Dominatrix. Lunchtime sessions for example were rarely what you would call 'hardcore'. Take Paul as a case in point, he wasn't really submissive, he just liked the idea of it. Like many men what he really wanted to do was fuck a pussy. Tara didn't often fuck the clients, they had to earn that rare privilege. So that was where Tink' came in. For money, Tink would let you do what you liked to her.

Tink was a struggling freshman student at NYU. Tara had met her in a hotel bar where she'd been trying to turn tricks for cash. Tara had saved her from what was likely to have been a beating for operating on someone else's turf. She took Tink under her wing and Tink became Tara's assistant in return for a cut of the profits. It was supposed to have been a business arrangement but in truth Tara cared for Tink.

***

As she rubbed the lotion into Tink's backside, Tink sighed into the expensive sheets and opened her legs wider, inviting Tara to explore further.

"Not just now young lady," Tara told her, firmly. "Besides, you've got to study."

"You could stay with me here," Tink said hopefully. "We could get room service."

Tara laughed.

"You're incorrigible," she told Tink. "But I have something i need to do anyway. I'm going to take a shower then I'll be on my way."

"We're still going out on Friday evening aren't we?"

"Of course," Tara replied. "Oh and i might have something i need your help with, but I'll tell you about that another time."

***

An hour later Tara was outside the coffee shop that Christopher Stanton often frequented. She'd done her homework and knew that most afternoons he sat there reading his books alone. Looking sexy but not slutty she went in and ordered from the counter then looked around before heading towards the table he was sitting at.

As she approached she said something corny to attract his attention and when he asked if he could help her with anything she immediately sat down then reached across to give him a quick kiss.

"I'm sorry," she said to him quietly, "but there's a creepy guy that's been following me and if he thinks you're my boyfriend then hopefully he'll go away. Would you mind putting your hand on my knee and being affectionate?"

As she reached in closer to him she was genuinely surprised to spy in his open rucksack a copy of a book she was very familiar with. 'Sometimes you get lucky', she thought to herself and this was too much of an opportunity to pass up.

"Now that is a coincidence," she said to Christopher and nodding to the rucksack. "You're reading my book. Tell me honestly, what do you think of it? It's been selling quite well despite mixed reviews from some critics."

 

[Veroe]

IC: Christopher Stanton

"Hi...uh..." He managed to reply to her, "...I'm Chris. Can I help you with something?"

She immediately took the seat to one side of him and leaned in moving her beautiful face in close to his, her lips puckered to kiss him. It was a quick kiss. One moment his heart stopped and the next it continued beating on and she was pulling back away. She smelled really good-what was that perfume? Shampoo? It smelled floral like Lavendar or lilacs or jasmine perhaps...

Chris's hand lifted to cover his cheek where she had kissed him. God he could still feel the press of her lips on skin there.

"I'm sorry," She whispered to him conspiratorily, "But there's a creepy guy that's been following me and if he thinks you're my boyfriend then hopefully he'll go away."

"Really? Where?" He asked glancing around them. Chris didn't see anyone he'd call a 'a creepy guy' in the coffee shop. However, he was the chivalrous type of man that he'd take her word for it. "Okay, I'll be your boyfriend to scare this guy off...Tara. What do you want me to do?"

She smiled at that, and Chris was struck by just how radiant this woman's beauty was. It was strange she was dressed classily but he could easily see her doing things that were not so classy. In her eyes there was a wealth of experience he found alluring and fascinating...

...Oh god he was staring into them. His cheeks blushed looking away.

If she was offended, she didn't show it. "Would you mind putting your hand on my knee and being affectionate?" She suggested to him.

"Uh...sure...okay..." He managed as his cheeks grew red.

Trying to be as natural as he could he reached down and placed his hand on her knee. She wore a pair of blue jeans and leather boots from some designer that reached up to her calf. So there was nothing untoward about this. He was just helping Tara out. There was no skin-to-skin contact, nothing at all to suggest anything more. So why was his pulse racing and blush forming on his cheeks.

To her he asked, "How's this?"

She didn't reply she was instead looking down between them at his backpack, and to his horror he realized he'd left it open and the book was in plain view. It was a review copy so it had a plain white cover, but the title was there in plain sight in big bold font: The Wildlife by Mistress Tara Morgana.

"Now, that is a coincidence," She nodded down to the book, "You're reading my book."

"What?....Wait..." He said...surprised she recognized it so easily...and then what she said hit home fully. "...You...you wrote it? You're Mistress Morgana?"

His eyes were wide and his mouth fell agape at the sheer coincidence of her just sitting down at his table here in this coffee shop out of all the coffee shops in New York City.

"Tell me honestly," She asked him, rolling on despite his obvious embarrassment, "What do you think of it?

He reached down and grabbed his bag by one of the straps and lifted it up into his lap still reeling from this whole encounter. "I...uh...I think it's great...and hot...and unreal...err...I mean...it's very creative and written well. I hope you sell alot of copies of it."

To that she nodded, "It's been selling quite well despite mixed reviews from some critics."

He shook his head, "My mom's a critic but I'm sure she would recognize the creativity to and how well you craft each of the scenes and each of the characters' story arcs in it."

Now that she had him talking about it the floodgates were wide open and Chris just began gushing over it to her. "Just last night I reread the scene at the Christmas party between Daisy, Kingston, Sable, and Morgana at the end..." He said using the characters names based off the real people, dear friends Tara actually knew in real life, including herself from a dramatically embellished interlude of her own life she included into the book-though Chris only knew of it as a work of fiction. "...It was so well done. I really felt the pain for both of them when Kingston realized Morgana was never really going to change for him and he shouldn't require her to change, but he can't just keep going on playing along with her games. So, they just decided to end the relationship despite how both still loved each other...That really hurt it was so well done..."

"Sorry...just listen to me." He shook his head with embarassed aplomb, "But how do you write so much sexy stuff, but at the same time coming from so many really complex and defined characters-I mean it's like they were actually real people."

 

[Biker_Faerie]

IC: Tara Morgana

Seeing her book in Christopher’s rucksack was too much of an opportunity and Tara couldn’t resist taking it. The pre-production cover meant that it must have been his mother’s copy and she wondered how he’d come by it.

Christopher wasn’t who she’d expected him to be. She had a imagined him as a rude, arrogant brat. A male version of his mother, but in reality he came across as a kind unassuming young man. Not unattractive either, in a preppy sort of way. She wondered if he was still a virgin. If that bitch of a mother had anything to do with it he might well have been. Either way she could see he didn’t have a lot of confidence around women.

He’d blushed when he realised who she was and Tara had chuckled to herself over his innocence. Asking him whether he liked the book only made this worse and she could see him squirm as he tried to reply.

Clearly Christopher had read the book, re- read it in fact. If only he hadn’t mentioned Kingston. The hurt felt real because it was real. Kingston, or Nathan to give him his proper name, had been the only man Tara had ever loved. He was married now, to a lovely girl who probably knew nothing of the sordid life he’d once lived with her. That boat had well and truly sailed. It was for the best she told herself.

There are certain professions that don’t lend themselves too well to a happy domestic life. Assassin is one. Dominatrix is another. Just like Groucho Marx had said he didn’t want join any club who would have him as a member, Tara didn’t want any of the men who submitted to her. But what normal man would want her knowing what she did. It was hardly the sort of job she could clock off from at the end of the day. Maybe one day she would give it up for love. But not yet.

She looked at the young man in front of her. Ten years her junior. He was too young for her but just the right age for a petite little blonde with an angelic smile she thought wickedly.

But how do you write so much sexy stuff, but at the same time coming from so many really complex and defined characters-I mean it's like they were actually real people."

Tara could see the literature student in Christopher, wanting to know about form, structure and tempo. She didn’t know anything about them. She’d just written the story as she’d lived it.

“A lot of them are real people,” Tara told Christopher candidly, leaving the implication that the situations were real too hanging. “The book is really just a tale of people who arent afraid to follow their desires. It may not always end the way they’d wanted. But that’s life. As they say, ‘better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’.

Tara let this sink in for a moment.

“Of course a lot of people will just read it for the sex,” she laughed then became more sincere for a moment. “Not everyone will get the significance like you do. But tell me, out of curiosity, what is your favourite scene.”

Before Christopher had a chance to reply. Tara looked at her watch and exclaimed, “Oh my gosh. Is that the time? I must be going.”

She reached into her purse and produced a plain business card with just her name, number and email address on it.

“It’s been lovely talking to you. Why don’t you email or text me. I’d love to know which was your favourite scene.”

As she left, she turned around and said, “ I’m sorry. I feel like we’re old friends but I don’t know your name.”

 

[Veroe]

IC: Chris Stanton

"Sorry...just listen to me." He shook his head with embarassed aplomb, "But how do you write so much sexy stuff, but at the same time coming from so many really complex and defined characters-I mean it's like they were actually real people."

After a moment she replied, "A lot of them are real people."

"Really," Chris's eyes widened, and his mind boggled at the implication of that. Was she saying that the characters weren't actually fictional? If so, did that mean the things they did in the book actually happened too. That was mind-boggling to Chris. He'd just assumed it had to be the product of extremely talented and inventive writer's imagination. It was just too beyond anything in his experience to suspect people would desire to do some of the things she'd detailed them doing in her book's pages.

"The book is really just a tale of people who aren't afraid to follow their desires." She continued. "It may not always end the way they'd wanted. But that's life. As they say, 'better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all'."

"Of course, a lot of people will just read it for the sex." She chuckled at that and Chris's face became crimson. "Not everyone will get the significance like you do."

He chuckled with her trying to pass off his embarrassment as not a real big deal. The truth was he was dying in front of her here.

"But tell me," She continued, "Out of curiosity, what is your favorite scene?"

"My favorite..." He stammered, "Well...I...uh...they were all good...but if I had to pick a favorite...it would be...I dunno...I guess...I...uh..."

As he was dying from mortification she glanced at the watch at her wrist. "Oh my gosh, is that the time?"

"I must be going," She said rising up from her chair. She had one hand diving into her purse and she produced a business card for him to take. “It’s been lovely talking to you. Why don’t you email or text me? I’d love to know which was your favorite scene.”

"Uh...okay..." He took the card mechanically in hand watching her make her way to leave before stopping dead in her tracks, and then turn back to look at him again.

"I'm sorry," She said to him, "I feel like we're old friends, but I don't know your name."

"Oh...it's uh...Stan Christon...I'm a NYU at Student University..." He shook his head, "No, that's all mixed up." He opened his eyes and looked back into hers. Why did she have such amazingly beautiful eyes that were so easy to get lost staring into? "The truth is...My name's Chris, Chris Stanton. I'm a student at NYU, and uh...god, you have to get going, right? So I'll...I'll text you later okay?" And with that he watched her leave the coffee shop and out of his life just as abruptly as she had entered into it.

The excitement of the one random but amazing encounter with the Mistress Tara Morgana author of the book he read front to back and back to front so frequently soon faded as Chris rushed from one class to the next. Once that was done he'd spent an hour or two at the school library trying to find something for his Lit paper. After that he went home where his mother and he had takeout from the Jade Swan's. Over the course of eating the chicken fried rice his mom pressured him into going on a date with someone's daughter of a friend's of hers at the newspaper.

He had no clue who this Emily Goldstein was, and from clues during his mom's cajoling of him she had never met the girl either. That didn't matter to her, of course. All that mattered was that him becoming involved with this mystery girl would advance him further along the path she'd long ago decided he would take in his life.

He didn't argue, he didn't fight. He just hung his head down and took it all. After agreeing to see this Emily Goldstein for at least the one date as blind as it was he retreated to his room. He flung his backpack across his bed in frustration and collapsed atop it right after. He reached over and pulled the book out of the bag, but paused before opening it to read again. Then a thought came to him...

He pulled out his phone and the business card and dialed the number on it texting one message.

It's Chris. Are you there?​

 

[Biker_Faerie]

Tara left Chris, feeling that their first meeting had achieved everything she wanted. She was sure she'd got his interest. Him having a copy of her book was certainly a stroke of luck and something to be capitalised on. The only thing she felt less good about was that she actually liked the boy.

She spent a few hours shopping for clothes then stopped at an art gallery on the way back to her home. They had a painting by an up and coming artist that she really wanted but couldn't justify the price. She stared at it on the gallery wall and sighed. She didn't have the money, it was as simple as that.

Tara had always been level-headed when it came to money. She'd not had much growing up. Her father was a truck driver and when her mom had left she'd had to keep house for him and her younger brother. It had robbed her of the chance of an education, any sort of life really and she had resented that. As soon as her younger brother turned sixteen she'd got a train bound for the big city and never looked back.

Home now for Tara was in the uber-trendy 'meat packing' district of the city. An expanse of industrial buildings in various states of gentrification. Tara had seen the potential for a 'space' so close to what was now a thriving club scene. At night, Thursday through Saturday, you couldn't escape the distant thud of bass from nearby clubs, but you got used to it. Besides Tara's nocturnal lifestyle coincided with this nicely.

Tara had acquired the two story building on a long lease then rented out the upper floor to a gay couple. One of them worked in the city, the other was a model. She used the ground floor as her own apartment and had given it an industrial feel. Very open plan, with lots of exposed pipework and metal. The basement was where she saw clients and held her intimate parties. It had a dungeon as well as more private rooms, for intimate encounters on party nights.

That evening she saw one client, an elderly gentleman who paid to paint Tara's toenails. He knelt in front of her and the two of them talked about the state of the world while he first gave her a pedicure then applied the the lacquer to her nails. Every now and again she would open her legs and give him a glimpse of her pussy. Then, at the end of the session he would masturbate in front of her, cumming over her feet. After he'd gone, Tara would have to remove the poorly applied lacquer as his eyesight wasn't that good or his hand that steady.

She then gave Tink a call. Partly because she wanted to check that she wasn't having a party in the hotel suite and partly because she wanted to hear her voice. Tink had been true to her word and was studying. She was a good kid with a bright future, which made Tara feel all the more guilty about loving her. She thought about getting a taxi and going over to the hotel but decided that it would be selfish to disturb her.

She was lying in bed thinking about Tink when her phone buzzed.

"It's Chris. Are you there?" the text read.

Tara thought about what to write for a moment.

"Hi Chris, I'm glad you texted," she replied. "I'm just getting ready for bed."

They exchanged a couple more innocuous texts and then Tara popped the question.

"So are you going to tell me about your favourite scene in the book or do you have a different fantasy you'd like to tell me about?"