Pure Paradise (2 page)

P
ure Paradise Day Spa with its enchanting ambience—handpicked flowers, potted foliage, tinkling music, flickering candlelight, and intoxicatingly fragrant scents that wafted throughout the establishment—appeared to live up to its name. Swathed in comfy robes and slippers, the clientele looked pampered and relaxed. They milled about, sipping mimosas or herbal tea as they waited to be indulged with a Chocolate-Bliss facial, a sea kelp body massage, hot stone therapy, hydrotherapy, waxing, manicures, pedicures, or any of the numerous services offered.

On a lower level, private fantasy theme rooms equipped with costumes and props were provided for couples. A fantasy session was ridiculously costly, but affluent patrons didn’t mind spending big bucks to indulge their freaky imaginations.

In a separate room on the lower floor, Milan Walden, owner of Pure Paradise, greeted prospective clients, a husband and wife, with a very tight smile. Compared to her lavish office suite upstairs, the consultation room was rather smallish. She felt boxed in and out of her element in the modestly furnished office. Actually, Sumi should have been interviewing this couple, but Sumi was visiting a local dungeon, observing Mistress
Veronique, a premier dominatrix, at work. If the woman was as cruel and intimidating as reputed, Sumi was to offer her a contract to work as a consultant at Pure Paradise.

Milan sighed. She needed two assistants. No, strike that. The way her business was booming, she needed three or four assistants. Sumi was not going to like sharing the power, but she’d have to deal with it. The poor dear was being stretched to capacity as it was, and business was suffering. Milan corrected her thought. No, business wasn’t suffering…Milan was. She absolutely despised having to interact with clients.

Yet matters of a sexual nature were too delicate to be handled by any staff member other than Sumi. Admittedly, her assistant was good at her job—so good, she thought she was capable of taking on the additional job title of “in-house” dominatrix. What a laugh. Sumi didn’t have any real power. Milan allowed her assistant to execute her precise orders: reprimanding, hiring, and firing on Milan’s behalf. But the girl didn’t have a dominant bone in her cute little body. What a pity.

Lately, Sumi had started behaving like a diva. Milan didn’t like her assistant’s new attitude, so today she’d sent Sumi on a mission that would give her a badly needed reality check. After observing an authentic dominatrix at work, with her foot pressed down on a naughty slave’s neck, Sumi would come to her senses and realize she was too delicate to really crack a whip. Sumi needed to get rid of that latex dress, the boots, and the whip and devote all her attention and concentration on angling her snapping pussy around Milan’s ripened clit.

She was suddenly struck with a brilliant idea, a scheme that would put Sumi in her place. Milan shook her head, marveling at her own sheer genius. She gazed at the paperwork and then
returned her attention to the oddly paired couple who sat on the other side of the rather ordinary desk. The plain oak desk made her yearn for her custom-designed power desk. Her desk screamed success! Made of six different types of exotic wood, it cost seventy-two thousand dollars—as much as some people spent on a luxury car. It was a spectacular piece of furniture and was most fitting for an extraordinary woman such as herself.

Milan glanced at her surroundings and wrinkled her nose. As soon as she got rid of this bothersome pair, she’d make a mad dash to her elegant office suite.

The wife, an attractive, slim blonde, had a snooty air about her and she had irked Milan on sight. She looked to be in her late twenties, professionally attired in pearls and a nicely cut business suit. The husband, on the other hand, swarthy with a big belly, was considerably older than his wife. Additionally, he had the unpolished look of a laborer and wore a T-shirt bearing the logo of a roofing company. The man was totally icky!

“Well, it looks like everything is in order,” Milan said, looking down at the paperwork on the desk. “You’ve passed our requirements with flying colors.” She didn’t smile and maintained a business-like demeanor, sitting erect with her lips pursed, her eyes intense, her expression serious. She found the ill-matched couple nauseating and couldn’t muster any more than the same tight smile. “So…which fantasy interests you?”

“I own a roofing company. There’s good money in roofing, but I have to put in a lot of ridiculously long hours—”

Do I look like I give a shit?
“And your point is?” Agitated, Milan glanced down at the application again. “Mr. Tamburro,” she said with a sigh.

“I’m getting to the point,” the husband said brusquely.

Milan searched the wife’s face, hoping for some type of intervention, but the wife squirmed and refused to meet Milan’s agitated gaze.

“I put my wife through six years of college,” the husband went on. “She has a master’s degree in business. I don’t claim to be a scholar, but I make a lot more money than she’ll ever dream of earning.” Mr. Tamburro looked at his attractive wife with contempt. The wife gave Milan a “See what I have to put up with” look, which Milan chose to ignore.

Mr. Tamburro would be footing the bill for the couples’ fantasy so Milan decided to reserve her attention for him.

“You’ve looked over the brochures,” Milan said with a sigh. Her patience was dwindling quickly. “Have you made a selection?”

A crimson shade of rage suddenly tinged Mr. Tamburro’s olive complexion. Clutching the glossy brochures, he blurted, “My bitch of a wife cheated on me! Not once…but twice…and with her coworkers.” He glared at his wife. “Seems she’s developed the hots for the suit-and-tie type. I’m not good enough for her anymore.”

“That’s not true,” Mrs. Tamburro whined.

Milan waved her hand, cutting off the adulterous wife and returning her attention to the bill-footing husband. “Is that what you’d like—a fantasy that involves wearing a suit and tie?” Keeping the annoyance out of her tone was difficult. She’d given the couple a brochure with every fantasy Pure Paradise offered. She hadn’t anticipated taxing her brain to come up with an impromptu suit-and-tie fantasy session for the kooky couple.

“Hell no! I want her to get a sound spanking for cheating on me.” He rolled his eyes at his wife. The wife tried to maintain an impassive expression but couldn’t. Cringing with embarrassment, she dropped her gaze. Her cheeks took on a pink tint.

“Oh!” Milan perked up. “Well, you’ll be delighted to know we have a special room for corporal punishment. It’s equipped with an array of thrashing devices from paddles and hair brushes to whips and canes. I’ll need you both to sign a consent form.” She pushed the form across the desk.

“Not so fast. There’s a slight hitch.” Mr. Tamburro’s angry expression changed to embarrassment. “I can’t do the spanking.” He cast a warm gaze toward his wife. “I love my wife. Besides, I wasn’t raised to mistreat or put my hands on a woman. I behave like a gentleman, even when my wife takes it upon herself to carouse around like a stinking whore.”

Milan sighed in exasperation. “Okay, if you’re not in the mood for a paddling session, which fantasy interests you?” She spoke through gritted teeth. Pure Paradise offered a vast array of sex services but she’d be damned if she’d waste her breath with a high-spirited sales pitch. She would have never allowed the couple in the consultation room had she known they had yet to select a service.

It was obvious that the communication at Pure Paradise was badly flawed. But not for long. Milan would start interviewing new assistants immediately. She’d hire as many as she thought necessary to ensure Pure Paradise operated smoothly. Sumi would have to get over herself and deal with some competition.

Milan stood. “Why don’t you two go home and look over the brochures again. When you’ve made a decision, call Sumi Cranston, my assistant.” She forced a smile and cut a dismissive glance toward the door.

“I’ve made up my mind and I’m prepared to pay in advance,” Mr. Tamburro said, leaning forward as he pulled his wallet out of a back pocket. He whipped out a credit card.

Milan ignored his offer of payment. She remained standing,
hinting that the interview was over. “Mr. Tamburro. I’m a busy woman. You and Mrs. Tamburro should go home and discuss the service that suits your needs.”

“I already told you. My wife needs a good spanking.” He looked at his wife for confirmation. Wearing an expression that looked as pained as if she were being flogged at that very moment, the wife gave a curt nod.

“Like I said, I’m too much of a gentleman to hit my wife, but I’m willing to pay top dollar to get the job done.”

The wife gasped. Suddenly interested, Milan jerked her head toward the husband. “You want someone else to do your dirty work?”

Looking embarrassed, he nodded.

“I’ll have to bring in a trained master and that will double the cost.”

“Not a problem,” Mr. Tamburro said.

“Honey,” the wife whined, her eyes wide. “I think we should discuss this matter privately.”

“My mind is made up,” he barked at his wife. “Either you get your tail whipped or go get yourself a lawyer.”

It was an unusual request. Most couples used the themed rooms that were listed in the brochure. They enjoyed experimenting with the equipment to indulge their perverted fantasies. She could have turned down Mr. Tamburro’s request, but Milan was eager for the challenge.

She cleared her throat. “Mr. Tamburro,” she said softly, “we offer several choices…” The husband nodded for Milan to continue. “There’s verbal humiliation with a light thrashing—a sort of erotic spanking, which is what I recommend—”

“What else do you offer?” He eyed Milan intently.

“Well…” Milan took an excited breath as she struggled to
contain her own sexual arousal. The topic was quite stimulating and had her juices flowing. “We also offer a more harsh punishment. Your cheating spouse would be bare-assed and given a severe spanking.”

Mr. Tamburro’s face lit with interest.

“You should be aware that a severe spanking will leave residual welts and bruising,” Milan said casually, though her mind was racing to come up with a more sadistic form of punishment. And there was a problem.

She didn’t have a trained master. All her employees were certified in massaging, aromatherapy, polishing toenails, and all sorts of therapies that didn’t meet Mr. Tamburro’s requirements. Hopefully, Sumi would get Mistress Veronique to sign the contract. If the woman was a true dominatrix, she would be willing to dispense punishment to women as well as men.

The husband sat on the edge of the chair, rubbing his chin excitedly. “I want her to get a harsh spanking,” he said, nodding and looking vindicated. “The full treatment! Whatever it costs, I’m willing to pay.”

The wife jerked back, gawking at her husband. Her words came out in a sputter. “I’m not, uh, sure about this. We really have to talk.”

Milan ignored her. “Would you like to sit in on the session, Mr. Tamburro?” A devilish smile played on Milan’s lips.

“I sure would!” he exclaimed as he gleefully rubbed his hands together. The wife groaned. A sudden shadow fell over the husband’s face. “No. I couldn’t sit back and watch while some sadistic fella beat the crap out of my wife.”

The wife brightened perceptibly.

Milan shrugged. “I was actually going to have a woman spank your wife. A skilled dominatrix.”

“A woman!” Mr. Tamburro reared back and snorted in disapproval. “What kind of pain could a woman inflict? If I’m going to spend top dollar for punishment, I want my money’s worth. I want a man to beat her. A big black buck!” he added and glared at his wife.

Where the hell would she find a big black buck who was a trained master? Gerard, her former trainer, came to mind, and she instantly tried to dismiss him from her thoughts but couldn’t.

At Milan’s insistence, Gerard’s benefactor, the evil Mistress Ming, had been financially crushed. Ming’s illegal “training center,” along with her wealthy husband’s chain of fitness centers, had been gobbled up by one of Maxwell Torrance’s corporations. Maxwell Torrance, billionaire and tycoon, was Milan’s personal sex slave.

Maxwell had put Ming out of business, sent her packing. Milan felt a shiver of delight, imagining the arrogant hussy back in China, living in poverty. Stripped of her jewels and couture wardrobe, and all her money, Ming was hopefully working her fingers to the bone in some rice field. Though Milan had no idea what had become of Ming, imagining the evil wench sweating as she toiled for a few coins was a delicious fantasy.

Gerard? He was most likely still in the States. Oddly, her heart didn’t race. She was over Gerard. Her heart was set on someone else—and once again, the man she’d set her sights on was playing hard to get. Milan sighed. She sure knew how to pick them.

Returning her thoughts to the present dilemma, she smiled at the couple. “Mr. and Mrs. Tamburro, as you know, Pure Paradise has designed numerous couples’ fantasies, but we’re
flexible and are fully capable of tailoring a program that meets your needs. Don’t worry, Mr. Tamburro, you don’t have to go in the room with your wife. You don’t even have to accompany your wife here. I understand your unwillingness to view her chastisement firsthand, but might I suggest that you accept the complimentary DVD of her punishment session? I highly recommend that you and your wife view the DVD together, and often. Reliving the pain and humiliation repeatedly should discourage your cheating wife from engaging in future adulterous affairs.” Milan amazed herself with her brilliant creativity. Feeling proud of the sales pitch that she made up as she went along, Milan beamed at the married couple.

The wife cringed with horror.

“Oh, boy. That sounds like a winner,” Mr. Tamburro gushed, jubilant. “I’ll get a lot of pleasure watching the DVD with her.” He scratched his head. “How many times should we watch it?”

“Every night before sex,” Milan responded quickly.

“We don’t have sex every night,” Mrs. Tamburro stated, balking at the idea.

“It’s not too late to start. This woman here…” He pointed to Milan. “She’s a sex therapist and she knows what she’s talking about.”