A Cup of Tea Bk. 02

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters depicted in sexual situations are 18 years of age or older.

Prologue

Martha's Vineyard, June, 2059

An elderly Asian woman, her grey flecked hair gathered up in a bun, sat firmly ensconced in her favorite white Adirondack chair. She was nestled in a small grassy area of her seaside estate, shaded from the midday sun by the leaves of a flaming red Japanese maple, its delicate leaves wavering in the summer breeze. Her thoughts were clear this day as she looked ahead through watery eyes, to the whitecaps dotting the rolling seas beyond, as she reflected on a momentous series of events, forty years before, that upset her delicately balanced life, and the lives of those around her.

Keiko Muramoto bowed her head with respect when she thought of Dax Hanlon, and that tumultuous relationship with him that was the best period of her life. She was in her thirties, and flexing her muscle as a nascent Domme. During the day, she was working as a professional businesswoman, but at night she was a regular at a number of BDSM clubs in and around New York City. Her beauty gave her the pick of available men, but most were adjudged inadequate in one way or another. Her natural tendency in a relationship was to exercise control (as a means of masking her own insecurities) and she quickly learned that granting small favors would bring about nearly blind obedience -- obedience that she craved and that fed an insatiable need.

The loss of her father, Koji, during that period in her life affected the young Japanese-American woman in many ways. She had a close relationship with him, and his outsized personality allowed her to stay hidden in the background when it came to family matters. With his passing, all financial matters were thrust upon her, and one of her first opportunities to step into his shoes came about when the apartment building she and her mother were living in was under consideration for sale and redevelopment as a strip shopping center. The developer insisted that the existing owner buy out all of the apartment leases so that the building could be razed. The owner of her building was Dax Hanlon.

Dax was in his forties, but still acted in many ways as if he was an adolescent. He came from a monied family, and his acumen with commercial real estate allowed him to parlay his inheritance into an impressive real estate empire. He was self-confident, sometimes crossing the line to arrogance, and his good looks and boyish charm were often used to compensate for his many shortcomings. He personally took on the task of convincing Keiko to sell back the lease on the apartment that had been in her family for almost thirty years, and was confident that paying a substantial premium over the lease's value would persuade her to sell.

He, of course, was dead wrong. The apartment had a great deal of sentimental value to Keiko and her mother Mariko, and even more so since Koji Muramoto's passing. Dax tried everything he knew to convince Keiko, but nothing he did was effective. In the end, Dax relented and let Keiko and Mariko stay in their apartment, and in the process fell completely and hopelessly in love with Keiko.

But Keiko was not what she appeared to be on the surface, which was polite, deferential, and quiet. She had developed a distinct taste for domination. It was her budding relationship with Dax that changed everything for both of them.

Chapter Two

Manhattan and Queens, Present Day

It was a dark grey sky, the billowing clouds foreshadowing an early morning storm. Midtown Manhattan was already a beehive of activity, subway commuters pouring out of the ground like a swarm of ants. Dax Hanlon peered out the floor to ceiling windows in his penthouse apartment, watching the gathering clouds and enjoying his usual breakfast served by his chef and housekeeper Madeline. On the surface, all appeared normal, but beneath the veneer of civility lurked an irresistible compulsion that was anything but that.

The real estate magnate still had to conduct his daily business, and reached down into his briefcase to retrieve the day's agenda that his assistant Mel had prepared the evening before. As he processed the information on the printed page his mind wandered to a night the previous week where all of his assumptions about what he wanted in life were proved false. The taste of money and superficially beautiful women no longer had the allure that once motivated him. His thoughts were now focused on Keiko Muramoto, a Japanese woman of exceptional beauty who had cultivated and nurtured his submissive fantasies.

He dressed for work and finished the knot on his tie with the requisite flourish and left his apartment with an air of confidence, but now accompanied by a persistent, unquenchable need. His longtime friend and driver Mason greeted him in the underground garage, opening the back passenger door of a late model Bentley. Mel wasn't in her customary spot in the backseat, disappointing Dax because he enjoyed the early morning briefings amid the backdrop of her stunning beauty. The ride to his office felt like it took twice as long without her presence and companionship.

* * *

A high speed elevator whisked Dax up to the 48^th floor of his Midtown metal and glass high rise. The doors opened to a gleaming white marble lobby with a panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline. A tall brunette, his assistant Mel, was waiting for him with a stack of papers in hand. She was impeccably dressed in a tailored tweed jacket, matching skirt, low cut top and heels.

"Morning Dax," she said with a forced smile, handing him an updated copy of his daily appointment calendar.

Dax and Mel went back many years, to when Mel was just a doe-eyed intern. Dax knew her well enough to sense that something was up.

"You don't seem yourself today, Mel," he observed dryly, folding the agenda and tucking it in his back pants pocket without looking at it.

"I'll ... I'll be OK," she said between sniffles.

He took a monogrammed handkerchief out of his breast pocket and dabbed her eyes, then grabbed her by the arm and led her into a nearby empty conference room. The lights automatically flickered on when they entered. "C'mon. We share everything. Give it up," he urged. He braced himself for the dam to break.

She looked at him expectantly, knowing she was going to be reprimanded. "I'm back together with Hank," she informed him, the words sounding foreign, even to her.

As expected, Dax exploded. "What? That motherfucker ..." His voice reverberated off the glass walls of the conference room, making the receptionist take notice of the muffled conversation.

Hank Rossetti was twenty years Mel's senior ... and married. He and Mel had an affair years ago, which Hank broke off right before he was supposed to ask his wife for a divorce. Dax was all too familiar with all of the sordid details of their affair and didn't care for his occasional business associate one bit. This latest revelation was the last straw.

Dax forced himself to contain his growing anger and speak in a normal voice. "So what happened?"

"I saw him ... " Mel started to cry in earnest. Dax wrapped his arms around her to comfort her, the young brunette's voluptuous body heaving with each sob.

"Tell me baby girl."

"I saw him with another woman." Of course that woman wasn't his wife.

Dax was unable to contain his rage. "I'd like to ..."

Mel looked up at Dax with trepidation, knowing she'd triggered his protective instincts, her mascara now starting to run freely down her cheeks. "No ... no ... please don't talk to him. I'll handle it."

"Yeah ... sure ... you handle it like the last time you handled it," sarcasm dripping from his voice. The last time Mel "handled it" she was a wreck for three months. Dax wasn't going to let that happen again.

* * *

Dax had a ten minute break between scheduled calls, and decided to take the opportunity to call his old business partner. He willed himself to be calm for the conversation.

"Hank, we need to meet. It's personal."

"Personal?"

"Yeah, just meet me at Winthrop's at seven, OK?

"Uhh ... sure," Hank replied, befuddled by the mystery in the phone call.

Winthrop's was an old school watering hole with dark paneling and polished brass railings. It was a Thursday night, and the after work crowd was three deep at the bar. Fortunately Dax was a good friend of the bar's owner, and a choice booth in the back had a "Reserved" sign on it for him. Hank was already standing at the bar holding a scotch in his hand and waved and smiled when he saw Dax. Dax waved back, but with a deadpan face, and shook his hand as the two met. Dax led him to the back, weaving through the noisy twenty-something crowd, to the relative quiet of the booth. They took seats on opposite sides of the table.

"What's up?" asked Hank, as he took another sip of his scotch. He of course had no idea why Dax called for the meeting.

Dax never really liked Hank and decided to dispense with the small talk and get right to the point. "I understand you and Mel are back together."

"No time for drinks and pleasantries, huh?" Hank sat up straight and folded his arms in front of him, assuming a defensive posture for what he was sure was going to be an unpleasant conversation. He knew Dax was protective of Mel, and in this case for good reason.

"Not for you." His eyes burned like the sun.

Hank's brow furrowed. His voice assumed a serious tone, the din of the bar fading to background noise. "So it's going to be that way, huh?"

"I think so." Dax rarely threatened anyone, but he made this one exception.

Hank spread his arms open, indicating he had no beef with Dax. "Look buddy, Mel's a big girl. She can take care of herself."

Dax leaned forward to emphasize the importance of what he was going to say. "That may be, but it's not going to stop me from telling this to your face. You've hurt her once and I'm not going to let you hurt her again."

The smaller man got up and pointed at Dax. "Who are you, her Lord Protector?"

Dax rose up off the bench and stood up next to Hank, his bulky frame now towering over the more diminutive man. "Yeah, I guess I am."

Hank tilted his head up, his face a bright crimson. "Fuck off. Mind your own business."

Dax grabbed him by the shirt collar, pulling him up to his eye level. Hank's feet were barely touching the ground. "You asshole. Don't fuck with my girl, got it?" he roared.

"Let me go." Hank sniveled. By now, the foursome in the next booth had stopped their conversation and were wondering if they were going to be witnessing a fight. It wouldn't have been a fair one, with Dax a half foot taller and carrying an extra fifty pounds of muscle.

Dax let go and shoved him backwards. Hank grabbed the edge of the bench to steady himself.

"I ought to call my lawyer ..."

"Go ahead you miserable prick. I ought to call your wife."

"You wouldn't dare ..."

"Try me."

Dax shoved him one more time and walked out of the bar. Hank straightened his collar and looked at the people around him, who were unabashedly staring at him.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" he barked in anger.

Dax could tell that he was amped up. His temples were pounding and he felt like a bundle of nervous energy. He stepped outside the bar into the cool night air and stopped on the sidewalk, standing with his back against a tall building, allowing the flow of pedestrians to pass him. He pulled out his cell phone and touched Keiko's name.

"Keiko? I need to see you now."

"Now? I'm in a meeting. I won't be free for another hour."

"I'll have Mason drive me out to your place. I'll just wait until you get back."

Keiko picked up the irritation and impatience in his voice. "Is everything OK?"

"Sure, just a little bit of drama here. I'll tell you about it when I get there."

"OK," she replied, but then it occurred to her that she didn't know why he was coming. "What did you want to do?"

"Take me someplace that you consider fun. And I know what kind of fun that you like."

His request sent her thoughts in a much darker direction, to that night the previous week when she scratched the surface of Dax's latent submissive fantasies. His eagerness as a submissive, and his prowess as a lover and hers as a Domme, pushed both of them well beyond the limits of what they had previously experienced and into the realm of the unknown. She felt a tingle between her legs as she started thinking about what club to visit and mapping out what she wanted to do with him, summoning up an image of his nude body, straining against his bonds, as she dispensed pain and rewarded him with indescribable pleasure.

Dax clicked the red phone button to end the call and stared at the screen. He wondered why his reaction to a stressful situation was to call Keiko, and came to the realization that she was his safe place -- and his addiction.

Dax summoned Mason and waited curbside, watching jaywalking pedestrians dodge cars stalled in the perpetual gridlock of the big city. The Bentley finally appeared, picking up its lone passenger, and inching its way crosstown. Finally, in the shadow of the United Nations building, the limo waded into a river of cars on the FDR, the windshield reflecting the tail lights of the hundreds of cars in front of them. The usual forty-five minute ride took over an hour and a half. Dax was annoyed by the heavy traffic and on edge when they arrived at Keiko's apartment building in Queens. They waited curbside for Keiko's text message.

Mason received the text, announcing that Keiko would be down shortly, and also giving him the address where they were going. Dax rolled down his window to keep a lookout for her and then in an attempt to dispel his nervous energy, picked up his phone to check his messages. As he was scrolling through a queue of new messages he heard the click of high heels approach his door and looked up to see her wearing a black full length fake fur coat, even though it was still a balmy 70 degrees outside. Mason came around to open the door for her and Dax slid over on the back seat to make room in the plush cabin.

Dax leaned over and gingerly kissed the cheek she offered him, not wanting to smudge her perfectly applied evening make-up.

"I missed you," said Dax as he took her hand into his, feeling the fine bones in her small, delicate hand.

"And I you," she replied, putting her other hand on his pant leg, caressing the fine Italian wool of his dress pants.

"I have a surprise for you," she said, mystery in her voice.

She pulled her coat open, revealing that she was wearing only a black lace bustier and matching panties and old fashioned black nylons attached to a garter belt.

She summoned her sexiest voice. "I'm ready to go, are you?"

Dax sat there dumbfounded as Keiko refastened her coat shut. "Oh fuck ..." he finally muttered to himself. His stomach tightened. He felt like he was at the apex of a roller coaster and was about to plunge straight down.

"I didn't hear what you said."

Dax caught himself. "I said you look nice. I haven't seen you wear high heels like those." It was a clumsy recovery but it bought him time to gather his wits.

Keiko was wearing black pumps with four inch stiletto heels, the kind that said "Don't fuck with me because I'm going to fuck with you." Keiko held up her foot and flexed it so Dax could see the bottom of her shoe. "See the sole of this shoe?"

"Uh huh." Dax was staring at her sexy heel clad foot, animal lust surging through his veins, his confrontation with Hank long forgotten.

"My last sub cleaned it with his tongue. Did he do a good job?" she said haughtily.

Dax looked closer, seeing the shiny sole with a few pebbles and bits of dirt stuck to it. "Yes, yes he did," he replied, admiring the nameless sub's tongue work.

"I'm thinking of having you lick my shoes clean when we get where we're going."

Dax was looking at the pale white skin of her foot and the shadow of the veins underneath it, imagining what it would be like to lick the sole of her shoe, and then her foot, then each toe. He felt a stirring in his pants and chided himself for the reflexive reaction.

Keiko put her foot down and straightened her coat. "So tell me what happened today."

Dax recounted Mel's history with Hank, and finished with the confrontation at the bar, ending with his shove of Hank at the end of their conversation. Keiko listened intently and didn't interrupt his story.

"Bravo Dax. It's wonderful to hear that you protect the ones you love. You do love her, don't you?"

Dax had never been asked that question, even by Mel. "Uhhh ... yes ... I guess I do."

"Well, she sounds like a good person and deserving of your affection and protection. I'd like to meet her someday. Will you do that? Introduce us?" Keiko was outwardly supportive, but a tiny black kernel of jealousy was forming after Dax's glowing narrative.

"Of course. She's certainly curious about you," answered Dax, unaware of the inevitable clash between his personal titans.

"And jealous?" Keiko knew she was now prying, and had to be careful how deeply she probed.

"I don't think so. Mel and I had a brief fling a few years ago but nothing came of it. It was really more of an alcohol induced mistake. I think she's more than fine with our relationship."

Keiko suspected they had gone to bed together, and Dax's admission confirmed it. His denial of Mel's jealousy rang hollow to her. Dax was a rich, handsome man ... and single. What woman wouldn't want to have him? "Do you have a picture of her?"

Dax pulled out his phone and started scrolling through his pictures. He skipped a few selfies where they were clowning around together, likely drunk, and found one of Mel at a closing dinner in a group shot. He gave his phone to Keiko, who expanded the picture to enlarge Mel's face.

"She's beautiful ... and young," Keiko observed, that kernel of jealousy growing at the sight of Mel with Dax standing next to her.

"That she is," he said wistfully.

"But you want me." Her insecurity was welling to the surface. She needed his affirmation.

He was more than willing to provide it. "Only you."

"Do you feel the same about me?" Dax asked. In many ways, Keiko was a cipher to Dax. She wasn't the "touchy feely" type, but rather the opposite, reserved in the expression of her emotions. Most of the women Dax had been with fawned over him. He had to earn Keiko's affections, and that was new to him.

Knowing he wanted her approval and her love gave Keiko a warm feeling on the inside. She had to fight her self-doubts about the depths of his affection. "I have strong feelings for you Dax. I do."

"I think you know more about me than I know about myself," Dax confessed. He was right. Although Keiko was difficult to read, Dax led his life like an open book.

"Perhaps. It seems to me that you've been skimming along the surface of life, never digging down deeper. I don't think you've ever known what you wanted. I think you've wanted what other people have told you that you should want -- a beautiful woman on your arm, an expensive car, a glamorous Midtown apartment. But that's not what you want, is it?"

Dax shook his head. He had already come to that realization. "No. I think being with you has taught me something else."

"And that is?"

Dax struggled to find the words. Being with her made him feel good, supremely good. But why? "What I'm seeking is inside me, not outside. It gives me great pleasure to please you. I've never experienced that kind of pleasure before. It's not just physical ... it's inside my head. I can't stop thinking about you."