tagBDSMSynder & Ashe Ch. 4

Synder & Ashe Ch. 4


The island of Margarita was supposed to be a glorious spot. 'The Pearl of the Caribbean' people called it. I hoped I'd be permitted to see all of it. Both Dave and Andrew had cautioned me to tour the resort to my heart's content but not to take one step off of it. Even a tourist trap like Isla Margarita could be rough. Venezuela's economy had been hard hit recently.

Both of the men had abandoned me while they went downstairs to a café for an impromptu meeting. I wanted to tag along, but the cool stares from two sets of diametrically opposed, equally frigid eyes kept my desires unvoiced.

Our beautiful complex sprawled out as far as the eye could see. My guide told me that Margarita was a windsurfer’s paradise, featuring constant, year-round winds that seldom died out. El Yaque attracted the world's best windsurfers, people eager to catch the 25 knot winds and strut their stuff. A year round average temperature of 29 degrees Celsius ensured a fantastic outdoor experience. Though we had missed it, June's Wild Wind Regatta always brought in hordes of sportsmen from the far flung corners of the world. His chest puffed up with pride as he spoke, his breast now as round as his sizable paunch. He continued his speech regarding Margarita's water sports. If it had something to do with water you could do it here, he said. Whether scuba diving at the Los Roques Archipelago or snorkeling at El Farallon, swimming off of the shore of Moreno or participating in parapente – diving off of high rocky promontories with a glider – if you wanted to do it, they had the terrain and water to accommodate you. The water had fantastic clarity, often exceeding 30 meters and temperatures of over 25 degrees Celsius. The way he sounded I took those figures to be both a far distance and a warm temperature. Metric always gave me problems. He then launched into a long spiel on all of the sites that could be seen. His pudgy hand hovered beneath my nose, silently shouting to be filled. I gave him a tip of 500 Bolivars. I didn’t understand why he gave me such a disdainful look in return, but the plump fist that clenched around the banknote shook.

I spied el Deseo del Corazón, a quaint looking café, about ten minutes away from the hotel lobby. Before I could enter it a pack of mangy looking youths surrounded me, grabbing at my body and otherwise making nuisances of themselves. They had the rawboned, famished look of feral dogs. Their incessant touches really pissed me off. I threatened to call security if they didn't stop. The largest one, a fellow with a wide set mouth like a toad laughed at me as he abruptly pulled me towards him.

"I love white women with black asses," he said, mauling my asscheeks while he ground his hard cock into my groin. He jiggled my ass, pulling at the lobes so hard it felt like he'd shred my hotpants in two. His erection poked at me through his shorts, but felt rather small compared to my husband's equipment. His annoying, outwardly aggressive advances hid insecurity. The punk had nothing but raging hormones and white teeth going for him.

I broke away from them, leaving the boys whistling their catcalls and crying for my return as they chased me. I dashed into the café. Once I stepped inside the host motioned at a couple of armed guards who then lumbered into the street. Upon seeing them the hunting pack broke apart, melting away like wolves into the timberline.

"Why didn't you do that before?" I asked him.

"Not my customer, not my problem," he replied in heavily accented English. "This way, please." He placed a hand gently on the center of my back as he guided me to a table.

I was famished! Andrew hadn’t permitted me to eat a bite on the plane except for a few grapes that he fed me, pushing each succulent, fat berry between my sensitive lips. He had skimmed the chilled, plump fruit over my hot tongue, tantalizing me with the sweet fruit until my tongue frenziedly lashed at the berry and his fingertips. Only then had he allowed me to claim my plump reward. That small bunch of grapes had taken an eternity to consume. By the time I had finished, I’d been sodden-crotched.

If I wasn't careful, I'd be that way again. That familiar itch between my legs returned with a vengeance.

I ordered quickly, selecting a plate of smoked Arctic Char with capers and red onion slices, a small tossed salad dressed with raspberry balsamic vinegar, and a glass of Chianti. I preferred a dry red to balance the sweet tang of the dressing. The food materialized before me as if by magic. The efficient staff served the food and disappeared before I could say thank you. I ate slowly to better to savour the delightful taste of the food, but also to burn the maximum amount of time. I had nowhere to be.

I felt miserable in paradise, and didn't know how to go about changing my circumstances.

The more I ate, the less I enjoyed the meal. I knew it wasn't due to the food. Anything would've tasted like ashes just then. I decided to settle the bill and leave.

I raised my hand and summoned the waiter, flashing him the universally recognized gesture of writing a cheque in midair. He presented my bill promptly, a tab for over 12,000 Bolivars! I almost passed out from the shock until I saw two other lines, one saying $9.54 USD, the other saying €9.86 Euros.

At least I now knew why the tour guide had looked as if he wanted to spit in my face.

The smiling waiter stood patiently while I opened my purse and searched through it for a wallet that just wasn't there. Apparently, those fucking kids had been fishing for more than a piece of ass.

"One moment," I said, voice tremulous. "I need to call someone."

"Of course." The waiter nodded his head politely and moved off. Panic seized me. I called Dave on my cell, knowing that he'd be upset over being called away from his meeting. What other choice did I have?

I had expected anger but not the coldness with which he rebuffed me. I explained to him what happened and that I had no money with me. He told me to sit tight until his meeting ended in about an hour. He didn't seem concerned about the toughs who'd accosted me outside, either. Before I could say anything else he hung up. I called him again but only received a canned message in Spanish, probably the Subscriber Unavailable spiel. I put the phone away and flashed a sickly grin to the waiter who had returned with his manager. They both looked at me with sympathy, knowing exactly what had transpired outside.

I sat there for over forty minutes sipping on spring water. The host had been very kind. He allowed me to finish eating and had even brought some fresh rolls for me. The serving and kitchen staff weren’t so forgiving. Their angry glares told me exactly what they thought about foreigners who couldn't pay their bills. I felt more vulnerable sitting inside than I did with the street toughs outdoors. I had just started on my fourth glass of water when an imposing shadow passed over me.

Andrew's shadow.

His appearance shocked me so much I almost choked on my water. "Why’re you here?"

"Should I leave?"

"No! Don't go! You surprised me is all," I said. Relief made my tummy flutter. At least I thought it was relief that caused those tremulous sensations within me.

Andrew said something in Spanish to the waiter who approached him. "For your trouble," Andrew said in English before giving the waiter a $50 bill.

"Did they treat you badly?" Andrew whispered. "The natives generally are friendly to those who’re flush. Less so to those experiencing cash flow difficulties."

I shrugged my shoulders. They hadn't been all that bad. I’d worked a bit as a waitress in high school and remembered how much I’d enjoyed paying off all of those dine-and-dash meals out of my meager earnings. "They were okay," I said. "No one likes a thief, right?"

That comment earned me the first smile I'd ever seen Andrew make. It looked good on him but it also looked strange, as if he didn't use those particular facial muscles all that often. "Why did you come and not Dave?"

"Dave's working back at the hotel. He said that the presentation just needs some finishing touches and he's eager to get back to it. Who am I to stop a man who's so dedicated to his job? I wish he told me earlier who'd called him. I would've adjourned immediately. I apologize for keeping you waiting so long."

I guess Andrew wasn't the ogre I thought. As much as I appreciated him coming to help me, Dave should have come instead. That was no way for a man to treat his wife. Then again, I was Andrew's wife this week, wasn't I?

"I'll pay you back."

"Pay me back how? Your wallet's been stolen and your stuff’s in Johannesburg."

My retort hadn't even left my lips when he scooped my hands into his and kissed my knuckles. "You're mine for an entire week, Barbara Ann. Have no fear, I’ll recoup every cent you owe. Lucky for you I do accept payment in kind."

"Ten bucks isn't a Queen’s Ransom, Andrew."

"I'm not talking about the ten dollars." He rose, drawing me up with him. "You're probably exhausted from your ordeal. Go back to your suite and take a shower. It'll make you feel better. I'll contact you soon. Goodbye, Barbara Ann." With that, he sat down at my table, turning his back to me.

I was out of my seat and far down the street before I realized that I'd obeyed him without even thinking about it. Although I’d taken a bath earlier I knew I'd be taking another one simply because he said so.


A gentle knock on the door barely registered in my consciousness. I opened up my bleary eyes and looked at the glowing 6:03 displayed on the clock radio. The knocking returned, faint yet insistent. I leaned up, allowing the thin sheet to fall to my waist. My pink, exposed nipples stiffened in the cool morning air. Dave still snored away happily. We'd tried to have sex last night but Dave couldn't perform. Presentation jitters, he claimed. Instead, I’d sucked his cock until his cum had filled my mouth. He had gone to bed satisfied. As for me, my restless, frustrated sleep left me bone tired. While I was deciding what to do, two maids entered the bedroom.

"What the hell?" I shrieked as I placed hands over my breasts. "Who said you could come in here? It's six a.m.!

As I elbowed Dave awake, one of the two maids explained that they would straighten out the room. Dave growled like a bear roused from its hibernation and asked them why they had arrived at such an ungodly hour. Both apologized, bending to the waist, but claimed they were ordered to start at this time by Mr. Grissolm.

With the dropping of that name all the fire oozed out of Dave like blood from a slit wrist.

Dave ordered breakfast from one of the maids, an omelette with mushrooms and Swiss cheese. The other maid presented Dave with an itinerary. He glanced over it , shaking his head all the while. He obviously didn't like what he saw.

"I’d like lox on a toasted poppy bagel with cream cheese, and a glass of freshly squeezed grapefruit juice," I said. "Then a bowl of strawberries with cream to finish."

The maid apologized, but said that she wasn’t permitted to fetch me anything. Apparently, my orders were to meet Mr. Grissolm downstairs at precisely 6:30 in the atrium. It was now 6:07. I didn't have much time.

I flew from the bed, ignoring Dave and the maids as I claimed the bathroom, bathed and dressed, then hustled downstairs to meet Andrew at the appointed time. I barely recognized him. He had transformed overnight. He wore loose, casual clothing. His light cream sports coat and comfortable pants draped over his muscular frame. They contrasted well against his olive green shirt. He pulled off the informal yet elegant look well. His dark sunglasses hid his eyes but I still felt his predator's gaze upon me. He grabbed my hand and tenderly kissed the knuckles.

"Good morning, Barbara Ann. How did you sleep?"

He didn't wait for the response as he pulled me behind him, leading me to a waiting stretch limo. He opened the door and hustled me inside.

He removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket. "If you're to play the role of my wife, you must look the part. I can't have you wearing the same clothes for three days. Especially not those." He pointed at my sneakers. "What do you prefer to wear?"

I told him. I liked shorts, certainly, but preferred dresses and skirts. Loose, flower print cotton summer dresses were my favorite. His questions came faster. How did I like my hair styled? What kind of jewelry and accessories did I own? Did I like leather and other natural materials or did I prefer synthetics? He wanted to know everything. I revealed all. Lying to him didn't even cross my mind.

As I spoke he made notes in a silver handheld device using a black plastic stylus, writing on it as if it was a piece of paper. I tried to crane my neck over to see what he jotted down, but couldn't make out anything. "This will be good for a start," he said. "Please continue."

The interrogation continued for twenty minutes. His terse comments told me that although he wrote down everything I said he didn't necessarily agree with my assessment. Many times he said that I’d look better in this item or in that way. I found myself agreeing with everything he said. His arrogant attitude told me that he expected no less from me. His cocksure attitude turned me on. I loved confident men.

He reached over and pulled a black leather pouch from the seat pocket and handed it to me. I pulled out a small folder from it. Flipping through it I realized it was some kind of dossier. I looked him a question.

"That's your life, Barbara Ann. You’re to memorize it before tonight’s presentation."

"Will there be a test?" I said, smiling.

"The test’s a live one. If someone asks you a question, you're to answer appropriately."

"What's the penalty for flunking?"

"Don't fuck this up, Barbara Ann." His words sent a chill creeping through my spinal column. His brown eyes flashed seriousness.

He ordered me out of the vehicle once we got to our destination, and told me to wait at the entrance of the plaza for him. He and the driver took off around the corner.

As odd as this morning was, I was having fun for the first time this trip. I don't know why, but I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I felt a definite thrill as if I’d entered some kind of spy story. There was another thing that excited me. So far he’d treated me better on this trip than my husband. He had given me responsibility, something I haven’t had outside the home for almost a decade. I’d enjoy working for someone again, especially a man like Andrew.


The shopping mall was a hub of activity, that was for sure! I wish I could say it was like any mall back home, but it really wasn't. These Margariteòos took their shopping seriously! Margarita is one of the few duty free zones in the world. In this place, taxes are severely curtailed. Things that would be ridiculously expensive back home sold cheap here, things you wouldn't expect. It made Margarita a shopper's paradise. I don't know what I was expecting but certainly not the opulence of this place.

It was not even seven yet, but throngs of people wandered the mall. Many of them were Hispanic but I heard many other accents. I heard French and German being spoken as well as a few other tongues I couldn't easily identify. I looked around the wide mall, stupefied, spinning in place as I did a slow rotation to take it all in. That is how Andrew found me; locked in a gradual spin with my mouth hanging open.

"Enjoying yourself, Barbara Ann? Don't make yourself dizzy."

I stopped my gawking and went to him. "Where do we go first?" I asked. I wanted out of these clothes now!

"The stores do not open until eight o'clock, but we can still wander the mall and decide which stores you want to hit. We can also go eat something if you wish. What would you like to do?" He offered me his arm, holding it out for a few moments until I clued in and took it. I laced my arm through his, thrilled that he’d make the gesture. He pulled me closer to him and started walking.

"Why did you ask for me?" I really wanted to know this. Like Dave said, he could afford to rent out an experienced escort for a few days. Why me, a housewife and mother of three young boys?

"Regrets already?"

"Not yet, but who knows how I’ll feel later? I really need to know, Andrew."

"It’s no mystery. I don't trust escorts with my personal business. Those stupid sluts are barely suitable for fucking. I need a real woman on my arm. Someone I'd be proud to have as mine in real life."

"Fair enough. But why me?"

"I need someone who's intelligent. It also helps that you're married to someone in the business. You probably heard enough of the jargon in your day-to-day so you won't feel out of place. A lot of people go blank when the talk about weapons systems, aircraft or small arms begins. I need a woman for more than just sex on this trip, Barbara Ann."

Playfully, I told him that I could certainly talk to him, but as a married woman couldn't have sex with him. Andrew cut me a knowing look, but said nothing. His compliments warmed me like the rising sun over the Arctic tundra. It would be only a matter of time until I thawed out beneath the rays of his praise. I sensed him to be a man who rarely gave compliments, and never without reason.

"I know what we're going to take care of first," he muttered, stopping in front of a large display window.

"What would that be?"

Andrew glanced sidewise at me, disturbed that I had broken into his thoughts, then shrugged his shoulders as if realizing it truly didn't matter. "Although I’ll take care of all your needs, your feet need special attention. I noticed you wear rather ill-fitting shoes. Your footwear doesn't flatter your feet at all. I intend to take care of this matter personally."

"Why do you hate them so much?" I asked him. "My runners are very comfortable."

"Is that so? Let's see." He knelt down in the middle of the mall hallway and took one of my feet in his hands. I looked around quickly to see if anyone had seen him. No one paid us any mind. Either people on Isla Margarita minded their own business or they cultivated a very relaxed atmosphere here. Andrew placed my foot on his leg, then ran his powerful hands over the back of my calf, up my leg, then up the inside of my thigh. He played with the tight band of material that encircled my fleshy thigh, looking up into my eyes as he did so. He must've seen my arousal smouldering there, a cinder re-ignited by his caresses.

"A nicely toned leg, Barbara Ann. I take it you work out. That's good." He continued stroking the length of my leg, moving both of his hands down my thighs, over my knee, and down my shins until he grasped me about the ankle. He undid my shoelace, and pulled off the canvas runner, letting it clatter to the rose coloured tiles. He gently cupped the heel of my foot in one of his palms, using his other hand's fingertips to trace swirling, fiery paths over the top of my foot, down the outer edge, then around the heel and over the arch and across the instep. His fingerpads felt like the tips of feathers as the danced over my sensitive skin.

Shuddering breath noisily exited my lungs. I never thought that contact with my foot could lead to such sensual feelings. The awkward position made it difficult for me to maintain my balance. This vulnerability also aroused me, I discovered. The loss of control became part of the experience. I leaned forward into him and braced my hand against his shoulder. He didn't seem to mind.

The position he maintained would look quite subservient to any observers, but his insolent manner would soon scrub such fallacious thoughts from them. He would do what he wanted wherever he wanted. Him kneeling in front of me didn't make him any less of a man. No, he was more manly because he'd do whatever pleased him regardless of the thoughts of others.

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