Isabel pressed the button marked ‘PH’ for access to the Penthouse. The elevator did not budge. ‘What the hell,’ she thought, on edge from the anticipation of seeing the mysterious Jack again. Self-conscious because she was far from properly attired to be in a place like this, she squeezed her legs together finding that she was totally turned on at what she hoped was to come. 

The elevator door opened and an elegant 30-something couple got in. After a polite “Buonasera” which Isabel returned, the couple got off on the third floor, without much of an afterthought about Isabel.

‘Oh,’ Isabel thought. ‘The key card,’ and this time around she swiped it and the elevator went directly to the penthouse, not stopping at any floor.

Isabel trembled as she walked down the long marble corridor past elegant antiques, art and mirrors. The Persian rug runner along the hall absorbed the clank of her high heels. She stopped at an opulent mirror just a few feet from Jack’s door, partly to freshen her make-up but mostly to gather her courage. She was almost there. No one knew where she was, what she was up to and she had no clue as to what was next.

She had made the mental note, ‘text Luca to cover tracks’ but had totally forgotten about that item on her check list. Right here, right now, Luca was the farthest thing from her mind. Jack was right inside that massive double door at the end of the hall. 

‘No. He is absolutely not a photographer,’ Isabel concluded, wondering who and what Jack was and how her fate led her here; to Rome, to this so-called marriage with Luca, to her first pseudo infidelity with Jack, to this situational triangle that started with Luca’s initiation of her into the world of submission and domination. She unlocked the door.

Jack sat in a throne-like 18th century chair, like a duke or count of by-gone days. He smiled at Isabel as she walked in and dropped her cheap shawl to reveal her firm, erect nipples under the translucent blouse. She trembled visibly to Jack who took a long sip of Cognac from a crystal glass, aroused at the site of this girl. He smiled at here. It was an almost paternal smile, if it had not been for the lustful gaze at her nearly-naked breasts, his sizing up of her dangling scarf, the tight skirt, discreet heels and disheveled hair.

They remained locked in a stare that was broken by Jack’s command, “Come, Isabel.”

She walked toward him, each step echoing on the marble floor as she approached. She obeyed, stopping a foot short of him. She waited for the next command. Rushing into the arms of her recent one-night-stand would be contrite. It would not be befitting of their relationship, Isabel thought. Nor, would it have been in accordance with how she had been trained by Luca. 

“Kneel,” Jack commanded, uncovering a familiar protrusion.

Isabel knelt on the stone-cold marble in front of his 9-inch offering. She could hardly wait to get her lips around it. She wanted him. Isabel jumped the gun and leaned toward his member with a yearning she had never felt before.  

“No,” Jack said grabbing her hair and pulling her away.

‘How could he deny her,’ Isabel thought. She needed to feel the familiar thrust of his meat into her mouth; for him to gag her, for him to fill her throat with his power, for his absolute domination and for his sex. And she needed it now. She paused, aching for what was next.

“Take off your skirt,” Jack said, “Do it slowly and turn your back to me.”

He enjoyed the languid removal of this article of clothing, admiring her firm, full buttocks. He expected panties, but, Isabel had lost them earlier in the evening during her dinner date with Luca. Jack wondered if she had come this undressed specifically for him, or, if he was a continuation of something she started earlier in the evening. It didn’t really matter. 

“Bend over and touch yourself,” Jack said.

Isabel did as she was told, but with the first fingering of her nub, Isabel felt her loins involuntarily contracting signaling an orgasm. ‘No,’ she thought. ‘Not so fast. This can’t be happening. I will disappoint Jack.’ She tried to fight off the orgasm, but, it took her violently, involuntarily as Jack stroked himself.

‘This will cool her off,’ he thought, dousing her in ice cold water from the bucket that chilled their dry French rose.

Isabel’s body tensed then shivered, still in the same position. She dear not move without his permission.

“Lie down on your stomach, Isabel, and put your hands in front of you,” Jack said.

She lay in the ice and water, waiting for the next command. Jack came back with a box of toys. Tonight, he was going to play with Isabel. All night. 

Jack blindfolded Isabel. She was shaking from the cold. He then bound her wrists in front of her with vinyl handcuffs. They were immobile. Unlike the handcuffs in San Francisco that clanked, these just held her hands firmly together and hurt her wrists. She continued in her prone position, listening for cues to what might be next.

She sensed a slight rustling just a second before the first flog went down on her ass with a ‘whop’ followed by a second, third, fourth and fifth. Jack stopped to admire his work. The welts grew quickly on her cold, wet bottom and thighs. Isabel sobbed in pain but reveled in her regained arousal.

“On your hands and knees,” he commanded. 

Isabel struggled for balance on the wet marble with her two hands bunched together in front of her and her knees bent a little wider apart to keep her from falling back into the water. Jack put a collar around Isabel’s neck, then attached a leash.

He grabbed a latex dildo out of his box of toys. He put it in front of Isabel’s mouth.

“Is this what you want,” he asked. Isabel nodded. He pushed the soft instrument in and out of Isabel’s mouth as he stroked himself to a full, complete erection. He then replaced the dildo with his own hard, throbbing, hot member.