“We don’t have to talk about that part of my relationship with him Gianna, and I totally understand you not wanting to, but just being here this morning, it means so much to me.”
We continued to hold hands and enjoy the comfortable silence as we both reflected on the revelations that we had discovered about each other that morning. I knew Gianna wasn’t pleased with everything she had learned about me, but I was so glad that I could be honest with her about it and she didn’t end our relationship over it.
I also couldn’t believe that amidst all of the turmoil, she confessed her love for me. My elation at hearing that news was also coupled with no small measure of guilt over the threesome that James and I had with Megyn.
Gianna could somehow, amazingly, understand and deal with me letting James restrain and flog me. However, James paying for a marathon sex session with a dancer we had just met in a strip club, and then me having sex with her again for hours after he fell asleep; yeah, not so much.
The threesome with Megyn and any other subsequent trysts was just going to have to go under the umbrella of the things that Gianna and I agreed not to talk about, and I was somehow going to have to try to live with the guilt of that.
I noticed that Gianna was looking around the expansive, extravagant suite.
“So this is how the other half live?” she said, smiling at me, her mood lightening considerably.
“Yeah, this is what I’m forced to deal with each time I meet him,” I said teasingly.
Gianna and I both came from middle-class families, but extravagance on this level was just as foreign to her as it was to me, at least before I met James.
She released my hand, rose from the couch, and scurried into the kitchen and started to explore. I poured another cup of coffee and watched in enjoyment as she admired the elegant decor of the suite while I was mesmerized by her every movement.
She was dressed in baggy black sweatpants that seemed to somehow, miraculously, mold to her amazing ass perfectly. She was also wearing a pretty pink t-shirt with pink tennis shoes. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and she wasn’t wearing makeup. I knew she had thrown on her clothes and come immediately when I called. But damn, she still looked stunning and I had no idea how anyone could look so beautiful with absolutely no effort.
She exited the kitchen and went into the dining room.
“Mel, what’s this on the table?”
I got up and walked over to the dining room table. There was a small, oval velvet box on top of a note that was handwritten on Bellagio stationery. Next to that, there was an envelope with ‘Gianna’ written on the front.
She looked at me expectantly.
“I had no idea any of this was over here,” I said truthfully, “but that envelope is obviously for you.”
Gianna hesitantly opened the envelope and pulled out a handwritten note, again on Bellagio stationery. Wanting to give her privacy, I watched as she read it. She smiled and passed the note to me so I could read it. It said:
“Gianna, I want to thank you again for your assistance in helping me choose an executive chef. Your input was invaluable and I sincerely appreciated it. Additionally, I thoroughly enjoyed spending the evening with you and Melanie and it was a genuine pleasure to get to know you a little better. As much as it pains me to lose my best server, would you consider a promotion to assistant manager? If you’re interested, David will tell you about your new duties and the considerable increase in pay. Continued success in your studies. Sincerely, James Moretti.”
I watched as Gianna’s face lit up as she removed twenty, one hundred dollar bills out of the envelope. Her mouth dropped open as she looked into my eyes.
“God Mel, I… I… I don’t know if I can accept this,” she said, as she counted the money.
“Of course, you can accept it, you deserve every cent of it, honey.”
Seeing the joyous look in her eyes as she counted the money, gave me so much happiness.
“Do you think I should accept the promotion?”
“Of course, you should. You’ve worked so hard in that restaurant, no one deserves it more.”
She sat the money back on the table, pulled me to her, and hugged me tightly.
“The money, the promotion, I know this is all because of you Mel,” she said softly, into my ear.
We broke our passionate embrace and looked into each other’s eyes.
“No Gianna, all of your hard work and good advice has paid off; it doesn’t have anything to do with me.”
“Yeah right,” she said smiling, as I looked into her sparkling brown eyes.
Our attention then turned to the small oval box on the table and the handwritten note beneath it. I picked it up and Gianna and I read it together. It said:
“I’m sorry again that I had to leave so unexpectedly this morning. I promise I’ll make it up to you. James.”
I picked up the small oval, velvet box and opened it. Inside was a pair of two karat diamond stud earrings encased in gold. My jaw dropped open as Gianna and I silently studied the small, intricate jewelry for several moments.
“Melanie, they’re beautiful,” she said, breaking the silence.
“They are,” I said in agreement.
“I’m hesitant to even bring this up. But, do you think he’s giving you the earrings because of, you know, what happened last night?”
I pondered her question for a moment, mentally playing back the evening’s tumultuous events.
“No, I don’t think it has anything to do with that Gianna.”
I knew what she was trying to ask me was, ‘Did I think James felt guilty about anything we had done?’ I knew the answer to that question was definitely no.
I knew him well enough to know that he didn’t have any remorse or guilt over anything that had transpired the night before. From the first evening we met, James reveled in having rough, aggressive sex with me. Now, after last night, I could add ‘bound’ and ‘flogged’ to that list. It was as if with each passing night I was with him, he beckoned me to walk further down this dark, carnal path with him and that was creating a conundrum that I was having difficulty solving. I knew he would never force me to do these things with him. I had to consent to them. But as he pushed me further, where would my breaking point be? How much could I take before I used my safe words and tapped out? That was the question that was haunting me.
If James did have a regret, it was leaving this morning without talking to me and making sure I was okay with everything that we had done.
Thankfully, that ended our discussion of the previous night’s activities. I was still trying to make sense of everything that had happened, and answering questions from Gianna only made that more difficult.
I amorously took Gianna’s hand and gave her an impromptu guided tour of the suite. While we went from room to room, she marveled at the decadent, extravagant decor. We paused briefly inside the walk-in closet that was attached to the ‘hers’ bathroom. I watched as she began thumbing through the very provocative club dresses that James purchased for me to wear. Instantly, I began playing back the ‘Yellow Scrunch Dress’ incident of the night before in my mind.
“He really does expect you to wear these dresses when you are out with him, doesn’t he?”
“Yes he does,” I said hesitantly.
“Someday you’re going to have to explain ‘James Moretti Logic’ to me.”
“The minute I understand it, honey, you’ll be the next to know.”
She smiled and lovingly and took my hand, “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”
We walked into the bathroom together and Gianna turned on the water in the large brownstone resin tub. I watched as she poured scented oil and dropped bath salts into the steaming hot water. While I was loosening my bathrobe, I saw her slide her pink t-shirt up over her head and begin to slip off her tennis shoes.
“And just what are you doing?” I said.
“I’m joining you, of course,” she said, smiling seductively.
After we had both finished undressing, I watched Gianna slip into the water and slide up against the back of the large tub. I entered the tub after her and then sat down in the water, both of us facing the same direction. I then slid back and felt her wrap her arms around me, holding me securely, lovingly while her breasts pressed into my back.
The warm, soothing water felt so good on my aching joints and muscles. It may sound obvious, but I had never realized that dominant sex play like I had experienced the night before, could be so physically demanding and mentally exhausting.
I knew I couldn’t discuss it with Gianna, especially when I could hardly admit it to myself, but as I played back the events of the previous evening, I came to the realization that what we had done was intensely erotic to me. To give up all control and put an almost incalculable amount of trust in another person for my safety and well-being, had elevated our sexual intimacy to a plane that I didn’t even know existed. Additionally, there was an element of danger and extreme taboo involved in this type of sex play that perhaps should have worried me. However, it only seemed to add another dimension to the intense, erotic nature of the act itself.
Even though I was certain that I couldn’t handle that type of intense play every time James and I had sex, it was as if Pandora’s preverbal box had been opened, and I knew I couldn’t go back to the conventional and ordinary sex I had experienced before I met James.
I moaned as I felt Gianna’s mouth gently kiss my neck which quickly brought me back to the now. I closed my eyes and enjoyed her tender, loving ministrations to one of the most sensitive and erogenous areas of my body. Under the water, her hands began to roam. They moved up and down my stomach, over my thighs, and then over my breasts. My nipples hardened as they slipped between each of her fingers.
“I missed you so much honey,” she said in a low, husky voice. “I know it was only a couple of days, but it felt like months, and all I could think about was holding you again.”
I tried to return her affectionate words with commensurate ones of my own, but my voice was lost when I felt her hands move lower from my breasts to between my legs. I gasped as the tips of her fingers exquisitely drifted over the lips of my sex. I closed my eyes and enjoyed her delicate, deft touch.
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