Dangerous game

Dangerous game
A Tantalizing story by M.
The evening sky slowly turns a darker blue. Here it is still light, down in the city dusk creeps up into the streets. It's been a hot day and it's still warm and sultry. I am on the outdoor terrace of a luxury penthouse, on top of a high-rise apartment building. Despite the height, I clearly hear the sounds of the city: the traffic, music, laughter. This high-rise apartment is not the only tall building in the area; further on are a few even taller office buildings. Here and there a window is illuminated. Even though it is evening, it is not certain that we will remain unseen out here. Not at all.
A large triangular canvas is stretched over the roof terrace. I'm standing under the awning, enjoying the view and a nice cool glass of white wine. He is leaning back on a comfortable lounge sofa with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He wears loose-fitting linen trousers and a casual shirt that hangs open. His body looks slim and toned, tanned, not heavily muscled but strong and sinewy. The look in his pale grey eyes is hard to fathom. An attractive man. A man used to getting what he wants, obviously. A wealthy and powerful man. Dangerous if he doesn't get things his way. But so am I.

Until today, I only knew his name and his reputation as a tough businessman. Someone who doesn't shy away from conflict. This morning I met him for the first time, in a tense meeting about a business conflict with my client. In the presence of others, I dealt with him harshly in that meeting. I demonstrated that I wasn't to be messed with. I saw that I surprised him, and that he liked it. I suspect he had never experienced it before: a woman lecturing him in a business discussion. Afterwards we happened to be in the elevator together, and after he had checked me from head to toe, he boldly invited me to his penthouse. Which of course was absolutely impossible, given our business conflict. So I said yes.
I'm wearing a black Soie Unie silk slip dress by Marjolaine, with a pair of nice thin stay-up stockings and tasteful Louboutin pumps with dizzyingly high stiletto heels. Nothing else. My loosely swaying bosom under the thin, smooth fabric of the slip dress does not escape his notice. Nor does the matt shine on my long, shapely legs. My shapes and curves have an intoxicating effect on him - and maybe his third whiskey, too. In any case, he is looser than would be wise, given our business conflict. It makes him overconfident, he ends up saying exactly what I was hoping to hear. Unsolicited, he gives me the means to deal with him tomorrow, when we will be facing each other again.

I know enough now; I could tell him I'm not feeling well, excuse myself and leave. But I don't want that. I want to fully savour my inevitable victory. Make him feel like he's the winner - and then drop him hard tomorrow. I turn to him and put down my wine glass. I signal him, beckon him to me. He stands up and I see that I am as tall as him, in my high heels. With both hands I slide his shirt off his shoulders. His strong shoulders and smooth chest are warm to the touch.
He hooks two forefingers under the thin shoulder straps of my slip dress, pulls them aside, then releases them. The silk dress slides soundlessly down, along my full hips, my endless stockinged legs, and ends up on the floor around my high stiletto heels. While I keep looking at him I step out, and push it aside with the tip of my pump. His admiring gaze descends to my wonderfully natural breasts. He takes both my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, lifts my slightly sagging breasts; I hold my breath in fright. When he lets go of them, I see my nipples swell.

He pulls something out of his pocket. I recognize what he's holding there: a pair of metal nipple clamps connected by a metal chain. I feel a tickle of excitement, of tension in my stomach. I know the sensation of pain and pleasure that reinforce each other all too well. Those are vicious clamps, with a mechanism that increases the pinching force when pulled. Taking a deep breath, I straighten my back and push my tender breasts forward, watching intently as he places the first clamp on my areola, then the other. A fierce, glowing sensation travels from my nipples through my breasts and into my abdomen. I bite my lower lip, as I need a moment to get my breathing under control. The pain slowly dies down to a level I can handle. All my senses are on edge now, I feel every movement of my breasts, of my upper body.
I feel proud that I can handle this, endure the pain, and I see that it fascinates and excites him immensely. Slowly I walk back and forth a few steps, rocking my bosom, the metal clamps and the swinging chain attached to my nipples. Carefully I support my soft breasts with both hands, I cast a challenging look in his direction. His hand slides to the crotch of his trousers and rips open the buttons. He takes his hard member in his hand and I can see he can't hold back. He wants me to get on my hands and knees on the lounge sofa. Moving cautiously, I obey. Every movement sends electric shocks from my nipples through my breasts to my abdomen and into my brain steaming with excitement.

Now it's his turn to hit me hard. His hands sink eagerly and forcefully into the creamy flesh of my full buttocks. A hand grabs the chain between the clamps on my extremely sensitive nipples and jerks it. I let out a loud moan of shock and pain and pleasure, feeling my whole body tremble with desire. I feel his hand, his fingers, searching for my moist warmth, and then his hard body that rudely takes possession of me.

Before I let myself sink into a sea of pleasure, my gaze wanders to my handbag, which is nearby under the lounge sofa. Inside it is my phone, with the recording function activated.

I hope everything is clearly audible on it, so that I can replay it tomorrow.