Venice Heat
by NovaD
Chapter Four:

Paul Everhardt didn't believe in vibes. Any talk of the metaphysical reminded him of actors who annoyed him in general. Whether or not the day would be good or bad largely depended on how much he had slept of if he'd gotten laid. A protracted, contentious meeting with Zephyr Studio's most talented and drug addicted screenwriter kept him at work until well past midnight. Then, he couldn't sleep because the idiot had made him so crazy. And the last time his sheets saw any kind of regular action, no one had heard of Monica Lewinski. He had wanted to call Dominique, but something prevented him. Paul was in a very foul mood.

It didn't help to see Dagmar Olanoff seated at the conference table. "Great," he thought. "I'm way off my game and the bitch on wheels looks as fresh as morning dew." Something about the way she held her head made him take a closer look at his favorite nemesis as he sat directly across from her. No, she *appeared* at ease. On closer look, Paul could tell by the sharp stiff strokes applied to her pen that the Mistress was pissed.

The morning was suddenly looking up. This meeting wouldn't be nearly as annoying if he could rattle Olanoff's cage. Then there was that element of danger that Paul loved to court. Although teasing the Mistress had yet to cause him physical pain, he hadn't ruled it out as a possibility. Her mercurial temperament made the affects of a well-timed joke or bon mot hard to predict. His eye drifted to the lighted, framed poster on the far wall. It had been a masterstroke for Paul to find a poster of the only film in which Dagmar starred during her brief career as an actress. He couldn't find any prints of the film. That must have cost her a lot of time and money. But there was that one poster of "Amazon Gypsy Queen" that he had mounted and hung prominently in the boardroom.

Dagmar had spotted it immediately when she breezed in late for a major meeting. Paul waited for the explosion. Her face had been a curious mix of wry amusement.

"You know, I showed my agent a night that he still calls me about. It wasn't as though he lacked incentive," she'd said wistfully. "And that monstrosity was the best he could do."

The meeting went on. No fireworks. Though she did send him an extra scorpion for his office. Taunting the Mistress this time would be more dangerous now that she knew his body and watched him fuck. There was no telling from where the counterattack would come. That made the morning much more intriguing. As Paul settled in the seat across from Dagmar, she glanced up at him briefly. Her hooded gray-green eyes flashed at him. A warning shot. She really did look like a refined gypsy. When Paul was in a kind frame of mind, he admitted Mistress Dagmar was beautiful. She had a powerful erotic presence that even he was aware of on a subliminal level. But he tried not to think about that. He wanted to amuse himself. But Zack Cohn, President of TV Entertainment had other things in mind.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," he said. "As you know, we've had some shuffling about of management in anticipation of the merger with Amalgamated Entertainment."

"That's gone through?" Dagmar asked. There was something about her tone that made Cohn wonder if it ever would.

Cohn seemed a little shaken but recovered quickly. "We're down some execs and need coverage at NAPTE."

Dagmar's lips went to a thin line. Paul felt his eyebrow rising to his hairline.

"You want us to drop everything on our own schedules to do a convention that has been in the works for a year?" Paul asked with incredulity. "Lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine."

"It's only three days in Vegas, not the moon, Paul," Cohn snapped. "The booth must be manned at all times. We merely need you to attend some functions and make some meetings. Now, I know you've got more than an earful of wise assed remarks. You have every right to be ticked.

"We screwed up, but if you two aren't out there, the whole company will get screwed," he said. "You're good at convincing people they're idiotic if they don't see things your way. That's it. You're both on a flight tomorrow morning."

Cohn handed them each a black binder then hurried out of the room like he was being pursued by demons.

Dagmar flipped through the pages with disinterest. "Well, you're good at making people feel like idiots, at any rate," she said ruefully.

"You knew this was coming?"

"I was told yesterday."

"Oh, yes. Darling Kimberly."

"I didn't believe her. Thought she'd taken up a crack pipe," Dagmar replied. "And there's more."

"More?" Paul asked. He couldn't hide the tension in his voice.

"We can't talk about it here," Dagmar quickly stacked her papers. "Meet me at my place."

"Give me two hours to rearrange my life," Paul said sourly.

It took every bit of two hours and then some. He was still rescheduling when he turned his car into Dagmar's driveway. Her car wasn't there. He supposed that the amazon driver was on business for the Mistress. There was music drifting from the open kitchen door. Steven was dancing around the airy room sorting out an insane array of lettuces. Paul figured that there were about four cases of the stuff. He lost interest in the produce fairly quickly. The young man was far more interesting to look at.

Dagmar certainly had good taste in men. Dominique was incredible and this boy was not far behind. The camera liked him. His test had been a disaster, but he looked beautiful on film. It was his coloring -- that tawniness that wasn't a tan. And it was the way the pouty lips and long eyelashes balanced the planes of his face and that pronounced jawline saving him from looking too hard.

He moved with an innate sensuality. The Mistress had a keen perception of the boy's hedonism. It spoke volumes even in the mundane work he was doing. His elegant fingers handled the green leaves delicately as if he were savoring the touch of each of the thready veins. And of course Paul hadn't forgotten the wild abandon he showed while being taken by two men. It didn't surprise him that the boy enjoyed having his cock sucked by a man. Men really know how to suck cock. But what Paul was remembering with increasing heat was how that tight virgin passage opened up and swallowed his dick. Paul had been careful, but not that considerate. He slammed that tight ass for all his worth and Steven went with it. He was even pushing back near the end. That was something Paul could use right then. Steven was startled to find Paul observing him, but he recovered quickly.

"Whoa…sorry. I'm totally spaced here," Steven said. "Never had to cope with so much roughage. Dagmar left you a note."

Paul accepted it. She was called out for a little while. He was told to wait and make himself at home.

"Can I interest you in some wine or perhaps in a head or two of lettuce. We have a fine selection today."

"What's with the lettuce?" Paul asked knowing that the answer would likely confuse him.

"Dagmar went to the farmer's market this morning," Steven said. "She came back with all this muttering about married lettuce boys. I don't get it, but I didn't want to press."

Paul accepted the crisp glass of wine with a nod.

"So how about some romaine and some butter lettuce to take home?"

Paul found himself staring with rapt fascination at Steve's dark nipples which were showing through the white tank top he wore. It was a snug fitting thing of fine cotton knit. It was perfect with his coloring. No doubt chosen for that reason. Paul sipped his wine slowly moving his gaze up to Steve's eyes. The young man had ceased chattering and was looking at Paul quizzically.

"You'd prefer iceberg?"

"No… I'd prefer something else…" Paul replied closing the distance between them. He easily cornered the confused young man against the wide counter. He dipped his head to capture one of those impudent nipples through the cloth and sucked on it. Steven gasped arching into the invading mouth. Paul moved from the tit he was torturing to nuzzle the tawny throat exposed to him. The boy's skin was sweet and responsive. His head was tilted back. His eyes were closed. His erection was hitting against Paul's thigh.

"Slut," Paul murmured before pulling Steven's face down to cover his mouth with a hot kiss. That was sweet, too. And talented. The boy had one hot, hungry mouth. And as soon as he got Steven heated up enough, Paul planned to have that mouth on his cock.

Paul deepened the kiss pressing his crotch against Steven's and feeling his ass. The young man moaned in his mouth. This was going to be very nice. Then, there was a hand in his hair gently but firmly pulling him out of the embrace. Paul found himself pressed against Dominique -- literally wrapped in his arms from behind.

"What the hell are you doing?" He murmured in Paul's ear.

"Dagmar told me to make myself at home," Paul replied molding into the hold. His eyes were still on Steven who was panting and dazed with lust.

"She meant with me," he said impatiently.

"Doesn't she like to share her toys?"

"She loves to. But she wants to watch the play. You'll be coming with me. Take that any way you want," he said harshly. "Steven, you will not be faulted. Dagmar has not instructed you as to how to handle her guests. Take care of that boner then get back to all of this… this salad."

Dominique steered Paul out of the kitchen up the stairs to the guest bedroom they'd shared before. He was shoved inside.

"You're on your way to her shackles," Dominique smiled.

"No," Paul replied.

"You are a slave to your flesh, Angel," he said moving closer. "To her, flesh is flesh. When she reaches that part of you where it's just a matter of being pleasured, you will be hers. Take your clothes off."

Paul started to argue merely for the sake of pride, but his cock reminded him that it needed and wanted attention. He pulled off his sweater while kicking off his shoes. It was a little clumsy, because he kept trying to watch Dominique slip out of his clothes. They were naked in short order.

Dominique went for Paul's hair first. He freed it from the ponytail without so much as one snag.

"I don't know why you grew all of this to keep it tied up," he murmured nuzzling it for a moment. Paul found himself sighing. The man had seemed so angry at first that he thought that he was in for some real abuse. Instead, Paul found himself being lowered carefully to the mattress then thoroughly kissed. It felt good. He'd missed kissing. The last time they were together, it hadn't been a priority.

"You are sweet, aren't you?" Dominique whispered before kissing his eyelids.

Paul grunted. That was not a word he often heard applied to him. It didn't matter as long as the kisses continued. They did and on more than his mouth. The beautiful man spent a lot of time tasting him. Paul was gasping and moaning before long. The entire day was forgotten.

"I'm of a mind for some sixty-nine," Dominique whispered moving Paul as if he were a rag doll. Paul latched onto Dominique and started sucking. The man tasted so good that he wanted to go on forever, but they were both too turned on. It didn't take long before Paul shot off. Dominique was a second later. Paul was in a much better mood.

Dagmar was on her deck when Paul got himself together enough to talk. Steven was nearby lying on a towel. He seemed to be dozing. The little pug was asleep beside him.

"I like that look on your face, Paul," Dagmar said with a smile. "I have a feeling this will make you much easier to deal with."

Paul glanced at her sideways.

"Yes, it will," Dominique said. "Thanks for the snack. I've got a gallery opening cross town. See you when you get back, Paul. Mistress, it is a pleasure to serve."

"Bye, pet."

Paul settled himself and accepted the large glass of lemonade proffered. "Let's have it."

"We're being set up for a really big fall," Dagmar said. "My sources tell me that though the booth is manned, a lot is not quite as prepared as it should be."

"That doesn't make sense. Why send us unprepared?" Paul asked. "They'd look like idiots."

"We'd look like idiots. It's on our watch. There's more. They've got us traveling coach and sharing a room… not a suite."

"Pushing our buttons until we loose it publicly," Paul murmured thoughtfully. "They want to clean house for the merger. What are you proposing?"

"I can loose Kimberly and Charity on that place and get everything we need for the job. We will be prepared. The harder part is what is required of us personally," she replied.


Dagmar sipped her drink while gazing at him levelly. "It is as simple and as difficult as this: we cannot allow our buttons to be pushed. We have to work together and appear to enjoy it."

Paul considered this. The situation was very serious. He'd seen careers end during events like this. He resented being manipulated and wondered how he had missed this coming. Then, there was the matter of Mistress Dagmar.

"I will not use this to further my campaign with you," she said as if reading his mind. "There must be no duress or my victory would be hollow."

Paul raised an eyebrow. It would be a chance to unhinge a plot against him and a golden opportunity to torment Dagmar.

"We need to plan," he said.

In the end, they did not fly coach. Dagmar upgraded the seats on her own as soon as they checked in. Kimberly and Charity were dispatched in advance to make sure all was in order. Paul tried to relax and go over the material in the black binder. Were there any new programs that weren't completely insipid? Well, two, he decided. However, they were Dagmar's. He wasn't about to turn this into a lovefest. No one would believe him.

The Mistress was relaxed and silent reading the trades then writing in a journal. It was a quiet trip which surprised Paul. She seemed very comfortable in the quiet. She didn't put him on edge there as she did in the office. He eventually nodded off.

Charity awaited with a limo at the airport. Paul was very grateful for Dagmar's toadies. He was quickly isolated then whisked away from the great unwashed with their grimy nickels jingling in faux leather purses.

Kimberly was there with notepad in hand.

"You have a six p.m. reception. Here is the guest list. All printed materials are at the site. Here is a list of celebs that will be coming by during the convention. And here are the faxes for the attending media.

"This is great," Dagmar said. "Give us an hour to figure out who to throw at what media. How about the room?"

Kimberly sighed. "No luck unless you want to go downtown."

"Hardly. We'll make do. Won't we Paul?"

Paul nodded. "It'll mess with some minds. So, why not?"

"That's the team spirit."

"You're already checked in," Kimberly continued. "Here are your keys."

"Good girl. Keep your ear to the ground and keep me informed," Dagmar said. "We're here, Paul. Show time."

Paul couldn't complain about the room despite having to share. It was large, opulently appointed with an astonishing view of the strip. The huge bed occupied most of the room save for a small table with two chairs. He actually liked the idea of sleeping with the Mistress while denying what she craved. Besides, the bed was big enough for four without fear of encroachment.

Aside from the well- stocked honor bar, there was a room service cart which held a lovely assortment of cold hors d'ordoerves. It was just enough food and drink to take the edge off of hunger and frayed nerves.

"It must be nice to have acolytes," he commented.

"Yes, it is," she replied over her shoulder. Dagmar was hanging up the contents of her garment bag on one side of the closet. Paul followed suit. "But my little ones do everything out of love."

Paul grunted derisively. He chose some snacks then poured a glass of wine preferring not to think about how she inspired such loyalty. Dominique's relationship with her both intrigued and disturbed him, but he wouldn't ask.

By two p.m. all of the calls had been made. All the material had been reviewed. Dagmar stretched like a languid cat gazing at Paul intently.

"We have at least three hours to kill," she said. "Let's do something fun."

Paul looked at her suspiciously. "You want to hit the tables?"

"No. I never gamble with money," she replied. "Let's do something tacky and silly."

"Get married at a drive through chapel?"

Dagmar laughed heartily at that. "Wouldn't that make them apoplectic! No, I had something much less drastic in mind. Let's indulge our inner geek."

"I don't have an inner geek," Paul snorted.

Everyone in this business has an inner geek," she said. "Mine has a hankering to go to Star Trek: The Experience."

That gave Paul pause. He'd been curious to go for some time, but hadn't wanted to make a special trip to do it.

"We can always tell people that we were checking out the effects," she offered.

"True," Paul thought. He did want to see it and he sure didn't want to spend too much time alone in the room with her. "Let's go."

They slipped through the throngs on the first floor of the hotel-casino. Neither saw anyone they recognized. The Experience was almost empty save for the staff. That suited Paul. He didn't like crowds in general. Crowds of the outwardly geeky would have been too much to bear. The exhibit hall to the attraction was amazing. Paul found himself staring at each of the props and costumes with a fascination that surprised him. So much for the jaded producer.

"No matter how many of these shows come out, this is always the one to top," Dagmar murmured.

A guide called out that the next shuttle was taking off. Paul and Dagmar picked up the pace to catch it. What followed was almost fifteen minutes of pure, intense fun. They were thoroughly swept up in the action from the moment they realized that they were on a transporter pad. Dagmar squealed with delight and Paul had to react as well. It was a rush.

They were let out onto a replica of Deep Space Nine's Promenade where they past Quark's bar.

"You want to?" Paul asked indicating the bar.

"When in Rome," Dagmar shrugged.

Paul was impressed. He was certain that the show's actual sets wouldn't look as good under close scrutiny.

"If we'd had sets like these, "Space Vixen" would still be on the air," Dagmar said.

Paul nearly choked on his tranya. "But you'd still have Evalina, the silicone queen."

"I still think the show could have overcome her if it didn't look so bad."

"Give it up, Dagmar," Paul chuckled. "That show was never going to rise above the high concept drivel that spawned it. Zephyr stands a better chance doing science fiction with Royers which is why you're after him."

Dagmar raised a brow. "So you have you're ear to the ground as well."

He nodded. "That's why I don't understand how this NAPTE maneuver got past me. Or you for that matter."

"Not to worry. I will find out. Then we can both work that magic we work so well," she said with an evil smile.

"To schadenfreud," Paul said raising his glass.

"Amen," Dagmar replied.

Later, Paul had allowed Dagmar to prevail upon him to shower first.

"Darling, I just need to get clean. I have the outer vanity to put on the war paint. It'll be ten minutes," she'd said in the elevator.

"Ten minutes and I come drag you out by the hair," Paul said without thinking.

"Promises, promises," Dagmar leered.

She was out in eight minutes with a cloud of fragrant steam, head wrapped in a towel, body wrapped in a crimson kimono. The bathroom was clean and relatively dry. Paul relaxed, turned on the radio and settled in for a long, pounding hot shower.

An hour later, he was brushing his hair at the vanity while Dagmar nattered away on the phone networking away. From what he could tell, she'd managed to contact some major distributors and media. And she made it sound like they'd hood winked management into letting them attend the convention. . From what he could tell, they were buying what she was outrageously selling. She had also managed to contact some major media and distributors. Paul envied her. He didn't feel comfortable schmoozing. He was better one on one with facts and figure.

"You are a vision, pet," Dagmar purred from behind him. He wore black Versace with a red, collarless silk shirt. His hair flowed down his back in shiny honey colored waves. "Good enough to eat."

"Thank you," he replied standing. Dagmar looked good too in a chocolate colored soft silk knit jersey dress that came to mid-calf. It was all business from the front with it's high neckline, but it had an enticingly low back. It was something like Kim Novak would have worn in one of those wonderful old movies. Her hair was pinned in an elegant chignon. Elegant and erotic as always.

They arrived at the reception a half an hour after it began. It was a cavernous room at the convention center. The theme seemed to be cyber space related. Ordinarily, the decorations would have been impressive, but not after an afternoon at Quark's bar. They snagged champagne glasses as a tray went by.

Dagmar sampled. "A middling vintage. Not bad for a party this size. Shall we hunt?"


"Not that kind," Dagmar laughed. "We can do that later. Let's get to work."

They parted company. Dagmar stalked into the crowd. Paul worked his way to the buffet table scanning the crowd. He didn't have to work hard. His roomie's work and her reputation preceded them. Most of his encounters began with questions about Dagmar and since Paul enjoyed making wry commentary on the topic, it was a good opening. Over the next hour and a half, he chatted with a half dozen important contacts. All agreed to come to the booth over the next two days.

Paul took a seat at a cocktail table with a plate of lump crab meat, a cup of clarified butter and a fresh glass of champagne. This was one of his favorite little pleasures. He took time to savor it a little while before setting fourth once more.

"I've always loved watching you suck seafood," a husky voice said from in front of him.

A coldness shrouded Paul's happy mood. He looked up to find his ex, Sinclair. He was beautiful in a cream colored silk suit and open necked silk shirt of the came color. This was devastating against his cinnamon colored skin. He was smiling at him. That beautiful mouth looked even better smiling. Paul didn't want to meet those soft gray eyes, but he had to.

"But then, I always liked what you could do with that mouth."

"Hello, Sinclair. I didn't know you still worked the crowds here," Paul said crisply. "I thought you had lackeys for that."

"They're here, but I like to keep in touch," he replied. "Did you switch to TV?"

"No. I'm being a team player," Paul said.

Sinclair took a seat. "And from what the buzz is, you're a good one. You always could surprise me…so versatile…so willing to please…but I never thought you went for fag hags."

Paul sipped his champagne placidly despite his rising anger. "You assume too much. You always have."

"I know that viper," Sinclair nearly hissed. "And you are just another potential convert to her notion of universal hedonism."

Paul ignored him despite the automatic erection. He focused on his food. Suddenly, he could feel a hand in his hair and warm breath in his ear.

"You need to get back to basics, pretty Paul. Come to my room and let me take care of you," he said softly.

Paul got harder and angrier. He remembered how powerfully Sinclair could make him come. But he remembered other things as well. His voice failed him. He was afraid his denial would sound false. Sinclair knew he was hard. He was afraid of screaming at the man. He was desperately afraid that he would leave with him.

"You do like to live dangerously, Sinclair," Dagmar drawled in an icy tone.

"Why, Dagmar, I thought you only whipped your pets, " Sinclair replied.

She sneered at him. "I wouldn't soil my equipment on you. Dominique, however, may not feel the same way."

Paul felt hard eyes on him. He kept his own on Dagmar.


"Yes," Paul said with a small smile. "You know how much I like French chocolate."

"And you know how much he doesn't like you," Dagmar said. "He could be here any time. Do you want to provide a floor show for your clients?"

"You'd love that wouldn't you?" Sinclair snapped. "But I won't entertain the Mistress. I'll leave Paul, like my other leftovers, to Miss Thing. Goodbye Paul."

"Goodbye, Sinclair."

Somehow, Paul managed another two hours of schmoozing. This time, he stayed with Dagmar. Time passed quickly because he was totally focused on the matter at hand. He wouldn't allow himself to think about anything else. After Sinclair humiliated him two years before, Paul produced three films in quick succession out of desperation to not think about his life.

It seemed that suddenly they were back in the room. He'd always figured the Mistress for a clever chatterer in an awkward situation. But she was silent for the most part. When he was slumped in the chair, she wordlessly urged him to get undressed and into the hot bath she'd run for him. It had a Jacuzzi which was heaven. However, as the tension left his body, so did the anger. By the time he climbed into bed, he was overwhelmed with sadness.

"Do you sleep in a robe, Paul?"

Paul shook his head. He realized that he hadn't said a word since they stepped off the elevator. He felt Dagmar finally move him until he was naked then under the covers. He marveled at the firmness of her touch. It was a touch that brooked no resistance. He complied and was naked under the cool sheets. The room was dark and utterly quiet. Paul felt so completely alone.

Later, he would wonder how she knew what he was feeling. At that moment, he didn't care. He was being held and his hair was being gently stroked just as the sobs overwhelmed him. She was warm in some soft jersey nightgown. Her arms were very strong. She smelled good. For a long while, all she did was hold him and pet him.

"I won't tell you who to cry for. You would fight me," she said when he quieted. "Just think about these questions. Other than the rush of the first few weeks, when did you laugh or even smile with him? How often did you get through an evening without being criticized? Did he ever surprise you with something thoughtful? Did he ever compliment you outside of foreplay?"

Paul remained silent. The tears stopped.

"He saw you tonight. You were beautiful and really working the room. He wanted to take that from you," she said quietly. "Somewhere in that warped brain, he must have regretted losing you."

Paul smiled. That's rich. Sinclair never regretted anything. But this was the Mistress. Dominique had said that she knew things about people. Sometimes, things people don't know themselves. The sadness lessened to a dull ache. He was exhausted.

Dagmar turned him on his back then moved away. He heard movement, ice clinking, water running. Dagmar turned on a soft light at the bedside.

"Let me soothe that pretty face," she whispered. Paul was about to speak but she quieted him. "Close your eyes."

There was a very warm, wet cloth on his eyes and forehead for a while. It cleared his sinuses.

"Sit up and clear that out," she said.

Paul blew his nose. His eyes were burning slightly, but the headache that was threatening him subsided. Dagmar placed a pillow behind him. "Now, a cold cloth for the puffiness."

He accepted it. And after a while, the burning faded.

"You have the most beautiful eyes," Dagmar said softly. "They give you such an air of innocence, especially when you're being evil."

Paul smiled. "An evil angel."

"You are a demon from hell, Paul," she smiled.

He felt better, but still needy. He wanted to be touched. He found himself considering her.

"All that matters is the flesh," he thought going still.

Dagmar sat back from him as he took the cloth away. Her eyes were neutral considering him.

"Would you like some wine?"

Paul shook his head. He wanted to feel something from someone who found him beautiful. Dominique was too far away. Damn her for making this all seem reasonable.

The Mistress gasped as she found herself on her back with Paul holding her by the wrists. He set his mouth against hers demanding entrance. He was surprised at her brief hesitation. She yielded responding to his gentle exploration. She was sweet. He pulled back to suck at her lower lip.

"Paul…you don't want to do this," Dagmar whispered even as she licked her lips to taste his kiss. She then stared at his mouth as though hungry for more.

"Why Mistress," he smiled his most beautiful smile. "Can't *you* tell when you have a man's interest?"

He rubbed his crotch against her thigh. When her moth dropped open, he ravaged it. Whatever control she had left, evaporated. She exploded returning his kiss with the same intensity. Her mouth felt good. She was savoring him. Her legs wrapped around his thighs, she buried her fingers in his hair and pulled him very close.

In the next moment, Paul was on his back gasping for breath as Dagmar tortured his nipples with her mouth while one hand casually played with his cock. Her easy handling of his erection nearly brought him off. She had such a firm, sure hand. He moaned and thrashed, but she wouldn't let up. She licked his navel. She tongued his abdomen while keeping him almost painfully hard.

Paul couldn't scream. He couldn't beg. He had no voice. An incredible eternity later, her mouth was worshipping him. She'd pushed his legs apart and was kneeling between them tonguing his balls, bathing his shaft to the tip, kneading his ass. Then, his whole cock was in the incredible hot, wet suction of that lush mouth. That woman loved cock.

And if that wasn't heaven enough, he felt her spreading his cheeks to invade him. Unerringly, she found his pleasure center. He exploded. His body shattered in the pleasure. Her mouth never left him. She took all he had.

Through the haze afterward, Paul felt himself being cleaned. Then, there was cool water to drink. The, he was under covers once again.

"You are beautiful. Do you know that I enjoy simply looking at you?" She said softly in his ear. "You are an angel and you taste like heaven."

Then, he was asleep.

It was morning in that twilight time before the alarm goes off. Paul woke to find himself curled comfortably around Dagmar. His cheek rested on her soft, fragrant hair. He was spooned about her like an old love. Somehow, he knew that she was awake.

"Does Steven object to anything you throw at him?" He asked. Why he asked was unclear.

"He doesn't like enemas," she said. "Other than that, the boy is very pliant."

"Can he suck cock like…that?"

"Hmmm… probably not… I was going to have Dominique teach him soon," she said. "That man can read a whole Sunday paper while a novice is practicing without so much as a stir beyond being hard."

Paul suddenly felt flattered to have brought him off so quickly. "Do you think he'll let me watch?"

"You have a way of touching my chocolate demi-god," she said. "I doubt he can deny you anything."

He was silent for a time. For some reason, he felt no need to move.

"I can rationalize all of this, you know," he said.

Dagmar chuckled. "I know you can, pet. I can't wait to strip all of that from you. But for now, to torment our enemies, I'll go along."

Chapter 5: Manager