Chapter One

Ambush In Scarlet Satin

 

The oppressive August heat coaxed beads of sweat from Vance Gamble's forehead during the short walk from his air-conditioned BMW to the entrance of the dining hall at Brandyhaven Country Club in one of Philadelphia's tony suburbs. Even the clouds rolling in from the west offered no relief, yet.

Vance stopped inside the foyer to cool off and let his eyes adjust to the artificial lighting-subdued, even compared to overcast skies. A wry smile crossed his lips while he pondered the cherry wood wainscoting. He thought, No cherries here!

A stunning brunette Amazon with dark eyes and a detached expression approached. "May I help you, sir?" Her uniform pants, tie, and the trim of her white shirt all glared a bright red, matching the central coat-of-arms in an ostentatious display on the wall above the wood paneling. Her sleek, black high-heeled boots punctuated her otherwise functional-though well-filled-uniform with two kinky-sexy exclamation points.

Did she step out of a dream? he wondered. Or a nightmare? Aloud, he said, "I'm Vance Gamble. Matt Dorman invited me." Her name badge read, "Ms. Ryder." Different spelling, he mused, but her name fits: Woman on Top. She's not "Ms. Ridden."

"Welcome to Brandyhaven." The subtlety of her hand lovingly caressing the nightstick at her belt looked habitual, if not instinctive. Her calculating eyes hinted that she wanted Vance to step out of line so she could club him. "My first name is Nastassia."

"After the star of Cat People?" Vance's gray eyes surveyed her from head to toe. Her physique suited her role as security guard. Her high heels elevated her higher than Vance's six-foot height, and she weighed much less than his one-eighty. And what a difference in the distribution of flesh!

"After the actress," she confirmed, "except she spells her name with a j in place of the i." She studied his face instead of smiling. "My friends call me 'Nastia-or Nastier.'"

Vance avoided her hypnotic eyes. "What do your enemies call you??"

"Unconstitutional."

Vance succumbed to those untamed windows to her soul. He should retreat-or run-from Nastassia. She probably got off by crushing riffraff like him to protect the spoiled, filthy rich club members. But he stayed. "I don't understand," he confessed.

"I'm cruel and unusual punishment."

He gasped involuntarily. "Beauty with a beat," he blurted out-and instantly regretted his remark.

"Cross me, and you'll find out." She raised one eyebrow haughtily.

"Listen, Nastier, or Ms. Ryder, or whatever flavor-of-the-week you are, I don't belong to this club. Big deal. I could pay membership dues several times over."

"Good for you." She looked bored.

Nastassia's indifference enflamed him. "I've played Wall Street into a good life. Sure, I work my butt off. But that's better than these snobs, sitting on their fat assets, purchasing whatever they want. Including you. And Matt, bought and paid for by Sable Brandenburg." He adjusted his tie as if to punctuate his venting.

She rested her hand on his arm. "Somebody's testosterone is just a smidgen too active," she cooed. "Good day, Mr. Grumble. I mean, Gamble."

He seethed. "Don't you have a life? Get a hobby."

Walking away, she winked over her shoulder. "I play the organ!"

Heading to Matt's table, Vance left his frown in place. "Hi, Matt. Did you see that uppity bitch?" Vance eased into his chair, and a waiter swooped down-another tool of the rich.

"I'm Buzz-"

"Water with lemon," Vance cut off the over-solicitous vulture's spiel. He refrained from "Buzz off" because that dismissal would have lacked originality. "Ribeye, rare. Plain baked potato and salad. And a glass of the club's merlot."

"Excellent choice, sir."

"I'll bet you say that to all the guys."

The waiter fought down a sneer and retreated.

"Why so rough?" Matt asked reasonably. His forehead wrinkled over his dark, horn-rimmed glasses and bushy, black eyebrows. His hair was salt and pepper.

"Hate this place. Gives me claustrophobia. I'd rather kick back with some Iron City Beer and watch the Pirates. Or just drink, the way the Pirates are playing."

"Click your heels, Vance. You're not in Pittsburgh anymore. Quit grousing. This is my treat. I mean, Ms. Brandenburg's."

"No such thing as a free lunch."

Matt winced and smiled, nodding in agreement.

After the waiter placed Vance's glass of water and salad plate before him, Vance prodded. "So, what does Ms. Brandenburg want from her lapdog this time?"

"I wish you wouldn't call me that." Matt fidgeted with his silverware.

"You're as hopeless as my college buddy, Frank Prince. A rich widow in New York, Catherine Roman, uses him like a rented mule."

"Better than unloading dud stocks all day. How's Arch treating you?"

Arch Grubber owned and managed Landry and Grubber, the brokerage house where Vance worked. Pierce Landry, the other founding partner, had sold out and moved to Pittsburgh years earlier, but Arch thought Landry sounded more palatable than Grubber and left the name intact. "I push enough company-underwritten stocks to earn my freedom. So I can invest wisely for clients like Ms. Brandenburg." He sipped his water. "Let me guess: she wants you to turn a pittance into a huge, quick profit. Does she like quickies in general?"

"I wouldn't know," Matt grinned.

"Tell me what you know. I've got time."

Half under his breath, Matt mumbled, "Less time than you think." He faced Vance squarely. "Ms. Brandenburg appreciates the way you invest her money. As carefully as your own. So, she told me to treat you to lunch."

"Her thanks should be up-close and personal."

"What about Elise? Those widow ladies are relentless in their search for a new man. And what if Sable's husband caught you?"

"Elise and I aren't married." Vance took a gulp of water. "What does Ms. Brandenburg look like? And how big is Mr. Brandenburg?"

"He's not a Brandenburg. Sable kept her maiden name. Her family comes from the Main Line of Philadelphia. His doesn't."

"Good for him! Mainlining is unhealthy. What's his name?"

Dramatically, a five-foot-eight, buxom blonde strode into the dining hall. The scarlet luster of her dress and matching satin gloves dominated the room. Vance realized the shade exactly matched the centrally placed coat of arms on the wall-and the red in Nastassia's security guard uniform. Sable Brandenburg wore a single strand of large pearls. Their off-white color suggested they were like her breasts-natural, not cultured.

Sable looked scrumptious. Her satin-wrapped breasts, probably 36-Ds, resembled two huge candy apples, still hot and glossy, and her hair swirled up into an oversized, golden double-scoop of vanilla ice cream. Straining the lustrous fabric of her high-neck dress, her flesh rippled sensually, stiffening Vance's cock, and he drooled lightly for her hard, covered nipples. Sable rewarded Vance's aroused gaze by accelerating her grinding strides, escalating her fleshy shimmies to swift, powerful ripples of well-conditioned flesh. Even her bouncing pearls stoked Vance's furnace.

"Ms. Brandenburg," Matt needlessly pointed out.

Vance mutely watched Sable walk past without acknowledging them. She chose a spot far enough away to afford Vance a glimpse under the table. Aiming her body toward him, she settled into the chair that the solicitous vulture slid under her fabulous ass, crossed her right leg over her left, and bounced it rhythmically. Her dress hem inched back to tease Jack with a glimpse of stocking rim.

Stockings, not pantyhose. Vance's heart raced. Still facing her, he said to Matt, "Remember the carnival when you were a kid? Ever try to gorge yourself to the brink of getting sick?"

Matt scoffed. "No way, Vance. She'll never let you near her goodies."

Currents of Sable's nearly-forty-year-old maturity alternated with the energy of her young spirit through her body, especially her leg. Her elaborate yawn, a casual flirtation with Vance, challenged him to excite her. He yearned to lick her apples and thrust his desperate cock into her. Sable's patent scarlet pump, dangling from the ball of her foot, lured his eyes to her tantalizing balancing act. Did she cling to all of her possessions as deftly as she kept her shoe from falling?

"Five hundred says I can bed her," Vance said.

Matt took five hundred dollars from his wallet. "You're on. Show me the money." Vance took out his wallet and counted out the correct sum. Adding Vance's money to his own, Matt stood up. "Ms. Brandenburg will hold our bets. But I won't tell her what we're betting on!" He scurried to her table before Vance could speak.

Reaching under the table, Sable pulled her dress back slightly, enough to flash Vance with her creamy thighs, accented in scarlet garters. She smoothed out her dress, pretending that her initial gesture was to cover up, not reveal. Vance raised his clear gray eyes to her Prussian blue eyes and felt her darker hue dominate him. Set against creamy skin, her large eyes highlighted her Teutonic allure. Vance suspected that, like Otto von Bismarck, she'd build her empire with blood and iron: men's blood and her iron will. Her pouty, scarlet-glossed lips taunted Vance.

He blinked. Damn! She stared me down.

When Sable's scarlet-gloved hand tucked Vance's and Matt's money into her pocketbook, Vance felt an erotic rush, fantasizing that she was robbing them in broad daylight-and a sinking realization that she really was swindling them. Yet, he craved her voluptuous flesh so intensely that he mentally embraced her wickedness and exalted it. He just wished...

Nailing him with her smug look, she rose and slinked toward the salad bar. The gentle, rolling sway of her hips and the wiggle of her ass under shiny, scarlet satin pulled Vance to his feet. He rushed to her side, despite the bulge in his pants. "Sable-"

"You may call me Ms. Brandenburg, Vance."

"Thank you." He cringed at his brainless surrender, aimlessly gathering salad items with the tongs. The upsweep of her hair added the illusion of length to her face and height to her body. "So, Brandyhaven is a play on your family name," he observed.

"You have such a perceptive grasp of the obvious." The natural arch of her brows became more acute.

"Why not 'Brandy Heaven?'" he challenged. He sized her up as Matt's height, maybe two or three inches shorter without high heels.

She picked up his gauntlet. "No, darling. I'm Brandy Heaven. Brandy's my nickname. I can take you to celestial bliss. But your life, as you know it, will be over." Her cheeks dimpled.

Her fleshiness seduced Vance the way overindulgence in butter sated his urge toward self-indulgence when a less expensive spread would suffice. Even an elderly man near the salad bar stared at Sable in open admiration until his wife nudged him along. Vance stood frozen in place.

His cell phone jarred him from his paralysis. "Excuse me," he said, putting his plate on the counter of the salad bar. Removing the phone from his coat pocket, he glanced at the caller ID number and pushed the "talk" button. Lowering his voice, and his eyes, he said, "Hi, Elise! I was just thinking about you. May I call you back?" Foolishly, he added, "I'm in an important conference."

Sable's loud, earthy giggle erupted-and undoubtedly reached Elise's ears-before Vance frantically ended the call. Sable's throaty mirth effused sex: musically, aurally seducing him, celebrating her raunchy sensuality, and brazenly proclaiming, Fuck you, Elise; I've got your man.

"Don't worry." Her satin-clad fingers clutched his arm. His skin tingled. "You're not Elise's type."

"How do you know?"

"You're alive."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Her two previous husbands are dead." She tightened her grip with the word "dead" before releasing Vance's arm.

"Care to explain?"

"Your phone is just like mine," Sable changed the subject. She sent another pleasant chill through him when her gloved hand touched the phone-and Vance's hand. She fingered the pearls in her necklace: a visual reminder of how she toyed with Vance. Her body was so erect that her breasts stared back at him. When he raised his glance, she locked his eyes into hers. Lowering her voice, she said, "Meet me in the enclosed glass gazebo behind the tennis courts. Five minutes after I leave here." She turned and walked back to her table, and her scarlet-swathed derriere seduced Vance's silent acquiescence to her command.

Vance cherished the gazebo, where he and Elise first met, reminiscent of the romantic liaisons from The Sound of Music. Returning to his seat, however, he now pictured more lust than love. Despite the relative seclusion and the frosted-glass walls, the gazebo posed a risk of exposure that would quicken his pulse during any tryst.

Vance cut his strips of steak too large and swallowed before chewing thoroughly. Sexual arousal always made him hungry for food, too, but played hell with his digestion.

Sable ignored his probing, intrusive glances. Finally, her subtle nod summoned the unctuous vulture with her check. Gesturing toward Vance and Matt, she instructed him to add their meals to her ticket. She signed the check-a symbolic delivery receipt for two boytoys-rose, picked up her pocketbook, and marched, eyes-front, past Vance. Her tight, subtle smile faintly acknowledged his rapt devotion. When she reached the door, she smiled over her shoulder at him.

Vance ran his hand back through his thick brown hair, gripped the table to anchor himself, and nodded to confirm their rendezvous. After struggling through five minutes of mounting suspense, Vance growled, "I'm outa here."

Matt grinned. "I'll put the five hundred to good use."

Outside, clouds darkened the sky. Raindrops gave Vance an excuse to gallop toward the gazebo, and thunder drowned out the crunches his strides made on the gravel walkway. The air cooled quickly. When he reached the gazebo, the warm humidity inside clashed with cool outside air to steam the glass panes, already frosted by design, and provide great cover from prying eyes.

Sable greeted him inside the entrance to the gazebo, a structure about twelve feet high and twenty feet in diameter with five concrete benches along the inside edges. Her pocketbook rested against the wall by the door. She showed him her cell phone. "See? Just like yours. With a camera and all the other gadgets." She placed her cell phone on top of her pocketbook, showing off her glorious rump to tantalize Vance again.

Standing, she boldly took him in her arms and maneuvered his back toward the door. She pushed the door to the frame but did not close it.

Sable's firmness, under a seductive fleshy veneer, startled Vance, and the abrupt onslaught of her lips steamed his mind more completely than the elements outside clouded the glass panes of the gazebo. She pressed hard. Her pelvis swiveled, pushing her loins against his. He took her buttocks in his hands, squeezed hard, and ricocheted her passionate kiss off his lips back to hers. Stepping away, Vance exclaimed, "Thank you!"

"No," she smiled. "Thank you, darling!" Her three deft moves stripped his jacket off. She took his camera phone from his inside coat pocket, walked back, and put his phone inside her pocketbook-treating him to a gaze at her shapely ass. She neatly folded his jacket and placed it on the ground beside her pocketbook-baiting him with yet another vision of her divine derriere.

"Your investment advice has turned me from rich to filthy rich," she said in a throaty voice, closing the distance between them with surprising speed. She rubbed her hips sensuously. "Rich enough to buy you and filthy enough to use you."

Her perfume intoxicated him. After her hands slid down her hips and away from her body, his hands replaced hers on her hips, and he caressed her reverently. He managed a grin. "Me too! Not filthy rich, but wealthy. I made the same investments and profits. Plus my commissions."

She undid his tie and slipped it off, tossing it aside. "Multiply your profit times my investment volume. My gains dwarf yours. Leverage, darling! Take your shirt off."

"Whatever you say," he grinned, removing his shirt quickly.

"Exactly. Now I'll leverage you, dear. Snatch all of your profits for myself." She kissed him deeply again and backed away from the door. The suction of her lips led him on, psychologically if not physically. When her calves touched the farthest bench from the door, she stopped. "Take my panties off and put them on the bench behind me."

Kneeling, he lifted her dress and slid her panties down. Her firm, creamy legs reprised his earlier shock at her subtle muscles. The tone and shape of her thighs and calves belied the indoor idleness he associated with a pale complexion. Her thighs and calves curved more markedly than the legs of a thinner woman and heightened his desire for her. After she stepped out of her panties, Vance put them on the bench. "What if I don't want to eat you?"

His spark of rebellion aroused her. "Who says I'd let you? Perhaps I'll just give you a glimpse of heaven. You may rise," she said, condescendingly. "Now, drop your pants and shorts to your ankles and sit on the bench behind me."

Instead, Vance moved around to Sable's side so that his back was to the bench. "You didn't close the door!"

Lightning flashed, thunder pealed, and heavy rain pelted the gazebo. "I have everything under control. Even the weather is my ally."

Despite his reservations, Vance obediently lowered his pants and boxers to his ankles. He needed to sit down and remove his shoes before he could get his feet through his tailored trousers. He plopped down beside Sable's panties on the bench. "What are your plans?" He started to reach for his shoestrings.

"Leave your shoes on. And trust me. Your future is in my hands." Sable glanced at the door and at Vance. "Turn sideways," she said. "That's good. Now, close your eyes. Let's shake hands on your role in my future, and I'll give you another kiss."

Vance closed his eyes and extended his arm to shake hands with Sable.

She grasped his arm above the elbow with both hands, swung her right leg over his arm-putting her ass in his face-clamped her thighs to prevent him from withdrawing his arm, and leaned forward to press her ass back into Vance's face. Just before Sable blindfolded Vance with her rump, he caught a fleeting glimpse of the plush, dark hair covering her vagina. Assuming that was the natural color of the hair on her head, too, her parents must have named her Sable after the animal.

Matt rushed in, soaking wet, and picked up Sable's camera. Snapping shot after shot, he exclaimed, "Great views of his face! Sorry, man, but Ms. Brandenburg said she'll treat me if she rejects you." He continued clicking away. "You're out of luck. And five hundred dollars."

"The day isn't over," Sable said. She released Vance's arm and noticed he was still too unnerved to step away to freedom from her. Or he wanted her to humiliate him.

Matt's face turned ugly with damaged pride and frustrated desire. His eyes watered. "You promised!"

"I promised you I'd have my way. With or without you."

"Well, I've got the cell phone and the pictures!"

"Not for long," a voice behind Matt said. He recognized the voice, and his body slumped. Nastassia Ryder entered, locked the gazebo door, and whisked the cell phone from Matt's hand into her shirt pocket. "Drop your pants."

When Matt lowered his trousers, he revealed his rigid hard-on. Nastassia's intimidation frightened him and aroused him, too. She produced a pair of handcuffs from her large pocketbook and deftly cuffed Matt's left hand to the door so easily that even Vance knew they were performing a ritual, not a coincidental bust.

"I've been set up!" Vance blurted out.

"Your acuity amazes me," Sable said drolly. She stepped away from Vance. "Sigourney Weaver did this in a movie," she boasted. Picking up her panties, she rudely stuffed them into Vance's mouth. "They go so well with your red face."

Vance started to rise, but Sable slapped him sharply. The shock of her surprising strength jolted his cock to maximum erection, and drops of pre-cum oozed out. Vance caught a brief glimpse of Matt and was disgusted to see his friend-former friend-masturbating with his free hand.

Sable turned to face Matt. "You'll pay for that. Get him, Nastia."

Nastassia gleefully advanced on Matt and started bitch-slapping him. Vance couldn't decide who was happier: the beautiful sadist or her glutton-for-punishment masochist, ecstatically gobbling up her abuse. When Vance saw Sable's flushed cheeks and hurried breath, he knew the Great Manipulatrix triumphed over all of them.

She turned to him. "You asked about my plans. Nastia and I caught you and Door Matt exposing yourselves. God knows what else you had in mind."

Vance reached for the panties in his mouth.

Sable pushed each hand down and slapped him around a few times-very hard, each blow adding as much color to her cheeks as to his. "Whatever I say is true, even if it's a lie. Take care of him, Nastia."

Nastassia leered while she moved in on Vance. Producing another pair of handcuffs, she crowed, "I've been waiting for this, you smug bitch."

Vance figured Nastassia was stronger than Sable-possibly stronger than he was. In contrast to Sable's cushiony, curvy classic sexpot figure, Nastassia looked as lean and agile as a Victoria's Secret model. Besides, she was armed. Vance meekly put his hands behind his back to let her cuff him. His eyes pleaded, Why?

Nastassia read his mind. "I do anything Ms. Brandenburg wants me to do. Hold that pose," she tormented him, and then whacked him on the butt with her nightstick. Noticing more pre-cum oozing from his cock, she laughed and whacked him again. "This is fun! After Ms. Brandenburg explains how thoroughly fucked you two bitches are, I'll thoroughly fuck you."

Sable stood before Vance, practically thrusting her breasts into his face. "Now that Nastia and I have caught you two red-handed-Quit masturbating, Matt! We could turn you over to the police and thoroughly ruin you. But we'd rather ruin you ourselves. And collect the spoils of your destruction."

Nastassia took the phone from her pocket and handed it to Sable. Pacing over to Matt, she administered the hard slaps they both richly cherished. She said, loud enough for all to hear, "I brought my dildo."

Vance stirred violently.

"Don't flatter yourself," Sable stroked his chin with her gloved hand.

"No," Nastassia said. "I have a special treat for you. To teach you to love Ms. Brandenburg when she screws you financially, so you'll beg her to take more of your money."

"I'll use Nastia's sexual expertise to increase my leverage over you until I clean you out financially," Sable said. "You haven't earned Brandy Heaven yet-not even a whiff of me. Nastia, do your number on him. Play Magic Gloves."

Returning to Vance, Nastassia produced a pair of elbow-length black latex gloves from her pocketbook and laid them on the bench. Taking out a can of baby powder, she sprinkled some inside each glove to lessen the friction in sliding them on. When each hand and arm wriggled into its glove, Vance felt an erotic rush racing through him. Nastassia took out a special lubricant and glazed her gloves with the liquid. Vance thought he'd explode.

Matt started whacking off again. "I can't help it," he whined.

"I'll tell you when," Sable said, almost soothingly.

"Stand up!" Nastassia commanded Vance. As soon as he was on his feet, she rammed her left hand into his ass and grabbed his cock with her right hand. She shoved her left hand in deeply, but teased his cock with her right hand, slowly building on his frenzy of anticipation, instigating his urgency for relief. Nastassia adroitly increased the tempo of her right hand until Vance felt himself verging on a climax.

Glancing up, he saw Sable, taking pictures of him-and felt totally defenseless and thoroughly victimized. His nudity and unguarded, reckless surrender to ecstasy made him an easy target for blackmail. The graphic photographs of his collapse in morals and characters would be priceless-but lucrative to Sable-in the hands of his enemies.

Despite the swift pangs of degradation and despair, Nastassia's dexterous hands quickly lured Vance back to capitulating to her touch. She compressed her punishing attack into his ass with the teasing, tantalizing ecstasy she whipped into his cock to heighten the tension, like putting a firecracker under a brick to maximize the impact of the explosion. Nastassia deftly eased off with her right hand when Vance approached ejaculation. Then, abruptly, cruelly, she put her index and middle fingers on the sides of his penis, just behind its head, and pressed up, hard, with her thumb.