Chapter One

Gretel At Play

 

The woman in the frumpy tweed overcoat, black wig, and sunglasses leaned forward from her back seat in the black Lincoln. "Stop here, Bruiser."

The driver, Brewster Blunden, couldn't shake his Velcro-like nickname nor the woman's dominance. He pulled over but pointed to the "No Parking" sign on one of the busiest streets in Baltimore's Inner Harbor. Because of his six-four frame, his chauffeur's cap almost touched the ceiling of the Lincoln when he turned to face her. "Sure, you'll take a chance, Ms. Fox, when my butt is on the line."

"Now, Bruiser," she taunted, "a parking ticket would hardly be considered a parole violation. Do as I say or maybe Mr. Schisslinger might find out about your background. Then you'll be unemployed again. It's your choice." She was a full foot shorter than he and relished bossing him around.

Bruiser pulled within inches of the curb. "How's this, Ms. Fox?"

"See? That wasn't so hard," she cooed. "And you don't have to call me 'Ms. Fox' all the time." He turned to look at her quizzically. "You may call me Boss," she said.

Ignoring her dig, he returned to his main concern. "You don't know how policemen think," Bruiser said. "I was on the force. They'd start with a parking ticket. Then they'd ding me for driving you around without a chauffeur's license. After that, God knows what. But they'd be on me like stink on-"

"Just use your head," she interrupted him.

"I'd like to use something else," he muttered.

"I'd wear you out." She flipped open her cell phone and dialed. An oily, male voice came on the line. "Sidney Schisslinger. What's up, Gretel?"

"I'm at the Inner Harbor now. Going to visit Casper Waverly, like you told me. Think I can persuade him to fire Kurt Merchant?"

"Sure. Then we'll hire Kurt. At half his current salary."

"You were brilliant to think of this scheme," she gushed.

"Really?" Sidney's voice wavered. "Wasn't it your idea?"

"Don't be so modest!" she persisted. "Anyway, we'll get what we want."

"You always do," he said dryly.

"Speaking of what we want, has Percy Meeks signed on with us?"

"Tough sell." Sidney said. "His educational DVDs are great. So he doesn't think Chimera can improve his public relations."

"Let me do my number on him," she rasped.

"Give him a fighting chance!" Sidney chuckled. "At first, anyway. What's your secret for snagging clients, Ms. Fox? Do you bed them?"

"As a last resort. Leading them on usually works."

"What about your female clients?"

"Why, Mr. Schisslinger! I didn't think you liked women."

Sidney was silent for a moment. "See you at the hotel. Around six?" Chimera provided public relations services to one of Baltimore's prominent hotels in exchange for the unlimited use of several rooms and suites during low occupancy seasons.

"How about five?" Gretel prodded. "I plan to bring a special guest."

"Rich Leckie? I don't know..."

"You want to compromise Rich. To weaken Casper's hand. With Kurt gone and Rich totally obedient to us, BizMart will be vulnerable."

"But, blackmail?"

"Whatever it takes. Besides, you're dying to watch. See you at five." As a formality, she added, "If that's all right with you, sir. It's your choice."

"Sure," he sighed. "Just like the lyrics in 'Damned If I Do,' that Alan Parsons song: 'It's my choice, but your decision.' But you get results. Five it is."

They hung up.

"You absolute prick teaser," Bruiser said, as much in admiration as accusation.

"Thank you!" Gretel slid out of the black Lincoln with the agility of a twenty-eight-year-old that belied her dowdy appearance. "You may leave, but be ready for my call."

"All right," he groused. Forcing a smile, he added, "Boss" and sped away.

The brisk November air and the sun glistening off the waters of Baltimore's Inner Harbor invigorated Gretel so much she had to shorten her stride to avoid drawing attention. She slowed to a stroll, the confident huntress stalking Casper Waverly. She would ambush him in his own magnificent cage, steel and glass housing his office. The throng of tourists, residents, and white-collar workers gave her wide berth. Her dry-cleaning parcel looked respectable, but her rumpled shopping bag nullified any semblance of grace. She hid her shiny black purse in her shopping bag to avoid exposing her deception.

In the lobby a security guard approached from his post, eager to banish her. Gretel held out the business card, her passport: Casper M. Waverly, President and CEO of BizMart Business Brokers. Frowning, the guard waved her toward the elevator.

After she stepped inside, the other passengers subtly avoided her. Her masquerade as a bag lady thrilled her. These chumps would never suspect that she would swagger in and bag the CEO of BizMart.

When Gretel entered Casper Waverly's outer office, Casper's administrative assistant-gatekeeper nodded her recognition to give Gretel permission to enter.

Gretel removed her black wig in Casper's inner office and dimmed the lights. At the window she glimpsed at tugboats guiding a freighter into dock, then drew the blinds to darken the room.

Her excitement mounted while she strolled into the adjoining private bathroom. She put her wig and sunglasses in the shopping bag and stripped to her bra. Reaching into the shopping bag again, she removed a girdle and stockings, and stared at them ambivalently. The quaint lingerie felt like armor, but Gretel knew she completely enslaved Casper whenever she packed herself into the girdle he bought her.

She squirmed into the white, elastic anachronism. The pressure on her hips, rump, and belly soothed and stimulated her. Rolling up each black, seamed stocking while she sat on the lid over the toilet made Gretel's skin tingle. But once she hooked her garters to her hose, she felt confined. Still, when Casper stared helplessly at her patches of thigh between her girdle and stockings, he would be her tool. She felt elated imagining how she would use him.

She visualized Casper, humiliated, dropping to his knees before her, and she slid her hand under the rim of her girdle. No, the Roman numerals on Sidney's wall clock indicated one-thirty. No time for tossing herself off, because Casper would return from lunch soon.

Gretel pulled her blonde hair into an upswept chignon, in the fashion of the classic Betty Grable photo, and secured her mane with a beret. Taking her makeup kit from the shopping bag, she layered her face with powder, aging herself to at least forty years old. She applied excessive rouge to her cheeks-Casper never appreciated subtlety-and signed her facial caricature with ruby lipstick that commanded Casper to kiss her.

Gretel removed the plastic laundry wrapper from her black silk dress and wiggled into the slinky outfit. Hooking the diamond necklace and pinning on the earrings, she exulted in her brazenness: strutting around Baltimore with Casper's wife's expensive jewelry. She stepped into black patent pumps with four-inch heels and felt like a little girl playing dress-up. Gretel picked up her long, black leather gloves, turned out the bathroom light, and sauntered over to Casper's huge mahogany desk.

She heard his quick footsteps, the door opening, and silence.

Casper realized why the lights were dim. His stillness revered Gretel, and she felt a warm glow. "Hold my calls," Casper told his administrative assistant. "No visitors."

He closed the door. His formerly confident stride slowed to a meek shuffle in Gretel's presence. Despite his baldness, the fringe of gray hair around his temples and the back of his head made him look distinguished. Gretel would fix that. Casper's wild stare paid visual tribute to her domination. His head and shoulders slumped. His body language told how thoroughly, and eagerly, he capitulated. He approached Gretel for more abuse.

"Sit down." She examined him. "Light gray suit. Good boy."

Casper kept leering at Gretel while he settled into his desk chair. The brilliance of her green eyes always took his breath away-so rare in a world of blue and brown eyes. When her right hand and arm slithered into her glove, causing a rippling, soft glimmer in the leather, his Adam's apple bobbed. He licked his lips. During Gretel's tantalizing show with her left glove, Casper reached into his hip pocket and took out his wallet.

Gretel stepped close to him, teasing him with her voluptuous body while denying him the pleasure of touching her. She took his wallet from his hand, removed all of the bills, and tossed his wallet on the desk. "Have you been a good boy?" she asked.

The fifty-five-year-old boy replied, "Yes, ma'am."

"Time for your allowance." She peeled the bills off and let them fall carelessly, counting, "One hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four hundred, twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, five hundred, twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, ninety, ninety-five, six hundred and one, two, three dollars."

"Thank you!" he exclaimed. He fell on his knees to gather his allowance. Gretel's touch transformed his own money into Gretel's precious gift.

With Casper's eye level at her legs, Gretel tapped her foot, treating him to the vision of her flexing calf muscle-compressing her sensuality and power into one motion. To exasperate him further, Gretel held her pose and tapped her foot faster. Her haughty stance paralyzed him. She felt a mild rush while he fumbled with the money. She snapped, "Hurry up!"

"Yes, ma'am." He gathered the bills in a stack. "You're very generous."

"You can't have all of it." She snatched the stack from his hand, peeled off three one-hundred-dollar bills, and handed the rest of the money to him.

The sharp intrusion of reality into their game rankled him. "That's not fair!"

She stroked his cheek with her left gloved hand. "I know! You get horny when I cheat you. You crave me so much you could explode, and you can't resist my cruelty."

Lifting the hem of her dress with her left hand, she tucked the three hundred dollars inside her stocking. Casper couldn't avert his eyes from Gretel's legs. Gretel rotated her right hip up slightly in a stance full of hubris that drained Casper's resistance, snaring him in one of her favorite traps. "What are you staring at?!" she demanded. "You rude little boy! You don't deserve an allowance." She pushed the hem of her dress down.

"Please! I won't do it again. Give me another chance."

Gretel lifted the hem of her dress with both hands, enough to flash him with her thighs and girdle. When Casper powerlessly gazed at Gretel's irresistible bait, she smirked. "Put the rest of the money in my stocking." Gretel felt aroused watching the pained lust in Casper's eyes. He would surrender all of his cash just to touch her thigh. When he knelt again, she wanted to press his face into her crotch.

Casper pulled softly, reverently at the rim of her stocking and tucked the money inside. Gretel stepped back to smooth out her dress and cover Casper's cash tribute and her bait. Casper he protested, "You're malicious!"

She took both of his cheeks in her gloved hands. "And you love it! Stand up."

"Please don't embarrass me." But he stood anyway.

And she embarrassed him anyway. "What's that?" She pointed to the tent his pants formed over his rigid tent pole.

"May I sit down?" Casper admired Gretel's face. Her tiny mouth suggested stinginess with her kisses, but her lush, thick lips made each kiss a precious treat.

"You're happy to see me, aren't you?"

"And it has nothing to do with a pickle. Please let me sit down."

"You remembered that Mae West line!" Her luscious lips inched into a smile. "Sit at your desk and be a good little boy." Even in her high heels, Gretel stood several inches shorter than Casper. But psychologically, she talked down to him.

"Thank you." He sat, staring at Gretel's soft, sensual cheeks. A few fleshy spots accented her lean face and made him think of a rich bitch who would always boss him around, even after his years of worry, sweat, and sacrifice to build the best business brokerage in Baltimore.

"Don't get too comfortable. Why did you hire Jessica Noble?"

"She excels at marketing. Handles advertising and PR like a pro."

"Get rid of her. Come to me for all your needs. I'll take good care of you."

"You're too expensive. I mean, your company. Sidney's company."

She grinned at his discomfort. "You must pay dearly for the best. That's me. Jessica can't make BizMart shine, and I hate her being in the same office suite with Rich Leckie. Fire her."

"First thing Monday."

"Today."

He fidgeted but swallowed his protest. "She's efficient and pleasant. Rare combination. Jessica and Rich make a great team."

"More than you know. Get rid of Mary Poppins. Give us your PR account."

"Yes, ma'am." He gazed up, longingly, eager for Gretel to shaft him.