The Pleasure House Ch. 02

Aaron came back next week.

The girl who met him at the door was different. Still gorgeous with runway model looks and an ability to sell warm cheerfulness to the customer.

"Where is the other girl?" Aaron found himself asking. He wished he had not. He did not want to appear rude. Even if this second week was costing him $800,000. Hey, at least it wasn't a cool seven figures this time. They'd given him a discount. They even let him know that in an email message: Congratulations on being a valued customer. We've upgraded your privileges to platinum. This includes a 20% discount. How strange that an upgrade in services would come with a price reduction. Being wealthy never stopped being a superpower. How strange that coming in one time made him an already valuable customer. Of course, one million dollars is still a lot of money.

"Don't you like me?" she asked, moving her lips into a pout.

He had been rude. Damn.

But her eyes brightened again, right after. "I'm teasing you." Her dark eyes glittered under the recessed ceiling lighting. "I think you mean Kate," she said. "I think she's working out." The girl rolled her eyes.

"What's your name?" Aaron asked.

"Carrie," she said, looking at him.

"Are you a belly fetishist?" Aaron asked.

"Not so much," said Carrie. "I like spankings."

"Could I spank you?"

She looked at him for a moment. Her expression was inscrutable, and then she said, "Sure." She turned and waved him in a direction she started walking.

There was an adjacent room with a single leather couch in the middle, placed diagonally in relation to the square borders of the room. Aaron noticed two more rooms connected to this one. This floor was a maze. He would have to explore it at some point.

Carrie bent forward over the back of the couch. She said, "The safe word is STOP. If you hear me say it, you stop."

"What if I don't?" he asked. Immediately he wished he hadn't.

She said lightly, "Our security will hunt you down and I will personally torture you."

"Really? You know that really shouldn't be your preventative measure."

"I can be quite mean when I want."

"See?" said Aaron laughing. "You're not doing yourself any favors here."

Carrie said, "That's okay. You can't hit me hard enough anyway."

"Wow. Did they make you in a factory where the chief scientist hit the HOTTEST button and their generator got struck by a bolt of lightning? Okay the gauntlet has been thrown."

"Stop talking already."

He smacked her in the ass. It was a decent hit. It echoed loudly in this first floor catacomb of rooms and his hand even stung a bit.

Still bent over but looking up at him with the side of her head resting on the seat of the leather couch, she said "Oh and if it gets too boring I will tell you to stop too."

He walloped her. Open hand. Her ass was very firm. Kate wasn't the only one working out in this place. His hand stung.

She said nothing at first, then, "I'll show you where the gym is after this."

"Still boring?" he asked.

She said in the same conversational tone, "A little better"

He swung again, not being polite this time, with the same force he would try to throw a pitch in a company game. He was no baseball player, but both his height and his bench press were well above average.

Her ass as tight as it was jiggled and threw tiny waves to her backside. But she was tight all around. He could see her lower spine accented by tawny skin. Like Kate, she had the body of a cheerleader.

He hit twice, one cheek and then the other.

"How am I doing?" he asked, trying not to sound too anxious.

She said in a drawn out voice, sounding almost like a yawn, "About a four out of ten. Push it to six and I'll let you hurt your hand some more."

"My hand doesn't hurt," said Aaron. His hand was stinging. "Who hits you harder than I am?"

"Lots of guys," she said.

"Nope. Not buying it."

"Whatever. I'll give you four more chances to hit six. After that, you should go visit your girlfriend."

She suddenly put her hands under the front of her pants and he could see her working with something. She pulled at the top of her pants and pulled them down. he could see lace panties. She pulled them down too. Aaron took a brief look around. The rooms were empty in all directions. It was just them. At least right here.

He looked at her ass. The skin was literally the same tone as her back, her arms, her face. The skin was a little darker than raw honey. Her feet were probably the same tone too. Impressive accomplishment in this state, he thought. But her ass was at least pink from the hitting. At least he had accomplished that much. But her reaction remained inscrutable, unperturbed, lightly conversational.

His hand was tingling. He actually had to shake out his fingers, the way he might have to shake feeling into them if they got numb from cold.

He hit four times. He couldn't hit at full strength for fear of missing. That was the last thing he needed: to perform this action clumsily. The small workout was also getting him to sweat which was the last thing he expected.

He waited for a response.

She said, "Does your hand hurt yet?", standing up again.

Yes, he thought. He was a stomach guy first and foremost, but the ass was a nice second best. And her ass was... delicious. But he said, "Does your b-u-t-t-o-x hurt?" He stretched out the word buttocks into a playful singsong.

She smiled at him. "You're actually pretty good. There is the before and after you know. There is the strike which is the first... sensation... and then there is the aftermath. It helps to masturbate if I am not able to sit."

She turned to face him, pulling up her frilly panties, then pants, cinching her belt, tucking back in her button-front shirt, but in that instant, being the connoisseur he was, he caught briefest sight of her lower stomach and outie navel and resisted the urge to touch her. He could see external obliques rushing to meet a nice set of abdominal muscles too. She had the V, the moneymaker as the kids called it.

But why resist? He was a paying customer right? He reached to her midsection, gently but with some confidence. If she didn't want his hand there she would push it away.

But she didn't push at his hands or try to pull them away. She let his touch linger on her belly. He could feel the warmth and the soft skin and the firm muscle tone through the fabric. He shaped the flat of his hand outward to meet the curve of her obliques and was able to trace the contours of her muscles even through her shirt.

Some women wouldn't let him continue this because it tickled. She just watched him trace his fingers and the palm of his hand along the contours of the muscles of her tummy.

"Doesn't it tickle?" he asked.

She shrugged. But she smiled at him. His crotch was getting tight again.

"Can I see you again?"

"All good things will come," she said enigmatically. "Lets go find Kate."

-

Carrie guided him down a maze of corridors. How big was this place anyway? He had seen the building from the mountainside and it was truly large, a formidable thing to construct in the middle of the woods on a highway road. After his first session, he'd done a tiny bit of sleuthing but hadn't come up with anything interesting. In reality he wouldn't know where to start. He had been afraid to ask his research team to dig in because it would probable leak that he was a client (he was using money from one of his private accounts to fund these excursions) and that would not be good for business.

Kate was working out.

She turned to look at him and smiled.

He could see her body in all its glory. She was wearing a tight sports bra and shorts and he cast his eyes over all of her visible lightly muscled features. He could see striations in her shoulders. He could see the vein pattern in the wrists of her forearms. Here calves looked carved from wood. He could see a a full eight imperfect blocks on her rectus abdominus, the transverse bands forming deliciously crooked lines, and the two columns of muscles slightly offset. Her obliques were even more pronounced. Where her ribs poked out at the bottom, her obliques picked up the pattern and curved back in the opposite direction to meet her middle abdominal muscles and then back out again at her waistline. Her sweat picked up the light to create even more contrast.

He turned to Carrie for a moment, but she had vanished.

He turned back and she looked at him and she walked to and hoisted herself up onto a freestanding pull up bar. Hoisted was the wrong word. She jumped. The bottom of her feet at first dangled above the laminate flooring a clean six inches by his estimation. She levered her legs up in a smooth arc, 90 degrees until they hovered parallel to the floor. She held this position for a moment and he watched mesmerized as the muscles in her torso worked. She swung her legs past parallel, all the way almost to her chest, her body now forming something like an acute angle with the vertex where her butt was pointed to the floor. She swung like this for a while. No, swung was the wrong word too. Swung implied loss of control. She was in full control and did this exercise with locked knees for the entire full motion and he lost count after something like fifteen sets, mesmerized as her abdominal muscles bound and unwound, popped out in hard ridges and flattened, working to bring about the impossible movements she was forcing out of herself. He watched her stomach, stared at eight irregular blocks of belly muscle pulsing in and out of relief. He'd seen these sorts of exercises in videos of course, and he had been to his share of fitness competitions and modeling competitions, as his company had sponsored many - what better way to see the athletic beautiful women up close than to help pay for the competitions? But he was never permitted a behind-the-scenes look at training. Not like this.

Hands still locked on the bar, she now forced her legs in half circles and roughly the same acute angle, back and forth, back and forth. Watching her group of leg and shoulder muscles work was almost as fascinating as watching her belly muscles work. Her entire muscular system evolved on positions in unison to bring about the motions.

She finally dropped. "Are you here to see Jenny?" she asked.

"Jenny?" asked Aaron.

"The one who - emitized - last week. She likes you."

"The one who vomited? She is awesome! Yes I do want to see her again. They said I could just come in and explore. How big is this place?"

"Big."

"Tell me about it."

"Its big," she said again giving him brilliant white teeth, the back of her smile drawing dimples.

She took his hand and pressed it against her stomach. Her abs were warm, slick with sweat, smooth, tight to a shocking degree from the exercises, shocking enough to cause some movement in his groin again. He traced his finger along one of the the transverse ligaments near her belly button and up and around to her external obliques, striated of course through many repeated sessions of intense exercise of the type he'd just witnessed. She had her diet keyed in, as well. It showed up in her low fat to body and her smooth skin and her bright smile.

"How big? I want details."

"I can't"

"Isn't that weird?" he asked.

"You're paying for weird," she said coyly.

"That's not the point. We are in a secret high rise tower in the middle of the woods."

"You signed an NDA. Don't you want that? I imagine you want discretion."

"Still not the point," he countered.

He vaguely remembered something about a Non Disclosure Agreement. He hadn't given it much thought. It was standard practice with this sort of stuff. The initial offer had come in an appropriately discreet gray featureless envelope from his secretary. There had been a letter in the card and a strange but also familiar pattern on the letter.

We invite you. That had been the message. You are a HNWI - A high net worth individual - and might be interested in this offer. Affluents get unsolicited mail too, probably more. The difference between the mass affluents and the just the masses was the fact that some of it was actually worth reviewing. He had scanned the code and his phone had assured him it was a secure link. He had followed the link which led to a page that described what this place was supposed to be and there was more information and there was a... services... sheet and a price sheet. And his eyes had popped. He couldn't believe what he was reading. It was as if someone out there was reading his dreams. The description of the services had sparked something animal in him. Not animal. Animals were sane. The source of this knew about his tastes. Somehow they knew. Where his tastes like those of most? No. Of course not. He wouldn't be here otherwise. Had they been spying on his internet history? Possibly. He could have been the victim of a hack. Even a professional IT team manning corporate and private firewalls in real time can't stop every bad actor. No, the real answer was simpler. They just pieced together information that was already floating out there, bits and bytes from his long history of searches and everything else he did on the dark internet stored on servers scattered across the world. They bought his data from a broker, employed a proprietary algorithm, or simply stole that too, and put together a picture of his tastes. What did it matter anyway? The letter was in his hands now. The end result had been accomplished. They had found him and the services they were offering were too good to be true. If they were real, and he would find out soon enough.

"I want to know where you live, actually," he said.

"I live here," she said warmly. She took his hand and pressed it into her stomach. She was stronger than he would have guessed. She tightened and her body became unyielding. He was impressed to discover his hand hurting and his crotch woke. He felt an erection. "We all live here."

"What?"

"Sit down"

"Sit down here?"

"On the floor. Lay down." He did so.

She unzipped his pants. His erection, now almost full popped out. She touched the tip of his penis with her tip of her finger and traced along the top following up his lower stomach, his bellybutton, his upper abs. She punched him in the gut. He was deliciously unprepared. Her fist squished into the base of his gut, and she even left it pressed in for a moment before pulling it away. There was a sound of a quick gulp of thick liquid in a bag. He felt the knuckles of her fist on his skin and a ball of electric energy splayed to his upper stomach and heart. He could feel the familiar grasp for air, the forced vacuum, the soft, bubbling viscous belly pain right under the base of his front ribs, growing in size but fading in intensity, leaving some churning upset stomach in its wake... And then it was gone. Was there a way to freeze the feeling in time? Not yet. Perhaps he could find it here somewhere. It was more of a rhetorical question anyway.

He felt like she might think her hit was hard enough to hurt him and that thought pressed his erection into overdrive, the pain becoming by a degree of magnitude the pain actually unbearable, like the skin of his penis would not be able to contain the engorged muscle within and his member would just explode in a bloody pile over everything leaving a stump with blood spraying out.

His penis did not explode, but he wanted her fist in his stomach again.

"Hit me again," he said breathlessly.

She hit him again but it was hard to tell if she hit him harder. But she lodged her fist in his gut and pushed and he was coming dangerously close to release.

"Now punch me," she said. She took on a push up position directly over him, planting her hands on the floor next to his head and locking her elbows, her face directly above his. Oh, she smelled so good. He wondered when his body would decide it was time to ejaculate.

Still lying on his back, he jabbed her abs. They were hard, gloriously, wonderfully, perfectly rock solid. He did not bother checking his punch, for in his current position, he could not hit with full power. Even if he could, he knew now she could take it. He could feel her tensing, blocking with her belly, implicitly challenging him to punch through and make her say stop or react in some fashion but she did not. Despite the fact she was tensing her body for the punches, she seemed to be at ease.

"Hold me up," she said. Still locked in place over him, she took on the position of a one armed pushup, splaying her feet wider in order to free her right arm and with her hand guide his left hand and press it to her stomach. Understanding this he pressed her up, upon palms upon her, feeling the hard muscles of her tummy. She let go of the floor and locked her hands behind her back.

He had no problem doing this. She was light to begin with and he was certainly no stranger to the bench press and she was angled so her feet, or rather the pads of her toes were stretched back to meet the floor and this position had the overall effect of reducing her weight.

"Lower me," she said, smiling at him. Again, her breathing seemed untroubled. Her hypertrophied set of abdominal muscles easily supported her weight. Women he knew, men as well, really anybody and everybody save for those athletic women he'd seen over the years at competitions, could not sustain the position she was in without grasping for air. It would be too uncomfortable. The belly muscles were not strong enough to allow the lungs to function.

He continued lowering her face was almost touching his and he could feel her breathing on his skin and she craned her neck forward and kissed his forehead and his pants at the crotch area touched her shorts.

He couldn't hold her any longer. He dropped her and kissed her on the mouth and she returned his kiss. His erection was painful through his zipped pants and he released, ejaculating, letting the pump work. She explored his mouth a moment longer, took his head in her hands, looked at him for a moment, then rolled off onto the floor.

The both lay there breathing, saying nothing for a moment. Aaron stared into the gym lights, letting them burn purple and gold afterimages into his field of vision.