Pum Pum Rock

8. Round Two

Although it had been two weeks since their initial meeting and impromptu romp, Tru hadn't spoken to Nate since. She assumed their hookup at the scenic overlook was just that—a hookup. Tru actually tried hard to forget it, and even though their chemistry was undeniable now was not the time to start dating. Tru's focus was her clients. It had to be.

Sporting a black couture evening gown, burnt orange stilettos, and matching clutch, Tru slipped out of the passenger seat and shut the car door behind her.

"Think about the bag. Three hours, 2K," Tru's masked bodyguard reminded her of the fee she would receive for a job well done.

"If I weren't thinking about the bag, would I willingly jump into a room full of sharks?" Tru countered. She felt unsettled and had relied on liquor as of late to help her through gigs. Did BDSM really have an expiration date? After three years as a Dominatrix, Tru was starting to think so. She wanted out but hadn't yet raised enough capital to quit. Tru's bodyguard slowly turned his head to face hers. Although he was Tru's designated driver, he still rocked his signature motorcycle helmet, which made him look more like Skeletor than security.

"Early retirement is just around the corner. Stay the course, boss" he said pointing to his tablet with GPS sensors capable of tracking Tru's every move. "I'll be watching."

"Oh please, you'll be on Grindr as soon as I leave," she said leaning into the window.

"Seriously. Text if anything," Tru's bodyguard replied, rolling the tinted window up as Tru slipped through the four-star hotel's service entrance unnoticed. True to form, whenever she was on the clock, Tru made a habit of noting all exits especially stairwells and outlets located toward the rear of establishments. Once in the lobby, she peered out of the enormous picture window and noticed her date, the Herbst Studios Executive Producer, making his way out of a limousine and up the venue's grand staircase. Approximately three decades her senior, the distinguished silver-haired man cut quickly through the crowd when he noticed Tru. Then, he went in for a kiss.

"Uh, uh, uh," she hugged the man close and whispered in his ear, electing to rebuff the well-known executive without embarrassing him.

"Mistress," he purred softly and let his hand drop from the small of Tru's back to her fleshy posterior.

"I'm going to have to punish you tonight, aren't I?" Tru turned her palm skyward, revealing a dime-sized button attached to a thin slave bracelet ring.

"Please do," he begged, then clenched his ass cheeks in delight as Tru balled her hand into a fist triggering the button to release an eruption of pulsating heat through the butt plug stashed in the older man's derrière.

"Green, Mistress," the executive pleaded in code for Tru to continue and as he leaned in close, she could feel his excitement. Tru released her fist, which put an immediate halt to the butt plug's motor. This was her game, and he needed to remember who was in control.

"We've got plenty of time," Tru grinned. "Let's go raise some funds." She then escorted the executive through the lobby and into the ballroom where two hundred plus people had gathered for Herbst Studio's annual auction. With Tru on his arm, the executive was all smiles and gaining tons of attention. A big-time mover and shaker, the television veteran commanded the room. Immediately, Tru noticed not only the number of people tripping over themselves to shake his hand but the number of people clamoring to meet her.

"This is Kenya." The television executive used Tru's alias and showed her off much as you would a shiny new Ferrari.

"So exotic," one man chimed in.

"Beautiful," another agreed. He then spun Tru around, making sure he got a good look at how nicely the designer couture gown clung to her taut rump.