ELEVATOR ENCOUNTER
CHAPTER FIVE
After the most exillerating encounter of his life, Brian shuffled to his classic Rolls Royce and raced home to load DIABLA’s website. The trip across town to his stately stone mansion took only fifteen minutes, but to him it seemed to be days. He barely acknowledged his butler, instead heading to his private study with purposeful haste. Now he takes a deep breath as he settles into his executive chair trying to calm his nerves. This only makes it evident to him how uncontrolably anxious he is. He feels like a horny teenager, massaging his expanding cock thru his slacks, his palms moist, his groin aching. His fingers betray him twice before he enters the address correctly and soft sax-driven jazz begins. The screen flows in ribbons of color and silhouetted female forms. A neck, an ankle, the edge of an endless leg, a hip, the swoop of hair, the arch of an enormous breast, a curving ass cheek—all sensous and highly suggestive as fingers slither over each feature. These mesmerizing visuals continue on and on as Brian stares, whines and strokes himself. He knows it is HER. He longs to see HER, to be in HER intoxicating presence, to experience HER, to be HER’s. The music begins to fade away and HER voice dubs in. At first its a seductive purring and a sultry chuckling, but then he hears his name spoken, “BRIAN, MY PRECIOUS LITTLE MAN.” A backlite hourglass-shaped figure forms from the colors, dreamy and softly focused but unmistakable. “DIABLA KNOWS YOUR DESIRES,” SHE coos, “I ALREADY CONROL YOUR MIND, DARLING.” The vision takes a step forward, beginning a slow, measured and undulating gait not unlike a runway model, yet even more exagerated with breasts leading in unison—swaying, enticing and hair swirling exotically. “YOU WILL SUBMIT TO ME, YOU WILL SPOIL ME,” HER words grow more tantilizing, their message striking him in his very soul. “YOU ADORE DABLA,” SHE whispers drawing nearer, yet still in a mist. While the camera angle slowly ascends, SHE appears to tower like a skyscraper into an ethereal cloud, hands floating onto hips, legs splaying outward and the beauty of HER sex in dark shadow. “YOU WILL WORSHIP—SOON, AND FOREVER.” The music volume rises and the mist thickens. SHE disolves from view and Brian whines, “no, no, please no, please.” The colors commence again, this time with a super-imposed clock which reads 48:00:00. It pulses and lose a second, then two as it starts its methodical countsdown. “Oh, hoho, no” the elderly man is overwhelmed with disappointment yet grits his teeth as a small, painful release spurts forth. Brian has not cum twice in succession for several years. That revelation, and the wonder of tonight’s fantasy fulfillment causes him to sob with joy, not caring in the least how small and pathetic he is.
After nearly a half an hour of revelation and recuperation in the darkened room, he has contemplated his inexplicable luck and re-lived the encounter over and over in his mind. DIABLA is perfection. DIABLA has become his life. Nothing else matters. Nothing.
Brian finally staggers to bed after struggling in vain to re-load and see the video again. All he can retrieve from the website (his personalized website) is the clock, all he can do is wait for an excrutiating 47 plus hours. He believes this is the first test DIABLA has presented. He desperately longs to pass, to please this gorgeous, evil bitch...
...never in his life has he been so distracted, so unfocused, so tortured. The seconds are like hours, the minutes like days. Working is unbearable, socializing impossible. No diversion lasts long before SHE invades his pysche. Dreaming is constant, churning lust in his body night and day. He is a shuddering physical and mental wreck as at last the second evening arrives. Excusing all the servants for the night he hunkers down in the quiet, dark study for he knows not if SHE will return, but hopes and, uncharacteristically, prays for just that. The computer screen throbs with light and color. The clock marches downward agonizingly, until there is but 60 seconds left, then 30, then ten, nine, eight. Brian’s pulse pounds in his head and groin as two, one and then an abrupt blankness. He closes his eyes and waits, groaning, “please, please, please.” on and on. Tears form and trickle down his cheeks in the taut, intolerable silence.
“BRIAN,” Its a nearly inaudible utterance, but it shocks him into action, sitting upright jamming the volume control to max. “BRIAN, MY PET.” “Yes, ohhh, yesss,” he whimpers as a meandering light of rainbow colors fill the monitor. “ARE YOR READY, HUMMM?” In a wispery profile SHE appears, HER spectacular curvaceous form aglow in what seems to be a mirrored silver catsuit. Arrogantly SHE fluffs out a glistening white waterfall of hair, letting it cascade down HER back and splash onto the horizontal shelf of a sucullently shapely ass. This teasing continues in rising eddies of smoke and increasingly louder waves of saucy jazz sounds. HER hands sliding lasciviously over every curve, gloriously tweaking prominent nipples and playing lewdly between HER legs. Brian is furiously rubbing his erection as he sees a figure crawl into the picture on hands and knees.. It is male, blurred by the fog but evidently in a dull ebony catsuit. His contours are that of a body builder. “Oh gawd, yes” Brian moans as a silver leg elevates, the outline of an extremely tall platform and an ultra-stiletto tappered to a neddle point is placed on the guy’s back. Pressure is apparently applied as he bows down till his head, and then his torso, disappears into the opaque fog. The sound and the picture fade away into black. Brian is shaking and panting like a dog in heat, eyes searching the computer for anything. After a moment colors swirl around and another clock materializes with 88:00:00 on it. “No, please, no” he begs of the monitor, and, as if to answer his plea, text begins to scroll across the screen: ‘Patio at The Viper—MS DIABLA, brian and your lavish gifts for ME’. The clock commenses to tick as the pitiful old man finishes himself off.