Chapter 8: Chapter 8

You nod. This is awkward to say the least. You were just caught ogling your new boss, and now have an erection you have little chance to cover up. But you have to come in and talk to her now. You take a breath, then reach for the door handle.

As you enter she is unhitching the chain with the heavy Olympic plates from her waist. Sweat drips from her mostly bare body, sliding down her curvaceous hips, landing in drops and puddles all around her on the dark rubber mat. She sets the plates down. The muscles under her skin ripple in symphonies every time she moves. She smiles and tosses her hair over her shoulder, still toweling off. She reaches for a water bottle and takes a long drink. The heaving of her magnificent chest slows as she gets her wind back.

She smiles at you. "Well... it's my little lamb!"

You tear your eyes away from her spectacular figure to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry... lamb did you say?" You croak.

"Yes! In the office yesterday I was surprised at how easily you rolled over. Like a lamb... or maybe a puppy. I know you were expecting to be given that position. But you didn't even fight it - I just took it from you without a struggle. The greatest victory is that which requires no battle. Sun Tzu." She takes another drink.

You feel your face and ears grow hot with embarrassment. "Well, um... those numbers were not something I was prepared to counter. I'd honestly never even seen an analyst do anything like that before. Didn't know it was possible." You admit. Her sports bra is thin spandex, and her nipples are hard and thick, poking through the soaking wet fabric. Her areolas are so large in that tiny top that you can see their dark edges where the sports bra fails to entirely cover. You try to position yourself so that your erection is hidden by some gym equipment.

"Well that's true. Two of the rules of success in business. Over-deliver, and surprise your adversary. Men offer weak competition in general these days, so don't feel too embarrassed... you're no exception. I hope there are no... hard... feelings." She grins and holds out her hand to you.

It's clear exactly what she is hinting at by that comment, and now you have no way to hide it. You just have to step up and shake her hand. "No, certainly not... I'm sorry, should I call you Ms. De la Renta when we're out of the office?" You step toward her, your fully erect cock preceding you like a flagpole.

She glances down and says softly, "Delicious." Then looks back up at you, "Well for now that, or Ma'am, as you prefer. I'll decide where things will lead from there."

You take her moist hand and shake it. It's very warm. She has a strong, almost overpowering odor from her exertions, and you feel a little light-headed. She doesn't try to crush your hand this time, but points to a nearby weight bench, saying "Please sit. It's actually very lucky for me that you stopped by. I'd like to talk with you about something personal now, assuming you don't mind me in this state." She spreads her powerful arms expansively. You see that she doesn't shave her armpit hair. Unusual, but it makes sense to you: she doesn't bow to male-dictated standards of female attractiveness.

You know she can plainly see that you don't in fact mind. Quite the opposite. "No, Ma'am, Not at all. We all have to... exert ourselves from time to time." You tug at your shirt collar. It feels very warm in the room. You cough and clear your throat.

She smiles and says, "I'm staying on the 23rd floor, and will be here for the near future, on the company's account, until I can arrange for a rental." She sits on a bench across from you, draping her towel around her neck. "Why are you here at the Hilton tonight?"

The 23rd floor is the penthouse. Big, expensive suites, as Kerren had mentioned. "Well it's complicated and personal," You say.

She shakes her head, as if you didn't understand the question. "Alright, but why are you here?"

Okay then, she isn't going to accept that answer. "Yes Ma'am. My, umm, girlfriend and I made a decision to stay apart for a couple nights, to sort things out. You cross your legs.

"Ah, I see. I thought you might have had a domestic dispute." She indicates your bruise. "I'm sorry to hear that Brian."

"Oh, no... well yes... it has to do with my black eye I guess, but it wasn't my gir... friend who... anyway, it's comlicaded." You struggle, and sigh. Your tongue feels thick, and you are having difficulty speaking clearly.

She narrows her brow. "Yes... you said that. Brian are you okay?"

You nod, and say, "Yes, Ma'am. It's just... a lil hot in 'ere."

She's not convinced, but continues, "Well, I'll get right to the point of why I wanted to talk with you Brian." She adjusts her seating position and moves a bit closer to you. "I have contracted with an architect-builder for a home to be built in Malibu. This is slightly preliminary, because my offer on the property hasn't been accepted yet. However I believe it will be very soon, probably within a week. Once it does, we will finalize the plans, and they should be able to demo the existing structure and begin work almost immediately. Now... I saw from your resume that you have construction experience?" She raises her eyebrows.

Her close proximity is making it difficult to focus on her words. Your eyes want to feast on her remarkable body, but you try to maintain eye contact since it's rude to stare at her, and also you don't want to miss her meaning and sound like an idiot to this brilliant woman. "Oh, yes Ma'am, I do. It's my first love really. I achally put maself through Colmbia by GC'ing a couple big res-dent... res-dental projects in upstate... um, upstate New York. Bafore that I worked for my father's const, const, building company for quite a while. Mostly summers, but I worked hard and got expurrence with all the... all the... trades."

You are now hearing a ringing or buzz in your skull at every syllable you utter, and your vision is tunneling. You can vaguely tell that she is talking to you, maybe shouting, but you can't make out her words. You feel dizzy, and your upper body goes slack. Everything goes dark.

You wake up on your back, looking up into her beautiful, shiny, sweaty face, her long black hair grazing your cheek. She says urgently, "Brian? Brian Bannister? Can you hear me?

"Y-yes... yes. Yes Ma'am. I can hear you. What happened?" Your head feels thick, and your legs and hands are tingling.

"You fainted boy. I caught you just as you toppled over, and laid you here on the floor. Have you been eating? Are you dehydrated?"

Lately, women seem to keep calling you "boy". Now even Ms. De la Renta, who is actually younger than you. "Dehydrated? I don't think so. I just had a big dinner. Thank you for helping me Ma'am. You're so nice... not like... Thank you Ma'am." You smile up at her. Since she's bending over you, her big boobs are almost spilling out of her undersized sports bra, which naturally distracts you.

She gives you a strange look. "You're welcome boy. I think you're still a little woozy. I blame myself for expecting you to be able to focus on important matters when I'm dressed like this, and sweaty from a workout."

"Oh, yeah... you're amazing... I... I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm saying Ma'am. I don't know why I passed out. It was just all swirling." You grimace. You know you're babbling.

She helps you sit up, supporting your back with a hand. She nods, and you see an expression on her face that people often use when they're dealing with children. "Maybe we can talk about this some other time, but soon? Are you staying here at the hotel tonight?"

"Yes Ma'am. I'm definitely here tonight, and maybe tomorrow, I haven't decided yet. Could we meet tomorrow morning?" You ask.

"Yes, good. Why don't you come see me in my room at... 10:30am tomorrow? Promptly. I'm in 23B."

"Yes Ma'am. I'd like that." You smile big. "10:30. 23B." You try to stand, and she helps you up.

She offers you some of her water, but you politely decline. She makes you promise her you will drink lots of water. You think you're steady enough on your feet that you can walk safely. She watches you as you head to the door to make sure you don't lose your balance. You thank her again, and head back to the room, using the walls in the corridors for support when needed.

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Back in the room, you look at yourself in the mirror. Face is pale. You are still a little shaky and clammy. You feel like an ass after what happened, and in front of a woman like that! She certainly doesn't look like she ever faints. She just... makes men faint. Following Ms. De la Renta's advice, you drain a couple 16 ounce water bottles from the mini bar. You set up the pillows on your bed and lay back, thinking about what just happened. Images of her, the sound of her voice with that sexy accent, and the memory of her powerful scent flood your brain. Now you understand why you got the impression she might be chubby when you first met her. You try to imagine the kind of willpower and years of sustained effort it takes to build a body like that, and can hardly grasp it. She is a powerful woman in every way you can imagine. But so beautiful... mesmerizing.

Your cock begins to rise as you think about her, and soon you realize you'll have to jerk off to alleviate it. You pull your clothes off, go into the shower and turn the hot water on. With a little lubrication provided by bar soap, and images of Ms. De la Renta's amazing body and face, you quickly spurt your load into the drain. You sit on the wet shower floor for a while to recover as your breathing returns to normal, then get up and towel off.

It seemed like she might actually have been offering you some kind of job working on her house or something. Why would she want you? You don't think you're anything special. Unless it has something to do with your... oh. You look down. Yeah, maybe that. You are intrigued at the thought of working with her personally in some way, though wary because it would probably be very demanding, whatever it was. Still, the commercial loan business is not exactly exciting to you and has felt like a grind for years now. She certainly has a lot of pull with the bank if they'd just put her up in a penthouse suite for an indefinite stay. Those rooms must be several thousand bucks a night. You'll probably be spoiled for life when you see hers tomorrow. You'll need to be prepared and feeling your best before you go. Definitely going to work out tomorrow morning, before breakfast, so you set an alarm on your phone for 7.

You decide to check out the book Nina gave you. You grab Femme Supérieur from the nightstand and start leafing through it. You're surprised to see that it seems to be all in French. Nina said this copy was an English translation. You check the cover. It says "Chapitre 22 traduit en anglais". Does traduit mean translated? You leaf ahead to chapter 22 "Especially for Men", and it is all in English. After reading for a while, you realize you're not getting any useful information from it. It seems to be mostly platitudes about maintaining an understanding attitude about the women in your life while they're trying to come to grips with biological changes and their new role, and about, as the man, learning to let go of some of the control you're used to. The general message is that, in the new dynamic, men and women will share power and responsibilities more or less equally. This makes you wonder why the title doesn't have the French word for "equality" in it, instead of "superior".

You start leafing through some other chapters trying to find French words that might be close enough to English to be understandable. You come across the word "supérieures" and then pull out your phone. You type the whole sentence into Google Translate and it comes out as men must learn that women are their superiors. So... special chapter for men, huh? Bullshit. You keep searching. Even though it's laborious on a phone, you find several revealing sentences after translating them:

Already, males are discovering that they are unable to compete with women.

Women will soon realize that they can and must subjugate men.

As it should be obvious, evolution has determined that women are best placed to govern, not men.

Do not tolerate any challenge to your authority from a man. Crush him immediately. Certainly, nature has now provided you with the tools to do so.

Women are encouraged to gather several men to meet their sexual needs. These groups of men, which I will call harems, are the right of the new woman.

The last two translations are shocking, but rather than feeling angry and galvanized to join the resistance or something, you feel betrayed. What did Nina say to you yesterday morning? Hey. I'm on your team, remember? Yeah: just before she handed you a gun loaded with dummies "for your protection". There's no way to spin this anymore. You're on your own.

You're still feeling weak and tired after your fainting spell, or whatever the hell that was. You brush your teeth, turn out the lights and try to get some sleep.

After what seems like an eternity worrying about your dwindling life options, you finally drift off to sleep. When the alarm sounds, you find yourself tangled in the sheets as if you had been rolling over frequently in bed. It interrupts a very strange dream you can't even begin to make sense of, but part of it involved running on an endless sheet of glass, being chased by tigers. As you sit on the edge of the bed and stretch to wake yourself up, disjointed details and images return to your memory. Not the kind of dreams you normally have, that's for sure. More like an LSD or peyote trip.

You call the front desk and ask them what check-out time is. They say noon, so there's no need to check out until after your meeting. But what are you going to wear? You want to look professional, but your suit is a bit rumpled. You throw on gym clothes and gather up the suit and dress shirt to see what the front desk can do. Turns out they partner with a dry-cleaner just a couple doors down the street. It's expensive, but you opt for 90 minute dry cleaning so you can look your best. You buy more bottled water at the sundries shop, then head back to the elevators to hit the gym. The fitness center has just a couple guests in there. You start on a treadmill to work up a sweat and warm up.

Twenty minutes later, you have the room to yourself. You spend the next half hour using the resistance machines. When you feel you've done just about enough for a decent workout, you try the pull up station. You struggle to get 4 real chin-over-the-bar reps. On the fifth you can't make it all the way even by swinging. Oh well. You check your bruise out in the mirrors. The swelling seems to have gone down a little, and the color is even fading a bit in places. The scab is healing well and shrinking in size. It's healing faster than you would have thought. It's 8:30 now so you head back to your room to shower and shave. By 9:15 you're dressed and ready to eat. Like the gym, the restaurant is pretty empty, and you order a big breakfast. Before finishing, the bellman brings your dry cleaned suit to you at the table. You charge it all to your room and head back up to the 4th floor.

Back in the room, you brush your teeth and change into the suit, then check yourself in the full length mirror on the bathroom door. Not bad looking, Brian. Pretty sharp. You check your phone: still nothing from Nina. Fine: you don't want to talk to her anyway.

The elevator that goes to the top two floors is a special one, glass-enclosed and on the outside of the building so you can see across the city. It's a sunny day, with little noticeable smog, and a deep blue sky decorated with cumulus clouds. At the 23rd floor, the doors open into an anteroom with a large carved antique table in the middle, and an enormous fresh bouquet of red roses on it. The floor is custom black obsidian tiles cut in a radial pattern. Walls are dark wood with wainscot panels, and a coffered ceiling that has to be 20 feet up. Four doors, for four suites. You approach 23B and press the call button on the door intercom. A few moments pass. You clear your throat. You hear a soft tone from the speaker, then Ms. De la Renta's voice, "Yes?"

"Good morning Ma'am."

"So polite! Lovely. Good Morning Brian. The door will unlock. Please come down the stairs. I'm near the pool."

The door buzzes. You think "the pool?" You enter and see that the entry is well above the common living area. The outside walls are steel-framed glass, with 20 foot ceilings. The pool, which is lit all around its perimeter with lavender tinted lighting concealed beneath the lip, is half inside the living room, half on the huge outside balcony, and passes through an open automated sliding door, about 15 feet wide. The suite is enormous, and you're probably just seeing half of it. Ms. De la Renta waves to you from below. She is wearing tight jeans and a tight, dark chartreuse t-shirt, with a bare midriff. The room smells of cinnamon and vanilla, and you hear The Eagles' "I Can't Tell You Why" playing softly over hidden speakers. You walk down a wide sweeping, curved stairway made of stainless steel, wood and glass. The room is in a very grand, but modern style. Floors are polished wood and Italian stone tiles.

Ms. De la Renta gets up from her leather chair and crosses the room to greet you as you enter. She smiles sincerely and reaches out with both hands for yours, saying, "Oh you look gorgeous in that suit Mr. Bannister." Her hands are warm and friendly. She is wearing high heeled sandals, placing her eyes at about the level of your hairline. Again, her presence is overwhelming. Her bare arms are huge and muscular, and the tight jeans and bare midriff reveal womanly hips and a wickedly small waist with cobblestone abs. The thin cloth of her shirt is stretched tight across her huge chest, and her nipples assert themselves through it. She is wearing tasteful diamond jewelry: bracelets, a necklace and a ring on each hand.

"Thank you for being prompt. Time is very important to me. I trust you're feeling well now after last night?" She leads you over to the sitting area.

"Yes Ma'am I'm feeling much better. Thank you for asking."

"I'm relieved to hear that. You were trembling, so fragile and pale, but your color has returned I see. I appreciate your dressing so professionally for your appointment with me but as you can see I am dressed casually. Please indulge me and remove your jacket - you must be warm in it. I can't have you fainting again! Would you like something to drink?"

"Thank you Ma'am no, I'm fine." You remove your jacket and lay it over the back of a chair.

"Well I would like a Perrier if you wouldn't mind grabbing one for me. There's a small fridge under the wet bar behind you, with glasses and ice nearby."

As you turn to head to the bar, she continues. "We'll sit here, the breeze from the open patio is so pleasant."

You open the fridge door and remove a bottle of Perrier, pouring it out over ice in a tall glass. She is sitting in one of the leather chairs, about to light a pink Sherman cigarette.

You head back to her with the drink and a coaster, setting it down next to her, nodding, "Ma'am."

"Thank you dear. You don't mind if I smoke? I only indulge occasionally, but they are nice. Would you like one?" She offers the pack of hot pink cigarettes to you.

"Very kind, but no thank you Ma'am." You smile. You hear Destiny's Child on the speakers: Try to control me boy you get dismissed...

Indicating a set of architectural plans spread out on the coffee table, she says, "I'm not sure what you recall from last night, but these are the plans for my new home. I was just informed this morning, that my offer on the Malibu property was accepted!" She beams.

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