PART IX The house of the beautiful feet

The romance between Arelis and Ryan has an incredible interruption

PART VIII /2026/03/story-49500

The dry, heavy sound of the immense front door closing behind them was like breaking a seal. Suddenly, the deathly silence, the cold air, and the rigidity of the concrete walls were gone, replaced by the morning light, the warmth of the asphalt, and the distant murmur of the city.

A taxi was waiting for them right at the entrance. They hurriedly climbed into the back, their bodies brushing against each other, almost as if they feared the house might come alive and drag them back to their roles of servitude and protocol. As they closed the car door, they both let out a deep sigh, followed by a spontaneous laugh that filled the small space of the vehicle.

Arelis immediately pressed herself against Ryan's side, linking her arm with his and resting her head on his shoulder, enjoying the soft texture of the cotton in his polo shirt.

"Remember the rules of the game, neighbor," she whispered, lifting her face to look at him with those caramel eyes shining with excitement. "We're dating. Just for today."

"Boyfriend and girlfriend for a day," Ryan confirmed, putting an arm around her shoulders to pull her closer and giving her a quick kiss on the temple. "Sounds like a fair deal. Though I'll have to get used to a few new things about my girlfriend."

Arelis frowned slightly, amused.

-What are you talking about?

Ryan looked down at the taxi floor, nodding his chin.

"Oh, that. Your sneakers," she said, smiling slightly. "It's the first time I've seen you wearing shoes since I've known you. In that house, you're always a silent, barefoot ghost. It was almost a shock to hear the rubber soles squeak in the hallway."

Arelis let out a crystalline giggle and, in turn, slid a hand down Ryan's chest, tugging a little at the fabric of his casual polo shirt.

“Well, I’m in shock too, Mr. Cole,” she joked, using his last name with affectionate sarcasm. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you without that dark suit armor. In a suit and tie you command a lot of respect, but like this… in jeans and a polo shirt… you look so ordinary. And dangerously handsome. You look like the kind of guy who would buy me a beer in Hell’s Kitchen and end up breaking my heart.”

Ryan let out a deep laugh that resonated in Arelis's chest. As the taxi moved on, leaving the seclusion of the mansion behind and entering the traffic, the conversation naturally turned to the peculiar obsession of the house they had just left behind.

“Speaking of going barefoot…” Ryan began, lowering his voice slightly so the driver wouldn’t hear, his thumb brushing Arelis’s knee. “Living there, I’ve learned something about foot fetishism. Friedrich built an empire around it, forcing all women to display their feet as a symbol of power or submission.”

Arelis nodded, remembering the cold marble under her feet every morning.

"It's a strange cult," she murmured. "It makes you feel vulnerable all the time."

“It is,” he agreed, looking intently at her. “But I’ve also discovered it’s a very refined art. And like all art, it’s only truly fascinating when the raw material is perfect. That level of devotion, that madness of wanting to kiss, suck, and worship that part of the body, is only possible, and only truly drives you wild, when the feet are absolutely beautiful. Feminine, delicate, well-cared for…”

Arelis blushed slightly. She knew perfectly well where she was going.

"Like yours," Ryan finished, leaning in to whisper in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. "When you put them on my face earlier on the massage table... God, Arelis. You have gorgeous feet. Worshipping them was the most exquisite thing I've done in a long time."

Arelis bit her lower lip, feeling a hot rush in her belly as she recalled the image of him thrusting into her savagely while she sucked on his fingers with that animalistic devotion. She pressed her thigh against his and squeezed his hand, letting the complicit silence, thick with sexual tension, envelop them as the city began to unfold outside the window.

Arelis heard Ryan's words, but instead of nodding wistfully, she let out a soft giggle and shook her head, stroking the back of his hand.

“But it’s not as dark or as bad as it sounds, Ryan,” she interrupted, changing her tone to a much lighter and more conspiratorial one. “We’re not slaves. In fact, the truth is that some men have come to the house before you, though only for very specific and controlled nights.”

Ryan raised his eyebrows, surprised by the revelation. Arelis snuggled closer against his shoulder, enjoying having his undivided attention.

“Helena isn’t an irrational monster,” she explained. “Before any man crosses that door, she shows us the men. She tells us about them, describes what they’re like, what they do, and we always have the option to say ‘no.’ Nothing ever happens against our will. The house system is strict, yes, but we can always set the limits ourselves.”

"But they never say no," Ryan guessed, putting two and two together as he recalled the intensity of all the women who lived in the mansion.

"Exactly," Arelis smiled mischievously, her caramel eyes sparkling with amusement. "Helena's trick in that clinical selection process I told you about is that she looks for a very specific type: all of us there have incredibly high sex drives. We can say no, of course, but since she knows us perfectly and knows exactly what excites us, she knows beforehand that we usually say yes. We love it."

Ryan looked at her, processing that the power dynamics in the mansion were far more complex and consensual than he had thought. Arelis wasn't just a victim of Friedrich's design; she was an active player who enjoyed the thrill as much as the others.

Arelis brought her lips close to Ryan's ear, lowering her voice until it became a husky purr that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"To give you an idea of the extent of our involvement..." she whispered. "Do you remember dinner on your first night? When you arrived, you sat down at the marble table and slipped the cucumber under the tablecloth while I was serving?"

Ryan felt a rush of heat in his stomach as he remembered her dampness, the contrast between the formal dinner upstairs and the raw sex downstairs.

—Of course I remember —he replied, his voice a tone deeper.

Arelis stepped back a little to see his face and gave him a wide, triumphant smile.

—Well, believe it or not, neighbor... that was my suggestion. The recipe is Friedrich's, but it was my idea to make it that night.

Ryan gasped for a second before letting out a deep, resounding laugh, throwing his head back. All night he'd believed he was meticulously following a twisted script imposed solely by Helena to test him, when in reality, the girl from Hell's Kitchen who served him wine had orchestrated her own fantasy.

Suddenly feeling much closer to her, Ryan put his arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side, fascinated by this mixture of feigned submission and unbridled lust.

The taxi screeched to a halt at the edge of one of the main avenues, immersed in the city's chaotic and vibrant bustle. Ryan paid the driver and they stepped out onto the asphalt. The morning sun and the noise of the traffic enveloped them immediately, but far from overwhelming them, it made them feel alive. It was the perfect anonymity that only a great metropolis can offer.

Without hesitating for a second, Ryan reached for Arelis's hand. They intertwined their fingers with astonishing ease, feeling the warmth of their palms together, and began walking along the sidewalk.

They were a magnetic couple. It was impossible not to stare. As they walked, weaving through the passersby, heads turned in their wake. Ryan, freed from the severity of his suits, radiated a refined and elegant beauty that, combined with his confident posture and sneakers, made him look like a catalog model on his day off. Beside him, Arelis was an earthy and dazzling sight. Her tight jeans hugged every curve of her voluptuous figure, and her top accentuated her ample bosom, but what truly captured people's attention was her face. She wore a huge, beautiful, and genuine smile, an expression of happiness so pure and uninhibited that it was contagious to anyone who glanced at her.

"They're watching us," Ryan whispered in her ear, moving closer as they walked, amused by the attention.

"Let them look," she replied, squeezing his hand proudly and lifting her chin a little higher. "Today I have the most handsome boyfriend on the whole avenue. It would be a crime not to show him off."

Ryan had also been chosen by Helena. She knew they were both attractive. Together they drew attention.

They continued strolling for several blocks, enjoying the simple pleasure of window shopping, grabbing a coffee on the go, and breathing in the air without any cameras recording their movements. The conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and knowing glances, until they reached a building with a classic and understated facade, adorned with heavy wooden doors and bronze plaques.

Ryan stopped, reading the carved sign next to the entrance.

—“Cultural Association: History and Art of Eroticism”—he read aloud, raising an eyebrow—. It’s an erotic museum.

Arelis approached the display cases by the entrance, which showcased understated antique sculptures and Renaissance engravings on sexuality. Her caramel eyes lit up with that mischievous spark that Ryan found so fascinating. After their intense conversation in the taxi about fetishes, desire, and the dynamics of the mansion, the place seemed to have appeared in their path on purpose.

"A cultural association, huh..." she murmured, turning to face him, biting her lower lip to suppress a mischievous smile. "Tell me, neighbor, how cultured are you feeling this morning?"

Ryan burst out laughing, gently pulling her hand closer to his chest.

"I think that, after our breakfast on the concrete island and your revelation about the cucumber, my interest in erotic art is at its highest point," he replied, looking down at her glossy lips. "Let's go inside."

With a joint push on the heavy oak door, they crossed the threshold of the museum, leaving behind the noise of the street to immerse themselves in a new exploration, but this time, under their own rules.

Upon passing through the heavy oak door, the deafening clamor of the avenue vanished instantly, replaced by an intimate, warm, and dimly lit atmosphere. The ticket office lobby was anything but seedy; on the contrary, it exuded a bohemian and supremely elegant air. The walls were covered in burgundy wallpaper with gold patterns, and small amber lanterns hung from the moldings. Along the sides, marble pedestals held replicas of classical Greek pottery depicting discreet yet unmistakable scenes of orgies and fertility, while the soft echo of instrumental string music drifted in the air.

Behind a carved mahogany counter, they were greeted by the manager. She was an older woman, but undeniably attractive, with her silver hair pulled back in an elegant bun. She wore a dark silk blouse that hinted at a rather generous neckline and a curvaceous figure that had aged gracefully and proudly.

Seeing them enter holding hands, the woman's eyes lit up with genuine sympathy.

"Welcome to the Cultural Association and Museum of Erotic Art," she greeted them, resting her hands on the counter with a broad smile. "What a lovely couple you make. Many people come through these doors, but I rarely see two people who radiate so much chemistry. You both seem very much in love."

Ryan smiled, flattered, but before he could reply, Arelis snuggled a little closer to his arm, resting her face against his shoulder.

"Thank you so much, ma'am," Arelis said in a sweet, dreamy voice. "Actually, we're celebrating. We're getting married very soon."

Ryan had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting out laughing. He squeezed Arelis's waist, marveling at the quick wit and audacity of the girl from Hell's Kitchen. She was taking the "boyfriend for a day" game to the next level with astonishing ease. He played along, giving her a tender kiss on the top of her head.

The elderly lady placed a hand on her chest, genuinely moved by the scene.

"Oh, congratulations!" she exclaimed, nodding with conviction. "I'm sure you'll be very happy. You can't fake that kind of thing; the love and desire between you is obvious, you're on the same wavelength. It's beautiful to see."

"Thanks," Ryan replied, giving his "fiancée" a knowing look before pulling his wallet from his back jeans pocket . "How much do we owe you for the tickets?"

"They're only ten dollars each," the woman said, pointing to a small bronze sign.

Ryan took out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to her. The woman gave them a couple of tickets printed on thick, textured paper in return, and pointed to some heavy red velvet curtains to their left.

—Enjoy the exhibition, future spouses. Take your time, art is meant to be felt—the curator winked at them.

Arelis took her ticket and pulled Ryan's hand, leading him toward the red curtains. As soon as they crossed the threshold and were out of sight of the ticket booth, she turned to him, letting out a stifled giggle as she covered her mouth.

They passed through the heavy red velvet curtains and the atmosphere changed completely. The museum's main hall was bathed in an elegant twilight, strategically illuminated by spotlights that made the glass display cases sparkle. The air smelled of antique wood, wax, and a faint trace of incense.

Inside, the story of human desire unfolded in all its splendor and rawness. Walking hand in hand, Ryan and Arelis were captivated by the collection, pausing to whisper and laugh at each discovery.

There was absolutely everything. In the first section, dedicated to antiquity, they gazed in fascination at some Roman tintinnabula : bronze wind chimes shaped like winged phalluses, used to attract fertility. Further on, incredibly well-preserved Egyptian papyri depicted figures in profile performing acrobatic sexual feats that made Arelis raise her eyebrows in admiration.

Moving on to the Renaissance and the Orient, Ryan pointed to a carved wooden box from India. Its secret compartments revealed ivory figures intertwined in the most complex positions of the Kama Sutra.

The Victorian era and the 20th century each had their own corner, filled with fascinating hypocrisy. They saw elegant silver pocket watches that, when a hidden button was pressed, revealed oil-painted miniatures of nude women in suggestive poses. Arelis let out a stifled laugh upon seeing, in a display case lined with black silk, the first blown-glass dildos from Venice and a cumbersome electromechanical brass vibrator from the 1920s, which looked more like a torture device than a pleasure toy.

"I think technology has improved quite a bit in our favor, neighbor," Arelis whispered, giving him a conspiratorial nudge as they looked at the strange brass contraption.

Ryan smiled, squeezing her waist and leading her down the hallway. But then, as they turned a corner, they both stopped dead in their tracks.

Opposite them, occupying a central position on the back wall, was a double display case, illuminated with a much warmer and more focused light. The gold sign at the top read: "The Golden Lotus: The Refined Art of Foot Fetishism in Imperial China . "

They approached slowly, drawn together like magnets. The display was captivating. In the center rested a tiny red silk shoe, exquisitely embroidered with gold thread, no more than ten centimeters long. Around it, ancient watercolor parchments depicted intimate scenes in the chambers of emperors: richly dressed mandarins and nobles, kneeling on the floor, washing, kissing, and devoutly caressing the small, bare feet of their concubines.

An explanatory panel detailed how, for centuries, a woman's small, modified foot was considered the most erotic part of the female body in China. Men were driven wild by them; they caressed them during sex, drank wine from their shoes, and considered the aroma and softness of those soles the pinnacle of carnal pleasure.

Ryan placed his hands on the glass, reading the plaque with utmost attention. The connection to his own reality was inescapable.

"Look at them..." he murmured, his voice a tone deeper. "Kneeling. Worshipping feet as if they were altars. It's exactly the same devotion Friedrich instilled in the mansion, the same principle of submission and power. Only he removed the cruelty of the bandages and focused it on natural beauty."

Arelis looked at the tiny shoe and felt a shiver. Instinctively, she looked down at her own white sneakers that concealed her healthy, wide, and natural feet.

“It’s disturbing… and fascinating at the same time,” she confessed, leaning her shoulder against Ryan’s chest. “The whole of human history is full of men losing their heads over a woman’s feet. I suppose Helena and her late husband didn’t invent anything new; they just perfected it and built concrete walls around it.”

Ryan turned to look at her. The amber glow of the display case illuminated Arelis's soft features. Unconcerned about whether there were security cameras in the museum or if other visitors were watching, Ryan raised a hand and brushed a strand of brown hair away from her face.

Ryan slowly stepped away from the glass of the display case, still holding Arelis's waist, and let out a thoughtful sigh. The museum's soft amber light outlined his features, giving him an almost melancholic air as he took in how much the mansion had transformed him.

“I have to admit something to you, neighbor,” Ryan began, lowering his voice to a confidential whisper. “At this point, I’ve developed a taste for feet that’s frankly impressive. That house gets under your skin. Friedrich and Helena did a perfect job rewiring my instincts.”

Arelis looked at him curiously, tilting her head while absentmindedly stroking the cotton fabric of his polo shirt.

“But there’s something curious,” Ryan continued, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Today, as we were walking down the main avenue, I passed several women wearing sandals because of the heat. Instinctively, I glanced down… and nothing. It didn’t catch my eye at all. It was almost disappointing.”

"Disappointing?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

"Yes, because none of them had truly beautiful feet. They were... ordinary. Plain. None of them even came close to the level of the women in the house. And definitely none of them had the delicacy, the arch, or the softness of yours. I suppose that level of devotion we were talking about only awakens when aesthetics are impeccable. I've been spoiled by perfection."

Arelis let out a soft, husky giggle and took a step forward to close the small distance between them. She placed both hands on Ryan's chest, looking at him with that characteristic blend of neighborhood sweetness and feminine wisdom.

"It makes perfect sense, my love," she replied, looking him straight in the eyes. "Eroticism is like tango."

Ryan frowned slightly, intrigued by the comparison.

—Like tango?

"Exactly," Arelis agreed, sliding her hands onto his shoulders. "It requires both of you to be able to dance it. Both of you to have exactly what it takes for the chemistry to explode. It's not enough for you to have the desire, the technique, or the urge to worship. The other person has to have the perfect raw material, and above all, know how to show it off and how to give it to you."

Arelis moved a little closer, brushing her nose against his, enveloping him in her subtle perfume.

“That’s the difference between the world out there and our house,” she whispered. “Outside, people just use their feet to walk, to go to work. In the mansion, our feet are an instrument designed to drive you crazy. We were clinically selected to have what it takes to dance that tango with you. That’s why you find sandals on the avenue boring.”

Ryan looked at her, utterly captivated by the clarity and starkness of her reasoning. Arelis wasn't just a beautiful and accommodating woman; she understood the psychology of desire as well as Helena herself, but without the matriarch's calculating coldness. Arelis was pure instinct, hot-blooded, and raw sensuality.

"You sure know how to dance, neighbor," Ryan murmured, sliding his hands down her lower back to the curve of her jeans , pulling her firmly against his body.

The voice from the loudspeaker broke the spell, bringing them back to reality. Arelis stepped back a couple of inches, checked the time on her phone, and gave Ryan a radiant, determined smile.

"It's lunchtime," she announced, playfully tapping him on the chest with her index finger. "And today, it's on me, neighbor."

They left the museum, leaving behind the erotic gloom and ancient history, to immerse themselves once again in the harsh light and comforting noise of the avenue. They walked a couple of blocks hand in hand, dodging people, until Arelis stopped in front of a simple, classic coffee shop with red vinyl seats, Formica tables, and the unmistakable smell of grilled meat and french fries wafting through the air.

They entered and sat in a booth by the window. The contrast with their usual life was stark. At the Kranz mansion, food was a cult of perfection: gourmet dishes served on cold marble, sometimes prepared with meticulous care by Arelis herself or Karen, and other times by external, highly skilled chefs hired by Helena, who came and went through the service entrance like silent shadows, without making a sound or even looking up. Everything there was organic, measured, and designed to maintain the impeccable figures that the system demanded.

But today there were no rules. When the waitress approached with her notepad, Arelis didn't even look at the menu.

"Two classic hamburgers, please. With lots of cheese, fries, and two ice-cold Pepsis, " she ordered with a naturalness that made Ryan smile.

When the food arrived, steaming and overflowing with calories, they exchanged a knowing glance. Ryan took his glass of Pepsi, feeling the cold glass against his palm.

“Helena would fire me on the spot if she saw me about to eat this,” he joked, eyeing the glistening fat of the meat. “I’ve been eating steamed salmon and salads for months to maintain the exact fat percentage her bespoke suits require.”

Arelis burst into laughter, grabbing her hamburger with both hands.

"Don't even tell me. I practically live counting carbs so my maid uniform doesn't get too tight and so my curves stay exactly as she approved them on day one," she confessed, taking a huge bite of her food and closing her eyes in pure pleasure. "God... this tastes heavenly. Sometimes you forget how good it feels to stop being perfect for a while."

Ryan watched her chew, fascinated by the way she enjoyed the simplest pleasures. Seeing her there, with a bit of ketchup at the corner of her lips, relaxed and laughing in a noisy cafeteria, seemed a hundred times more appealing to him than any formal five-course dinner. He took a bite of his burger too, feeling that this junk food, brimming with rebellion, was the best lunch he'd had in a long time.

Between bites, Ryan leaned across the Formica table and captured Arelis's lips in a spontaneous kiss. Their mouths met, mingling the sweet taste of the cold Pepsi with the warmth of the food. It was a messy, real, and deeply intimate kiss, a far cry from the perfectly choreographed, sterile kisses of the mansion.

As they parted, Ryan wiped the corner of his lips with a paper napkin and stared at her, his expression thoughtful.

“You know, neighbor…” he began, resting his elbows on the table, “everyone out there thinks being free is simply doing whatever you want without answering to anyone. But after entering Helena’s house, I’ve come to a very different conclusion. True freedom lies in choosing exactly what controls you. I chose to submit to the rules of that house because the level of pleasure, power, and beauty I receive in return is worth it all. I chose my own cage.”

Arelis put her hamburger on the plate and wiped her hands, looking at him with a spark of mischief and absolute understanding.

“You’re absolutely right, my love,” she agreed, lowering her voice and moving closer to him across the table. “All of us in there chose that cage for the same reason. Pleasure controls us. But you only see part of the picture, neighbor. You only see what happens outside the doors or in the main rooms.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

"To the maids' quarters," Arelis replied with a mischievous smile. "It's just past the kitchen, at the end of the service corridor. You've never been there, have you? It's our territory."

Ryan shook his head, feeling curiosity, and a sudden wave of excitement, take hold of him.

“Well, a lot of things happen in that hallway,” she continued, in a whisper heavy with morbid curiosity. “When Helena organizes her games and rituals, the whole house becomes unbearably tense. And when the cameras are turned off and she retires to her quarters, we’re left with our blood boiling and our bodies on fire. That excitement has to come out somehow. So, many times, we end up having sex with each other.”

Ryan's eyes opened slightly. The mental image of those spectacular women, who during the day walked silently with their heads down, devouring each other in the privacy of their rooms, was too stimulating.

“I’ve had sex with Karen several times,” Arelis confessed, without a hint of shame, enjoying her boyfriend’s reaction. “And I’ve slept with Ziela a couple of times too . That woman is wild, Ryan. She’s so strong and dominant that when she gets a hold of you, you just let her crush you. She’s rough, but delicious.”

Ziela 's muscles .

“But it’s not just us,” Arelis added, taking a sip of her Pepsi. “Before you came to the house and became the center of attention, Helena was always playing lesbian games with me. She loves my body, and I’ve had several sexual experiences with her, letting me do anything.”

"Helena?" Ryan whispered, stunned. The matriarch always seemed so focused on him and her own superiority.

“Yes, Helena,” Arelis agreed. “But I’m not her favorite. I was just a pastime. Helena’s true favorite, her weakness and main playmate, has always been Karen. That’s why Karen is the head of staff, her absolute right-hand woman in the house. They have a much deeper, almost dark, connection.”

Arelis leaned in a little further, revealing the last secret of the mansion's hierarchy.

"And it's only natural that it should be this way," he concluded. "Karen wasn't hired or trained by Helena, like I was. Karen was brought in and personally trained by Friedrich Kranz himself before he died. She's the oldest and most perfect piece in the whole house."

Ryan leaned back against the red vinyl of the seat, the half-finished burger forgotten on the plate. The world he thought he knew and controlled within those concrete walls had just expanded in an exciting and dizzying way. The level of lust, secrets, and intrigues woven behind his back in that brutalist empire surpassed any fantasy.

Ryan let out a low whistle, leaning back against the red vinyl of the booth as he absorbed the mental image of that ecosystem of pure lust operating behind him.

"I have to admit that sounds extremely interesting, neighbor," he replied, with a smile full of morbid fascination. "It drives me crazy to imagine it."

Arelis winked at him, pleased to have surprised him, and took another bite of her hamburger, savoring her victory.

Suddenly, Ryan's eyes lit up with a special gleam. He wiped his hands with the paper napkin and leaned across the table again, searching for her gaze.

—Speaking of secrets and our real lives... you've just given me an idea— she said, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial tone. —Since we're breaking all the rules today and remembering where we came from... would you like to see my apartment in Hell's Kitchen?

Arelis stopped eating halfway through, her caramel eyes wide.

"Your apartment?" she asked, genuinely surprised. "You still have it?"

“Yes. It’s been closed up and gathering dust since the exact day I walked through the mansion doors and Helena changed my life,” Ryan explained, feeling a sudden wave of nostalgia. “It’s small, noisy, and I assure you it doesn’t have a single brutalist concrete wall , or silk sheets, or stone bathtubs. But it’s mine. It was my refuge. And I’d love for you to see it.”

The smile that lit up Arelis's face was perhaps the most beautiful and genuine of the entire morning. For her, that invitation meant far more than any jewel or privilege within the Kranz empire. It was the ultimate gesture of intimacy. He wasn't taking her to a billionaire's playroom; he was inviting her into his true story.

"I'd love to, my love. Take me," she agreed without hesitation, caressing his cheek across the table.

They devoured the rest of their hamburgers and emptied their Pepsi glasses with renewed enthusiasm, eager to continue their adventure. Ryan left a couple of bills on the Formica table, shook Arelis's hand, and they left the café together, once again embracing the warmth and vibrant noise of the avenue.

They walked to the corner and Ryan raised his arm, flagging down a classic yellow taxi that pulled up in front of them. They quickly climbed into the back, pressing their bodies against the worn leather seat.

—To Hell's Kitchen, please—Ryan told the driver, giving him the exact address of his old building.

The taxi started moving, plunging into the city's dense traffic. As they drove on, Arelis rested her head on Ryan's shoulder and intertwined her fingers with his. They were going back to their roots, to the working-class neighborhood, chaotic and vibrant, where, in another life, they might have met over a beer in an ordinary bar, without contracts, submission, or luxury mansions.

The taxi dropped them off in front of a narrow, red-brick building with the typical fire escape on the facade—the very heart of Hell's Kitchen. Ryan paid, they got out of the car, and climbed a couple of flights of narrow stairs. The sound of their footsteps echoed in the quiet hallway until Ryan stopped in front of a worn wooden door.

He took out a key he hadn't used in months, turned it in the lock, and pushed the door open. The air that greeted them had that characteristic smell of places that have been closed for a long time, a mixture of fine dust and old wood, but to Ryan, it smelled like home.

They went inside and Ryan turned on the light. It was a tiny apartment, a stark contrast to the vastness of the Kranz mansion. It consisted of a single main room: a small living area that flowed into a modest kitchen with a breakfast bar. There was a gray fabric sofa, slightly sunken in the center, a pressed-wood TV stand, and a sash window through which the midday sun streamed, illuminating the dust motes in the air. There was no imported marble, no Renaissance art, no exposed concrete walls; just the stark simplicity of a working-class boy's life.

Arelis entered with curious steps, inspecting every corner with a tender smile. She approached the gray sofa and sank down onto it with a sigh of relief. Almost instinctively, she leaned forward, untied the laces of her white sneakers, took off her socks, and let her feet rest bare on the small rug. She wiggled her toes in the air, releasing the tension.

Ryan leaned against the frame of the small kitchen, watching her with a smile full of devotion as the light from the window caressed the skin of her plants.

"They are definitely the most beautiful feet that have ever been seen here," he said softly, with a sincerity that warmed her chest.

Arelis let out a soft giggle, looking down at her own bare feet before raising her caramel eyes to him.

"It's just the habit of going barefoot," she replied, shrugging charmingly. "Helena's system has ruined my shoes forever. I can't stand having them locked up anymore."

A comfortable silence fell between them. Arelis glanced towards the only half-open door that led to the other room of the apartment.

"Let's go to the room," she suggested, her voice sweet, extending a hand towards him.

Ryan nodded. He kicked off his shoes right there and took her hand, leading her into the small room. The room was barely big enough for a double bed covered with a navy blue comforter and a simple dresser.

There was no wild urgency, no unbridled lust. This time, the intimacy was different. They both lay down on the mattress, which creaked softly under their combined weight. They lay on their backs, staring at the smooth white ceiling, and Arelis snuggled up against Ryan's side. They intertwined their fingers tightly, staying there, holding hands in the silence of the old apartment. For the first time in months, they weren't the successor and the maid, nor were they under the scrutiny of any cameras; they were just Ryan and Arelis, in their own world.

The silence of the small room was broken only by the distant, muffled hum of New York traffic. They lay like that for a few minutes, staring at the white ceiling, breathing the same air of that past life Ryan had left behind, enjoying the simplicity of lying down without having to answer to anyone.

"Hey, neighbor..." Arelis broke the silence, turning her head on the pillow to look at him in profile. "What did you think of that whole museum thing? The foot fetish goes way back to the Chinese and their emperors..."

Ryan smiled, continuing to stroke his knuckles with his thumb.

“I found it fascinating,” he replied in a deep, thoughtful voice. “It confirmed something I had already begun to understand at the mansion. The pleasure of the feet is not just any whim, nor a mere perversion. It is an art form. And like all ancient arts, it requires devotion, time, and, above all, the perfect muse to dance it.”

Arelis let out a low, husky giggle that echoed in the stillness of the room. Slowly, she released Ryan's hand and sat up on the spring mattress, which creaked beneath her weight. She knelt beside him, looking at him with an expression that blended the tenderness of a girl from the neighborhood with an utterly shameless lust.

"Well, I love your devotion, my love," she murmured, gracefully crawling between his legs. "But right now, I'm the one who wants to appreciate a different kind of art."

Without asking permission, and with a decisiveness that left him breathless, Arelis placed her hands on Ryan's waist. She unbuttoned the metal button of his jeans and pulled down the zipper in one swift motion. She tugged at the heavy denim and his underwear, lowering his pants to his knees to free his penis, which was already throbbing, swollen, and rigid with anticipation.

Arelis stared at him for a second, licking her glossy lips with undeniable eagerness. There was no trace of the calculated submissiveness she displayed in front of the house cameras; what she radiated now was pure gluttony. She was the pastry chef in front of her favorite dessert.

She leaned over him, moved the hair away from his face, and took him completely into her mouth.

The sucking was deep, wet, and enthusiastic from the very first moment. Arelis began to give him a blowjob with a devouring intensity, enveloping Ryan's entire hardness with her warm lips and agile tongue. Her hands gripped his thighs, squeezing the flesh as her head moved up and down in a noisy, raw, and wild rhythm.

It was obvious she wasn't doing this to please him, but for her own pure and utter pleasure. Arelis swallowed eagerly, letting out small, vibrant moans against Ryan's hot skin, and closed her eyes, intoxicated by the taste, the texture, and the sensation of having him exactly where and how she wanted. She savored him like a delicacy, rubbing her own groin against the mattress with every movement, becoming intensely aroused by her own actions.

Ryan threw his head back, burying the back of his neck in the old pillow from his former apartment. The contrast was mind-blowing: lying in his humble bed in Hell's Kitchen, half-dressed, while this dazzling, voluptuous, and free woman devoured him out of pure, selfish pleasure, drove him to the brink of madness. He let out a hoarse groan and brought his hands to Arelis's brown hair, tangling his fingers in its strands, surrendering completely to his girlfriend's insatiable hunger for the day.

Arelis was in no hurry. Her lips enveloped Ryan's hardness with a hypnotic cadence, marking a deep, wet rhythm that filled the small room with obscene, visceral sounds. Her hands, gripping his thighs, kneaded his taut skin while her mouth did all the work. It was obvious the act intoxicated her; she savored every inch with her eyes closed, letting out small, guttural moans through her nose that vibrated directly against his skin. It was pure gluttony, a selfish and wonderful enjoyment where she, intoxicated by her own desire, took absolute control of the moment.

Ryan writhed on the old comforter, his breath ragged, lost in the suffocating heat of Arelis's mouth. But just as he felt control slipping from his grasp and was about to surrender, she stopped.

With a wet sound, he released his erection, leaving him panting , his chest rising and falling rapidly. Arelis licked her glossy lips, adjusted herself more comfortably on the spring mattress, and with a swift movement, changed position. She lay back, propping herself up on her elbows, and raised her legs, bringing her bare feet toward his crotch.

The soft, warm soles, which hours before had been trapped in the white sneakers, fully encased his erect penis.

“I told you that foot pleasure is an art, neighbor,” she purred, sliding the arches of her feet along his penis with a slick, perfect friction, using the remnants of her own saliva. “And let me tell you, this is an art I’ve mastered. Helena herself trained me. She taught me how to use just the right pressure, how to wrap my toes around him, and how to make a man lose his mind just by feeling the soles of my feet.”

She began to masturbate him with a steady, firm rhythm. She rubbed the soft skin of her heels and the delicacy of her toes against his extreme sensitivity, squeezing him between her feet. The sensation was overwhelming. The contrast between the throbbing hardness of his erection and the fleshy softness of Arelis's soles drew a long, hoarse, rasping groan from Ryan that echoed off the worn walls of Hell's Kitchen.

Arelis smiled, her chest swelling with pride as she heard his voice tremble and saw his body arch, seeking more friction. She tightened her grip on his feet, massaging him with a wicked skill that revealed the demanding hours of training at the mansion.

"Do you like how I masturbate you with my feet, my love?" she asked, raising her voice in a challenging yet flirtatious tone, without stopping the slick sway of her soles. "Tell me if I'm the best. Tell me if these feet drive you as crazy as you say..."

Ryan threw his head back, clenching his fists into the old sheets as the perfect friction brought him dangerously close to the edge.

"Yes... God, yes, you're the best..." he managed to stammer between heavy, uncontrolled gasps, opening his eyes to gaze at the immaculate whiteness of those feet moving above him. "They drive me crazy, Arelis. They're perfect... they're made for absolute devotion."

Arelis let out a laugh brimming with power and morbid pleasure, gratified by Ryan's desperate adoration. Propped up on her elbows on the old mattress in Hell's Kitchen, she began to display the full repertoire that Helena's strict academy had instilled in her, transforming her feet into instruments of absolute pleasure.

First, she slid her soft, fleshy heels down the length of his erection, all the way to the base, squeezing his testicles with a firm gentleness that made Ryan arch his back. Then, she changed her approach. She used the arches of both feet to trap his member, rubbing it with a quick, steady scissor motion, taking advantage of the moisture she herself had left there.

"Look what I can do, my love," she whispered, her eyes glistening with lust.

She parted her legs slightly and used only the toes of her right foot. They were small, perfect toes with impeccable nails, which curled around the head of his penis as if they belonged to an expert hand. She caressed the most sensitive area, gently pinching the frenulum, causing Ryan to unleash a string of muffled curses against the white ceiling of the room.

She didn't stop there. Arelis brought the soles of her feet together, creating a narrow, warm channel, and forced Ryan to thrust his hips upward, penetrating that tight space. The friction of her soles against his throbbing rigidity was slick, perfect, and devilishly precise. Each time he pushed deeper, she tightened her feet, massaging every nerve and driving him to a state of sensory frenzy he'd never experienced in that old bed.

"You're at my mercy, Ryan," she said, smiling smugly as she picked up the pace, rubbing the soles of her feet together with dizzying speed. "And you love it when I do it with my feet, don't you?"

"I love it... it drives me crazy..." he moaned, completely surrendered, gripping the sheets tightly as pleasure threatened to overwhelm him at any moment.

Ryan trembled with pure pleasure on the worn sheets. The expert, wet, and slippery friction of Arelis's soles had him on the verge of collapse, groaning with his eyes closed as his hips rose, seeking more contact. But just as he was about to explode, she abruptly stopped the movement.

Without giving him time to complain, Arelis quickly sat up on the spring mattress, which creaked under her weight. With a swift and fierce movement, she finished pulling down her jeans and underwear until they were completely off. She got down on all fours in front of him, arching her lower back to display the immensity of her white, fleshy ass in all its glory. She turned her face over his shoulder, looking at him with eyes darkened by desire and her breath ragged.

"Penetrate me," she begged, her voice hoarse and full of urgency. "Come inside me, Ryan."

It was the only permission he needed. Ryan pounced on her like a wild animal. He positioned himself behind her voluptuous body, grabbed her wide hips with both hands, and with one deep, brutal thrust, rammed it all the way into her vagina.

Arelis let out a sharp cry that was muffled against the old pillow, feeling him fill and stretch her completely. Ryan gave her no respite; he began thrusting into her with relentless force, his sharp, hard, rapid strokes making the bed tremble. His large hands mercilessly kneaded the girl's ample buttocks. He squeezed them roughly, leaving red marks from his fingers, then shamelessly spread them apart for a perfect, obscene view of his erection sliding in and out of her, brushing against and exposing the tight, pink flesh of her anus with each thrust.

"Tell me... ah... tell me the truth..." Arelis gasped between each thrust, clinging to her lover's sheets as intense, wild pleasure shook her from side to side. "Do you like me more... or do you like Helena more?"

The matriarch's name, uttered in that small, humble room in Hell's Kitchen as he ravished his maid, ignited a spark of deep rebellion and shameless lust in Ryan. He gripped Arelis's buttocks tighter, pulling her back so they slammed together in a dull, resounding collision of skin against skin.

"Fuck Helena!" he growled, his voice hoarse, spitting out the words with disdain and pure animal instinct. "She's old now. She'll never have this delicious ass, Arelis... this is what drives me crazy. Only you."

Hearing those crude, vulgar words was too much. Seeing the perfect empire of the all-powerful Helena Kranz brought down and humiliated in favor of her own working-class body was the most exciting trigger of her life. An electric shock shot down Arelis's spine. She felt the world spin, and suddenly, the walls of her vagina began to contract violently around his penis.

Arelis let out a shriek of pure ecstasy, experiencing a premature, explosive, and overwhelming orgasm. Her entire voluptuous body tensed, trembling uncontrollably on the bed, while her moans filled the small apartment and Ryan continued to pound her mercilessly, plunging into the desperate contractions within her.

The spasmodic contractions inside Arelis, squeezing and massaging his erection fiercely, were the final blow to what little self-control Ryan had left. As he felt her wetness and burning tightness devour him, he began to moan aloud, completely losing any trace of composure.

" Ouch ...!" he groaned, his voice broken, hoarse, and guttural, feeling the pressure in his groin become unbearable.

He gripped that vast white expanse desperately, burying his fingers in the softness of that delightful pair of buttocks and squeezing them with a possessive force that left reddish marks on his skin. With a final, almost animalistic roar, Ryan thrust brutally, plunging his hips in with all the strength he had left to bury himself deep inside, and finally ejaculated.

His hot seed flooded her in intense, throbbing waves, filling her completely as he emptied, inside the girl from his neighborhood, all the tension, stress, and oppression accumulated from the mansion's protocols. He stayed there, embedded to the root, trembling as the last spasms of climax left his body.

Completely exhausted and panting, Ryan collapsed forward. He let the full weight of his bare, sweat-drenched torso fall onto Arelis's back. His arms encircled her waist in a possessive, protective embrace, pressing his heaving chest against her warm skin, melting into one on the worn sheets of the small bed.

Arelis let out a long, trembling, and deeply satisfied sigh, closing her eyes as she felt the throbbing of his member still inside her. She let her head fall back onto the mattress and smiled.

"What a delight... oh my God," she whispered, her voice heavy, dragging out the words with a mixture of exhaustion and pure glory.

Slowly, without breaking the embrace, Ryan slid to the side, pulling her with him so she wouldn't have to bear his weight. They both fell sideways onto the old spring mattress, curled up against each other. The contrast between the apartment's deathly silence, the golden light filtering through the sash window, and the overwhelming warmth of their naked bodies was the best kind of narcotic.

Entwined, breathing the same air of Hell's Kitchen, they surrendered to the sweet exhaustion of sex. They closed their eyes and fell into a deep sleep for a long time, completely free, oblivious to Helena's brutalist empire , the cameras, and the rules they would have to obey again the next day.

Sleep overcame them completely, enveloped in the warmth of their own bodies and the musty smell of the old apartment. They stayed there, sheltered in that small bed in Hell's Kitchen, for another hour, enjoying the simple, mundane pleasure of not having to be on guard or answer to anyone.

When they finally decided to get dressed and go out, evening had already begun to fall over the city. They spent the rest of the day intentionally getting lost. They walked hand in hand along the busiest avenues, deliberately seeking out the most crowded places. For two people who had spent months living in the sterile, silent, and meticulously controlled isolation of the Kranz mansion, the chaos of the metropolis was a balm. They enjoyed the honking of horns, the brush of shoulders against passersby, the neon lights coming on, and, above all, the absolute anonymity of simply being two young lovers strolling among the crowd.

But time waits for no one, and the bubble of their "sweetheart day" had an expiration date.

As night fell, they took a taxi back. As the vehicle left behind the city's bright lights and entered the dark, exclusive, tree-lined roads leading to the property, silence began to envelop the car. The mansion's imposing concrete facade appeared in the distance, illuminated by dim spotlights, rising like a brutalist fortress in the darkness.

Ryan, who had his arm around Arelis's shoulders, broke the silence as the taxi slowed down.

"Our time off the radar is over, neighbor," he murmured, glancing at the imposing house through the window before turning to face her. "Helena told me she'll be here tomorrow around eleven in the morning. And Karen will probably be here by noon to get everything ready."

Arelis let out a soft sigh, resting her head on Ryan's shoulder. The charm of the white sneakers and jeans was about to end; in a few hours, she would be back to being the barefoot, downcast maid.

"It was the best day off of my life, my love," she whispered, squeezing his hand on the leather seat. "I suppose we'll each go back to our rooms tonight to await tomorrow's orders."

Ryan glanced at her sideways. A lopsided smile, brimming with dangerous audacity, spread across his face. The adrenaline of having broken the rules in his Hell's Kitchen apartment and insulted the matriarch's throne still coursed through his veins.

"Not necessarily," he replied, lowering his voice to a deep murmur. "I have a better suggestion to end tonight."

Arelis looked up, tilting her head curiously as the taxi pulled up in front of the immense front door.

—What do you think?

"Let's sleep together," Ryan suggested, looking intently into her caramel eyes. "But not in your maid's quarters. I want us to sleep together upstairs. In the master bed. The bed I sleep in with Helena."

Arelis's eyes widened, genuinely surprised by the sheer audacity. It was one thing to have sex in the pool or on the massage table in secret, but to usurp the very bed of the matriarch Kranz, the bed where Helena held absolute power, was the ultimate desecration.

She gasped for a second, processing the danger and the morbid allure of the idea. Then, the surprise on her face transformed into a slow, feline smile, brimming with irresistible malice. She loved this new level of rebellion in her "perfect successor."

"You're completely crazy, neighbor..." Arelis purred, leaning in to gently bite his lower lip before getting out of the taxi. "But I accept. Show me how to sleep at the top of the empire."

You're absolutely right, sorry for the geographical confusion. I'll stick exactly to the route you indicated to maintain the tension of the scene. Here's the corrected version:

*

The taxi drove off down the tree-lined road, leaving behind a thick, absolute silence. Ryan took out his keys and pushed open the heavy front door. Instantly, the mansion's monumental, cold, and sterile atmosphere enveloped them once more, completely swallowing up any trace of the outside world.

They entered hand in hand, feeling the pure adrenaline of intruders. They were still wearing their jeans and sneakers, and the soft squeak of the rubber against the polished floors sounded almost like an act of heresy in that temple.

Without letting go of each other or saying a single word, they began their journey in silence. They crossed the enormous living room, where the brutalist furniture rested in the dim light like mute sculptures. They continued their path through the vastness of the main hall, guided only by the faint silvery moonlight filtering through the tall windows.

They reached the heavy, solid wood doors, crossed them carefully, and immediately began to climb the imposing, convent-style stone staircase. The echo of their footsteps bounced off the austere walls, making them feel the oppressive enormity of the house, but this time, they both ascended as masters of the night.

Upon reaching the upper floor, they descended the long, dimly lit passageway. They turned right and walked straight ahead until they stopped in front of the room at the far end, where the master bedroom was located.

Helena Kranz's untouchable sanctuary.

Ryan didn't hesitate for a second. He turned the metal knob and pushed the door open.

The interior was immense and overwhelmingly luxurious. In the center of the room stood the double bed, as wide as an ocean, dressed in sheets of the finest, darkest silk. The air in the room still held a faint, intimidating trace of the matriarch's expensive perfume.

Arelis stopped in the doorway, swallowing hard. Her caramel eyes scanned the vastness of the bed. To be there, about to fall asleep in the bed of the woman who dictated every rule of her life, was the ultimate desecration. A shiver of pure morbid curiosity ran down her spine.

Ryan entered first, stepping into the dimness of the room. He turned to face her from the foot of the immense bed, barely illuminated by the moonlight, and gave her a smile brimming with utter audacity.

"Come in, neighbor," he whispered, extending his hand. "Close the door."

They looked at each other in the dim light of the immense room, and identical smiles, brimming with malice, adrenaline, and pure mischief, spread across their faces. They were committing the ultimate desecration of the Kranz empire, and they loved it.

Without another word, they began to undress right there. They hurriedly discarded their jeans , sneakers, and cotton clothing, dropping their "date night" clothes onto the immaculate Persian rug, erasing any trace of the street.

Completely naked, Ryan didn't hesitate and threw himself back onto the immense bed. The contrast of his warm skin against the slick coldness of Helena's dark silk sheets drew a deep sigh from him. Arelis nimbly crawled across the mattress, leaned over him, and captured his lips with her thick, sensual lips in a deep, wet kiss, savoring the danger that surrounded them in that forbidden sanctuary.

As they parted, her caramel eyes sparkled in the darkness with a new and wicked glint.

"I have an idea," Arelis whispered, biting her lower lip with a mischievous smile.

She nimbly climbed out of bed and disappeared into the darkness of the matriarch's immense walk-in closet. Ryan lay back, expectant, his heart pounding as he listened to the soft rustling of wooden hangers moving inside.

A few seconds later, Arelis stepped back out into the moonlight filtering through the windows. Ryan felt like he couldn't breathe.

She wore the most iconic garment of the matriarch: the heavy black silk robe with the imposing dragons embroidered in gold thread. Arelis had slipped it directly onto her naked body and, in an act of pure audacity, wore it wide open. The dark, shimmering majesty of Helena's fabric framed, in a brutal yet exquisite way, the white immensity of Arelis's breasts, her smooth belly, and the full curves of her hips.

Seeing his girl from the neighborhood, the maid who was supposed to walk with her head down, usurping the mantle of absolute power of the untouchable Helena Kranz and displaying her nakedness beneath those golden dragons, was an image that blew Ryan's mind. It was the perfect blend of the mansion's royalty and the raw lust of Hell's Kitchen.

Ryan gasped, devouring her with his eyes. Seeing her wrapped in that garment ignited a dark and perverse fascination within him, because the way Arelis wore that robe was a brutal and absolute contrast to the true mistress of the house.

On Helena, that robe was armor of power, coldness, and absolute authority. Standing nearly six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a rigid posture, the matriarch filled the silk with an imposing elegance. On her, the fabric fell straight and severe, containing the mature weight of her large breasts and marking an untouchable distance. The golden dragons on Helena's body resembled shields, symbols of a lineage that demanded submission.

But in Arelis, the garment was transformed into pure erotic heresy.

Being much shorter, the hem of the black silk skirt grazed the Persian rug sensually. On her slender torso, the fabric slipped over her narrow shoulders, refusing to stay in place. The jet-black silk created a striking and beautiful frame against the almost translucent pallor of her skin, revealing the clean, youthful, and firm roundness of her breasts—a freshness that contrasted sharply with the matriarch's mature density.

And it was from the waist down where the garment's severity completely lost its grip. The robe, designed for Helena's more structured figure, couldn't contain the brutal voluptuousness of the girl from Hell's Kitchen. Her overwhelming hips and thick, fleshy thighs pushed the open fabric to the sides. Every time Arelis took a step or moved her legs, the immense dragons embroidered in gold thread—which on Helena looked straight and menacing—stretched, distorted, and curved, following the immensity of her buttocks and the brazen roundness of her curves.

Helena wore that robe so that she would be worshipped on her knees with her eyes lowered. Arelis, on the other hand, with her tousled brown hair and a feline smile on her lips, wore it wide open, displaying her sex and her abundant flesh with an earthly and shameless lust.

She looked obscenely beautiful. She didn't look like an ice queen ruling a concrete empire; she looked like sin incarnate, a deliciously vibrant usurper who had just stolen the crown and was ready to drag the successor down with her.

"You look incredible..." Ryan murmured, his voice husky, unable to tear his eyes away from how the black silk caressed her wide hips. "On her, this robe commands respect. But on you... on you, it just makes me want to rip it to pieces."

Ryan leaned over her, placing his hands on either side of her hips, right on the soft black silk that lay on the dark sheets. His eyes met Arelis's, shining with a mixture of lust and utter adoration.

"Tonight, I am your devotee," he promised her, his voice husky, his thumbs caressing the white skin of her belly. "And my sole purpose will be to please you."

Arelis smiled, her lips slightly parted and her breathing rapid, feeling the weight of that promise in the very center of her body.

Without giving her time to say a word, Ryan descended. He settled between her knees, firmly parting those thick, fleshy thighs that Helena's robe couldn't conceal, and buried his face in the girl's intimacy.

He began to lick and suck her with a ferocious hunger and meticulous devotion. His tongue traced slow, wet paths over her swollen sex, savoring Arelis's heat and juices with the same reverence he demanded of the lady of the house, but this time devoted to the woman who truly drove him wild. He sucked her clitoris with a deep, steady suction, alternating with soft kisses on her inner thighs, paying her absolute and shameless homage.

Pleasure flooded Arelis like an electric shock. A long, sweet, vibrant moan escaped her throat, shattering the solemn silence of the thick concrete walls. Completely satisfied and intoxicated by the sensation of power and lust, Arelis raised her legs.

With an instinctive movement, she cupped Ryan's head between her round, ample thighs. She trapped him against her, tangling her fingers in his hair and pressing his face even closer to her wet sex. She wanted to feel every touch, every suck, every drop of the devotion he was giving her. She threw her head back onto the silk pillows, displaying her bare breasts beneath the golden dragons, and surrendered completely to the ecstasy of being the sole queen in that room.

Arelis threw her head back onto the dark pillows, surrendering completely to the fiery feast Ryan was giving her. A long, wet, trembling moan escaped her lips, echoing off the room's high concrete walls. Intoxicated by the pleasure and the absolute power of her new role, she slid her legs around his sides.

The soft, warm soles of her bare feet rested on Ryan's broad, hot back, rubbing it with a sensual, rhythmic sway. She massaged him with the arches of her feet and her toes, rewarding the devotion with which he devoured her. The entire world had shrunk to this sanctuary of silk, golden dragons, and unbridled lust.

But then, the spell was shattered into a thousand pieces.

From the very depths of the house, piercing the sepulchral silence of the first floor and ascending the immense, convent-style stone staircase, a scream tore through the night. It wasn't a commanding shout, nor the calculating tone of Helena or Karen. It was a raw, feminine shriek, laden with chilling despair.

—Ryan! Ryaaaan !

The sound bounced off the exposed concrete of the hallways and entered the master bedroom like a bucket of ice water.

Ryan stopped abruptly. He jerked his head up from Arelis's embrace, his breath ragged and his lips still glistening with her juices. His eyes widened, searching for Arelis's in the dim light.

The pleasure on the girl's face vanished in a fraction of a second, replaced by utter panic. Her feet stopped massaging Ryan's back and tensed, suddenly frozen.

Helena wasn't due to arrive until eleven o'clock the following morning. Karen wouldn't appear until noon. The mansion was supposed to be completely empty.

"RYAN, PLEASE!" the shout echoed again, this time accompanied by the dull thud of something heavy falling or hitting the marble floor downstairs.

Ryan jumped to his feet, his blood pounding in his temples and his muscles tense, going from absolute ecstasy to survival adrenaline in the blink of an eye.

Naked, he rushed downstairs. Standing in the middle of the room was Karen, dressed in her usual uniform, but wearing shoes; she had clearly run in. Her face was contorted with tears, her eyes red and bloodshot, and she was crying, barely able to breathe.

- Ryan, Helena is dead!

To be continued in Part X