Chapter Eight

The next day Lisa left for Ibiza; she couldn’t wait any longer. A few days in the North of Europe, and she was already longing for the warm sun of that beautiful island.
During the flight she kept thinking about everything that had happened in the past few days … the university, Dr. Bohm, Gunther's villa, Milena. But most of all she couldn’t take her mind off the girl, Greta, photographed in that way, such a cold and antiseptic pose. Lisa was somewhat confused; she did not know what really was exciting her. Was it the idea of Lisa herself growing and growing and growing like that, or the mere sight of a woman much more endowed than she was? She regretted not having asked for a copy of the picture, although she was sure the professor wouldn’t have given it to her.
They had a boy, Luis, at the villa, who did almost everything; he was the gardener, the watchman, the pool boy. And that day he was at the airport waiting for her, as directed; he loaded the luggage and drove to the hills as the sun was setting. Luis was just the latest “boy” - they had had so many of them ... sooner or later, each one of them made the mistake of taking some liberties. It could be just a pause, a moment longer than necessary, by the pool, watching a shoot. If it happened with one of the other models occasionally, it could be laughed off, or if Gunther were the one letting his gaze linger too intently. But with Lisa ... Lisa brooked no familiarities from any man. Luis had quickly learned to avoid, where possible, the direct gaze of his employer. After a few days of watching Luis around the villa, noting his strong self-control, especially when it came to her, Lisa had concluded that the boy was gay. That she liked; less problems for sure. But at the same time Lisa felt the need, occasionally, to have someone admire her, as she had been admired from afar while she had been naked, magnificent, but unapproachable during her months on the stage at Gunther’s night club in Hamburg. And tonight, that night, was one of those occasions - the house was empty, with Gunther in Berlin, and nobody around her.
So, when they arrived at the villa, she said to the boy, "Oh, Luis, tonight, if you can, prepare me something for eleven o’clock. Not anything to eat, I’ll help myself from the kitchen ... " She gave him two bills, five hundred euros each. Luis nodded, looking down. It was a kind of game, now agreed upon between the two of them.
The boy unloaded her luggage and then drove down to the city. What he had to do was to find her prey, the calf to be locked up in a cage. To feed the tiger. The calf had to be young, handsome, but especially as strong as possible. This was the request of his mistress. For prey, Ibiza was the right place: full of weird people, always on speed and wanting to have fun.
He went down the main streets and began to take a look around; by this time he had some experience at this, and he could tell at first glance who would be a good sacrificial victim. After checking several outdoor bars, he saw a Swedish-looking boy, with a body toned by years of fitness and high-protein diets. Luis sat down next to him along the bar and offered him a drink. Then, he simply told him the truth: his mistress, a porn star on vacation, wanted to offer him a show. No video, no other people, a thousand euros his for the asking. The rules were: do not talk about it, he would be blindfolded while he was taken to her villa, and everyone would forget everything once it was over. Strangely, 80% of the young bulls he approached, usually agreed; this Swedish boy looked into his eyes, trying to figure out if there was a catch, then agreed, pocketing the money. He went willingly to the car with Luis and then, blindfolded, to the house in the hills.

Lisa, in her bedroom upstairs, was being prepared. She was hungry. It was a ritual by now, and she savored every moment - the heavy make up, marked around her eyes in thick black lines; her hair pulled back and gathered in a braid; underwear and clothes on the bed, precisely selected for effect; then being meticulously dressed. Each step of these preliminaries increased her excitement; she was feeling shivers down her spine, first lightly and then more strongly, gradually increasing in intensity and thrill as she approached the actual performance.
That evening she had chosen an outfit that had been used for the first time on a photo shoot that week. A shiny latex corset, embracing her hips and waist, and laced in front from her navel all the way up to the shoulder-straps.
Her huge breasts were pressed up and out of the corset, against her ribs, so that they seemed even bigger, overflowing the latex shell and exploding upwards. Lastly she dressed herself in long gloves, also made of latex; then boots to the groin, with towering spike heels.
A thong, in front only a tiny triangle of shiny black leather, standing out above the white thighs. Lisa, looking in the mirror, liked herself, loved the imposing and majestic image.
Down below, next to the pool, there was an outbuilding, fully equipped as a studio for the website photo shoots; Luis led the young guy into the outbuilding, made him sit in an old barber chair fixed to the floor, and then manacled his arms to the frame with a pair of sturdy handcuffs; he manacled the boy’s legs also, and then he took off the blindfold. He did it all with a soft voice and reassuring words, and the boy seemed amused by the situation. Luis then went out, turning all the lights off.
The boy called after him, and now his voice betrayed a certain nervousness: he went silent when, after a few minutes, he saw Lisa’s figure silhouetted in the doorway, illuminated only by moonlight. She seemed very tall, but at the same time graceful and sinuous in her movements. She turned on a halogen lamp, the beam deliberately aimed in his face; the guy narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the figure approaching him. Finally he saw her, when she entered the cone of light, and he could not believe she was real. Her magnificent appearance suddenly brought a grin of defiance to his face. Without knowing why, at that time he hungered for physical contact with her, any touch, even pain; he would eagerly have accepted being slapped, as long as she would touch him.
Lisa instead continued to stalk slowly around the chair contemplating her prey. Big, with defined arms, broad shoulders and big pecs. She recognized the bodybuilder-thickness of the neck and overdeveloped jaw, legacy of steroid use.
She stood in front of him, her legs apart, and slowly began to open the laces that closed the bodice.
"If you release me it will be more fun," the guy managed to say, hoarse-voiced.
"You're not here for fun, you idiot," - she said. Nothing more. Then she continued undoing the lacing until, with a gasp, she felt both enormous breasts hung free from the corset, turning from side to side to give the guy a superb view of her already erect and protruding nipples. Lisa looked at him with satisfaction, and slowly began to fondle her giant tits, to shake them, to hoist them slowly up and let them drop heavily down. She savored the jerk at her shoulders from the weight of all that breastflesh collapsing down, the slap of the mammoth glands against her lean abdomen. Ratcheting up her pleasure, she took her nipples in her fingers and pulled them upwards; the slight pain turned into a shiver of pleasure that reached her down to the pussy.
She could hear the sounds the boy made pulling at his manacles, a rhythmic clangor. She knelt on the carpet, and began to suck her breasts, while feeling the heat growing between her legs. Then everything disappeared.
At the end, when she stood up focusing her eyes on him, Lisa saw to her satisfaction that the boy seemed dazed, his pants soaked with sperm. She turned off the light and walked back to her bedroom.