Opening Pandora's Box (Newroom PDX short stories, #1) by L.J. Breedlove

Author:L.J. Breedlove
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: short story, kink, BDSM
Publisher: L.J. Breedlove
Published: 2021-08-18T00:00:00+00:00

Pandora’s Box

A Newsroom PDX Short Story #4

Caution: The short stories are considerably more sexual than the series itself. You’ve been warned! (The short stories are meant to be read in order.)

Ryan Matthews wasn’t exactly sure what to expect when he arrived at the McShanes’ home in Portland’s Eastmoreland neighborhood. Not sure about what their house might look like. Not sure about why he was here. But PSU President Andrew McShane had asked him to come. And so here he was.

He did think it was interesting they chose to live near Reed College, where Dr. Abigail McShane was an associate professor, rather than near Portland State University where Dr. Andrew McShane was president. It was a large, three-story colonial house painted gray with white trim on a large lot — which might very well explain why they’d chosen to buy here. There were very few large lots near the PSU campus downtown. The university used to own a house it provided the president — but it had switched to a housing allowance after a scandal a while back. Although you’d think a man who made what a university president did could afford rent. He rolled his eyes.

Ryan rang the doorbell, and it was Andrew McShane who opened the door and let him in. He was tall, as tall as Ryan, well-groomed as always, with dark hair going gray. Ryan thought he was close to 60, and he only hoped he aged as well. He was as casually dressed as Ryan had ever seen him: heavy khaki trousers and a light blue, long-sleeved shirt. Ryan felt less insecure about his own white shirt and dark-trousers. Ryan also had a black leather jacket on. It was one of those bright cold winter days that had lifted the gray, wet Portland winter for a brief moment. He welcomed the sun, but he needed the jacket. Or so he told himself when he shivered.

“We’re in the sunroom out back,” McShane said. “Would you like something to drink? We have iced tea.”

“Yes, thank you,” Ryan said automatically. It would give him something to do with his hands. Why was he here? He followed the man through the house with barely the focus to appreciate the oak floors and wood trim. It was a beautiful house and furnished in a more modern, comfortable style than his grandparents’ house where he’d been raised. That observation made him relax a bit. These people are not like those people, he thought with irony.

In the sunroom, Abigail McShane, a woman he’d known for years in the party circuit as Ruby, sat at a rattan table. “Ryan,” she said warmly, obviously not embarrassed about their past relationship in front of her husband. “It’s good to see you. Have a seat.”

He sat, noting a large artist’s portfolio in the center of the table. It made him feel queasy. “I’m not sure I can do this,” he muttered, and he got up to leave.

“Sit,” Andrew McShane commanded.

Ryan sat. And took a deep breath. There

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