Spice Box: Sixteen Steamy Stories

by Raine Miller

  “Do you want the lecture, or are you asking specifically about Sara and Bruno?”

  “Could I have a spoon?”

  That’s right, Cal needed something to fiddle with. Mac reached into a drawer and removed a spoon. “Here you go.” Handing this man a riding crop would be fun.

  “Thanks.” Cal explored the spoon, finding its center of gravity, trying it out as a baton, a seesaw, a stylus. Finally, he settled on holding it like a pencil. “Here’s what I like about being Sara’s Dom. I can make sure she has a good time. I sense what she needs and it’s damned satisfying to provide it. Clearly, there’s a lot of stuff we can do in that realm. She’s said she wants the bondage, and I can do that. I’m pretty good gesturing with slender sticks, so I think I can manage the simpler forms of impact play.”

  Mac poured two mugs of tea, straining the loose tea leaves through a gold-plated strainer. “Milk? Sugar? Lemon?”

  “Milk, thanks.” Cal flicked his wrist. The gesture made the spoon look like the handle of a whip. “I don’t think I’m going to get off being a sadist, so I really hope she’s not too much of a masochist.”

  “I’ve never played with Sara, but I suspect you two will be well-suited in that regard.”

  Cal’s shoulders relaxed. “Thanks. That’s good to know.”

  “And that just leaves discipline.”

  “Which I don’t get. Doesn’t it negate the intimacy between two people?”

  Mac stirred his tea. “Let’s sit, okay?” He walked around the island to the gray suede sectional in the front of the room. He signaled that Cal should sit facing the view. When they were settled, Mac took his time answering the question. “Remember that Sara can end any scene with her safe word.”

  Cal surprised Mac by flushing, the tinge of color stark on his cheekbones. Interesting to see if Cal would explain what had caused Sara to safeword.

  Mac continued. “So the discipline has to be consensual. Which means you, as the Dom, believe she needs it, and she, as the sub, agrees with that judgment. That’s the basis of trust, the balance in your roles. She trusts you to be fair and justified when you’re doling out punishment, and you trust her to be fair and honest in her acceptance. After the punishment, the incident is behind you. Resolved.”

  Cal thrust his hands through his thick, shaggy hair. “But a cage? How does that seem fair?”

  Mac shook his head. “That was between her and Bruno. You have to let that be in the past and deal with things as you find them.”

  “I know what you mean, although it’s easier said than done.”

  Mac sipped his tea. He liked Cal. Bruno had picked well.

  “We renegotiated the terms of the contract,” Cal blurted out. “That’s how I know she doesn’t like the cage.”

  “We don’t normally like our punishments.”

  Cal’s eyes were tortured. “I can’t imagine ever putting her in there.”

  Ah, yes. Best, perhaps, to avoid the treacherous reefs of young Dom/sub love. “All right. Why don’t you tell me what she needed her safe word for?”

  Cal laughed. “You caught that, did you?” Then his face sobered. “She wouldn’t—won’t—sleep with me. Says it’s a hard limit.”

  In that second, Mac could see it all. Cal was well on the way to being in love with Sara. Mac knew some of her story, but mostly he knew that she was missing a couple of the building blocks of a one-hundred-percent healthy psyche. Nothing she couldn’t fill in with time and careful handling.

  “What if Sara asked you to stop composing?”

  “That’s different.”

  Mac waved a hand. “Of course it’s different. Nonetheless, what if she asked?”

  “I couldn’t do it. That’s part of who I am.”

  “Part of Sara is that need for solitude when she’s most vulnerable. I’m not saying things have to stay this way forever. Just accept it for now. Don’t ask her to change. I predict she’ll come to trust you even then, but it may be the last barrier between you.”

  Cal took a deep breath—Mac could see that impressive chest expand and fall—then smiled. “Excellent advice, counselor.”

  “Good. Shall we go upstairs and practice with some toys?”

  ***

  Mac’s “dungeon” was a spare room in his massive modernist mansion. If Cal thought Bruno’s Georgetown house was impressive, it looked quaint compared to Mac’s symphony of glass walls, spectacular views, and minimalist furnishings. They went up the cantilevered stairs to a floor that appeared to float in space, linked by glass walkways.

  The BDSM equipment was in a light, airy room over the garage. Instead of Uncle Bruno’s heavy wood contraptions, Mac’s devices were chrome and padded black leather. The toys were stored in handleless cupboards designed to merge into one solid wall of a rosy-toned wood. Mac pressed on one panel and it popped open to reveal a tidy collection of impact gear. He selected a flogger, leather-clad riding crop, rattan cane, and braided whip.

  They practiced on a padded leather bench which gave about the right amount to simulate human skin. “You get an extra visual cue to how your blows are landing, of course, when you’re working with Sara. You’ll get very good at knowing the responses of human skin to impact.”

  Cal liked the flogger best, but Mac knew he would. “It’s the most like making love to the sub. You can’t do a lot of damage with a standard suede flogger, although with some practice you can get a nice sting out of it.”

  The riding crop was springy and fun. The cane, on the other hand, looked like it would really hurt, which was ironic because it felt the most like a conductor’s baton.

  They spent the most time with the whip.

  “Actually, you’re a natural,” Mac said, his eyebrows raised in respect. “But be careful. Practice with Bruno’s equipment to make sure you know how each item feels.”

  When they were done, Mac made them both more tea. They went out to the patio, which was a bizarrely tepid term for a terrace that ran the length of the house, overlooking the river. Once outside, they could hear the Sunday afternoon traffic on the parkway, well below them down the hillside.

  “Does the noise bother you?” Cal asked.

  Mac looked out at the hazy horizon, blurred in the late afternoon mugginess. “No. It’s white noise at this point.”

  “Will you ever marry?” God, where had that question come from? “I’m sorry, that was unforgivably rude.”

  Mac brushed his apology aside. “Not at all. As with all things, marriage is slightly altered by the BDSM lifestyle. I know couples who never marry because it would suggest a relationship they feel doesn’t fit them. They have a collaring ceremony instead.”

  “A collaring ceremony?”

  “The sub wears a collar—real leather in private, usually a necklace in public—to symbolize that she belongs to the Dom.”

  “Oh.” Cal suspected his mouth betrayed his dislike of that idea.

  Mac laughed. “You wait. You may find you and Sara want that.”

  “I always assumed I’d get married someday. At the same time, I acknowledge that being married to a composer isn’t an ideal life. I get distracted easily, I’m often lost in my head, hearing music I desperately need to capture on paper, and I forget things. Not just errands but important things like people’s birthdays.”

  Mac tipped his head back and looked up at the sky. “I always assumed I wouldn’t marry. Between my law practice and my sexual inclinations, it seemed a bad bet. Then I met someone and I started to think, ‘That’s the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.’”

  Cal recalled Mac’s reference to someone who had died. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What sort of law do you practice? I mean, in addition to handling sensitive matters for your fellow Doms?”

  “Appellate practice in the federal courts. I’m one of a handful of people you might hire if it’s very, very important that you win.”

  Cal laughed. “I love self-confidence.”


  Mac rose. “You’ll find that most Doms have more than their fair share of self-confidence. The good ones, that is.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Life at the foundation was finally settling back into a reliable rhythm for Sara. Bruno’s death had caused her to miss several days for the memorial service and her presumed grieving. Very few of her colleagues knew much about her. Fewer knew she’d lived with Bruno. No one knew the true nature of their relationship. Consequently, Bruno’s wealth wasn’t common knowledge. He left her fifty thousand dollars, enough for a down payment on a house if she felt she needed one.

  Sara knew Bruno had wanted her to make a match with Cal. What she couldn’t figure out was how he knew it could even work. Cal could have been married, or involved with someone, or…or just too vanilla to suit her. Bruno couldn’t have thought she would end up in a vanilla relationship.

  As it was, it seemed an unlikely pairing. She knew nothing about music. She’d bought the only recording of Cal’s music she could find online—yes, she could just have asked to borrow his, but she didn’t want him to know she was listening to it. What if she didn’t like it? Worse, what if she simply couldn’t “get it,” couldn’t understand what it was supposed to sound like?

  She listened to it every day. Early Americana by Calder Raynes. She liked it. Parts of it stayed with her, looping in her brain as she fell asleep, starting up again in the brilliant morning light. It was a relief to listen to the entire piece, so the little chunks obsessing her got put back in the right places.

  That was all good, but Sara had no words for what she heard. It couldn’t be enough to say, “Ooh, I like your music,” like a thirteen-year-old girl meeting her pop idol for the first time. Sara wanted to sound knowledgeable, rattling off phrases like, “I like what you did in the adagio.” Or something.

  She’d read his Wiki page. Might as well have been written in Swahili. All about tonality, post-minimalism, beats and serialism. She’d taken music appreciation in college, but the course had barely gone beyond the Bs—Bach, Brahms, and Beethoven. Two hundred years of classical music had flowed past without her even noticing. She’d been too busy “appreciating” Beyoncé and The Black Eyed Peas.

  Becky buzzed. “Yvonne would like to see you.”

  “Did she say what she wanted?” Sara asked.

  “Nope. Just asked if you were free and could you join her for a few minutes.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Sara gathered a notepad and pen and headed for Yvonne’s huge corner office. The first couple of years at the foundation, Sara was convinced she was going to be fired, that Yvonne would catch her making a mistake or simply decide that Sara was too unpolished to work there. Or, worse, that she’d attend a board meeting and Zela Martin, the matriarch of the family whose fortune supported the foundation, would point a bony finger at Sara and declare her an impostor.

  Five years later, Sara could laugh about it, but at the time…

  Yvonne waved her in. “I need you to attend a fundraiser tonight. Are you dating anyone? I know that’s a crass question, so soon after Bruno’s death, but can you scrounge up an escort? Or do you want me to find someone?”

  “I can’t go solo?”

  Yvonne shook her head, making her glossy black hair brush against her cheek. “I have two tickets. I was supposed to go with Harvey, but he’s got a thing in Europe. His thing trumps my thing.”

  Harvey, Yvonne’s husband, had a job high up in the State Department.

  “Um, Bruno’s nephew is still staying at the house while Mac sorts out the probate.”

  Yvonne’s eyes focused, hard, on Sara’s face. “Right. You mentioned him—Calder Raynes, composer. How’s that been going for you?”

  Sara searched for something safe to say about Cal. “Oh, well enough. He’s a pleasant enough roommate.” She waited to be struck by lightning bolts, set on destroying such a blatant liar.

  “Great. Does he have a tux, do you suppose? What am I saying? Of course he does.” Yvonne tapped on her keyboard. “Okay. The two of you are officially on the guest list in place of me and Harvey.” She smiled at Sara, a sleepy look of understanding. “And I want to hear all about the evening.”

  Sara knew when she’d been out-maneuvered. “Thanks. I’m sure we’ll have a lovely time.”

  Back at her office, she considered her options. She had a couple of long gowns, but maybe this was an opportunity to spend a little money. First, though, she had to see if Cal could go.

  “Oh, hi,” he said when she phoned his cell.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  “Not in any creative sense. What’s up?” He sounded happy to hear from her, which made her smile.

  “Do you have plans for tonight?”

  “Plans for you, d’you mean? Of course.” His Dom voice.

  Sara murmured, “I live to serve, but actually I have a counter-proposal.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Yvonne wants me—us—to go to a fundraising event. Black tie. Doable?”

  “I don’t see why those two things can’t be combined.”

  “I was thinking of getting a new gown.”

  “Ah, I should be there for that shopping trip.”

  That stopped her. “Really, Sir?” she whispered into the phone. Her pussy woke up at the idea of having him in her dressing room, ordering her to strip. Of course, if her pussy called the shots, nothing would ever get tried on. They’d just fuck as silently as possible, with a saleswoman calling through the door, asking if they needed anything.

  Great. Now she had damp panties and flushed cheeks.

  ***

  Cal was excited to meet Sara at a fancy store to help her try on evening gowns. He skipped all the conservative gowns, and the ones too loaded down with sequins to be any fun. He wanted her to look very elegant while still having just an edge of sex. There was a black strapless gown that had sheer black fabric between the breasts. Sara looked amazing in it, her tits filling the cups nicely. But when he tried to slip a finger into the bodice to tease her nipple, he discovered the bodice was quite stiff and unyielding, however soft the fabric looked.

  “How else did you expect it to stay up?” She put her hands on her hips. She was laughing at him, but he didn’t mind.

  “I’ve never done this before.”

  “Gone shopping with a woman?”

  “Well, anyone, really. But yes, I’ve never been dress shopping before.” There was a padded bench in the dressing room. If he was careful where he put his feet, there was just enough room for him to stretch out his legs.

  “All right.” Sara turned so he could unzip the black dress. “What’s next?”

  “Try this.” He handed over a padded hanger with what looked like a column of black lace suspended from it. It didn’t look like it would fit on a beanpole but what did he know about fashion? The saleswoman said it was the right size.

  Sara stepped into the dress and shimmied it up her hips until she could slip the tiny straps up her arms. All of this would have been a lot sexier if she’d been naked but she was wearing a strapless bra that really didn’t sing.

  The dress, though—the dress was like a perfect Puccini aria. Black lace in horizontal stripes over some nude fabric that was a close match to Sara’s natural skin tone. It didn’t quite look like she was naked under the lace, but it was close.

  He stood and swirled his finger so she’d do a three-sixty turn. When she was facing away from him, he pressed against her back.

  “Let’s see if it passes the nipple test,” he murmured into her ear. He could feel her tremble.

  He reached over her shoulder and tucked his forefinger into the bodice. The dress gave easily but her bra was in the way.

  “Take off the bra. Let’s see how it looks without it.”

  “Cal.” She gave him a pleading look.

  “If it ruins the lines of the dress, you can wear the bra. Let’s just see. You’ve got great tits, Sara. Very perky.”

  She frowned at him, but when he unzipped
the dress, she let it puddle around her hips while she removed the bra. Her nipples were already starting to peak. He got hard thinking about all the sexy things he could do to her nipples. Then she pulled the dress back up and he zipped it.

  “There, see? You look perfect.” He reached around to try his test again. This time, he had no trouble getting his thumb and forefinger in to pinch her. “Perfect.” He switched hands and tweaked the other nipple.

  When he looked at her in the mirror, he couldn’t tell her nipples were erect. Discretion was important—Mac had stressed that on Sunday.

  “We’ll take this one.” He unzipped it. Then he sat on the bench, pulled Sara in between his knees and peeled the dress down past her naked breasts. He tugged her closer, then touched a nipple with his tongue.

  “Ahh.” Sara sucked in a huge breath.

  “Shh,” he warned. Then he bit gently down.

  She whimpered and shuffled her feet a bit.

  He clamped his hands on her hips and shifted his mouth to the other nipple.

  She squeaked.

  He pulled back finally. Her nipples were red and glistening in the special lighting of the dressing room.

  “You should get that dress off before something happens to it.”

  She nodded, as though he’d taken away her power to speak.

  He stood and kissed her, a thorough kiss with lots of tongue and one hand playing with her tits. “I like shopping with you.”

  ***

  The gala wasn’t until eight, so Sara headed home at the normal time. Cal had taken the dress with him from the store while she went back to work. She was surprised the box wasn’t on the hall table. Instead, there was a note.

  Meet me in your dressing room. Bring this envelope with you.

  The envelope was from her doctor’s practice. The test results. Bruno’s vasectomy meant she hadn’t needed birth control. Sara had started on the pill so she and Cal still needed to use condoms for a while. But oral sex…

  Sara grabbed the note and envelope and dashed up the stairs to her bedroom. She stripped off her office clothes and left them on the bed. Then she walked into the dressing room and fell to her knees in front of Cal, who leaned against the chest of drawers in the middle of the room. She held up the envelope.