She saw Mandy in a kinky workshop, where she whispered, “See you at six.”
Mandy gave her a hug. “He likes you!” she confided.
“Who, Adrian?” Gail’s insides lurched, secretly thrilled.
Gail knocked at Adrian’s suite at six. The door opened and she was relieved to spot Mandy. The conversation was muted; people stood on the peripheries. Her gaze was drawn to a curvy woman in black underwear and stockings who knelt in the middle, head bowed, hands behind her back, in the classic submissive stance.
Adrian stood on the far side, talking to friends. Tonight he was all dominance: wearing black jeans and a leather chest harness. He caught her eye, his smile was charismatic, but she felt a chill to see him so focused.
Mandy joined her. “Are you looking forward to this?” She seemed excited.
“I’m nervous. I’ll stay near the door.”
“I’ll stand with you. It’s starting.”
A hush descended. All eyes were on the submissive. Adrian strode forward to stand in front of her.
“What are you?” His voice resonated with authority.
“Your slave, Sir.”
“What are you here for?”
“Your pleasure, Sir.”
“Give me your hands.”
The submissive complied, holding her arms out, for Adrian to bind them together with silk rope which was a vivid shade of purple. His looping and fastening of the rope were swift and skilled. He created an intricate, latticed web, securing her wrists and forearms as one limb. She was trapped yet somehow her beauty seemed enhanced by the tight bindings. A small sigh escaped the sub, indicating her happiness to be subjugated clearly for her audience. The tension in the air was palpable. He reached for a chair, which he placed in front of his sub.
“Rest your forearms on the seat, but stick your bottom out. Everyone wants a good view of me punishing your backside.”
“Yes, Sir.” She arranged herself correctly.
“What’s my favorite number?” Adrian circled like a shark around the kneeling girl.
“Twelve, Sir.” There was a collective sucking in of breath.
“Twelve swipes with the paddle,” Adrian confirmed.
Almost immediately Adrian struck the first blow. A thwack resounded, the impact shocking to Gail in the silence. He continued to strike, his arm swinging back to follow through, reminiscent of a tennis forehand. As the blows rained down, his sub began to gasp, discomfort building.
Gail surveyed the room, observing the guests. A couple held hands, a woman bit her lip.
When Mandy turned to mouth, “Are you all right?” Gail nodded.
“Now you’re warmed up,” Adrian announced, “but I think you can take more. Can you take more?”
“Yes, Sir, if it pleases you.”
There was a tremor to the submissive’s voice. Her cheeks were flushed and her bottom must have been burning. Discarding the paddle, Adrian selected a whip. It looked vicious, its tails long, its handle plaited leather.
“Twelve again.” A statement not a question.
Gail’s tummy flipped with nerves for the bound submissive, yet her panties dampened. Guests parted behind Adrian, nobody wanting to obstruct the swing of the tails. He began, with lashes so controlled his style was graceful. Although the traces were long enough to hit the ceiling, his strokes were carefully placed, the first few just slicing through the air to build anticipation. Gail imagined their presence felt like a breeze on the prone girl’s warmed skin. The lights picked out goose bumps on her back.
“One!” Adrian broke the spell when his first lash bit her skin. The sub let out a tiny gasp she couldn’t suppress.
“Two!” He continued, the traces landing on the alternate cheek.
As he whipped, she counted, while the audience collectively held its breath.
Gail wasn’t sure what she felt. Watching didn’t excite the same responses in her body as reading. The slaps and smacks conveyed a thrill, but to counterbalance the sensation, the sub’s groans tied her stomach in knots.
At ten strikes, the submissive said, “Amber.”
Adrian immediately stilled the whip and crouched close to her. Master and sub talked quietly, his voice soothing while he stroked broad hands down her back, gentling her like a frightened horse.
“Stop or continue?” he asked her, no longer controlling.
“Continue,” she replied in a small voice.
“Be sure,” he warned. The audience was on a knife edge to know.
“Continue,” she said, her voice stronger.
“Eleven, twelve.” He wielded two strikes in quick succession, placing one on each cheek of her rear before laying the whip aside.
When it was over he embraced her. After wrapping a blanket around her, he scooped the sub into his arms.
He called her his “good, brave girl.” She was carried to a bed in the adjoining room. Guests gave them privacy for aftercare.
The conversational murmur swelled. People circulated, sipping drinks and comparing reactions.
“Well?” Mandy’s eyes on Gail were bright with excitement.
“Powerful, intense.” Words were an understatement, but they were all she had. “You?”
“Oh God, I loved it!” Mandy’s breathlessness revealed she was a spanking devotee.
Gail realized she felt buzzing, euphoric, remembering what she’d watched. In a while, Adrian appeared beside her, looking elated and perspiring slightly.
“That was so hot!” Mandy congratulated him, before moving away.
“What did you think, newbie?” He smiled down at Gail. His blue eyes pinned her, forcing her to be honest.
“It was intense. I can see you love it.”
“But did you love it?” He focused on her, which was unsettling in a good way.
“I don’t think I’m really one for watching,” she hedged.
“Would you try it?” A smile crept over Adrian’s face.
“If you’re willing to show me, and go slowly.” Gail looked up at him. “I would.”
TRADE SHOW
D. Fostalove
Tara nudged me with her elbow, jarring me from my stupor. “You’re sitting there looking like you just stepped off the set of The Walking Dead.”
I chuckled. “That’s how I feel.”
“Long night?”
I nodded. “Our plane was delayed a few hours because of a medical emergency. When I finally arrived and checked in, I couldn’t settle down. I ended up tossing and turning the entire night.”
She adjusted a few products on our table and spread out company brochures for easier access.
“You could have sent me a text to let me know you needed to sleep in,” she said as she sat back down beside me. “I could’ve handled things until you were ready.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.” I took a quick sip of the energy drink I’d purchased earlier from the lobby vending machine and slipped it back underneath the table.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
I glanced down at the screen of my phone, momentarily blinking as I scanned the limited early morning crowd of industry professionals perusing the vendor displays situated around the convention center. I unlocked the phone and saw a message from a Baltimore number. Although I had flown into the city for a three-day trade show, I didn’t know anyone from the area and the only call I’d received from a 410 number belonged to the hotel when they confirmed my reservation.
WYD? the text read.
I started to delete the message but a second one came through asking if I could talk. I typed back, I think you have the wrong number.
Moments later: Nah, I got the right number. WYD?
I looked up to see a pair of representatives from a large rehabilitation center in the region as they stopped in front of our company’s booth. Tara immediately engaged them about the latest medical supplies we had to offer. I adjusted in the plastic chair and responded that I was working.
Same here.
/>
Do I know you? I asked.
Nah. Not yet.
The mysterious stranger piqued my curiosity with the insinuation we would eventually make each other’s acquaintance. I looked up from my phone to see the two reps Tara had been speaking with navigating away from our booth and through the increasing clusters of people milling about.
Who is this?
Quincy.
Like he said, we didn’t know each other. I didn’t know anyone by that name.
What’s your name?
Reluctantly, I tapped out my name. Katrina.
That has a nice ring to it: Quincy and Katrina.
Tara interrupted me from the random chat to ask if I was talking to Demarco. I shook my head and held up the phone so she could see the brief conversation. She lifted the eyeglasses from her face and glared at me. I knew what she was thinking without her having to say a word.
“You’re not really entertaining a complete stranger. Are you crazy?”
I didn’t have a response. I wasn’t entirely sure why I had continued on with the conversation. Maybe it was my lack of sleep the night before, the flight delay, or the long day that lie ahead for us. Needing something to keep me awake was the best answer I could come up with.
“Block him.”
“Why? I don’t see any harm in a little mindless texting. I’m not going to meet him or anything.”
Tara frowned before reminding me what an incredible, attractive man I had back home who loved and adored me. She didn’t understand why I would be interacting with a total stranger when women would kill to have half of what I had in Demarco. I attempted to quell her frustration but she continued by reminding me how her ex-husband had cheated on her relentlessly.
“I shouldn’t have shown you.”
“You know what? You’re right. You shouldn’t have.” She took a deep breath. “I’m taking off my friend hat right now and putting back on my coworker hat.”
I excused myself to use the restroom and compose myself from the minor spat. When I returned, Tara was in a discussion with four people standing a few feet from our booth, all holding our brochures and other marketing materials. As I sat back in my seat, I felt the phone buzzing in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw I’d missed a call from Demarco. The vibrations had come from the voicemail he’d left.
“Hey babe, just wanted to hear your voice before I started my day. I’ll call you back around lunchtime. Have a great day. Love you.”
I found our last text exchange from the night before and pecked out a quick message to him. Sorry I missed your call. Didn’t hear the phone. It’s so loud and busy here. Looking forward to your call this afternoon. TTYL.
When I minimized Demarco’s text message box, I saw the notification that I had two unread messages. I brought up the text window from Quincy. Are you there? I didn’t scare you off, did I?
I typed back, No. You didn’t scare me off. Busy with work.
Good.
Tara stood suddenly, saying she needed to find something to snack on. When I looked up to acknowledge I’d heard her, I could see the disapproving glare as she stepped around the booth and vanished into the crowds. Maybe she was right. I needed to end the conversation and focus on work. A chime notifying me of a new text message pulled me from my thoughts.
What you look like? The first message read, followed by, Send me a pic.
I don’t know you.
He sent a smiley face emoji back. Thought I’d try. Describe yourself then.
I told him I was 5’6”, brown skinned with shoulder-length locks. I added I grew up in the Caribbean and when I got excited, traces of my accent could be heard.
You sound fine AF.
I smiled at the compliment but it faded when Demarco crossed my mind. I have a boyfriend.
A few minutes passed before a response popped up from Quincy. Just making convo. Not trying to be your man.
Okay.
I thought to ask what he looked like but decided against it when Tara returned with a small bag of pretzels in hand and two women in tow. She began pulling marketing materials from the table and pointing to supplies we had on display. I set the phone down and stood as an older man approached. He extended his hand, announced the company he represented, and I went into my spiel.
Seated back behind the booth twenty minutes later, I grabbed my phone and found three unread messages. The first one came from Demarco. He informed he wouldn’t be able to call during lunch because he’d forgotten about a scheduled afternoon meeting with a client. I replied that I understood and I’d speak to him after work.
The two remaining messages were from Quincy. The first was an image, a headless, bare-chested caramel-complexioned mirror selfie. A half sleeve tattoo covered his left arm and one of his nipples was pierced. The accompanying text read: What you think?
I held the phone up to Tara as she chomped on pretzels.
“I think catfish,” she said plainly and continued snacking. “He’s probably some scrawny teenager with bad acne having the time of his life with y’all’s juvenile conversation.”
I let out a sigh.
“Who even does headless torso shots?”
The one-sided conversation ended when someone approached our booth. Tara jumped into action while I responded to Quincy’s question.
Nice.
A moment later, he replied, Just nice? Lol.
Yes. Nice. I thought to ask why he’d chosen to send a headless photo but decided against it since I hadn’t given anything but a brief description.
Okay. I’ll take that, he said, followed by, How’s work going?
It’s going . . .
One of those kinda days?
I looked up from the phone to see if Tara needed any assistance. She didn’t. Kinda.
At least it’s almost lunchtime. Got plans?
Usually Tara and I would randomly pick a place within walking distance from the venue we were working in but I wasn’t too sure if we would eat together or do our own things for lunch. Quincy didn’t need to know any of that though. I’ll probably pick up a salad or something quick.
Cool, Quincy said. They got this new sandwich shop down the street from my job. I think I’m about to go there.
I recalled the front desk agent at the hotel mentioning a new sandwich shop a block away when I asked for restaurant suggestions during the check-in process. Do you work near the Inner Harbor?
Yeah.
Someone told me about a place that sounds similar to what you’re talking about.
Tara cleared her throat. I glanced up from my phone.
“I’m about to take off for lunch. You want anything while I’m out?”
I shook my head, telling her I’d pick something up when she got back. She grabbed her purse from underneath the booth and disappeared. I returned to the conversation with Quincy.
You heard about it all the way down in Charlotte?
Actually, I’m in Baltimore right now for business.
Fifteen minutes passed before another message came through from Quincy. The first was an apology for the delay in response. He had gotten busy with work. I let him know it wasn’t a problem.
That’s funny tho.
What’s that?
You being in Bmore, he wrote, followed by, What they call it? Serendipity?
If you say so.
Another ten minutes passed before Quincy informed me that even though he was enjoying our impromptu chat session, he really needed to take care of some things at work.
I understand. I should really get back to work as well.
I know you probably gonna say nah, but want to have a drink after work?
I thought of Demarco and felt Tara’s disapproving presence in the air. Thanks but I don’t think my guy would like that.
He got you under lock and key like that?
Lol. No.
It’s just one drink. In a well-lit, public space. I promise I’ll play nice, he followed with, I just wanna see who I been chatting with al
l day.
I thought about it for a long time. K.
Cool. He sent the name and address of a place I’d actually walked by on the way to the convention center that morning. He told me it was reasonably priced, although I needn’t worry about the cost because he would take care of everything. He added it had good food for a bar and pretty good drinks as well. See you tonight.
* * *
I exited the hotel room forty-five minutes after leaving the convention center for the day. Just as I made it to the lobby, the phone in my purse chimed. I rifled through the bag and pulled it out to find a message from Quincy. He wanted to know where I was. I had advised him midday that I would be making a quick stop by my room to drop off some items from work and freshen up.
Omw. Are you there already?
Nah. Got caught up at work. Running a little late.
I sat in one of the lounge chairs situated around a large fountain in the lobby. Maybe tomorrow? I’m in the city until Thursday.
I’m leaving in the morning.
Oh . . . was all I could think to respond with.
How about you drop by the office while I finish up and then we walk over to the bar together?
I tapped back, I don’t know about that.
Why not?
I reiterated that I didn’t know him from a can of paint.
I’m not going to hurt you. He again said he just wanted to put a face to the virtual conversation. He then gave me the name and address of where he worked, adding that there was at least one officer on duty 24/7 in the lobby and plenty of security cameras in and around the building. If you decide to drop by, cool. If not, I understand. We can just meet at the bar a bit later. It’s on you.
Let me think about it.
No pressure, he said, ending the conversation with, If you come by the job, I’m on the sixteenth floor, third office on the right when you get off the elevator. I’ll leave a keycard at the security desk.
Okay.
* * *
I entered the office building and just as Quincy had said earlier, there were two guards seated in the center of the large entryway behind an upraised security desk. It was equipped with several monitors and a couple two-way radios attached to a charging station. As I approached, the guard closest to me spoke.
Best Bondage Erotica of the Year, Volume 2 Page 16
