She picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Rebecca, it’s Jasmine. I was just calling to let you know I won’t be back in the office today.”
“What? Why?” Rebecca sounded alarmed.
“I just finished meeting with Rodney Doyle, and he wants to have dinner with me tonight to discuss the—ahhh, Senator Grayle situation. I need to spend the rest of the afternoon getting ready.”
“No!” Rebecca cried. “You can’t do that! All hell has broken loose over here since you left!”
I stopped short, nearly breaking the heel off my shoe. “What do you mean?”
“There’s a media circus camped outside the office. I can’t even go outside the front door without getting attacked. And Senator Grayle needs me to go over to the jail to bail him out!”
“Can’t you send one of the interns over to do that? That’s what the interns are for, after all.”
“Jasmine, that’s not going to work—“
I started over. “I mean, the interns are there to do all the crummy errands we don’t want to do, not necessarily bail the senator out of jail, per se—“
“Jasmine, all the interns quit right after you left the office. They didn’t want to risk putting Senator Grayle’s name on their resumes after what’s happened.”
“Oh dear,” I said, feeling my crotch suddenly go cold. That was going to put a damper on my plans in a hurry.
“Jasmine, what should I do?”
I stopped to think. “Just sit tight for now. Don’t worry about bailing Senator Grayle out just yet. I might be able to pull some strings to get him out of there incognito. And I’ll see what I can do to get the media circus out of the way, too.”
“How long will that take?” Rebecca sounded desperate. In fact, she was hyperventilating into the phone, making static. “I can’t spend the night here, you know.”
“You won’t, don’t worry,” I said, trying my best to sound soothing. “I’ll do everything within my power to take the media heat off of this, believe me. My meeting with Rodney Doyle went very well, by the way.” Not exactly the truth, but not exactly a lie, either. “We have a dinner date set up tonight to—ahem—discuss things.”
This seemed to calm Rebecca down a bit; the hyperventilating moderated to a low hum. “Really? Is he going to help us?”
“He might. But only if I go to dinner with him tonight dressed to kill.”
Rebecca laughed at this. “Dressed to kill, huh? How are you going to pull that off when all you own are a bunch of drab gray power suits?”
“I have to go shopping. That’s why I can’t get back to the office just now.” By then I had just passed the Capitol Green and was heading for the Metro Center Mall. “Say Rebecca, you’re a snappy dresser. Where can I go to find a drop-dead-red, sexy cocktail dress, preferably strapless? In my size?”
A pause. “Well, Jasmine, I know where you can get red cocktail dresses in my size, but—hmm. Let me think. Normally I’d suggest Frederick’s of Hollywood for something like that, but they only go up to size 12. So that isn’t going to work for you.”
“I can squeeze into a 12 if I suck in my stomach and wear a girdle,” I pleaded.
“I wouldn’t try it,” Rebecca said. “If I were you I’d try Nordstrom’s. Get something revealing, but classy. Go to the eveningwear department, ask for Rhonda, and tell her I sent you. She does—or did, rather—all of Mrs. Grayle’s fittings for social occasion dresses. Mrs. Grayle’s a size sixteen, but you’d never know it to look at her because Rhonda does such a good job with custom fittings. She’ll get you looking great.”
“All right, thanks.”
“I gotta go, Jasmine. The reporters are practically breaking down the door.”
“Give them my cell number and tell them they can call me for an official statement,” I suggested. “That might get them to leave you alone for a little while, at least.”
“Are you sure you want me to do that? There’s an awful lot of them.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll just let all the calls roll to voicemail. I’ll get Rodney Doyle’s help on how to deal with them tonight.” I made it to the Metro Center mall entrance and stopped. “This is all going to work out, Rebecca, okay? It will all blow over soon, and Senator Grayle will be re-elected, and we’ll get to keep our jobs. I’ll take care of everything. Trust me.” I tried to sound confident, but I didn’t think I stood an ice queen’s chance in hell of actually accomplishing one bit of it.
“Whatever you say,” Rebecca said. She didn’t seem the least bit convinced, either. “Bye, Jasmine. Good luck with your dinner. Call me if you need any help.” She hung up.
I needed plenty of help, that was for sure. But it wasn’t the kind of help Rebecca or anyone else could provide. From then on, I was on my own.
****
Just as I’d predicted, my cell started ringing off the hook with press calls five minutes after I hung up with Rebecca, so I turned it off altogether and tucked it in my purse just before I passed Nordstrom’s shoe department to hop on the escalator. The couture eveningwear salon was on the third floor, and had its own separate, private entrance. Normally, you needed to make an appointment to meet with the couture sales staff, but one flash of my Congressional aide badge was enough to get me into the salon without one. Being a PR staffer for a senator—any senator, even one in the midst of a career-ending sex scandal—still had its perks.
I found Rhonda in the eveningwear salon, just like Rebecca said I would. Rhonda was a handsome and elegant woman of about fifty, who by the looks of her designer suit, expensive watch, and plentiful diamonds pulled down a considerable income on sales commissions selling evening gowns and cocktail dresses to the movers and shakers of Washington.
“You must be Jasmine Rand,” she said, extending her bejeweled right hand. “Rhonda Pearce, head of couture sales here. Rebecca called a few minutes ago and told me you might be coming. You need a red cocktail dress, yes? Size fourteen or so?”
I silently said a prayer of thanks for Rebecca’s extraordinary efficiency. “That’s right.”
“I’ve already pulled some pieces I think you might like,” Rhonda said. “All in your size, all designed to flatter fuller, womanly figures like yours. I can’t tell you how nice it is for me to actually work with a real woman’s body, Jasmine. Most of the ladies who buy dresses from me are anorexic sticks with no curves to speak of.Dressing them is like dressing a wire clothes hanger.”
I smiled at this. It was the first time a salesperson in an expensive department store had ever expressed anything besides disdain for my full figure.“At least somebody appreciates those of us with a little meat on our bones.”
“I’m a size eight myself, but I’ve always envied women with figures like yours,” Rhonda went on. “It must be nice to actually have breasts.” Rhonda’s green eyes looked me up and down, and sparkled. Was that a sparkle of attraction in her eyes, perhaps? Or was I imagining things?
I didn’t respond; I just smiled again.
“Follow me,” Rhonda said, and led me to a private dressing room where several red dresses were hanging on a rack.“Why don’t I help you get into these?” Without warning, Rhonda crept up beside me and slid her well-manicured fingers down the side of my face in a liquid caress, sending light shivers up and down my spine.
I was shocked. My whole body froze. At one level, I was appalled, didn’t even know what to think. At another level, I was more turned on than I’d ever been in my life.
That level won out.
I stood frozen, my feet locked to the floor, my breath stilled deep in my lungs as Rhonda slowly worked her way down my body, slipping off one garment after another—first my blazer, then my blouse, then my stockings and skirt—touching and teasing my skin as she bared it. My clothing made a small wrinkled pile at my feet until I was left with nothing but my bra and panties. By then, my crotch was soaked with my juices and the musky scent of my sex filled the air. The only sound was of my labored breathing and Nor
dstrom’s piped-in background music.
I couldn’t believe what was happening. I’d never been even remotely attracted to a woman before, let alone allow one to undress me like this. What was going on? Had my everyday life somehow evaporated in favor of some sexy parallel universe where everything and everyone was tailor-made to turn me on? Today, it certainly seemed so.
Rhonda took the first of several red dresses off the rack. “Slip this one on for me,” she said. “It’s all-over Lycra, so you won’t need help with a zipper.” She handed me the dress, a slinky little number with an asymmetrical hem, a sweetheart neckline and a strapless bodice with a built-in brassiere and dainty off-the-shoulder cap sleeves, and stood back to watch as I slipped off my bra and slid into the dress. The feel of the sleek Lycra-silk blend was feathery on my bare skin.
“That’s lovely on you,” Rhonda cooed, her vibrant green eyes nearly swallowing me whole.“Take a look at yourself.”
I turned and took in the view from the dressing room’s three-way mirror. I was stunned and awed by what I saw. My whole life, I’d been self-conscious about my curvy, fleshy, size-fourteen body. So self-conscious, in fact, that I always hid it underneath layers and layers of drab, dark fabrics and boxy, unflattering designs. I tried to make up for my lack of fashion sense with book smarts, career savvy, and a gift for writing snappy sound bites. But here I was, wearing a slinky red dress that clung to every curve like a tight kid glove and emphasized my ample cleavage. That dress made me look like a curvaceous, sexy old-time film star, like Veronica Lake or Marilyn Monroe.
Damn. I was hot.
Who would have known that such a sexy woman had always lain hidden underneath all those stuffy, frumpy career suits? Not I.
“I’ll take the dress,” I said. “How much is it?”
“Twelve hundred,” Rhonda said. When I sucked in my breath at the steep price, Rhonda replied, “I can arrange to have it charged to Mrs. Grayle’s account, if you like. It’s my understanding that you’re wearing it to help save Senator Grayle’s career, after all.”
“But—“
“I’ll be discreet, don’t worry. And Mrs. Grayle charges so many dresses to her account here that the divorce lawyers will never know the difference when they’re settling things out with us.”
I was beginning to understand why Rhonda was so good at her job.
Among other things.
Rhonda sashayed up closer beside me and lightly brushed her fingers along the inside of my left wrist. I felt my stomach do a flip-flop, then go all soft and melty. She ran her fingers up the inside of my arm, and I felt that soft and melty feeling sink down between my legs, settling there until my pussy got wet and hot and puffy. I was almost ready to come, and I’d barely been touched—and by a woman besides!
Today was certainly shaping up to be an interesting day.
“Why don’t we get you out of this dress and into something a bit more comfortable?” Rhonda whispered, mere inches from my left ear. Her warm, soft breath tickled the side of my neck. “Like your birthday suit, perhaps?” Before I knew it, Rhonda had whisked me out of the dress and had it expertly folded and wrapped in a Nordstrom’s gift box. And less than two seconds later, she was working on whisking me out of my panties. They landed in a tangled heap on the floor before I could take a breath. Rhonda slid one hand down my back, and slipped the other between my legs, gently exploring until she found my already glistening sex. She slid a finger between my labia; I instantly stiffened and let out a little shriek.
“Relax,” Rhonda breathed. “Relax, Jasmine. You have the potential to be a very sensual woman if you just let go and explore yourself a bit.” She gently worked her finger back and forth across my cleft, back and forth, gently pulsing and rubbing until I relaxed and settled into a little squat, pressing my sex against her finger. “That’s right,” she said. “Just relax and enjoy. Let it ride.”
I instinctively spread my legs a little wider to give Rhonda better access. She knew exactly where to touch me, how much, how fast, how much pressure to use. She seemed to know where all my most sensitive nerve endings were, knew exactly what it took to send those nerve endings over the edge. It was like masturbating myself, only better. I leaned backward a bit, settling my bare backside against Rhonda’s chest. I could feel the expensive cashmere fabric of her suit against my skin, could smell her designer perfume and her herbal shampoo. “Oh, yeah,” I breathed, feeling my pussy begin to tighten. “That’s so good.” I hoisted up my backside a bit higher to give Rhonda even better access. In response, she lowered her other hand down south to meet the other, and used it to spread me wide open so her fingers could get into all my little nooks and crannies. She coaxed my clit out from under its hood and started to work in earnest. I was mere seconds away from coming when the realization of what I was doing sunk in and jolted me back to earth.
“I’ve never done this before,” I quaked, pulling away. “I can’t believe this is happening. What the hell is going on here?”
“I am giving you pleasure,” Rhonda said, not stopping her ministrations for a second. “You are a beautiful, sensual woman, and you are receiving pleasure. That’s all. Enjoy it. Relax.”
Relax? I couldn’t relax. I was having my first lesbian experience. I was in uncharted territory, and it was scary as hell.
Rhonda seemed to sense my fears. “It’s natural to feel a bit scared the first time you experience something new. Try to latch onto that feeling if you can, and turn it around into excitement. It’ll make what I’m doing to you feel even better.”
I tried my best to take Rhonda’s advice. I took the little flame of fear that had been tensing me up and mentally sent it down south to heat up my pussy. I concentrated hard on my orgasm, savoring each and every stroke Rhonda’s perfectly manicured hands made on my clit and labs. Just as Rhonda promised it would, the fear melted away into a white-hot thrill.I bucked against her hand, matching her rhythm until I felt the first pulses of my orgasm start around the edges of my vag. The pulsating sensation just got harder and hotter and wider as Rhonda rubbed harder and faster, until I could feel vibrations radiating outward from my sex to every corner of my body. I cried out. I saw stars.
I had the most incredible orgasm of my life, and I got it from a woman.
Holy shit.
“There,” Rhonda said, wiping her hands on a moist towelette she’d procured from God knew where. “Now doesn’t that feel better?”
I collapsed in a heap onto the dressing room’s plush white carpeting. “I hope the walls to this dressing room are soundproof.”
Rhonda laughed. “We’re very discreet here at Nordstrom’s, don’t worry.”
I took a few moments to collect myself. I was sweaty and spent, and my sex was wet and soft and pleasantly warm from all the action. I felt more sexually satisfied than I had in years. And yet, there was still something missing. My vag ached for something to fill it. Something long and large and hard. And unless Rhonda kept a top-quality vibrator on the premises, I doubted that despite her considerable talents in that department, she could have relieved that ache herself. I’d have to go in search of other options, and soon.
I stood up and began to dress. I still couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. After all, one usually doesn’t go to Nordstrom’s with the goal of getting off at the hands of the sales staff. “Why did you do this?” I asked.
Rhonda laughed again. “You appeared to need it. And at Nordstrom’s, our number-one goal is satisfying our customers.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “Do you do that for all your customers?”
“Only my most special ones,” Rhonda replied. “And I know you’re in a tough spot right now, between Senator Grayle’s shenanigans and your big meeting with Rodney Doyle tonight. Believe me, that dress will be a major asset when it comes to asking the likes of Rodney Doyle for favors. Not to mention the fact that you and your womanly parts are now ripe and ready for an evening of earthly delights. ”
“How did
you know I was meeting with Rodney Doyle?”
“Rebecca filled me in on what you’re up against before you arrived. You’re not the first Washington PR staffer who’s been in your position, and you won’t be the last. In order for Rodney to help you, you need to distinguish yourself. Make him want to help you. And trust me, from what I understand, there’s only one way to do that.”
She didn’t need to tell me what. “I’ve figured as much,” I said. “That’s why I needed the sexy dress, after all.”
“That’s not all you needed, Jasmine.”Rhonda took my hand and squeezed it. “When you walked in here, you were a walking, talking ball of repressed sexual tension. That was no way for you to go off to seduce the most powerful press editor in town and then try manipulating him into helping save your career. You needed to get yourself into a—shall we say—more open position. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have stood a chance.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about how Rodney Doyle works for someone who sells cocktail dresses for a living,” I said. “I mean that in the nicest way possible, of course.”
“Let’s just say that I’ve helped dress many ladies on their way to the top of the Washington power structure, at leave it at that.” Rhonda helped me into my crumpled blazer. As she did, I was stunned to notice a diamond wedding set on the ring finger of her left hand.
“You’re married? To a man?”
“Of course, dear. Happily. For twenty-eight years, in fact.”
Now I was completely taken aback. “Does your husband know how you—ahem—service your customers?”
Rhonda smiled. “My husband and I have no secrets from one another. We’re products of the wide-open seventies, and we enjoy sexual experimentation whenever and wherever possible. It really saddens us that the younger generation isn’t as free now as we were at that age.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s—that’s pretty wild.”
Rhonda gave me a knowing smile. “You have no idea.”
I finished gathering up my things and prepared to be on my way. “Well, umm, thanks and everything,” I stammered, not at all sure how to leave things with Rhonda. I’d never had a one-off lesbian experience before, and I wasn’t quite sure what the proper etiquette was.
Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set Page 3