by Joey W. Hill
“Fair enough.” Ben flicked her ear again, got punched once more, then checked his watch. “It’s within walking distance, so I’ll text Max where he can find us.”
The driver had been invited to join them for lunch, but Max had said he’d take the time to gas up the limo and run a quick errand.
“Tell him to take his time,” Dana said. “There are plenty of places to shop around here until he gets back. We don’t want him to cut his lunch short.”
“Because he went to see Janet,” Ben agreed, dipping another French fry in her ketchup.
“How do you know that?” Marcie asked, stealing a potato chip off his plate and leaving him a couple slices of artichoke in exchange. She’d gone with the beet and artichoke salad.
“Because I know everything. How did you know, Dana?”
“Because I know him. And I heard him receive a text about a half hour ago. My guess is she was offering to make him lunch if he had the time for a break.”
“I really want to know how that’s working between them,” Cass mused. “With Janet being a Mistress, but Max not being a sub.”
“However it works,” Dana said with a wicked smile, “It has got to be totally hot. He’s got a service streak a mile wide, but it’s the ‘sweep you off your feet and carry you up a mountain’ versus ‘scrub your floors’ kind.”
“That works for me. I already have a maid,” Savannah said, making them all laugh.
Marcie nudged Ben. “Has he given you any details? We won’t tell.”
He chuckled at her attempt at an innocent face. “Only because everyone you would tell is at this table. If I did know details, it’s a guy code. I couldn’t share. But before you try to torture it out of me by threatening more shopping, I don’t really know any. If you’ve noticed, Max would give a sphinx a run for its money.”
“True,” Dana agreed. “You have to pick it up from what he doesn’t say, rather than from what he does.”
“So, what doesn’t he say?” Rachel asked, inciting more smiles.
“I think he’s really into her,” Dana said, her expression becoming less teasing and more thoughtful. “And I think it’s reciprocated.”
“I can vouch for that one,” Ben said. “Janet seems distracted these days. For her, that is. Which means her hundred and fifty percent efficiency has dropped a percent.”
“Good for them,” Savannah said quietly. “They both deserve someone special to love.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Ben advised. “It could be all about the sex, you know.”
“Well, with Max involved, there better be sex,” Dana returned. “A lot of it. Otherwise, what a waste.”
“Amen,” Cass said fervently, a sentiment echoed around the table, including Marcie. Ben shot her a narrow glance.
“Just being agreeable,” she said blithely.
“I’m going to tell Matt he needs to fire Max and hire someone ugly. Or better yet, a hot female with big breasts. We need more diversity in the limo pool.”
“Or a workshop on sexual harassment,” Cass said dryly.
“I’ve only groped his ass three times,” Dana said primly. “And I don’t work for K&A, so you can’t allege harassment.”
“Max might feel differently about that.” Ben gathered up the women’s leavings on one tray and took it to a nearby trash can, dumping the contents and leaving the tray on a shelf provided for them. “So, what was that next place you wanted to go, Reverend Dana?” he asked blithely. “The bible store?”
“Whoever wrote Song of Solomon has no problem with Hot Toddy,” Dana retorted as they left the table. Rachel tucked Dana’s hand into the crook of her elbow as they began to wind their way out of the Market eating area.
As Ben had noted, Hot Toddy wasn’t a far walk. The upscale lingerie and erotica boutique had a silver framed large display window that was partially obscured by a white chalk, cartoon style drawing of a voluptuous woman in a corset and panties, lounging on a divan. She was reading a book and eating bonbons, a pair of glasses perched on the end of her nose.
The open spaces in the drawing gave the passersby tempting glimpses of the lingerie and sexy apparel contained within. The store kept clothing up front, with sex toys, particularly those of the BDSM variety, tucked into elegant and female-friendly alcoves in the back. The store was a franchise expansion of an erotica store in North Carolina called Naughty Bits. Though the owner of Naughty Bits, Madison Scott, had an expanding number of stores operating in the Southeast, she allowed each franchise owner to choose the name they wanted, adding “A Naughty Bits store” in small script beneath it.
Ben had met Madison on a business trip to Charlotte, when he decided to browse her BDSM inventory. He’d come away with a superior quality carbon cane. The one he’d used on Marcie last night.
Madison’s Master, Logan, was the hardware storeowner next door to Naughty Bits. He also made BDSM custom furniture. Madison and Logan were the type of contacts Ben and the rest of the team appreciated. The couple had recently opened an erotic theater, the first of its kind in that part of the world.
The BDSM world wasn’t a large one, so it was Marcus Stanton, a New York gallery owner and friend of Lucas’s, who had recommended Ben stop at the store when he was in Charlotte. Marcus’s friend Julie was the stage manager for Madison’s theater. The visit by Ben had in turn put Madison in contact with the lingerie storeowner in NOLA, Wallenda Matisse, who Ben knew wanted to do more with her business. Hence, Hot Toddy had become a Naughty Bits store.
Wallenda was a black woman with long thin braids to her waist, a diamond stud in her nose, and black nails decorated with a single tiny ruby on each finger, except the thumb. At the sight of the women and Ben, she smiled from ear to ear and came around the counter to exchange kisses and hugs with the ladies.
“I’m so pleased you came to see me.” She gave Ben her usual blatant appraisal. The woman was as subtle as a shot of Jack to the gut. Her lush lips and smoky dark eyes had an even more thudding impact on a man not braced for the smoldering sensuality that was always there, seemingly ready to be unleashed with any trigger Wallenda chose.
“It’s a fine, fine escort you have today, ladies. Mr. O’Callahan, what have you done to be blessed with this much female energy?”
“I drew the winning hand,” he said, brushing his lips along her cheek, temptingly close to the full lips. She gave him a feline look and a throaty chuckle, nudging Marcie.
“Oh, he thinks you’ve bitten off more than you can chew, doesn’t he, cher? But perhaps it is you who are the meal for him, no?”
Marcie squeezed one of Wallenda’s hands in agreement, shooting Ben a look before she wandered off with the other ladies, fanning out to check out the selections. Wallenda moved off with them to offer her help in whatever way was needed.
Ben settled down in a bordello-red easy chair conveniently near the fitting rooms, figuring it would be his best vantage point when they decided what to try on. Dana had already plucked a black teddy out of Wallenda’s stock he found very intriguing, particularly when he imagined it on Marcie.
Speaking of which… His gaze found his girl and lingered, because Marcie was flipping through a rack of short night gowns. She held one out, considering it. The blue silk garment had slits up the side and a layer of black lace over the bodice that would cling to her nipples and reveal them at once. She looked around and, when she found him, she indicated it. Yes or no?
It was a resounding yes, but he took a moment, making her wait, because it would underline that she was determining if it met his approval. When she sought that Master side of him, it stirred his blood and hers, inspiring him to savor.
He nodded at last and she smiled, returning to her browsing but keeping the filmy fabric folded over her arm. His attention slid to Rachel, who was being ushered toward the dressing room by Cass and Dana. Whatever she was contemplating, they were adding their backup to her choices.
Cass’s issues had to do with him and Marcie, how sh
e felt about that, not his money. So Ben knew, out of all of them, Rachel was the least comfortable with picking out anything expensive for him to buy. Perhaps Cass and Savannah had less trouble over it because they were wealthy women in their own right. Not only could they afford whatever Ben was buying, they knew he could more than afford it as well, all of them moving in similar income circles.
As far as Marcie was concerned, he was her Master, and that made a difference. He understood she earned her own money, a good deal of it, and she would use it as she wished. But he provided for her care under his roof because he could, so it was one more way to reinforce that relationship.
Dana’s very low paying but community-oriented job as a minister meant Peter bore the lion’s share of the bills, because his home—now theirs—certainly wasn’t the kind a minister’s salary could afford or maintain. However, he’d eased her mind on it by pointing out she was earning enough good karma to cover his ass for entrance to Heaven. Damn right. The woman worked as many hours some weeks as an on-call surgeon.
But Rachel had a different issue. Watching her be gently urged into the dressing room, Ben knew her being ill-at-ease with him paying came from a lot of places. She’d been a bone-deep submissive all her life with no outlet for it until Jon. She’d made great strides in self-esteem and confidence since they’d been together, but several years balanced against two decades of damage from her first asshole husband meant there were still some snags.
Before she and Jon had met, she’d scraped and saved to get her yoga studio on its feet, funding it with carefully saved money from her work as a physical therapist. Jon never undersold that accomplishment, but Ben suspected somewhere deep inside, Rachel was afraid to seem too dependent or trusting of anyone, for fear of being kicked emotionally in the face, as her husband had done to her too many times. A certain vital level of detachment to shield herself still existed.
He expected she’d pick out one thing with a modest price, but that was fine. The others would know a couple other things she wanted and make sure those landed on the counter.
In the meantime, Rachel stepped out of the dressing room in her carefully chosen outfit. His brain stopped, so he had to rewind and replay what Rachel said to him, a couple seconds after the fact.
“Dana said I should ask if you think Jon will approve.”
Wallenda’s inventory was heaven-sent. She not only sold lingerie, but dresses that could make a man’s blood drain straight to his cock. While still doing just that to male senses, the dress Rachel wore managed to convey top notch class and style. It was black, some kind of stretchy, gathered fabric that outlined and flattered Rachel’s generous breasts and hips. The low back was crisscrossed with straps all the way to the sweet valley above her ass.
A band of fabric around the throat was connected to two straps of fabric that ran diagonally from her neck to beneath her arms, with the effect of triangulating and emphasizing the swelling curves. One tug would bring the neckline below her breasts.
The dress fit her like a second skin in the right way, all the toned yoga curves and soft woman. Ben could imagine it accessorized with the collar Jon had given her, silver wire bound with gold posts, and a sapphire pendant wrapped in more wire.
“If he doesn’t like it, you’re coming to live with me and Marcie, so I can keep you both as my personal sex slaves,” he said bluntly. He held up his phone. “Let’s see what he thinks.”
He shot the picture, including a note with it. As Rachel bent to see the phone screen, he took her hand and did a sharp tug to bring her into his lap, catching her as she tumbled. Plus enjoying the hell out of how the dress rode up even higher on her thighs. She smiled at him as he held her in his arms and showed her what he was texting, as well as how she looked in the picture.
Your lady wants to know if she should get this old rag.
The response came within seconds, and made her smile grow.
Let you know, soon as I can roll my tongue back in my mouth.
Matt, give Jon back his phone. Stop sexting on it.
Rachel covered her mouth on a second laugh and she struggled out of his lap, giving him an amused look as he gave her a boost that slid his hands over some nice curves.
Dana was coming out of the dressing room as Rachel returned to it. Probably the least modest of the group, not just because of her blindness, but because of the Army background, she didn’t appear self-conscious in the least in a red bra that mixed satin with sheer gauze and lace to show plenty of tantalizing glimpses of golden-brown flesh beneath. She wore her jeans with it, a look he heartily approved. Though she couldn’t see herself, he expected it was muscle memory that had her head dipped as if she was looking down while she adjusted the bra padding and then presented herself, hands on hips.
“Okay, do they look plump and tender enough?"
"Are they breasts or a chicken sandwich?" Cass asked tartly. Lucas’s wife had drawn closer and now stood by Ben’s chair, her hand resting next to his shoulder, her smallest finger pressed against it.
"He's going to devour them, so does it matter?" Dana responded.
"Good point,” Ben agreed.
"No, these are good points," Dana said, arching her back flirtatiously. Cass chuckled and shook her head.
“They certainly are,” Ben said. “Okay, picture going to your man.”
Ben held up the phone and clicked it, then included more commentary before sending it to Peter. The response was again immediate.
“He says I should switch your ass, because your breasts are perfect as they are. But he likes the way they look in that.”
Dana brightened. “Good. Wallenda says she has it in green, purple and blue, too. I’m going to get one of each. With matching panties.”
“Your congregation will love them.”
When she skipped back into the dressing room, he shook his head and looked up at Cass. “Kids,” he sighed.
Her lips quirked, her blue eyes amused. Hers were like a summer sky, while Savannah’s were more like faceted jewels. “Aren’t you nearly the youngest here, except for Marcie?” Cass asked.
“Only in maturity,” he reminded her. “And shouldn’t you be trying on something? I’m sure you’re almost out of edible panties. Lucas has come in with that blue and pink tongue thing a couple times. Oh, and red. The raspberry ones are his favorite, I think.”
“We have never bought edible panties,” she said with a sniff.
“Then he must have a serious slushy addiction you need to talk to him about. But I don’t blame you. They’re terrible. If I ever did open a confectionery slash bakery like Marcie thinks I should, I’d put edible panties on the menu. Ones that actually taste good. Chocolate lace that’s better than Godiva and melts when the heat of the mouth is applied. Cherry liqueur flavor.”
“Dessert and drinks,” she observed.
“Exactly. That ice blue peignoir over there has you written all over it.” His gaze slid over her. “All your thick, blond hair down, one thin strap falling off the shoulder, the satin slithering over all your gorgeous curves. Our cunnilingus-addicted accountant wouldn’t be able to put two numbers together, let alone two words.”
She considered it, a faint tinge to her cheeks, her lips parting. A woman inside her head, letting her imaginings arouse her, was fascinating to watch. Cass recalled herself far too soon, though.
“Maybe. I’ll think about it.” She rose and left him, but before she did, she pressed her hand to his shoulder. He was probably too gratified by the affection, but he was glad she didn’t seem to be in a mood to keep giving him a hard time. Maybe Savannah had said something to her.
As Cass moved away toward the dressing room, he realized she had a couple more outfits and bra choices draped over her arm.
Though they were likely more things for Rachel and Dana to try, he couldn’t resist sending a text to Lucas. Cass is considering some thongs. I’ll let you know how well they accent her pretty ass.
He grinned at the return fire. Hard
to do when your eyes are poked out with my laser pointer. Thongs chafe. I’d never do that to my wife.
Looking around for his brat, Ben noticed Marcie had wandered into the role play area, after having left the blue nightie with Wallenda at the counter.
It was a tough choice, staying where he was to enjoy more of the male-dream fashion show, or seeing what she was doing, but he figured he couldn’t lose either way. So, he went to see Marcie.
She was rubbing the stiff black taffeta skirt of a maid costume between her thumb and forefinger. From the length of it, he suspected the ruffled skirt would barely cover her ass. “I could see you wearing this around the house,” he observed. “Or maybe in my home dungeon. I’d order you to wear it when you clean the equipment.”
Her brown eyes heated, telling him she liked the idea. When he glanced down and saw she’d picked out another item, she lifted it so he could see. A vampire role-playing kit, including a set of fangs, some black cherry flavored “blood” to drizzle on the skin, and a wooden stake. The stake was pointed on one end, but the handle was a flesh-like phallus, obviously intended for other purposes. Since Hot Toddy was upscale, the fangs weren’t a cheap plastic insert, but silver plated and reasonably sharp for realism. Intended for blood play, including an extensive warning in the instructions about not piercing major arteries in the neck.
“You like that, brat?”
She caught her lip in her teeth and glanced up at him almost shyly, which really intrigued him. “I’ve had a vampire fantasy or two about you,” she admitted.
“About me? Or those sparkly vampires you watch?”
“I love the Twilight movies,” she protested. But she edged closer to him. “I like the darker side of the story.”
“Really?” He considered the package and, deciding then and there they’d be buying it, he withdrew his pocket knife and cut open the thick plastic packaging that kept customers from doing what he did now, plucking out the fangs and tube of black cherry flavoring. “Let’s see how they fit.”
