The Alexandra Series

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  The meeting was conducted in English start to finish. Reggie consulted with her a half dozen times, Jocelyn appalled by the high level of negotiations that were being discussed, the amount of money involved, and the intricacy of the bargaining. She was thankful that her comments were useful to him. He did trust her insight in this matter, even when her clear thinking comments were contrary to his line of thinking. She did have a knowledge of his company that he respected, and he was right to bring her along.

  “You were spectacular, Jocelyn,” he whispered as they left the conference room side by side. He had a smile on his face, their earlier sparring apparently forgotten. She was happy about that. Maybe they could forget that unfortunate moment in the bedroom, but she had a feeling that that wasn’t possible.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  There was another reception after the meeting, though this one was more enjoyable, with at least half of the participants speaking a language she knew. However, as soon as she and Reggie were in the more relaxed environment, Jocelyn detected a subtle disquiet in her blue-eyed associate. Though he said nothing, she had a gut feeling that the earlier row had not been forgotten after all.

  Dressing for dinner in their room an hour later, she chattered like some perky kid. It must have been the pent-up feelings that needed some expression. Even if she wasn’t saying anything particularly important, she needed just to talk. She also hoped her cheery comments might ease them into the rest of their evening.

  “Would you shut up,” Reggie finally barked, as he was adjusting his tie in the mirror, listening to her go on about something that was of no concern to him.

  “What’s got you pissed?” she asked. “I thought you were in a good mood?”

  “I was.”

  “But I’m annoying you. Isn’t that too bad,” she quipped.

  “You want to start again?”

  “That wasn’t my plan.”

  “But that’s where you’re headed.”

  “So, what the hell have you got to be pissed with me about, didn’t I salvaged your business this afternoon?”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way,” he said. “You may have been brilliant this afternoon, but it’s more personal matters that I’m going to blister your ass for.”

  “Blister my ass?” She looked astounded.

  The belt was already in his hand, not initially intended to be laid against her butt; but he took an instant liking to the idea. He had the perfect opportunity right in front of him, with Jocelyn half naked in garter belt and bra and nothing else, looking as ready as he’d ever find her.

  “You don’t mean it, not now! We’re going to be late for dinner.”

  “I don’t really care.”

  He was sitting on the bed, she was over his lap, and the belt was coming down on her bottom before she could breathe again. The snap of the leather created a quick sharp sting, reminding her that her ass was still sore from the night before.

  “Ouch, stop it now!” she cried.

  He’d hardly hit her, but for some reason this hurt her more than she could believe, than all the other punishments; this one stung like a thousand sharp arrows arriving on her ass, their biting impact more than she could take from the start.

  “Reggie stop!” she ordered him, as if he’d bother to listen to her. “Why are you doing this!”

  Oddly, he did stop, if only for an instant.

  “Some paddlings, my darling Jocelyn, I do for sex, others strictly for punishment. I’ll let you guess what this one is.”

  He snapped the leather belt against her burning ass a few more times before he spoke again.

  “You were way out of line this afternoon and you know it.”

  The leather was producing lines of red across the already flaming red bottom.

  “I apologized,” she tried defending herself, between her anguished protests. “Ouch that hurts!”

  “It’s a good thing you proved your worth in the conference room today, otherwise, I’d likely send you packing.”

  “You would not! Ouch, stop it!”

  “Oh, I would,” he told her. The leather met her ass until the jiggling, quivering flesh was hot as firecrackers on the 4th, until Jocelyn’s wails were one endless stream of unrelenting protests, and until Reggie was nearly worn out himself holding her flailing body in place.

  He pushed her to her feet when it was over, holding her hand tightly in his so she wouldn’t be tempted to run away.

  “Get this straight, Jocelyn Killian, you’re right about one thing. I do feel. Very deeply. What I feel for you goes beyond anything I’ve felt for any woman ever, but if you think brutalizing me with your harangues will get me to share myself with you, you’re sadly mistaken. You walk me into this affair of ours with your smile and your charm, but not your tirades. It’s beneath you to be a shrewish bitch.”

  She gazed at him stunned.

  “God, I feel like shit!”

  “Good, you deserve every minute of self torture.”

  She wondered how serious he was. At least he was calmer than he’d been. Certainly his words were fuel for thought, though it didn’t seem like the right time to talk about it.

  “I’m sorry. I was being irrational, and that’s not like me. I suppose I did it to get you to react.”

  She could tell he accepted her apology by the way his expression changed.

  “But then, it is hard to be rational when I’m in love,” she added. Being in love was the best description of what she was feeling, even if it felt strange telling him so.

  There was a tiny waver in his cool demeanor hearing her confession of love.

  “You’d better not say things like that without having all the facts in hand,” he said.

  “I think I do,” she replied.

  He knew better.

  Chapter Six

  Reggie pulled from his suitcase a dark green leather dress intended to match her eyes, and contrast with her rich auburn hair. It conformed to the shape of her alluring body, with the form-fitting garment clinging to her as tightly as the corset, pushing her breasts into a full cleavage, and covering just enough of her thighs so not to be indecent.

  “But when I walk the tops of the stockings…” she exclaimed as she paced their hotel room from end to end.

  “Where you’re going it’s fashionable.”

  “Didn’t know you appreciated raunchy sluts so much.”

  “Now you do,” he said.

  He was pleased, very pleased. She’d be appreciated in the company they’d keep that night. The German nightclub was a wild place where Reggie gathered with his old friends for their unique brand of entertainment. It had been too long, he thought, since he’d been to the underground habitat of leather freaks and fetish fiends and all around kinky sorts. It fit his mood, and he wondered if it would fit Jocelyn’s.

  “Another piece of your world, I assume,” she said, staring at herself in the mirror.

  “Another piece,” he nodded.

  “Different from dinner, I suppose?”

  “Very,” he replied.

  Dinner had been with business associates, her attire, sexy but nothing like this. She would have been happy to stay in their room for the remainder of the evening, but Reggie was ready for something else.

  He reached out and ran his fingers through her glimmering hair, seeing the red highlighted by the glow from a lamp. Impulsively he kissed her lips. He was rarely this affectionate, but she made him so.

  While this spontaneous affection was a little uncomfortable for him, putting on one of his many alter ego personas was not. It would be a pleasurable experience. For himself that night, he chose a black silk shirt and black pants, but no leather. He preferred buying it for the women in his decadent life, to wearing it himself.

  With Jocelyn on his arm, they found a taxi in the street outside the hotel, and made the trip to the nightclub in silence. Jocelyn was looking as nervous as he’d ever seen her. Such composure most of the time, he found her nervousness charming
, just like every damn thing the woman did was charming.

  On the street again, Reggie held her arm as they descended a dirty brick staircase to the basement level club. He could hear the sounds of soft jazz beyond the door as he knocked – the doorman recognized him readily. Stepping inside, Reggie was delighted to see that the crowded place was exactly as he remembered it.

  “Guten Tag,” Marc greeted him with a hearty hug. “How enchanting,” he then turned to Jocelyn, speaking in perfect English and bowing as he took her hand. The gesture was out of place in these crude surroundings, but not out of place for Marc.

  “Your table, there on the far side,” he said, pointing toward one near the stage where the jazz band played something mellow.

  Reggie watched Jocelyn’s eyes peer about the room, seeing the several dozen oddly attired people with a degree of fascination. Her nervousness had fled, and there was even a fleeting smile on her face. The costumes were as raunchy as he remembered them from well over a year ago. Lots of leather, and a few bare female breasts, and skirts so short that plump asses hung out beckoning pinches and slaps.

  “Ah, Reggie,” the bleached blonde Candy moved on him the moment she saw him.

  “What are you up to, slut?” he asked. The two kissed and broke apart just as quickly. She had thick red lips, a frenzied mop of short cropped hair, and three sets of round hoop earrings dangling from her ears. Her breasts were practically naked in something gauzy and glittering, though her ass end was well covered in snug leather pants.

  “I’m looking for someone to have my ass,” she said.

  “There’s no one here?” Reggie responded in disbelief.

  “Oh, but no one like you, darling,” she purred.

  “I’m here just showing Jocelyn around,” he said, as a way of introducing the woman on his arm.

  “Oh, you’re taken,” the blonde said, sadly disappointed.

  Reggie smiled. “Be a love and get us drinks, two Schnapps.”

  “Sure,” she said, and she swaggered away, giving her affections as easily to the next man that passed by.

  “Reg, where’ve you been!” Another welcome greeting, this time from Hans, a man in full leather regalia, pants, vest and arm band. A studded collar at his throat. He was Reggie’s height, and of similar build, but dark where Reggie was blond and fair. “Look at her,” Hans said, turning to Jocelyn. His hand went to her face and stroked it gently as if she was a pet. “And she’s available?” he asked.

  Reggie looked at Jocelyn, her infinitely cool expression a little surprised by Hans’ meaning.

  “She’s not ready,” Reggie replied.

  “Ah, too bad. Does she take it up the ass?”

  “Very well,” Reggie replied smugly, as if he was the only one that was going to know that.

  Hans placed his hand on Jocelyn’s rear, and gave it a few teasing pats. “You’ll have to go behind the wall later, I’ve got something perfectly heinous planned.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it,” Reggie said, as he moved off, leading Jocelyn to the empty table without another interruption.

  “What did he mean, am I available?” Jocelyn asked when she could finally comment on their welcoming. “And I’m not ready?”

  “Shared submissives are common in this place,” he said, looking at her face to see what kind of expression appeared there.

  “You’d share me with another man? Give me away to be screwed by someone else?”

  “I’ve done it dozens of times,” he said.

  “But with me?”

  “Why would you be any different?” he asked, becoming colder than he’d been in some hours. She was different, he knew that, but he wasn’t planning to tell her.

  “But I’m not ready?” she wondered at that comment.

  “No. You can count yourself lucky for tonight.”

  The blonde was at their table serving their drinks, and with the jazz band playing they listened.

  “What makes me ready?” Jocelyn asked, still curious about the odd conversation with Hans.

  “You are when I decide you are, if you’ll ever be ready,” he added. “You reminded me a few days ago that you hadn’t balked, don’t count on that continuing.”

  She seemed to take the comment at face value, and he watched her body begin to move with the music. She seemed caught up in the sounds, and for several minutes he saw her mood change with the changing rhythms. Suddenly turning back to him, Jocelyn grabbed his hand.

  “Let’s dance,” she said. Already on her feet before he could launch a protest, she had him standing, and since they were practically in the middle of the dance floor anyway, they were moving body to body seconds later.

  She was like a cat, eyes of savage hue in the smoky gray light of the room. Her sensual gyrations provoked an instantaneous response in his crotch. Damn! The woman would have him creaming his pants like a schoolboy if he didn’t watch out.

  “You move really well,” she whispered, all her seductive allure was on the outside beckoning him to come inside her mystic aura.

  “Been a long time,” he admitted, kissing her offered lips.

  “I bet,” she said, pulling away.

  “You’re smashed, aren’t you?” Reggie said, seeing Jocelyn become more bold.

  “No. Just happy,” she retorted. “This place isn’t that bad at all.”

  “You haven’t seen everything yet.” He smiled. Happy was rarely a word he used for himself, in fact he didn’t think much about his state of being. He just went on the same way day after day. But there were things about Jocelyn that lightened his mood, when he let them. Seeing her provocative body in dark green leather, deliberately seducing him with every lusty move, was one.

  “Things are getting hot behind the wall, Reg.” Hans was whispering the message in his ear, just when he was in the middle of being mesmerized by the dancing woman in front of him.

  Reggie nodded and grabbed Jocelyn’s hand, pulling her to the back of the nightclub to the brick wall, and the small door that took them into the ‘bowels,’ as the place was affectionately called.

  There was already action going on in the dimly lit room, a tiny crying German wench was draped over a padded bar, with a dominant applying a strap to her naked ass. Jocelyn cringed the instant she saw the scene, the girl’s wildly red behind, and her thighs as crimson as her butt.

  A thick wooden dildo had been shoved in her pussy, and she was mercilessly fucked with it until she let out a different kind of wail, in tribute to her cunt grinding against the leather bar as she came. Lifted from the apparatus, the girl was happily limp, falling into another woman’s arms. The other woman stroked her kindly. “You learn a good lesson, Else,” she admonished her.

  As the two passed by Reggie, the older and dominant woman smiled at him. “You bring your wench to get strapped, Reg?”

  “To watch,” he said.

  “Train her, she could use it,” the woman remarked, as she gave Jocelyn a quick but thorough inspection. “Remember what I taught you.” She led her just punished submissive away, as Reggie and Jocelyn moved further into the room.

  There was a stage at one end with chairs in front in a semi-circle. Other punishment paraphernalia, like the bar the young woman had been bound to, was scattered haphazardly about. However, the scene about to play for them would be on stage, Hans’ Theatre of the Dark, as he called it.

  The room quickly filled with people from the outer nightclub, watchers of an absurd play. When the curtain rose on the small elevated platform, there were two players, two women, sitting in chairs. Each wore a leather skirt, and leather halters that left little to the imagination. Their large breasts seemed to be bursting from the tiny garments. Their arms were tied behind their chairs so that the prominent bobbing tits stuck out lewdly from the women’s torsos. One was blonde, the other brunette, other than that, they were quite similar with tousled curls atop their heads, mountains of flashy eye makeup, and brash red lipstick. There were black boots on their feet to match their skirt
s.

  As the light dropped on the audience, the spotlight blazed on the bound women. Hans wandered toward the stage from the audience with a riding crop dangling from one hand. He took his place on the platform before the two women, acting as if he was inspecting them. Swiftly, going behind the brunette’s chair, he tugged at the ropes, which appeared to release the woman enough for her to rise from her chair. Hans jerked her to her feet with her hands remaining bound. Led to a crude sawhorse on the other side of the stage, she was thrust over the top, and to everyone’s surprise the leather skirt was one-sided. Her bare ass hung out, her pussy showed, and it was obvious to all that there was a substantial dildo in her rear.

  Once Hans had secured the woman to the sawhorse, he moved on the blonde. In like fashion, she was untied, pulled to her feet and thrust over the wooden bar. Like the brunette there was no backside to her skirt, and a hefty dildo violated her ass end.

  Two taut rears, side by side. One more generous than the other, but there was plenty of flesh to redden on both.

  “Ladies, and gentlemen,” Hans said turning around. “My submissives, my brats, my lusty wenches for your consideration. They’re to be chastised tonight for foul crimes, both recently guilty of disobeying me, and having the audacity to challenge me to this affair tonight. You see how meek they are now; like little lambs, they’ll play for your sympathy. But know, they’re saucy wenches in need of discipline. I should like to lay this riding crop on their asses later. But only after they’ve been strapped or paddled. I’ll leave that up to you.” He smiled playfully, though there was something foul in his eyes. “Who’ll be the first? Pick your implement and give them each a good ten.”

  There was a flurry of conversation in the room, and then one fierce looking man stood up, and sauntered toward the stage. Brusquely picking up a wooden paddle, without a word, even a single comment, without an instant’s hesitation, he laid the paddle on the brunette first, with ten fast paced smacks. Moving on to the blonde, he repeated the process. Handing the paddle to Hans, he returned to his seat.