by Dawn Steele
He grinned. “He didn’t tell you?”
I didn’t ask him, she thought. Rust wasn’t exactly the easiest person in the world to talk to. Mostly, it was just intensely physical between them.
Carlo said, “We don’t choose to be who we are. We just are. We are born this way, just as you were born the way you were.”
“So your parents were wolves as well?”
“Shifters. We are shifters, not wolves. We are both human and wolf.”
“Are there many of you?”
“Not many of us are left. We are a dying breed.” He grimaced.
She hesitated, and then plowed on. “If a shifter were to breed with a pure human, what sort of baby would the human produce?”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re not thinking of trapping him, are you? Because that’s a bad idea. Bad for everyone concerned.”
“I’m not thinking of trapping anyone,” she retorted. “It’s a factoid I just want to know.”
“A factoid.” He mulled over this, and then laughed. “OK. I like that word. ‘Factoid’. Seriously? There haven’t been many inter-species matings, but you stand a fifty-fifty chance of producing either one or the other.”
She filed this into her memory stash. “So what do you guys do for a living? You integrate normally with the rest of the world?”
“Of course. We don’t live in secret enclaves and run around naked in caves all day.” His expression suggested he would like to do just that. “My folks run a burger joint back home. Mom and Pop outfit.”
“They’re putting you through college.”
“I’m putting myself through college. They have three other kids to take care of.”
“Oh? How?”
“I moonlight as a waiter in an up-market joint.”
“It pays well?”
“That one does. Let’s just say it’s an unusual kind of joint.” His eyes twinkle. “I’d love to take you there one day.”
Her cell phone in her purse went ‘ping’. A text message had arrived.
Carlo leaned forward. Her hand was at her coffee cup, and his fingers brushed against hers.
“You know,” he murmured, “I was thinking maybe if sometime you and I can – ”
She curled back her fingers and moved her hand away. “Excuse me, I have to get this.”
He watched her, eyes glittering, as she retrieved her phone. She glanced at the display and her heart leaped.
It was Rust!
The message said:
‘WAIT FOR A PICK UP AT THE CORNER OF GRANT AND FARLOW AT 6 PM TODAY.’
A pick-up? What did that mean? He was going to pick her up? Her blood churned. So he hadn’t forgotten her after all. He hadn’t forgotten their ‘exclusivity’. He was going to celebrate with her!
Right?
Her jubilance must have shown, because Carlo said bitterly, “It’s him, isn’t it?”
She saw no reason to lie. “Yes.”
“He texts you, and you jump over the moon?”
“He’s just texting me to make a date.” Defensiveness rose in her voice.
Carlo leaned back. The disappointment was clear on his face. “So you are going.”
“Of course.”
“I was going to ask you out on a date. It would be a proper date too.”
She was perplexed. “Why, Carlo?”
“What do you mean why?”
“Why do you want to date me? Because he’s dating me?”
“He’s fucking you. You’re not exactly dating.”
It was crude, but true. Still, she felt like slapping him. She rose and grabbed her purse.
“Hey.” He stood up too. “I’m sorry, Kate, OK? I’m just asking you for a date, that’s all.”
“So you can fuck me too? Because you want what he has?”
He flinched. She had hit home.
“Sorry, Carlo, but I can only be a fuck doll to one person at a time.”
She turned and walked away, aware that he was staring at her in astonishment . . . and maybe admiration. Date Rust O’Brien, and your stock automatically goes up among those in the know. That was what she had come to learn.
Besides, she had a very special date to celebrate.
Her pussy contracted just to think about it.
4
At six, Kate waited at the corner of Grant and Farlow like an obedient little girl. Well, maybe not so little.
She wore a little black dress which showed her impressive cleavage to good effect. It was cold, and so she had to top it off with a jacket. Her stockings were sheer and black and she tottered around in very high black heels.
She attracted a lot of attention too, waiting there like a fish out of water. People stared at her as they passed, probably wondering if she was a hooker waiting for an early pick-up. Hell, she was waiting for a pick-up, and plenty of sex was involved.
She couldn’t help feeling excited. Rust. He always excited her. Just thinking of him – his clear green eyes, his dark, dark hair, and his body. Just looking at his body made her go weak everywhere.
How would he be picking her up? In his white Beemer?
It was 6.05, and she was starting to panic. What if he had forgotten about her? What if he decided not to turn up because she was too needy? She shouldn’t have hung around in the lecture hall for him. She had probably frightened him away. I don’t want an emotional relationship, she could almost hear him saying.
Then a black limousine drew up. It stopped right in front of her. It had one of those automatic doors which slid open.
The driver slid his window down. “You Kate Penney?”
“Uh, yes.”
Where was Rust?
“I’ve been sent to pick you up by Professor O’Brien. Please step in.”
Oh. He was giving her the first class treatment now. This was unexpected. Kate was both astonished and pleased.
She stepped into the back. Rust, of course, was nowhere to be seen. The door slid shut behind her. The driver stepped on the gas pedal and they drove off.
Are we going somewhere nice? Kate wondered.
They were barely two minutes into the ride when the driver half-turned back and handed her an envelope.
“This is for you, Ms. Kate.”
She took it. It was an embossed white envelope with a white tiger upon it. There was no doubt who it was from.
“Am I supposed to open it?” she asked.
“Yes.”
With trepidation, she tore the envelope open. She was afraid it might say: ‘I’m sorry I can’t join you tonight, but have one on me.’
She was afraid of being stood up.
There was a note inside the envelope. It said:
‘DARLING KATE,
LET’S SEE HOW WELL YOU CAN FOLLOW INSTRUCTIONS.
ARE YOU WEARING PANTIES? IF YOU ARE, TAKE THEM OFF NOW.
RUST.’
Uh, she was wearing panties. She was wearing them just in case they needed to go out for dinner and her skirt was rather short. It was just in case she dropped something and had to bend over to pick it up, so it was best not to be too exposed.
She looked at the back of the limo driver’s head. Was this a test? Was he supposed to report back to Rust if she didn’t do as she was instructed?
Uh . . .
She could do this. She had come so far with Rust. They had come so far together.
She reached down and hiked up her skirt to the top of her thighs. She was shielded from the driver’s gaze by the front seat, but she wasn’t sure if there was a camera trained on her. She hooked her thumbs into her panties and pulled the flimsy fabric off her hips and down her legs. She wriggled them off her feet.
There. Mission completed. The driver didn’t turn once. She stuffed the rolled up wad of panties into her purse.
“Have you done it, Miss?”
Huh? The driver knew what Rust requested her to do?
“Um, yes.”
“Good. I am instructed to give you another envelope.” He handed her
yet another embossed one.
With trepidation, she took it and opened it. She hoped Rust was not going to ask her to expose herself to the driver. Frankly, she wouldn’t put anything past him.
This time, the note said:
‘VERY GOOD, KATE. I LOOK FORWARD TO SEEING YOU WITHOUT YOUR PANTIES. NOW THE DRIVER WILL TAKE YOU SOMEPLACE SPECIAL. BE SURE TO FOLLOW FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS WHEN YOU GET THERE.
RUST.’
OK. No exposure. Yet.
“Where are we going?” Kate piped up timidly.
“It’s a surprise, Miss. I’ve been told not to tell you until we get there.”
Great. Rust was really laying the mysterious date thing on thick. She was flattered. Very flattered. This might be an elaborate fuck game, but it showed he cared enough about it to arrange everything. Or maybe she was kidding herself that he cared. Maybe he just liked mind games. Domination and submission games, that was all.
The limo purred down the streets, stopping at traffic lights and going again. Kate had never been in a car ride this smooth before. Her lack of underwear was beginning to tell on her. Her pussy – bare under her short skirt – was leaking. She was careful to sit with her legs closed tightly lest the driver should turn and glimpse something he shouldn’t.
They were weaving into a part of town she had never been to before. Here, the houses were more elaborate. The apartment blocks looked glitzy and expensive. Her heart leaped when the limo turned into Hartford Avenue. Hartford Avenue! Wasn’t there where the Professor lived? She had never been to his penthouse before. They had only ever fucked away from his home.
But now it was clear that a new level had been breached. She was going to visit his home.
This had to mean something.
Sure enough, the limo stopped outside a swanky apartment building about twenty floors high.
“This is where you get off, Miss.”
“Um, what do I do next?”
“The doorman will tell you.”
She got out, feeling ill at ease. She was a middle-class girl from a middle-class neighborhood. This area was clearly the domain of the rich. She knew the Professor lived in Hartford Avenue, of course, but it never struck her – what it really meant for both of them – until now.
She was way out of her league.
5
But Kate was nothing if not bold.
She had never been the sort to be outwardly daring. Hers was the way of lurking around in the shadows. But she had been doing a lot of things she never thought she would be doing before, and she certainly wasn’t going to stop now – no matter how out of her depth she felt.
The limo pulled away, leaving her all alone outside the swanky apartment building with its canopied doorway and liveried doorman.
She smiled at him. He smiled back.
“Are you Ms Kate Penney?” he said.
“Yes.”
“I have been instructed by Mr. Rust O’Brien to escort you upstairs to his penthouse.”
She lifted her chin in excitement.
“Sure,” she said, more confidently than she felt.
The inside was even more luxe than she thought it would be. The reception was covered with a plush carpet which allowed her heels to sink in comfortably. The ceiling wore a chandelier which must have cost half her house back in Omaha.
The doorman led her past the elevator bank to the side – to a private elevator. He pressed the button and the door slid open.
“After you, Miss.”
She stepped in, feeling discomfited by the whole princess-ey treatment. Was the doorman aware that she wasn’t wearing panties?
The doors slid close with a hiss. The doorman swiped a card and pressed the top button: ‘20’. She saw her own reflection in the chromed fittings of the elevator’s interior – pale-faced and a little too avowed for her taste. She resembled a fish out of water. Her dress was cheap by standards like these, although it was the most expensive thing in her wardrobe. Her stockings were cheap, and her shoes were cheap.
She felt like a cheap whore being ushered upstairs for a night of unbridled lust.
“Has he lived in this building long?” she asked the doorman.
“Who? Mr. O’Brien?”
“Yes.”
“As long as I’ve been here, though that isn’t saying much, Miss. I’ve been working here for two years, tops.”
“Oh.” There was so much she wanted to ask the doorman, but she didn’t know where to begin. Things like: ‘Have you shown plenty of women upstairs to his penthouse?’
The elevator went ‘ping’ and the doors slid open. They had arrived.
“Go ahead, Miss.” The doorman held his hand out.
She stepped out of the elevator. The passageway ahead was dimly lighted and covered with the same plush carpet as downstairs. The doorman overtook her and led her to the first double doors on their right. She looked up at them. They were gleaming wood and imposing.
The doorman produced a large brass key and unlocked one of the doors. He opened it.
“You can go right in, Miss.”
“He gives you a key?”
“Sometimes. When he’s not around, I have to water his plants. And there are plenty of them inside.”
Ah, really? Every tidbit she learned about Rust was savored and treasured like the precious morsels they were. How little she knew about him! And how truly miserable it was to be in love and lust with man who wanted to remain an enigma to her.
She wondered if the doorman was a shifter, but it didn’t seem appropriate to ask. She stepped inside, and he did not follow.
“He’s not in?” she said.
“I don’t know, Miss. I only do as I’m told.” He gave her an envelope. “He told me to give you this. Good night, Miss.”
He bowed and went back the way he came.
She closed the door after him, and then glanced at the envelope. It was tiger embossed – the same with the rest. She was torn between wanting to rip it open and exploring the penthouse ahead. Everything was lighted up with a soft golden glow, and the hallway was richly decorated with lamps and collected curios on half-moon tables. At the end of the passageway was the glimpse of an inviting lounge.
But what if he had a task for her, and he was watching her from somewhere to see what she would do?
It was ridiculous to be on tenterhooks for a man – to be so in thrall with him that she was afraid that one false step would lead to the end of their so-called relationship. And yet here she was – mired in the murk of her own making.
She tore the envelope open and read the note:
‘DARLING KATE’.
(He called me darling! she thought.)
YOU HAVE BEEN A VERY GOOD GIRL SO FAR. NOW GO TO THE THIRD ROOM ON YOUR LEFT. FOLLOW INSTRUCTIONS THERE.
RUST.’
Third room on her left.
She walked and counted three closed doors before pausing at the third. It was a door like any other, and she didn’t think his bedroom would be downstairs. This was a penthouse, wasn’t it? Penthouses tended to have two floors.
She tested the doorknob. It was in the shape of a club. She wondered if that had any significance. Still, it turned and allowed the door to open noiselessly.
Kate’s mouth dried when she saw what was in the room.
6
The room was nothing like any she had ever seen.
The walls were completely covered with mirrors, and so was the ceiling. Chains dangled from the ceiling, along with cuffs and straps and hooks. It was a bondage chamber – one where she could see herself reflected many times over.
A single stool stood in the middle of the room upon a white tiled floor. Upon it was a large silver vibrator.
A message was written in red on one of the mirrors:
YOU HAVE MADE IT SO FAR, DARLING KATE!
NOW TAKE OFF ALL YOUR CLOTHES. I WANT TO SEE YOU PLEASURE YOURSELF WITH THE VIBRATOR.
RUST.’
Pleasure herself with the vibrator? Was he watching f
rom behind the mirrors then? She envisioned him behind the two-way mirror, like the ones in a police interrogation room, watching her. Or else, he wasn’t there, but a camera recorded her every move and transmitted them to his covetous eyes.
The thought of that was salacious. She would be the performer for his private viewing.
She began to shed her little black dress, and then her black brassiere – the one she had worn to tempt him – and her shoes and stockings. Since she knew he would be watching – either live or in recorded time – she made her movements slow and deliberate. Teaser. Temptress. Two words she would not have used to describe herself a month ago.
Once she was completely naked, she went to the stool and took the vibrator. Where would he be seated? She instinctively faced the mirror panel with the red message. He used red ink. She narrowed her eyes. No, on second glance, he used lipstick. Lipstick on a mirror. Was that a psychological message? Where did he get that lipstick? Whose was it?
Her demons were threatening to overwhelm her again, and she suppressed them. Put a lid on them and clammed it up. This was a special day for both of them. Her first viewing of his apartment. She shouldn’t muck it up with imaginary fears and petty jealousies. After all, he never promised her a rose garden.
She seated herself on the stool, facing the lipstick mirror.
Are you watching me, Rust? Do you desire me, even though I am not beautiful? But am I beautiful to your eyes?
The vibrator was long and thick, and she could see her slender reflection on it. She found the little switch and turned it on. A strong vibration immediately ensued with an audible Whirrrrrrrrrr. A delicious thrill coursed down her spine and into her loins at the sound of it. Her pussy flowered immediately with the contraction of need.
She opened her legs. She imagined Rust looking at the area between them because she could clearly see herself too in the mirror. Her pussy was shaven, the way he liked it, and her clit was a petal between the two cloves of her pink labia. Her pussy hole was already creaming. She was very wet. She wondered if he could see the whitish dew drops pooling at her sweetly gaping hole.
