Party Favors

by Jennifer Dunne, Madeleine Oh

  Keri stared at the note, rereading it a second and then third time. He wasn’t here. He’d given her the most phenomenal sex of her life, and then left without speaking to her, just leaving a note. Did it mean so little to him?

  She shook her head. No. He said right there at the beginning of the note that he thought it was wonderful. And he wanted her to come back again tonight. So then why did he leave? He must’ve known she’d want to see him this morning. The excuse of a prior engagement seemed flimsy at best.

  Puzzling over his strange behavior, she recalled his words when she’d first entered his dungeon. Ultimately, the choice was hers. By making himself scarce, he was giving her the opportunity to choose, with no pressure from him.

  She nodded, certain she understood his purpose. After the night they’d shared, if he’d been beside her when she woke, she’d have eagerly begged him to take her back to his dungeon. Her body came to life under his skilled hands, leaving no room for thought.

  But she needed to think about her actions. Did she really want to give a man that much power over her? A niggling voice of strident feminism insisted she was betraying her sisters by embracing inequality, by allowing a man to dictate how, when, and where she would feel pleasure. And there was the disturbing insight into her personality that she’d had the strongest orgasm she’d ever experienced when a man was beating her. Did that mean if she continued to see him, she’d turn into one of those women who welcomed abuse from their lover, until one day he hit her hard enough to send her to the hospital, or kill her?

  She had a lot to think about. She was glad he’d given her the opportunity to think about it on her own, and take all day before making her decision.

  But first things first. She needed to use the bathroom, and take a shower. Her hair was a mess, and her skin itched from dried sweat.

  The bathroom was vaguely art deco, with frosted wall sconces and fluid lines to the fixtures. Black and white tiles formed an abstract mosaic on the floor, a theme carried over in the stylized geometric motif on the shower curtain. The room’s only color was provided by two sets of towels—red and gold ones that were still slightly damp hanging on the rod, and a dry set in orange and yellow sitting on the counter that he must have put out for her.

  A bamboo basket on the back of the toilet contained soaps, shampoos, conditioners, and lotions from a wide range of hotels, as well as a selection of travel sized toothpastes and deodorants. A small plastic comb of the five-for-a-dollar variety and a plastic-wrapped toothbrush embossed with the name of a dentist completed the array of toiletries available. She lingered over the possible choices, finally selecting a glycerin soap and citrus scented shampoo and conditioner.

  The showerhead was a six-position shower-massage. Keri let the warm water pound her scalp and her back, finding the tension in her shoulders and kneading it away. She lathered her chest, washing away the salty remains of last night’s exertions. When she turned to face the spray, the water pummeled her tender breasts, making her wince and jump back. She reset the showerhead to a gentle fall of rain, and carefully rinsed the soapsuds away.

  She stayed longer than necessary in the shower, enjoying the warm water on all of its settings. It was an uncharacteristic waste of both water and time, but her uncertainty about how to proceed kept her in the known environs of the shower. When her skin began to wrinkle, she finally admitted that she’d been in there long enough, turned off the water, and toweled off.

  Wrapped sarong-style in the largest of the towels, she combed out her hair while she returned to the bedroom. Her first decision was a simple one. Alex’s apartment was much further from her apartment than the opera, and she hadn’t brought enough money to take a cab that distance. No way was she riding the train wearing her slave costume! So she’d have to wear the sweat pants and T-shirt Alex had offered. But he’d made it clear they were a no-strings-attached gift. Taking them didn’t mean she was accepting anything else from him.

  She picked up her pile of clothes from the chair, and found Alex’s underneath her folded raincoat. The sweat pants were navy blue 100% cotton that had obviously shrunk in the wash. She pulled them on. A little loose, but better than the alternative.

  The T-shirt was red with white lettering, advertising a marathon. Keri considered what that meant. Had Alex competed in the marathon? He’d certainly seemed fit last night. Was his hobby jogging?

  She shook her head. She didn’t know. She didn’t know anything about him. If he hadn’t signed his note, she wouldn’t even know his name. In fact, he’d never learned hers. His note was addressed to Adina, the character name she’d given him last night. He’d put the name in quotes, showing he knew it wasn’t her real name, but at the same time making it obvious he didn’t know anything else to call her.

  Keri dropped the T-shirt on the rumpled bed, and found her halter-top from last night. Alex had folded it neatly, but hadn’t disassembled it. The clasp was still attached to the gauze panel. She put it on as a makeshift bra, then pulled Alex’s T-shirt on over it. The T-shirt hung to her hips.

  She wouldn’t win any fashion awards, but that didn’t matter. She only cared about getting home.

  She shrugged into her raincoat, belting it securely around her waist, and stuffed her feet into her ballet slippers. Then she unfolded one of the gauze panels of her costume and rolled the rest of her outfit up in it like a giant blue burrito.

  Tucking it under her arm, she followed Alex’s instructions and left his apartment the same way she’d arrived, going down the back stairs to the service entrance of the art gallery. Instead of following the walkway to the carriage house, she followed a path that led between the house and its nearest neighbor, through a narrow wooden door that locked behind her, and out to the sidewalk.

  People thronged the sidewalks, Saturday tourists visiting art galleries, trendy shops and cafes. Keri followed the crowd, looking for landmarks so she could find a subway stop. She didn’t know how long Alex’s “engagement” would keep him away from his apartment, and she wanted to be well and truly gone by the time he returned.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Keri finished tying off her latest quilt, and put her needle and thread away in her sewing box with her scissors. Standing up, she spread the quilt over the back of her couch to study it. A log cabin quilt in over a dozen different blues and greens, it was restful and orderly without being boring. Perfect for the women’s shelter she was donating it to.

  She’d used the quiet time while sewing to think about her options, and had decided not to see Master Alex again. It wasn’t that she thought their relationship would count as abusive. Once she’d considered it, she realized that his attitude toward her had been domineering, but never abusive. He’d placed her needs and desires above his own, which was opposite to the patterns of abuse.

  No, the problem was that there was no future in the relationship. Eventually, she wanted a family, children, all the things any girl wants when she imagines where she’ll be in twenty years. If she got involved with Master Alex, while she was with him, she wouldn’t be looking for a potential life partner. Even though the sex was the best she’d ever had, sex wasn’t enough. Sooner or later, passion died. What then? She’d be older, less desirable, and more jaded, so she’d be even less likely to find an acceptable partner.

  No. She had to think of her future. She had to plan ahead. A life partner would have common goals and experiences, and would share more with her than just hot sex. It was best not to see Master Alex ever again.

  She folded the quilt neatly and tucked it into a shopping bag to carry to the shelter, then placed it next to her computer case by the door where she would be able to grab them when she left for work Monday morning.

  She looked at the case for a long moment, then picked it up and started unpacking her laptop. If she wasn’t going to see Master Alex tonight, she might as well work. She might get some last brilliant inspiration of how to fight Thibodeau.

  The first thing she did when she logged on w
as check her email. If there was any news about the proposal, she needed to know.

  Nothing. Just her father’s first of the month bulk mailing to friends and relatives. He found it more efficient to simply write one letter and send it to everyone. Keri hoped he hadn’t put any embarrassingly personal messages in it this month.

  Feeling much like a motorist driving past an accident scene, who knows she shouldn’t look and yet is compelled to slow down and stare, she intended to open the proposal document, and instead found herself opening his letter.

  Hello, all. Hope you had an enjoyable Halloween. We had forty-seven trick-or-treaters stop by the house. Molly counted as they came up the walk, even though we left the bowl filled with candy on the porch for them, rather than waste time and energy getting up to answer the door every time they rang. She said their costumes were even more inventive than last year.

  In other news, Molly and I bought a new car. One of those new gas/electric hybrids that is so fuel efficient. Molly uses it to drive to her new volunteer job, as a social outreach worker to shut-ins at nursing homes. She enjoys helping others, and this allows her to visit all the area nursing homes, to see how the patients are really treated. That will be good information to have should either of us need assisted care living. We’re not getting any younger, and we have to think of our future.

  Bonnie, hope your no-good ex-husband is history, but if not, tell your father to teach you how to use those hunting rifles of his. You’ll feel safer, and you can get some inexpensive venison for Thanksgiving dinner at the same time.

  ‘Til next month, all.

  Bob and Molly

  Keri stared at the letter in horror. Dear God, she was turning into her parents.

  “No way am I ending up like that, so busy planning for the future that I never live in the present.”

  She slammed the laptop closed, and quickly repacked it in its case. There was no time to waste. She had a date to get ready for.

  * * * * *

  At ten of eight, Keri found herself surreptitiously walking past the front entrance to Master Alex’s building. Lights blazed from the gallery, which didn’t close until eleven. A crowd had gathered inside for some sort of party. Many of the people held wine glasses or napkins full of cheese or fruit. Six men and women robed in white draperies, their costumes completed by white body makeup and powdered hair, circulated through the crowd, occasionally freezing in place like marble statues.

  She peered through the window, wondering what the gallery contained that was so valuable. The usual sorts of paintings hung on the walls, some vivid splashes of color that looked like nothing so much as spilled paint to her, and some highly detailed works that could have come from a camera lens, except that their subjects never existed in the real world. Pedestals scattered through the room were picked out by track lighting positioned to highlight the sculpture, pottery, and jewelry upon them.

  Suddenly recognizing the subject of the painting closest to the window, Keri choked back a snort of laughter. A menacing tower, ringed all around with briars, had a single window, from which descended a long blonde braid. Bits of cloth waved from the wickedly long spikes of the briars. At the edge of the briars was a somewhat tattered but triumphant bald-headed woman. Rapunzel had apparently tired of waiting for Prince Charming, and rescued herself.

  The artist’s style looked vaguely familiar. After a moment, she placed it. The same person had done the painting of the rose hanging in Master Alex’s dungeon.

  Keri smiled, wondering what fairy tale subversion lurked in the depths of Alex’s painting. Given his obvious fondness for fairy tales, or at least the adult retellings of them, no wonder he’d found the artist’s work appealing.

  She glanced at her watch again. Time to go.

  Hitching her tote bag more securely over her shoulder, she pushed open the glass door leading to the building’s foyer. Instead of going through the second door to the gallery, she turned to the heavy wooden door in the back of the foyer, and pressed the second floor buzzer. Twice.

  A moment later, the door buzzed loudly, indicating the lock was now disengaged. She shoved it open, and started up the winding steps. Halfway up the flight, a plaster statue stood in a niche. At first glance, it looked like a copy of Michelangelo’s David. Except she’d never seen a David with a rampant hard-on and no fig leaf in sight.

  She hesitated on the stairs, suddenly uncertain. What was she letting herself in for? True, the sex had been great. But was that really any basis for a relationship? She should go up there, return the sweat pants and T-shirt she had in her bag, then turn right around and go home where it was safe. And she could become her parents.

  Stiffening her shoulders, she marched up the rest of the steps to the second floor landing. The door to Alex’s apartment was open, and a note was taped to it.

  Welcome back! Come inside and close the door, then follow the trail. You obeyed my instructions this morning, and deserve a reward. It’s waiting for you at the end of the trail.

  She ripped the note off the door and went inside, closing the door behind her. A trail of deep red rose petals began in a pile at the door, then led down the hall. The sight of them reminded her of the sight she’d had last night of her red and swollen labia, plump and aching for Alex’s touch. She felt herself getting wet, and hurried down the trail to the dungeon.

  When she entered the dungeon, she was surprised to find it candlelit and empty. The candles had been spread out around the room in addition to being on top of the bureau. Some stood on the whipping bench, some hung from brass sconces hooked over the whips and the picture frame, and the posts on the bed were topped by four more. All were lit, giving the room a dim, flickering light that was not enough to see any details.

  “Master?” she called softly.

  “Welcome to your second training session. Please kneel on the floor.”

  His voice came from the darkness somewhere to the right.

  Keri dropped her bag on the floor, swept a spot clear of rose petals, and knelt on the hardwood floor. Images she’d seen during her online research into the world of BDSM earlier today flickered through her mind, of naked slaves kneeling with their arms tied behind them or stretched above them while their Masters flogged or beat them.

  “Eyes forward,” he ordered.

  Keri stared at the bed in front of her. From this angle, she could see that the decorative iron scrollwork of the footboard and posts was actually designed as a series of links to which chains could be attached. She shivered, wondering when he planned to tie her to the bed, and what he’d do to her once she was unable to get free.

  The bathroom door creaked slightly, then footsteps echoed across the wooden floor. She felt the warmth of his presence standing behind her, accompanied by a faint scent of spice, but obeyed his command and kept her eyes fixed firmly ahead.

  “This is a pretty jacket,” he said, his hands stroking her shoulders through the quilted blue satin. “You wore it for me?”

  “Yes, Master.” She’d taken great pains with her appearance for this date, not at all certain what to wear for someone who’d seen more of her naked than he had clothed. She’d settled at last on flaring black slacks that emphasized her hips and thighs, high-heeled black ankle boots, and a zip-fronted Chinese jacket in deep marine blue, decorated with tiny brass studs in the center of each quilted square.

  He knelt behind her, his strong legs bracketing hers. Reaching in front of her, he slowly inched down the zipper. She could barely breathe as his hands glided down her front, following the zip.

  Finally, the zipper slipped free, and he parted the front of her jacket. Reaching inside, he cupped her breasts. His thumbs skimmed the edge of her black lace bra.

  “What pattern is the lace?” he asked.

  “Roses,” she whispered.

  He breathed a sigh of deep contentment, bending his head and kissing the side of her neck as his fingers found her nipples and squeezed. Keri closed her eyes and let her head loll back, resti
ng on his broad shoulder, while he continued to kiss her neck and fondle her breasts. The soft hair at his temple teased her cheek, and she sighed with pleasure. All of him was caressing her.

  Gradually, he pushed the jacket off her shoulders and down her arms, until it landed in a pile on the back of her calves. His hands smoothed over her exposed stomach and ribs before releasing the hooks on her bra and sweeping that away as well.

  Slowly, with no sense of urgency, he stroked and caressed all of her available skin. Flickering candlelight painted dancing vistas on the back of her eyelids as she swayed beneath his guiding touch.

  “What do you think about making love in the dark like this?” he asked softly, whispering the question against the pulse point in her neck he was licking.

  “Mmm. I like it. It heightens all my other senses, like touch.”

  He licked her neck again. “And taste.”

  “And taste,” she answered. Would she taste him soon? If so, what would he have her taste? Would she taste the spice of his cologne clinging to his throat? Lick the salty sweat from his skin? Sample the dewy drops of cum from his cock?

  He shifted position, reaching behind himself for something. A moment later, she felt a cloth draping across her face, and the dim flickering of the candles was extinguished. She was in total darkness.

  She jerked upright. “What…?”

  Alex’s gentle hands stroked and soothed her, caressing her arms and breasts, but at the same time blocking her attempts to reach up and tear the cloth from her eyes.