by Suz deMello
She stood in the center of James’s bedroom until two people came in, one the dark-skinned blonde of the previous night, the other a man who could have been Dennis Rodman’s brother, a tall black guy with platinum curls. Heavily made up, he wore full bondage garb consisting mostly of leather straps and boots. In contrast, the woman wore a demure schoolgirl’s outfit: pleated checked skirt topped by a starched white blouse with a tie. Her hair was in braids and her face free of cosmetics.
“We’re Bobby and Veronica,” the Rodman clone said, taking Liza’s arm. “Come with us, and we’ll make you all pretty for the man.”
Though still naked but for the panties, she went with them toward the elevator. “First lesson,” Veronica said. “Deportment. You’re James Li’s woman, so walk proud. Head high, pretty titties to the wind.” She pinched Liza’s left nipple.
A zinging awareness leaped through her. She was surprised. She’d never made the lesbian scene, but Veronica’s touch magnified her arousal.
And the woman was right. Liza decided that she wouldn’t let the situation wear her down. She straightened her back, squared her shoulders, walked as best she could with a ginger plug burning up her ass and her entire body screaming for an orgasm.
They stepped into the elevator and went down, with Bobby using a key to access a private floor. As they descended, she visualized herself in the elevator the night before: James in one of his dark suits, she shaking with dread in scraps of lace and leather as he forced her against the wall and plundered her mouth.
She held up one hand and saw that her fingers quivered. With fear? Adrenaline? Passion? She didn’t know.
Bobby and Veronica were staring at Liza with blatant astonishment and curiosity, so she dropped her hand. He ran curious fingers around her buttocks, finding the marks and the plug. “The man’s going all out for you,” he mused. “That’s interesting.”
“Why?” Liza asked.
“We probably shouldn’t let you know,” he said, “but I’ve never seen this before from James. He’s really rather vanilla, sexually speaking.”
“Oh, he’ll go for a group, usually women,” Veronica said, “but I’ve never seen him go all out for someone the way he’s doing you.”
Before Liza had a chance to respond, the doors opened, revealing a hall resembling a fine hotel’s. Lacquered tables held bouquets. The walls were papered with a nubby silk and hung with mirrors. Green and cream carpet with a vine pattern softened and quieted their footfalls.
As she walked, she caught a glimpse of her face: wide eyes set in amber skin, flushed cheeks, and a startled expression.
“Your place or mine?” Veronica asked.
“Mine,” Bobby said. “I have better makeup.”
“Do not. I have MAC.”
“Do too. I have Shiseido.”
Veronica sulked. “You’re going to stick me with the mani-pedi.”
Bickering amiably, the pair led Liza into a suite on the left side of the hall. A sign on the door read Bobby’s Boudoir.
Bobby’s Boudoir was decorated in elaborate Victoriana, all of which looked authentic but couldn’t be, given that everything was in excellent shape. Carved Aubusson rugs covered the floor with rose and cream colors predominating. A rose velvet fainting couch, inlaid furniture, and lamps with beaded, fringed shades completed the period décor.
Hauling Liza, Bobby pranced through the parlor into an adjoining dressing room where a wall-length mirror topped with a row of makeup lights dominated the space. Beneath it, an equally huge counter was crowded with makeup, with three low, round chairs set before it.
Bobby picked up a hairbrush. “Sit down,” he told Liza, his eyes gleaming.
She sat, leaning forward on the padded chair. When she crossed her ankles, Bobby slapped her breast. “Legs apart.”
She complied.
“Excellent.” He stroked her inner thigh, but didn’t go near her pussy.
She remembered that James had given this pair permission to “play with her.” After what she’d already experienced, that sounded fun, except for the part about not coming.
“Where do you keep your oils, Bob?” Veronica asked.
“In the bedroom, of course.” He began to brush Liza’s hair with firm strokes.
Veronica left, but soon returned with a plastic bottle. “I hope the boss likes this scent.”
“If it’s gardenia or jasmine, he does,” Bobby said.
Liza didn’t want to think about how Bobby would know that. She said, “We just showered with a lime-scented scrub.”
“Okay,” Veronica said. “We’ll stick to citrus.” She left and came back with a different bottle before kneeling to massage Liza’s feet.
She sighed, finally starting to relax as Veronica’s clever fingers pressed and rubbed away the tension in her feet. Bobby finished brushing her hair and started to experiment. After about thirty minutes, he’d added red highlights with some kind of goo and had piled her hair on top of her head, securing it with crystal tipped skewers and a multitude of crystal hairpins. He’d pulled out several strands, braiding them before tucking them back into the topknot.
While Veronica gave Liza a pedicure, Bobby massaged her neck, shoulders and breasts, paying special attention to her nipples, tugging, pinching, and pulling on them. They swelled and stiffened as her arousal renewed, built, grew.
Liza threw her head back, panting, and he stopped, slapping her across the breasts until they stung. “No coming, slave.” With a rough washcloth, he wiped away the excess oil, rubbing her nipples until they reddened.
Veronica took the washcloth and rubbed the oily rag up and down Liza’s legs. She closed in on Liza’s pussy and gave her swollen, needy clit a fast, brutal swipe.
Lightning tore through her. She squealed, closed her eyes and gripped the edge of the counter, grinding her cunt hard into the cushioned chair. The ginger still burned, but the fire seemed to be flaming out at last. It had decreased over the past twenty minutes. She thanked her lucky stars for that. She didn’t know how long she could take it. But she was close, so close ...
“Stop it!” Veronica’s voice was like the whip’s crack. “Stand up, slave.”
Liza didn’t move fast enough, and Bobby slapped her breast.
“She said, stand up. Now!”
Liza got to her feet, her eyes filling.
“Stop your sobbing,” he said. “We haven’t hurt you.”
She shook her head. “It’s not pain. I just need ... If I came, James wouldn’t know. Please!”
Both of them laughed. “No way, baby,” Veronica said. “What the boss says, goes.”
“Does he own you or something?” she asked, both curious and resentful.
“No, but he’s a good landlord.” Bobby chuckled. “The best.”
“Landlord? You think of your pimp as your landlord?”
“He doesn’t pimp anyone out,” Veronica said. “You don’t know much about him, do you?”
“I thought I did.”
“So what’s your name, honey, and what’s your game?” Bobby asked.
She wet her lips. “I’m Liza Bowman. I’m a detective with the SFPD.”
Bobby stilled, as did Veronica. After a pause, he said, “Everyone’s got a life, honey, and I won’t pry. But James is a good guy.”
“The best,” Veronica said. “You won’t find a better man in this town.”
“Let’s get back to what we’re doing.” Bobby’s voice was businesslike. “I still have a lot to do. Sit back down.”
Liza sat, and he found a pair of eyebrow tweezers. “Honey, the Brooke Shields look went out before you were born.” He spent about ten minutes plucking her brows, then made up her face, trying different tints of foundation and blush until he’d matched her unique skin tone. He painted on more eyeliner and mascara than she’d wear in a year. Veronica finished Liza’s pedicure and started her manicure, choosing a cranberry red polish for both her fingers and toes.
“What color are you wearing?” Bob
by asked.
“I don’t know,” Liza said. “I’m sure James has something in mind, but I don’t know what it is.”
He pressed a button next to a speakerphone. A moment later, a voice came on the line. “Yes?”
“Boss,” Veronica said, “We can’t make up her lips unless we know what she’s going to wear.”
“Use red,” James said. “Red for my scarlet woman.”
Bobby and Veronica cracked up as though the man had channeled Robin Williams. They really like him, Liza thought. It’s as though he can do no wrong.
“If she’s done, bring her up.” James’s voice was calm, as though his blow-up with Liza hadn’t happened. Nevertheless, she tensed, and she resisted the impulse to bite one of her newly manicured nails.
“I’ll match your polish,” Veronica told Liza. While Veronica chose a lipstick, Liza’s heartbeat sped. Naked, she could see her left breast tremble with the force of her pounding pulse.
She was going back to James, back to that suite where she’d experienced so much pain ... and so much pleasure.
As Bobby and Veronica led her to the elevator, she regarded herself in one of the mirrors. She didn’t look like the Liza Bowman she knew. She rarely bothered to put up her hair, and when she did, she just twisted it high and secured it with a clawed clip, not in the elaborate style Bobby had created. She wore makeup, but never more than a little lip gloss and mascara.
When they stopped in front of the elevator, it opened and out stepped the redheaded woman Liza had seen the night before. She was wearing a black and white French maid’s outfit, which contrasted nicely with her red hair and pale skin. “Hi, Cherise,” Bobby and Veronica chorused.
Then Liza saw the man with her. Her boss, the head of the SFPD’s Major Crimes unit. She wanted to crawl beneath the carpet, but it was too late.
His head had swiveled around, and his eyes popped. “Can I have her too?” he asked Cherise. “How much would that cost?” His gaze avidly raked Liza from the top of her sophisticated coiffure and down her naked body, lingering on her flushed breasts and tight black panties with her clit hanging out. His eyes held not a shred of recognition.
Nevertheless, a hot flush stole over her face. She struggled to keep her composure. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said quietly but proudly. But I’m with Mr. Li.” She walked into the elevator, head high, followed by her two companions.
The elevator door closed, and Bobby said, “Well done. Excellent deportment.”
Liza slumped against the wall. “I don’t know if I can stand too much more of this.”
Veronica gave her an unreadable stare just before the door opened to James’s suite. “Thank you both, very much,” Liza told them.
Bobby hugged her. “Knock ’em dead.”
She winked. “I just did.” She stepped out into the suite.
Veronica smiled. “Have fun. He really likes you, you know.”
“He does? He has some odd ways of showing it.” Liza gingerly rubbed her ass.
“It’s just another way to swing, baby.” Bobby winked at her just before the elevator closed behind them.
Liza turned to face James.
Chapter Seven
Freshly shaved and clad in the clothes he’d selected, James’s masculine aura again hit Liza, sweeping through her with a whirlwind of emotion. She realized that she’d be proud to stand by his side anytime, anywhere.
Embarrassed by her feelings, and sure he didn’t share them, she cleared her throat. “If we’re going to Oakland tonight, I’d like to see my mother.”
He didn’t seem surprised or bothered by her request. “Certainly, but I think you should get dressed first.”
“That won’t take long. I only have the one outfit and pair of shoes, unless you brought others.”
“Come with me.” He led her into the bedroom again, opened a wardrobe door, and leaned over. “You’re a five, aren’t you?” He handed her a pair of high-heeled, gold lamé slides.
She tried them on. “These fit perfectly.”
“I found them for you in my sister’s boutique on Clement Street. Slides and sandals usually fit more easily than pumps, and I didn’t see anything in your closet I liked. You have more boots and athletic shoes than dress pumps, but I did see a horrible pair of fuchsia satin platform sandals --”
“Bridesmaid shoes.” She shuddered.
“And an absolutely appalling gown to match, in tulle and taffeta. Same occasion?”
“Yep.”
“Forcing you to wear them would be a unique torture, but it would kill both of us.” He leered at her. “As for your dress, red or black would be the obvious choices for you, but since nothing about you is obvious --”
“Funny, I think the same about you.”
He chuckled. “I wanted to see you in something different.” He took a sleeveless, navy blue Mandarin-style dress from the wardrobe. The silk brocade was embroidered with red and gold thread, complimenting her nail and skin tones without overpowering either.
He held it up to her. “Perfect. You’ll wear the dress, it won’t wear you.”
“You look pretty fine yourself.” She smiled at him. “Like any other successful Bay Area businessman.”
He beamed at her, his grin disarming. “I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding.”
“I suppose so. Am I still your slave?”
“Of course, and I am your obedient servant.”
She raised her brows. “How so?”
“You need clothes. I supply them. Oh, I also picked up your contraceptive pills. If you take one now, you’re safe.” He poured her water from a pitcher in the nightstand.
“Thank you.” She downed the pill. She was startled, but by now, why should she be? She should have learned that James sweated the details.
“You had a phone message from your partner,” he told her. “On your home machine.”
She looked into James’s face, which held not a trace of jealousy or anxiety.
He continued, “Detective Hardwick said he went to Galway’s, but you had already left. He’s gone out of town, had to fly to Minnesota because his grandfather is ill and might not make it.”
“Oh.” No wonder she hadn’t been able to get hold of Tom. But what about Cabrera and Wilson? “Anything else?”
He shook his head. “No. He seemed a little distracted. Is he close to his grandparents?”
“Yeah. Umm, I tried to call him earlier from here.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
“It is?”
“Of course. Once again, Liza, you’re not a prisoner. You’re here because you choose to be with me, right?”
“Right. Umm --”
“So no more questions. We can discuss all of that stuff tomorrow evening. I just want to have fun tonight, okay?”
“I thought you’re working.”
“I could be.” He shrugged. “But most of the time, merely showing up at the Oakland store stops the shenanigans anyone might want to pull. Now get dressed and let’s get going. I’m hungry.”
She stepped into the gown, with James helping her with the red silk frog fasteners that ran along her left side. The ankle-length, sheath style dress encased her from neck to hips; two long slits up each thigh allowed her to walk. Plus, the slides weren’t so high as to encumber her stride.
She handed him the lipstick Veronica had given her. With a frown, he said, “I’m your obedient servant, but guys like me don’t carry cosmetics.”
“Sorry, but Bobby isn’t my date tonight.”
He grinned. “Here.” From a chest of drawers, he produced a cunning handbag made of the same silk brocade as Liza’s dress. With a heavy silver wire handle, it was designed to look like a Chinese take-out box.
She snatched it from him. “This is the cutest little bag I’ve ever seen. Is it from your sister’s shop?”
“Yeah, she carries some nice stuff.”
“I’ll have to stop by there.”
“We can go together. I’ll get you
the family discount.”
Handling it reverently, she opened the top to find folded bills and a few tissues. She took out the money and asked, “What’s this for?” Was it her payoff? She wasn’t a whore.
“In case we’re separated, which I don’t expect.” He gave her a boyish smile. “When I was growing up, my Popo -- that’s what Chinese call their moms -- always told me, never leave the house without a dollar and a dime. A dime to call home and a dollar for cab fare. These days, it’s more like a cell phone and ten bucks, but the principle’s the same.”
“Yeah, that’s good advice.” Mollified, she replaced the money and added her lipstick before closing the bag. She hung it on one wrist and patted it fondly, then slipped her feet into the gold lamé shoes. “Okay, ready to go.”
“Not quite. Here’s something else I want you to wear.” He opened the same chest of drawers and took out a wide, flat spiral of hammered gold, a bracelet he wrapped around her left bicep. It gleamed against her amber skin, putting a savage edge onto the otherwise elegant ensemble. He continued, “Your arms are too gorgeous not to decorate. I guess that handling that big Harley of yours really develops the muscles.”
“Yeah,” she said. “And I occasionally work out.”
He took her elbow and escorted her to the elevator. “You look wonderful tonight.” He kissed the back of her hand.
She tried not to show she was flustered, but he was treating her like a lover, and she didn’t know what to make of it. Was he a potential boyfriend or her torturer? “I, umm, don’t know how I feel about you dressing me up. Like a doll.”
He chuckled. “Believe me, I don’t see you as Police Girl Barbie.”
“How do you see me?”
“Tomorrow. Remember our deal? No questions now, just fun. You can interrogate me all afternoon and all night if you want -- tomorrow.”
They stepped out onto the first floor. This time, she wasn’t blindfolded so she was able to quickly identify her location. “This is your Pacific Heights house.” She’d checked out the lavishly restored, four-story Victorian.
