by Liz Crowe
“Yes, sir. As well as can be expected.”
“Still coming to lunch Sunday?”
“Of course, sir. If I weren’t, I’d be sure to let you know.”
Michael sighs. “Of course you would. You’re just like that, the model of responsibility. You really should cut loose sometime.” When I don’t respond, he sighs. “Okay, Kimmer, I’ll quit ragging you. Call if you need anything. And we’ll see you Sunday.”
“Sure. Thank you, sir. See you then.” Feeling another lecture coming on, I hang up before he gets the chance.
Sunday dinner. I’ve got to be sure to ask about Jasper Givens.
Chapter Two
For a Saturday night, the club is too quiet. Then I remember: Ballgame. Everyone’s somewhere watching it. The club management doesn’t allow TVs here. They say people are coming to watch scening, not soap operas. Funny but true.
A look around doesn’t give me much hope. I’m about to just give up and order a drink when I notice Alexander on the other side of the room, talking up some girl who’s wearing nothing but a smile and a belly chain. To my surprise, he says something to her and I watch her face contort in disgust, which draws a huge frown from him. Casting his eyes around the room, he spots me and makes a beeline. And I’m okay with that.
“Good evening, sub,” he says with a nod.
“Good evening, sir.” My mind floods with memories of scening with Alexander in the past. Not only is he very good looking, but he’s very, very proficient with a single tail, and another member in good standing. With my eyes cast downward, I ask, “How are you this evening?”
He takes a seat on the stool next to me and, this time, I see from my peripheral vision that the corners of his lips turn upward. “Quite well, thank you. You’re looking very pretty.”
“Why, thank you, sir.” He doesn’t have to blow smoke up my ass. I’ll take him on regardless. The wait is excruciating. Finally, he throws me a bone.
“Would you like to scene this evening?”
I try not to break out in a huge grin. “Yes, sir! I certainly would.”
With a nod, he adds, “And as I recall, you’re an enormous pain slut.”
My head bobs. “Yes, sir. That’s correct.”
Standing from his seat on the bar stool, he reaches for my hand. “I think I can satisfy that urge. Last time I scened with you, you made it clear that you didn’t want a safeword.”
“That still holds true, sir.”
“Very well. I think I can make you regret that.” Tingling starts all over my body, and I can feel my clit swelling. “Green card on file?”
I nod. “Yes, sir. Submitted last Monday. Yours?”
“Yes. Submitted Thursday before last. We both in the clear?” I nod. “Good. Let’s go.” He leads the way, and I walk a couple of feet behind.
Taking care to sway my hips seductively as I walk to the platform, my arousal is in full swing when we reach the play area, my juices almost rolling down my legs. Nerve endings crackle on the surface of my skin, and I want to grab his hand and force his fingers up my pussy. I wait patiently, or as patiently as I can, squirming the whole time like the wobble of a gelatin shot. “To the cross, submissive. Face in.” I head straight over, step up onto the footrests, and let him bind my wrists and ankles to it. When I’m secured, he leans in and whispers, “Sure you don’t want a safeword?”
There’s not a hint of trepidation when I answer back, “Yes, sir. I’m sure.”
“Okay then. I’m starting with the flogger, then I’ll move to the single tail.” I hear him behind me, feel the whoosh of air as he drags the flogger’s falls in a pattern, and then it makes contact.
I almost cry out, not from surprise or pain, but from pure bliss. Every cell in my body is singing, and I can’t help but drop into that bottomless pit that is agony-induced relief. And this is nothing compared to what I’ll feel when he starts with that whip. My skin is growing warm and tingly, and I think about that vampire movie where their skin is sparkly. I wonder if mine looks like that, and I imagine that it does, that everywhere the light hits it, it looks like it’s been sprinkled with diamond dust that shoots out into a tiny cloud in the spotlights.
Just when I’m about to zone out, he stops. I know what’s coming even before he says anything. And the only words he speaks are, “I hope you’re ready.” In my stupor, I don’t have time to answer before I hear the whistling of the leather cutting through the air, and then the first strike falls.
I hear my own voice cry out as the tip of the single tail makes that pop against my skin, and where it connects, I experience ecstasy in the form of red-hot pain. I doubt that a glowing branding iron could hurt any more than this, and yet I want more, need more. As the pops grow more distant in my ears and the silence grows deeper, a million images blow through my mind. Me, walking up the aisle on my wedding day, looking toward the altar. A man stands there, and I know it’s Phil, but he has no face – it’s blank. In every image – us at our son Jeffrey’s graduation, us at the beach in Florida, us at the car lot buying Phil’s truck – there’s no face on the man there with me. And I love it, the pain erasing his memory, blotting out his likeness, until all I feel is a numbness that smothers me. I feel my consciousness hovering above me, looking down and watching for the perfect time to escape. In a few minutes, it’s gone.
In what seems like the next instant, I find myself warm and wrapped up like a mummy. Alexander’s just a few feet away, coiling up the whip and putting it into his gig bag, and when I wiggle a tiny bit, I suppose I make a little noise, because he turns to look at me and smiles. All he says is, “Hey!”
“Hey.” I’m still groggy and before I can ask anything, he slides back under the covers next to me and pulls me up against him, and I suddenly remember that we haven’t even had sex. He doesn’t even seem interested in it. One thing I can say for Alexander – regardless of his sadistic streak, he really is a conscientious, caring person. “Kimberly, you have an amazing tolerance for pain. I really don’t know what to think.”
“Think I’m crazy, because I am. I want more right now. If you asked me to go right back out there and . . .”
“But I won’t.” His brow wrinkles and so do the corners of his mouth as he half frowns, half scowls at me. “You’ve had enough for one night . . .” he starts, and when I try to interrupt him, he puts a finger to my lips. “And you don’t need any more. You need to rest. Just lie here with me and stare at the ceiling. Look at the pinholes in the tiles. I see a dog, and a car, and the Empire State Building.” He’s smiling gently and pointing, but all I can do is lie there and stare. It’s all starting to come back now.
And my brain screams, Please, take me back out there and beat me.
*****
“Hi! Oh, no, Kimmer, I wasn’t expecting you to bring anything with you! You shouldn’t have done that!” Robyn greets me at the door and gives me a huge hug. “What is that?”
“It’s this slaw that I make. Angel hair shredded cabbage, a tablespoon of minced garlic, and enough balsamic vinaigrette to coat it. It looks horrible, but it tastes divine.”
“That’s great! I know Master will love it. Sir, Kimmer’s here!” she calls out as she takes the bowl from me.
I hear footsteps on the stairs and Michael strides across the room to hug me. “I’m so glad to see you, babe.”
“Thanks, sir. I’m glad to see you too.”
“Would you please cut it out with the sir? I’m your friend, Kimmer. I swear.” He huffs and puffs and grabs a bowl of pretzels. “I’m sitting it out in the den. Call me when it’s done, little one.” He drops a kiss on Robyn’s cheek and heads out of the room.
I should wait, but I just can’t. “So, Robyn, who’s this Jasper guy?”
She peers over her shoulder at the door to the den, then turns back to me with a naughty gleam in her eye. “Oh, god, Kimmer, he’s fucking gorgeous.” He must be fucking gorgeous; Robyn never, ever talks like that.
“Gorgeous, huh?”
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“Oh, god, yes. Holy shitballs. The guy is unbelievable. And super, super sweet. You’ll love him, I promise.”
“And he’s a Dominant?”
Robyn nods. “Yep. Was a member of some big club out in Hollywood.”
I have to ask the obvious. “What the hell’s he doing here?”
“Well, the company he worked for closed up shop. He looked for over a year and couldn’t find anything. When he found this job, he jumped on it.”
I toy with a twist tie while I talk. My hands always need something to do. “So what exactly does he do?” I know Michael’s company makes automotive parts. He came from Hollywood to make automotive parts? That sounds pretty odd.
“He goes from plant to plant to see what their production is like, then goes from company to company to figure out how to pair supply with demand.”
I nod absentmindedly. “Kind of like a salesman.”
“No, not at all, from what Michael says.” She’s spooning filling into deviled eggs, and it’s all I can do to keep from reaching for one. “It’s like, well, he goes to a production plant and checks to see which parts they use on the products they’re making, then ties them in directly to the plant in the company that makes those parts. It’s all computerized. The parts have these codes on them that a scanner can read. So all of their computers have these scanners, and as they use the parts, they scan them to take them out of inventory. Then, when they need a new item, he comes back in, takes the specifications, brings them back to the factory, and helps the engineers translate it into a product they can sell. I guess you’d call him some kind of coordinator.”
I shake my head. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know. I don’t really understand it either. But what I do know is that he travels a lot, and I do mean a lot. He’s probably got a woman in every damn town.”
I lick what’s left of the deviled egg filling off my finger as I scoop it out of the bowl. “So have you scened with him?”
“I wish!” She leans in and whispers, “Michael’s made it very, very clear that it’s never going to happen. I think he’s intimidated.”
“Michael? Intimidated?” She has to be joking.
“I think so. I think he’s afraid I’d fall for the guy. And, in reality, it could happen. You just haven’t seen him, Kimmer. Just wait.”
Oh, god. Now I don’t want to see him. The last thing I need is some self-absorbed player coming into my life. I wish I’d told him I didn’t have time for him, but Tuesday’s just around the corner. He can’t be all that great.
Can he?
*****
“Frankly, I’ve never fitted a pregnant woman before. I’ll try, but I don’t know what’ll happen.” I’ve got Candy’s new corset finished, and we’re in the studio, working hard to get the desired effect without potentially harming the baby with far-too-tight lacing. “How does that feel?”
“Like I’ve got on a pair of leather baby doll pajamas.” She’s wiggling and squirming, and I can tell she’s uncomfortable.
I step back and take a look, and I see it – too much flare at the hips and not enough at the waist. And then I realize what it needs: Gussets. I’ve got to put gussets in it. I help her out of it, then fold it carefully. She looks relieved that it’s off. “I promise you, when I get it finished, it’ll be comfortable.”
“I believe you.” She smiles gently at me and then, to my surprise, leans over and gives me a peck on the cheek. “Thank you for being kind to me. Most of the women are really nasty to me. They think I’m a gold digger. But I really do love Mr. Augustino.”
“Why do you call him Mr. Augustino?” I have to ask.
She giggles. “Because his name is Waldo. And I can’t bring myself to call him that.”
I laugh out loud at that. Bless his heart. “Ah! I see your predicament!” But I feel my face fall, and I have another question I just have to ask her. “Candy, why the baby?”
“Because I have no one – well, no one except Mr. Augustino. And he wanted me to have someone, some kind of family, so that if something happens to him, I won’t be alone.” Her eyes are sad, and I know what she’s thinking. Same thing I was thinking, only for her, it’ll be devastating.
“What about the actual father?”
“Nope. He signed away everything before he bred me. So that’s that.”
So cut and dried. I’m wondering if the document would stand up in court, and I remember that Mr. Augustino was a very, very successful trial lawyer before he retired. If he drew up the documents, they’re most likely iron-clad and unbreakable. Using a white grease pencil, I write on the corset while she dresses, then lock the door after I’ve seen her out.
I’m cleaning off the workbench when I find a flyer that was stuck in the door one day from a pizzeria down the street, Rudolfo’s. On it is a picture of a calzone, and they’re half price for the month. I don’t really want to eat, but that’s a pretty good deal and it does look really good, or at least the picture anyway, so I order one. The damn things are probably huge, but I don’t have to eat the whole thing – I can eat just a few bites if I want. The bathroom sink gets a quick once-over, and I pour some bowl cleaner in the toilet, then go back out front and putter around in the shop while I wait. The buzzer heralds the arrival of the mighty calzone, so I pick up my wallet and head for the door to pay. But when I yank it open, I get quite the surprise.
The man standing there holding the box isn’t one of the teenagers who usually delivers to the building. This man has a strong jaw, full lips, and dark eyes and brows. The headful of shaggy, dark hair matches the scruff on his jaws, and he reeks of sex and possibility. And he’s no child either; he has to be at least forty, possibly older, with just the tiniest touch of gray at his temples. Is this their new tack to get more tips for their employees? Because it’s damn sure gonna work on me. I’m betting this calzone is going to cost me forty bucks, and I don’t even care. All I manage to stammer out is, “Wha-a-a-a-at do I owe you?”
“Nothing. On the house.” He reaches outward with the box and I reach toward it but just as my hands touch the box, he snatches it back and laughs. Then he extends his right hand. “Hi. I’m Jasper.” At my blank expression, he adds, “Jasper Givens? Your two o’clock?” I’m trying to speak, but no sound is coming out, and I’m feeling more awkward by the minute. Finally, he says, “May I come in?”
Like an idiot, I manage to squeak out, “Yeah, um, sure, uh, come on in, sir. So sorry. I’m, um . . .”
“Kimberly, I presume?” I nod mutely, like a five year old. “Pleasure meeting you.” He strides across the room to put down the box, and I can’t help but watch his firm ass in those tailored chinos. Holy shit. And I’m going to ask him to strip down so I can measure him? I’m in deep doo, no doubt about it. “By the way, I paid for the calzone when I saw the kid standing there at the door with it. My treat.”
“Th-th-th-thanks, sir.” Wow. I sound so fucking intelligent right now. Einstein’s daughter. “Um, so, they’re so big that there’s plenty. I’d be glad to share it with you, sir.” Heat washes over my face and I’m sure it’s flaming red.
“Nah. Thanks, but I just had lunch. You go ahead. I’ve got time.” He looks around. “Mind if I sit?”
“Oh, god, sorry. So stupid of me. Sure, please, have a seat, sir.” I don’t want to get too close because I’m sure he could feel the heat of total mortification radiating from my skin. “Would you care for something to drink?”
“That would be great! Got bottled water?”
Ah – a health nut. “Sure. Here.” I hand him a bottle out of my little refrigerator, then take one for myself before settling on the other stool at the countertop and opening the box. I have to say, I’m guessing Rudolfo’s outdid themselves this time. It’s huge and smells amazing. I cut it in half and start on the first portion. It’s absolutely packed with gooey melted cheese and pepperoni.
I’ve gotten about three bites in and realize he’s watching me. After my next bite, he say
s, “Ummmmm, that looks really good. Mind if I change my mind about sharing?”
Sounding way too much like an eighth grader for comfort, I wheeze out, “Oh, no, sir! Go right ahead! I’m glad to share.” I reach over to my stack of paper plates for one, then plop the other half of the calzone on it.
“I’m not sure I can eat all of this!” he laughs.
“Doesn’t matter. Please eat it or it’ll be thrown away.” Now I’m wondering if Michael put him up to this, and then I remember: That couldn’t be. Michael couldn’t possibly have known I’d order food. Hell, even I couldn’t imagine that I would.
“You’d better snatch it,” he says around a mouthful. “This is delicious. I wouldn’t mind having a whole one for myself.” He looks at the box. “Rudolfo’s. Is that far from here? I’m not familiar with the city yet.”
“Right down the block, sir.” I’m chewing and trying to talk at the same time, covering my mouth with my hand. “You should get Michael to show you around. He knows it like the back of his hand.”
He shakes his head. “I’d rather have a prettier guide.” Then he stops and stares off into space. “I don’t really have time to wander around anyway. Work takes up most of my time.”
“You managed to get here today,” I point out.
“True.” Then he grins. “Maybe you’ll show me around sometime.”
Oh, god, I’d love that, my inner slut wheezes out. Then I remember: Client. Don’t mix business with pleasure. And oh what pleasure it would be. Visceral doesn’t even begin to describe my reaction to his presence. That would best be described as flat-out turned on. Trying to think of something to take my mind off the bulge in the front of his slacks, I turn to Alexander and the other night. Nope. That’s not working either. Then I remember why he’s here in the first place. “So, sir, what did you have in mind? Zippers? Laces?”
He crushes the empty paper plate in half and looks around for the trash, but I take it out of his hands and to the can as he answers with, “Zippers. I’d like a pair in black and a pair in brown. And I want the brown ones to be wider boot cut. I have westerns that I wear from time to time.”
