Welcome to the Plume – where members are bound by desire

and fantasies come true…

Lifestyle reporter Joanna is prepared to do whatever is necessary to get the story about the notorious sex club known as the Plume - even apply for membership. Rex will do anything to protect his club and the privacy of his membership - and he isn't adverse to teaching Joanna a lesson about curiosity - and control. They both get more than expected when Joanna's own secret desires are revealed.

SUBMISSION

An Erotic Novella

First in the Plume Series

By

Ella Ardent

Digital Edition

©2011 Ella Ardent

All Rights Reserved.

Without limiting the rights under copyright preserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

SUBMISSION

By

Ella Ardent

Chapter One

It was a black velvet night, the streets glistening in the rain. The shadows seemed to be deeper and darker than usual, filled with shadows and secrets. Joanna walked from the subway station, the gusting autumn wind tugging at her umbrella. She fought a battle of wills with the elements as the rain pounded on her umbrella. Just when she thought it couldn’t get worse, the rain changed to ice pellets.

Joanna shivered. Only a masochist would willingly go out on a night like this.

The thought made her smile, seeing that she was going to be interviewed for admission to a private BDSM club. She’d volunteered for the assignment, fed up with being stuck with lifestyle articles. It was her chance to do something bigger, to turn in a story that could advance her career into hard news.

It was her chance to prove herself.

The fact that Joanna had to pose as an applicant to a kinky sex club to get the story was almost funny. She had to be the most vanilla, straight-up, conservative, goody-two-shoes heterosexual on the planet – but when Joanna wanted something as badly as she wanted this story, she could do anything.

Even pretend to be a woman aching to join the Plume.

The Plume was the phenomenon of the year. A club that was private beyond the usual definition of the word, the Plume had only a single page website. The purple background was embellished with a photo of a peacock feather, with the name of the club and its slogan in gold script.

“Where members are bound by desire and fantasies come true.”

There was a contact link and no other clues. The website url was privately registered, its owners hidden, its hosting similarly protected. The Plume’s member list was completely secret. The club’s location was unknown.

Despite this lack of information (or maybe because of it) the Plume was the word on everyone’s tongue this year. Everywhere you looked in the city, there was Plume merchandise for sale, mostly black, all embroidered with the gold peacock feather of their logo. Handbags, wallets, jackets, vests, jeans, lingerie were everywhere, as well as the ubiquitous black domino mask with the feather embroidered along the lower edge. Everyone insisted they had been inside. Everyone smiled that they knew the secret location.

Nearly everyone, Joanna suspected, was lying.

Her editor thought so, too. He was convinced that this would be the perfect story for the launch of the Lifestyles section in their paper. My Night at the Plume would be a confessional piece. Reality journalism. Every other journalist in their group had averted his or her gaze, but Joanna had volunteered.

It was her chance to show that she could do more.

She just had to make it work.

Unfortunately, the mysterious people behind the Plume did their homework. From one reply, she realized they knew she was a journalist. She suspected that they doubted her cover story. She’d been summoned to this appointment to prove that her supposedly secret desires were genuine. She knew she’d be tested.

She gripped her umbrella handle even more tightly, scanning the numbers on the buildings as she got closer to the address.

She could still hear the woman’s voice.

A sexy voice.

The kind of voice Joanna would never have.

The call had come for her at the office, the number ‘unknown’. The woman’s voice was low and sultry. She hadn’t bothered with formalities, just given the address, date and time as soon as Joanna had answered the phone.

Then she’d half-laughed. “After all,” she’d added. “We don’t want any weirdoes.”

Joanna had to think that anyone who joined a private BDSM club, hoping to be tied up and spanked and whatever, had to be weird on some level. She hadn’t argued, though.

She had played along.

Joanna had allowed extra time, given that her destination was in a part of town she didn’t know well, but arrived just five minutes early. She might have stepped into another town completely. An abandoned one. The entire block was so dark that the power might have gone out.

There was no one on the street.

The hair prickled on the back of Joanna’s neck. Was she being set up? Suddenly it seemed stupid, not independent, to have come alone.

The streetlights flickered once, then stayed on. She shook off her misgivings and considered her destination. It looked like a restaurant, but the windows were dark. Maybe the power was out. Joanna double-checked the address, huddling under the navy awning to escape the pouring rain. She was in the right place. Supposedly.

Was this what the Plume did to journalists and ‘weirdoes’?

She had raised her fist to knock when the door abruptly opened. A waft of light and heat and aroma swept out of the interior, surrounding Joanna like a cloud.

A man stood there in the halo of golden light from the interior, an older man with a deferential manner. “Joanna?” he asked as if he would have been astonished to be wrong.

Joanna could see past him into the restaurant, could see the glow of lamps on tables and the quiet murmur of voices. The restaurant looked cozy and welcoming, particularly in contrast to the night.

It looked reassuringly normal.

They just had drapes on the windows.

She smiled. “Yes. I’m supposed to meet…”

“The Countess,” he said, smoothly interrupting her. “Of course.” He stood back and gestured. There was something courtly about his manners, old world maybe, something that made her believe that nothing odd could happen in this place.

The Plume might be run by paranoid people with a fondness for kinky sex, but this guy was okay. Joanna had good instincts about people. No matter how strange the Countess might be, Joanna was glad to be meeting her in a place where there were other, normal people.

“The Countess requested some privacy,” the man said, shutting the door behind her. Joanna shook out her umbrella before he whisked it out of her hands, handing it off to a young man who must have been in charge of the coatroom. The older man lifted off Joanna’s coat, and the boy gave her a ticket after her wet belongings were put away. She dug in her purse, but the older gentleman made a dismissive wave. “The Countess is most generous.”

So this was all expenses paid. Interesting.

He headed toward the back of the restaurant, his footfalls silent on the thick rug underfoot. Joanna looked around. The restaurant was filled with booths, all of which were curtained. She heard the low laughter of conversation and the clinking of dishes and cutlery, but she couldn’t actually see anyone dining there. It appeared that the Countess wasn’t the only one who liked her privacy.

Was this the Plume itself?

Waiters in black and white slid through the space, working with efficient impassivity. She could smell the food and guessed that the cuisine was Italian. Garlic. Basil. Tomato. Her stomach rumbled just as the older man waved her into a small private room in the back corner.

Why anyone needed a private room when the whole place was filled with curtained booths was a mystery to Joanna.

No sooner had she stepped into the space than curtains were shut behind her. She felt it then, the sound buffeting against her ears as if she’d entered a soundproofed space.

She was alone. What exactly did the Countess have planned for this interview? Joanna told herself not to be nervous, that her cover story was excellent, that everything would be fine.

The private room felt contained, cozy, and luxurious. The walls were upholstered in black velvet and Joanna touched one, feeling the padding beneath the upholstery. There was a luxurious Persian rug thrown over the thick carpet and she felt like she’d sink up to her ankles in the plush pile. A round table took up a third of the room, and it was set with a white cloth and a vase of peacock feathers.

Joanna smiled. She was in the right place.

The table was nestled into a half-circle booth set into the far wall, a curved bench seat upholstered in that same velvet. Three chairs, lush with thick matching upholstery, stood with their backs to Joanna. The table would easily seat six, and she wondered about the Plume’s interview technique.

Would she be interrogated by a panel?

She moved to the table, more nervous at the prospect than she might have expected, and fingered the peacock feathers. They were real, their blue and green and gold vivid against all the black.

Why was their logo a peacock feather?

Joanna reminded herself that she’d survived many interviews and lived to tell about them, that her nerves were perfectly normal. Even so, she swallowed and gripped her purse. Her heart was beating more quickly than usual.

There was a sudden swish of cloth against cloth, a breath of air that smelled of warm bread. Joanna spun to find a woman standing behind her.

She stared in surprise at the new arrival. This woman looked as if she had stepped off the stage or out of a Renaissance fair. She’d thrown back the hood on the navy velvet cloak that enveloped her, a cape cut full with a swirling hem. Her hair was so long and thick and such a glorious auburn hue that Joanna assumed it was a wig.

The woman wore a voluminous white blouse made of fabric so sheer that Joanna could see her nipples through the cloth. The rosy hue of the aureoles was unmistakable. The woman smiled slightly, her ripe red lips curving with amusement as she followed Joanna’s glance.

The white blouse was nipped into a black satin corset, one that cupped her full breasts, as if presenting them for admiration, and cinched an already-slender waist. She wore dark jodhpurs and high black leather boots, as well as black velvet gloves and thick gold slave bracelets. At her throat was a pendant, one shaped like a peacock feather with a dark gleaming eye. Joanna assumed it was an opal set in the gold.

Most remarkable of all, the woman wore a black velvet domino, one embroidered with a gold peacock feather in one corner. She tapped a black riding crop against one gloved palm, her eyes glinting through the holes in the mask, and her smile broadened as if she was genuinely amused by Joanna’s surprise.

If the administrators of the Plume wanted to shock her, their first attempt had been a success. Joanna resolved to not be surprised again.

“And so we meet, Joanna,” the woman said, in the same rich voice that had given her directions on the phone. She lingered over Joanna’s name, as if she liked rolling it around her tongue. “You may call me the Countess.” She crossed the room, moving with the languid grace of a cat. One that knew a lot about pleasure. She set down the riding crop on the table, stroking the length of it once with her fingertips.

Watching Joanna with shining eyes.

“I apologize for the delay. I was at the stables and time slipped away.”

Joanna guessed that the leather crop hadn’t been used on a horse. She tore her gaze away from it and forced a smile. “No problem. I haven’t been here long.”

The Countess stepped closer, as if stalking her prey. That mask was troubling to Joanna. She really wanted to see the other woman’s face. She held her ground and the woman’s gaze.

“Would you care for a glass of wine? The house red is excellent.”

“No, thank you. I’m fine.”

The Countess smiled a little more. “All business then? Very well.” She moved closer, putting her hand on Joanna’s shoulder then glancing at the booth. Her fingers slid over the curve of Joanna’s shoulder, exploring in a way that seemed too intimate. Joanna steeled herself to hold her ground. It wasn’t quite a stroke, but it was more contact than she’d expected.

The Countess’s stare was so intense. The woman’s eyes glittered through the holes in the mask, and that combined with the fact that she seemed on the verge of laughter made Joanna feel uncertain.

Exposed.

Even though she was fully dressed. Joanna glanced down the woman’s cleavage, unable to stop herself, and saw that her nipples had tightened to burgundy peaks.

Was the Countess aroused by her? Joanna was startled again. She inhaled, reminded herself of her cover, and met the woman’s gaze. That quick breath filled her lungs with the Countess’s perfume, its spicy exotic scent consuming her and surrounding her.

Joanna reached for a chair, but the Countess pointed to the bench.

“It’s always better to have one’s back to the wall, don’t you think?”

Joanna understood that this was an instruction, if not a test. She slid into the bench seat, realizing only when she did so that it was only open at the one end. The Countess sat beside her, then eased closer. Joanna moved away, leaving a polite increment between them.

The Countess wasn’t interested in polite increments of personal space. She moved again, leaving only a small gap between her thigh and Joanna’s.

Joanna had nowhere to go.

She swallowed, fighting her sense that she was losing control of this encounter and not liking it one bit. When she spoke, her words came in an uncharacteristic rush. “So, what would you like to ask me?”

The Countess watched, taking her time. “You’re nervous. Why?”

“I’m always nervous in interviews.” Joanna spoke quickly again, telling herself to slow down. She took a breath but it did nothing to calm her.

The Countess said nothing, just studied her. Like an amateur, Joanna found herself filling the silence. “I always worry what people will ask me.”

“Do you have secrets, Joanna?”

Joanna forced a laugh. “Everyone has secrets.”

“Like your secret desire to join the Plume. Your lust for forbidden pleasures.”

Joanna understood from her tone that the Countess didn’t believe the cover story.

And she had the power to shut Joanna out.

She had to try harder and persuade her.

“Yes, exactly.” Joanna realized she’d answered too quickly, too enthusiastically, but she couldn’t stop trying to repair the damage. “I’ve always had this secret desire, and I want to explore it. When I heard about the Plume, it seemed like the perfect solution.”

“And so it is for many of our members.” The Countess put her hand on Joanna’s thigh. Her grip was firm, her hand spread across Joanna’s leg as if claiming it. Joanna stared at the gloved fingers in shock.

The Countess squeezed slightly as if checking Joanna’s muscle tone. Joanne strove to keep from pulling away. This was supposed to be what she wanted, to be a sex slave in the private pleasure club of the Plume, and she knew the Countess was testing her.

“Tell me more about your desire.”

“I put it on the application…”

“Tell me now. Tell me here. Tell me out loud. What is it that you want?” The Countess leaned closer, her breath carrying the faint hint of peppermint, her skin flawless, her lips gleaming like wet rubies. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, making it impossibly shinier. “What is it that the Plume can offer to satisfy you?”

“I want to be enslaved,” Joanna said, just as the curtains slid open and the older man appeared with a glass of red wine on a tray. She felt silent, mortified, but he didn’t appear to have heard. He placed the glass on the table before the Countess, then glanced at her.

The Countess shook her head and he left. She slid her fingers higher up Joanna’s thigh. “Do go on.”

“There’s nothing more to tell.” Joanna’s voice was high. “That’s it.”

The Countess smiled and took a sip of her wine, sniffing the bouquet first. “That’s never it, Joanna. The precision of the detail is what allows us to ensure the satisfaction of our members.” She looked at Joanna, her expression expectant.

Okay.

“I have bondage fantasies,” Joanna lied, watching the door. “I fantasize about being captured and used as a sex slave.” She licked her lips. “Helpless captivity.”

The Countess traced circles on the top of Joanna’s thigh. The press of her fingertips made Joanna’s skin tingle, but she didn’t dare move away.

“That’s all?”

“I like sucking men off, too.” That was a lie and it even sounded like one. Why had Joanna said something so stupid? Those fingers massaged, sliding closer to her pubic bone, making her aware of her sex in a way that made it pulse. Joanna wanted to squirm away but didn’t.

To Joanna’s relief, the Countess didn’t seem to notice her fake confession – or she ignored it, knowing it was a lie. “Captured and used by whom?”

“By a relentless master,” Joanna fabricated. “A dominant master who will discipline me and train me.”

“Share you?”

“No!” Joanna couldn’t hide her shock, although she saw that the Countess was amused. She realized her mistake. “I mean, unless that was what he wanted to do. I would be the slave. It wouldn’t be up to me.”

“He?”

“Well, yes.”

The Countess abruptly grasped Joanna’s chin. The velvet slid across Joanna’s skin, the fingers like steel inside. She stifled a bit of fear, understanding then that the Countess did not take no for an answer.

“So sure about men,” she mused, those eyes glinting with what might have been humor. “Perhaps I might change your mind.” She pushed Joanna’s head back against the upholstery, holding her there with that velvet-covered hand. Instinctively, Joanna wanted to fight back. She managed to stop her reaction, just before the Countess kissed her.

Joanna’s mind froze.

She knew she was failing this test, too. She had to save this interview.

It was just a kiss, she rationalized. She could do this.

Joanna parted her lips and let the Countess kiss her. At her submission, the kiss turned wet and demanding. The pressure of the Countess’s lips was, her teeth grazing Joanna’s lips, her tongue darting inside Joanna’s mouth. It was as if she was trying to provoke more response. She cradled Joanna’s face in that gloved hand and Joanna was startled to find herself becoming aroused.

If a man had kissed her like this, she would have melted.

She had to gain admission to the Plume.

Joanna caught the Countess’s face in her own hand and kissed her back.

The other woman made a little purr of pleasure in the back of her throat, the sound of it awakening a hum within Joanna. Was she capable of arousing the Countess? The idea was titillating, dangerous, powerful. The Countess deepened her kiss, demanding even more. Her mouth explored Joanna with a languor and deliberation unlike that of any man. They could have had all week to kiss, and with her eyes firmly closed, Joanna let herself imagine that she was with a man.

Her co-worker Mike.

Her resistance dissolved with that fantasy. She would kiss Mike for a week and suck him dry, given the chance. She used that desire to fuel this kiss, making it hotter, more potent, more incredible. Joanna felt a familiar wetness between her legs, felt her pulse begin to simmer, smelled the intoxicating perfume of the Countess.

She was astounded to hear herself make a similar purr of pleasure.

The Countess lifted her mouth all too soon. Joanna was panting slightly, her gaze fixed on the other woman, her fingers in her hair. Those eyes shone and the Countess smiled. She lifted Joanna’s hand from her own cheek and set it on the table, a correction.

She released Joanna’s chin and let her hand slide down Joanna’s throat. The velvet was smooth and silky, disguising the ferocious strength of the woman’s hand. Steel in velvet. This was a dominatrix, the first one Joanna had ever met.

She swallowed, her heart thudding.

The Countess’s fingers slipped inside Joanna’s shirt and gently squeezed her breast through her bra. Joanna jumped a little and the Countess pinched her nipple briefly and hard in retaliation. Joanna got it. She sat still, uncertain. The Countess caressed her breast, flicking her fingertip across that taut nipple, making it even harder with her attention. She pinched it between finger and thumb, rolled it, teased it and Joanna’s sex began to throb.

Those eyes shone like shards of glass through the holes in the domino mask.

The Countess licked her lips, released Joanna and reached for her wine.

Joanna felt ravaged and jumbled, out of her comfort zone yet enflamed all the same. She cleared her throat and tried to recover her composure, touching her lips and straightening her shirt.

The Countess slanted her a glance. “You look more luscious in disarray,” she said, then paused, considering. “Unfasten your shirt.”

“I didn’t think this was a physical interview.”

Again the cool smile. “You thought wrong.”

Joanna hesitated only a moment before doing as she was told.

She was supposed to be submissive, after all.

The Countess’s lips tightened when she saw the sports bra that Joanna favored. It was a practical garment, exactly the kind of thing Joanna always chose to wear, like her trim white shirt and her slim black pants.

The Countess considered Joanna’s breasts, sipping that wine as she looked.

Joanna felt tingly beneath her regard.

Her nipples were taut, as if standing at attention for their exam.

The Countess took one last sip of wine, then reached for Joanna’s waist. Her hands locked resolutely around Joanna and Joanna understood there was to be no argument. She turned Joanna in one quick gesture so she was sitting sideways on the bench, one knee folded up and her back against that end. The Countess abruptly peeled the sport bra upward, freeing Joanna’s breasts. They bounced slightly. She caught their weight, cupping them in her gloved hands, running her thumbs over their fullness.

She smiled slightly, and dipped her head to take one nipple in her mouth.

Joanna gasped and the Countess grazed the turgid peak with her teeth. Joanna made to pull back but the Countess nipped slightly.

A warning.

Joanna exhaled and gripped the upholstered bench with her hands. She told herself to let it go, reminded herself of her cover story, insisted to herself that this was no different from ten thousand unsuccessful dates.

Meanwhile, the Countess began to suckle her with leisurely vigor. Joanna liked being sucked, but the sight of the Countess’s red lips against her own skin made it seem illicit.

Joanna closed her eyes and thought about Mike. Once again, the fantasy worked. Her nipples tightened, they tingled, they responded to the Countess’s careful attention in a way that was startling. She had no idea how long the Countess kissed her, but she found herself leaning back against the velvet, head arched, mouth open.

Joanna heard herself moan softly.

At that, the Countess’s hands glided firmly down to her waist. She unfastened the fly of Joanna’s trousers, sliding her hands across Joanna’s belly with proprietary ease. Joanna thought about submission. She thought about none of this being up to her. She thought about being a vehicle for pleasure, one for Mike, and felt her skin heat.

Her master of choice suddenly had a face.

The Countess eased her fingertips beneath the elastic of Joanna’s underwear, those velvet gloves feeling like sin against her belly. She flicked her tongue across Joanna’s taut nipple, her fingers easing steadily toward Joanna’s sex.

Her wet hot pulsing sex.

“I smell you,” the Countess murmured into her breasts. “Perhaps there is more to you than meets the eye.”

She straightened then and speared her hands through Joanna’s hair, hauling her close and kissing her as if she’d eat her alive. Joanna responded instinctively, holding nothing back. She locked her arms around the Countess’s neck, losing her fingers in the lush waves of her hair. She felt like her skin was going to burst from all the heat simmering beneath it and wanted only more.

The Countess flung her off and tossed her long hair over her shoulder, treating herself to another restorative sip of wine. “Leather or lace?” she asked, her tone completely conversational.

Joanna felt rattled in every possible way. “I beg your pardon?”

“Leather or lace?” The Countess’s tone was more firm and her fingertips brushed the riding crop that she’d dropped on the table.

Preferences. This was about Joanna’s preferences in matters of sexual fantasy. “Leather,” she said, simply choosing one option. She made to pull down her bra, but the Countess stilled her with a fingertip. That fingertip slid over the nipple, playful now, and Joanna held her breath.

“Velvet or satin?”

“Velvet.”

“Rope or ribbon?”

Joanna tried to hide her shock. The Countess was watching her closely. “Ribbon.”

“Shackle or duct tape?”

Joanna felt her mouth work in silence. “I’m not sure.”

The Countess clearly disapproved of this non-answer. Joanna had to try harder. “Blindfold or gag?”

“Blindfold.”

“Chocolate or whipped cream?”

Again, Joanna was flummoxed, but she went for one choice. “Chocolate.”

“Man or woman?” The Countess smiled when she asked this, her gaze bright upon Joanna.

“Man.”

The Countess made a mock pout. She finished her wine, then swept to her feet. That navy cloak swirled around her with theatrical flair.

Joanna felt her senses return to her. How could this woman go out in the world in such a costume and not be noticed? What was in her perfume that made Joanna act in such an uninhibited way?

Was she passing the test? It was impossible to read the Countess’s thoughts.

“I must excuse myself for a moment,” the Countess said and Joanna knew that she needed the restroom. “Will you be fine here alone for a moment?”

“Of course.”

The Countess picked up the riding crop and exited the room in a maelstrom of swirling velvet.

The room seemed larger and emptier once devoid of her presence.

And safer. Joanna shook her head. She pulled down her bra, then stood up and straightened her clothes. She didn’t like how wet her underwear was, and wasn’t going to recall how fantasizing about Mike had made the interview easier.

Mike. He was a classic fantasy date - the tousle-haired, easygoing, captain of the football team type. Loyal to his friends, handsome, easy-going, possessed of a good sense of humor and a single dimple.

If she’d met him anywhere other than work, she might have asked him out for a coffee.

But she’d only met him because they worked together. Joanna would never break company policy, and besides, she was sure Mike dated women who were more relaxed than her. Women who weren’t ambitious or hungry for success. Joanna couldn’t have been more different than that.

She pulled a mirror from her purse and checked her face, halfway expecting to find red lipstick smeared all over her face and breasts. She was surprised to discover that the Countess used some kind that didn’t smear. She was more surprised to see how brightly her eyes sparkled and how her cheeks were flushed pink. Her lips looked more full, and her hair was loose, as if she’d been thoroughly kissed.

She had been.

She combed her hair back to order, re-establishing her trim appearance. She couldn’t do anything about her lips, though. Joanna straightened her shoulders, tucking her shirt in again. If this had been the entrance exam, she had to think she had passed. That was when she realized something.

The Countess had taken her riding crop.

She wasn’t coming back.

Which meant Joanna wouldn’t be able to follow her or see her car.

And she probably hadn’t passed the exam.

No! Joanna erupted from the room and flew across the restaurant so fast that she nearly collided with a waiter carrying a fully loaded tray. The older man called after her, but she pushed open the door and stepped into the street. It was still pouring rain, the pavement slick with water. Several blocks away, she could just see the red taillights of a car disappearing into the night.

She swore, just as the older man reached her side. He held up her raincoat, the coatroom boy standing slightly behind him with her umbrella. Joanna shrugged into the coat with his assistance, deciding what she’d ask him first.

But he was ready for her. As soon as she turned to face him, he retreated into the restaurant. “Good evening, Joanna,” he said and firmly shut the door between them.

She heard the deadbolt turn in the lock and knew he wouldn’t answer the door.

She knocked anyway.

There was no response. She might as well have been pounding on the door of an empty house.

Joanna stood there for only a moment, the chill of the night sliding into her bones. She swore, then turned and marched back toward the subway station, defiance filling her veins.

This wasn’t over. She was going to find a way into the Plume, no matter what it cost.

***

“She’s lying,” Athena said as she strolled into the back offices of the Plume. “Just as I thought.” She threw off her cloak with disgust, and peeled off her domino mask, casting it across his desk. “I like to suck men off,” she said in a high voice, obviously mimicking someone. Then she exhaled and shook her head. “What a lot of garbage. How stupid does she think I am?”

Rex would have to have been dead to not realize his partner was in a mood. She was always passionate when she felt badly treated. A dozen slaves would be screwed senseless tonight before Athena was satisfied.

He ignored her, just as he always did when she was like this.

It pissed her off, just as it always did.

Athena propped her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Did you hear me?”

“Of course, I did.” Rex put out his hand and she surrendered the pendant, slapping it into his palm. She threw herself into a chair, watching sulkily as he removed the recording device hidden in the pendant’s setting and plugged it into the USB port of his computer. The interview with the reporter Joanna began to replay and he froze in shock.

Not this Joanna.

He knew this Joanna.

He’d fantasized about this Joanna since high school.

The last thing Rex wanted was to let Athena guess the truth, so he hid his reaction even as he fixated on the video. His Joanna. Here at the Plume.

“Like I said, she’s lying. She’s so uptight that her secret fantasy must be getting bran cereal on sale.” Athena glanced around the office, petulant, her booted foot swinging as if she’d like to kick something. “Isn’t there any wine? I hate wasting my time.”

“We take turns with the journalists,” Rex reminded her. “That’s the deal.”

Athena exhaled. “Well, you get the next two.”

Rex touched his headset to talk to the bartender on the Plume’s closed communication system. He heard the volume of noise in the bar, the music and the laughter and the clinking of glasses, and was glad it was a busy night. Tony replied promptly and crisply. “Tony, will you have Sonja bring Athena a glass of champagne? She’s been working hard tonight and needs some solace.” Tony agreed and disconnected.

“Sonja?” Athena gaze sparked with curiosity. “Who’s Sonja?”

“New slave. You’ll like her, even though she only speaks Swedish.”

Athena smiled. “Not a gorgeous blonde Valkyrie, just for me?”

Rex winked. “Just for you. Do you want her gift-wrapped?”

“Not tonight.” There was a hungry gleam in Athena’s eyes now, and she leaned forward to brace her elbows on her knees. Rex could see all the way down her cleavage and knew it wasn’t an accident. She knew he loved lush breasts like hers.

“See what I mean?” she said, jerking her head toward the computer screen. “Liar, liar.”

“Were her pants on fire?”

Athena snorted. “Hardly. It was glacial down there.”

Rex took the excuse to watch the video closely. Joanna was as beautiful as he recalled, and as much in control as he remembered. He’d never seen her surprised or doing something impulsive. Even her clothing was so crisply tailored as to be austere. She seemed bent on hiding her femininity and did it so well that he was shocked when her breasts were revealed.

They were magnificent, larger and creamier and rounder than he could ever have expected. He touched up the volume at her unwitting moan, feeling himself get hard. Joanna with secret fantasies. He realized belatedly that Athena was watching him intently. “Looks like you really got to her. Good job.”

“So, she’s not dead.” Athena’s eyes glittered with unhappiness. She hadn’t wanted him to notice that moan. “She’s still a liar and a journalist.”

“Which is worse?”

“Does it matter? We don’t need either around here.”

Rex couldn’t help himself. He played the recording again. Joanna’s voice had deepened since high school, turned a little bit husky in an enticing way. He found her innocence, the way that Athena had shocked her – and done it so easily – exciting. He thought about awakening her, proving to her that she was a sexual being, giving her a real taste of pleasure and desire.

On the recording, she confessed that she preferred leather. He smiled. Bullshit.

She liked to suck men off. Also bullshit, but her words planted an image in his mind, Joanna’s full lips locked around him, her eyes closed, that little moan…

The weight of Athena’s attention – and disapproval - bore down on him. “You like the skinny ones with big breasts,” she said, her tone unkind. “Always have. She’s just your type. Dark hair, dark eyes, swinging tits.”

Rex heard the jealousy in Athena’s tone. He knew he was right when she got up and came to his side, running her hands over his shoulders.

“You can’t convert them, Rex. She’s not one of us. She just wants to ruin everything.” She bent and kissed his ear, whispering. “Don’t let her.”

Rex didn’t respond. Athena was right about his tastes.

She was also right about journalists.

Too bad he could so easily imagine teaching Joanna a lesson or two.

He watched the video again. When she confessed to wanting to be enslaved to a relentless master, he became rock hard. Rex was just the man for the job. He’d crack her wide, break her open, teach her what and who she really was.

And love every minute of it.

He swallowed, as those full lips shaped the words, noticing when her voice became more husky, when she caught her breath. He wanted to replay the sound of that soft moan a couple of thousand times, the one she hadn’t realized she’d made, the one that had been torn free of her.

It might be the most erotic sound he’d ever heard.

No, he wanted to be the one to make her moan like that.

“You like her.” Athena’s tone was waspish as she rapped her fingertips on him.

Rex tried to hide his interest. “I see something, maybe a secret she doesn’t even know she has.”

Athena scoffed. “You see a snatch so tight that it’ll keep you coming all night long.”

The suggestion did nothing for Rex’s ability to pretend to be disinterested.

Athena – of course – noticed. She leaned down, pillowing her breasts against his shoulder, her perfume embracing him. “What you’re not seeing is the story she’ll write after she finds out your secrets.”

“No one finds out my secrets.” Rex smiled at the very idea.

“Well, you’d better take just as good care of the Plume’s secrets.”

“Don’t I always?” Their gazes locked and held, rare antagonism snapping between them. They seldom disagreed, and when they did, the tension made the air crackle. They’d defeated it with sex before, so Rex guessed what Athena would suggest before she did.

“We could share Sonja tonight,” she said, smiling slightly.

On another night, he might have been tempted. On this night, he wanted to think about Joanna – how he could have her without risking the club’s privacy.

“I have a better idea,” Rex said, knowing exactly how to change his partner’s mood.

“There are no better ideas.”

“You don’t even know about my surprise yet.”

She watched him, wary yet interested. She flicked a finger toward the screen, returning to their disagreement. “I say we shut the bitch out.”

Rex shook his head. “She won’t take no for an answer that easily. Look how much she likes to be in control.” He leaned back, artfully avoiding Athena’s hands, and braced his own hands behind his head as he watched the recording again. “No. We’ll teach her a lesson. That’s the only thing that will get rid of her.”

“But…”

“No.” Rex glared at Athena, pulling rank.

She looked away, tightened her lips and swallowed. Then she turned a smile on him and sauntered closer, clearly intent on making up. She threw one leg over him, sitting astride him and planting her hands on either side of his shoulders. He felt her softness against his erection, even through the layers of their clothes. She smiled and moved her hips, grinding herself against him.

“What about putting that to good use?” she murmured. “We could kiss and make up.”

Rex caught Athena’s nape in his hand and gave her a deep kiss. He wrapped his other hand under her butt and stood up, carrying her with him. She would have wrapped her legs around his waist, but he set her down on her feet and headed for the door.

Athena pouted. “When are we going to have fun together, Rex?”

“Trust me. You’ll think this is fun.” Rex opened the door, finding Sonja just arriving with a glass of champagne. “Come with us,” he said to her, caressing her under the chin as if she were a cat. “The more the merrier.” She looked blank, not understanding, but he beckoned to her with a finger.

“Oh, I like the sound of that.” Athena snagged the glass of champagne, gave Sonja a kiss and followed him down the corridor to the club.

***

Athena was glad she hadn’t told Rex everything. If she’d mentioned the way the bitch’s kiss had changed, the way she had softened, he would have been lost forever.

As it was, he was far too interested in the little liar for her taste.

But she still had hopes for the evening ahead. She loved the look of Sonja, her fair hair hanging like silk to her waist, almost disappearing against the pale perfection of her skin. The woman was all milk and gossamer, with eyes so blue that a lover could drown in them. She was slim, her breasts small and pert, and Athena couldn’t wait to see Rex’s dark hands on her.

As for Rex, he was the dream lover of just about every member of the Plume. Well over six feet tall, built of almost pure muscle, Rex could have modeled anything for a living. His skin was as dark as ebony, flawless and smooth, and his eyes were the color of jade. He was the most handsome specimen Athena had ever seen – and she saw plenty of gorgeous people at the Plume.

Beauty was an unstated pre-requisite for membership. No matter what the members and recruits did, who they fucked, how they responded, their primary reason for being accepted was that they improved the view.

The thing with Rex was that he was also mysterious – and brilliant. If he had just been gorgeous, Athena could have had her fill of him in a month, tops. But he was clever and he understood people, and he was the greatest secret-keeper of all time. The truth about every member of the Plume, what they really desired and what really kept them coming back for more, was locked between Rex’s ears, not saved in computer file. He was the heart and soul of discretion, but his attention to detail also ensured member loyalty.

Athena had spent a great deal of time trying to figure out whether he had any secrets himself. If he did, they were so well buried that she suspected no one would ever find them.

That didn’t stop her from trying.

He strode through the bar, prompting admiring glances from every side. Athena made Sonja lock her hands together behind her back, then landed one hand on the woman’s nape, driving her after Rex. Athena saw the glint of chains, the gleam of leather, the luster of satin and her heart swelled with love for all of these people who were brave enough to admit to what they really wanted – then sign up at the Plume to get it.

This place was a slice of heaven, one protected by herself and Rex forever.

The champagne was delicious, cool and sweet, the bubbles dancing down her throat.

Rex headed for the kitchen, a surprising choice, and halted beside one of the stainless steel prep tables. It was almost painfully bright in the kitchen after the muted light of the bar. The kitchen staff clustered around, expectant, their aprons crisp and white. More than one erect cock made a tent in white cotton.

So they knew what Rex was going to do. Athena finished her champagne and handed off the glass to a slave. She ran a finger down Sonja’s back, imagining possibilities.

“Special order, just arrived today,” Rex said with pride. A pair of slaves set a large platter on the prep table with some effort. It looked like a platter for serving a roast, its bottom shaped with curves and a furrow for juices all around the perimeter.

But it was enormous, at least five feet long and nearly as wide. It had handles around the perimeter, six of them, presumably so it could be carried. It was thick, its surface burnished gold.

They put a silver one just like it on the table beside it.

Rex pulled a pair of tiny shackles from his pocket. They had two rings each, each so small that they wouldn’t fit any wrist, and a third clip. There was red velvet padding the inside of each of the larger rings. Rex pivoted and scooped up Sonja, seating her on the silver platter. Her eyes rounded in surprise and her breasts rose quickly as she caught her breath, but she didn’t dare defy the Master.

Rex locked the cuffs around her thumbs, securing them together, gave her a kiss, then leaned her back on the platter. Her head nestled into one of the curves shaped into the platter, as did her buttocks. There was a loop shaped into the platter just over her head and Rex locked the thumb cuffs to it. That pose arched her back in a most beguiling way. She shivered, swallowed, and Rex ran a reassuring hand down her length. Athena watched how his caress soothed Sonja, but also made her nipples tight.

Rex moved around the table and caught Sonja’s ankles in his hands. He placed her soles flat against each other, pulled another miniature set of cuffs from his pocket, and locked her big toes together. He clipped them to a second metal loop that was about a foot below her buttocks.

Athena strolled around the table, admiring the view. Sonja was displayed beautifully, her legs open and her cunt gleaming red and wet. She struggled a little, instinctively fighting her bonds, but couldn’t escape. Her breath came in anxious gasps.

Athena was transfixed.

Aroused.

“Melon and honey,” Rex said. Athena was astounded, but the kitchen staff stepped forward, ready to do just that. They drizzled honey all over Sonja, the golden shine of it dripping over her breasts and belly, slipping between her legs and making her skin shine. She gasped and wriggled, her mouth opening and closing in her mingled pleasure and dismay.

They brought honeydew melon, already peeled and sliced into crescents. Athena’s mouth went dry, imagining what they would do with them. The kitchen staff arranged melon around Sonja on the sides of the platter, drizzling it with more honey.

Rex took a slice of melon, dipped it in honey as Sonja watched him, then wedged it under her breast like the cup of a corset. He did the same with her other breast, as if creating an exhibit of her. The third slide he slid over her clitoris, honey dripping from it over her labia. He moved it back and forth, caressing her and watching her blush as her desire grew. She gasped as he worked it against her.

“You are the daily special,” he told her. “A feast for our members.”

Someone translated that into Swedish and her cheeks burned vivid red.

Rex slipped the end of the melon slice inside her, leaving its tip protruding, and she quivered from thumbs to toes. He added another slice, running his hands through the honey that coated her labia and licking his fingers.

Sonja writhed.

Athena itched to bend down and remove that slice of melon with her teeth. There’d be a feeding frenzy when Sonja was carried out into the club like this.

But that desire was nothing compared to her reaction when Rex turned his green gaze upon her and smiled. “The other platter is for you,” he murmured.

Shock froze Athena for a moment, but she met Rex’s gaze and saw the mischief in his expression. She smiled, indicating her agreement, then pivoted to run. He knew how she liked to be captured.

The kitchen slaves were on her in a moment, physically subduing her with their sheer numbers. That didn’t stop her from fighting and struggling. A dozen hands – Rex’s included – stripped away Athena’s clothes, and held her down on the golden platter as Rex himself secured her toes. He came around to do the same to her thumbs.

“Demon,” she charged and he laughed.

“You love it,” he chided, putting out one hand. A slave put a peach into it and he placed it into her mouth, silencing her with its sweet softness. “Be quiet and enjoy yourself,” he instructed.

Athena fought against the peach, its warm juice running down her cheek, the fuzz from its skin tickling her lips. She struggled against the two pairs of cuffs, knowing she’d never break free. She was securely bound. Helpless.

Dessert.

“Chocolate and peaches,” Rex said mildly and Athena was shocked again. She felt him slide the peach halves into her and moaned in pleasure. She rocked her hips when he spread the dark chocolate over her labia, caressing and teasing her as he did so. She luxuriated in the warm trickle of chocolate falling on her breasts, her belly, her thighs, her lungs filling with the sweet decadent scent of it.

Bittersweet.

She almost laughed at how perfect a choice it was.

And Rex had known that she was frustrated from her interview with Joanna, brought to a simmer and left without satisfaction. As the naked slave boys hefted first her tray and then Sonja’s, carrying them out to the pack of salivating members, Athena knew her evening couldn’t have had a better ending.

When the first masked man bent and licked her cunt, sucking chocolate and peach juice out of her, it was all Athena could do to not come in a frenzy.

But no. She’d hang on, somehow, and make the sweet torture last.

And love Rex just a little bit more for giving her precisely what she needed.

Chapter Two

Mike followed Joanna down the block the next morning, more interested in his companion than her destination. It was a gusty fall day, the sky filled with golden leaves and slate clouds. Even though she was shorter than him, Joanna walked so fast that Mike was always a bit behind her.

He’d never met anyone so ambitious in his life.

He’d never met anyone so sexy in his life.

He’d never met anyone less interested in sex either.

Mike knew that his mellow nature would never be of interest to a super-achiever like Joanna. Nope, she’d marry some guy who made kajillions of dollars a year and won triathlons on the side.

Never mind his other secret. A woman who didn’t have an interest in sex was never going to accept his enthusiasm for it in any way, shape or form.

“It was right here,” she insisted, striding ahead of him. “You should have seen it. This woman was crazy. Dressed like something out of a play. The mask and her nipples showing and the corset. It was so theatrical. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Mike had, but he thought it a bad time to bring up such details. The reason he hadn’t wanted to go after the story at the Plume was that he was pretty sure he knew some of the people involved.

And he’d left that life – and its pleasures – far behind.

He tried not to regret it. He knew it was a smart choice. But there were times…

Joanna charged to a doorway, coming to a sudden halt. “This is it,” she said, her gaze dancing over the façade. “This is the restaurant.”

“Doesn’t look like much of a restaurant,” Mike said. The windows were boarded over and the awning was torn. There was no signage and the place smelled of abandonment.

Joanna tried the door but it was locked.

“I know they’re in there,” she said with a ferocity that surprised him. She tipped her head back to look up the facade. Even without make-up, with her hair tightly pulled back, she was gorgeous. “Maybe we can get in through a window.” She turned an expectant gaze upon him. “Do you think anyone would lend us a ladder?”

Mike sighed at her innocence. Giving Joanna what she wanted was too much temptation for him. “Just look away,” he said gruffly.

“What? What are you going to do?”

Mike met her gaze. “Just look away.”

She exhaled, never liking anyone else taking charge, and deliberately turned her face away. Mike knew she wouldn’t keep her gaze averted for long. He pulled the pick from his pocket, hid it in his hand, and worked the lock quickly. He turned the knob and opened the door. “After you,” he said.

Joanna looked from his hand to the door and back to his eyes. “I thought you were Mr. Clean.”

He smiled and shrugged.

She dropped the subject, too excited about the story to think about him.

There was a message he should take to heart.

Joanna lunged into the darkened space like a hound on the hunt. Of course, she had a flashlight in her purse – this woman was always ready for everything – and she shone it around the space with purpose.

It was empty. Mike could see the bare floorboards underfoot. The walls had been stripped down to plaster, plaster that was cracked and yellowed. There were a couple of stray chairs, old metal ones, and a lot of broken wood. It smelled like dust and decay, probably because of the hole in the floor to the basement, a hole big enough that it could swallow a pick-up.

Mike was sure he could hear the scuttling of rats. If this had looked like a restaurant the night before, Rex must have more money to burn than was once the case. He became curious about the Plume and its fortunes, more curious than he should be.

He was done with that life. It was over.

“Nice place,” he said as Joanna stared around herself in dismay.

“It was here,” she said. “I know it was here. And there were booths and the walls were lined with velvet and there were rugs and, and…” She turned to look at him. “Do you believe me?”

Mike did believe her, but only because he knew Rex. “It doesn’t look like much of a restaurant, Joanna. Could they really have torn all of that out that fast?”

Yes. He’d helped do similar things in his days at the Plume.

Her shoulders drooped and he hated that he was responsible for disappointing her. Then she illuminated the back wall with her flashlight. “I met her in a room, back there.”

“Joanna, I think we should go. This is a dead end.”

“Just one look. Please?”

He couldn’t resist her. He could never resist her. Even if all she wanted was a byline.

He couldn’t even give her that.

She headed for the back corner, the beam of the flashlight darting this way and that as she sought some sign of what she was sure she’d witnessed.

Mike worked his way around the hole in the floor. He could see something glistening down there and it smelled bad enough that he didn’t want to investigate.

He found her in the back corner, standing dejected. “You know what this means, right?” she said when he got to her side.

He did. Rex was messing with her, getting rid of her and her curiosity, ensuring she didn’t get a story. Mike didn’t want to be the one to tell Joanna that she’d failed.

“Go ahead and tell me.” Mike could see something in the corner, something that looked like it didn’t belong in this place. He took the flashlight from her limp fingers and moved closer to investigate.

“I failed the interview.” She couldn’t have sounded more defeated. “I hate failing. I wanted this story so much. This was my chance.”

Mike smiled at the legal-sized manila envelope tacked to the lathe in the corner, then removed it with care.

Of course, it was addressed to Joanna. That’s how they worked.

Rex was taking her in. The realization gave him an erection. How would Rex do it? What would Rex do? Damn, but Mike wanted to be there and see it all.

Did Rex still love taking pictures of his conquests? Mike gritted his teeth. He could hit his old pal up for a slideshow. He nearly lost his load at the idea of Joanna bound and photographed.

Then he realized she’d never let it happen.

“They’re shutting me out,” Joanna continued, oblivious to what he was doing. He could hear the tears in her voice. “I won’t get the story. Ever. I won’t get promoted to hard news ever. I’ll be writing articles about five no-miss Christmas gifts for your office mates forever.” She flung out her hands and started back toward the street.

“Sure about that?” Mike asked.

She spun to face him, a wild hope in her eyes that made his heart skip a beat. He grinned and held up the envelope.

“What is it?”

“Probably your contract.”

He realized he’d slipped too late to pull back the words, but Joanna never caught it.

She seized the envelope and tore it open, her dark eyes filling with delight. “You’re right. It’s the contract for my submission to the Plume as a slave! Look at this! There’s a list of rules and regulations, and instructions for delivering the signed contract, waivers for allergies, forms for blood tests and a physical exam.” She looked up at him, as thrilled as a kid on Christmas morning.

Their gazes locked and held. There was a frisson of electricity between them, excitement from her and understanding from him. He remembered his first envelope, how obsessed and excited he had been, and the echo of that in her eyes made him take a step forward. He wanted to be there when she experienced the Plume. He wanted to be part of the welcoming committee.

He wanted to see her there.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth and her lips parted. Mike had a moment to hope that she would kiss him, or at least hug him, but she laughed.

“I’d better get started.” Joanna pivoted and raced out of the space.

Running to the Plume or away from him?

Mike sighed. The fact was that Joanna wasn’t really into any of this. It was a job for her, a research assignment, and if she had any idea about his own erotic history – if she had any clue what he’d done - she’d refuse to even speak to him again. If she had any idea what she was getting herself into, she wouldn’t have been so excited about the envelope. She was innocent in far too many ways.

He tapped the flashlight in his hand, and followed her more slowly.

For the first time in a long time, Mike was tempted to revisit his past.

But he wouldn’t go there. He’d said he was done, and he always meant what he said.

Maybe he’d become Mr. Clean, after all.

***

The lawyer’s office had been a dead end. As high as Joanna’s hopes had been, it had become clear within moments that either the lawyers knew nothing about their clients or – more likely – they’d been paid enough to ensure their silence. She hadn’t wanted to push for information because it might blow her cover.

So, she’d pretended to just be nervous. The kindly older gentleman had walked her through the contract, ensuring that she understood that everything that occurred at the Plume was consensual, that no one was ever physically injured and confirming her list of supposed fantasies. Joanna had thought the list looked a bit thin, so she’d checked off a few more options, choosing from the more mundane possibilities, before signing the document. There were waivers to sign and consent forms to complete. The report from her doctor and the results of the blood tests were compiled into the package.

When Joanna got home that night, there was a package in her mailbox. It hadn’t come by mail because it had no postage and it had no return address. She was pretty sure it wouldn’t have fingerprints either, and swallowed in recollection of the Countess’s velvet-clad fingertips sliding down her throat.

She’d been thinking about the Countess a lot. About her full lips. About her kiss that was both firm and soft. About the little pinches she gave Joanna to show her disapproval. About the feel of her tongue on Joanna’s nipple.

About the way Joanna had kissed her back.

And liked it. The memory made her tingly and agitated. She avoided it all day long, but at night, when she was alone in bed, she thought about that kiss. She thought about fantasizing about Mike during that kiss and she felt a whole lot more confused than she had in a long, long time.

One glance at the mysterious parcel made her heart pound, right on cue, right in the middle of a bunch of neighbors picking up their mail. Did any of them belong to the Plume? Did any of them have erotic fantasies? Joanne licked her lips and tried to act as if she got such parcels all the time.

She carried the parcel upstairs to the apartment, her mind filled with speculation. What could be in it? It wasn’t that heavy. She set it down on the kitchen counter, then abruptly pulled the curtains before she opened it. She had ten minutes until Louise got home.

The brown paper crackled when she tore it open. There was a shoe box inside, the end printed with her size. Lucky guess? Or did she have feet the same size as the Countess? It made her hot inside to think she had anything in common with that exotic creature.

How much did they know about her?

The contents of the box were wrapped in turquoise tissue paper, a single peacock feather across the top. Joanna set it aside and unfolded the tissue. Inside was a pair of shoes, higher and blacker and pointier than any shoes Joanna had ever owned.

In her size.

Her first thought was that they were fetish shoes. Or hooker shoes. But they were beautifully made, not cheap at all, gleaming black with leather soles and leather linings. Just so high. Could she even stand in such shoes? She didn’t wear heels at all, because they were so impractical.

On impulse, she tried them on. They arched her feet high and she felt ten feet tall. But she felt her calf muscle tighten, felt like her legs were long and sleek, and took a few test steps in them, holding on to the counter.

They made her feel sexy, sexier than she ever had before.

Joanna returned to the box and looked through the tissue, still wearing the shoes. There were also black silk stockings, stockings so sheer and smooth and elegant that she couldn’t help stroking them. There was a black satin garter belt, too. She tried it, not really surprised that it fit perfectly around her waist.

She thought of the Countess turning her in that seat, sliding her across the velvet, trapping her in the corner, locking her hands around her waist.

Measuring.

Assessing.

Testing.

Joanna’s mouth went dry.

Beneath the garter belt was a black satin scarf, a bottle of body wash and an envelope.

At the very bottom of the box was a black velvet domino mask, embroidered with a gold feather. Joanna fingered it, feeling her anticipation rise.

She’d passed the test. She tugged the mask out of the box, her breath hitching as she tried it on. The world narrowed to the view through those two holes, and the wide elastic band felt secure around her head. She felt both confined and disguised, and a little bit daring. She walked carefully to the hall mirror to look at herself.

She’d become another woman, a dashing reckless one, the mask and shoes changing even the appearance of her practical skirt and shirt. She smiled, as if she truly were bold, and saw a little bit of the Countess in the curve of her lips.

She should get some lipstick.

Joanna tugged off the mask and kicked off the shoes, remembering that this was just a game to get a story. She returned to the kitchen, unable to completely control her rising excitement and opened the envelope.

Inside were two things: a notecard and a folded sheet of paper. The notecard had a time and date written in a flamboyant hand. This Friday. Nine. Joanna stood in the tidy white apartment kitchen and sniffed the card as if it was a guilty pleasure, closing her eyes at the unmistakable scent of the Countess’s perfume.

Her clitoris tingled, as if it had been trained already to respond to the scent.

The Countess was coming for her.

She unfolded the paper and found a list of instructions for preparing her body.

And an appointment card for a complete depilatory.

Joanna slapped the card down on the counter, shocked. She was to have all of her pubic hair removed. She didn’t even get bikini waxes. She caught her breath and turned over the card again. Thursday. Right after work. Prepaid.

Joanna heard a key in the lock and gathered everything in a hurry, tugging off the shoes and racing to her bedroom.

“Home!” Louise shouted from the foyer. Joanna shoved everything into a drawer, her hands shaking with her fear that her roommate would see. It was just a story. She could have explained it.

But it was feeling like a whole lot more.

***

On Friday night, Joanna knew she had never felt so naked in her life. Her clothes rubbed against her body in a new way, her sex touched by her underwear with an intimacy that jolted her over and over again. She’d never thought much about her hair, other than shaving her legs and underarms, but without her pubic hair, she felt exposed.

As soon as Louise left for her date, Joanna stepped into the shower, following the instructions to the letter. Would the Countess know if she cheated?

The way her eyes had glinted through the holes in her black velvet domino mask had both terrified and aroused Joanna.

That she now had a matching mask and was only moments from being collected made her heart pound.

It was the mystery and the uncertainty.

Not her own desires. She had those under control.

Joanna lathered herself with the body wash. It had a beguiling scent, one that was both spicy and sweet. When she looked down at herself, her skin was rosy. Tingling. Sensitized – or awakened.

She dried herself, moisturized with the supplied lotion, and blew her long hair dry. She left it loose as she never did. The weight of it swinging around her shoulders, brushing against her skin, was unexpectedly sexy. Joanna felt her excitement rising. She was preparing her body for a ritual, according to the precise instructions.

Preparing for surrender.

Rituals always created anticipation. It had nothing to do with her personal desires – the owners of the Plume simply understood psychology.

Joanna put on the lipstick she’d bought, thinking it looked redder and more bold than she’d expected. She rubbed some on her nipples, as instructed, and felt wanton.

Desirable.

What would Mike think if he saw her now?

He probably wouldn’t recognize her.

The black garter belt fit snugly around her waist. She liked that it was plain, not lacey. The sheer black stockings felt decadent, luxuriously silky. Forbidden. She drew them up her thighs with care and fastened them, aware that her sex was beginning to throb.

Rituals worked.

She slipped into the black shoes with the towering heels and strode to the mirror to look at herself. She could have been another woman.

Maybe one who owned a riding crop that wasn’t for horses.

That was all Joanna was allowed to wear under her black raincoat. It felt strange to tug her coat over her shoulders, to have the lining brush against her bare breasts. Her skin was alive, tingling everywhere it was touched. She put the silk scarf around her neck, knotted it, let the ends drop down between her breasts.

Joanna could have walked down the street like this and no one would have known that her breasts were bare, her sex was exposed, her skin was sizzling and her cunt was hot. She swallowed and tried to control her racing pulse.

Joanna’s heart skipped a beat when she picked up the black velvet mask. She slipped it into the pocket of her coat, and picked up only her keys from the hall table.

She looked out the window, watching as a dark limo pulled up to the curb and parked.

Joanna checked the clock.

Her ride was right on time.

***

The driver got out of the car to open the door for Joanna. He was dressed all in black, and was wearing sunglasses even though it was dark. He wore black leather gloves and a high-necked jacket that did exactly nothing to disguise his athletic build. His jaw was square, the visor of his hat pulled down over his forehead, almost touching the rims of the sunglasses. What she could see of his hair was dark blond. Joanna was sure he checked her out, because he smiled as he opened the door for her.

A waft of the Countess’s perfume wafted out of the car and Joanna nearly tripped at her reaction to the scent. The driver caught her elbow. His fingers wrapped around her arm, tighter than they needed to be, sending a surge through her. She glanced up and saw the glint of his eyes through his sunglasses, noticed that his smile had widened. His teeth were white and straight, startling against his tan.

“Thank you,” she said and her voice was more breathless than usual.

“The pleasure was all mine,” he said, his voice deep and sure.

Joanna was sure his thumb slid across her elbow, sure she felt a caress even through her coat. She climbed hastily into the car, surprised that the interior light hadn’t come on when the door was opened. It was as black as midnight inside, with leather seats and darkly tinted windows.

But she could feel the presence of the Countess, sitting in the far back corner. As Joanna’s eyes adjusted, she could see her. The Countess still wore her mask, and her smile was as coy as ever. Mounds of taffeta surrounded her, shining with the luster of silk, falling to her ankles like a ball gown. The front of the skirt was slit open, giving a view of her legs and thighs.

The dress was tightly fitted through the bodice, the front opening wide and low to leave her breasts exposed, the corset below rising to cup those pale orbs as if displaying them. The dress had no sleeves, her fair skin glowing like moonlight in the darkness, but she wore gloves that rose past her elbows.

Velvet again.

And boots. High leather boots with stiletto heels and pointed toes, peeking from beneath the front of that remarkable dress. As before, she wore the peacock pendant.

“Thank you, Rafael,” she said and he firmly closed the door beside Joanna.

Rafael.

The Countess patted the seat beside her, watching with a smile as Joanna took her place. The silence stretched between them as driver strode around the car, got in, and started to drive. Joanna heard the doors lock and she pleated her coat nervously. What exactly would happen tonight?

Joanna felt that she couldn’t quite catch her breath, well aware that the Countess was watching.

The silence between them pressed against her ears, made her mouth go dry.

Was Rafael watching her in the rear view mirror?

The car slid through the night, the ride smooth and the engine quiet. They drove along familiar and busy downtown streets, streets where Joanna might have been if she hadn’t been surrendering to a night of erotic passion. Joanna felt apart from the view outside the windows, the people lining up for restaurants, even those who tried to peer through the tinted windows for a glimpse of a celebrity.

They turned a corner onto a darker street and she feared they had arrived.

The Countess straightened. “The mask now, please.”

Joanna pulled the black velvet domino out of her pocket. It had a thick elastic on it, and she had tried it on several more times, feeling that same dark thrill every time. She put it on now, and was certain her nipples tightened. The view through the small holes was constrained, but she felt disguised.

Maybe she’d become another person.

A more uninhibited one.

The glass between the driver and his passengers slid down. Even with his sunglasses, it was unmistakable that Rafael was observing them both in the rear view mirror.

“And now reveal yourself,” the Countess said softly.

Joanna was very aware of Rafael’s interest.

Play along.

She unfastened her coat and took it off in a graceless rush, hesitating for a moment before she sat back down on the leather seat. It felt cold against her bare skin, exciting and forbidden. The Countess folded Joanna’s coat and set it on the opposite seat.

Then she leaned over and unfastened the silk scarf around Joanna’s neck. She seemed to touch Joanna more than was necessary, her velvet-clad fingertips slipping over Joanna’s breasts and shoulder. Joanna found herself wanting another kiss, just to prove to herself that the Countess didn’t really have any sensual power over her.

She’d just been surprised.

The Countess smiled, twisting the silk scarf in her hands.

“Hands behind your back,” she instructed, an edge in her voice.

“But…”

She caught Joanna’s chin suddenly in her hand, compelling her to meet that steely gaze. “I knew you were a naughty one,” she said. “Lucky for you, we like naughty. Right, Rafael?”

“Absolutely, Countess.”

“Hands behind your back,” the Countess repeated, her tone more harsh.

Joanna did what she was told. Her wrists were quickly bound together with the satin scarf and she felt the knots tighten. She caught her breath, uncertain about the reality of her first bonds. She struggled instinctively, but couldn’t work her hands free. She stomped down on her panic, reminding herself that it was part of the agreement that no one could be physically injured at the Plume, even in the pursuit of pleasure.

Everything was consensual.

She had selected bondage, as well as insisted that she wanted to be captive.

She had to play along.

The Countess, meanwhile, had fastened the seatbelt around Joanna’s hips. She tightened the belt with a sure tug, letting the metal clasp fall against Joanna’s hip. Joanna wriggled, but she was securely trapped.

She saw the flash of dark silk in her peripheral vision, just before the Countess blindfolded her with another scarf. Joanna had noticed the loops on either side of the mask, just over the temples, but only now learned what they were for. Before she could move away, she was blindfolded, lost in a realm of black silk, and the Countess was knotting that scarf firmly behind her head.

“That’s for naughty,” the other woman whispered, laughter underlying her tone.

Joanna opened her mouth to protest, but that velvet clad finger landed against her lips. “Not a sound,” the Countess whispered, her lips close to Joanna’s ears. “Not a sound or I’ll have to give you to Rafael.”

She ran a fingertip down Joanna’s throat as before, but this time, all of Joanna’s nerves seemed to leap at the touch. Her entire body was singing, her other senses more alert now that she couldn’t see. She was sure she would drown in the Countess’s perfume.

The Countess’s finger slid over the garter belt, pausing to stroke Joanna’s belly, then eased between her thighs. The Countess made a sound of approval to find her shaved there. Joanna trembled and locked her knees together.

“Naughty,” the Countess said, pushing her knees apart. She threw her leg over Joanna wedging her knee between Joanna’s and Joanna felt the smooth leather of her high boots against her own skin.

“Never impede access,” the Countess instructed. “You have submitted.”

Joanna fought against her instinctive desire to fight.

“Do you want me to give you to Rafael, after all?”

Impossible. Unthinkable. Joanna couldn’t be given to a stranger as a sex toy. But she was bound and she had signed all of the waivers and contracts. Joanna shuddered as the Countess caressed her again, seeming to enjoy her agitation.

Joanna was sure the other woman was watching her closely and that the driver was, too. She felt herself blush, but there was nothing she could do to stop the woman’s touch.

She jumped when the Countess caressed the hard bud of her clitoris. “I have to warn you that Rafael likes his women trussed so helpless that they can’t even shiver.”

“Gagged so tightly that they can’t even moan,” he added.

The Countess chuckled.

Joanna didn’t make another sound.

She didn’t dare.

Her heart thundered as the car accelerated.

***

Joanna was even more luscious than Rex recalled.

He was waiting in the foyer of the Plume, impatient as he seldom was. It wasn’t the first time that some journalist had tried to sneak in to reveal the Plume’s secrets to the world at large. He and Athena had a standardized procedure, taking turns to ditch the curious. It didn’t usually take much.

But this time was different.

Joanna. She wouldn’t remember him, of course, or even recognize him now as the skinny kid at high school who had gazed after her in adoration. He’d recognized her instantly, probably because she’d filled his dreams and starred in his fantasies for twenty years, and had been haunted by the promise of her arrival ever since.

And she was coming to him.

To submit.

It was a lie, of course, and he had to do his job to protect the Plume.

But still. He hadn’t been able to think about anything else all week.

Rex’s heart stopped cold when Athena drove Joanna over the threshold from the private garage, blindfolded with her hands bound behind her back. The black made her skin look more ivory, more flawless. The stockings and heels made her look taller. The garter belt emphasized the narrow span of her waist and made her breasts look more ripe. Her hair shone as it swung behind her shoulders, so thick and luxuriant that he wanted to gather it by the fistful.

She was even more gorgeous than in the video. He loved the red lipstick. No one could have chosen a morsel more tempting to him. Her breasts bounced slightly as she walked, enough to fill his hands without an ounce to spare.

He had the impression that she was aroused.

That was unexpected.

Impossible.

But Rex could almost see the red glisten of her puss, could almost smell its welcoming heat from across the foyer. The blindfold would have heightened her other senses as well as taking the edge off her fear.

Her lips were soft, tempting. So red.

Was it just an act? Joanna’s lips were parted and she kept licking them nervously, giving many glimpses of a delightful little tongue. Her breath came quickly and she was flushed.

On fire.

Which meant that his own erection instantly became enormous. He loved the innocent slaves, the ones who were discovering the fullness of pleasure. Most of the applicants at the Plume had already been enslaved in private homes – they were looking for the next experience, not an entirely new one.

But Joanna was a novice.

An excited novice.

His favorite kind. Although Rex had explored all of the erotic possibilities himself, he found it incredibly exciting to watch another person experience the Plume’s delights for the first time.

That it would be Joanna tonight put him within a whisper of coming in his pants.

Athena halted Joanna in the middle of the foyer, grasping both of her shoulders and giving a quiet command. Joanna stood as bidden and quivered. Deliciously. She was vulnerable, delicate, aroused. An irresistible combination. That mouth opened and closed, and he remembered her confession. Rex could imagine her lips locked around him, sucking him dry. He wanted her to like it as much as he knew he would.

Members came out of the bar to have a look and there was an appreciative murmur from the crowd. Some brought their own slaves, shackled or leashed, others were in fetish gear looking for a connection, either permanent or fleeting. Although most members signed up as masters, some members chose to be slaves themselves. They were masked and gorgeous, each and every one of them, their eyes sparkling.

Rex tugged on his gloves, remembering Joanna’s supposed taste for leather.

He hadn’t believed it, not any more than he believed any more of her supposed confessions, but now he wondered.

Could his fantasy truly come true? His heart pounded.

“First dibs, Rex?” one of the long-standing members called.

Rex smiled. “I like them fresh,” he said and winked.

“You like the training,” that member teased.

“Because he’s the best,” Tony the bartender added. More than one member looked hopeful.

Joanna shivered when he halted in front of her, sensing his presence.

Rex was ready to split his pants.

Athena smiled at him, missing nothing. They’d known each other too long and played too many games together to have secrets any more. “Our new recruit is naughty,” she said in the dark voice that made all the sex slaves shiver. Athena ran a fingertip down Joanna’s spine, a proprietary gesture that made her nipples tighten and her back arch. Her mouth opened again, as if she’d gasp, then closed.

“You know how I like the bad girls,” Athena murmured. “I’m tempted to keep her myself tonight. Maybe have her for dessert.” She arched a brow.

“But we’ve agreed that she’s all mine,” Rex said and beckoned to the feather bearer.

Joanna caught her breath.

Rex lifted a trio of peacock feathers and brushed their tips across her breast. Joanna shivered in surprise, but he kept tickling and teasing, flicking their silken plumes across her skin. Her mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, her color rising, her agitation becoming more clear with every stroke.

He didn’t know what she’d expected, but she hadn’t expected this.

She was loving it, and neither of them had expected that.

Although his own reaction to his first assault by feathers had been explosive. The tickling awakened every nerve, teasing but never delivering, making the body yearn for more and more. The awareness that others were gathered around, watching, assisting in the torment, had been what had driven him over the edge.

At his gesture, Athena took several feathers from the feather bearer, tickling Joanna on her buttocks and between her thighs. Joanna twitched and trembled, blushing as her pulse rate increased.

Rex beckoned and the other members closed around them, taking feathers and tickling Joanna with them. Rex knew she’d hear their footfalls, their breath, their heat. He watched her shake beneath the assault of silken plumes, watched her tremble and vibrate.

And he smelled her hot wet sex.

If she was pretending, it was a hell of a ruse.

Rex reached out abruptly and cupped one of her breasts in his hand. Not a harsh gesture, just one Joanna wouldn’t be able to anticipate with the blindfold. He expected her to jerk away from him, but she didn’t. The feathers fell away, leaving her quivering in his grasp.

But she held her ground.

Had Joanna taken this job because of her own inclinations? Rex loved that idea. Or was he seeing what he wanted to see?

Rex deliberately caressed her nipple, then pinched it lightly. Joanna caught her breath, arched her back and swallowed. The flush that touched her skin revealed to him that she was tingling, aware of him, outside of her comfort zone.

But enjoying it.

So was he.

He flicked a glance at Athena, whose gaze was considering.

“Sensitive, too,” he murmured, running his thumb back and forth across that hard nipple.

“Don’t spank that out of her completely,” Athena chided. Joanna was listening, trying to hide her dismay, but those nipples told no lies. She did like the idea of being spanked.

“It’ll take more than one night to do that.” Rex watched her, fascinated by the sight of her arousal.

He decided to push her a little more.

He caught Joanna’s shoulders in his hands and drew her closer, letting her breasts bump against his chest. He was taller than she was, broader and stronger, and she was bound. He was wearing leather, supposedly her fantasy. He slid his hands down to her elbows and back to her shoulders, holding her in a resolute grip, reminding her of her helplessness as he held her against him. Her lips worked as if she would protest, but had been warned of consequences if she did.

“Welcome to the Plume,” he murmured, using his deepest, darkest voice. He felt her tremble in his embrace. “I am the Master. Now you’re mine.”

Joanna trembled in his grip, licked her lips.

“I threatened to give her to Rafael if she talked,” Athena contributed amiably. “Maybe we still should.”

“Maybe I’ll let him share,” Rex murmured. He kept running his hands over Joanna, showing her that she was a possession, his possession.

Joanna gasped at his words, her cheeks turning red with outrage.

Rex chuckled, knowing that he’d found a secret, perhaps one he could work with. “It’s not up to you,” he murmured.

Joanna’s blush deepened and she looked discomfited now. He fully expected that she would bail soon and demand release.

But he’d have one kiss first, the one he’d been dreaming of for years.

He hauled her closer and caught the back of her head in one hand, enjoying the contrast of his strength with her femininity. He liked the look of his dark skin against her fair skin, the look of the black leather glove around her pale nape. She was so slender, so delicate that he could have broken her – instead he caressed her, letting her feel his power and that he had it in check. He felt possessive and powerful, yet tender as well.

She trembled, wobbling slightly in those fabulous heels. She smelled like the body lotion they gave all the recruits, the familiar mingled with the distinctive perfume of her own body.

Sweet and hot and low.

As potent as dynamite and as pervasive as cinnamon.

He wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her to her toes, crushing her against him. He lifted her toes almost from the ground. He ensured that she felt the size of his erection, watched her lips part in surprise, before he bent and kissed her.

It was a thorough kiss, a mark of ownership, a kiss that gave fair warning of his intent to take her submission at its word. He kissed her open-mouthed, demanding more, claiming and possessing and asserting his claim over her body. It should have terrified Joanna. It was sure to make her bolt.

She stiffened in surprise, made to close her mouth against him, then seemed to think better of it.

Remembering her cover story, maybe.

He felt her heart skip, the thud of it against his chest.

He smelled her arousal.

And he felt something change. She shuddered, right to her toes, then stretched against him and opened her mouth to him. The gesture sent fire through his blood.

She was his for the taking. Whether it was real or feigned, Rex didn’t care.

He deepened his kiss, sampling and savoring her, taking more with his tongue and teeth. She kissed him back, grinding her breasts against his chest, her tongue tangling with his as if she’d been born to be his sex slave.

The members gave a cheer.

Rex broke his kiss, framing her face in his hands and holding her so that she was on her toes. She wasn’t quite able to balance unless she leaned against him. When her breasts collided with his chest, she sighed. Then she licked her lips again, that tongue dancing over the swollen redness of them, the sight shorting out his brain.

Joanna as his sex slave.

Just because Rex wanted it to be true didn’t make it so. He had responsibilities. He had to think of the Plume and its membership and his job of defending the borders. His own desire couldn’t be the undoing of everything.

She was a journalist.

There was a ripple of applause, but Athena silenced it with a gesture. “You have a plan for our bad girl. I see it in your eyes,” she charged.

He did.

Rex focused on Joanna. “Repeat after me,” he instructed her. “I surrender to desire.”

“I surrender to desire,” she said, breathless but without hesitation.

“To be bound and blindfolded.”

“To be bound and blindfolded.”

It was ritualistic to go through the options, and repetitive, but Rex always enjoyed watching the transformation in the recruit’s body language. It gave a certain spice to the encounter, although ultimately the rules were the same.

He expected Joanna to stumble over the pledge, to try to negotiate her freedom.

He had to taunt her and throw her out.

“To be trussed and tied,” he said, his tone hard.

“To be trussed and tied.”

“To be harnessed and hog-tied.”

She caught her breath, said the words. “To be harnessed and hog-tied.”

Athena gave a low whistle, visibly impressed, and Rex remembered her skepticism.

He went back to one idea Joanna already responded to. “To be shackled and shared.”

That one startled her – again - and he wondered whether she’d included it on her application. “To be shackled and shared,” she repeated, her voice strained.

He let his thumbs slide across her cheeks and his fingers lock into her hair. He was holding her on tiptoe, captive to his caress. He leaned close and whispered, letting his breath fan her face. “To be photographed and fucked.”

She flinched.

Rex had to repeat the words before she whispered them as well.

“To be photographed and fucked.”

So, she was concerned about there being a record. Of course. In Rex’s experience, the confronting of those fears led to the most explosive orgasms. And she was a journalist.

He could build Joanna a scrapbook, of herself bound captive in every possible way.

He could have done so, if she really had been joining. Her flinch told him the truth. As it was, he’d have to be content with a few images of this encounter.

“To be mine for so long as I desire you,” he added, stealing another potent kiss. Her lips clung to his with a vulnerability that made him wish this were the truth.

“To be yours for so long as you desire me,” she whispered, her breath against his face.

“And then to be taken and given as I command.”

Her throat worked again, showing her concern with this idea.

“And then?” he prompted.

“And then to be taken and given as you command.” She bowed her head, coming to terms with this prospect even though her pulse still fluttered in her throat. He saw a tear slide from beneath her domino, and brushed it away with a gentle fingertip. She melted at the tenderness, touching her lips to his chest.

The gesture enflamed Rex because it seemed to have been instinctive.

“I will train you to orgasm on command, and only for me,” he said.

“You will train me to orgasm on command, and only for you,” she echoed. She didn’t believe it could be done. He heard it in her tone.

Oh, he wanted to prove her wrong. If only her application had been real, he would have spent a year ensuring that her training was complete.

But it was a lie.

He had to act for the good of the Plume.

The members applauded. Rex watched Joanna belatedly realize just how many people were there. He put his lips against her temple, whispered into her ear. “Each and every one of them would take you now, if I allowed it.”

She shivered in his grip, a delicious sensation. “Please no, Master,” she whispered.

“The Master has high expectations,” Athena said to Joanna, slapping her buttocks with an open hand. Joanna jumped a little at the impact, then straightened before Rex.

As if she’d look him in the eye. “Nevertheless, I am his possession.”

The members hooted at this audacity. “Naughty, naughty,” several began to chant. Joanna blushed, but she didn’t bow her head.

Rex ached with wanting her, yearned to bend her over a barstool and drill her until he couldn’t come any more, but he had to think of his responsibilities.

“Then let’s begin,” he said, noting how she inhaled.

He spun Joanna in place, putting a hand on the back of her neck and driving her back to the garage with purpose.

In ten minutes, his mission would be accomplished, he was sure of it.

Chapter Three

They were going back the way they’d come. Joanna didn’t understand. She’d been so close. She’d made all the pledges. What had gone wrong?

What had she done wrong? She didn’t dare ask the Master, not with the commanding weight of his hand on the back of her neck, reminding her of his strength and size. He was taller than her, all muscled power. That his touch could be so gentle just shook her to her marrow. He could do anything he wanted to her, and no one would make a sound of protest.

Her heart raced at that and she smelled her own anxiety, even as she reminded herself that she’d surrendered to him. She’d committed to a list of possibilities that made her dizzy.

So why were they going back the way they’d come?

Joanna felt panicky, as if she truly had been naughty, as if she was going to be deprived of the full experience of the Plume. She wanted it now, wanted it more than she’d realized earlier. Her resistance had frayed under the assault of the feathers, the incessant tickling that made her blood pound in her ears.

She was his to take.

The Master was the stuff of fantasy. His touch. His voice. His surety. His gentle strength and his conviction that he could teach her to orgasm only on command. Tough and tender all at once. It was irresistible. He was irresistible. Blindfolded and bound, she felt like another woman, one whose life was outside of her own, one who could enjoy a potent and forbidden kiss. A secret lover. A wicked game.

The fact was that Joanna had never been so aroused.

But she felt the warm air of the club fade behind them, along with the murmur of conversation. The tinkling of glasses faded into the distance, the solid tread of the Master’s boots right beside her. She heard the swish of those double doors, the ones she had passed through just moments before, felt the asphalt beneath her heels and chilly air collide with her thighs and breasts.

“Sir?” Rafael asked. The limousine must still be there, even though it wasn’t running.

She sensed that the Master made a gesture, because she heard a car door open. The Master murmured something to Rafael, something that made the other man walk away, purpose in the sound of his footsteps.

Joanna tingled. She was alone with the Master. Maybe he was taking her to a secret lair.

“We’ll start our photo album by recreating your arrival,” the Master said, his voice so low and melodic that Joanna wanted to listen to it all night long.

Pictures? Photographed and fucked. She’d agreed to that, in front of witnesses. She opened her mouth to argue then shut it again, feeling a flush of anger stain her cheeks. There’d be evidence of her being here, potential material for blackmail…

But the fact was she couldn’t do much to stop him.

She turned away from him, wanting to run, but his hands locked around her waist as if he anticipated that. He held her captive against the cool metal of the exterior of the car, his hip pinning her in place. He was wearing leather gloves and a leather jacket, encased in leather, its cool smoothness more exciting than Joanna had expected.

His erection was unmistakable and made her thoughts churn.

She heard the door open beside her, felt the Master ease her toward the opening. She couldn’t run, not without being able to see, and she couldn’t free herself. She panicked slightly and his hand ran over her in a smooth caress.

“Easy,” he murmured and his touch both calmed and aroused her. He put his hand on the top of her head, pushing her down. “Sit first, then swing your legs around.”

That he was protective of her was confusing. It made her mouth go dry and shattered the last thread of her resistance.

She was his captive. There was no disputing it. She did as she was told, feeling again the cool leather of the seats against her legs and butt. She was in the seat behind the driver's seat, the bench seat that faced backward.

She heard him get into the car, smelled the heat of his presence, tingled.

She felt the Master lean over her. She felt the stubble of his whiskers, the heat of his skin, the unexpected brush of his body against hers. He locked his hands around her waist and bodily lifted her back into the rear seat. He squeezed her waist slightly, possessive, then brushed his mouth across hers lightly.

She felt her lips part in yearning for more.

If she hadn’t been blindfolded, she would have closed her eyes. She might have swooned. Her entire body was on fire, desire simmering beneath her skin.

What did he look like? She desperately wanted to know.

The Master ran his hands over her body as if appreciating her, pausing to tease her nipples, before fastening the seatbelt again around her hips. He tightened it more than the Countess had, binding her to the seat. She opened her mouth to ask or protest, but his finger landed solidly against her mouth.

Leather against her lips.

His lips against her ear.

She was melting with lust for him, and she didn’t know anything about him.

“Don’t make me gag you before I’m ready,” he whispered, a dark threat in his words.

Joanna gasped, which obviously amused him.

He licked her ear quickly, blew on the dampness and made her shiver. He chuckled and she heard him take the opposite seat. She felt his gaze upon her and wished she knew what to do.

“Ankles together, always,” he commanded.

Joanna put her ankles together.

“Knees apart.”

She spread her knees wide, knowing he’d have to see the wet heat of her, the slick invitation that showed his effect upon her. She was glad to be shaved then, glad he could see every glistening fold.

She heard him catch his breath.

He moved to the seat beside her in one quick fluid move. She was sure he must move like a great cat, all power and elegance. Strength held in check. She was sure his eyes must simmer with sensual heat, that he was muscled and strong, and so sexy that women stopped in the street to salivate at the sight of him.

Like she was now.

Maybe he looked just like Mike.

His fingertip touched her lips again. “Lips always parted,” he murmured and she opened her mouth a little. He ran that leather clad finger across her bottom lip. “Not gaping. Welcoming.”

She couldn’t resist. She had to say something. “Yes, Master.”

“Naughty again,” he said, but there was that thread of amusement in his voice. Joanna sensed that she could break the rules, so long as she did it in a way that amused him. She heard the sound of Rafael returning, realized the door of the car must still be open.

In the next moment, she realized she was wrong about the rules.

“Thank you, Rafael,” the Master said. He returned to the opposite seat, his heat fading from her side. Joanna had an instant to fear that he was leaving her, then she heard the click of a camera shutter.

And saw the illumination of a flash.

He was doing it! She cried out in dismay, but the Master had anticipated her.

“Bad girl,” he said sternly and leather slapped across her breast. She gasped at the sting, knew it must have been one of his gloves, then felt him slide into the seat beside her once more.

He clapped one gloved hand over her mouth, condemning her to silence as he pressed her head back against the headrest. She struggled but he had a grip like iron.

“Very bad,” he whispered and Joanna trembled deep down inside. “I think our little journalist has had her fill of our games.”

Joanna struggled, wanting to prove him wrong, realizing that her choice was precisely wrong. She let herself go limp, unable to argue her case when he had his hand locked over her mouth, and tried to be a good submissive slave.

“No, Joanna,” he whispered softly into her ear. “I’m not fooled.”

He cleared his throat then, and when he continued his tone was conversational. “Rafael, why don’t you eat her?”

“My pleasure, sir.”

Joanna was incredulous, but she heard the sound of a hat hitting the opposite seat. She felt the other man get into the car. She tried to kick but he grabbed both of her knees, spreading her knees wide and holding her down. Joanna struggled against the seatbelt, against three strong male hands, went wild when she saw the camera flash through her blindfold.

There was nothing she could do to free herself.

“Helpless to desire,” the Master murmured. “That’s what happens when you really submit to the Plume.”

Joanna felt the heat of Rafael’s breath on her thighs, the resolute grip of his hands on her knees. She bared her teeth and tried to cry out as Rafael’s tongue flicked against her clitoris. He ate her with gentle persistence, using his tongue and his teeth and eventually, his fingers. She was trapped, helpless to his touch.

Being photographed at it.

Something snapped in her mind then, an acknowledgement that she was not in control, that there was nothing she could do to change her situation, that she was completely at the Master’s mercy. Joanna shuddered, the tremor running through her body from head to toe. She was defeated. She was claimed.

And it felt good. Shock flooded through her mind, then sensation took over completely. Her skin tingled, her blood was pumping, her sex was vibrating. Rafael’s tongue was dangerous and potent, his touch driving her absolutely wild.

Joanna could smell the leather of the Master’s glove, feel his power and his tenderness. She felt as if she would explode. She squirmed but Rafael held fast – and so did the Master.

“What if we did share you?” the Master murmured. “What if he ate you while I took you from behind?”

The idea astonished her so completely that Joanna froze.

She tried to make a cry of protest, but failed. The Master moved his hand, cupping the back of her neck again, and kissed her once again. His mouth locked over hers, silencing her as effectively as his gloved hand. His tongue danced with hers, his kiss both punishing and demanding.

There was nothing she could control, nothing she could do to stop the pleasure was surging through her body with new power. Joanna surrendered. She sighed and softened, and abandoned her need to control her fate.

She was the Master’s possession, for better or for worse. The Master’s kiss awakened a secret desire deep inside her, one she hadn’t known she had. She’d felt it resonating since meeting the Countess and only now – helpless to the Master’s demands – did she succumb to it.

Heat flooded through her. Her skin tingled and her desire roared. She’d never felt so alive and so potent. She found her back arching and heard surprise rumble in the Master’s chest. She felt her hips buck, felt the seatbelt hold her as securely ad Rafael and the Master. The Master’s hand closed over her breast, teasing the nipple to a peak, making her squirm with pleasure.

Meanwhile, Rafael ate her. Her clitoris was full and hard, swollen and more wet than ever before. Rafael braced one shoulder against her knee and massaged her thighs. She thought she had a reprieve, then his fingers slipped inside of her. He was wearing those leather gloves, his touch strong and sure. She hadn’t lied about her affection for leather, after all. The smooth feel of it was driving her crazy.

The Master deepened his kiss, sucking on her tongue, insisting that she meet his passion halfway. He cupped her face in his massive leather-clad palm, holding her helpless, just the way she was realizing she liked it. Joanna pressed herself against him, grinding herself against the seat, wanting him to take her over and over again.

She was lost in the sensation of pleasure, bound and possessed.

And she was loving it.

Rafael bit her clitoris, sliding his teeth against it with gentle power, in the same moment that the Master pinched her nipple. Joanna exploded with a shout, her orgasm so powerful that she was left shaking and panting. She felt Rafael move away. Joanna was glad to be bound, glad she didn’t have to stand up or say anything coherent. She shook in the wake of her release.

She wondered what the Master would do to her next.

She couldn’t wait to find out.

“Bad Joanna,” the Master chided, his voice dangerous and silky. “I didn’t give you permission to come.”

He unfastened her seatbelt, dumped her over his knee and spanked her hard. His other hand bracketed her waist, holding her firmly against his powerful thighs. Joanna squirmed with outrage, crying out at the smack of leather against her bare buttocks. It didn’t hurt but it was humiliating, not the attention she wanted from him. She wasn’t a little girl. She was a woman and she wanted him to take her like one.

But no.

“She will be silent, by choice or not,” the Master said.

It must have been Rafael who jammed a roll of cloth into her mouth. Joanna struggled to spit it out, but failed. She screamed but made only a faint sound.

Rafael growled in appreciation.

The Master spanked her again and again and again, her butt heating with the impact of the leather. Rafael hovered in close proximity. Joanna’s tears flowed and she struggled against the Master’s hold, even knowing it was futile.

She was silenced.

Claimed.

His.

He stopped when he was satisfied and not one moment before.

He rolled her easily back to her seat, flung her down and locked her in with the seatbelt again. Her buttocks stung with the impact against the seat but she didn’t dare complain. Tears were running down her face, tears of humiliation, slipping from beneath the blindfold and domino. Her chest was heaving in agitation and embarrassment.

She realized then that the Countess had returned, because she smelled the woman’s perfume.

“Had your fun?” the Countess asked, laughter lurking under her words. Joanna heard the rustle of taffeta, felt those skirts brush her knees as the Countess moved to sit beside her.

And the Master moved away.

“Take her back where she came from,” the Master said, his voice hard. “We don’t need her kind at the Plume.” He leaned closer to whisper in Joanna’s ear. “Displease me and the world will see my pictures of you.” He snapped another, because she heard the click of the shutter and saw the glow of the flash.

Then she knew he was gone.

Rafael plucked out the gag, then the door to the car slammed. Joanna started to protest, but the Countess leaned closer. “Shut up, bitch,” she whispered. “This is all the story you’ll get from us.”

Rafael slammed the driver’s door and started the engine, and the car pulled away with enough speed that Joanna was tipped off balance.

She was back in her apartment, in her raincoat, with her keys in her hand and the domino mask in her pocket, in record time. The return trip had been the exact inverse of the outgoing trip, although the silence had been charged.

Rafael – was that even his name? – had grinned at her when he ushered her out the door, then ran his tongue over his front teeth.

Joanna stood like a statue in her apartment, keys still in her hand, dissatisfied. Her butt was burning. Her nipples were aching. Her skin was tingling and her sex was itching. There were tears on her cheeks and a new crevasse cracked wide inside of her.

She hadn’t been in control.

And she had reveled in it.

What had happened to her?

Joanna wished she could have seen the Master. She wished she wasn’t being banished from his sphere. She yearned for what he might have given her and made her feel.

The truly incredible thing was that she knew no more about the Plume than she’d known two hours before – and she didn’t care.

What had the Master done to her? A woman with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes looked back at Joanna from the mirror, a woman with an adventurous glint in her eye and her lips swollen from fierce kisses.

A woman who wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon. No, she felt too alive, too aware of every increment of her body to sleep. She opened her raincoat and ran and hand over herself, echoing the gesture of the Master, and felt a thrill of recollection.

This couldn’t end here.

***

“It’s pathetic,” Athena complained, pointing at the email messages on her screen. She and Rex were in the back office of the Plume on Monday morning. “Look at how she’s begging for you. Honestly, a person would think you’d invented sex.”

“I thought I did,” Rex said, by rote, and Athena swatted him, by rote. He leaned over the screen, reading Joanna’s requests for readmission to the Plume with more interest than he knew they deserved.

She hadn’t meant any of it.

She just wanted the story.

He still wanted her.

“They all fall in love with you,” Athena continued. “Every single one you train. Doesn’t matter what age or gender.” She flung out her hands. “It’s just sad.”

“I think your trainees are pretty taken with you.” Rex had reviewed those pictures of Joanna more times than he knew was healthy. He wondered whether he’d ever tire of them.

“Well?” Athena prompted.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“It’s not the same and you know it.” She spun in the chair to face him, tossing her hair over her shoulder and smiling. “So, why don’t you train me? Fight in your own class for a change.”

Rex chose to make a joke of what he knew wasn’t a joke. “Because it would ruin everything and you know it,” he said lightly.

“I’m willing to take the chance.”

“I’m not.”

“Boundaries and rules.” Athena exhaled then shook her head. “Okay, you didn’t invent sex, but you invented the rule book for it.”

“It’s just smart to have boundaries.”

“Then why are you reading those groveling emails as if they hold the secret of turning shit into gold?” Athena leaned closer, her eyes gleaming. “Are you going to break one of your own rules, Mr. Cool?”

That was when Rex knew he had to do it.

“Just one.” He took the mouse and clicked through the inventory page for the boutique. He selected an item, then wrote a note. “Order her one of these, send her this and book her in for Friday.” He straightened and made to leave the office. “If she has the nerve to accept, I’ll make sure she never comes around again.”

“How are you going to do that?” Athena asked with a smile.

Rex grinned from the doorway. “I’ll give her exactly what she says she wants.”

“You’re bringing her here again?”

“No. I’ll handle this off-site.”

“But the rules…”

“Fuck the rules, Athena.” Rex left the office and headed to the gym, Athena’s surprised laughter making him smile.

Or maybe it was the prospect of seeing Joanna again, exactly the way he wanted to see her, that filled his week with promise.

***

“Package for you today,” Joanna’s superintendent said on Thursday when she was emptying her mailbox. Joanna spun to face her. That woman was leaning in the doorway, waving a box. “I signed for it for you.” Her expectation was obvious.

“Thanks!” Joanna ignored that curiosity and took the box with a smile. Her smile faltered and her heart leapt when she saw that it had no return address.

Could it be another invitation?

“Has no return address,” the super noted, following Joanna into the building.

“My sister’s handwriting, though,” Joanna lied. “She’s probably thinking she’ll surprise me.” She rolled her eyes as if that was unlikely and the super laughed. “Thanks again.” She clutched the parcel and tried to not look like she was running to her apartment.

She ripped it open in the foyer, her back against the door.

It was an invitation, another one with the top of a peacock feather tucked into the parcel. Saturday night. There was a card with writing on it.

4 x 12 yards wide ribbon

Joanna stared at the writing, then across the room. She was supposed to bring her own bonds. Go shopping for them. She leaned back against the door, her knees unsteady.

There was something else in the box, also wrapped in turquoise tissue paper. She crouched down in the foyer, put the box on the floor and tore away the paper.

It was hood, a dark purple satin hood. She turned it in her hands, her pulse leaping that she held a fetish garment. It was designed to enclose someone’s head, leaving the face exposed from the middle of the nose to the chin.

A hood and blindfold in one. There was a crisscross of black elastic down the back, so it could easily be put on and removed.

Just looking at it made her sex throb. The hood would close around the neck below that hole and she could imagine how secure it would feel, how the elastic would pull it snug. There was fur inside it, luxurious soft fur that would cover the eyes.

Her eyes.

Joanna crouched there, staring at the hood with mingled awe and excitement. Her panties were wet. Her heart was pounding. It was too easy to imagine the Master smoothing this over her skull, constraining and containing her.

For his own pleasure.

The phone rang twice before she moved to answer it. She scooped it up, the hood still in her hand. “Hello?”

“Put it on,” the Master said, his voice as low and commanding as she recalled. How did he know she was home? How did he know what she was doing? Joanna’s lips parted and she couldn’t make a single sound. “Put it on, then pick up the phone again.”

Joanna swallowed. She put down the receiver and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She lifted the hood and slid it over her head. It encased her head perfectly, closing over her eyes like a luxurious cocoon, fitting as snugly as she’d imagined. The fur was smooth against her eyelids, the feel of the satin surrounding her head making her dizzy. She fumbled on the table, trying to find the receiver, then picked it up and held it to her ear.

“Yes, Master,” she said, as submissive as she’d ever been.

He chuckled, obviously noticing the meekness in her tone. “Do you like it?”

Joanna swallowed. “Yes, Master.”

“Wear to bed, with nothing else,” he instructed and she thrilled at the prospect. “Touch yourself, but don’t finish. I forbid you to come. Understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“And the ribbon must match,” he added. “It should be at least two inches wide.”

Joanna’s mouth opened. She had a heartbeat to imagine herself carrying this hood into a store to check the match of the color, to feel her blood rushing at the prospect.

Then the line clicked and he was gone.

She heard the dial tone, listened to it for a minute, imagining herself trussed in purple satin.

Gift-wrapped for the Master.

There were footsteps in the hall, Louise returning, so Joanna hung up the phone and peeled off the hood. She gathered everything up and raced to her room in the nick of time, kicking the door shut behind her. She was stuffing everything into her closet, her heart pounding, when Louise shouted hello.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, flushed and agitated as she never was.

“You getting sick?” her roommate asked, dumping groceries on the counter. “You look like you’re getting a fever.”

Joanna was certainly on fire – but she told herself that getting the story would see her cured.

***

It seemed to take forever for Friday to arrive. Joanna went to bed naked Thursday night, wearing the hood just as instructed, and felt both wicked and excited. She didn’t think she slept a wink. She was terrified that Louise would look in on her – even though she never did – and demand an explanation.

Joanna found the ribbon in the first shop she tried on her lunch on Friday. It was three inch wide satin in a purple that perfectly matched the hood.

She surreptitiously checked.

“A lot of ribbon,” the clerk said with a smile as she measured out the lengths. The pile of purple satin on the cutting table made Joanna’s mouth go dry. The clerk was an older woman, silver-haired and efficient. She was obviously trying to make conversation. “What’s it for?”

Joanna hesitated, not wanting to tell the truth, not able to think of a plausible lie. “I’m not sure,” she said, forcing a smile. “My roommate asked me to pick it up for her.” She shrugged and caught a glimpse of a poster showing kids dressed up for Halloween. “I think it’s for her Halloween costume, but she always wants to surprise everyone.”

“Well, there’s enough here for her to be a purple satin mummy,” the woman said cheerfully. She snipped the last length from the roll and began rolling it up in her hands. “Wouldn’t that be a sight?”

Joanna couldn’t summon a coherent word to her lips. Was that what he was going to do to her? Bind her completely in satin ribbon? And then what?

Eat her?

Take her from behind?

Give her to Rafael?

Or share her with the Countess?

Joanna had to grip the edge of the counter, she felt so lightheaded.

As she walked back to the office, her hood and her ribbon in her purse, she looked at all the people hustling past. How many of them knew first-hand about the Plume? How many of them had been aroused with peacock feathers? How many of them were naked beneath their raincoats?

She stopped on a corner, waiting for the light to change and noticed the extremely high heels of the woman standing beside her. She wore sheer stockings and a raincoat that just brushed her knees. Joanna noticed the dark scarf at her throat.

Their gazes met.

The woman smiled - was that a knowing smile? - then the light changed and she marched away, hips swinging, as Joanna looked after her.

Just how many members did the Plume have?

And how many of them had been trained by the Master?

***

By Friday night, Joanna was in a state. She was so agitated and restless that she couldn’t even write a complete sentence on her laptop.

She tried. Repeatedly. Her article on the Plume was going nowhere fast, her quick career advancement at the paper wasn’t happening, but all she could think of was the firm grip of the Master’s hands on her, the low magic of his voice.

The night ahead.

“Twitchy,” Louise said, pausing on her way out the door for a date. “You need more of a social life, Joanna. Stop working so much and get laid once in a while. It’s not good for you to work all the time.”

“Good idea. I’ll think about it.”

“You could come tonight, you know.” Louise stopped, holding the door open with one foot.

“I’ve got to finish this article.”

Louise shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Do you listen to anything I say to you?” she said, but she was smiling and her tone was affectionate. “Next Friday, I’m going to fix you up.”

“Great. Thanks,” Joanna said, wanting nothing other than to see Louise leave.

She did.

Joanna went straight to the shower to begin her preparations. She’d gone back to the salon to have herself made sleek again, wanting to ensure that the Master had her precisely the way he wanted her to be. Her flesh was tingling, although this time it might have been as much from anticipation as from the body wash and its mysterious ingredients.

She’d chosen a pink lipstick, one that matched the purple better. She decided it suited her as she smoothed it over her lips and massaged it into her tingling nipples.

She dressed as before, her hands shaking as she slid the stockings over her thighs. The heels didn’t seem quite as high as the last time. She could walk across the room now, without stumbling, and even swing her hips. She recalled the way he’d lifted her almost off the ground with one arm and had to close her eyes against her desire.

She put on the raincoat, knotted the belt tightly around her waist, wrapped the scarf around her neck and shivered as the satin ends touched her bare breasts. She took a small purse this time, a black satin evening purse that held the coils of ribbon, the hood and her black domino mask. She dropped the apartment keys in her purse just as she heard a car stop at the curb outside the building.

The black limo.

Rafael.

Her heart skipped at the thought of another encounter with the Countess and she strode to the door.

***

It was Rafael again, of course, his smile as mischievous as ever, his sunglasses as dark as midnight. He opened the car door for her with a flourish. This time, Joanna didn’t stumble, but slipped into the car’s dark interior with a certain grace.

She realized before Rafael shut the door that she was alone.

She glanced back but he was gone, getting back into the driver’s seat, shutting the door. The glass barrier between them was open.

“Where is the Countess?” Joanna asked.

“You’re not supposed to ask questions,” Rafael said. “Unless you want me to punish you first.”

She sat back, perplexed, and watched Rafael watch her in the mirror.

“Reveal yourself,” he commanded.

Joanna looked at his reflection in surprise.

“Because you were naughty, show me.” He arched a brow. “Or I’ll tell.”

Joanna swallowed. She remembered the Master’s voice. Ankles together, always. She put her ankles together tightly. Knees apart. She parted her knees, then opened her raincoat. Lips parted. She leaned back against the seat, letting her lips soften, as if in invitation. Just doing so made her feel bold.

Rafael smiled and she knew he could see her wet sex. Did he know it was throbbing and thick?

He drove easily, neither fast nor slow, flicking glances at her in the mirror. The rain drummed on the roof of the car as they passed people hurrying down the lit streets. Joanna felt curiously serene, as well as excited. She found that sense of tranquility sliding through her again, that strange submissive anticipation. A mix of excitement and inevitability.

What happened this evening wasn’t up to her.

The situation was out of her control.

She was the Master’s possession, to use as he pleased.

Her throat tightened and her clitoris pulsed.

Rafael turned a corner. “There’s an envelope in the side pocket,” he said. “Get it and shut your coat.”

Joanna saw the flash of lights as he pulled into the drop-off area of a large luxury hotel. She closed her coat just before a doorman stepped toward the car. She reached into the side pocket and grabbed the envelope.

It contained a smaller envelope.

A magnetic room key.

With a number written on the envelope.

The doorman opened the door with a smile, and Joanna smiled back as she accepted his assistance. Beyond the sheltered entry, the rain was pouring down and she could smell wet pavement. She walked to the doors, letting another liveried doorman sweep one open for her, and strolled into the lobby.

Like a call girl.

Well, she had been called.

Summoned by the Master.

It was the finest and most expensive hotel in the city. Joanna had interviewed celebrities here, in the lobby bar – usually ones launching cookbooks - but she’d never stayed in the hotel. The lobby was spotless and luxurious, all deep velvet chairs, shining brass and sparkling chandeliers. Her heels clicked on the polished marble floors and she heard the laughter carrying from the bar.

She tingled.

Why here? Was the Plume part of this hotel?

Joanna checked the room number and chose the appropriate bank of elevators. Her heart pounded as the elevator shot skyward and again she could see her reflection in the glass. She didn’t look like herself at all.

But she liked what she saw.

The carpet in the corridor was thick enough to muffle any sound. Even here, the light fixtures were chandeliers, the hardware on the doors gleaming brass. The room was at the end of the hall and she took a breath before sliding the key into the slot.

Not knowing what to expect.

The lock clicked, illuminated a green light, and she opened the door, her knees weak with relief. The lights were on inside, lamps that threw a soft golden light. It was a suite, with a large bathroom, a living room, and a bedroom with a king size bed. Everything was off-white and luxurious. The lights of the city sparkled beyond the sheers, heavy ivory velvet drapes hanging on either side of the windows.

And there was no one other than Joanna in the suite.

She stood in the middle of the living room, uncertain what to do.

The phone rang and she leapt for it, guessing who it would be.

“Take off your coat,” the Master said. “And put it on. Sit on the coffee table where I can see you.” Joanna pivoted and looked at the coffee table. It was stone, a huge piece of beige marble veined with gold, about two feet high and four feet long on each side.

“Yes, Master.”

She heard the smile in his tone when he replied. “And put your purchases beside you.”

Joanna hung up the phone. She removed her coat, her mouth dry, and hung it up in the closet, leaving the scarf tucked into the sleeve as if she was at a restaurant. She took the mask and the ribbon out of her purse, then slid the purse into the pocket of the raincoat. She shut the mirrored closet doors, then walked slowly to the coffee table.

She sat down on it, jolted by the cold of the stone against her bare skin. She set the coils of ribbon down, two on each side of her. The dark purple looked good against the stone.

Then she tugged on the hood, hearing her breath catch when it was in place.

Ankles together.

Knees apart.

Lips parted.

She placed her hands on her knees, palm-up in submission and waited for the sound of a key in the lock.

She didn’t have to wait long.

***

Rex opened the door to the suite. Even though he knew what he’d find, the sight of Joanna stopped him in his tracks. She was perfect. Completely obedient. Prepared for his pleasure exactly as he had commanded. Ivory skin. Chestnut hair. Purple satin. In a creamy beige room that showed her off perfectly.

He couldn’t believe his luck.

He put down his bag silently and locked the door behind himself, turning the deadbolt. He shed his coat, hanging it beside hers, an unexpected intimacy and one that gave him a pang.

He pulled out the camera and took three quick shots of her, knowing he’d want to relive this night over and over again. He undressed silently, his erection springing free of his pants with a vigor that didn’t surprise him. He stood for a moment, looking and savoring.

He crossed the room toward her with measured steps, the carpet nearly swallowing the sound of his footfalls. His heart was pounding and his cock was thick, pulsing. He put the camera down silently on one of the thickly upholstered chairs.

He put his hands on her head and she jumped slightly. He spread his fingers wide and smoothed the satin over her skull, wishing he’d been able to put the hood on her himself. She was so tiny that he could have crushed her in his hands, his thumbs meeting over her eyes, his hands spanning almost all the way around.

He pressed down slightly on her ears with his palms, knowing that they would be more sensitive, and felt her tremble within his grasp. Her lips opened wider as his hands cradled her nape and he held her captive there for a moment.

Every dream come true.

He didn’t want to spoil it. He looked at her, those full breasts, the lipstick turning the nipples the same pink as her luscious mouth, the pale smoothness of her skin. Her compliance fired his blood as nothing else could have done. He smelled that body wash and her own scent, rain and leather. He wanted her in so many ways that he was momentarily uncertain where to start.

With her supposed secret desire.

The one that haunted him with the possibilities.

He had to know for sure.

Rex tipped her head back, bent down and kissed her. She kissed him back, their embrace so hungry and demanding that he was shaken. So passionate. So helpless.

But he would make her more so.

He broke the kiss, held her head so that their noses were almost touching and whispered to her. “Suck me off.”

She was surprised.

So, it was a lie.

Well, maybe he could make it become the truth.

He lifted her hands and folded them around his erection, those delicate fingers and their exploring caress nearly finishing him before they started. Her hands stroked him, running along the length of him and slipping across the peak. She cradled his balls in her hand, squeezing slightly, then cupped his strength in her hands.

Rex watched her, transfixed by that mouth. “Do you swallow?”

She hesitated. “Yes, Master.”

Rex thought he’d explode. “On your knees, then,” he said, hearing the tension in his own voice. He caught her around the waist when she didn’t move fast enough, put her on her knees in front of himself, and braced his legs against the carpet. He held her head again, caressing her though the satin, feeling her ears, her jaw, her temple.

When he looked down, he saw the curve of her butt, the slim strength of her calves outlined in those black sheer stockings, the arch of her feet in those shoes. She crossed her ankles, drawing his attention to the narrow femininity of them. She grasped his hips in her hands, then locked her mouth over him.

Her touch was initially delicate. He didn’t force her to take more than she wanted, even though he was aching to do so. He let her take her time, tormenting him with her butterfly caress. Her tongue roved over him and eventually her lips tightened around him, drawing him out and making him harder than he could believe possible.

He felt the gentle graze of her teeth across his throbbing strength, the wicked flick of her tongue across the glans. He watched her move with more confidence, taking pleasure in the pleasure she was giving him. She sucked with greater power and Rex caught his breath. He cupped her head, holding her fast between his palms, tipped his head back and bared his teeth.

Rex was sure he’d lose his mind. He started to pump, unable to stop himself, feeling the way she demanded more of him. She took him all in her mouth, sucking and squeezing and driving him crazy.

And the balance tipped. He felt suddenly that she had control of the situation, that he was the slave and she was the mistress. That she would decide when he came, and it would be at her dictate.

No!

Rex caught himself just in time, his body practically howling in frustration at his choice. He hauled himself out of her mouth, picked her up and tossed her over the back of a velvet chair. She made a sound of surprise when her belly collided with the chair back, but he grasped her buttocks and opened her wide.

The glistening sheen of her wetness nearly undid him, inviting him to bury himself deep and take what he wanted.

Rex stepped back and took a breath. He never lost control like this.

He grabbed one coil of ribbon, bending to bind her wrists together. He knotted the ribbon to the far leg of the chair, ensuring that she was balanced precariously on its back, ass in the air.

"Silence!" he commanded.

Then he spanked her hard, harder than he’d intended to do.

When she was trembling, he instructed her to remain still and took pictures of her. She was sprawled over that chair, red butt in the air, one foot dangling above the ground with the shoe falling off. She looked off-balance, seized and used as he wanted.

It wasn’t nearly good enough.

Rex felt edgy, domineering, angry that she had tried to control him. His body was still pumping, his dick hard and his lust unsatisfied. He wanted to make this last, needed to protect the Plume, had to collect his own thoughts.

He had to take the edge off his lust. She quivered before him, her breath coming quickly, her puss even more glistening wet than before. He stared at it as he smoothed a condom over his erection. He spread Joanna wide with his hands and licked her, flicking his tongue against her hard clitoris.

She was trembling with her arousal, and he realized that she had been as excited by sucking him off as he had been. She writhed, and he locked one hand over each cheek, gripping her and holding her captive. She tried to grind herself against his mouth, bucking her hips in a way that fed his own lust. She struggled against his grip, kicking futilely, and he could only imagine really training her to his will.

It was an intoxicating possibility.

He lifted his head and held her open to his gaze. “Tell me I am your Master.”

“You are my Master,” she repeated.

“Beg me to begin your training.”

Her voice caught, her tone taking an note of vulnerability that drove him wild. “I beg you, Master, train me to serve your every pleasure. Please, Master. I’m yours.”

Rex drove himself into her slick heat, loving how she gasped in surprise. She took him all, everything he had, and he squeezed her buttocks once he was buried in her. She was tighter and hotter than any of his fantasies and he knew he wouldn’t last.

“You’re forbidden to come,” he whispered. “Behave yourself or there will be discipline.”

Her breath caught in an enticing way. Her head was turned and he could see that mouth opening and closing, just as it had when her lips had been locked around him. He gripped her hips and moved with slow power, trying to hold on for as long as possible.

“Are you helpless?” he demanded.

“I am helpless.”

“Are you mine?”

She swallowed. “I am yours.”

“What if I never let you go?”

She flushed. She shuddered. She struggled instinctively, tugging at her bonds and writhing beneath him in a way that made his blood boil. Her hips were rocking, her snatch tight around him, her legs kicking. He reached around and touched her clitoris.

And she moaned. The sound slipped from her throat like it had been stolen from her.

It finished him. Rex came with a roar, his fingers digging into Joanna’s hips as he crushed her between himself and the velvet chair. His orgasm was fast and hot and only the beginning.

He smiled with satisfaction, his chest heaving as he stepped away from her.

Now, he could concentrate.

Chapter Four

The Master was huge. Joanna thought she’d had boyfriends who were well-endowed but none of them came close to the Master. She’d found it surprisingly thrilling to suck him off, to take him in her mouth and feel him respond to her caresses. She knew it was because he hadn’t forced her. His skin had been smooth and he had tasted clean. His responsiveness to her touch was an unexpected aphrodisiac.

She loved that even as a hooded slave, she had held him in thrall. She’d felt a surge of power, one that made her want more than even this.

He’d recognized it too, and frankly she hadn’t been surprised to be spanked and taken – even if she was still aching with lust. She obediently sat on her knees as instructed after he untied her, not nearly convinced that he was done disciplining her. She wasn’t really surprised when she heard the slick swish of satin.

“You’re not helpless enough,” he said, his voice low and silky. It wasn’t rough anymore, wasn’t strained. He was totally in control. “Let’s get you trussed, exactly the way I want you.”

Joanna shivered.

He bracketed her waist in his hands, lifted her to her feet, held her until she had her balance in the shoes. “Hands in the air,” he instructed and she lifted them for the sky.

She’d only get her own release if he was pleased with her.

Joanna inhaled as the wide band of satin wrapped around her waist. She felt him step around her, felt him tie a knot in the ribbon behind her spine. He tugged it slowly, working the knot so it was right against her skin. The ribbon was smooth and flat, surrounding her waist.

He tied another knot, the second half to what must be a square knot. She felt his breath on the small of her back as he bent down. His teeth brushed against her skin and the ribbon was given a sharp tug, one that made it cinch tightly around her.

He was holding one end with his teeth, so he could knot it more securely.

So he could bind her.

The ribbon slid around her again, smooth and cool, encircling her just above the waist. This time, he knotted it in the front, giving it that little tug to make it an increment tighter.

Again the ribbon was smoothed tightly around her and knotted at her spine.

He was making her a corset, one round of ribbon at a time. She thought of the Countess’s corsets, the way her breasts were cupped and framed by the boning, how alluring and feminine and sexy they looked.

The ribbon went around her torso again and again, knots front and back, the sheath of ribbon rising over her ribcage. Finally, it was knotted right beneath her breasts, and Joanna liked how their weight hung over it in front.

She could hear the Master breathing, could feel the heat of his body as he moved around her, checking his work. He slid his fingertip beneath the ribbon, checking how taut it was, making her realized that he had knotted it so that she could barely breathe.

She thought of Rafael liking his women bound so that they couldn’t even shiver.

She trembled again, her sex pulsing.

The Master slid another round of ribbon around her body. It wrapped around her above her breasts, locking her in, encasing her tightly. Joanna swallowed as she remembered the clerk talking about a purple satin mummy. The ribbon went over one shoulder then, and between her breasts, the next two rounds crossing over her chest.

Again he walked around her. Again he checked what he had done.

Deliberate.

In control.

Commanding.

“Good color for you,” he said and grasped her hands, tugging them down and folding her arms behind her back. He bound her left wrist to her right elbow, then her right wrist to her left elbow, always ensuring that the bond was secure but not hurting her. He wrapped the ribbon firmly around her forearms, trapping them against each other and to her back.

“Struggle,” he commanded, his tone impassive.

Joanna squirmed. The ribbon was tight, smooth and soft, locked in place. She was encased in satin from shoulders to waist, bound and helpless. The realization both excited and terrified her. She wriggled a little more, panicking that she couldn’t make any difference to her bound state.

“Go for it,” he said, amusement in his tone.

She thrashed and fought, but not one inch of ribbon budged. She felt again that sense of excited futility, the knowledge that everything was out of her power. It both calmed and excited her.

Just as before.

“Perfect,” he concluded and kissed her lips quickly. The fleeting taste of him teased her with what could be, reminding her of the heat he could rouse in her with his lips. He ran his hands over her head again, framing her skull so that she felt snared by the satin and by him. It was a delicious sensation.

“Tell me it’s perfect,” he whispered in her ear.

Joanna swallowed. “It’s perfect,” she murmured back and was shocked to realize that it wasn’t a lie.

“How do you feel?”

“Captive,” she admitted. “Claimed.”

“And we’ve only just begun,” he said with promise.

His hands were around her waist, unfastening the garter belt. His warm palms swept down her thighs, easing the stockings down to her ankles. He guided her to sit on that table again, the cold shocking her once more, then tugged off her shoes and the stockings with them. He rolled her over and she felt the cold of the marble on her chest in the minute gaps between the ribbon.

The stone coffee table was a platform for a statue.

And she would be the sculpture he made.

The Master wrapped ribbon around the arch of one foot, knotting it before he slid its cool width around that ankle, knotting it again. More sliding satin and her ankles were bound together, her feet wrapped in smooth captivity. The satin ribbon fell on her buttocks in waves, then he wrapped the ribbon from her ankles around her waist, tying this knot a little tighter than the original one.

“Hog-tied,” he said, his voice a breath beside her ear. “Just as you requested.”

Harnessed and hog-tied.

He flipped her over and tossed her onto the velvet couch so that she landed on her back and bounced slightly. Then he wrapped her, truly encasing her in the satin, wound the ribbon around and around so that she was completely surrounded by it. It could have been her second skin, the ribbon bound so tightly around her body that she thought she would explode.

Only her nipples, her mouth and her sex remained exposed.

It was impossible that anyone could be more securely bound than she.

Joanna adored the sensation.

She should have guessed what he was doing when he propped some pillows beneath her, but still the flash of the camera surprised her. He took three, four, maybe five shots of her trussed up in that ribbon, then rolled her over and took more from the back.

The pictures worried her all over again, agitating her with possibilities.

The Master seemed to sense as much. He kissed her ferociously, then when her mouth was swollen and open, he took a shot of her in her hood. Joanna was sure she looked like she was loving it and wanting more. She thought of those pictures, tried to imagine what he would do with them, and shook.

“For our scrapbook,” he said. “Joanna bound a thousand ways.”

Joanna moaned. She was trembling and hot when his fingers closed over her clitoris in a tight pinch. He caressed her with ease, driving her crazy with her helplessness and his power. “You’re forbidden to come,” he said, teasing her so adeptly that she wasn’t sure she’d have a choice.

He bent and ate her, a hundred times more masterful in his touch than Rafael had been. Joanna moaned and he put one hand over her mouth, his fingers smelling like her sex and the Plume’s body wash. His hand locked over her lips, ensuring her silence. He opened her mouth to rub his fingers against her teeth.

She couldn’t even think as he flicked his tongue across her hard clitoris, and she gasped when he closed his mouth over her completely. She felt his teeth and his tongue, his breath. His other hand lifted her butt, his thumb caressing her labia, and Joanna knew she couldn’t last any longer.

“Who owns you?” he whispered, his breath against her sex, driving her crazy.

“My Master owns me,” she replied, wishing he’d just finish her off.

“What can your Master do to you?”

“Anything he wants.” She improvised into the silence. “Anywhere he wants. Anytime he wants. I am his to command. I am his possession.” She pumped her hips and moaned. “Master, please.”

His heat moved away and she heard the crackle of a package. Her breath caught with the conviction of what he would do. A heartbeat later, he moved up the length of her, settling his weight atop her and driving his strength inside her.

He was as hard and thick as he’d been before, but he dragged himself against her sex slowly as he moved in and out. The condom tugged a little bit against her thickened lips, too. He was tormenting her and she adored it. He locked his hands around her head, bracing his weight on his elbows, moving with surety, in complete command.

He drew out of her then drove in, his strength making her gasp. He made the same move again, his hips rolling against her. The satin, the miserable gorgeous satin, held her captive to whatever he wanted to do. Joanna was floating in her satin bonds, consumed by sensation and beholden to the Master’s touch.

Helpless.

He dragged his erection across her clitoris, doing it so slowly that she groaned. Again and again and again he repeated the move until she was sure she couldn’t stand it anymore. She started to shake, vibrating from a point deep inside herself.

“Please, Master,” she dared to beg.

She heard him chuckle, felt his mouth graze hers. “Come, slave,” he commanded, driving deep inside her.

Joanna did exactly as she was told, weeping as the orgasm ripped through her with savage force. Her release went on and on and on, making her cry out in pleasure. When she felt the Master come once again, she moaned so loudly that he locked his hands around her head again and kissed her to silence.

It was perfect.

***

Rex carried Joanna into the bathroom, his limp lover bound in purple satin. He laid out the thick bathrobe on the floor, taking his time to unknot the bonds. He took a few more pictures, unable to resist. When she wore only the hood, he filled the tub with warm water.

She stirred when he lifted her into the tub, then nestled her head on his shoulder with a touching confidence in him. He washed her slowly and thoroughly, liking that the washcloths were thick and soft. The brush of them against his own skin aroused him all over again, especially with her sweetly slumbering in his arms.

He knew she was awake when she pressed a kiss to his throat, her lips lingering against his pulse. He lifted her out of the bath and set her on her feet, drying her off with so much care that she giggled.

“Not between my toes,” she said and he did it again, working the towel between her toes that that she squirmed against him once more.

He stood and caught her against himself, kissing her deeply.

“Was I a good slave?” she asked, her lips quirking.

She shouldn’t have addressed him without permission, or he should have punished her for doing it, but Rex liked her comments and playfulness. She looked mischievous, smiling up at him in her hood, clever and so sexy that his breath caught.

He ran his hands over the hood again, liking the delicate feel of her within it, the contrast between his power and her femininity. He liked the look of his dark hands against the purple satin. If she was truly his, he’d keep her hooded every day, run his hands over her like this every day, come in her mouth every night. He’d never tire of her.

“Keep your mouth open,” he instructed. “Like you’re gasping with pleasure.”

She did as he instructed, tipping her head back, and he took a shot of his left hand holding her head, his thumb bracing her chin, her hair falling like silk down her back.

He kissed her again, sucking her dry, wanting all over again.

“Let me suck you off,” she whispered when he broke his kiss and his cock – already hard – pounded at the idea. “I want you to come in my mouth.”

“It’s not up to you.”

She smiled. “But I want a reward for being a good slave.” She stretched up and kissed his cheek. “I want to return the pleasure.”

She wanted to be in control, like she had been the last time. Rex was close to denying her request and she must have sensed it.

Because she begged.

And sweetened the offer.

“Truss me up as tightly as you want,” she whispered, tempting him with the possibility. “Bind me helpless, photograph me, then fuck my mouth.” He watched her swallow. “Please, Master. Show me what it’s really like to submit to the Plume.”

There was no question of him declining. She knew exactly what he wanted and offered it. Her plea shorted something in his mind, fed a new urgency inside of him, made it impossible to think of anything else.

Rex knew exactly how he wanted her for this.

She would be completely captive.

His.

Finally.

He got the coil of heavy rope out of his bag in the foyer, glad of his own optimism. He led her back into the living room, then headed for the bedroom, his hand on the back of her neck to guide her. He left her standing in the middle of the room, then shut the drapes, cocooning them in a space of ivory satin and velvet.

No satin this time. He wanted it to look rougher, wanted different pictures for his fantasy scrapbook.

He was pretty sure he would startle Joanna and she would change her mind.

He was prepared to back off when she did.

But maybe he’d get a few good shots first.

He tied her hands together behind her back with the rope, expecting the first touch of it against her skin to make her bolt. It was thick, jute, stiff. She started for a second, then relaxed in his grasp. Submissive. So obedient that he thought he’d explode.

But no. He’d build the tension slowly.

Savor it.

Make it last.

He bound her wrists below her buttocks, her arms straight out, winding the rope up to her elbows. He then pushed her down to her knees. She moved immediately, so biddable and submissive that his cock hardened even more.

She crossed her ankles at his command and he bound them together, using lots of rope. Too much rope, but the heavy jute looked savage against her fine bones. Exhilarating. He secured her wrists to her ankles, a couple of feet of rope between the two, so that she was trapped on her knees. He had to catch his breath for a second, because the sight excited him so much. It was every fantasy come true. He took a close-up of her bound ankles and wrists, her perfect butt behind them.

He adjusted her posture, so her knees were apart and braced against the carpet, ankles together, back arched. He saw then that she had tipped her head back and parted her lips.

Following his original instructions in the limo.

Her mouth ready for his cock.

Desire ripped through him like a bolt of lightning. Rex worked more quickly, determined to get done before he blew his load, dizzy with the prospect of having her this way. He wound the rope around her over and over again, crisscrossing it over her body, binding her to complete helplessness, encasing her in a network of heavy jute. Her skin gleamed though the gaps, as smooth as the satin ribbon, startling in contrast to the rope.

It was impossible for her to move, to even wriggle, trapped as she was within a woven net of heavy rope. He’d used almost all of it, ensuring her captivity.

He knew what he’d do with the rest. He knotted a length of ribbon over the last increment of the heavy rope, creating a hard satin nub. He hauled that section of rope between her legs, sliding the satin knot so that it rubbed against her clitoris.

He worked it back and forth, teasing her with it until she moaned and rocked her hips.

Joanna was his possession, his captive.

He could do whatever he wanted with her.

For as long as he wanted.

He secured that rope to the others, trapping her snatch against the hard satin knot. She moaned that delicious moan.

He photographed her when she was bound so tightly that she couldn’t even shudder. He photographed her as he moved the knot against her and she trembled with desire. He photographed her as she willingly took his cock into her mouth.

She latched on to him with that surprising strength again, her lips and her tongue caressing him with such expertise that Rex knew he wouldn’t last. He threw the camera onto the bed and once again caught her head in his hands, bracing his feet against the ground. He’d placed her so that the mirror was behind her and the view was better than he’d imagined it could be.

She was completely harnessed. He watched the undulating rhythm of her back and butt as she sucked him. He stole glances down at her hungry little mouth. He watched her drive him crazy, his mind melting at the sight.

She wasn’t powerless, though, not so long as she had her mouth around him. She teased him and tickled him and made him so hard and thick that he felt a buzzing in his ears. He locked his hands more tightly around her head, rubbing his thumbs against her ears beneath the satin, feeling as if he would explode in flames. He drove himself into her, making her take it all, and she did it, her enthusiasm making his heart pound.

But it was when she dug her toes into the carpet and sucked him hard that Rex realized that once again, she was the one in control.

Not him.

He never came on anyone else’s command.

Never.

Even the woman who was his fantasy in every way. Rex was nearly overcome with lust and love as he hauled himself out of Joanna. She gave a cry of dismay but he tossed her on the bed. She bounced, helpless but wriggling.

Wanting more.

Enticing him.

He tugged the rope out of her snatch. When he saw that the satin ribbon was dark, so wet it could drip, he got even harder. He thrust himself into her, burying himself deep into her sweet heat, even as he locked his hand over lips, silencing that merciless mouth.

He drilled her, pounding deep, wanting more, needing more.

Until she screamed with pleasure beneath his hand, arching hard in his grasp, her sex locking around his cock as if she’d drain him dry.

Then his own orgasm erupted through him with savage power. He roared as he filled to her bursting, coming longer and harder than he ever had before.

It was all over before he realized he’d broken the rules. He hadn’t used a condom this time. He’d forgotten himself and lost control, broken one of his own rules.

He had to get out of this room before Joanna undermined even more of his rules.

But first, he’d leave her with something to think about.

***

Joanna awakened to the feel of satin gliding around her waist once more. The Master was putting her garter belt back on, smoothing the suspenders over her belly. She felt him slide the stockings over her legs, gently but persistently, fastening them with care. He fitted the shoes back onto her feet and she arched for him, making a little purr of pleasure.

He left then and she feared he was gone, but then heard the tread of his steps on the rub. She smelled a marker, then felt the tip of it on her skin. He drew something on the inside of her left shoulder, over her heart, something with curved lines and a little flourish. A symbol? A mark of ownership?

She yearned to see it, but he tapped a finger on her lips. “Wait.”

He left the room again and Joanna waited. She was content in a strange new way. She could have been floating on cloud of serenity, her body tired but gratified. She knew she’d feel invigorated and refreshed after she dozed for a while.

She knew she’d want more.

If the Master wanted her again tonight he could have her.

He could do whatever he wanted with her.

She was utterly in his power and there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

She felt his presence beside the bed and arched her back in invitation, opening her legs. He kissed her quickly, and slid that ribbon around her waist again. He knotted it, then wrapped it again. Joanna knew that he was harnessing her in satin again and simmered at the thought.

He was overlapping the layers more closely this time, knotting it at the center front and center back. He was also tying it much tighter, constraining her. She was on her side and he moved over her, slipping the ribbon beneath her as necessary, making her into the vision he wanted to see. Joanna was content to let him play with her, as she had once played with dolls.

The ribbon was wound around her as high as the underside of her breasts when he urged her to sit up. She thought he’d cross it between them again, but he bound the ribbon right over her breasts. It was so tight that it flattened her breasts, making her catch her breath.

A cage of purple satin.

Joanna shivered. The Master wound the ribbon around her breasts over and over, only her nipples escaping from its restraint. It pulled taut when she breathed, reminding her that she was captive, making her tremble with desire. She was wet all over again, knowing that only he could sate her. The Master kissed her neck, the tenderness making her melt, before firmly knotting the ribbon as high up her underarms as possible.

He wound it back down to her waist, crisscrossing it now, then urged her to her feet. He worked his way down from her waist, encasing her lower body. The strips of ribbon held her captive like a girdle, extending all the way down to the top of her pubis. He knotted this lower section more frequently, working back and forth on diagonals, ensuring that it couldn’t slip, testing it with his fingers.

She noticed that he was only happy when he couldn’t slide one finger beneath it. When she was completely confined, the satin was like a tight-fitting second skin.

He finished at her waist again, knotting the ribbon at the back of her waist. She felt his gaze upon her as he walked around her, surveying his handiwork. She lifted her hands over her head and posed for him, knowing what he wanted.

She smiled when she heard the camera click.

After half a dozen shots, he stretched her out across the velvet coverlet on the bed. He tugged her hands over her head and held both of her wrists together there. He kissed her nipples, each in turn, working them up to turgid peaks between the satin barriers before he abandoned her in a sea of velvet.

Burning.

“Don’t move.”

She didn’t dare defy him, didn’t want him to punish her by withholding the pleasure he could give.

He was back in moments, looping the satin ribbon around her wrists again, across her palms, binding her hands together. It pooled over her arms and she could envision the shining purple mound of it, spilling over her, rich purple against her pale skin and the ivory bedcovering.

There was a sharp tug and Joanna knew he tied her wrists to the headboard. Tender and tough, in perfect combination. She was on her back, displayed for him. When he moved away, she opened her legs on impulse, stretching her feet toward the lower corners of the bed. She pointed her toes within the shoes. He bound her ankles, one to each corner, spreading her wide. The ribbon went around her instep first, then was knotted around the ankle, then secured to the corner of the footboard.

She saw the flash illuminate her hood and arched her back, trying to please him with her willingness. He took several more shots, and she heard him move to make an adjustment. She felt him leaning over her, the heat of his skin filling her with anticipation. But he put the end of one satin ribbon in her mouth, trailing it across her cheeks to puddle below her ear. Joanna heard the camera click again, then silence.

She rested there, content to wait for whatever he had planned, a simmer of anticipation making her sex pulse.

She heard the deadbolt unlock, the door to the suite open and close again.

Followed by silence.

The Master was gone. Joanna knew it with complete certainty. He’d left her bound in a hotel room. Joanna tugged at her hands in panic, feeling the ribbon slide. It wasn’t as firmly knotted as she’d thought. She realized then what he’d done and tugged the end he’d left in her teeth.

The ribbon slid free, sliding around her face, and her hands were free. She ripped off the mask and bent to untie her ankles. She kicked off the shoes, then raced through the suite, not truly surprised to find him gone.

She exhaled, and looked around the suite with amazement at what she’d done in this place. She stood for a long time in the bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror. He had built her a corset of purple satin, one that bound her into a perfect hourglass. Her nipples pushed through the gaps between the ribbon, erect and red. Her naked puss was visible beneath the bottom of the corset, and her labia got thicker and wetter as she considered herself.

Over her heart was drawn a peacock feather in purple sparkling marker.

As if she’d been branded.

By the Master of the Plume.

No. It was a mark of his having possessed her.

Her submission was over. She’d had her experience of the club and this was all there would be. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have abandoned her here. He would have tossed her over his shoulder, carried her off, locked her away and tormented her with pleasure.

Joanna shivered, knowing it was not to be.

She wondered what she would write, remembering that he had all those pictures, hoping that she’d had some effect upon him.

He had shaken her world.

She thought of Mike, was unable to imagine what he would think if he could see her now. She allowed herself to fantasize that he was both surprised and aroused. She imagined him taking her as the Master had and the idea thrilled her. She leaned back against the wall opposite the full length mirror, spread her legs, and touched herself.

When she came, she cried Mike’s name.

After she had cleaned up, Joanna put on her raincoat and left the room. She couldn’t bear to untie the ribbon corset, wanting to hold this idea of herself for as long as possible. She left the key behind. She knew there was no point in asking who had booked the room. The Master wasn’t sloppy about such details. She wouldn’t find out anything, and she might just ruin her exultant mood.

The world looked brighter to her, more colorful, more filled with sensual possibilities – even knowing that she’d never see the Master again. The people in the lobby looked more alluring to her. The way her raincoat slid over the tight ribbon made her skin hum and she was surprised to catch sight of her own smile in the lobby mirror. She looked a little disheveled, a little wild, confident and potent.

Sexy.

Joanna wasn’t really surprised that Rafael was waiting for her with the black limo.

***

Rex returned to the Plume, as restless as a caged tiger. Three explosive orgasms and he felt he’d only begun. He hadn’t come that close to losing control in years. He couldn’t believe how many pictures he’d taken of Joanna, and already he ached to review them.

It wasn’t like him to become obsessed, not so quickly or so thoroughly.

Which could only mean one thing.

Rex was falling in love.

He stood in the bar at the Plume and threw back a Scotch. It burned down his throat, seemed to settle him a bit. He watched the members tease each other and titillate each other, knowing that he wasn’t alone in getting emotion mixed into the game.

It was unfamiliar ground for him, all the same.

It frightened him.

Which maybe was why he was still so hard.

But there was nothing more he could do. He had given Joanna a taste – more of a taste than he’d planned to give her. He had baited the trap and given her a clue. If she came back to him – just the idea made him feel dizzy with hope – he would never let her go.

“Looking for company?” Athena asked from beside him, her gaze dropping to his erection before returning to his gaze again. She was dressed in full latex dominatrix gear tonight, the tight black suit and mask making her look like a naughty version of Catwoman.

“Thanks, but no,” Rex said, indicating the crowd. “Just checking on things.”

“And how was our intrepid reporter?”

Rex couldn’t help but smile. “More intrepid than expected.”

“But gone?”

Rex forced himself to acknowledge what he knew was the truth. “Gone,” he agreed, his voice flat.

Athena smiled with satisfaction. “Good. Maybe I’ll take the next one, after all.”

“You should take them.” Rex pointed to an attractive couple at the far end of the bar. She was dressed similarly to Athena and he was hooded, with his hands shackled behind his back. Despite their gear, they seemed desultory, glancing over the crowd as if hoping for a new sensation. “They both want to be run by you, you know.”

Her gaze brightened. “No, I didn’t know. I didn’t see it in their files.”

“It’s not in their files.”

Her gaze was assessing. “But you know.”

Rex smiled. “You’ve seduced them totally.”

“At least someone is seduced,” Athena muttered.

“Go on. Make their dreams come true tonight.”

Athena caressed her whip, considering the possibilities. The pair noticed her attention and fluttered in anticipation. “Private room seven?”

Rex checked the schedule with Tony, then nodded. “All yours. Make it a showy capture, and spice things up a bit.”

Athena grinned. She cracked her whip over the heads of the members, startling more than one with her vigor and control. Tony changed the music to a song with a pulsing beat and Rex smiled as Athena strode into the crowd. She was in her element, but on this night, he was content to simply watch.

He wondered what Joanna thought of how he’d left her.

He wondered whether she would follow the clue back to him.

Then he wondered how he would endure the suspense.

***

Joanna started her article, “My Night at the Plume”, as soon as she got home. She sat at her desk, her silk kimono bathrobe hiding the ribbons that trussed her, keeping her shoes and stockings on. She felt half in the experience as she wrote about it. She could smell the Master’s skin on hers, practically feel his strength inside her.

She’d lost track of how many pictures he’d taken. That was terrifying. She had no doubt that he’d keep his word if he was displeased with the media coverage.

She didn’t dare imagine Mike’s reaction to those images.

Joanna ensured that she dwelt on the pleasure she’d felt. She underscored that all activities were consensual and that safe sex was practiced. (He must have put a condom on the last time. Maybe a thinner one. Maybe lambskin. That would be why she hadn’t felt it.) She declared that the Plume was a safe place to explore fantasy and role-playing. She mentioned that the experience had opened her mind to new possibilities.

It seemed preachy and pretentious, so she went over it again and again. Joanna was fussy about her prose, revising it multiple times, editing more than she usually did.

She stopped at intervals to touch herself, to remember the Master’s caress, to think about the balance of tough and tender.

Joanna worked for two hours that first night, then carefully unpeeled her stockings and removed her shoes to go to bed. The next morning, she put them back on, declining to get dressed as usual. She did the same on Sunday. Louise was away for the weekend so she could do what she wanted without having to explain herself. She spent the weekend in a haze of desire.

She couldn’t bear to remove her bonds. On Monday, she washed carefully, not wanting to shower because it would mark the ribbons. Louise complained about how long she was in the bathroom, but Joanna loved the sensation of going to work, secretly trussed and tied.

She wore pantyhose in a plain brown color instead of the stockings but no underwear, which left her with the sense of having a wicked secret. What had she become at the Plume, beneath the Master’s touch? Maybe a woman more confident in her sexuality. One in touch with her desires. Joanna’s outward appearance was as conservative as usual, but she knew there was a new radiance in her complexion.

She watched Mike across the table at their editorial meeting, barely listening, consumed with the possibilities that could result from showing him her purple bonds.

Mike matched his step to hers as they left the meeting, as if he’d read her thoughts. She dared to hope, the smell of his skin and the heat of his proximity making her heart leap.

“Disappointed?” he asked and she looked up in surprise. “He’s going to run your article under a pen name. I thought you’d be disappointed.”

Joanna shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

He looked at her, his eyes filled with concern. “I thought you wanted the credit.”

She smiled at him. “So did I.”

His gaze danced over her and she wished… “Are you okay?”

“Never better.” Joanna forced a smile, saw that Mike wasn’t convinced, but knew she couldn’t tell him the truth. Now she had the confidence to ask him for that coffee, but she wasn't sure what she wanted anymore.

Could she be happy with sweet kisses, now that she’d had tough and tender?

She didn’t know.

She did know that she couldn’t leave those pictures in the Master’s possession, leave them where they could be revealed at any point in time. She wasn’t sure about her own romantic future, but she knew that those pictures could jeopardize anything.

She had to get them back.

“So, how was the Plume, really?” Mike asked, his gaze searching hers. “Your article makes it sound as if it changed your life.”

“It was different than I expected,” Joanna said with care.

He grinned. “Don’t tell me they converted you.”

She shook her head, blushing as he watched. “That’s not what you’d expect, is it?”

Their gazes clung as Mike shook his head. “Lots of things are not the way we expect them to be,” he said softly, his eyes bright. Joanna sensed that he was going to say more, but Kevin shouted from down the hall and Mike gave her a brisk nod before he turned away.

She watched him go and wished with all her heart, knowing it would make no difference to anything. There was no point in confessing the truth to him. There was no point in pretending that fantasies could come true.

Joanna turned back to her cubicle, knowing that she had to get rid of the ribbons.

***

That night, Joanna stood before the mirror in her bedroom, filled with regret, then cut down with heavy shears through the purple satin. The ribbons cascaded to the floor, a shining pile of discarded plumage. The shears were cold against her skin and she was disappointed with the sensation of being released.

The feather drawn on her skin was fading, too, as if the whole interval had been a dream. She’d been careful to wash around it in an attempt to preserve it, but it was still wearing away from brushing against her clothes.

She remembered the hood in her purse and got the purse from the pocket of her raincoat, removing the hood and smoothing it in her hands. The rest of the ribbon was in there and she pulled it out, coiling it around her hands, wondering how she would persuade the Master to not only take her back but surrender the pictures of her.

She still didn’t know where to find the Plume.

That was when Joanna spotted the peacock feather, nestled into the bottom of her bag.

And a notecard.

The Dungeon

Minimum stay: two weeks

Below that was an email address. Joanna read the card over and over, her hands trembling. The Master had put this card in her purse, an invitation in case she wanted more. He liked her to submit when the stakes were raised, was probably still cautious of her being a journalist.

But the article she’d written couldn’t displease him.

If it did, she knew he wouldn’t reply to any email she sent.

The Dungeon. She recalled his vow to train her to come only for him and only on his command and her mouth went dry.

That was what she’d learn at the Dungeon. That’s what would take at least two weeks. She had vacation due, a lot of it, and Joanna knew with sudden conviction exactly where she’d be spending at least two weeks of it.

As the Master’s personal toy.

If she surrendered completely to him, would he give her a reward? Could she get the pictures from him by playing along?

There was only one way to find out.

Look for

SURRENDER

Second in the Plume Series

To learn more about Ella Ardent’s books, please visit her website at

http://ellaardent.com