Cat Scratch Fever (16 page)

They made it downstairs in record time.

She pulled an ancient cord that turned on a bare light bulb. ‘It’s not exactly the honeymoon suite.’ The dim light illuminated stacks of boxes, one of which was ripped open and spewing paper napkins, some folding tables and a rack of chairs jauntily adorned with cardboard tiger ears left over from a family open house. The air smelt of dust and old paper.

‘We’ll make do.’ Gabe shut the door and drew her close.

‘It’s been forever,’ she whispered, knowing it had only been a few hours. But she needed his touch so badly, not just the teasing caresses they’d stolen in the office. ‘Please.’

For a few seconds they clung together, breathing each other’s scent, revelling in the contact. Gabe kissed her gently – forehead, eyelids, lips.

Then all pretence of gentleness flew out the non-existent window. Felicia fumbled with Gabe’s belt buckle. He worked frantically at the buttons on her shirt, somehow managing not to rip off any as he exposed her breasts, which were barely covered with a silk triangle bra that matched the thong.

His mouth closed over a silk-clad nipple. Wet heat transmitted and magnified by silk. He suckled, sending the tugging sensation rocketing down her body. Already sensitised, Felicia felt her lower lips swelling and pouting. She throbbed to the rhythm of his mouth.

His cock, still covered by soft cotton, was rigid in her hand, as hard and demanding of attention as if this morning (and everything before) had never happened.

His hand slipped under her skirt. The minuscule thong was already drenched. He pushed it aside, not bothering with subtlety, going directly for her slick clit.

‘Please,’ she whispered, rocking her hips against his hand.

Two fingers made concentrated small circles exactly where she needed the pressure, adding to the delicious tugging and suckling. She was already close – Gabe’s teasing in the office had had her worked up and the playing-hooky aspect of sneaking off made her hotter. Gabe’s fingers only needed to finish off what his lips, his words and both their imaginations had already done.

It didn’t take long at all before she was bucking against him, biting her lip to keep from crying out, working his cock mechanically as she became lost in her own sensations.

While she was still shuddering, Gabe pulled out his cock, its head graced with a drop of fluid, with hands made clumsy by haste. Then he hiked up her short skirt so it rode above her waist. A sharp tug and the ludicrously expensive thong was history.

Normally, Felicia wouldn’t have been thrilled to lose a piece of lingerie that cost approximately $20 per square inch, but she didn’t have time to think about that, not with Gabe lifting her bodily from the floor and lowering her on to his cock.

Joined, her legs around his waist, his big hands supporting her, they staggered a few steps to the wall.

This was sex as primal force. Each thrust slammed her back and ass against the wall but, high as she was, what should have been discomfort just added to the pleasure. Felicia gripped Gabe with her fingernails, with her legs, with her insistently convulsing pussy. Their mouths were locked together, tongues dancing. Everything was happening much too fast by normal standards, but knowing they had only a few stolen minutes twisted Felicia’s libido into overdrive. The sheer mental rush pushed her over the edge.

Her orgasm bubbled up from nowhere. She closed her eyes against the white heat, cried Gabe’s name into his mouth. He began pumping faster, carrying her along, and she couldn’t say later whether what happened as he climaxed was another orgasm or the same one, spun out and embroidered.

There was no time for lingering in the afterglow, and the dingy supply room wasn’t conducive to cuddling anyway. But Felicia returned to her endless to-do list with a smile on her face, a spring in her step, an enticing draft where her underwear used to be, and plans for dinner – and, with luck, more – with Gabe.

*   *   *

In the end, they skipped a sit-down dinner in favour of sushi to go, which they fed to each other in bed between rounds one and two. The bedroom was saturated with the musky smells of sex and sweat, with a sharp overtone of wasabi, and Felicia’s precious Egyptian sheets now had soy sauce dribbled on them as well as other more intimate stains. Languid with sex, stuffed with maki and relaxed if not precisely tipsy from white wine, they lay together in the damp sheets.

‘I’ve got to get moving,’ Gabe said, not for the first time. This time, though, he looked over at the clock and realised they couldn’t put it off any longer. ‘Join me in the shower?’

She thought back to the hotel shower, feeling tingly again at the memory. ‘Do you really want to miss that plane?’

Gabe grinned. ‘Actually, yes. But I think you’re safe for the moment; you’ve worn me out! Doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy the company.’

Felicia wouldn’t have dared to say it herself, afraid that wanting to share those last few minutes together in the shower seemed too mushy, too much like she was putting a claim on him. But, if Gabe suggested it, she wasn’t about to say no.

Given the time constraints, they really did stick to showering. Mostly. As she lathered his back with ginger-scented body wash, she reached around and got the front as well. Despite claiming to be worn out, he twitched and blossomed under her touch, tempting them both until he made himself pull away. Then Gabe returned the favour – if getting them both revved up again really
was
a favour – making sure her breasts and lower lips were good and clean.

In the end, though, they could only delay the inevitable for so long.

At the door, words failed them. Felicia could think of a hundred ways to say goodbye, ranging from an overly casual ‘It’s been great. See ya!’ to clinging to him and crying, but none of them seemed right.

Gabe was equally tongue-tied. Finally, he fell back on work. ‘I’ll have to be in touch anyway, so I’ll definitely talk to you. You know, find out how the benefit goes and stuff.’

‘And stuff,’ she echoed. He’d never been that inarticulate before.

A long pause. ‘But you know I’d call you anyway, don’t you? And email you, send text messages…’

‘Only if I can do the same to you.’

‘If you don’t, I’ll find something else I need to investigate at the Sanctuary so I have to come back here. Or maybe that’s if you do.’

‘Silly man.’ She kissed him on the nose. ‘Now go. How can you come back if you never leave?’

Felicia watched him drive away, watching his tail lights until they were out of sight.

Then she sighed, closed the blinds and went to turn on her laptop. Seriously in lust or not, she had to put on a successful benefit on Saturday and there was a lot of work to do.

Surveying the man kneeling at her feet, his dark, well-cut suit a stark contrast to the bright geometric patterns of her Turcoman carpet, Valerie conceded that Richard was the classic handsome older businessman, from his expensively styled grey hair to the soles of his shoes. His body wasn’t soft – he clearly worked out regularly – but had settled. (To be fair, her own had as well, although she was at least ten years younger than he was and time hadn’t taken as much of a toll yet.) He had pronounced crow’s feet around his sharp blue-green eyes and the kind of perma-tan that California natives who grew up pre-sunscreen often had.

And he looked great. Probably could have younger women throwing themselves at him, drawn to his looks and his air of money, power and authority. That air of authority – or rather the way he was shedding more of it by the second – was the only reason Valerie was finding his presence titillating.

She circled him again, inspecting him, letting him get a good look at her, because he wasn’t closing his eyes under the intensity of her gaze or glancing down to study the carpet. She couldn’t decide if he wasn’t fully into a submissive frame of mind yet or if he so enjoyed looking at her that he forgot his manners.

With long-time playmates, she opted for comfort, but she’d suspected that Richard would respond best to the classic domme gear: thigh-high boots, fishnets and a burgundy and gold silk brocade corset that cinched her waist and made the most of her bust. Judging from his hungry expression, she’d guessed right.

She hadn’t said a word since ‘Hello, Richard. Kneel.’ They’d worked out their negotiations beforehand – his likes, dislikes, absolute limits and his safeword. He’d said he enjoyed an edge of uncertainty and mental discomfort, and she was glad to provide it.

Besides, the silent stalking gave her a time to think things through.

This had seemed like a brilliant idea at 3.30 a.m. after a lovely night with Katherine, and had still sounded reasonable as she and Richard chatted back and forth. She was wondering, though, now that he was actually at her house, whether this might be another one of those notions like the raw-game dinner: brilliant on paper, but flawed.

Richard was attractive but there was something about him that didn’t work for her on a visceral panty-dampening level. She could top him – at least if it might help Katherine – but neither her heart nor her body was in it.

He liked mild pain, anal play, humiliation, all games she’d played with near-strangers at play parties. But in order to devastate him, break him and reassemble him the way she’d need to in order to get what she wanted for Katherine, she’d need to find some emotional connection.

She mentally reviewed their earlier conversations without getting especially inspired.

Well, at least
he
was inspired. The front of his slacks already looked like a slate-grey silk circus tent and she hadn’t even touched him yet.

Circus tent…

Well, he had said he didn’t have a problem with dressing up if it made her hot. He’d probably had something else in mind; it was amazing how many take-charge male executives had inner French maids or naughty children just dying to get out. But he’d made the mistake of not being specific.

She smiled, a private evil smile that made the man kneeling before her shudder and finally lower his eyes.

He looked much better that way, less like someone who was still thinking about running his multimillion-dollar company and more like someone she could bend to her will in a way they’d both appreciate.

This might be fun after all.

She ran the slapper of her riding crop down the side of Richard’s face, a painless caress that still made him flinch as if he’d been struck. She placed it under his chin, used it to nudge his head up. The air of command she was used to seeing in him had left the building. There was still some reserve in his expression, but she knew how to take care of that. ‘Get up and strip,’ she ordered. ‘I want you naked – now.’

After the Armani was in a crumpled heap on the floor, she looked him up and down critically. ‘Your legs are too spindly. And suck in that gut. You should be ashamed of your posture. But,’ she conceded, ‘I suppose you’ll do.’

In truth, she thought Richard was in good shape for a sixtyish fellow who spent a lot of time behind a desk and had a reputation as a gourmet. But he’d said he liked verbal abuse. From his reaction – his face fell and his cock rose – it was true.

‘Come along.’ Using the riding crop, she herded him along towards the dungeon.

*   *   *

Richard’s eyes widened at what she pulled out of the armoire in the dungeon. He opened his mouth and closed it, then opened it again.

‘Do you have something to say, boy, or do you just enjoy imitating a fish out of water?’

He gaped again. His erection, so jaunty before, was flagging.

‘Put it on,’ she ordered.

She smacked him with the crop, rather hard. He remained frozen in place. Had she hit a limit at such a simple thing? ‘Put it on or say red.’

‘I’ll put it on,’ he said quickly, picking up the proffered garments from the floor. ‘But, Mistress, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep a straight face.’

‘Are you laughing at my request?’

He was struggling into the baggy striped pants and couldn’t answer immediately, but when he did, he was definitely choking back chuckles. ‘No, Mistress.’

A sharp slap to the face cut off the incipient laughter. ‘You’re lying to me.’

He hung his head (which must have given him a good look at an interesting big-top effect forming in the baggy pants). ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you, but I
was
laughing at the outfit. And because I just remembered you’d wanted a circus theme for the fundraiser. I couldn’t help myself, Mistress.’

‘Laughing is all right. Clowns are supposed to laugh. On the other hand, they’re not supposed to lie to the ringmaster. Bad, bad clown!’

She put on her ringmaster’s top hat, slipped on a gaudy brocade tailcoat and began to laugh evilly. Through the laughter, she managed to say, ‘Put the nose on, boy. The nose is the most important part!’

Fifteen minutes later, Richard, in a clown costume, giant shoes and a bright red Bozo nose, was trussed up, ass in the air. If he’d had any doubts about why the clown pants had a drop seat, he didn’t any more. Circus music was playing in the background, a sprightly melody that always made Valerie feel happy. And, when she was happy, she did her best work.

Richard’s face was a study. He was fighting her on some level, confused by the costume and the unexpected turn events were taking. On the other hand, his breathing was ragged, eager, and, as she’d restrained him, his cock had been at attention.

‘You’re not used to truly giving up control,’ Valerie said, pitching her voice at a low dark whisper. ‘You’ve played at it. You like the sensations, the release that pain and humiliation bring you. But usually it’s been following
your
script. Am I right?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, Mistress.’ His blotchy flush almost looked like the traditional clown makeup she hadn’t taken time to apply to him.

‘You’re not sure what to make of this. On the one hand, you’re nervous, maybe resentful. On the other hand, you pursued me for a long time for a reason, right?’

He nodded again, a much tighter nod.

‘And what is that?’

He took a deep breath and seemed to think before answering. ‘They say you’re the real deal. And that you play safe, but you’re really unpredictable. You give people what they need, not what they want.’

‘And?’

He gulped audibly before he answered. ‘I never imagined…being like this, Mistress. But if it pleases you…’

‘Oh, it does.’

‘Then it must be what I needed.’

‘Very good.’ She stroked his hair almost tenderly. He looked so much better now that he was helpless – and especially with the red nose and oversized orange bowtie, which were her favourite parts of the costume.

Grinning, she snapped at the air over Richard’s head with her singletail. It didn’t land anywhere near him, but the sharp crack made him gasp and arch against his bonds. Nice reaction. Was it just surprise or did the sound of a whip do something for him? She repeated the experiment and was rewarded by more shuddering. Yes – apparently Richard was audio-activated.

She repeated the process a few more times, until it was clear that Richard’s brain was short-circuiting in the best possible way. Then she bent down and whispered in his ear, ‘Do you want to feel this on your skin, boy?’

An almost imperceptible nod.

‘Are you sure?’

He nodded again.

She had to think briefly. She’d enjoy doing it, but she didn’t have the impression that Richard wanted that much pain. He got off on a woman putting him through mental hoops, not on the kind of heavy pain that a singletail could dish out. But there was a way she could use the whip to put him through hoops – and, with luck, through the ceiling.

She took a few steps back, targeted carefully and struck. The whip cracked resoundingly – well behind his ass. Moving at a much gentler pace, the lash continued its journey, reaching Richard’s skin with a fraction of its original force. It didn’t even turn his skin pink. But to Richard, mesmerised by the sound, it clearly struck like erotic fire. He jumped in his bonds, yelped, and then began babbling thank-yous.

It was gratifying enough that she kept going. Each time, she let a little more force land on his skin, until the last couple of blows raised small bee-sting welts. It was nothing compared to what she’d do to a practised pain-slut, but definitely stingy, and it made him gasp, ‘Yellow!’ through clenched teeth, signalling he was reaching the edge of his endurance.

Letting the whip down, she walked around so she could see his face. That expression – poised on the brink between agony and ecstasy – was so beautiful, especially coupled with the clown nose.

‘Do you want to take one more hard stroke, clown? For me?’

‘I want to, Mistress. But I don’t know…’ He couldn’t finish the sentence, but she knew what he meant.

‘You can,’ she assured him. She knew what she intended to do, even if he didn’t. ‘It’s what you need. What you deserve. You were a very bad clown, you know, being cheeky to the ringmaster.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘And, remember, there’s no shame in using your safeword.’ She knew he wouldn’t. Scared as he was, he was too proud.

She’d brought a cool drink downstairs with her. While she let Richard stew, waiting for the blow he feared, she secreted an ice cube in her left hand. When she lashed at nothing with a tremendous crack, she touched the ice cube against his skin.

And Richard flew into space.

Once he’d calmed down enough to speak again, she asked, ‘Am I going to have to get the clown suit dry-cleaned?’

He took a deep breath. His expression was still a little vacant, but his eyes were more or less focused on her. ‘No, Mistress, but it was a near thing.’

‘That shows some restraint, clown. I’m pleased enough by that to say I’ll let you come later. Danny has to make a dry-cleaning run tomorrow anyway. It would be a shame if he had to go just to pick up one dress.’

Richard’s face flamed almost the colour of the rubber nose.

‘What? Does it embarrass you to think that my slave will be helping clean up your spunk?’

Richard nodded tightly.

‘He’ll enjoy hearing about this afternoon. Not who you are, of course, but a few select details. Danny’s bisexual and he has a weakness for good-looking older men. He won’t know which one of us to envy more: you for getting my attention or me for getting to play with you.’

She couldn’t read Richard’s expression, but it certainly wasn’t distaste. She decided to push it. ‘For all he’s so submissive, Danny’s not a passive boy.’ She leant close, whispering in Richard’s ear, ‘I think he’d love fucking your ass while I watched. What do you think about that?’

She had no idea if Danny would actually enjoy Richard. She liked the image, though, so she was going to play out the fantasy and see how Richard reacted.

‘I like something in my ass, Mistress.’ Richard was having trouble talking. ‘But –’

‘But you don’t like men.’

He nodded, clearly relieved she’d taken the words from him.

‘You’d probably like Danny if you let yourself. He’s lovely when I dress him up, almost like a pretty girl with a cock. And that’s what you like, isn’t it, a girl with a big rubber cock doing evil things to your ass?’

Richard gulped.

‘Wouldn’t it be better if it were flesh and blood? It wouldn’t make you gay if I ordered you to take it, and you’d get to try something you’ve been curious about. Because, admit it, you have been.’

He tried to shake his head no, but failed. One of the frequent effects of sub space was an inability to lie. ‘I’m not really attracted to men. I just can’t help wondering –’ he took a deep breath ‘– what it would feel like. If it feels any different with something real.’

Valerie smiled. ‘Maybe you’ll find out someday, if you ask me nicely.’ (That’d be the day. Everyone had at least one fantasy that seemed a little too out there to fulfil. This – for all that some people might think it tame compared to some of the things he did regularly – was clearly Richard’s.) ‘As for real, if silicone doesn’t seem real to you, someone hasn’t done you right in the past.’

With those words, she stepped away for a few minutes.

He couldn’t see her well, tied as he was, but she could keep an eye on him. She could almost feel desire and tension flowing off of him in waves. He needed this badly.

And to her surprise, she did too. Richard in his cool, detached businessman persona might not do much for her, but Richard bare-assed in a clown costume, vulnerable and confessing his secret queer fantasies, did.

After slithering out of her thong, she selected a strap-on harness that allowed two attachments – one for her. The dildo sank into her easily, its stubby thickness stretching her lips, arousing her further. The weight of the one she would use on Richard pressed against her clit. Neither in itself would be enough to get her off, but Richard’s reactions – and the vibrations she’d kick in for both of them at the critical moment – ought to do it.