Role Play (30 page)

I
told her to wear no perfume or scented lotion. I wanted to smell only her skin. Her luscious body.

Each day another command, and each day
I was more eager to possess her completely.

Each time, she responded with:
Yes.

Open-ended, a freely-given consent to do as
I wanted with her. Like the way she had handed herself over to me in the Chamber, so innocently sure that I could be trusted.

How wrong she was! But
I would make it up to her. And dominating her through my texts was one of the most erotic things I had ever done. Because I wasn’t plotting out my moves and playing a part to woo a woman into surrendering to me. Every word was exactly how I felt. I wanted to own her and show her off so everyone would see that she belonged to me. I wanted to touch her, take her and keep her for myself. Men would lust for her yet know that she had given herself to me.

But each day, there was no word on
my promotion. Each day I arrived full of hope, the first day of the rest of my life. And each day I was disappointed, though it was expected any moment by the other supervisors.

My
stomach was a tight knot on my way to work Friday morning. It had to come in. Everything with Sierra depended on it.

My
supervisor’s shake of his head told me the truth. I was fucked. I hardly heard the guy tell me that it would surely come through on Tuesday, after the Labor Day weekend.

A weekend too late.
I was face-to-face with it. I was going to have to confess my lies to Sierra while I was still a lowly blue-collar grunt, making barely enough to survive. There was going to be no nice shading of the matter—supervisor vs. executive. No, the come down was going to be complete.

I should have gotten the pain over
with weeks ago.

All day long
I worked with my mind far away, trying to imagine Sierra coming to my place as I had arranged, expecting to surrender to my masterly commands, her emotions built to an erotic peak by our text-play.

A
nd I would have to sit her down in front of my view and confess my lies.

It was too cruel. Like adding insult to injury to break it to her
after making her wait for weeks to hear the news. Especially after I had her keyed into an erotic high, excited for our big evening out together, where she would finally be dominated as she clearly longed to be. I had ruined her first time, at the Chamber, and now I was going to ruin this experience.

She would never forgive
me.

That certainty settled in
my core, darkening my night and the next day. I found myself getting ready to go to the Masquerade, going out to buy Venetian masks for both of us in gold and red. And a short corset in bronzed gold. I wanted to cinch her into it so she would feel like my hands were clenching her around her waist all night. I didn’t ask the price—I would have paid twice what it cost to be able to corset her.

I
gradually realized that I was going to do it. I was going to take the role of her master and make her my slave. None of it was real, anyway, except for the feelings that we both craved. She would know exactly how I felt about her by the end of the night.

Then
I would tell her everything tomorrow morning, and if she couldn’t forgive me after that, then she never would.

Chapter 28

Sierra

I
couldn’t refuse to go to the Masquerade after Victor asked me, even if it came out of left field. He was right—I went to Pleasure Salon to make something happen with him. He was so upset, threatened even, that I went to Pleasure Salon without him that he asked me to go to the Masquerade.

I wanted
a real relationship. But it looked like the only way Victor knew how to connect was in the fetish world. And right now, I was prepared to use any key I could find to unlock his mysteries.

Maybe
I should have been annoyed by his texts telling me what to wear. But instead, the transgressiveness of it was thrilling, like I was walking on the edge where I shouldn’t be. Where no good girl should be.

My
anticipation built all week as I discussed the texts with Candice and Devi, who helped me create my costume. Candice lent me the black lace garter belt and white gauze skirt with deep ruffles. Devi lent me the white silk peasant blouse and the shoes with ankle straps. They were only half a size too big. I was so broke I had to put the sheer black stockings with a back seam on my charge account at the store.

Then
I got the text late Saturday afternoon:
Car will be waiting downstairs at 9.

Victor
was sending a car for me. Once again, I was reminded of how nice it was to have money. It made it so easy to solve the everyday problems of living in the city, like how to get to a party without spending a fortune on cabs.

My roommates
were impressed when I told them. Candice had been suspicious at first when Victor suddenly popped up again after his long silence, but the car won her over. It was thoughtful and showed class. I told them,
See…
and they did start to understand the roller-coaster ride I’d been on with him.

It didn’t take long to drive
into Manhattan. I had the spacious interior of the car to myself, with nothing to do but wonder what would happen. I didn’t know what to expect as the town car pulled up in front of Victor’s apartment building, with its large blank windows glinting in the street lights.

When Victor opened the door to let
me in, I had the same feeling—as if his polished exterior was the only thing visible.

I
was supposed to consider Victor my “master” for the night. Could I do it? I told him I could. But everything about him put me on edge. He didn’t kiss me as I entered. He stepped aside as if carefully deflecting me away. He only smiled slightly, keeping me at arm’s length as he examined my costume.

“Turn around
for me,” he said.

I
felt embarrassed as I slowly spun in place. Was I wearing what he asked for? I thought the details were correct, but there was a slight frown between his eyes as I finished my pirouette.

Victor was wearing black—button-up shirt, pants and boots with a deep sheen.
It set off the golden triangle of skin at his throat and his sun-bleached air. I had never asked him what sports he played to get so tanned. I knew it only went to his shirt sleeves, leaving his chest and shoulders a paler tawny. All of his tones were golden, and the black set his rugged beauty off to perfection.

I
wished I could ask him questions—I had a lot of them! But his scrutiny was silent. And I remembered what he had said about the roles we would play. Perhaps he was already toying with me.

“You said I have to be a slave tonight?”
I asked. “Shouldn’t we negotiate first?”

Now he smiled. “You
’ve learned from the best.”

“How can I trust that you won’t take advantage of any loopholes I might miss?”
I asked.

He considered that. “You can’t. Finding loopholes can be fun. But
if you truly want me to end what’s happening, you can say ‘safeword.’”

“How do I know you’ll stop?”

He leaned closer. “If you don’t think I will, then don’t play with me.”

He meant it.
I didn’t even hesitate. “I think you’ll stop if I want you to.”

“Good.”

I shivered. It was that word again, the one he used to respond to my texts when he didn’t want to get into a discussion. That word ended the conversation.

This was his ride, the
only way I could go deep with him. To find out what lay beyond his glossy façade and why he was so isolated and alone. I could ask him, Why don’t you have a Facebook page? Why don’t you have a girlfriend? A man like him should have a girlfriend, one that wore Flowerbomb perfume.

But
questions always made him push me away.

“
Will you do as I say?” he asked.

Ah, such a question!
I thought. He was standing so close to me, but not touching me. We had barely moved from the door, as if the tension between us was so thick that we weren’t able to walk in normally and sit down on the couch to have this discussion like two ordinary people. Because it wasn’t ordinary. There was a charged electricity between us, barely held in check by his way of distancing himself from me.

“
Yes, I want to please you,” I said honestly.

“Good. What are your limits?”

I drew in my breath, my eyes on his. “I don’t want limits tonight. I want to see where we can go together. Where you can take me.”

In response, h
e reached up to touch my cheek with his fingertips, caressing my face to my chin. With a slight pressure he raised my face to him. I thought he was going to kiss me.

Instead, he whispered, “Stay like that.”

He stepped back, and I was poised, my face lifted, my lips slightly puckered as if to kiss him. I had started to lift my hands, so I clasped them at my waist, my weight still shifted forward on my toes in eager anticipation.

I
almost broke from my pose, feeling caught when he stepped away rather than kiss me.

But…
I want to please him.

So
I stayed as he had placed me, watching with my eyes as he slowly circled me, taking another long look at my costume. This time, bound by his word, I felt every glance fall against my body.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, behind
me now. His hand trailed along the back of my arm below the ruffled cuff. “The white sets off your skin, like a sun-kissed goddess rising from the foam.”

I trembled, unable to see him. It was so naked, so honest. His admiring voice, the longing that roughened it, and the lingering way his fingers touched my arm. Like he was barely restraining himself from throwing me down on the bed and taking me.

But that’s what always happened
between us. Either the spark combusted and we exploded together, or he threw up walls and ran away. Anything but exploring this tug of war between us.

He circled around to the front, looking down into
my eyes. “You belong to me.”

I
felt it then, with a wild hope.
Yes, I belong to you!
It was what he’d said in the barn at the Festival, when he had played with my mind as we made love.

“Yes,”
I agreed. As I had agreed all week to his demands.

Now he really smiled.
“I think there’s too much of you covered up.”

“There is?”

He reached for his back pocket and pulled out two gold cords. “Don’t move,” he reminded me.

I
was swaying from holding my pose, leaning forward on my toes. But his warning kept me still as he knelt in front of me.

He touched
my ankle, feeling the strap around it. Then he trailed his hand up my leg, up my outer thigh to my hip. He passed the cord under my skirt and waistband, then tied it at the bottom with a knotted bow. It pulled the skirt high up on my thigh, nearly to my hip.

Brushing my skin,
he did the same with the other side. The skirt looped down in front, barely covering my panties. The rest of my skirt trailed off to the back.

I
could feel the air on my exposed legs. The bare skin at the top of my stockings got goose bumps.

Victor stepped back and examined
me. “Better.”

He turned to the desk and p
icked up a tissue-wrapped package. He pulled out something bronzed. “It’s a corset. I want you to remember all night, with every breath, that you’re bound to me.”

He stepped close to
me. “Lift up your arms, over your head.”

I
slowly lifted my arms over my head and clasped my wrist in my hand. As he fit the bronze corset around my waist and clicked each hook shut, I felt a deep blush spreading through me to be dressed like someone who was helpless. He was taking possession of me, reducing me to this state of utter dependence on him.

I
knew it wasn’t real. I took care of myself every day, worked harder than I ever thought possible to make my dreams come true. But in this moment, putting myself into his hands, I felt light and free of all worry. I was safe with him. Protected by him.

So
even as he loosened my peasant blouse so it fell off my shoulders, and he tightened the corset to the point where I gasped, I felt a warm and happy buzz growing. The luxury of being able to stop struggling! To relax and let him decide everything. To let him tie the lovely Venetian mask over my eyes.

When he
led me to the mirror, I was transformed. A Victorian courtesan with a tiny waist, my nipples poking the silk of the blouse, and a naughty peek of garters showing.