The Only Choice (The Choices Trilogy #3) (22 page)

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” I exit from the door she holds open.

“No Bethany I don’t chase. I catch.” She slams the door with more strength than I would credit her tiny frame. It makes me jump with the finality of the gesture.

I didn’t get a call from Daniel all morning and he didn’t come to the restaurant today. I miss him every minute but I am not surprised and it is probably a blessing in disguise given how distracted I have been since I spoke to Jason and Sam. My nervous sickness today at least has nothing to do with my growing peanut in my belly. I haven’t actually checked but I think six weeks should be about that size. No, today is all about my debut as a dominatrix. I’d laugh if I wasn’t so scared and didn’t have so much riding on my performance tonight. I spoke to Patrick when I saw him outside my place and before I got the cab to Sam’s apartment. I draw huge comfort from Daniel’s constant protective nature, so much that he would keep Patrick watching over me, regardless of how pissed off he might be. I told Patrick my plan to visit a friend, I’d share a cab with her to drop her at work before heading back to mine. I assured him he didn’t have to watch me but I could tell by his smile that, that wasn’t my decision to make. At least he had a rough idea how the evening would look and hopefully he wouldn’t look too closely.

I wave to Patrick as Sam lets me in. She is wearing a fluffy pink onesie with tiny white bunnies, her skin is flawless rich coffee without a bit of make-up and her hair is wrapped in a towel fresh from a soak. I laugh as I follow her into her apartment and straight into her bedroom. “And this outfit would be the ‘dominatrix for pacifists’ option, what would they call you dressed like that?” She laughs too, critically regarding the super cute, polar opposite to the BDSM image of clothes, she’s wearing.

“Hey sweetie I could be dressed like Mary Fucking Poppins but they would still call me Mistress Selina when I have a whip in my hand.” She picks up her glass and jiggles the ice. “It’s early so this is just tonic would you like something stronger?”

“Oh no I’ll be fine, tonic will be fine.” I may sound a little uncertain but my smile is forcing confidence that is obviously convincing.

She shrugs and smiles back. “No Dutch courage this time Bets, maybe you’re a natural at this after all?” She winks and heads to the kitchen to refill her drink and grab one for me, I shout after her.

“Oh no I still need the Dutch courage I just need so much I won’t be able to function. Tonight I am going to pretend I’m on stage, that this is a play and I’m having an out of body experience.” I take the glass and smile at her confused face, she shrugs again.

“Hey, whatever gets you through.” She starts to pull out some dull matt bin liners and a fist full of straps and belts. “You’ll be fine, Jason signed you in and I spoke to him. I wouldn’t tell him why you’re there or who you were playing with but I did tell him you’d be safe, that you were a dear friend and my responsibility. I nearly told him I’d have you back before curfew he sounded so much like a damn father.” She scoops up her collection of materials and drops them in my lap, she laughs loudly at my look of shock. She’s expecting me to wear this? “And he said he was meeting you directly after and I mean
directly,
you are not to leave the room unaccompanied. He made me promise.” My look of shock has turned to horror. She turns unfazed and sits herself in front of her dressing table that looks more like a Sioux science lab, with lotions, potions and scalps. “Get your arse in gear girl we still have to go over the questions. If you’ve showered already you can just put that on and I’ll do your make-up and hair when I’m done.” I am speechless but her commands and tone have me moving to obey and I realise we are both naturals, she’s the dominant and I’m definitely the submissive.

I actually have a hundred questions but I had to pick just a few so he wouldn’t get suspicious and Sam didn’t want a script just a general area of interrogation. She explained that there is a flow of information, a rhythm with every demand and yield and if she had to stop to check her notes, well it’s just not very professional. I am not surprised she prides herself in her work, she always looks exquisite and there is a reason she is sought after and can charge what she does. I may not share her skill set but I do share her work ethic and tonight I will endeavour to be just as professional, just not a true professional. We had agreed on three questions. I want to know why he was here in the UK, that question may answer either his business intentions or indicate his relationship with Angel. I want to know how ‘happily’ they are married, although I know from her perspective the relationship is over I am curious whether he has any idea. It is possible he is unaware what his wife’s plans are exactly. The last question, and I have no idea how Sam is going to integrate this into a sexual scenario but I want to know whether he is aware of the infertility pretence she is asserting.

I still haven’t changed and now my nerves are bubbling in my tummy and are making me twitchy. I finger the slippery material in my lap, not bin liners after all but a black rubber vest. Sam assures me it’s a dress but there is no way that is stretching over my arse let alone reach my knees. She has lent me a thigh high pair of black leather stiletto lace up boots and a little draw string leather sack with, she tells me, my props for the evening. I take my bundle and make my way into the bathroom where I quickly strip down leaving my panties on. I take the vest, it is cold, slippery and doesn’t stretch as much as you would think. I put both my arms through the bottom and try to slip my body through the tiny gap, using my elbow and hands to grip and stretch. I don’t think I have ever felt less sexy and more fat as I have to pinch and fold my skin into the material which snaps viciously back punishing my body for its intrusion. Like an over stretched rubber band I pull the material out at my widest point easing it over my hips and rolling it down as far as it will go. It smells funky, looks a mottled grey colour and barely covers my butt; but I’m in, a feat in itself and I let out a victory breath.

The mirror in the bathroom is small and I can’t really see myself and I am going to need to sit to put the boots on so I return to the bedroom. Sam is dressed in a red PVC cat-suit, skin tight and shiny. Her hair has been scraped back and is slick and smooth, pulled high on her head in a long swishing pony tail with extensions for added volume, it’s spectacular. She winks at my dropped jaw and stunned gaze and licks her finger, touches her jutting hip and makes a hissing sound. Damn right she looks hot. I nervously look down at the inner tube I’m currently sporting and wonder how we are supposed to pull off a double act. She laughs at my expression but doesn’t comment she simply takes my hand, sits me at the dressing table and starts to work her magic. But I am going to need a bit more than Bibbedy Bobbedy Boo if I am going to pull this off.

I could kiss her, no mice or pumpkins necessary but the transformation is amazing just swap Cinders for
Underworld
Selene. My hair has been slicked and tucked into a net and I am wearing a blue black sleek wig, cut short in a sharp angled bob. My skin is pale in comparison and she has my eyes heavy, dark and sultry. I declined the blue contacts as unnecessary, I have no intention of letting anyone get that close and besides I have tried them before and I’ll end up crying all night. She finishes with a nude lip gloss and motions for me to stand, holding what looks like industrial sized hair spray she drags me into the hall and proceeds to spray me down with a silicone gel. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath as she turns and turns me, making sure every inch of my dress is covered. I gasp for air once I am back in her room and before I can ask ‘what the fuck’ she points to her full length mirror attached to the back of her door.

“Wow.” I mouth the words because no sound comes out and she giggles. “No seriously wow, Sam!” She puts a protective arm around my shoulder and hugs me.

“I know Bets, what can I say, I had good source material but you look smoking hot, even if I do say so myself.” She lets me go but I am still staring at my reflection. I don’t recognise myself; the dress is no longer mottled grey but ultra-shiny, sleek and super tight. My waist looks tiny, the tight material emphasises the curve of my hips and slope of my backside, even I can’t resist stroking the tempting curves. Christ! My breasts look massive, pushed high and squeezed together, a precarious balcony of soft flesh ready to tip as the material of the dress warms, stretches and loses its tautness. It looks like I’ve been finely coated in a slick of sexy oil. The leather boots cling to my legs, the laces look like a ladder up my thigh and the band of exposed skin separating the dress from the boots looks smooth and delicate. A stark contrast to the harsh polished rubber and all the more tantalising for being exposed.

“Sorry Bets but you need to lose the panties, can’t have VPL in rubber, it’s just wrong.” She snickers as I turn to assess her comment. She’s right the lines do look wrong against the smooth finish everywhere else the dress touches but shit I didn’t bring a g-string or anything that small. I admonish my misplaced conservatism. It’s not like I have to broadcast the fact and it’s not the first time I’ve gone commando. It’s just the first time I’ve gone commando without Daniel. I shimmy out of the offending article and tug at the hem of the dress’s resistant material, which snaps back a little higher as if to mock my attempt at modesty.

Sam hands me my coat and after reluctantly refusing a ‘on for the road’ drink we head out. Sam’s flatmate is posing as me tonight and I have given her my jacket and keys. She is a little older but similar build and has long dark hair and if we bundle into the cab together hopefully Patrick won’t notice and will follow her back to my flat. She said she would wait there for an hour before changing and heading back. I tried to apologise for all the trouble but both girls laughed off my concerns, loving the intrigue and deceit, declaring it was all very ‘James Bond.’ As the cab moves through the busy late night traffic and the sun finally gives up its hold on the evening I take a moment to look into my bag of tricks. I palm the small recording device I borrowed from Marco, he loves his gadgets and I just knew he would have some sort of spy recording device. It’s shaped like a bullet and is similar size too, small but with a USB connection. It’s cute and compact which is lucky because there is absolutely only one place I can comfortably hide it in this outfit. The other object has a small black lacquered handle with a button end, pulling it discreetly the ends fan out on my hand, twenty or thirty strips of velvet soft suede. My fingers twist the material and I pull the strands through my hand. I can’t imagine this being anything other than sensual to the touch, its light feathering kissing the skin would be exquisite, even wielded with a heavy hand I can’t imagine it would hurt but maybe that’s the illusion. I fold the tentacles back into my purse wondering if I will actually have to use them tonight.

“It’s a training flogger . . . I thought you might like something to keep your hands busy. Chewing your fingers raw might give you away as not a natural Domme.” Her laugh is lightly musical interrupting my thoughts, but I am pleased she thought about these practicalities. My fingers were already nervous twiddling the delicate strands before I hid the flogger away.

We reach the door and a wave of panic washes over me, cooling my skin and draining the colour from my face. I have tucked the recorder between my breasts, hidden from view and pretty damn secure unless I melt from the heat I’m generating. Which might be a real possibility because although this material is natural it’s not exactly breathable. Sam turns me around and slips a soft blindfold over my eyes the only problem is I can see through the holes. I let out a nervous laugh.

“Sam this blindfold is broken.” I whisper and she giggles.

“Not a blindfold Bets, I just thought you’d appreciate the anonymity, might help you relax because you look like you’ve got a six foot spike wedged up your arse.” She whispers back.

I know she is trying to make me feel relaxed with her friendly jibe and her effort is appreciated, even if I don’t actually feel relaxed. But she’s risking a lot and I don’t need my apprehension rubbing off on her. I nod and try a light laugh that almost sounds natural and I flash a bright ‘game-on’ smile. “Let’s do this. I won’t let you down.” I slip my hand into hers and I am grateful for the comforting squeeze she gives me.

“I know that Bets and I’ll keep you safe. Who knows you might take a trick or two back for your Mr Stone.” She wiggles her brow and I almost splutter and choke. “No,. . maybe not.” She pats my back affectionately. “I can no more see him submitting, as I can see you demanding he submit but I guess tonight you might get to prove me wrong.” The imposing black gloss Georgian door opens ominously and I take a deep breath. Showtime.