The man shakes his head. “Lady, my wife is going to be upset.”
“It won’t take but a minute.”
“Fine.”
A few minutes later, I am back in my car. In the backseat is a long white dress box with a large red ribbon. Attached to the ribbon is an envelope with my name, my real name.
My hands are shaking as I drive to my apartment near the back of the complex. Of course I had to tell Dorothy my name. I couldn’t very well accept a package to Moira. We may look alike, but the ID I was required to show has my name on it, not my sister’s.
I steal a glance at the long box and the envelope.
Did she tell him my name?
Once I park, I can’t take the suspense any longer. Turning off the car, I hit the overhead light and reach back for the envelope, ripping it from the giant ribbon.
My hands tremble as I fight with the flap. Inside are a smaller envelope and a separate note. I read the note first.
* * *
Moira dear, your identity is safe with me. Mr. Santana brought your gift to Lace and Leather and I arranged the delivery.
* * *
I let out a long sigh.
* * *
Contact me if you change your mind after opening your gift. Assuming you plan to come to Lace and Leather, please enter code 5566 when you arrive. I will meet you at the entry to the club.
Dorothy.
* * *
I lift the smaller envelope. It’s different—heavier paper, thick and luxurious in my grasp. In flowing script on the outside is Moira.
Nibbling on my lip, I reach for the flap while considering the out Dorothy has given me.
Is she expecting me to change my mind?
What is inside?
My stomach twists as I tug the note free.
Lucas
“You’re dressed formal again, Luke,” my mother says as Callie hurries past her on her search for my father.
“Bye, Callie girl,” I call.
“Bye, Dad,” she says, spinning as she runs, her long golden braid swinging seconds before she disappears through the house with her suitcase in tow, calling for her grandfather.
Shaking my head, I turn back to my mother. While I don’t give my parents’ appearances that much thought, I’m aware that my mom is an attractive woman in her early sixties who has always had unbounded energy. Tonight she’s dressed in shorts and a top with sneakers on her feet, ready for their getaway. “She loves spending time with you too,” I say. “Are you sure you want to go to the cottage tonight? I can pick her up in the morning and then you and Dad can have alone time.”
“Oh, nonsense, we’re alone plenty. You know we love to have Callie, and she enjoys the lake. Your father has all sorts of things planned. We’ll be back on Sunday. Just be prepared for her to be tired.”
I recall my childhood at the same cottage at a nearby lake, swimming, fishing, and catching frogs and lightning bugs. It makes me happy that Callie is having the same experiences.
My mother’s eyebrows lift. “You seem content. You know, this is two weekends in a row that you’ve asked us to watch her.” She gazes at my attire, the dark gray suit, blue tie, white shirt, and black leather loafers.
Tonight my tie is meant to match the mask I sent to Moira.
“Are you going to tell me that you have another dinner meeting with a client?” she asks with the edge of suspicion to her tone.
I wasn’t planning on saying anything. ‘Hey, Mom, can you watch my daughter while I go to a BDSM club’ doesn’t roll off the tongue. I grin. “Thanks again for watching Callie.”
My mother reaches out and wraps her fingers around my arm. “Luke, your dad and I want you to be happy. I’m not pushing you to do anything you’re not ready to do, but you know Beth would want you to be happy too.”
She would want you to live. Dr. Kizer’s words come back to me.
“If she were here and you weren’t, wouldn’t you want that for her?”
While it’s impossible to think of Beth with another man, my mom is right and so is Dr. Kizer.
“I know she’d want me happy.” It’s all I can say.
“We adored Beth and will love her forever. That doesn’t mean that we can’t love another woman who makes you happy.”
Her sentiments are well timed. I’ve spent most of last night and today anticipating a call or text from Dorothy telling me that Moira changed her mind, while at the same time hoping she wouldn’t.
“I do have a meeting, Mom. And it’s dinnertime.”
“And you are meeting...” She leaves the sentence open-ended, but I’m not willing to fill in blanks this soon.
“I’ll be by Sunday evening.”
“That’s a whole weekend to yourself. Or maybe not to yourself?” she says as she fishes for more.
I shake my head again. “Thanks. Who knows, maybe I’ll decide to head to the cottage in the morning? I could use a few hours out on a quiet lake.”
“Or maybe you’ll have another meeting?”
I lean in and give her a quick kiss on her cheek. “Tell Dad to back down on the snacks. Callie told me about the cookies last time.”
“If you think I can tell your father what to do, you’ve not been paying attention.”
“See you Sunday...or sooner,” I say as I open the door and step outside.
“Luke.”
I turn back.
“Have a very good meeting.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m pulling past the large gates outside Lace and Leather, still preparing myself for a last-second cancellation. I tell myself that if that happens, I’ll simply have a drink in the bourbon bar and go home.
Of course, that isn’t all I’ve been telling myself. I’ve also been thinking about my mother’s offer for the entire weekend. How is it that I can be mentally ending whatever this is between me and Moira while simultaneously making plans for the future?
Not a forever future.
Future with the simple definition of time following present.
After securing my mask, I hand my keys to the valet, Marcus, and I look up at the large renovated mansion before me. As an architect I admire the craftsmanship. As a patron of Lace and Leather, I feel the power within the structure as if the wood trim and dark painted walls radiate the mood. It’s empowering in a way that I can’t describe. Turning, I take one more long look toward the driveway as I inhale the warm summer air.
For the first time since my life stopped, I feel the anticipation of an encounter. Last Saturday’s meeting was unexpected and unforgettable. Tonight will be different.
Tonight is planned.
Tonight those blue eyes will peer up at me from behind the blue satin mask and I’ll be ready for what is to come.
“Mr. Santana?” Marcus says with the intonation of a question as he pulls me from my thoughts.
“Yes.”
“I believe Dorothy is waiting for you in the bourbon bar. I was also told to expect your guest in another half hour.”
My chest inflates as I fill my lungs.
That means Moira hasn’t canceled.
“Yes,” I say, “and she is to be escorted by Dorothy to the third floor. No stops in between.”
“Yes, Sir. We’re prepared, and...”
When Marcus’s sentence doesn’t end, I lift my brows.
“Sir, I wanted to say that it’s good to have you back.”
With one more glance at the imposing large structure, I nod. “It’s good to be back, Marcus. Take care of my girl when she arrives.”
His dark eyes open wider beneath his mask as I realize what I’d just said.
My girl.
Where did that come from?
“Yes, Sir,” he replies, saving me from backtracking or elaborating.
As I climb the large steps, I allow what I said—my girl—to register. I don’t even know Moira, not really. I know that her blue eyes are intoxicating. I know that her innocence with this way of life is like a drug to me. I had a small
amount of it last week and since then my body has been crying out for more. I realize that it is patronizing and possibly misogynistic of me to consider her mine, but nevertheless, she agreed to return here to me. She may not be mine in the full extent of the word, but last week I marked her and this week I plan to do more.
The lingerie I sent for her to wear is white and blue and scandalously scant. The bustier-corset is cupless; her perfect breasts will be barely covered with an edging of lace. The bottom hem is designed to stop at her waist. The barely present panties have a sheer triangle to cover her golden curls. Her entire shapely ass will be exposed, ready for its first bite of a crop.
My hand goes to my belt buckle as my mind imagines the leather strap contacting her flawless skin. Garters attach from the front of the bustier to thigh-high stockings. And I instructed her to wear the tall black high-heeled shoes from last week, as well as how to wear her hair. The light-blue satin mask is the final piece.
Moira can’t possibly know what colors represent, but Dorothy does.
When she saw the mask, she looked up at me in question.
* * *
Thursday morning:
“Mr. Santana, accepting the status of being paired should be a decision made by two.”
“Moira accepted my invitation. In time she’ll understand the meaning of the color. In the meantime, I have no intentions of other men assuming her status as anything that would encourage or even garner their attention.”
“Moira is a beautiful woman. I’m most certain she’ll earn attention, especially in this.” She pointed to the contents of the box.
“Look further.”
Dorothy peeled back the lower tissue paper to reveal a long white cape trimmed in blue to match the lingerie as well as the mask. She grinned. “It seems you thought of everything.”
“I want to know that she is confident in herself. As you know, this lifestyle requires strength on both sides. I’m not interested in a sub who is looking for something I don’t want to provide.”
I enjoy providing the control and domination. Inflicting pain for the purpose of pleasure is my wheelhouse. I also want a woman who enjoys submitting without losing her identity, a woman who can separate personal from life, a woman who is confident in her skin every day as well as in the bedroom or club.
Demeaning a submissive isn’t my modus operandi. There were no golden showers in my past nor will there be in my future. That doesn’t mean I won’t provide punishment when warranted. However, I prefer a sensual woman laid out for my pleasure, taking the sting of a belt or crop and enduring the bite of clamps until her mind and body are entirely focused on me. It’s then that I can take both of us to untold heights.
“Mr. Santana,” Dorothy said, “there’s a reason you’re good at what you do. You have a knack for sensing what a woman wants. Too bad really. Perhaps if I’d been wearing a white mask when we met...”
A grin came to my lips as I lifted my hand to her red hair. “Beautiful Dorothy, I don’t believe even a blue and white pinafore and ruby-red slippers would disguise your incredible strength. Your stamina is legendary.”
Her head tilted. “As is yours, Sir. I’d be willing to give it a go. Can you imagine the pair we’d be?”
“My dear, topping from the bottom is endearing on you.”
“You can’t blame a girl for trying.” Her smile attempted to be demure. “You could punish her.”
I refocused our conversation. “Thank you for delivering this to Moira. Please contact me immediately if you hear from her or she changes her mind after receiving the delivery. If she doesn’t cancel, I want room four on the third floor.”
“Room four?” she said, her eyes opened wide.
“Has it changed?”
“No, Sir. It’s as you recall.”
“Bring her to room four.”
“As you say.”
* * *
Present:
Jonathon opens the door to the club. “Mr. Santana.”
“Jonathon, isn’t it about time you took a night off?”
“No, Sir. Not on a weekend. I couldn’t live with myself if anything ever went wrong.”
While the club has a strict admission policy, BDSM and abuse are separated by a very thin line. Jonathon’s chosen role is as protector and moderator. He’s a true Dominant at heart who sees the safety of all submissives as his purpose.
“You’re a good man.”
Jonathon nods as I step through the next set of doors and make my way to the bourbon bar. When I enter, I find Dorothy standing near the shiny long bar, talking to a man in a dark suit with a black mask. Though I hate to interrupt, the clock is ticking closer to eight, to Moira’s arrival.
“Would you like a drink?” the bartender asks. She’s a different woman than from the other night. This one has light brown hair and is wearing a leather bustier. Her mask is adorned with rubies.
“No, thank you,” I say.
At the sound of my voice, Dorothy turns, her usual mask replaced by one of silver satin indicating that she’s available and interested in a softer experience. A smile spreads across my face. “Dorothy, you’re full of surprises. Where’s the pinafore?”
Taking a step away from the bar, she grins. “I thought maybe you wouldn’t be as afraid of me if I passed on the rubies for one night.”
“Oh, but I am afraid of you,” I say with a grin.
She shrugs. “Topping from the bottom.”
“Have you considered topping from the top?” I ask.
Her eyes open wide. “I have considered...”
“I know this great club. It’s called Lace and Leather. You should give it a try. Perhaps there’s a man...or a woman...who would indulge your fantasy.”
She loops her arm through mine. “It’s my fault really,” she says as we begin to leave the bar.
“What is?”
“When I saw that woman, I thought of you. And then you appeared as if it was meant to be. I should have kept you for myself when I had the chance.”
Instead of answering directly, as we ascend the stairway, I ask, “Moira didn’t contact you again? She didn’t cancel or call with questions?”
“No, Sir.”
A buzzing sound comes from her side. Dorothy reaches into the pocket on her skirt and removes what looks like a beeper. Her eyes meet mine.
“Sir, if you can take yourself the rest of the way up, your partner has just passed the gate.”
“I can find my way. Bring my girl to me.”
Dorothy nods.
Straightening my shoulders, I continue upward, well aware of what I’d just said, how I’d claimed Moira as my own. My sense of satisfaction grows, pleased with myself for using the qualifier.
My girl.
“Come on up, Moira,” I say to myself. “I’m ready to make you mine, if only for the night.”
Marji
My palms slide over the steering wheel and my heart beats wildly, sending my circulation racing as I fight to move forward and pull my car up to Lace and Leather.
The saying nervous wreck comes to mind. That’s exactly what I am.
Last week I had no idea what I would find at Lace and Leather and yet, tonight with many ideas racing through my mind, I’m even more nervous.
I look down at my lap; the lingerie Mr. Santana sent is hidden below the thick satin cape. My hands are extended through openings on each side trying to maintain their grasp of the wheel as my high-heeled shoe presses on the brake. The cape covers me completely to mid-calf, yet it doesn’t latch except for one button near the neck.
Once the shock of the attire settled, I worried about the twenty-five-minute drive from my apartment to the club. It would be my luck that I’d have a flat tire or a fender bender. On my way home from work today, I filled my gas tank even though it was at three quarters of a tank. I wasn’t taking any chances.
Work was a blur, but at least I’m making progress on Dr. Kizer’s notes. I’m caught up through Wednesday. However, each sess
ion I transcribed reminded me of why I wanted to come to this club and helped me to replace my stretched nerves with desire.
That was until I got home and prepared for tonight.
I showered and shaved, washed my hair, styled it high upon my head, covered my body with lotion, and applied makeup. I’ve never worn lingerie like this before nor have I worn a bustier, much less one that didn’t actually cover my breasts.
Once I was fully dressed, I couldn’t believe that I was the woman in the mirror. I stood there for uncounted minutes, taking in the lace, the tightening of the corset, and the sensuality of the garter belts and thigh-high stockings.
When I turned, my backside was fully exposed.
My mind went to the man with the belt.
Mr. Santana told me to wear this. He also told me not to touch myself.
The longer I stared, the more I wanted to disobey. It was a true war within my thoughts as I imagined his reaction, perhaps his punishment.
Was that what I wanted?
Without thought, my eyes closed and I teased the edge of the small triangle covering my core. It was as I brushed my clit that I realized my mistake. I didn’t do more. I didn’t rub or find pleasure. It was a touch, an unconscious touch as my consciousness thought about Mr. Santana. In all reality it was his fault. My entire body buzzed with anticipation.
Peering in the rearview mirror, I secure the light-blue mask over my eyes and bring the car to a stop. Immediately, the valet is at the driver’s-side door. With a deep breath, I hit the button to unlock the door and wait as the door swings open. As it does, a warm summer evening breeze fills the car, catching the cape and exposing my thighs.
Instead of panicking, I simply reach for the tall gentleman’s hand.
“Miss Moira, welcome.”
My lips curl upward at the use of my sister’s name. She really would be angry if she only knew. “Hello.”
“Welcome back to Lace and Leather. Miss Dorothy is waiting for you inside.”
“Thank you.”
With my hand in his, he leads me up the stairs, either unaware of what I am wearing under the cape—even the fact that I’m wearing a cape on a warm summer night—or as unfazed by it as he is the wearing of a mask. Once we reach the entrance, he releases my hand and opens the door. Standing inside, as she had been the other night, is Dorothy. Her ruby mask is replaced with one of silver.
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