R.S.V.P.

by Madeleine Oh

  “That was incredible,” Jane croaked, her throat sore and her mind almost too fuddled to shape words.

  “We are,” Alan agreed, rolling off her. “Hold on.” He reached up and released her hands.

  Jane promptly wrapped her arms around him. “Alan,” she rasped, her voice still hoarse, “I love you so.”

  “Love you too, Jane. Hope this helps convince you.”

  “I’m convinced.” She had just enough strength left to smile.

  “Just a tick.” He kissed her and brushed her hair off her face, before getting off the bed and releasing her ankles, ripping open the Velcro so she could move—if she could summon the strength. Spreading the duvet over her, he climbed back in beside her.

  “You’re mine, Jane,” he said. “Never forget that.”

  She doubted she’d ever have the inclination to.

  Jane woke alone. As she watched, the bedside clock flicked over to 11:53. Almost noon.

  She sat up, still feeling utterly relaxed, her cunt still echoing the last ripples of that incredible climax. Or rather climaxes.

  Alan might be a bossy so and so, but darn, he’d been right about waiting intensifying pleasure. She didn’t want—at least not right now—to think about how she’d enjoyed being tied up and teased mercilessly. She’d found the lover of her dreams and he wanted her around. Permanently. That would take some considering.

  The same blue silk dressing gown lay across the foot of the bed. Jane pulled it on and padded down to the bathroom. Alan was singing downstairs.

  “Morning, Alan!” she called down the stairs.

  “Morning, sweet fuck!” he called back. “Sleep well?”

  Cheeky bugger! Not that he wasn’t entitled to be proud of his prowess. It had been a very sweet fuck. “Not bad at all!”

  “I’m making a fresh pot of tea. Want to get a shower while I put the kettle on?”

  Darn good idea. “Be down there in a couple of ticks.”

  It took her a little longer than that. The water was so warm, the floral shower gel too darn sybaritic and the matching body lotion Alan left out, just the crowning indulgence she needed. As she dried her hair, and put back on the robe, tightening the sash around her waist, Jane noticed the shiny white box from their shopping yesterday afternoon. She snapped open the lid and stared at the ring and ear studs nestling in the soft lining.

  She fixed a stud in each ear. They were beautiful and they suited her. He’d been so right to insist on buying them. How could she not wear them? Why had she considered refusing his gift? She’d wear them now, and for as long as he wanted. The ring she hesitated over. Alan had made no secret where he wanted it worn. That she was still not ready for, so she slipped in on her right hand.

  Pausing only to pick up her crumpled towels and give her hair a last smoothing, Jane crossed the landing and walked down the narrow staircase to where her lover waited.

  It was only a few steps from the open doorway to where he stood by the stove. She crossed the distance and knelt at his feet. “Alan Branis, I…” she hesitated. Did she love him? Or did she love sex with him? Only time spent with Alan would sort that out. “Alan, I’m yours,” she said.

  About the author: Madeleine Oh

  Madeleine welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1337 Commerce Drive, #13, Stow, Ohio 44224.

  Also by Madeleine Oh:

  Party Favors anthology

  Power Exchange

  Tied With a Bow anthology

  SOUTH BEACH SUBMISSIVE

  Jennifer Dunne

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Armani: GA Modefine S.A. Company

  Armani Exchange: GA Modefine S.A. Company

  Aspire: Ford Motor Company

  Automatic Slim’s: The Dream Team, LLC Ltd.

  Back Door Bamby: Creations Production and Management Group, Inc.

  Dramamine: Pharmacia & Upjohn Company

  Elmer Fudd: Time Warner Entertainment Company,

  Expedition: Ford Motor Company

  Food Network: Television Food Network

  Ford: Ford Motor Company

  Hair Glove: Michael J. McROBERTS

  Jell-O: Kraft Foods Holdings, Inc.

  Jet Ski: Kawasaki Corporation

  The Miami Herald: Knight-Ridder INC.

  Moschino: Moonshadow, S.P.A. Company

  NordicTrack: ICON IP, Inc.

  People: Time Inc. Corporation

  The Phantom of the Opera: Really Useful Group Ltd,

  Polo: PRL USA Holdings, Inc.

  Ralph Lauren: PRL USA Holdings, Inc.

  Tantra: Tita’s Inc.

  Time: Time Inc.

  Velcro: Velcro Industries B.V. Ltd.

  Vera Wang: V.E.W., Ltd. Corporation

  Versace: Gianni Versace S.P.A. Corporation

  White Star Line: R.M.S. Ltd. N.Y.C. Corporation

  Yoda: Lucasfilm Ltd. Corporation

  Chapter One

  “For your next assignment, I’d like you to review something a little different.” Bryce Fontaine, editor of South Beach Sun Daze, smiled charmingly, and waved a sealed envelope enticingly before his nightlife reviewer, as if she was a bloodhound and he was giving her the club’s scent.

  Sassy Davidovitch wasn’t biting. Bryce was only charming when he expected resistance. Whatever he wanted from her, it was something he didn’t think she’d want to do. Since she was the paper’s resident party animal, willing to do just about anything that promised a fun time, that meant whatever he wanted was going to be boring, stuffy, or both. No way was she signing up for that duty.

  She leaned back in the leather and aluminum frame guest chair in Bryce’s office and casually swung one leg, making the LEDs in the heels of her sneakers wink on and off in time to her movements. The bright Florida sunshine slipped through his angled blinds to sparkle off the rhinestones spelling out “Princess” on her T-shirt.

  “How different?”

  “I want you to join a dating service.”

  Sassy blinked. That didn’t sound like Sun Daze material. They reviewed the hottest, hippest, happeningest clubs and restaurants, with plenty of photos, innuendoes and name-dropping, reassuring the beautiful people that they were as important as they thought they were, and offering wannabes the lure of pretending that they were part of the in crowd. The beautiful people didn’t need dating services. By definition, everyone wanted to be with them.

  She frowned. “Are we expanding our coverage?”

  “No. This is an A-list dating service. Membership gets you invited to exclusive private parties, and the next one is coming up this weekend. I want a review of that party. So you have to join the dating service.”

  He extended the envelope toward her, clearly expecting her to take it. Still, Sassy hesitated. A party review was well within the range of her normal assignments.

  “That’s all you want?”

  “I’d rather have a feature article about the dating service.” Correctly reading her mutinous expression, he held up one perfectly manicured hand to ward off her protest. “Think of it as an opportunity to become a serious journalist.”

  “I don’t want to become a serious journalist. I just do the reviews so I can get in to the clubs.”

  Bryce dropped the envelope in front of her, then planted his palms on the desk top and leaned toward her. “Okay, I’ll level with you. We need someone to go undercover to do an exposé on the South Beach dating scene, and you’re the only one on the staff who’s both single and straight.”

  “Tony’s not gay. And he’s a real reporter.”

  “His girlfriend would kill him.”

  Sassy picked up the envelope and turned it over in her hands, but didn’t open it. The return address was imprinted with an Art Deco style red and black logo of a thorny vine studded with roses, and the name and address of Briar Rose I
ntroductions.

  “You can’t open the metro section of the Miami Herald without seeing half a dozen ads for dating services. Hell, I’ve typed up the classified ads for more than that in our own paper, both gay and straight. What makes this one worthy of an exposé?”

  “The clientele are top-drawer. Actors, actresses, fashion models, rock stars, heirs, heiresses, you name it. Our readers want to know what it takes to get a date with one of them.”

  She opened the envelope and withdrew a three-page questionnaire. It seemed straightforward enough. Name, address, vital statistics, and were you a dominant, submissive, or switch.

  Sassy jerked her head up and stared wide-eyed at Bryce. “Oh, no. No way. I’m not dressing up like a dominatrix to ‘whip up’ a story for you.”

  She stuffed the questionnaire back into the envelope and shoved it across the desk to Bryce. Folding his arms, he leaned back, refusing to accept it.

  “Then go as a submissive.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, right. You hired me as a reviewer because I was outspoken and opinionated. What makes you think I could ever be submissive?”

  He ran his fingers through his gel-stiffened dark hair, breaking apart the artfully disarranged curls into a tousled mess. “I’m not asking you to have sex with anyone. Just fake your way through the interview, get an invitation to the party, and then write about what it’s like. If people think you’re a submissive, they won’t question you standing on the sidelines, watching the action.”

  Reluctantly, Sassy picked up the envelope again. “An A-list party, you said?”

  “The best. Better than Friday nights at Privé.”

  “And I don’t have to go on any lame dinner dates with self-important bores for the dating service, just attend the party?”

  “Fun all the way.”

  “Okay. I’ll do it.” She started to rise out of the chair, then fell back with a thump, her eyes widening. “What the hell am I going to wear?”

  Bryce’s forehead furrowed. Of course, he looked gorgeous, as usual, in a black Armani Exchange suit over a pale lavender collarless shirt. Her office attire consisted of glitter-bedecked T-shirts and jeans.

  “You go to clubs all the time. You practically live in them. You must have a clubbing wardrobe.”

  “Sure I do. In dramatic jewel tones, lamé prints, and rhinestones, glitter, and anything else that sparkles. Not a single submissive thing in the batch.”

  “Black is always a good choice.”

  “Hello? Weren’t you listening? I don’t own anything black.”

  He stared at her. “How can anyone not own black?”

  “Because it’s boring. Everyone wears black. I like my clothes to have personality.” She shook her head. “I’m never going to convince anyone I’m submissive.”

  * * * * *

  Sassy spent the afternoon, when she wasn’t typing up classifieds, surfing the net for information on dominance and submission that would let her fake her way through an interview. In deference to the early morning meeting—she was usually still in bed at 11 a.m.—she skipped the party at Automatic Slim’s that night. The next morning, wearing a commemorative T-shirt from a Miami restaging of The Rocky Horror Show bearing the slogan “Thrill Me, Chill Me, Fulfill Me” in red print over a glittering pair of lips, she showed up at the Art Deco bungalow housing Briar Rose Introductions promptly at eleven, awake and alert for her interview with Eveline Summers, owner and proprietress of the dating service.

  She’d expected to be grilled regarding her theoretical background history as a submissive, since she’d filled out her application form by randomly selecting things she was supposedly interested in. Stress positions, piercings, and acts involving bodily fluids were out. Everything else, she’d answered either “experienced” or “interested”.

  Oddly, however, the sticking point appeared to be her employment as a secretary. Not wanting to reveal herself as “Sassy D.”, the Sun Daze reviewer, she’d used her real name on the application, Alexandra Davidovitch, and listed her occupation as secretary. She spent most of her time at the Sun Daze offices typing and answering phones, so it seemed a close match for the job description.

  Eveline tapped the offending line with a blood-red fingernail. “You do realize that Briar Rose is an exclusive service? And clients pay for that exclusivity?”

  “Are you asking if I can afford your fees on a secretary’s salary?”

  “Membership is ten thousand dollars a year, payable monthly.”

  Sassy’s eyes widened slightly. Bryce better be expecting that charge, or he’d go ballistic when she turned in her expense account. “It’s covered. The secretarial job is only part-time, and not my only source of income.”

  Eveline nodded and smiled. “We have a number of aspiring models in our membership. According to the terms of the dating service agreement, you’re not allowed to use the parties to try and solicit modeling assignments. They are for social interaction only.”

  It wasn’t the first time Sassy had been mistaken for a model. She was thin—her food budget was regularly supplemented by cruising for free samples in the supermarket, and dancing burned an enormous number of calories—and had the classic bone structure of her Russian aristocratic ancestors. She wasn’t beautiful, but youth, health, and a joie de vivre attitude made her more than passably pretty.

  “Understood. Now, about these parties. They’re the only function of the dating service?”

  “No. Your profile will be forwarded to any men who we feel would be a good match for you, based on your stated interests and experience. They’ll contact you according to your preferred contact method, either by phone or email. You can expect about five or six contacts over the next month. The parties are a conducive setting for you to meet people whom you’ve corresponded with in person. And, of course, to mingle with like-minded people who may become friends.”

  Eveline withdrew a thick cream-colored invitation from a desk drawer, and handed it to Sassy. The Briar Rose logo was embossed on the cover, and a pile of multicolored papers had been stuffed inside.

  “This is your invitation to our next party, on Saturday, as well as a ticket to the Sunday morning buffet after the party. I’ve included a guide to the flower symbols—you’ll be given a white rose, as a submissive looking for a partner. Look for men wearing a single deep purple rose. That is the symbol for dominants without a partner.”

  Sassy found the list, and scanned it quickly. There were also flower codes for gay and bisexual dominants and submissives, switches of all orientations, and preference for various types of activities, like edge play, piercing, and Ponyboys or -girls. The variety made her head swim.

  “Do I have to memorize all of these before the party?”

  Eveline laughed. “Only the ones you’re interested in. Directions to the party are included in your packet. It’s at the Eleanor penthouse. There’s a private elevator from the parking garage, staffed by one of our employees, so you can dress in whatever manner makes you comfortable. For legal reasons, we do ask that you refrain from complete nudity, however.”

  The Eleanor penthouse was one of the city’s prime party locations, reserved for launch parties of new fashion lines, wrap parties for Hollywood and TV filming, and private functions of the elite. Briar Rose was a serious player.

  Sassy grinned. “I can hardly wait.”

  * * * * *

  Eveline had said to wear whatever made her comfortable to the party, but Sassy figured that didn’t mean showing up in jeans and a T-shirt. Since there wasn’t anything in her closet that she thought looked submissive, she decided to try for demure, and wore a calf-length white sundress printed with clusters of cherries. Beadwork and sequins subtly accented the fruit, adding a bit of sparkle without being ostentatious. Plus, the double meaning of wearing cherries to her first BDSM party amused her.

  She stuffed the invitation, apartment keys, tissues, and lip gloss into a matching clutch bag, and walked to the Eleanor. If the bouncer at the elevator
saw her ten-year-old Ford Aspire, with the scars and scrapes that came from being parked late at night on the street in front of bars and clubs, he’d know she didn’t belong with this crowd. But it was less than a fifteen minute walk from her apartment on Eighth Street over to Collins then up to the Eleanor. Used to dancing the night away, she had no problem walking that far in her strappy heels. She’d barely started to notice the heat before she was enveloped in the airy cool of the Eleanor’s lobby, diaphanous white drapes belling softly in the breeze that flowed from the ocean to the pool side courtyard.

  A reception clerk gave her directions to the private penthouse elevator, where she presented her invitation to the tuxedo-clad bouncer. Her spirits rose with the elevator. Whatever else this party proved to be, it was going to be fun like she’d never had before.

  In the penthouse foyer, she joined a short line of people trading their invitations for prepared corsages. She recognized two local actresses flanking the owner of a string of nightclubs. He was wearing black leather pants and an open vest. The women wore matching black leather bras and miniskirts, and black leather collars Sassy was willing to bet were studded with stones a hell of a lot more expensive than mere rhinestones. They were either small diamonds, or extremely well-cut cubic zirconium, but they caught the light in a dazzling sparkle when one of the actresses tossed back her hair.

  The actress touched the man’s arm, leaning forward to whisper something to him, and he turned to face Sassy.

  “My slave says you’ve been staring at her. Is there something I can help you with?”

  Sassy’s cheeks flamed. She wasn’t even in the door yet, and she’d already been caught out as a fraud. “I was admiring her collar.”

  The man smiled. “Kristin, show the lady your collar.”

  The actress obediently stepped closer and tilted her head to display the stones encircling her neck.

  “Three carats total weight,” he continued. “Done by a leather artist and jeweler in San Francisco. I could give you his name if you like.”