R.S.V.P.

by Madeleine Oh

  He collapsed on the bed beside her, his limp cock stroking her one last time as he slid free. “You’re right. That made me want to wake up. I don’t, however, want to get out of bed.”

  “Me neither. Ever.”

  He laughed, and nudged her toward the edge of the bed. “Don’t get too comfortable. I still want that coffee.”

  Sassy slid out of the bed and stretched, then lifted her hair away from her neck, the cool air welcome against her warm skin. Behind her, Michael caught his breath sharply.

  “God, I wish I had a camera with me.”

  She glanced over her shoulder in a peekaboo pose to see his eyes dark with desire. Her body hummed, the blood pulsing hot and thick through her veins.

  “I could get one for you,” she offered.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Later. First, coffee.”

  She stopped first in the generous master bathroom, the whirlpool bath and shower unit enticing her with the promise of future wet and soapy lovemaking. Borrowing his comb, she untangled her hair, certain he’d appreciate the improvement once he’d had his coffee and could open his eyes. Then she padded out to the kitchen. She spotted the brushed steel coffeepot at once, holding pride of place in the center of the counter beside the double sink beneath the breakfast bar. A matching toaster oven was positioned beside it. But there was no coffee canister.

  Opening and closing cupboards revealed a wide variety of pots, pans, and serving dishes—he hadn’t been kidding about entertaining—as well as his supply of glassware and coffee mugs. Eventually she also discovered the pullout shelves of the pantry cupboards, which did contain two boxes of assorted teas and a package of coffee filters, but no actual coffee.

  Hands on hips, she studied the kitchen. She’d looked everywhere.

  “Where’s your coffee can?” she called to the bedroom.

  “Back of the refrigerator,” Michael’s voice drifted out to her. “The filters are in the cabinet next to the stove.”

  Who kept coffee in a refrigerator? Then again, what did she know? She drank instant.

  The fridge was filled with typical bachelor fare, takeout containers, leftover pizza, and beer. In a nod to healthy eating, he also had sport-top bottles of water, bagged salad, cream cheese, and fruit. The open pint of half-and-half was obviously for the coffee.

  A folded and sealed brown paper bag behind the water bottles bore a sticker from The Daily Grind, with “French Coffee House Blend” written in bold black ink. She took out the bag, inhaling the aroma as she opened it. Thick and rich, with subtle hints of fruit and exotic spices. Her mouth watered.

  Carefully following the directions, she measured three generous scoops into the filter, then filled the carafe with water and poured it into the reservoir. She flipped the switch, returned the coffee to the fridge and got down two large mugs. Then she leaned against the wall until the kitchen filled with the delicious fragrance.

  Michael strolled out of his bedroom, sniffing the air appreciatively. He was wearing swimming trunks, with a lightweight beach robe folded over his arm.

  “We’ll have our coffee outside,” he announced, holding the robe out to her. “Beautiful as you are completely naked, that’s a sight I want to save for myself.”

  Sassy pulled on the robe, turning her head to inhale the smell of sunscreen mixed with Michael’s own unique scent. The overly large robe engulfed her. She had to turn back the cuffs three times, and the hem hung down below her knees.

  While she was fixing the robe, Michael poured out two mugs of coffee, adding a liberal splash of cream and a touch of sugar to his. “How do you like your coffee?”

  “A few drops of milk and three spoonfuls of sugar.”

  He raised an eyebrow, but dutifully sprinkled her mug with droplets of half-and-half, then spooned in two servings of sugar. “There’s some natural sweetness to the coffee. Try it with two sugars first, and you can always add more if it’s not sweet enough for you.”

  She wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic of the mug, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. Too bad coffee never quite lived up to the promise of its aroma. Then she tasted it.

  Her eyes flew open. “It’s wonderful!”

  Chuckling softly, he opened the French doors and ushered her out onto the balcony. He waved her toward the near chair, with the view of the beach, while he circled around to take the chair with the view of her.

  They sat quietly, drinking the heavenly coffee, while the distant sounds of talking and laughter drifted up from the beach, punctuated by the throaty roar of motorboats and personal watercraft. She smiled, watching as the caffeine hit Michael’s bloodstream. He straightened, no longer slouching in the Adirondack chair, and his gaze sharpened.

  “Great in bed and you make a killer cup of coffee,” he teased. “The perfect woman.”

  Sassy looked down at the nearly empty mug clasped in her hands, the easy camaraderie of the morning destroyed by his words.

  “I’m not perfect,” she whispered.

  In an instant, he was out of his chair and kneeling by her side, lifting her chin up so that she would look at him. “Sasha? What’s wrong?”

  Now was the time to tell him. Admit that she’d gone to the party under false pretenses, that she was planning on writing an article about everything she’d done with him. Reassure him that whatever her original motives she was here because she wanted to be with him.

  Except, after she told him all that, he wouldn’t want to have anything to do with her. Hadn’t he told her how important his privacy was to him? Hadn’t he stressed that the foundation of any BDSM relationship had to be trust?

  She shook her head, glancing away from his storm cloud-colored gaze. “I’m thinking about work again.”

  “Well, stop it,” he ordered, tapping her wrist lightly with his fingertips. “You’ll feel better after you get some breakfast in you.”

  “Breakfast? But I looked in all your cupboards, searching for the coffee. You don’t have any cereal, or eggs, or even bagels.”

  “Briar Rose puts on a great spread for their morning-after brunch. It’s casual, held poolside, although still invitation only.”

  “That’s why you’re wearing trunks. But I don’t have a bathing suit with me.”

  He shrugged. “I can loan you one. I have plenty of costumes for photo shoots. Or we can stop by your apartment.”

  Show him her tiny three-room apartment? No way. He’d know in an instant that she could never have afforded the Briar Rose fees. He’d want to know who had paid her way, and the whole story would be out.

  “Loan me a costume. I’d like to see more of what you do.”

  Michael gulped down the last of his coffee and led her back inside. They passed through the beaded curtain into the foyer, then through an open archway and down a short hallway that ended in a bathroom. The metal sign on the door bore the discreet logo of the White Star Line. Sassy glanced around the hallway, looking for the matching “This Way to the Lifeboats” sign, but saw only framed photographs.

  The photos were all of people, but they were a strange juxtaposition of young musicians filled with vibrant attitude, high-fashion models caught in a moment of alluring humanity, and flamboyant drag queens. Some were clearly studio shots, while others had been taken on location. The hallmark of all of his work, however, was the sense that the camera had captured a side of the people not normally revealed—the sheer, exuberant joy of the musicians doing what they’d always dreamed of doing, the longing of the models to live the fantasy they portrayed instead of the soul-crushing reality, and the vulnerability of the drag queens exposing their innermost nature.

  “These are fabulous,” she breathed, wanting to stop and study the photos at length. Then she noticed the signatures on the matting. “Jack?”

  “My full name’s Michael Jackman. One of the first guys I worked with in the business insisted on pronouncing it as two words. ‘Hey, Jack, man.’ Everyone else thought my first name was Jack. It was less confusing
to just answer to that.”

  He tugged on her hand, pulling her around the corner of the hall to a diamond-shaped patch of carpeting. They entered through the open side of the diamond. The wall to their right contained more photographs, to their left was a door marked “Private”, and directly opposite was another beaded curtain.

  Michael pushed open the door, and led her inside a crowded office. Padded bags and molded boxes full of gear filled the double-braced industrial wire shelves. Open binders and loose papers were scattered across a cluttered desktop, with other binders and portfolios on the shelves of a combination bookcase-file cabinet.

  He opened another door, but kept his arm across the doorway, letting her look but not enter. Unlike the clutter and chaos of his office, the shelves of his darkroom were all in perfect order. Jugs of chemicals were lined up neatly, their labels facing outward. Trays were stowed on their sides, tilted slightly, exposed to the air but safe from dust, while stacks of development paper were safely cocooned in their light-proof coverings. A plastic basket of old wooden clothes-pegs sat beneath a retractable clothesline. Two heavy machines of black and silver defied her limited knowledge of photography, although she could identify the flat plates that must hold the finished photographs, and knew the complex knobs and levers on the sides of the machines must be used to perform adjustments.

  “This is the heart of it all,” Michael whispered, his voice as reverent as if he was in a church. “Slices of life caught on film and fixed forever.”

  He dropped his arm and stepped behind her, resting his cheek against her hair and capturing her in a loose embrace. Drawing her back against his body, he cradled her against the heat of his rising cock, and bent his head to nuzzle her neck.

  “Let me photograph you,” he breathed. “Let me capture your beauty and life on film.”

  Sassy nodded. If their relationship had to end, at least she would have this slice of time, perfectly preserved on film. It might be all she would ever have of Michael, after he learned the truth. And if his camera could capture her inner spirit as well as he had in the photos lining his walls, he’d know that, whatever other lies and omissions she’d been guilty of, her feelings for him had been real.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  He pulled her through the beaded curtain into his studio. Just inside the door, reflective white umbrellas arched over the powerful lights. A camera attached to a tripod pointed at the three panels topped by thick rolls of background images that hid the outer wall of the room. Michael muttered to himself as he flipped through the images, finally unrolling a scene of a woodland meadow, with rolling green hills rising in the distance. The images overlapped, forming a continuous picture, and curled onto the floor.

  Then he turned on the lights, shining a diffuse glow against the backdrop. Suddenly, it looked real, as if she could run forward onto the grass and disappear into the cool woods.

  He paid no attention to the effect. Opening a closet, he pulled out a carpet painted with fake grass, and a basket of silk flowers. He spread the carpet in front of the backdrops, overlapping its edge with the bottoms of the pictures. Then he tossed handfuls of tiny flowers in random cascades across the grass.

  Ducking behind the camera, he looked through the viewfinder. He made minute adjustments to the positions of the flowers, then checked the image again. Once more, he shifted the flowers. This time, he was satisfied with the results.

  He dug through the basket, pulling out five star-shaped white flowers—lilies or orchids. The sort of flower used in corsages.

  Sassy smiled, recalling the Briar Rose flower code. White flowers, to show she was a submissive. But it should include a silver ribbon, indicating that she belonged to a master.

  Clearly thinking the same thing, Michael twined a glittering silver ribbon through the stems to make a bouquet. Without looking at her, he said, “Take off your robe and kneel in the center of the meadow.”

  She pulled off the robe and tossed it against the wall behind the camera, where it would be out of the way. Then she crossed to the strip of flower-strewn carpet, finding it surprisingly soft against her bare feet.

  “Which way do you want me to face?” she asked.

  “So your shoulder is towards the camera. Either side.”

  Sassy chuckled. Unlike the models he normally worked with, she was not obsessed with having cameras photograph only her “good side”. She didn’t even know if she had a good side. Instead, she knelt with her right shoulder facing the camera so that she could continue to watch Michael as he worked.

  He came out of the closet with more props, this time lengths of silver chain in various thicknesses.

  “Hold out your arms in front of you.”

  When she did as he asked, he draped the chains across them, then ducked behind his camera to gauge the effect. The chains were surprisingly lightweight, although oddly, the smallest seemed the heaviest. After a moment of careful study, she realized most of the chains were actually plastic, and painted silver. The thinnest chains were real metal, which is why they weighed more.

  Michael pulled away all but the two thinnest chains, and wrapped those loosely around her arms, one by her wrists and one in the middle of her forearms. He checked the image again, then removed the thinnest chain. Carefully, he rewrapped the remaining chain, winding it around her wrists and partway up her arms. Then he pressed the end of the chain into her hand, bunching it up and folding her fingers around it, until a four-inch tail showed. He placed the bouquet of flowers in her other hand.

  “Perfect.” He moved back behind the camera. “Move your back leg forward about three inches. And rotate your shoulders so your chest is toward me.”

  She did as he said, then followed additional directions to spread her knees further apart, tip her hips forward, lift her arms, bend her elbows, and tilt her chin. She was starting to feel less like an object of desire and more like a giant posable doll. How could he capture his subjects’ inner emotions like this?

  Then he began to speak.

  “Can you feel how you’re positioned, your pussy open and ready for me to reach out and touch you? Your breasts aching for my caress? Even now, they’re swelling with desire, the nipples beading, tightening into two hard little buds.”

  Sassy’s body quickened in response to his words. A faint draft wafted across her naked body, teasing the damp folds between her legs. Her ass tightened, thrusting her exposed sex forward. Her nipples hardened, aching for his mouth to suck on them. She curled her fingers tighter around the stems of her bouquet and the end of the chain.

  “Yes, Michael,” she whispered. Her gaze sought his, but he was hidden behind his clicking camera.

  “The flowers are an offering,” he continued. “You wish to please me, by giving me gifts of beauty. But their beauty is nothing compared to yours. And so, you offer me yourself. Your hand is the one that has chained you.”

  “Yes,” she sighed, wishing it was true. Determined to make it true. She would offer herself to him, give him anything he wanted. Her body. Her soul. Everything she had. And he’d see how much he meant to her, how badly she wanted to be his slave. When he learned the truth about her job, he’d remember her eager willingness, and know that she hadn’t lied to him. Not about her feelings, and not about anything else. She just hadn’t told him the truth. But he’d be able to see the truth in his photographs.

  Michael groaned, snapping off a flurry of pictures. Then the rapid clicking stopped as he adjusted something on the camera.

  He pulled off his swim trunks revealing a rampant erection. The trunks were the kind containing pockets, and he pulled a condom package from the pocket with a flourish worthy of a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat.

  Watching him roll the condom over himself, Sassy’s flesh pulsed hot and wet, eager for him to plunge inside her. He circled behind her, kneeling between her calves, and wrapped his arms around her waist. His solid cock prodded her ass, then slipped forward, sliding between her legs.

&nbs
p; They moaned in unison. Michael reached down and guided his cock into her. Cupping her mound, he pressed her hips back as he thrust forward.

  “Michael!” she cried.

  The camera’s click echoed in the room.

  “Timer,” he whispered, swirling his tongue around the edge of her ear then nibbling gently on the lobe.

  He pinched her nipple with one hand while his other squeezed her clit. A lightning bolt flashed through her. She arched her body, driving herself deeper onto his cock.

  He thrust into her, again and again, whatever he’d seen through the viewfinder of his camera turning him savage with a need to claim her. His gentle nips along her neck and collarbone grew harder and harder until he sunk his teeth into her shoulder, pinning her like a jungle cat while he pumped his cock in and out of her.

  She writhed against him, mindless with need. She needed to touch him, kiss him, caress him. But her hands were bound, his body hidden behind hers except for the one hand still kneading her breast and the other between her legs. Still holding her bouquet, she grabbed his arm, clutching his hand tight to her chest.

  “Please, Michael. Please!” she begged.

  The fingers of his other hand dug between her folds, finding and squeezing her clit as he pounded into her. Once. Again.

  Sassy threw her head back and screamed her release. Her muscles clenched around Michael’s thrusting cock, and he bellowed with his own climax, exploding inside her.

  He held her close, his cheek resting against her hair, her spread thighs braced against his. She could feel the slight rise and fall of his chest behind her as he breathed, their lungs synchronized in tandem with their thundering pulses. Slowly, hearts and lungs returned to normal.

  The rush of blood no longer filling her ears, other sounds intruded. Michael’s soft exhalation of breath and low purr of masculine pleasure. The muted whir of the air-conditioning cycling on. The click of the camera.

  Sassy stiffened. “You took pictures of us making love?”

  “I’ll give you the negatives,” he promised. “But I wanted you to be able to see what I see.”