R.S.V.P.

by Madeleine Oh

  She sighed, brushing her palm across the soft, breathable fabrics of her clubbing clothes; crushed velvet skirts, silk tank tops, and rayon halter dresses, all brilliantly colored and dusted with glitter or spangled with sequins. She was beginning to understand the appeal of black.

  “I just wanted to have fun,” she whispered. But this weekend had gone so far beyond fun, it wasn’t even on the same map. Now adventures that had seemed wild and daring would just remind her of what she had shared with Michael, and pale to insignificance in comparison.

  She glanced at her clock. He would have called by now if he was going to call her.

  Her imagination conjured up pictures of the two beautiful models from today’s photo shoot, consoling him in his bedroom. One knelt between his legs, sucking his cock, while the other straddled his shoulders, letting him feast on her pussy.

  Oddly, Sassy felt neither jealous nor threatened by the mental picture. Michael was a man. If you sucked on his cock, eventually he’d come—it was physical nature. But those women, no matter how talented, couldn’t give him what he really wanted, what he really needed. Eventually, he’d call her. Because he wanted what they’d shared as badly as she did. He wouldn’t risk losing that because of a misunderstanding.

  Cheered, she grabbed a flirty minidress in electric blue, covered with fuchsia and gold sequined flowers. She might not be up for Tantra, but a few hours of dancing at Back Door Bamby would do the trick. And if he did call, he wouldn’t find her at home, waiting by the phone like some pathetic high school girl hoping for a date.

  When she dragged herself in at two o’clock, exhausted by hours of vigorous dancing, the message light was still dark. But at that point, all she cared about was going to sleep.

  She dreamt of Michael. He’d tied her to the giant leather cubes in his bedroom, and was whipping her, chastising her for being bad and not telling him about her real reasons for attending the party. Then he dropped the whip and made love to her, saying she could keep as many secrets as she wanted, as long as she allowed him to punish her for them.

  She woke up hot and aching, her pussy wet and needing Michael to fill it. She spread her legs and stroked herself, imagining the fingers pushing inside her were Michael’s. Shuddering, she arched upward and cried out, then fell back onto the bed. The orgasm barely soothed her itch, and she started stroking herself again, hoping to coax forth a better one.

  It was a hopeless task. She could play with herself for hours and never come close to feeling what Michael made her feel. It wasn’t just the physical act with him, although that was great. But it was the mental and emotional aspects that pushed her over the edge. She could never give herself that kind of experience.

  Finally, she admitted defeat. Aching and restless, she climbed out of bed and got ready for work. Michael didn’t call that day, either.

  He didn’t call while she was partying herself into exhaustion at Automatic Slim’s, either.

  By late afternoon on Wednesday, she was beginning to think he’d never call, and wondering if it would seem too pathetic of her to leave another message for him. Her phone rang, and she forced herself to answer with a perkiness she didn’t feel, “South Beach Sun Daze. How may I help you?”

  “Tied to my bed, naked and aching would be a good start.”

  “Michael,” she breathed, all her blood rushing from her hands and face to pool low in her groin. Her panties were instantly damp, her flesh pulsing with needy heat.

  “So, you really are a secretary.”

  “Of a sort. I write up classified ads, transfer incoming phone calls to the right desk, and review clubs and restaurants on the side.”

  Sassy realized she was babbling, and clamped her mouth shut.

  “I don’t like being used.”

  “I didn’t use you, Michael, I swear. The minute I saw you, there was this instant chemistry between us. What happened had nothing to do with my review, and everything to do with how you made me feel.”

  “I know. Or I wouldn’t have called.”

  She hesitated, then decided to risk asking, “Why’d you wait so long to call?”

  “I wanted to develop your pictures, first.”

  The pictures he’d taken Sunday morning. Had he planned to use them as a counter-threat in case she tried blackmailing him like the model had?

  His voice dropped to a low purr. “The camera doesn’t lie.”

  “So you believe me.” She let out a sigh of relief.

  “Yes. But we still have a lot to talk over. When do you get out of work?”

  “Five.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you at my apartment. The doorman will have your name on his list.”

  He hung up, leaving Sassy clutching the dead handset until it started bleating at her again. The annoying noise barely registered.

  He wanted her! Anything else was unimportant. She floated through the rest of the afternoon in a haze, at one point realizing she’d somehow combined an ad for a used Jet Ski with one for a NordicTrack, offering to sell a high-performing set of Nordic skis and a like-new JetTrack.

  She snorted. The seller would probably get more money for the mythical JetTrack than he would for the thousand-dollar clothes rack of choice. At least it wasn’t February. You couldn’t give a NordicTrack away at that time of year, when so many people gave up on their New Year’s resolutions to eat less and exercise more.

  Pointing out the ads she’d worked on after Michael’s call with colored tape flags, Sassy carefully reviewed each one, catching only two other mistakes. She’d prefer to look them over tomorrow, when her head wasn’t spinning with thoughts of her impending meeting with Michael. But the paper had to go to the printer’s tonight.

  On impulse, she printed out a copy of her article, proud of the way it had turned out under Bryce’s expert editing. She stuffed the printout into her bag to show Michael. There would be no more secrets. No more surprise revelations.

  The workday finally ended, and she scampered out. The rush hour traffic was a zoo, but it took less than half an hour to reach Michael’s building. She wished she’d been able to go home and change into something sexier than jeans and a glittering T-shirt of golden cat statues, a souvenir of a friend’s lucky trip to Las Vegas two years ago. But she wasn’t about to keep him waiting. Especially since she was hoping to be out of her clothes pretty quickly once she arrived.

  She pulled into the guest parking area, which didn’t require a passkey, unlike the parking garage. Her beat-up little Aspire looked completely out of place in the sea of luxury sports cars and SUVs that could stow her subcompact in their cargo spaces. But she didn’t care. Michael wasn’t interested in her for her car.

  Remembering how they’d nearly made love in his SUV that first night, she was flushed and eager by the time she arrived at the building’s lobby.

  “Sasha Davidovitch, for Mr. Jackman,” she told the uniformed doorman who guarded the elevators.

  He consulted a list on a clipboard, running his finger down the page until he found her name and checked her off. “Mr. Jackman is expecting you.”

  The up elevator already contained four people from the parking garage when it opened to let her on. Two of the men wore business suits, one navy and one gray, while the remaining man wore khaki pants and a green golf shirt. The woman wore a black patent-leather short skirt and matching heels with a fuchsia and black silk blouse.

  The two men in suits were discussing some aspect of the law as it related to offshore investments, completely ignoring her, but the other two nodded and flashed brief smiles as she entered the elevator and pressed the button for Michael’s floor.

  By the time she rang his doorbell, she’d convinced herself that she should have taken the time to go home and change first. He was surrounded by beautiful people all day long. The least she could have done was boost herself closer to their level. Instead, all she’d taken the time to do was pop a breath mint and run a quick comb through her hair before leaving her car.

  M
ichael answered the door immediately, making her wonder if the doorman had given him warning that she was on her way up. He pulled her inside, slammed the door shut behind her, and pressed her up against the wall, covering her mouth with a demanding kiss. She melted against him, sighing against his lips and twining her arms around his neck.

  His attack gentled, and he nibbled and sucked on her lips playfully while his hands slipped into the back pockets of her jeans. With a sigh, he lifted his head.

  Sassy grinned. “Hell of a hello you’ve got there.”

  He chuckled. “I was trying to prove something to myself. That kissing you really was as good as I remembered.”

  “And was it?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.” Her heart dropped to her toes.

  Michael bent his head and pressed another swift kiss to her lips. “It was better.”

  “Oh!” Her heart soared. Much more of this, and she’d need a Dramamine for her internal organs.

  He stepped back, looking over her jeans and T-shirt. Rather than being upset at her casual attire, though, he grinned. “Anxious to see me, were you?”

  “I thought about going home and changing into something sexy. Regretted it about a million times between the office and your door. But my apartment was out of the way, and I didn’t think I could afford the time.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’ll be out of them soon enough.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Leaving one hand tucked in her jeans pocket, Michael steered her through the curtain into his dining room. A row of potted ferns lined the table.

  Heading toward his bedroom, he said ominously, “But first we need to talk.”

  Chapter Eight

  The seating area had been transformed. Two leather chairs had been pushed together at an angle, and the cubes that had been between them moved aside to form a black leather table. What had appeared to be decorative Velcro straps when the cubes were on their sides now rested open upon the table, just waiting to tie her down. A collection of riding crops, whips, paddles and floggers filled the surface of another cube, neatly laid out for use.

  But the biggest change was near the ceiling. The ferns had been removed to the dining room, and in their place, a heavy black leather swing hung by chains from the wrought iron hooks.

  “Sit down,” he ordered, nudging her toward one of the chairs.

  Sassy sat, her eyes drawn to the pile of implements. She shivered in mingled anticipation and fear, remembering her dream. Had her subconscious mind guessed Michael’s reaction correctly?

  Michael dropped into the other chair. “I explained to you how BDSM relationships had to be based on a foundation of complete honesty.”

  “I never lied to you.”

  “A lie of omission is still a lie.”

  She dropped her gaze and shuffled her feet, watching as the LEDs blinked on and off. “Yeah. I know.”

  “You explained your reasoning, and I can understand why you did what you did. I don’t condone it, and won’t accept any similar prevarications. But I understand. So I’m giving you one chance to come clean, about anything and everything.”

  “The job was the only thing. That I was at the party to review it.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She hesitated, thinking back over all of their discussions, wondering where she might have misled him either on purpose or accidentally. “Well, you know the paper bought my Briar Rose membership fee. I couldn’t afford it. I can’t even afford to eat out if the paper’s not paying. I’m about as close to broke as you can be without being in debt.”

  He said nothing, but nodded encouragingly.

  “I did lie to Eveline, telling her I was experienced, but I already told you I wasn’t. And I tried modeling once, but hated it. The photographer wasn’t anywhere near as good as you, and kept bellowing these incomprehensible things, like four o’clock and Position Three, then shouting at me when I didn’t move the way he wanted.”

  She fell silent, racking her brain for anything else. Then she dove for her purse, pulling out her printout of her first article.

  “Here. You can see everything I said in the paper. It’ll come out tomorrow.”

  Michael quickly scanned the copy. Unlike Sun Daze’s normal style, she hadn’t named names, calling Briar Rose “an exclusive Deco District dating service,” Carl and his slaves “a music business executive and two young models”, and Michael himself simply “a devastatingly attractive dark-haired man”.

  He looked up, smiling. “Devastating, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “So your first article covers up to when we got the room. That would be your second article?”

  “Right. I figured I could get at least two months of stories from the party and what followed. Although I’ll probably leave out the photo session, since that could identify you.” She hesitated. “Unless you don’t want me to go through with it? I could keep the story focused on just what happened at the public parts of the party.”

  He shook his head, folding the paper and handing it back to her. “No. I don’t have the right to ask that of you.”

  “If it’s going to cause trouble—”

  “It won’t. You’re discreet. I’ll take a look at your future articles, if you like, to make sure you’re not saying anything that could be a problem. But you could be doing a big service to people who might be interested in the lifestyle, and not know how to get involved. If Sun Daze wants to run a list of contacts—anonymous bulletin boards, chat rooms, and stores that cater to the scene—I can put one together for you.”

  Sassy felt herself glowing, radiating happiness. She was surprised Michael didn’t need sunglasses to look at her. She’d expected him to be furious about the articles, and here he was offering to help her write them.

  “So, is that everything?” he asked.

  “Well, I didn’t really want to go shopping Sunday. I didn’t want you to see my apartment. That’s everything.”

  “Why didn’t you want me to see your apartment?”

  “Your bedroom is bigger than my whole apartment. If you’d seen where I lived, you’d know I couldn’t afford Briar Rose, and then the whole secret would be out.”

  He nodded. “Complete honesty from here on?”

  “Complete honesty,” she agreed.

  “Good. Strip.”

  She didn’t question him, simply standing, toeing off her sneakers, and removing her jeans and T-shirt as quickly as she could. The air-conditioning raised gooseflesh on her skin, but she trusted that Michael would soon have her burning for him.

  “You wouldn’t have tried to keep a secret from me if you’d understood what it means for me to be your Master. So we’re going to practice your complete and total submission, until you do understand.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Get on the table, face down.”

  She did as he ordered, discovering very solid wood underneath the padded leather. He adjusted her position, then fastened the straps around her arms and lower back.

  The first slap against her ass took her completely by surprise. She tensed her ass muscles, anticipating another slap, but instead the rubber lashes of a flogger landed across her upper back. She jerked in surprise, pulling tight against her restraints.

  Michael grabbed a fistful of her hair and pushed her head down onto the table. “I said face down.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  He slipped his hand between her legs and fondled her clit. “Good girl. You’re rewarded when you behave.”

  Sassy whimpered. She wanted to spread her legs wider, or press herself harder against his fingers. But she knew that wasn’t allowed.

  “Very good,” Michael purred, rolling her clit between his fingers.

  She moaned with pleasure. Then the paddle smacked her ass. Her moan transformed to a startled yelp.

  He spanked her again with the paddle, alternating ass cheeks, until the hot skin pulsed with every beat of her heart. The rhythm vari
ed, sometimes hard and sometimes soft, sometimes slow and sometimes fast, so that she could never anticipate it. Unlike the spanking he’d given her at the party, this one seemed designed specifically to keep her from building to a climax.

  Then he exchanged the paddle for a riding crop, striking the backs of her thighs. It hurt, but not unbearably so. Still, she winced when two strikes in a row hit the same patch of skin.

  Michael paused. “Remember, you can stop me with your safe word.”

  “I know.”

  “It doesn’t mean we have to stop completely. We can take a time-out for an adjustment.”

  “I know.”

  He hesitated a moment longer, but when she didn’t use her safe word, he resumed smacking her thighs. She clenched her fists, determined to bear it. He was punishing her for her dishonesty. Until he finished administering the punishment, the anger he’d felt toward her would remain. Only by accepting the full dose of pain would she be able to match the pain she’d caused him. Only then could their relationship start fresh.

  Next, he traded the riding crop for the rubber flogger he’d used earlier. The lashes struck her shoulders and back, over and over again. First, it felt like a vigorous massage. Then, as the skin grew more tender, it felt like a massage over a muscle cramp. Finally, it lost any semblance of a massage, and began to burn.

  Sassy welcomed the pain. Her breathing deepened, her body relaxing beneath the onslaught as she focused on each blow. She deserved each and every one. By taking the pain into her own body, she removed it from his. She could not offer him a greater gift. That he accepted her gift was a joy beyond measure.

  The lashing ended. Michael glided his hands over her body, barely touching her skin. He hesitated twice, probing those areas lightly with his fingertips, and she realized he could tell if he’d inflicted any damage by how hot her skin was.

  “You understand submitting to punishment,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Now you’ll learn to submit to pleasure.”

  Sassy blinked, not certain what response was required from her.