“Why you do this to me?” her mother had wailed. “Why must you break my heart? Was I not good enough example of how a woman should behave? You will find more joy in raising a family. Not in school. The boys in that school will spit on you. Smart girls are no attractive. Bruno, Bruno, explain how she is wrong.”
Had Jasmine not expected the temper tantrum, she might have been hurt by her mother’s reaction, but by then the argument had been so old hat and flat-out wrong, she tuned out the crying and dreamed of the freedom of being out on her own.
She knew it was fear that made her mother believe a woman was incapable of surviving on her own. After her mother’s family escaped from the Nazi stronghold in their village during World War II and made the decades-long migration across Europe, the women depended solely on the men to keep them alive. That dependence continued when they reached the United States and were tossed into a culture they in no way comprehended. Housework, childrearing, those were skills they knew and understood. They were safe within the home. A belief that was passed on from mother to daughter and on down the line.
The notion had become so ingrained in her mother that when Jasmine’s father had passed away, Oksana jumped on the first plane to the old homestead and married one of his cousins. Jasmine did have a few female cousins who put up a good fight against the archaic philosophy. Some even went on to attend college. However, the only degree they had graduated with was an Mrs. with a minor in baby on the way.
It was sad, really. Jasmine sighed as she pressed the softly lit doorbell. Instead of being proud to have a daughter who was not afraid of forging her way in this big, scary world, her mother tried to obliterate the very fire that made Jasmine special. Good thing she had long ago stopped trying to earn her mother’s approval.
The door swung open, revealing a petite woman decked out in a bronze-colored taffeta cocktail dress with a rhinestone belt encircling her plump waist. A strand of pearls adorned her neck, matching the drop earrings. She was an homage to Doris Day and June Cleaver, with a bit of Jeanne Copper from The Young and the Restless tossed into the mix, which was fitting since her mother practiced her English by watching daytime television.
“Jasmine,” her mother cried with a smile that fell as her gaze traveled up and down her body. “What are you wearing?”
“They’re called clothes, Mother.” She stepped across the threshold and dropped a kiss to her mother’s cheek.
“You are wearing the denim jeans on a special occasion. You could have at least put on a pretty dress or a skirt.”
Her mother was lucky she found time to shower and put on something clean and wrinkle-free. “What are we celebrating tonight?”
“Emil has signed a new client. The boss was very happy.”
“That’s fantastic,” she exclaimed with a plastic smile on her lips. And so completely typical.
Yes, let’s throw a party because her brother did his job. He was a salesman for a security firm, hired exclusively to land new clients. If her memory was correct, this was his third sale since he had been hired six months ago. But hey, way to go, bro, for doing what you’re paid to do.
“Follow me, Jasmine.” Her mother took her by the hand. “You can borrow some of my clothes. And lipstick. Men like to look at a woman’s lips.”
As if she didn’t already know that fact, she silently smirked. Hey. Wait a minute…
She stopped in her tracks. “What men will be here to care if I’m wearing lipstick?”
Her mother’s cheeks bunched so high with her grin, they almost obscured her eyes. She clapped her hands before her breasts. “Your brother is bringing a friend.”
“Oh, Christ,” she groaned.
“Jasmine Elena.” Her mother made the sign of the cross and kissed her fingers. “Language.”
“I’m sorry, but—I—ugh.” What was the point? No amount of excuses, no amount of arguing was going to change the course of the next few hours. If she wanted to find a modicum of peace, it was best to pick her battles. This moment was not one of them. “I’m sorry.”
“My baby daughter.” Oksana slipped her arm around her shoulder, guiding her toward the living room. “I only wish for your happiness.”
I am happy.
“Emil says this Mitchell is a good man.”
“And Emil knows this how?”
“He works with Emil. He is a, uh, how do you say, technical person. He makes work what Emil sells.”
Jasmine waited for her mother to continue, but when nothing more was said, she nodded. “Sounds like he’s quite a catch. By the way, is Emil bringing, what’s his girlfriend’s name? Angela?”
“No, no. Angela was three months ago. This last one was Andrea. She too is not the right girl. But he is young still. He has plenty of time to find the one.”
Yes, Emil at thirty-five was still young, but she was an unfulfilled old maid at age thirty-two.
She broke away from her mother to greet her stepfather who sat in his favorite chair. “Good evening, Bruno.”
“Jasmine.” He tilted his head up to receive his kiss. “Hmph. Your brother owes me twenty dollars. He said you will not be here tonight. I knew you would not break your mother’s heart by missing another dinner.”
“I make the ones I can. You know that.”
He peered at her over his glasses. His bushy gray eyebrows rose above the frames like caterpillars. “I know. You are a good girl, when you remember your place.”
The doorbell rang, saving her from making a smart remark that she knew would cause her more grief than the outburst would be worth.
Oksana ran to greet the newcomers while Bruno held up an empty highball glass. “Jasmine. Fix me a scotch.”
“My pleasure.” She took his glass and walked the three feet to the small bar nestled in the corner of the room. The tink of the crystal stopper being pulled out of its home was drowned out by the sound of her mother’s chatter combined with the husky murmur of men responding in kind.
Now that he was older, Emil sounded so much like her father, she sometimes forgot he was gone. Her brother looked like him too, tall and lean with charcoal-black hair that was so straight, no amount of hair product could completely tame the strands into submission. With his sharp nose and heavy brows over small, dark eyes, his features embodied that eastern European sternness, until he smiled, which was all the time. And why not? He was the son and the sun of the family. The hope for the clan to carry on their lineage. The only thing that kept Emil from getting too big a head was her willingness to knock him down a peg. There was nothing like having your baby sister show you up to inspire a little competition.
As she poured the amber liquid into the glass she could hear the creak of the La-Z-Boy as Bruno hefted his thick weight to a stand and the solid thwack of his hand hitting flesh as he hugged his stepson tight and pounded him on the back.
“Emil. Good to see you, son,” he greeted as if he hadn’t seen him in years, when in fact she knew from Emil’s social media feed that the two had gone to the football game together the week before.
“Papa. This my friend I was telling you about, Mitchell. Mitch, my stepfather, Bruno, and this is my sister, Jasmine.”
Jasmine issued a little sigh and fixed a pleasant smile on her lips in preparation of meeting the latest victim in her mother’s matchmaking scheme. She turned around and met the blue gaze of her brother’s friend and felt lightning strike her in the head.
Holy shit.
She gasped in horror and her fingers relaxed. The tumbler of scotch hit the Berber carpet with a thunk, splashing liquor over her Skechers.
“Jasmine?” her mother wailed and rushed toward the kitchen as her stepfather and brother looked at her as if she’d gone mad.
“Sorry. Sorry,” Jasmine said and bent to pick up the glass while surreptitiously eyeing Mitchell. Or as she knew him, Army.
Army? Her Army? What the hell was her submissive doing in the home of her parents?
Granted, he looked just as shocked as she
felt. His mouth fell open and when she met his gaze again, he dropped to his knees just as she had trained him.
Her eyes widened in warning and she gave the slightest shake of her head.
“Oh, I,” he sputtered then gestured with a weak hand. “Can I help in any way?”
“No, no,” Bruno said. “Let the girl clean up her mess.”
Heat hit her cheeks and she looked to the floor. Mess was an understatement. Here she knelt in her jeans and V-neck sweater with her hair in a loose ponytail and not a speck of makeup to hide the embarrassment she felt burning her face. Part of her allure as a mistress was the mystery, the fantasy. Men knew the moment she appeared in her costume that she was going to transport them away from the everyday and make all of their wishes come true. The only fantasy her current state of dress imparted was of clean dishes and a vacuumed floor.
Oksana rushed back into the room with a damp towel, which Jasmine accepted with a thank you and set about soaking up the liquid with the same focus she used in setting a broken bone.
“Can I get you a drink, Mitch?” Bruno asked.
“Uh, sure.” He climbed to his feet. “Whatever you’re having is fine.”
“Good. Three scotches, Jasmine,” Bruno ordered and settled back into his chair and Emil followed suit on the coach.
She looked up and met Army’s—no, Mitchell’s—confused gaze. She offered a tiny smile and mouthed the word “later” and gestured with her head for him to take a seat. He nodded and followed the directive.
Manners dictated she serve the guest first and she watched with a sad heart as Mitchell’s hands trembled when accepting the glass. She could only imagine what he must be thinking. To serve her was an honor he never hesitated in thanking her for, and now here she was, waiting on the men without receiving a single word of gratitude in return. His gaze bobbed between her and her family with indecisiveness carved in his brow. Clearly didn’t know how to behave around her in this atmosphere, for she had taught him well. He never moved a single muscle in her presence without her say-so, and now he was supposed to forget the last year of his training and act as if they had never met? She didn’t blame him for his confusion and felt horrible he was placed in such a position.
After delivering her brother his drink, she offered Mitchell another smile of encouragement and left the room to assist her mother, and hopefully give him enough breathing room to regain his bearings.
The savory aroma of meat and spices enveloped her as she entered the warm kitchen. A pot roast rested in the roasting pan, and steam rose from the skillet of sautéed schnitzel. Without a word of direction, she went to work on preparing the asparagus for its turn in melted butter. Vegetables were the task of the daughter. The entrée, the mother. The roles were always such, designated since the beginning of their history. The home was a little factory with the womenfolk assigned their positions the moment they became able to control a knife.
Mere seconds went by before her mother looked at her from over her shoulder with a brilliant smile. “Eh? That Mitchell. He’s a handsome man.”
“Yes, he is.” Beautiful, really. Especially when that muscular body was suspended from the ceiling and sweat matted the hair on his belly as he cried out in release.
What would her mother do if Jasmine regaled her with that little tidbit? A grin tugged at her lips as she imagined having to initiate CPR on the tiny woman. It wasn’t that funny, really, yet she couldn’t help sucking in a snort of laughter.
“Emil said he was in the military, but I can’t remember which part.”
Jasmine offered the appropriate sound of interest and held her tongue again. Mitch’s nickname was Army for a reason. At The Cavern, subs in training had to earn the right to be called by their real name, and when they had first met, he had just finished his last tour of duty. Once he had returned home, his family and community looked to him for leadership, not realizing he was more comfortable taking orders. The struggle to find balance between the two worlds was what brought him to her dungeon. With the outlet to revel in his submissive nature available, he was better able to handle the stress of the expectations others placed upon him.
He had actually earned the use of his given name back long ago, but he liked hearing her use the nickname. He said he knew what was expected of him, which gave him great comfort. That had been so long ago, she had forgotten what his real name was.
Dinner was ready, and everyone took their place around the table. Bruno sat at the head, Emil to his right with her mother at the other end. Of course Mitch was settled on her stepfather’s left, in the chair beside hers.
The moment she entered the dining room with the platter of asparagus, Mitch’s spine snapped to attention. The tension didn’t abate as dishes were passed from left to right and he kept looking to her as their fingers brushed with a plea in his eyes for some form of guidance. When everyone’s plate was filled, Bruno commanded them to bow their heads in prayer.
Jasmine used the opportunity to risk placing her hand on Mitch’s thigh and squeezed the thick muscle. From the corner of her eye she saw him peeking at her as well and she hoped he could hear her mental shout for him to relax. A soft sigh escaped his lips and she felt the warmth of his palm before he covered her hand in a tight grip followed by a pat and she recognized the signs of the stress leaving his body as he pulled his hand away. Message received.
She knew him so well. Knew where to stroke to make him beg for more. Knew where to strike the whip for his ultimate pleasure, what to say to make him hard in an instant. How much cum he produced when she sucked him to climax. Yes, she knew him well.
Or at least, she thought she did.
“You’re the oldest of five?” she repeated when her mother asked about his family. She didn’t know that. She also didn’t know he had graduated from Western, or that he had a degree in computer engineering, or played on an indoor soccer team. Simple facts garnered by a few basic questions made at the dinner table. After all of their time together, her only knowledge of him was about his body and its reactions, not about the man himself.
The tender meat tasted like unseasoned tofu on her palate as she realized how shallow and stagnant their relationship had become. Why hadn’t she asked him more about his life outside the club? Of course in her contracts with her subs, it was stated that their interactions occurred only within the confines of the club’s walls. A stipulation both parties agreed upon, for it suited each other’s purposes. But to what end?
Had he been aware that an invitation to join his coworker for dinner with his family carried the possibility of an impromptu blind date with the man’s sister? Why had he agreed? Was he looking to be in a more traditional relationship? Could she be that woman for him?
“Jasmine.” Her mother’s voice snapped her from her musings. The raise of her brow warned her to stop mentally checking out. “Mitchell was just complimenting your vegetables.”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “This is an excellent meal.”
“Thank you,” she replied with a gracious smile.
“All of the women in the family are good cooks,” Oksana said. “We take pride in providing for our family. Make our men happy to come home after a hard day at work.”
Jasmine restrained an eye roll. What an absolutely prehistoric statement.
“All except for Jaz.” Emil chuckled around a mouthful of beef. “She works too much—ow.” He jumped in his seat and glared at Bruno who ate without a hint of knowledge as to what had made Emil react as he did. Jasmine suspected it was a swift kick to the shin to keep him from ruining her chances at landing a husband.
Mitchell didn’t appear to notice and rounded on her with enthusiasm. “What do you do for a living?”
She rolled a baby carrot across her plate and cleared her throat. “I’m a doctor in the emergency room at Schuster–Siegel Hospital.”
“You’re a doctor? I didn’t know that.” He caught himself and hastily added, “I mean, you look so young to be so accomplished. Do
you enjoy it?”
“I do. It’s very rewarding.”
“I bet.” He smiled and she felt her lips curl to match his warmth. “What do you like best about being a doctor?”
Oksana interrupted, “Jasmine, let’s not bore our guest with the tedious details of your job. Besides, your work is only temporary until you find a husband and settle down. To make a family of her own is her passion, Mitchell.”
“It is?” he asked her with a puzzled frown.
“No.”
“Yes,” Bruno interjected. “Jasmine. Clear the table and fetch us our dessert.”
With a curt nod, she stood and picked up her and Mitch’s plates, avoiding his gaze as she kept to her task.
For the rest of the meal she kept her mouth shut with only the occasional single-word answer, if required. It was the longest forty-five minutes of her life as she listened to her parents feed Mitch misconceptions as to who she was as a person and her life’s goals.
The more her parents spoke, the more relaxed Mitch became during the conversation, even to the point of holding out his cup in her direction while she poured coffee before she had the opportunity to ask him if he wanted any. When she gave him the look she reserved when he presumed to know what she wanted of him, he blanched and his hand shook. In one evening her family had undone months of training.
Once the kitchen was cleaned and the men were partaking of their brandies, Jasmine was more than ready to go home. “Gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I have to work in the morning and must be off. Mitchell, it was nice to meet you.”
He jumped to his feet. “I must be going too. May I walk you to your car?”
“Yes, yes.” Her mother beamed. “That is an excellent idea.”
She kissed her family goodnight and allowed Mitch to help her slip on her jacket. Together they walked side by side in silence. She passed her vehicle and led him around to the bushes bordering the driveway.
Mitch spoke first, which surprised her. Another example of how he had forgotten he wasn’t to speak unless directed to. Then again, they weren’t in the club to remind him of his place. “I can see why you are the way you are. Your family is very…old fashioned.”
Only at The Cavern Page 5