Ruby

by Jeffe Kennedy

  It actually reassured her, to see such obvious evidence of female visitors. A vanity table sat in one corner with a mirror and sophisticated makeup lights over it. A pretty brass bed with a white lace coverlet graced another end of the room, reflecting the warm glints of the polished wood floor. Gary, who’d been curled up in the middle of the bed, took one look at her and burned rubber. Through a crack in the gold curtains, iron bars covered the window.

  She shifted, uneasy. “Is this a prison?”

  Prejean followed her gaze, tossing a midnight blue sheath dress on the bed, then raised that eyebrow at her. “This is New Orleans. A bit of security goes a long way.”

  Oh.

  He pulled out some stockings, still in the package, and set them on the bed, along with a set of dark blue lingerie.

  “I can wear my own bra and stockings.”

  “You’ll wear these.” He sat in the little white chair, crossing his legs as if settling in for a show. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she pulled on the barely-there thong and the underwire bra that cupped her breasts but left her nipples bare.

  “I’ll chafe in this.”

  “Use the cream I gave you. Your nipples need a bit of toughening if we’re to play all the games I have planned.”

  “I don’t think I like the sound of that.” She pulled on the thigh-high stockings.

  “Yes, you do. You like it all.”

  She did. And on some level it bothered her that he knew it. On every other, she wanted to put herself in his hands, see what he could make her feel next. She slipped on the dress and went to him to zip up the back, holding her hair out of the way. It fit a little loosely, but not enough to look unfashionable. He turned her, holding her by the hips. “It will do. I think you should check out of your hotel and stay here with me. Then you’ll have your clothes.”

  Without answering, she moved away and leaned into the mirror to refresh her lipstick. “Whose dress is this, anyway?”

  “Does it matter?” he asked, after a beat of silence.

  She started to turn and he stopped her.

  “Place your hands flat on the vanity and hold still.”

  The mirror stood low enough that only her face reflected back at her, the red lipstick once again crisp, her eyes unnaturally bright from lack of sleep and still-coursing excitement. The black leather collar stood out above the graceful boatneck of the dress, a flag of carnality against the demure image. Prejean raised the skirt of her dress, baring her bottom. The gilded clock on the vanity—cherubs flying with the timepiece between them—showed nearly 6 a.m.

  “I have to—”

  “Shh...”

  He slid the panties down a few inches, so they straddled her thighs, and stroked her clit into instant life. A bit of oil and something cool pressed against her anus. “The dress belonged to someone who came and went, just as you will also go, isn’t that right, Ruby Tuesday?”

  The thing—was it glass?—stretched her wider and she held her breath against the strain.

  “No. Relax. Let me in. Ever been fucked up the ass?”

  “Yes. I didn’t like it.”

  “Why not?” He added oil, prying her open, both physically and mentally.

  “It was uncomfortable. And dirty. It hurt—” She broke off with a jagged sound as the plug wrenched her wider, stealing her breath and composure.

  Prejean stroked her flank, soothing her with murmured reassurances, waiting for her to settle before he pushed again. “And yet you didn’t make it off-limits.”

  “I can take a little pain.”

  “It isn’t a contest, chère.”

  She didn’t reply to that. People always thought they could pretend life wasn’t about competition. Of course life is a competition. Otherwise, why would there be winners and losers? Be a winner, Danielle. Failing to meet a challenge is the surest way to lose.

  “In some cultures, anal sex is considered the ultimate intimacy.”

  “In others, it’s just convenient birth control,” she managed, proud of herself for coming up with the retort with her brain swimming.

  He chuckled, working the thing into her while he braced her hip with his hand. “What shall it mean between us, I wonder? You’re kind of a tight-ass—by that I mean, both in physical and mental habits. Don’t you find it interesting that people who keep a grip on everything in their lives also clench hard here?” He pushed harder. She gritted her teeth.

  “I don’t think I’m a tight-ass—in either sense.”

  “Then let go.”

  She didn’t think she could, but she also didn’t want to prove him right. Let go. With supreme effort, she forced herself to relax, allowing the vast violation. She moaned when it finally settled in her and diminished to a narrow end. It would not come out easily. Her head swam from the sensation and settled again. He was talking.

  “I want you to wear this today and think of me. I put a vial of lubricant in your purse, should you need to take it out and reinsert it. I don’t mind a bit of dirty, but you can clean yourself out, if you like. Either way, I expect you to be wearing it tonight. Then we shall see.”

  How on earth would she manage to get it out and back in?

  “Answer me, chère.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good girl. Now make yourself presentable and let’s go.”

  “The collar needs to—”

  “I haven’t forgotten.”

  She adjusted her skirt, gathered her things and walked with him to the stairs, trying to adjust to the plug inside her, filling and stretching her with every step. She felt altered by it, opened and touched where she usually clenched. Maybe she was a tight-ass. Would she be able to even think with this? Maybe she’d take it out and put it in just before coming over.

  He guided her down the stairs, a hand at the small of her back. “By the way,” he said, in a conversational tone, “when I see you tonight, I’ll expect a full account of how you felt all day, wearing my little toy. You will recall that there are consequences to disobedience.”

  She shivered and he caressed her back in response.

  He pulled his long coat out of the little closet he’d hung her on the night before—or a few hours ago, depending on how you looked at it—and drew out a crimson raincoat, holding it for her to shrug into. “Since you don’t have one,” he teased with a sly smile.

  “I thought New Orleans would be warmer,” she replied irritably.

  “Oh, she will be, chère. She will be. Grab a hold of your little hook there.”

  Tick-tock, she wanted to say, but she obeyed, stretching up to reach it. With an air of ceremony, he unbuckled the collar and set it on the wooden table next to his unopened mail. “First thing tonight, I want you to put that on. I may leave a note with other instructions, understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” All thoughts of impatience, of needing to be on time, fled from her dazed mind. What kind of instructions? “What time should I come over?”

  “When you can.” He shrugged, acting like it truly didn’t matter.

  “I can’t always predict how long my work will take.” Something other men had hated. Somehow, even though they knew she lived for her work, they expected to come first. A very male thing. It seemed a sexual dominant like this one would get even more demanding, which would be a true deal breaker. Another good reason why this one-night fling couldn’t be more than that.
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  “I understand that. We both get here when we can. Work, then play,” he surprised her by saying. While she processed that, he handed her a sleek silver thermos and a key ring.

  “What’s this?”

  “More coffee.” He smiled in very masculine satisfaction. “To make up for keeping you awake all night.”

  “Thank you. That’s...very thoughtful.”

  “I’m a thoughty kind of guy.” He opened the door to the predawn darkness, the street quiet in a way New Orleans rarely was. “Where do you need to be?”

  “St. Louis Cathedral.”

  “I’ll walk you there—it’s close. We won’t need to drive.”

  After all his domineering, even aggressive ways, it seemed odd to call him thoughtful, and yet he was. Of her own accord, she slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow, walking as they had the night before. In some ways, she felt more intimate with this man she barely knew than any of the others. More unsettling, he’d somehow created the illusion that he understood her better than the other men had. Even Chris, who she’d nearly married. Well, “nearly” as in he’d offered the ring, then never spoke to her again when she refused it.

  No sense thinking about that.

  About a block away, she recognized the landmarks and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll go the rest of the way by myself.”

  He scanned the shadowed arcade. “It’s not always safe, even now, when things are quiet.”

  “You can watch me then, but I don’t want my colleagues to see you.” She frowned at how that sounded, wanting to take it back. “Not that I’m ashamed, I just—”

  He laid a finger on her lips. “I understand. You have your business face to think of. You be my woman of mystery. I know everything important about you already.” He nodded in the direction of the cathedral. “You go and I’ll watch you walk,” he added, with a sultry smile.

  Her cheeks heated, knowing that she swung her hips differently with that toy rubbing her from the inside, her nipples stiff against the sheath dress. And that he could see it so clearly. Hopefully no one else would. How could they, really? No one would ever guess what she’d done.

  Or what she might be about to do.

  The thought made her feel wild and free, in a primal sense, and a secretive smile curved her lips. All the relationship crap meant nothing. This was about sex and nothing more.

  Nothing wrong with that.

  * * *

  Maybe it was Prejean’s extra-strong chicory coffee—or the sugar high from the creamy stuff he mixed it with—but she sailed into the shoot with high spirits. Not at all her usual self, judging by the surprise on her assistant Adri’s face and the consternation of the photographers’. The models, of course, didn’t notice, involved as they were in complaining about the effect of the damp on their hair and how impossible it was to find a decent salad in the city.

  Dani sipped her magic coffee concoction and smiled to herself, relieved for once that she didn’t have to worry about her career depending on the circumference of her thighs.

  “What has you so damn happy this morning?” Areatha asked her during a makeup break, lighting a cigarette. The six-foot-two-inch blonde from Poland possessed a cool, ethereal translucence that had rocketed her to the upper tiers of modeling by the time she was eighteen. Now, at twenty-five, she obsessed over every detail, certain the younger models would displace her. Not that she tried to be any easier to work with. Instead, the worry seemed to eat at her, creating a strained look that showed clearly in the preliminary photos. Enough that Dani had considered sending her home. The smoking didn’t help her complexion either.

  Maybe a mask? Hmm. It would fit the overall theme. The models could be nearly naked, wearing only masks with the shoes and jewelry to be showcased. It could be brilliant. At the model’s narrow look, Dani realized she hadn’t answered.

  “I’m happy every morning,” she replied with a sweet smirk, “because I have the best job in the world.”

  Areatha snorted, an unladylike noise to come from such a delicately carved face. “Yes, yes—the Paris job. It won’t be so great, you know. The French are all fascist bitches.”

  “Oh yes. And everyone in New York was so warm and fuzzy.”

  “Whatever.” Areatha blew out a puff of smoke and pointed the glowing tip of the European cigarette at her. “You got laid.”

  Dani shrugged, flipping through the shots from the morning on her laptop. “A lady never tells.”

  “I wish I could get laid,” Areatha said in a sour tone, her accent leaking through.

  “So get laid. There must be dozens of guys wanting to jump on a supermodel.”

  “That’s the problem. I’m tired of sex with groupies. I want more.”

  “Poor little rich girl,” Stella sneered. A stunningly athletic woman from London, Stella had been called the next Grace Jones. “A cock is a cock. Suck and fuck and goodbye in the morning. Right, Dani?”

  “Jesus, ladies,” said Richie, the balding photographer from Brooklyn. “If us guys talked this way, you’d cut our balls off. How about a little workplace sensitivity here?”

  “See?” Stella waved in his direction. “Richie would fuck you. He’d probably even lick your pussy and thank you for the privilege.”

  “Ha-ha.” Richie flipped her the bird.

  Dani squelched the images of what she’d begged for—and accepted with gratitude—hoping the blush didn’t show. Instead, she called for the next round of shots, before they lost the good morning light.

  * * *

  Exhaustion hit her around three o’clock. Fortunately, it had been a pretty good day. A productive one. Dani set Adri on getting a courier to bring down more shoes and that big costume jewelry Gucci was showing this season. It would strain the budget, but this idea could truly work. She headed back to her B&B, the toy rocking inside her, longing for a nap.

  Nevertheless, she stopped at a corner market to buy an enema bag, trying to look nonchalant about it. She added a thermometer and a bottle of Ex-Lax, to make it look better. Like the crusty guy behind the counter would know that she was preparing to meet her secret kinky lover. On impulse, she threw some rose-scented bath oil in the basket, since Prejean seemed to like it.

  Some girls just shave their legs for dates. The thought made her roll her eyes at herself.

  She fell asleep, hard, waking when her cell sounded an 8 p.m. wake-up. The few hours didn’t really make up for the night before, but helped considerably. Hopefully Prejean would turn out to be human after all and would want some sleep tonight after whatever games he had in mind.

  The preparations felt good. Ritualized, even. A purification, inside and out. She soaked in the bath using the oil she’d bought, shaving and soaking herself.

  The plug turned out to be not nearly so huge as it had felt. Over the course of the day, she’d become accustomed to it, the flat base holding her cheeks a bit apart, the constant stimulation reminding her of Prejean’s dark eyes and stern commands. When it came time to dress, she oiled it up and it went in much more easily than it had that morning, sending a surprising river of pleasure through her.

  And anticipation over what the night would bring.

  Not such a tight-ass after all, hmm?

  Lacking anything particularly sexy or date-like to wear, especially since the bulk of her wardrobe was already en route to Paris, she put on the same sheath dress. This way she could return
it. And she packed an overnight bag, with an outfit for the next day.

  It did seem silly to keep the room and not sleep in it, but she wasn’t ready to throw herself completely on Prejean’s dubious mercy. Besides, the magazine was paying her expenses.

  The B&B sat back from the street, shielded by yet another of New Orleans’ quiet, walled courtyards. Now when she saw those doors embedded in the walls, images of what could be going on beyond them teased at her. She’d never considered herself to be a particularly sexual person, but somehow Prejean had reached inside her and flipped a switch, releasing a flood of strange desires.

  Within a block, she hit the partying. A train of people dressed as different-colored M&Ms raced past her singing “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” Through the open door of a lounge, purple and red lights glowed on a woman dancing naked on the bar, oiled skin gleaming. Dani paused in the doorway to watch her undulating dance, the way she moved as if all the men staring at her were truly touching her. And that she loved it.

  What would that feel like?

  She moved on, tucking the thought away lest Prejean somehow read it in her mind and made her do it. Foolish and superstitious to credit him with such powers of perception and yet...

  She arrived at his door, using the key he’d given her. Tremulous anticipation thrilled through her, wondering what awaited her on the other side, making her fumble a bit with the lock.

  Stepping through, she found the sconces by the mirror burning, the collar sitting there with the chain attached. And a folded piece of creamy stationery, with Ruby printed on it, in precise black letters.

  Not a breath of sound from above. Gary sat on the top step, tail curled around in front of him. When he saw her looking, he ambled off, demonstrating his total disinterest in her.

  Mindful of Prejean’s wishes, though he likely wasn’t home, she buckled on the collar first, feeling the instant peak of her nipples against her dress, the wet ache between her legs, as the leather closed around her throat. The little chain dangled down the front and her image in the mirror seemed transformed. The languid acceptance moved through her, freeing her from worrying about what might happen.