Whips and Chanis

by Celeste Fall

  “You’re right,” Tracie admitted. That’s exactly what I have. So, how do I initiate the scene?”

  “Be yourself,” Rosie advised. “Get dressed up all sexy. Lots of glam and glitter. Have a quiet dinner at home or go out for a nice dinner. Try things like feeding each other morsels of food.”

  “I can do that,” Tracie confirmed. “Then change into your costume and lead your partner to bed.”

  So, that’s how Tracie found herself standing over her partner, who was hog-tied to the four- poster bed. With a deep breath, she transitioned herself into the dominatrix role. She’d read how Roman women used to have sex slaves, so she decided to work that fantasy with Jamie. By the looks of his engorged penis and his heavy breathing, he was totally up for their role play.

  First, she used a long feather to tickle Jamie in all sorts of areas. She touched the inside of his ears with her feather. She brushed his eyelids gently. She tickled his lips and the inside of his nose until she made him sneeze. Then she descended and tickled his erect nipples. He writhed in agony at her touches, heaving his bound body to get more. Then she trailed the feather down his torso. Ignoring his eager penis, she began to stroke his scrotum with lightning-soft brushes. Jamie groaned and strained, his penis waving helplessly in the air, begging for her attention.

  Then she retraced her path up his torso, around his nipples, around his neck and tracing the orifices of his face. Jamie’s skin gleamed with sweat, and the tattoo on his chest seemed to take on a life of its own as he heaved against his restraints.

  Blowing out one of the candles that illuminated the room, Tracie carefully tipped hot wax onto Jamie’s chest. With a gloved finger, she led the wax down his torso to his scrotum. Jamie moaned in pleasure at the touch of the hot wax and the silky smoothness of her gel-coated finger. Now it was time to get creative.

  Adding Vaseline, Tracie slipped a finger gently under Jamie’s scrotum. Kneeling over him, her breasts straining at her black leather bustier, she slid her finger under his hips, circling his anus. Remembering how he had cock-teased her the night of her deflowering, she approached his sphincter muscle and just applied light pressure to the opening. Jamie went wild, pitching, moaning, and straining at his handcuffs.

  With practiced flicks of her whip, Tracie stimulated Jamie’s penis until it was purple and throbbing. The veins stood out along the shaft. Deciding that was enough domination for their first experience, Tracie lay atop her partner, facing opposite ends of the bed, and began to lap his pulsing penis. She positioned herself so that Jamie could just reach her sweet spot. With much sucking and suckling, they both came in a crescendo. A giant wave of release left them weak.

  Tracie lay where she was for five minutes and then crawled across the bed to release Jamie’s restraints. “Was it good for you?” she murmured.

  “The best,” Jamie whispered as they curled around one another and fell into a deep, satisfied sleep.

  When they awoke the next morning, Tracie stripped off her leather gear and placed it back in the dark corner of her closet. She deposited the feather, handcuffs, gloves, and boots into the large box below the bustier. When she emerged from the closet, Jamie was standing by the side of the bed. All of his muscles were erect, and he wore a wide grin.

  “Let’s finish what we started in the shower,” he suggested. “I’ve been a very bad boy. I need to be washed out with soapy water … every part of me.”

  Giggling like school children, they raced one each another to the shower, where the combination of slippery soap, steaming jets of water, and each the other’s touch ended in stand-up sex in the roomy shower. Afterward, as they dried each other thoroughly with fluffy yellow towels and air blasting from the hair dryer, they talked about the previous night’s experience.

  “How did you get so good at your dom role?” Jamie asked.

  “I read a lot,” admitted Tracie. “And I got some excellent advice.”

  “Well, you certainly applied what you learned well,” Jamie said, kissing her. “You were amazing!”

  “I still have some tricks up my sleeve,” Tracie murmured, blushing.

  “I think we should consider sharing all this new-found talent of yours,” Jamie said. “What would you think about inviting another couple to join us?”

  “What do you mean?” Tracie asked. “You mean share our bedroom?”

  “No,” said Jamie. “I was actually thinking of building us a playroom. You think about it. Right now, we need to think about packing. One of our biggest clients, Percival Wrigley, has invited us to a party on board his yacht. Percival isn’t very happy about Spellman Financial right now. It’s just a misunderstanding about investment strategies. But I need a huge favor.”

  “What can I do to help?” Tracie asked. “I don’t even know this man.”

  “You met him at the cocktail party. He was the one having the heated disagreement with my father.”

  “I believe he brushed by me on his way out the door,” Tracie confirmed.

  “Yes, that was Percival. So, I need you to charm him at this party. We’ve been asked to spend the night aboard the yacht with a few other guests. Before we dock the next day, I need you to use your talents to put Percival in a good mood.”

  “And what do you propose I do to accomplish that?” Tracie asked, picking up a bagel and smothering on it with cream cheese.

  “Whatever it takes, babe,” Jamie said, kissing her ear. “Spellman Financial cannot afford to lose this high-profile client. We’re in a mess here, and I am counting on you.”

  What next? Tracie wondered. The crispy bagel seemed to catch in her throat, and the raison raisin-cinnamon smell made her feel nauseous. Is this really what it seems? Am I being pimped out?

  Chapter Nine: Lady in Red

  When the limo that had been dispatched to take them and two other couples to the yacht arrived at the marina, the party was in full swing. Tracie felt relaxed in spite of the fact that Marilyn and Alan Spellman were two of the people who traveled to the yacht with them.

  Things had never warmed up between her and Marilyn, but it was as if Marilyn had been warned to be cordial tonight. It might also have been because the other couple in the limo was the new accountant and his young wife, a runway model. Fascinated with the slim brunette’s career, Tracie had asked her a lot of questions, and the ride from the hotel to the dock had gone quickly.

  Marilyn had taken one look at Tracie’s new red dress and red stiletto shoes and had glared at Jamie. Alexa and Ronald had both commented that Tracie looked ravishing. Tracie thanked them and remarked that the outfit was a gift from Jamie. This prompted another glare from his mother.

  Unfazed, Jamie pointed out that the dress was a business investment.

  “Well,” replied his father, smiling and downing his second glass of champagne. “It’s a good one.”

  Marilyn elbowed her husband in the ribs when she thought no one was looking.

  At the gangway, the crew, dressed in crisp white shirts and dark trousers, took Tracie’s and Jamie’s luggage to their stateroom, and the six guests were shown on board and given brimming glasses of sparkling pink champagne in which fresh raspberries bounced up and down.

  The conversation got louder as alcohol flowed and guests helped themselves to the lavish buffet.

  When Tracie was introduced to their host, Percival acknowledged, “I met you at that cocktail thing at the Spellmans’. Then I was one of the two- thousand guests at your wedding.”

  “I remember,” Tracie said, holding out her hand. Instead of shaking it, Percival pulled her close and kissed her outstretched palm. “We’ll get a lot better acquainted later when we deposit this lot back on dry land,” he promised. A twinge of apprehension ran up her spine.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” she answered, managing a wobbly smile. After all, Jamie was counting on her.

  Throughout the evening, Jamie continued to work the crowd. Left to her own devices, Tracie drank too much champagne. Conversations got funnier a
s her vision began to blur. The later it got, the more overt were the glances and touches from the men at the party. Tracie felt as if she were back at high school—only wearing nicer clothes. Fortunately, she still remembered how to fend off unwanted interest.

  By far the most overt attention came from their host. Tracie tried to treat his hands roving on her body and his whispered hot breath in her ear as lightly as she could, without being rude. After all, he was their host and a very big client. And Jamie had asked her to charm Percival. Besides, she liked the way the smooth-talking man’s attention so obviously enraged Marilyn Spellman. A couple of times, her grim-faced mother-in-law had started toward her, only to have Alan Spellman pull her back. It seemed that he was aware of her conversation with Jamie and of what she was expected to do for the business.

  Eventually, the yacht docked and the guests who had not been invited to spend the night were shuttled off to waiting limousines. As she passed by Tracie on her way out, Marilyn hissed, “Behave yourself and don’t embarrass our family.”

  Tracie smiled sweetly at Marilyn and whispered, “Just enhancing the corporate image, Mother Spellman.”

  Marilyn shot daggers at her.

  “Let’s get you safely off to your room, little lady,” a silky voice said as Tracie listed to the left. She felt strong arms picking her up, and everything went black.

  With a lurch, Tracie came to her senses. Her dress was neatly folded on a chair. Her shoes were lined up in front of the dress. She moved the sheet and realized she was wearing nothing. Her head ached and her mouth felt as if someone had stuffed it with steel wool. She recalled champagne—bottles of it. But this was more disturbing than a hangover. Everything felt off. The room was strange. The walls seemed to be leaning. Her bed felt tipped. And, try as she might, she could recall nothing of the party the evening before, beyond Marilyn Spellman’s hissing at her as she left the yacht.

  The yacht! Tracie breathed a sigh of relief.

  That would explain the gentle rocking motion and the strange room.

  But, where was is Jamie? And who had undressed herme? And how did her my clothes get folded so neatly?

  With a lurch, Tracie managed to get upright. She placed a shaky hand on the wall and moved gingerly toward the bathroom. Perhaps a cold shower would revive her and jog her memory.

  Standing in the steamy shower with one hand propping her up, Tracie lathered herself with jasmine jasmine-scented soap and let the water wash over her. Her hands worked the blue loofa across her aching body. She was sore in places that only rough lovemaking could reach.

  What in hell happened last night? she wondered. No details materialized. On the one hand, she thirsted for information. On the other hand, she hoped she’d never recall the past evening’s events.

  She’d had hangovers before—far too many of them since becoming Tracie Spellman. But she’d always been able to recall what had transpired during her drunken partying. To have a complete blank slate surrounding last night was terrifying. What if she’d I’d done something horrible?

  Finding nothing else to wear, Tracie donned her red dress from the evening before and, carrying her impossibly high shoes, skittered down the passageway to her own room.

  In whose room did I spend the night? she wondered again, slipping the key card into the slot on her door. Lucky these cards come with room numbers, she mused. I wonder how many others would have difficulty locating their stateroom otherwise?

  She half expected to see Jamie here, but there was no sign of him except for the rumpled bed and the wet towels on the bathroom floor. But he hadn’t been gone for long, if the still- steamed bathroom mirror was any indication.

  Taped to her luggage, Tracie found a note.

  Well done, my love! Percival can’t wipe the contented look off his face. Meet me in the dining room as soon as you get this. We’ve got a bit of a situation.

  She wondered what Jamie meant by “a situation.” Hadn’t she fixed the situation? His note would seem to indicate that. What other situation could there be?

  At Jamie’s mention of Percival Wrigley, Tracie recalled their pre-party conversation in which Jamie had asked Tracie to “charm” Percival into leaving his money invested with the Spellmans. The phrase “whatever it takes” lingered in her recall.

  Tracie pulled her hair back and clipped it atop her head. She pulled a casual outfit from the tiny closet where the staff had hung her clothes and added a dab of makeup.

  Lucky for me, there was no one in the corridor when I made my escape, she thought. One look at my state of dishevelment and they’d have known immediately that I hadn’t spent the night in my own room.

  Now that she thought about it, not seeing staff scurrying around and cleaning rooms was strange.

  Giving her appearance one final appraisal, Tracie grabbed her tote and followed the signs to the dining room.

  Chapter Ten: Man Overboard

  Before she entered the dining room, Tracie was struck by the silence. While people sat in groups of six at the round, linen-covered tables, no one spoke. They all seemed to be in shock.

  Spotting Jamie at a table with an empty chair, she slid into her spot, smiling shyly at the other six people at the table.

  “What’s going on?” Tracie whispered to Jamie, glancing around the room at the stony faces of the fifty people assembled there.

  “I’ll explain later,” Jamie said, nodding at the podium at the front of the room.

  There was a clicking sound as a tall, thin man in his forties tapped the microphone. He straightened his red tie and shot the French french cuffs of his white shirt beyond the sleeves of his tailored navy suit. All eyes turned to him.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I’m Detective Baird with the San Diego Police. Last evening, at three fifteen, our dispatcher received a call that a passenger aboard this boat had disappeared. He was last seen having a heated discussion with another passenger shortly after two thirty. When his wife went to look for him, he was gone. Police and the Coast coast Guard guard were called. The crew has searched the ship and found no trace of him. It appears that he may have gone overboard. The Coast coast Guard guard is presently searching the water. Police will be questioning all passengers still on board. We’ve sent a team to question guests who left the boat after was docked. At this point in time, we haven’t any more information. If you took photos on board last night, we are asking that they be emailed to this address.” Detective Baird flashed an email address on the screen behind the podium.

  “Our investigation team will be questioning each of you. Please provide as full an account of the proceedings here last evening. Everything—no matter how unrelated it may seem—will help us piece together what happened. I apologize for the inconvenience. We’ll get you on your way as quickly as possible. The captain has set up a boardroom where we can conduct our investigation. In the meantime, please sit tight. Thank you.”

  As guests were led to be questioned, Tracie turned to Jamie. “Who is missing?” she asked. “Is this the situation you mentioned in your note?”

  “It seems that Howard Rich has vanished,” Jamie told her. He wore a lazy smile, as if he found the whole thing entertaining.

  “Isn’t that the guy you and your father had the huge blowup with over a client he stole from you?” Tracie asked.

  “Oddly enough,” Jamie replied, “we had a rather heated discussion in the wee hours last night. It seems old Howard is wangling to get Percival’s business, hinting that our methods are not completely above board.”

  Tracie’s eyes grew wide. “You are the one he was arguing with? Do the police know?”

  “If they don’t, I’m sure the grief-stricken wife will have filled them in. At best, I’m a person of interest. At worst, I’m their prime suspect for whatever they think happened to Howard.”

  “You seem amazingly calm about all of this,” Tracie noted. “Did anyone see you after your discussion?”

  “When Howard and I finished talking
, I had a double scotch at the bar and went to our room. The rest of the night—what little remained of it—is a blur. At six this morning, we were all rousted from our rooms and shuffled into the dining room. I’ve called the old man and alerted him to a possible problem. His lawyers are on their way. Until they arrive, I’m to say nothing.”