by Ann Jacobs
Mike looked a little sheepish as he ruffled his son’s baby-fine brown hair. “Okay, buddy. Can you thank Dr. Fourchet for taking such good care of you?”
“Thanks,” Johnny said. Then he shot Les an angelic-looking smile. “Can I have a lollipop?”
Grabbing a handful of the sugar-free treats Doc Baines kept on hand for good little patients, Les walked Mike and his son to the door, handing Mike most of the candies before holding one lollipop out to Johnny. “Your dad will give you the rest of them one at the time. You be good and tell Ms. Melissa hello for me.”
When he turned away from the door he told Martha that she could take off early. There was no need for the nurse to stick around for another hour when there were no more patients scheduled.
The rest of the afternoon passed quietly, with nothing happening to distract Les from imagining how Deidre’s pale silky hair would feel against his hands…his groin. His cock hardened at the thought of her full pink lips surrounding his flesh, her tongue darting over him as she fondled his scrotum with her long, slender fingers.
Someday I’ll take her to the Neon Lasso. She’ll go down on her knees and service me for everybody to see. I’ll frame her gorgeous face between my hands, let my fingers slide through her hair, securing her for her pleasure. And God help me, for mine. Not only in the club but in my bed, my home…my life. In a relationship that’s much more than play. That’s real and lasting.
Maybe that will happen, idiot. About the time when hell decides to freeze over.
At five o’clock Les got up and locked the front door before going back to his office, shuttering the single window and settling down in the high-backed chair behind his cluttered desk.
His balls felt as though they’d burst and there would be no club play for him tonight, since he was taking emergency calls for the practice. Besides, he was afraid no club sub could do it for him now that he’d met Deidre.
After turning the landline over to the answering service, he set his cell phone in front of him on the desk and soaked in the solitude that surrounded him. A soft early evening darkness enveloped the small community in a black velvet cloak. So far the phone was quiet. Imagining his hand was Deidre’s, he stroked his aching dick to full erection.
He’d booked them a suite for Saturday night. It had just one bedroom, which he hoped she’d want to share, but he also figured the couch in the living area would come in handy if he struck out with the subtle attempt he planned to make at first-date seduction.
Sighing, he gave up on the futile attempt to read the latest issue of JAMA. Opening the center drawer of his desk he took out a set of urethral sounds that he’d discovered back in medical school were the best cure for terminal horniness—other than a woman’s wet, hot cunt. He selected an eight-inch-long slender wand with a rosebud tip. It had provided many moments of self-gratification when he’d had no handy partner.
He’d also had them used on him when he’d been with Jessica. It had amused her to insert and remove the sounds, increasing their size to torture him, refusing as she did to let him come. Fuck, he’d sworn he had banished that woman from his mind.
Anticipating release, he freed his cock from his pants, took it in one hand and worked the sterile stainless steel wand carefully down his urethra until he felt its tip nudge his prostate. Slowly he wiggled the instrument, enjoying the stimulation, feeling his testicles draw up and tighten against his groin as his body readied itself for the inevitable climax.
As he slid the sound out and erupted in a rush of creamy ejaculate he imagined Deidre on her knees, her full lips surrounding his flesh while she ran her tongue over his cock head, lapping up the slick, salty fluid that kept spurting out. She’d play with his balls, her agile fingers coaxing out the sexual tension and bringing him to climax.
When the flow of semen finally stopped he felt drained yet not satisfied. Les knew why. While coming had relieved the physical part of his sexual tension, it had left him wanting more.
That was the problem, wasn’t it? Even playing at the Neon Lasso was just that, playing. What if Deidre could become more than that? For just a moment, he entertained the idea of wanting Deidre, not just any warm cunt, her laughing eyes and silky blonde hair becoming the only female distraction that could hold his interest…and his heart. That vaguely dissatisfied feeling stayed with him as he cleansed and sterilized the sound and washed away the evidence of his self-gratification.
Les yearned for something more than the clinical reality of self-induced orgasm. Something he had a hunch that Deidre Caden could provide. It was true, he’d felt a strong connection with her the moment she had looked up at him from that booth at The Corral. She’d managed to fire his libido with one bold touch and a few provocative words spoken in a husky, mesmerizing tone. But she’d connected with him on an emotional level as well.
Les could hardly wait for Saturday to come.
* * * * *
It was hell being the odd one out.
Deidre didn’t like her own company all that well, but she hadn’t been able to take one more minute of watching Four charm Mavis Wolfe after dinner and listening to Mavis gush about how much she liked her new son-in-law, Jack Duval. She’d almost begged Bye to let her tag along with him and Karen to the Neon Lasso after dinner, giving her the chance to try out her nascent fantasies on an unsuspecting Dom. But then she’d pictured her brother mopping the floor with any guy he saw trying to make it with her. She wasn’t up to causing any major bloodletting so she’d opted to stay home.
Fuck. Bye wouldn’t have taken her if she’d gone down on her knees and begged. He still thought of her as though she were five years old, not twenty-three.
I’ll take myself over there to play on a night when I know I won’t have a chaperone. Soon. Not that anybody who knows who I am is likely to invite me to play, knowing what my father will do to them if he finds out.
Maybe Les will take me there.
That’s wishful thinking, Deidre. The man’s hot as hell and nice to boot, but he’s a doctor. A nice guy who probably doesn’t even know BDSM clubs exist.
She spent a few minutes imagining how she could disguise herself so she could sample the kink she’d only observed one time at the exclusive Club Rio Brava outside San Antonio. Damn it, half the fun of playing would be lost if she had to hide behind an ugly black hood and wear something to conceal the distinctive-looking scar on her left thigh that she’d gotten years ago, the first time she’d participated in a Bar C roundup.
Later. She’d figure that out when she got to a fetish shop to pick out a costume. A cowgirl outfit, maybe, or a latex bodysuit like ones she’d seen when she’d observed at Club Rio Brava. All the women’s costumes she’d seen there had been wild things, with straps and cutouts that displayed them proudly for their masters. She had only a vague sense of how she’d feel in a public playroom as a participant, not an observer.
Meanwhile she’d soak in the hot tub, then curl up between the silky Egyptian cotton sheets on her comfy bed. She’d finish reading that hot erotic romance she’d begun last night. In this suite of rooms where she’d lived for her whole life, except for the four years she’d spent in college out East and the recent months when she’d tried to run away and find herself, she felt surrounded by her family’s protection. Secure…sometimes too secure for her liking.
But she felt safer here than anywhere else. Safety was what she’d needed after having to face the shock of learning she’d been fucking around with a married man. She still needed her security blanket. This morning at The Corral, she’d sensed right away that Les Fourchet could be another safe harbor for her.
What would it be like when they had sex? Deidre didn’t doubt that they would, probably this Saturday following a dinner that would undoubtedly pale in comparison with what Maria, their longtime housekeeper, prepared every night for the Bar C’s table.
It wasn’t the food she was anticipating. The moment the young doctor had smiled at her, she’d been hooked by those soft bro
wn eyes that seemed to promise a sort of gentleness she’d never looked for but which she found fascinating.
Les was handsome—devastatingly so, with a hard, lanky body and the look of a dark angel. Jet-black hair that could do with a haircut framed olive-toned skin and chiseled features that could sell ice to Eskimos. But it had been Les’ gentle touch, his obvious interest in her, that had persuaded her to accept a date she was pretty sure would end up in bed. He didn’t seem the type for furtive fucks in public parks or in the women’s room of whatever restaurant he might pick for them to dine at, no matter how titillating she might find the prospect of sex with a strong risk of discovery.
Deidre stared critically at her naked body in the mirror as she tossed aside the clothes she’d just shed, figuring Les wouldn’t find anything to complain about. As one of the college boys she’d played with last summer had told her, she was hot enough that she’d have turned him on even if her daddy hadn’t owned the biggest spread in northwest Texas.
When fragrant steam began to rise off the bubbling hot tub, she stepped in and settled on a molded chaise longue surrounded by strategically placed Jacuzzi jets. Closing her eyes, she imagined what Les would be doing if he were here with her now. Whatever… She was pretty sure it would be vanilla—fun but nothing that would blow her mind.
Deidre knew how easily she got bored, so she wasn’t counting on finding anything permanent with the new doc. As much as Four would like it if she settled down within easy reach of the Bar C, Deidre doubted that would happen any time soon, if ever.
There was something about Les, though…
Whether it was his deep, sexy voice with just a hint of a Cajun lilt that reminded her of Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras, his gentle touch or just the latent heat she’d sensed every time he met her gaze, Les had made an impression.
When she curled up in bed with her book she found herself putting his face onto the fictional Dom who was feeding all her hottest fantasies.
“Feel them looking at us, wanting what only I can have.” She followed her master’s gaze to the gallery above this private dungeon, felt all eyes on the thick silver collar around her neck. An unmistakable sign of Master’s possession, she wore it proudly 24/7. It was her only adornment until he took her hands and restrained them behind her back with shiny silver cuffs. Cops’ handcuffs, secure enough for a felon. They didn’t alarm her because she trusted that her master would do nothing to cause her harm. That his only goal was to force her to ever-increasing sexual pleasure.
Tonight this small dungeon was sparsely furnished, unlike other nights when it had held various devices intended for hardcore torture—a spider web, a fucking bench, once even an electric fucking machine Master had used in her cunt and ass while he had made her suck his massive cock. Tonight one small table held all the tools he would use, not that he needed tools to stimulate her libido. One hot look and she was ready for whatever form of sexual torture he might have in mind.
Usually the music he chose for scenes was loud, driving. Tonight, though, he had selected something soft and classical—a mix of Gershwin tunes, she thought, as the mellow sounds of reeds and string instruments surrounded them. He pulled a single perfect rose from a crystal vase on the door and brushed its petals over her cheek, her throat, her nipples.
How could such a simple touch make her practically explode with lust? She dared a glance into his dark eyes and saw satisfaction—he’d wanted, even expected to affect her so. “Kneel,” he ordered, dropping a plump silk pillow in jewel tones of ruby, gold and teal blue off the table onto the floor in front of her.
She loved the timbre of his voice—strong and certain, as he was in the light of day as well as here, where they indulged their sexual fantasies after dark.
He fed her his cock as she knelt before him. She focused on the silvery metal tips at the ends of the leather strands of a flogger he held loosely in his other hand, anticipating yet fearing its sting on her bare flesh as she licked the salty, slick lubrication off his cock head.
Unlike vanilla lovers who treated her as though she were made of fine porcelain, her master robbed her of her free will, imposing his desires on her and making them her own. She strained against the cuffs that confined her hands behind her back, her fingers itching to stroke his smooth, velvety scrotum and feel his balls shift against her palms.
“Suck my cock now. Swallow me.” He accompanied that order, which he issued in a voice hoarse with lust, with a harsh, one-handed grip on the back of her head. His fingers tangled almost painfully in her hair, ensuring her obedience.
Not that she’d ever disobey his order. She wanted to feel him tickling her throat, to swallow his essence when he came in fiery bursts that almost overwhelmed her. His hands. She wanted all that almost as much as she needed him to pound into her cunt, her ass. When he took her, however he took her, he made her feel whole—cared for in a way no vanilla lover had ever managed.
Deidre set her book aside and lay there in the dark, nowhere near ready to go to sleep but unable to keep on reading someone else’s fantasy, a fantasy that she’d love to share with Les. Silent strains of Summertime drifted through her brain, a remnant of her imagination and her dreams. Soft, wet snowflakes drifted past her bedroom window, almost like a sheer curtain closing over a fantasy that had as little chance of coming true with Les as that snow had of sticking on the ground when it was several degrees above freezing.
Les Fourchet was one hot Cajun but she couldn’t picture him being a Dom. With him she’d be settling for vanilla sex, when what she thought she needed was a master who would take her out of herself and into his own lusty, sensual world.
Chapter Three
He couldn’t remember another time when he’d had as much good clean fun. After they’d checked in at the SpringHill Suites, Deidre had proceeded to show him parts of Dallas’ West End Historical District that he’d never have discovered without a real Texas native at his side.
Her enthusiasm was contagious, and Les found himself relaxing as they explored nooks and crannies in and around the weathered brick buildings, sampling hot cocoa and snack foods that reflected the many ethnic groups he’d noticed populated the huge Texas land mass.
“I’m glad we came today. We can’t always count on blue skies and a cool breeze around here, at least this time of year.” Her smile lit up her whole face—no shadows today to mar the sparkle in her eyes. Wearing snug jeans, a turtleneck sweater and a dark-blue fringed suede jacket, she was his finest fantasy come to life. He loved her shoulder-length blonde hair. Tousled by a gentle breeze, it formed a perfect frame for her creamy cheeks and full, kissable lips. He couldn’t help imagining how those lips would feel surrounding his dick.
Later. Probably a whole lot later.
That was okay, though. Right now all Les wanted to do was soak up her enthusiasm for sights that reminded him a little of a tamer, younger Bourbon Street—not that he’d spent all that much time soaking up the atmosphere in the French Quarter while attending undergraduate college at Tulane. When Deidre paused in front of a display window outside a quaint-looking jewelry and antique store, he wished for a moment that he hadn’t walked away from his heritage. If he hadn’t, he’d have been able to buy her one of the baubles that had caught her attention.
He didn’t need to strain his eyes reading the discreetly placed price tags to figure the least-expensive item there would gobble up his disposable income for the next few months. For the first time since they’d left the Bar C’s twin-engine Cessna at Love Field, Les let the differences between him and Deidre when it came to wealth and position cast a shadow over the pleasure he felt just being near her.
“See something you like?” he asked, hoping to God she wouldn’t take that as an invitation to go inside and pick out a souvenir for him to buy her.
“I like it all, but that doesn’t mean I want to buy anything today. That silver-and-turquoise pendant I was looking at reminds me of one Mom used to wear.” She gestured toward a small silve
r pendant practically hidden among the gaudier, more impressive pieces. Shaped like a flower, it had a modest turquoise centered among the carefully crafted petals.
“I’m sure you must miss her.” He wondered what Deidre’s mother had been like. The simple pendant didn’t fit the mental picture he’d drawn of the late Mae Caden after meeting Deidre’s big, self-important father. He had imagined a woman as gorgeous as Deidre only older, swathed in mink and flashing headlight-sized diamonds that could blind an onlooker. Stereotypical big Texas money, flaunted to the max.
That mental picture grew fuzzy, replaced by one of an unassuming woman who had apparently treasured a bauble as inconspicuous as the little flower pendant.
When Deidre spoke he heard sorrow in her voice. “I’ll always miss her. I wish you could have met her. She’d have liked you a lot.”
“You think so?” Maybe Deidre’s mother actually would have approved of him dating her daughter. While Four had been polite enough when Deidre had introduced them, Les had sensed a certain coolness emanating from the older man. He imagined the lack of enthusiasm was because he hadn’t arrived at the Bar C to pick Deidre up in his own plane.
“Yes. In fact I know so.” Deidre took his hand and laced their fingers together. “Mom always wanted me to get with a nice guy, one with a brain as well as a body. I’m sure she always worried that I’d end up with a rough, tough cowboy or two.”
Les laughed. “I don’t know if I should take that as a put-down or a compliment, beautiful.”
She brought his hand up to her lips. “A compliment, Doc. Shall we head on over to Gator’s? The karaoke should be starting soon.”