The one in the center frowned then gave a slight smirk. “Private meeting, huh? Foreign diplomats? I haven’t been notified of any meetings or special guests this evening, sir.”
“The president doesn’t want these meetings publicized.”
The guard made a grunt. “Right.” Obviously, he wasn’t buying it. They were screwed. “Well, Mr. Secret Service.” He picked up Jason’s ID badge and glanced at it, then glanced at Zoe’s. “Mr. Merritt and Ms. Summers, next time you decide to have a private meeting, do it someplace other than the president’s study.”
“Will do,” Jason said in his humblest of tones.
The guard made a slight tilt of his head. “Get out of here.”
Chapter Five
Melissa Tadeshi knocked on the press secretary’s door and held her breath, waiting for her boss to answer. She was used to working these late hours.
“Come in.” Julia had a weary, apologetic tone to her no-nonsense voice. Normally, Julia’s eyes shone a hazel green that flared when she was ripping into someone. Secret Service agents or White House guards gave her a wide berth when passing her in the hall. Melissa had seen the woman poking a guard in the chest with her finger and yelling while the guard nodded like a scolded child. But Julia’s face had no fight in it tonight.
The woman didn’t approve of Melissa’s position, barely approved of the FLC, but if the president needed this, she’d go along with it.
“Is he here?” Melissa asked as she strutted into the room. She wore a long London Fog raincoat over her outfit.
“Just arrived.” Julia peered down at her shoes and scrunched her nose. Melissa had on medium-heeled business pumps. “Are those the heels you’re wearing?”
Melissa rolled her eyes and gave a snort. “Of course not. I know how to dress the part.” She opened her large leather shoulder bag and pulled out a pair of lace-up, knee-high boots. The heels on those babies were six-inch, including the platform. “I’ll put these on just before I go in.”
“They’ll do. What are you wearing?”
She unbuttoned her coat, then tossed it on a chair in front of Julia’s desk.
“Wow,” Julia said as she leaned back in her chair. “Where the hell do you shop?”
“At a little fetish shop in Georgetown.” Melissa wore a black leather corset with studded spikes across the breasts. A leather thong barely covered her sex. She held up a decorative mask. “I have two of these.”
“Good. You’ll both need them. I’ll have all three cameras going. Are you nervous?”
Melissa leaned on one foot, hands on her hips. “I was a professional Domme for six years. I can handle clients.”
“Have you ever had one you couldn’t handle?”
Melissa hesitated for a minute. She’d tried lying on her application for the White House job. She should’ve known better. The application had asked if there was anything in her past that might be viewed by the public as lewd or immoral. She left out her BDSM history and career. She’d always been discreet. During her interview, that was the first thing they asked about. They had dates, times and places.
Then she was offered a position. She’d suspected they did a lousy job on the security check. They hadn’t. Shortly after she started at the White House, she was propositioned for her Domme experience.
“I did have one bad incident. My partner is a switch. He plays both the dominant and submissive sides of a scene. Usually, he’s present, sometimes to assist, sometimes to protect me with a new client. We each have our own apartments, and we rent a third that we use as our dungeon. This particular time he was away. He’s a race car driver and travels frequently. I had a new client who was anxious.”
“But your partner wasn’t available. Why didn’t you reschedule?”
“The money was good, and this guy came with a recommendation.”
“So you were a prostitute?” Julia asked, but her comment held no judgment.
Melissa got that a lot, and it annoyed the hell out of her. “No, I was not a prostitute. I never had sex with my clients. I helped clients realize their fantasies in a safe environment. A highly intensified and dramatized fantasy, but that was my purpose and expertise.”
“What went wrong?”
“The client wasn’t a submissive. He was a ballbuster. He wasn’t into exploring his fantasies. He was into a royal mindfuck at my expense, and I almost got raped in the process. Fortunately, I had a knife handy. Threatened to cut off a few of his favorite body parts if I ever saw him again. If not me, then my partner would.”
“If things get out of hand in these situations, don’t make threats of any kind. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The realization of her next scene and what she had to do sent a shiver through her. Her hands were shaking. Her hands never shook before meeting a client.
“If they do get out of hand, raise your pinkie finger, and either the first lady or the Secret Service guard present will step in.”
“I understand.” Melissa ran through the scenario she had planned and hoped it would satisfy her sub.
Julia stood and took the handful of papers she had on her desk. “We can’t mess this up. So far, it’s all working well. But we’ll need to bring Zoe into the FLC sooner than expected.”
“Why?”
“Talks with representatives from Iran, Somalia, Afghanistan and others aren’t going well. The war continues to spread out on several fronts. The UN advisers have suggested a small reception at the White House as a sign of goodwill. Many of the delegates will be entering the country early. The schedule for our program will have to move up.”
“I’ll talk to Jason. We’ll start her training,” Melissa assured her. “By the way, who is our target this evening? Usually, you tell me who he is and some background.”
“I can’t say.”
“Don’t you think I should know?” Why was this one different? A list of possible reasons raced through her head, all of them bad. A few of these targets had known connections to terrorist groups.
“You know his preferences and his limits. It’s best that you don’t know more.”
Melissa nodded. She opened her mouth to ask if she was in any danger then changed her mind. Of course she was in danger, they all were. Everything about the project exposed them to unforeseen hazards.
“Do you have a question?” Julia asked as her phone rang.
Melissa shook her head.
Julia picked up the phone. “Yes? We’ll be down.” She hung up and stood. “They’re ready.”
“Good.” Melissa put her coat back on and stuffed her boots and masks back in her bag. “I want to get this over with.”
Melissa followed a guard and Julia down the stairs to the lower levels of the White House. She passed Zoe’s office and was relieved to see the door closed. The text she’d gotten from Jason several moments ago—Z out—was all she needed to know. This encounter was too important to fuck up. At the end of the hallway, three more guards stood in front of the Red Tape entrance.
“Is he ready?” Julia asked the guard standing at the door. All three men were well above six feet tall and built like bouncers.
He nodded. Melissa’s stomach turned sour. Never in all the years as a Domme had she felt nauseated before meeting a client. He was just a client. Dropping her bag on the floor, she kicked off her shoes and slid on the knee-high boots.
“I need to make a quick stop,” Melissa said, pointing to the ladies’ room. Her mouth went dry, and her tongue felt two sizes too big.
Julia made a face. “You have sixty seconds.”
Without a word, Melissa dashed into the bathroom and turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on her face. She willed the contents of her stomach to remain where they were. Please, please, get a grip, Goddamn it. She leaned against the sink and took three deep, slow breaths. She could do this.
After drying her face and hands, she touched up her makeup from a bag in her coat pocket, slipped on a pair of long, black gloves and donned
the mask. The Mardi Gras mask, made of black satin and decorated with feathers, sequins and glitter, covered half her face. She had another one to match for her partner in crime.
She removed her trench coat and hung it on a hook by the showers, ran her hands down the front of her corset to her hips as a way to center herself. Swinging the door open, she strutted down the corridor toward the waiting group. Julia looked about ready to burst a vein in her forehead. “Ready now?” she said without holding back her annoyance.
Melissa had to give the three guards credit for their professionalism and training. They didn’t flinch or blink an eye when she came out in her Domme outfit. “By the time I’m through with him, he’ll be a whimpering mass of flesh. And you’ll get him to do whatever you want.”
“All well and good. Just stick to the program.” Julia slid her ID card through the key lock, punched in the code and the door clicked open. The guard held the door as Julia stepped aside and Melissa walked through alone.
The guard closed the door again. With a loud ripping sound, Julia pulled out a length of red duct tape and stretched it across the door, attaching it on a diagonal to the thick oak trim. Then she cut another length and did the same in the opposite diagonal, creating a giant X, as if marking the area with crime-scene tape, except this was red tape, not yellow.
“No one leaves or enters until the first lady opens this door or Secret Service from inside cuts the tape,” she told all the guards.
“Understood,” the one closest to her stated, standing a bit taller and taking his position in front of the X.
Julia walked down the corridor toward the stairs. She’d wait in her office like she usually did on these nights. This would be another late and tense night.
Chapter Six
Jason couldn’t believe they’d almost had sex in the White House. What was he thinking? When it came to sex, they always went a little crazy. Working together was going to be a challenge, especially when her training began. He kept his eyes on the road, even though the streets of Washington were pretty deserted at this hour.
“If you stay with me tonight, we can get the key from your neighbor in the morning to take care of Dexter.”
“No, you live too far,” Zoe said, digging through her purse. “Let’s go to my place.”
“Without keys, can you break into your house at this hour without setting off all sorts of alarms and waking your neighbors?”
She gave him a sideways glance. “I used to be CIA, remember?”
He turned the car and headed in the other direction.
“Maybe the robes, the masks, the bondage have to do with some bizarre ritual, or it’s all just kinky sex,” Zoe said, as she stared out the passenger side window. “Does it have to do with the Masons?”
“The Masons?” Jason chuckled. Where did he start?
She pulled out her cell phone and punched away on the keypad.
“Who are you calling so late?” he asked.
“No one. I’m looking up something. I knew that other room had to do with the Masons. My grandfather was a Freemason, but I never knew it until after he died and I found his ring and lodge manual. I’ve seen those strange symbols on the walls in that room.”
“What did you find?” His chest swelled. Even though she was way off track, he admired how she took clues and managed to look at situations from all angles.
“It’s a Chamber of Reflection. A meditation room for Masons,” she said, still staring at her phone.
He was trying hard not to think about how hot and sexy she was just a few moments ago. She looked so good and felt so amazing. Now that they’d started, he’d never get enough of her. Would they be making a mistake by getting involved again?
“What else did you find?”
“A Chamber of Reflection is for serious meditations. A room to reflect upon present or future plans or decisions. Quite appropriate for the president of the United States, especially for those who were Masons. Fourteen of them were, you know.”
“I knew George Washington and Franklin Roosevelt were. I didn’t realize there were fourteen.”
“Now that Latin phrase on the wall makes sense. I found the translation of In Hoc Signo Vinces. It means, ‘By this sign thou shalt conquer.’” She looked at Jason. “Were those men coming downstairs Masons heading to this room for a meeting or to the dungeon room for sex?”
Jason looked straight ahead. “This is your street here, isn’t it?”
“Yes, park in back.”
He found a free parking space for visitors. “What time do you want me to pick you up?”
Zoe groaned. “It’s almost one. It’s too far of a drive for you. Stay here, and you can explain what’s going on.”
Wearing her decorative mask and Domme outfit, Melissa slowly stalked into the Red Tape Room, pleased to see her target’s eyes widen. The first lady introduced her to the delegate. Melissa held her stance—tall, chin up—and locked her gaze with his.
“My pleasure, Mistress,” President Kasim Rutu from Somalia said as he smiled and nodded in a polite gesture. Although he requested to be her submissive for the scene, his intense brown eyes held an element of power, and his stocky shoulders didn’t cower in the slightest. He would be pushed and submit only as far as he derived pleasure from it. The handsome man had short, dark hair and looked to be in his mid-forties.
Retrieving the other mask from her bag, she walked over to First Lady Faith Bryson and handed it to her. The next thing she did was select music from the iPhone seated in a docking station. Seductive music with an exotic beat filled the room, something that might have been played at an upscale strip club. There was a reason for the music. Like there was a reason for everything.
The first lady put on her mask, a signal to the audiovisual room to begin recording, and backed off to the side of the room. Melissa instructed him to stand, eyes down, hands behind his back, legs slightly parted in a parade rest stance. Her first test to see how receptive he would be to her commands. He obeyed without hesitation. She relaxed a little. Usually, when it came to sex, Melissa had men in the palm of her hand. But she was always ready for the unexpected with these men.
“Good.” Melissa strutted straight over to the table that held floggers, canes, clamps, vibrators, dildos, ball gags, an electrical wand and a few other items. She didn’t expect to need most of them. One item they would never have in one of these sessions was a hood. It was very important that the subject’s face be clearly seen at all times. Even a blindfold was permitted only briefly.
Ignoring him, another test for her subs, also put her in a position of authority. Considering this man’s high level of authority, she knew that was quite a feat. Talk about a power exchange. Glancing down at her hands, she noticed they still shook. She tightened them into fists while she scanned the items on the table, planning her scene.
During their time together, she would not think of this man as a leader of a nation with connections to terrorists, one who was resisting the current peace negotiations, making him a major threat to global security. He was her submissive, like any other client. Her only role was to satisfy his needs. She selected a leather collar from the table and walked back to her sub.
“Take off your clothes and put this collar on,” Melissa ordered in a firm but casual voice. “You may put your clothes on the bed.”
He hesitated for only a fraction of a second then began to unbutton his shirt. His eyes met hers for an instant, testing her authority.
“Eyes down,” she ordered. “I didn’t give you permission to look at me.” With her heels, he was about her height of five-foot-ten, and his dark hair framed his wide face, giving him an innocent appearance. “When I give you an order, I expect a ‘Yes, Mistress’ in return. If you don’t understand something, you may ask.”
“Yes, Mistress.” He lowered his gaze and moved faster with his undressing. Melissa noticed he had a hard-on. Good sign, thank God.
Walking back to the table, she examined the various tools of
torture. She already had a plan, but wanted to give him time to think and worry a bit. So she picked up different ones and tested them. She smacked a cane across the table, testing its flexibility, then placed it back on the table. Then she selected a flogger, smoothed the cool leather through her hand. The smell of new leather could get her turned on. Stretching the thongs out in her other hand, she took a few practice swings. The leather cut through the air with a whoosh followed by an exploding crack. This was her meditation, her way to calm her nerves, get her worked up, even aroused. Surprisingly, she was getting turned on by this. Besides being a Domme, Melissa was a sadist. She enjoyed inflicting pain. Normally, she gave pain or humiliation only to those who desired it. She was careful and respected limits.
In this situation, the subject desired pain and humiliation, but he had no idea the true pain would begin after the scene, after he left. Whether her part in this manipulation scheme was honorable depended upon which side of the political arena one sat.
Holding her hands out above the table, Melissa smiled to herself. Her hands no longer shook. Behind her, the rustle of clothing and sound of a buckle being hooked caught her attention. She picked up a cane and spun around. Faith was helping him put on the collar. His eyes locked on the cane and widened. He quickly lowered his gaze then folded his hands over his semi-erect penis and bowed his head.
A cruel master of a country was now in a subservient pose to her. Wow, what a rush. This would be a piece of cake. She hoped.
Behind the floor-to-ceiling wall hangings was the hidden video equipment. The canvases were translucent enough to record the events in the room.
Melissa strolled over to the man. He didn’t look up.
What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 7) Page 32