I can see the headline. Sex therapist dies from too many self-induced orgasms. Details on page sixty-nine of the X-rated entertainment section.
The pulsing stopped, and she opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling as she leaned her head back. Sixty-nine. She hadn’t enjoyed that particular activity since before she’d moved herself and her new practice into the four-apartment, four-office building eight months ago. Not that she hadn’t met any guys she wanted to share some oral adventures with. She had. The building’s two other occupants had caught her eye on move-in day, but she’d vowed to concentrate on gaining clients instead of working on finding another cheating boyfriend. Besides, she was fairly certain Miles Parrish and Winston DeLong were gay—and involved with each other, even if they were discreet.
The fourth office-and-apartment combo had remained vacant, so she was out of luck unless she decided to start frequenting bars, church socials, or online dating sites. She was hardly that desperate.
Her mind too busy to appreciate the bath, Rory disengaged from her new toy and stood to dry herself. Room service would be arriving in a few minutes anyway. She’d eat, type up a tentative review of Trois Orgasmes, then pack.
Hanging the damp towel on the rack, she reached in the tub to remove the plug and retrieve the vibrator. A quick wash in the sink with soap and water would suffice for now. When she got home, she’d use the special cleaner she kept on hand for disinfecting her playthings.
With the device left to air-dry on the counter, her thoughts jumped to the unopened bag as she walked out of the bathroom. She slipped on her robe, still unsure she really wanted to see Ms. Deschamps’s gift.
Come on, Rory. How weird can it be?
A knock at the door interrupted her hand’s descent to the string tied around the top of the cloth sack. Crossing to the door, she peered through the peephole. A young man stood in the hallway with a tray balanced on his shoulder.
Her belly growled.
Yes, I’m going to feed you.
She twisted the knob and opened the door wide. “Come in.”
“Good evening, ma’am.” He gave her a polite smile as he entered. Setting the tray on the desk, he picked up the wine bottle and held it against his arm for her perusal. At her nod, he removed the cork and poured a healthy serving into the glass before lifting the cover from her entree. “Is there any else I can do for you, Ms. Bond?”
“That’s all for tonight, thank you.” She signed the receipt he handed her, adding a generous tip.
He offered another pleasant smile. “Enjoy your meal.”
As soon as the door clicked closed, she drank a fortifying swallow of soft red and headed back to the package on the bed. Her dinner could wait a couple minutes. Curiosity had finally won out over apprehension, and she wasn’t putting off the task any longer.
Tugging on the ends of the string, she untied the bow and loosened the ties. A peek inside assured her nothing would jump out at her. She slid in her hand to pull out one of the items, nearly choking at the strange doll in her grasp. Crisscrossing black strings on the torso emphasized a pair of large breasts, and the dried brown moss at the apex of its thighs half hid what were obviously labia made of folds of fabric. A red heart rested above the left breast.
Rory dropped it on the comforter and stared at the mismatched black and white button eyes.
Is it supposed to be me?
Another tentative search of the bag yielded three more dolls. Each also donned the crisscrossed threads on the chest—without the conspicuous boobs—and the red heart. More mismatched eyes had been sewn on their faces. In place of the pubic hair and pussy, an oversized, moss-filled cylinder hung down to the doll’s ankles, flanked by a pair of fuzzy pompoms. A red X seemed to mark the spot.
Holy shit! I’m supposed to choose from three guys with giant cocks?
Right, like she’d ever find one man that well endowed, let alone a trio. A warning shiver raced up her spine, but she stuffed the dolls in their pack and returned to her dinner.
Voodoo is hoodoo. Voodoo is hoodoo.
Chapter 2
A masculine groan echoed off the walls. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. I didn’t mean to be bad.”
Leather snapped as it hit its target. “Don’t lie to me. I know you broke the rules on purpose. You want to be whipped, don’t you?”
Smack!
“You’re right.” He moaned again. “I love when you flog my ass.”
“Does it make your cock hard? Because you’re not allowed to come until I say so.” The fall of straps connected a third time.
“Yes, Ma’am. My balls ache, too. Will you let me eat your pussy?”
Feminine giggles erupted, but Rory didn’t interrupt her clients’ practice session. The sooner they got used to the dialogue associated with their training, the sooner they could try out the scenario at home.
“Sorry, Dr. Bond. I can’t help but picture Carl with a furry ol’ kitty tail sticking out of his mouth.”
At the direct comment, Rory nodded. “If ‘pussy’ detracts from the experience, we can substitute another word in this scene. Are you comfortable with ‘cunt’? Or we can take out the body part reference altogether. ‘Will you let me eat you?’ would fit there.”
Carl wiggled in his seat on the couch, obviously getting turned on by the language and the idea of being submissive to his wife. “But Amy purrs when I go down on her. And pussy is such a good name.”
Staying in professional mode, Rory leafed through the file on her lap. “This is a great example of items to discuss during the negotiation process. If one of you finds a word laughable, offensive, or whatever, you need to be sure to speak up before play starts. Nothing kills the mood faster than a disagreement over expectations.”
She handed them each a copy of the contract and a pencil.
Amy glanced from the paper to her husband and back again. The pencil hovered over the document. “You really think I purr?”
Grinning, Carl nodded. “It’s so hot. I’ll be licking and sucking, and you’ll make these sexy kitten sounds. Makes me want you to start clawing my back.”
Her eyes widened. “Well, maybe I get can get used to ‘pussy’ then. Sometimes I feel like digging my fingernails into you, but I thought I might hurt you.”
Instead of encouraging the couple to continue their enlightening conversation, Rory opted to stay quiet and see if any other unspoken preferences came to light without her influence.
Carl slipped his fingers through his wife’s. “I want you to whip my naked butt with a flogger. Believe me, I can take your scratching. In fact, I want it in the contract for this scene. Maybe you could tell me you’re going to mark me. That’d probably make me come on the spot.”
“Oh, I like that.” Amy’s tentative expression turned wicked as she flipped the page of her script. After a few quick notes, she added her husband’s request to her copy of the contract. “Can I bite, too? Not hard enough to draw blood. Just nips and nibbles.”
“Any time, baby!” He lifted his wrist, clearly checking his watch. “Do you mind if we leave a couple minutes early, Dr. Bond? I’m so horny I’m about to bust my zipper.”
At the question addressed to her by name, Rory finally joined the conversation. “I think we’ve had a very productive session. If you’d prefer to stop here, that’s fine. We can review this scene next time, adding the new line, and we’ll develop the dialogue and choreography for the light bondage scenario. In the meantime, I’d like each of you make a list of things you enjoyed and things you’d change after every interaction involving sexual contact. It doesn’t have to lead to making love or even an orgasm. Maybe just a kiss. A hug. Light petting. No sharing or peeking. We’ll discuss both sides of each item before we work on role-playing at our next appointment.”
“But I don’t want Amy to feel bad for doing something she thinks I like when it doesn’t really do anything for me.”
Rory savored the knowledge that this couple truly cared about each other’s feelings.
They made her job worth the effort. “If she doesn’t know what’s ineffective, how can she try to accommodate your preferences? Whether you’re in the mood for kink or vanilla sex, let’s be sure it’s the best it can be. Neither of you wants to settle for mediocre or is happy with the status quo.”
Frowning, Amy leaned her head on Carl’s shoulder. “After ten years of marriage, we should just know what works and what doesn’t.”
“And ten years of not wanting to hurt your lover’s feelings leads to the habit of keeping the little disappointments bottled inside. They add up over time, coming out when you have a disagreement instead of when you’re both in a positive mood about your relationship. The BDSM lifestyle, whether light or hardcore, requires unconditional trust. If one or both of you isn’t sure the other person is being completely honest, trust becomes difficult. We’re going to start a new habit for you.”
Carl clasped his wife’s hand as he rose. “We’ll do whatever you say. I can’t wait to do these scenes for real.”
Her cheeks coloring to a bright pink, Amy pushed to her feet as well. “Um, we don’t have to…you know, do it in front of you, do we?”
The meaning of her question took a moment to sink into Rory’s brain. She almost choked on her spit. “No. No, you can practice together in the private room before you play out the scene at home, but I don’t watch.”
Amy’s husband frowned. “Damn. That’d be hot knowing somebody could see what we were doing. Can we set up a digital camcorder in the private room? Then we could watch ourselves.”
Giving a nod, Rory swallowed her sigh of relief.
Better you than me.
“I’ve had other clients make that request. It’s actually a valuable learning tool. You can review the experience in a relaxed atmosphere and find ways to improve on it. I ask that you provide your own equipment so no one misunderstands and thinks I’m keeping a copy for myself or to share with others. We’ll all sign a waiver form stating all of this before you set up.”
“Cool.” Carl aimed for the exit. His desire to go home and get laid couldn’t have been any clearer. “Same time on Tuesday?”
“Yes.” Rory didn’t bother to escort the couple out. “Remember your assignment.”
Amy gave a parting wave as she disappeared past the door into the reception area. A moment later, the outer door clunked closed.
Yay for the last appointment on a Friday!
She hadn’t had a minute of downtime to recover from the conference after arriving home yesterday afternoon. The office door opened and closed again, making her silently groan.
“Hey, Rory. You ready to celebrate?” Winston DeLong strode into the consultation room, looking far too delicious in his business suit and power tie, with his dark brown hair slightly mussed where he’d probably finger combed it. He leaned down to kiss her forehead before plopping on the couch. Picking up the flogger, he twirled it around so the leather straps flared out. He wiggled his eyebrows. “Giving a lesson in BDSM again? One of these times, you’ll have to use this on me. Beat me, whip me, make it hurt so good, baby.”
A spasm rocked her uterus. If he only knew her fantasies about him and Miles, he’d probably take back what he’d said. “What do I have to celebrate?”
“I found a buyer for the fourth section of the building.” He continued rolling the flogger’s handle between his palms, his long fingers giving her too many wayward thoughts. “He signed the papers this morning, and I invited him for pizza and poker. Want to come? He’s anxious to meet you.”
She almost whimpered at his wording.
Hell, yeah, I want to come.
“What time?” She gestured at her skirt and heels. “Mind if I change clothes first?”
“He said he’d be there at six.” Winston glanced at his watch. “Shit, that’s in ten minutes. I better get upstairs. Pizza and wings should be arriving any second.” Feathering the straps along her calf, he stood and winked at her. “See you soon, Rory.”
The flirt tossed the toy on the couch and hurried away, not giving her a chance to say she’d have to be late. If she didn’t spend a little quality time with one of her vibrators, she’d never survive the evening.
* * * *
“Beer?”
“Sure, thanks.” Barrett Cunningham jumped at Winston’s offer of some liquid courage. He hadn’t seen Aurora Bond in thirteen years, four months, and eleven days—since their high-school graduation. Not that she was likely to remember, or recognize, him. He might still be a nerd, but the braces, glasses, and pimples were gone. The crush had waned, but it hadn’t disappeared.
The doorbell buzzed, and the fourth owner of the building, Miles Parrish, waved for Winston to go back to setting up the poker table. He frowned at Barrett. “That’ll be Rory. Whatever you do, don’t stare at her chest. She’s self-conscious about it, and she gets really pissed when guys address her boobs.”
“Okay.”
What else could Barrett say? He’d seen her punch the varsity quarterback in the eye for telling her she had an awesome rack their freshman year. Fortunately, nobody else ever commented on her breasts again, at least not to her face. Boys had always overlooked her intelligence and kindness, though, calling her Bunny behind her back. Yeah, she could’ve made a bundle posing for Playboy, but she’d put herself through college with a full-ride academic scholarship. She’d done pretty well for herself too, if her stake in the co-op was any indication.
He tipped up the bottle as Miles opened the door.
“Guess how much I won playing poker in New Orleans.” Her voice hadn’t changed at all, and Barrett’s cock twitched at the husky tone. Then she stepped inside Winston’s apartment. With a toss of long white-blonde hair, she grinned. “Nine hundred and eighty dollars. I faked out this biker named Felix in the last hand. You should’ve been there.”
Miles cringed. “As your accountant, I don’t recommend risking that kind of money in a game of luck.”
“Luck? I didn’t bet big until I knew I had him beat. Besides, I only started out with two hundred.” She turned, her eyes locking on Barrett’s gaze. “You must be the new owner. I’m Rory Bond.”
Barrett rose from the recliner to shake her extended hand. “Hi, Rory. I’m Barrett Cunningham.”
Would she recognize his name?
Several seconds passed.
Just when he was about to give up hope that she remembered him, her blue eyes widened. “Barrett Cunningham? Like Barrett Cunningham from Mrs. O’Donnell’s third-period Chemistry class?”
His pulse skittered. “And Mr. Finch’s American Lit class.”
She laughed, the sound hitting him square in the gut. “Geometry, World History, AP Calculus. Wow. It’s great to see you, Barrett.”
“Well, I can honestly say you’re one of the few people in our class I had any interest in seeing after graduation.” The admission was out of his mouth before he could stop it, but what did he have to lose? Pushing aside his nervousness, he leaned in to kiss her cheek, savoring the softness of her skin against his lips. “How’s life been treating you? Besides the big win at poker.”
She touched her fingers to her face. “Life is good. I’m a psychologist. I opened my own practice eight months ago, and business is booming.”
“That’s terrific. I’m planning to set up my software company in the new office.”
“I know it was a long time ago, but I’m really sorry about your mom. Did you get the card I sent?”
“Yeah, thanks.” That sympathy card was one of the reasons he’d never forgotten her. They might not have been anything more than acquaintances, but her acknowledgment of his loss had given him hope.
“Hey, Rory, you want a beer?” Winston’s question carried a hint of something Barrett thought might be jealousy. “We should eat before the pizza and wings get cold.”
Were Winston and Rory a couple? He hadn’t met her at the door or greeted her with a kiss, but negative vibes radiated off him as if Barrett had crossed an invisible line with R
ory. With his luck, she was already involved in a serious relationship.
She wrinkled her nose. “Very funny. You better still have that bottle of merlot I brought last time.”
Holding out a wine glass filled with dark red liquid, Winston smirked. “You’re so easy to provoke.”
“And you can call me ‘Payback,’ because I’m also great at being a bitch.” She snagged the glass as she sauntered into the kitchen, the movement of her hips hypnotizing Barrett.
When Winston followed her, Barrett tagged along to get an idea whether he needed to back off or not. He sure as hell didn’t have any intention of going after another man’s girlfriend.
Instead of the half-expected hug from behind, Winston sidestepped her to grab a plate and loaded it with half a dozen barbecued chicken wings. “You’d pull off being a bitch about as well as I’d pull off wearing hooker heels and a mini skirt.”
Her lips twitched, and she laughed. “Now, that I’d like to see. The salon down the street does body waxing.”
Winston shuddered. “No duct tape on the short and curlies.”
“I suppose you could shave or trim.” She reached past him to the pizza. “Lots of guys manscape these days, you know.”
Lifting his eyebrows, he gave her a sidelong glance. “No comment.”
From the conversation, Barrett could only conclude that Rory wasn’t acquainted with Winston’s body well enough to know how much hair he had—or removed—so they couldn’t possibly be sleeping together. The sparring sounded more like friendly brother-sister banter than lovers teasing each other.
Miles clapped Barrett on the shoulder. “They’ll stand there until you shove them out of the way. Grab some food before they take it all.”
At the other man’s urging, Barrett stepped through the doorway into the kitchen. Rory handed him a plate and then slipped past Miles to the living room.
The Sextet Presents... Bound by Voodoo [Legends] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 2