Calder could see Kelly wanted to say more, but just then someone wearing a very odd abbreviated costume came running up. BW backed off as if she’d been shot and began busily packing her suitcase. It gave Calder a certain amount of satisfaction to see her cheeks were pink.
The woman ran into the booth, dropped to her knees in front of BW, spread her knees wide in what looked like a very uncomfortable position, bent her head, and waited to be acknowledged. The odd costume had the one-shoulder draped effect of Grecian toga, but was cut very short. The thin material left nothing to the imagination. She wore a gold collar that looked almost like lace. A rope belt circled her waist several times. Calder had no trouble imagining what the rope was for.
BW ignored her for a moment while she stuffed another flogger deep into the large suitcase. Then she turned and said languidly, “Yes, slave?”
Calder raised one eyebrow. One minute BW was a tigress stalking prey, the next haughty and regal. It had to be a role. He glanced back at the slave on the floor. What about her had changed BW’s attitude?
Without looking up, the slave-woman offered a packet to BW. “From my Mistress, the Lady Mina, with her compliments.”
BW opened the packet. Inside was a gold coin. Craning his neck, Calder could see it was a standard Sacajawea dollar. What was it about a dollar that made BW smile? Whatever it was, BW thrust the coin in the suitcase and shut the lid.
“Convey my greetings to the Lady Mina, and tell her I accept. One moment.” A few seconds later, a small blue gym bag was thrust into the girl’s hands and she sped off.
“What the hell just happened?” Calder asked softly, more or less to himself.
“Oh, nothing much. I just sold Michael to Lady Mina. Whew! Am I glad! Even if it means lugging all this stuff home myself, it’s worth it.” She nonchalantly put her suitcase near the entrance of the booth, and judging by the way her eyes scanned the room carefully, she was checking to make sure the place was clean.
Shock had Calder choking back a shout. “You just sold a guy for a fucking dollar?” he protested.
BW turned an impish smile on him, completely unperturbed. “Yup. It’s not criminal assault or anything. It’s not even a crime at all. And before you yell at me, two things. First, don’t ever yell at me. You won’t like the results. Second, there’s more that went on than meets the eye. And oh, yeah. Do you like coffee?”
The complete non sequitur had Calder totally off stride and puzzled. “Uh, yeah.” What was it about this woman that left him dazed and confused most of the time? Calder shook his head to clear it. The point was a man had just been sold for a stupid dollar. Calder wasn’t about to get sidetracked by a beautiful, blue-eyed, classy broad in stilettos and a sexy bustier. No matter how disturbing she was, or how classy, she’d just done something despicable.
Folding her arms, BW looked prepared to hold a conversation despite the fact that a livid man stood towering over her. “Look, I’m ready to leave. There is very little good action tonight, and I’ve soured on play for now. If you want to hear an explanation that doesn’t have to be shouted, you’re welcome to come back to my place and have coffee.”
Damn, the woman was good at keeping him off-balance. His mouth opened and closed a few times as he tried to work through the mental argument of whether to accept or not. Was she offering to take him home for a conversation? Or more? No matter. He couldn’t refuse. The infamous Black Widow was offering him the equivalent of a one-on-one interview.
BW solved the issue by stepping close enough for him to inhale that perfume she was wearing. Had she been saying something about criminal assault earlier? That perfume was an assault on his libido, all in itself. His brain clicked completely offline.
She lifted a finger with a neatly trimmed, unpainted nail under his chin and closed his mouth. “You could catch flies in that thing. I won’t hurt you. You can even have a chaperone in Angie, if we can spirit her out of this lousy party.”
Blue. Her eyes are blue. Baby blue, was all his mind would think. Snap out of it! Lust has no place right now, and you don’t want to tangle with this kind of woman. She’ll eat you alive, like a Black Widow spider.
Those big blue eyes tilted to one side. “You aren’t scared of me, are you?”
That pout had probably destroyed many men. It certainly was destroying his self-control. But that little insult to his ego could not be ignored. “You don’t scare me, beautiful. Let’s go. I’ve got a million questions, starting with selling a man after setting him on fire.”
Black Widow hefted a small black gym bag he’d seen her load with the spray bottles and a few other bottles and jars. Okay, that made sense. The fragile stuff would be carried separately. “I promise to give you a full explanation and answer all your questions once we have some coffee. Fair enough?”
Automatically, he picked up the suitcase, and thought his arms would break under the strain. “My fucking God! What have you got in here? Chains?”
The grin she shot him over her shoulder was pure mischief. “Yes, of course! I’ll show them to you later. If you’re a good boy.”
“I should have known,” he muttered, and followed in her wake while she hunted up Angie to say goodbye.
Brad grabbed his arm in the kitchen, where they found Angie dispensing coffee out of a giant urn that looked like it belonged in a restaurant. BW dragged Angie away to another corner, and from the jumping up and down, giggling, and hugging, something good had happened.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Calder?” Brad whispered urgently. “You promised!”
“I didn’t ask for an interview, Brad. Honest. She’s taking me home for coffee and to finish explaining her toys to me. She even asked if I’d like Angie to chaperone. I’m perfectly safe, and so is she.” Calder pulled his arm from Brad’s grip and winked as he followed the swinging set of black-clad hips out the door.
* * *
Brad leaned back against a kitchen counter. “Idiot. Why do you think they call her The Black Widow, old man? And from what Angie tells me, she’s hungry.”
He rubbed his forehead in indecision. Calder was treading on very thin ice. Kelly wouldn’t harm him; Brad knew that more intimately than most. But Calder would walk away a changed man. Would he be able to live with it?
Angie came over and took his hand. “You look so upset. Is it because BW has picked a new man?”
Brad shook his head and caressed his wife’s cheek. “No, baby. I subbed to BW a very long time ago. I graduated and moved on.” His eyes flicked to the back door. “I’m worried about Calder.”
It was the best he could do to warn his wife. He couldn’t tell her what Calder was. There’d be mayhem, and everyone would know. Angie didn’t know Calder like he did. She wouldn’t trust him. He had to keep the secret, or their lives would come crashing down around them.
He could almost hear Angie’s screech. “A reporter? You brought a fucking reporter into our midst? And you just let him go home with the most secretive one of us all? Are you nuts?” Brad shuddered.
Angie’s tinkling laughter brought him back to reality. “So what? He looks like he can handle himself. Kelly just wants a nice horizontal tango with a guy who won’t submit to her first.”
“That’s the problem, Angie. Calder won’t submit. He’s something new and different. And he’s… innocent… to our ways.”
Angie grinned. “So? She’ll show him the ropes, literally and figuratively. He’s going to have the ride of his life tonight.”
Brad ran a hand through his hair and tried not to sweat visibly. “Baby, what sort of player would you call Calder?”
“A Dom,” she answered instantly. “He’s definitely got the potential. He’s got that selfless quality and big heart. You should have seen him jump to help when that sub of Lady White’s hit the floor.” Angie smiled at the memory.
“Right. He’s got a big heart. I agree there. But what happens when a new, untrained Dom appears on the scene? What happens to the best Doms before they put on the leather?”
She looked puzzled. “You know that as well as I do, since you went through it. They learn to submit first so they can appreciate fully what they ask of their subs and what it feels like to be one.”
“Right. And how do you get an insufferably arrogant, Dominant personality to even consider doing something so contrary to their nature as to submit to another Dominant?”
Angie paced the length of the kitchen. “I’m a sub. I’m going to make some educated guesses. With an innocent like Calder, you’d engage their brain and their body. The kind of BDSM Kelly is capable of is addicting. Once you have what she can offer, vanilla sex is about as much fun as playing with wet cardboard.” She looked at Brad for confirmation.
“That’s close, but there’s more baby. You said it yourself. The one thing that classifies almost all of the best Dominants is that big, caring heart. You have to be very selfless to take care of the mental and physical well-being of another person, sometimes trying to heal old hurts.” He paused, and then plunged in. “Calder’s major in college was psychology. Masters program.”
“Whew! An untrained Dom with psych training just walked innocently into the world of BDSM. He’s not just going to have issues. He’s going to have whole subscriptions.” Angie worried a fingernail with her teeth until Brad batted at her hand. “How Dom is he in real life?”
“Very. Works independently. Uh, in the entertainment industry.”
“Shit. Independent, big caring heart, strong personality, and a creative streak all describe the strongest and best Doms I know.” Her eyes opened to the size of saucers. “Your friend will hit his knees sometime soon. Oh, man. That’s going to be hard on him.”
Angie frowned and got herself a cup of coffee. “You may be right, darling. Kelly has always defined the relationship from the outset by collaring anyone who wants to play with her, sexually or not. Your friend wasn’t wearing a collar when he left.” Her coffee cup wobbled. “Oh, shit. She didn’t collar him.”
Brad nodded. “That’s right. What does that say about Kelly?”
“She doesn’t see it.” Angie waited until a pretty brunette filled a coffee mug and ran back, probably presenting it to her Master. “Brad, she’s just looking for a happy little fuck. Denny has been dead a year, and the cancer made him half-dead for two years before that. I thought she had a right to grab up the first guy that attracted her and turn him inside out. I would, after three years of celibacy.”
“But she’s picked the wrong guy this time,” Brad commented while he refilled his own mug of tea. “For every skill she shows him, he’s going to absorb it, understand it, and turn it back on her.”
Angie quirked an eyebrow upward, and laughed. “They’re either going to kill each other, or make the best team in the city.” She shrugged. “Me, I’m going to shoot for the moon and hope for orange blossoms in Kelly’s future.”
Brad scooped her up. “Stop being a yenta. And don’t you dare pester Calder when he comes over Sunday afternoon. Go grill Kelly, instead. I know you will anyway.”
Angie widened her eyes in a patently false attempt at innocence. “Who, me? Why, I never!”
“Yes, you, wench. And I remind you that you started to chew your nails earlier. You’ve been naughty, my little sub.” Brad leered at his wife.
“Rut-roh, Shaggy!” was all she got out before she was tossed over Brad’s shoulder and hauled downstairs to her “punishment.”
* * *
After following BW home in his own car and being served a delicious cup of coffee -- even if it was nuked and apparently from the morning -- Calder followed her into her living room. She’d insisted he start calling her Kelly, “at least for now.” Whatever that meant.
“So, let’s see. I believe you wanted to know about the coin incident. Michael was always a submissive, not a pain slut and not into bondage. He prefers service. He thinks he’s a pain slut, but he can’t take much.”
Kelly was pacing -- no, stalking -- around the living room like a caged panther in leather. That outfit was killing him. It ought to be against the law for leggy, sultry brunettes to wear such “fuck me” costumes.
“You see, there are three main types of BDSM. Bondage and discipline is one. Dominance and submission is the second. Sado-masochism is the third.”
“Okay, let me get this straight. B&D is, like, tying people up and torturing them mildly, right?” At her careful nod, Calder continued. “D&s is like what Michael likes. Servitude, maybe sometimes humiliation. How am I doing?”
Kelly raised one eyebrow. “Simplified, but you’re doing okay.”
“Okay, the final one, S&M. That’s the one I don’t get. That sounds like there’s more than mild pain involved.”
“Very good. Yeah. Mild pain and the pleasure it derives can be involved, but some lines blur. For me, S&M means the hard-core stuff, like knife play and permanent physical damage. I don’t do that, unless I am paid very, very well, and even then I have limits I don’t cross.”
“Well, I can agree to those definitions. So, what about Michael?”
“As I said, Michael is a submissive by preference. That’s why he is such a wuss on the cross. He likes to be told to do everything. That’s his thing, and it’s understandable with the pressures of his life at work. He’s IT. He likes to abdicate responsibility whenever he’s away from the computers and not forced to make immediate decisions with million-dollar equipment. Anyway, he needs a full-time, live-in position with a Mistress. I’m not the kind who likes to have subbies underfoot, especially ones who can’t or won’t think for themselves.”
“And his new Mistress is the kind who can give him that?” Calder asked dubiously.
“Yup. She’s Gorean. Ever read the Gor books by John Norman? It’s a whole slave society, and well thought out. Certain factions of BDSM enthusiasts have made a real-life version of that world. Lady Mina likes to live and play in that world, and for that you need subbies just like Michael. It’s a win-win situation for Lady Mina. She’ll get absolute service, and he will get the abdication of responsibility. He’s going to be very happy. Mina is rare. There’s maybe a handful of Gorean Mistresses in the US.”
“So, the coin was a symbolic payment?”
“Yes, indeed! A dollar won’t break her, and in her world, she’s paid a good price for a slave boy of incomparable value.” Kelly set down her coffee cup with a decisive click.
“I see. I’ll have to mull that over. I know a few people that like to abdicate responsibility for their actions.”
Kelly gave a short bark of laughter. “Don’t we all?”
She sauntered over to a very impressive stereo system and hit a button. Chopin floated softly out of hidden speakers. Calder’s abused eardrums blessed her.
“Now, let’s get on to that fire play question.” Kelly marched over to her bags and suitcase and rummaged in the “bottle bag” she’d carried in earlier. With a triumphant “Ah-ha! Here we are!” she pulled out the same bottle she’d used on Michael earlier, plus a zip-locked plastic bag with cotton balls in it, and a towel.
With an absolute disregard for the beauty and value of her coffee table, she sat on it and dumped her armload on the tabletop beside her. Calder tried to ignore the fact that she was practically sitting right on top of him and nearly nose-to-nose.
“I don’t care much for this, myself, but in the interest of calming your nerves, it’s worth the trouble.” She wrinkled her nose at him and grinned mischievously. “Would you care to help?” She offered Calder a neatly folded white towel.
Calder took the white towel. “Sure. What are you going to do?” He couldn’t quite keep the wary tone out of his voice.
“Set myself on fire.” At Calder’s inarticulate and half-strangled cry, she laughed. “Oh, sit back and calm down. It won’t hurt, not even if you’re slow with the towel.” She opened the plastic bag and got out a few cotton balls. “I just don’t happen to favor getting my arm hairs singed.”
Using the bottle now in her hand, she slapped it in her palm to emphasize the steps. “Here’s the plan, Calder, so listen up. Once I swipe my arm with the cotton, you get ready with the towel. I’ll use the lighter, and you immediately pat the flames out with the towel. Got it?”
Calder nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He wanted desperately to stop her, and at the same time he was eaten up with curiosity. Curiosity was winning, by a bare margin. He clutched the towel fiercely, and tried to look as if he’d pounce at a moment’s mishap.
Kelly, no, BW opened the bottle and the pungent smell of isopropyl alcohol filled the area. She looked up and saw Calder’s intent expression. “Relax, Calder. All Dominants must be able to do this if they want to do it to their subs. It’s only fair, isn’t it, to know what the sub will feel?” She reached up to stroke his cheek. “Trust me, okay? I’m trusting you.” She looked significantly at the towel.
Calder forced himself to at least stop clutching the towel. “Okay, babe. I’ll try.”
Kelly quickly loaded a cotton ball with alcohol and swiped her arm. A quick flick of the lighter, and her arm was on fire. After a second of fascination, Calder patted out the tiny flame with the towel.
He berated himself for morbidity, but when Kelly held out her arm for inspection, Calder couldn’t help examining it with all the care he could give. Other than a few singed hairs, it wasn’t even pink. The only discernable effect was slight warmth and the little crispy hairs.
“Isopropyl burns too rapidly to cause damage, as long as it is extinguished fairly quickly. The effect is all in the mind,” BW reminded him in a soft voice.
Calder caught on. “I get it! The mind screams about being on fire and goes into the fight or flight reflex. Adrenaline is produced, heightening reactions and heartbeat. That’s what put Michael over the edge. He got an adrenaline rush.”
Kelly shook a finger at Calder. “And he was never in any danger. He knew it intellectually, but his emotions remain the same. Now, let’s do you.”
Calder winced and hesitated, but stuck out his arm with good grace. “Can’t say I’m happy about it, but then again, I’m curious.”
“Well, good!” Kelly responded cheerfully. “You’ll get a better adrenaline rush for that healthy amount of fear. Think of it like a clinical experiment, Calder.” She held out the lighter and a towel, one in each hand. “I’ll let you pick which role you want to play. Lighter or patter?”
Calder looked indecisively at both for a moment. He couldn’t bear the thought of giving control of the flames on his own flesh to anyone else, so he took the towel.
Kelly smiled and prepared the cotton ball. She held the lighter in her right hand and swabbed his arm with her left. With a quick glance to make sure Calder was ready with the towel, she flicked the lighter.
Calder watched the flames erupt on his arm, but felt only a little warmth. He completely forgot about the towel in his fascination. Kelly was ready for such a reaction, and snatched the towel from Calder. She efficiently put out the flame just as the warmth began to increase to something less pleasant.
“Well, you had a typical first reaction to the experience, same as I did,” Kelly commented with satisfaction. “That is why I recommend that this always be done with another person. It should never be done on oneself while alone, so don’t go home and experiment. BDSM is always practiced with safety first in mind. Never forget that.”
Calder flushed with embarrassment. He hadn’t done anything like that, just staring at an unsafe situation or emergency, since he’d been a rookie.
Kelly patted his cheek, arresting his attention. “How’s your heartbeat? Do you think you got an adrenaline rush?”
“Unsteady, and yes.”
“There you have it, then. That’s the trick of fire play. See? I’m not such a monster, am I?” She smiled sweetly.
Personally, Calder wasn’t sure if it was the fire play or Kelly herself that caused his unsteady heartbeat, but he acknowledged that tiny spurt of fear watching his own arm burn.
Kelly put aside the fire play implements and leaned forward earnestly. “BDSM is more about psychology and physiology than some aberration of the psyche. If you’ve ever played ‘tie me up, baby’ with a lover, used an ice cube, tickled, or had a role-play where you were the big, strong captor of a lovely maiden, you’ve tasted one of the milder flavors of BDSM.”
Calder ignored the comment, because he had done those things now and then. He contented himself with a nod. His mind easily supplied the fantasy of tying Kelly up.
“Want to see some of the ‘flavors’ of BDSM in my dungeon?” Kelly picked up the fire play equipment and put it away. When she stood, her round ass was right in his face, and he had the irrational urge to take a bite.
“Yes, I would!” He put his empty coffee cup down. “Uh, shouldn’t we put these back in the kitchen?”
Kelly favored him with a sardonic look. “Not necessary. I have a subbie who comes in every day to clean for me. She’ll get it in the morning.” She sauntered through the doorway and led him to an ornately carved door.
Following the lovely Black Widow was torture enough for Calder. There was more sway in those hips than in most back porch swings. The shorts left a pair of perfectly rounded ass cheeks in clear view, peeking from beneath the material.
Her descent down a flight of well-lit stairs hid those long legs from view enough for Calder concentrate on where they were going. Dark-paneled walls were smooth and well polished. This wasn’t the cheap stuff. The rail was dark oak, if he had any knowledge of wood. In fact, the whole house was laden with subtle luxuries.
At the bottom of the stairs, Kelly waited and let him have a good look around. The main room was relatively small, but looked a little like a throne room, complete with a gas fireplace and carved mantel. One large, comfortable chair with ornate carvings took center stage on a thick oriental rug laid over the equally thick blue carpeting. Other chairs and floor pillows provided extra seating. A small kitchen gleamed white and perfect directly to his right.
Several doors led off the main room. Most were closed. One, nearest the kitchen, stood open. Calder stared at what looked like an oversized grade school desk visible in the room.
Kelly’s eyes followed his gaze. “Curious, Calder? I can show you any room you desire.”
“Yeah.” Calder walked to the open door and stepped in. “Fuck me, it’s a schoolroom.” And it was. Complete with teacher’s desk and chalkboard. But only two of those oversized desks.
“More often than not, I’m the schoolmarm, here.” She chuckled. “Want to see?” Without waiting for his nod, she stepped into what looked like a closet.
Moments later, she stepped out again, completely transformed. She wore those same skyscraper heels, but she’d put her hair up in some simple twist on her head and had donned a pair of glasses. Instead of shorts, she now wore a tiny black skirt the width of a placemat. The bustier had been replaced with a skintight, white lace blouse, giving him an unimpeded look at the soft skin underneath. The whole outfit made his mouth water. Seeing those hard pink nipples peeking through the lace made his fingers itch to touch, to pinch.
Kelly looked severely at him. “Class is now in session. Sit down, Calder. You’re late. Do you need to be switched?” She fingered a whip-like wooden switch.
Playing the game, Calder hastened to the nearest desk and sat down, grinning. “No, ma’am!”
“That’s better.” She turned to the chalkboard and lifted her arm to write, treating Calder to a spectacular view of her sweet, curvy ass barely covered by a tiny pair of virginal white panties. His mouth watered, and his cock rose up to the call. He barely could pay attention to the words, “Lesson Plan: Math” she wrote neatly on the board. Kelly then walked casually over to the corner of the teacher’s desk and sat with legs spread, giving him an intimate view of those white panties. His mind blanked in pure lust. He wanted his face right there, right now.
“You see, Calder, I can play the teacher. I can also be the student -- pigtails, teddy bear, and cute pout -- but that is rare indeed. Shall we move on to the next room?” She wandered out the door, leaving the granny glasses on the desk, still clad in that outfit she was almost wearing.
Calder rolled his eyes skyward and pleaded for mercy, but got up and followed her out the door. Pink nipples winked like a beacon in the lit doorway she stood in front of, urging him onward.