Before the Party
At five p.m. on one of the last days of August, Amanda knelt on a sofa under the front facing window of the lounge, her face almost pressed against the window pane as a torrential summer rain poured down from gray skies and soaked the woods behind her mother’s new house.
“What if this rain stops people from coming?” she asked her companion, Anthony Newton, who sat behind the grand piano he had furnished the club with, looking over a list of songs.
“Don’t be silly, Amanda, if nothing else they’ll want to try the food,” he chuckled, having just visited the kitchen, where his little cooks, James and Josette, plus Dennis and Michael’s bar girl, Carmen, were setting out fascinating trays of hors d’oeuvres and creating spicy garnishes to surround them. “I must say, you have unusual taste in music for a teenage,” he added, having promised her the birthday present of playing her favorite songs as they waited for their guests to arrive. “Harold Arlen, Jerome Kern, Richard Rodgers, Kurt Weill, wait a minute, I’m seeing a pattern here,” he said, recognizing his own repertoire from the various tribute albums he had recorded.
“My mother had all of your albums and I listened to them over and over again all during high school.”
“Well, we know that Tai, Lydia, your Aunt Carola and Marion Craig are all coming down on the train from Boston. Haven’t Colby and Dru gone to pick them up?”
“That’s true. So I’ll be meeting Colby’s older woman for the first time,” Amanda said, catching her reflection in a side mirror and critically studying the image of herself in the short, shiny, dark red PVC slip dress that was so tight as to seem painted on and so marvelously enhanced the curves of her generous bosom, shapely bottom and tiny waist.
“I trust you’ll be gentle,” said Anthony, also noticing the remarkable spectacle of Amanda’s modelesque body displayed to such shiny advantage.
“I was going to ask her to be my surrogate for the birthday spankings,” Amanda said, more than half seriously. She had been truly honored when she had been told that Anthony’s club initiation party at the end of the summer would, as its theme, celebrate her 19th birthday. Her official birthday was the first day of September, which coincided with the first day of class, therefore, the party had been arranged for a few days earlier allowing Colby and Amanda ample time to return to Boston, move into their new dorm and register for classes.
Amanda and Colby had not spend the whole of August in Random Point, but upon returning from London, had, along with Cassandra, gone to Northern California for a couple of weeks, so the mother and daughter could pack their possessions and have them shipped to their new home. Eddie had offered to pack everything meticulously for them and take care of the shipping, but neither Cassandra nor Amanda felt comfortable at the idea of Eddie and possibly Eddie’s new wife, going through their things, especially when they remembered their diaries, photos and collections of love letters. After consulting with Anthony as to the propriety of bringing all of their belongings out to the house on Pine Tar Road, he encouraged her to use the property in any way she chose, reminding her that the house was very large, and full of storage space. He recommended making one of the bedrooms Amanda’s permanent room and furnishing her with a locking armoire so as to feel safe leaving all of her things there. Now that he saw how deeply attached to the house Cassandra had become, he didn’t try to discourage her from living there at all times. As long as the club was extremely exclusive, all would be well.
Amanda was touched and delighted by Anthony’s concern for and devotion to her mother. She had been quietly worried that the loss of her life partner would be a crushing blow to her mother’s ego, but the whole incident of being walked out on by Eddie seemed to cause barely a ripple in Cassandra’s emotions. On the contrary, the relocation back to Random Point had suddenly injected her mother’s life with a glamor and excitement she hadn’t known in twenty years. Suddenly her mother, like Hope Spencer Lawrence, was out from behind a counter and being eyed in sexy outfits by men with (acceptably) bad intentions. When she had first seen Cassandra upon her return from Europe, she barely recognized her mother, who seemed to look ten years younger. Her hair had been trimmed to a sleek, long bob, and she was wearing a figure hugging summer dress. And the first thing Cassandra told Amanda when she got her alone was that she had most recently been made love to by David Lawrence! Cassandra confided this secret with so much delight that Amanda could not allow herself to be shocked.
“It was entirely his notion, not mine,” Cassandra explained. “He came here all fussed at me for taking Hope away from her straight job and said he wanted to do a session with me to blow off some steam. I balked and resisted but he baited me, or flattered me or somehow made me overcome my better judgment and I agreed to let him spank me. Well, he wasn’t dreamy at all. He gave me an angry spanking that was too hard, or too fast, or too angry and it made me cry right away. Then he said I was useless, then he kissed me. And the next thing you know, he was bending me over the desk, in that way English teachers have perfected.”
“Ah! Nice!” said Amanda; “I think he was suddenly attracted to your vulnerability, going from angry to aroused the second you started to cry. He never got aroused when he was spanking me. At least if he did, he had the good taste to not draw attention to it.”
“You mustn’t tell Hope,” Cassandra cautioned her daughter. “Or Marguerite about that Michael incident.”
“No, no, of course, I would never!” Amanda promised.
When it was decided that Cassandra and Amanda would return to California to get their things organized, Colby seemed extremely reluctant to leave them and offered to come and help them pack and ship. Cassandra was grateful for the physical and moral support her daughter’s young champion provided and Amanda was impressed with her lover’s devotion, though she was somewhat suspicious that a lack of trust in her fidelity accounted for his unwillingness to leave her in San Francisco without him.
During most of the time they were gone, Diana Currie, her husband Plastridge, their baby daughter and nanny, occupied the Pine Tar house. Plastridge and Diana, ardent bondagers, who had indeed met for the first time by chance in the lobby of a New York BDSM club, were going to look over the house and equip it with any additional pieces they knew would be beloved to fellow bondagers. They were also going to finish decorating the examining room. In the daytime, the nanny and toddler were sent off to visit with Damaris’ baby and nanny and/or Marguerite’s baby and nanny. Pretty soon, all the babies and nannies were spending their sunny afternoons on the beach together, while Diana and her husband played undisturbed at the house. Diana was especially grateful to Susan Ross and Amanda for introducing her to her beloved Ronnie in Paris. They had traveled together from Holland to Spain and spent three idyllic days in a coastal town, eating the best food of their lives and making love in every way they could think of. It had been a revitalizing experience and had touched Diana’s heart. She and Ronnie Van Horn would be friends all their lives, crossing paths now and then and locking hotel room doors behind them.
That night they had sent the nanny and baby back to New York and had themselves relocated from the Pine Tar Road house to Anthony’s house on the cliff. They would arrive back at about seven-thirty.
Carola would be occupying the other guest bedroom that night, while Tai and Lydia would be taken to Susan’s house, across from the graveyard. That would appeal to the Goth influenced Lydia, Susan thought. Marion Craig would be initially checked in at the Ball and Feather, where she had booked a room.
Thalia, who had been doing summer theatre in Rhode Island, was driving out, with an E.T.A. of eight p.m. She would also be staying at Susan’s house, as she had done on her previous visits. Thalia, Amanda’s jolly friend from B.U. and the Boston scene, still had rather a large crush on Hugo Sands and looked forward to claiming his attention for at least a small part of the evening. She had already been out once to work at the club, as had Lydia and Tai. Hope had faithfully reported every day’s activity to Cassandra and some auspicious patterns were already beginning to develop. Ambrose Bartlett was their most frequent visitor, coming in every Friday and Tuesday late afternoon. If one girl was on, he would play with one. If two happened to be present, he played with two. As a very frequent client, they decided to lower his hourly rate to five hundred, and offer a further discount for doubles, though he always tipped each girl generously. Certainly it was evident that Bartlett intended to kick back a good deal of what had been spent in his store on furnishing the bulk of the house in sessions.
When Cassandra returned from California, even she was recruited for one of Bartlett’s double sessions. She had been going to resist, but he had taken to bringing over dresses and other outfits from the store, and leaving them with the girls as presents. She happened to be on with Hope the afternoon he brought two size small flare skirted lace over tulle halter dresses, one in pale pink and the other in pale green, along with strappy sandals to match. Just looking at the cut of the expensive dresses, Cassandra knew she would look divine in the green, therefore, she agreed to be the second submissive. Nor had it been so bad.
Hope watched Bartlett narrowly, ready to jump in and interpose her own bottom between that of her largely inexperienced mistress and his hard paddle or strap. But she found it wasn’t necessary. Ambrose kept himself well in check during that first session with his Amanda’s darling mother. As a lifelong enthusiast, he naturally loved the idea of spanking both a daughter and her mother and would never have passed on this rare opportunity. Beyond that, Bartlett had been attracted to Cassandra’s lithe body since first seeing her register at the inn, then later at the gym. He had even taken a yoga class to get a better look at her. She knew he was there and smiled to herself. She had heard of Bartlett’s fickleness from Hope, who got it from Pamela, Bartlett’s second wife, that he’d made Polyxena Guzman his mistress, though he hadn’t brought her to play in the club, as yet. Hope had not exactly kept Pamela informed as to the regularity of her husband’s visits to the club, but she did give Pamela to understand that on any given week, the best time to sneak over for a fly by with Dru in one of the bedrooms, was any day other than Friday or Tuesday.
Pamela did drop by to play with her boy. She usually stayed forty-five minutes and left the better part of a hundred dollars at the front desk for the room rental. Hope and Cassandra tried to discourage Pamela from paying for the room, but Pamela insisted that they had to become better businesswomen about the club and be content at the generous discount she had given herself as a regular customer. At any rate, Dru would be going back to school at the beginning of September and after that she doubted she would ever visit the club again. Cassandra and Hope waited to laugh at that until after Pamela was out the door.
Other locals began to become regulars, including Freddie Johanson, who had begun appearing every other week and Dieter Brandt, the masseur and Polyxena’s partner in the gym, who had taken to showing up every Saturday morning for a quiet little foot session with whichever lady was available. The first time Jane Eliot was especially invited to visit the club, it was to play top during one of these easy Dieter sessions, which the novice couldn’t begin to understand, but quite enjoyed.
Hugo had come in to do photo shoots whenever a new girl came into town. He paid the girls modeling fees and a little over for the house.
Dru had so far paid to see Carola twice. Dennis had seen her once. Both had gone submissive to her. And the next time she came out, she was scheduled to introduce Raphael Price to the confusing world of BDSM, to which he felt somehow drawn, but groped to understand. Carola would help him to define his character as a player and he was eagerly anticipating the journey.
Marguerite’s still single ex-husband, Malcolm, had come in to play with Lydia, Tai and Thalia, on successive weeks. The next time he came in, Jane would be up and perhaps the irony would not be lost on him, as Jane was the original lover of Marguerite’s current spouse, Michael Flagg.
Pascal Robbins had paid model fees to Lydia and Tai and merely photographed them. He didn’t quite understand what the house was all about, but he was interested in keeping close tabs on it, lest his own wife try to sneak off to it and rendezvous with her glamorous erstwhile lover, Anthony Newton, who was the club’s financier.
Even Michael had been over once, to play with the uninhibited college girl Thalia, whom he had met on the occasion of a photo shoot held at his tavern the previous winter. Michael had discussed supporting the club in this manner with Marguerite and she had concurred that it was the right and proper thing to do now and then.
David’s visit to the club was to remain off the books, a secret Cassandra was pleased to keep from everyone but Amanda, whom she felt compelled to confess everything to these days. But even not counting his visit, the business was quietly growing.
Now Anthony Newton was playing That Old Black Magic for Amanda, who thrilled in every fiber at the way the vigorous, original piano arrangement filled the large, posh lounge. They spoke only when he paused between songs.
“What did you think of my aunt Carola?” Amanda asked. “She frightens me a bit.”
“She’s scary but we’re in the process of taming her,” he disclosed.
“My mother has always been afraid of exposing me to her too much.”
“I think you can handle her,” said Anthony. “Like most bullies, she will yield to a more dominant force.”
As he played Where or When for her, she gazed at him, misty-eyed, never remembering having been so happy.
“By the way,” he said, “I don’t think you could look any better if you tried. That dress looks like it was made for you.”
“Colby thought it was outrageous.”
“But he didn’t tell you to take it off.”
“He will later,” she laughed.
“What country did you like best of your trip?” Anthony asked before playing Speak Low.
Amanda replied without hesitation, “The scenery was best in Norway, the food best in Italy, the drugs best in Holland, but England felt like our spiritual home.”
“Did you get down to Old Compton St.?”
“The Janus bookstore? Yes, but we didn’t go in. There was no one in there except two very old men behind the counters. Colby and I suddenly realized we didn’t want to have to explain why we were bringing an English spanking magazine back into the states in our luggage. So we passed on the whole Janus experience.”
Before Anthony had a chance to comment, Susan Ross entered the room, her trim-waisted, small breasted, round bottomed body beautifully arrayed in a double breasted white leather vest, a glove tight black hobble skirt and a five inch heeled stiletto booties that took her from petite to medium high with edgy elegance. Her hair was pulled back in its usual long, high, blonde ponytail and dark red lipstick drew the eye to her agreeable mouth.
“Hello,” she said, “the girls are settled in so I thought I’d come right over.” She embraced Amanda and spun around so Anthony could admire the curve of her bottom in the shiny black skirt. Hugo and Laura came in a moment later, he in a faultless suit and she in an evening gown.
“I’m glad you came early,” said Anthony. “Let’s go and get some champagne.” He led them into the dining room and sent Susan into the kitchen to tell Dennis to open a bottle for them. Amanda was sent to fetch Cassandra. Dennis came out with the tray and began to fill some of the glasses that had been set out on the sideboard and handed them around. Cassandra came back with Amanda, dressed in a dark blue leather club dress that Damaris and Pamela had sent her for good luck.
When they all had a glass in their hands Anthony said, “Let’s drink a toast to our darling Amanda on her birthday.” They all clicked glasses and sipped. “And let me say something more, while it’s just us here,” he continued. “You all mean so much to me. Hugo, if it wasn’t for you, I’d never have met Susan, Laura or anyone else who will enter this house tonight and my life would have been immeasurably duller. Amanda and Cassandra are new additions to my scene family, but already very dear to me. So I propose that we all meet back here at Thanksgiving and spend it together.”
Amanda looked at Hugo with a deeply affectionate smile, relishing the thought of her first holiday season spent with both her parents. But Cassandra smiled at Anthony. How like him to think of a charming way for her to enjoy Thanksgiving with her daughter and her daughter’s father, without excluding her daughter’s father’s new wife.
“And when we do come back to Random Point in November, Susan and I will be married,” Anthony added, in his most matter of fact tone. Susan looked at him and flushed to the eyes. “Yes,” he said, looking back at her, “and I won’t let you wriggle out of it this time.”
“But, why?” she stammered.
He took her about the waist and kissed her, saying, “Because it’s disrespectful to date a girl for eight years without marrying her. Don’t argue because you know I’m right.”
Cassandra smiled at Anthony again; impressed by this strategic maneuver calculated to remove any doubt from Susan’s mind as to where his main loyalty lay.
“Finally, I have a birthday present for you,” Anthony said, reaching into a breast pocket for an envelope and handing it to Amanda. Now it was her turn to blush. A present didn’t fit into an envelope unless it was a check.
“Should I open it now?” she asked.
“Why not?” he encouraged her.
It wasn’t a check, but a card, with an etching of an ivy covered building on the cover. Inside Anthony had written: “Three years hence, graduate school’s on me. Anthony Newton”
Amanda was hugging Anthony when Dennis returned with two more bottles of champagne. Anthony noticed a troubled expression on his assistant’s usually composed face and putting Amanda from him, took one of the bottles and began refilling glasses while saying to Dennis, “Everything okay in the kitchen?”
“Actually, there’s a bit of a situation developing,” Dennis disclosed softly.
“What kind of situation?” Anthony asked, taking Dennis aside while handing him a glass of champagne. “Here, you have some too. You need to be fortified for the long night ahead.”
“Thank you,” Dennis said, delighted to sip the expensive golden white libation. “It’s Josette.”
“What about Josette?”
“She says she’s ruined the cake. She’s devastated and she’s crying in the pantry.”
“Did she really ruin the cake?” Anthony asked with interest, excusing himself to the others and leading Dennis back to the kitchen as they talked.
“The middle looks a bit caved in,” Dennis admitted, “but I don’t say it’s entirely ruined.”
They entered the kitchen, where James was preparing trays of beggar’s purse pasties. Michael’s bargirl Carmen stood cutting limes behind a granite island in the middle of the large room, where she had set up blenders for complex mixed drinks and a variety of liquors and liqueurs for cocktails. She was an attractive blonde in her late twenties with a pixie cut in a white halter dress and white sandals, a young woman who appreciated her job, adored her boss, never spoke much, did her work well and quietly charmed everyone.
Anthony scanned the surfaces of all the countertops and quickly located the cake, inspected it and then went to knock on the pantry door. “Josette, it’s me, Mr. Newton. Let me in,” he said softly. The door opened immediately, he entered and closed it behind him. Josette looked up at him with a tear-streaked face and trembling lips. The room was large for a pantry, but no place to talk. Rather than take her back out through the kitchen, Anthony opened the other door, which led out to a screened porch that ran the length of the east side of the house. He motioned her to follow him outside and closed the door behind them. It was still raining hard but the porch was dry and dusk was still several hours away.
“Honey, I can understand you being upset about the cake, but James can’t complete this service without you.”
“I’ve failed you,” she sobbed, wiping her eyes with her apron.
“Oh, Josette, you think these skinny bitches coming to the party tonight are going to miss another five hundred calories of pure sugar? Anyway, I saw trays of marzipan petit fours out there and as for the cake, you can cut the middle out and call it a ring cake.”
She looked at him with wide eyes, saying, “Yes, I could do that!”
“Have a cigarette and compose yourself,” he suggested, remembering seeing her out in his own kitchen garden smoking. She looked at him gratefully and lit up. He noticed her tiny hands, innocent of polish and with several fingers bandaged from small knife accidents.
“You know, I’ve been wondering all summer if and when you’d ever make a mistake and how I’d react,” he commented. “Up until now, you’ve been perfect.”
“I’m so sorry!” she cried, ready to burst into tears once again.
“Josette, I don’t fault you for the cake, but these dramatics surprise me.” Josette blushed deeply. “I hope this whole cake fiasco wasn’t just a bid for attention.”
“Oh no! Of course not!” she protested.
“Really? Are you sure about that? You didn’t somehow figure out that this is an exclusive spanking party and decide you’d earn yourself a pass into the library with me?”
Josette’s blush increased in intensity to dangerous Celtic levels under the accusation.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” she exclaimed, “but, I would like to…to…go submissive to you!”
“And where did you hear that expression?” he asked her over folded arms.
Josette stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray stand and pulling aside her white shirt, showed him a tiny black Triskelion tattoo on her shoulder. Newton recognized the international symbol of BDSM.
“So it’s like that, is it?” he asked. She nodded vigorously.
“Since age 13!” she then admitted.
“I hate ink. I should spank you just for that. But now is not the time. You need to get right back to the kitchen and do your job for the next three hours. When all the food is out and everyone’s been fed, you can go and ask Cassandra to lend you a party dress and you and I will play.”
“Really?” she asked with delight.
“And Josette,” said Anthony, “don’t give the cake another thought. You’ve fed us beautifully all summer. Anyone can have a bad day. When will you graduate the C.I.A.?”
“In January,” Josette replied.
“What about James, is he graduating in January too?”
“Yes, but he’s going to France after that to continue his studies,” she said.
“Well, as soon as you graduate you can come to me in Manhattan and be my cook.”
“Really, Mr. Newton?” Josette’s pretty little face lit up.
“Yes, of course, now give me a hug and off you go,” he said, pressing her to him briefly.
“Thank you, Mr. Newton,” she said before rushing back inside, her cheeks aflame. Anthony reentered the house through the door to the lounge where he resumed his seat behind the piano.
Meanwhile, Colby Hodge, looking more like twenty-five than nineteen in a gray suit, was settling Marion Craig in her room at the Bone and Feather. They hadn’t spoken much during the short drive from the train station and Marion seemed to be in her usual tense mood, though as attractive as usual in her trademark black suit and heels. While Colby helpfully hung her hanging bag in the closet Marion snapped open a small travel case and extracted a silver hip flask of vodka.
“Get me some ice?” she asked Colby, who located a small bucket on the desk and disappeared into the hall. Since the building was a very old one, the halls and landings were too small to accommodate an ice machine, so Colby ran down the three flights of narrow stairs to the utility room behind the lobby and got his very occasional lover some ice. When he ran back upstairs and reentered the room, Marion had already changed from her suit into a white silk robe, discarding her shoes, hose and plain black bra and panty set all together. She had two glasses ready, added some ice cubes and poured them what Colby knew to be Grey Goose or Belvedere. His own expertise lay in identifying beers, but he knew Marion’s taste ran to high-end labels. Tossing back the generous drink she poured him in two gulps, he winced at the flavor, put the glass down and allowed the warmth to wash through him. Marion sipped her drink, got a joint out of her case, lit it and walked around the room, eyeing him.
Colby went into the bathroom and came out with a towel, which he waded up and lined the crack under the door with. Then he opened both the double mullioned windows wide and sat in one of the windowsills. This upper floor room had a view of the woods behind the inn. She came to him, held the joint to his lips and he inhaled. The next moment he had slipped his arms around her slender waist and drawn her onto his lap. He opened her robe and pulled it away from her thin shoulders, exposing her small yet elegant breasts. She was lean and they suited her body. He began to pinch her nipples, remembering her preference for painful stimulation. She threw head back, exposing her beautiful, long white throat. He kissed her throat then bit her lightly on the shoulders and neck.
Without speaking, he picked her up in his arms, carried her to the antique four-poster bed and tossed her on it. Looking at her all the while, he began to methodically remove his clothes, laying them neatly on a chair. Ordinarily, he would have torn them off and tossed them on the floor, but he was expected back at his girlfriend’s birthday party shortly and wanted to make the best possible impression upon his arrival there. Marion untied her belt, shrugged out of her robe, pulled back the counterpane and lay naked on the crisp, sweet smelling white linen. Coming to her nude, Colby straddled her and allowed her to heft, admire and orally worship his lengthy and substantial organ for several minutes before tearing open a condom, rolling it down over his erection, capturing both her wrists under one hand and using the other to guide himself into her.
Finally he broke the companionable silence by saying, “None of your usual screaming. I don’t want everyone at the inn knowing what’s going on here.”
“Then you’d better turn me over, so I can bury my head in a pillow,” she said, with one of her rare grins.
After dropping Tai and Lydia off at Susan’s house, Dru Baxter began driving back to Pine Tar Road with Carola in the back seat of his parents’ new SUV. But Carola stopped him before he turned at the corner of the graveyard that faced Susan’s Victorian.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“Back to your sister’s house,” Dru said, startled and all a thrill to be spoken to in that preemptory tone by the beautiful dominatrix who had already disciplined him several times that summer. “Why? Was there somewhere else you wanted to go?”
“Yes, several places,” she said, contemplating getting into the front with Dru but reluctant to expose her high heeled spectator pumps to the rain any more than was necessary. “I need to get Amanda a birthday present. Drive me to Bartlett’s. They’ll be open a few hours yet.”
“Right away,” he said and took the fastest way he knew to Woodbridge, via the back roads of Random Point as the rain continued to pour down. He looked in the rear view mirror at her now and then, finding her even more attractive this visit than the first. She was wearing a gold colored summer dress with a white collar and full skirt, a broad black belt girding her tiny waist. The moment he had seen her in the skirt he had thought how easy it would be to gain complete access to her charms without removing any clothes besides her panties. When he saw her touch up her glistening dark red lipstick with the tip of a small brush, he thought of how much he wanted to apply the tip of his tongue to her nether lips, while inhaling all of her mingled perfumes. He shook his head and concentrated on the wet road. He looked at her again and saw her combing out her silky, jet-black hair.
“You look beautiful, Mistress,” he said, without self-consciousness, as they were alone. She smiled.
“Thank you,” she said, without adding her thoughts on his own thoroughly pleasing appearance. Most of her customers were not tall, handsome, muscular Ivy League college boys and she was enjoying the difference. “Were you thinking of playing with me this weekend?” she asked casually.
“Oh yes, please!” he replied. “But, if I could ask one favor?”
“What’s that, Dru?”
“Can we do it tomorrow?”
“Of course we can. I have nothing planned,” Carola replied pleasantly.
Dru didn’t speak again until they had pulled into the large parking lot behind Bartlett’s department store. Dru got an umbrella out of the trunk and opened it for Carola. Then he noticed her heels again. “Should I drop you at the door?” he asked.
“It’s all right,” she smiled, taking the umbrella from him.
“Mistress?” he began as they began to walk toward the back entrance of the store.
“What is it, Dru?”
“Well, there are going to be some people at the party tonight who I’d rather not know I was subbing to you.”
“What people?”
“Pamela Bartlett.”
“Bartlett, you say? Any relation to this Bartlett?” Carola asked, looking up at the large, imposing, and elegant building that dominated the busiest corner on the Main Street of Woodbridge village.
“Yes, she’s his wife. And she and I have been seeing each other a little this summer.”
“And Pamela doesn’t know you’re submissive?”
“She knows I’m a switch and bosses me around of course, all women do. But when we play, she prefers for me to spank her and then we have sex.”
“How nice for you,” said Carola with a smile. “And I fully understand what you’re saying. You’re turning her on just the way you are, why put visions of you squirming across another lady’s lap into her head?”
“Exactly,” he agreed, enjoying the way Carola was taking control even of this conversation. “But besides her, there’s Amanda.”
“My niece and the beautiful birthday girl?” Carola said.
“Yes. She’s been very nice to me.”
“Oh? How nice has she been?”
“Very. Though only once,” he said, adding optimistically, “So far.”
“So my new submissive is a live wire, is he?” Carola asked.
“I’ve just been lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time,” he admitted, holding the back door open for Carola, who put up her umbrella and preceded him in.
“Dru, darling, put your mind at rest. I won’t discuss what happened or will ever happen between us with anyone who doesn’t already know, meaning Hope and Cassandra, who set up our first appointment.”
“Thank you!” Dru said, beaming at his leggy companion as she strode into the basement of the store, past one of the many security cameras with a feed into Ambrose Bartlett’s large bank of monitors, an array that dominated one whole wall of his executive office on an upper floor.
Bartlett happened to still be in his office, though it was past six, changing and getting ready for the party. Pamela was one story up, in her design studio, also dressing. But the wasp-waisted brunette in the perfect cotton sateen dress caught the connoisseur’s eye. Shifting his gaze to another camera, he saw Carola stroll into home furnishings, with Dru Baxter following obediently behind her. He recognized that lad well enough, but the woman, who was a beauty of indeterminate age, was new to him. Ambrose thought, “Gotta be a guest for the party tonight. But who is she?” He sat down behind his desk and shifted his gaze from monitor to monitor as Carola and Dru made their way from department to department, up the escalator to the second floor and came to a halt in the BCBG boutique. “She must be buying a present for Amanda,” he thought, as Carola began to quickly scan the dress racks, inspecting various garments and hanging a number of selections over Dru’s arm. At one point, when she thought that no one was observing her, Carola reached under Dru’s medium blue suit jacket and it seemed to Bartlett, pinched Dru’s nipple. “Ah ha, so she’s a top and he’s a bottom,” Ambrose thought, delighted to have discovered a bit of scandal about his young rival. He pondered calling Pamela down to see how her squire behaved around a dominant woman, but thought it best to reserve the information for the moment. It would be beneath his dignity to show too much interest in Pamela’s cub; still it was interesting to him. Now Ambrose remembered Cassandra mentioning that her sister, a dominatrix, was coming into the party that night. “Wonder what her price to go submissive would be?” he thought to himself, unable to tear his eyes from Carola’s lily waist, the part of a woman’s body he found most fascinating, after her bottom.
Just then Pamela teetered into the office to get her husband’s opinion of her outfit, a two piece blush pink silk knit dress composed of a close fitting, sleeveless midriff and a long, straight skirt, slit up the side to the thigh, set off to advantage by a pair of latticed, open-toed stiletto booties.
“Don’t look, unless you want to be disillusioned about your boyfriend,” he said, drawing Pamela’s attention to the proper monitor by momentarily shielding it from her view with a file folder.
“Why? Who’s in the store?” she asked with quick and lively curiosity, coming closer to the bank of screens. He pulled the file aside to reveal Dru leaning on the wall outside one of the fitting rooms.
“Oh, it’s Dru,” said Pamela, with interest. “Who’s he waiting for?”
“I don’t know if you know her, but I’m pretty sure it’s a Cassandra’s sister from Boston. She fits the description Hope gave,” said Bartlett, directing Pamela’s attention to the fitting room that Carola had just entered with three size 2 dresses.
“Oh, Ambrose, you’re not going to watch her undress, are you?” Pamela said reproachfully, her eyes immediately drawn to the shopper’s waist. “What a figure.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” said Ambrose. Then they both noticed Carola turn to the door of the fitting room and say something.
“She’s calling him to help her with a zipper,” Ambrose speculated.
“She wouldn’t!” Pamela declared with certainty.
“Look!” Ambrose pointed to the first camera, where Dru, sitting standing outside the ladies fitting room had just started, as he had heard his name called from within.
“Oh no, he’s not going in!” Pamela gnawed on her knuckle in embarrassment for Dru, were he to be caught by a saleswoman on the floor and thrown out.
“Why not? She called him, didn’t she?” Ambrose chuckled, delighted to have his rival revealed to be the small lapdog that he was. In the next instant Dru was entering the changing cubicle in obedience to Carola’s summons.
“He shouldn’t be in there. He should tell her so!” said Pamela.
“He’s clearly intoxicated with the new mistress in town to the extent that reason has deserted him.”
Then both Pamela and Ambrose quietly watched the seasoned model slip in and out of the dresses she was contemplating giving her niece as quickly as it was possible to do so, using Dru only to zip and unzip her.
“I’ve been timing her, she got each dress on and off in less than twelve seconds,” said Pamela, consulting her new diamond watch, “that’s professionalism.”
“Uh oh, hide your eyes,” said Bartlett, as Carola’s hand went under Dru’s jacket once more to reward him for his assistance with a hard nipple tweak. The security camera wasn’t sharp enough to show his blush, so Pamela blushed for him as she witnessed the little pantomime of possession going on in the fitting room. Ambrose said, “Tsk, tsk,” as though in sympathy for her misplaced affections.
“Oh, never mind Dru and the new witch in town, tell me if you like this outfit,” Pamela said, turning completely around slowly before him.
“It’s wonderful. It is one of your new designs for your show next week?” he asked, taking her in his arms to encircle her own willowy waist with his hands.
“Yes!”
He sat down on the edge of his desk and pulled her to him and then across his knee. Smoothing down her clinging skirt he said, “Let’s see how it stands up to a spanking,” and applied six or eight resounding swats to her small, gym pampered bottom, firm enough to bounce his palm off after each smack. “Do you have anything at all on under this?” he asked, without attempting to disarrange her evening dress by pulling up her skirt.
“Of course I do, some sheer, silk bikini panties. This fabric is cleverly lined,” she explained proudly.
He stood her up and they both inspected the back of her skirt in a full-length mirror.
“The fabric doesn’t wrinkle,” he observed. “Smart choice.”