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  So my relationship with Tricia, and all the other girls I played with, stayed superficial by necessity. My only real love had been Adrianne. And she ripped my heart out when she left.

  To Tricia, I typed: I’m showing a friend around the scene. We want to go to Blain’s party in Tribeca this Saturday.

  I’m going to be there, she said. With my new boyfriend.

  Naturally Tricia would want some stroking before we got to the dickering. Since it was an open relationship, that meant she could still play with other people, meaning me.

  I replied: I saw that you were in a relationship, congratulations!

  I’ve been needing that in my life. I like having the emotional support.

  It was typical of Tricia that she explained her relationship in terms of how it benefited her.

  I texted: I’d like to meet him. Can you get me an invite?

  You and your new girl?

  Hardly that. I’m showing her the ropes.

  I’m sure you’re showing her everything you’ve got, she replied.

  Now I was even more irritated. Getting the occasional bang from Tricia wasn’t worth the hassle she gave me. I didn’t reply to her overt jealousy. It didn’t deserve to be noticed.

  Our words lingered on the chat record. I knew Tricia would be looking at them, wheels turning around in her head as she tried to figure out the best angle for her. Did she want me at a party where her new man would be? Did she want to help me make time with another girl? Would she figure that making my life easy was a step in the right direction to being girlfriend material?

  Finally her reply came through, as I knew it would. I’ll get you that invite.

  I smiled. She was still in the palm of my hand.

  The next morning, I dug into the back of my closet. There were a couple of boxes of fetishwear that Adrianne had left behind as not fit for her new life with a politically correct husband. I had been doling out the leather collars and PVC dresses to girls ever since. There was something I had in mind for Sierra—a half hood that would cover her eyes and the top of her head, with a hole where her pony tail could stick through on top. There was also a black cat-suit in heavy nylon.

  I got the cat-suit cleaned the next day and polished the leather of the hood until it was a deep shiny black. It looked and smelled like new. The cat-suit was practically new, and once it was cleaned, she would never know it had been worn.

  If she did find out, she wouldn’t like it. But if she was a greedy little girl like Tricia, then she would expect to get gifts from men like me. Her reaction when I gave her the clothes would tell me what I needed to know. Women who didn’t want a guy for his money had too much pride to take gifts from a man they just met. I’d met a few. Women like Tricia squealed and grabbed what you gave them, and then asked for more like a spoiled child.

  It remained to be seen which camp Sierra fell into.

  Chapter 9

  Sierra

  When I got to the corner where Victor told me to meet him, he wasn’t there yet. I waited in front of the Korean nail salon, trying to calm my jitters. I wasn’t sure whether I was more nervous about seeing Victor again or seeing what Lola was capable of next.

  I saw him coming up the street towards me, his hair blowing in the breeze. He looked so manly, his arms stretching the sleeves of his black T-shirt. I liked the fact that even though he was a busy businessman, he kept himself fit. For the first time, his clothes didn’t reek of money—he wore faded jeans with holes in the thigh and motorcycle boots.

  “Hi,” I said. “How was Atlanta?”

  “The usual,” he tossed off, looking me up and down. “Your outfit’s no good. You look like a waitress.”

  I looked down at my black button-up shirt and skirt. “You said you were going to help me with a disguise.”

  Victor patted the messenger bag slung over his shoulder. “I’ve got it in here. You’ll have to change at the party.”

  “What if Lola sees me first?”

  “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  His tone was final, like I shouldn’t question his judgment. I wasn’t used to men who were so definite about things. Is that what it took to be successful? Telling everyone the way it was?

  “Are you ready to do this?” he asked. “Once we’re in there, you’ll have to play the part or we won’t blend in.”

  “What kind of part?”

  “As my submissive.”

  A flow of people were walking past us on the sidewalk, within arm’s reach. But nobody was paying any attention to us. Still, it was a weird place to have this kind of discussion.

  “What do I have to do?” I asked.

  He raised one brow. “Whatever I say.”

  He wasn’t smiling or joking about it. This was the serious Victor, the one who had devoured me with his eyes as he lured me into letting him touch me again.

  “That’s too open-ended for me,” I finally said.

  “What are your limits?”

  I licked my lips nervously. “What will people be doing?”

  “Some will have sex. Others will do BDSM.”

  “So it’s even more extreme than the Chamber?”

  “It’s completely different. It’s a private party. You have to know Blain to get an invite. You can be more open at a party because it’s safe. We’ll see all sorts of things.”

  “No sex for me,” I managed to say. “No way.”

  “Okay, no sex. What else?”

  “I’m not getting naked. Your disguise better be more than two scraps of material or I’m not putting it on.”

  Finally he smiled. “You’ll be completely covered except for your chin and your beautiful mouth.” He reached out to lightly stroke my chin. “Any more limits?”

  “Can I add more things as we go along?”

  “You’ve become a better negotiator, Sierra. Yes, feel free to add things to the ‘Do not’ list.”

  I looked at him for a few seconds longer, trying to figure out my own feelings. He wasn’t being very warm. In fact, the cool, restrained man I had left at the bar last week was standing right here in front of me. Not the man who had looked so guilty when he found out why I went to the Chamber. Not the man who made it up to me by touching me so sweetly...

  But this was my only chance to see Lola. And I couldn’t deny that I was fascinated by Victor. He could mesmerize me with a look, or dismiss me with just a turn of his head. I never knew how he would react. It was frustrating, but also exciting.

  Like I was going to leap off my lonely precipice holding his hand. Who knows where I’ll land?

  “Okay, let’s do this,” I said.

  ...

  In the elevator, I sneaked looks at Victor on the way up to the penthouse. He seemed perfectly relaxed, while I was jittery and nervous. What could possibly be more extreme than the Chamber?

  There was a burly dude with a clipboard at the door. “Victor and Sierra,” Victor told him. The guy checked off something and gestured to the door.

  “Where’s the closest bathroom where she can change?” Victor asked.

  The guy gave me a quick up-and-down look. I felt like a piece of meat that had been assessed and approved. “Down the hall to the right.”

  We stepped into a foyer that was fairly well lit. Ahead was the living room that was much darker, where shadowy forms of people were walking around.

  Victor turned and took me down the hallway to a half-bath. He handed me the messenger bag. “Once you’re dressed, call me and I’ll help you put on the mask.”

  Inside, I pulled out lots of black material, glad to see such a concealing costume. I stripped down to my black sports bra and boy shorts—the barest I had decided I could go while I was still at home and not under Victor’s spell.

  The cat suit was skin tight from the ankles on up. I had a hard time zipping up the zipper in the back, but there was no way I was calling Victor in to zip it for me. Contorting myself, I finally got it all the way up. The high collar was so tight it was
barely tolerable.

  Looking in the mirror, my eyes widened at how big my breasts looked. The stretchy nylon really accented my waist and hips, too.

  When I opened the door, Victor stared at me hungrily. I didn’t know what to say to the naked lust in his eyes, so we silently stood there looking at each other.

  Then a guy passing by strained to see in, and Victor stepped between us, glaring at the guy. He stepped into the bathroom, looking mad.

  “I hope it’s not too tight,” he said.

  “I can barely breathe. But it will do.”

  He looked at me as if waiting for something. So I dug into the bag and pulled out a fold of black leather with lacings. “Is this the mask?”

  Victor took it from me. “Yes. Put your hair up in a pony tail. Right about here,” he said, touching me on the top-back part of my head.

  I pulled out my brush and managed to get my hair into a pony tail despite the vacuum suit I was wearing. Victor kept looking at my gyrations, but he didn’t smile or say anything until I was done.

  “Turn to me.” With gentle hands, he fit the head piece across my eyes and forehead, and over my head. “Hold up your pony tail while I tighten the lacing.”

  He was right behind me, breathing on my neck as he concentrated on the lacings. The headpiece tightened on my head and across my face as he pulled. Every part of my body except for my jaw and hands were bound tightly by him. It was comforting and warm, almost too much. Every movement reminded me of my constraint.

  My vision was cut off on the sides, like a horse wearing blinders. I hadn’t realized how hobbled I would be in the mask.

  But when I looked in the mirror, I was unrecognizable. Even my sister wouldn’t know it was me if I was standing right in front of her. I looked like a plastic fetish doll with exaggerated curves and a high arching pony tail.

  “It works,” I told Victor.

  “Yes, it does,” he agreed fervently.

  It was considerate of him to lend me the disguise. I just hoped I didn’t bust out a seam and ruin it.

  Victor waited a moment, looking at me in the mirror. But when I didn’t say anything else, he abruptly took hold of my hand and led the way as we explored the sprawling penthouse. There were at least six bedrooms on the two floors, and two large living rooms that had views north and east. But the place was sparsely furnished with only a few black couches and chairs, and plain mattresses with white sheets for beds. There were also black padded benches and tables, plus towering wooden X’s like I’d seen at the Chamber.

  The glass doors were open to the terraces with incredible views of Manhattan and New Jersey. The buildings were stacked so close together that only a dip in the height showed me where Greenwich Village was. Beyond, the rooftops rose again to the skyscrapers of Midtown, with the Empire State Building taller than the rest.

  I felt like I was in a movie.

  Victor got plastic cups of wine which we sipped as we watched an older man paddle a squealing, writhing girl. The girl was cute with broad hips and an infectious laugh. I couldn’t understand why she kept laughing in between her cries that begged him to stop.

  “Is he tickling her?” I asked.

  “Among other things. That paddle is wood so it’s pretty heavy.”

  The girl seemed to like it, throwing herself into it with abandon. The skin on her buttocks was blotched dark red amongst the pink.

  I looked sideways at Victor, who was watching the scene with detachment. “Is that what you do?” I asked.

  He finally smiled. “I’d rather use my hands when I spank a girl.”

  I was feeling warmer, just thinking about it. “Does it hurt?”

  “It doesn’t have to.”

  His hands reached for my waist, pulling me into him. His palm slid down the curve of my ass, cupping my cheek. My hands were against his chest, as his face bent close to my ear. “Like this.”

  He smacked my butt cheek firmly.

  “Oh!” I exclaimed.

  I could tell he could have spanked me a lot harder. He was holding back.

  He smacked my other butt cheek, letting me absorb it. My rear end was tingling as the warmth spread through my lower body.

  It felt like I had been shaken. Briskly.

  “That woke me up,” I said.

  “There’s nothing like it when you’re having sex. It makes everything more intense.”

  He was still holding me close, rocking back and forth slightly as his hand rubbed my butt, soothing away the sting. I could feel his rigid hard-on pressing against my belly.

  “Men are also submissive,” he said. “Look over there.”

  A man knelt in front of an elegant woman, sucking on her toes. The woman was watching him critically, tapping him with her riding crop to emphasize when she spoke to him.

  “The subs also serve their Doms. They do things to make their lives easier, or to please them.”

  I suddenly wanted to please him, for all sorts of complicated reasons. Not the least was the way his hands felt on me, rubbing and caressing me. I was loving all of this touching. I’d never been touched this much even when I’d had sex, and up until now I never thought about it. But sex was breast squeezing and hip thrusting, and that was it.

  I moved against Victor. “What pleases you?”

  “You please me,” he said very low, both hands still running up and down my back to my butt, pulling me into him.

  Soft moans and cries urging for more filled the air. Everyone wore a secret smile, like we were getting away with something just by being here. I saw naked people, topless people, people fully dressed or even wearing business suits. But they were all letting go of the roles they usually played and exposing something deeper, rawer in themselves.

  It felt so right, seeing these things while feeling his hands run freely up and down my body. Feeling him awaken my body in a way I’d never felt before.

  And I could feel my own power, moving slowly, feeling him react to my response to his touch. Hearing his hiss of indrawn breath. Feeling how aroused he was, rubbing himself against me.

  Then he spanked my ass again, making me gasp at the sudden, sharp sensation. It sent a shock wave through me, making me jerk in his arms. His hands soothed my skin, running down, stroking me, sending waves of pleasure through me.

  Like it was building to a moment suspended in time. I had to let go.

  The swoon had already started, the dive and rush of ecstasy, of relief. He pressed his whole body against mine, shamelessly rubbing his thick rod against me. I couldn’t breathe, didn’t care.

  It was such a perfect moment, the heady atmosphere carrying me along in the same ecstatic wave with everyone else. And all I could think about was this was what I wanted. To feel his desire. To let go in this moment, and get swept up along with him.

  There was the proof in his burning eyes and how tightly he held me, how firmly he ran his hands over my slick bodysuit. In his harsh breaths, marking every touch.

  “Yes, that’s it,” he urged, feeling me tense in a new way as his fingers sank between my legs.

  I grasped his arms, holding on as the waves went through me, driven by his insistent fingers. He saw everything in me. He touched me in a way I’d never felt before.

  His acceptance made it easy for me to let go, to let him drive me forward with just his touch.

  “That’s right,” he murmured. “You’re going to give it to me.”

  His husky demand took me over the edge as I cried out, colors bursting behind my clenched eyes. He was rock solid, giving me something to hold onto as my climax ripped through me, spinning my mind away.

  Chapter 10

  Victor

  I loved watching Sierra come in my arms. I loved it that I had taken her there, with only my touch. My voice. She was so responsive to me. She didn’t need the showy scenes that some women demanded in order to be the center of attention. I liked it that she preferred to let go in a quiet corner, unobserved by anyone but me.

  She was breathi
ng fast, looking in my eyes. Then I realized she was very flushed. And couldn’t quite catch her breath.

  “Can’t,” she said faintly. Her fingers hooked into the high collar of her suit, trying to pull it away from her throat.

  I swept her up in my arms and carried her onto the terrace, where a cool breeze was wafting over the bricks. Taking her all the way out to the railing, where the air was moving the most, I asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Hot. Can’t breathe,” she panted.

  I tried to set her down, but her legs collapsed under her. I lowered her to the flagstones. “Let me,” I told her, reaching for the zipper at the collar.

  It stuck coming down, the material was stretched so tightly. No wonder she couldn’t breathe.

  “You’ll be okay,” I assured her. “I’m just opening this up.”

  I was ready to go for my rope cutter to slice through the nylon, but she took a deep breath as I jerked, and the zipper came down to her waist. Her hands started clawing weakly at the sleeves, as if she had to get them off. I helped her. They were so tight. Her skin was sheened with moisture and flushed red.

  She collapsed against me, and I leaned against the outer wall of the terrace, holding her. “Catch your breath.”

  “I’m still hot.” She pulled away to peel the cat-suit off her legs. That left her in a black sports bra and boy shorts. And the head mask.

  It was more covered up than a lot of people here, but she had said “no nudity” in her negotiations. I pulled my T-shirt off with one motion. She saw what I was doing and let me slip it over her head. “Better,” she said.

  I pulled her back into my arms, loving how her silky hair felt against my bare chest. Her fingers rested against me, as I stroked her hair, relieved that she was okay. Things kept going wrong whenever I topped her. I hadn’t meant to hurt her, but the way that cat-suit had peeled off made it look like a torture device.

  “I hope I didn’t ruin your suit,” she murmured into my chest. “The next girl you lend it to better be smaller than me.”