The Plume: The First Anthology (2 page)

“It’s always better to have one’s back to the wall, don’t you think?”

Joanna understood that this was an instruction, if not a test. She slid into the bench seat, realizing only when she did so that it was only open at the one end. The Countess sat beside her, then eased closer. Joanna moved away, leaving a polite increment between them.

The Countess wasn’t interested in polite increments of personal space. She moved again, leaving only a small gap between her thigh and Joanna’s.

Joanna had nowhere to go.

She swallowed, fighting her sense that she was losing control of this encounter and not liking it one bit. When she spoke, her words came in an uncharacteristic rush. “So, what would you like to ask me?”

The Countess watched, taking her time. “You’re nervous. Why?”

“I’m always nervous in interviews.” Joanna spoke quickly again, telling herself to slow down. She took a breath but it did nothing to calm her.

The Countess said nothing, just studied her. Like an amateur, Joanna found herself filling the silence. “I always worry what people will ask me.”

“Do you have secrets, Joanna?”

Joanna forced a laugh. “Everyone has secrets.”

“Like your secret desire to join the Plume. Your lust for forbidden pleasures.”

Joanna understood from her tone that the Countess didn’t believe the cover story.

And she had the power to shut Joanna out.

She had to try harder and persuade her.

“Yes, exactly.” Joanna realized she’d answered too quickly, too enthusiastically, but she couldn’t stop trying to repair the damage. “I’ve always had this secret desire, and I want to explore it. When I heard about the Plume, it seemed like the perfect solution.”

“And so it is for many of our members.” The Countess put her hand on Joanna’s thigh. Her grip was firm, her hand spread across Joanna’s leg as if claiming it. Joanna stared at the gloved fingers in shock.

The Countess squeezed slightly as if checking Joanna’s muscle tone. Joanne strove to keep from pulling away. This was supposed to be what she wanted, to be a sex slave in the private pleasure club of the Plume, and she knew the Countess was testing her.

“Tell me more about your desire.”

“I put it on the application…”

“Tell me now. Tell me here. Tell me out loud. What is it that you want?” The Countess leaned closer, her breath carrying the faint hint of peppermint, her skin flawless, her lips gleaming like wet rubies. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, making it impossibly shinier. “What is it that the Plume can offer to satisfy you?”

“I want to be enslaved,” Joanna said, just as the curtains slid open and the older man appeared with a glass of red wine on a tray. She felt silent, mortified, but he didn’t appear to have heard. He placed the glass on the table before the Countess, then glanced at her.

The Countess shook her head and he left. She slid her fingers higher up Joanna’s thigh. “Do go on.”

“There’s nothing more to tell.” Joanna’s voice was high. “That’s it.”

The Countess smiled and took a sip of her wine, sniffing the bouquet first. “That’s never
it
, Joanna. The precision of the detail is what allows us to ensure the satisfaction of our members.” She looked at Joanna, her expression expectant.

Okay.

“I have bondage fantasies,” Joanna lied, watching the door. “I fantasize about being captured and used as a sex slave.” She licked her lips. “Helpless captivity.”

The Countess traced circles on the top of Joanna’s thigh. The press of her fingertips made Joanna’s skin tingle, but she didn’t dare move away.

“That’s all?”

“I like sucking men off, too.” That was a lie and it even sounded like one. Why had Joanna said something so stupid? Those fingers massaged, sliding closer to her pubic bone, making her aware of her sex in a way that made it pulse. Joanna wanted to squirm away but didn’t.

To Joanna’s relief, the Countess didn’t seem to notice her fake confession – or she ignored it, knowing it was a lie. “Captured and used by whom?”

“By a relentless master,” Joanna fabricated. “A dominant master who will discipline me and train me.”

“Share you?”

“No!” Joanna couldn’t hide her shock, although she saw that the Countess was amused. She realized her mistake. “I mean, unless that was what he wanted to do. I would be the slave. It wouldn’t be up to me.”

“He?”

“Well, yes.”

The Countess abruptly grasped Joanna’s chin. The velvet slid across Joanna’s skin, the fingers like steel inside. She stifled a bit of fear, understanding then that the Countess did not take no for an answer.

“So sure about men,” she mused, those eyes glinting with what might have been humor. “Perhaps I might change your mind.” She pushed Joanna’s head back against the upholstery, holding her there with that velvet-covered hand. Instinctively, Joanna wanted to fight back. She managed to stop her reaction, just before the Countess kissed her.

Joanna’s mind froze.

She knew she was failing this test, too. She had to save this interview.

It was just a kiss, she rationalized. She could do this.

Joanna parted her lips and let the Countess kiss her. At her submission, the kiss turned wet and demanding. The pressure of the Countess’s lips was firm, her teeth grazing Joanna’s lips, her tongue darting inside Joanna’s mouth. It was as if she was trying to provoke more response. She cradled Joanna’s face in that gloved hand and Joanna was startled to find herself becoming aroused.

If a man had kissed her like this, she would have melted.

She had to gain admission to the Plume.

Joanna caught the Countess’s face in her own hand and kissed her back.

The other woman made a little purr of pleasure in the back of her throat, the sound of it awakening a hum within Joanna. Was she capable of arousing the Countess? The idea was titillating, dangerous, powerful. The Countess deepened her kiss, demanding even more. Her mouth explored Joanna with a languor and deliberation unlike that of any man. They could have had all week to kiss, and with her eyes firmly closed, Joanna let herself imagine that she was with a man.

Her co-worker Mike.

Her resistance dissolved with that fantasy. She would kiss Mike for a week and suck him dry, given the chance. She used that desire to fuel this kiss, making it hotter, more potent, more incredible. Joanna felt a familiar wetness between her legs, felt her pulse begin to simmer, smelled the intoxicating perfume of the Countess.

She was astounded to hear herself make a similar purr of pleasure.

The Countess lifted her mouth all too soon. Joanna was panting slightly, her gaze fixed on the other woman, her fingers in her hair. Those eyes shone and the Countess smiled. She lifted Joanna’s hand from her own cheek and set it on the table, a correction.

She released Joanna’s chin and let her hand slide down Joanna’s throat. The velvet was smooth and silky, disguising the ferocious strength of the woman’s hand. Steel in velvet. This was a dominatrix, the first one Joanna had ever met.

She swallowed, her heart thudding.

The Countess’s fingers slipped inside Joanna’s shirt and gently squeezed her breast through her bra. Joanna jumped a little and the Countess pinched her nipple briefly and hard in retaliation. Joanna got it. She sat still, uncertain. The Countess caressed her breast, flicking her fingertip across that taut nipple, making it even harder with her attention. She pinched it between finger and thumb, rolled it, teased it and Joanna’s sex began to throb.

Those eyes shone like shards of glass through the holes in the domino mask.

The Countess licked her lips, released Joanna and reached for her wine.

Joanna felt ravaged and jumbled, out of her comfort zone yet enflamed all the same. She cleared her throat and tried to recover her composure, touching her lips and straightening her shirt.

The Countess slanted her a glance. “You look more luscious in disarray,” she said, then paused, considering. “Unfasten your shirt.”

“I didn’t think this was a physical interview.”

Again the cool smile. “You thought wrong.”

Joanna hesitated only a moment before doing as she was told.

She was supposed to be submissive, after all.

The Countess’s lips tightened when she saw the sports bra that Joanna favored. It was a practical garment, exactly the kind of thing Joanna always chose to wear, like her trim white shirt and her slim black pants.

The Countess considered Joanna’s breasts, sipping that wine as she looked.

Joanna felt tingly beneath her regard.

Her nipples were taut, as if standing at attention for their exam.

The Countess took one last sip of wine, then reached for Joanna’s waist. Her hands locked resolutely around Joanna and Joanna understood there was to be no argument. She turned Joanna in one quick gesture so she was sitting sideways on the bench, one knee folded up and her back against that end. The Countess abruptly peeled the sport bra upward, freeing Joanna’s breasts. They bounced slightly. She caught their weight, cupping them in her gloved hands, running her thumbs over their fullness.

She smiled slightly, and dipped her head to take one nipple in her mouth.

Joanna gasped and the Countess grazed the turgid peak with her teeth. Joanna made to pull back but the Countess nipped slightly.

A warning.

Joanna exhaled and gripped the upholstered bench with her hands. She told herself to let it go, reminded herself of her cover story, insisted to herself that this was no different from ten thousand unsuccessful dates.

Meanwhile, the Countess began to suckle her with leisurely vigor. Joanna liked being sucked, but the sight of the Countess’s red lips against her own skin made it seem illicit.

Joanna closed her eyes and thought about Mike. Once again, the fantasy worked. Her nipples tightened, they tingled, they responded to the Countess’s careful attention in a way that was startling. She had no idea how long the Countess kissed her, but she found herself leaning back against the velvet, head arched, mouth open.

Joanna heard herself moan softly.

At that, the Countess’s hands glided firmly down to her waist. She unfastened the fly of Joanna’s trousers, sliding her hands across Joanna’s belly with proprietary ease. Joanna thought about submission. She thought about none of this being up to her. She thought about being a vehicle for pleasure, one for Mike, and felt her skin heat.

Her master of choice suddenly had a face.

The Countess eased her fingertips beneath the elastic of Joanna’s underwear, those velvet gloves feeling like sin against her belly. She flicked her tongue across Joanna’s taut nipple, her fingers easing steadily toward Joanna’s sex.

Her wet hot pulsing sex.

“I smell you,” the Countess murmured into her breasts. “Perhaps there is more to you than meets the eye.”

She straightened then and speared her hands through Joanna’s hair, hauling her close and kissing her as if she’d eat her alive. Joanna responded instinctively, holding nothing back. She locked her arms around the Countess’s neck, losing her fingers in the lush waves of her hair. She felt like her skin was going to burst from all the heat simmering beneath it and wanted only more.

The Countess flung her off and tossed her long hair over her shoulder, treating herself to another restorative sip of wine. “Leather or lace?” she asked, her tone completely conversational.

Joanna felt rattled in every possible way. “I beg your pardon?”

“Leather or lace?” The Countess’s tone was more firm and her fingertips brushed the riding crop that she’d dropped on the table.

Preferences. This was about Joanna’s preferences in matters of sexual fantasy. “Leather,” she said, simply choosing one option. She made to pull down her bra, but the Countess stilled her with a fingertip. That fingertip slid over the nipple, playful now, and Joanna held her breath.

“Velvet or satin?”

“Velvet.”

“Rope or ribbon?”

Joanna tried to hide her shock. The Countess was watching her closely. “Ribbon.”

“Shackle or duct tape?”

Joanna felt her mouth work in silence. “I’m not sure.”

The Countess clearly disapproved of this non-answer. Joanna had to try harder. “Blindfold or gag?”

“Blindfold.”

“Chocolate or whipped cream?”

Again, Joanna was flummoxed, but she went for one choice. “Chocolate.”

“Man or woman?” The Countess smiled when she asked this, her gaze bright upon Joanna.

“Man.”

The Countess made a mock pout. She finished her wine, then swept to her feet. That navy cloak swirled around her with theatrical flair.

Joanna felt her senses return to her. How could this woman go out in the world in such a costume and not be noticed? What was in her perfume that made Joanna act in such an uninhibited way?

Was she passing the test? It was impossible to read the Countess’s thoughts.

“I must excuse myself for a moment,” the Countess said and Joanna knew that she needed the restroom. “Will you be fine here alone for a moment?”

“Of course.”

The Countess picked up the riding crop and exited the room in a maelstrom of swirling velvet.

The room seemed larger and emptier once devoid of her presence.

And safer. Joanna shook her head. She pulled down her bra, then stood up and straightened her clothes. She didn’t like how wet her underwear was, and wasn’t going to recall how fantasizing about Mike had made the interview easier.

Mike. He was the classic fantasy date - the tousle-haired, easygoing, captain of the football team type. Loyal to his friends, handsome, easy-going, possessed of a good sense of humor and a single dimple.

If she’d met him anywhere other than work, she might have asked him out for a coffee.

But she’d only met him because they worked together. Joanna would never break company policy, and besides, she was sure Mike dated women who were more relaxed than her. Women who weren’t ambitious or hungry for success. Joanna couldn’t have been more different than that.

She pulled a mirror from her purse and checked her face, halfway expecting to find red lipstick smeared all over her face and breasts. She was surprised to discover that the Countess used some kind that didn’t smear. She was more surprised to see how brightly her eyes sparkled and how her cheeks were flushed pink. Her lips looked more full, and her hair was loose, as if she’d been thoroughly kissed.