The Word Master (12 page)

“Are you wet?” I whispered in her ear.

She swallowed hard and then licked her lips. “Yes!” she gasped.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes.”

“Will you be a good girl?”

“Yes!”

I glanced over my shoulder to where Renata stood watching. Her expression was curious – not outraged or offended. She was as emotionally detached as a scientist studying an experiment.

I got back to my feet. April’s eyes were still screwed shut. I scraped my thumbnail along the zipper of my jeans so that it made a convincing sound. “I want you to suck my cock,” I told April. “And if I’m satisfied – if you please me – I will allow you to come.”

April lunged forward with her mouth open wide and a desperate growl of hunger in the back of her throat. When she realized it had all been a charade, her eyes flew wide. She looked up at me, and then saw Renata nearby. April blinked owlishly. She looked embarrassed and stunned by the eagerness she had revealed.

I glanced at Renata to be sure I had made my point, and then I cupped April’s chin in the palm of my hand and stooped to kiss her fondly on the cheek. “Thanks for an interesting night,” I said. “I think it’s time for me to go.”

The sun was rising by the time I finally made it back to my apartment.

I crawled into bed and slept like the dead until late in the afternoon.

Chapter 19.

The
‘Victorian’
was an upscale restaurant at the southern end of Newbury Street. The building was old, the décor ornate and lavish. The high ceiling was molded in swirling relief patterns and heavy plush drapes hung from the walls, creating a cozy, elegant atmosphere.

Huge crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the light glittering into a myriad of golden shards so that the overall effect was to create an intimate sense of timelessness – of being transported back to an era of opulent luxury.

The maître D’ and wait staff were dressed in tuxedos complete with bow ties, and there was a grand piano in a secluded corner, the music lilting around the tables like a gentle breeze. I was led to a table against a wall of the restaurant. One of the staff asked me if I would like to see the wine list. I suddenly remembered Grover telling me that Cindy was just twenty years old… and so I ordered a couple of Cokes while the waiter tried to disguise his distress.

I glanced at my watch – it was a few minutes before 7pm. To while away the time I looked casually around at the other patrons. They were mostly elderly couples – the kind of folks you find on cruise ships. The men all wore ill-fitting suits, and ties that fashion long ago forgot. The women were grey-haired and dripping with jewelry, as though this was a rare opportunity to dress lavishly and they were going to make the most of it. I was wearing a sports jacket and my best jeans.

I felt decidedly out of place.

She came from behind me so that the first thing I remember was the intoxicating scent of her perfume, and then I sensed her presence close behind my chair. I didn’t turn round.

“Hello, Jericho,” I heard a playful smile in her words, and recognized Sondra’s voice. She put her hand lightly on my shoulder and then leaned close. I felt myself stiffen. I felt the electric charge of her touch draw my nerves tight. Her lips brushed against my ear and her voice dropped to a sensual whisper. “I am so glad you decided to meet me,” she husked. “Just the sight of you has been enough to soak my panties.”

I didn’t move. I sat staring ahead into the empty space. “I didn’t have much choice,” I said, careful to drain my tone of any emotion. “But as we agreed, after this dinner, you stop calling the radio station.”

Sondra gasped a soft breath that sent a tingle jolting down my spine… and then stepped from behind my chair and stood across the table from where I sat.

I couldn’t believe it.

I shot bolt upright.

“My god!” the words were wrenched from me in utter shock as I gaped at the woman.
“You’re Sondra?”

Chapter 20.

Nancy Collett waited with an enigmatic smile on her face while a flustered waiter hurried to the table and drew out her chair. She smiled up at the man’s face in polite dismissal, and then turned her gaze to me.

“Hello, Jericho,” she said again, this time all pretense of the Sondra voice was gone, but what remained, like an undercurrent to her tone, was the sultry hint of sexuality that inflected her words. Her eyes were slanted, her lips slightly parted and ripe as fruit.

She was wearing a long dress, cinched tight at the waist and cut low at the neckline so that I could see the cleft of her breasts as they pressed against the fabric. Around her throat was a thin diamond-studded choker. Her hair was different, styled straight so that it brushed the tops of her shoulders.

“Surprised?”

“Shocked,” I said – and I meant it. I frowned, still reeling in disbelief.

Nancy seemed pleased by my reaction. There was a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. She set down a little glittering clutch bag on the edge of the table and leaned closer. Her gaze never left me.

“I’m a submissive,” she said, “… or at least I was a long time ago. It’s something that has never left me – that deep compelling desire to surrender myself to the right man. When you walked into my world, I simply knew I had to have you.”

I sat back and scraped my fingers through my hair. Suddenly all the air seemed to have been sucked from the room. I glared at Nancy, my face somehow impassive, but behind the blank expression my mind was lurching between shock and dread.

“Why the charade?” I spat the words out. Slowly my surprise was turning into a simmering anger. I felt somehow betrayed. She had deceived me.

Nancy detected the edge to my voice. She flinched. Her eyelids beat like a butterfly’s wings, but she remained composed, now eager to explain herself before my anger turned to outrage.

“I’m a forty-one year old woman, Jericho. I’m not the kind of woman that normally interests a man like you – I know that,” she shrugged her shoulders and softness came into her eyes. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to compete with all the pretty young things that would be drawn to you – women like Cindy or April…”

Her voice trailed off into a reflective silence.

I said nothing.

Nancy searched my face for some sign of understanding. I doubted what she saw there gave her any encouragement. She went on in a tortured torrent of words.

“I knew I had to find a way to create an opportunity – that’s all I wanted. An opportunity for you to see the real me – the passionate submissive that has lurked, too long neglected, beneath the everyday exterior.”

I shook my head. None of this was making sense. “But you’re a hard brutal bitch – that’s your work reputation. You’re a ball breaker with your staff. I just can’t believe that you would have a single submissive tendency in that body of yours.”

I took a closer look at that body. It was in good shape. Nancy clearly worked out. She was slim, her figure with the kind of lean muscle tone that comes from long hours on a Stairmaster.

I was still shaking my head. “It just seems too out of character…”

Nancy pursed her lips. “Far from it,” she assured me. “A lot of high-powered executive men in the business world are secret submissives. They become that way because of the constant stress of their work. All day long they are the hard no-compromising bastard with an eagle-eye on the bottom line… so when they get home, they see submission as a release – a relief. For them it’s a chance to let someone else have control. That’s what I want. That’s what I need you to give me.”

I started shaking my head slowly, hearing the words but not understanding. Everything was a turmoil that set my instincts scrambling into utter confusion.

“You want to submit to me?
You want me to become your Master?
”

“Jericho, you make it sound like something utterly bizarre, but what I want is not uncommon. There are millions of women in the world like me,” Nancy’s words were raw and heartfelt. “Some are business executives, others work full-time jobs. Others are full-time mothers. They spend all day being someone else – shouldering the burdens of their careers, their livelihoods and their families. Eventually we become numbed. We forget the sheer simple delight of being a woman and the relief many women feel at being able to surrender to someone else. Daily life consumes us. We end up becoming who we need to be to survive, and forget to connect with who we instinctively are.”

Nancy’s gaze was steady. She was leaning across the table, tense and earnest. Her hand fluttered on the table like a bird with a broken wing.

“I want you to give me the chance to experience submission again,” she went on. I had the feeling she was slipping into a speech that had been carefully rehearsed. I didn’t think Nancy was the kind of woman who would argue emotionally. She would be practical. That’s what bothered me.

I sat way back in the chair as though to give myself space. A waiter came to the table with menus clutched to his chest. He gave me a smarmy pretentious smile and laid the leather folders down on the table before us with a flourish.

“Are madam and sir enjoying themselves?”

Nancy looked up into the man’s face and her expression became bleak. “Go away,” she said. There was an icy frost on her lips. The waiter faltered and the blood drained away from his face. His eyes widened for an instant in shock, and then he turned on his heel and disappeared.

“Well?” Nancy tried to reach for my hand as if to seize back my attention. “What do you think?”

I wasn’t thinking anything. My mind was still reeling. I took a deep breath and tried to work through how I felt.

“I think it’s crazy,” I said at last. “I think you’re crazy.”

Nancy didn’t seem perturbed. Some of the agitation went from her body and her shoulders relaxed. There was a cloth napkin folded before her. She picked it up and wrung it in her hands. The smile stayed fixed on her face, but all her amusement had drained away.

“Are you seeing someone else from the radio station?” she asked me. “Do you already have one of the girls calling you Master – is that it? Cindy, I suppose, or maybe April. I know you have been seeing
plenty
of her each night during the program.”

I shook my head. “I have barely spoken to Cindy, and April and I are just friends – nothing more I assure you.” I didn’t mention that April was gay. Clearly Nancy had no idea, and I wasn’t about to be the one to betray April’s trust.

Nancy studied my face with her eyes narrowed and then sat back, satisfied I was telling the truth. For a moment she had sounded vaguely jealous.

“So why not, then?” she asked again. It was like a sabre duel. Thrust and parry. “Is it my age?” her tone became stinging. “I’m forty-one years old. I guess that’s over the hill for a man like you. I imagine you like your women young and dumb…”

I shook my head again, ignoring the barb of her accusation. “Age has nothing at all to do with it,” I said.

“So it’s my looks? I don’t look hot enough to turn you on?”

“No, that’s not it either,” I said truthfully. “In fact I think you have a beautiful body.”

Nancy shook her head in bewilderment. She tried leaning across the table again, as if she could somehow get through to me by her proximity. “Then why?”

The sixty-four million dollar question… and I didn’t have a good answer.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Well you are my boss, to start with.”

“So?”

“So it’s a big deal,” I said, and then tried to think why it was. I suddenly recalled something Grover had told me. “You should never dip your pen in company ink.”

Nancy’s face froze for an instant, and then she sat back again and laughed with unaffected delight. The humor reached all the way to her eyes and made them sparkle. “Honey, I’m not company ink,” Nancy said. Her voice dropped and became pointed. “I’m the company – and you can dip your pen into any inky part of me you want.” Her eyebrow went up in a brazen arch of invitation. She licked her lips like she could taste me.

I took a deep breath. “It wouldn’t work, Nancy,” I said. “It couldn’t possibly work. You expect me to dominate you and make you submit to me sexually and mentally, and then we go to the radio station and you’re going to be barking orders and demands… it’s a recipe for disaster.”

My gaze flicked past her shoulder. Nancy stilled the words on her mouth as if by some silent understanding. A waiter appeared a few seconds later with two frosted glasses of Coke on a silver tray. Nancy looked searchingly at me and then down at the glass like it was poison. “What is this?” she asked the waiter.

“Coke, madam.”

Nancy’s eyes drifted to mine as if needing an explanation. I made a wry facial expression. “I thought Sondra was Cindy,” I admitted.

Nancy tilted her head to the side like she was trying to study me from a different angle. Without breaking eye contact she said to the waiter, “Take it away, please. I need a vodka and orange – and hold the orange.”

The waiter snatched up the glass between two fingers like it was infected with contagion and disappeared in a cloud of cheap cologne.

Nancy’s expression went through a series of gradual transitions until she was once again staring at me with mild amusement. “Work won’t be a problem,” she said dismissively. “As long as we keep the understanding that the two worlds are very different, there should be no conflict. I know the game, Jericho,” she became disturbingly pragmatic. “I know what submission is. After hours I will be your wet and wanting and willing slut – I will fuck and suck and swallow and do anything you ask to please you.”

I wasn’t convinced. I thought back to the anonymous calls Nancy had made to the radio station in the guise of Sondra.

“Those nights you phoned the radio station,” I began, altering the directness of Nancy’s approach. “How much of what you said was true?”

Nancy thought for just an instant. “All of it,” she confessed.

“The part about you lying on your bed, making yourself come?”

“Yes.”

“And the rest of the fantasies you shared? Were they genuine too?”

“Yes,” she said again, the word a breathy gasp of air. “I’ve been fantasizing about you since the first time you walked into my office.”

I nodded my head. “So you manipulated me to take Sondra’s calls and to talk to her off the air…”

“Yes,” Nancy said with artless honesty. “I left the decisions to you, but I admit I tried to influence you.”

I smiled, but it was a grin that twisted my mouth out of shape and left my eyes empty. “And that’s why this won’t work,” I said. “Because you can’t submit, Nancy. It’s not natural to you. Your natural instinct is to control and influence. Even if I did agree to become your Master, you would still try to pull the strings in subtle ways.”

Nancy shook her head. “I won’t,” she promised. “Like I said, I know the rules. I’ve submitted to a man before.”

“Yes,” I remembered. “So tell me about that.”

“About the man?”

I nodded. “And the experience.”

Instinct told me this was a subject she was reluctant to discuss, but my intuition also told me she was going to – because she knew I still wasn’t convinced about her ability to submit, or about the validity of the idea.

She sighed and put on an artificial smile.

“His name was Phillipe,” Nancy began softly. “He was French, and he was in America working for a computer software company. I met him in a bookshop when I was nineteen. He smelled nice.”

I raised an eyebrow at that. Nancy smiled wistfully and nodded her head like it sounded so foolish all these years later. “He smelled of old leather and spices,” she said. “And he was foreign. I was turned on.”

“So you slept with him?”

She nodded her head again. “We started a relationship,” she explained. “I thought it was just a summer romance – the kind of thing you read about in books – but it became more serious. One night we were talking about the differences between our countries. I told him the French were an arrogant nation who hadn’t won a war in almost two hundred years.”

I kept my face neutral. I was listening. “How old was this man?”

Nancy sighed. “He was in his forties, twice my age. He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me onto his lap, then he pulled down my panties and spanked me,” Nancy’s focus faded in and out as she alternated between the restaurant and her memories. “At first I was humiliated. I kicked out and cried. But Phillipe didn’t stop, and after a while the spanking stopped hurting and became almost pleasurable. I started to come. I had this string of orgasms – one after the other, squirming on his lap and rubbing myself against the erection in his pants. That’s when I discovered this secret submissive part of me. That was the night my whole world changed, and I changed as a woman.”

“How long did the relationship last?”

“Two years,” Nancy said. “And for most of our time together I was his willing and obedient submissive. He taught me about domination and the pleasure a woman could achieve from surrendering herself… and he taught me about the sexual thrill of anticipation – of being taken to the brink of orgasm and left teetering there until I was almost crazy mad with frustration and desire. He taught me all that.”