Slow Seduction (Struck by Lightning) (6 page)

“I am not convinced,” Vanette replied. “She lacks experience, and I worry that she will be unable to perform adequately when it comes to sex. Service talents are all well and good, but, gentlemen, none of us here is deluded into thinking that is enough.”

Damon spoke up then. “And if I took her for a weekend and put her through her paces? If I find her adequate sexually, shall we reconsider?”

They went quiet for a moment, and I had the urge to lift the edge of the blindfold to see what they were up to. If I had to guess, they were all glaring at each other, or at least Damon and Vanette were.

Vanette gave in. “Fine. I’ll be interested to see what you can do with her with that dictum in place.”

Damon made a surprised noise.

“Because of course that’s the condition that needs to be tested,” she went on.

Damon sighed. “Very well.”

“That sounds like we’re in agreement then,” the director said, “that is, if Ms. Casper agrees. Karina Casper, if you agree, you’ll belong to Damon George for a weekend and operate under all the usual rules of our trainees. Your society dictum against sexual intercourse will be honored.”

So, Damon had come up with a reason to get me in his limo after all. But it seemed the only way forward, and I realized that as long as he wasn’t trying to fuck me, I felt fine about being alone with him. “Yes, I agree,” I said.

“Good.” Damon clapped his hands once. “If you really agree, you’ll crawl over here and kiss my shoe.”

I chuckled inwardly, thinking,
Let the games begin.
“All right.”

I slipped to the floor and crawled across the thick carpet under the table in the direction his voice had come from. I felt for his feet with my hands. There. I had my palm on the instep of one of his well-shined leather shoes. I pressed my lips to it.

I felt him stand up. “From this point forward, I’m Mr. George to you.”

“Yes, Mr. George.” I swallowed. My clit began to throb the moment I answered him.

He hummed in appreciation. “Follow my voice.”

He was backing away. I crawled slowly after him, and I felt my lower lips moving slickly against each other.

“Stop there,” he said. “Turn around.”

I did as he asked, crawling in a circle. Then I felt his hand give a firm caress to one of my ass cheeks. His cupped hand slid between my thighs, and I squeaked, wondering if he could feel the wetness.

“She’s very turned on,” he said to the others.

“Then I suppose you have a good weekend ahead of you,” Vanette said.

“Just remember, old boy, no wetting the dipstick!” I heard the director slap him on the shoulder. “Now, we should discuss that balloon payment.”

“Yes, of course, Director.” To me he said, “You will stay still, with your head down, until your dominant has left the room.”

“Yes, Mr. George.”

“Excellent. I will message you about the weekend.”

I stayed where I was, listening to the sound of feet crossing the carpet and then the parlor door sliding shut. I wondered if that meant it was okay for me to get up.

I startled as Vanette’s voice came from my left. “Is he telling the truth? Are you wet?”

I squeezed my legs together. “Gushing, ma’am.”

“All right. I wanted to be sure spending the weekend with George wasn’t going to be a total chore for you. Is he very much like your previous partner?”

“No, ma’am, not really.”

“And I told you to call me Vanette.”

“Oh! Sorry, ma—Vanette.” I felt her approach me and then gentle tugs on the knot of the blindfold.

“Watch your head when you stand,” she warned.

I opened my eyes and saw I had ended up with my head partway under the table. I climbed to my feet and straightened my jacket. “Can I ask a question? About the whole names and titles thing?”

“Of course,” she said.

“Some people use aliases, some people don’t, some people have titles, some don’t…How is someone supposed to know what to use?”

She smiled. “Well, that’s one of the things you start to learn, but generally speaking, it’s considered polite and proper to ask how people should be addressed. Now that you know it, you’ll be listening for when people say things like ‘Call me Vanette.’ And if they don’t, you’ll know to ask, with proper deference of course, ‘Excuse me, but how would you prefer to be addressed?’ Some of them will tell you sir or ma’am is acceptable. Others will insist on a title or a name. It will be your job to remember what they tell you, of course.”

“I understand.” I wondered if I should have asked James what to call him sooner than I did. Then again, I realized I had asked very early on. And he had actually told me his real name. I just hadn’t known or believed it at the time. “What about the society itself? What do I call that?”

“Well,” she said, an amused smile twisting her lips, “you’re forbidden to speak of it to anyone, so why would you need a name for it?”

“I meant among us.”

“We have no name. Just referring to the group as
the society
is enough, since among our company everyone would know what you were talking about.”

“Ah, I see.”

“You should make your way back to the Underground now,” she said. “Nadia is here to escort you and return your phone.” She clapped her hands twice, and the parlor door slid open, revealing Nadia.

I made a quick trip to the restroom before we got going. Neither of us said anything until we were a few blocks away, and then she handed me back my phone. “Here you are.”

“Thank you. Wow, talk about giving the third degree.”

“They do grill you pretty good. I don’t know how many they turn down. It’s not as easy to get an interview as it might seem from how taken with you Mr. George is.”

“I’m supposed to spend the weekend with him for evaluation.”

“Oh, truly? That sounds like him. He makes sure everyone else gets sloppy seconds.” She blushed as she said it and put her hand to her cheek, holding in a laugh.

Her comment made me giggle. “What’s funny is…well…I picked sex as my dictum. I mean, sex-sex.”

“Oh, you wicked girl!” She squeezed my upper arm as the train station came into sight. “He will hate that. He absolutely loves to rule with his ‘love rod.’”

That made me snort, and we both laughed. “I think he thought he was going to have his way with me,” I said. “Vanette put a stop to that.”

“Oh, she is such a wonderful ball-busting bitch when she needs to be,” Nadia said with a sigh. “She’s fantastic. She’s supposedly only a handler, but none of the tops or masters dare get out of line when she’s around. Well, not that they get out of line much anyway, and risk expulsion or censure. They’re very, very big on rules.”

“I noticed.” We passed through the turnstiles. “Which way are you going?”

“I’m following you to make sure you get all the way home safely,” she said.

“They’re really paranoid, aren’t they?”

“We have to be,” she said.

I supposed she was right.

I
arrived back at the ArtiWorks and headed straight for my room. I hadn’t been this aroused in all the time James and I had been separated.

I dug to the bottom of my suitcase, where a separate case was nestled among my dirty clothes. I opened it and took out the largest of the glass dildoes he had made for me. I took off my clothes and lay down on the bed with the dildo on my chest. While I waited for it to warm up, my mind went into fantasies. Not of Damon or the club, but of James.

James as Lord Lightning. I could remember the scent of his limo, the sound of the traffic outside the tinted windows. Normally, he would be conservatively dressed in an expensive and fine button-down shirt and jacket, if not in a full suit and tie. But I imagined him as he appeared in some of the fan photos, in a skintight shirt cut off above the waist exposing his toned abs and pants so form-fitting that the shape of his cock was visible through them. I slicked the dildo between my legs until it was well coated, and then began easing it inside.

It had been a while. I remembered how patient James was with me, though, coaxing me and taking his time putting it in. I imagined it was his hand keeping my lips spread. The bulk stretched my insides deliciously.

With a groan, I felt it slide the last inch into place.

It felt wrong to come too quickly because I wanted to make the feeling last. But I knew if I stroked my clit now, it wouldn’t take long at all.

I sat up, a sudden idea burning in my head: LL limousine stories were a thing, eh? I crossed my legs, careful to keep the glass in place, and opened my laptop. I still had a browser window open to the LL fan site I had been reading.

Creating an account was free. I picked the username GlassTiara and clicked on
Post a Story,
then started to type:

“Please, James!” I whispered, pushing the laptop aside and crushing my clit against my fist as the first wave of orgasm swept through me. “Oh God! Please!” Tears of release came at the same time as the shudders and spasms of pleasure, shaking me and leaving me damp and limp all over.

I was still lying there, half-asleep, when my phone chimed with a text.

My heart jumped for a moment. I was still used to James being the only one with this number. I picked it up and looked at the message.

It was from Damon George:
I have booked us a hotel suite in London for the weekend. I will forward you the exact address. Plan to arrive Friday after dinner, 9pm, and not leave until Sunday at least noon, possibly late afternoon or evening if warranted. If you agree, text me back: Yes, Mr. George.

I texted him back as he instructed, thinking that would be it for the night.

But another message came a second later.
And now text me a photo of your cunny.

I knew what he meant, but my mind raced. I still had the dildo in, my pubic hair sopping wet. Everything was swollen. I sent:
What?

Ha-ha. Your private parts, my dear.

I froze, a bunch of lies coming to the front of my mind. My camera doesn’t work. I’m in a public place and I can’t right now.

No. We’re not doing that anymore. I realized I had a better thing to say.
I don’t have to do what you say until I set foot in the door of your hotel suite. Isn’t that right?

For long moments, nothing happened. Then another text.
That is right. Merely testing you. Good to see you can maintain appropriate boundaries. Very important skill.

I wasn’t sure if he was serious or if he was saying that to make it look good. Whatever.
See you at 9pm
, I sent, and he didn’t answer. Phew.

I put the phone aside and slid the dildo free carefully. I was exhausted. And it was going to be a long week.

I settled into something of a routine for the next few days. I’d spend the late morning answering questions from people at the exhibition, have lunch with Tristan, give the two-thirty group tour, and then after the museum closed, head back to the ArtiWorks to help Paul and Misha with the renovation work. There was a partition wall in back that had to come down. Misha handed me a heavy metal bar with a bend in one end and a hook on the other.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“It’s a wrecking bar,” he said.

“What do I do with it?”

“Wreck!” He pointed at the wall with a gleeful gleam in his eye.

I hefted the bar in my hand before swinging it at the wall. The hooked end sank satisfyingly into the wall plaster. As I pulled it out, it ripped a hunk of the wall free.

“You get the idea,” he said. “Have fun.”

Swinging the wrecking bar turned out to be a lot of fun and must have been a good workout because my arm and shoulders were sore as hell the next day. I spent three days reducing that wall to rubble but I managed it. I wouldn’t have wanted to do that for a living, but it was very satisfying to see the pile at the end and the nice big room that was created when the wall was gone.

I told them while we sat around one night in the wreckage, covered in plaster dust, eating Indian takeout (they called it “takeaway”), that I would be leaving for the weekend.

“Oh, are you going to take that trip to York you wanted?” Paulina asked. I’d told her I wanted to see York but not why. Not yet, anyway.

“No, that’ll be next week. This weekend, I’ve actually got sort of a date right here in London,” I said.

Michel brightened up. He had started growing a beard, and with his apple cheeks it gave him something of the look of a beaver or woodchuck. “
Sort of
date? That sounds more interesting than a regular date.”

“Weekend-long date?” Paulina asked. “I take it you met someone.”

You could say that.
Even if I hadn’t been sworn to silence about the society itself, I wouldn’t have been prepared to tell them what was going on. “I gave a private tour of the exhibit to someone who took an interest in me.”

“Hmm, but you don’t sound that interested in him.” She scooped curry from a container onto her plate. She had brought china plates with a painted pattern of bright blue and yellow flowers on their rims from upstairs for us to eat on. “Am I right?”

“I don’t expect it to turn into a relationship,” I said. “But I think I might learn something from him. And a weekend at an expensive hotel seems like it ought to be fun.”

“Ah, chérie, I wish more young women had your attitude,” Michel said. “Your eyes are wide open. You see him for what he is. Go. Have fun. Be open to the experience.”

Paulina, though, was looking out for me. “If you need us to come get you, you know, just in case you don’t like him or you feel like you can’t stay, text or call us, eh? We’ll pretend to be your parents.”

“I’d like to think that if I need to leave there I could honestly say to him: ‘This isn’t fun. I want to leave.’” I tore off a piece of Indian bread and took a bite.

“But you’re not so naive as to think that’s always the case,” Paulina said. “Sometimes, you have to do what you have to do to keep yourself safe. We’ll come get you. Promise.”

“You’re so sweet! I’m pretty sure I can handle myself, but thank you.”

It was very nice knowing someone had my back if it turned out Damon George was not what he seemed.

The hotel Damon had picked was near yet another famous place I had read about in books: Charing Cross. When I had first arrived in New York to start grad school, the same sort of thing had happened to me in the city. Broadway, Wall Street, Times Square, Madison Square Garden, these were like mythic place-names I’d heard all my life. Once I got used to being a New Yorker, they turned into mere addresses again. Here in London that feeling was even stronger, though, everything more historic, more ancient.

The summer sun was setting as I made my way across Trafalgar Square. Tons of people were milling about, including lots of tourists taking photos of a big statue of a guy on a horse. I didn’t attempt to get close to the statue, concentrating on figuring out which of the streets leading away from the park I should take.

The hotel entrance faced the plaza in front of the Charing Cross train station and had various flags flying. I breezed past the main reception desk, and in the hallway beyond it was greeted by the flickering of tiny candles in glass jars all along the marble floor and on every stair of a grand staircase spiraling upward. Damon, I mean, Mr. George, had texted me the room number. I climbed the stairs, the candles making everything seem surreal and magical. On the second floor I found the elevators and up I went.

At the door to the suite I saw a small envelope taped next to the door handle.
Please don’t make this another wild-goose chase
, I thought, as I peeled it free and opened it. Inside was the room key. Okay, at least it wasn’t instructions to go to some other hotel. I checked inside the envelope to make sure. Wait, there was a note.

Printed in small, neat letters:

I paused to think about it. Did I trust him not to hurt me? Yes. Did I trust him to keep to the society’s rules? Definitely. But did I trust him beyond that? Not a chance. Damon George had his own agenda, somewhere underneath it all, but that wasn’t really all that relevant to me. I had my own agenda, too, after all.

I’m doing this for you, James.

I slipped the key card into the lock and the door opened. I closed it behind me. Looking around the room, I saw it was a spacious parlor done in rich eggplant purple and cream colors, with a sitting area to one side, a small dining table, and then through a wide entrance, the sumptuous bedroom with windows overlooking the plaza.

I could see the back of his head. He was seated in an armchair, looking out the window. His suit jacket and tie were draped over the back of the chair.

I took off my clothes and folded them into a neat pile as instructed. When I had nothing on, I dropped to the velvet-soft purple carpet and crawled over to him. I debated as I went whether I should stop next to the chair or go all the way around to the front.

Hmm. Was I allowed to ask? Or was the instruction sheet a kind of “silent treatment”? Or was it all a test to see how I would interpret its meaning? That seemed like the sort of thing he would do.

I settled on crawling around in front of him and putting my head down on the carpet like it had been at the end of the “interview.”

Seconds ticked by. I figured that was part of the test, too. We’d see which one of us got impatient first.

He did. “Please me,” he said.

I looked up. “Excuse me?”

His expression was stern. “Did you not hear me? I said
please me
.”

I blinked at him for a few more seconds, trying to think of what to do. “I don’t know you well enough to know what pleases you.”

“Then it is your job to guess and find out,” he said.

His shirt was unbuttoned partway. That gave me an idea.

“May I touch you?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I reared up on my knees and shuffled forward to finish unbuttoning his shirt and untucking it from his trousers. Once it was free, I could see he was so erect that the red tip of his cock had pushed past his waistband. That gave me a very
definite
idea of something that might please him.

I put my hands behind my back and worked his belt open using my teeth. At first it was a little tricky, but once I got the end free, it took one smooth pull to undo the buckle. His fly was a single button and not overly tight, which made it simple to open.

All the movement made him even harder, and a good inch or two was protruding by the time I was ready to tug his waistband down farther with my teeth. I didn’t pull it far, only enough to expose another inch, and then I licked what was showing. He smelled spicy and clean, like he’d showered when he got here. I maneuvered the head into my mouth and sucked gently. I couldn’t tell how long he was, but the head fit easily in my mouth, making me think he was smaller than James.