Slow Surrender (12 page)

“Oh.” I was disappointed. “This is really good on anything in the store?” I showed him the gift certificate.

“Good as cash,” he said. “I should warn you, though, we don’t give more than twenty bucks in change. So you better spend the whole thing.”

“Good to know.” I began walking up and down the aisles a bit more enthusiastically, bopping along to the Ramones. This was a funky sort of shop, with all kinds of crazy clothes, hippie stuff, punk stuff, leather, feather boas, secondhand boots, and costume jewelry. I took my time, investigating the nooks and crannies.

I laughed when I came to the prom dresses. I hadn’t told Becks the whole story, probably because I wanted to forget about it myself. I’d had a boyfriend my senior year of high school. My first real one, I guess. I think he and I were thinking the same thing: that if we were going to have sex, prom would be the time. Making out with him was exciting for a few minutes and then got dull. When I complained, he told me it was because we were supposed to progress from kissing to “other stuff.” The next time we made out, I let him put his hands in my pants and it hurt. I broke up with him a week later so he wouldn’t think it was about that, but it was.

And here I was eight years later, and I’d finally found a man who could touch me without disgusting me, boring me, or hurting me. Well, without hurting me in a bad way, I should say. Just thinking about the hot wax spreading over my skin made me go melty inside. I didn’t remember it as painful at all now.

I ran my hand over the lacy frills of the prom dresses. “Can I try these on?” I asked aloud, mostly to myself.

“I think so,” the random woman at the other end of the rack said with a shrug. “As long as you don’t get them dirty or snag anything.”

I grinned. I took a dress off the rack and held it against my body. It was peach-colored satin, covered in a layer of frothy lace. It felt kind of nice.

Then I saw the one that had been hidden on the overstuffed rack behind that. It was a mixture of blue and purple, floor length, covered in a net of crystal beads, with a lacy jacket with more crystals woven in.

“Oooh,” the woman said, coming closer. “That looks like it would fit me.”

Looking at her, I didn’t think she had a chance to fit into it. She was shorter than me and a little chubby, with ample boobs. I suddenly didn’t want to give her the chance to try. “I’m going to give it a shot.”

I took it back to the changing stall and went inside. I hung the dress on the hook there and then sat on the small bench to dig out the package and open it.

After what Becky had said, I was expecting a sex toy. I was surprised to find a cell phone, a much fancier one than mine. I turned it on and saw it needed a security code. Could that be what the 3-2-4-0 was? I typed it in.

The phone unlocked and opened to the speed-dial menu. There was only one number in it.

I set the phone aside, took my clothes off, and turned my attention to the dress. I carefully removed the jacket from the hanger, then started taking the dress off. My breath caught in my throat a little as I realized what was hiding inside the bodice. Stuck through a loop was a gorgeous silver tiara, hung with matching crystals.

I put the tiara on first. I wasn’t sure how to do it, but as it turned out, it fit on my head and didn’t seem to need to be attached in any way. The dress had several layers, some of which were attached, while some were separate. I put the under-layer on first, then pulled the rest over my head. It took some straightening, but I got everything where it was supposed to go, then zipped it up the back most of the way. It helps to have really flexible arms sometimes. The fabric reminded me of an expensive sports car: From one angle it looked blue, from another purple. The jacket, which was completely see-through lace, dotted with more glass, went over the whole thing. The sleeves weren’t even full sleeves, more like forearm covers attached to ruffled shoulders.

I looked in the mirror and was amazed. Half the reason I didn’t buy skirts and dresses is because I always looked stupid in them.

I didn’t look stupid this time. I looked elegant. Different. Like I’d just stepped out of another world. Or was about to step into one.

I patted myself, trying to find the price tag. Then I realized it was on the hanger.

The gift certificate would cover it. My heart beat ridiculously. I wondered if he knew the dress was there and if he’d left the amount on purpose? Or even hid it there? No, couldn’t be. First of all, how did he know my size, and how would he have known I’d flip over a dress like this? Even I hadn’t known I would.

I twirled in a circle and the layers of underskirts brushed my bare legs. I picked up the new phone and looked for the camera. I held it up and took a photo of myself in the mirror. Hmm, looked okay, but…

I took a second one with the skirts hiked up to reveal my inner thigh, where there was still a hint of a bruise where he’d pinched me the other night.

I texted the photo to the one number in the phone.

A text came back immediately:
Beautiful. Send another.

I grinned and leaned back against the mirror, holding the phone up high and taking another with it aimed downward. The tiara looked extra sparkly in the photo and I sent it.

Stunning. Another.

I texted back.
A naughty one?

I could almost hear his voice in his reply.
I will not place limits on your creativity.

I smiled as I slipped my panties off, too, and then fiddled with the phone. Yes, there was a timer setting on the camera. I set it for ten seconds, placed the phone on the floor, then straddled it. I saw the bright flash under the edge of the skirt.

I had never seen a photo of my pussy before. The lips were puffy, the interior a dark red, glistening in the bright flash. The hair had just started to grow back.

I texted it without comment.

There was a long delay before his answer. I heard a woman’s voice. “You doing okay in there?”

I stood on tiptoe to see over the top of the saloon-style shutter doors. “Sorry, do you need the changing room?”

She had an armful of stuff but said, “No rush. Take your time.” She obviously didn’t mean it.

“Just a second,” I told her. “This dress is a little tricky to get in and out of.”

I had to be careful not to tangle or catch the lace getting it off, then pulled everything else back on hurriedly. I came out carrying my shoes in one hand.

The phone chimed. I stayed against the back wall to check it.

Here’s your next destination.

A graphic appeared that looked like a little Rolodex card attached to the message. I opened the contact and it showed me an address a few blocks east of where I was.

I still had some of the gift certificate to use, so I got a skirt for Becky to replace the one I wrecked, and a garter and stockings for myself to go with the dress. I got $19 in change back and a laugh from the clerk as he counted it out. He put everything in an immense shopping bag and gave me a little salute on my way out the door.

I was walking to the address he gave when another text came.

They’ll offer you a few treatments. Choose one.

Treatments? Where was he sending me?

As I turned the corner onto the block where my next destination was, I saw a dark limousine pulling away from a fire hydrant. Was it his? I didn’t recognize the license plate, but I wasn’t sure I’d actually looked at that before.

I found the place easily enough, a few doors down. Inside it had the look of a salon or a spa, everything tastefully done in beige and sage. Two women were saying good-bye to the one at the front counter and I got the impression they were coworkers. They went out and a rather tall woman with voluminous golden locks locked the door behind them.

She turned to me. “You must be Ashley.”

“Oh.” Wait, if I said yes, did that count as a lie? “I answer to it sometimes. I was sent here to pick a treatment?”

Her lipsticked smile was wide. “Come have a look at the menu.”

She led me back to the glass counter, which I noticed was full of silver and gold rings. “We do body piercing,” she said when she saw me looking, “but I don’t think that’s what you’re here for today.” She handed me a small list of spa treatments.

The Goddess was a full-body and head massage with essential oils. The Priestess was a hot-stone treatment. The Earth Mother was a mud facial.

The Princess was a foot massage and pedicure. I knew immediately that was what I would choose, and I put my finger on it without even reading the rest of the list.

“Well, that seems fitting,” she said. I wasn’t sure why, but I smiled at her. “I’m Mandinka. Now come with me to a changing room where you can leave your things.”

I followed her into the back where there were changing stalls. Inside each one was a locker, and I was putting the tote bag and both my phones into it when the new phone chimed again.

The message read,
Bring the phone with you.

I looked around, wondering if he had some way of knowing what I was doing. Perhaps the phone had GPS tracking on it, so he knew when I arrived at the spa? I wasn’t sure how that would work, but it seemed possible with a phone this fancy. I locked up everything else and left the prom dress on the bench while I got out of my clothes. I stripped down to my underwear and put on the short robe provided for me.

When I came out, Mandinka was waiting by a chair. At the foot of the chair was a small tub with flowers floating in it. She invited me to soak my feet as I sat. While I did that, she ducked behind the chair and said, “I’ll give you a little scalp massage if you remove your crown, Your Highness.”

“Oh!” I reached up in surprise. I’d completely forgotten about the tiara and had been wearing it ever since taking the photos in the clothing shop. No wonder she’d said the Princess treatment seemed appropriate. I slid it free and she set it aside.

Her fingers were strong and muscular. She did not only my scalp but also my neck, making me half wish I’d opted for the full-body oil rub. Then she switched her attention to my feet, setting aside the flowery soak, raising my chair, and settling herself on a small stool. As she worked my feet, it was almost like she was doing my whole body, releasing tensions I didn’t realize I had. I nearly fell asleep, floating in a kind of reverie.

My mind wandered to the dress and when I was going to wear it. Maybe it was going to be nothing more than something for him to tear off me in the back of the limo at some future point. I sort of hoped not. He took me out in public dressed terribly; wouldn’t it make sense to take me out dressed nicely? Where did one go in formal wear besides proms, anyway?

Once I was completely relaxed, she did a bunch of things to my toenails and the sole of my foot, scrubbing and filing and so on. When that was done, she spoke, and I startled a little: I’d forgotten what her voice sounded like. A bit lower than I expected. “You’ve got hardly any calluses, and your cuticles are in great shape,” she said. “Now, I can put a coat of clear polish on them, or we can get fancy.”

“What kind of fancy?”

“Oh, any color under the rainbow, your initials, the Yankees logo, you name it.”

I’d never had painted toenails before. I don’t even think I had any open-toed shoes at the moment, other than the flip-flops I hadn’t seen since last summer. And of course under a ball gown, no one would even see my feet.

Well, except James. “Could you do them sort of bluish purple with a kind of sparkle to it?” I asked.

She gave me that wide smile again. “You mean to match that dress you came in carrying? I can’t see much of it but some of it peeks out of that bag, you know.”

I don’t know why that made me blush, but it did. “Um, yeah. Is that too silly?”

“Darling, I’ve painted women’s toes to look like ladybugs and typewriter keys, and I’ve spelled out the words
No Way Jose
. I assure you this is not silly.” She got up and came back with some bottles and a soft thing that kept my toes spaced apart.

She had to apply multiple coats, first a purple background, then a light blue, then a layer with silver sparkles, and finally a clear topcoat of some kind. As she was finishing that up, she said, “It’ll be a few minutes to dry. There is one more special treatment I’ve been told to offer you, though.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

She looked up from her improbably made-up eyes and blinked her long lashes at me. “A pubic shave.”

I swallowed. “I’m already shaved.”

“A touch-up, then. Are you starting to get stubble?”

“I guess, a little.”

She nodded knowingly at me and then said, “Call him.”

I suddenly remembered his text, telling me to bring the phone. I dialed the number.

“Hello, my sweet,” he said. “Put the phone into video mode.”

“There’s a video mode?”

“Yes.”

I looked at the screen and sure enough, there was a little icon that looked like an old camcorder. I tapped it and his face appeared. He looked a bit tired, with circles under his eyes, but he smiled.

“Can you see me, too?” I asked.

“I can, and you look gorgeous.”

“Silly. Mandinka hasn’t done a thing to my face.”

“You look relaxed and happy, and that is the best makeup there is,” he said. “I’d like you to hold the phone so I can watch.”

Aha. “All right…I mean, yes.” I held it out from my body, pulling back the edges of the robe and aiming it at my crotch. There was something thrilling about exposing myself right there in the spa, and even more the feeling that he was watching from afar.

“Here we go, then,” Mandinka said. “Oh, someone did a very nice job on you. Did you do it yourself?” she asked.

“Um, no, that would be the fellow on the other end of the phone,” I said.

“Uh-huh. Well, I will just touch up these little bits and then…”

His voice came through the phone. “Don’t forget the last part.”

“Oh, I won’t, darling. I have it right here.”

“Good.”

Now my curiosity was really piqued. What did she have? I had to stay still, though, while she finished the shave and then gently washed off the shaving cream and dried me. She kept brushing against my clit while doing that, and I was quite aroused by the time she was done toweling me off. I’d never been touched by a woman like that before, but my mind was less on her and more on the voice on the phone.