Submission (2 page)

“And so we meet, Joanna,” the
woman said, in the same rich voice that had given her directions on the phone.
She lingered over Joanna’s name, as if she liked rolling it around her tongue.
“You may call me the Countess.” She crossed the room, moving with the languid
grace of a cat. One that knew a lot about pleasure. She set down the riding
crop on the table, stroking the length of it once with her fingertips.

Watching Joanna with shining eyes.

“I apologize for the delay. I was
at the stables and time slipped away.”

Joanna guessed that the leather
crop hadn’t been used on a horse. She tore her gaze away from it and forced a
smile. “No problem. I haven’t been here long.”

The Countess stepped closer, as if
stalking her prey. That mask was troubling to Joanna. She really wanted to see
the other woman’s face. She held her ground and the woman’s gaze.

“Would you care for a glass of
wine? The house red is excellent.”

“No, thank you. I’m fine.”

The Countess smiled a little more.
“All business then? Very well.” She moved closer, putting her hand on Joanna’s
shoulder then glancing at the booth. Her fingers slid over the curve of
Joanna’s shoulder, exploring in a way that seemed too intimate. Joanna steeled
herself to hold her ground. It wasn’t quite a stroke, but it was more contact
than she’d expected.

The Countess’s stare was so
intense. The woman’s eyes glittered through the holes in the mask, and that
combined with the fact that she seemed on the verge of laughter made Joanna
feel uncertain.

Exposed.

Even though she was fully dressed.
Joanna glanced down the woman’s cleavage, unable to stop herself, and saw that
her nipples had tightened to burgundy peaks.

Was the Countess aroused by her?
Joanna was startled again. She inhaled, reminded herself of her cover, and met
the woman’s gaze. That quick breath filled her lungs with the Countess’s
perfume, its spicy exotic scent consuming her and surrounding her.

Joanna reached for a chair, but
the Countess pointed to the bench.

“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, 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?”