Submission (5 page)

He found her in the back corner,
standing dejected. “You know what this means, right?” she said when he got to
her side.

He did. Rex was messing with her,
getting rid of her and her curiosity, ensuring she didn’t get a story. Mike
didn’t want to be the one to tell Joanna that she’d failed.

“Go ahead and tell me.” Mike could
see something in the corner, something that looked like it didn’t belong in
this place. He took the flashlight from her limp fingers and moved closer to
investigate.

“I failed the interview.” She
couldn’t have sounded more defeated. “I hate failing. I wanted this story so
much. This was my
chance
.”

Mike smiled at the legal-sized
manila envelope tacked to the lathe in the corner, then removed it with care.

Of course, it was addressed to
Joanna. That’s how they worked.

Rex was taking her in. The
realization gave him an erection. How would Rex do it? What would Rex do? Damn,
but Mike wanted to be there and see it all.

Did Rex still love taking pictures
of his conquests? Mike gritted his teeth. He could hit his old pal up for a
slideshow. He nearly lost his load at the idea of Joanna bound and
photographed.

Then he realized she’d never let
it happen.

“They’re shutting me out,” Joanna
continued, oblivious to what he was doing. He could hear the tears in her
voice. “I won’t get the story. Ever. I won’t get promoted to hard news ever.
I’ll be writing articles about five no-miss Christmas gifts for your office
mates
forever
.” She flung out her hands
and started back toward the street.

“Sure about that?” Mike asked.

She spun to face him, a wild hope
in her eyes that made his heart skip a beat. He grinned and held up the
envelope.

“What is it?”

“Probably your contract.”

He realized he’d slipped too late
to pull back the words, but Joanna never caught it.

She seized the envelope and tore
it open, her dark eyes filling with delight. “You’re right. It’s the contract
for my submission to the Plume as a slave! Look at this! There’s a list of
rules and regulations, and instructions for delivering the signed contract,
waivers for allergies, forms for blood tests and a physical exam.” She looked
up at him, as thrilled as a kid on Christmas morning.

Their gazes locked and held. There
was a frisson of electricity between them, excitement from her and
understanding from him. He remembered his first envelope, how obsessed and
excited he had been, and the echo of that in her eyes made him take a step
forward. He wanted to be there when she experienced the Plume. He wanted to be
part of the welcoming committee.

He wanted to see her there.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth and
her lips parted. Mike had a moment to hope that she would kiss him, or at least
hug him, but she laughed.

“I’d better get started.” Joanna
pivoted and raced out of the space.

Running to the Plume or away from
him?

Mike sighed. The fact was that
Joanna wasn’t really into any of this. It was a job for her, a research
assignment, and if she had any idea about his own erotic history – if she
had any clue what he’d done - she’d refuse to even speak to him again. If she
had any idea what she was getting herself into, she wouldn’t have been so
excited about the envelope. She was innocent in far too many ways.

He tapped the flashlight in his
hand, and followed her more slowly.

For the first time in a long time,
Mike was tempted to revisit his past.

But he wouldn’t go there. He’d
said he was done, and he always meant what he said.

Maybe he’d become Mr. Clean, after
all.

***

The lawyer’s office had been a
dead end. As high as Joanna’s hopes had been, it had become clear within
moments that either the lawyers knew nothing about their clients or –
more likely – they’d been paid enough to ensure their silence. She hadn’t
wanted to push for information because it might blow her cover.

So, she’d pretended to just be
nervous. The kindly older gentleman had walked her through the contract,
ensuring that she understood that everything that occurred at the Plume was
consensual, that no one was ever physically injured and confirming her list of
supposed fantasies. Joanna had thought the list looked a bit thin, so she’d
checked off a few more options, choosing from the more mundane possibilities,
before signing the document. There were waivers to sign and consent forms to
complete. The report from her doctor and the results of the blood tests were
compiled into the package.

When Joanna got home that night,
there was a package in her mailbox. It hadn’t come by mail because it had no
postage and it had no return address. She was pretty sure it wouldn’t have
fingerprints either, and swallowed in recollection of the Countess’s
velvet-clad fingertips sliding down her throat.

She’d been thinking about the
Countess a lot. About her full lips. About her kiss that was both firm and
soft. About the little pinches she gave Joanna to show her disapproval. About
the feel of her tongue on Joanna’s nipple.

About the way Joanna had kissed
her back.

And liked it. The memory made her
tingly and agitated. She avoided it all day long, but at night, when she was
alone in bed, she thought about that kiss. She thought about fantasizing about
Mike during that kiss and she felt a whole lot more confused than she had in a
long, long time.

One glance at the mysterious
parcel made her heart pound, right on cue, right in the middle of a bunch of
neighbors picking up their mail. Did any of them belong to the Plume? Did any
of them have erotic fantasies? Joanne licked her lips and tried to act as if
she got such parcels all the time.

She carried the parcel upstairs to
the apartment, her mind filled with speculation. What could be in it? It wasn’t
that heavy. She set it down on the kitchen counter, then abruptly pulled the
curtains before she opened it. She had ten minutes until Louise got home.

The brown paper crackled when she
tore it open. There was a shoe box inside, the end printed with her size. Lucky
guess? Or did she have feet the same size as the Countess? It made her hot
inside to think she had anything in common with that exotic creature.

How much did they know about her?

The contents of the box were
wrapped in turquoise tissue paper, a single peacock feather across the top.
Joanna set it aside and unfolded the tissue. Inside was a pair of shoes, higher
and blacker and pointier than any shoes Joanna had ever owned.

In her size.

Her first thought was that they
were fetish shoes. Or hooker shoes. But they were beautifully made, not cheap
at all, gleaming black with leather soles and leather linings. Just so high.
Could she even stand in such shoes? She didn’t wear heels at all, because they
were so impractical.

On impulse, she tried them on.
They arched her feet high and she felt ten feet tall. But she felt her calf
muscle tighten, felt like her legs were long and sleek, and took a few test
steps in them, holding on to the counter.

They made her feel sexy, sexier
than she ever had before.

Joanna returned to the box and
looked through the tissue, still wearing the shoes. There were also black silk
stockings, stockings so sheer and smooth and elegant that she couldn’t help
stroking them. There was a black satin garter belt, too. She tried it, not
really surprised that it fit perfectly around her waist.

She thought of the Countess
turning her in that seat, sliding her across the velvet, trapping her in the
corner, locking her hands around her waist.

Measuring.

Assessing.

Testing.

Joanna’s mouth went dry.

Beneath the garter belt was a
black satin scarf, a bottle of body wash and an envelope.

At the very bottom of the box was
a black velvet domino mask, embroidered with a gold feather. Joanna fingered
it, feeling her anticipation rise.

She’d passed the test. She tugged
the mask out of the box, her breath hitching as she tried it on. The world
narrowed to the view through those two holes, and the wide elastic band felt
secure around her head. She felt both confined and disguised, and a little bit
daring. She walked carefully to the hall mirror to look at herself.

She’d become another woman, a
dashing reckless one, the mask and shoes changing even the appearance of her
practical skirt and shirt. She smiled, as if she truly were bold, and saw a
little bit of the Countess in the curve of her lips.

She should get some lipstick.

Joanna tugged off the mask and
kicked off the shoes, remembering that this was just a game to get a story. She
returned to the kitchen, unable to completely control her rising excitement and
opened the envelope.

Inside were two things: a notecard
and a folded sheet of paper. The notecard had a time and date written in a
flamboyant hand. This Friday. Nine. Joanna stood in the tidy white apartment
kitchen and sniffed the card as if it was a guilty pleasure, closing her eyes
at the unmistakable scent of the Countess’s perfume.

Her clitoris tingled, as if it had
been trained already to respond to the scent.

The Countess was coming for her.

She unfolded the paper and found a
list of instructions for preparing her body.

And an appointment card for a
complete depilatory.

Joanna slapped the card down on the
counter, shocked. She was to have all of her pubic hair removed. She didn’t
even get bikini waxes. She caught her breath and turned over the card again.
Thursday. Right after work. Prepaid.

Joanna heard a key in the lock and
gathered everything in a hurry, tugging off the shoes and racing to her
bedroom.

“Home!” Louise shouted from the
foyer. Joanna shoved everything into a drawer, her hands shaking with her fear
that her roommate would see. It was just a story. She could have explained it.

But it was feeling like a whole
lot more.

***

On Friday night, Joanna knew she
had never felt so naked in her life. Her clothes rubbed against her body in a
new way, her sex touched by her underwear with an intimacy that jolted her over
and over again. She’d never thought much about her hair, other than shaving her
legs and underarms, but without her pubic hair, she felt exposed.

As soon as Louise left for her
date, Joanna stepped into the shower, following the instructions to the letter.
Would the Countess know if she cheated?

The way her eyes had glinted
through the holes in her black velvet domino mask had both terrified and
aroused Joanna.

That she now had a matching mask
and was only moments from being collected made her heart pound.

It was the mystery and the uncertainty.

Not her own desires. She had those
under control.

Joanna lathered herself with the
body wash. It had a beguiling scent, one that was both spicy and sweet. When
she looked down at herself, her skin was rosy. Tingling. Sensitized – or
awakened.

She dried herself, moisturized
with the supplied lotion, and blew her long hair dry. She left it loose as she
never did. The weight of it swinging around her shoulders, brushing against her
skin, was unexpectedly sexy. Joanna felt her excitement rising. She was
preparing her body for a ritual, according to the precise instructions.

Preparing for surrender.

Rituals always created
anticipation. It had nothing to do with her personal desires – the owners
of the Plume simply understood psychology.

Joanna put on the lipstick she’d
bought, thinking it looked redder and more bold than she’d expected. She rubbed
some on her nipples, as instructed, and felt wanton.

Desirable.

What would Mike think if he saw
her now?

He probably wouldn’t recognize
her.

The black garter belt fit snugly
around her waist. She liked that it was plain, not lacey. The sheer black
stockings felt decadent, luxuriously silky. Forbidden. She drew them up her
thighs with care and fastened them, aware that her sex was beginning to throb.

Rituals worked.

She slipped into the black shoes
with the towering heels and strode to the mirror to look at herself. She could
have been another woman.

Maybe one who owned a riding crop
that wasn’t for horses.

That was all Joanna was allowed to
wear under her black raincoat. It felt strange to tug her coat over her
shoulders, to have the lining brush against her bare breasts. Her skin was
alive, tingling everywhere it was touched. She put the silk scarf around her
neck, knotted it, let the ends drop down between her breasts.

Joanna could have walked down the
street like this and no one would have known that her breasts were bare, her
sex was exposed, her skin was sizzling and her cunt was hot. She swallowed and
tried to control her racing pulse.

Joanna’s heart skipped a beat when
she picked up the black velvet mask. She slipped it into the pocket of her
coat, and picked up only her keys from the hall table.

She looked out the window,
watching as a dark limo pulled up to the curb and parked.

Joanna checked the clock.

Her ride was right on time.

***

The driver got out of the car to
open the door for Joanna. He was dressed all in black, and was wearing
sunglasses even though it was dark. He wore black leather gloves and a
high-necked jacket that did exactly nothing to disguise his athletic build. His
jaw was square, the visor of his hat pulled down over his forehead, almost
touching the rims of the sunglasses. What she could see of his hair was dark
blond. Joanna was sure he checked her out, because he smiled as he opened the
door for her.