The Collectors (4 page)

“Remember, don’t touch yourself. I’m taking off my pants and sitting back in my chair. Adele is in front of me, on her knees, just as you saw her.”

There was a pause.

“It’s a shame you missed what I did to her before I called you. I don’t allow Adele to just go down on me. She has to earn the right, and while we didn’t have much time tonight, I think I put her through her paces very efficiently. Isn’t that right, Adele?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

It was the first time I’d heard Adele call Jeanne “Mistress.” I’d been wondering about whether she did, but what else was she going to call her? Nothing else fit.

“I’m pulling Adele to me by her nipple clamps. Here, let me give these a final adjustment.”

I heard Adele moan. I imagined Jeanne was taking off the clamps and repositioning them. Apparently, that hurts like hell. It sounded like it did.

“Give me your mouth,” Jeanne said, and I didn’t hear anything more from her for a few minutes. The only sound was a rustling of clothing, Jeanne’s shirt probably, and noises from Adele that sounded like she was trying to catch a breath. Then Jeanne said, “More, right there,” and her voice sounded strained. I listened desperately for the sound of her coming, but all I heard was a hitch in her breathing and a long exhalation. I wondered if she was always quiet when she came.

Suddenly, her voice was back in my ear, and I could hear she was just slightly out of breath.

“You didn’t touch yourself, did you?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I don’t want you touched by yourself or by anyone else until I say it’s okay. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” I said, purposely holding back calling her mistress.

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow at seven.” She hung up. I brought up the photo of Adele on my phone again and looked down at my own pussy. I could practically see it move. I thought I’d go crazy if I couldn’t touch it. But I wouldn’t. I’d given my word. I just prayed I wouldn’t have to wait any longer than the next night.

*

The next day I was on campus to meet with my thesis advisor, drinking coffee in the student union before the appointment when Adele surprised me by sitting down at my table.

“It was a mistake bringing you to meet Jeanne,” she said.

“What?”

“You have to promise me you won’t see her again. Please.”

Adele looked genuinely shaken. I wasn’t any too steady either. A request to not see Jeanne again wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” I said. “We’re all supposed to go to the auction tonight.”

“No, just you and Jeanne are going to the auction. Jeanne told me this morning I’m not invited. It’s just the two of you.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve never seen her act this way before.”

“What way?” I was so clueless about what to expect from a dominant I didn’t know what had happened so far was unexpected.

“She has sex with other women, of course. She likes me to introduce her to women I meet who may be interested in our lifestyle, like you.”

“What does Jeanne normally do when you bring someone home?”

Adele looked down at her hands, and I could hear a little hitch in her breathing. When she looked up, I saw the tears.

“Usually, she just plays with them and then sends them on their way, or she introduces them to one of her friends, other dominants, and maybe something happens between them. But she never delays having sex with them, and she never sees them more than once.”

I could feel a little skip in my heartbeat as the thought came to me Jeanne wasn’t disinterested in me, as I feared, but perhaps more interested in me than I even hoped. Telling Adele how happy that made me didn’t seem like a good idea.

“I don’t understand what exactly is upsetting you,” I said. “Maybe Jeanne just looks at me as a new buddy, someone who knows a lot about art. Maybe she doesn’t want me the other way.”

“Please don’t act as if I’m stupid. I know about art. It’s not like we never talk about it.”

Personally, I felt there was a big difference between the way artists talked about art and the way historians and curators and collectors did. I could guess which style Jeanne preferred.

“She’s delaying having sex with you because it means something to her. What do you think the whole thing on the phone was all about?” she said.

“I really don’t know.”

“It was teasing, Laura. She’s trying to get you worked up.”

“Clearly, she knows what she’s doing.”

“Promise me you won’t see her again. I can’t lose her. I can’t.”

I stayed quiet for a moment. I wanted to be honest and compassionate and do the right thing. But more than that, I wanted Jeanne. I didn’t know what the right thing to do was.

“It seems to me Jeanne is the one calling the shots here,” I said. “If she wants to see me then there isn’t anything you can say to dissuade her. Or am I wrong about how a dominant works? Maybe you should just talk to her about it.”

Adele looked alarmed. “No! She’d be furious. And the only thing that would make her madder is knowing I talked to you about it. But she won’t know we talked about this if you don’t respond to her calls.”

“But she’s picking me up tonight. I can’t just not be at home.”

“Yes, you can. It would be perfect! She’d know you’d changed your mind about her, and you wouldn’t have to actually talk to her.”

I looked at Adele’s pleading eyes, trying to will myself into helping her out.

“I’m sorry, Adele. I gave Jeanne my word I would go with her to the auction. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment to keep.”

I left her at the table, the crestfallen look on her face turning to anger.

*

Jeanne arrived at precisely seven o’clock that evening, flowers in hand. She followed me into my apartment as I went to the kitchen to find a vase, my heart beating like a trip-hammer. She was courting me, I thought. There wasn’t any doubt. But what did she want? If she wanted me sexually, surely she knew she could just have me. It hadn’t occurred to me that there would be dating involved.

“I thought we’d stop by Anthony’s for drinks on our way downtown and then eat a late supper after the auction?”

We stood facing each other in the living room, me holding the vase like an offering, unable to decide where to put it. Jeanne gently took the vase and put it on the coffee table.

“Martha will just knock those over, I’m afraid,” I said.

“Martha?” Jeanne looked a little concerned.

“Martha the cat.”

“Ah. Well, there’s no place safe for them then. Let the flowers meet their fate.”

She stepped close to me. She smelled faintly of something musky and pleasant, and everything about her was crisp, smooth, clean, and exactly her. I could see her leg move beneath the beautiful fabric of her pants and I wanted—almost overpoweringly—to run my tongue up it and…

“You look absolutely gorgeous,” she was saying to me. My brain was having a hard time catching up to sensation, as if my audio and video were out of sync. Then she leaned in and kissed me, sweetly, tenderly. Just a claiming kiss. A putting the flag in the ground kiss. A kiss that said “this is mine, but I’ll have to come back later to take possession.”

“Ready?” she asked. I wished we didn’t have to go out for a long evening before we could be together, but this had to be at her pace. Despite her courtliness, I never forgot who was in charge. And I’d completely forgotten about Adele.

As before, the conversation flowed between us as we had cocktails and appetizers at Anthony’s. At the auction house we got down to business, going over the paintings in the exhibit room. I remembered a slave auction scene from one of my books where beautiful women were on display blocks, examined by several dozen potential buyers before bidding began. I wondered if such a thing happened in real life. I hoped not. The idea of growing attached to Jeanne and then being sold off by her was devastating. It took me a moment to realize I hadn’t presumed anything other than I would be hers to sell.

During the art auction, I was surprised when Jeanne made a serious run at a Hudson River School landscape. I didn’t think of it as her style at all. After she placed the winning bid I asked her about it.

“You’re right, of course. I can’t stand it, personally. But I know a collector who would gladly overpay for it, so I’ll use it to horse trade with her.”

I must have had a funny look on my face. She asked me what was wrong.

“I’m just wondering if that’s what you’re doing with me,” I said. “Checking me out for one of your friends who shares your other interest.”

Jeanne’s eyes narrowed a bit, but I didn’t feel threatened. Perhaps I should have.

“I’m not in the practice of screening people for others. I’m here simply for the pleasure of your company. What are you doing here with me?”

What if she thought I was using her? What if I was? I wanted something from her and I was desperate to have it, but what if it made her feel like it was only that I was interested in? “I apologize for my remark. I’m afraid I’m unsure of myself and don’t know quite how to behave.”

Jeanne took me by the elbow. “Come on. I need to see the clerk about the painting, and then we’ll leave.”

“Where are we going?”

“My house. No more questions, or I won’t be pleased at all.”

The house was dark when we arrived. Adele did not appear to be home, nor did Mrs. Kirchberger, who may have been out at some sinister club meeting or up in the attic, pacing back and forth. She was going to be hard to get used to. Jeanne led me up the stairs and into the study, locking the door behind her. I felt a little frisson of apprehension, but of a delicious kind. We had to be on the verge of a scene. I didn’t know what she planned to do to me, but I could tell she had planned something. She reached under her desk, and a moment later the hidden door opened. Before we walked through it, she turned to me and took me by the arms.

“Everything I do has a reason behind it, and everything you do has an agreement behind it. If you walk through this door with me, you are giving your consent to my rules. I will not ask your permission again for anything. But you can always take your consent back. If you ever do, I won’t ask you to reconsider, nor will I change my way of doing things. Our relationship will be over. But you always have that choice.”

I looked into her eyes. They looked clear, relaxed, and unwavering. These were her rules and they were the only rules in her house.

“Lead the way,” I said.

*

I was learning that Jeanne was never likely to deliver the expected. Still, I was thoroughly surprised to find Adele and another woman in the room we walked into. Surprised and less than delighted.

The room was not unlike what I had imagined it would be. Similar to the study on the other side of the wall, this room had a rich wooden tone and walls painted a deep red. There were no windows, however, and the light came from the various floor and table lamps placed around the room. At one end there was a comfortable furniture grouping —leather sofa and arm chairs, ottomans, coffee table. It was beyond this grouping where the room’s real purpose was revealed. There were what I thought of as the catalog pieces—furniture built with bondage in mind. A St. Andrew’s Cross (who was St. Andrew, I wondered, and was he into bondage?), a pommel horse, a punishment bench, suspension bars, stockades, even a cage in the corner. There were hooks and eyebolts screwed into the walls and ceiling at a variety of heights throughout the room. At the far end was a huge antique armoire.

I was able to take this in almost instantly because of my extensive knowledge of what the Internet has to offer in the way of bondage equipment, but I’d never seen any of the equipment live. I could feel my arousal, a pure Pavlovian response. Despite my excitement, it was still unnerving to see Adele. She was gagged and blindfolded, her arms stretched above her head, the cuffs on her wrists linked together and hooked to the wall. She was on her knees on the bare wooden floor, naked, a short chain from the belt she wore secured to the base of the wall. She was perfectly still. I understood now that Adele was my rival, and normally, it would be a good thing to see a rival tied up and helpless. Not in this world. Being the helpless one in the room gave her the power in our private struggle.

Jeanne led me to the far side of the room where a beautiful butch woman rose from the sofa and nodded to us. She appeared to have been sitting there reading a book, which she now stuffed into a backpack.

“Laura, this is a friend of mine, Pat. I asked her here tonight to help me with a demonstration.”

Pat reached out to shake my hand, as if we were at a cocktail party and not in a bondage room with a naked woman strung up just a few feet away. Talk about your elephant in the room. Pat looked to be in her early thirties, quite a bit younger than Jeanne. Her short, straight hair flopped into her eyes, which were big and brown and accented with a strong brow. Her build was athletic and she wore skinny, straight-leg jeans, a black T-shirt, and a white Oxford shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. She had intricate tattoos on both forearms. She may have come to the house on a motorcycle or a skateboard. Both would have fit.