The Sextet Presents... Bound by Voodoo [Legends] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (2 page)

A meow and a flash of black from the left sent her heart racing.

Black cats are
not
bad luck.

At the bakery two doors ahead, a man stood atop a ladder adjusting a banner. She gave the obstacle a wide berth. A flutter in her tummy set off an eye roll.

It’s coincidence. That’s all.

With a clear view of her hotel’s upper floors two blocks away, she resisted the desire to pick up the pace. She hated jogging. Besides, she’d probably end up tripping if she tried to run in her spike-heeled shoes. Then she’d fall, ruin her favorite jeans, and lose the wad of cash hiding in her bra—not to mention damage a brand-new pair of strappy sandals.

She lengthened her stride as she crossed the street, avoiding several rowdy groups of partiers headed the direction she’d come from. Maybe she’d soak in the tub before she packed up for her early morning flight home. She could order room service and enjoy some peace and quiet.

The foot traffic thinned a bit when she reached the next intersection. A car horn sounded beside her when she reached the middle of the crosswalk, making her heart skip a beat. She resisted glaring at the offender.

“Hey, baby! You charge by the hour or the night?” Male laughter carried to her over the street noise.

Her hand almost shot up in an automatic gesture, but she stopped herself. Hell, they’d probably think she was making them an offer if she flipped them the bird.

Go screw yourselves, losers. No woman in her right mind would want you. Besides, you couldn’t afford me.

While she’d encouraged a few of her clients to try hooker-and-john role-playing, paying for sex just didn’t make sense in the real world. Nearly anyone could get laid with no strings attached if he or she went to the right bar, club, or hangout. Her master’s thesis had detailed her observations and included anonymous surveys of the people she’d watched to collect her data.

She’d chosen to go into sex therapy after studying human sexual nature in greater detail for her dissertation. Her parents had been horrified until they found out their daughter would be able to comfortably support herself rather than living in her old bedroom. Having “doctor of philosophy” following her name hadn’t hurt, either.

Whoop-de-do, a doctor in the family.

Crossing the next street, Rory aimed for the hotel’s main entrance. In a matter of minutes, she stood in front of her door. A quick swipe gained her entrance into the room, and she transferred her poker winnings to her purse. Dropping her bag on the bed, she stripped out of her clothes and headed to the bathroom to fill the tub. She added a capful of vanilla-scented bodywash to the running water.

Room service for supper.

Having studied the menu numerous times, she made the call, requesting a bottle of red wine to go with her meal. The half-hour wait was the perfect amount of time for her leisurely bath.

Not one to waste an opportunity, she returned to her tote to retrieve her latest work-related purchase. She could hardly recommend sex toys to her clients without having tried them out first. The “gift” from Ms. Deschamps brought a momentary twinge of curiosity, but she set aside the unopened bag in favor of a possible orgasm. After some fun, she might be ready for a peek.

She carried the new waterproof vibrator into the bathroom, along with a package of double-A batteries and a bottle of lube. No one had batted an eye when she’d bought them from the booth of her favorite online sex toy shop at the conference. Her colleagues might not offer assistance in some of the areas she did in her practice, but at least they weren’t prudes.

Opening the box, she set the instructions on the counter and pulled the triple-action device free of its packaging. She’d watched the informational video and had no problems installing the batteries or resealing the protective covering. Any woman with half an active imagination could figure out what each appendage was meant for and where to insert it. A few experimental pushes of the remote control’s buttons gave her enough basic knowledge to have a pleasure party in the tub.

Water lapped at the overflow drain, with bubbles forming a lovely cloud on top. She leaned in to turn off the tap and then dipped a toe into the bath.

Perfect.

A generous squeeze of lube coated the rear portion of the vibrator. Stepping into the warm water, she settled in the aromatic froth with her toy. If it didn’t meet her needs in the twenty minutes she had available to soak, her review would reflect the failure as soon as she logged into her frequent-buyer account.

Anticipation already had her pussy juices flowing, but her ass hadn’t seen any action for at least a month. Water wasn’t the best lubricant, either, even if the heat relaxed her muscles. Hopefully, the slippery gel would make for a smooth entrance. Easing her bottom up several inches, she slid the
Trois Orgasmes
into place and slowly lowered herself onto the vaginal dildo-shaped part. As the thick cock glided into her cunt, a firm, narrow tip pressed against her anus. The aerodynamic design met with little resistance when the butt plug penetrated her tight hole.

Okay, maybe I
was
ready for a visit to the back door.

Inch by inch, the first two appendages filled her, until the smallest of the limbs finally rubbed over her clit. The placement certainly seemed right, but she still had to test the power of each vibrating arm.

With the wireless remote in her right hand, she tapped the up arrows to the dildo control. The speed intensified a level at a time to a persistent humming against her G-spot. A forward and back rocking increased the sensation, and she activated the clitoral stimulator. Every movement sent the wiggling finger slicking over her bundle of nerves. The anal attachment’s slight in-and-out motion added a new dimension to the pleasure building between her thighs.

Giving the third set of arrows several upward clicks, she gasped at the sudden contractions rippling through her. A moan crept up her throat, and she set down the remote to give her nipples a gentle squeeze. Half a second later, a powerful spasm swept her away with its wave after wave of breath-stealing satisfaction. Her inner muscles grasped at the invaders, their vibrations carrying her along a seemingly endless current of bliss.

She closed her eyes, savoring the stimulation still thrumming along her nerve endings as she let out one long groan. Another orgasm nearly sent her sinking under the water. Grabbing for the remote, she forced her gaze to focus on the controls responsible for turning off her trio of lovers before she drowned.

I can see the headline. Sex therapist dies from too many self-induced orgasms. Details on page sixty-nine of the X-rated entertainment section.

The pulsing stopped, and she opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling as she leaned her head back.
Sixty-nine.
She hadn’t enjoyed that particular activity since before she’d moved herself and her new practice into the four-apartment, four-office building eight months ago. Not that she hadn’t met any guys she wanted to share some oral adventures with. She had. The building’s two other occupants had caught her eye on move-in day, but she’d vowed to concentrate on gaining clients instead of working on finding another cheating boyfriend. Besides, she was fairly certain Miles Parrish and Winston DeLong were gay—and involved with each other, even if they were discreet.

The fourth office-and-apartment combo had remained vacant, so she was out of luck unless she decided to start frequenting bars, church socials, or online dating sites. She was hardly that desperate.

Her mind too busy to appreciate the bath, Rory disengaged from her new toy and stood to dry herself. Room service would be arriving in a few minutes anyway. She’d eat, type up a tentative review of
Trois Orgasmes,
then pack.

Hanging the damp towel on the rack, she reached in the tub to remove the plug and retrieve the vibrator. A quick wash in the sink with soap and water would suffice for now. When she got home, she’d use the special cleaner she kept on hand for disinfecting her playthings.

With the device left to air-dry on the counter, her thoughts jumped to the unopened bag as she walked out of the bathroom. She slipped on her robe, still unsure she really wanted to see Ms. Deschamps’s gift.

Come on, Rory. How weird can it be?

A knock at the door interrupted her hand’s descent to the string tied around the top of the cloth sack. Crossing to the door, she peered through the peephole. A young man stood in the hallway with a tray balanced on his shoulder.

Her belly growled.

Yes, I’m going to feed you.

She twisted the knob and opened the door wide. “Come in.”

“Good evening, ma’am.” He gave her a polite smile as he entered. Setting the tray on the desk, he picked up the wine bottle and held it against his arm for her perusal. At her nod, he removed the cork and poured a healthy serving into the glass before lifting the cover from her entree. “Is there any else I can do for you, Ms. Bond?”

“That’s all for tonight, thank you.” She signed the receipt he handed her, adding a generous tip.

He offered another pleasant smile. “Enjoy your meal.”

As soon as the door clicked closed, she drank a fortifying swallow of soft red and headed back to the package on the bed. Her dinner could wait a couple minutes. Curiosity had finally won out over apprehension, and she wasn’t putting off the task any longer.

Tugging on the ends of the string, she untied the bow and loosened the ties. A peek inside assured her nothing would jump out at her. She slid in her hand to pull out one of the items, nearly choking at the strange doll in her grasp. Crisscrossing black strings on the torso emphasized a pair of large breasts, and the dried brown moss at the apex of its thighs half hid what were obviously labia made of folds of fabric. A red heart rested above the left breast.

Rory dropped it on the comforter and stared at the mismatched black and white button eyes.

Is it supposed to be me?

Another tentative search of the bag yielded three more dolls. Each also donned the crisscrossed threads on the chest—without the conspicuous boobs—and the red heart. More mismatched eyes had been sewn on their faces. In place of the pubic hair and pussy, an oversized, moss-filled cylinder hung down to the doll’s ankles, flanked by a pair of fuzzy pompoms. A red X seemed to mark the spot.

Holy shit! I’m supposed to choose from three guys with giant cocks?

Right, like she’d ever find one man
that
well endowed, let alone a trio. A warning shiver raced up her spine, but she stuffed the dolls in their pack and returned to her dinner.

Voodoo is hoodoo. Voodoo is hoodoo.

A masculine groan echoed off the walls. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. I didn’t mean to be bad.”

Leather snapped as it hit its target. “Don’t lie to me. I know you broke the rules on purpose. You
want
to be whipped, don’t you?”

Smack!

“You’re right.” He moaned again. “I love when you flog my ass.”

“Does it make your cock hard? Because you’re not allowed to come until I say so.” The fall of straps connected a third time.

“Yes, Ma’am. My balls ache, too. Will you let me eat your pussy?”

Feminine giggles erupted, but Rory didn’t interrupt her clients’ practice session. The sooner they got used to the dialogue associated with their training, the sooner they could try out the scenario at home.

“Sorry, Dr. Bond. I can’t help but picture Carl with a furry ol’ kitty tail sticking out of his mouth.”

At the direct comment, Rory nodded. “If ‘pussy’ detracts from the experience, we can substitute another word in this scene. Are you comfortable with ‘cunt’? Or we can take out the body part reference altogether. ‘Will you let me eat you?’ would fit there.”

Carl wiggled in his seat on the couch, obviously getting turned on by the language and the idea of being submissive to his wife. “But Amy purrs when I go down on her. And pussy is such a
good
name.”

Staying in professional mode, Rory leafed through the file on her lap. “This is a great example of items to discuss during the negotiation process. If one of you finds a word laughable, offensive, or whatever, you need to be sure to speak up before play starts. Nothing kills the mood faster than a disagreement over expectations.”

She handed them each a copy of the contract and a pencil.

Amy glanced from the paper to her husband and back again. The pencil hovered over the document. “You really think I
purr
?”

Grinning, Carl nodded. “It’s so hot. I’ll be licking and sucking, and you’ll make these sexy kitten sounds. Makes me want you to start clawing my back.”

Her eyes widened. “Well, maybe I get can get used to ‘pussy’ then. Sometimes I feel like digging my fingernails into you, but I thought I might hurt you.”

Instead of encouraging the couple to continue their enlightening conversation, Rory opted to stay quiet and see if any other unspoken preferences came to light without her influence.

Carl slipped his fingers through his wife’s. “I want you to whip my naked butt with a flogger. Believe me, I can take your scratching. In fact, I want it in the contract for this scene. Maybe you could tell me you’re going to mark me. That’d probably make me come on the spot.”