Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (4 page)

Rebecca laughed at this. “Dressed to kill, huh? How
are you going to pull that off when all you own are a bunch of drab
gray power suits?”

“I have to go shopping. That’s why I can’t get back
to the office just now.” By then I had just passed the Capitol
Green and was heading for the Metro Center Mall. “Say Rebecca,
you’re a snappy dresser. Where can I go to find a drop-dead-red,
sexy cocktail dress, preferably strapless? In
my
size?”

A pause. “Well, Jasmine, I know where you can get
red cocktail dresses in
my
size, but—hmm. Let me think.
Normally I’d suggest Frederick’s of Hollywood for something like
that, but they only go up to size 12. So that isn’t going to work
for you.”

“I can squeeze into a 12 if I suck in my stomach and
wear a girdle,” I pleaded.

“I wouldn’t try it,” Rebecca said. “If I were you
I’d try Nordstrom’s. Get something revealing, but classy. Go to the
eveningwear department, ask for Rhonda, and tell her I sent you.
She does—or
did
, rather—all of Mrs. Grayle’s fittings for
social occasion dresses. Mrs. Grayle’s a size sixteen, but you’d
never know it to look at her because Rhonda does such a good job
with custom fittings. She’ll get you looking great.”

“All right, thanks.”

“I gotta go, Jasmine. The reporters are practically
breaking down the door.”

“Give them my cell number and tell them they can
call me for an official statement,” I suggested. “That might get
them to leave you alone for a little while, at least.”

“Are you sure you want me to do that? There’s an
awful lot of them.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll just let all the calls roll to
voicemail. I’ll get Rodney Doyle’s help on how to deal with them
tonight.” I made it to the Metro Center mall entrance and stopped.
“This is all going to work out, Rebecca, okay? It will all blow
over soon, and Senator Grayle will be re-elected, and we’ll get to
keep our jobs. I’ll take care of everything. Trust me.” I tried to
sound confident, but I didn’t think I stood an ice queen’s chance
in hell of actually accomplishing one bit of it.

“Whatever you say,” Rebecca said. She didn’t seem
the least bit convinced, either. “Bye, Jasmine. Good luck with your
dinner. Call me if you need any help.” She hung up.

I needed plenty of help, that was for sure. But it
wasn’t the kind of help Rebecca or anyone else could provide. From
then on, I was on my own.

****

Just as I’d predicted, my cell started ringing off
the hook with press calls five minutes after I hung up with
Rebecca, so I turned it off altogether and tucked it in my purse
just before I passed Nordstrom’s shoe department to hop on the
escalator. The
couture
eveningwear salon was on the third
floor, and had its own separate, private entrance. Normally, you
needed to make an appointment to meet with the
couture
sales
staff, but one flash of my Congressional aide badge was enough to
get me into the salon without one. Being a PR staffer for a
senator—
any
senator, even one in the midst of a
career-ending sex scandal—still had its perks.

I found Rhonda in the eveningwear salon, just like
Rebecca said I would. Rhonda was a handsome and elegant woman of
about fifty, who by the looks of her designer suit, expensive
watch, and plentiful diamonds pulled down a considerable income on
sales commissions selling evening gowns and cocktail dresses to the
movers and shakers of Washington.

“You must be Jasmine Rand,” she said, extending her
bejeweled right hand. “Rhonda Pearce, head of
couture
sales
here. Rebecca called a few minutes ago and told me you might be
coming. You need a red cocktail dress, yes? Size fourteen or
so?”

I silently said a prayer of thanks for Rebecca’s
extraordinary efficiency. “That’s right.”

“I’ve already pulled some pieces I think you might
like,” Rhonda said. “All in your size, all designed to flatter
fuller, womanly figures like yours. I can’t tell you how nice it is
for me to actually work with a real woman’s body, Jasmine. Most of
the ladies who buy dresses from me are anorexic sticks with no
curves to speak of.Dressing them is like dressing a wire clothes
hanger.”

I smiled at this. It was the first time a
salesperson in an expensive department store had ever expressed
anything besides disdain for my full figure.“At least somebody
appreciates those of us with a little meat on our bones.”

“I’m a size eight myself, but I’ve always envied
women with figures like yours,” Rhonda went on. “It must be nice to
actually have breasts.” Rhonda’s green eyes looked me up and down,
and sparkled. Was that a sparkle of attraction in her eyes,
perhaps? Or was I imagining things?

I didn’t respond; I just smiled again.

“Follow me,” Rhonda said, and led me to a private
dressing room where several red dresses were hanging on a rack.“Why
don’t I help you get into these?” Without warning, Rhonda crept up
beside me and slid her well-manicured fingers down the side of my
face in a liquid caress, sending light shivers up and down my
spine.

I was shocked. My whole body froze. At one level, I
was appalled, didn’t even know what to think. At another level, I
was more turned on than I’d ever been in my life.

That level won out.

I stood frozen, my feet locked to the floor, my
breath stilled deep in my lungs as Rhonda slowly worked her way
down my body, slipping off one garment after another—first my
blazer, then my blouse, then my stockings and skirt—touching and
teasing my skin as she bared it. My clothing made a small wrinkled
pile at my feet until I was left with nothing but my bra and
panties. By then, my crotch was soaked with my juices and the musky
scent of my sex filled the air. The only sound was of my labored
breathing and Nordstrom’s piped-in background music.

I couldn’t believe what was happening. I’d never
been even remotely attracted to a woman before, let alone allow one
to undress me like this. What was going on? Had my everyday life
somehow evaporated in favor of some sexy parallel universe where
everything and everyone was tailor-made to turn me on? Today, it
certainly seemed so.

Rhonda took the first of several red dresses off the
rack. “Slip this one on for me,” she said. “It’s all-over Lycra, so
you won’t need help with a zipper.” She handed me the dress, a
slinky little number with an asymmetrical hem, a sweetheart
neckline and a strapless bodice with a built-in brassiere and
dainty off-the-shoulder cap sleeves, and stood back to watch as I
slipped off my bra and slid into the dress. The feel of the sleek
Lycra-silk blend was feathery on my bare skin.

“That’s lovely on you,” Rhonda cooed, her vibrant
green eyes nearly swallowing me whole.“Take a look at
yourself.”

I turned and took in the view from the dressing
room’s three-way mirror. I was stunned and awed by what I saw. My
whole life, I’d been self-conscious about my curvy, fleshy,
size-fourteen body. So self-conscious, in fact, that I always hid
it underneath layers and layers of drab, dark fabrics and boxy,
unflattering designs. I tried to make up for my lack of fashion
sense with book smarts, career savvy, and a gift for writing snappy
sound bites. But here I was, wearing a slinky red dress that clung
to every curve like a tight kid glove and emphasized my ample
cleavage. That dress made me look like a curvaceous, sexy old-time
film star, like Veronica Lake or Marilyn Monroe.

Damn. I was
hot.

Who would have known that such a sexy woman had
always lain hidden underneath all those stuffy, frumpy career
suits? Not I.

“I’ll take the dress,” I said. “How much is it?”

“Twelve hundred,” Rhonda said. When I sucked in my
breath at the steep price, Rhonda replied, “I can arrange to have
it charged to Mrs. Grayle’s account, if you like. It’s my
understanding that you’re wearing it to help save Senator Grayle’s
career, after all.”

“But—“

“I’ll be discreet, don’t worry. And Mrs. Grayle
charges so many dresses to her account here that the divorce
lawyers will never know the difference when they’re settling things
out with us.”

I was beginning to understand why Rhonda was so good
at her job.

Among other things.

Rhonda sashayed up closer beside me and lightly
brushed her fingers along the inside of my left wrist. I felt my
stomach do a flip-flop, then go all soft and melty. She ran her
fingers up the inside of my arm, and I felt that soft and melty
feeling sink down between my legs, settling there until my pussy
got wet and hot and puffy. I was almost ready to come, and I’d
barely been touched—and by a woman besides!

Today was certainly shaping up to be an interesting
day.

“Why don’t we get you out of this dress and into
something a bit more comfortable?” Rhonda whispered, mere inches
from my left ear. Her warm, soft breath tickled the side of my
neck. “Like your birthday suit, perhaps?” Before I knew it, Rhonda
had whisked me out of the dress and had it expertly folded and
wrapped in a Nordstrom’s gift box. And less than two seconds later,
she was working on whisking me out of my panties. They landed in a
tangled heap on the floor before I could take a breath. Rhonda slid
one hand down my back, and slipped the other between my legs,
gently exploring until she found my already glistening sex. She
slid a finger between my labia; I instantly stiffened and let out a
little shriek.

“Relax,” Rhonda breathed. “Relax, Jasmine. You have
the potential to be a very sensual woman if you just let go and
explore yourself a bit.” She gently worked her finger back and
forth across my cleft, back and forth, gently pulsing and rubbing
until I relaxed and settled into a little squat, pressing my sex
against her finger. “That’s right,” she said. “Just relax and
enjoy. Let it ride.”

I instinctively spread my legs a little wider to
give Rhonda better access. She knew exactly where to touch me, how
much, how fast, how much pressure to use. She seemed to know where
all my most sensitive nerve endings were, knew exactly what it took
to send those nerve endings over the edge. It was like masturbating
myself, only better. I leaned backward a bit, settling my bare
backside against Rhonda’s chest. I could feel the expensive
cashmere fabric of her suit against my skin, could smell her
designer perfume and her herbal shampoo. “Oh, yeah,” I breathed,
feeling my pussy begin to tighten. “That’s
so
good.” I
hoisted up my backside a bit higher to give Rhonda even better
access. In response, she lowered her other hand down south to meet
the other, and used it to spread me wide open so her fingers could
get into all my little nooks and crannies. She coaxed my clit out
from under its hood and started to work in earnest. I was mere
seconds away from coming when the realization of what I was doing
sunk in and jolted me back to earth.

“I’ve never done this before,” I quaked, pulling
away. “I can’t believe this is happening. What the hell is going on
here?”

“I am giving you pleasure,” Rhonda said, not
stopping her ministrations for a second. “You are a beautiful,
sensual woman, and you are receiving pleasure. That’s all. Enjoy
it. Relax.”

Relax? I couldn’t relax. I was having my first
lesbian experience. I was in uncharted territory, and it was scary
as hell.

Rhonda seemed to sense my fears. “It’s natural to
feel a bit scared the first time you experience something new. Try
to latch onto that feeling if you can, and turn it around into
excitement. It’ll make what I’m doing to you feel even better.”

I tried my best to take Rhonda’s advice. I took the
little flame of fear that had been tensing me up and mentally sent
it down south to heat up my pussy. I concentrated hard on my
orgasm, savoring each and every stroke Rhonda’s perfectly manicured
hands made on my clit and labs. Just as Rhonda promised it would,
the fear melted away into a white-hot thrill.I bucked against her
hand, matching her rhythm until I felt the first pulses of my
orgasm start around the edges of my vag. The pulsating sensation
just got harder and hotter and wider as Rhonda rubbed harder and
faster, until I could feel vibrations radiating outward from my sex
to every corner of my body. I cried out. I saw stars.

I had the most incredible orgasm of my life, and I
got it from a woman.

Holy shit.

“There,” Rhonda said, wiping her hands on a moist
towelette she’d procured from God knew where. “Now doesn’t that
feel better?”

I collapsed in a heap onto the dressing room’s plush
white carpeting. “I hope the walls to this dressing room are
soundproof.”

Rhonda laughed. “We’re very discreet here at
Nordstrom’s, don’t worry.”

I took a few moments to collect myself. I was sweaty
and spent, and my sex was wet and soft and pleasantly warm from all
the action. I felt more sexually satisfied than I had in years. And
yet, there was still something missing. My vag ached for something
to fill it. Something long and large and hard. And unless Rhonda
kept a top-quality vibrator on the premises, I doubted that despite
her considerable talents in that department, she could have
relieved that ache herself. I’d have to go in search of other
options, and soon.

I stood up and began to dress. I still couldn’t
comprehend what had just happened. After all, one usually doesn’t
go to Nordstrom’s with the goal of getting off at the hands of the
sales staff. “Why did you do this?” I asked.

Rhonda laughed again. “You appeared to need it. And
at Nordstrom’s, our number-one goal is satisfying our
customers.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “Do you do that for
all
your customers?”

“Only my most special ones,” Rhonda replied. “And I
know you’re in a tough spot right now, between Senator Grayle’s
shenanigans and your big meeting with Rodney Doyle tonight. Believe
me, that dress will be a major asset when it comes to asking the
likes of Rodney Doyle for favors. Not to mention the fact that you
and your womanly parts are now ripe and ready for an evening of
earthly delights. ”