The Plume: The Second Anthology (22 page)

“Thank God,” she whispered and finished her
champagne.

“I didn’t think he had much to do with it,”
Mike teased. She smiled and he indicated her glass. “Another?”

“Not unless you want me to, Mike,” she said
with the deference that he loved. She swallowed and flicked a
glance at him. “I’d prefer to meet Eric sober.”

“You’re nervous.” Mike could almost feel her
vibrating, but he was pretty sure she was more excited than
nervous. She nodded once, then dropped her gaze to the floor. “Turn
around and look. He’s right behind you, drinking champagne.”

Joanna’s nostrils flared, then she pivoted so
quickly that Mike had to catch her around the waist to keep her
from falling. He drew her back against him and took a deep breath
of her perfume as she considered Eric.

Mike’s old friend was wearing black leather
pants and boots, as discussed. His flowing white shirt was open at
the front, displaying his muscular build and his tattoos. He was a
bit taller than Mike but had just as strong of a physique - they
were evenly matched when they wrestled. Eric was blond, though, his
hair buzzed short and one gold earring glinted from his earlobe. He
wore the black domino mask that had come with the invitation, which
didn’t hide how handsome he was or how wicked his smile could be.
He smiled that smile at Joanna, a sure sign that he liked the look
of her. Mike felt her catch her breath and quiver beneath his
hand.

Before they had even met, Mike knew what his
slave wanted most.

And he would ensure she got it on this
night.

He nodded and Eric began to work his way
through the crowd to their side. He could feel the leap of Joanna’s
pulse and bent to whisper in her ear.

“It’s decided. I’m sharing you with him.” She
turned and looked up at him, her eyes wide and her lips parted. “Be
a good slave or I’ll give you to him for good.”

She paled, but she licked her lips. He could
smell her sex getting wetter and knew he’d made the right choice.
They would only do this once, and Mike would make it count.

* * *

Eric couldn’t believe how pretty Mike’s
little sex slave was. She was gorgeous and the way he’d tricked her
out made her irresistible. As soon as he saw her, he was ready to
bang her through the entire weekend, and Mike’s minute nod - the
agreed signal - nearly sent him to the moon.

Mike introduced them, as if they were just
going to chat, and the contrast between the polite conversation and
the intimacy that was sure to follow just added to Eric’s
anticipation. He watched Joanna smile and laugh, her red lips
feeding his fantasies of taking her hard and fast. Putting that
mouth to work. Watching her gasp. He hadn’t had a good submissive
in years, even though he was always searching. The concept worked
for him in a big way, and it really worked if the submissive in
question was this pretty.

Mike got her another glass of champagne, one
that she didn’t seem to want, and commanded her to drink it.

She did exactly what she was told, much to
Eric’s pleasure.

“I thought we’d leave early,” Mike said
softly. “Go somewhere more private.”

“They have a coatroom, Mike,” Joanna said and
Mike ran an affectionate fingertip down her cheek. He took her in
coatrooms? Eric would be up for that.

“It’ll be busy tonight. I’ve planned for a
place of our own.” He smiled at Eric. “Just the three of us.”

Eric drained his glass, ready to get to it,
and at Mike’s nod, Joanna finished her own. She took the glasses
and handed them to a serving woman, giving Eric a prime view of the
perfect shape of her ass.

“I know you like the back door, but be
gentle. She’s not used to it,” Mike said in an undertone. “We’ll
flip for who takes lead each time.”

“More than once?” Eric asked, unable to
believe it.

“As many times as we want.” He gave Eric a
look. “All night long and never again.”

Eric watched Joanna carefully walking back
towards them and wondered whether that would be enough.

* * *

Athena arrived late, as if she didn’t have a
vested interest in the show or its success. She dressed with care,
keeping to the fetish wear expectation, but choosing a schoolgirl
outfit that was out of character. Her pageboy wig was so dark as to
be almost black. She wore a short plaid skirt and a white blouse,
innocent little white gloves and stockings, and Mary Janes. That
her breasts were full and her waist small - her figure was
hourglass and womanly - was a striking contrast to the outfit’s
suggestion of youth. Her make-up was uncharacteristically subdued
and pale, and she carried a large pink lollipop.

Athena considered her reflection critically
before Rafe picked her up and was convinced that with the domino
mask supplied with the invitation, she was unrecognizable as the
dominatrix of the Plume.

Which is exactly what she wanted.

Rafe picked up a dozen people in the stretch
limo and the champagne was flowing in the car. Athena chose not to
indulge. She was nervous about this show, happy for Rex but
concerned about the future of the Plume.

The opening was in full swing by the time she
arrived, the music thumping, the reporters clustered at the doors
and the cameras flashing. She was glad she’d dressed in less than
her usual flamboyant manner. The photographers took one look at her
outfit and saved their megabytes for more interesting attendees. It
was easy to disappear in the throng of arriving guests.

She entered the gallery with her heart in her
mouth.

Of all the attendees, Athena was probably the
only one who wasn’t surprised by the sculpture at the door. It was
of herself and she knew it wasn’t real. She smiled a little at the
imposing pose and wondered whether she really looked so
daunting.

The gallery itself was crowded with guests,
all dressed in fetish gear and masked. They mingled between the
sculptures and admired the framed prints, admiring each other all
the while, either openly or surreptitiously. The music was loud
enough to discourage conversation and even the waiters were masked
as they served champagne.

It could have been the Plume, save for the
frisson of anxiety. At least half the guests were out of their
element, both thrilled and terrified by this taste of another
world.

Athena wondered what the ones who lingered
after midnight would think of it all. She’d had a long talk with
Louise during her sittings, and thought the idea for the sculptures
coming alive was interesting.

A vague approximation of the real thing.

Athena preferred the genuine Plume
experience.

She scanned the room, didn’t recognize anyone
she desperately wanted to talk to, so began a slow circuit of the
gallery. She gave every appearance of examining Rex’s photographs,
but of course, she’d seen all of them before.

“Just like old times,” a man murmured close
behind her.

Athena stiffened. She’d recognize the Count’s
voice anywhere. “So, you came,” she said without turning around.
“Rex must have been persuasive.”

The Count laughed under his breath. “Rex
couldn’t have kept me away.”

Athena turned at that. True to form, he’d
forgone fetish attire and was wearing a black tux with his domino.
He looked good enough to eat, and it wasn’t the contrast with the
more bold display of charms offered by the other guests. He
beckoned to a waiter, then plucked two glasses from the tray,
presenting one to Athena.

“You didn’t follow the rules,” she said as
she took a sip.

“Some rules deserve to be ignored,” he said
with some scorn. Their gazes met and Athena realized she was
holding the champagne against her palate, so the bubbles could
fizzle there. Just the way he’d taught her.

And the Count knew it too. He smiled and
swallowed his champagne, his gaze dancing over the crowd without
real interest.

“I thought you’d left us forever,” Athena
said, trying to make a joke and realizing her tone sounded
plaintive.

He turned to study her with lightning speed.
“Would it bother you if I did?”

“You know I don’t like goodbyes.” Now she
surveyed the crowd, well aware that he watched her.

“No. I didn’t know that. Is that why you
won’t leave Rex and the, um, club?”

“Leave? It’s mine!”

“No, it’s Rex’s creation.”

“You, of all people, know that this is my
inheritance...”

The Count interrupted her. “Your grandmother
worked privately, on a much smaller scale. I had thought when I
introduced you to Rex that he would continue in that vein. Of
course, Rex can’t do anything on a small scale. Where is he,
anyway?”

Athena gestured to the central sculpture, the
black raja in the midst of his six adoring wives. The Count
frowned, not understanding. She leaned closer to whisper in his
ear, his cologne making her toes curl in her shoes. “Some of the
castings have models inside them. They’ll break out at
midnight.”

The Count clearly disapproved. “Then we’ll be
out of here before then.”

“We?”

“They’ll all get arrested. I can’t let you
get swept up in such a tawdry circumstance.”

“Not unless someone calls the police.”

He gave her a hard look, then returned to his
champagne. “You asked where I’ve been,” he said quietly. “I’ve been
outfitting a private house that I’ve purchased, one much like your
grandmother’s house.”

“I heard you were looking for
chambermaids.”

The Count smiled, his gaze slanting to meet
hers. “And a mistress.”

Athena smiled, pretending to be cool as her
heart thumped. “Are you going to talk about love again?”

The Count stepped in front of her, his gaze
boring into hers. “And what if I did? What if I told you that the
times we had, when your grandmother entrusted your training to me,
were the hottest moments of my life? What if I told you that it
nearly killed me to set you free, little dove?” He swallowed
visibly. “What if I told you that I’ve dreamed of you ever
since?”

Athena could hardly catch her breath. “I’d
say you were showing your old persuasive arts again, that you were
saying whatever was necessary to get what you want.”

“And it doesn’t matter that what I want is
you?”

Athena looked away.

“I know you as none of these people do. I
know you, past present and future. I want you as none of these
people do. I want all of you, Athena, from this moment
forward.”

Athena shook her head. “I can’t leave
Rex.”

The Count’s jaw tightened. “Even though he’ll
ruin you? Even though he’s set everything on a course of
destruction?” He leaned so close that she could feel his breath on
her face. “Even though he’ll steal everything from you?”

Athena’s heart skipped. She had had similar
doubts herself. If Rex had been only a business partner, the choice
would have been easy. But they had been lovers, and she felt she
owed him something for that.

She trusted Rex, just as she didn’t trust the
Count. She’d given her body to Rex and her heart to the Count, but
she’d hoped that neither of them recognized the lack.

She’d hoped for years that the Count had he’d
mistaken her enthusiasm and eventual tears for youthful
infatuation. But now, he bent his will upon her and she realized
there could only be one reason: he knew the truth.

Maybe he’d always known the truth about
her.

But he didn’t know Rex.

“Have you ever gone back?” he whispered and
she shook her head.

“They sold it all. I was a minor. They must
have been trying to protect me from the truth of it.”

“I go back,” the Count said grimly. “I go
back to regret everything I’ve lost.”

He drained his glass then, set it aside and
turned to walk away.

But this time, Athena couldn’t let him go.
She stopped him with a touch. “I won’t leave the club, not yet,”
she said and he glanced over his shoulder at her. “I want to see
where this goes and I need to keep my word. I trust Rex, even
though you don’t.” She smiled when he would have spoken and touched
her finger to his mouth. “I want to be with you tonight,
though.”

The Count smiled and turned to offer his hand
to her. “Maybe you’d like to see my house.”

* * *

“Get in the back seat with Eric,” Mike
commanded when they got back to the car. Joanna did as she was
told, her heart skipping that he was using the rough voice that she
liked so well. Eric held her elbow as she got into the back seat,
then nudged her to slide across the seat. Joanna pulled up her
raincoat so that her bare ass was on the seat, just the way Mike
liked it, pressed her ankles together and spread her knees apart.
She placed her hands upon her knees, well aware that Eric was
watching her avidly.

Mike got in and started the engine. “Joanna,
your silk scarf is in the pocket in the back of my seat. Bind it
over your mask so that you can’t see anything and knot it
tightly.”

Joanna reached into the seat pocket and
tugged out the wide black silk scarf. She folded it out of habit,
having done this a hundred times. Eric was staring at her, his
erection straining his pants. She blindfolded herself and knotted
the scarf firmly, just as Mike had instructed.

“I’ve finished, Mike.” She could hear how her
own voice had softened. There was something about being blindfolded
that made her feel more keenly powerless - no matter how much or
how tightly Mike bound her, it was always the blindfold that
transported her.

“Good,” Mike said. “Now, straddle Eric and
kiss him as if he’s the last man in the world.”

“Yes, Mike.” Joanna reached out and found
Eric’s knee. She slid her hand up his thigh to orient herself, then
turned and reached for his shoulder. His body was toned and hard,
and his skin was warm. She straddled him but kneeled above him,
almost losing her balance when Mike put the car into gear. The
strap from the chastity belt made it hard for her to spread her
legs wide enough.