Excerpt from 'The Prize'

I swallow hard as I regard the polished oak door before me. The steps leading up to it are a distinguished dark granite, gleaming and austere yet stately, separating the mysteries to be discovered beyond that portal from the understated grandeur of this quiet West London suburb.

I glance from my left to my right, scanning the wide, well-lit, tree-lined avenue on either side, the pleasant-lawned gardens, the gated driveways. There can’t be a property on this street that would sell for less than two million pounds. I wouldn’t mind betting that the well-heeled inhabitants lucky enough to reside here have not the slightest idea of the kinky fun and games to be enjoyed right at the heart of their peaceful little slice of middle England.

Or perhaps they do. Perhaps it’s no accident that this gracious mansion should be located here, catering to the kinkier tastes of the city elite. Certainly the fees charged by the Vivant Club suggest a seriously wealthy clientele. It’s only by pure, dumb luck that such a lowly individual as me should be so much as flirting with the notion of climbing those steps and pressing the doorbell.

I won a competition. Not even a competition, not really. A raffle would better describe it. First prize—one month’s complimentary membership of the prestigious Vivant Club, and an evening’s kinky entertainment courtesy of not one but two of the establishment’s most experienced Doms. So here I stand, my calf-length faux leather trench coat concealing the fetish wear beneath as I consider spinning on one of my five-inch spike heels and making a run for it.

I abandon that notion. Running is simply not an option in these shoes and, in any case, I want to claim my prize. Painfully shy as a rule, quiet, unassuming, every inch the staid legal secretary the world normally sees, it is only when I slip into my latex or leather gear and leave my second-floor apartment to totter down to my car in heels that scream ‘fuck me’ that I can let my usual inhibitions slide from my shoulders.

I love it all—the smell of leather and the heady arousal that aroma always evokes for me, the sound of a decent spanking being administered across a crowded dungeon, the hum of voices, the squeals and moans of submissive joy. Better still, the sting and burn on those occasions when it’s my own bottom bared for the attention of a Dom with a gloriously firm hand. The magical sensation of release as pain builds, grows and blooms to eventually penetrate every nerve ending as I go limp on the bench, a vessel to simply absorb sensation, to receive, to accept, to submit.

Freedom, liberation, a sense of being weightless, untethered, the tight twist of climax then the gentle warmth of the drift back to reality. This is followed by the purity and sense of renewal as my Dom for the evening murmurs words of comfort, encouragement and approval before we go our separate ways.

Tonight will be no different, or so I hope, though the setting is more opulent. And two Doms—now there’s a nice twist. I wonder if they’ll do some sort of ‘good cop, bad cop’ thing. Will they work on me together or take turns? Will I have the choice of who tops me? Will they both expect to fuck me?

One way to find out. I climb the steps and press the brass button marked, helpfully, ‘Bell’.

The door is opened by a butler, of all things. This I didn’t expect. Now a French maid perhaps, or even a waiter wearing a bow tie and nothing else, but this vision of pinstriped elegance who regards me from within the gleaming hallway comes as a surprise.

“Yes? May I help you, madam?” his tone is matter-of-fact, as though it’s an everyday occurrence to answer the door to a lone woman in a long leather coat.

“I… Yes. I’m expected. I think.”

“Are you a member, madam?” he inquires, one imperious eyebrow lifting as he awaits my response.

“No. I mean, yes, I think I am.” Has my prize been activated already? Has my month started?

“You have your card, madam?”

“No, not yet. I’m new. I just—”

“You are Miss Barnett?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. Jessie Barnett.” I offer my hand and he takes it and shakes briefly. “I won a competition.”

“Indeed, madam. Indeed you did. Please, come inside.” He steps back and opens the door wide in order to gesture me past him into the minimalist tiled hallway. My stilettos clatter on the gleaming floor tiles as I enter and I stop myself from apologizing for making such a din.

For a few moments, I just stand and stare about me at the expanse of luxurious emptiness. The floor is a very pale gray, the walls a brilliant white, and the staircase that arches off to the right sports a dark mahogany handrail and kingfisher-blue deep pile carpeting. There is no furniture, nothing to soften the austere lines or to offer the slightest sense of warmth. This place is cold, almost arctic, designed to intimidate. I stiffen my shoulders and turn to face the doorman.

“Do I need to sign in or anything?”

“No, madam. We know who you are. My name is Pemberton and I shall be on hand all evening if you require my services for any reason.”

“Your…services?”

“Yes, madam. Refreshments, perhaps, or any desired items of equipment. And, of course, should there be any safe word incident, I will attend to ensure your safety and wellbeing.”

“Ah, you’re the Dungeon Master, then?”

“No, madam. I am Pemberton, as I believe I mentioned. And I am absolute Master here.”

“I…see.” I regard the imposing figure with renewed respect. Is this man to be one of the Doms who will attend to my somewhat singular needs, then?

“Good. If you would accompany me, Miss Barnett, we can get the formalities sorted out and you may proceed with your evening’s entertainment.”

I nod, then follow him in silence as he crosses the hallway and shows me into a small anteroom. There is a table and one chair in the center of the space. A sheet of thick, cream-colored paper lies on the table, and alongside it a pen.

“Please read our terms of business, Miss Barnett, and if you find everything acceptable, perhaps you would be so good as to sign the document where indicated. Once that is completed, you may remove your outer clothing and leave it here along with your handbag, phone and any other personal items. I shall ensure they are kept safely for you and you may retrieve your things from me before you leave. When you are ready, please proceed into the playroom that has been assigned to you and your companions for the evening. You will find it through that door.” He pauses to indicate the door at the opposite end from the one we entered by. “You will receive further instructions at that stage. So, do you have any questions for me now?”

Excerpt from 'Devious Tactics'

“Is that him?”

Don sat back in his chair and nodded. “Yep. So what do you think?”

I stared at the photograph Don had handed me and frowned. Jet Whitely was gorgeous. Shame. “What kind of name is Jet, anyway?” I muttered, narrowing my eyes at the handsome face before me.

“His real name is David Whitely, but apparently he earned the name Jet while he was in the Air Force. He was a fighter pilot, I believe.”

“Hmm.” Something about him seemed familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on where I’d seen him before. “Tell me about him.”

Don shrugged. “There’s nothing suspicious about him at first glance. He’s in his early forties, born and bred in Hampshire. Started a software company when he left the Air Force and sold it eight years later for over five million pounds. He’s a bit of a daredevil, from what I understand. He flies vintage planes at air displays now. You know, aerobatics or whatever it’s called. He’s single, extravagant and a womanizer.”

I scowled at the image in front of me. Jet Whitely’s steely gray eyes seemed to jump out of the picture and command my attention. Everything about him was beautiful, from his rugged, stubble-covered jaw to his dark, cropped hair and muscular body. My skin prickled with dislike.

“Don’t be deceived by his looks,” warned Don. “He may be handsome, but he’s dangerous. If you take this job, you’ll need to keep your wits about you. If we can get this scoop before the police catch him, our circulation will increase tenfold.”

I nodded. If I took this job and got the proof we needed, my career as a top investigative journalist would be secured. Jet Whitely was going to be the man to get me there.

I threw the photograph onto Don’s desk. “What do I need to do?”

“I’ve managed to get an invitation to a party he’s having on his yacht on Saturday. You’ll go undercover as a writer for a celebrity magazine. Tell him you’re writing a piece about the rich and famous if he asks. Get into his office and find something incriminating, anything. Nail the bastard, but be careful. If he catches you snooping, he’ll get suspicious.”

“Are you sure he’s guilty?” I asked, needing to be sure I wasn’t wasting my time.

Don handed me another photograph. It had been taken at night and showed a small boat bobbing next to Jet’s massive yacht. Someone on the yacht was dropping a parcel into the smaller boat, but it wasn’t clear who that person was because it was too dark. “Reliable sources assure me it’s drugs he’s dealing, we just need to prove it.”

I swallowed down the anger bubbling up inside me. Scum like that deserved to rot in hell. “Okay, I’ll do it.” Jet Whitely wasn’t going to know what had hit him by the time I was finished with him.

 * * * *

 I smiled at the steward as I handed him my invitation.

“Good evening, Miss…er…Jenkins,” he purred as he scanned a list for my name. “Welcome on board.”

“Thank you.”

My heart sank as I stepped onto the busy deck. This was everything I hated. Posh people drinking overpriced champagne with fake smiles plastered on their cosmetically enhanced faces. And to think I could have been at Club Deviant enjoying a night of kink. The things we do for work.

I wobbled across the deck on my high-heeled strappy sandals to a quieter area, grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. This was going to be torture. Not the kind of torture I enjoyed, though.

I spent the next half-hour or so making small talk with people I had no interest in. That time wasn’t spent in vain, because I had managed to scan the whole deck area as I glanced over people’s shoulders while I engaged in polite chitchat. I watched carefully as a couple of giggling women tottered through a door near the bar. Chances were that they were going to the Ladies. If I was discreet, maybe I could slip past the toilet facilities without anyone seeing me. 

I was so busy working out my strategy that I hadn’t noticed that somebody had approached me until a dark shadow loomed over me. My gaze traveled upward until it met the cool eyes of Jet Whitely. Target locked.

“Hello, beautiful lady. I’m Jet.” He smiled, holding out his hand.

I took it and gave it a firm shake. “Hi, I’m Sami,” I said, fixing a smile on my lips while trying to ignore the sizzling sparks that shot up my arm from his touch.

Jet Whitely was even better-looking in real life. Immaculately dressed in what was clearly a very expensive suit, he oozed money and power. His perfect white teeth glistened in the orange glow of the setting sun and the creases at the corners of his mouth showed that he was a man who laughed a lot. I forced myself to remember why I was there. 

Jet fixed his beautiful but sharp eyes on me, making me want to squirm. It was as if he could see right through me. Through the fake smile and false pretenses.

“You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” I replied coolly. So he’d had the same thought. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I knew him from somewhere either. Odd, as I don’t make a habit of mixing with drug dealers.

Before he had a chance to question me further, a man in a dark suit with equally dark features approached. He spoke in Jet’s ear, keeping a suspicious eye on me at the same time. Jet nodded and the man moved away.

“I’m sorry, there’s somebody I need to talk to. Excuse me.” He had turned away from me even before he’d finished his sentence.

I stared after him, frowning as he approached a man who looked just as out of place as I was. The guy was shady as hell, with a scar down his right cheek and expensive clothes that had clearly been bought especially for the occasion. Jet laughed at something the man said, then led him away from the crowd.

I didn’t know what to make of Jet Whitely. He had been polite, charming even, but there had been no mistaking the hint of danger lurking behind those eyes. Eyes that were sexy, confident and commanding. A hint of warmth shivered through me as I imagined kneeling before him, head bowed and my hands bound behind my back. I shook my head. Bloody hell, Sami, get a grip. Missing a night at Club Deviant was clearly having a strange effect on me.

I finished my champagne as I refocused on the task in hand. Everybody was busy trying to impress one another, far too engaged in networking to notice a lone woman standing on her own with an empty glass in her hand. It was time to make my move.

Excerpt from 'An Intimate Friendship'

The silence was killing her.

Sasha swallowed hard, concentrating every inch of her body on not wriggling. Which was difficult, because when she was nervous she liked to wriggle. And pace. What she wouldn’t give to pace. And make dramatic hand gestures—something to expunge her excess energy.

But this was not a time for wriggling, pacing or dramatic hand gestures. It was definitely not the time for the insecure, braces-wearing, acne-sporting geek to emerge in all her unsexy glory, because that would make this even worse.

By her count, a full sixty-three seconds had ticked by.

That was a long time to not say something.

Sasha inhaled deeply, counted to ten, then released. It didn’t help.

“It’s weird, right?” she blurted at last, unable to stem the way her insides kept twitching. Like her skeleton wanted to run away and leave her body behind. “It’s too weird. I’m too weird. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Walker held up a hand, and she immediately lost her confidence. Sasha slipped deeper into her seat.

Yeah, this had been dumb. Weird and dumb. And she might have driven a permanent wedge into the foundation of her most important relationship because of it.

At last, Walker seemed to return from whatever out-of-body experience her request had prompted. He cleared his throat and straightened, his skin regaining some of the color that had drained out of it.

“Do you understand what you’re asking?” he said finally, then resumed what he’d been doing before the question had so inelegantly sputtered from her mouth—that was, forking up a mouthful of lo mein.

Well, that was somewhat insulting.

“What do you mean, do I understand?” she snapped, perhaps more harshly than necessary, but she couldn’t help it.

Walker chewed thoughtfully, holding her gaze with that air of lethal control that had always unnerved her. She couldn’t maintain eye contact that long without blinking, flushing or finding something on the floor of immediate, intense interest. Not so with Walker. He possessed a state of calm assuredness through every interaction, giving nothing away and more often than not making her feel completely unglued.

Which wasn’t fair.

“What I mean,” he said at last, setting his carton of noodles on the desk between them, “is have you thought this through?”

“You mean because sex changes things.”

A muscle in Walker’s whiskered jaw seemed to flex, causing her pulse to spike.

Sasha inhaled deeply and shrugged, going for casual but knowing she wasn’t pulling it off. “Sure. I thought about that, but I try to make a habit not to believe every cliché I’ve heard.”

“A cliché becomes a cliché for a reason,” he replied.

“Or because of Nora Ephron.”

At that, Walker’s mouth twitched as though he were fighting off a grin. “Regardless,” he said, “that wasn’t what I was referring to.”

“No?”

“This isn’t something you do because it’s trendy or because you read some book—”

“That’s not why I’m here!” Blood pounded in her suddenly throbbing head. Her cheeks felt hot, and her heart had taken off at a gallop. “Could you be more insulting?”

“We both know the answer to that.”

Walker leaned back in his chair, apparently done with lunch. His eyes, a deep shade of brown that had always fascinated her, remained on her face, revealing nothing. She envied that control, and resented how effortless he made it look. Walker had been her closest friend for twenty years, but the relationship had always felt somewhat one-sided, in that he seemed attuned to her in ways she wasn’t to him.

Once upon a time, that had bothered her, but it didn’t anymore.

Not really.

Still, it wasn’t as though Sasha couldn’t appreciate his hesitation. She’d come prepared to convince. It just so happened that making a compelling case to her reflection was easier than articulating her feelings to a friend, especially over something so personal.

If she couldn’t convince him, she didn’t know what she’d do.

Sasha swallowed hard and steeled her spine. “I’ve been…researching this for a while now.”

A thrill of victory seized her spine when his eyes widened in surprise.

Ha-ha, gotcha there.

“Have you?” he asked mildly. “How long is a while?”

“A little over a year.”

There was that surprise again. Sasha somehow refrained from dancing in her chair.

“That long?” Walker leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk. “You never mentioned it.”

“Well, it’s weird.” She frowned. “No, that’s not right. Or it is. I wasn’t sure at first. It was after… You remember when you first signed with Horizon?”

Walker dipped his head in a single nod.

“That night, when I brought the contract over…” Sasha couldn’t help it—she looked down, heat stealing up her throat again, stretching across her face and seeping into her scalp. “I took a look around before I came in here.”

She paused, hazarded a glance to Walker. His eyes were darker now, his jaw clenched.

“I just wanted to know,” she continued. “You’ve always been so private about this and I wanted to get a sense of… I thought I’d know you better if I saw what goes on here.”

Walker said nothing. His silence was deafening.

“I ended up in the… I saw…”

“You decided to watch.”

His tone was deceptively neutral. Still, she couldn’t help but feel like she’d confessed to something shameful.

Excerpt from 'Unconventional'

From the very second I laid eyes on him, it was clear he was unconventional. If I’m being truthful, I thought he looked like a complete nutter—someone I’d probably cross the road to avoid. Even in the daytime. He was tall and skinny, with a shock of black hair—still apparent under his hairnet—and pale skin. Kind of like Edward Scissorhands. Only—mercifully—without the scissors for hands part. A vine-looking tattoo began at his left wrist, worked its way up his arm, then snaked beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt…to who knew where?

Oddly, even though I mentally kicked myself for thinking it, I found myself wanting to find out. Did it stop at his upper arm, his shoulder? Did it continue over his back, his chest, twine its way around a pectoral, sneaking in toward the nipple? Or even farther south, perhaps?

Even if you took Mr. Unusual out of the equation, there was nothing normal about the situation I found myself in. After all, what recent graduate of law school finds themselves volunteering in a soup kitchen? A recent graduate who lost her head—and heart—over a bad boy, that’s who.

Most people seem to think that those who study law are smart. Super smart, actually. There’s a reason for that—folks who study law are smart. If they pass all the exams, that is. And I did—with distinction. Which makes me clever on paper, I suppose, but apparently lacking in common sense, or perhaps I just have severely poor judgment. Or both.

However you want to look at it, I fucked up. Big time. I fell for the wrong guy, trusted him, and ended up caught up in something that got me arrested.

It could have been the end of my law career. Before it had even started, and after all those years of education—not to mention a rather large chunk of my parents’ cash. Fortunately, they’ve got plenty of it, due to my daddy’s successful career. He works in law, too, which, luckily for me, means he’s got friends in high places.

So it was less voluntary work, more community service. Otherwise known as do-this-or-you’ll-get-a-criminal-record-and-kiss-your-career-goodbye.

Fixing my potential glittering career in my mind, I took a deep breath and crossed the industrial-looking kitchen, heading toward him. He looked utterly at home chopping carrots—he was like one of those chefs you see on the telly, his hand and the knife he gripped moving so fast they were almost a blur. I cringed at the thought of trying such a thing. Never mind the end of my career, it’d be the end of my fingers.

Approaching cautiously—I didn’t want to startle him and cause a horrific accident—I waited until he’d finished his carrot before speaking. “Um, hi.”

Turning quickly, still with his knife in his hand, he smiled. “Ah, hello. You must be Penny.”

For a moment, I was so caught up in his eyes that I couldn’t reply. Fortunately, I managed to get a grip before I was the one who was a nutter. “Um, yes, that’s right. I’m here to help out.”

As though suddenly realizing he still held the knife, he glanced at it in his hand, then quickly put it down on the counter. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to greet you with a blade! I’m so used to using the things that it’s like they’re an extension of my arm.”

Hmm, so maybe he’s Edward Knifehands. I suppressed a shudder.

Those stunning eyes—such an unnatural yet beautiful blue—twinkling, he held out his now empty hand. “I’m Maddox Black. Pleased to meet you. And very pleased to have you here.”

We shook. As we did so, the heat that had sparked inside me when we’d made eye contact began to intensify.

Christ, no, Penny. You just ditched one bad boy. The last thing you need to do is swap him for another one.

But then, how bad could he be if he was giving up his own time to work in a soup kitchen? Unless, of course, he was there for a similar reason as I was. “Penny Anderson. Pleased to meet you, too, Maddox. Unusual name, that,” I couldn’t help adding.

He shrugged, but he was still smiling. “I’m an unusual guy. Are you ready to work? We’ll be opening in an hour, and there’s still lots to do.”

I looked around incredulously. “It’s just the two of us?”

“‘Fraid so, today.” He turned back to the worktop and resumed his speedy chopping. “It’s not easy getting people to help out. Folk are happy to just throw a bit of money our way to appease their consciences, but not actually get their hands dirty. One of my regular helpers is down with the flu, so the timing of your arrival couldn’t be better. I know you’re here under duress, but still, I’m grateful.”

I frowned, but decided not to take him to task about the comment. He was only telling the truth, after all. There were a million other places I’d rather have been. “So,” I said, too brightly, “what do you want me to do?”

Excerpt from 'Maid'

“I began making and using cleaning agents from all-natural products when my son was quite young, sir.”

“Why is that?”

“He suffered from asthma and the harsh commercial cleaners added to his symptoms.”

“I see. And are you now going to tell me that the use of all-natural cleaners curing him?”

“Hardly, but I do think that by avoiding as many harsh chemicals as possible in the home, he had fewer flare-ups.”

Vincent Vanderson nodded, appreciating the honest answer. He’d had enough of housekeepers claiming that their natural regime would cure all ills.

“I am strict and demanding in my standards, you understand. Should you accept this job, you may live upstairs if you choose. You will be required to wear a uniform while on duty and refer to me as sir or Mr. Vanderson.”

“Yes, sir. I expect I will.”

“And what of your son now?”

“He is in his third year of college.”

Vincent’s eyes widened. This woman could be no more than thirty-five years old.

“I won’t go too far into your personal life, but will he be expecting to stay with you during breaks from school?”

“No, sir. We have a two-bedroom apartment which I have left to him. He sublets the second bedroom. He goes to school here in town, so I see him often.”

Alice Whitmore looked relieved that he had not asked too many questions regarding her past. While he couldn’t deny this piqued his curiosity, as her potential employer he really didn’t have a right to ask about details regarding her personal life.

“To be brief, sir, I was quite young when I had Emmit. My family wanted me to abort him, but I refused, and so they disowned me. I had been basically date-raped when I went to a high school party, you see, and no one, including me, knew who the father was. One minute I was drinking my first beer, and the next the sun was rising and I was naked on a friend’s couch. Nine months later, I was alone with a young child. A neighbor, Mrs. Simms, took me in and taught me about the old ways of cleaning. I kept house for her in exchange for food and board. She passed away two years ago and I’ve been supporting myself and Emmit on my own since then. Well, I suppose you could say that I’ve always supported the two of us, but Mrs. Simms became more like family to me than an employer. She was always there to help with babysitting and such.”

Alice thought back fondly on the old woman, a sudden stab of nostalgia piercing her heart.

“I see. And does Emmit also work?”

“Yes, he is self-supporting now. He has a full-ride scholarship to pay for his schooling and works part-time at the library to pay for his other expenses.”

“I see,” Vincent answered. “Here’s my offer. You will be on probation for this week. If all works out well, I will offer you the job. During this time, though, you will stay here and follow all of the rules in this booklet. After that time, if you decide to stay on, you may choose to continue living here if you’d like. If you have question, ask me at any time. Your salary may seem a bit low, but that will change after this week. Your compensation will also include room, board, health and car insurance, and a one-month paid vacation. If you choose to live elsewhere, you will be given a living expense stipend. You will also have two days a week off to be arranged through me and the other maid so that one of you is on duty between the hours of eight and four Monday through Saturday. If additional times need to be arranged, say for a doctor’s appointment or some other valid reason, come to see me and I will be as accommodating as possible.”

When he told her the actual amount of the ‘low’ salary, Alice was stunned by his generosity and quickly accepted. She wasn’t so innocent as to believe there wouldn’t be some catch to Mr. Vanderson’s magnanimous offer, but she’d have a week to decide if she wanted to work here permanently. Alice signed the papers then drove back to her apartment to pack up a few things. Within the hour, she was back at the Vanderson mansion, following a servant who led her to her room. She noted the old-world architecture of the home, but also the modern conveniences carefully added to blend in with the antique decor. For example, the HVAC vents were located close to the walls and painted to match the wooden floors, and the electrical outlets and switches were covered in matching. After walking up to the second floor, the servant, a handsome man who looked to be in his late twenties with neatly trimmed black hair and dark eyes, stopped before one door and opened it. He stood aside, allowing her to walk in before him.

Alice smiled when she surveyed her room, which was really more of a suite—a small bedroom complete with a queen-sized bed, wooden wardrobe, five-drawer dresser and vanity with matching cushioned seat. The dark blue curtains matched the bedspread and thick carpet. One door opened to a bathroom with a tub and shower, stool, cabinet filled with fresh towels and a stainless steel sink. Off to the left of the bedroom was yet another room, which contained a loveseat, an end table, two chairs, a black rug decorated with pink roses and a small writing desk with a matching chair. On the end table was an electric kettle, a teapot, two mugs and a variety of tea choices. A small leather-bound book sat on the desktop.

“Mr. Vanderson requests that you spend the afternoon reading your manual. A meal will be sent up to you at six o’clock. When you finish, simply place the tray on the floor outside your room. You should also try on your uniform and let me know if something does not fit,” the servant informed her. He placed her bag on the bed and nodded slightly to her. “Also, if I may be so bold as to offer a piece of advice, you should know that Mr. Vanderson is a very generous employer, but he expects his rules to be followed to the letter. Any disobedience is dealt with swiftly and deliberately. Once he is satisfied that the incident will not be repeated, however, he is equally quick to put the matter behind him.”

Alice leaned against the door once the servant, whose name she did not know, had shut it with a sharp click. Interesting, she thought.

Excerpt from 'The Auction'

Jenna stood looking at the scraps of fabric that were supposed to be her outfit for the evening and sighed. There was no way around it. David had been so excited when he’d spied the outfit on a mannequin in the flea market. But the mannequin had represented a size six, so when the elaborate scarves with the metal bells—which were supposed to go around the waist of a belly dancer so they jangled when she danced—had been draped around the figure like a bikini, one for the top and one for the bottom, it had looked beautiful. But Jenna wasn’t a size six—she was more like a sixteen. At least she had been able to convince David that she needed two scarves for each piece.

Jenna tied the first two scarves together and wrapped them around her waist. The front wasn’t too bad. Thankfully it came to the tops of her thighs and covered her completely. But the back allowed her ass cheeks to peek from below, and there was no way David was going to allow her panties, so she was going to be flaunting her backside. Oh well, of all her features to be exposed, she was more comfortable with that one.

The top was a bit tricky. Her ample breasts were hard to contain when she pulled the scarves from around her back up over her breasts and tied them like a halter top. This was not like a bra, holding her in securely. She would have to be careful that the top stayed in place or she would slip out for all to see. Ugh!

She wasn’t happy about this whole auction thing, anyway. It was common practice in BDSM dungeons to auction people off for play. It was a way for people to get to know one another in a fun environment, and the auctions always had a great turnout. But Jenna had never participated other than as a spectator, not wanting to put herself up there with all those cute young things who looked so tempting. It would be too embarrassing when no one bid on her. She was the type who was much better when you got to know her. It was how she’d gotten involved with David. They’d met at a munch, then for coffee a few times, and finally they’d played in the club.

Now David, who had collared her a year ago, was going to put her up for auction. She had tried to talk him out of it, but he was proud of her and wanted to show her off. He was the auctioneer so he had control over the situation. He would also be sure to supervise any play that happened after the auction—in fact, he planned to participate—and he would be careful to restrict what kind of play they would engage in. It would all be delineated on her auction application form. Despite her reluctance, he was her Dom, and as long as she wasn’t in danger of getting hurt or going against her hard limits, she would do what he wanted. Truth be told , she was torn between excitement and dread.

She removed the outfit, put it in her bag and donned her street clothes for the trip to the club. The fantasy rooms that were usually closed to the members of the Lair because they were used by paid, professional Dommes were being opened for the evening. She had only seen them once before. There was a schoolroom, a medical office, a dungeon-like room with stone walls, an interrogation room and a Victorian bedroom. The biggest room was a harem room, and the auction was going to take place there.

David was waiting for her downstairs, holding his own bag with his toys and his outfit, except for his leather kilt, which was on a hanger and draped over his shoulder.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice full of anticipation.

“I guess so. I wish you would at least rethink my outfit. I feel so much better in a corset. And most of the other women will be wearing one, as well.”

David sidled up to her, pressing his body against hers and kissing her softly on the cheek.

“I don’t care what others are wearing. I love you in that outfit. You look so hot.”

Jenna rolled her eyes at him. She could afford the disrespectful gesture since David’s hands were full and he couldn’t swat her ass. But she moved away from him anyway after she did it. She could never quite predict how he would react. He kept her on her toes, which made their relationship very intoxicating, even two years in. David just raised his eyebrows at her, which she knew meant, You’ll pay for that later.

“C’mon. I don’t want to be late. I have to go through all the applications for the auction and make sure I’m familiar with each person when it’s their turn.”

He led her out of the house. It was time to face the music.

* * * *

The locker room was buzzing when Jenna stepped inside. As she’d suspected, most of the women were wearing corsets, helping one another lace up the backs so they were cinched in tight. She pulled out her skimpy outfit and put it on carefully, tucking herself in as best she could.

“Oh my god, Jen, that’s fabulous!” her friend Brigid exclaimed when she walked up to her locker to put away her street clothes.

“Of course you’d think so. You don’t have to wear it.”

“No, really. Come look at yourself in the mirror.” Brigid led her over to the cheval mirror in the corner. “See, it wraps you up like a beautiful package.”

Jenna didn’t quite believe her. All she could see were her dimpled thighs and her thick middle. She knew in her heart that David loved the way she looked, but it was a struggle to keep the faith when she looked at herself in the mirror. She wished for once she could really see what David saw. At least the vibrant cobalt-blue color suited her, bringing out the blue in her eyes.

“Okay, so you don’t believe me. Just look at David’s face when he sees you in that outfit. Then you’ll know.”

Of course, that was one way of getting David’s point of view, the way she’d relied on up till now.

“Let’s go. David will be waiting for me. Are you going up for auction?”

“Sure. I love it. I always have a good time.”

“I envy your confidence to get up there. I’m frightened to death.”

Brigid grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the locker room. “Be courageous, my girl. Look on the bright side. You have David watching out for you.”

Jenna nodded. “I guess. But he has more faith in me than I have in myself.”

Just then, David walked over. Brigid gave him a hug and a big smile. “Make sure you sing my praises when I get up there,” she told him. “I want to go for a lot of money. It makes the Dom who buys me feel like he has to put a lot of effort into the scene since he paid so much for me.”