A soft knock sounded on Sinclair's office door. She paused. In the act of putting away paperwork in the filing cabinet and glanced at her watch. Five thirty-five. Sinclair felt a moment's regret for allowing Shelly to leave at the dot of five. This better not be business.
"Come in."
"Hey, there," Regina purred as she walked into the office. She could have done nothing else in the outfit she was wearing-black skintight leather pants, boots, and a corset laced so tight that she almost had cleavage. Catwoman come to life. "Come play with me," she said.
Sinclair stared at her lover, at the sleek skin that shone with body glitter, the ornate makeup and cornrowed hair. Her belly tightened with sudden desire to do anything and everything that Regina wanted. But Sinclair shook her head. "Can't. I have some things I need to do at home tonight."
"But it's a Friday."
"Sorry." Sinclair slid the file drawer closed and walked back to her desk. She'd been out with Regina almost every day this week. Tonight was her time to regroup, cuddle into her easy chair with a good book and a cup of rosemary tea.
Regina hummed deeply in her throat as she stalked Sinclair across the room then sat on the edge of the desk. "Come on, sugar." She brushed a thumb across Sinclair's nipple through the thin black blouse. "I'll make it worth your while."
Dinner and dancing. That's all she said it was going to be. But when they ended up at the Burning Rose, Sinclair knew that she'd been had.
"Welcome, ladies." The slim woman dressed in a rubber French maid's outfit took their coats and guided them to a table. A corner one, at Regina's request. The table was intimate, set far enough away from the main dining room that it was private, yet still had a good view of the round, stagelike area that was now empty except for a single chair. People stared as the two women walked past, sliding their eyes along Regina's leather-covered flesh with undisguised delight. Sinclair was glad that Regina had taken her back to the uptown penthouse for a change of clothes-simple leather pants, high heels, and a halter top that covered her breasts and almost nothing else.
"A gift," Regina had said with a seductive smile.
At least she fit in with the leather-and rubber-wearing crowd. The lights in the restaurant, provided by glittering crystal chandeliers, were golden and dim, giving the Burning Rose an air of romance and mystery. A pale-skinned waitress brought two menus and tall glasses of water.
"Would you like something else to drink, ladies?" Her Western European accent sounded fake.
"A bottle of your house red, please," Regina said with a dismissive wave. The girl nodded and left them alone.
"Are you going to tell me what kind of place this is?" Sinclair's curiosity was piqued. But not in a good way.
"Why spoil the fun, when I can just show you?" An impish smile teased her burgundy lips. "What would you like to eat?"
"I'm suddenly not hungry."
"No? At least look at the menu. You might find something that intrigues you." Regina opened the velvet-bound menu in front of Sinclair, smiling expectantly.
Sinclair sighed, but skimmed through the elegantly scripted menu anyway. Duck a l'orange, escargots, lobster bisque, truffles, spanking, public humiliation, foot worship... Sinclair stopped reading.
"Are you kidding me?"
"You can order anything on the menu, either for yourself or your dinner companion." Regina arched an eyebrow. "Do you want to punish me for bringing you here?"
"Oh, for God's sake!"
"Look, someone ordered something special." Regina pointed to the stage where a woman, a gorgeous Anjelica Huston lookalike, wearing impossibly high-heeled boots and a very short leather skirt with slits up both sides, stood with her whip at the ready. Her breasts looked ready to spill from its black leather corset. A man was being led up to the stage by the rubber-wearing French maid.
"On your knees, bitch!" Anjelica ordered as she snapped her whip in the air. The man flinched and immediately dropped to his knees.
"Now clean my boot with your tongue. I want every inch of it wet." The boots laced all the way up to her thighs.
Sinclair looked away from the stage with mild disgust.
"I never figured you for a prude, darling," Regina murmured, looking at her companion with slightly narrowed eyes.
Sinclair closed the menu with a quick snap. "I'm not a prude. I just don't find this scenario the least bit arousing or interesting."
Regina lifted a hand to summon the waitress. "I'll have the filet mignon with shallots and cognac. Darling?" She looked at Sinclair.
"Lobster thermidor, please."
"And," Regina pointed to something on her menu. "I'll have one of these, as well. Heavy."
The girl nodded. "Would you like to keep the menu in case something else appeals to you later on?"
Regina smiled up at the girl. "You know, I think I will."
The waitress left with the soft sound of rubber against flesh and the smell of talc in her wake.
"Are you angry at me, darling?"
"Don't call me that. It's meaningless." On stage, the man had finished his task to hearty applause.
Leather creaked as Regina bent close to Sinclair. "What do you mean it's empty? You are a darling." Her voice was light, teasing. But Sinclair wasn't buying it.
"Are you ever serious?" She'd been seeing this woman for almost a month and she could honestly say that she knew next to nothing about her. Except that she liked sex.
"For you, darling? Never. That would be boring."
Next on stage was a leatherman. His body was completely hidden except for his maggot-white penis that flopped through a silver-toothed opening in the black leather. A woman wearing a schoolgirl's uniform approached the stage, led again by the French maid.
Sinclair looked away before she could see any more. "Do you enjoy this?"
Regina's eyes flickered to the stage, then back to Sinclair with obvious reluctance. "It's entertaining."
"I'd hate to see what disgusts you."
"Me, too." Regina twisted her red mouth.
Sinclair shook her head again. What had she gotten herself into? Yuen's explorations into sex-whether it had been light bondage or talking dirty-had amused rather than surprised her. Now with Regina she found herself being shocked at the things the woman was teaching her about herself, about just how far she could be pushed and manipulated sexually.
"What are you thinking about?" Regina asked.
"You."
"I'm flattered."
"It's the truth. Don't bother pretending to be surprised. What else can I think about when you're around?" Sinclair knew she sounded resentful. But she was getting tired of this one-dimensional affair. "Do I mean anything to you?"
"Of course. You're an incredible fuck. Yet you're so naive. You're like my lost childhood. My virginity."
Now that said it all, didn't it? Sinclair thought with a wry smile.
The maid interrupted whatever else Regina might have said. She brought the wine and poured them each a glass before looking finally at Regina. "Madame?"
The writer stood. "Ready."
Sinclair watched her go, admiring the motion of her ass under the leather and the gold-dusted bare arms that looked both sensual and strong under the restaurant's soft lights. She may be fucked up, but she was still gorgeous. Sinclair sipped her water to moisten her dry throat.
For purely masochistic reasons, her mind dipped back into the past, to one of the many nights she had been trying to find satisfaction but could not. It was not that long ago when Yuen had invited himself over with a gourmet dinner, aromatic teas, and sex. Their dinner was long gone and the tea cooling on the kitchen counter when he got her into bed, undressed her, and slid down between her thighs. Despite his enthusiasm, Sinclair hadn't quite been able to get into it. Yuen toyed fruitlessly with her sore clitoris, working to get a sigh, a sound, something, out of her. She had sighed eventually, but it was a sound of impatience. The sound was lost in the pulse pounding rhythm of the M'shell CD playing in her bedroom and in the loud, eager noises that her boyfriend made whenever his mouth encountered her skin. Her body tingled, generating heat between her thighs, but as usual, fulfillment eluded her. She felt disconnected from herself, as if the things Yuen was doing were being performed on someone else. A possibility of pleasure existed somewhere out there, but she knew that it wouldn't be realized that night. Still, Yuen liked to touch her, so she let him.
He loved to look at her and, even after two years of being together, marvel at their different-shaded skin. In the beginning she had been entranced, too. They were beautiful together-his gold-touched porcelain flesh and hers the shade of freshly shaved nutmeg. If only all he wanted to do was lay in the sun together and talk. Then he could be the best friend that she never had. Instead he was someone she held back from. Someone with whom she reluctantly shared her body.
"Yuen, sweetheart. Can you just hold me?" She had made her voice soft, childlike. He looked up and his dark hair fell over his eyes, making him look no more than a child, certainly not like a thirty-two-year-old lawyer with an overactive libido.
"You sure?"
"Yeah. "
They adjusted themselves until she lay in his arms with her ear over his chest, listening to his pounding, unfulfilled heart. She touched his belly.
"But let me do this for you first," her guilt said.
Work the next morning was her excuse for him not to spend the night. Once he finally left her apartment, she scoured her mouth with Listerine, showered, and changed the sheets.
That was just one of many nights Sinclair had labored under a man, searching without success for her pleasure. And now, Regina could easily slide it out of her, with a single word or one skillful application of a finger. Unexpectedly, Sinclair's panties shifted over her agitated flesh.
She watched Regina walk up to the small stage as if the maid had shown her into a wealthy aristocrat's parlor and she was waiting to be received. The maid bowed to Regina and stepped away. Sinclair could feel the crowd respond to her lover's presence, drinking in her tight, beautiful body, her confidence. This woman was coiled, patient energy and, obviously, she was used to being the one wielding the whip. The entire restaurant perked up and any residual conversation died.
A tall, dark skinned woman joined Regina on the dais. She walked around Sinclair's lover as if sizing up a prized new toy. Her dark eyes lingered on Regina's ass and hips. The woman wore what could only be described as a Gibson Girl outfit-a long black skirt that brushed the floor and a simple, bell sleeved white blouse with a cameo fastened at the throat. The entire outfit was made of rubber and moved over the woman's skin like freshly poured oil. Her straightened hair, pinned up in an elegant topknot, haloed the severe face. Like a schoolteacher from the old days, she carried a wooden paddle in one hand.
A chair already stood on the platform, a simple thing with a metal frame and a round, red velvet seat. The schoolteacher whispered something to Regina and the other woman immediately bent over the chair, gloved fingers curling into its dark metal back.
"This woman," the schoolteacher said loudly, "needs to be punished. She tricked her lover into coming here. Her lover is very angry with her. How many strokes of the paddle should she get?"
Various responses erupted from the suddenly whispering audience.
"Fifty," came a soft southern voice.
"One hundred," came another. "She looks like she could take it."
The teacher raised her hand for silence. "How about the woman in the halter top with the beautiful Afro?" Her eyes found Sinclair. "How many do you suggest?"
Sinclair looked at Regina. From so far back, she couldn't see her freckles, only the impression of her loveliness and the sweeping curve of her sensuous, smug mouth.
"Twenty." They had been together for twenty days.
"Twenty it is then." Her voice was like warm honey. "Twenty," she said again and turned to Regina and stroked the writer's spine with a long, graceful hand.
The audience could see the two women in profile were in the perfect position to appreciate the graceful bow of Regina's back and the outline of her breasts, hips, and thighs in the leather.
The first slap was loud. More sound than pain it seemed, since Regina barely moved. Her face was a calm sea. The second was louder still, as the paddle hit the fleshiest part of her ass. The teacher was just warming up.
She heated the soft leather with each slap, testing the endurance of the skin underneath the butter-soft pants. On number five, she got serious. The entire restaurant heard Regina's soft hiss of breath. She wriggled her hips and tightened her grip on the chair. Was Sinclair the only one who noticed her tightening legs? The schoolteacher's hand was a precise metronome, swinging in a slow, solid rhythm, making sure that the thick wooden paddle touched every part of that delectable ass.
Regina jerked forward with the force of each slap, like she was being taken from behind. She bared her teeth in a feral smile. Fifteen. Her face and shoulders flushed pink. Sixteen. She turned to look at Sinclair and licked her mouth. Seventeen. The chair slid abruptly across the floor. Eighteen. Sinclair held her breath as the teacher began to put all of her weight behind the remaining blows. Nineteen. Regina clenched her teeth and closed her eyes. Twenty was the loudest. As the echoes of it died away, Sinclair could hear the teacher's labored breathing. Her skin glowed under the light as if she'd drawn energy from the flushed and twitching student.
Regina straightened. "Thank you."
The restaurant erupted in applause. Nearly every head turned to watch her walk back to her table.
"What was that supposed to prove?" Sinclair asked.
"Not a thing." Regina stood near her chair and picked up her glass to take a sip of wine. "It was supposed to be fun."
"And you had fun?"
"Oh yes." Her eyes blazed under the lights. "Would you like to come to the ladies' room with me?"
Sinclair looked at her, amazed. "No."
"Then, if you'll excuse me, I'll be right back." She left without another word.
By the time she came back, their meal had arrived. She was quick.
"Did I miss anything?" Regina asked.
"No."
Regina's hands trembled as they manipulated the knife and fork. Her cheeks and throat were flushed a postorgasmic coral. Had she gotten off by herself or did someone who was already in the bathroom help her? Sinclair swallowed a forkful of lobster and wondered if she even cared.
"Dancing next?" Regina slid two hundred-dollar bills in the leather binder with their check.
"I have a bit of a headache, actually. I don't think I can take any more excitement tonight."
"You'll like this kind of fun, I promise." Regina tugged her into the night, then into a taxi heading downtown.
The yellow cab let them out in front of the Pleasure Kitten, a place that Sinclair had never heard of, but everyone else apparently had. The line to get into the club stretched all the way down the block and beyond. Women waited patiently, some hugging their scantily clad bodies in protection from the brisk spring breeze. Regina pulled Sinclair to the head of the line and, after a brief word with the flat-topped butch bouncer, dove into the club. The large building was full of women, all vibrant and humming with the excitement of the night, their skin shooting sparks of electricity and heat as Sinclair squeezed past them.
"Excuse me," she said when her hand accidentally brushed another woman's full hip.
The woman turned and smiled with her dark red mouth. Her hair fell into sloe eyes as she scanned Sinclair's body. "No problem, baby."
Regina gave the woman a dismissive look, then tugged Sinclair after her to the bar.
"Want a drink?" Regina had to shout above the music.
"Sure. Gin and tonic."
While Regina leaned over the crowded bar to order, Sinclair turned around to get a good look at the club. Women were packed side by side, breast to back, hip to ass in the glittering room. Colored lights flashed from the complex equipment hanging from the ceiling periodically illuminating the large speakers perched from black shelves in each corner of the club. On the dance floor, women danced frenetically to the hard-driving salsa music, whirling and spinning by themselves, in couples, even in trios that somehow managed not to slam into each other. There wasn't a single man in sight. The flashing lights changed to silver, capturing the women in mid-movement again and again like a series of still photographs.
Regina slid a cold glass into her hand. "Here you go, baby." She'd stopped calling Sinclair "darling" three hours ago.
"Thanks."
Torn between wanting to see what else women did together in a space like this and being angry at Regina for being so damn domineering, Sinclair eventually ignored her in favor of the invigorating crowd. Her feet tapped in time to the music as her chest vibrated from the heavy bass line.
Regina knocked back a glass of merlot. "Come dance with me."
"No. You go ahead." She was enjoying telling her no far too much. Sinclair smiled, then watched Regina walk off to the dance floor without a second look at her. She leaned against the bar, watching and sipping her drink. It was enough. Sinclair turned to the bartender.
"Tell Regina I went home, will you?" She had a feeling that they all knew Regina here.
The Billy Idol lookalike with breasts flung a white rag over her shoulder and nodded. "Sure thing."
Sinclair left the club and took a taxi home.
In the cab she leaned back against the creaking leather upholstery and slid her fingers through her hair. The control that Regina had exhibited in the beginning had been erotic, sensual in its sureness. Now it seemed like she had the whims of a spoiled child, pushing Sinclair into experiences that she had little or no desire to dabble in. The outings seemed simply for experience's sake, not because she thought that Sinclair would enjoy them.
The taxi pulled up at her apartment a few minutes before one. Once inside, Sinclair turned off her phone, then showered and washed her hair, scrubbing to make sure she got out all the club smoke. The lingering filth from Regina's attitude she'd have to deal with later.
Sinclair had settled down under the covers to the quiet purr of the bedside radio when the downstairs door buzzed. She let it ring twice to make sure she wasn't hearing things. It was 3:28 A.M.
She pressed the intercom button. "Who is it?"
"It's me. Who else would be coming to see you this time of night?"
"What do you want?"
"To talk."
"We can talk tomorrow. I'm tired." An obvious lie. By now Regina knew Sinclair didn't sleep more than a couple of hours a night.
"Please. It won't take long."
Sinclair always put her hair up before going to bed, twisting it into six big plaits that made her look closer to fifteen than her almost thirty-three years. She touched her hair in a moment of discomfort. She didn't let anyone, not even Yuen, see her like this. Then she twitched with annoyance. This was only Regina, after all. Sinclair buzzed her in.
Regina was dressed in softer clothes than before, blue jeans and a simple long-sleeved shirt. Her hair hung loose around her face and she smelled clean, like she'd just arrived fresh from the shower.
"I'm sorry, Sinclair." She presented a bouquet of bright yellow daffodils as if she was performing a magician's trick. "I was being a pushy bitch. Forgive me."
"Come in." Sinclair stepped aside.
"You look nice," Regina murmured, looking at Sinclair's long T-shirt and bare legs. She smiled.
"I was in bed."
"You're not in a forgiving mood, are you?"
"Not especially." Sinclair took the flowers and walked to the kitchen to put them in a tall glass. Regina followed. The loud splash of water rushing from the spigot filled the silence.
"Even if I grovel?" Regina dropped gracefully to her knees onto the tiled floor. "Even if I beg?" She smoothed her cheek against Sinclair's leg, brushing her soft skin against the beginnings of stubble.
Sinclair looked down at her, exasperated. "If this is all you came for you might as well go home. Like you said earlier, I'm not in the mood."
But she was getting in the mood. Slowly. She knew that Regina could see up her shirt from her position on the floor, could see that she wasn't wearing anything underneath the thin cotton.
Regina kissed the back of Sinclair's knee. "I know I fucked up. Let me make it up to you." She slowly began to stand, nuzzling Sinclair's thigh, then the soft hairs she found under the shirt. Her breath swept over the other woman's belly, breasts, and soft neck. She met Sinclair's eyes. "Please."
Regina tasted like wine and clove cigarettes. Her slick mouth moved over Sinclair's while her hands roamed the taller woman's back before settling on her hips, gently pressing their bodies together. "Come."
Regina took some of the flowers, dripping, from the vase and pulled her quarry along behind her. Sinclair raised an eyebrow but didn't ask. The liquid fullness between her thighs demanded more immediate attention. The bed took her languid weight and she watched as Regina plucked the yellow daffodil petals from their moorings and released them all over her body.
"All I want to do tonight is make you happy."
She didn't remind her penitent lover that it was already morning. Regina kissed her through the petals, mixing the sweat of their bodies with the heady scent of the flowers. The sight of her lover stroking her breasts, licking them with her avid tongue, filled her senses. Desire churned hot and full under her skin, her legs widened and she arched her back, pushing her nipples into the other woman's hands. Regina slid down her body with naked intention.
She could tell that Regina was trying to take her time, trying to be gentle, but couldn't. Soon she was slurping at Sinclair's pussy as if it had all the nourishment she needed, licking and sucking her, making deep sounds of pleasure that became guttural moans. Sinclair reared up, gasping, as Regina slid two fingers inside, then three. She grabbed the headboard and held on. Her hips kept time with the quick rhythm Regina set and her pussy opened hungrily, fucking as it was being fucked, taking it all and demanding more, more, more. The scent of daffodils swam sweet and thick around them, feeding their desire. She gasped sounds of encouragement, urging her lover on. In response, Regina pinned her to the bed with the powerful thrust of her fingers and her lightning-quick tongue on Sinclair's clit. Pinwheels of light spun behind her eyes as she came, bucking hard against the relentless mouth and hand.
"God!"
She sagged into the sheets, shuddering still, and barely moved when Regina moved up her body to lavish wet, openmouthed kisses on her face. Her damp thighs fell in a sprawl across the bed. Regina clambered on top of her and straddled one thigh. Watching Sinclair's face, she worked her clit against the lean flesh until her body stiffened then trembled extravagantly. She sighed, chuckling.
"Even when you don't do anything you're a great fuck." She sighed again and snuggled up to Sinclair's slick, petal dotted skin. "Am I forgiven?"
Sinclair stretched around the invasion of Regina's body into her personal space, before relaxing against her pillows. "We'll see."
Dawn found them asleep. Regina curled like an inverted question mark perpendicular to Sinclair, her cheek resting in the curve of her lover's lower back, a hand spread possessively over the full curve of Sinclair's ass. As the light penetrated deeper into the room, turning it a uniform shade of gray, Sinclair blinked and turned her head to face it. She'd only slept for two hours.
Two mornings later, Sinclair woke up to a message from Regina to call her at an unfamiliar number. She stumbled to the kitchen, belting her bathrobe and dialing the phone at the same time.
"Hey," she said when she heard Regina's voice.
"'Morning, sexy." Regina chuckled at Sinclair's sleep roughened voice.
"Very funny. Where are you anyway?"
"I'm up in the country for the weekend. Why don't you come up?"
Sinclair opened the cupboard and peered in. "I don't have a way to get up there."
"My car's at Volk. Just drive it up here and we'll ride back together."
"I don't drive." With the phone propped between her cheek and shoulder, Sinclair took out a container of loose tea leaves and a bottle of honey before taking them to the stove.
"It's OK out there. Traffic won't be that bad this-"
"I can't drive." She put water in the kettle and put it to boil.
"Oh, sweetie," an edge crept into Regina's voice. "Get a car with a driver, for heaven's sake. What do you do with your money if you don't use it?"
Sinclair looked at the phone in her hands as if it'd grown a coat of slime. "Why don't I just see you when you get back into town, Regina?" Her voice was hard, final.
"Oh. OK." The other woman prattled on about something else for a few more minutes before Sinclair stopped their conversation on the pretense of having to eat breakfast.
"Have fun," she said, then broke their connection. Pushy broad.
