Body Politics (13 page)

Stephanie peered at it. “Mark! You wrote down $2,500.” She gaped.

“That’s to deter anyone from outbidding me. You like it, I want to give it to you, and the money’s for a good cause.” He paused. “I still wish you could accept the donation.”

“I wish I could too, but I can’t.” She’d have to be vigilant and snag it before Evelyn spotted it and opened the envelope.

Another couple approached and glanced at the bid. The man whistled. “Too rich for my blood.” The couple moved on.

Mark grinned.

Stephanie lightly punched his arm. “You’re so proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

His twinkle vanished. “I’m proud of
you
. You’re beautiful, strong, and sexy, and your receptivity means a lot to me.” He glanced at the bid sheet, then moved them off to the side.

“The travel posters reminded me that next weekend I have a criminal justice administration conference in Kansas City. I’m filling in last minute for the chief. It runs Friday through Tuesday.”

“Oh.” Her stomach fell. She wouldn’t see him for five whole days.

“I’d like you to come with me. I’ll be tied up during the day, but we’d have the evenings.”

“I wish I could.” She shook her head. “But I have a board meeting Friday night and my monthly meeting with staff and all our contract and volunteer trainers and counselors on Monday morning.”

“So come for Saturday and Sunday. I’ll get you a ticket.”

It would be rushed, but she’d have time on the plane to get work done. More important, she’d get to see Mark. “All right. It’s a plan.”

“There you are!” Elizabeth’s voice broke through the din, and she appeared with Otis and an elderly lady who wore a pink suit, black walking shoes, and a lavender pillbox hat trimmed by a band of feathers. Piercing eyes peered out from a wrinkled face.

“I was starting to think you weren’t going to show,” Elizabeth said. She was attired in a halter pants suit with a lace overlay jacket. Otis wore a brown suit and dark green tie.

“We ran a little late,” Mark said. He and Otis thumped each other on the back.

“Have you met my mother-in-law, Mrs. Lillian Davenport?” Elizabeth asked. “Mother, this is Mark DeLuca and Stephanie Gordon.”

“A pleasure to you, Mrs. Davenport,” Mark said.

“Pleased to meet you.” Stephanie shook the gnarled, age-spotted hand and discovered the woman had a surprisingly strong grip. She straightened, ever conscious of the plug.

“You’re one of those modern
Cosmo
girls, aren’t you? In my day a woman was proud to bear her husband’s name.” A sharp gaze fixed on her face.

“Uh—”

Before she could fashion a response, Otis cut in. “Mother, Mark and Stephanie aren’t married.”

Mrs. Davenport shook her head. “Bad move, girl. He isn’t going to buy the cow if he can get the milk for free.”

“Enough, Mother,” Otis commanded quietly.

Stephanie peeked at Mark. The corner of his mouth twitched. He found it amusing, damn him. “I’m courting her, Mrs. Davenport,” he said.

She thought of his gentlemanly manners, the way he planned their dates, paid for them, attended to her care and comfort every moment they spent together. Theirs was a romantic, old-fashioned courtship—if she discounted the toe-curling sex, the spanking, and the modern, stainless-steel plug wedged up her ass.

“Well, don’t wait too long to make an honest woman of her,” the old woman responded. “She looks like she’d make a good wife. She has good hips and a good posture. You can tell a lot about girl by how straight her backbone is.”

Stephanie almost choked. She didn’t dare glance at Mark.

Mrs. Davenport turned to her son. “Why don’t you get me a drink? One of those Shirley Temple things?”

Otis hesitated.

“It’s all right,” Stephanie said.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

He raised his eyebrows at Elizabeth.

“I’m fine.”

Otis started off.

“And have them put some vodka in that Shirley Temple,” Mrs. Davenport called.

Elizabeth flashed a sympathetic smile in Stephanie’s direction, and Stephanie sent one back. She could only imagine what it would be like to have Mrs. Davenport as a mother-in-law. Her presence at Rod and Cane indicated she’d been a spanked wife, but the old lady was still filled with piss and vinegar. Wow. Imagine her before she’d been disciplined.

“Have you and Otis bid on anything?” Stephanie asked to start the conversation.

“One of our favorite restaurants donated a dinner for two once a month for a year, and we put a bid on it,” Elizabeth answered.

“That takes care of dinner one night a month.”

“Exactly.”

Stephanie glanced around and nodded approvingly. “This is a nice event.”

“It’s the fourth annual. The Wives Auxiliary does a good job.” She gestured toward her mother-in-law. “Mother was one of the Auxiliary’s founding members.”

“You were? That’s a quite an achievement,” Stephanie said.

“I didn’t know that either,” Mark said. “That
is
an accomplishment.”

“Five of us started it, and the first year we had twenty ladies join,” Mrs. Davenport said. “We met for tea every Wednesday afternoon. We weren’t as open then, but we all knew we shared one thing in common, and I don’t mean our love of chamomile and ladyfingers.”

Stephanie’s face warmed. A lack of openness wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“This is your second visit to the mansion, isn’t it?” Elizabeth asked, then focused on Mark. “Have you given her the tour?”

“She’s seen only the front part of the building.”

The elderly lady peered up at Mark. “She should have a tour. Let her know what she’s getting into by marrying into Rod and Cane.”

“Mother, they just met,” Elizabeth said.

“I would like a tour,” Stephanie said quickly. Otis’s mother saw too much, knew too much. Stephanie had hardly come to grips with being spanked and didn’t think everyone needed to know about it.

“Why don’t you show Stephanie around, and we’ll meet you at the table for dinner?” Elizabeth said.

“Sounds like I have my marching orders,” Mark said and tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow.

MARK STEERED STEPHANIE out of the auction. The double doors clicked shut, leaving them alone in the corridor. His gaze skidded to hers, and they burst into laughter. Her body shook, her girlish peals punctuated by pleas to “stop, please,” and he suspected the plug was making its presence known.

The effects of his improvisation had exceeded his expectations.

She’d revealed her discomfort in her rigid posture, her ginger movements. More striking, however, was her overall submission evidenced by her uncomplaining acceptance, the way she clung to his arm, the beseeching softness in her gaze when she thought he wasn’t looking. Her cheeks glowed as rosy as her ass was going to be.

He hungered for her with a depth he couldn’t begin to fill, but after his stink about tardiness, he couldn’t rush her home. Furthermore, he had to follow through with the spanking. If he allowed her to seduce her way out of punishment, it would undermine his authority.

He laced his fingers through her slender, feminine ones. “Come on. I’ll give you the fifty-cent tour.”

He escorted her to the library, where she perused the titles, seeming to focus on the collection of spanking romances, and pointed out the various meetings rooms, then showed her the men’s parlor, a masculine enclave of patinated leather, old wood, and aromatic cigar. Her eyes went wide at the photographs on the wall, a modern erotic gallery of spanked women.

“So this is where the men hang out.”

“This is one of the places,” he said.

“Do you?”

“Some men use the mansion as a kind of gentlemen’s club, but I don’t, although I’ve smoked a cigar or two in here.”

Next he let her peek into the governance chamber, a basic conference room where the business of the organization was conducted. She eyed the drape covering one interior wall.

“What’s the curtain for?”

“Privacy.”

“Privacy?” She arched her eyebrows in curiosity.

“The curtain covers a two-way mirror. The room on the other side is the disciplinary chamber.”

“The what?”

“The disciplinary chamber.”

“Is that what I think it is?”

“I don’t know. What do you think it is?”

“A place where women are punished.”

“That’s pretty close,” he said. “But it’s not used much anymore. It was originally built for official reprimands in the event an Auxiliary member committed an offense against the organization.”

Stephanie recoiled. “The Society spanks its women members?”

“As a matter of practice, no, although the bylaws still permit it. If a wife commits an infraction against the Society, her husband will discipline her at home. But we do have some single female members, mostly adult daughters and nieces of members. We did have a female member physically censured recently.”

“Do you know who it was?”

He shook his head. “No, it was kept confidential.”

“And Rod and Cane needs a special room?”

“Not just for that. On occasion a husband might bring his wife to formalize the punishment. In the early days of the Society, that was a common occurrence. It’s rare now.” He grinned. “No doubt Mrs. Davenport could give you the lowdown, if you asked.”

“I’ll pass.” She peered up at him. “Can I see the chamber?”

Chapter Eleven

“It’s not as bad as I thought,” Stephanie said.

“You were expecting a dungeon? Racks and iron maidens? Cat-o’-nine tails?” Mark fought a grin.

“Of course not,” she denied, shifting her wide-eyed gaze between the implements readied on the wall and the spanking benches. “I guess you crouch on this one.” She pointed to a low apparatus. The woman would straddle a padded form with her shins resting on a ledge below. The construction of the bench would require she spread her legs. She could be restrained or not.

He could envision Stephanie on it, completely exposed to him. Heat coiled in his stomach. As she surveyed the room, her back was to him, and he quickly adjusted himself. A woman who walked two paces behind, who didn’t speak until spoken to, who deferred without questioning would bore him. He valued independence, a woman who would speak her mind, stand up for herself, challenge him—and then submit to his authority.

Stephanie nibbled on her plump lower lip. “I assume the other one isn’t used for gymnastics vaulting,” she joked.

“It does resemble a pommel horse,” he agreed. “But it too is a spanking bench. It was designed by a Rod and Cane member.” To use it, a woman would stand and lean over the padded “seat.”

“What are the rings at the bottom of the legs for?”

“Restraint.”

Stephanie clutched her throat. “You tie her down? How consensual is that?”

“No one is dragged in kicking and screaming. Any woman who comes here walks in on her own two feet. The restraints protect her by ensuring she doesn’t jump around and accidentally get paddled in a vulnerable area.”

“Have you ever used a spanking bench?” she asked.

“Not until today.”

“Here?” She gasped.

“Yes.” His snap decision settled with rightness in his gut. The dominance in him demanded to see Stephanie kneel on the bench, and the flicker in her gaze, a softness to her lips betrayed that her submissive side craved it too.

“Somebody will hear,” she whispered, her eyes round.

He bolted the door and verified that the mic was turned off. “The room is soundproof.”

“But—” She clutched her throat tighter and glanced from him to the benches.

“We’ll use the short one. Pick out a paddle.” He held up their auction one. “Or I could use this.”

“Thanks for the choice,” she said sarcastically but crept to the wall of implements.

She studied them for so long, he was beginning to think she was stalling, but then she selected a smallish wooden one with circular cutouts.

“The choice is yours, but you should know that even though it’s little, that one will probably hurt the most. The holes decrease wind resistance.”

Hastily she replaced it and then reached for a slim leather one about the size of a paint stirrer.

“Nice,” he said. “I could spank your pussy with that.”

“All right, then!” She grabbed a basic wooden paddle.

He had her remove her panties. Dampened and scented by arousal, the thong confirmed his suspicions that submission turned her on. Intellectually, philosophically she might protest and deny, but emotionally it fulfilled her as it did him. Her body had recognized the truth long before her mind had. He sensed they had come to a crossroad in their relationship this evening. One road headed toward a domestic discipline relationship that would benefit them both. The other dead-ended. He was who he was, and Stephanie was his other half. The yin to his yang. Really, only one option existed.

They’d set off on the former path when she’d acquiesced to the plug, but he needed to lead the way and keep them moving forward. The responsibility settled on him with a perfect fit. He was meant to be with Stephanie, to care for her, to protect her, and to spank her. She was his partner, his lover, his shadow side. He slipped her underwear into his pocket. He wasn’t going to give them back. Another nudge down the road.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this!” she muttered as he assisted her in settling on the bench. He adjusted her dress so she wasn’t kneeling on it, then flipped it over her waist.

Her folds were engorged and slickened, her clit so swollen it poked out of its hood. The silvery base of the plug simultaneously hid and called attention to her back entrance. Her position was over-the-top erotic; he wanted to sink his fingers into her slit, but if he did, he’d succumb to his baser urges. Rod and Cane was not a sex club, but a society that promoted discipline. He needed to maintain self-control.

He stuck the paddle under his arm. Standing to her side, he kneaded her ass cheeks firmly, stopping short of causing pain. She moaned and raised her ass. His cock swelled.

“I reiterate you are being spanked for the rudeness and disrespect you showed by disregarding the time,” he said, as much for his benefit as hers. The paddling was intended for discipline, not foreplay.