River Walk: Ten Kinky Collaborations (25 page)

“Oh Lordy,” he crinkles his eyes and lets out a long, high whistle. “Looks like I’m a bit worse for wear all of a sudden. I am deeply sorry I got in your way, Miss.”

The twang that falls from his tongue lights my insides on fire and I’m stuck, rendered speechless, until I hear Imogen.

“What the fuck, Jackie?” She comes rolling out of her office, barefoot, with a picture light strapped to her head.

“I’m sorry.” I look up at him before turning to her. “I’m sorry, I was bringing you coffee, but...”

“But, I’m so clumsy and ran right into the poor little darlin,’ I do apologize for that. I’m just not familiar with my surroundings and got turned around, it was absolutely my fault. Strike one, I suppose.” He says with a wink and I smile back, before dropping to my knees to collect the mess that continues to seep into the carpet.

“Jackie, take this gentleman, I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Tommy, ma’am. Tommy Clarke.”

“Yes, well, how nice to meet you, Tommy,” she sneers with a pretend smile, “Jackie, show Mr. Clarke to the Editorial Closet, I’m sure there is something there that you can change into. Sadie!” She calls looking over her shoulder and another lowly assistant, from an even darker corner comes scurrying to her attention. “Sadie, clean this mess up.” She looks at me on the floor, signaling me to rise, practically tugging at me with the force of her mortified gaze. ‘Get up,’ she mouths.

I feel his warm eyes watching me as I lead him down the long corridor to the studios and the mythical Editorial Closet. I turn the lock and open the door on the most spectacular wardrobe anyone could ever dream of.

“This,” I pause for effect, spreading my arms like a game show presenter, “is the Editorial closet. This is where we keep all the samples the designers have sent us for the layouts.”

I weave between racks and racks of labels; Dior dresses fill one rack and Chanel fills another. I turn, only to find Tommy shuffling through a rack. “It seems you have a nose for this,” I tease as I step up next to him at the Tom Ford rack.

“Something you should know about me, Miss…” He raises his eyebrows in question and I lag for a moment before blurting my name in his face.

“Jackie, just Jackie.”

“Alright, well, just Jackie. I love few things in this world. My momma, the Lord and a decent suit.”

“That seems rather simple.”

“Ain't nothing wrong with simple. Now, what do you think of this one?” He pulls a light gray three piece wool summer suit that I can just imagine would look divine on his narrow hips and broad shoulders. Damn, the man is built like a Greek statue.

“That’s a beautiful choice, there doesn’t seem to be anything simple about your taste,” I tease.

“Oh, I beg to differ,” he says as he shimmies out of his jacket and begins to pull his shirttails from his trousers. “The beauty is in the simplicity. A man is at his most effective when he appears effortless and at ease. That’s Tom Ford.”

I can’t help but be struck by how very unsimple this man actually is. I watch as his strong fingers make short work of his shirt buttons and move swiftly to his cuffs. He removes two platinum cufflinks each engraved with what I assume is a monogram. I put my hand out to receive them and he grins.

“I do apologize,” he says, dropping the cuff links into my outstretched palm. “I suppose I’m being something of a brute changing in front of you. I wouldn’t want to insult you, just Jackie. Is there somewhere I should change?”

His shirt front falls open, followed swiftly by my mouth. His chest is chiseled, but not from the gym, from genuine hard work. His skin is taught and tan, freckled and dusted with fine blonde hair. Where only six should reside, a cool eight pack begs for a lick, and I quickly contain myself before I drown in my own drool. Damn, it has been a while. I direct him to the changing stall in the back of the closet and quickly scurry out, waiting for him at the entrance, flushed, bothered and wet as the day is long.

When he finally emerges, he is a vision, better than any editorial because he is here, in front of me, and I can touch him. Well, not really, but hypothetically. I return his cufflinks as his phone begins to go off and with an apologetic look in his eyes, he thanks me for the suit with a wink and a smile, and hurries back into the conference room.

Throughout the day I am able to catch a glimpse of him from behind the glass, at times pacing the length of the room; and at times furiously typing away on his computer. When he speaks they all listen, and the more I watch I begin to realize, he isn’t just a suit, he seems to be
the
suit. Even Ellie hangs on his every word, and I’ve almost never seen that.

I let my mind wander to that sweet southern drawl as I mindlessly comb through Imogen’s email and before I know it the day has passed with nothing but a coffee stain to show for it. I begin to gather my belongings when I look up and he is standing at the end of my desk, his hands in his trouser pockets. He has left his jacket in the conference room and stands before me in his waistcoat, shirt sleeves rolled up over his roped forearms.

“May I take you to dinner tomorrow night?” A wide grin spreads across his handsome face, his light eyes sparkle under the fluorescent lights and I return the grin, naturally. “I would be honored if you would show me around your fine city.”

I’m thunderstruck and excited. The first time I’ve felt this way in what feels like forever.

“Yes, I would like that.”

His boyish grin and sparkling eyes make my knees weak and quickens my breath. He slips his card into my hand before swiping one of mine from the little plastic card holder on my desk.

“I’ll call you,” he winks, and I watch him go as the gray Tom Ford suit saunters down the hallway with a triumphant stride.

Before I can begin to fantasize about Tommy and those broad shoulders, I get a reminder call from the Agency and my whole focus changes to thoughts of the belt, the sting, the sweet release, it’s been too long. Mr. Bohm and his wife are about to get the ride of their life.

CHAPTER TWO

In the cab on the way to the Bohms, I check my bag to make sure I am prepared, as Mr. Bohm has always had very strict instructions. No panties, hair up, makeup flawless, and the taste of cigarette smoke on my breath. I pull the almost empty pack of Pink Elephants from my bag that he purchased for me last time he was traveling in France. Beautiful little pink sticks of poison with just a hint of vanilla. He loves the taste of tobacco on my mouth, and if I’m honest, I’ve grown quite accustomed to the fetish as well. Mind you, I have managed to restrict my smoking to these appointment days only. As I exit the cab I put the cigarette to my lips and light it. The cool white smoke wafts above me as I inhale, pulling the smoke deep into my body and exhale blowing a tight, spiraling smoke ring as I look up at his three story brownstone in the heart of Tribeca. I lick my lips, tasting the faint hint of vanilla and tobacco, a taste that has come to mean one thing so closely related now to this life. This lifestyle that I chase, this hunger I struggle to feed. Smoke and leather are my scents of choice these days.

I snuff out the butt and adjust my coat before ringing the bell to their gorgeous pre-war home. I know exactly what Mr. Bohm expects, as far as clothing: garters, a corset, heels and a trench coat. As I wait for the maid to let me in, I clear my mind, getting psyched and prepped for what’s in store.

She shows me to the second floor and a set of large carved wooden doors. She taps three times before scurrying down the stairs and disappearing. Then I hear him.

“Come in.”

I push the heavy doors open and they swing in grand fashion, revealing an ornate room. A room I have been in before. A long leather couch lines the back wall, tufted and supple. The center of the room has been cleared of everything but a spanking horse: padded leather, four legs, cuffs at the base of each leg, and a long set of ropes that hang from riggings in the ceiling. He sits at his large antique desk watching me, his mouth slightly slack.

“Good evening, Mr. Bohm,” I utter softly, casting my gaze to the floor before his desk.

“Ms. Camps, so lovely to see you again, I was so glad when they said you were available. Now, remove that coat and let me see you.”

I uncinch the sash on my coat. “I thought your wife would be joining us?”

I pull the coat back revealing the tightly bound, blood-red satin corset, the lace garter belt that holds my silk stockings up, and my freshly waxed pussy. His eyes flare before he pushes back from his desk and I see her, head bobbing like a buoy on the waves, kneeling between his legs, sucking his cock like it contains a life force. His wife stops for a moment and looks at me with a sly grin before returning to her job. He summons me and I drop the coat where I stand and make haste to his side.

“Give me your lips, little one, I want to taste you.” I lean down and let him take my lips. Crushing himself into my mouth, a small moan escapes his throat as she speeds up on his cock, watching him kiss me. He bites my bottom lip and slaps my cheek ever so softly as he pushes back from his desk and looks down at his new wife. “Just as I like, my pet, good girl.”

“Jackie, I’d like you to show Lauren how I like my dick sucked.” Her eyes dart from him to me in confusion, in contempt, and finally in resignation. He nods at me and I grab the back of her hair, knotting it around my fist before I push her down on his cock. I pump her face over him and watch him fall back against his chair in ecstasy. Each time I push her face farther and farther down until she gags and gasps for air. I loosen my grip on her hair, but she furiously shakes her head no, wanting me to keep pushing her. I push her so far down on his cock that her nose is buried against his skin and he hums in delight. When I finally pull her back, she gasps and struggles for air, tears streaming down her face, but a gleeful triumphant grin across her wet face.

“Good girl,” he winks at me as he pulls his wife from her knees and into his lap. “Present yourself, Jackie.”

I immediately drop to my knees, head down, eyes lowered, knees spread wide so they can see my pussy, palms up resting on my thighs, and wait. I regulate my breathing to ensure I don’t make a sound.

“Do you like what you see, Lauren?”

“I do, Sir. Very much so.”

“Mmmm,” he hums, “I thought you might. Now, would you like to touch her?” I hear him shift in his chair and see her feet meet the cool wood floor.

“Yes, Sir, I would.”

“Go ahead, my dear, do what you like. Jackie is here for us to do with as we please.” The statement sends a cold shiver down my spine, but I know what to expect with Mr. Bohm. Others I’ve had the displeasure of being sent to, not so much. But here, at least, I know that I am safe.

She kneels down in front of me and reaches out, caressing the tops of my breasts, running her hands down the sides of my corset. She is gentle and timid, a stark difference from her husband. As her hands crest my hips, I hear her gasp and her breath quicken.

“I am going to touch your pussy,” she whispers, almost a question.

“Please,” I whisper and nod as her hand cups my sex.

“It’s so warm,” she mutters before moving her hand back and forth, petting the smooth skin around my cunt, making my body pulse and my mouth water. She slips a single finger beyond my folds and runs the length of my lips before barely pressing into my body. What a heavenly sensation. “Oh my.” Her breath is quick, her voice shaky. “Your pussy is so wet.” She slips a second finger into the slick heat of my pussy and starts to gently pump. “May I kiss her?” she questions.

“You may, my love. You may do whatever comes naturally.”

She cups my chin with her other hand and raises my face. Our eyes meet and she is flushed and excited and I imagine I appear the same. Her fingers in my pussy are driving me wild, her delicate nature and softness is so disarming and unexpected. She kisses me so softly it feels as if we have melted. Her soft lips against mine, her gentle tongue tangling with mine, to kiss a woman is wholly different from kissing a man, there is an understanding and built in familiarity there, so sensual and intimate in a completely different, life changing way.

“Mmm,” she hums and pulls away from me, looking into my eyes, seeking out my soul. “She tastes like vanilla and smoke, Sir. I like it.” We remain locked in each other’s eyes as he stands from his chair and cups her head in his massive hand. She nuzzles against his leg and he plays with her hair.

“I knew you would like it, my love. Now, come, Jackie, go to the horse.”

She rises and offers me her hand. Without raising my eyes, I take her hands and rise from my knees to follow them. He sets her on the couch as I slowly make my way to the spanking horse. I turn my back to her and lean over, laying my body across the cool, supple leather, my legs on either side, lined up with the cuffs. I let my arms fall to my side and wait.

“Good girl, Jackie. You see, Lauren, Jackie is such a good girl, she knows just what to do, and I know just what she likes, just how to reward her.”

He secures my wrists and ankles with the wide leather cuffs and returns to the couch. I can’t see them, but I can hear. Their lips working against each other, her gasps as he pushes her legs open, the sound of his fingers claiming her sex, her moans as he suckles at her breast. I wait and seep as they play together, knowing that I am on display for them, knowing that I am next and suddenly Tommy pops into my head. No! I shout at my subconscious, and push him out. This is me. This is about me. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, which is difficult with my chest pressed against this horse, but the cleansing breath works and my head is once again clear. Focused on what is to come, what I am here for.

As if on cue, he rises from the couch, leaving his wife breathless and writhing, making his way to a cabinet on the far wall. I hear him open the doors, and though I cannot see him, I know what is in that cabinet and I am made wet by the possibilities of what he will grab. I hear the wisp of the flogger as he swings it in his hand, but I also hear him remove more than one instrument.