Safe Word: An Erotic S/M Novel (10 page)

In a dark hallway, lit with candles in sconces and lined
with hideous family portraits in big gilded frames, I caught
sight of Kate's little Stephanie, carrying a big basket of fruit.
You could hear a metallic clanking sound as she walked. The
tokens in the coinbox hanging from her collar, you know.
And she looked very pretty-naked except for the restraints
at her throat and wrists-with her hair all down. It cascaded
over her back, except for a few locks caught in slender braids,
with ribbons and flowers twined into them, that started at the
top of her head, falling down in front of her face and over her
breasts.

A couple of guys in tuxes were leaning against the
wall, talking quietly. One of them nodded curtly to her and
she stopped, put down the fruit basket, and knelt to undo
his pants. He grabbed her head, bringing it to his cock and
mussing her hair a bit, scattering a few flower petals onto the
carpet. There were painful-looking, fresh red stripes across
her ass. Way to go, Randy, I thought, as she finished up with
the guy in her mouth, swallowing his cum and then thanking
him gratefully for it.

Another nod, barely discernible, and then a snap of the
fingers, from the second guy now. She quickly stood up,
bent over from the waist, and arched her back, propping
her hands against some wainscoting. He wouldn't have to
inconvenience himself by bending down, and she wouldn't
get any handprints on the flocked wallpaper. He was a big
guy, but she rotated her asshole directly toward his cock. He'd hardly even have to bend his knees, except perhaps
for leverage. But he did bend over, before he entered her, to
pick up a large, very ripe apricot from the fruit basket. He
put it in her mouth, and as he was getting ready to jam his
cock into her ass, he warned her not to get any toothmarks
on the apricot. And then he leaned over her, keeping his
balance by squeezing her breasts with his big hands.

And when he'd finished with her, and she knelt and
bent her head to deposit the still-perfect apricot into his outstretched hand, you could see by the candlelight from the
wall sconce above her that there were purple bruises on her
breasts where his thumbs had been, and a few tears in her
long eyelashes.

She thanked the second guy now, remaining on her
knees to button his pants and straighten his clothes. And
then both men dropped their tokens into the coinbox at her
throat, before they moved off, resuming their conversation,
the big guy munching on the apricot.

Nice. The tears, the bruises, and especially the polite
sound of her voice as she thanked them. Still on her knees,
she quickly scooped up the flower petals from the rug. And
then she took a careful, housewifely peek at the wainscoting where she'd leaned her hands, to make sure she hadn't
left any messy fingerprints. And almost of its own volition, I
felt my hand reaching into my pocket to find one of my own
tokens.

I felt a hand on my arm.

"Do pay her," I heard an amused voice say. "That little
tableau was certainly worth a token. But she needs to go fix
her hair right now. And the caterer needs that fruit at the
buffet."

Stephanie looked up and I looked around, both of us
startled. It was Madame Roget, very elegant in a cherry red
satin caftan. She had diamonds at her ears and lots of rings
on long, slender hands. Her round black eyes were serene,
merry. Isn't this fun, they seemed to say, I love to give parties.
She kept that confiding, and proprietary, hand on my arm.

I put the token into Stephanie's coinbox, and heard her
clear little "thank you, Jonathan," accompanying the metallic clanking at her throat. Did I imagine it, or was her mouth
twitching just a little, that single dimple in her cheek making
a shy appearance, her blue violet eyes looking the slightest bit
mischievous through their moist lashes? "And thank you,
Madame," she added, as she got to her feet in a single motion,
picked up the fruit basket, turned, and continued down the
hall.

Caught looking. And as I was beginning to wonder how
obvious my erection was, Madame Roget added, "and I need
you to come make love to me."

"Thank you, Madame," I said, echoing Stephanie.

"Can it," she said.

"And may I too call you Jonathan?" she asked, leading me
down the hallway and through mazes of rooms. She looked
happy and hungry. She was a familiar type-like friends of
my mother's-her long, delicate neck and slender wrists suggesting that she subsisted most days on Perrier and papayas.
But her gestures, her air of jovial anticipation and randy selfsatisfaction, suggested some belle epoque gourmand draping
a damask napkin over his rounded, dazzlingly white shirt
front and preparing to down a dozen roasted quail.

"Of course," I answered. I waited for her to ask me to
call her by her first name. And then I stopped waiting for it.

"I've always wanted to meet the boy Kate would run
home to, between her periods of service," she continued.

I murmured something about not having been a boy for
quite a while, Madame, as she ushered me into the bedroom,
and poured us glasses of red wine.

It was like a stage set for Der Rosenhavalier, all gilt and
lace and damask and tapestries. A huge bed, bright brass and
white iron, rose up in baroque curlicues like an enormous
birdcage or a clipper ship with billowy lace sails. I sat down
in an armchair and watched her take off her clothes, revealing long muscles and beautiful little breasts high on her torso,
with tiny, pink nipples. I would have liked to look at her a
little longer, but she was impatient. I hurried to undress, to
let her pull me into that monstrous bed.

I liked the feel of her under me, strong and tuned, selfish and demanding. I liked the sounds she made when I was
in her, long arms thrown over her head, deep cries from her
long throat, while she thrashed and arched her pelvis against
me. I liked myself with her, too, rougher, cruder than I usually am. But each time I rose above her, just before I let myself
come, I would see the same slightly amused look. It was as if
she was putting me to work, inviting that once-upon-a-time
boy home for odd jobs-yard, basement, and bedroommuch as those friends of my mother had done, a couple of
decades ago. Sorry, Madame, you're a little late for that boy
at his inexhaustible best. But I tried to remember how it had
been, that astonishing energy, and I think I summoned up a
version of it.

I was just about to dip my head between her legs again
when I heard the door open. Who the hell would barge in
like that? I was annoyed. And just a tad relieved.

"You missed the token count, Odile," Kate's voice floated
over me. "Your guests were amused."

No wonder I was exhausted. They don't empty the coinboxes until almost the end of the party-count the tokens,
to see which slave had been used most. I would have bet on
Stephanie, and yeah-now that I'd raised my head a little higher
I could see her, crawling behind Kate on a leash. She had her
chin way up and her back arched-very elegant, like a greyhound-and she was attached to the leash by the prize they'd
awarded her. It looked like the kind of prize Madame would
have dreamed up: emeralds and seed pearls set in flexible gold
wire, turning Stephanie's breasts into Faberge eggs, and held
on by tight clips at the nipples. The clips were connected by
a gold chain, with a larger link at its center, for a leash.

Madame stroked my head, while Kate reined Stephanie
in, nodding at her to kneel up at attention, and tugging affectionately at the gold chain as she removed the leash. Kate
had on a velvet tuxedo, slim pantlegs draped nicely over the
insteps of satin slingback spike heels. And no shirt, just a nice
deep V of glowing flesh between narrow satin lapels. Well,
she'd had a good day since she'd climbed off me that morning. She'd argued the board into submission, and her slave
had been acclaimed the most desirable at the party. "Steffie
told me the two of you had met."

Madame nodded. "I thought," she murmured, "that you
might come by."

"He's charming," she added, absentmindedly raking the
back of my neck with her nails.

"Ummm, quite, yes," Kate agreed softly.

"Take the big armchair, Jon," she said then. And to
Stephanie, pulling her to her feet and giving her a little push in
my direction, "cuddle him for a while, darling." She took off her
jacket, shrugged out of her suspenders, kicked off her pants.

"Well, Odile...." She raised her chin like a young knight
riding into battle. I felt one-upped. And then I relaxed. Hey,
let her deal with Madame's fathomless appetites. While I
watched.

I refilled my wineglass and led Stephanie to the armchair, collapsing into the cushions and pulling her into my
lap, sipping wine and running a hand over her warm, bejeweled flesh. And watching the series of tableaux that unfolded:
Kate leaning over Madame and taking her head in her hands
to kiss her; Madame's elaborate chignon tumbling loose and
dark down her back; Madame opening a drawer in one of the
bed tables and lifting out a black latex cock on slender leather
straps, while Kate fiddled absentmindedly with a china shepherdess from the same table; Madame down on her knees now,
strapping the cock around Kate's hips; Kate turning slightly,
to give me a better view of this; Madame's jeweled hands cradling Kate's butt, her head buried in her thighs, licking the
cock, sucking it, and moving slowly down to the floor, planting worshipful kisses down Kate's legs as she went.

"Are you ready, Odile?" Kate asked coldly. "Nowadays
people don't keep me waiting."

"No, Kate," Madame mumbled, rising from the floor,
"forgive me. Just a moment, Kate." She reached into the
bedside drawer for a jar of grease, rubbed it up herself with
her long fingers, and then kneeled on the bed, her head in
the pillows, her narrow rich lady's ass spread out for Kate to enter. Again, those magnificent cries of pleasure, this time
etched just a little more sharply, pain adding dark overtones. I
watched Kate-her supple lower back, the muscles in her ass
and thighs-plowing back and forth in powerful arcs, deep
contractions. Fucker, I thought. One of Sade's fuckers, stammering brutes from the garden imported into the boudoir for
an afternoon's sport with the gentry-though, in Kate's case,
there were clearly other dynamics at work as well. Oh, this
is nice, I thought. But it could probably be even a little nicer,
with Stephanie sucking me.

I looked down at her, curled against my chest, her
wide, serious, troubled eyes fixed on the women in bed. I
wondered if she were jealous. No, she was afraid of something. Could be interesting. I dipped my fingers in my wine,
dribbled little ruby drops on her breasts, and licked them
off, my tongue tickled by the fine gold wire, the little pearls
that were as warm as her flesh, the cold, faceted, flashing
emeralds. I kissed her, my fingers probing the stripes on
her butt. "On your knees," I whispered, nudging her off my
lap.

"Yes, yes," I heard Madame Roget's voice, "but turn her
around to face us." Damn bossy woman, I thought, looking
at her and Kate, flushed and panting on the big embroidered
pillows. Kate was refilling their wineglasses. "Is there some
unfinished business, Odile?" she asked.

"Unhappily," the lady sighed, her honeyed voice sounding anything but unhappy. "A moment of arrogance, earlier,
that's gone unpunished. Tell your mistress, Stephanie."

I could feel, rather than see, Stephanie kneeling up to
them, her back very straight. I moved to the floor, sitting
against the bed, so that I could watch her breasts tilt upward as she lifted her hands to the back of her neck. She parted her
knees, rotating her hips to bring her cunt and belly forward.
A penitence posture.

"Well?" Kate asked.

Stephanie sighed.

"Well, Kate," she said, "well, um, earlier, when Jonathan
wanted to have me, and I could see that Madame wanted to
have him, and... oh, Kate ...I'm sorry ...I didn't mean it, but
I couldn't help being a little amused, and, oh...I'm afraid I
showed it."

She was weeping now, big slow tears. One splashed onto
an emerald, flashing prisms.

"Why didn't you put a demerit token into her box,
Odile?" Kate asked. "Your guests would have enjoyed watching her being punished."

"Well, I thought you might bring her to me, you see.
And I wanted to keep that punishment all to myself."

Kate frowned. "But she's so delightful right now, marked
just as she is. I hate to mess that up. Damn, and I was so
pleased she hadn't gotten any demerit tokens."

This of course caused Stephanie to weep full force, but
in the most miserable, abject silence.

"Come over here," Kate said in an icy voice. She was
sitting on the side of the bed, the shiny black cock rising
impressively from her lap. Stephanie quickly crawled over,
her hands still at the back of her neck. Kate lifted her chin in
her hand, looking at her searchingly.

"So you think your masters are here for your amusement?" she asked, very softly.

"Oh, no, Kate," Stephanie sobbed.

"Or perhaps you'd like to judge us too, award us prizes,
hmmm?"

"No, no, Kate, of course not."

"I don't think you really deserve to wear that pretty prize
anymore, do you?" Kate took it off, roughly.

"No, Kate," quieter now, but more deeply humiliated,
and also adjusting to having the clips off, and the slaps to her
breasts that followed.

"I think a spanking," Kate decided. "It will hurt her, but
it won't add any more marks, just a nice, deep, velvety pink
background for the ones she's already got. Stephanie, ask
Madame Roget if she will honor you by spanking you as you
deserve."

But Stephanie had gotten a bit carried away by the proceedings, and pleaded tearfully to be spanked as long and
hard as Madame possibly could.

"Tacky, darling," Kate admonished her coldly. "I said,
,as you deserve.' Don't give yourself airs. Madame will decide
how long and how hard."