Yet that was also the moment he’d extend a hand, take hers, the pressure and warmth of his fingers, the look in his dark blue eyes, driving away those fears, reinforcing what he’d told her in so many ways, spoken and unspoken, since they’d met.
Words that she found when she opened his third note, though she kept her ear tuned for Jon’s voice. Rose petals fell out of that one. He’d told her to open it here, when she was standing in the front office area. His intuition was uncanny, and one of the great reassurances of her life.
The only way you can disappoint me, sweet girl, is if you don’t follow your heart. Your own desires. I fucking love watching you get lost in those. It’s my favorite thing, and I love it when you surprise yourself.
He cursed rarely, so when he used it as an emphasis, it had impact. Closing her eyes, she stood with the note clasped in her hands, all her senses reaching out to the voices in the board room, one in particular. She needed to go to the ladies’ room and prepare, but Jon’s own note had to told her to follow her heart and desires, and she wanted to use that sensory input to take her even further from her fears, from anything that would detract from this amazing, possibly once-in-a-lifetime experience he’d prepared for her.
Then a different sound came from the room. A sharp thwack, followed by a woman’s moan. Rachel’s eyes opened, her fingers tightening on the paper. She knew it had to be Dana. Another thwack, another soft cry. Rachel swayed on her feet, eyes half closing again, as she got lost in that music. It took almost no thought to imagine herself in whatever position Dana was in, being paddled, for that was what she was almost sure was making that impact sound.
Her phone made the raindrops sound that told her she had a text. It pulled her out of her reverie and, when she removed it from her pocket to look at it, the words spiked a delicious ball of anticipation into her lower belly.
You’re making your Master wait, Rachel. That’s not a good idea.
She moved toward to the ladies’ room. As she pushed the door open and crossed the threshold, she was met with a faint, airy fragrance like clean linen. There was a bouquet of fresh flowers on the wide counter and Garden District watercolor scenes on the walls. A couch provided a place for a woman to sit if needed.
Remembering the instructions, Rachel moved to the mirror. But not before she noticed the shoebox-sized enamel box sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. A folded card on top of the box said simply “Our gifts.”
She wanted to take a closer look, but she needed to follow Jon’s instructions in order. As she set down her car keys on the counter, she noticed there were two temporary web cams mounted on either side of the mirror and angled right where she was standing.
Stand directly before the mirror…
She was being watched, and she knew exactly by whom. Wetting her lips, she began to unbutton her blouse. It was hard for her fingers not to shake as she imagined—no, not imagined, not if it was truly happening—five male sets of eyes watching her every move.
She shrugged out of it, but slowly, letting the silky fabric whisper down her arms. Putting her hands behind herself to unhook her bra, she released it and shifted her shoulders, a slight shimmy, to get it to tumble off her breasts. When she undressed alone, it was functional, quick. But she remembered how Jon had looked at her when she took off the nightgown by untying the ribbons and slipping those little buttons.
She suppressed the knee jerk part of her that was self-conscious, urging her to hurry. Her Master was watching. His friends, all Masters, were watching. She was here for their pleasure, and more than that, she wanted to give them pleasure. Make her Master proud.
So she kept her back straight and head up, displaying her generous breasts to their best advantage. She wiggled out of her slacks, turning around when she bent over to pick them up, drop them on the arm of the couch. Pivoting back to face the mirror, she looked at her body. Jon liked it when she did that, really looked at herself. She was yoga-toned, but not thin like Dana. She was a Renaissance painting, with D-breasts and generous hips, a round backside. Lifting her arms to release her hair, she shook her head and let the thick blond locks tumble down onto her now bare shoulders. Jon loved her hair. He also loved it when she did that, because it made her D-breasts quiver.
Last article of clothing. Hiding a mischievous smile, she sat down on the couch, still in view of the mirror cams when she perched on the edge, on the point of her buttocks. As she hooked her thumbs in the sides of her panties, she drew her legs up, knees bent, toes pointed to the floor. Tightening her core, she slid the panties up and over her knees, letting them fall off her toes. Then she bent to pick them up. The crotch panel was soaked through.
She obeyed her Master’s directive and didn’t staunch her dampness with the container of thick tissues on the counter. Instead, she laid the panties next to them.
She didn’t wear her collar at work, which only emphasized its significance when she put it on like this. She removed the velvet pouch from the go-bag, and loosened the drawstrings to slip the collar free. The band of silver wire was bound by gold posts. It also had a sapphire pendant, bound by wire, that nestled in the hollow of her throat when the collar was clasped snugly around her neck.
As she did that, she felt that lovely, dense stillness descend upon her. Her nipples became tauter, her body flushed. She lifted her hair to ensure she hadn’t caught any strands in the collar, then let it drop, the locks falling with a feathery touch across her shoulders again.
Pulling out the robe, she shook it out and found it was a lovely ivory color. When she slipped it on, the fabric was so soft it clung to her breasts and hips, and so sheer it showed the dark smudge of her nipples. It only came to mid-thigh.
Leaving it open, she moved to the coffee table, bringing the box back to the counter in front of the mirror. It might be the size of a shoebox, but they’d never use something so mundane. The enamel top of the box was a colorful garden scene, a 3D molding of different flowers. When she opened it, she found it was a music box. Along the top ledge of the lined interior was a strip of tiny enamel flowers. A small flock of butterflies, created with dyed pieces of silk and attached with thin pieces of wire, arced and spun over the flowers as the music played. It was a classical piece she didn’t recognize but which evoked spring days and the smell of sunlight and earth.
She loved her gardening, so the box was an enchanting gift, probably picked out by Jon. She let her gaze fall to the contents in the box’s well, and her eyes widened, her lips parting.