Modesty

"What's your pleasure, miss?" the young bartender asks, smiling his best, trained hospitality smile.

"White wine, please." I am thankful he treats me as someone "normal," and gives me the chance to prove that I am. "A Clos Pegase Sauvignon blanc, if you have it? Any vintage."

"Certainly, miss." He turns away.

I stare down at the vacant cocktail napkin he left me. I am avoiding contact with prying, covetous eyes. I cross my legs, a demure instinct on my part... but also a mistake. Realizing the hemline of the dress has hiked up, I am guessing my garters are now exposed to view. I grimace. But the damage is done, so I won't shift and try and fix it.

Blood in the water.

"It's on me, please." The bartender is only just placing the glass in front of me, as I reach for my room card, when the voice comes from over my shoulder. I look. The tall, handsome stranger has materialized by my side. He gives the bartender a nodding smile. "Put it on my tab, Sean."

"Thank you." I smile at him, but not warmly.

"What's your name, darlin'?" the strangers ask, moving closer.

"Look, thank you for the drink, but I'm waiting for a friend." My voice is cool. "I am on a date, so..."

"Then how about if I keep you company while you wait?" His eyes don't seem to make much effort to stay away from my rack. Creep.

I sip my wine without answering him. It occurs to me to give him an unequivocal get lost! But I don't, and it intrigues me consider why not. I give him a second look, and he returns it with a hungry, come-hither half-smile.

But I leave him hanging while I play out the question in my mind. He is handsome. Maybe you could say, more handsome than Liam. And younger, taller --

Just now, your words come back to me. Select one of your many suitors who is more masculine than me... better physique.. more virile...

And I start to understand my rules. But be choosy about it.

Well, so that's your Game, is it, Liam? I chalk up a mark on your side. Giggling, I see how I've done what you ordered me to do. Although I refused, improvised a work-around, you have gotten it from me anyway. Well played.

But was it unwitting on my part? Or have a gotten just a little bit stronger since I first refused?

"Well?" the lingering stranger asks.

I look him up and down, an act that is neither subtle nor lost on him. His button-down shirt, untucked, is fitted, so I can easily picture him with it off. I am sure see I won't be disappointed with his physique.

But he is is swarthy like me, with black curly hair. Not exactly ideal, but I can work with it.

I reboot a fantasy I had with Liam -- long story short, it's an Eighteenth Century adventure at sea, a pirate-boarding story, me as the Captain's virginal daughter, I think. In it, though, Liam is the Irish swashbuckler, my European plunderer. If I can set aside this stud's skin tone... and see him boarding me...

What would happen if I take him back to my room, and on the elevator down, whisper to him how I like it a little rough, a little... rapey?

What happens next, though, I picture the stranger boning me like he wants to keep everything all for his own urgent, narcissistic cock. Not even going down on me, but pressuring me for a blowjob, maybe anal. A quick hard shag, cumming hard and loud. Narcissist, I tell myself again.... expecting me to tell him afterwards what a great fuck he was. How boring.

"I'm sorry, you were kind to be buy my drink," I say. "But now, kindly get lost."

He shrugs and, with a parting scan of my cleavage, he scoffs and goes away.

The bartender grins at me, having witnessed the entire exchange. I smile back. I am heartened to feel like I have someone in my corner.

I am satisfied with myself. Calmer now. I am finding the strength for this, and hopefully, the patience. Knowing Master, I have a feeling I will be needing plenty of that...

Master. How could I forget? Right, I was distracted, intruded upon. Now I am looking for him. But I do not find him. Searching the length of the bar and the breadth of the lounge area, I account for every face, the back of every head, and have ruled them all out.

He is not here.

I should be crushed... but I am not, which somehow doesn't surprise me. A moment later, I put my finger on why. I have been wrapping myself up and twisting myself out in folds of self-doubt for so long, I think I have lost the stomach for it. No, I already decided before, there is no way Liam has left. I stay true to that certainty. No, Sir, your his Game is still on, and you hold too many cards that you have yet to play.

And not just in your hand. I am here, too, a Queen of Hearts face down on the felt. I know he can't leave that on the table. And can you trump it, Master? I am still playing your Game, I know it, and I am picking up the rules.

***********

The next come-on isn't two minutes separated from the last.

I hear the throat clearing. Across the horseshoe shaped bend of the bar, there's a distinguished older gentleman sitting opposite me. He is waiting to be served. When I glance his way, he smiles at catching my eye. "May I join the lady, get you a drink?"

Older, distinguished gentleman was my first impression, but looking closer, I see he is fit and ruddy too. An outdoorsman, maybe a sailor. Which suggests money. Daddy, I reminisce. A fantasy Liam initiated. Teasing teased me over our age difference... although not that much of a gap in real life... exaggerating it. Painting a life for me in which I debase myself to the life of a younger, kept woman.

Well, this one across the bar, I have no doubt he will keep me in style. Oh, but it won't just be about the money. He will tell me, earnestly over brandies, how he'll fulfill my other needs too. Being an worldly, experienced older man, he will gladly oblige... and he doesn't disappoint.

I giggle. Yes, I can see that in this man. I read it in his faint, self-assured smile, that sort of knowledge and strength. Oh yes, you are a skilled and generous lover, Sir. More insistent on my pleasure than your own. Proud of knowing his way around every curve and crevice of a woman's carnal secrets.

And what does he get out of it? He gets to stave off his fear of death by proving to himself he can still please a naïve and eager young girl's body all the way to ecstasy.

Sad, perhaps -- but is it sadder still, or something else, that I would love to do that for him?

But... Master said, be choosey. If I understand the rules of my Game, I am supposed to shop around. This lovely gentleman, only my second sales-pitch so far, would be an impulse buy.

"No thank you." I give a friendly little wink as I lift my wineglass to drink." I have one."

He nods politely... though he sees I am draining the glass. If he is at all miffed, he lets it go with an amused arch of his eyebrow. I like that, gracious and good-natured. Good thing I wasn't a bitch about it this time. I think I'm going to hold this one in my hand.

The bartender, my ally, returns solicitously. This time I have my room card out for him. "Another please?"

His quick, impish bow comes with a knowing smile. He turns to go, long-striding like very young men are. I check out his ass. Tight black jeans under the ties of his white linen apron. When he comes back the other way with the bottle, I confirm, he is blonde -- like sun-bleached, blonder than Liam. Then again, light brown eyes, not blue. Ehhh, compromises. Well taller than me, check, moving those young hips with self-assurance, check, polite... hmm.

I can see it. Get him in bed, he'd be eager enough. But could he plow me the way I need? He sets down the glass, and while his eyes are down picking up my card, I give him one more perusal. No, I'm right. In the sack, this one is going to be respectful, kind, and giving.

And that's not what I need tonight, "giving." I need taking.

Behind me, a flat, hushed voice startles me. "Are you working, hon'?"

My instant reaction is to wince, feeling the hot shame suffusing my cheeks.

My second is to... like it? This mortifies me even more than being called a whore.

But following the shock and mortification, my third reaction: I was right.

I recognize the voice. Almost smugly, I congratulate myself that I listened to my instincts, for once, and they did not betray me. You can't leave your Queen of Hearts face down on the table, can you, Liam?

So I turn, give you an appraising up and down with my eyes. I decide, shaking my head,

"You can't afford me."

Him.

I throw back my head and laugh, "Nice one, Jamilah!"

I like the change in you. I see you are playing with confidence now. That's good, that's what I want to see in you. Progress.

"I'll have what the lady's having," I call out to the young bartender, who nods and goes for the bottle and glass... My rival, I think light-heartedly, although I have been watching you closely enough, Jamilah, I know it's close enough to the truth.

I look away from you and take in the new scenery. On the bandstand, I see the piano player has returned from his break and taken a seat behind the keys. He launches into a flourish of arpeggios that ring like harp music. I know this one. It's Gershwin.

I see a woman -- the singer, a slim, lovely blonde in a deep-violet, sequined gown -- taking the stage to a fluttering of applause, standing back up to the microphone in front of the grand piano. While the pianist works through his intro, the stand-up bass player and drummer move onto the stage and take their places.

My wineglass set before me, I don't sit. I have moved around the counter alongside you. I smile, "Well, don't let me cramp your style, hon'. If I'm keeping you unemployed, say the word and I'll scram."

You lift your drink and wave a dismissive hand. "Nah, you're all right. You can keep me company for a while."

I sidle up closer, saying it in a teasing tone, "You know, I almost regret not leaving you out there a little longer, twisting in the wind, stewing --"

"Roasting on a spit, you mean."

"But I didn't see the point. I could tell you knew --"

"That you were watching me? Yes. That I was playing your Game. Yes. And that I am learning your rules.. Yes."

I reach out my glass to tip the rim of yours.

"Cheers."

"Cheers."

"Jamilah, I'm so happy to see your self-confidence improved since we began. If you still care what pleases me, this pleases me." I lean in closer to add, "I am not in the market tonight for a slave without spirit."

You twist your shoulders a little, your attention down to your drink. This gives me the chance to sneak a rude, lingering peek at your magnificent cleavage. A masterpiece of engineering, those demi-cups, but still, such a magnificent bosom to work with!

But when your eyes return to me, mine are square on them.

"So tell me, Sir. While you were out there spying on me... how did I look?"

"In a word?" I reply. "Desirable."

You shrug, a little too self-possessed. "You know what? I got a look at this in the mirror before I even hit the elevator, and I already knew it... I am hot! No, this test was about something else."

"What?"

"I learned," you nod your head deliberately, "I can be vulnerable. But not afraid."

My breath catches, a little stunned at how succinctly you have put it. "Well played! And the hand is yours, sweet Jamilah!"

You shake your head, laughing, proud of yourself. Meanwhile, the solo piano intro reaches a lush, questioning fermata. The quiet bass and brush-caressed drums ease into the verse, and the singer step up to the mic.

"Care to dance... slave?"

Your eyes sparkle. "Sir... I would love to dance."

I feel as though every eye in the room is on us as we proceed arm in arm to the empty dance floor. There, I stop, you settle into my arms, and we share a brief little dip. The singer, eyes shut, voice breathless, caresses the mic and purrs,

I could cry salty tears

Where have I been all these years?

My arm snakes around your waist, yours around my shoulders. We press together and dance, swaying, hardly dancing at all.

Little wow, tell me now

How long has this been going' on?

"So where are we now?" My tongue slips out to caress the fine, soft whorls of your ear. Your knees buckle against mine.

There were chills up my spine

And some thrills I can't define

I say, "You took one hand. But we are still playing."

You pull back and look me in the eye. "Then the next hand is yours, Sir. Are you reshuffling?"

"Of course. And with this hand," I grin widely, "I am going to win your willing, clear-eyed submission."

The piano player adds more of glissando on the return, and I raise my arm and give you a quick twirl. You come back around, obey the urge of my leading arm and press back into me.

Listen sweet, I repeat

How long has this been going on?

"'How long?'" I purr playfully into your ear. "You'll you'll find out "how long,' soon enough."

"Promises, promises," you laugh.

I see another couple approaching the dance floor, and over your shoulder, I shoot a look of pure evil and hatred at the man. He starts visibly. Then, gripping his wife's hand, he continues on past us. As the couple passes, I hear them muttering.

"Honey --?" the wife begins.

"Let's get drink at the bar, okay?..."

I think those two were the ones here in the lounge who failed to read the room. The rest of the crowd, watching us, seem to share the unspoken understanding: The dance floor is ours, Jamilah, ours alone. And meanwhile, so are all the eyes.

Oh, I feel that I could melt

Into heaven I'm hurled

I know how Columbus felt

Finding another world

I use a little dip to brush my hard cock against you, and you feel it.

"Ooh!" you squeal, laughing. "I think you bruised my hip with that thing!"

"All yours, if you earn it, hmm?" I lean in, "Tell me, Jamilah... do you want it in your mouth?"

"Yessss, Master," you breathe into my lapel.

"In your cunt?" I pull back and look in your dark, almond shaped eyes. "Does the word scandalize you?"

"It's... not polite."

"Say it to me."

Your eyes flutter, looking down. Then you lean in, burying your face into my shoulder. And you whisper the word so softly in my ear, I think you mean to conceal it even from God, "Cunt."

Kiss me once, then once more

What a dunce I was before

What a break, for heaven's sake

How long has this been going' on?

That accomplished, I move on, "You do see we're bargaining again? Your cunt has been denied for so long, hasn't it? At my command, which I believe you have not disobeyed --"

"No, Sir."

"I was saying, given all that, I have you at my advantage where it comes to the terms I can set. I will propose to you a set of choices. So chin up, undivided attention while I explain them!"

"What choices?"

"Well, you've already rejected the Blindfold Surprise Game. Pity. You would've liked it..." I sigh for dramatic effect. "But that's your bid. You want to see me, whatever happens. I will grant you that..." I lean in, pressing my cheek to yours. "But I grant it conditionally."

You close your eyes. "I remember. The slave may bargain, but the terms are Master's. Do I have it right?"

... Let me dream that it's true,

Kiss me twice, then once more,

That makes thrice,

Let's make it four...

"Right. Since the blindfold is off the table, you must concede something back to me. I will give you your next set of choices."

"Mmmm, choices..." Your head has settled back against my shoulder.

"Well, let's start with the counteroffer you have placed before me. We'll call it Option One. You in that slutty, frilly reddie-teddie set of yours? And what, four inch heels? That 's your bid: You'll sell yourself to me as a cheap whore."

"It is," you pull back and grin with smoky eyes, "a good faith offer."

What a break, for heaven's sake

How long has this been going' on?

"No, I like it! So, here's how Option One unfolds. First, we take the elevator down to the street, go out and find an alley, and you suck me off on your bare knees. Picture that?" I prod the visual deeper into your imagination. "You know what I think, slut? Honestly? I think if we find a place you feel safe and secluded -- behind a dumpster? -- you'll actually love that!"

The unsuppressed gasp by my ear suggests I'm not entirely wrong.

"Then back up to the suite. Playing the cheap, low-class tart you are, you'll act all impressed for me -- 'Oh, I'm such a two-dollar blowjob, back-alley suckslut, I never get to see a crib this sweet!' Think you can pull that off, Jamilah?"

You wink. "You say it like it's a stretch for me."

"I'll put you right to work. First off, I'll throw you to the living room floor, tell you to stay down on your knees. I'll treat you like the cheap slut you are, I'll start calling you disgusting names, and I won't stop. I'll use you in ways meant to show you I have nothing but contempt for your low-class ass."

"Ooh..."

"And if you want to get paid, you'll take the abuse and beg me for more. It'll be all one-sided, everything for my pleasures and perversions, and nothing for you. Then after I'm bored, I'll turn you out, used up, and feeling filthy about it. Well-paid, though..."

You are puzzled. "I'm not sure I'm picturing this. You'd turn me out --- in the hall --?"

"Yes, and with only one shoe!"

You are visibly shocked. But I don't leave you hanging on that image too long before I laugh.

"No, I'd kick you out into the other room -- mine -- and bolt the door. You know, don't you? I never checked out. I paid the housekeeper to wait for you in there and deliver those lines. So that's still ours."

"And I'd sleep in there alone?"

"After you washed off, I hope! Eww. Show a little respect for these Hilton linens. Slut."

"Are you finished?" you want to know, poker-faced.

"No, shut up and listen to Option Two," I say as I swing and dip you at the end of the bass solo instrumental verse. "Discipline."

"I should've seen this coming."

"That's the one I came up with while I watched you break your word." I wink, "The punitive one."

"How does that play out?"

"It requires an immediate return to the suite, where first, you will submit to a very sound spanking." I think you shudder. "I mean, just for starters."

"What's for seconds?"

"Bondage. Strict bondage. My bondage. And once that's done, for thirds I'll -- Well I guess, trussed up and gagged the way you are at this point -- granted, no blindfolds! -- thirds will be, whatever I please. Clear enough?"

"You make it vividly clear, Sir," you say, going out for a twirl at the end of my arms, then coming back. "What's next?"

" Option Three" I grin. Then I grow serious, wanting to make sure you hear it right. "Option Three is: Go down on your knees, right here and now, place your hands lovingly on my hips and... not too quickly, taking your time... lovingly kiss my hard, longing cock through my pants."

"Oh..." you sigh, your breath catching.

"If you do that, Jamilah, what you get is this: Everything that follows will be as you've dreamt it. Off to your room, and I'll do everything that pleases you, and nothing that doesn't. I'll be the Fabio on the cover of your steamy romance novel..."