Lola

Initially, I thought Lola Xiomi invited my wife Liomi and me to her reception to show her appreciation for the millions we’d deposited in the Fairfax, Virginia, branches of her New York-based bank. I grudgingly realized, however, she wanted all of our assets in her institution.

My cynical impulses sliced through the floss to the reality that Mrs. Xiomi, a widow of four years, would subject Liomi and me to ulterior motives far more sinister than her plans for the senator being honored by her reception. When I spotted a stunning blonde in a red satin dress waving to catch my attention from across the room, I decided she must be the bait to lure me into Mrs. Xiomi’s trap.

The blonde’s elbow-length red satin gloves mesmerized me while she swam through the crowd toward me. She looked aggressively voluptuous. I swapped my empty glass for my third Vodka Collins from a passing tray to fortify my courage. As soon as I touched the fresh drink to my lips, the blonde confronted me.

She looked a few years older than Liomi and slightly heavier. Her well-sculpted flesh was strategically placed at her luscious breasts, hips, and ass. She was a bigger, more stacked version of Liomi. Her eyes were a darker blue, almost violet. And violent.

“I crashed your party.” Her naughty smile and hauteur almost dared me to challenge her interloping. “I just had to meet you!”

Switching my drink to my left hand, I gulped and extended my right hand. “Ivey Marks.”

“Oh, I know, silly!” Proffering her right hand, she let me clasp her fingers. Her left hand lightly touched my arm, and her gloves felt like red-hot branding irons. “I have dozens of your paintings. I’m Sable Brandenburg.”

“Don’t you live in Philadelphia, Ms. Brandenburg?” Her name—Sable Brandenburg—resonated with dominance, compelling me to call her Ms. Brandenburg, not Sable.

“A short trip. Are you as full of passion as your paintings?”

Either my art tapped an erotic vein in her, or—I suspected—she was playing me to snare me for Mrs. Xiomi. I remained silent.

“Come to Philadelphia,” Ms. Brandenburg offered. “Paint my portrait. Nude.”

“Can’t I at least wear my socks?”

“You can’t hide your emotions behind stale jokes.” She indulged me with a jaded smile. “Music is more expressive. Do you know ‘One Way or Another’ by Blondie?”

Ms. Brandenburg disarmed my defenses so easily I didn’t give a damn about her motives anymore. I ached to join her, bodily, feeling a relentless, inexplicable obsession to submit to her.

Life would have been smoother if I’d followed her to Philadelphia.

Instead, a tall dark-eyed brunette loomed at my side out of nowhere. “My organ music will surpass even your passion, Igor.”

Buttery soft, highly polished burgundy leather swathed her long, lean body. Her gown glimmered in the candlelight from the buffet table. Diamond bracelets glistened from the wrists of her opera-length leather burgundy gloves, and her diamond necklace drew my eyes to her face.

Oddly, I remember judging her very pretty, but not beautiful. Compared to the sexpot Ms. Brandenburg, this brunette looked safe and wholesome.

The two women’s wary expressions indicated they knew each other, neither friends nor bitter enemies—maybe acquaintances gone in separate directions.

“Why did you call me Igor?” In her high heels, also burgundy, she stood as tall as I—mildly threatening.

“Don’t try to hide your Russian roots.” She shifted the strap of her huge burgundy handbag to relieve her shoulder. Her bearing was as autocratic as Ms. Brandenburg’s. Her dark eyes and hair, neutrally attractive to that point, now gave her aloofness tinged with cynicism. She was no creampuff. No matter; she was on my side.

“You interrupted my steamy conversation with Ms. Brandenburg,” I confessed.

The imposing brunette ignored me and addressed Ms. Brandenburg. “Does Nikki know you’re here? Or Lola? I’m sure they’d love to see you, Sable.”

“I’ll bet the police would love to see you, Nastassia.”

“My name is Natasha.”

“Whatever.”

“And the police can’t harass me. I have diplomatic immunity.”

Stymied, Ms. Brandenburg glared at Natasha. “I’ll be back after I announce myself to Liomi and Lola.”

“You just do that. ‘Bye.” Ms. Brandenburg stormed off, and Natasha’s eyebrows rose triumphantly. “We won’t see her again.”

Natasha’s rescue soothed me. How wrong I was! Besides, she’d been rather harsh. “Was that necessary?”

“I want you all to myself.”

“I’m flattered, Miss—”

“Natasha Vronsky, Countess of Russleder.”

“Spell it.” While she called out the letters, I grabbed a Vodka Collins from a passing tray. “That’s German, not Russian. Now I know you’re a phony.” My fourth drink on an empty stomach unleashed a buzz through me.

“Roughly translated, ‘Russleder’ is ‘Russian leather,’ from a quote by German philosopher Heinrich Heine. He predicted Russia would become powerful and ruthless—my kind of country.”

I stepped behind her. “You really know your heinie.”

“Russia leather is a bookbinding technique.” She ignored my lame pun. “The process yields a camphor scent and the color of my dress.” She rubbed her gloved hands over the glimmering leather stretched tautly over her beautiful ass. “Want to smell?”

Nearby guests stared in shock or amusement.

Natasha’s transparent guile—sensual, facile tease before humiliating denial—paralyzed me because of my visceral hunger for her. Depositing my empty glass on another passing tray, I replenished my libation. A tray of shrimp with horseradish sauce caught my eye.

But the Countess clutched my shoulder and turned me to face her. Drinking on an empty stomach made me more pliable. “Your grandmother was Russian.”

“How’d you know that?”

She touched my glass. “You’re drinking vodka. Therefore, your grandmother was Russian.”

My fifth drink accelerated my giddiness. “Silly.”

An inebriated guest weaved into me. “‘Scuse me.”

Natasha lowered her voice. “You and Liomi maintain an open marriage.”

Her remark pierced my euphoric high. “That’s none of your business.”

“It is precisely my business.” Taking the glass from my hand, the Countess placed it on the buffet table and gripped my shoulders with surprising strength. “Liomi told me to take you out of action so she can frolic without interruption.”

“You’re not the first. She does that on all of her birthdays!”

“We can’t talk here. Let’s go to your room.”

“I don’t know.” I stared down. “I could fall for you.”

“No problem. You’re in an open marriage.”

“Sex is OK, but Liomi forbids me to fall in love.”

“Forbids you? A marriage with rules is not open.”

“You saw what happened with Ms. Brandenburg. She’s crazy about my paintings.”

“I’d like to see your work.”

“I was getting a crush on her. See why Liomi tried to keep us apart?”

The Countess frowned and shook her head. “Sable is a gold digger, and a sadistic bitch, to boot.”

Several guests cocked their.

“My kind of woman!” I declared, ignoring the eavesdroppers.

“I know a thing or two about fleecing men,” she smiled. “Do you want sadism? I’ll make you beg for mercy.”

Convinced she was handing me a line, I stayed focused on the departed blonde. “I mean, if Ms. Brandenburg wants to destroy me, what a way to go!”

“You want a woman to bleed you dry.”

“Like an old-fashioned vamp—or vampire.”

“Physically punish you.”

“I’m a bad boy.”

“And force you to ejaculate when she wants you to—if at all.”

“As long as I get my climax and she gets her orgasm.”

Countess Vronsky presented her arm to me. “But you must earn a woman’s domination.”

“Huh?” Although I took her arm, she subtly led the way, guiding me into the hall.

“When a woman disciplines you,” she pushed the elevator button for the third floor, “she’s presenting a priceless gift. Ask yourself if you’re worthy of her dominance.”

She steered me from the elevator and to my room so quickly I dimly realized she knew my room number.

After I inserted my room card into the slot and withdrew it, she preceded me inside. The spectacle of her derriere flexing under tight, shiny leather whipped me. “What must I do to deserve your gift?” I closed the door.

She smiled in triumph. “Just a second.” Picking up the phone, she punched in several digits. “Room service? Send two bottles of your finest vodka to Suite 333. Add the charge to the room bill.”

Placing her large handbag on the dresser, she indicated the table near the window. “Sit down. We’ll discuss my terms for your surrender over drinks.”

“Terms of surrender?” I took a seat at the table. “Should I be flattered or insulted?” Too cowardly to meet her bold, hypnotic brown eyes, I stared at her beautifully turned ankles while she walked toward me, figuratively over me.

“Makes no difference.” She adjusted my tie. “Slaves aren’t entitled to opinions.”

Reflexively, my penis and my body started to rise.

Clamping her hands on my shoulders, she held me down easily. “Show me gratitude. I saved you from Sable.”

“Yeah, I think Mrs. Xiomi put Ms. Brandenburg up to something.”

The Countess smiled slyly. “Consider this an audition.”