half Argentine and a “master”.
And as such, Xavier began to express what Lupe considered to be an inordinate degree of disappointment at the fact that she had arrived dressed in preppy woolens rather than fetish skins.
“Why aren’t you in leather, as I saw you at the Vault?” he demanded with the slightest of accents.
Rendered momentarily speechless by his toxic reaction to her dove grey sweater set and dark grey wool tweed straight skirt, she simply stared at him and wondered, “Is this a lunatic I see before me?” Eyeing her reflection in a beautifully chased gold and black-rimmed mirror across the room she could find no fault with her appearance, even after two hours on the train.
“I should have known you had the instincts of a tourist when I saw you let a white boy in a ruffled shirt and ponytail top you!”
Lupe gazed at him with wide eyes. Only common courtesy and the fact that he bore a happy resemblance to Jimmy Smits prevented her from telling him exactly what she thought of his Neolithicism.
“If you’re displeased with me I’ll go,” she announced indifferently, rising to her full majestic height of 5’3”.
“You’ll go when I tell you to.”
“Mr. Duarte, I came all the way from Poughkeepsie. You could at least be civil,” she retorted, though lighting his cigarette. Their dark eyes met above the flame and a dart pierced her tummy. Xavier was quite the older man and being one hundred per cent Latin wasn’t hurting his case.
Astonished at her confidence, Xavier dropped all pretensions to proper B&D protocol and demanded, “Lupe, are you submissive or aren’t you? When I saw you at the Vault – ”
“I was meek and mild. But I’d just been spanked,” she pouted.
“I missed that part. I just saw you standing there.”
“Did you think I was some sort of slave?”
“You gave that impression.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Well, what are you about?”
“Spanking, just spanking,” Lupe explained succinctly.
“So you like to be spanked?”
“I wouldn’t say I like it. It’s been more like a lifelong obsession and the absolute core of my sexuality.”
“Just like a naughty little girl?”
“Yes,” she said, blushing.
“But other things besides spanking can happen to bad little girls. Invasive, humiliating things,” he suggested, smart enough to soften his tone.
“Well, I’m not a child. I’m eighteen, so if they’re safe and not terribly severe, other things can happen,” she granted.
Xavier crossed the enormous studio to the quadrant of his bedroom, where the dresser top yielded a solid wooden hairbrush, which he brought straight back to her. As the afternoon waned, sheets of heavy rain darkened the leaf-blown skylights.
Xavier took her across his knee in the proper manner, held her firmly, began with circumspection and followed through with expertise. The spanking lasted almost an hour in its various stages, during which Lupe became predictably inflamed. The consummation lasted only half as long. Then they had more coffee and cigarettes.
They went down to Greenwich Village for Indian food and to purchase a flogger. Although she was enjoying herself, pangs of guilt began to grip her stomach as she remembered that she hadn’t told Clarence she would be off campus that night.
She meant to call as soon as they returned to the loft, but Xavier initiated another scene immediately and Lupe, craving the feel of the soft leather whip gave in, allowing him to bend her over the edge of his massage table and flog her, then stretch her out across its length on her tummy for an even longer session with a leather strap. Xavier looked so handsomely masterful in his black jeans and muscle shirt that every time she turned her head to watch him a spasm of excitement gripped her.
A subtle practitioner, Xavier had a mirror set in the wall opposite the principal play space which allowed her to view the entire scene. Watching herself being disciplined for the first time in her life Lupe realized with a shock just how perfectly this position suited her. She looked so cute that she wished Clarence could see her. But this reflection reminded her of her guilt and she suddenly found it impossible to concentrate.
She asked for a break. Xavier made coffee while she checked her e-mail. Immediately she logged on her heart jumped. There was an email from Diana.
“Girlfriend! You were supposed to call me. You also forgot to leave the gentleman’s number. Or address. Nor did you let me know when you planned to get back.
Hector and I have been worrying about you all day. And what shall I tell Clarence?”
Lupe logged off and called Diana, who picked up her dorm room phone at once.
“Yes?”
“I’m fine,” Lupe said, with an accelerated heartbeat, “but why is Hector in on this?”
“Oh, Hector isn’t so bad,” Diana reassured her friend while smiling over at Hector, who was curled up in her window seat keeping her company that rainy Saturday evening while Carl-Adam was cramming for a mid-term. “Is Mr. Duarte nice?”
“Quite nice.”
“Will you be returning to us this evening?”
“The last train may have left. I’ll have to catch the first one in the morning.”
“What shall we tell Clarence?”
“We?”
“No doubt Hector will be with me when we encounter that gentleman.”
“Just plead ignorance.”
“Hector wants to say hi,” said Diana, handing the phone to him.
“Hello. I’ve somehow managed to endear myself to your friend,” Hector admitted.
“I’ve underestimated you.”
“Conciliatory, aren’t we?”
“Why not?”
“Are you enjoying yourself with that dangerous drug dealer?”
“Every Columbian isn’t a drug dealer.”
“I’m deeply hurt, Lupe, that you would place yourself in the hands of some South of the Border Sheik when a nice, well-brought up Puerto Rican boy from New York is ready to adore you.”
“Hector, what’s your point?”
“I guess the last thing in the world you want now is Clarence finding out what a sleazy adventure you’ve been having.”
“Hector, you’d tell
