Jackson: An Elite Doms of Washington Short Story Read online

  Jackson

  An Elite Doms of Washington Short Story

  Elizabeth SaFleur

  Contents

  Title

  Jackson

  Introduction

  JACKSON

  About the Author

  Also by Elizabeth SaFleur

  Jackson

  An Elite Doms of Washington Short Story

  Jackson Reese's normal evening date was a tumbler of scotch. But when his colleague, Dana Moore, reveals her nights are emptier than Jackson's morning liquor bottles, he changes his plans.

  www.ElizabethSaFleur.com

  Jackson

  Elite Doms of Washington Short Story

  Copyright © 2017 Elizabeth SaFleur

  ISBN ebook: 978-1-7320207-8-8

  Cover Design: L.J. Stock

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted, with the exception of a reviewer who may quote passages in a review, without written prior permission from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, events, incidents and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  WARNING: The author and publisher would solemnly advise you not to attempt any of the sexual or non-sexual actions of any of the characters in this book. Any damage physical, mental or emotional is the sole responsibility of the person/persons attempting such actions. Please be aware that this is a work of fiction and you are responsible for yourself and the consequences caused thereof.

  Introduction

  Dear Reader,

  This book is a work of fiction, not reality. My characters operate in a compressed time frame. A real-world scenario involves getting to know one another more extensively than my characters do before engaging in BDSM activities. Please learn as much as you can before trying any activity you read about in erotic fiction. Talk to people in your local BDSM group. Nearly every community has one. Get to know people slowly, and always be careful. Share your hopes, dreams and fears with anyone before playing with them, have a safeword and share it with your Dom or Domme (they can’t read your mind), use protection, and have a safe-call or other backup in place. Remember: Safe, Sane and Consensual. Or, no play. May you find that special person to honor and love you the way you wish. You deserve that.

  XO ~Elizabeth

  JACKSON

  Jackson Reese cracked the stack of papers in his hands on the conference table, aligning the edges to perfection. Today was a good day. This afternoon, his negotiating skills won his environmental law firm a new client—the largest biofuels manufacturing plant in the country.

  His opponent, a man in a cheap gray suit, stood and extended his hand, “Pleasure to do business, Mr. Reese.”

  “Yes.” He returned his handshake, heartily. His manners would not be undone, even if the man’s weakness provided him with a too-easy victory for his taste. Jackson enjoyed a good fight, and ‘Gray Suit’ provided none. He reminded himself to take the win, regardless.

  The man turned to his colleague, Dana Moore, a tall brunette in an equally concrete-colored suit that did nothing for her pale skin. He never understood why women in Washington felt they had to dress like men.

  “A copy of the signed agreement will be sent over later today,” Jackson said.

  “Really, Jackson. It’s seven p.m. Don’t you ever stop working?” Dana’s mouth quirked up into a smirk.

  “Not really. Sharon will show you out.” His legal secretary held open the conference room door. She knew to hustle them from the premises as quickly as possible. Once negotiations were over, his tolerance for small talk vanished. Besides, he had a date with a bottle of Scotch.

  “Buy you a drink?” Gray Suit asked.

  “Another time.” He widened the door opening.

  “Dana, this way.” The man’s harsh tone toward the woman unnerved him.

  After he let the door swing click shut, blessed silence washed away his budding headache. He ran through the meeting in his mind again, replaying his win like a meditation.

  Dana’s face kept interrupting his reflection. Why was she even at the meeting? Gray Suit interrupted her whenever she opened her mouth. He rarely ran into sexism these days. It jarred his nerves when he did. Dana was annoying, but she wasn’t stupid. He’d learned that from running into her—repeatedly.

  Lately, she showed up at too many places he frequented—charity events, the Kennedy Center, even in line at Starbucks one day. But as the wife of an Ohio state Senator—and a trophy lobbyist of the firm that he'd just secured as a client— he had to be polite.

  At least she hadn’t breached his private space, Club Accendos, his secret weekend retreat. Dana Moore tied to a St. Andrews Cross. Now there’s a vision.

  He walked to the wall of windows overlooking Pennsylvania Avenue. The September sky has turned purple and the string of red taillights on the road below signaled rush hour was far from over. Traffic would be bad tonight. Perhaps he’d head over to Accendos and not wait for the weekend. Surely someone would be interested in a little pick-up play—his favorite anecdote to a night otherwise spent alone.

  He scratched his five o’clock shadow and engaged in his evening ritual—mentally running through his plans for tomorrow. The day would be filled with back-to-back meetings.

  “You drive a hard bargain, Jackson Reese.” Dana’s voice broke through his thoughts and the sacred silence.

  He turned and caught a whiff of her Chanel perfume. “Something else I can help you with Mrs. Moore?”

  “I’m afraid our negotiations left me a little . . . unsatisfied.”

  “Oh?” Here we go. He knew where her teasing was headed. Whenever he ran into Dana, she’d press her cheek against his face in an oh-so-Washington-acceptable, non-kiss. She’d breathe on his neck, as if the heat would warm him to attraction. He wondered what flirtatious gesture she’d graduate to tonight.

  “Where’s your colleague?”

  “With any luck half way down Constitution in a taxi cab. You haven’t answered my texts.” She stood before him before he could move away.

  “I don’t look at my phone during meetings. It’s rude.”

  “Ah. I knew your silence wasn’t a ‘no’.”

  He grasped her hands before they could connect with his chest. “Excuse me. Paperwork awaits.” He placed her hands against her sides.

  Before he could sidestep her, she grabbed his crotch. He tensed and chose to stand stock still. “That’s not the best way to get my attention,” he said.

  “Oh? What is?” She gently cupped his balls.

  He looked down at her hand and peeled her fingers from the front of his trousers. “Tell me, where is your husband, Mrs. Moore?” He emphasized her married title in case she’d forgotten her status.

  She pulled her hand away from his grip. “Who cares?” Her smile faded into pure boredom, a look demonstrated by too many Washington wives.

  She sat back on the conference room table and crossed her arms. “Tell me, Mister Reese. I’m too forward for you? You only like submissive women, weak, who melt at your feet?

  “If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Moore—”

  “Don’t call me that. It’s my title. It’s not who I am.”

  “That’s a shame. Perhaps you should take on a new title.”

  A feline smile stretched across her face. “That’s what I’m trying to do right now.”

  “No, you’re trying to fill up your night because you have nothing else to do.”

  The sides of her mouth dropped to a flat line. “I have plenty of places I could go.”

&nb
sp; He stepped aside and gestured to the door. “Good, because I don’t get involved with married women.”

  She lifted her chin and stood. “And if I was single?”

  “I would see you as a beautiful, successful woman.”

  “You should run for office. Only you could make a compliment sound like a dismissal."

  “I’m a Washington attorney.”

  “And a handsome, successful man.” Her hand landed on his chest, stopping his advance toward the door. “I won’t blackmail you if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “The thought never occurred.” Oh, yes, it did. Washington lived off traded favors. He, however, made it a point to never owe anyone anything.

  She took a deep breath and steeled her voice. “I know all about you Jackson Reese. You like to make women . . . do things.”

  “I don’t make anyone do anything.” He caught her wrists before she could connect with any part of his body again.

  Her voice hitched and she smiled. “So strong, Jackson.” She twisted her hands from his grip. “You don’t like to be touched unless you initiate the advance? Isn’t that the game?” She chuffed and stepped back. “Perhaps you’re not man enough for me.” She lifted her chin, a move he particularly hated in women.

  She turned slowly. Too slowly. She wanted him to stop her? Too bad.

  “Reverse psychology doesn’t work on me, Mrs. Moore,” he said to her back.

  She turned sharply. “I told you not to call me that.”

  “I do not get involved with married women.”

  “I’m not asking for involvement.”

  “I don’t have casual sex, either.”

  “God, Jackson you sound like a 1950s housewife.” She lowered her voice. “Not at all like the Dominant I expected, given your status at Accen—”

  “Excuse me?”

  She smiled. “Oh, yes, I know all about you and your secret little boys club. Come now.” She stepped forward, her hand connecting to his chest—again. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  He couldn’t help himself. He laughed.

  A muscle twitched in her cheek. “You don’t think you can dominate me, do you?”

  “No, I don’t think you can submit to me.”

  “Oh, a challenge, but what if I told you I was sincere.” She stepped backwards. “I’m interested.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Please.”

  “I don’t believe you. Why are you really here?” Deep interest replaced his curiosity. Information about his secret sexual life was not easily obtained. He’d find out who leaked any information about them. But, first, he had to know her motives.

  Was this part of some retaliation for his rebuffs of her advances? No, his ego wasn’t that big. Washington was full of powerful, attractive men.

  Blackmail? If Dana knew who he was—and had proof—she could destroy him. She would have offered terms by now. Something else was at play.

  Experimenting? It was the only reason he could fathom why someone like Dana Moore would be interested in any power dynamic other than the one she’d already amassed. She was a good looking woman, still in her prime years, with a successful position and married to a powerful man. She has to be bored, that’s all.

  A heavy sigh escaped her lips. “Does it matter why?”

  “Yes.” He crossed his arms.

  “I want to know what it’s like.” Her tone was so sincere, he almost believed her. Almost.

  “I don’t get involved with dilettantes,” he said.

  A bolt of pain flashed across her face, hard and fast like a crack across a porcelain vase. It was gone as fast as it came, and her smooth mask return to its perfection.

  “Mrs. Moore, when you go home tonight, you tell Mister Moore—”

  “Please, please, stop calling me that,” she spat.

  “Why should I?”

  She laughed heartily. “Because my husband isn’t interested in me, Mr. Reese, nor any woman.” She looked out at the Washington skyline and hissed between her teeth. “It’d be easier if he’d just have damned affairs like everyone else in this town. Of course, he probably is. Just not with anyone I could compete with. Divorce papers are next.”

  Jackson crossed his arms. “Why are you telling me such privileged information?"

  “So you have one of my secrets, like I have one of yours. You like dominating women. My husband doesn’t even see them.”

  So Senator Moore was gay? Who cared? Except Jackson learned long ago that unsatisfied women were dangerous women. Angry men may start wars, but frustrated women could implode planets. And, Dana looked ready to hit something or someone. Well, it wouldn’t be him.

  “Move on then,” he said.

  “Oh, we are. We’re legally separated, but waiting until after the election for the announcement. You of all people should know a divorce in an election year is an impossibility. He’s barely holding on in the polls. Besides, we make a good team when we’re focused on work.”

  “Doesn’t sound like much of a team if he’s batting for the competition.”

  She laughed again. “I didn’t know you had a sense of humor, Jackson.” Her shoulders dropped and she chewed her lip. “I want to see what it’s like to be . . . more.”

  He grasped her by the shoulders and lurched her closer to him. She gasped as he ran his hands down her back and her sides.

  “You think I’m wired?” Honest shock colored her face.

  “Yes.”

  “Did anyone ever tell you that you have trust issues?”

  “Everyday. Now tell me the truth.”

  “I did. I want to know what it’s like . . . not to experiment. But to be the sole focus of . . . someone. Even temporarily.”

  “Go on.”

  “I can keep thinking about what I don’t have, or act. I need to know what I’m missing.” She shifted on her heels and a flash of vulnerability crossed her face. “Maybe next time I’ll choose someone more . . . compatible."

  Holy shit. Dana was serious.

  He stepped backward and looked at his watch. “I’ve got one hour.” He must be half crazed out of his mind to do anything with this woman. But the enigmatic story of Dana Moore gnawed at his insides. No bars enslaved a man more than the unknown—and Jackson Reese didn’t do mystery. Add the injustice of her situation and Jackson found himself compelled to help her.

  She straightened. “One night.”

  “One hour.” He grasped her chin and lowered it. “No sex. Non-negotiable. And you’ll do what I say.”

  “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

  He huffed a half laugh willing to let her indulge in bravado a bit longer. Then he walked over to the conference room door and clicked the lock.

  “Dana, what is your maiden name?”

  “Strickland. Why?”

  “That’s your safeword. I presume you know what that is.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now go to the end of the room.”

  “Being punished already?”

  “No games, Dana.”

  “So serious, Mr. Reese.” She uncharacteristically wobbled a little as she walked. She was scared. Okay, she didn’t like mystery, either. Tough.

  “Take off your dress. The color does nothing for you. Drop it on the floor. Yes, Dana, you likely have ten others like it at home,” he said to her incredulous face.

  As she shed her god-awful dress, she revealed a beautiful lingerie set, including garter belt and stockings. Unexpected, but welcomed.

  “You came prepared,” he said.

  Her skin flushed a deep crimson.

  “Turn and look at me.”

  She pivoted and immediately crossed her arms over her ample breasts captured in a surprisingly feminine bra. White lace. Yes, very nice.

  “Don’t hide yourself. Show me what you chose to wear for me.” After she lowered her arms to her side, he cocked his head and looked. Really looked. How could no one admire this woman? Jackson appreciated any woman who kept herself in such
fine form as Dana. The mystery deepened.

  “Take down your hair.”

  After shaking her bun free, her long brunette hair reflected flashes of ambient city lights streaming in from the long wall of windows.

  “You should wear your hair down more.”

  She huffed. “I’m not sixteen anymore.”

  “Thank God.” After clicking off the lights, he shed himself of his jacket. He rolled his shirt sleeves to bare his wrists. He removed his watch, each movement deliberate and slow. Dana’s face grew more pale with each action.

  He had pledged himself to uphold all the laws of safe, sane and consensual play, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t let a little intimidation create the right mood. Dana wanted to try on submission. Well, he’d use all means at his disposal to have her feel that loss of control.

  He stood at the head of the table and laid his hands on the smooth surface.

  “Get on the table. Hands and knees.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Seriously?”

  “That’s the last time you’ll argue with me.”

  As she bent over the table, a curtain of chestnut silk fell in her face. One knee and then the other connected with the glass, her stockings easily gliding her into position. Yes, very nice. Without that steely suit and severe hairstyle, Dana was quite the looker. His cock jolted alive for the first time all day.

  He walked to where she knelt on the table. His hand slid down the side of her head, silky strands soft under his palm. “You have remarkable hair.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He continued to run her smooth locks through his fingers. She grew more jittery under his touches. “You’re a grown woman with grown-up needs. No need to feel ashamed about enjoying being petted.” A thought flitted across his mind. “Yes, that’s what I’m going to call you. My pet.”