Page 157 of The Dommes

“That’s not what I…”

The bed shakes as she gets up, tossing her hair over her shoulder and rounding the bed toward the bathroom. “Doesn’t matter what you intended. It’s what you said.”

I don’t have time to admire her form, her beauty, her cunning, and her ability to arouse me again with one shake of her hips. Kathleen is disappearing into my bathroom, shutting the door with finality behind her.

Suddenly she pokes her head out, glaring at me, testing my boundaries for a change. “All right. Let’s do it. Let’s see how far you can push me. Then we’ll talk about how serious this is. It will depend on how I feel afterward.”

The door closes again, softer this time. My mind is already full of the fun shit I’m going to do to her.

With her.

Chapter 56

Kathleen

“Does this dress make me look straight?”

Eve turns on the dais, pulling a wedgie out of her ass, grimacing, and giving me a look that says, “Answer right, damnit.”

I can’t. I’m trying too hard not to laugh.

Seeing Eve in a dress isn’t enough. I know she wears one every blue moon or so, but those are very sexy numbers that show off her edges and the bite to her personality. The dress she’s wearing now, however, does anything but. It looks like a grandma's dress. A pale, rosy, pink that doesn’t scream vivacious but painfully Victorian. I’m almost certain that the last person to wear such a dress came from that century.

We’re in The Ruby Peacock, the same boutique sporting the dress Stephanie May wore the other day. Yet if someone in Eve’s family is going to get married, then the only place to shop for a bridesmaid dress is here. And poor Eve has been roped into being a bridesmaid for the first time in her life.

She looks hilariously miserable.

“They told me I could wear a suit,” she mumbles, looking at herself in the mirror and picking at the spaghetti straps clinging to her bony shoulders. “Wouldn’t it be weird if I’m the only woman out of eight who is wearing a suit? I thought wearing a dress wouldn’t be so bad. Especially when they told me the color had to be red or dark pink. Who wears a suit of that color? I would look so stupid.”

I mean, she has a point.

Even so, Eve Warner is not a woman who struts around in dresses like the ones The Ruby Peacock sells. When I agreed to go shopping with her this Sunday afternoon, I knew it would be a doozy. I plan on picking up a few new things myself, but first I need to see this bullshit.

I am so not disappointed.

The worker named Gertrude brings out another red dress for Eve to consider. Part of the problem is that she’s so tall. Like, over six feet tall. Put her in some heels, or even slightly raised flats, and she’s a giant. Works well for the BDSM club and intimidating those around her but doesn’t do much to give off a feminine air in a dress.... especially when you’re a butch lesbian who is so sour it makes your lips pucker.

“What do you think?” She holds up the red halter dress Gertrude brought over. “Please be honest. I don’t want to be embarrassed at my sister’s wedding.”

I cock my head in serious consideration. Another employee brings me a refill of champagne, but I’m still working on the last one. “You need something sexy, but not too sexy for a wedding. Something mid-length, hm?”

“When you’re my height, everything is mid-length, even those so-called maxi dresses.”

“Point. You don’t want any sleeves either. You have gorgeous collarbones and spine. You should show those off. Cover the tits.”

Gertrude, who has been listening to my thoughts, rushes to the other side of the store and hauls over a white dress matching those specifications. Before we can protest, she assures us that it’s perfect for dyeing a shade of red to go with Eve’s fair skin and hair. The seamstress on hand will be more than willing to come out with some dye swatches and match them to Eve’s skin tone. With red, that’s pretty important.

“Try it on,” I say. “You can’t do much worse than what you’re already wearing.” You have no idea how much I want to start guffawing like a baboon watching Eve scuttle off the dais and back to the changing room, pulling wedgie after wedgie out of her ass. Girl does not know how to walk in dresses like that.

While she’s gone, I get up and peruse the wares. The woman who brought me champagne asks if I need help, but I tell her I’m happy to browse for now.

I have no real need for a new dress, although I know the Mathisons will want me to wear something recent and stylish for the hotel opening in a few weeks. So, it doesn’t hurt to look, even if I’m 50k down a month now.

Yup. Still bitter.

Although I’m a woman, and I’ve had a lot of cash to burn my whole life, I’ve never been into the fashion scene. I enjoy shopping. I love trying on a cute dress and then wearing it out to lunch with friends or on a date with someone like Ira. The one great thing about being filthy rich is that money is rarely an option. If I like a blouse, I get it. I can even get them tailored to fit my breasts, shoulders, and abdomen. It does mean I have way too many clothes, but I give them away to my assistants or make sure they’re put to good use somewhere. For my last charity, I sold a lot of my old designer clothes I no longer think suit me. Brought in a few thousand!

Except I’m not “into” fashion. I don’t have any designer friends. I don’t go to fashion shows unless there’s someone I like who really wants me to come.

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