Part 2: The Reluctant Mistress
Our story so far: Jasmine, hypnoslave of millionaire Devon Stockwell, travels with him to a charity function. But just as they arrive, she finds herself hesitating to obey a direct order, causing a moment of tension between them, and Jasmine worries that she has ruined their evening before it even started.
* * *
They dropped off Jasmine's wrap at coat check. As Jasmine tucked the ticket into her clutch, Devon looked around, reminding her of a dog scanning a yard for disturbances.
"Devon!" Jasmine heard a familiar squeal. A young woman emerged from the ballroom, dark hair pulled into a tight bun, wearing a dusty pink strapless gown. "Oh my God, she looks incredible." The woman put her hand on Jasmine's arm. "You look incredible. Hi."
"Hi, Tasha," Jasmine said. She hadn't seen Tasha since the beginning of her slave training, before Jasmine's conscious mind was even aware of what was happening. Before she knew that Tasha had known all along what Devon planned to do to her.
Yet another thing Jasmine recognized she should be angry about. Devon had taken away her free will, her right to decide how she lived her life, and this woman, who'd spent her life in the lap of luxury, had helped him do it. But she was amused by these thoughts, actually, these silly little realizations. It made it easier to find her smile and forget the incident from the sidewalk. Once that line of thinking passed through her, all Jasmine could think about was the look of curious lust in Tasha's eyes.
Tasha seemed to not know what to say next, and turned her attention back to Devon. "I have like five people I need to thank for coming, but then I'll find you again. Oh, before I forget, Tiffany's donated these absolutely killer earrings for the silent auction, and I want them so fucking bad and I do have a birthday coming up, so..."
"So ask your father to bid on them for you," Devon said, grinning teasingly.
Tasha rolled her eyes. "He said it would look bad for the foundation if he did that. Please, Devon? I'll do anything."
Jasmine recognized the way her Master's body shifted. He did like begging, sometimes. Devon leaned forward and cupped Tasha's chin, like he so often did to Jasmine. "Get a job, then," he said, in the same voice he might use to command Jasmine to spread her legs. "Or a rich husband."
Tasha glared. "You sound like my mom. Come onnnnn." Jasmine looked down and saw Tasha's foot twitch, like she was keeping herself from stomping it. "Even if the bids go up, you'll still pay like half retail."
"Oh, what a bargain," he laughed, still amused, "considering I wasn't going to buy them in the first place."
"It's for a good cause." Tasha didn't belong to Devon, and wasn't so easily pulled under his spell. But they'd known each other their whole lives, and Jasmine wondered if there was a time when Tasha really would have done anything for him. "For the kids."
"We'll see," he said, retracting his hand from Tasha's face.
Tasha cleared her throat and stepped back, adjusting her boobs in her dress. "Just don't make me pick between having them and...her." She met Jasmine's eyes. "You promised."
"I'm a man of my word," Devon said. "Just find us when you're ready." He pulled Jasmine close to him and waved at Tasha as she walked off. When she was gone, he led her into the cavernous ballroom, past a sign that said, "The van Galen Family Foundation Annual Gala."
"What does the foundation do?" Jasmine asked.
Devon furrowed his brow. "Something with kids, like Tasha said. Um," he bit his lip, then snapped his fingers in recognition, "youth groups. That's it. After-school programs, summer camps. For five hundred dollars a plate, you'd think I'd be more mindful of details like that."
They checked the silent auction, where she marveled at things like vacation packages to exotic locations, more jewelry that Tasha hadn't mentioned, and restaurant gift certificates. While she was reading the description for a set of parasailing lessons, they were approached yet again by someone taking bracing sips of clear alcohol, and it took Jasmine a moment to realize where she'd seen the older man before.
"Your mother's here," was all he said, directly to Devon.
"Mmhmm, hi to you too, Dad," Devon responded, shooting a sideways glance at Jasmine.
"I don't get it."
"You're being obtuse," Devon said dismissively. "She's been friends with Mrs. van Galen since college. Of course she's here."
Mr. Stockwell didn't seem to consider that an adequate answer. "She wasn't here last year."
"Because she was in Paris last year. She violating some alimony agreement?"
Devon's father grumbled with a bitter shake of his head. Then his gaze fell to Jasmine. "This is your...uh..."
"This is Jasmine, Dad." Devon put a hand on her shoulder. "You've met her. She used to work front desk."
"And what do you do now?" he asked Jasmine, as if he was speaking to a child.
"She services my cock, Dad," Devon said before Jasmine had a chance to stutter through a response.
Mr. Stockwell choked on his drink. "Jesus, Devon." He paused a moment, and then he laughed after another sip. "Alright, you kids have fun." He clapped his son on the shoulder before wandering off.
"Fucking exhausting," Devon mumbled. "You did well," he said. "I was worried your instincts might have you licking your lips at him."
"No, Sir," she said quietly with a tiny smile.
"It doesn't matter what you are. He was going to look down on you regardless, just like I thought." He rolled his eyes. "Deflecting. Shocking. Not giving a shit. That's how I get people to invest their fortunes in the company. It's how I keep him in the black. And it's how I get him to fuck off when he's being a bitter pill. He has no idea what you really are to me, but he knows better than to pry or question me when I pull out that card." He seemed to be talking to himself as much as to her, but Jasmine listened to her Master with rapt attention. "It won't make him respect you, but nothing will anyway, so at least he'll leave us alone." He looked around. "Wonder where Mom is."
They passed a few waiters carrying hors d'oeuvres trays, but Jasmine avoided them. Her training conditioned her not to take food that Devon didn't give her. Likewise, at the bar, he ordered her a club soda. She didn't miss alcohol. She'd never been much of a drinker anyway, and it was important to Devon that she keep her senses clear, and that she stay healthy.
They went to their table, where salads were waiting for them. "Go ahead and eat," Devon said as he pulled out her chair for her to sit. "I'm sure it's all fine."
