How to Punish Your Playboy (DommeNation #3) (20 page)

“There she is, Miss Pinup Las Vegas! Listen chickie, today’s tips are about dominating, all right, but in a different way. Today I want you to dominate that contest. Living the Domme life is just about control, even if you don’t technically have any. You’ll have no control over the judges or the other contestants, but you will have control over yourself. Act as if you’re the bomb, and you will be. Act as if you will win, and the judges will make it happen. It’s all about attitude. I know you’ve come a long way over the last week, even if we haven’t talked much. And I get it—you’re busy driving and getting road head. Good for you. But I wanted to say how proud I am of you, today, Veronika. You’re doing something bold, and you’ve been on a journey that has changed you for the better. You’re braver, stronger, and more yourself than you’ve ever been. And don’t you worry about me back home. I met a sub in spin class, how perfect is that?! So now we’re both happy. Go and win one for all the Dommes out there, girlfriend. Lucky to have you.”

I smiled at Sarah’s daily video while examining a large number of tiki gods around the Bellagio.

From what I could tell from my free day roaming the casino and preparing for the pageant, the theme this year was a “Tiki God Offering.” There were numerous kitschy posters of pinups being sacrificed to some sort of Polynesian god. The music being piped through the Bellagio’s lobby was clearly of ukulele origin, and I saw quite a few hula skirts and midriff Hawaiian shirts on the hotel’s servers. After cruising the lobby, I headed back to our room.

“How can I use the theme to play to my strengths?” I asked Aston, who was busy working on his knife skills. He’d cut up about fifteen zucchini into paper-thin slices and was examining each one for accuracy.

Aston shrugged. “Well, maybe you should wear a white swimsuit. I hear tiki gods love the sweet, innocent look. Maybe do the rolls in your hair that looks like a big-ribboned bow? That’s cute.”

I tapped my lip. “It’s not a bad idea, playing into their theme. I mean, I don’t have to go with it, but . . .” I trailed off, an idea forming.

“But?”

I grinned, realizing what would be best. “Do you really think I’m the sweet and innocent white bathing-suit type?”

He shook his head. “Now that you mention it, I can’t really picture that.”

I wagged my finger and took a piece of zucchini and popped it into my mouth. “Precisely. I’m going to do what they least expect for a swimsuit look.”

Aston leaned forward, hoping I’d divulge the details.

I shook my head. “I’m making it a surprise,” I said, snagging another piece of crudités. “Since you’ve made my talent a surprise, you bum. Any advice at all? No hints?”

He chuckled, smugly. “Just clean out your ears.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Are they going to Q-tip me?”

“You losing faith in me, Mistress?” he asked.

Great, guilt-tripping me and calling me Mistress. “Just give me some more of those goddamned veggies and a little ranch dressing would be nice.”

I went to my iPad and looked up fabric stores in the area. Luckily, there were plenty. I’d sewn a couple of my pieces before, and I knew that what I’d want wouldn’t be in stores.

“You going to wear the blue evening gown or the green one?” he asked after providing me with a little dressing for my snack.

I chewed, crunched, and swallowed. “I think green,” I said, remembering how much he liked that one, and how amused I was to deny him it on our first date.

Aston nodded. “You’ll look fantastic, whatever you wear.”

I grabbed my keys, leaned across the counter, and gave Aston a kiss. “I’m going to the fabric store. Need anything?”

He shook his head. “I’m meeting with that casino guy tonight,” he said, wiping his brow.

“What?” I asked, eyes flying open. “I thought it wasn’t for a week!”

He shrugged. “Busy guy, wants to get the restaurant going as soon as possible.”

I full-on hopped across the counter and gave Aston a huge hug. “Good luck!”

Aston waved as if it were nothing, a gesture that was a remnant of his more arrogant days. “I got this. You focus on being a bombshell.”

I swung a leg over the counter and arched my back and he pretended to take a picture. “Back in a while, babe,” I said, sliding off the granite and heading out the door with a plan.

THE NEXT MORNING,
I found myself asleep on the couch with a pair of scissors at my feet and covered in fabric scraps.

“What the hell,” I mumbled, pushing myself to sitting. I glanced over at the bedroom, where I saw Aston sound asleep. While I’d love to wake him like I did yesterday, I had more pressing things on my mind.

Like the pageant today. I looked at the clock and saw it was ten. We had to be at roll call at eleven. Glancing down at the bathing suit that was on the coffee table, I smiled. It was really good, despite being made in one day by hand. I cracked my knuckles, picked it up, and began to try it on. It slid over every curve perfectly. I looked in the mirror and grinned—it was absolutely perfect. And I knew just how I’d do my hair.

I sauntered into the bedroom and gave Aston a little nudge. “Well?” I asked, posing.

His eyes flew open and his jaw dropped. “Wow.”

I curtseyed. “That was all I needed to hear. How was the interview?”

Aston pushed himself up, then glanced at the clock in alarm. “Holy shit, don’t you have to—”

I nodded and planted a kiss on his mouth. “Yeah, I do, but tell me about the interview!”

“I’ll tell you after the pageant—no need to bore you with the details now.”

I frowned but smooched him again. “Fine, but you’re telling me later. See you at the show.”

He grabbed my head and pulled me in for another kiss. “So proud of you.”

“Proud of you, too,” I said, and dashed off to put together my gown, my suits, a casual outfit for the talent segment, my makeup, and my hair products. Then I was out the door.

The crowd at roll call wasn’t as huge as I’d expected. There were a dozen or so pinups, the judges, and some of the winners from years before. They were there to offer their help, which I thought was nice. I waved to the girls I had met the other night but didn’t make a big deal of it—wouldn’t want anyone to think there was any favoritism going on. The dressing room complex was decked out like a luau, complete with nonalcoholic punch and fruit salad for the contestants. I dug in, unembarrassed about eating. A few of the other girls did, too. I was glad this modeling world wasn’t as cutthroat as more traditional modeling.

A small, Wayne Newtonish–looking older man gathered the crowd around him and he brandished an iPad. “Hello girls, I’m Nelson Wallace, and I’ll be the show’s host today. Here’s the schedule,” he said, swiping his hand across the screen. “The revue starts at one—all the girls will be in their sailor suits. There will be a musical number from the Hot Jalapeño Army, along with a moment where we read each girl’s bio. Then, you’ll change into your swimsuits. We’ll have you strike a few poses for the judges, then come back to the green room where you’ll pose in front of some of our sets. That’s for the print magazine portion. Next, we’ll do the talents. Here’s the order in which you’ll go: Debra, Helena, Katherine, Alice, Nina, Erika, Leisa, Shannon, and Veronika. Depending on the order, you’ll have anywhere from five minutes to fifty to get ready. Sorry, but it was chosen at random.”

Some of the girls looked nervously among themselves. I was last, which was good for getting ready but awful for my nerves.

“You’ll have a few minutes afterward to get into your evening regalia, take some more poses for the judges, then some more for print. The judging will take place over the course of a half hour. We’ll have some more musical acts for the audience while they deliberate, and you’ll all be called back onstage in your evening gowns. All right, ladies, best of luck. Knock ’em dead!”

We scrambled into the grand dressing room, where stations had been set up for each of us. Each one was equipped with a lighted vanity mirror, plugs, and a table for all our makeup and hair accoutrements. There was a rack where we could hang our garments, and luckily my bags were dark because I didn’t want the other contestants to see what I was wearing. It was also holding the sailor suit for the revue number at the beginning of the show.

I took the outfit out of the bag and smiled. It was red, white, and blue, of course. There was gold trim and some stars and had the big sailor lapels and high-waisted shorts with gold buttons. Totally adorable. I paired it with red pumps that I’d packed for just such an occasion.

Now for hair. I began to backcomb it all over, since I hadn’t decided how to wear it yet. There was a little sailor cap, but I didn’t know where I was going to position it—toward the back, jauntily tipped toward the front, or off to the side like a fascinator. After a few minutes of trying out several positions all over my head, I decided on the first ’do: I’d place it off to the back and do a nice big pompadour roll out front, with a small roll high and on each side. The hat would be sort of nestled between the three. It would also set my hair nicely for the bathing suit segment. I’d be taking it down and redoing it, so I had to be ready to go.

As for makeup, I’d keep it classic but a slightly different look from what I could see the other girls doing. The cat eye was synonymous with the pinup girl, but mine was going to differ just enough. I was going to do an Egyptian eye—like a cat eye but with the line extending inward as well, dipping down near my tear duct with almost the opposite shape as the outside corner. It was a bold move, but I knew that to stand out, I had to be original. I wouldn’t go with the drastic under-eye liner that often accompanied an Egyptian eye, so the look was even more unique. Once I’d completed it, I smiled. It was looking great. I did a bit of contouring with a highlighter and some bronzer, added some peachy blush and a well-lined red lip and
pow!
—bombshell. I wished Aston were here—he’d love this look.

I slid on the top of the sailor suit and it fit snugly over my breasts. There was more than a little cleavage popping out, but I wasn’t concerned. Other girls were padding themselves and trying to get the look I was achieving naturally. I guess that eating a little more than I should ended up benefiting me a tad.

The shorts, however, were a size too small. I gaped at them, horrified that I couldn’t get the zipper up all the way. Tears threatened, and I remembered that it was Derek who had entered me into this contest. Derek, who would obviously write a size smaller than I was. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed for a miracle.

“Need a little tape, doll?” a girl asked. It was Leisa, a dark-haired pinup with adorable horn-rimmed glasses.

“I—” I stammered, unable to complete my thought. What would I need tape for?

She smiled at me sweetly. “I use it all the time,” she said, pulling down the top of her shorts. “My shorts looked like that when I put them on, but once I scooted some skin around and slapped this into place, they looked like they were tailor-made.”

I stared at her perfectly fitting shorts and the crisscross of tape she showed me underneath. “It’s like Spanx,” she said, zipping back up, “but lets you show more leg and tummy.”

I nodded and took some of her tape as she showed me how to get the shorts perfect. After a minute, she was right—the shorts looked tailor-made.

Take that, Derek!

The model wandered off, offering her tape to others, as I put the finishing touches on my hair, makeup, and outfit. When I looked in the mirror, I was proud of what was before me.

I was going to dominate this competition.

The girls queued up by the door, and we were led to the wings of the stage by the announcer’s assistant, a sweet young girl named Paola. She seemed to be a pinup in training, and I wondered if she was the daughter of one of the organizers.

“Excited?” she asked me, watching me fidget with the strap on my shoes.

I nodded. “You?”

She bobbed her head. “I look forward to this every year. Someday, I’ll be just like you guys.” Her twelve-, maybe thirteen-year-old form straightened, doing a little pose with her hand behind her head. I gave her a thumbs-up, and we were walked to the stage.