A Talent for Surrender

Table of Contents

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Epub ISBN: 9781407083865

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This book is a work of fiction.

In real life, make sure you practise safe, sane and consensual sex.

First published in 2007 by

Nexus

Thames Wharf Studios

Rainville Rd

London W6 9HA

Copyright © Madeline Bastinado 2007

The right of Madeline Bastinado to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright,

Designs and Patents Act 1988.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Typeset by TW Typesetting, Plymouth, Devon

Printed in the UK by CPI Bookmarque, Croydon, CR0 4TD

The paper used in this book is a natural, recyclable product made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing process conforms to the regulations of the country of origin.

ISBN 978 0 352 34135 8

Distributed in the USA by Holtzbrinck Publishers, LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010, USA

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental
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This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Sadie extended one leg, lifted her foot and placed it directly under Dan’s nose. ‘Kiss my foot.’ Sadie’s voice was clear and imperious. Dan leaned forwards and pressed his lips to the top of her boot. He could smell the leather and a hint of something grittier and unpleasant. She pushed him away with her foot, forcing him back on his heels.

It wasn’t a violent movement, yet the force behind it took his breath away and shocked him to his core. ‘The sole . . . a worthless trainee slave like you is only worthy to kiss the sole of my boot.’

He leaned forwards and rubbed his lips against the dirty leather, kissing it as tenderly and eagerly as he might a pair of cherished lips. The leather felt rough and dirty against his skin. He could feel his cheeks burning.

THE ART OF SURRENDER

For my friend

Martin Tordoff

1953–2007

One

Jo Lennox sat back in her chair with her feet up on the desk. Her discarded panties lay on the top of the in-tray. Her legs were spread wide and she’d hooked her stiletto heels under the desk’s polished mahogany edge. The phone was cradled between her ear and her shoulder.

‘Tell me what you’re doing now, Costas . . .’ Her voice was soft and throaty. Her index finger began to tease her clit. Her nipples ached.

‘My mouth is clamped over your cunt. I can taste you. Hot breath gushes out of my nostrils. You can feel my beard stubble scratching your skin.’

‘I begin to rock my hips, rubbing my crotch against your face.’ The final word rushed out in a hissing gush.

‘I match your rhythm. My fingers pull your lips apart. Every little lap of my tongue makes you gasp and moan. My cock is on fire.’

Jo’s nipples tingled with excitement, standing out against her pale skin, hard and dark.

‘You are so wet and slippery. Your cunt tastes divine. I want so much to make you come. I suck your clit into my mouth and run my tongue over the sensitive tip.’

Her back was arched, her legs rigid. Her crotch burned. ‘I’m rubbing myself against your mouth, my hips are pumping,’ Jo whispered into the phone.

‘My cock is so hard it’s painful; I want to touch it, but I manage to control myself. I slide two fingers into you.’

‘I moan as they slip inside.’ Her voice was ragged and breathless.

‘I move my fingers in and out. I know you’re getting close.’

Jo pressed her feet against the edge of her desk. Her chest heaved. She pictured Costas in his suit and tie, crouching under her desk, his mouth clamped over her aching cunt.

‘Your clit is dancing in my mouth. I look up and I can see your nipples, thick and erect, pointing at the ceiling,’ Costas whispered.

‘Yes . . . yes. I’m wound up with excitement. I’m going to come any second.’ A tear of sweat ran down between her breasts.

‘Your legs are rigid. Your hips are pumping, grinding your hot crotch against my eager face. Can you feel that?’

‘I can . . . I’m nearly there.’ Jo’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

‘I slide two fingers into your arsehole and suck on your clit.’

‘I’m . . . coming.’ Jo pressed her soles against the edge of the desk. She was panting and gasping. She was quivering all over.

‘I can feel you coming. You’re gripping my fingers so hard it almost hurts me.’

‘Your cock is aching, trapped and painful. You want to fuck me, but you know it’s not allowed.’ Jo spoke in a rapid, short burst. Her hips pumped, rubbing her clit against her fingers, wringing out every shred of orgasm.

‘So I suck your cunt. I eat your orgasm. I can taste it. It’s all I want, for you to come in my mouth . . .’ Costas’s voice was hungry and urgent.

Her body was rigid. Lightning bolts of excitement jolted up and down her spine. Jo howled at the ceiling, her back arched and her legs locked.

The corridor smelled of polish overlaid with the faint but unmistakable aroma of school dinners. Dan’s chair was slightly too small and his knees jutted almost to his chin. He felt foolish and gangly.

The floor was buffed to a high shine. Dan remembered his schoolboy self taking a run down a very similar corridor and allowing his momentum to carry him on so that he slid around the corner like an ice skater.

The stunt once earned him a trip to the headmaster’s office and a week’s worth of detention. Maybe that was why it felt so uncomfortable to find himself sitting outside the head’s office again. Not nervous exactly, but definitely unsettled.

Not that he expected Jo Lennox to be as scary as his old headmaster; she probably had less nose hair, for a start. From what he’d heard, Ms Lennox was a far less forbidding and distant headteacher than those he’d known as a boy. She was a woman anyway, and the fairer sex had been distinctly thin on the ground in public schools in those days.

A pupil came down the corridor, a backpack dangling listlessly from one shoulder. His shoes were scuffed, his trouser bottoms covered in mud. He plonked himself down beside Dan. He sat there quietly for a minute, elbows on knees and chin on his hands. Dan smiled at him.

‘Are you somebody’s dad?’ The lad’s voice was breaking, wobbly and cracked.

‘No, I’m just here to see Ms Lennox. Are you somebody’s dad?’

The boy shot Dan the kind of look only teenagers are capable of, intended to convey pity, contempt, boredom and a sort of world-weary disenchantment with the adult world.

‘Lofty Leighton caught me smoking in the science store cupboard and he hit the roof. He said there were flammable chemicals in there and I could have started a fire.’

‘I suppose he’s got a point.’

The boy gave Dan the look again. ‘Can you smell smoke? Can you hear fire engines?’

The door opened and a tall blonde woman stepped into the corridor. She smiled at Dan. If this was Ms Lennox, she was nothing like his old headmaster. Her hair was long and shiny, the front pulled back and held in a clip behind her head. Her eyes were green and sparkling and her lips were shining with red gloss.

‘I hope you don’t mind waiting a bit longer, Mr Elliot. I just need to have a few words with Josh here. It shouldn’t take long.’

‘Of course not.’ Dan was surprised his voice sounded normal, because ever since she’d appeared his heart had been beating double time. The undersized chair and his jutting knees made him feel foolish and wrong-footed.

‘Come into my office, Josh.’ She pushed the door and held it open, her arm outstretched.

Josh sighed, picked up his backpack and loped into her office as if the whole experience was unutterably boring. He passed under Ms Lennox’s arm, and Dan realised that she was exceptionally tall for a woman.

In the couple of seconds it took for Josh to enter the room, Dan took the opportunity to sneak a look at her body. Curvy but not fat, with more than a glimpse of cleavage on display. His eyes travelled down her torso and he noticed the womanly curve of her belly, the long slope of her thighs and shapely calves clad in what he was fairly certain were old-fashioned seamed nylon stockings; he could see the telltale shaping at the heel. She wore black suede stilettos that looked like something out of a forties movie.

When his eyes reached her face again Dan realised that she was looking directly at him. She raised one immaculate eyebrow, the tiny gesture managing to convey both disapproval and amusement and he felt instantly guilty. Before he had a chance to apologise, she’d disappeared through the door.

Five minutes later, the door banged open and Josh let himself into the corridor.

‘She says she’ll be out for you in a minute, OK?’ He shrugged his shoulders as if the message he’d been asked to convey was both boring and embarrassing.

‘Thanks. How did you get on?’

‘She confiscated my fags and told me off. She’s not bad really.’

‘That’s good.’

Josh shrugged again. ‘She could hardly give me detention on the last day of term could she? There were only a couple left in the packet anyway, and I’ve got two hundred in my backpack; my dad gets them duty free. I can make quite a bit selling them in the dorm. Don’t tell her that though, will you?’ For a moment Josh looked like the frightened child he was, all bravado gone.

‘Tell her what?’ Dan winked.

Josh smiled and hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder. ‘You’re not bad either.’ He gave Dan a wave and ran down the corridor. As he approached the corner he stuck out his hands to steady himself and executed a perfect slide, disappearing out of sight.

Jo sat at her desk reading through the long letter Dan had sent her. Actually, it was the second letter; she’d got her assistant to reply to the first, saying she didn’t think it appropriate to allow him to make a film about her school and she’d assumed that would be the end of it.

A week later she’d received another letter explaining in more detail why he thought Hall Croft would make an ideal subject and assuring her of the purity of his motives. It sounded straightforward enough and she might even have been interested if it hadn’t been Dan Elliot making the request. His documentaries always had a hidden agenda.