A Talent for Surrender (3 page)

Neglected for centuries, the house had grown dilapidated until it was bought by a wealthy industrialist in the early 1800s. He’d had the place totally renovated, ransacking it of virtually all its period authenticity.

Jo thought it was a little sad to live and work in a house with such a rich heritage that had been so thoroughly robbed of any signs of its past. It was as if the building had somehow been neutered and forcibly silenced.

The last relics of the original building’s majesty were some stone carvings and wood panelling in the Long Gallery which had only escaped destruction because of the Victorian taste for the Gothic.

Jo was walking through it now; the quickest way to reach the residential wing. These days it was little more than a corridor, a route from one part of the building to another. But its flagstone floor and vaulted ceiling always reminded her of a cathedral cloister where monks once walked in silent contemplation. During the school day, of course, there was no silence here. The hubbub of childish voices, the clattering of shoes and the trilling of the children’s mobile phones made the space seem crowded and full of life.

She loved the contrast; the way the school was completely transformed in atmosphere and appearance by the pupils’ absence. It was only then that Jo felt she could sense some echo of the building’s history. Tall windows along the outer wall of the gallery provided a spectacular view of the gardens, which had been sculpted by some unknown ancient gardener in the style of Capability Brown to resemble a natural rolling landscape.

A broad drive led up from the gate to the entrance, flanked by an avenue of poplars. To the left, the garden sloped down to a lake, spanned by an arched stone bridge that always reminded Jo of the picture on a willow-pattern plate. Beside the lake there was a folly, a ruined tower in which, it was said, the house’s builders had once paid a hermit to live.

Hall Croft was a special place to live and Jo didn’t take it for granted. Not many people could pop into their own chapel if they felt like a bit of solitude, or nip down to their own lake for a dip if they wanted to cool off. Swimming in the lake was off limits to the kids, of course. There was an indoor pool in the sports complex that was usable all year round and strictly supervised. Jo used it herself, swimming fifty lengths before breakfast three days a week. But, during the holidays, she relished the secret pleasure of a swim in the cool green lake amongst the moorhens and ducks.

At the end of the Long Gallery was the main entrance to the house, seldom used these days except on formal occasions. She walked up the staircase. Jo’s flat was made up of the entire second floor of the wing. Her living room ran the length of the flat, looking out over the lake. From her bedroom, she could see the chapel and the orchards. The flat was spacious and relaxing. She always felt secluded and peaceful here; cut off from the school and its hectic rhythms. She let herself in.

Two

She dropped her bag onto the sofa. The windows were open and there was soft jazz playing. Jo could smell garlic and meat cooking. ‘Anyone home? Costas? Please tell me it’s you. Otherwise I think I’ve got gourmet burglars.’

Costas appeared around the kitchen door. ‘Hello, I’m cooking lamb. I thought we could both do with an end-of-term treat.’ Though he’d lived in the UK since his teens, Costas still spoke heavily accented English. He walked over to Jo. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’ He leaned forwards to kiss her.

Jo wrapped her arms around him. She could feel his hard muscles and the bulge at his crotch. His mouth tasted of wine.

‘Of course I don’t mind. You know I love your cooking.’

He bent his head and kissed her throat. ‘Just my cooking?’ He lowered his voice. ‘Our phone call earlier left me feeling a little excited . . .’

She could feel his hot breath on her skin. ‘Well, the afters are usually pretty good as well . . .’

‘In that case, I hope you are hungry . . . Let me get you a glass of wine. I’ll be a few minutes, the meat needs basting.’ Costas turned and walked towards the kitchen.

She sat down on the sofa. The aroma of herbs and lamb coming from the kitchen made Jo feel somehow relaxed and nurtured. Costas was her personal assistant; he hated being called a secretary and Jo had to admit that the title didn’t really suit him. Aside from not being the expected gender for the job, the word couldn’t begin to encompass his role or how important he was to the running of the school.

Apart from handling all the school’s admin, he was a qualified teacher and still found time to take two classes a week, teaching his native language of Greek. The two of them had become lovers fairly soon after Costas had come to work for her. From the very beginning he had been a surprise and a revelation. Going to bed together hadn’t been that big a leap when it had finally happened; more an acknowledgement of the bond that had developed between them than a moment of seduction.

It was in the bedroom that Jo had found him most surprising, though, she supposed, it wasn’t entirely surprising that the same power dynamic that existed between them in the office should continue behind closed doors. Sexually he preferred to defer to his partner. He was generous, sensual and focused on her pleasure.

He came out of the kitchen with two glasses of wine. He handed her one and sat down beside her. She took a sip. ‘Mmmmm, Mavrodaphne. I didn’t think you had any left.’

‘My cousin, Vasos, sent me over a crate for Easter. How was your meeting with Dan Elliot?’

Jo shrugged. ‘He wasn’t what I expected at all. Much sharper and more direct than he comes across on screen.’

‘I’m not surprised. The bumbling upper-class innocent is just an act he puts on to make his victims feel at ease.’ Costas sipped his wine. ‘So are you thinking of letting him film here?’

‘Let’s just say I’m not as negative about the project as I was. He’s given me a DVD to watch.’ She picked it up and showed it to him.

‘Do you want to watch it now?’

Jo shook her head. ‘I need to wind down. It’s been a hectic day.’ She took a long swallow of wine.

‘Can I help you, perhaps?’ Costas put down his glass. He leaned forwards and stroked her upper arm with a fingertip.

‘You men are all the same . . .’ Jo put down her wine and got to her feet. ‘One-track minds. And it goes without saying it’s a dirt track.’ She unbuttoned her dress. ‘No matter what the problem is you see orgasm as the solution.’ She undid the last button, slid out of the dress and tossed it aside.

Costas slid onto his knees, an expression of adoration and naked lust in his eyes. Jo was dressed in black French knickers and a matching camisole. Underneath she wore a boned suspender belt. Her stockings were very fine; real nylons with seams.

His dark eyes were shining. His hair was thick, black and glossy. His olive skin and handsome face reminded Jo of Rudolph Valentino playing a gigolo; the kind of man who preyed on women for his own selfish pleasure. The impression was accentuated by the black shirt and trousers he was wearing and, with his dark hair, he looked suitably monochrome. But the stereotype didn’t fit him at all, and Jo found the contradiction amusing and somehow erotic.

He knelt in front of her, his hands resting on his knees, patiently waiting for orders.

‘You can start by kissing my feet.’ Jo could hear the arousal in her own voice. He smiled at her then leaned forwards and laid a hand on either side of her foot, holding it tenderly. He kissed the suede of her shoe. His mouth covered every millimetre of her foot. She could feel his hot breath and the scratch of his stubble through her stocking. He ran his fingers along the length of her stiletto heel.

She knew that the cold cruelty of the heel spoke to something in him that desired subjugation; as if it symbolised her dominion over him. He loved being ordered to take the heel into his mouth and suck on it like a slender metallic cock.

He wanted that now; she was in no doubt. But making him wait was perversely pleasurable for them both. He’d grow more and more hungry for it until the desire to have the heel between his lips was the only thought in his head and his whole body was wound up with hunger and excitement.

Jo was tingling all over. Costas’s body was taut and trembling. He began to lick her instep through the stocking, his hot eager tongue snaking hungrily along her skin.

He couldn’t help touching the object of his desire, running his fingers up and down the slender heel. Jo was pretty certain that, inside his underwear, his cock was erect and painfully constricted.

Delicious shivers of pleasure slid along her spine like a lover’s fingertips. Beneath her camisole her nipples were painfully erect, clearly visible through the silk.

Costas’s mouth moved across her foot. He was grunting as he breathed, snuffling like a pig at truffles. He was leaning forwards, and Jo could see two inches of coffee-coloured skin above his waistband where his shirt had ridden up.

He lifted his head and looked up at Jo, his eyes full of pleading and capitulation. ‘Please, Jo, may I suck your heel?’ His voice was thick with desire.

In answer, Jo took a step back and sat down on the sofa. She crossed her legs at the knee, allowing her foot to dangle in midair. She began to examine her fingernails, feigning disinterest. Costas shuffled forwards. With one hand he pulled at the fabric at the front of his trousers. It was an unconscious gesture – he knew that touching himself was not permitted under any circumstances – but he was obviously so uncomfortable and squashed that he’d needed to ease the discomfort.

Jo saw all this using her peripheral vision as she faked unconcern. They liked to pretend that his need for domination was a matter of supreme indifference to her; something she tolerated but did not encourage.

Costas sat back on his heels and lowered his head to take the heel in his mouth. The heel slid between his lips and he let out an unconscious sigh of contentment and relief.

He sucked on the stiletto as if it was a miniature cock. He was damp around the hairline and perspiration glistened on his forehead. She could see his erect nipples through the fine cotton of his shirt.

Jo’s skin felt sensitive and alive. Heat and liquid were spreading between her legs.

Costas put out a hand and grasped her ankle, steadying her foot. He began to suck more rhythmically, sliding the heel in and out of his mouth as if he were an experienced cocksucker delivering a blowjob.

Jo could see the bulge at his crotch. She knew that someone as well endowed as Costas would be constricted painfully by his trousers. From time to time, he’d touch it with the heel of his hand, an unconscious gesture of discomfort and frustration.

Her rigid nipples poked through the silk of her camisole, demanding attention. Blood boomed inside her brain. ‘I want you to suck my nipples for me. You know what I like.’ When he didn’t respond immediately she sharpened her tone. ‘Now, Costas.’

He opened his eyes and reluctantly released her heel. Jo pulled her camisole over her head. Her nipples were wrinkled and erect, standing out against her pale skin like raspberries. She opened her legs, spreading them wide. Costas moved forwards, still on his knees. Jo slid her bottom to the edge of the sofa and laid her hands on his shoulders.

Costas lowered his head and took her nipple in his mouth. Jo sighed as his tongue flicked across the sensitive tip. He put one hand on her hip and used the other to stroke her back. His fingertips trailed up and down her spine, eliciting a wave of shivery tingles.

He began to step up the pace, sucking hard on her nipple, nipping it between his teeth and pulling on it. Jo could see the shape of her breast elongate and stretch. She could feel his moist breath on her skin.

She stroked his hair. Her nipples burned with delicious pleasure that seemed to radiate outwards and diffuse throughout her body like a badly needed blood transfusion.

Tension throbbed in her belly. Her crotch ached. Costas reached up and began to finger her other nipple. He rolled it between his fingers, mimicking the treatment his mouth was giving to its twin.

Jo had both hands on Costas’s head, holding him firmly in position. Responding to her excitement, he began to bite her nipple, gripping it between his teeth and pulling it away from her breast. She loved the way it looked when he did that, pointed and stretched. His fingers on her other nipple reproduced the sensation, pinching and tugging.

Jo moaned and gasped. The pain was intense and focused yet, somehow, her body transformed it into the most exquisite pleasure. The more it hurt the better it felt. She relished the contradiction, the perversity of asking for pain and enjoying it. It made her feel dirty, corrupt and perverted.

Heat coursed through her bloodstream. Her cunt was tight and painful. She looked down at Costas. He was panting and moaning as he sucked on her nipple, the sound mingling with Jo’s own groans of pleasure. She could feel the moisture flowing freely inside her silk knickers.

‘Costas . . .’ Her voice was a breathy whisper. ‘I want you to slide down my knickers and lick my cunt because I need to come now. And, just in case you forget, your cock is off limits. I’m the only one entitled to relief.’ She kissed him on the top of the head. ‘I’m sure you don’t need reminding that the penalty for disobedience will be both severe and unpleasant.’

Costas released her nipples and sat back on his heels, looking up at her.

‘Yes, Ma’am. I hadn’t forgotten.’ He reached out and gripped the waistband of her French knickers. Jo lifted her bottom off the sofa and he slid them carefully down her legs and over her feet. He located the crotch and brought it to his face, inhaling deeply. ‘Heaven . . .’

‘That reminds me. I’m missing several of my favourite pairs. Have you been stealing them from my laundry basket again?’

Costas hung his head in mock shame. ‘I’ll bring them back once I’ve washed them, I promise.’

‘If you like the smell so much why don’t you go directly to the source?’ Jo opened her legs. She used her fingers to spread her lips.