A Talent for Surrender (8 page)

Sarah was gasping and moaning; hoarse animal cries of passion and hunger. She ground her crotch against his, her fingers clamped over her clit.

‘You’re a filthy, horny slut and you can’t leave your cunt alone, can you?’ Dan’s voice sounded hoarse and breathless. ‘I can feel your muscles gripping my cock. You’re going to come soon. I know the signs.’ Dan pumped his hips, pounding her. ‘Your lips are all puffy and dark . . . you’re panting and moaning . . . You’re on the edge, I know you are. You’re going to come any second . . .’

Her calves banged against his face. He held on, fucking her hard. His strokes grew shorter and more urgent.

‘Yes . . . it feels so good . . . I’m going to come . . .’ Sarah spoke in short strangled gasps.

Dan’s balls banged against Sarah on every thrust. He could feel her fingers between their bodies as she worked her clit. She rocked her hips, grinding her crotch against him. Her tits bounced.

Sarah’s moans began to rise in pitch and urgency. The sound seemed to fill the small room. Her body was rigid, her back arched. She let out a long single cry of alarm and relief. Dan felt her muscles gripping him as she came.

He held onto her slippery thighs and pounded her hard. His hips pumped. He looked down at Sarah as she came. Her mouth was open, her neck stretched back. She was beautiful and she was coming. He was making her come.

He gave one final deep thrust and exploded inside her. A hot wave of pleasure shot through him. He grunted through clenched teeth. He could feel his cock pumping out sperm inside her.

Sarah was thrashing and trembling as she continued to come. Her hand was clamped over her crotch. She was covered in sweat. Her chest heaved.

Dan’s body was shaking. His cock tingled. Wave after wave of pleasure and release crashed over him.

When it was over they climbed under the covers and lay in each other’s arms. The sweat had cooled on his body, chilling him. He pulled up the duvet.

‘That was great.’ Sarah’s voice sounded dreamy. ‘But you should have hurt my nipples more.’

Dan stroked her hair. ‘I don’t know. I give you two fantastic orgasms and you still want more. You’re insatiable.’

‘You say that like it’s a bad thing . . .’ She kissed his nipple.

Sarah quickly fell asleep. Her hair was spread out over Dan’s chest, tickling him, but he daren’t move. He bent his head and dipped his nose into the thick perfumed mass. He inhaled. He could feel her big breasts squashed against his side.

It had certainly been an exciting evening. He hadn’t seen so much bare skin in one room since he’d made the film about the nudists. But the two projects couldn’t have been more different. The naturists hadn’t struck him as sexy at all, in spite of the acres of naked flesh on display.

He wasn’t sure why but he’d found the corsets, leather and rubber a thousand times more sexy even though most of the partygoers had been respectably covered. If he was going to get aroused every time the cameras rolled he might have to take up Sarah’s suggestion of a pre-filming wank.

He smiled to himself. He felt fifteen again; plagued by unwanted erections he felt powerless to control and was convinced everyone could see. He hadn’t felt like that for years. But, as he thought about it, he realised that wasn’t true. He’d felt exactly like that sitting outside Jo Lennox’s office. Helplessly horny and certain she knew about it.

She was a fascinating woman. He wondered if it was true, as Jim had implied, that she was kinky. She certainly seemed dominant enough and she was undeniably sexy. But – other than wishful thinking – he had no reason to believe that she was even interested in him, let alone involved in anything perverse.

There was no reason why Jim shouldn’t know her. After all even kinky people sent their children to school. But Jim had said ‘
everyone
knows her’ which seemed to hint at something more, something Dan couldn’t help finding intriguing and exciting.

He tried to picture her dressed in a corset, stockings and spike-heeled boots and, instantly, his spent cock began to stir. Dan gave it a lazy stroke. Sarah moved in her sleep, turning over so that her back was towards him. He curled up behind her. Her buttocks nestled into his lap and he closed his eyes.

Five

The taxi driver couldn’t stop looking at her. Every time they stopped at a traffic light Jo saw him watching her in the rear-view mirror. She was going to her best friend’s birthday party. Sam was a fetish fashion designer and she lived above her showroom in the King’s Road.

Jo looked fantastic and she knew it. She was wearing a dress that Sam had made for her. It had a flouncy knee-length skirt and a sweetheart neckline. The waist was formed of a broad horizontal piece of leather that reached from the top of her hips to underneath her bust. It had been gathered into soft pleats, emphasising her curves and the soft swell of her belly. Underneath she wore a waspie corset that nipped in her waist.

Sam’s assistant Victor had made a pair of shoes and a matching handbag and hat for her. She felt sexy and powerful and alive. She’d painted her lips in the same shade of scarlet as her outfit. The soft leather of her dress had grown warm in response to her body heat and lay against her skin like a soft caress. The corset gripped her body like a lover’s tight embrace. She crossed her legs, conscious of the driver’s eyes on her. Her stockings sighed softly as they slid against each other.

‘Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to stare?’ She met the driver’s eyes in the mirror.

He shrugged. ‘She did, but she’d obviously never met you. I just can’t help myself.’

‘I see . . . so you’re blaming me? The sin of Eve and all that.’

‘Let’s just say that if Eve had looked like you I’d have eaten every apple on that tree.’ The lights changed and the taxi began to move. At the corner, he turned into the King’s Road

At Sam’s showroom Jo was greeted at the door by one of Sam’s models who reminded Jo of a human Barbie doll, tall, slender and impossibly big-breasted. She was dressed from head to toe in body-hugging rubber. On her head were a pair of pussy ears and she was wearing a long stiff tail.

‘You’ve got a long climb ahead of you, I’m afraid. Third floor.’ She handed Jo a glass of champagne. ‘Fuel for the journey . . .’

Sam was Jo’s oldest friend. She was half French and half Scottish and owed her gamine features and effortless elegance to her French mother, and her heavy Glasgow accent to her father. She was a fashion designer, producing exotic sexy creations which were equally at home on the catwalk as at a fetish club.

Sam was a creature of contrasts. She dressed to reflect her ever-changing moods. One day it might be retro chic, the next it could be goth or punk. She changed her hair colour every few weeks, often dying it a vivid unnatural shade to match her current outfit.

Jo loved Sam’s many contradictions; her stylish clothes made her seem doll-like and untouchable but she was earthy and foul-mouthed. She knew good wine but preferred a pint of heavy. She made clothes out of leather and yet she didn’t eat meat.

To the outside world the two women could not have been more different. Jo had a respectable job and a status within the community whereas Sam made kinky clothing for people society preferred to ignore. But they shared a love of clothes and an utter disrespect for society’s rules and roles.

The only difference between them, Jo often reflected, was that her work forced her to live a kind of double life. At school she was the respectable headmistress but on her own time she was every bit as rebellious, individual and dangerous as Sam.

Jo could hear a hubbub of voices and loud soul music as she climbed the stairs. On the first floor she bumped into Victor and his boyfriend J queuing for the loo.

‘Jo. You look fab.’ He air-kissed her.

‘Hi, Victor. Hi, J. So do you two.’

Victor was dressed in a tiny pair of red leather shorts and an upper-body harness. J seemed to have been poured into a clinging black rubber garment that reached from his mid-thighs to his neck. His impressive muscles were emphasised by the outfit and, in the dim light, it seemed to be the same colour as his dark skin, giving the illusion that he was naked. It was so tight that Jo couldn’t help wondering how, when he got to the front of the queue, he could possibly manage to pee.

She walked up the stairs towards the music. When she reached the third floor she looked around the room for Sam. The living room was decorated in purple and scarlet. There were silver stars on the ceiling and the furniture was an eclectic mixture of Victorian Gothic pieces and modern. For the party the room had been hung with hundreds of fairy lights, making it look exotic and mysterious, like the inside of a fortune teller’s tent.

Jo spotted Sam on the other side of the room. She was dressed in a purple leather corset and matching spike-heeled boots which buttoned up the side like a Victorian lady’s. She was wearing a multi-layered chiffon miniskirt in mottled shades of purple, lavender and pink. It seemed to have been starched and stiffened and it puffed out around her hips like a diaphanous cloud. On her back, she wore a pair of matching tiny fairy wings. She was carrying a sparkly silver wand. As Jo drew closer, she realised that the wand was actually a riding crop with a star attached to its tip.

Sam’s black hair had been cut into an asymmetrical bob and the front had been dyed the same shade of purple as her corset and boots. When she spotted Jo she waved her wand.

‘Hello.’ Sam smiled. ‘Do you know who you remind me of in that outfit?’ Sam was staring at Jo, her eyes wide.

‘Betty Grable?’ Jo struck a pose.

‘Almost. You look like a blonde Dita Von Teese. The way you clip up the front of your hair and everything.’

‘Really? You think so? Thanks. She’s really glamorous. And you look gorgeous too, Tinkerbell. Happy birthday.’ The two women kissed. She handed Sam a wrapped gift.

‘Thanks. We were still sewing on the wings when the first guests arrived.’

‘Well, they look lovely. And they suit you. You look as though you were born with them.’

‘Stick around. A few more glasses of bubbly and you might see me fly.’ Sam took a glass of champagne from a passing waitress. ‘Is it tomorrow you’re meeting Dan Elliot?’

‘Yesterday.’

‘And? I hope he’s as cute in the flesh.’

‘Cuter as a matter of fact. On screen he deliberately cultivates his boyishness. In real life he’s rather stylish and elegant. He’s quite a man, actually.’ Jo sipped her champagne.

‘I see . . . he’s obviously made an impression.’

‘Yes, he has, I suppose. I rather liked him. In real life he’s much more confident; a man in full possession of his personal power and authority.’

‘Just the way you like them. The more powerful they are the sweeter it is when you get them to submit.’

Jo laughed. ‘I must admit it does sound tempting. But I have no idea if he’s even kinky.’

Sam’s models, all dressed as cats, moved between the partygoers with trays of champagne and canapes. The other guests were a mixture of Sam’s friends and her clients and the dress code reflected the fact. Most were conventionally, if formally, dressed for a posh night out, but at least a third of the guests were sporting the type of fetish fashion Sam was famous for.

It wasn’t often, Jo thought, that you saw two such contrasting styles of dress in the same room; usually it was one or the other. It seemed to represent a collision of two worlds and, while Jo was comfortable in both, she had to admit that she felt more herself – more whole – when she was able to dress in the type of clothes Sam had made her.

The hat and the shoes made her at least eight inches taller. She towered over most men and, she had to admit, she rather liked it. The outfit made her feel sensual and elegant and strong. The corset pushed her breasts up and out and she was aware that men couldn’t seem to take her eyes off them. A waitress went by and Jo helped herself to another glass of bubbly.

‘Well, don’t you look fantastic?’

Jo turned. ‘Jim. Thanks. Good to see you. Where’s Poppy?’

Jim was dressed in black leather trousers and waistcoat. ‘She’s around somewhere. She’s fairly easy to spot. She’s got green hair this week and an outfit to match.’

‘I’ll look out for her.’

‘I must say you’re looking particularly magnificent tonight. I’m almost tempted to change the habit of a lifetime and beg to kneel at your feet.’

Jo laughed. ‘Well, don’t let me stop you.’

‘Actually, I was saying something quite similar about you the other night. Were your ears burning?’

‘You were talking about me? To who?’

‘Dan Elliot. But don’t worry, I didn’t out you as a pervert.’

‘Ah, yes . . . Dan.’ Jo felt her cheeks flushing.

Jim smiled. ‘I see he’s had the same effect on you as he’s had on my wife. He’s very . . . charming, isn’t he?’

‘And by “charming” you mean?’

Jim shrugged. ‘Clever perhaps. He’s a powerful, intelligent man and he’s fully conscious of his effect on women. The floppy-haired bumbling innocence is all an act, as I’m sure you know.’

‘Yes I do. And I have to admit I prefer the strong confident Dan.’

‘And we all know how much you like that in a man . . .’

Jo smiled. She sipped her drink. ‘Perhaps. There’s little point in mastering a man who’s a wimp is there?’

‘And you plan to master him?’

‘I haven’t decided yet.’

‘Sorry, darling. I’ve been neglecting you.’ Sam squeezed between a group of guests and stood beside Jo.

‘No problem. Jim’s been keeping me amused. I’m going to find myself some food in a minute.’

‘I’ve got to go and mingle again. But . . .’ She leaned close and put her mouth next to Jo’s ear. ‘Will you stay the night?’ Jo could feel Sam’s hot breath on her neck. A slow shiver of excitement slid down her spine.

‘Of course I will.’