Bound to You (17 page)

Violet came over to the painting. ‘Oh, that’s Chinnamasta. She’s a figure of self-sacrificing sexuality. She resonates for me!’ Violet laughed.

We passed into the main living area. It was a stunning open space decorated with dressmaker’s mannequins in vintage aprons and a clutter of mismatched sofas and armchairs. The walls were covered in snapshots of Violet and her housemates on their various travels around the world and about the capital. In the corner, the piece de resistance was a Christmas tree made of wire coat hangers and decorated with women’s underwear. In the top left-hand corner of the room was the kitchen space, where at least half of Violet’s flatmates were crammed, busily mixing homemade cocktails and carving up an enormous iced cake.

Violet ran over to them and threw her phone down on the worktop. ‘Not the cake, not yet! We have to wait until everyone’s here to serve it, especially Dan!’ Sapphire turned to me and mimed a whip crack.

Suddenly Violet’s phone started to ring again. Hands now covered in cake, she craned her head over the screen. ‘It’s Sebastian! I can’t open the door sugared . . . will someone let him in?’

Nobody made a sign to move. Violet called out to me.

‘Jade – would you be an angel? My friend Sebastian’s at the front door now. Hang on, let me just check the screen.’ She ran over to a small television screen which was linked to the outside security camera. ’Yep, that’s him, lovely man,
beautiful
man . . . just make sure you come straight back here, yeah? Don’t get caught out there in the corridor with him for too long!’

I tottered back down the corridor, taking care not to catch my heels in the strip of red nylon carpet in the now darkened passage. I had no idea where the light switch was. When I got to the door, I realised I also had no idea how to open it; there didn’t seem to be a handle on the inside, either. I groped about the frame and then about the wall for something that would release it. Finally, I found a button and a resounding clicking sound suggested that I had made the right choice of fixture. I clawed at the letterbox and pulled the door awkwardly towards me.

If I’d known how to give a low, long whistle, I would have done.

Illuminated by the dull haze of a Victorian street lamp, a tall and beautifully built man, clad in an elegant full-length wool coat, stood on the doorstep. I drank him in. Black hair, shaved at the sides and left slightly longer on top, and a shadow of cultivated stubble that accentuated the planes of his incredible cheekbones and caressed his square jaw and defiant, dimpled chin. Then his eyes: electric blue and fringed with the kind of lashes that sweep you in.
Matia palatia
, palace eyes. That Greek phrase, which I had completely forgotten I knew, bolted back into my mind, and slunk down to my tongue. And finally, there was his mouth. Set in a sumptuous natural pout, his was the most provocative mouth I had ever seen on a man. So this was Sebastian.

He was so mesmerising that I forgot my manners and let him stand there, shivering in his own breath’s fog, as I danced my eyes up along his exquisite face, and then caressed them down the hint of throat and clavicle that his coat’s upturned collar revealed to me. Running my eyes down the full length of his body, the only other hint of clothing I could see were his grey trousers, artfully tucked into scuffed leather boots. He held, I noticed, a light leather briefcase that cut into the silhouette of his coat.

He looked right back at me, holding my gaze with an unbridled intensity. I could feel the colour creeping into my cheeks, as if he were shading them in with his stare. Then he smiled.

‘Come in. Sebastian.’ My lips tumbled about his name, transmuted to four syllables by my Yorkshire pronunciation.

His smile tightened apologetically, then he tilted his head to the left. ‘I’m terribly sorry, I don’t know your name.’ A deep, soft voice with the occasional, abrupt clipping of a consonant. Like a tape recording of a wave washing onto shore, interrupted. I couldn’t place his accent. Flawless manners, though.

‘No, no . . . I . . . Violet just asked me if I would let you in.’ I took a deep breath, revived myself to full domme power, and held out my hand. ‘I’m Jade.’

‘Hello, Jade.’ He closed his hand around mine reverently, as if taking care not to shock me with his touch, then strode gracefully across the threshold, and followed me down the corridor.

His footfalls seemed to chase upon me as we made our way, and I self-consciously clutched at the hem of my lace dress that was whispering about my thighs. As we passed the picture of Chinnamasta, I turned round to look at him. His downcast eyes shot up to meet mine. Was it my imagination or had I caught him watching my ass as I walked? No, he couldn’t have been. He was far too polite and I was flattering myself.

As we entered the main room, Violet, who was now liberated of cake, flung herself at him. He kissed her warmly on the lips and gave her a long, enveloping hug.

Sapphire eyed them suspiciously and came towards me with a cocktail.

‘Another one of Violet’s former captors, I presume.’

I shrugged. ‘No idea.’

‘Come on.’ Sapphire gestured with her head. ‘You must meet Violet’s friend Katia. She’s from San Francisco. She’s been making online fetish videos out there, and you
have
to hear some of her stories! I’ve had such a good idea for a new cuckolding scenario off the back of one . . .’

Half an hour later and Sapphire, Katia and I were still talking ‘shop’. Or rather, they were talking and I was barely listening. I was tired and bored, and had a bad case of festive-season fatigue. I was ready for bed. I looked across the room to where Sebastian was engaged in fervent conversation with Violet and a handful of the other guests. I observed him for a minute or so. He spoke little, but listened intently. But when he had something to say, his soft, low voice was entrancing. I had to be a part of that conversation.

‘Sapphire, I’m just going to go and talk to Violet for a bit, I feel as though I’ve been rude not chatting to her properly all evening.’

‘OK!’ she shrugged. ‘You don’t need my permission to go and talk to her!’

As I moved over the tiled floor, my heels tap-tapped in time with my heartbeat. Oh my God. I’m nervous. Get a grip, Mistress.

Sebastian looked up as I approached. That cobalt blue stare again. Were those eyes even natural? Perhaps he wore coloured contact lenses.

Violet, who was thoroughly alcohol-sodden, came over and flung her arms about my neck. She was at least five inches taller than me, and was failing to keep her cleavage out of my face. ‘Jade, lovely little Jade. How can you be a mistress when you’re so CUTE!’ She pinched my cheek theatrically and kissed me.

Then she turned to the group, ‘Isn’t she the cutest dominatrix you ever saw? She’s Sapphire’s trainee. Honestly, the way that woman corrupts innocents!’

Playing along, I placed my hand on my hip and fixed her with a domme-glare. ‘I’m not as cute as I look, Violet!’

‘What do you think, Sebastian? Is Mistress Jade mean?’

‘I bet she’s terrifying when she’s angry,’ he replied. Was that meant to be sarcastic? It certainly wasn’t ingratiating. His face gave nothing away. Then he gave me a sideways smile. ‘How long have you been working as a dominatrix?’

‘Not long, a couple of months. Although it feels much longer.’

He nodded knowingly. ‘My ex was a domme. Harder work than it is fun, right?’

His ex was a domme? Did that mean he was a submissive? I still found it hard to second-guess people’s D/s preferences. It wasn’t as though there was a physical type of man that preferred it one way or the other. And good looks had nothing to do with it, as the variety of our client base had shown. Still, for some unfathomable reason, I wanted to know.

‘Depends on the client,’ I replied. ‘There tends to be a correlation between how good-looking they are and how much hard work it is.’

He laughed softly. ‘But it’s always good to know someone is taking to account the wayward cocks of the world. Vengeful women have their work cut out, it would seem.’

So that meant he must be a submissive. An iridescent bubble, similar to when you realise the sexiest man in the bar isn’t looking at you after all, burst softly over me. What was I disappointed about? It’s not as though I wanted to find a kinky play partner outside of work. Was it?

He was without his coat now, and wore a smooth, tight black jersey which clung around his copious biceps, and highlighted every muscle that ran up along his strong shoulders and down across his chiselled chest. He leaned towards me in his chair. It startled me and I stepped back involuntarily.

Violet slunk over, and flopped onto the sofa next to Sebastian. ‘Don’t listen to a word he says, Jade. Sebastian is the most dishonest-honest man I know.’ Sebastian laughed at her and shook his head in protest.

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means,’ said Violet, placing her fingers around his throat, and looking up into his eyes, ‘don’t let him distract you with his veneration of the vagina. He’s a Dom dressed up in submissive sentiments.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘so I like roughing up women. It’s just how I am.’ He looked right at me as he said this. His beautiful mouth seemed almost to snarl as it passed through a smile and back into its default semi-pout. ‘Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the feisty ones. Besides,’ he added, turning back to Violet, ‘If there’s no fight, what’s the fun?’

I was confused. I thought male doms liked good girls they could lead by their hair, tie and spank up without much whimpering. Did this mean there was room for more disturbance in the power-play?

‘OK, OK, so you’re a little “switchy”,’ Violet drawled. ‘But you know ultimately you’re going to get your way.’

‘Yeah, Violet,’ he murmured at her menacingly. Then sat back, clutched on to the sofa arm causing him to tense his biceps, and affecting a mock Southern US accent said, ‘No little lady’s getting away from these guns.’

‘Oh my God, Sebastian,’ Violet groaned and shrieked, playfully pushing him away by the head as he smirked at her. Without missing a beat, he grabbed her by the arm she’d raised against him and pulled her across his knee. She shrieked again, this time in genuine shock, and he laughed at her, a deeper, nastier laugh. This man! This man was impossibly sexy.

Sapphire shouted at Violet from across the room. ‘Violet, start behaving! Isn’t Dan going to be here any second?’ Sebastian put a finger to his sumptuous lips and ‘ssshhd’ commandingly in Violet’s face, before carefully guiding her back up to the seat next to him, keeping one hand on the hem of the dress as he manoeuvred her, in a curiously polite bid to help preserve her modesty. He straightened out her hair, patted her on the head. ‘Good girl,’ he intoned. Violet clumsily punched him in the chest, and he laughed at her affectionately.

Sapphire came over to me. ‘Jade, are you ready to go? We’ve got a ten a.m. tomorrow, and we don’t want to miss the tube.’

‘I know, I know.’

‘Say your goodbyes!’

I frowned. Why was Sapphire treating me like her little maid all of a sudden? I waved at the group of other people I’d barely introduced myself to, then turned back to Violet and Sebastian.

‘Thanks for having us, Violet. You cheered up that truly awful time of year.’

Sebastian smiled and nodded fervently. ‘Tell me about it. I’m keen to get back to work.’ He looked up at me quite seriously. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Jade. I hope we meet again.’

I couldn’t bear it. I had to tell him. I took a deep breath. ‘My name’s not Jade.’

‘Oh?’ He looked puzzled, then taken aback. ‘Have I been calling you the wrong thing all evening?’ So well mannered!

‘No, not at all. Jade is just my domme name. My real name is . . .’ I paused. Something in me decided not to tell him. I needed some leverage here. I needed to create a reason for him to think of me again. He looked up at me expectantly. ‘It begins with N. Take care, Sebastian.’

Back home I shook off my shoes and lay down on the bed, fingering the hem of my lace dress. Sebastian. Sebastian, Sebastian. Was he the most beautiful man I’d ever met? Sure, he was stunning-looking but there had to be something else that explained why I’d been so transfixed by him. After all, I didn’t know anything about him, and I hadn’t even asked. Not where he lived, not what he did for a living. And yet somehow none of these questions had seemed relevant. All I’d wanted to know was what he liked in bed. I shook my head at myself. Come on, Nichi, you think about everything in terms of people’s fetishes since you started domming.

I couldn’t be bothered to get undressed, and shuffled myself into bed, lace and stockings prickling against the cotton duvet. In my mind’s eye, two scenes played over again and again. The first was Sebastian hauling Violet across his knee. His stealth. His grace. That awful, sexy laugh as he held her there over him. And then the way he’d looked at me when I’d opened the door to him. And then it dawned on me.

I wanted Sebastian. I wanted him to dominate me.

January was a quiet month. All the clients, even the very richest, were watching the pennies after the financial excesses of Christmas, and the pennies did not extend to submissive ‘treats’. After all, our services were not something you could offer up in the January sales. The lull in bookings gave me a much-needed time to reflect on where I was headed with the domination.

Sapphire had only been showing me the bondage ropes for two months but my apprenticeship had been so intense that I felt as though I’d been embroiled in the world of pro-domming for much longer. My language, which had once been peppered with Greek, was becoming saturated instead with domme-speak. My chats with Gina were full of references to ‘foot worshippers’ and ‘panty sissies’, and phrases such as ‘topping from the bottom’, which referred to the way a submissive might try to surreptitiously run the show. In some sense, all the clients ran the show, of course. After all, as Sapphire had pointed out when we first met, they were paying us to enact their fantasies. But the most genuine submissives handed over their free will along with their white envelopes. I never felt as though we were catering entirely to their whims because we had so much creative control over the content of the sessions.