Folly (14 page)

In a way, that single confession had poisoned our relationship, because things had never been quite the same between us again.

And sometimes I wondered if I was really as lily-white, as plain vanilla, as I'd thought. Was I being won over by the ‘dark side' that so aroused and intrigued my clients? Or, worse still, had this always been a part of me, one gone hitherto unacknowledged?

The scary part was, of course, the power that I possessed and what it meant. During sessions, I knew that I could command any of the men who came to my dungeon to please me in whatever way I fancied, and for as long as it took. And they would eagerly obey. They would jump at the chance to offer me physical satisfaction, even though I'd never dream of asking for such ‘favours'.

When I found myself thinking about this, I always pushed the idea away in shame and embarrassment. It was disturbing that I was even entertaining the possibility so fully. The problem was that the sessions I masterminded involved sexual energy, and deep in my psyche, this was building up.

Although I'd never got turned on during the actual domination, I sometimes dreamed about imaginary sessions, and the dreams were extremely erotic. The night after I received the gift of the perfume, I had another one, the most explicit yet.

I found myself in my dungeon, looking down at a slave who was fully naked apart from a dark blindfold, obediently prostrating himself at my feet and kissing my boots. The sight of this man, his hard-muscled body both willing and compliant to my needs, sent a surge of arousal through me as I wondered how far he would dare to go.

Whip in hand, I watched as the slave grew bolder, reaching up to stroke his fingers sensuously over the lacy front of my panties before gently pulling them down. I remembered thinking I should order him to stop immediately, because this was not allowed, but then, as his lips touched the soft skin of my thigh, I decided to wait.

He moved higher and I moaned as I felt him taste me, hesitantly at first, his tongue warm and slick. Delicately, it caressed my labia before parting its folds and sliding slowly between them. I closed my eyes briefly as I gave myself over to his pleasuring, so forbidden and yet so intimate. The delight his touch offered me was exquisite. It kindled an urgent need inside me, making me long for more.

The whip slipped from my hand and struck the floor. I smoothed my hands over my achingly sensitive breasts, inhaling sharply as I dug my fingernails into my nipples, squeezing them in time with the flickering rhythm of my slave's devoted tongue. My hips arched towards him; my body imploring him to continue even while my mistress's voice remained silent.

But instead he stopped. He drew back, leaned away from me, and I gasped with the frustration – no, the insult – of being left unfulfilled. Breathlessly, I ordered him to carry on where he had left off, but it seemed he was deaf to my pleas.

Then, unbidden, the slave stood up and drew me close. My breasts were crushed against his chest and I could feel the hard length of his cock pulsing against the softness of my belly.

‘Take off my blindfold, Mistress, and I'll make you come,' he whispered to me.

Over and above the aching frustration that consumed me, I couldn't help but feel a stab of curiosity. Who was this man? Whose eyes would meet mine when I removed that blindfold … and how exactly would he make good on his promise?

As I reached up to tug at the tight, hard knot that held it closed at the back of his head, his hand moved to where his tongue had so recently been. As he hungrily touched, then thrust his fingers between my swollen lips I wrestled with the ties that held the dark fabric in place.

Finally, the knot gave way and the blindfold fell to the floor in a slither of silk. I stared into my slave's eyes as he opened them, and I thought I saw a gleam of indigo, and then … And then the wail of my alarm intruded on my pleasure, yanking me rudely out of sleep and back into the harsh light of reality.

I sat up abruptly, scattering offended cats, knocking over the alarm clock as I fumbled to turn it off. Taking shallow breaths, I clutched vainly at the remnants of my dream. It had been so vivid, so real. Damn it all, why on earth had I set the bloody alarm for six-thirty a. m. when seven would surely have done just as well? What the hell was I going to do with this useless half-hour of time apart from fantasise about how my dream would have continued?

‘Take a cold shower, Emma,' I told myself sternly. ‘Maybe that will shock some sense into you.' I flung the duvet aside, climbed out of bed, and stomped to the bathroom to turn the mixer tap to its coldest setting and wait, hugging my goose-pimpled arms, until I mustered the courage to step under its icy, mind-clearing stream.

Chapter 17

O
n the morning of February the fourteenth, feeling quite ill with nerves, I walked into the main branch of City Bank in Sandton to keep the appointment I'd made with Mr Ramsamy of the Home Loans department. I'd dressed up for the occasion, putting on a black jacket and pants. I'd done my hair. I'd taken care with my make-up and I'd applied a generous amount of the perfume Simon had given me. For this meeting, I needed all the confidence I could get.

The upmarket mall and office precinct where the bank was located was undergoing major renovations, with parts of the enormous centre completely boarded off and the sound of hammering and drilling coming from beyond. The mall, and even the boarding itself, sported Valentine-themed decorations in honour of this auspicious day. On the way in, a man in pink overalls gave me a red rosebud and a brochure for a hairdressing salon.

Before joining the client services queue, I made a quick detour via the tellers and deposited yet more cash into the bond account.

I had no idea whether the three payments I had made so far would, for the time being at least, be enough to halt the repossession process. I'd managed to reduce the arrears by twenty per cent. That was a significant achievement – a month ago, I would literally have thought this to be impossible. But there was so much more still to pay.

Only one person could make the final decision, and today my fate rested in his hands.

The five-minute wait between Mr Ramsamy being called by the enquiries secretary and him actually materialising from the depths of the back offices felt like seven lifetimes.

When he saw me, his harassed expression deepened.

‘Good morning,' he said, before sitting down opposite me in the private cubicle and, in a lower voice, continuing: ‘Thank you for keeping your appointment today. Do you have any further news for me?'

‘I have this,' I said, showing him the slips, including the largest and most recent payment I'd just made.

‘I see you've made another deposit today. That is helpful,' he murmured, frowning down at the paper. ‘However, this doesn't bring it anywhere near up to date.'

‘I'm earning an income now, so I should be able to pay a similar amount every month from now on.'

‘Ah. It's a pity …' He paused for a moment, as if doing mental arithmetic. ‘It's a pity you weren't able to cover the full arrears.'

‘Is this not enough? How much more do you need? I'll be able to make another payment on Friday.' I could hear the panic in my voice. There was a tense, tight feeling in my chest. I couldn't believe how much this mattered. This wasn't just my own fate at stake – it wasn't just the fate of those who depended on me. Now, the fate of my new business also hung in the balance.

‘I'll be able to give you until the end of March to pay up all outstanding monies,' he said, almost casually. My mouth dropped open.

The end of March – just a month and a half away. Could I do it?

It all depended on who booked into my dungeon, whether they enjoyed my services, whether they were satisfied enough to return. One thing was for sure – I couldn't afford to lose any of the regular clients I'd managed to get so far. If that meant going and buying a damn strap-on to keep the Judge happy, then so be it. The time for being precious about such things was clearly long gone.

‘If I don't make the payment by that date?' I asked in a small voice.

‘Then we'll be back at square one.' He thought for a moment. ‘Do you have a letter from your new employer, stating your salary?'

‘Unfortunately I can't provide that.'

‘You can't provide proof of employment and salary?' he asked, and I saw his stressed expression return.

‘You see, I'm working nights as an escort on the corner of Grayston Drive and Alice Lane,' I said, and watched him gape at me in consternation before I smiled. ‘Only joking. Grayston Drive and Alice Lane don't intersect.'

Mr Ramsamy gave a nervous laugh.

‘Seriously, I've been busy just about around the clock doing work for an advertising agency friend who knows my circumstances, and he's being kind enough to pay me in cash until I'm back on my feet. But he would rather not have to write a letter saying so.'

‘I understand that. But in that case the payment by the end of March is essential. Please could you phone me as soon as you've made the final deposit. In the meantime, I'll see what I can do.'

He got up and disappeared through the door leading to the back offices.

The balance of the arrears in just six weeks. I felt physically sick.

I looked up as I exited the bank through the double security gates, surprised that I couldn't actually see the sword of Damocles that was dangling above my head.

Then I looked ahead and there, to my astonishment, was Simon.

He hadn't noticed me. He was standing next to a half-open access door that led into a boarded-off construction area. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, he was holding several large sheets of paper that I thought could have been a set of plans, and he was having an earnest discussion with four other men, two of whom were in business suits and the others wearing hard hats.

I stopped moving and stood near the bank's exit door, watching him. I was amazed I'd even recognised him out of the context of my dungeon and in this busy mall. Here he was, hard at work. Which, Detective Caine swiftly deduced, meant that he was Simon Nel, founder and principal partner of the architectural firm, and not the one who owned a security company or a car dealership.

Simon was stabbing his finger onto the paper to emphasise a point, his expression intense, his bearing authoritative, while the others listened, nodded and asked questions. It was fascinating to see him being in charge and giving the orders.

If his firm was handling the renovations and upgrades in one of the country's most elite shopping and business destinations, I did not doubt he must be shouldering enormous responsibility. I could visualise him having to make tough decisions involving investors' millions; handling crisis after crisis and, in so doing, building up the head of steam that would ultimately drive him to my dungeon door again, desperate to have his equilibrium restored.

If I listened carefully, I could even hear him speaking over and above the background noise of footsteps and voices.

I was relieved to discover that the stern warnings I'd been inflicting upon myself had finally done their job. Watching Simon now, I was able to observe him objectively and without feeling any emotions except curiosity and interest. I was even able to think about his behind in a more rational way. It was a nice bottom, and I had rested my hand on it for a moment.

There. Easy. Thank goodness I was back to normal again. I'd had myself worried for a while.

I was reluctant to stop observing him, but I certainly didn't want him to catch me in the act. As the other men were now turning to go back into the construction area and Simon was folding up the plans, I decided it would be wisest if he didn't know I had been there at all.

I hitched my bag up onto my shoulder and hurried down the narrow corridor that led past the boarded-off section and back to the exit to the car park.

As I walked towards Simon, he looked up and stared directly at me.

For an instant his expression was the same as mine must have been when I noticed him – blank puzzlement at seeing me out of context. And then he smiled. The expression lit up his lean, attractive face and smoothed away the strain and weariness I'd briefly noticed there. His eyes sparkled and for just a moment, gazing at their colour, I was reminded rather embarrassingly of my recent erotic dream.

‘Hello, Emma. I almost didn't recognise you.'

‘Likewise!' I hoped my brisk tone would conceal the fact I was temporarily flustered. ‘What a surprise to see you here, Simon.'

‘Are you shopping?' He asked the rather obvious question with some curiosity, as if he hadn't thought that I might have a life outside of my dungeon, or what it might involve.

‘Running a few errands,' I said, a statement that explained my lack of shopping bags and sounded ever so much better than ‘begging the bank not to repossess my home.'

‘Thank you for the gift,' I added. ‘I'm wearing the perfume now. I love the design of the bottle.'

‘I hoped you would.'

‘Well,' I said. I'd been going to say, ‘Well, I'd better head home,' but he started to speak at exactly the same time and our words collided.

‘Go on?'

‘No, no,' I was suddenly curious to know what he'd been going to say. ‘You first.'

‘I was going to ask if you wanted to join me for a quick breakfast.' He took his BlackBerry out of his pocket and glanced at its screen. ‘In fact, make that a quick lunch. Where did the morning go? No wonder I'm starving.'

‘I'd love to,' I found myself saying, and the next moment I was walking briskly through the mall with him, beyond the boarded-off areas, up a staircase, past a counter with a mouth-watering display of cakes and pastries, and into the white-tablecloth environment of the small restaurant beyond.

We sat down, ordered drinks and food, and Simon asked for the bill at the same time. ‘I may have to leave in a hurry,' he said. ‘It's been crisis after crisis today. I only hope I managed to postpone the latest one for long enough to grab something to eat.'