Folly (20 page)

‘It can be arranged, I'm sure. Would you prefer straight sex talk, or some light dom?'

‘You mean you did actual domination over the phone? How did you learn to do it?'

‘I think it was a case of the clients telling me what they wanted, and me being willing and able to try. Later on, I trained other girls and taught them how.'

I found it was cathartic to be telling my story to a receptive listener – and healing, too, in a way. Unusual though my job had been, maybe it was not as shameful as I'd been made to believe. At any rate, I had learned a skill that was useful to me now, and I'd picked up a lot of insights along the way.

‘You trained other people?'

‘Only the ones who showed aptitude for it.'

‘Aptitude how?'

‘What I found was that I could take any new girl, scared to death of what she was about to do, and have her confident in sex talk within a couple of days. She'd be schooled in what to say and she'd know how to say it. The soft, whispery voice. The words to use. How to find out what the caller's fantasy was and help describe it for him.'

I took another sip of wine. Somehow, my glass was almost empty again. As if by magic a waiter materialised to refill it and when he'd gone I continued.

‘Domination was different, though. It was harder to teach.'

‘Why?' Simon asked.

‘Because I couldn't make all my trainees believe they could do it. I couldn't even persuade some to try.'

‘So you think being a submissive comes more naturally to women, then?'

‘Yes. I think society forces us into a submissive role. And it's a pity, because the women who were brave enough to try it found it was better than the regular sex talk. More stimulating. Far less demeaning. They grew to love being in control.'

Simon nodded. ‘Speaking for my own gender, there is nothing more erotic than surrendering to a powerful woman.'

I was curious to find out when he'd discovered his need to be dominated – he must surely have had regular girlfriends at some stage in his life – but before I could ask him, the waiter arrived to clear the plates and afterwards the conversation returned briefly to food before moving on to books and movies.

I suddenly realised how much I was enjoying myself. As long as I kept in the moment, and didn't think too hard about why we were here … or what was going to happen next … or about Mark. How could I not be happy enjoying world-class cuisine in this beautiful setting, sitting opposite a man who was clever and charming, more than easy on the eye, and who seemed to find me as stimulating a dinner partner as I found him?

Yes … the benefits of my decision were making themselves felt. In fact, we were having a brilliant evening.

By the time I'd drained the last of my coffee, having nobly refused dessert, our conversation tailed off and I realised we were one of the last people to leave the restaurant and that even the pianist was no longer playing.

‘That meal was superb,' I said. We stood up, and I mentally girded my loins. It was time, now, to move into the unknown, and I only hoped that the wine I'd had would provide me with the courage I needed.

Simon slipped his arm around me; moved to face me. ‘The same can be said for the company.'

I looked into his eyes, my heart racing at his physical proximity, and I felt my nervousness swept away by a surge of the same desire he'd awoken inside me in my dungeon.

‘I suppose kissing you would be unwise,' he murmured.

Kissing … oh, the thought of allowing myself to lean into him, touching him as a lover would, exploring the breadth of his shoulders, my fingers twining in his hair as I pulled him close. The thought of letting my mouth meet his. Feeling the softness of his lips on mine, warm and sensual, our mouths opening and yielding, then locking together, needing more. His tongue sliding against my own in a caress both intimate and sensual, our breath coming faster …

He'd said it would be unwise, and I supposed it would, but in the tumult of my thoughts I had no idea exactly why. Were his words a test? A veiled request? Or a simple acknowledgement of the way things were between us?

Then common sense prevailed.

I was not his lover. I was a disposable asset. I was getting paid for this night, and kissing was certainly not part of any dominatrix's job description, whether or not she allowed her slaves sexual leeway.

‘It would be unwise,' I said. My voice sounded hoarse but my tone was firm.

He moved back slightly and took my hand.

‘Time for play, then.'

Chapter 24

S
imon and I took the lift to the first-floor suite. Before he unlocked the door he turned to me and said, ‘I thought I should discuss this at some stage with you. Whatever happens, or doesn't, between us tonight, I'd like you to know that I am – er – low-risk in terms of disease. I've never had any stds, and I had an hiv test for insurance purposes in November.'

‘I donate blood regularly.' My face was starting to burn. Honestly, this was not a conversation I'd ever envisioned having again after I'd married Mark, let alone in these circumstances. ‘Twice in the past year, in fact. I'm O negative, a universal donor. They love my blood. And I've never suffered from any stds either.'

Simon opened the door and stood aside to let me to walk in, and for just a moment nervousness clenched at my stomach.

What if he ended up disappointed after investing so much in this evening?

With an effort I dismissed this worst-case scenario. Now was not the time for negative thoughts. Now was the time to immerse myself in his fantasy; to play a role I had never done before.

Once he closed the door behind us, I knew we would leave our normal personas outside and he would be expecting the session to begin.

I sashayed into the suite with my head high, taking in the enormous space, glowing wooden panelling and sumptuous wall hangings with an imperious glance, as if they were only just worthy of my calibre.

There was my bag, on the ottoman in front of the king-size, fourposter bed. And in it, just a few well-chosen items to help my client enjoy his night of sexual slavery.

‘You can start by taking off my shoes,' I said.

I sat on the bed while he knelt on the carpet in front of me and gently removed the high-heeled fuck-me sandals that were just about killing my feet. Oh, the relief of getting them off at last, the bliss of having him rub my aching insteps gently with his warm hands – under my instruction, of course.

‘You're inappropriately dressed for worshipping your mistress,' I admonished him.

‘Yes, Mistress. I'm sorry.'

‘I suppose you didn't bring any suitably feminine attire with you.'

‘You suppose correctly, Mistress.'

I gave a deep, theatrical sigh. Leaned back on the pillows and put my feet up on the bed, forcing him to scoot along the carpet in order to keep massaging them. The covers had been turned down for the night, with rose petals scattered on the pillows and four delectable-looking truffles in boxes.

‘You know, this is extremely annoying. Why didn't you come prepared?'

‘I was distracted by the anticipation of the evening and by the thought of spending time with you, Mistress.'

‘A poor excuse. It does nothing to alter the fact you've displeased me. You should have spent more time thinking about what I might want and less time wallowing in your own lustful imaginings.'

‘I apologise, Mistress. I confess to being guilty of lustful wallowing. Although, in my defence, a lot of those imaginings had to do with what you might want.' His thumb pressed against my instep and his fingers caressed my ankle, but it was his words more than his actions that made me catch my breath, and I had to make an effort to keep my voice harsh and sound as exasperated as I'd told him I was.

‘You're boring me now. Your defence holds less water than a tea strainer. And I really didn't want you wearing any of my clothes. You are not worthy of them.'

‘I know, Mistress. I am not worthy at all.'

‘Still, better my clothes than that grossly unfeminine outfit you're currently wearing. Take those ugly trousers off. And the jacket and shirt. Go on, strip. While I'm watching you. And then look in my bag.' I gestured languidly towards the ottoman. ‘You'll find some underwear in there that I suppose you can borrow. It's expensive stuff. Far too good for you. Try not to ruin it.'

When he was naked, Simon unzipped my bag and, with great care, removed the items I'd packed right at the top – two sheer, black, silk holdup stockings and a brandnew pair of French knickers. I'd bought them the previous day and they were without a doubt the brightest scarlet and most delicate, laciest item that the shop had had to offer.

‘You'll find a leather basque in there as well. Put it on. Carefully. And there are some heels underneath it.'

Rather you than me in that uncomfortable garment, I thought, watching without offering to help as he struggled to lace it up. It was going to be way too tight for him, but I hoped the discomfort would only add to his erotic thrill.

The shoes were the biggest I'd been able to find – size 11 – but they fitted him perfectly.

‘Pass me that whip,' I said when he was dressed, sitting up as I gestured to the next item in my carefully packed bag. I'd packed the home-made whip with the fine chains attached to it. I thought it might evoke some happy nostalgia.

‘Here you are, Mistress.'

‘Now bend over my knee.'

He complied, lowering himself over my thighs, his forearms resting on the bedspread, and I felt his weight on me, solid and warm and aroused.

‘Do you know why you are being punished?' I asked him, leaning away from him to give myself more space to flick the chains lightly over his back.

‘No, Mistress. But I am sure I deserve it.'

‘You are being punished for becoming hard yet again in my presence,' I told him. ‘I did not give you permission, and this is not the first time you've offended me with this vile sight. Will you never learn?'

‘I know, Mistress. I'm so sorry. Genuinely sorry. It's just that I couldn't help it … You are so—'

‘Be quiet!' I snapped. ‘I don't want to hear excuses. Next time this will not happen. I am going to demand that you strap on a restrictor.'

I brought the whip down lightly on his lace-clad backside a few times, not really wanting to cause intense pain, but rather to warm him into our session.

‘I'd like a bath run for me, slave,' I said once I felt he'd been sufficiently disciplined. ‘Run it deep and hot. When it is ready, you're going to bathe me.'

‘Yes, Mistress.' Climbing to his feet again, he teetered off to the bathroom in his high heels. When he was out of sight I let out a relieved breath. So far, so good. I hoped he was enjoying it. To my amazement, I found I was, if only for the adrenaline rush.

I looked into the palatial bathroom once or twice and gave him another few strokes with the whip to punish him for not filling the tub fast enough. Then, when he returned and knelt in front of me to tell me it was ready, I commanded, ‘Undress me.'

He got to his feet and began by slipping off the jacket of the steel-blue business suit that was one of the few smart garments I owned.

‘Hang it up,' I snapped. He was on his way to the dressing room with it in any case, but at least now he was doing it under orders.

He came back and continued with the ritual, kneeling down once again to unbutton and unzip my pencil skirt before sliding it over my hips and down onto the floor. I stepped out of it and waited for this garment, too, to be put away.

Then my blouse. He stood very close to me as he unbuttoned it, and with me in my stockinged feet and him in the heels he was at least a head taller than me. He kept his head bowed, totally focused on his task. He was wearing some kind of aftershave or cologne – I breathed in the aroma of sandalwood. It was strange that I barely noticed he was wearing the basque, which was too small and sat too low on him. My eyes were drawn to the breadth of his shoulders and the texture of his skin.

Then my bra. He reached around my back and unclipped it without so much as a fumble and I couldn't help feeling rather disconcerted by his expertise in this area. I made up for it by bitching at him, as he knelt to take off my stockings, that he shouldn't hang them up, but should use some common sense and place them reverently on the ottoman at the end of the bed, together with my panties.

And as he removed those, he knelt so close I could feel his breath warm on my stomach and when he pulled them down his lips brushed against the tender skin of my inner thigh. The caress was so sensuous and gorgeous that I caught my breath and then stood paralysed with indecision as to whether or not he had committed a punishable offence.

Had he done it intentionally?

Of course he had.

Did he want to be punished for it?

I had no clue. I longed for more experience. I was worried I'd made a mistake; been too slow to chide him, and too responsive to his unexpected touch. I wanted that moment back, so I could call him to task for it, but too much time had passed and the opportunity had slipped away.

Then he took my left hand in both of his and led me into the bathroom, where the gigantic, deeply filled tub awaited. Peaks and crests of perfumed foam bath topped its surface, together with a scattering of rose petals.

For a moment I felt a rush of power so strong it could only be described as joy. This had all been done at my command. The ridiculous clothing he was wearing, the humiliation he was undergoing, the fact he was doing exactly as I asked … right down to running me the most luxurious bath I was ever likely to see in my life.

And then the enormity of it all sank in.

This was not my power – oh, no, I was delusional if I thought so, because it was all borrowed. It was his power I was enjoying. All of it. He had merely entrusted me with its safekeeping for a little while.