Her Master's Voice (20 page)

As she knelt over him, he played with her breasts, stroking them, dragging his fingers over the outer surfaces and round underneath. Moving in to attack her nipples, to pull and twist them in the way he knew she liked. It was immensely exciting.

Then he surprised her again. He placed her own hands on her breasts and burrowed his hands under her knees until his arms were straight by his sides. “Now, you’ve got me,” he said. “I can’t move. Play with your breasts. I want to see you enjoy yourself.”

The feeling was strange and unfamiliar. She had him trapped beneath her, his arms pinned. He lay there apparently helpless between her knees. Her weight pressed down on his chest, and between her spread thighs her sex had woken. Her hands were still at her breasts.

“Go on, show me,” he urged.

She wanted to please him so she cupped her breasts and started to tease and roll her nipples between fingers and thumbs. It felt pleasant, more than pleasant, and a delightful opening feeling rose in the base of her stomach. She played with her nipples more firmly.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “It’s so sexy to see you do that.”

Knowing he was watching her so intently made it more exciting. She had become very wet and she wondered if he could feel it on his chest. She pulled her nipples out far from her body, pinching and twisting them. The sensations in her breasts, her stomach and her pussy mounted. Suddenly she knew that, with Tim watching her, she could come like this.

“Show me more,” he said. “I want to see you come.”

She was enjoying her moment of power. She sat on top and in charge. She could give herself pleasure, as much as she wanted, and Tim could only watch. Dimly she realised that this was what he wanted, to lie helpless while she satisfied herself. She reached down to her pussy and started to rub. She felt wet and slippery, ready for more. Tim stared between her thighs. He was so near but she was just out of his reach. He could only watch as her excitement mounted.

Then she thought ‘No, I won’t do it like this. It’s too easy. I’ll show him something to remember.’ She stopped rubbing and started to tease her pussy with both hands. She squeezed it closed between her fingers and then spread it wide so he could see her secrets. She took the tips of her inner lips between fingers and thumbs and pulled them out towards his face. Then she opened herself to him, pulling her inner lips wide and spreading her flower as open as she could. Using two fingers of one hand she held them wide while she ran fingertips up and down her wet slippery centre. It felt exciting and more exciting to see Tim’s face so close. Now she dipped two fingers into her tunnel and spread her honey over her petals and up to her clit.

Her clit was hard and hungry, and crying for more. Changing her grip, she pulled back her hood and showed him her pink button. He stared at it. She hooked a fingertip under it, and it screamed for more. She could not stop now. She rubbed the enflamed button directly with her fingertip and in seconds she was coming. Her eyes were closed, her mind was lost and she rubbed frantically. Her orgasm swept over her and she rocked on his chest, backwards and forwards, both hands clasped around her spasming pussy.

Tim picked her up and set her down on his cock. She could do nothing. Her body clasped the pole at its centre and she could not move. With hands around her bottom Tim lifted her enough so that he could move under her and thrust rapidly into her. Her orgasm returned with more force and she was only vaguely aware of Tim’s final excitement as he pumped into her.

He let her relax. Pulled her down on top of him and straightened her legs between his own. She lay on his chest, his root still firm inside her, and let the excitement ebb. Aftershocks of pleasure ran through her and she felt herself clamp down on him and relax again. She drifted off.

Ahmed came for them soon after breakfast. She was sitting on the verandah, dressed again, their bag beside her. The clothes felt uncomfortable and unnecessary. Now the time had come to leave, she felt a sense of loss. She looked back at the little cabin as they pulled away. So simple, walls, a roof, coconut palms. “I wonder if Alistair will let us come back some time,” she mused half to herself.

“I’m sure he would, if you asked him nicely.”

“But no chains next time.”

Tim put his arm around her and kissed her forehead. “I think that’s my decision, don’t you? It would depend on whether you’d been naughty or not.”

Ahmed took them straight back to the mainland. “Pulau Kelapa,” he said, pointing out a dark green hump on the horizon. Sherry looked back at their own island. It had already receded and the cabin was hidden beneath its palms. She sat back and enjoyed the wind and spray on her face.

She thought about the past few days. “Tim,” she asked, “I can understand most things, but how could you send me to Alistair yesterday? I’m your wife…”

He smiled at her. “I don’t think you understand how it goes. I mean, having a wife like you is like, say, owning a Lamborghini. It makes you proud and you want to show it off to everyone. It’s fun to make everyone envious, and of course you want to take special friends for a ride in it, just for the fun of it.”

“But I’m not a car,” she said, offended by the comparison.

“No, you’re much better than that. Just means I enjoy showing you off even more.”

“But making me suck him…”

“Why not? It was fun, wasn’t it? He’s a friend. It was a present from both of us, and you were much more impressive than I had expected. I can’t wait for my turn.”

“Stop it! What if he had wanted to have sex with me?”

“Well, I’d only let the most special of my friends drive my Lamborghini, and then only on very special occasions.”

Chapter 21

Ranji came to meet her in the Pavilion. Sherry had chosen this place because of its atmosphere of Old Singapore, of the time when the British Empire ruled its colonial world in beefy complacency. The dark panelled room was furnished as she imagined the bar of a London gentleman’s club and they were served by old Chinese waiters in dark trousers and starched white jackets with high collars. There was no piped music and the room was an oasis of quiet just metres away from the traffic and bustle of Tanglin Road. Only the murmurs of other patrons and the rustle of newspapers disturbed the calm.

Today Sherry was buying and they decided to be terribly English. Sherry had ordered a plate of sausages and mashed potato complete with thick gravy, and Ranji sat behind a large slice of steak and kidney pudding. It had been prepared in the traditional way, hard to find in a modern restaurant anywhere in the world, with glistening suet pastry boiled for hours. Ranji did not seem uncomfortable with the heavy northern food.

“You don’t mind the cooking?” asked Sherry.

Ranji smiled at her. “Too many calories I think! Really not good for Singapore. Here it is too hot for food like this, and this beer is also very heavy, but no problem now and then. I enjoy it, but it will make me fat. I can eat everything. English, Chinese, Malay, everything. Except mustard. Mustard is too hot.”

“What? English food too hot for you? I don’t believe it!”

“It’s true. When first I had mustard, oh, it was terrible. My eyes are watering, my nose is on fire and I think my brain will be cooked. Never again, not even a little bit, and the same for your horseradish. To think English people say that Indian food is too hot!

“So, tell me. How was your week in Malaysia?”

“Good. Really good. We have a Malay friend who owns an island and we went to stay there all alone. He calls it ParadiseIsland but I think its real name is FishIsland in Malay.”

“Oh, I’m interested! A rich Malay friend who’s got an island. How big was it? Does it have a resort on it?”

“Not big. Just a couple of kilometres I think, and certainly no resort. There’s only a small beach at one end with a cabin to stay in. He says he goes there when he wants peace and quiet.”

“Still, it’s not everyone who has an island,” said Ranji. “Tell me more about him. Is he single?”

“You know, I’ve never asked him. He travels with a couple of Indonesian girls, twins, who are very beautiful and sexy, but they don’t behave like wives. So perhaps there’s hope for you. You know him anyway. You took me to him for—er—flute playing once. His name is Alistair.”

Ranji was silent. Then she asked carelessly, “Did Tim get on well with him?”

“Very well. I think they like each other. Tim rescued Alistair from drowning one day so he says.”

“So Alistair didn’t say anything to Tim about the flute playing?”

“Oh yes. Tim knows everything.”

“What? Oh no… you must have been in terrible trouble. What’s he going to do? What did he say?”

“He didn’t say anything at first. I thought we were going to Pulau Kelapa again but they put something in my drink and I woke up on ParadiseIsland. Then Tim told me he knew everything, even about the Irishman. He kept me chained up all week as a punishment.”

“Really? I didn’t think Englishmen could do things like that. Anyway, he’s let you out again now, so he must have forgiven you. That’s very weak of him.”

“Weak? Ranji! I was chained up for a whole week. Well, almost a whole week. And when he wanted to take me outside, he put a dog collar on me, and a lead.”

“Did he beat you?”

“Oh no, Tim would never do that. I was afraid he’d send me back to England but he just kept me chained up and now I think he’s back to normal again. Anyway, no more flute playing for me. He bought me a gold chain for my ankle.”

“Is he crazy? He catches you playing flutes all over Singapore and he buys you gold?”

“Yes, and he made love to me at the end—it was fantastic. Wonderful. I came so much… It’s never been that good before. It knocked me out, I couldn’t move.”

“Ah-ha! So keeping you chained up must have been good for you. Tim made love to you and bought you gold, but kept you chained up all the same. I didn’t think an Englishman could be so clever.”

“Yes. I’m a bit surprised at him too. The ankle chain’s very heavy. It must have cost a fortune, but I think he’s telling me something with it… It’s a chain with a padlock after all, even if it is expensive.”

Ranji understood straight away. “You know, I’ve never heard of a Western man who would do something like that. You’re very lucky. He must really want to keep you. Are you happy?”

Sherry thought. “You know, I think I am. I love Tim. He’s nice and kind, but I suppose we were sort of drifting along. I thought he was too soft, but now… I never thought he could be so tough with me, but he was. He seems to think he owns me. He said I was like a Lamborghini.”

“Oooooh!” laughed Ranji, “A Lamborghini! Well, that’s better than being like a Ford. Or a Daewoo. Lamborghinis have class, and they’re so expensive… I don’t know—a million dollars or something, and sooo sexy!”

“Ranji! That’s not the point. I don’t know if I want to be owned by anyone. Not even Tim.”

“Of course you do. Don’t be silly! It’s good for you. He owns you anyway, and you own him back. Of course, it’s more difficult to own a man. They like to go off by themselves, but if you do things the right way, they’ll always come back. We’re different. We like someone to own us and keep us well. Give us a nice house and clothes and gold. You’re still free, aren’t you? At least Tim is not an Arab or a Pakistani. Then you wouldn’t be free to wander around Singapore. A husband like that would talk about honour and keep you locked in the house. He’d quickly kill you if you played another flute.”

“But he really thinks he owns me,” Sherry tried to make her understand. “He made me play Alistair’s flute again the night before we left the island. I felt a little upset with him but he just said it was a nice present to Alistair from both of us.”

“Oh how sweet! I wish I had a husband like that. One who really understands.”

“Ranji, you’re impossible. I’m not going to talk about it any more. What shall we have for dessert?”

“No. Definitely no dessert for you. That’s enough calories for one day and now you must stay slim for your husband. If he’s going to take proper care of you, you must be beautiful for him. I’m so happy for you. Let’s go and buy some sexy clothes for you. To welcome him home next time.”

When Sherry reached home with her shopping, she found a short hand-written note waiting in the mailbox.
Dear Mrs. Armstrong, Could we please meet in the Pavilion tomorrow at 12:30? Please leave a message for me at home if this is not possible, Yours, Hangchi.
How strange, she thought, but I suppose I’d better go.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Sherry pushed open the heavy wooden door of the Pavilion. Lunchtime, and it was full and smoky. She looked around for Inspector Hangchi and found him, coming to greet her from a small table in the far corner. She wanted to know why he had called for her, but he refused to be hurried.

“First let us order our lunch. What will you have? If you have a special request, I can ask the chef. He’s an old acquaintance. How about grilled fish? I can ask for a grilled trout with ginger. He’ll do that for me. I know he keeps some trout for special customers, but you won’t find it on the menu.”

“Trout, that sounds very nice. What are you going to have? Something else that’s special?”

“I think I shall join you in the trout. Now—wine. Shall I order?”

Their waiter brought the wine, Blue Nun, a German white popular in British Army messes around the world but unknown inside Germany. It came deeply chilled and condensation started to form on Sherry’s glass immediately. She studied her companion. He looked perfectly at home here, relaxed, knowledgeable, a man about town in the European style. She was quite surprised. He had seemed so Chinese the first time she had met him, but his English showed that he had been educated abroad.

“You’ve been in England, Inspector?”

“Please, call me Hangchi. That’s what my friends do. Yes, I was at school in Somerset, and then on to Trinity in Oxford. I love England, but the weather… I was glad to get on the ship home. So glad.”