Perfect Slave (4 page)

‘Do you want to watch?' she said.

Her fingers distended the taut white satin as she pressed one finger, then two, into the mouth of her vagina. Greg's eyes were locked on her sex.

‘You've never done that before,' he said.

‘There's a lot of things I haven't done,' she purred. She moved her fingers under the white satin and forced them deep into her sex. She moaned loudly. With her left hand she pulled the gusset of the panties aside so he could see exactly what she was doing. ‘I'm very wet,' she said, sawing her two fingers back and forth. She was sure he could see that for himself. Her fingers were glistening with her juices.

She used the middle finger of her left hand to find her clit. It was hard and swollen. Immediately she began pushing it from side to side with little subtlety. She wasn't in the mood for subtlety. Each movement produced a huge wave of sensation. She had never done anything like this before with any man, and the novelty was exciting. But she knew it was really the thought of Charles Hawksworth's invitation that was driving her on. I think you know why. Did he really know all her secrets?

Greg was staring down at her, his circumcised cock sticking out at right angles from his belly.

‘Is there anything you've ever fantasised about, Greg? Ever wanted to do something and never had the courage to ask?'

He hesitated. She saw him tear his eyes from her sex and look up to her face. ‘What do you mean?'

‘There is something, isn't there?' She could see it in his eyes. For a moment they had turned inward, accessing some secret thoughts. ‘Come on, tell me. I'll do whatever you want.' The idea that Greg had a secret fantasy, like hers, was terribly arousing.

‘Really?' he said. She saw his cock twitch.

‘Come on, Greg, can't you see the state I'm in?'

‘Turn over.' His voice was suddenly flat and unemotional.

Andrea looked at him steadily, then pulled her fingers out of her sex and rolled over onto her stomach. ‘Like this?' she asked.

Greg did not reply. He climbed onto the bed and knelt at her side. His eyes were focussed on her neat, pert buttocks, the white satin panties stretched tautly across them. He leant forward and took hold of the waistband of the panties, and pulled them down until they banded the top of her thighs, leaving her bottom bare.

‘This is what I've always wanted to do,' he said. The tone of his voice sounded angry, as though he was cross with himself for allowing this fantasy to escape.

Andrea sensed what he was going to do a fraction of a second before he lifted his arm and brought the palm of his hand down with a resounding smack on her left buttock. Almost immediately he raised his hand again and delivered an even more stinging stroke to the right.

‘Lovely red arse,' he said through gritted teeth.

His hand struck again twice in quick succession, left buttock first and then right. Andrea gasped. She had never been spanked before and had no idea what to expect. Each slap was like a symphony of sensations. Her clitoris and her vagina throbbed violently as she felt the tingling heat from her bottom radiate inward. She had never been spanked before but she had often tried to imagine how it would feel. Now she knew. It felt wonderful. She closed her eyes so she could concentrate on the feeling, and lying in wait for her there, in her mind's eye, was Charles Hawksworth. He was smiling indulgently.

‘Oh yes,' Andrea moaned, wriggling her bottom to encourage Greg to spank it again.

Thwack
! The sound of flesh on flesh reverberated around the room. Andrea knew she was going to come. She thrust her hand under her body, into her panties and between her legs, forcing her finger into her labia to find her clit, then rubbing it up and down.

Thwack
!
Thwack
! Each stroke increased the pleasure. There was pain, sharp prickling pain, but it was overwhelmed by the fierceness of the pleasure the spanking created too. Andrea felt her whole body tense, the physical sensations she was feeling matched by the mental ones, Greg having lighted on one of her deepest currents of sexuality.

He lifted his hand again. This time things seemed to happen simultaneously. Firstly Andrea felt the stinging slap of his hand on her already tenderised buttock. The pain and pleasure travelled straight to her clit and suddenly her whole sex exploded, her orgasm making her cry out loud, every nerve in her body responding with a chorus of pleasure. Then, in the middle time of this cacophony of feelings, she heard Greg make an odd coughing sound, almost like a sob, and felt a red hot liquid spatter over her buttocks and her back. She was too involved in her own climax to do more than register almost subliminally, that he had come too.

The stinging turned to wonderfully tingling sensations. Her body melted, her muscles relaxed.

‘That was wonderful,' she said, rolling onto her side. She ran a hand over her back and massaged in the thick, gooey liquid he had deposited there.

Greg had climbed off the bed and was looking for his clothes, his rapidly deflating cock still dripping with his spunk.

‘What are you doing?' Andrea said.

‘I think I'd better go.'

‘Why? What's the matter? That was great Greg. Really sexy. Don't you want to do it again?'

‘No I do not,' he said with real venom. He found his pants and trousers and pulled them on.

‘And here was me thinking you enjoyed it,' she said, astonished by his reaction.

‘I didn't know you were into all that.'

‘I didn't know you were either. Does it matter? We can just enjoy it, can't we?'

‘I should never have...' His voice trailed off. He threw on his shirt, put his socks into his jacket pocket and levered his feet into his shoes.

‘Aren't we at least going to have dinner?'

‘No. I want to go.'

And that's exactly what he did. He literally ran out of the bedroom and a few moments later Andrea heard her front door slam closed.

She lay back on the bed. The contact of the sheet with her buttocks made them tingle anew. It was a delicious sensation. She couldn't understand Greg's reaction. Obviously he had let his inhibitions down in an unguarded moment and instantly regretted it. She doubted he would want to see her again. If he were ashamed of his behaviour, of his guilty secret, he wouldn't want to see the only woman who knew what he was capable of.

It was no great loss, Andrea supposed. They had dated three or four times and she had never felt anything more than a vague liking for the man. She had never cherished the idea that it might develop into something more significant.

Pulling the crumpled panties off Andrea spread her legs apart. She could see her labia in the tall mirror on the opposite wall. They seemed to be smiling at her, a vertical smile. She spread her thighs wider and her vagina winked open, its dark scarlet flesh glistening with its own sticky sap. Very slowly Andrea reached over to the bedside table. She took out a thick rubber dildo and brought it down to her sex.

The next twenty-four hours were going to seem like a lifetime, she knew that. She would just have to find ways to amuse herself until then.

‘I'm waiting, master,' she said aloud. The word set her nerves on edge.

 

‘Where are we going?'

‘Battersea, Ms.'

‘Battersea?'

The large black Mercedes had arrived outside the terrace house where Andrea lived at ten minutes to seven. He had double-parked the car immediately outside her front door. The house had been converted into two flats and Andrea occupied the upper floor. She had been ready for half-an-hour and stood at the window, hiding behind the curtains, watching it arrive. At exactly seven o'clock the barrel-chested chauffeur got out of the car and rang the bell on the answer-phone at the front door.

‘Yes, Ms. The heliport.'

‘We're going in a helicopter?' She tried to keep her astonishment out of her voice.

‘You are, Ms. It's quicker.'

Andrea hadn't been expecting that. Though she hadn't the faintest idea where Charles lived she'd assumed she would be driven there.

‘Where does Mr Hawksworth live then?' she asked.

‘He has an estate in Wiltshire.'

‘Wiltshire?'

‘There's champagne in the refrigerator, Ms, if you would care for a glass.'

The interior of the stretch Mercedes was vast and had every luxury. There was a television, a CD player and two telephones on either side of the car. There was a cocktail cabinet with double doors set into the bulkhead that divided the passenger compartment from the driver. Opening the highly polished walnut doors Andrea saw that half the cabinet contained glasses and square decanters of spirits, while the other half was a small refrigerator. It contained four half bottles of champagne. She took one out, opened the bottle and poured it into a tall flute glass. This was definitely the only way to travel.

‘Are there going to be other guests?' she asked as she sipped the cold wine.

‘I've no idea, Ms,' the chauffeur replied.

Andrea sat back in the comfortable leather seat and watched the world go by. The traffic was heavy as the big car travelled down to the embankment and along the river towards Battersea. Andrea had been determined to look her best and bought an expensive new dress, a black number with a single shoulder strap and an asymmetrical neckline that revealed a great deal of her cleavage. The material clung to Andrea's narrow waist and shapely buttocks, its hem cut to just above the knee, though the skirt was split on the left to reveal glimpses of thigh. Glossy black nylon sheathed her legs and she wore strappy black suede high-heels. She had applied a little more make-up than normal, eyeliner and shadow emphasising her blue eyes, and had twisted her long hair up into an elegant French plait that left her long neck and her shoulders bare.

It took thirty-five minutes to drive to Battersea Bridge, in which time Andrea had drunk two glasses of champagne. The wine had taken the edge off her nervousness. She had spent every moment of every hour thinking about Charles Darrington Hawksworth. There were all sorts of rumours circulating the office about him and the vast fortune he had built up over the years, but no one seemed to know anything about his private life, not even whether he was married.

She was still unable to explain why he'd had such an hypnotic effect on her. Since he had invited her to dinner she could only assume the attraction was mutual. He'd picked her out of a room of employees, after all. But that did not explain why she had this strange feeling that Charles Hawksworth had not only looked at her, but looked through her at the same time, laying bare her deepest secrets. Of course she knew that was absurd. Other than the way she looked, and what was in her personnel file - if he'd bothered to ask to see it - he knew absolutely nothing about her.

She wondered what sort of dinner this was going to be. She imagined a huge house with glittering chandeliers and expensive antiques, but whether they were to dine alone or with other guests she had no idea. Now she'd discovered she was being flown all the way to Wiltshire she was convinced they were not going to be alone. She had been invited to a country house party and she had to confess that the idea of not having Charles Hawksworth to herself was a little disappointing.

She had been thinking about Greg Anders, too. Her feelings towards him were totally confused. He hadn't made any attempt to speak to her since, though she'd left a message on his answer-phone. From his reaction she guessed that he was not only ashamed of what he had done, but that he regarded her as some kind of slut for not only encouraging him but having the temerity to enjoy it.

But it had been exciting. She could still feel the way he made her bottom tingle and how that had excited her; in fact the effect lasted most of the next morning, every time she sat down little prickles of sensation reminding her of what had happened. There was no doubt in her mind, from Greg's explosive reaction, that he had harboured his fantasy for a long time, perhaps as long as she'd harboured hers; but unlike her he obviously felt guilty and resentful about it and did not want to admit to himself exactly how powerful such desires could be.

She could understand that. She'd had a great deal of difficulty coming to terms with her own needs too, and had never been able to work out where her obsession had come from. It seemed to have arrived out of the blue, like a seed blown on the wind lighting on fertile ground. And, like a seed, it germinated rapidly and grew until it dominated her sexual psyche.

She remembered exactly when that moment was, the precise moment the seed had taken root. She was nineteen and certainly not naïve when it came to sex. Andrea had always liked sex but it had never been more than pleasant, and until three years ago she was pretty sure she had never had a proper orgasm. Despite the fact that she thought she'd picked lovers who were capable and unselfish, they never produced anything more than a nice gentle crescendo of feeling, and certainly nothing like the enormous explosions of ecstasy all her friends seemed to experience.

Not until Steve Matthews. Steve had been a lecturer at university. He was a shy and retiring sort of man, who had never been seen in anything other than jeans and a check shirt, but Andrea had always been attracted to him. One evening he'd asked her to go for a drink with him. They ended up at his flat.