‘Don’t forget,’ said Jason softly, coming to stand next to her. ‘I performed like a puppet for you all morning. Fair’s fair.’
He was right. The bargain had been made. Jenna could only hope Lindo’s loft was a bit more spacious than the changing room at Cinq à Sept yesterday. She seemed to be making a habit of getting up to rude things on business premises lately.
Jason held out his hand. Jenna took it.
Lindo chuckled and led them over to a little door at the back of the room that opened onto a diagonal ladder staircase.
‘Up you go, then,’ he said. ‘I’ll nip to the shop next door and get some of their nice biscuits. And perhaps a bottle of wine to share? You’ll both have earned a drink, I think.’
He turned and left them at the foot of the ladder, Jenna heaving a sigh of relief at his discretion. Now she wouldn’t be fretting about how much noise they were making.
All the same, her heart was bumping all over her ribs like a pinball as she followed Jason up the ladder.
Reaching the top, her mouth dropped open and she gasped.
The place was kitted out like some kind of professional spanking parlour.
‘Fuck me,’ said Jason, obviously impressed. ‘Check it out.’
There were hooks in the roof and metal rings attached to all the support posts, for the chaining of miscreants. Rack upon rack of different implements lined the low walls. The floor was furnished with chairs and stepstools and strange little folding items for arranging your victims upon. In the centre was an honest-to-goodness spanking bench, in padded leather, with cuffs attached.
Jason began to tinker with this, finding that it could be moved on hinges into all kinds of different configurations.
‘Clever,’ he said. ‘I wonder if he makes these too. We could buy one.’
Jenna bit back a dry remark about how easy he seemed to find spending her money. Probably not the wisest thing to say, under the circumstances.
Instead, she merely said ‘Hmm’ and watched him adjust the bench until it was to his liking.
‘OK, then,’ he proclaimed, turning to grin at her. ‘Care to hop on board?’
‘You want me to get on that thing?’
She was dubious, mainly because of the cuffs. What if she got stuck in them?
‘Why not? Try it for size.’
‘OK, but don’t do those cuffs up.’
Jason pouted. ‘I thought you were into bondage.’
‘I’m into bondage in my own home,’ she emphasised.
He shrugged. ‘Up to you. But come on. This paddle won’t test itself. I need your arse, good and high.’
He slapped it into his hand, and the leathery sound, together with his words, galvanised her. She couldn’t resist Jason when he was in forceful mode. Within seconds she was prone on the spanking bench, draped across its padded upholstery with her smart skirt straining over her rear curves.
It was surprisingly comfortable and she settled into her pose, gripping the sides above her head and keeping her feet together.
There was a window just above them, set into the roof, and she heard the patter of pigeons crossing it, and their billing and cooing, which added to her feeling of reassurance in a strange way.
Jason seemed bent on stripping away that sense of comfort, though, along with other things. He unzipped her skirt and began lowering it over her hips. Jenna was immediately aware of being in a strange place, belonging to a strange man who might return from the shop at any moment.
‘Lindo . . .’ she quavered.
‘He won’t come up. He’s left us to it. And besides, how can I test this out over clothes? The design won’t show up.’
‘Couldn’t we do it back at the hotel?’
‘Relax, Jen. They don’t have all this kind of kit back at the hotel, do they?’ He slapped the leather cushioning just above Jenna’s head. ‘Unless they’ve got a secret dungeon in the basement. That’d be cool. I wonder if there are hotels that do that. We could open one. Make Harville Hall into a resort for kinky bastards. What do you reckon?’
‘Jason . . . Could you just get on with whatever you’re going to do?’
‘Whatever the lady desires,’ he said theatrically, pulling the skirt right down to Jenna’s knees. ‘Something to think about, though.’
‘Something to think about and then say “no way”,’ retorted Jenna.
Jason laughed. Still laughing, he smacked his palm down hard on her knicker-clad bottom so that she squealed in surprise.
‘Is that the way to talk to me, when you’re flat out on a spanking bench and I’m carrying a big old leather paddle?’ he asked lightly.
‘Probably not,’ she conceded.
‘Right.’ He pulled down her knickers.
It was very warm in the loft room with the glaring London sun penetrating the single-glazing of the roof window. Jenna felt that her thighs were already sweating, whether with heat or apprehension or something else she couldn’t be sure.
Her light cotton top stuck to her back and her palms were slippery against the leather. Why wouldn’t he just get on with it?
Without preamble, he did. The paddle snapped down on her already-warm bottom, causing her to arch her back and lift herself slightly off the bench.
‘Get down or I’ll have to cuff you,’ said Jason gruffly.
‘You surprised me!’
‘Don’t be daft. You’re on a spanking bench with your bare bum in the air. What do you think is going to happen?’
She reached behind to rub the sore spot on her right cheek.
‘Eh, and none of that, madam!’ Jason was indignant. ‘Or the cuffs definitely go on.’
He laid the paddle on her fingers and she removed them like a shot, reverting to her previous pose.
‘Are you going to be long?’ she whined. ‘I’m worried about being overheard . . .’
‘Well, I’m not,’ said Jason. ‘I couldn’t care less who listens in. And I’ll be as long as it takes.’
‘As long as it takes for what?’
‘As long as it takes for me to work off feeling like a right twonk all morning with your mate Georgina. Could be a long old session, Jen.’
‘I was only trying to help,’ Jenna wailed.
‘Yeah, and so am I.’
The paddle cracked down again, on the other side.
‘Therapy,’ whispered Jason.
Jenna resigned herself to accepting whatever he had in mind for her. If she stayed still and took it quietly, perhaps it would be over sooner. Surely it was too hot for him to put much effort into it, anyway.
But the sun’s ferocity didn’t seem to affect him at all. He gave her bottom a thorough workout, laying the paddle rhythmically and regularly in the same two spots on her right and left cheeks until she felt she couldn’t stand it. She tried to shift her behind around, to coax him into striking a different area of her skin, but he was resolute.
‘Don’t spoil the pattern, Jen,’ he scolded. ‘There’s a cane up there on the wall I might try otherwise.’
Er, no thanks.
She tightened her grip on the bench, her knuckles whitening with the effort.
It was harder than she remembered to take this pain. Surely yesterday, with the filigree patterned paddle, had been a breeze in comparison? This time it was too hot, and Jason’s rhythm was too unvarying. The same spot, over and over, and now he was getting faster as well, his confidence in full glory.
‘Oh please,’ she mewled, ready to throw herself sideways off the bench.
He stopped, and she was grateful for his tender mercies until she realised that he was finished anyway.
‘That should do nicely,’ he said, crouching low over her bottom so that she could feel his breath, adding to the fierce heat already radiating from it. ‘It’s gorgeous, Jen. Two perfect hearts with the letter J in each. Only thing missing is a 4 in the middle. If they designed a butt plug with a number 4 for the base . . .’
‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ She couldn’t help an aghast little
laugh. Why had she thought it was a good idea to get involved with a highly creative person?
‘What? It would look amazing. Don’t you reckon? J 4 J all the way across your arse. A human canvas.’
‘I’m already one of those,’ she said, shifting uncomfortably to try and dissipate some of the stinging heat. The movement only emphasised how sticky-wet she was between her thighs. ‘Take a photo. I want to see what it looks like.’
‘Oh right. Sure.’
He snapped her cheeks and brought the phone round under her nose. She admired the pretty patterns of red and white, and the well-toned skin on which they were printed. Despite her lack of a home gym and trainer, she wasn’t doing too badly on the yoga and jogging round the garden regime. Or maybe it was the sex. Yes, come to think of it, she was getting every bit as good a workout as she ever had done.
‘Come on, that butt plug idea was good,’ wheedled Jason. ‘Don’t reject it out of hand.’
‘Perhaps you could Photoshop it in?’ she suggested.
He crouched beside her, stroking along her spine, his lips by her ear.
‘Perhaps that decision should be mine, hmm?’
She clenched her buttocks.
‘I think we should pay another visit to that little shop,’ he continued. ‘I could make the number four myself. I just need something to attach it to.’
‘I think we ought to get back to Bledburn. We’ve done everything we came to London for.’
Jason chuckled and kissed her neck.
‘I don’t see you moving off that bench, love. You seem to be taking root there.’
‘It’s surprisingly comfortable,’ she admitted. ‘And I’m too hot and sore to think about moving just yet.’
‘You’re hot all right.’ His lips found their way to her mouth.
She lay, dazed and floppy and layered with perspiration, lazily accepting his kiss, his tongue, his greedy hands all over her.
By the time he climbed over her, straddling her on the bench, and slid his uncovered cock inside her, she had forgotten everything except how her sex ached and throbbed for him. Their surroundings, their timetable, their possible company downstairs had all disappeared and she was conscious of nothing but her body and his, and the urgent need for them to meet.
His weight on her increased her temperature and made her stickier than ever, but she couldn’t have cared less. The place could have been consumed in a fireball and she’d still have nothing on her mind but the guilty, blissful feeling of him inside her, working at her, building up the friction until she had no recourse but to dissolve into her orgasm.
She lay, flattened and content beneath him, waiting for him to fill her with his own climax, longing for nothing more now than to sleep in his arms.
But of course, they would not be able to do that.
Jason withdrew and got to his feet again mere moments after pumping his seed into her, pulling on his pants and suit trousers with a hurried air.
‘Thought I heard the door go,’ he said as she peeled a cheek from the leather bench to level an unfocused gaze on him.
She blinked and tried to bring her exhausted brain and body back to life.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yeah. Lindo’s back. Come on.’
He laughed fondly and kissed her forehead, apparently amused by how out of it she was.
‘Do I have to carry you?’
‘You might.’
But she managed to remove her dead weight limbs from the bench, sinking first to her knees on the planking floor before gathering enough energy to pull up her knickers and skirt. Her shirt was now virtually transparent, the white dobby cotton sticking to her curves in a very unkempt manner. As for her hair . . .
Still kneeling, she dragged her handbag over by its strap and took out her brush and mirror. She couldn’t get it quite back into her usual chic style, but she could at least stop it from looking as if it was plastered to her head. And her make-up . . .
Emergency blotting and reapplication was necessary, during which Jason paced the room, looking out of the yellowing roof glass at the thick skies outside.
‘You’re going downstairs into a workshop, not along the red carpet,’ he scolded, teetering at the top of the ladder. ‘Come on, for fuck’s sake.’
‘He’s going to know,’ she said with certainty, snapping her compact shut.
‘Well, of course he is. Look what we brought up here.’ Jason waved the paddle at her.
‘I don’t think I can face him.’
‘Don’t be daft. Come on.’
He came across to take her by the elbow and propel her towards the ladder.
‘The bench,’ she panicked, breaking away and scrabbling inside her handbag for the mini-pack of baby wipes she kept.
Jason waited, rolling his eyes, while she wiped down the leather, desperate to free it of any lingering traces of what had passed.
‘Now are you ready?’ he asked, long-sufferingly.
‘Bad manners to leave bodily fluids on other people’s furniture,’ she replied primly.
‘Georgina must have forgotten to mention it,’ said Jason with a sardonic smile. ‘Perhaps you ought to tell her. Next lesson.’
She jabbed him between his shoulder blades as he reached the ladder in front of her.
‘Yeah, I will,’ she said.
She was relieved that Jason entered the main workshop floor first. He would have to deal with whatever was found there.
Lindo was sitting in the rest area, reading the paper.
He folded it up, smiling, as his company revealed itself.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I’ve poured you each a glass of wine. Got a lovely, cold, crisp white, as it seems to be the weather for it. Or perhaps I should have gone for fizz?’
He looked at Jenna, who realised that he was referring to her fame, making the assumption that she lived a champagne lifestyle. He certainly did recognise her then.
She overrode her little impulse of dismay by making a beeline for the wine and saying, ‘Oh, no, a nice cold white sounds perfect. Thank you.’
‘So then?’ said Lindo, with a delicate throat-clearing sound, once everyone was seated with a glass.
Jenna and Jason exchanged a glance.
‘Do we have a verdict?’
Jason put the paddle down on the table.
‘Class,’ he said.
Jenna looked down at the pale liquid in her glass.
‘Did it perform as you hoped?’
‘Yeah, it did. Just the result I was looking for.’
‘That’s excellent. And . . . were you favourably impressed too?’
Jenna forced herself to meet his smile.
‘It was good,’ she said.
‘The first time with a new implement is always exciting for me,’ said Lindo. ‘And when it’s one I’ve made myself . . . well . . . that’s a thrill beyond describing. To feel your own work turned against you. What a unique feeling.’
‘It must be,’ said Jason.
Jenna was curious now.
‘Does your wife ever tell you what to make?’
Lindo’s eyes took on a dreamy quality.
‘Sometimes,’ he said. ‘Though she never goes into detail. But some mornings she might ask me if I have a lot of work on, and if the answer’s no, she’ll place an order. She might say, “I need a good, thick strap for my collection, one that will make a proper red stripe.” Or the other day she asked for “a thin-handled whip that will leave marks”. I made both, and there have been others.’
‘What’s your favourite?’ asked Jenna impulsively. ‘And your least favourite?’
‘Well, I can take quite a lot of pain, so I’d say my favourite was the cane. It really hits the spot when I want more than sensation play. My least favourite – oh, I don’t have one. I love them all. Every single one has its good points. Yourself?’
Jenna had not expected the question to be turned back on her.
‘Oh. Well. There’s a lot I haven’t tried. I don’t
think I’d like any of those thin, whippy things. For pleasure, I like one of those light flogger things. They don’t really hurt.’
‘Ah, you see, for me, that would be a disappointment,’ said Lindo. ‘What about you, Mr Watson?’
‘I like ’em all,’ said Jason equably, after swallowing a mouthful of wine. ‘Paddles are good cos she squirms so much. I like to see a good squirm. But, yeah, we’ve got a few others to try out yet, before I pick a favourite.’
‘Lucky you,’ said Lindo. ‘I sometimes wish I could go back to the days when it was all new and I had no idea what to expect. These days, we work like a well-oiled machine, but there’s something about that genuine anxiety of the first few sessions . . . Ah. I do miss it.’
‘How long have you and your wife been together?’ asked Jenna.
‘Twenty-two years,’ said Lindo. ‘It wasn’t our kink that brought us together – it took a few years for that to come out. What a piece of luck when it did.’
‘It must happen the other way too,’ mused Jenna. ‘Two people who love to be the one in control getting together, for instance, or two submissives.’
‘If they love each other, I suppose it doesn’t matter,’ said Lindo, shrugging.
‘If they love each other,’ echoed Jenna. For the first time in days, she found herself thinking of Deano. Perhaps that was their problem. They had been too alike. If she had asked him to be more dominant in the bedroom, what might he have said?
She couldn’t imagine it. How, then, could she say she knew him well?
‘Well, then,’ said Jason, draining his glass with a cavalier flourish and banging it on the table. ‘Cheers, mate. I’ve really enjoyed this afternoon. Learnt a lot. Might open my own workshop.’
‘Oh, I don’t want competition,’ said Lindo, smiling.
‘Nah, just for my own personal use,’ he said with a wink. ‘You can keep your customers.’
Jenna was glad to get out, back into the sweaty jumble of London. She’d had the feeling that Lindo was constantly on the verge of revealing too much information and she didn’t want Jason to feel obliged to join in.
‘Nice bloke,’ said Jason, as she called for the car.
‘Good craftsman,’ she said.
‘Yeah. Like me. What do you think? Shall I start knocking my own stuff up? I’d like to do that. I mean, painting is great, but I love all that hammering and sawing and stuff. Made me feel proper manly, you know?’
Hearts and Diamonds Page 17
