Hartmann: Malicious Rules (Hartmann thriller series Book 1)

by Helen L Lowe

  ‘Did I say you could sit?’ She walked towards the bed, hitting the crop onto the palm of her hand.

  ‘Charlotte, please, I’m not enjoying this game - take the cuffs off.’

  ‘Game? So that’s what you think this is?’

  ‘Look, you stupid woman – I don’t care what it is. Just take the fucking cuffs off.’

  She lashed out with the crop twice. It struck his chest across both nipples and his stomach. He gasped with the pain.

  ‘Because you’re new to this,’ she said, walking around the back of the bed, ‘I’m going give you a chance to made amends. One chance.’

  ‘Just take . . . ’

  ‘No.’ She gripped his hair with one hand forcing his head back and slapped her other hand over his mouth. ‘No talking – no begging. Just follow orders. This is it, your one chance - lie down.’ She removed her hand from his mouth and gave his head a push forwards as she released his hair. ‘You have sixty seconds.’

  While his mind did somersaults as he tried to find another way out, she stood with her back to him and drank champagne . . . just lie down - the sooner she’s happy the sooner this ends. It was no easy task; pulling himself up the bed with his wrists secured to the bedposts had been hard enough but getting back down was worse . . . but you’re not giving in – he told himself - you’re not being submissive - you’re just doing it to placate her, to get her out of this mood. When he was still only halfway down the bed she grabbed hold of his ankles and dragged him the rest of the way and, not for the first time, he was surprised by her physical strength.

  She stepped onto the bed and stood over him. He had a clear view of her crutch.

  ‘Before we start, there are some rules to learn. When I ask you a question, you will answer by saying “Yes, Mistress” or “No, Mistress.” If you want to ask me something you must have permission first. You will say, “May I ask you a question, Mistress”. If you speak to me without addressing me correctly, you will be punished. Do you understand?’ She tapped the whip on his cheek. ‘You have to answer me. I asked if you understood my instructions.’

  He opened his mouth to speak but just couldn’t say those words . . . yes, mistress . . . no, mistress . . . three fucking bags full, mistress . . .

  She flicked the whip across his cheek. It didn’t really hurt but it made him flinch.

  ‘I asked if you understood my instructions.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake . . .’ he muttered under his breath.

  The whip was swiped across his cheek again and that time it did hurt.

  He fought to suppress his exasperation with the situation; with her stupidity.

  ‘Say it.’ She raised the whip.

  He remained silent.

  The whip struck him again, across his neck and jawline. It stung like hell.

  ‘Say it.’

  He closed his eyes . . . you’re not being submissive, remember? ‘I understand.’

  She hit him again. ‘Address me correctly, and with your eyes open.’

  He opened his eyes to see her step back down the bed, perch her bottom on the iron footboard, and spread her legs apart. The view was breath-taking. She stroked the end of the whip over his thighs and scrotum. And then it happened. A switch flicked on in his head and a rush of adrenaline ran through him. When the whip struck him across his left thigh, it came within a hair’s breadth of his balls. His penis reacted in the only way it knew how.

  ‘Wow – impressive but you still need to answer my question correctly. I’d hate to hurt it while it’s in such a vulnerable state.’ She tapped his penis with the whip. ‘Just in case you’ve forgotten – I told you to confirm that you understood my instructions.’ She dropped to her knees between his legs.

  ‘Repeat after me.’ she said, using her hands on him, ‘I.’

  He resisted for as long as he could but when she squeezed his balls hard, he relented.

  ‘I,’ he said.

  ‘Understand.’

  ‘Under . . .’ he gasped as she increased the pressure.’

  ‘Understand,’ she repeated.

  ‘Understand.’

  ‘Mistress.’

  He hesitated again.

  ‘Mistress,’ she snapped.

  ‘Charlotte – you’re really hurting me.’

  ’SAY IT.’

  He saw the steely determination in her eyes and knew he couldn’t win this fight.

  ‘Mistress.’

  ‘Good. Now we can move on but there’s something else I need to tell you. It’s common practice for a Mistress or Master to give their submissive a word or sign they can use if they want it to stop or ease off. It’s like a “get out of jail” card. We call it a “safe” word.’ She moved up the bed on her hands and knees until her face was directly above his.

  ‘Now, I want you to know that I’ve given this some serious thought but I decided that if I gave you a way out, you would have used it as soon as the handcuffs went on.’ She kissed him gently. ‘So, I’m sorry, Julian, on this occasion, there is no safe word.’

  Over the next three hours, he was whipped, slapped, punched, pinched, scratched and bitten hard enough to draw blood. His testicles were slapped and squeezed so hard it brought tears to his eyes. She gave him fellatio until he thought he would explode; took him close to orgasm again and again but at the penultimate moment denied him relief. He was powerless to stop her as she hurt and tormented him and, despite his shock and anger at being chained to the bed, he found himself not wanting it to stop. She made him beg for an orgasm and when it finally came, it took him to a level of sexual pleasure that he had never experienced before.

  He woke up in the morning to see Charlotte sitting beside him on the bed holding a mug of coffee. He sat up and looked at his watch. The red marks from the handcuffs were still clearly visible. It was 10 a.m.

  ‘I took the handcuffs off hours ago and, by the way, I’ve got some very naughty cuffs that lock around the balls – they’ll give you the orgasm of your life but we’ll save that until next time.’ She handed him the coffee. ‘It’s a bit cool but still drinkable.’

  He drank it quickly before he got out of bed to get dressed.

  ‘You really should take it easy today.’

  ‘I don’t want to take it easy.’

  ‘It’s quite usual to feel tired and a bit down afterwards – the adrenaline rush can be exhausting. At least have some breakfast?’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’ He stood in front of a full-length mirror as he tried to do up his shirt buttons with unsteady hands. His chest, stomach and thighs were covered in whip marks, deep scratches and bite marks; some of which had bled. The whip marks on his face were fainter but his jaw felt bruised from the repeated slaps and punches.

  She walked up behind him. ‘The marks from the whip will fade in a few hours.’

  ‘And the rest?’

  She shrugged. ‘They’ll take a little longer – just don’t do anything that requires you to undress in public.’

  She followed him downstairs. ‘Julian, you look upset. Please don’t rush off.’ She caught hold of his arm in the hall. ‘Tell me what’s wrong. You enjoyed last night - I know you did.’

  ‘Not the handcuffs.’

  She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. ‘But you loved it.’

  He extricated himself from her embrace.

  ‘What about the Coleherne – is it still on?’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know.’ He avoided another hug as he turned his back on her to open the front door.

  ‘Call me,’ she said, as he walked away.

  He sat in his car for several minutes, gripped the steering wheel with trembling hands, while he tried to get back in control. He had been made love to by many women when he was often too drunk to appreciate the subtle nuances of the event but without doubt Charlotte, in her role as Dominatrix, was the sexiest, the wildest and scariest fuck of his life . . . she’s right, of course, you loved it . . . you loved it so much you didn’t want it to stop . .
. are you angry because she took all the control away from you or embarrassed because you enjoyed it? Either way, it’s an experience you’ll never forget.

  CHAPTER 10

  Julian had a shower when he got back to the hotel, and he was relieved to see that Charlotte had been right. The whip marks, especially the ones on the face and neck, were fading fast but the many injuries over the rest of his body were still clearly visible and very sore. It made getting dressed a painful experience.

  While he packed up his room to check out of the hotel, his mind churned over the night’s disturbing events. It was incredible that she actually believed he would let her do that to him again . . . who are you kidding? Once you were in there, handcuffed and literally locked in the moment, it was so good you didn’t want it to stop . . . so what does that mean? It means you’re a sexual enigma . . . confused about your reaction to subjugation by Charlotte, confused about your love for Lizzie, confused about your own sexuality, confused about every-fucking-thing . . . man, you’re just sick.

  He drove over to Sussex House, and parked behind an old blue Ford Escort van just ten yards or so from the house. Harriet was nowhere to be seen when he arrived which he was grateful for because he was picking up signals that she would be happy to make their relationship a lot closer than landlady and tenant. His life was complicated enough.

  He had reached the top of the stairs on the first floor when he heard footsteps coming down from the second floor. It was a thin young man who looked in his early twenties.

  ‘Hello.’ The young man smiled nervously. ‘Just moving in?’

  ‘Yes - have you lived here for long?’

  ‘No, just moved in myself this morning. I’m on the second floor at the front.’ He held his hand out awkwardly. ‘I’m Michael, by the way.’

  Julian placed his suitcase on the floor to shake hands. ‘Julian - nice to meet you. Are there many tenants here?’

  ‘There’s a bloke called Ben but I haven’t seen him yet. His room is the one next to mine.’

  They both looked at a man coming down the stairs towards them. He smiled at them. ‘Hello – I’m Harry, Harriet’s brother.’ He shook hands with Julian. ‘You must be Dr Hartmann.’

  ‘Julian, please.’

  Harry held out his hand to Michael. ‘It’s Michael, isn’t it?’

  Michael nodded and smiled nervously as he shook hands.

  ‘I do general maintenance - that sort of thing - so if you have any problems just leave me a note on the hall table.’ Harry smiled at them. ‘Well, must get on.’ He carried on down the stairs to the ground floor.

  Michael looked down at Julian’s case. ‘Can I help you with any luggage or boxes?’

  ‘This is everything, thanks.’

  Julian was very surprised when he saw how the room had been prepared for him. The bed, which just had a bare mattress on it a few days ago, was now made up with very white cotton linen, two pillows, blankets, and a gold coloured bedspread. Two towels were folded neatly on top of the bed. There was a vase of flowers sitting on the desk and heavy gold curtains were hanging up at the previously bare windows. The kitchenette had also been blessed with Harriet’s care and attention. There was a loaf of bread, fresh milk, cheese and butter in the fridge and a selection of crockery and cutlery in the cupboards and draws. Julian had never known a landlord who supplied food. It could be seen as a really nice touch, done to make him feel welcome but it left him feeling uncomfortable and he made a mental note to reimburse her.

  It didn’t take him long to unpack his few belongings, and he had the kettle boiled and was sitting down with a steaming mug of coffee within thirty minutes of arriving. He looked around the room for his record player and realised it was still in the boot of the car with his stack of albums. When he opened the car boot he found the present that Lizzie had given him, the framed photograph of her with Sam.

  Back in his room he set up the album entitled “Buddy Holly” and he listened while he drank coffee and stared at the picture in his hand. Looking at the photograph made the events of the last couple of months really hit home. Something he had thought of as a distressing memory from the past was now back but not as a memory. Lizzie had loved him. Sam was physical proof that their love for each other had not been a figment of his imagination. Now that it all made sense, he felt a tremendous weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

  He kicked off his shoes and lay back on the sofa. Listening to Buddy never failed to relax him. He was dreaming of Lizzie when a continual knocking on his door woke him up. It was the kind of dream that left him unable to remember the actual events but he still had the memory of her perfume as he walked to the door.

  ‘There’s a phone call for you,’ Michael said.

  ‘Did they say who they were?’

  He shook his head. ‘It was a woman.’

  ‘Ok, thanks.’ Julian went down to the hall. As he picked up the phone he made a silent wish for it to be Lizzie.

  ‘Are you still angry with me?’ Charlotte said.

  He didn’t respond. Just the sound of her voice made his stomach flip and images from last night flashed through his mind.

  ‘Do you still want me to come to the Coleherne with you?’

  ‘I hadn’t decided when to go, yet.’

  ‘Surely it’s a priority if you want to find Sam - I’m free tonight.’

  He hesitated and tried to think of some logical reason he could give for saying no. Nothing emerged.

  ‘I’ll pick you up at eight-thirty,’ he said.

  ‘Good - see you then.’

  He replaced the receiver and walked back up the stairs. He was only on the fourth step when the phone rang again.

  ‘Julian?’

  ‘Lizzie - I was just thinking of you.’

  ‘Any luck with Sam?’

  ‘No, not yet - I was wondering if you’ve made a decision about coming up to London over the Easter break.’ He held his breath.

  ‘I thought Monday - I promised the girls we’d spend Easter Sunday with their father before he flies off to Germany. Will we be able to meet up?’

  ‘Yes, of course – I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘Me too - I’ll call you when we’ve arrived.’

  He held the receiver to his ear long after she had hung up, reluctant to end his moment of joy.

  * * *

  The Coleherne Pub, Earl’s Court

  9:20 p.m. Tuesday 21 March

  John Erikson leant on the horse-shoe shaped bar, drink in hand, and glanced around the big open pub which as usual was crowded with men wearing leather, denim and chains. He recognised most of the faces but there were a few new ones. Someone on the other side of the bar was smiling at him. It was Colin; overweight, over-sexed and definitely over-used. John wasn’t interested and turned away to face the main entrance and a clear view of any new arrivals.

  After a five minute wait, the next customers were two men. They were both reasonably attractive but nothing special and it was obvious they were a couple. John waited another five minutes and finished his drink. He was just deciding to leave when another couple came in and stood in the doorway. The woman was young and pretty with trendy short hair and, by the way she possessively hung onto the man’s arm, John was convinced she was straight.

  The man wasn’t as easy to read. He was tall, over six feet, an athletic build but with some bulk around the shoulders, dark brown medium length hair and striking light blue eyes. He looked around the bar in a relaxed manner, not phased out by the men dancing together by the jukebox or by those who sat entwined like lovers but when he started attracting attention and heads turned his way, his discomfort was obvious. John couldn’t blame the men for staring because the man was stunning. He felt a familiar stirring in his crutch; a common reaction when he was younger, when he saw a man that he fancied but it had been years since he’d seen anyone this good-looking. In the words of the Eddie Cochran hit: he was “somethin’ else”.

  The couple ordered drinks, whi
sky for him and a large glass of red wine for her and they made their way to an empty booth. They had to walk past John, who stood aside for the girl but moved back as the man tried to pass.

  ‘Excuse me.’ His voice was very sexy; cultured with an assertive edge.

  ‘Sorry,’ John smiled and moved fractionally, so he had to squeeze past. Up close with body-on-body contact he could sense the man’s inimitable maleness. It was magnetic.

  John ordered another whisky and picked up a newspaper from the bar. He sat down at a table that was close to the couple, and held the paper up slightly as he read so that he could surreptitiously glance at them while he listened.

  As a couple, they didn’t look comfortable together, as if they had recently had a row or some issue that hadn’t been resolved. The girl moved closer to him on the curved seat and placed her hand over his on the table.

  ‘Before we start distributing the photos, I think we should talk about last night,’ she said.

  ‘What’s there to talk about?’

  ‘You were upset when you left but I don’t think you understood why.’

  He drank some whisky. ‘I know exactly why.’

  ‘Yes, ok, you were upset about the handcuffs at the beginning and I wouldn’t normally do that but I just felt that you needed to let go of your control. You must admit there was a specific point during the session when you forgot about that and were with me a hundred percent.’

  He didn’t reply.

  ‘The reason you felt so down in the morning was because you needed to give yourself time to come down. I wanted you to rest - to spend some time relaxing together, so we could both slowly come back in touch with reality. It was a very intense experience for both of us – particularly for you – I’m guessing it was your first time but I’m hoping it won’t be your last.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Even if we agree a safe word?’

  ‘Would you stop if I used it?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘I promise - next time will be different.’

  ‘I haven’t agreed to a next time.’