“My phone wasn’t working properly.”
“Willow, you missed the memorial dinner.”
Guilt reared its ugly head again and Willow smacked it away. “Stuff happened.”
“What stuff?”
Willow wanted to tell Demi that Nat’s friend had a brain tumour, but remembered how he had reacted last time she’d shared private information with Demi. “It’s private.”
“I’m worried about you, Willow.”
Willow frowned.
“Things with Nat just seem to be … They just seem to have got very serious very quickly.”
“What, and you and Ross are taking things slow?”
Demi sighed. “You missed the dinner.”
“The memorial dinner for my mum?”
Demi looked confused by Willow’s defensiveness. “Yes.”
“Tell me, how is it that you held a memorial dinner.”
“For you, Willow.”
“I didn’t ask you to.” Willow slammed to fridge shut and made her way into the hall.
Demi followed. “I know this time of year’s hard for you.”
“Stop patronising me.” Willow continued to the stairs.
“Don’t shut me out. I’m here for you.”
“No, you’re here for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Willow felt her anger rise within her. “You make out that you’re some sort of saviour who knows what’s best for me, when in actual fact you’re just a freeloader who moved in because you were getting chucked out of uni and your own mum didn’t want you.”
Willow stormed up the stairs, hurried into her room and slammed the door. Tears took hold of her. It wasn’t fair that she should be criticised for spending the weekend with Nat. He made her feel alive in ways that she had never felt before – ways that took her mind off how much she missed her mum. So his methodology was a little less orthodox than graveyard visiting and dinners, but it had helped her through what could have been an excruciating weekend.
Then the painful realisation sank in. This was the first year that she’d missed Demi’s memorial dinner. Did that mean that she was starting to forget her mother? Willow couldn’t even bear the thought.
She was still crying when Demi stormed in. She scattered a selection of papers onto the bed. “My last uni assignment.”
Willow said nothing and continued letting her tears soak into her pillow.
“Look at it!”
“No.”
“Willow, look at it.”
“Fine.” She sat up and grabbed one of the sheets. It appeared to be some typed paragraphs saying something to do with social construction. “So what?”
“Read the comments at the end.”
“No.”
“Oh, Willow, stop being an ass and read the goddamn comments.”
Willow turned to the back page and looked at the notes in red pen. ‘Another first class essay. Keep this up and you could finish top of your year!’
Willow didn’t understand. Demi got a good grade, so what? Then it hit her – if that was Demi’s last assignment, then she wasn’t failing uni.
“I said I was flunking so that you wouldn’t feel bad about me quitting.”
Willow remembered accusing Demi of moving in because she had nowhere else to go and felt terrible. But then she realised that Demi must want her to feel terrible. Why else would she share this information now? “So you lied to me?”
Demi let out a deep, frustrated breath. “I can afford the rent, Willow. I have a good job. I could have accommodation at the hotel if I wanted it.”
“The only reason you’re showing me this assignment is to make me look bad.”
“No! I’m showing you this to prove that I didn’t move in because I was flunking uni. I moved in because I love you, you daft bitch.”
In her agitated, grieving, guilt-ridden state, Willow could not take it. “Get the fuck out of my room!”
Early evening on Sunday 12 th July – at a penthouse on the sea front
Willow stood outside the door to Nat’s flat, fighting back tears. The soft skin around her eyes was red and angry. He opened the door by little more than a crack. “What do you want?” he asked, disappointingly cool.
“I need to stay in my room tonight.”
“But it’s not your room tonight. It’s only your room on Fridays, Saturdays and some Wednesdays at my discretion.”
Willow burst into tears.
Nat just stared.
“I had a row with Demi.”
Instantly, he opened the door and let her in. Willow was surprised to find the flat pretty much as she’d left it. She had feared, from Nat’s reluctance to open the door, that he had something in there that he was trying to hide. She looked around, suspiciously.
Nat put the kettle on and made Willow a cup of tea. He sat down next to her on the sofa and put an arm around her. “Tell me all about it, Miss Cassidy. I’m here for you.”
“As soon as I got back, she started hassling me about missing this memorial dinner.” Willow sobbed heavily. “I can’t believe I missed the memorial dinner!”
“I was afraid that something like this might happen. I hate that she’s attacking you to distract from her own failings.”
“She wasn’t attacking me. She was trying to help me through the anniversary of Mum’s death.”
“So how has it come to this, then? You’re crying and you certainly weren’t crying when you left.”
“I should go home and apologise.”
“You most certainly should not!”
“I left because I was ashamed of what I said. I accused her of moving in because she needed somewhere to live, when it turns out she wasn’t flunking uni after all.”
“See – this is how they get you where they want you. This is how bullies like her work. They make you feel bad about yourself. Now drink up your tea and I’ll run you a hot bath.”
“With the spa jets?”
“And a crisp glass of white.”
Evening of Friday 17 th July – inside a house on Mayfield Road
On occasions when Demi had knelt on the kitchen floor wearing just her collar, she’d usually prayed that Willow wouldn’t walk in. However, with her sister having refused to speak to her for five days, she would have happily had her burst through the door under any circumstances.
She tried to put Willow out of her mind so that she could enjoy her evening. They were sisters; they were supposed to have spats. Willow often spent extended periods at Nat’s. She would come home when she was ready.
If anybody could take her mind off it, it was Ross Danning, from his loveable, rust-coloured curls down to his knobbly toes.
Ross tugged at the leash around her neck, reminding her that he was there. Demi recalled a long conversation the night before. They’d lain side by side for hours talking dirty yet resisting contact until eventually they crumbled and had a frantic quickie. They’d mentally explored so many scenarios, so many ideas … Which ones had he chosen to treat her with tonight?
He looked the part, wearing a black PVC waistcoat and leather chaps – a particular request of hers. The waistcoat accentuated his muscular arms but she couldn’t take her eyes off his crotch. How could a triangle of leather make a cock look so appetising?
Ross stepped down from his stool and went to one of the cupboards. She adored the way his square butt looked in chaps. He fiddled around with a few things on the worktop, shielding his handiwork with his body. Demi’s heart thumped.
“I want you to crawl to the back door.”
Demi grinned. She put one hand in front of the other until she arrived in the porch, still on her hands and knees.
“That’s it. Now spread your legs wide so I can see everything.”
Her vagina juddered – exposed again, vulnerable.
“That’s it. A little further.”
She wriggled her knees outwards.
“Wide open. Perfect.”
Ross put a bowl o
n floor in front of her. She felt her clam moisten, remembering how the story went last night, and wondering how far he’d take it. She looked in the bowl – sponge cake. It had been torn apart, but she could make out jam, butter icing and light, fluffy sponge – it was clearly Victoria sandwich.
“Prove to me that you’re under my control.”
“I am.”
“Then eat from the bowl.”
Defiantly, Demi grabbed a small mouthful with her fingers.
Smack! Ross spanked her lightly.
“You know the rules. No hands.”
Demi looked down at the cake, but did nothing.
Smack! “Do it. If you don’t, you won’t get any pudding.”
“This isn’t pudding?”
“Nope.”
“What is pudding?”
“It depends how good you are.”
Demi grinned. She leant down and attempted to eat from the bowl using just her mouth. Naturally, she got butter icing all over her face. It was humiliating and messy and she loved it. She bent down again, this time making sure that she tilted her hips towards him. She knew he would be looking at her holes, and it made her feel deliciously vulnerable.
He walked over to the back porch. “You’re not eating fast enough,” he scolded, as he opened the back door.
Demi’s inner muscles jerked. Admittedly, their back garden was not visible from the road, but it was still visible from the back gardens of three or four other houses.
“Eat.”
Demi surveyed the outside world. She couldn’t see anybody out there gaping at her nudity, ogling her collar … She leaned forward and took another mouthful of sponge, this time getting jam all over her nose.
“Now, look at me.”
Demi turned back to face him. Ross laughed and licked a little the jam from her nose.
“You are a mucky pup. Do it properly this time, or I will have to find some incentive.”
Demi liked the idea of an incentive – she liked it and she hated it. Impatient to find out what the incentive might be, she intentionally got butter icing all over her nose.
“Right!” Ross grabbed the bowl and shoved it two feet into the garden. She would have to go outside to get to it. She welcomed the dusky cloak of sunset and felt relieved that Ross had arrived late. “We’ll be needing this,” he added, clipping her lead to her collar.
Looking out for onlookers, Demi crawled forwards into the garden. If anybody looked now, they would see her naked, on a lead, eating food from a bowl like a dog. Although she prayed that nobody would see her, the very thought that somebody might drove her crazy. She was too busy looking around to eat.
Smack! Ross slapped her arse with a hand.
Oh heck. That noise is bound to attract attention. She leant forwards and took another mouthful of cake. This time, she did not tilt her ass. She tried to make herself look as inconspicuous as possible, lowering her body towards the ground and shrinking against the wall.
“I can still see cake in that bowl. You’re not disobeying me, are you?”
Ross threw a triangle of leather onto the floor beside her. She turned to face Ross. He was standing in the back porch with his thick cock in his hand. She loved putting on a show for him. She knew she would be rewarded well. She leant down and took another bite, finishing the last big chunk of sponge.
“Now lick the bowl.”
Demi grinned and began to lick butter icing from the plastic.
“Anyone who looks out their window now will see you there licking that bowl, naked.”
Demi groaned with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment.
“But I think you like that.”
“No,” she groaned.
“I think you do.”
“No!”
Ross came right out into the garden, with his penis still in his hand. Demi looked around for neighbours. Slap! “I have another instruction for you. Do as I tell you, or I’ll lead you to the bottom of the garden and padlock you to the fence.”
Demi felt a sharp convulsion. She wondered why humiliation turned her on so much. Her spine radiated tingles. “What do I have to do?”
“I want you to bark.”
“What?” This hadn’t been in their fantasy.
“Are you questioning me? Because it looks mighty exposed down by that fence.”
Demi wasn’t even sure how to bark. Did he want a playful ‘arf arf’ or something more realistic? “Woof,” she muttered.
“Pardon?”
“Woof,” she said a little louder.
“Too short, and too quiet.”
“Woof woof,” she said at speaking volume.
Slap! He spanked her hard.
“Woof woof!”
Ouch! That slap really hurt. Heat spread through her labia.
“Woof woof!”
The spanks grew sharper and closer together. “I’ll stop once I’m satisfied that you’re taking the task seriously.”
Suddenly, a light came on in one of the houses overlooking the garden. “Fuck!” they cried simultaneously. Ross grabbed Demi around the waist and hauled her back inside the porch.
They fell backwards into the kitchen in fits of giggles. They tried to kiss but amusement contorted their lips. Ross’s erection slipped effortlessly into Demi, and they began to screw.
Early evening on Saturday 25 th July – inside a penthouse on the sea front
Staying at Nat’s was going surprisingly well for Willow. They ate breakfast together every morning and supper together every night. Now that term had ended, they spend almost all their time together. Nat still referred to it as ‘an arrangement’, but it clearly was a relationship.
Willow’s stomach somersaulted whenever she thought of Demi. At first she’d kept away because she was hurting, then she’d dug her heels in. The longer she left it, the harder it felt to go home. She couldn’t even bring herself to pick up the phone. Besides, it didn’t sound as though Demi wanted her to come home. She had called regularly at first – perhaps too regularly – but now a week had gone by without as much as a peep. Willow began to wish that Demi used Facebook; at least then she’d have a way of testing the water.
Willow looked in the oven. The cheese soufflés she was making seemed to be rising. These weren’t the actual soufflés they’d be having for dinner; there were the practice soufflés. She ran a cloth over the counters once again. She still wasn’t sure whether Nat was comfortable with her using his kitchen, so she tried to make it look as though the soufflé dishes were the only thing that had moved.
The timer rang; she took the soufflés out of the oven and placed them carefully on the top. They looked perfect. Relieved, she retrieved a skewer from the draw and tested it. Alas, the outside was cooked but the inside was still like mousse.
Willow flopped onto the floor and began to cry. She wanted dinner to be perfect. She looked at the clock, wondering if there would be time for another dry run before Nat came home.
She frantically collected all the dishes she had just put away, and began assembling the mixture once again. However, whilst earlier she was enjoying playing the role of dutiful girlfriend, she now felt flustered and tired.
Fortunately, the second batch was much better. Willow ate one and was delighted to find that it was delicious. She scraped the other three into the bin. There was no point in making homemade soufflés if she was going to serve them reheated in the microwave. She began preparing for the third batch.
Quarter of an hour before Nat was due back from golf, she popped them into the oven and turned on the timer. That way, he’d return to the gorgeous smell of home baking.
Ten minutes later, she heard the lift reach the top floor. She looked in the mirror to triple check her makeup.
“Hi,” she sang, greeting Nat with open arms.
He ignored her, walked over to the stereo and put on one of his Beethoven collection. He sat on the sofa, taking off his boots.
“Did your meeting go badly?”
“I don
’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s a ‘yes’, then?”
Nat said nothing.
“I don’t like it when you look sad,” she ventured.
Still nothing.
“Is there anything I can do to turn that frown upside down?”
“Yes, actually.”
Willow beamed.
“Take off your dress and go and stand at the window.”
“But I’ve just put food in! They’ll only take a few more minutes …”
“Why did you put food in?”
“To make you happy.”
“It will make me happy if you take off your dress and go and stand at the window.”
Willow couldn’t see the soufflés from here, but peeked into the kitchen optimistically anyway. She took off her dress and walked over to the window in her bra and knickers. She remembered the first time she’d been naked in front of him – that wide-eyed, apprehensive innocence. She was apprehensive now, though she felt anything but innocent.
She put her hands on the rail and leant over, in the way that she knew he liked. For at least two minutes, he didn’t move. Willow sniffed; how were the soufflés doing? “Can I just check the …?”
Nat stood up and walked over to the window. He stood behind Willow, clutching the bar on either side of her the way he often did. She liked sex from behind, but she really didn’t think there’d be time even for a quickie without spoiling the food she’d prepared.
Nat grabbed her hips roughly. He leaned forwards and began kissing her neck. Willow found it hard to enjoy the sensation when she was so worried about burning the dinner. He ran a finger into her knickers and touched her dry lips. “Hmm,” he said. “Pussy doesn’t want to play.”
Willow willed her pussy to moisten, but achieved nothing other than to clamp her muscles shut, repelling his finger.
“No matter. I have somewhere else in mind today.”
“No!” said Willow, alarmed. She straightened.
“Relax. I’ve been training you for this.”
Willow remembered, with anguish, the silicone butt plug that he’d given her. He’d helped her insert it into her anus the first time, covering it in lashings of gel. It was slim and hadn’t hurt, but she couldn’t get over where he was putting it. What if it had come out covered in crap? She felt so anxious worrying about how she might smell, that she couldn’t even begin to imagine enjoying it.
Two Shades of the Lilac Sunset Page 11
