‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Sure.’
‘I met Poppy out in the conservatory and she said she thought I was a natural sub.’
‘And you want me to say she got it wrong and you’re obviously a big butch dom?’ Sadie began to laugh.
‘So you think she’s right?’
She leaned forwards and put her mouth close to his ear. He could feel her hot breath on his neck. ‘Let’s find out, shall we?’
Sadie walked away and, as he watched her cross the room, it struck him who she had reminded him of: Morticia Addams. She had the same wardrobe and make-up and the same hint of danger and strangeness.
Across the room, Dan spotted Jim, the group’s chairman. Apart from his leather trousers, he was dressed perfectly conventionally. In fact, he looked like a business executive desperately trying to dress the part but failing miserably. There was just something utterly wholesome and conventional about him. Dan nodded to the film crew and walked over to him.
‘Hi, Dan. Are you having a good time?’
‘It’s certainly been interesting. I had no idea at all what to expect but it certainly wasn’t this.’
‘You knew about the dress code and you knew that there would be a few scenes going on, surely?’
‘A scene is what you call a session, right? Like the beating Madame Cyn gave to the man on the lead.’
‘That’s the idea, or you might call it playing; people often refer to gatherings like these as play parties.’ Jim picked up his glass and took a sip.
‘I can see I’ve got a lot to learn. You’re right, I did know there might be some action, I just didn’t realise how it would make me feel.’
‘And how does it make you feel?’
‘I don’t know where to start.’ Dan ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Shocked, certainly. Appalled even – that people would do that sort of thing for pleasure. But I also find it strangely exciting. And, do you know, as I watched Madame Cyn and the slave I was honestly unable to distinguish between horror and arousal.’
‘That must be very . . . I don’t know . . . unsettling.’
‘Yes, it is. I’m completely confused and not at all comfortable at finding violence arousing.’
‘Is it violence, do you think, if it’s consensual and mutually desired? Isn’t it just extreme?’
‘It’s certainly that and I can see how powerful and intimate it is for the people involved.’
‘Did Sadie talk you into trying it for yourself?’
‘Yes, she did. How did you know?’
‘She said she’d ask you and she seldom takes no for an answer. You’re in for a treat; she’s one of the best. You’ll be in good hands.’
‘I hope so. We were talking about that scene in Maîtresse where the Madame pierces the slave’s nipples and hammers his scrotum to a board. I must admit it rather scared me.’
‘Horses for courses. The slaves in that film were real clients of the Madame they used as advisor. They were queuing up to be abused on screen.’
‘You mean they actually did it? It wasn’t faked? Now I really am shocked.’
‘All genuine. You see, we’re an exhibitionist bunch by and large. A lot of us get off on public play and being seen. When they made Preaching to the Perverted people in the scene were falling over themselves to be in it. And you can hardly watch late-night TV these days without stumbling across another documentary about S&M. We just love showing off.’
‘That’s what Poppy said to me.’
‘Ah, so you’ve met the wife.’
‘I have, but I didn’t realise you were her husband. It all falls into place now. I made the mistake of thinking that Nick was her partner and she found it rather funny.’
‘Nick? Now he’s the biggest TV whore of us all. He just loves the limelight. You’ll have to watch out, he can be a real scene stealer.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind. I’ve never asked, but I find I’m curious, why did you agree to do this film?’
‘Because you seemed to want to look beyond the surface and see the people underneath. You aren’t just interested in what we do but why we do it and how it makes us feel. It just seemed to us that you might really be interested in what makes us tick.’
‘But you know my reputation. Weren’t you concerned that I might be trying to manipulate you? That I might have the same agenda as everyone else? It might turn out to be just another freak show.’
‘No, because you don’t see us as freaks. You’re fascinated by us, anyone can see that. You honestly want to understand.’
‘Thanks, I appreciate your trust in me.’
‘By the way, I bumped into Jo Lennox yesterday and she tells me you’re hoping to do a film at Hall Croft? I hope you’re not intending to turn it into a scathing exposé of private education, because anyone who tried to pull a fast one on Jo Lennox would live to regret it.’
‘How do you know Jo?’
Jim laughed. ‘Everyone knows her.’
‘You’re not saying she’s a pervert?’
‘No, I’m not.’ Jim sipped his drink. ‘Would you be surprised if she was?’
‘I’m not sure. She’s undeniably sexy and she certainly doesn’t lack confidence, but she just seemed so respectable.’
‘Assuming she is a pervert – and we’re definitely speaking hypothetically here – you wouldn’t expect her to go to work dressed in rubber, would you? I can’t imagine it going down very well with the Board of Governors, for a start.’
‘I suppose not. You’ve piqued my interest now. Come on, you’ve got to put me out of my misery.’
‘You’ll have to ask her yourself, I’m afraid. But I will say that, even though I’m a dom, if I ever found myself kneeling at her feet naked and quivering, I would count myself a very lucky man.’
Four
That night in bed Jo cuddled up behind Costas, his buttocks nestled into her lap. Her arm was wrapped around his chest, her hand in his. She could feel his hard muscles and smooth skin. She could feel the birdcage of his ribs rise and fall as he breathed.
Outside an owl hooted. Jo could hear Costas’s watch ticking on the bedside table. She listened as his breathing slowed and sleep relaxed and softened his muscles. She closed her eyes.
When she woke up it was light outside and Costas was gone. Jo reached across the bed and stroked the dent his head had left in the pillow. She smiled to herself. The first time he’d disappeared in the night she’d worried that something was wrong but he’d assured her it was nothing personal. He just preferred waking up in his own bed.
She turned over and looked at the alarm clock’s digital display. It was 5 a.m. Jo slid over to Costas’s side of the bed where the sheets were cool and his smell still lingered.
More than an hour later she was still awake. Her logic told her it was still the middle of the night, but the bright sunlight streaming in through the open curtains told her senses it was daytime. She slid out of bed and put on her dressing gown and slippers. She fetched a towel from the bathroom and let herself out of the flat, leaving the door on the latch.
Downstairs, she pulled back the huge iron bolts on the front door and walked down the steps onto the drive. As soon as she reached the lawn, she stepped out of her slippers. The grass was cool and dew-damp under her feet. Jo could see the sun gleaming off the glassy surface of the lake.
She walked out to the centre of the bridge over the lake and put down her towel on top of the knee-high stone balustrade. She undid the belt of her silk robe and slid it off. The sun warmed her naked skin. A cool breeze stiffened her nipples. She stepped up onto the wall and dived into the green water, barely rippling the surface.
The lake was cold and silent and vast. She could hear the sounds of nature all around her; birds twittering overhead, the breeze rustling the leaves, the hoarse calls of the waterfowl.
She could smell the moist aroma of earth and the green vegetable scent of the waterweed. She moved silently through the water, doing breaststrok
e. On the bank a swan preened its wings.
Her wet body gleamed in the light. Her normally pale nipples were dark and wrinkled. She lay on her back in the water and looked up at the cloudless blue sky. High above, a flock of geese flew in formation. She could see the white vapour trail of a jet.
The sun hurt her eyes and she closed them. The water muffled and muted all sounds. She could hear the sound of her own breathing and blood pumping in her ears. She could hear the water itself lapping around her body.
Jo kicked her legs and languidly snaked her arms, steering herself in the direction of a wooden jetty that jutted out into the lake. She could feel the strength of the water as it resisted her limbs. As she neared the jetty, she rolled over onto her front and swam to the edge. She heaved herself up onto the wooden planking and climbed out.
Back in the house, she showered and washed her hair then made coffee and toast. She put her breakfast on a tray and carried it through to the living room. As she sat down on the sofa she noticed the DVD Dan had given her on the coffee table. She went over and switched on the TV and put the disc into the player.
Dan was definitely handsomer in the flesh, she reflected as she watched the screen. And he was much more manly and confident than he came across on TV. The self-deprecating humour was still there, along with that refusal to take himself seriously which she found so captivating and attractive.
He dressed better in real life, too, playing down his boyish gawkiness. He’d looked stylish and elegant in his simple black outfit and his slenderness had given him the look of a young Bryan Ferry.
It was easy to see how he used his natural charm and that appealing quality of innocence to manipulate his subjects. He looked so wholesome, so honourable, that somehow you just had to trust him. Jo could imagine their stunned, mystified faces as they watched the final film, unable to work out how he’d got them to make such fools of themselves. But, she was willing to bet, they’d grown so fond of him that they couldn’t quite find it in themselves to resent it.
He was a dangerous man and a courageous one too. In one programme about naturists he’d spent the entire hour naked. As his own producer and director, Jo knew he could have insisted that the cameras shot him only from the waist up to preserve his dignity. Yet he allowed his body to be seen freely, indicating to his subjects and the viewer alike that he was entering into the spirit of things.
In one of the excerpts he’d received a Brazilian wax, the camera lingering over every detail of the process in vivid close-up.
Not that he had anything to be ashamed of on that score. His chest was surprisingly muscular for such a slender man and he had the solid shapely legs of a rugby player. His belly was flat and hard with an obvious six-pack and a trail of dark hairs leading down to paradise. His cock was thick and long and had a pleasing soft curve to it as it lay over his balls.
She found herself wondering if it grew much when he was hard because you never could tell. Sometimes a cock that was only a chipolata when flaccid would surprise you by turning into a python when roused. Likewise a promising package might barely grow at all. She closed her eyes and imagined a naked Dan looking down at her with his erection standing out purple and proud in front of him. Her belly seemed to turn watery and her nipples stiffened and tingled.
After Madame Cyn’s party Dan went home with Sarah, his co-producer and ‘fuck-buddy’. The term was Sarah’s own. A middle-class public schoolboy like Dan would never have called a woman who was generous enough to sleep with him anything so derogatory. But Sarah was American; a loud down-to-earth New Yorker who was outspoken, direct and often foulmouthed. A tough Jewish broad was how she described herself.
Half the crew were scared of her and she used their fear to her full advantage. Dan was happy to let Sarah play the dragon because it got results and freed him up to concentrate on the creative side. They were a good team at work and away from it, and they spent so much of their time together that the sexual side of their relationship had just sort of evolved.
It was friendly and undemanding and without strings. If they were both at a loose end they’d end up in bed together, and in the morning neither of them had to feel guilty, or make any promises they didn’t want to keep. But that didn’t mean it lacked passion. Sarah knew Dan better than anyone and vice versa.
Between the sheets she was as demanding, earthy and loud as she was at work, except that she nurtured a deep attachment to receiving erotic pain and verbal abuse. Dan knew she’d have died rather than let their colleagues know about her private preferences. Likewise, he could imagine their looks of wide-eyed shock if they knew how hard and excited he got when Sarah was bossy with him and demanded orgasm after orgasm without even thinking of giving him his turn.
As he sat in the passenger seat beside Sarah the fly of his trousers was damp from pre-come and his cock was tingling. Unconsciously, he stroked his crotch with the heel of his thumb.
Sarah laughed. ‘There’s no need to ask you if the evening turned you on. It was something, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes. It was certainly interesting.’
‘Yeah . . . it was so “interesting” that my clit ached the whole time and I’m sitting here in a puddle.’ She smiled at Dan.
‘I think the project’s going to be much harder than I thought.’
‘You’re right about that. You looked hard to me most of the evening.’ She glanced at his crotch.
‘A lot of the time anyway. I don’t know what I’m going to do if it keeps happening.’ He looked at Sarah as she drove. She was frowning slightly, trying to focus though the dark. Her jet-black hair was cut into an elegant full bob that swung to her shoulders.
‘You seemed to cope pretty well, making a joke of it like you usually do. But maybe you should do what teenage boys do before they go on a date, to keep their minds out of their pants . . .’
‘What’s that?’
‘You know . . . don’t tell me English boys don’t do it. They masturbate. It’s supposed to make them more relaxed. You could have a quick one in the loo before each take.’
‘Good idea. I don’t suppose you’d like to volunteer to help me out, would you?’ Dan’s eyes travelled downwards. Sarah’s plain wrap dress clung to her curves and revealed several inches of deep golden cleavage. ‘Strictly for the sake of the film, of course.’
‘I don’t remember reading that in my job description. We’re here.’ Sarah parked outside her house. ‘Come on. I’m so horny it hurts.’
Sarah let them into the house and headed straight up the stairs. Dan followed, watching her plump buttocks twitch under the soft jersey fabric of her dress. Her figure was curvy and feminine, her legs long and shapely. Dan could see the soft arc of her calf bisected by the seam of her nylons and the taper of her ankle before it disappeared beneath the suede heel of her shoe.
Dan closed the bedroom door. Sarah was standing by the bed with her hands on her hips, smiling. Her brown eyes glistened in the light and her lips were slightly parted, revealing her perfect American teeth. Dan could see her chest heaving as she breathed.
‘Why don’t you take my clothes off for me?’ Her voice was throaty and deep.
‘I’ll tear them off with my teeth if you like.’
Dan walked over to Sarah. He ran the tip of one finger down her chest and between her breasts. She sighed softly.
‘Don’t you dare . . . this dress cost me a fortune.’
She caught Dan’s wrist and slid his hand under the top of her dress. Dan cupped her breast, massaging it through the sheer silk of her bra. His cock tingled. He bent to kiss her throat. He drank in the warm womanly scent of her skin. She moaned.
Dan could feel his cock thickening. A slow shiver slid down his spine. He gave Sarah’s neck a final kiss. He found the ties at the side of her dress and began to undo them with trembling fingers. He pulled the dress open and found another tie on the inside. He undid it and slid the dress off over her shoulders. Sarah executed a little shimmy, shaking her body and making
her ample bosoms tremble, and the dress slipped off and pooled around her feet.
Underneath she was wearing a sheer lacy bra through which the swollen dark tips of her nipples were clearly visible. Dan was surprised to discover that she was wearing tights. When he’d seen the seams up the back of her legs he’d assumed that they were stockings. The tights were darker at the top, like a pair of knickers, and underneath she was naked. The neatly trimmed triangle of her pubes was clearly visible.
Dan stroked the curve of her belly with his fingertips then turned his hand and cupped her crotch. Sarah gasped. It was hot and damp and soft in his palm. He ran the tip of his fingers along the groove between her lips and he could feel the moisture welling there.
‘You’re already wet,’ Dan’s whispered.
‘I told you, I’ve been wet all evening. I need to come.’ Sarah laid her hand over Dan’s, pressing his fingers against her crotch.
‘You always need to come.’ He slid his hand away and she sighed in disappointment. He reached behind her and unclipped her bra. He pulled it over her shoulders and down her arms. Her breasts swung free. Her nipples were hard and dark. Dan’s cock twitched. He cupped her breasts and rubbed his thumbs across the tips. He bent his head and put his mouth close to her ear. He whispered, ‘You’re such a . . .’
‘Don’t tease me. Say it. You know what I want.’ Sarah’s voice was urgent and excited.
‘You’re such a slut.’ Dan squeezed her nipples between thumb and forefinger. ‘You’re a dirty sexy slut who’s obsessed with cock and you want to come all the time.’ His balls ached. His erection was trapped painfully inside his underwear.
His mouth was millimetres away from her ear. He could feel her hair on his face. He could smell her skin. He pulled hard on her nipples, stretching and elongating her breasts.
Sarah let out a long moan of pleasure and pain. ‘I need to come now.’ The tone of her voice left Dan in no doubt that she expected to be obeyed.
He laughed softly. ‘You need to learn to be patient . . .’ He slid to his knees and pulled down her tights. He rolled them down slowly over her thighs. As he uncovered her crotch he could see the moisture on her lips gleaming in the light. Dan’s heart was thumping. His crotch ached.
A Talent for Surrender Page 5
