by Laurel Aspen
DS ‘Hi Ellie, I enjoyed our significant electronic interface the other day.’
EK ‘Me too.’
DS ‘Now I think it’s time to take the first step and meet.’
EK ‘Meet? Meet where?’
DS ‘Neutral territory; a hotel.’
EK ‘Why?’
DK ‘Don’t be obtuse, it doesn’t suit. To bring fantasies to life, Ellie; you don’t want to spend your whole life either wishing or regretting, do you?’
EK ‘No, but I don’t know you.’
DS ‘Don’t you?’
Ellie shivered; was this some sort of cyber stalker?
DK ‘Don’t be afraid, Ellie, you’ll understand perfectly when we meet in person.’
EK ‘But I haven’t agreed to anything.’
DS ‘Always hard to make the first step, isn’t it? You said you might need a degree of coercion.’
EK ‘I’m sorry, the answer is no. Look, I’ll admit I’m tempted, the whole idea is totally off the wall, arousing even, but…’
DS ‘But no buts, let me offer you a choice. Scenario one. Your MD gets a complete electronic file of your Internet interests, sites, dates, the lot. Possibly not an ideal aid to career development…’
EK ‘I’ll deny it.’
DS ‘Might work. However, a careful selection of your on-screen leisure pursuits to everyone on your email address list might put quite a strain on your negotiating skills.’
EK ‘How could you possibly do that?’
DS ‘Don’t get distracted. “How” is of no consequence.’
EK ‘And the other choice?’
DS ‘Scenario two. Indulge yourself, dress up, venture into the unknown, follow your desires.’
The screen becomes inactive… minutes pass.
EK ‘That’s no choice at all, is it?’
DS ‘Think on, Ellie, after all, you’re not responsible; someone forced you. I’ll send you a second email tomorrow with detailed instructions - what to wear, where to meet. Until then, sweet dreams.’
Next afternoon Ellie returned to Camden market. Like the condemned enjoying a hearty feast she had decided to go for broke, concluding it was better to be hung for a sheep as a lamb. All of Ellie’s management training had focused on turning problems into opportunities, and now here was a perfect chance to at least realise some sartorial ambitions.
As for what might follow? She shrugged inwardly; private indignities were infinitely preferable to public humiliation. Since it seemed her only choice was to be pragmatic about the situation and to comply with Dark Star’s directions, she decided to take the opportunity to wrest some pleasure from her impending peril.
In little more than two hours she had a close encounter with her cyber Svengali at a gratifyingly expensive West End hotel, but until then she’d some serious spending to do among the specialist retro boutiques and quasi sex shops that inhabited the semi-subterranean passageways of the ‘Souk’.
The hotel clerk had checked Ellie in and noted her request for individual billing with the discrete aplomb the English manage so well. Safety-first emails to several friends had made it quite clear where she was and, vitally, when she should be expected back. Dressed in thrilling but unfamiliar garb she felt like an actress about to appear on stage, her own personality subsumed by the adoption of costume and make-up. She’d a shrewd idea who her mysterious correspondent was, and fervently hoped to be proven correct.
Softly he closes the door behind her and hands Ellie a glass of red wine. ‘Yes,’ he smiles at her obvious relief, ‘I thought you might work it out for yourself. I knew there was a mutual attraction from the first time we met.’
‘Then why didn’t you say so?’ Ellie asks crossly.
‘What, and miss out on all the fun?’
‘Bastard.’
‘Such language, and from a well brought up WASP, too. How disappointing, although I must say you’ve certainly forsworn the preppy casual look today.’
‘I guess I did go a little native in the market.’
In truth Ellie was completely sick of dressing like Ms Corporate, but had lacked the courage or inspiration to change. Fortunately a morning misspent among what were colloquially known as the ‘catacombs’ had seen to that. Aided by supremely confident, bizarrely-attired shop assistants - dressed largely from their own stock in Soho sex worker meets retro boho style - Ellie had, by their standards, made conservative choices. An original nineteen-seventies flowing velvet scoop neck top, tied loosely at the front to conceal, but not very well, an uplifting bustier that helped to make the most of her modest but pert décolletage. Layers of fabric, tulle and silk ensured an early fifties style knee-length skirt flounced around her shapely calves. And underneath she wore agent provocateur matching knickers and suspenders, with tiny aplicade roses holding taut, seven denier sheer stockings.
She spent ages looking at shoes; high heels had always been a secret indulgence but the vertiginous stilettos, towering platforms and wicked ankle boots that were daringly displayed were a fetishist’s wet dream. If Ellie were to wear a pair in public, however briefly on her way to the assignation, it wouldn’t help to be teetering like a drunk nor attracting too much male attention, so she settled for a pair of classic ankle strap sandals with slender four-inch heels. Needless to say, every single one of the above items was in black.
Ellie’s make-up regime also underwent a radical revamp, with the addition of purple eye shadow and a good deal more dark eyeliner and mascara then she’d normally consider. Forsaking blusher, her cheeks were rendered pale enough to suit a denizen of darkness, while her dark hair was combed out to swirl loosely around her face and shoulders.
Slowly and languorously dressing, Ellie realised that she’d previously been too ready to rush to negative judgements of women who deliberately dressed to enhance their female form.
Carefully rolling each stocking over her ankles, tugging them straight and taut up her thighs and painstakingly fastening them to the suspender clips made her feel simultaneously powerful and submissive. And less ambiguous was the surge of sexual arousal that coursed through her body.
The effort was clearly worthwhile, for Carlo eyed her with ill-disguised hunger.
‘This is truly your first time?’ he asks, a little thrown at her adroitly accomplished transformation.
‘Absolutely.’
‘I can’t promise to be gentle.’
‘Then don’t.’
Setting down his glass, Carlo takes Ellie by the hand, sits on a luxuriously padded ottoman and carefully turns her slim figure across his knee; the moment has arrived. Tingling with excitement Ellie makes neither sound nor protest, but meekly appears to accept her fate.
Calmly, unhurriedly, Carlo spanks her, lightly at first then harder, first over her skirt, then after bunching the fabric around her waist to expose her enchantingly clad haunches, he turns his attentions to the seat of her knickers. Soon these too are removed, peeled deliciously down to her knees, revealing two glorious orbs. When, after a time, he pauses the steady rhythm of the hand that has turned these bouncing globes into a delicate pink, and gently starts to pet the damp cleft between them.
Ellie’s silence had gradually been transformed into yelps and groans, tentative protests punctuated by sharp intakes of breath. But at the touch of Carlo’s fingers, exploring the dewy depths of her glistening thatch, the timbre of Ellie’s voice mutates into appreciative sobs of desire. Aware of a sharp tingling permeating the whole of her hindquarters, this seems adequately compensated for by its aphrodisiac effect on her sorely neglected sex.
Still draped over Carlo’s lap she thrills to discover this physical response is clearly being reciprocated, evidenced by the hard bulge pressing into her thigh. Turning her head she grins cheekily up at her tormentor.
‘That must be uncomfortable,’ she says seductively.
There can be no doubt what she’s referring to.
‘You can help,’ he replies, promptly sliding her onto her knees before
him.
Eagerly she reaches for his crotch, quickly lowering the zip and with a pleasing demonstration of the twin virtues of obedience and practicality, frees Carlo’s angry-looking cock from the confines of his leather strides.
‘Poor baby,’ she murmurs, taking the tip of Carlo’s pulsating cock between her lips.
A surge of pleasure shoots through him as Ellie, with seemingly practiced ease slides his shaft deeper into her mouth. Time stands still as she sucks at the very root of his being, cradling his aching balls in cool fingers, expertly running her tongue up and down the entire length of his long, slender cock.
Gritting his teeth, Carlo somehow resists the mute invitation in Ellie’s wickedly shining eyes to pump her mouth full of creamy sperm and, grasping a handful of lustrous dark hair, lifts her head from his lap.
‘That’s beautiful, Ellie,’ he gasps, ‘but unfortunately your induction is far from complete. Kneel on the ottoman over there, head down, bum up, and knickers off. Good girl,’ he adds paternalistically, as meekly she obeys. ‘Now, knees apart… fine, that’s good. This is your first time, so I’ll be merciful, as long as you don’t move or struggle. Look up, you can watch your reflection in the mirror.’
He’s right; Ellie can see her predicament clearly, and it can be no accident that the reflector has been so positioned. Observing herself about to be further punished is like an out of body experience.
Then raising his right arm, Carlo returns her to reality with a vengeance…
Whack!
The first cane stroke falls across her unprotected buttocks, then judging carefully the fine line twixt punitive and erotic intent, Carlo lays on six precise strokes. Even as she cries out and wriggles her hips so Ellie now understands why she must first submit in order to earn the reward of her intense stimulation. Loving the punisher, hating the pain, she knows the marks already emblazoned across her roughly reddened bottom are the badge of membership of an exclusive club.
She takes her first caning well, a touch nosily perhaps, but the staff here are professionally deaf and at no time does Ellie so much as attempt to interpose her hands or stray from her appointed position. Livid red lines now dissect her sinuous curves, but she no longer cares, welcoming them as the path to a realm beyond simple separations of pleasure and pain.
‘A natural,’ Carlo thinks approvingly, dropping the rod of correction and stroking her crotch, dewy with desire, circling her craving clitoris with his thumbs, sending spasms of electricity into her womb.
Tears in her eyes, rightly triumphant at the resolution she’s displayed so far, Ellie is ready for the final stage. Submissively she allows Carlo to guide her onto her back, wincing as her chastened derrière makes uncomfortable contact with the ottoman.
He kisses her long and hard, tongue swirling in her mouth before abruptly pulling away.
‘Reach up, Ellie,’ he commands sternly, and obediently she lies back, raising her hands above her head, and rests them on the rich fabric. ‘Spread your legs,’ he says crudely, and Ellie needs no second bidding. ‘Now, a test of trust,’ Carlo continues in explanation. ‘Imagine leather cuffs fastened round each wrist and ankle. Short chains fastening you into this defenceless position, unable to move you must await my pleasure.’
The words alone are almost sufficient to push Ellie, eyes closed, panting softly, over the edge and into an explosive orgasm.
Picking up a small, short-tailed whip, Carlo carefully strokes the thin leather strands over the flat of her stomach, flicking the very tips at her pale inner thighs, then up again to the sculptured curve of her shoulders.
Cupping her breasts he roughly releases them from the imprisoning bodice, sucks each nipple harshly between his teeth then twists each protuberant nub, bringing a grimace of painful anguish to her face. Then wielding the whip harder he brings its stinging kiss to bear across her upper arms and abdomen.
Startled by this change of fortune and Carlo’s unpredictable transition from erotic caress to tormenting lashes, Ellie is driven to a fever as she struggles to keep still. All the while the whip continues to fall, no single stoke unbearable but cumulatively bringing an enduring discomfort as he whips the fronds across her and under the soft curves of her breasts.
Fine red traces appear across her stinging tits, and her nipples throbbing terribly, she’s about to bring proceedings to a halt when, finely anticipating the moment, Carlo abruptly switches to a lower target. Taking more care now he subtly scourges the leather tails across her pubic mound, where moisture wells unchecked in the folds of her overheated vulva. Then harder once more, whipping the fronts of her thighs, making marks instantly visible through the sheer nylon as Ellie winces and jerks in distress.
Wet despite herself, she’s dimly aware of the whip, gently now, slicking across her sex, forcing a fierce intake of breath from her cruelly sensitised body.
Carlo kneels, kisses her passionately, then lowers his head to her valley of delights, laves her smarting quim, pushing his tongue past pouting labia, flicking it against the hard bud of Ellie’s clitoris. It’s too much, she shrieks with animated arousal.
Time is running out, so gripping her behind each knee Carlo holds her legs up and slowly, tantalisingly slides his entire length into her craving cunt. She lifts her head and sees his rampant cock pumping in and out of her honeyed slot. With an ankle now resting on each of his muscular shoulders, Carlo slides a hand under Ellie’s arse, uses her copious juices to anoint her second portal then fingers her puckered anus while dispensing a vigorous and lustily reciprocated fucking.
They come, loudly and exultantly together, but have barely commenced lying entwined in post-coital bliss when the door of the sumptuous hotel room suddenly opens. Ellie looks around fearfully, aware of the debauched image they surely present. But Carlo is unconcerned; he knows who it is, he issued the invitation for them to join them, in fact.
Eventually Ellie’s eyes focus properly, her brain lurches into gear and she’s aware of the mysterious stranger’s identity. Sarah, but not attired as most people have ever seen her before. Expensive, knee-length, high-heeled boots, bare tanned thighs, short leather skirt, matching zip top. Red lipstick matches fingernails of a similar hue. The effect, though not subtle, is entrancing; Ellie is not the only one capable of transformation.
‘Having fun?’ Sarah says. ‘Told you he was good.’
She walks over and exchanges a far from platonic kiss with Carlo.
Ellie watches, amazed, while Sarah continues to prattle conversationally as if they’ve met by chance in the bus queue. ‘Has he put it up your bum yet?’ she asks, but Ellie is speechless.
‘Oh, right,’ says Sarah, unphased, taking this silence, correctly, as a negative. ‘Something to look forward to, then. Perhaps we’ll start with a small vibrator first.’ She gives a vague smile; obviously this is not an unfamiliar image.
‘Yes, well, thank you for that personal endorsement,’ Ellie gasps, finding her voice at last. ‘But why are you here, exactly?’
‘Magician’s assistant, Santa’s little helper. If it takes two to tango, think what three can do? I’m sure you’ll both enjoy punishing me,’ Sarah adds coyly, clearly relishing the prospect, and to emphasise her point she takes a pliant riding-crop from her leather bag and swishes it through the air. ‘I’m going to love thrashing you with this, Ellie,’ she sighs.
‘But…’ protests Ellie.
‘Hush, baby,’ says Carlo, ‘it’s two to one so you’ve really no choice. Besides,’ he adds, casually throwing in a bombshell, ‘I always do what my wife says.’
Carlo unzips Sarah’s top, exposing two perfectly proportioned breasts, the nipples already erect.
Ellie hears the crop cut through the air.
‘Relax,’ says Sarah, her voice redolent with sensual promise. ‘We’ve got all night. The three of us are going to have lots of fun together…’
TV Gardner
‘And, cut! Okay that’s it, thanks very much everybody.’ The relief in the dir
ector’s voice was palpable. ‘I now declare the second series of Gardening for Greenhorns in the can.’ The smile was real enough, but his jocular tone sounded decidedly forced, a fact that didn’t escape two of the older hands amongst the film crew.
‘Thank goodness for that,’ grumbled Jake, the sound engineer, with a heavy sigh.
‘God, what a pain,’ agreed Tom, as he began to pack away the hand-held second camera.
‘The first series was a blast,’ continued Jake, coiling cable as he spoke, ‘fun all the way. This one’s been like wading through treacle.’
‘And no prizes for guessing whose tantrums that was largely down to,’ Tom growled darkly.
‘I know, our leading lady has been so completely different from last year you wouldn’t believe it was the same person,’ said Jake.
‘Tell me about it,’ his colleague concurred. ‘From easygoing and biddable to prima donna in just a few weeks. Course, I reckon the Jekyll and Hyde personality routine all boils down to that TV awards do last month.’
‘Why, what happened?’
‘Where were you, on Mars?’ Jake said incredulously. ‘You haven’t heard? It was all over the tabloids.’
‘Filming in Nepal,’ Tom told him nonchalantly.
‘Well, the long and short is madam went to the Hilton on the arm of her long-term bloke…’
‘Darren, yeah, I met him once, nice fella.’
‘Well she ended up snogging a C list soap star and left with him.’
‘Go on!’
‘Too pissed to do the dirty deed, apparently, but not as pissed as Darren, who hasn’t spoken to her since.’
‘Hence her strops on set?’
‘Partly. The other problem is the vultures have been circling and she’s started to believe her own publicity.’
‘Vultures?’
‘Anyone who thinks they can make a few bucks out of Britain’s favourite TV gardener. You know, the spin-off book, chat show appearances, product endorsements. Trouble is, without Darren’s guiding hand she’s made some dodgy choices.’
