She folded her arms and kept her eyes upon him. But despite her gaze he could not help his eyes running up and down the curves of her body, from her almost daunting red lips down to the black, patent leather sandals with their intimidating, long and slender heels which dug into the carpet. Even her perfume threatened to envelop him in the manner of some invisible ectoplasm, combining and conspiring with the aura of her personality.
'Do you like this, Mike?' she asked, running a hand slowly, very slowly, down the top of her thigh, over the hem of her dress and over the sheer, glossy smoothness of her stocking.
For a moment he remained speechless. 'Er, well - I mean, you wouldn't want me to tell a lie, would you? Tell you the truth, Cheryl,' he breathed, i'm breaking out into a sweat!'
Then you can touch me if you wish, Mike,' she said softly, bending over and placing a hand on his shoulder.
He stared momentarily at her pelvis and thighs, then reached out a trembling hand to touch her leg. It was as smooth as glass, cool and soft. The electric sensation passed from his fingers and down his spine to his loins.
Be honest, Mike,' she said quietly, 'it's the image, isn't it? Would it matter who was wearing these things? Or what if it was me in a pair of old jeans? It wouldn't be the same, would it?'
She leant closer to his face so that their eyes were staring into each others. He held his breath, overwhelmed and speechless. 'You want to serve me don't you, Mike?' she whispered, i mean serve me completely; be under my control.'
'Jesus Christ/ he groaned, closing his eyes. Secret, private images passed through his whirling mind. He could do nothing to prevent his face reddening. He wondered if she knew his thoughts.
it will be your role in this house if you agree, Mike. We'll set aside a day, just one special day. On that day you will be your alter ego but, be warned, everyone else will get to know. It won't be a secret, except when we are alone in here for our private rituals.'
'But - but why? Why must anyone else know?'
it's the penalty you must pay,' she breathed. True subservience must be seen in order to be. And there will be worse.'
'Worse?' he croaked. 'Wh - what do you mean?'
There's only one way to find out,' she whispered, kissing him on the forehead. 'Once you have agreed, there will be no turning back. You cannot go on as you are. It simply will not do.'
'Wait!' he declared, straightening up in the chair. This is impossible! How can you expect me to -?'
Cheryl stepped back and her face hardened, if you want me to be businesslike, I will. There's no room for any more problems to be created here; not with Rose, Annette nor anyone else. It's up to you, Mike.'
He stared into her eyes. 'What if I go along with this?'
Cheryl's features softened into a wry smile, it's Thursday, today Mike. Be here at two o'clock. Thursday can be the day. Even though it will be half over, it can be the first day.'
'The day for what? What am I meant to do?'
She leant back towards him until he felt the warm perfume of her breath stroke his cheek. He felt his penis straining. He dared not look down to see how much his erection showed through the thin cotton trousers, nor could he adjust himself in the chair to try and conceal it. He knew she could see it. How could she not, looking down at him so closely?
'The image, Mike,' she breathed, 'the image you so like to see; the image which so excites you and people like you. You're seeing those images now as I talk, aren't you?'
She touched his cheek with her fingers. Her eyes were on him, unblinking. Yes, she was right, he could see those things in his mind; the sensual and the bizarre. And as if reading his thoughts, she spoke softly. The sleek latex dresses; black gossamer stretched over the skin; little black straps and laces on everything. You know all about them, Mike. You know. And they form the image you are going to become."
He opened his mouth to speak but no sound emerged. His erection craved release from its confinement. He wondered if she could hear his heart thumping.
Cheryl moved away and sat facing him on her desk. With a tantalising swish of nylon, she slowly crossed her legs. He made no attempt to ignore them.
Two o'clock/ she said calmly, the tranquillity of her voice contrasting with the turbulence inside his mind and body. Two o'clock,' she repeated as he arose awkward and shaking, from the chair. "We'll need a little time to prepare you.'
'W - we?' he whispered.
'Don't be late, Mike,' she said in a low, grave voice.
'A large cold beer, please!' he said hoarsely as Lorna stared at him over the bar.
'Are you all right, Mike?' she asked wide-eyed as he settled on to the bar stool.
'All right? Me? Of course I am. Why shouldn't I be?'
'You look flushed.' She smiled and shook the smooth raven hair back over her shoulder.
He scrutinised her slim face with its delicate features for a moment, then turned towards the archway leading into the conservatory. Inside, he could see the auburn head of Annette, hear her voice and hear Angela talking to her. There were other voices too. 'We,' Cheryl had said. It must be one of them. One of them knew; maybe more than one of them. Who?
'There!' came the voice, cutting into his thoughts.
'What?'
'Your drink, Mike! Careful, you almost knocked it over. I've never seen you so nervous!'
'Oh sorry," he said lamely, i was daydreaming.'
'Well at least you don't look quite as hot and bothered as you did when you first walked in.'
He drank the cold liquid deeply and observed her face as she busied herself arranging the glasses. She was like a pre-Raphaelite painting: cool and composed, just the way he wished himself to be.
She looked up and said, 'You're not in trouble over something, are you?'
'Not me,' he replied, feeling marginally more certain of his composure. But was he in trouble? What was Cheryl proposing to do? Should he see it as punishment, pleasure or both? He'd had a taste of it the previous year, when Annette had obliged him as his side of their wager, when he had fallen into her and Cheryl's trap and, all too late, realised that the whole episode was being recorded. He had protested. He could not have done otherwise. He had told himself he had no wish to take part in such a thing. But, underneath, he had found the experience strangely and deeply sensual. Annette! It was obvious. He had assumed it was the work of Cheryl, but why? Who else but Annette would be devious enough to arrange all this?
Annette and Angela were still seated at the table when he passed through the conservatory and made for the French windows. Both glanced at him and smiled as he went by, but neither showed anything faintly untoward in their expressions. Annette was a good actress all right, he thought.
Fortunately, the jobs which occupied him until lunch time needed little concentration. He could not rid himself of her face. Her eyes seemed to be with him everywhere and he did not attempt to count the number of times her words replayed through his mind. Even so, moving about under the open blue sky, feeling the warmth of the sun on his back and hearing the birds overhead, the interview seemed unreal, the echo of a different world. Angela and Kim sat by the pool. They waved as he strolled by.
'Mike looks preoccupied,' remarked Angela, squeezing the tube of sun cream.
'Yes/ agreed Kim, 'his eyes looked odd to me. Lorna said he had a funny turn this morning at the bar. D'you think he's off colour?'
'Perhaps he's getting bored with all us women about.'
'Yes,' answered Kim, slipping off the cotton bathrobe to reveal her near-naked body to the warm air, 'it could well be that. Hand us the cream, will you?'
'A Scotch?' said Jackie. 'That's not like you, Mike; drinking whisky at lunch time.'
'Make it a large no, a very large one,' he answered, taking a bite out of the cheese roll, incidentally, where have you been? I haven't seen you around since I don't know when.'
'Oh, I've been tied up with other things. Nothing important.'
She lifted out the bottle of whisky and placed a
small tumbler before him. 'Say when!'
He had not spoken when the glass was almost filled and Jackie stopped pouring. 'Are you sure about all that?' she asked. 'You'll end up pissed!'
'Yes, I'm sure' he replied, picking up the tumbler.
Over half of the drink was gone when he felt a touch on his arm. Turning around, he met Valerie's gaze. Her brown gypsy eyes looked into his, deep and searching.
'Hi Val,' he said.
'You seem nervous, Mike,' she said, looking at the tumbler close to his hand. 'I saw how much of the whisky, Jackie poured.'
He glanced at it and replied, 'Stresses of the job, Val.'
Valerie reached out and moved the tumbler away from his reach. 'No more now, Mike.'
Her eyes took his thoughts from everything. Her hand squeezed gently on his arm and she breathed, close to him, 'Don't be late,' before walking out through the bar room door and into the main corridor. He felt a tingling in his spine and his heartbeat quickened. When he turned his attention back to the bar, the half-finished drink was gone.
A little later, when Lorna had her back to him, he slipped away without a word.
By the time he had reached the door, Cheryl's door, he had made a decision. It was not the one he had started out with when he left the bar. For bravado, bluffing it all out, facing them down and making light of what they were proposing to do had been his intention. Standing before the doorway with his arm raised, ready to knock, all of that had dissolved away. He could never maintain the facade before Cheryl. The thought of her, the way she looked at him, stirred the currents within and his resolve, no more than a house of cards, had fallen and already seemed a fleeting memory.
There were still misgivings when he knocked on the door, for the prospect of his being recorded he found utterly distasteful. But a moment later his concern, in that respect at least, was alleviated, for the room was in partial darkness.
For a moment he remained still, unable to ascertain the whereabouts of the voice which had bade him enter. He had seen at once that the green blinds were closed but there was no light switched on to compensate for the restful glow filtering through from outside. The playing of a jazz pianist reached his ears.
'Please close the door!' came the voice.
It was directed from the group of green leather easy chairs on the opposite side of the room by the covered windows. Its owner was seated and partly obscured by one of the chairs. He pushed the door shut and moved slowly forward. A perfume hung in the warm air; close, sensual and inviting. It blended with the rich aroma from the chairs and spoke of quiet relaxation. A figure arose from the chair, silhouetted black against the green blind. Cheryl stepped quietly towards him. Another figure, which had been hidden entirely by the back of the chair in which it sat, also appeared. His eyes gradually adjusted to the subdued light and he saw that both Cheryl and Valerie were dressed alike; each had on a black lycra catsuit with a wide red vinyl belt and red, stiletto-heeled ankle boots. If they intended to present an intimidating image, as far as he was concerned, they had entirely succeeded. The steel pen had disappeared. What the significance of that had been was unclear but at least it was to play no part in what they had planned.
There were words racing through his mind, sentences forming and reforming to express the comments he felt he ought to make but did not because they seemed inappropriate or foolish. But the need for dialogue receded as Cheryl said, 'Kick off your shoes,' and Valerie began to unbutton his shirt from the top down.
'Look, I can
'Don't argue!' cut in Cheryl.
He stood in his white cotton shorts. For the time being, the condition of his nerves had forestalled any manifestation of physical excitement. Valerie folded his clothes into a small heap and placed the shoes on top. Cheryl said, in the bathroom you'll find a tube of depilatory cream. I think you know where you have to use it. Just say if you don't. Follow the instructions on the side and make sure you don't leave a mess. There is also your other duty: you'll see the bottle hanging up ready, and the syringe. Do I need to explain Mike, or is it all quite clear?'
'Wh - what are you trying to do? I mean ...?'
'Do you think he needs help?' asked Cheryl, turning to Valerie.
'No, he's a bit nervous, aren't you, deary? He'll manage,' answered Valerie, squeezing Mike's arm. 'We don't want to treat him entirely like Jackie. Not unless we have to!'
'All right,' agreed Cheryl, turning back to him, 'do what is required then take your shower. Leave the shorts by the door. There will be something to put on when you're finished.'
He dried himself with the soft pink towel. The deep blue wall tiles glistened in the bright light and he saw his reflection in the large mirror opposite the low-level bowl, above which still hung the now deflated rubber bottle. The smooth flesh about his penis and groin still tingled from the effects of the cream but there was another sensation; one of nervous but enticing anticipation. The humiliation they were subjecting him to made the blood course through his veins. He was hot; his body prickled with an exhilaration no pretence could hide, for his penis stood flushed and firm though his conscious thoughts willed it to do otherwise. He waited, concentrating hard upon all the un-pleasantries his mind could summon until his excitement, at least in part, subsided.
By the door, where he had left the shorts, there lay something else. He put it on with some difficulty, fastening the clips at the sides of the waistband but finding his regenerating erection awkward to accommodate inside the thin strip of elasticated, sheer black nylon which ran down the front. At last the problem was overcome and the small garment held that part of him, if not concealed from view, at least under firm control.
They were waiting by the door when he emerged. Once again it took him a little time to adjust to the subdued light of the main room, but when he did, he saw the things arranged on the small table by the wall. They led him over to this, his mixture of anticipation and misgiving quite undiminished, his face feeling as though the sun had been beating upon it.
'Better lean against the table/ said Cheryl.
He did so. Valerie busied herself behind him whilst Cheryl let her eyes and her hand move down his body as far as his stomach. 'Hmm,' she breathed, 'it would be much better without any of this hair but I suppose he'd feel awkward at the pool.'
it won't matter,' replied Valerie. 'His hair is almost blond.' She bent down by his side and said, 'Lift your feet.'
He watched her pull the stocking over his toes, and felt the fine nylon brush and caress his skin as it whispered about his ankle.
'Now the other,' ordered Cheryl.
They eased up the stockings, straightening the seams and adjusting the elasticated garter tops. As Cheryl lifted the next item from the table, Valerie's fingers brushed delicately up the skin-like nylon pouch, causing him to twitch. He saw a fleeting smile cross her face. The heavy aroma of latex was already evident when they held the black dress before him.
'Step into the skirt,' said Cheryl.
They eased the heavy rubber up his legs until the hem was little more than ten centimetres above the knee. The skirt was tight and constricting but the rest of the dress was loose as he fed his arms through the short sleeves and they pulled it about his body, snapping shut the brass stud on the high collar. The rest of the dress they laced down the back through brass eyelets, alternately pulling the threads so that it embraced and stretched about his body with a strangely comforting snugness.
it's as well he's not a big man,' remarked Cheryl.
'Nor scrawny,' added Valerie.
'No,' continued Cheryl, 'his features are rather soft for a male. I noticed that before, you know, when he first took part in one of our little events. Did you see the tape?'
'No, I don't see most of them,' answered Valerie as they tugged very hard about his waist, causing him to sway.
'Steady on,' he breathed, as the dress constricted further.
Neither of them reacted to his remark but Cheryl said, 'A bit more, Val, before both si
des meet,' and they renewed their efforts.
'There!' breathed Valerie as the laces were knotted, it pulls him in nicely. I think shoes next?'
The shoes were of black patent leather and fastened with small straps and miniature locks about the ankles. The heels were high but not exaggerated.
'God,' remarked Valerie, 'his feet aren't much bigger than mine.'
'Nor his hands,' observed Cheryl. 'Annette once said he'd had an easy life. You can tell, can't you?'
'You certainly can,' replied Valerie, handing her the drooping form of the long rubber glove.
'Arms out!' ordered Cheryl.
He raised his arms and said, 'Pardon me for asking, but -'
'Shut up!' snapped Cheryl.
The maids must not speak until they are addressed by someone in charge,1 added Valerie.
He breathed softly and looked from one to the other as they pulled on the latex gloves, coaxing, tugging and snapping them up his arms, all the way up to the top like a sleek, black skin.
'Almost there,' said Cheryl, reaching back to the table.
The not unfamiliar chink of metal buckles reached his ears. The belt they fitted about his waist was of black patent leather, like the shoes, and some ten centimetres in width. From its sides and rear dangled smaller straps fitted, like the large belt itself, with small brass padlocks. It was quickly tightened high on his waist and three soft clicks confirmed that it was secured in place until Cheryl and Valerie decided otherwise. The same applied to his arms, for the smaller straps at the sides were passed about them, just above the elbow, then tightened and locked.
He had not seen Cheryl pick up the wig and so attempted to turn his head when she began to fit it over him.
'Stay still,' said Valerie, assisting her from the front until it was in place, with the long blonde hair spilling down over the black latex.
'Good,' breathed Cheryl, moving around to study him from the front. 'He wouldn't even recognise himself. Let's open the blinds.'
Whilst the room had been dim, he had felt compliant and his earlier apprehension had turned to a state of erotic tension. When the room was flooded with daylight he felt vulnerable and suddenly wished he had not allowed them to do this to him. He flexed against the restraint, quickly realising that not only did it hold his arms in a slightly awkward position, but it would prevent him from removing anything other than the wig.
House of Temptations Page 19
