Without warning he stepped back, his fingers snaking up my inner thighs as he moved away. Wordlessly, he turned and walked out of the folly, closing the door quietly behind him. Through a gap in the window blind I saw him scratching Bob the Cat behind the ear as if nothing untoward had happened at all. Then he carefully lifted him and Sparkle off the roof of the dark green Jaguar and deposited them in the safety of the newly dug flowerbed nearby.
I walked round the desk, collapsed onto the chair, and simply sat there, my heart pounding, gazing blankly at the wall as the gate rattled closed and the purr of the car’s engine receded into the distance.
Chapter 20
The brass plate discreetly nailed to the gatepost of the upmarket suburban residence was the same as I remembered it being on my last visit, five or six years ago.
‘JE Myers, Psychologist.’
I remembered Janice Myers, or Jan, as she’d insisted we call her, as a petite blonde woman with hazel eyes and a serene demeanour. It was in the consultation rooms adjacent to her house that Mark and I had sat for a total of six relationship counselling sessions, when our marriage was briefly, but painfully, hitting the skids. That had been a few months after I’d told him I’d worked on phone sex lines when I was younger, after which the unpleasantness had started in earnest.
Our sessions had been conducted with the aim of resolving our conflict, although, deep down, I’d half hoped that the psychologist would advise us we should split up. Divorce would have been painful, but not as much so as living with a man who was suddenly so different from the one I’d married: so angry, critical, swift to blame me.
In the end, though, that wasn’t what she was there to do. She’d given us guidelines to help break the vicious circle of behaviour we seemed to be trapped in, and had explained to us both that this was not just about the fact that Emma had told Mark she’d had a naughty job when she was younger. That the cause of the friction had started long before my confession, its roots buried deep in the arguments we’d had even back when we were first dating. A struggle for power, was how she put it.
In spite of her advice and insights, I found that when Mark came home from work in one of his sulky and belligerent moods, he wasn’t interested in breaking any cycles or trying to lay down new patterns of behaviour, and it was less stressful for me to keep on doing what I’d learned was the easiest – to surrender and withdraw.
Ultimately, I guessed that the sessions with Jan hadn’t really made a difference, but here I was, going back to see her again. At least she wasn’t a complete stranger, I told myself. I knew her slightly; and, more importantly, she knew me. I’d already told her what I had done in the past, and I hoped this would help her understand what I was doing now.
It would be simpler than having to tell everything to somebody new.
By the time I’d driven through the gate of the high-walled, fortress-like residence and parked in the paved area to the left of the driveway, Jan was standing outside the door to her consultation rooms.
‘Emma!’ she said. ‘What a surprise! I didn’t realise it was you, because the appointment diary just said Mrs Caine, but do you know, when you pulled in here, I actually recognised the sound of your car!’
Yup. For what seemed like forever I’d been driving the same dilapidated runabout with the same rattly exhaust that the dealership had told me was a problem for the exhaust specialists, and that the exhaust specialists had told me no, the dealership must fix. In light of the conflicting information from these two experts, I had subsequently decided to ignore the damned rattle rather than become trapped in the infinite loop that this problem presented. After all, wasn’t the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?
So, no vehicular upgrades for Emma Caine. Looking at the brand-new white BMW x5 parked outside Jan’s garage, I thought I might as well have had a big L for loser tattooed on my forehead.
Jan, on the other hand, looked exactly the same. Trim, carefully made up, dressed in a stylish but neutral suit.
‘Come on in,’ she said. ‘How are you doing? How are things going with Mark?’
Damn it all … I had forgotten how Mark had managed to charm Jan during our appointments. How she’d stared at me, not unkindly, as I cried into a handful of Kleenex from the box on her consultation table, and told me that I mustn’t be so sensitive.
‘I don’t think I’m being sensitive,’ I’d sniffed. ‘I just really, really don’t like our fighting. I don’t like it when he becomes abusive.’
‘Abusive!’ Mark had interjected, his voice full of outrage. ‘For fuck’s sake, I’ve never laid a finger on you and never, ever would. Don’t go manipulating the situation here like you always do, and trying to get Jan on your side. I just communicate differently from you when I’m angry, that’s all.’
‘By calling me fat and frigid?’ I’d snarled.
Pushing the memory aside, hoping I hadn’t done the wrong thing by coming here again, I followed Jan into the consultation rooms.
Same comfortable beige couches. Same zooty yellow lampshade.
Same box of Kleenex on the table.
‘Mark’s been badly brain damaged as a result of a car accident,’ I told her, and saw her face constrict in sympathy.
‘Emma, I’m so sorry to hear that. So sorry. Please sit down, relax, pour yourself a glass of water.’ She sat opposite, glancing down at a new-looking patient folder and holding her Parker pen in her right hand. ‘What can I help you with today?’
If she’d expected to be counselling me for grief, she was in for a surprise.
‘I need advice,’ I began, and then realised I didn’t know what to say next. I was quiet as the silver clock on the wall, which I didn’t remember from last time, soundlessly ticked the seconds away.
Jan made an encouraging noise.
‘I ended up in a very bad financial situation at the beginning of last year, after Mark’s accident,’ I said. ‘Then, in September, the company I worked for went bankrupt so I lost my job and soon I was on the point of losing the house.’ I explained to her in more detail about what had happened and where Mark was now.
‘Mm-hmm?’ The slight frown Jan had worn since I’d told her about Mark deepened somewhat. ‘Tell me, what support did you have during this time?’
‘How do you mean?’ I asked, confused. I thought she was asking about money.
‘You’ve just explained to me that during the past fourteen months you’ve had to deal with a number of exceptionally stressful events in your life, as well as what to all intents and purposes has been the loss of your spouse. I just want to know what support you’ve had. Emotional and practical, not financial.’
‘Um, well …’ I said.
What had I had? There hadn’t really been an opportunity for me to think about such things.
It was strange how busy the catastrophe of my life had kept me. Bad fortune guzzled your free time – that I now knew first-hand. It seemed that during every minute there’d been something else time- and energy-sapping to do. Fighting my way through diabolical traffic to and from the hospital and, later, Rest Haven, to spend endless hours by Mark’s bedside. Scouring the Internet for job opportunities that, despite all my efforts, had never led to employment offers, and knocking on the door of agency after agency. Ransacking the house for things to sell and deciding what should go first; breaking the emotional connections with the kitchen equipment and ornaments, the books and furniture that had shored up the foundations of my little world.
Fending off the unhelpful suggestions from my brother and Da Silva. I didn’t think their input counted as support; not in the way Jan meant.
‘My groom, Goodness,’ I said, coming up with a name at last.
‘Your groom?’
‘Well, he works for me, looking after the garden and the horses. He was a tower of strength. He cancelled his annual leave after Mark’s accident. He refused to go home with his family. He stayed and worked for two solid mon
ths without taking a day off, so that I didn’t have to worry about anything at home. Eventually, I had to force him to take some leave.’I smiled. ‘And his wife made me sugar cookies, to comfort me.’
Jan didn’t look convinced. She nibbled briefly on the end of her pen before jotting something down in the folder next to her.
‘Right. Please, carry on,’ she said.
‘I have recently started making ends meet by offering domination sessions in one of my outbuildings,’ I told her, realising as I said it how utterly ridiculous it sounded.
‘Domination?’ Jan’s eyes widened. ‘I’m not sure I …’
‘Whipping. Abuse. Humiliation. Adult babies. Spankings. Clients come to my premises and they pay me to help them with their fantasies.’
I was sure that as a psychologist Jan must have heard it all before, but even so I saw a muscle in her face twitch – a small casualty in the war to remain expressionless.
‘Are you comfortable with doing this?’ she asked after a short pause.
‘Surprisingly, yes. Yes, I am.’
‘Interesting,’ she said quietly.
‘It’s been a lifesaver, literally.’
‘Mm-hmm?’
‘My problem is this.’ I took a deep breath. ‘One of the clients – well, I’m not sure where I stand with him.’ I blinked, and suddenly Simon’s dark blue eyes were there again, fixed on mine, his skin so close I could see the pores, and I was breathing in his smell, warm and male and slightly musky.
‘Why is that?’
‘He wants me to become more involved in the sessions,’ I said, looking down at my hands.
‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean physically.’
‘As in sexually?’
‘I suppose so, yes.’ Damn it, my face was burning. I thought she was going to ask me how I felt again but instead she said, ‘Is that why you’re here?’
‘How do you mean?’ My turn to question her now.
‘Are you here because you want to discuss whether you should allow one of your clients to transgress certain physical boundaries that you have set? Or is there more to it than that?’
‘Oh, no, I don’t think so,’ I said, but as I answered it I knew that Jan’s question had been spot on. I wasn’t sitting in her rooms because of the physical boundaries. She had known it and now so did I.
‘For most people, and more commonly for women, there is a degree of emotional attachment that goes hand in hand with the physical,’ Jan said. ‘Perhaps that is something we need to explore in more detail.’
‘I suppose we do, yes,’ I said, glancing up at the clock as the minute hand trickled its way endlessly around the silvery face.
‘You’re a very strong-minded woman, Emma,’ she said, and the unexpectedness of her statement caused me to raise my eyebrows. ‘I have always had that impression of you. But I think you need to try to differentiate—’
‘Between what?’ I interrupted, feeling nervous.
‘A number of things. Between real and perceived control, for a start.’
I nodded, taking in her words.
‘You also need to examine the reality of what you are doing, and your perception of it. Ultimately, remember that the expectations you and your clients have of the situation may be, and probably are, quite different in these circumstances.’
She paused, put down her pen, and regarded me solemnly.
‘Emma, you’ve dealt with untold amounts of stress in the past fourteen months, and with no real support structure in place at all. Right now, you are in an extremely vulnerable position emotionally, and you need to acknowledge that. You need to be very careful about the decisions you make. I wouldn’t like to see you getting hurt,’ she said.
Chapter 21
The next week flew by. I had three new clients and one regular. I went to Rest Haven to visit Mark. I rebooked my advertisements and paid a deposit to a freelance designer to put a website together for me and print some simple business cards. I started some gallop training with Admiral, and he was so pleased about this he almost bucked me off.
And then it was Wednesday. Or, as it had come to be known in the Caine household, Simon-day.
A knot of nervous anticipation twisted in my stomach at the thought of seeing him again, but it was soon dissolved by the heat that flooded through me as I remembered what he’d done.
Look at you, I chastised myself. He makes one silly pass at you, and what have you become? Remember what Jan said. Keep emotions out of it. This is business.
Business, business, business.
You make the decisions. You call the shots. Be hard-headed and, most importantly, protect yourself. If Simon is offended by your decision then let him go elsewhere. He doesn’t want a mistress to help him fulfil his desires, he wants a girlfriend. And if he can’t find one who’s prepared to whip him till he bleeds, he’ll be phoning you again soon enough.
An hour before he was due to arrive, my nervousness had been replaced by another emotion – one that I found was a lot easier to deal with.
Anger.
How dare he suggest a physical relationship.
How dare he presume he might touch me like that, in my own dungeon.
It was simply unacceptable. And as for Simon himself, the psychologist was right. He was simply trying to take advantage.
Admittedly, as a fee-charging dominatrix, I was dabbling in the sleaze industry. All right – more than dabbling. I was knee-deep and wading out. But that did not mean compromising my principles. It did not mean changing who I was; and what I was, and was not, comfortable doing.
After all, Simon would climb into his Jaguar and drive away from my dungeon and back to his luxury home and high-pressure job without giving me a second thought.
I, on the other hand, would be left to deal with the emotional fallout.
By the time he was due to arrive, I had been able to gain some muchneeded perspective on the incident and, thankfully, I’d also managed to subdue the memories of the rush of sensual pleasure I’d had from his touch. I had my plan of action ready. It was sensible and pragmatic, designed to protect me, my emotions and my interests. It included:
1. Greeting Simon formally and inviting him into the folly.
2. Sitting him down and explaining that I was sorry I’d ever allowed him to entertain the notion that things between us might go further.
3. Telling him that I’d be happy to carry on with our sessions as before, but that if he continued to suggest that our relationship progress then I was sorry, but I could no longer accept him as a client.
4. Thrashing him viciously to punish him for his forwardness in touching me that way.
Yet again, and despite my best resolutions to the contrary, I felt a pulsing warmth spread through the pit of my stomach as I remembered how his lips had felt as they’d brushed my skin. How the kiss had sent an instant jolt of pure electricity through every cell of my body, triggering a surge of lust that was all the more powerful for being forbidden.
I exhaled impatiently.
All right, then, admit it, I told myself. You’re sexually frustrated, and with good reason seeing as you haven’t had a man in your bed for more than a year. Now you need to do what Jan would advise you to do: separate the two feelings. Don’t become fixated on Simon just because he’s the first male to pay you any attention since Mark’s accident.
When his Jaguar purred into its parking place, I was ready and waiting, sitting up straight at my desk with my fingers laced together like a headmistress waiting for a naughty pupil to arrive.
I heard the scrunch of his footsteps as he approached. The soft creak of the door as he pushed it open. He stepped inside, turned to close it, and then his gaze met mine as he moved towards the desk.
‘It’s good to see you,’ he said, in response to my formal nod of welcome. ‘It’s been a hectic week. I’ve been in Dubai for most of it.’ He didn’t make any reference to what had happened between us last time. Clearly, he’d realised he had o
verstepped the boundaries with his request and had, on his own, decided to return our relationship to its original parameters. I was relieved about this, but at the same time strangely disappointed.
No doubt, this was because I hadn’t had the chance to personally put him in his place.
At any rate that was what I kept telling myself.
‘Go and undress,’ I ordered him. I wasn’t going to engage in small talk this time. In spite of the fact he was five minutes early, I wasn’t even going to offer him coffee first.
When he walked out from the bathroom I found myself eyeing his naked body in a way I hadn’t allowed myself to do before. He was superbly fit, I noticed. Barely an ounce of fat on his frame, with strong legs that were lightly tanned and well muscled, with a shimmer of pale brown hair, and defined thighs. On his perfect buttocks there was now no trace of the damage I’d inflicted the first time I had whipped him. And I knew what it was like to touch him there – his skin so warm and velvety smooth to the touch.
It was no use denying it. Simon had opened himself up to me and, in doing so, he’d invited me into his space, into his mind. Already I was becoming entangled, just as Jan had warned me I would. Already, it was going to be difficult to extricate myself and to think of him once again as no more than another client.
I could only be relieved I hadn’t allowed things to go any further.
‘Bend over the punishment horse,’ I told him.
I lifted the fine, flexible black whip from its resting place on the wall and let the lash at its end flick lightly over his thighs, teasing him, tantalising him with the promise of the punishment to come. I drew the length of the whip across his skin like a caress and then, with a flick of my wrist, brought it hissing down with purpose, lashing across his buttocks with a loud snap.
I brushed the whip sensuously across his skin before hardening my gaze and my resolve, and sending it down to bite viciously into his flesh a second time, leaving a bloom of red.
Once again I caressed him with the whip, this time letting the lash travel all the way up his thighs, pushing between them, stroking and teasing until it brushed softly against his scrotum. Simon was normally quiet during his sessions, but this time I heard a sharp inhalation of breath from him at the touch, and the sound of his pleasure sent a rush of warmth through my core.
Folly Page 13
