Vouloir

by J. D. Chase

  Instead, I try deflection—my trusty friend. ‘Oh, I was just wondering what you make of all this? Dean? Dan? The Kid? And, well . . . that you must have better ways to spend your evening.’

  He replies immediately. ‘I have alternatives . . . but they’re not necessarily better. And he’s a fast learner. He’s enthusiastic and appreciative. Tell me, how long have you lived here?’

  He throws me with the personal question. ‘Almost five years, why?’

  ‘I just wondered,’ he says. ‘It’s a nice place.’

  Why is it that I get the feeling that Jones doesn’t ‘just wonder’ about anything?

  ‘We’d better get back and make sure that your protégé hasn’t managed to hack into a government server yet,’ I joke, suddenly longing for the security of The Kid’s presence.

  Jones chuckles. ‘I could teach him that next time, if you like, but I wouldn’t recommend it.’

  As I lead the way back into the living room, I can’t help but wonder whether he is only joking.

  The Kid beams at us when we reappear. ‘Look,’ he says, excitedly. He looks like a five-year-old, desperately wanting to show us something he’s discovered.

  We gather around the laptop screen and find that while we were doing the dishwasher, he’d been researching the Royal Marines. He has the Royal Navy website up and is working his way through the menu.

  ‘I thought you drove a ship but you didn’t, did you?’ he says to Jones who shakes his head.

  ‘I didn’t drive the big ships, like you thought, no. But sometimes I would use smaller boats. Did you look up the word amphibious?’

  The Kid nods with a huge grin plastered across his face. ‘And I read what Commandos do. So you were like an Army soldier because you can fight but you were better because you could do stuff on water too.’

  Jones nods, the corner of his mouth crinkling. ‘You’ve got it, kid.’

  ‘Why doesn’t it say very much about the Special Boat Service?’ The Kid asks, clicking on the link and finding much less information than for the other units.

  I see a flicker of something on Jones’ face but because I’m observing his profile, I don’t see the full effect.

  ‘Because Kid, those words speak for themselves,’ he says simply.

  The Kid screws up his face and obviously fails to follow but Jones says nothing.

  My phone rings and I snatch it up. The urge to not miss a call will take a few days to settle.

  It’s Gabe. Elaine has been apprehended and is waiting for me back at Vouloir.

  Great.

  I hang up. Do I leave The Kid here with Jones? Would that be pushing it?

  Do I ask Jones to go and leave The Kid alone?

  Neither option is ideal but I have to go. I have to make sure that Elaine is dealt with. I’m not having anyone else’s pain on my conscience. She needs teaching a lesson she’ll not forget. And, after this afternoon’s debacle, I’m just the person to do it.

  I feel Jones’ eyes on me. The Kid’s still prattling on about the Royal Marines. He’s in awe and I just hope he doesn’t go getting any ideas.

  He’s too fragile, too innocent . . . not to mention the fact that he doesn’t have a birth certificate. That would raise a few eyebrows at the Ministry of Defence.

  I know it’s an issue I need to tackle in the near future. I wonder whether Jones knows where I could get a counterfeit certificate . . . or whether he can even be trusted.

  Normally, I’d ask Thierri (not that I’ve needed to ask for a birth certificate before) but his health has been deteriorating badly over the past few months. But I think I may have to. He has fingers in all kinds of muddy pies.

  ‘Need a lift?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Do you need a lift to the club?’ Jones asks.

  Like I say, he doesn’t miss much. ‘That call was private,’ I mutter, deciding whether to take him up on his offer or not. Yes, it would mean being alone with him for a short while but it would be faster than waiting for a cab, so I’d be back sooner.

  ‘Then you should have retreated a respectable distance,’ he says. ‘Sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear and I’m only trying to help.’

  I ignore him. Mostly because he’s got a point. ‘I don’t want to break up your boys’ club so I’ll get a cab. I shouldn’t be long, although I expect you’ll be gone before I get back.’

  I see him tense. He gets the underlying message. I wonder if he’ll resist the urge to ignore it and still be here when I return.

  ‘I’m tired now,’ says The Kid, stretching his arms above his head. ‘I feel like sleeping. So you two go. I’ll be asleep very soon so there’s no need to rush back.’

  I don’t see, because my eyes are averted, but I can feel Jones smiling.

  ‘That’s settled then,’ he says, his tone triumphant.

  I want to strangle both of them. But I think I’ll save my murderous hands for Elaine.

  I DISTRACT MYSELF WITH the business of negotiating the evening traffic through the City. She’s angry, I can sense it. I had to stop myself from bursting out laughing when The Kid told her that she may as well have a lift now that I was leaving anyway.

  I’m beginning to suspect he’s not as innocent as he looks. Before I’d even reached the door, he’d found a reason for needing me to call by tomorrow. I enjoy his company and I can’t help but want to know more about the walking paradox. Plus, I don’t mind spending time around La Veuve Noire—even if it does niggle her . . . or maybe because it does. I don’t know. What I do know is that now Elaine is being kicked out of Vouloir, there’s a membership space. And I want it. If I can’t get her to teach me more about D/s relationships, then I’ll find someone else.

  I have to admit, I’d much rather it be her—and that was before I saw her naked, rubbing at her clit below the level of the bath water. That image is burned in my memory. The flush, high on her cheeks, the water sloshing everywhere, that growl . . . she’d given herself over to the moment completely.

  She’d spent the afternoon with Dean. Had it made her horny? Had he fucked her and left her frustrated?

  Did she need a good fucking? Or does she need to come often, no matter how well she’s fucked?

  What if I were the one to satisfy her and cure her frustration? Could I even give her what she craves?

  ‘Take a left here,’ she says, managing to sound as though she’s bored to tears, although I can feel the tension in her frame.

  Is it tension because she’s with me? I’ve felt that before. Or is it tension caused by the situation she’s about to confront? And why does she make me question everything?

  I realise that she’s directing me to the rear of the building.

  ‘Here’s fine. Thank you,’ she says, pushing open her door and sliding one of those long, kinky boot-clad legs out as soon as I bring the car to a halt.

  I’m clearly dismissed. But she can clearly think again.

  I take the keys from the ignition and open my door. Her head whips around, an accusatory glare on her face. I think, from the venom in her expression, she’s expecting me to reconsider. I don’t.

  She slams the car door and stands there, hands on hips. I turn and study the building, pretending to be unaware of her silent protest.

  She strides over to a door, types a code in, inserts a key and then swipes a security fob over a corresponding plate. I’m impressed with the level of security shown to the rear entrance—there are two cameras covering the doorway from the outside too. But I’ve already spotted the weak point—and it’s not the door.

  I follow her to the door and make to catch it before it closes after she’s entered. She spins and I see her eyes flash, even in the dim light.

  ‘Sorry, this entrance is for members only,’ she quips, not able to hide the gloating smirk that plays on her lips.

  ‘That’s okay. You’re a member and you’re accompanying me. You’re also going to make me a member.’ I wait for the inevitable comeback. This time, I’m no
t disappointed.

  ‘Membership is full. I told you.’

  I grin and slide inside the doorway. ‘Not once you’ve stripped Elaine of hers. That’ll do nicely.’

  The most ferocious scowl contorts her features. She’s almost baring her teeth at me as I smile in what I hope is a placating fashion. She’s tempted to argue the point and I half expect to be jostled back through the door but, with one last, withering look, she strides off down the corridor.

  I hope she doesn’t look back because I’ve got one hell of a grin on my face. I’m going to be a member of a sex club. I’m going to get to experiment with power exchange in a way that I’ve only been able to dream about. I’m not talking your standard bit of kink—take the initiative, slap her arse, pull her hair and fuck her hard . . . oh no, I’m talking the full fucking Monty. Things that I’ve only read about. Until now.

  And I cannot fucking wait.

  But first things first. Veuve needs to sort out that sadistic bitch for what she did to Dean. I know she’s probably more than capable and I’ve no doubt the club bouncers will be on hand but there’s something about this woman that brings out my protective side. Fucking typical that she’s probably the one female on the whole planet who wouldn’t appreciate that. In fact, I think she’d despise me for it, if she knew.

  If she doesn’t despise me already. What the fuck was I doing, staring at her in the bath? Why the hell didn’t I back out as soon as I saw her, like any respectable man would have done? Yeah, she probably already despises me enough already. But I’ll change her mind, if she’ll let down those defences, even just an inch.

  We reach an office at the furthest end of the corridor. There’s a ‘Do not disturb’ sign hanging on the door. It obviously doesn’t apply to the sex therapist because she turns the handle, shoves the door and enters the room. The door rebounds and I catch it before it hits my face. I ease just inside the doorway inconspicuously. Two bouncers are standing with their backs to me. Sitting in front of them, facing me, is Elaine.

  She glares defiantly at Veuve but it’s a front. She’s nervous; I can smell it.

  ‘I’ll have you sent down for this,’ she hisses. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are?’

  I can see a break in her bravado when Veuve walks up and stands in front of her.

  Slap!

  Elaine receives a backhand across her face; the force of it snapping her head to the side.

  ‘That’s a coincidence,’ Veuve says, as her hand shoots out and grasps Elaine’s chin, holding her head in place, firmly. ‘I was just about to say the same things to you. But you keep mouthing off if it makes you feel any better. But know this, there is proof of your sadistic attack on a member of this club. If he’d gone to hospital or to the police straight away, you’d be looking at a charge of GBH and a very lengthy spell inside.’

  ‘Get your filthy fucking hands off me,’ Elaine spits. ‘I know you wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t do anything to risk your precious club.’ I can see that Elaine isn’t restrained but she does nothing to attempt to fight back or to remove the other woman’s grip. She’s way more afraid than she’s letting on. Though why the fucking hell she’s acting so bolshie is beyond me. All she’s going to do is wind up the sex therapist even more and, when she’s on the receiving end of it, that’s pretty stupid. Unless she’s a sadomasochist. Or she’s trying to goad Veuve into doing something stupid . . .

  Veuve laughs. ‘My hands are clean, love. Unlike yours. And it’s not my club.’

  ‘From where I’m sitting, it pretty much is. Who instructed the goons to kidnap me and keep me here—against my will—until you turned up? Hmm?’

  ‘You know it’s Thierri’s club. I’m looking after his interests, with his blessing, until he returns. He doesn’t tolerate abuse . . . of the rules or of members. And believe me, if it were Thierri standing before you, being your judge and jury, you’d wish it were me.’

  ‘But he’s not coming back, is he? For now, you can strut your stuff, puffing out your chest and acting important but rumour has it he’s a goner. And you will soon be nothing. You’ll have nothing. I guess you’ll go back to charging men to fuck you . . . although, if you ask me, you should be paying them.’

  Veuve throws back her head and laughs heartily but I see her fist clench at her side. ‘You’re entitled to your opinions. Worthless though they are. But let’s get back to the important stuff. Before I pass sentence upon you, I’m going to give you the opportunity to attempt to explain your reasons for torturing a vanilla and then, when he passes out from the debilitating pain you’ve inflicted, fucking off and leaving him. Alone. Restrained. Helpless.’

  Gone is the air of distaste; Veuve’s presence is now nothing short of menacing. When she says those last three words, she leans down so her face is mere centimetres from Elaine’s and there’s something chilling in her tone that makes the hairs on the back of my neck lift.

  She lets go of Elaine’s face and takes a step back. And waits.

  ‘You’d let him down. You arranged to meet him and then fucked off. He asked for it. In fact, he begged me for some CBT. He kept taunting me, saying that he couldn’t feel it.’

  Smack.

  Ouch. I almost felt that backhander.

  ‘Lies! Nothing but a pack of fucking lies. Just how stupid do you think I am, Elaine? And here’s the worst thing about your bullshit, even if what you say was true, you knew he was completely inexperienced. I told you that I suspected he might want to begin submissive training eventually but that he was pure vanilla. So, let’s indulge your lies for a second and pretend that he had indeed begged and taunted you for some serious CBT . . . Should you have laid a finger on him? Did you explain what a safeword is? Did he have one? Did you discuss limits? Experiences? And, Elaine, who’s fucking responsibility is it to ensure the welfare of the sub at all times? Couldn’t you see that he couldn’t handle the pain? Didn’t you see him going into shock?’

  Every word is delivered like a bullet. And they’re hitting their target. I can see Elaine’s tough façade beginning to slip.

  ‘He needed training. And where were you?’

  Fuck. I think even I’d hit her after that response . . . although Elaine couldn’t know that Veuve only went dashing off to try to stop a troubled kid from taking his life, could she? But that didn’t mean she had to intervene—she’s no sex therapist—and it certainly isn’t an excuse to torture somebody against their will.

  There is silence. The hostility radiating from La Veuve Noire is so strong I almost feel like taking a step back—and I’m standing behind her, some distance away.

  ‘For your information, Elaine, I’d just taken a call from the hospital concerning a teenager who had tried to end his miserable life. He was gay. He was a bottom. He was just a confused, inexperienced kid. Until he met someone and they abused him. It fucked him up so badly that he felt he had no alternative but to end his life. I went to try to give him hope. I was his last fucking hope. So yeah, I let Dean down by not being here to meet him. But I had no choice.’

  As Veuve speaks, Elaine’s confident front continues to crumble. ‘I had no idea,’ she says. ‘I thought you’d abandoned him for no reason. I felt sorry for him and thought that I could begin his training.’

  ‘And how many subs have you trained, Elaine? How often have you mentored?’

  Elaine’s gaze drops but she doesn’t reply.

  ‘How many?’ La Veuve Noire demands loudly, her voice echoing off the walls.

  Elaine shrugs and, quick as a flash, Veuve steps forward and slaps her again before grasping her face once more.

  ‘Answer me, dammit.’

  There’s a faint whisper. I don’t catch it.

  ‘What was that?’ Veuve hisses.

  ‘None.’

  The therapist releases her and steps back.

  ‘And yet you still felt qualified to begin his training. For fuck’s sake, Elaine. He hadn’t even grasped the possibility of such a role yet. I hadn’t had a ch
ance to sit down and talk it through with him, never mind get physical. I told you I suspected that he might want to undergo training eventually. You shouldn’t have been anywhere near him. It wouldn’t have been so bad if you’d taken a softly, softly approach and warmed him to the idea. But then, you have no experience . . . you don’t know the potential obstacles that have to be overcome by some subs before they begin their training, do you?’

  Elaine shrugs again and I brace myself for a slap that doesn’t come.

  ‘Society tells men that they must live up to a macho stereotype. It also tells them that submitting to a woman is wrong. It matters not whether it’s their natural role, nor that it takes a real man to face up to the stereotype, tackle it head on and wear their submissive nature with pride. Some women have issues of a similar nature, because society says submissives are weak. So, when you are helping someone face up to their natural leanings, it requires careful handling if potential consequences are to be avoided. That was your first mistake.

  ‘But okay, you didn’t know that but you knew he was vanilla. If you’d seduced him and taken the lead, quietly asserting control, it might not have hurt. Handled correctly, it could have subconsciously warmed him to the idea. But handcuffing him to the bed without his agreement (using non-club-approved cuffs) was your second mistake. Tell me, Elaine—what was your third?’

  She shrugs and I see Veuve step forward. Hastily, Elaine says, ‘CBT.’

  The therapist hovers over her. ‘Yes, Elaine. Your third mistake was presuming that Dean was into pain. Now I could understand a little tease and denial. Make him a little frustrated as you quietly assert your authority. Make him come like a fucking express train eventually so he goes away with a lasting impression of submission that is positive. But cock and ball torture—and not just any fucking cock and ball torture but extreme CBT? Enough to make a fit and healthy man go into shock. You must have been out of your tiny, fucking mind.

  ‘There are subs with years of experience of CBT who couldn’t have handled that. Hell, there are hard core masochists that would have struggled. I’ve seen the damage you did to him, Elaine . . . the physical damage. I’ve yet to assess the extent of the mental damage.’ She pauses and laughs. ‘And you think you’re here because I want to protect the club. Or because I hold a privileged position here. Think again, you stupid bitch. You’re here facing me because you maimed him, inside and out and I’m the one left picking up the pieces. You’re here now because you fucked off and left him, unconscious and cuffed. You even closed the fucking door behind you.’