Fast and Loose

by Justine Elyot

  He texted me the next day, just after my coffee break.

  ‘Go into the loos and send me a pic of your stocking tops,’ he messaged. Not what I’d been expecting, but I practically ran to obey his order, trying not to giggle as I did it.

  ‘Nice!’ was his appreciative reply. ‘Suspenders too. Might have to have you for lunch, sorry, take you out to lunch.’

  ‘Not in that alley, I hope,’ I texted back. Lunch could be arranged without unnecessary manoeuvring, since Tilda had shopping to do in town.

  ‘Why not? A hot dish ready-prepared…OK, Luca’s then?’

  ‘Luca’s is good! Have to take my lunch 1-2 today, is that OK?’

  ‘Fine by me. See you there.’

  I had to appreciate Tom’s insistence on writing his messages in full. I wasn’t a fan of txtspk either.

  Another thing I wasn’t a fan of was waiting around in brasseries checking my watch every half-minute as my lunch break tick-tocked away.

  I had rubbed my hands over the bumps on my skirt where the suspender clips were innumerable times, and almost drained my sparkling elderflower pressé, by the time Tom strode in, letting the bell jangle and the door bang behind him in the late autumnal wind.

  I felt it so keenly that I could almost have been the jangling bell and the banging door myself. He stood still for a moment, flattening his hair and darting his eyes around the dark little room with its dozen or so tables. I had taken the one in the furthest corner, as a precaution. It seemed the wise thing to do, and it gave me a couple of seconds’ grace to compose myself before this vision of studliness spotted me and commenced his approach.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, slinging his backpack down on the table and sliding on to the banquette beside me. ‘Bloody local council windbag wouldn’t let me go. You can see what he’s done to the weather.’ He waved a hand at the window, beyond which crumpled leaves and cigarette packs were flying into the traffic’s embrace.

  ‘Ah, is that where you’re pointing your sword of justice? At the local council?’

  He touched the side of his noble nose and winked.

  ‘Careless talk costs lives,’ he said, then, without lowering his voice, ‘So are you wearing knickers today?’

  ‘Tom!’

  A waitress had been on her way over, but had stopped short, hovering a few feet from us with her notepad poised.

  I waited for Tom to follow my pointed glance, but he seemed unrepentant.

  ‘Coke, please, full-fat with ice and slice. What’s the soup today?’

  ‘Minestrone,’ said the waitress, nerved to come closer. ‘With garlic bread.’

  ‘Two of those then, please,’ he said, dismissing her with a dazzling smile.

  ‘How do you know I like minestrone?’ I said, rather winded by his presumption.

  ‘Everyone likes minestrone,’ he said. ‘And stop looking so affronted. Don’t you like it when I take charge?’

  He rolled out the devilish glint, but I felt duty-bound to resist it.

  ‘In the bedroom,’ I said primly. ‘Which, as you ought to have noticed, this isn’t.’

  ‘Ah, fair enough,’ he said. ‘I just didn’t want to spend ages faffing over menus when we’ve got serious business to discuss.’ He slipped a tablet out of his backpack and laid it on the table between us. ‘So, have you seen how popular you are in the sadistic community?’

  I laughed nervously.

  ‘Yes. Took a look last night. I had thirty-nine replies.’

  He logged on and set his fingertips to work on the screen.

  ‘More than that now,’ he said. ‘At least fifty, last time I checked.’

  ‘Most of them were timewasters, though,’ I said, trying not to be mesmerised by his beautiful fingers as they danced and skated. He was wearing a lovely shirt with heavy cuffs and cufflinks. Must have been trying to impress the City Hall bigwigs.

  ‘You’ve sifted through them? I haven’t had time yet.’

  ‘Yes, and I’ve made a shortlist.’

  He looked up at me, blinking bright-blue light.

  ‘Bravo,’ he said. ‘Who’s on it?’

  ‘Two women and four men. And, you know, it occurred to me that Mia might still be on this site, but under a new name. Don’t you think? One of the women could be her.’

  ‘Could be,’ agreed Tom. ‘Click on them for me, will you?’

  The first called herself YourPet27 and had sent a picture of herself on all fours in a latex skirt and boob tube, sticking out her tongue like a panting dog. A leash hung from the collar around her neck, its looped end lying on the floor beside her.

  ‘Not really Mia’s style,’ I demurred. ‘But you never know. If J wanted her to, she’d probably put up a picture like that.’

  ‘Right sort of age,’ noted Tom. ‘Cute too.’

  ‘I’m not about to get involved in any threesomes,’ I said sternly.

  ‘That wasn’t on the list, was it? Threesomes. I wonder why not.’

  ‘No threesomes.’ I repeated with emphasis.

  Tom patted my hand. ‘We aren’t going to do anything you aren’t comfortable with, Foxy, I promise. But you’re right – it might be worth getting in touch with her.’

  ‘She says she lives in one of the villages on the river, out past Warville Park. That’s not too far away. And she’s been “on the scene” for five years…so probably not Mia, then, but possibly somebody who’s met her.’

  ‘Give her a go,’ said Tom. ‘Ask her if she has any kinky local mates.’

  ‘Will do.’ I hastily closed the tab as the waitress approached with our steaming bowls of soup. Didn’t want her getting an eyeful of YourPet27’s latex-squeezed cleavage. ‘What about the others? Shall I send them a kind of holding message, to keep them interested, while I rule out this one?’

  ‘Yeah, might as well,’ he said. ‘Don’t send any photos though.’

  ‘Not even that snap of my suspenders?’ I teased.

  He raised his eyebrows, suddenly as grave and stern as a Victorian schoolmaster. It turned me on, or rather, the level of turned-on-ness moved up several notches, as Tom’s mere presence had me in a state of constant low-level excitement.

  ‘Not funny, Ella,’ he said. ‘Your safety is the priority here. And besides…that was for my eyes only.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ I murmured, as his thighs pressed against mine.

  He put his hand on my skirt, finding the little bumps in the fabric.

  ‘Mmm,’ he said, his intonation fraught with lustful implications. ‘Oh, God. I’m not sure I fancy this soup now. All I want to do is get that skirt up and…’

  ‘Not here,’ I whispered urgently. A couple of elderly ladies with John Lewis bags had taken a table within earshot.

  ‘I can’t help it,’ he said. ‘All I can think of is bending you over this table and getting your knickers down ready. Just to the tops of your stockings. Oh, God.’

  ‘Tell me about the councillor you met,’ I said, thinking a distraction might be needed, at least until the bill was paid.

  ‘Stop killing me,’ he moaned.

  ‘Did you wear that shirt for him?’

  He put his hand to his pristine collar and pulled it away from his neck as if to aid breathing.

  ‘Might have done,’ he said. ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘It’s dapper,’ I said. ‘One might even say soigné.’

  ‘Oh, might one?’ he said, amused.

  ‘If you had the rest of the suit to go with it…’ I let a spoonful of soup drip back into the bowl. It was supposed to illustrate something, but I wasn’t quite sure what.

  ‘You like a power-dressing man? Well, it makes sense, I suppose.’ He hooked a finger into the big bow at the neck of my pretend-silk blouse. ‘Since we’re talking clothes, I should compliment you on your pussy.’

  ‘Bow,’ I said, trying not to spit soup everywhere. ‘It’s called a pussy bow.’

  ‘Whatever. Have you finished that soup yet? I want to bundle you into the toilets.’
>
  ‘I doubt there’s time for anything like that,’ I said, and it was regrettably true. We had fifteen minutes. ‘Maybe tonight?’

  He made a face. ‘Sorry, no can do. Meeting up with some mates. Afterwards? But it might be late.’

  ‘How late?’

  ‘After midnight.’

  I thought about this. For about a nanosecond.

  ‘OK.’

  He patted my suspender-bumped thigh.

  ‘I’ll be thinking about these all evening. You’d better be wearing them when I get there.’

  ‘My place?’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘But what about Jess and Mehra?’

  ‘It’ll be late,’ he said, rubbing his palm up and down my thigh. I wanted him to hook his fingers under my hem and make them walk slowly up the bare skin beneath.

  ‘They might decide to stay up.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to work on them, won’t you? I’ll text you when I’m at the front door. No need for anyone to get woken up.’

  ‘It’s all very illicit,’ I said, biting my lip.

  ‘It’s as illicit as you want it to be, sweetheart. I don’t care who knows about it.’

  ‘Easy for you to say. You aren’t a close colleague and friend of your ex.’

  ‘Point taken. I’ll be discreet. And I suppose we’ll have to be quiet.’ He sighed. ‘Eat your garlic bread, or the snog I’m planning to unleash in about five minutes’ time will be much more pleasurable for me than for you.’

  I managed a couple of bites of it, but my throat was tight with anticipation and it didn’t go down too well.

  The snogging took place in another side street – not quite as insalubrious as the alleyway, but still somewhat lacking in glamour with its industrial-sized bins and flapping wire fencing. It was easy to shut the surroundings out when he was so close to me. I leant blissfully into his long wool coat, enjoying the way the breeze mingled our hair together in mimicry of our mouths and tongues. The smell of him was like slow and delicious poison, entering and taking possession of my bloodstream.

  Why did I have to go back to work?

  Luckily, Tilda had a good haul of lunchtime purchases to show me when I got back, which served to banish the uneasy feeling I’d nursed all the way up in the lift.

  The uneasy feeling returned in force that night, though, as I sat in the living room trying to engineer an early night for the household.

  ‘Well, it’s a work day tomorrow,’ I said, as Jess and Mehra failed to agree what to watch next on Netflix. ‘Maybe we should just go to bed.’

  They turned on me, uncomprehending.

  ‘You’re always the last to go up,’ accused Jess, with reason. ‘What’s happened to you?’

  ‘Nothing…just…tired. Friday tomorrow. Need to gear up for the weekend.’

  ‘Right,’ said Mehra. ‘Well, I’m having another cup of tea. Jess?’

  ‘Go on then.’

  Damn them, it was quarter to twelve. They would never be in bed before Tom turned up. My stomach churned, but I made my goodnights anyway and hid in my room, holding my phone out in front of me as if I expected it to explode.

  I sat there till twenty past midnight, hearing voices from downstairs, and laughter and dramatic music from the TV. At least the living-room door was closed.

  My phone buzzed sharply and I nearly dropped it.

  The message flashed up. ‘Open the door, if you dare.’

  I wasn’t sure I did dare. What if they came out of the living room? What if Tom was drunk and fell all over the place?

  The sense memory of Tom’s hands on me gave me the impetus I needed.

  ‘On my way,’ I texted. ‘SHHHHH!!!!!’

  When I opened the door, he opened his long wool coat as if it were Dracula’s cloak and had me up against the wall in seconds. Cold air blew in from the street as I tried to fight him – and everything that hung on the coat pegs behind me – off.

  ‘Upstairs,’ I mouthed, finally escaping his hungry mouth. ‘Now.’

  A burst of laughter from the living room brought a shark-toothed smile to his face.

  ‘Dangerous times,’ he whispered back, shutting the door silently.

  I nodded, expecting him to tiptoe off and up the stairs, but he didn’t.

  Instead, and to my considerable consternation, he leaned back in, put his hand to the back of my neck and extracted every last drop of juice from the inside of my mouth with his tongue. He pressed me back into the wall with his pelvis, leaving me helpless and unable to throw him off.

  Maddeningly, my body refused to express my brain’s displeasure, responding to him with all the starved enthusiasm of the last woman on Earth presented with the last man. Rather than kicking him off, I hooked a leg around his knees to keep him close, and when I had the chance to tell him this was wrong, I used it to start kissing his neck instead.

  He had put a spell on me, and there was no antidote to hand.

  In the end, it was he who saved us from exposure, removing his hand from underneath my satin dressing gown and ordering me upstairs with a snarl. I managed to get out from under him before he could deliver the threatened smack to my bottom and ran, as quietly as I could, up the stairs.

  ‘They must have heard us,’ I moaned, once we were safely in the bedroom. ‘You idiot.’

  ‘What did you just call me?’

  He threw off his coat and let it lie in a heap on the floor, then folded his arms and glowered at me.

  ‘Didn’t you get my text? They’re in the living room! Awake!’

  ‘Get that dressing gown off,’ he said, apparently deaf to my concerns.

  ‘Tom…’

  ‘Now.’

  His implacable air of command worked its magic. Sulkily, I took off the gown and flung it to the floor, leaving only my underwear, complete with the infamous stockings and suspenders, to cover me.

  ‘What if they’d heard?’ I whined, less sure of myself now I was semi-naked. Funny how undressing could strip you of more than your clothes.

  ‘Get on the bed,’ he said. ‘All fours, bottom up.’

  ‘We can’t make any noise,’ I said, panicking slightly, but obeying all the same.

  From the corner of my eye, I watched him roll up his shirtsleeves and look around the room for God knows what. I tucked my elbows and knees under my body and hugged myself to try and calm my jitters. What was he looking for?

  Finally, after opening and closing most of my drawers, he found what he was after – a spare laptop charging cable. I began to uncurl from my foetally submissive position, but he shook his head, ordering me back down with his eyes.

  He unwrapped the cable, then doubled and tripled it over in his fist until it was a loose bundle of loops. Oh. Now I saw what he was doing.

  ‘Will it make a noise?’ I asked, though this possibility was not the only reason for my mounting trepidation.

  ‘It won’t. You might,’ he said. ‘But we can deal with that.’

  He knelt beside me on the bed. The flump of the mattress and bedding was falsely comforting, but the squeak of a spring put me back on my guard.

  He reached towards my face and covered my mouth with the palm of a hand. Was this going to be enough?

  ‘Keep it down,’ he said caressingly, trailing the cold plastic-coated loops over the bare part of my thighs, creating instant goosebumps. ‘If you can’t take any more, bang the duvet three times with your foot, OK? No words, not even safewords. But I can’t have you calling me an idiot and getting away with it. Do you understand?’

  I nodded, my heart bumping, but more regularly now. I found it strangely reassuring to know that he took this dom thing so seriously. If he’d let it go, I’d probably have carried on with my anxious sniping at him until we both lost our tempers. It was better this way, much as my bum might disagree.

  He kept his palm firmly over my lower face and pulled my knickers tight until they were bunched in the crease of my bottom, leaving my cheeks vulnerable. He paused only to arr
ange my spine in the best possible posture for a spanking before letting the loops fall hard on to my backside.

  He was right; they were almost silent. Silent but deadly. The sting lit up my taut skin and I almost reared up in surprise, but Tom had me back in my position before it was truly broken. All that remained to me was an angry muffled protest into his hand.

  I learned to keep my voice back by chewing my tongue and the inside of my cheeks while he struck sparks all over my bottom and thighs with the looped cord. At times it became almost unendurable and I grunted and fussed against his fingers, but I wanted to hold out. I didn’t want to stop him by banging my foot. I kept my bottom up as high as I could, even when I could feel my skin blazing and tightening, both my cheeks and the stretch of thigh above my stocking tops. He was covering every inch of my skin and I was beginning to fall into the feeling.

  I dived in a headlong spiral, embracing the sting and the humiliation and the darkness in both of us that brought me to it. I was glowing and throbbing, outside and in.

  When I breathed sharply in and banged the duvet with my foot, it wasn’t because I’d had enough.

  It was because something outside us intruded into my blissful subspace, returning me to my previous panic.

  Mehra’s voice, distant at first then suddenly loud as she turned the corner on to the landing, stopped me short. I held still, spine stiff, hardly daring to breathe on to Tom’s hand. He too had stopped, holding his makeshift whip just high enough for its loops to drift negligently over my burning bum.

  ‘…yeah, I know. Did you use all the milk? Oh, cool. Night night, then.’

  Her door clicked shut and I breathed again.

  Tom removed his hand, now damp from my struggles, and put down the whip.

  ‘Lucky escape for you,’ he whispered. ‘I was about to start on your inner thighs.’

  I cringed at the thought, tempted to clamp them together.

  ‘You were brave,’ he continued, stroking my hot skin. ‘You took more than I thought you would. Well done. Did it hurt?’

  ‘Just a bit,’ I whispered back, putting all my weight on trembling elbows.

  Mehra’s door opened again. I heard her heading into the bathroom, then the sound of teeth being brushed.