by Suzy K Quinn
‘You’re talking like I had no say in the matter,’ I say. ‘It was my choice as much as yours. More so. You tried to walk away. I didn’t want you to. And you’re not morally empty. But this place ...’ I gesture with my hand. ‘There’s no love in it. Only things.’
‘It wasn’t built for love,’ Marc snaps. ‘All your fantasies can come true here. I can make anything you want, happen.’
‘I want you to lose your inhibitions.’
‘Sexually, I don’t have any inhibitions,’ says Marc. ‘I’ve fucked women in every way there is to. Nothing is off limits for me.’
‘But have you ever come with a woman?’
‘A few times. When I was younger.’
That answer knocks me sideways. I don’t know what I was expecting. It hurts me to think he’s shared things with other women he’s never shared with me. ‘But with me you never ...’
‘I learned very quickly to stay in control. That intimacy leads to all sorts of places I don’t want to be. Didn’t want to be. But with you ...’ He looks at me so tenderly, then, that I want to run into his arms.
‘Do you want to be closer to me?’ I ask.
‘I’ve been closer to you than I’ve ever been to anyone in my life,’ says Marc. ‘That’s what you don’t seem to understand.’
‘Even though you’ve never come with me?’
‘The way I feel for you ... it’s different. But what if this is as close as we can get? What if I can’t give you any more?’
I think about that. If I believed this was the most Marc could ever offer me – the occasional show of closeness, followed by a coolness that freezes me to my core – then I would walk away. But I don’t believe it. I know deep down he wants to let himself go, but he can’t. He’s too scared.
Marc sips his champagne and sets down the glass. He walks over to me and takes my hands.
A warm feeling runs through my stomach, and I feel my thighs pull together.
He has that dangerous look in his eyes again.
Chapter 65
Marc leads me towards one of the rooms.
He opens a door.
Inside I see a round bed right in the centre of the room. It has no headboard, just white sheets, but I notice hoops screwed at even points around the base of the bed.
A length of rope lies on the sheets. There’s a paddle next to the rope, and Marc slaps it against his palm.
Oh my god. Just when I thought things were getting normal.
‘Take your clothes off,’ Marc orders, throwing down the paddle. ‘And get on the bed.’
His voice, so deep I practically feel it in my feet, does things to me as usual.
I take my clothes off and climb onto the bed, seeing birds fly over the ocean, through the panoramic window.
‘Turn over,’ he says, coming behind me and tying my wrists to the hoops on the floor.
Marc pulls his t-shirt over his head and throws it down. I see the soft hair under his arms and scattered over his taut chest. I love his chest. He paces back and forth, hands on hips, surveying me.
Now I’m trapped. Vulnerable. He can do whatever he wants to me.
I crane my neck, seeing him prowl around the bed. He picks up the paddle again.
‘Would you like to feel this against your backside?’
My arms are held tight. ‘Will it hurt?’
He runs a thumb over the paddle. ‘Yes. A little. What would be the fun if it didn’t?’
I swallow, and he presses the edge of the paddle into my buttocks. ‘You want to try it?’ he whispers.
‘Yes,’ I say.
He brings the paddle down hard on my buttocks, twice.
‘Ouch.’
‘Good ouch?’
‘Yes,’ I admit.
‘You’re turning a very nice colour,’ he observes, spanking me again. I cry out. ‘You’ll stay here until I’m finished with you.’
I see his taut backside saunter in trousers out of the bedroom, and hear champagne being poured. He comes back with two full glasses of champagne and rests them on the bedside table.
‘Spread your legs for me,’ he says.
I do, feeling hot and breathless.
He reaches into the bedside cabinet and pulls out a thin, silver vibrator.
‘I’m going to slip this inside your backside and if you make the tiniest noise I’m going to spank you again.’
‘You must be kidding me,’ I murmur, squirming a little at the thought. ‘I can’t keep quiet.’
‘Try.’
He comes behind me and lays a hand on my buttocks whilst he works the vibrator inside me.
I bite my lip, trying to keep quiet, but when he turns on the vibrations I start to moan.
He picks up the paddle and spanks me five times, and I moan even louder.
The vibrations make me feel fuller and fuller.
I feel so desperate for him to be inside me.
Marc walks around to the front of the bed, and I see he’s slipped himself free of his trousers. His huge erection is in front of my face. He stalks behind me, and I turn my head again, desperate to see where he’s gone.
I feel him climb on top of me and slide between my legs.
‘Oh god, Marc. Oh god.’
The vibrator goes further up my backside as Marc moves back and forth inside me.
He moves harder against me, going further and further inside. A warm feeling is building up, and I struggle against the ropes.
Suddenly Marc lies right on top of me, pressing me into the bed, rubbing me against the sheets as he moves.
Warmth envelopes me and I feel sensations everywhere – Marc’s lips and tongue at my neck, his hands on my hair and buttocks. The vibrator inside me and Marc filling me up. He rubs me back and forth, back and forth, with such skill, keeping me just on the brink of unbearable, pulling back just as he gets too far inside. It’s like my body has become part of him, and he knows just what to do.
As the good feelings build to a climax, Marc slides his hand further into my hair, and winds it tenderly through his fingers.
Colour flashes before my eyes, and I feel pleasure shooting all over my body. I moan and push back into him, feeling the ropes bite at my wrists.
‘Marc,’ I call, as I come, and I feel his arms wrap around me.
I breathe heavily into the bed, not sure if I’ll ever get my breath back. I feel the warmth of him against my back, and don’t want this feeling to ever end.
Marc softly unties the ropes and flips me over, passing my legs over his chest. His hand feels between my buttocks and pulls out the vibrator, but the whole time he stays inside me. When I’m facing him, he moves slowly, staring right into my eyes.
‘I want to come in you,’ he says. ‘But I can’t. I just can’t lose control again. Not yet.’
I nod, moving stray hair from his eyes.
He falls forward, pulling me into his arms. We lay like that until morning.
Chapter 66
I wake in the morning, and find the space beside me empty. Sitting up, I look through the panoramic window at the tropical paradise outside. It’s beautiful. I can feel the warmth of the sun through the windows, even though the air-conditioning has chilled the air.
I dress and go downstairs, finding Marc in the gym room, pounding a punch bag. He looks so lethal as he punches – very able to do some damage – and I’d feel sorry for anyone who took the place of that punch bag.
He never wavers, never stops to lean against the bag and get his breath back. He just punches and punches, his back straight and face determined. His grey t-shirt and sweatpants are drenched in sweat.
Eventually he stops, and grabs the bag to stop it swinging. Throwing off his boxing gloves, he wipes his face with a towel, then notices me in the doorway.
‘You’re up early,’ he says, his usual cool, unflappable self.
‘I told you,’ I say with a smile. ‘I always am. And I could say the same thing about you.’
Marc flings the towel around
his shoulders. ‘Yes, you could. And you’d be right. I have a trip planned for you today.’ He throws off his t-shirt. I notice his arms are bulking up again, and guess he must have another action movie planned. He’s so disciplined. To be able to transform his body back and forth like that.
‘What sort of trip?’ I ask.
‘A shopping trip,’ he says. ‘Merile will take you by boat to a nearby island, where the stores are. There’s one I have in mind – a very famous lingerie store. Ayten Gasson. I know the owner. She’s ready to fit you out in whatever you’d like.’
Wow. ‘Aren’t you coming along?’ I ask.
Marc shakes his head. ‘I need to train. And I don’t want to risk you being photographed with me. I’d never forgive myself if you were hounded by the press.’
‘I know, I know.’ I feel sadness creeping into my chest. ‘My reputation and all of that. But maybe ... Marc, maybe as long as you stay at the college and keep teaching the other pupils, I don’t care. Just like you don’t care. Maybe all I want is you.’
‘You don’t know what you’re saying,’ he says. ‘It’s hard enough being part of my world, but considering the way we met ... the press would never leave you alone.’
‘I can handle it,’ I say.
‘I don’t want you to handle it,’ says Marc. ‘I want you to be happy.’
‘I’m happy when I’m with you,’ I say. ‘I’m not happy sneaking around. Not knowing when I’m going to see you next.’
Two lines appear above Marc’s nose. He spreads out his broad palms, and his blue eyes look lost. ‘I don’t know a way to solve that right now. Don’t be sad. Come here.’
I do, and he puts his arms around me, pulling me into the hot, dampness of his chest. He smells so good. I press my cheek to his body and let out a deep sigh. I don’t know how we’re going to do this, either. So I may as well just enjoy it while it lasts.
The lingerie store is low lit, with purple velvet couches and flickering candles everywhere. It smells like a spa. When I explain that Marc Blackwell sent me, a lady in a purple dress escorts me to a couch and gives me a crushed cherry and brandy cocktail.
‘We’ve found a model who’s similar to your size and build,’ she explains, pointing towards a series of crushed velvet curtains. ‘She’ll be modelling our latest range for you, and you just choose what you like.’
Now I’m glad Marc isn’t with me. I don’t like the idea of him watching a model dressed up in different ranges of underwear.
The model appears from behind a curtain. She’s beautiful, with a slender waist and long, willowy legs and arms.
‘She’s my build and size?’ I say. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely sure,’ says the purple dress lady. ‘You’re very similar shapes.’
The first set of underwear is white silk, sewn with dozens of glittering black stones. It’s beautiful, but not quite me. Then comes a dazzling parade of fairy-tale style green and blue pieces sewn with fairy-wing mesh and embroidered with gothic, black trees.
‘I love those,’ I say, and the purple dress lady signals for a set to be bagged.
I see a dozen other styles and designs, including stockings and suspenders, and choose a navy blue set with frills and net, a pack of panties with frills on the rear and a black suspender belt with little crosses sewn all over it.
When I arrive back at the glass house, Marc inspects my purchases. He chooses the fairytale set and tells me to put them on right now. Then he hands me a script.
‘You’re going to perform this scene in your underwear,’ he says.
I look at the script. It’s for a play called The Sex Diaries – a play infamous for its nudity, and the fact it follows married couples on their sexual adventures around London.
‘You know I’d never audition for a play like this,’ I say. ‘Not yet.’
‘Exactly,’ says Marc. ‘But I’m hoping together we might fix that little failing. I’d like you to perform the scene starting on page 52. You’re Georgia. I’ll play Harry.’
I might have guessed. The simulated sex scene in which Georgia, a middle-aged married woman, seduces Harry, her friend’s husband, in the upstairs bedroom at a party. In the play, she ends up completely nude on stage.
I take a deep breath, shake my arms and try to get into character. I try to feel Georgia in my body. Her confidence and exhibitionism.
What would she be doing right now? Smiling. I smile at Marc. ‘You know,’ I say, my voice becoming louder and more refined, ‘if you want to have sex with me, you only have to ask.’
Marc raises an eyebrow. I can tell by his expression that he’s still Marc. ‘I’ll bear that in mind. And may I just add, if I wanted to have sex with you, I’d be much more direct. I want you to rehearse this scene for good reason. It’s to help develop you as an actress.’
‘Oh.’
‘And since you’re in your underwear already, I thought this was a good part to stretch your boundaries and lose some of your inhibitions.’
‘What’s left of them,’ I say.
Marc laughs, and moves me to the window by my hips. ‘Here. You’re looking out of the window.’ He hands me the script and turns to page 50. ‘Start with this line.’
I cough, and read the line. ‘Darling, I’m just getting dressed. You don’t mind do you?’ I try to loosen my body even more.
‘Why should I mind?’ Marc reads Harry’s line with smarmy confidence, transforming into the married stockbroker whom Georgia has an affair with. It’s amazing. His face changes. His posture changes. He becomes a different person.
‘We’re all naked under our clothes at the end of the day,’ I say.
‘That we are,’ says Marc.
I check the script. ‘Would you help me with this?’ The stage direction says: Georgia holds the bra strap behind her back. Harry undoes it for her. She turns around, removing her bra entirely and showing her naked breasts to Harry. Ordinarily, I’d falter at that. But having had so many experiences with Marc now, it feels tame.
I feel Marc behind me, unhooking my bra. But he doesn’t do it in a Marc-like way. His movements are quicker and slightly fumbled. I feel like I’m in the presence of someone who doesn’t have my best intentions at heart, and it’s a little unnerving.
I wonder if I’ll ever be able to do a scene like this in public. I grasp hold of the bra, then slip it down and turn around.
Chapter 67
‘I expect your wife’s breasts used to look like these,’ I say, trying to bring into myself the confidence and swagger of a femme fatale. ‘They’re pretty, aren’t they?’
‘Very pretty,’ says Marc, coming forward and taking me in his arms. Again, it’s not Marc who’s here with me, but Harry. He carries me to the sofa and throws me onto it, and the face I look up at is greedy and grasping.
I check the script. It says: Harry picks up Georgia and puts her on the bed. They have sex, moving in time to the music. The curtain closes.
Marc moves between my legs, back and forth in a gentle rhythm. I move with him, but I can tell he’s working hard not to become aroused. He’s acting, and he’s professional as ever.
‘Very good,’ Marc whispers.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
‘You’d better get dressed,’ he says. ‘Because you’re playing that part for real this evening, in the theatre on the main island. So you’ll need to start learning your lines.’
‘You’re kidding me.’
‘No, I’m not kidding you. I happen to be guest-starring as Harry in this play tonight, and I’d like you to be my Georgia. She’s only a small part. I told you I’d stretch your boundaries. Challenge you. Break you out of your comfort zone and make you a better actress. Well. That’s exactly what I’m doing.’
‘But I can’t play that part.’ I’m on the verge of tears. ‘Not in public. Topless on stage. In front of a live audience -’
‘Some parts call for nudity,’ says Marc. ‘When I played King Lear, I was fully nude. And a theatre is nothi
ng compared to a movie, where a film camera closes in on your naked body, then projects it on a giant screen for millions of people to see.’
‘Maybe public nudity is a barrier I just can’t break down.’
‘You don’t understand,’ says Marc, shaking his head. ‘It’s not about the nudity. It’s about the openness. Exposing yourself totally. Your soul. For everyone to see. Nudity is just one tenant of that openness. If you’re not open to playing a part properly, everything closes down. Your body is the vehicle for your expression. If you’re too self-conscious to show your body, you can’t express yourself fully.’
‘You’re one to talk about openness.’
‘We’ve had this discussion before -’
‘I can’t do it, Marc.’
He tips my chin up with his fingers. ‘You can do it. Now get dressed and learn your lines. At five, a boat will take you to the main island, then a car will drive you to the theatre. I’ll be there already. I’ll meet you onstage.’ He kisses my nose and pulls me into his arms. ‘I believe in you.’
Chapter 68
In the car on the way to the theatre, I’m a bundle of nerves. I want to run, I want to hide, I want to scream at Marc, that he’s making me do something way beyond my capabilities. But deep down, I know he’s right. I do need to practise these sorts of roles. Even if I never perform nude ever again, it will stretch me and help me grow as an actress.
The car pulls up behind a modern theatre – a square, grey block of concrete with queues of people outside. I think how lucky we are in London to have such elegant, beautiful historic buildings.
I’m led to a dressing area, where a tiny, blonde actress helps me into Georgia’s lingerie, red dress, wig and make-up.
Then I’m led to the side of the stage, where I see the play has already begun. I flick hurriedly through my script, trying to find out how far into the play we’ve got. Page 49. I swallow three times to stop myself being sick, and watch Marc strolling back and forth on the stage, wearing a pin-striped suit.
He really is an amazing actor. I don’t see Marc at all, but Harry.
The lines race along, and I put my script down by the curtains and see a stage hand running towards me.