by Ashe Barker
“Do you need another blanket? A warm drink?”
She nodded, grateful for his close attention. “Tea please, in a minute.”
She was vaguely aware of Tony summoning one of the wait staff and ordering a pot of tea, glad he could manage to do so without relaxing his embrace. She needed this now, this closeness. She desired Tony’s gentle, warm brand of aftercare as much as she had craved his dominance earlier. He was an expert with a whip, a flogger, or a cane, but he came into his own with the cuddles afterwards. It was one of the reasons she adored scening with him, one of the reasons she could contemplate no other Dom since they had started to play together.
She curled up in his lap, his arms around her. Thea laid her cheek on his chest, loving the feel of the expensive silk mix of his shirt, cool against her face. He smoothed the hair back from her forehead and dropped a light kiss on the top of her head.
“I’ll be alright soon. Just a few minutes…”
“No rush, sweetheart. We have all night. Or I do.”
“I need to get home.”
“Yeah? Why’s that then?”
“I, I just do. But you haven’t… I mean, would you like to find a private room?”
“You beg me to fuck you most times, and it’s no hardship to oblige. But it’s not mandatory. You’re tired, pretty wrung out in fact, and as a rule I prefer my subs to be conscious when I fuck them. I think we’re done here. Apart from this, of course.” He tightened his arms around her, hauling her up against him and rubbing large circles on her back. “Ah, here’s your tea.”
“I love this… with you. Sir.” Thea’s words were a soft whisper, barely audible. Despite her submissive nature she often struggled to admit out loud to feeling vulnerable. And gratitude was way up there on the same scale of personal risk-taking as far as she was concerned. It was a measure of her trust in Tony that she could say as much as she had.
“You earn it. Every time, but that was an intense scene. More than usual. Is there anything wrong?”
“Wrong? What do you mean? I thought you said I did well…”
“That’s not what I mean. You were very—needy. Demanding, as though you had demons to exorcise. So I wondered what caused that.”
“Nothing. At least, nothing here. With you.”
“Okay, I get that you’re entitled to your privacy and I’m not prying. But we are friends, yes? You know you can talk to me. I can listen almost as well as I can handle a flogger.”
“I do know. It’s not that, and not you. I just, I like to keep things separate. It’s better that way.”
“I’m not sure I agree, but if you insist. You have my mobile number. Use it if you change your mind. Shall I pour?”
Thea nodded, and considered the matter closed. She wriggled into a sitting position but despite her reluctance to open up to him, and her claims that she had to get home, she was in no real hurry to separate from Tony’s comforting warmth. She took the offered cup of steaming tea and sipped slowly, allowing her body time to drift gently back down from the endorphin-induced high. She spotted a couple of chocolate biscuits on the tray beside the teapot and nibbled one of those. Her blood sugar needed a boost.
How long had she been scening with Tony now? Six months? Eight, perhaps. They met here at the club every couple of weeks or so, and to Thea’s way of thinking each scene was more intense than the last. More satisfying. More fulfilling. As the days passed between their encounters she would long for her Dom’s summons. Eventually he would text her, usually a curt few words and giving her just hours’ notice. Today had been no exception
Tonight. Nine thirty. Corset. High heels.
Her response… Yes, Sir.
She let her mind drift back to the evening she met this tall, dark haired Dom. She had been coming to The Wicked Club alone for a couple of months, watching other members enjoying the facilities, attending demonstrations of wax play or bondage techniques. She enjoyed regular spankings administered by the dungeon staff when she requested it, and those were quite delightful. She was happy, blending in and anonymous in her kink. She certainly wasn’t looking for a regular Dom.
In fairness, Tony was no regular Dom. He was simply—perfect. From the first moment he strolled up to her, flashed that ebony-eyed smile and invited her to join him for a drink she was under his spell. He was attractive, but Thea thought that was true of all Doms. They exuded a certain—something—that drew her in. With Tony it was more. His classic good looks were just part of it. He looked to be a little older than she was, perhaps in his mid-thirties, and smartly dressed. Thea loved a man in a well-tailored suit and Tony was the epitome of male elegance. His dark grey jacket and trousers were immaculate, his crisp white shirt pristine. He removed his burgundy and grey striped tie as they sat in the bar and unbuttoned his collar. Thea thought she might dissolve into a puddle at his feet.
Tony’s physical perfection was just a part of his appeal though. He was unfailingly courteous, he smiled a lot, and when he invited her to accompany him back into the dungeon she was more than happy to drape herself over a spanking bench for him. He had never disappointed her, delivering just the right level of intensity to satisfy her craving for pain. Submissive to her core, Thea rarely attracted anything approaching discipline from her Dom, but on the rare occasions he did harden his tone with her or raise a disapproving eyebrow her pussy melted. She just quivered, her desire for his dominance bringing her to her knees every time.
She had scened with no one else since that first time with Tony. She had no desire to. He had set the standard as far as she was concerned and no other Dom would measure up. He had set the bar high, yet she didn’t even know his last name. She had no wish to know. Tony was her guilty secret, he existed here at The Wicked Club. In this place, with this powerful Dom, she could let herself go, safe in the knowledge that the Thea who stripped in public and orgasmed on a growled command, was a world away from the prim, efficient woman who inhabited her everyday life. And never the twain should meet.
“Sweetheart, are you falling asleep?”
“What? Oh, sorry…” Thea’s musings came to an abrupt end, disturbed by her Dom’s soft voice. His aftercare was intoxicating, but Thea knew she could postpone the inevitable no longer. “I need to be off.”
“Do you have a taxi booked?”
“No, I wasn’t sure how long we’d be.”
“I’ll call one, while you get dressed. Unless you want me to drop you off?” He raised one eyebrow, his expression mischievous. They both knew she absolutely refused to accept a lift home. Ever. It was better that no one at The Wicked Club knew where she lived, even Tony. He often offered, and she always turned him down.
Ten minutes later, decently dressed in her long overcoat, which completely covered her fetish outfit beneath, Thea scrambled into a taxi at the foot of the entrance steps in front of the club. She lifted a hand to Tony, his smile and sexy wink as the vehicle pulled away causing her pussy to clench despite the bone-deep satisfaction he’d already provided.
Tony always did have that effect on her. That’s what made him so dangerous.
Chapter Two
“Twenty five thousand? How the fuck did this happen?” Tony tossed the sheaf of documents onto his desk and strode to the window. The street scene outside wasn’t exactly peaceful or calming, but it was infinitely more soothing than the mayhem contained in those pages.
“Someone screwed up, that’s how.” The quiet, measured tones of his PA belied the direct nature of her words. Isabel Barnard had worked for him for the last ten years, and for his father before that. She knew Tony appreciated plain speaking, and had no objection to it herself. “Your predecessor didn’t want to pay out for good legal advice so his head of HR—now your head of HR—managed the case himself. He turned up at the tribunal with incomplete documentation, he wasn’t rock solid on the right procedures, he couldn’t demonstrate…”
“Okay, okay, I get it. A car crash, right?”
“Right. The tribunal took a coach and horses through our case, found for the claimant on all counts.”
Tony surveyed the street below for several more seconds, then turned from the window with a sigh. He scowled again at the papers spread on his desk but the message they contained hadn’t improved since the last time he perused them. Dart Logistics, his newly acquired logistics and distribution company had just ended up on the wrong end of an industrial tribunal ruling, and had been ordered to pay the complainant compensation of twenty five thousand pounds to soften the blow of his allegedly wrongful dismissal. As far as Tony could make out his ex-employee hadn’t put in a full week’s work for nearly four years, and seemed especially averse to Mondays and Fridays, but had still managed to convince the tribunal that he’d been badly treated. At least Tony’s firm hadn’t been ordered to reinstate the idle slug, so he supposed he should be thankful for that.
“Is there any point in appealing?” He glanced across the desk at Isabel who was leafing through the pile of papers.
She shook her head slowly. “Unlikely. These matters are more concerned with process than justice. The tribunal isn’t saying you shouldn’t have fired Jeremy Malone, just that you, sorry, the previous CEO, should have made a better job of it. The warnings weren't recorded properly, Malone didn't have representation when he was interviewed by HR, he wasn’t made aware of the necessary standards he had to achieve in order to retain his position. Like I said, process.”
“Standards! Just turning up for work and doing a decent job would have done the trick.”
His PA shrugged. “There’s nothing in here to suggest Mr Malone wasn’t good at his job. He just wasn’t here enough to show us that.”
Tony tunnelled his fingers through his hair, unable to contain his exasperation. “Christ, I know you’re right about the process stuff. We all know how these things work. That’s why it’s so bloody annoying. Twenty five grand, for fuck’s sake.”
“Yeah. We got the tribunal on a bad day. Might be worth appealing the level of the award, if not the decision…”
“Get our lawyers on it. Meanwhile, I intend to make sure this crap doesn't happen again. You can start by sending the head of HR in to see me. What did you say his name was?”
“Eric Henderson. Been here for five years. Solid enough chap but not really an HR specialist. He’s an IT man, but he got human resources tagged on to his department in a cost-saving exercise last year.”
“Right. Good result. Twenty five thousand pounds worth of cost saving. Bloody fucking hell.”
Isabel stacked the documents into a neat pile and stood. “Quite. I’ll ask Henderson to come up, but in fairness I don’t think you can really blame him. He was dumped on too.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. And if Henderson’s not the right man for the job we’re going to need someone who is.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. I know someone who might suit. Shall I arrange a meeting?”
It was on the tip of Tony’s tongue to thank her, and agree to interview whoever she put in front of him. Isabel was good like that, she anticipated his needs and sorted things without needing to be told. But on this occasion, he had an idea of his own he wanted to play with.
“Thanks, but not yet. There’s another solution I think I might try first.”
“I see. And what’s that then?”
“Just an idea. Someone I need to talk to first though.”
“Well, don’t take too long about it. We need to get this mess under control before we find ourselves with another expensive mistake to deal with. Right. I’ll get on to Eric Henderson then. Are you free to see him now?”
“It’s as good a time as any. No point putting it off.”
Even as Tony muttered the words at his PA’s retreating back he knew she was right, as usual. This company was a mess, which had a lot to do with why he’d been able to acquire it so cheaply. It was clear he had some work to do knocking it into shape, but he didn’t mind that. He thrived on the challenge. First order of business would be to surround himself with people who he could trust and who were good at their jobs. Isabel was a given. Henderson might turn out to be a square peg in a round hole but he’d soon determine that. Tony himself was a strategist, a gifted corporate visionary and leader, good with people but absolutely no use at all with systems and detail. And that was where his problems seemed to lie.
He sighed. Isabel was right, he was going to need some help here, someone who could get to grips with Henderson’s shambles of a department. And he had a feeling he knew the very person. He just needed to convince his old friend.
*****
“You want to what?” Stephen Kershaw lowered his steel grey eyebrows at Tony and glowered at him from under them.
Tony wasn’t impressed. He sipped his coffee and met his godfather’s stern gaze. “I want to borrow Mrs Richmond.”
“She’s not a bloody library book. And I’m not lending you my right hand woman.”
“Think of it as career development for her. She’ll probably be glad of the change, and the challenge if she’s half as good as you say.”
“She’s every bit that good, which is why I need her here. And she has plenty to challenge her running Kershaw Storage, thank you very much. Or if she doesn't, she soon would if I was crazy enough to start loaning out my best staff to the competition.”
“I’m not the competition. You’re in warehousing, I’m in distribution. We complement each other. If I do well, you do well. And I’m family.”
“You’re a bloody nuisance, that’s what you are. I should have smelled a rat when you were so keen to see me. I don't clap eyes on you for months on end, then suddenly you’re in my office, hassling my secretary for an appointment.”
“It’s been a while, true. We’re both busy men. But you owe me a favour, Stephen. Or seven. What about when you had that fire and I let you shift all your undamaged stock into my lorries for three days until you could hire temporary space. Then there was that contract with Linton’s—I introduced you and put in a good word, and they turned out to be your best customer to date. And what about the time your operations manager broke both his legs skiing while you were tied up looking after Diana? Who was it who stepped in and ran your company as well as mine for three months until you got sorted out?” Tony paused in his catalogue of good deeds to let the implications sink in. He leaned forward in his seat. “I only want to borrow her. Six months tops.”
Stephen’s response was an inarticulate grunt.
“How is Diana these days anyway?” Tony knew when and how to press his advantage.
“Good. She’s good. The cancer’s still in remission so we’re hoping it stays that way.”
“Me too. Really. Give her my love.”
“You could give her it yourself if you’d come round once in a while.”
“I will. Soon. So, about Mrs Richmond…?”
“You’ve never even met her. How do you know you’ll get on? She might not be what Dart Logistics needs at all.”
Tony sensed the older man’s resolve softening. He leaned forward, holding Stephen’s gaze as he enumerated the virtues of the renowned Mrs Richmond. “Efficient, forensic eye for detail, meticulous. A degree in law, second degree in business accountancy. Did I miss anything?”
Stephen Kershaw shook his head. “Sounds about right. But she’s sharp too, doesn’t suffer fools. She can be abrasive. Your people won't take to her, at least not at first.”
“I’ll smooth all that over. I’m not looking for someone to win popularity contests, and she won't be in an outward-facing role with my customers. What I need right now is someone in my back room to go through my organisation, top to bottom, unearth all the flaws and sloppy practises, point out what needs fixing, and better still fix it for me. She’d have free rein, and my full support.”
His godfather eyed him, his expression thoughtful. “You must be worried. What is it you suspect?”
; “We have issues in HR for certain, but those are probably superficial and easily fixed with a head of department who knows his stuff. I’m uneasy about my accounts and finance section too, though I can't put my finger on just why. The gap between last year’s forecasts and our actual performance was huge, and I’m not sure it can just be explained by unpredictable market forces, or even incompetence at our end. I want someone I can trust crawling all over the figures, someone who can get under the skin of it and tell me what’s really going on.”
“I see. Well I reckon Mrs Richmond could do that, but you’re not having her full time. You can have her for two days a week, if she’s agreeable. I’ll ask her, but it's her choice. If she’s not interested I won’t have you hassling her or me. Six months you say? Maximum?”
“Well that was my estimate if she was with me full time…” A determined creasing of the older man’s forehead convinced Tony he’d pushed him as far as was prudent. “Okay. Six months, part time. And I’ll offer her a bonus, ten percent on top of whatever you’re paying her here.”
“I doubt the money will make any difference. I’ll tell her what you want to discuss and ask her to contact your office, but only if she wants to.”
“That'll do me. Thanks.” Tony sat back and finished his coffee. He only needed to talk to the woman, surely. He could be persuasive when he set his mind to it.
*****
Anthea rearranged the strap of her satchel-type bag on her shoulder and marched across the gleaming tiled foyer of the offices of Dart Logistics. She was shooting for purposeful, and thought she might have nailed it. The middle aged receptionist smiled up at her from behind her computer. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Anton diMarco please. Anthea Richmond. I have an appointment.”
The receptionist offered her another warm smile as she tapped numbers into her keyboard. “I have Anthea Richmond in Reception, to see Mr diMarco.” A pause, then, “Of course. I’ll send her right up.” She returned her attention to Anthea. “You need the second floor. The lift’s over there. Mr diMarco’s PA will meet you upstairs.”