Oh God... she was stunned and felt immediately sick. Everything suddenly went flat and she gazed blankly at the object which looked so cheap, so tacky with each passing second. Why on earth did such a gorgeous man have such a peculiar liking? Why, oh why, was she so jinxed in her love-life?
‘Oh - is it going to rain?’ was all she could summon up in response.
‘No,’ came the reply, ‘but something tells me you are still going to get wet.’ The look was back. ‘Put it on,’ he said, throwing it over to her.
She was sluggish to react and only half-caught it.
‘What? Here?’
‘Do as you're told!’
Taken aback by his sharpness, she remained silent and began to open it out fully. It was upside-down and back-to-front and, for a moment, she found herself struggling with it. So bloody frumpy! she thought. This is about as sexy as Maureen's overall. Just look at it! I don't believe it! What is it with men? Reluctantly, she slipped it on. It swished as her arms went through the sleeves and rustled, she noticed, like mad. Supermarket carrier-bags came to mind and she suddenly felt like Michael's goods. Boil-in-the-bag. This week's special offer. Suddenly another image, of school days, the little pink mac she wore then.
The plastic felt cold and alien against her warm skin. In exasperation, she tried to smooth out the material so that it hung better but could not prevent what was welling up inside her. She felt cheap and more than slightly ridiculous, and cast a resentful look at him. He merely smiled back.
He’s loving it, she could see that. It was clear that, whatever was going on inside him, this was all very natural and normal for him. But then - he was a man and every woman knows how weird they are. Not even remotely stylish - a fashion mac, or something. Anything but this! Bloody hell! She could have thrown something at him, but all she had was herself, without a stitch on. Except for this bloody article!
The look on his face was a picture of self-satisfaction, and unmistakably, bore a hint of excitement.
‘Button it up, smooth it out, and tie the belt. It's in the pocket.’
Oh God, let's get this over with. She fumbled fastening it up. The buttons needed to be pressed really hard to snap to.
‘Come on,’ he said, impatiently.
‘All right!’ she snapped.
He did not retort but the look was enough.
‘I'm sorry,‘ she said, ‘It's just that...’ but did not finish.
She found the belt folded in the pocket to her left and tied it round her waist.
‘Make it tighter!’
She re-tied it, this time cinching it up tight. She felt at once the plastic cling to her back and shoulders and stretch over her breasts. It seemed a bit too small even though the coat came over her knees. She smoothed down the hood at the back and, gazing down, saw that her nipples and pubic hair were partially visible through the translucent material.
‘Mmm...,’ he purred, and the smile broadened. ‘Little Girl Pink. Nice. Very, very, very nice.’
Her anger began to dissipate.
‘You have absolutely no idea of how you look, do you?’
‘Odd.’ He looked taken aback. ‘I mean it’s not even raining.’
Then he laughed.
‘Odd? Catherine, I think you rather need some understanding of the male point of view,’ and the smile disappeared.
‘Now. Walk up and down.’
She hesitated. He stared at her and raised an eyebrow, expectantly.
This is stupid! she thought, and looked out across the room. Tentatively, putting one foot in front of the other, she moved out to cross the open space before her. God, this is weird. It's silly, bloody silly, and she recounted this to herself again and again as she crossed the floor under what, she could sense, was his engrossed studying of her. Her heels echoed on the wooden boards in a way that they had not earlier when she had first entered the room. She was so self-conscious that her gait was awkward and her steps seemed clumsy the more she tried to concentrate on walking naturally.
So this is what a sex object is, she thought. At last, she reached the far corner. Satisfied? inquired her mind of him, and took a deep breath, then turned. He was looking straight at her, intense yet relaxed, and evidently pleased with what he was seeing. Calmer, she retraced her steps, this time walking better. She was now conscious of the plastic that enveloped her, the way it wafted slightly round her thighs and swished with the movement of her arms, and of the way the coat now clung to her upper body.
‘Gorgeous,’ was his response at last. ‘Absolutely perfect. You look stunning. It fits you to a tee.’
Catherine glanced at herself in the full-length mirror and, for a moment, saw the woman in the poster, in the dungeon. Then another woman materialized before her. She could see how the plastic worked on her body, tight-wrapping it in parts, softly draping it in others, and all the while, the slightest movement causing a myriad of reflections in the light that made this, she had thought, frumpish cover-all, now increasingly, truly eye-catching.
‘Yes. Take a good look at yourself, Catherine. Now, how do you feel?’
She could not take her eyes off the image.
‘Strange…’ Her subdued voice trailed off. She turned round and studied her rear view in the glass.
Through the translucent pink, the cleft of her buttocks was visible. On impulse, she gathered together the front of the mac round her crotch so that it was pulled in tight round her bottom. She wiggled slightly and the light reflected off the stretched plastic making her bottom, thighs, back and shoulders glisten in a way she found peculiarly bewitching. She bent over, feeling the plastic stretch so tight she thought it might burst and gazed back into the mirror. This is kinky, she thought, Oh God, it's so bloody kinky. She knew it and, in spite of it, she liked it and a feeling in the pit of her stomach told her something else. She straightened up at once, letting go of the mac she had pulled in. Just for an instant, she had had a fleeting urge to be beaten through the soft plastic with the strap she had handled in the dungeon. She stood there in front of the mirror, hesitant, self-conscious again.
‘What's the matter? Don't you like what you see?’ He was coming towards her. ‘You could have fooled me!’
She looked away, embarrassed. Suddenly he was standing there right in front of her, but she could not bring herself to look at him. So close, he stood there. She was now incapable of doing anything. He lightly touched her left shoulder as he moved round to her side, and whispered in her ear.
‘Do you like the silky feel of the plastic? The way it clings to your back and shoulders, caresses your soft, warm breasts, your pert, pink nipples? Do you like the way it feels wrapped tightly round your waist, stretched and moulded round the curves of your thighs, feather-light, softly brushing against your naked bottom? Do you not feel its kisses all over you?’
Yes, oh, yes! cried out her body to her. She sighed, her eyes half-closed, but could say nothing.
His smooth voice, his gentle touch. The plastic clung more than ever, a thousand caresses all at once, a sensual second skin that enclosed her now with the completeness of a prison cell that wrapped its occupant into its tightest confines. Every pore now craved incarceration by the new skin which enveloped her and enslaved her senses totally.
He had moved round behind her and now had his hands on both of her shoulders. He parted her hair at the back. She could feel his warm breath on her neck and was glad he could not see her blushing face.
Gently but firmly, he massaged her shoulders through the pliant mantle that now graced her quivering form. She wanted to be touched on every part of her body where she could feel the warm plastic moulding itself to her curves, wanted to be felt and caressed everywhere his hands could take him. She sensed his lips ever so lightly brush the nape of her neck and cried out within to be possessed by him completely.
Suddenly he slipped his hands down from her shoulders and round her front to cover each of her breasts. He pulled her right up against him so that she was leaning i
nto him, and he worked her stiffening nipples through the soft plastic. While his hands slithered over her, she moaned in delight and her breathing grew deeper. He slid one hand away from her breast down to her thigh and the raincoat rustled softly under his touch as he stroked her thigh up and down, up and down, as plastic and body merged into one.
‘Touch yourself,’ he whispered.
Like a sleepwalker in a dream, she slid her hand through the opening in the mac.
‘Rub yourself through the plastic,’ he commanded.
She took her hand out and then began, rhythmically, to work on herself through the smooth, soft plastic, slowly at first then faster, using both hands, and all the while, his own hands caressed her all over, back, front and thighs. She was hot, wet, and now beginning to perspire, and slithered in the slippery plastic as he felt her all over. Like someone in a fit, she jerked herself back and forth, pressing and rubbing her clitoris frenziedly till her convulsed being climaxed in a delirium of ecstasy.
Slowly, the convulsions died away; her back and hips felt slightly stiff, her legs weak and she came round to the room, Michael and herself. The plastic clung to her naked body all over and her crotch and inner thighs were slippery wet. She was capable of rational thought again and the enormity of what she had done was now seeping in. But she loved it. God, did I love that! No-one had ever done anything like that to her before – never! – and, as she turned toward him, she knew she had crossed a line. She was cooling down already and feeling uncomfortable, in more ways than one. She started to untie the belt.
‘What are you doing?’ he said.
‘Taking it off.’
‘No you're not. Leave it on.’
‘But I...’
‘Do as you're told! I've not finished with you yet.’
‘But ...’
‘Shut up!’
‘Please!’
‘Shut up!’ and all at once, he lunged forward and gave her a sharp slap on the back of her bare leg, so hard her leg nearly buckled.
She was stunned and shaken, and electrified by this abrupt use of violence. This sudden new side to him shocked but did not alarm her and yet, the thought flashed through her mind that she had not given him her consent to be treated like this. But she immediately let the moment run, wanting to know what happened next. Suddenly, he grabbed her by the arm and frogmarched her across the room into the far corner.
‘I've had enough of this and your disobedience. It's time you were taught a lesson!’ With that, he yanked her up against the wall, her face only a few inches from it. He pulled the mac’s hood up over her head.
‘Stay there! Don't move! Don't even move one muscle! Do you understand?’
Electrified, her voice was but a whisper.
‘Yes.’
All she felt was a charge of excitement run through her. She was now warming up again in the clinging plastic. Suddenly he was gone and all she heard was the door click to.
Silence.
She stood there, rigid, immobile. Instinctively, she turned her head but the hood did not move and blocked her view. Was he still there in the room, silently watching her?
Yes! She was sure. This was how she liked it at last - under complete control. The image of the young schoolgirl, in a pink plastic mac, came back to her. Standing in the corner. Dirty little girl. Slapped legs. Punishment. At long last, she was going to get what she deserved. Strap? Cane? The rack of implements in the dungeon! Of course! That's where he's gone! The thought of the thrashing was now making her even wetter between her legs and she instinctively slipped her hand inside the mac.
Click!
The door! She immediately withdrew her hand and, with mounting excitement, she nerved herself for what was about to come.
Silence.
He was tip-toeing up on her and every nerve of her being was stretched with each passing second. All she could hear was her own breathing amplified inside the hood. The seconds ticked by. He was there, she could sense him now. She steadied herself.
A sound! A palpable sound. So near now! Every sense strained, her buttocks were instinctively clenched in anticipation. She took in a deep breath.
Now! Surely, it had to be now.
Oh, now!
He was right behind her.
Thrash me, please!
Suddenly, the hood was pulled back from her head.
‘He says you can go now.’
It was the voice of Anne.
Chapter 10. The killing
Catherine winced with embarrassment whenever the thought of what Anne had witnessed in that lounge yesterday came to mind, but, try as she might, she could not lay the memory to rest. The very thought of being discovered like that by her hurt much more than the slap on the leg. She cringed from the inevitability of seeing her again. I can’t handle it, she thought, I can’t face her. Please not today! But that woman or not, she had to go to work and, with a loud sigh, drove off.
Long before she reached Blackthorne, it had begun to rain - and hard - and she would get wet just getting from her car to the entrance. She still had not got round to buying a new umbrella. Worse, the thought of her rival looking out of the window and watching her running frantically and getting a good splattering too only heightened the sense of humiliation at her hands and made her feel even more sick. On pulling up as near to the entrance as she could, she took a deep breath, and made a dash for the front door.
She burst in, then, surreptitiously, crept through the hallway into the house, her hair wet and flattened by the rain, hoping desperately to avoid meeting Anne. But there she was – smug bitch! – arranging flowers in the corridor.
‘You look all wet,’ said Anne, hardly bothering to suppress the smile.
‘Well … it’s raining,’ squeaked Catherine, at a loss for a sensible response.
Suddenly there was a rapping noise at the window. It was Maureen, peering at the two of them through the rain-streaked pane.
‘Oh, God!’ Catherine had inadvertently locked the front door behind her while dashing in, her mind distracted by the fear of encountering Anne. She rushed to let Maureen in.
‘I was trying to catch you up, duck, but you were out of the car and through that front door in a flash.’
‘Oh, sorry Maureen,’ said Catherine, not sure how she could have helped as neither of them had an umbrella.
‘What a downpour! I didn’t expect it would rain today, did you?’
‘Me neither, Maureen,’ shrugged Catherine.
‘I hate to carry a brolly just in case it might rain,’ continued Maureen.
‘You could do with a plastic rainmac, Maureen,’ said Anne, and smiled knowingly at Catherine who began to blush. ‘They’re perfect when it’s pouring down, and no matter how wet you feel you are getting in them, it’s like water on a duck’s back and afterwards – hey presto! You’re right as rain!’ and made a false laugh.
‘Oh no, duck!’ said Maureen, taking off her soaking-wet navy-blue jacket, ‘I know they make perfect sense, but outdoors, I like to look a bit smart!’ and with that, she idled down the corridor as Catherine’s and Anne’s eyes met. Two down to Anne, but at least Catherine had got the feared awkward encounter over with, and with a feeling of relief, said ‘Right. I’d better get to work,’ and followed on, in Maureen’s damp footsteps, down the corridor.
Nothing much happened for the rest of the day, and Catherine pressed on with the work, badly needing to put the events of yesterday behind her.
Come evening, and after a good meal and a glass of wine, and with one of her favourite programmes about to start on television, she settled down all comfortable on the settee and felt good. The phone rang.
‘Oh, no! Of all the times!’ She got up, and determined to get rid of Val as quickly as possible, picked up the phone.
‘Catherine. It’s Paul.’
‘Paul!’ she exclaimed, taken aback, even though Val had said he was back in the country, ‘Hmm … how are you?’
‘Oh, I’m fine, just fine,’
he said, and then, after a slight pause, ‘How are you? Val said you were fixed up with a temporary job and were doing well.’
‘Yes, I’m busy, as usual, scrabbling around on my knees with dusty books and piles of manuscripts.’
‘So nothing’s changed then, eh?’ and they both laughed, nervously.
‘Hmm … I was wondering if we could, you know, meet up sometime and … hmm … you know, catch up on things. Exchange notes as it were.’
‘Oh!’ she reacted, ‘Hmm … OK …,’ and there was an awkward silence.
‘Great!’ came his voice. ‘Hmm … So where do you suggest? Somewhere convenient that suits you.’
‘Hmm …,’ she was thinking furiously how to deal with this. ‘Perhaps for a drink at The Anvil in town.’ It was an old favourite haunt they used to frequent in their early days together.
‘Oh! Hmm …OK …hmm … I thought perhaps, maybe for a meal rather than a pub drink. Nothing grand, really. I’m desperate for a square meal now I’m back,’ and he laughed.
She hesitated for a moment and a picture came to mind of him across the small dinner table in those happier times when they dined together under candlelight on those home meals she specially prepared for him as they talked, giggled and laughed. Then, meal over, they danced to their favourite tracks on the player, sometimes naked, apart from her in her tights and Paul in his socks, something she had taught him in order to slide his feet better on the carpet as she tried to get him to move his hips more. The two of them. The music. And the candlelight.
‘Catherine? Are you there?’
She pulled herself together and the smile vanished.
‘Of course! That’s much better!’ and at once, realized that she needed someone to take her out of Blackthorne and into the world at large, and to put that place in perspective, and Paul was the perfect boost to restore her resilience. ‘Where do you suggest?’
His voice too was uplifted.
‘I was thinking of Giussepe’s, that posh place we used to fancy but could never afford. It’s all on me. It’s a bribe to get you to listen to the boring time I’ve had in Papua New Guinea. Oh, and, of course, to hear all about the mind-bending adventures you’ve been having in the land of libraries,’ and he laughed.
Hard Rain Page 10