I look around in astonishment. So this really happens. People actually want to enact this fantasy.
‘The nursery is very popular,’ Vanessa remarks. ‘Our other room is in use at the moment and I’m afraid that from the sounds of it, baby is being very naughty indeed. Shall we go on?’
I follow her out, seized for a moment by a wild desire to laugh. But I also find something strangely comforting in the idea that if someone truly is seized by the need to return to the nursery like this, then here is a perfect place to come.
‘You may as well see this too,’ Vanessa says, and leads me to a door on the opposite side. She opens it and we both look in. It’s a vintage schoolroom, with a blackboard, old-fashioned desks and chairs, a bookshelf with text books and exercise books, pots of pens and pencils, an old tin globe and so on. But also very present are the instruments of correction: a dunce’s hat, a long cane, a large paddle hanging up by a leather loop, and a leather strap. There is also a wooden device that looks a little like a tunic, which I guess is another tool for punishment.
‘Very popular. Extremely popular,’ remarks Vanessa. ‘My real problem is getting enough governesses. Well-trained ones are worth their weight in gold.’
She closes the door and we go on. I look at Dominic with a questioning look but he shakes his head with a smile and I understand: all this is interesting but it’s nothing to do with us.
‘I think the other chambers are in use,’ she says. ‘We’ll go straight to my place.’
We climb another flight of stairs and come to the very top of the house. Vanessa stops outside a green door, unlocks it and we go inside. Here is something else altogether: a neat and beautiful living space, a penthouse apartment with breath-taking views over the city rooftops. She leads us in and gestures that we should sit down, while she goes to get some drinks.
‘Why are we here?’ I whisper to Dominic as we sit down on the dark green velvet chesterfield sofa.
‘I want Vanessa to accept you. And there are questions you’ll want to ask her too. She knows more about this from a woman’s point of view.’ Dominic lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses it, gazing at me with a sweet warmth in his eyes. ‘I want to do this right, Beth. This seems like a way in.’
Vanessa returns with a tray loaded with a wine bottle, glasses and a dish of salted almonds. She pours the drinks and hands them out before sitting down with hers in an elegant brown suede chair opposite us. She regards me with a look that is now not unfriendly but more guarded. ‘So, Beth, Dominic tells me you’re interested in becoming a member here.’
I nod.
‘What has brought you to our happy world?’ she asks with a lift of her eyebrows. ‘Do you wish to become a mistress?’
I’m not clear what she means by that, so I say, ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Not sure?’ Her gaze slides to Dominic. ‘Oh. Then I think we can safely say you don’t. A mistress is usually pretty sure of what she wants.’
Dominic breaks in. ‘Beth is more interested in being a submissive.’
‘Ah. I see. Well, then, the mistress world is probably not for you. There are female subs within it but it tends to be more about female domination and male submission. You’ll have seen from the play areas I showed you that it is about the male taking on a role in which he is chastised and corrected by a powerful woman. In which he is controlled and finds release and satisfaction in punishment – not just the punishment but in acts of rebellion, fear of reprisal, and eventually the joy of submission to what he must endure.’ Vanessa sighs, almost happily, as if recalling pleasurable moments. Her fingers play about her wine glass and I notice that the nails on one of her hands are long, and on the other, short. Then she looks at me again and continues. ‘The mistress environment is about punishment and discipline. It is dressed up in costume and playful in its props and scenery, but it is also harsh. Naughty boys suffer punishments that will make your eyes water just thinking about them. Naughty girls however . . .’
Her eyes glitter and she leans towards me and say in a low, caressing voice, ‘What punishments do you think naughty girls should get, Beth?’
I feel strange, as the world is moving faster and I’m spinning with it. ‘I . . . I don’t know,’ I stutter.
She goes on in that hypnotic voice. ‘I think that there are girls who want to feel the sting of their master’s anger. Girls who know that they’re only truly themselves when they’re surrendering to the delightful bite of the crop, the crack of the cat slapping down across their backs, the extraordinary journey that flogging will take them on. There are girls who need to feel ropes tighten round their wrists and ankles, to have their hungry pussies filled with naughty toys, who want their pain to turn into the most intense pleasure.’ She puts her head on one side and gives me a smile of enormous sweetness. ‘Is that you, Beth?’
My heart is racing and my breathing is coming fast, but I try to hide it. My voice comes out cracked. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps.’
Her smile fades and she turns to Dominic. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ she says in a flat tone. ‘You know what happens when—’
Dominic breaks in quickly. ‘It’s fine, Vanessa, really.’
She thinks for a moment, and looks over at me again. ‘I want to make sure you understand something, Beth. There are things grown adults want to do that society regards with distaste, or even abhorrence. It doesn’t fit in with the accepted narrative of sexuality and it tells us some uncomfortable things about ourselves. But I believe every human has the right to live as happily as they can, and if it takes something as simple as the occasional spanking, then I think it should be possible for them to enjoy that.. I provide this place as a haven for those people, a space where they come and live out their fantasies in safety. Safety and consent is key to everything that happens in this house, Beth. Once you understand that, you’ll feel more secure about the road you’re travelling on.’
‘I do understand,’ I say, and I feel suddenly that it is a kind of privilege to be here, listening to such an experienced practitioner of her art.
‘Good.’ She takes a gulp of wine. ‘I must be getting on, I’m very busy this evening. I think Dominic wants to show you something else.’ She puts down her glass and stands up. Smiling and almost friendly she says, ‘Goodbye, Beth. It was nice to talk with you.’
‘Goodbye. And thank you.’
‘Dominic – we’ll talk later, no doubt.’ Then she heads for the door and is gone.
I turn to Dominic. ‘Wow.’
He nods slowly. ‘She knows her stuff. Now come on, there’s one more place to visit.’
We go back to the basement level, pass the entrance to the bar, and go through a thick, reinforced door. Another door waits beyond that. I don’t like the sight of it at all. It’s studded with knobs of harsh-looking metal. Dominic goes first and opens it to a pitch-blackness beyond. He switches on a light and spotlights in the ceiling spark to life.
I gasp. I can’t help it. What lies beyond looks like a medieval torture chamber. I see a large wooden frame contraption with manacles and chains to bind hands and feet to it. Against a wall is a large X-shaped cross, also with loops for the attachment of restraints. Chains stretch from the ceiling to the floor, for what purpose I can’t guess, at least, not right now. There are strange deformed benches, on which people must lie in a variety of positions. In the corner is something that looks like a large upright box with holes pierced in it. All this is bad enough, but then my gaze is drawn to the wall and I see that hanging in a row on hooks is a wide variety of instruments, all of which appear terrifying to me. They are flogging tools. Some have thick handles and a big bush of leather tails. Some have just a few strands of leather that are thicker and heavier-looking, with knots at the ends. Some look soft, almost fluffy, with slender handles and long strands of horsehair. Others look as though they have more bite, with braided tails, or a single, serpentine plaited length with an evil-looking forked tongue at the end. Then there are the ones
like riding crops: slim lengths of taut, bouncy leather that look as though they’d be agonising flicking down on bare skin; and whips, with thick handles that taper to a long single length. There are canes, strong and hard, and paddles of all sizes, some two-headed, some pierced with holes, others quite plain and somehow those frighten me the most.
‘Dominic,’ I say, clutching at him. ‘I don’t know . . . I’m not sure.’
‘Hush.’ He takes me in his arms and hugs me, stroking my head. ‘It’s meant to look scary. It’s a place where the imagination goes to a space that’s usually your worst nightmare. But it’s not that bad, I promise. You come here willingly, you stay willingly, and nothing happens that you don’t want.’
I can hardly believe this, but he’s smiling sweetly down at me.
‘I promise. I don’t want to hurt you – not the way you’re imagining it. And don’t worry, we’re not going to start here anyway.’
I’m trembling and fearful, worried about what I’ve done, what I’ve agreed to. I don’t know if I can do this.
Dominic takes my hands and kisses them. When he speaks, his voice is low and throaty. ‘Trust me. That’s all you have to do. Trust me.’
Chapter Fifteen
I don’t say much on the way back to the apartment building. I feel strange and rather sick. I can’t wipe the image of that place out of my mind, or bear to think of what goes on there. I see maddened eyes, foaming mouths, hear screams and the slash of the whip on soft flesh. It makes no sense to me. How can this be connected to love – to the urge to love and comfort someone, to be gentle and sweet with them?
Dominic senses my fears and lets me take the time I need to process what I’ve seen, but all the time he keeps his arm around me and his head close to mine. I feel as though I can soak up his strength and confidence, and that helps a little.
‘I’ve got something to show you,’ he says as the taxi pulls away from Randolph Gardens, leaving us on the pavement outside. ‘Something just for us.’
I’m puzzled.
‘Come on.’ He looks pleased and excited, and he holds my hand as we go inside and up in the elevator that takes us to his side of the building. But we don’t go to the fifth floor this time. It is the seventh, the very top.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask, surprised.
He smiles, his eyes bright. ‘You’ll see.’
On the seventh floor, he leads me along the corridor to a door, takes out a key and opens it.
Tonight, I’ve been amused, surprised and horrified by what I’ve discovered behind closed doors, but this is something else altogether. Now I’m mystified as we step inside. It’s another flat, familiar enough in its layout but a little smaller than Celia’s or Dominic’s. It’s plain enough and simply furnished, from what I can see.
‘Here,’ Dominic says, and he crosses the small hall and opens a door to the bedroom. I go forward and look within.
‘I made this for us,’ he says, as I take in the scene. ‘I had it done over the weekend.’
Beyond lies a beautiful boudoir, dominated by a vast bed: an old-fashioned iron bedstead with fresh white sheets, a mountain of pillows and a lavender silk counterpane. The textures in the room are all soft and sensuous, from the velvet armchair to the white fur rug and the row of what look like small feather dusters on the table next to the bed. There is an antique chest of drawers and a cabinet of dark-golden wood. I see a strange chair like the one in Dominic’s apartment, but large and longer, upholstered in soft white leather with what look like leather reins attached beneath the seat, and a low footrest.
‘Look at this.’ Dominic goes to the wardrobe and opens it to reveal a row of exquisite lingerie, wisps of lace, mostly in black – and other things too: long loops of silk and leather than look more like equestrian equipment than clothes. I see hoops and buckles and small steel rings but nothing makes any sense on the hangers. There are also stiff corsets with long laces, and wide leather belts with buckles and zips. A silken negligee adds a touch of softer luxury.
I look at him in disbelief. ‘You bought all this for me?’
‘Of course.’ He gestures about him. ‘That’s the point of all of this. It’s just for you and me. It’s all fresh and new, with no associations, just for us to play with.’ He turns to me eagerly. ‘Do you like it?’
‘I like it a million times more than the dungeon,’ I reply fervently, which makes him laugh. ‘Did you really do all this over the weekend?’
I can’t believe the organisation needed, let alone the cost of acquiring another flat in the building, as well as furnishing it like this.
He nods and comes towards me, his eyes full of meaning. ‘Amazing what can be done when it’s important.’ He reaches me and turns my chin upwards so that my face is tilted to his. ‘I want you to know the pleasure we can bring one another, what heights we can reach.’
Liquid lust floods my stomach and the images of fear and pain vanish. All is beautiful, playful and tender again.
‘All this is new to me,’ I say huskily. ‘But I want to learn.’
‘The lessons will be easier and more delightful than you think,’ he returns, ‘and we’ll go one slow step at a time.’ His lips brush mine, soft as a butterfly wing, and then just when I don’t think I can stand it any longer, he presses down, pushing my mouth open with his tongue, taking possession of it. We kiss eagerly, and the desire that has been building between us floods into life. I’m excited that we’re here – not in Celia’s flat, or in Dominic’s, but in this, our place.
He undresses me quickly between kisses, and I help him. Soon I’m standing before him naked, my nipples already hard and sensitive, as he runs his appreciative gaze over me.
‘You’re amazing,’ he says almost wonderingly. ‘You’re made for pleasure.’ He runs his hand over my behind. ‘This is glorious. Just the thought of it makes me hard.’ He pulls my hand to his crotch and I feel the hardness there. ‘See?’
Oh God, I want it. I want it right now. I start to push his jacket from his shoulders and he quickly takes it off and then sheds the rest of his clothes just as swiftly. We’re standing, naked together, our excitement obvious from our rapid breathing, drinking in the sight of one another.
‘Is this where it begins?’ I ask, my heart pounding hard. Down below I’m aching just as hard. I never knew I was capable of feeling want in such a painful, physical way.
He smiles. Leaning down he nuzzles my neck and runs his tongue lightly up it, reaching my earlobe, which he tugs and bites lightly before whispering in my ear, ‘It’s a taster. Just a little tiny taste.’
The feeling of his breath in my ear sets off sensations that are almost unbearable, making me squirm with delight and gasp.
He takes my hand and lifts it to his mouth, taking the top of my forefinger and index finger between his lips. I can feel the warm wetness within as his tongue plays over the tips and the grazing of his teeth. A sense of danger tingles through me: he could clamp down painfully on my fingers at any time, and although I’m sure he won’t, the possibility is there. The sucking is more arousing than I could have guessed as his tongue runs all over my fingers, taking them further into his mouth. Then I feel his other hand is at my crotch, moving so gently across my pubic hair that at first I’m hardly aware it, then stroking me a little harder and with more intention. One of his fingers slips inside me, unexpectedly hard and fast, pushing upwards. It’s delicious, but not enough. I want more at once. The tantalising tongue playing over my fingers is making me so hot. My head goes back and I sigh with longing. Dominic seems to understand, for he pushes another finger up to join the first and I feel my inner wall stretch deliciously to accommodate him. Oh, but it still isn’t enough. I know what I want. With my free hand, I reach for his hard, hot length, but he won’t let me touch it, moving just out of my reach.
He releases my fingers from his mouth and guides my hand downwards. Delighted, I think that he’s going to let me touch his penis and reach out for its beautiful smooth h
eat, but he’s pushing my hand somewhere else. I gaze into his eyes and he’s staring back, intense and strong, as he moves my hand over my own downy hair. I can feel where his other hand is pushed up hard against my crotch and its movement as he thrusts his fingers deep into me. It turns me on even more to feel the mechanics of the delicious sensations he’s giving me. Then he pulls his fingers out, running their wetness over my belly, and urges my own hand to take its place.
‘Touch yourself,’ he murmurs.
I remember how he watched me bring myself to orgasm through the window. How can I have any embarrassment now? I move my fingers over the hot wet lips below my triangle of hair.
‘That’s right.’ He’s watching my fingers as they trail across my own sex. ‘Go inside yourself.’
I push one finger in the heat between my legs, and run it up inside.
‘Now take it out and taste it.’
I hesitate.
‘Go on,’ he says and I hear the first hint of sternness in his voice. Is this a test?
I take my finger slowly to my mouth. He’s watching me intently as I part my lips and put my finger inside.
‘Suck it,’ he whispers, and I obey, closing my mouth over it and letting the taste spread over my tongue. It’s tangy, almost sweet, and most definitely tastes of sex. ‘You’re delicious,’ he says. ‘Now. Go to the bed.’
I turn and walk over to the bed. ‘What now?’ I ask, but a look from him silences me.
‘No talking, I’ll do the talking,’ he says.
Oh God, so it really has started. But he’d said this is just a taster. I don’t feel afraid. My first step towards surrendering control is easy enough – so far.
‘Lie on the bed, on your back,’ he says. ‘Put your arms above your head. And close your eyes.’
I do as he says. The crisp cotton and shiny silk covers provide a cool and pleasant texture under my naked back as I lie down. Closing my eyes, I rest my arms above my head, slightly bent across the pillows.
Fire After Dark Page 18