She let me sweat it out for two weeks. Finally, I got a call from a slightly addled-sounding Ms. Green, telling me that Ms. Clarke agreed to the weekend. For forty K.
"You got it," I said jubilantly. As though I could actually afford it. As though I could have afforded the thirty, for God's sake. But I'd worry about all that later. Right at that moment I didn't care about anything, the expense, the planning. I was going to get to see Kate, that was the important thing. I hadn't realized just how much I'd depended on seeing her when 1 wanted, even if sometimes (well, when you were with me), I'd let months go by between visits.
Ms. Green set up a planning session with Steve, he'd drive down to my house to discuss the arrangements. Kate wouldn't know the nature of the scenario ahead of time, so he'd be in charge of all the details and the staging. And the menu-Saturday night dinner, for me and a guest.
He was polite, took copious notes, and made it abundantly clear that if it were up to him I'd never darken their doorstep again. He drank a lot of my liquor, too, though he didn't show any effects. I felt uncomfortable-Bertie Wooster to his Jeeves-flaky, irresponsible, Kate's regrettable weakness. And then I got pissed. All those veiled scowls, and the little grimaces under his mustache. Oh, fuck you, I thought. I knew he was imagining whaling hell out of me with that little rubber plug of his. It made me want to flirt with him, to camp it up a little, just to annoy him back.
Is he jealous? I wondered. But I knew he wasn't, not really. He was devoted to Kate, but he had his own life, his own haunts and habits. No, what he was really trying to do was protect her. Not physically-he just didn't trust me not to take emotional advantage of her. Which wasn't flattering for me to contemplate, but I could see why he might put that kind of construction on things.
I took a deep breath. We needed to shift gears, if we were going to make this thing work.
"Uh, Steve," I said hesitantly. "Look. I'd, uh, like it if Kate really enjoyed this weekend. So, I mean, could you help me? Please?"
And he did, too. I owe him.
Well, I thought contentedly, relaxing in the Jacuzzi on a sunny Saturday morning three weeks later, they do take good care of you here, at her place. Not that I was surprised, but it was fun to see it as a client, rather than whatever I'd been all those years. I'd begun with breakfast out here on the deck a couple of hours earlier-hot rolls wrapped in a linen napkin, silver coffee pot, a bunch of violets in a bright little china pitcher. And my four slaves-Sylvie, Stephanie, Randy, and Kate-kneeling at attention, their heads bowed. Nice. Randy poured me juice and coffee, and brought me the papers and a dog whip. And after I finished eating, while I was drinking my second cup of coffee and he was lighting my cigarette, I'd had the three women stand up and show themselves to me.
Sort of the standard presentation, of course-more or less like the one she staged for Andrew. Only this time it wasn't a frightened client standing between Sylvie and Stephanie, but Kate herself. In cuffs and collar, corset, heels, stockings. Lowered eyes and darkly painted slightly open mouth. And her breasts evenly rising and falling below my gaze. I was very moved, but I forced myself to stick to the script Steve and I had outlined.
"Damn it, she's too small, this one," I murmured, lightly flicking a bit of cigarette ash over her breast. "She's pretty enough, but she's really too little." She is a good four inches shorter than Sylvie and Stephanie, she's always wished she were taller. "Too small to be a good slave," I repeated, but then, brightening up, always the good sport, "but, hey, I bet she'd make a cute puppy"
She played her part meticulously, remaining passive and docile while a frightened Sylvie undressed her. I smacked her belly lightly with the whip. "Ass," I said, and she turned, bending and opening so that I could insert a dildo and belt it into place. The tail attached to it was short, grotesque, a stubby little thing with wiry hair on it, like a terrier's.
"Sit," I said sternly.
And then, "Wag your tail, Kate." She became silly, adoring, obsequious, licking my fingers clumsily and eagerly, without any grace or dignity at all. And when I disciplined her with the whip, she whimpered and howled.
"Naughty puppy," I said, smacking her nose with my rolled-up newspaper. And then I snapped my fingers for Sylvie to bring a large white china bowl of water, a tureen almost. "Drink it all," I said to Kate, pushing her neck down with my foot. She wasn't quite fast enough, though, so after she finished I punished her by muzzling her, and attaching her leash to a post in the deck's railing. The wood of the deck would be hot under her knees, I thought, sliding into the Jacuzzi. I closed my eyes, luxuriating in the quiet, the sound of birds in the trees, and the distant jingle and rattle of a pony cart on the path. As I said, they take good care of you there. I might have dozed off, had I not felt Stephanie's fingertips in the spaces between the muscles in my shoulders, smoothing out the tightness.
Was that a whimper? Too faint, too shy, I thought. No need to move so soon. I bent my head a little to kiss the fingers of Stephanie's right hand. No need, certainly, to open my eyes yet. And again, the whimper-plaintive, a whine almost. "Damn," I said, stretching.
I opened my eyes, turned my neck to look at her. A little flushed from the bright sun, and still up on her knees at attention. And she had to pee. She tried not to move, but I could see the tension in her thighs, the tightness in her belly. She whimpered again, through her muzzle, humbly pleading with huge, sad eyes. I sat up straighter in the water and motioned for Sylvie to light another cigarette for me. And I watched Kate watch me smoke it slowly.
But now we were finally out for a walk, Kate crawling behind me in heavy little boots, kneepads, and gloves. My deck had some back steps down to the garden, but I hadn't used them. I'd led her out to the hallway, and she'd followed me, carefully descending the big, curved, graceful main staircase on her hands and knees, past the maid rubbing the newel post with lemon oil, through the entry hall, and out the front door.
I wondered if she'd be feeling the pebbles through her kneepads, as we ambled slowly down the path. "Heel," I said sharply, bending to sniff the lilac hedge. The flowers were doing nicely-the phlox, the impatiens, delphiniums and poppies and beds of lavender. We'd pored over the seed catalogs together when she'd redesigned this path. Of course, she couldn't pee here.
"Come on," I said, tugging at her leash. "Good girl." The words had slipped out. But damn it, she was being too good. Well, I'd known I'd have to work against her fearsome self-discipline.
We crossed to a pretty meadow between the lawn behind her house and the stables, the dressage ring, and the bridle paths that led into the hills. I headed toward a stand of eucalyptus, and yes, good-here were two of her clients, a young woman, dressed only in thigh-high red patent leather boots and torn, faded jeans, and a naked young man kneeling at her feet. There were fresh stripes across his chest and back. And now, I thought, he was in for a more unusual treat.
I led Kate in the couple's direction, feeling her leash grow taut in my hand as she hesitated. She knew what I had in mind. "I felt that," I said mildly She whimpered, her eyes pleading and puppylike. Please Jon, she was telegraphing to me, please, not in front of my guests. "You're a naughty puppy," I said, jerking her leash, "getting me out of my comfortable tub when you didn't really have to pee. Well," I turned sharply, "let's go back to the house. Perhaps you need another bowl of water."
She bowed her head resignedly, and I turned again, back to the couple in the meadow-he was standing now, his legs spread wide, and she was probing his balls with a shiny little metal device. But they both turned to look at us.
"Sorry," I called, "I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll be on my way as soon as the puppy does her business."
And that was fun, their dumbstruck looks. They dropped roles and stared at each other in astonishment. Can that really be her? I could read in the young woman's expression. And oh yes, here was his urgent nod back. Absolutely. Oh, my god, it is her, Liz, I know it, I can tell-she was unforgettable, that first weekend when she showed you how to whip me.
I'd recognize her anywhere.
She was peeing now. You could hear it, hissing as it hit the dusty ground. A weak little stream, her muscles were probably too cramped to let it out any more quickly. Good. It would last longer. She was squatting, her hands behind her back, her eyes-in her muzzled face-open to my gaze. Helpless, needy, open, exposed, and (finally) humiliated. It didn't last nearly long enough. The couple by the trees were transfixed, watching her shake herself now, to get rid of the last drops.
(It had been Steve's idea. "But," I'd asked hesitantly, "is that okay? I mean, don't her clients depend on her, for a certain image, you know?"
He'd nodded solemnly.
"Most of them," he'd said. "But there are a few who'd be... honored."
And somehow, he'd seen to it that they'd been in attendance that weekend.)
"Roll over," I said. And I laughed to watch her get all tangled up in her leash. I hunkered down to scratch her belly and she gave a low growl of pleasure, rolling around at my feet, sniffing at the inseam of my jeans, and then back up on her knees, licking my face rapturously after I unhooked the tangled leash and took off her muzzle. And when I picked up a stick and tossed it into the meadow, she scrambled off as fast as she could go. We zigzagged across the meadow that way, me throwing, her fetching. Just a boy and his dog-Timmy and Lassie-sweaty and carefree on a sunny spring morning.
All the way to the paddock, where Randy had been harnessed to a cart. He looked quite beautiful in his tail and harness, and he'd attracted some admirers. Interestinglooking people he was posturing for-the small, dapper man with beautifully cut short white hair, the skinny, striking, neurasthenic-looking girl. I smiled cordially at them. Time for some grown-up games.
"Pretty pony, isn't he?" I asked, stroking his head under his bridle. "I've reserved him."
The man smiled, and the girl nodded her head slowly. "He's beautiful," she said, in a low, tuneless voice, almost so quietly that I couldn't hear her.
The man put out his hand. "Arthur Geist," he said. "And this is Ariel."
His name was distantly familiar. He'd written books, I thought-semiotics, that sort of thing. I introduced myself, exchanging some urbane guy noises with him, while Ariel stared politely into the middle distance. She looked so bored with the two of us that I wondered if perhaps she was his daughter. Or a student he was going to have to fail.
"Nice dog, too," Arthur was saying, crouching down to stroke Kate behind the ears. She was still panting a bit, but she wagged her tail and licked his hand politely.
Ariel nodded absentmindedly, and then turned back to Randy. "May I?" she asked me. Her skin was very pale, bluish in the shadows of her cheekbones. And her dark blue eyes, under long black bangs, were just the slightest bit too close together.
I nodded, and she ran her hand slowly over his belly. She cradled his balls, and I saw her little pink tongue dart out and wet her lips. She stroked his cock a little with her thumb, lightly grazing it with a dark-purplish fingernail. Using her other hand, she pinched one of his nipples and then slapped his face with a sudden, percussive motion. Randy continued to breathe evenly behind the bit distending his mouth, but he widened his eyes.
"You use a whip when you drive him?" she asked me. There was a hint of Valley Girl syncopation underneath the flat rhythms of her speech.
"Of course," I smiled, showing her the whip, which was on the front seat of the cart.
She drew in her breath. "Oh," she said, "it's lovely" She looked about nineteen, but I didn't think she was. She could, I thought, just as easily be twenty-nine. I liked that indeterminacy about her-doubtless a function of a very skewed personality development. I was beginning to enjoy this. Especially with Kate sitting at my feet and watching me warily.
"Have you ever driven a pony?" I asked Ariel.
"God, I wish," she said. "But I have used a whip." She took it from me, inspecting it thoughtfully, weighing it in her hand. Arthur watched carefully, giving a small, delighted shudder.
Dope, I said to myself. She's his mistress, of course. His domme. Amazing-he's so smugly self-confident that I didn't realize he's the bottom. But now that I'd gotten it straight, I could see it clear as day. He drives over to her place south of Market, I thought, in his little BMW. She rings him in, he rides the industrial elevator up to her loft. Maybe she's chewing gum while she lets him through the industrialstrength security system. She knocks back a beer while he takes off his clothes-the camel hair coat, the very neat little Italian loafers. And she doesn't smile until she's beat him to a pulp.
"You'd be a good driver, I bet," I said to her. "There's room for two in the cart, if you'd like to join me." I could see a shadow of concern for Randy pass over Kate's face. Laudable, but a little inappropriate in a puppy. "Watch it," I muttered.
Ariel climbed into the seat. "Wait here, Arthur," she said.
"Of course," he said. And to me, "Should I watch your puppy for you?"
"Thanks," I said, pulling Kate to her feet sharply, by the ring in her collar, "but she'll enjoy running alongside the cart." I climbed in after Ariel.
I showed her how to signal Randy what direction to go in, and how fast. "I'll work the brake," I said. "You just concentrate on driving." I didn't bother saying anything about the whip, just handed it over to her, admiring the strength and elegance with which she snapped it.
"I want him to gallop," she said in her determined monotone, as she drove him on. He was galloping a lot faster, actually, than I'd been planning on, especially with the extra weight in the cart and Kate running alongside. I sneaked a look at her-dancing and capering, snapping at shadows and butterflies. She was breathing hard, but she wasn't winded, so I let Ariel do what she wanted for a while. But I was still uneasy. Not that I could tell Ariel. I wanted her to like meand to think I was as tough as she was.
"If you go slower," I said, as we reached a sunny straightaway, "Randy will show off his form for you. Correct him if you think he needs it." I felt like a child psychologist, trying to cajole her to behave.
She did enjoy putting him through his walk-trot-canter routines, and he didn't disappoint her. He performed for her, preening and prancing his exhibitionist little butt off. A more experienced driver might have disciplined him for what was in fact a disgustingly self-indulgent performance, but hey. She loved it, and that was what I cared about right then. That and keeping her under control. Anyhow, she seemed to have decided that we were friends, because, as we headed back to the corral, Randy in a graceful, leisurely trot, she turned to me. "Do you ever go out and get yourself whipped?" she asked pleasantly, not exactly smiling, but showing her small sharp white teeth, with very pointed canines.
"On occasion," I said.
"I mean," she said impatiently, "by anybody besides her?" She jerked her head in Kate's direction.
I had to laugh. Smart girl.
"Yes," I said, thinking of my recent session with Brewer. "Well, on rare occasions," I added.
"Take my card, then," she said. She didn't give it to just anybody, was the implication.
I'd expected the card to have heavy metal motifs emblazoned on it. But it just said ARIEL, in twelve-point Garamond, with a phone number. Nice expensive stock, no design or slogan at all. I put it in my wallet.
"It's a pretty name," I said.
"It's not my real name," she confided, as though I'd find that difficult to believe.
"No, I guess not," I answered.
"But my real name would be like the worst, the world's worst name for somebody who does what I do."
I'm not good at guessing games. "Lucretia?" I asked. "Pollyanna?"
"Dominique," she said tragically. "My geeky parents named me after Patricia Neal in The Fountainhead. Can you believe that?"
Poor baby. On impulse, I leaned over and kissed her mouth. She let me, though you could hardly say she kissed me back. I wondered what exactly she did for sex. Well, for recreation, you know.
"Come to dinner tonight," I said. "Bring Arthur."
Sh
e didn't respond to that. We were approaching the pony ring now, concentrating on using the reins and brakes together to come to a graceful stop. We did pretty well, too. A stablehand came running out to meet us, to unharness Randy and start to rub him down. Ariel turned to me and reluctantly handed me the whip. "Thanks," she said, "that was fun."
And then she stepped out of the cart, putting her highheeled boot squarely into Arthur Geist's waiting, cupped hands.
I got a rag from the stablehand, to rub Kate down. Didn't want the sweaty puppy catching cold. She was exhausted. And filthy. It was a hot, dry day, and she'd been running in the cloud of dust that the cart's wheels had raised. Her hair was matted, and sweat was making filthy rivulets down her body. Her eyes were red and teary, too. I rubbed her gently, thoroughly. She kept her eyes down, shivering a little. The stablehand led Randy away to be hosed down, and another stablehand came and wheeled the cart away.
Ariel turned to me. "So," she said, "what time should we come to dinner?"
Kate looked up sharply.
"Eight," I said, "I'm in the big guest suite in the big house."
And there it was, finally, the outrage I hadn't managed to create any other way, writ huge across her face. Mess up my cook's dinner preparations, Jon? You wouldn't dare, not even you! Her chin lifted. Her eyes flashed, green electrical storms.
I slapped her, sending her sprawling.
"That's three," I said coldly, while warmth flooded my groin.
I'd brought the blunt little dog whip along with me, tucked in my belt. I pulled it out now and raised my arm to flog her. But wait a minute.
"Hey, Ariel," I said, "could you help me out here?"
She took the whip from me. "Cool," she said.
"But," I frowned, "I wish I could sit down." I was undoing my pants.
She shrugged. "Use Arthur."
He made a good bench, down on all fours.
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