“Could you untie my hands so I can eat my lunch?” She nodded over at the tray of food.
“Please don’t try to escape.” He seemed unsure of his ability to stop her breaking down the door, despite their relative statures. He was very strong, but utterly submissive -- would she be able to control him with words alone? He was quite pathetic, she realized, and he seemed totally unable to deny her requests.
Somewhere deep inside Georgie, something dormant fluttered and began to rise up. “I asked you to untie my hands.”
“I’m sorry.” He knelt down beside the bed.
She rested her bound wrists in his hands. He looked like a great warrior who had been turned into a slave, bent over her wrists like that.
He carefully untied her, taking great pains over the job, as if trying to please her with his work. He was a peeping Tom, and he was a submissive. It was so ironic. Moreover, he was vulnerable because he was aroused -- she was convinced of it. Perhaps she could gain the upper hand in the situation and make a break for it. The sense of power was beginning to grow and swell inside her, speeding through her veins like a heady narcotic.
“Thank you.” She stood up and walked over to the tray to pour a cup of coffee from the silver pot that sat there. Her legs felt wobbly, but she managed, reassuring herself she could cope with this situation. It was worth a shot, at any rate. She threw in some sugar and quickly knocked it back. As she put the cup down, she looked at the phone on the table.
“How much trouble would you be in if I used that, if I called the police and informed them about Gregory and the lot of you?” She pointed at the phone.
Foster quickly rose and shuffled his feet. “A lot. I’d be in a lot of trouble.” His voice was very quiet, and he looked at her as if trying to gauge her intentions.
She stalked over to him until she was right up against him, her face close to his. “You are in a whole lot more trouble with me than you ever will be with them, believe me.”
“You’re angry.” His eyes were wide and staring, his mouth open, as if in awe.
“Of course I’m bloody angry,” she shouted. “You’re holding me prisoner, you idiot.” She glared at him. As she did so, she noticed that he swallowed slowly and seemed to be having some difficulty breathing normally. Her glance fell to his crotch.
He had a raging hard-on. The bulge in his jeans was threatening to burst the zipper. She could see where the stitches were pulling the seam wide.
Her pulse beat out a wild rhythm, invoked by power. “You disgusting beast,” she muttered, pursing her lips.
He closed his eyes and let his head roll from side to side, his feet shuffling.
She shook her head with incredulity. “What is the matter with you?”
He squirmed on his feet, like a dirty little boy caught stealing. “My knob, I need to ... I want to rub it,” he whined.
She snorted, disgusted. “Rub it, if you must!”
He stood with his head hung in shame, the ball of his hand rubbing quickly up and down against the fly of his jeans, his breath panting.
Georgie was frozen to the spot in amazement. He had more or less asked her for permission to wank, and had responded when she had given it.
“Stop it now,” she ordered, curious to see if he would, or even could. To her amazement, he did stop, his heavy arms hanging by his sides once again, the lump at his groin poking out impudently against the fabric of his jeans, restless and angry at the interruption.
“You’ll have to be punished for your part in this, and for your disgusting behavior.” She gestured at his groin. “You do know that?”
He nodded his head.
“You have a choice.” She made sure he was watching as she gave him his ultimatum. “You can be punished in one of three ways ...” Oh, yes, she had his full attention now. “You can be reported to the police.” She pointed again at the phone, which was much nearer to her than him. “Or you can wait until Gregory gets here and discovers that you failed miserably in the simple task he set you, and that I am free.” She smiled and folded her arms across her chest, tapping her fingernails against her arms. “Or ... you can choose to accept your punishment from me, the person that you have wronged.”
“You must punish me.” He replied without hesitation. There was a sense of longing in his expression, as if he truly believed that would be his redemption. Georgie meant it for openers, although she could see he was aroused to the point of not caring what might happen after. The poor bastard really had the hots for her.
“Right, then, we’re agreed. Now I think it’s time for you to show me how much you regret your actions here today.”
He nodded in silent agreement, his body trembling. “What do you want me to do?”
Make him vulnerable, her inner voice suggested. “Take your clothes off.”
Did I really say that? she thought to herself and watched, mesmerized, as he obediently began to strip off his shirt and jeans. The fact that he was doing what she said set free another bolt of raw power in her veins.
His body was as well built as she had guessed it would be, with wide shoulders and strong hips and thighs. There was a scroll of dark hair over his chest; it led her eye down the thin line to his groin where it thickened out again in the black bush from which his cock stood up, rigid, like a sentry on parade. When she walked closer, she reached out and prodded him in the stomach. His cock swayed toward her, but she refused to touch it. Instead she rubbed her hand over his chest and down one hip and then grasped at his balls. This drove him into a frenzy of anticipation, and she felt his balls grow harder, rising up in their sac.
He put one hand out as if to touch her.
“Don’t you dare touch me again, ever,” she instructed from between her teeth, although she wanted him to desire her touch, to need it. His hand dropped, and he hung his head in such a sweet, pathetic way that it made her blood surge with power again. She put one hand on her hip.
“Sit down on the stool where you were before when you were watching me, you dirty boy.” When she called him “dirty,” his cock shuddered, his whole body trembling with excitement.
Georgie felt something primitive and savage being unleashed by the sheer thrill of sexual power. Her fingers tapped against her hipbones as she watched him follow her instructions and sit on the stool. She grabbed one of the tasseled tiebacks from the curtains and walked behind him; he watched her out of the corner of his eye without lifting his head. She quickly tethered his wrists behind his back with the strip of fabric, watching as his wide, well-muscled shoulders stretched back, flexing when she restrained him. Over his shoulder she could see the engorged head of his cock bobbing wildly, the solid length of it rapping against his stomach. It looked as if a huge python was out of control between his thighs, and her sex clenched in response, her clammy inner thighs growing damper by the moment.
She felt the urge to give him a good thrashing. The thought led her on. The control she was exerting over him had made him increasingly excited. If he was into submission this much, was he into S & M, as well, she wondered? She needed to know. She wanted to find out. She stepped in front of him.
“I think you deserve a good thrashing for holding me here.”
He gave a mighty groan and slumped forward, his head hanging right down against his chest. He was baring his back to her. Her pulse began to trip higher and higher. Then she saw it, the slow nod of his head.
“Punish me. I shouldn’t have done it ... I was bad.” His voice was hoarse and low.
She glanced quickly around the room, looking for something she could give him a hiding with. She noticed her plaited leather belt lying heaped on her dress at the side of the bed, along with her bag and shoes. They had taken her clothes off. They had undressed her. How dare they?
She marched over and snatched up the belt. She took a knife from the lunch tray and quickly sawed at one end of the belt. The plaited twines sprang free and she shook them out, the entwined strands of leather soon resembling something muc
h fiercer -- a cat-o-nine tails. She whipped it through the air experimentally, giving a wicked smile when it snapped and sprang back. She looked back toward Foster. He was watching her, wide-eyed, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead and upper lip. The python between his thighs was now ramrod straight, rock hard, and leaking wetness from its one eye.
“Mistress ...” He groaned with deep and desperate pleasure.
“Shut it!” The frayed leather belt flashed out at her side when she spoke. She paced from side to side.
Foster grew quiet. He watched the strap, his chest rising and falling.
She smiled to herself. He’d obviously not seen the potential in her chosen weapon when it was twined around her hips as she had been sleeping on the bed, nor when he’d undressed her. It looked lethal now, tailing out toward his feet.
She saw the anticipation in his expression. Sheer, joyful relinquishment flickered over his face. The punishment was something he wanted and would willingly take.
She grabbed his arm and pushed him down to his knees.
He swore as his kneecaps met the floor.
“Quiet!” The silence that followed was laced only with the twin sounds of their labored breathing. He flinched -- she had touched him, but it was only the gentle draw of the strap across his back, to test his reactions.
“You admit that you have committed a crime, holding me here?” She raised her hand.
“Yes ... I have.”
“And you stole my new underwear!” She was suddenly furious about that.
“No,” he blurted. “You didn’t have any on when I ...” His voice trailed off.
“That’s enough.” The belt straps cracked through the air. She thrashed him, once, twice, thrice, quickly laying a series of fine strokes across his back. She paused, eyeing the fine tracery of lines that smarted up on his skin.
“And you admit that you are filthy, a dirty boy, for looking at me when you undressed me.”
“Yes, oh, yes,” he cried out in ecstasy, his whole body shuddering.
She thrashed him again, only pausing when it looked as if he might come. She didn’t want him to get that much pleasure out of it. Oh, no.
She walked around his bulk and saw how eagerly and urgently his cock twitched, how much dubious pleasure he was getting from her assault. He squeezed his eyes shut, then open, as if trying to focus. He was close to coming, the skin of his loins taut with tension. Each strike of the weapon had only given fuel to his lust. She could see his cock pounding, pulsing high and hot against his stomach.
He smiled and looked at her with adoration, a single trail of sweat finding itself a path from his neck down across his chest.
“Why are you smiling?”
He didn’t flinch. His smile became subtler but didn’t entirely fade, and the heat in his expression intensified. “Because you’ve punished me for my crime.”
Her chin lifted defiantly. “Oh, no, your suffering isn’t over yet, not by a long shot.”
She smiled to herself. First a shower. Then a phone call. She would track down Cal and get him over here. Then she’d show this guy what he was really missing.
Chapter Thirteen
Jason stepped through the chiming doorway of the coffee bar and selected a booth away from the entrance, but facing it so he could watch the people coming in. So he could watch for Zoë’s arrival. She’d spoken briefly, calmly, as if she’d been waiting for his suggestion to meet. He didn’t know if that pleased him or worried him even more.
A scrawny youth in skintight black gear came over to Jason’s booth and flicked open the menu in front of him. He rested idly on one hip, wearing an expression of complete boredom while Jason cast an eye over the extensive list of caffeinated drinks available to him. He ordered a double espresso and glanced around the place.
It used to be called The Milk Bar when he and Zoë were dating. He wondered why she suggested meeting there when it had changed so much -- or maybe that was the point. Maybe she was testing him to see if he could find it, after all this time. He had; of course he had. How could he forget?
They used to come here when they were kids and order milkshakes. When they were older, they drank cappuccino and thought they were the height of sophistication. Despite his preoccupation with the problems at hand, he couldn’t help smiling at the thought of it: two teenagers about to take on the world. He used to play guitar while she sang along and dreamed of being in a real pop band. She had lived the dream. She had made it happen, with her unceasing energy and determination, and more than a fair share of good looks and talent. She was one tenacious lady, even as a teenager. Back then, The Milk Bar was done out like a 1950s diner. Now it was a trendy coffee house that discouraged customers from staying overly long with its chic but far from comfortable décor -- teetering aluminum barstools, cramped booths, and the overpriced but apparently infinite variety of ways in which to serve the brown bean juice.
Although the surroundings were very changed, as were the circumstances of their meeting, he could easily picture Zoë sitting opposite him. Zoë Eliza McCormack. She had dropped the ending of her real surname to sound more accessible for the punters, one interview had reported. Despite that and the other changes in her life, she was still fresh in Jason’s memory. In fact, when he looked at the publicity photos she had done recently, all the record covers and magazine features, he had a strange sense of misgiving. He both recognized her, and did not. Oh, yes, she still had the same gorgeous figure, long legs, sexy pout, opaque blue eyes, and naturally light blonde hair that appealed so much to the record-buying youth of the day. The press photos played on her sporty body, with shots of tight shorts fraying halfway up her gorgeous bottom and her nipples jutting out under cropped Lycra tops, her sleek bare abdomen in profile. She was lean and leggy, with perfect, up-tilted breasts. She’d always been into physical sports and had the long, slim muscles to show for it. He recognized every line of her body, right down to the beauty spot just beneath her navel.
However, when he looked at those publicity shots and record covers, it was sometimes hard for him to see the kid he had known, the girl he had grown up with, the person he had fumbled with behind the cricket pavilion, the young woman who had agreed that they should discover each other in the most intimate way. His cock instantly awoke as his mind went over those vivid stored images. She’d had a crushing eagerness that took his breath away and left him heady with pleasure. He could still feel how her flesh had trembled when he’d undressed her the first time, truly discovering the beauty of her body. Discovering it in the most intimate way two people could, again and again, hungry for each other and dizzy with eagerness to explore.
He squeezed his eyes shut. She’d been the dream of every boy in the school. Ironically, with her more recent mega pop-star status, she still was every boy’s dream, but now it was every boy in the bloody country!
The door of the café bar chimed open, and he glanced up nervously, not knowing quite what to expect or do. There was all the water under the bridge to acknowledge, lost friendship and all the awkwardness that would bring. Then there was the more pressing issue of Georgie’s safety and the unwanted press attention. He gave a deep sigh. Why Kelly had to get Zoë herself involved was beyond him. He guessed he could see Kelly’s point. If he’d been in her position, perhaps he would have done the same thing for a friend. Somehow it made him wonder whether his sister had believed him at all when he had assured her that he was simply coming up to retrieve and destroy the photographs. How Zoë felt about the whole thing was another question entirely. But he figured he was in for a hefty verbal reprimand, at the very least, and he was about to find out.
He stood up when he realized that the young woman in the baseball cap and shades was coming over to his booth. She had her hair tied back and wore a long denim wrap-over skirt, strappy high-heeled sandals, and a zipped-up sleeveless jacket with a New York logo emblazoned across the chest. She looked like any street kid in the city, and she certainly wasn’t attracting the undue a
ttention of the other people in the café. In fact, it wasn’t until she slid into the banquette opposite him and abandoned her shades that he was sure it was Zoë.
“Cappuccino,” she said to the waiter. She didn’t look up and kept her face in the shadow of her baseball cap. This was obviously a skill she’d had to learn since she’d become so well known. When the waiter walked away, she sat back against the seat, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her fleece. She was chewing gum. She always chewed gum when she was worried or nervous.
“You look great,” Jason offered. She did.
She didn’t answer, nor return his smile, but chewed the gum more rapidly and then blew out a big pink bubble.
Jason sat back into his seat, smiling to himself. Perhaps things hadn’t changed that much.
She sucked the gum back in, her tongue flicking out to lick her lower lip while she eyed him, warily. The silence rested steadily between them. They needed the space just to check each other out after all the time that had passed.
“You aren’t very good at keeping in touch with your old mates, are you?” There was an accusing tone in her voice.
No, he hadn’t replied to her annual Christmas cards, cards that always contained a scribbled note that wished him well and urged him to keep in touch. He wasn’t very good at writing letters. He’d always intended to visit home, but his hectic schedule had always taken him from one freelance project to the next. It was rare that he got a break. Even this enforced absence from his schedule had to be taken under the guise of compassionate leave. He shuffled his feet.
“No, I’m not,” he admitted. “But it’s really good to see you again.” He had kept a watch on reports of her in the gossip columns, and if he was honest about it, he didn’t feel inclined to keep in touch with the young woman who was dating the likes of a premier league football player and an Australian soap star these days. He had wondered, wryly, if she took the footballer with her to Marks and Spencer changing rooms to try on dresses. Those high-profile relationships hadn’t lasted, though, and it often looked like the dates were set up for mutual publicity. In any case, she always seemed to be very busy.
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