Exotika 03 - On the Loose

by Tesni Morgan

  The meal arrived and it was faultless. He was right about the pasta. And, though she was subdued, he kept up light, inconsequential conversation. She wanted to ask him why they were there. Did he have a hidden agenda? He soon had the relevant facts about her life and history, yet afterward she wasn’t sure how he had got the information out of her. She hadn’t intended to give so much away. Later, over brandy and coffee, he leaned back in his chair and subjected her to a probing look.

  “So you don’t have a boyfriend?”

  “No. I told you, I finished with Kelyn, and there hasn’t been anyone since.”

  “But you’re lonely? You’d like there to be?”

  “Perhaps, though I didn’t find the relationship all that satisfactory. I was doing all the giving, it seemed.”

  “Crossed in love, eh?” He smiled at her winningly and she couldn’t help answering his questions. It was as if he was a priest in the confessional box. “I hope I’m not upsetting you.”

  “Oh, no. It’s good to talk.” She was flattered that he would find her personal life in any way interesting.

  “So, you are inexperienced…have never experimented?”

  “In what way?”

  He smiled again and took her hand in his, smoothing her fingers lightly. “Well, for example, have you ever been spanked?”

  “Are you joking? I was an obedient child of enlightened parents.”

  “I expect you were, though that isn’t exactly what I meant.”

  This was an odd conversation to be having with one’s boss, and it made Carenza scared and embarrassed, even though she wanted to reach out and rest a hand on his thigh under those stylish cream trousers. She took up her glass to give her fingers something to do. “I think that whatever a man and woman do together is fine, just as long as they are in love.”

  “A romantic. Very commendable, but maybe you are missing out on some of the fun, for love should be enjoyable on all counts. There’s much on offer.”

  She longed to change the subject, disconcerted by these remarks delivered in such a lighthearted way, but fascinated too. He was older, wiser and could teach her a lot and not only about business. Did she want to learn? She rather thought she did. And that he probably had this figured out.

  “I’d better go home soon.” She hid behind this excuse.

  “Really? Just when we were getting to know one another.” He took her hand in his. It was a warm hand and generated peace. She felt safe, yet wanted to get closer, to be absorbed into the silk and cotton fabric of his suit, to reach his body that would be honed and tanned and every maiden’s dream of a perfect hero.

  He gave her fingers a squeeze and released them. “Okay, princess. Home it is, though I’d rather hoped you’d come to my place for another coffee.”

  Carenza was in turmoil. She just couldn’t make up her mind what to do. Part of her wanted desperately to go with him and let nature take its course. There was no doubt at all as to what would happen. Vivid pictures of them in bed flashed across her brain, with him teaching her and even spanking her and bringing her to mind-blowing orgasms. But the other half of her was scared stiff.

  Go on, you coward! urged her wanton, curious self.

  Stop right there, lady! lectured the other, straightlaced part.

  Leave it for tonight, said a new, sensible, more calculating persona. If he’s keen and an honorable man, then he’ll respect you for not fucking him on the first date.

  Despite the desire that was making her tingle, she gave him her address. In the passenger seat, she stayed quiet as the lights flashed past and she watched his capable hands on the steering wheel and wished they were on her body instead. They reached the wide streets of Kensington and he drew up outside her house.

  “This is it. Thank you for dinner, David.” She prepared to get out.

  “Just a moment.” He slid an arm ‘round her shoulders and drew her toward him. She was overwhelmed by the scent of him, and felt puny and very feminine in the clasp of such a man.

  She knew he was going to kiss her and closed her eyes, feeling his lips moving slowly and sensually across hers, first the corners, then the middle. She opened for him and his tongue explored hers, very gently. And Carenza was lost, lost, lost. If he asked, she knew she wouldn’t be able to deny him anything.

  Chapter Four

  Sometimes David’s self-control amazed even himself. Though he was playing with Carenza’s emotions and physical need, he had greater things in store, so he finished kissing her, got out of the car, went around to the passenger side and opened the door. He could see that she was surprised and even disappointed as he helped her alight.

  “Goodnight.” He bowed gallantly from the waist. “We must repeat this. I’ll take you to the theater soon.”

  “That would be lovely.” Her voice was low and he was aware that she was mystified and intrigued. He smiled inwardly, saw her to the door and then drove off.

  A law unto himself and his own man, he cruised through the West End of London where the shops were emporiums for the wealthy, Harrods, Selfridges, Fortnum & Mason. Theatreland was part of it, centered in Leicester Square, and there were exclusive clubs for those who knew their whereabouts. David was very much in the know.

  The Barley Corn Club was not all it appeared. Its discreet frontage was a blind. David used a side door, showed his membership card to a hulking, shaven-headed man in an evening suit and was permitted to go inside. Stone steps wound down into dimness, the reddish glow exciting the senses, accentuated by the throb of dance music. David descended, partly bored by the repetition—there were only so many ways in which sex could be presented—but partly aware of that stirring in his loins heralding the need for release. Carenza’s innocence had excited him. He showed his card again when he reached the basement, and made his way to the bar. The place was crowded and some of the male clients were in fancy dress—mostly as schoolboys. It was obviously a theme night.

  David recognized Laurette, attired as a stern schoolteacher, in a short black skirt with a tantalizing show of long legs in black stockings, a white blouse and a tie and with a cane clasped in a gloved hand. Her hair was drawn back severely. She strutted and posed with legs astride, high heels adding to their length. David sat on a barstool, waiting to be served, observing her with amusement. Not that this was his bag. Acting the naughty boy yearning to have his backside thrashed didn’t turn him on, but she had plenty of takers. Men circled her and he saw that there were several government ministers among them, all agog.

  Laurette treated them with the contempt for which they hungered, ready and eager to hand over their power to her for an hour, forgetting their responsible posts, their wives, children and positions of national importance. David admired the way in which she lashed them with her tongue.

  “Well, and who has been a bad boy, then? You, Winthrop Minor? Been shagging your secretary, have you? Playing away from home?”

  “Yes, mistress, I have. I’m sorry,” answered the unfortunate or fortunate, depending on what he wanted.

  “Right. Drop your trousers, you miserable little worm. I’m going to use my cane on your bare bum.” Her voice was as icy as the winds blowing over the tundra. “You know what they say about sparing the rod and spoiling the child? I think you’ve been very spoiled, Winthrop.”

  A thrilled murmur arose from her audience. Even some of the women wearing fantastic outfits that left little to the imagination glanced across at the scene, pausing in their seduction of the lusting males who had relinquished control for the night.

  Winthrop couldn’t get his pants off quickly enough. “Y…yes, goddess. Anything you say. I deserve to be punished. I’m sinful. Wicked.”

  “Ass in the air. Get those shirttails out of the way. Clasp your hands around your ankles, and don’t you dare move!” Laurette’s cane whistled as it sliced through the air.

  “Ooh! Ah! Ow!” He wriggled under the pain, but didn’t attempt to rise from his ignominious position.

  Laurette sho
wed no pity, standing over him like an avenging angel and bringing down the cane with full force, until his fleshy butt was marked with scarlet stripes.

  “Beloved mistress, I’ll give you anything you want,” he gasped, straightening up and leaning against a chair, panting and quivering.

  And she’d drive a hard bargain, David reflected, succeeding in getting a double whiskey. Not exactly a prostitute, though those hard-working girls were much more honest. She used her skills to further her career and was exceedingly ambitious. Apart from that, he knew that she enjoyed herself, as much the dominatrix as the submissive, liking to reverse roles.

  She looked across at him after finishing her haggle with Winthrop, who was obviously begging for more. David saluted. She smiled and elbowed her way over. He appreciated her beauty, that face with high cheekbones accentuated with blusher, those catlike eyes ringed with kohl, the cloud of hair that she now released from the snood.

  “Surprise, surprise.” She nudged her breasts against his arm as she stood close. “I thought you’d be busy screwing little Miss Proper. What happened? She didn’t say no, did she?”

  “What do you think?” He breathed against her lobe, setting the pendant earring swinging.

  “What now?” Her voice was sharp, but he could tell that she was surprised at his interest in the girl.

  “I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.” He started to walk away.

  “And Carenza?”

  “I shall cool it with her. Leave her wondering, until we go on the shoot in Wales.”

  * * * * *

  At first, Carenza spent time worrying that she had offended David. She had hoped for something more than a simple boss and employee relationship after the night he had taken her to the Italian bistro and then kissed her. To her plunging disappointment, she found that ever since then he had made no further attempt to date her and hadn’t fulfilled his promise to escort her to the opera. In fact, she was practically ignored, any contact between them strictly business.

  “Well, damn him!” She angrily discussed the situation with Vicky and Joanna.

  “That’s the spirit. There will be loads of fit guys on the trip to Wales.” Then Vicky added, “By the way, how’s the hunt for willing celebs going? D’you think he’d consider including us? We’re kind of famous in our own fields.”

  “I don’t know. It would be great if you could come. I could ask him, but don’t think I have much influence.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll do it. I fancy appearing on TV, not the first time, of course. I’ve presented my designs on the catwalk.”

  Carenza was thrilled at the idea that they might be able to go with her. They were both so positive, and she was rather dreading the ordeal that was coming ever closer. Working with Laurette was bad enough, particularly now that David was keeping his distance. Perhaps this could be fun, after all, if her close mates were there too.

  London was hot, bordering on tropical, and September brought little relief. People went on about an Indian summer, but there seemed little advantage in this, for it was getting dark earlier. Carenza was kept fully occupied by Laurette, as the series was practically completed and there were plans for another after the excursion to the country. In vain, Vicky and Joanna attempted to interest her in other men. There was a constant stream of eligible males in and out of the house, but she wasn’t interested. Disappointed in her expectations regarding David, though accepting that much of it had been in her imagination, she had withdrawn into her shell.

  She spent any free time in the garden, flowers and plants bringing her consolation. The warmth made her purr like a cat on a sun-drenched wall as she stripped off and enjoyed it, dunking herself in the free-standing plastic pool and then relaxing. Of course, she vied with her housemates for the best spots, and they had barbecues on the patio and life drifted by in spite of working in scorching London during the day.

  One evening, languid with lazing in the sun, she decided to take a walk. The park wasn’t far away, one of those exclusive green squares to which those who lived in the houses around were entitled to a key. A gardener was contracted to keep it tidy. She let herself in and sat on a bench beneath a tree. This always moved her for there was a plaque on it, dedicating it to the memory of someone called “Julia, beloved wife of Frank”. It appeared that they had once resided there and enjoyed this corner of the countryside in the middle of the bustling city.

  The sunset was glorious and she should have been supremely content, but the loneliness that ever been her bane wouldn’t go away. Despite the companionship of Vicky and Joanna, they had their own agendas and these didn’t always include her. She had brought a book with her, a classic tale of a spirited heroine and her discovery of true love, but she couldn’t concentrate on it. There were people passing on their way home, taxis and cars pulling up, and then she heard an unusual sound for that select area. It was the roar of a powerful motorcycle.

  She saw it, a great black and red monster and Matt was astride it. He pulled up at the gate, kicked down the stand and locked and parked the bike. He took off his helmet, his long hair darkened by sweat. Looking across, he spotted her at once.

  “Hi, there!” He let himself in, for she hadn’t locked the wrought iron gate behind her.

  “This is private property.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “No matter. I can be your guest.”

  Such impudence took her by surprise. He strolled down the graveled path between flowerbeds and sat beside her. The bench seemed to shrink. He was much too close for comfort.

  “Is this a chance meeting?” She couldn’t believe that it was. London was just too big for such a coincidence.

  He shook his head, eyes glinting. “No, ma’am. It wasn’t hard to find out where you live.”

  “And why did you want to know? Is it to do with the show?”

  He stretched his long, leather-clad limbs before him, and one arm rested on the back of the bench, touching her shoulders. Carenza wanted to vanish, wishing she had the powers of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland, but there was no escaping him. He was just too big and, she had to confess it, too handsome.

  “Fuck all to do with that. I would like it if we could be friends. I could fill you in about some of the difficulties you’re going to face.”

  “How chivalrous. You mean to say there’s nothing in it for you?” She was aware of a newfound cynicism that had blossomed of late.

  He turned his head and looked at her with a smile that would have melted granite. “I can’t deny that I want to get into your panties, but would be happy if you’d come for a drink with me.”

  “You’ve got nerve.”

  “So I’m told, but if I didn’t have, I wouldn’t be where I am now. You try facing a big old grizzly bear way out in the woods on your own.”

  “I suppose you use these tales to impress the women.” She was wishing desperately that he was sincere, but then she had always found scallywags attractive.

  “I’m no ladies’ man.” He continued to look at her in that disconcerting way. “What about that drink? Yes or no?”

  There was absolutely nothing else to do, and she faced an evening alone watching television. “All right. You can park your cycle in my garden.”

  She walked with him, while he pushed the Harley and, when she opened the rear gate, wheeled it inside. “Where are we going?” She wished she had worn something other than a cotton sundress that had seen several summers.

  “There’s a Spanish bar not far away. They have great entertainers. Do you enjoy flamenco?”

  “I do, as it happens.” She watched as he stuffed his helmet and fringed leather jacket into the panniers. “How come you know your way around this area?”

  “This isn’t my first trip here.” He held open the gate so that she exited before him.

  “No?”

  He went on to tell her about his earlier exploits in television and the movie industry in England, but she wasn’t really listening, obsessed by
the sight of him, the warmth of his hand on her arm, his height that made her feel all girlish and petite. She remained wary though, not losing hold on common sense entirely, but close to doing so.

  She had been to the bar before, liking the atmosphere. It was decorated in Spanish style and served great paella. Sometimes the music was recorded, but that evening there was a troupe of dancers, a guitarist and a singer. The girls wore the flounced dresses of Andalucia, and the males were swarthy and smoldered well, sleek as panthers in high-waisted black trousers, white shirts and fitted waistcoats.

  The music warmed her blood and she recalled holidays in Seville, a villa, a pool and sunbathing. The markets, the music, the corridas and fiestas.

  “Spain’s a great place. Maybe we could go there together.” Matt was relaxed, having ordered beer for himself and wine for her. Then his expression altered and he added, “Unless you’ve already been invited by David.”

  “Why should he do that? He’s my boss. Nothing else.”

  His attention seemed to be captured by a stunning seductress who was stamping out a gypsy rhythm. She had a proud stance, and graceful arm movements, her tits raised to Jesus, her feet planted on Mother Earth, as every good flamenco dancer’s should be.

  Then his fierce eyes switched to Carenza and he said, “You fancy him, don’t you? And he damn well fancies you.”

  “And what’s it got to do with you?” This attack had almost taken her breath away. She regretted coming with him, feeling that she should have trusted her first impression of him as an unmannerly pig.

  “Cool it. You don’t know him like I do. He’s a predator where women are concerned.” His big hands clenched into fists on the table.

  To her horror, Carenza wanted to touch them. “I don’t know that.” This wasn’t exactly true, for Vicky and Joanna had warned her. She didn’t want to believe any of them.

  He shrugged, face moody. “Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t tell you. He’s a schmuck.”