Folly

by Jassy Mackenzie

  Chapter 13

  Soon after I arrived back home, I heard Goodness calling me from outside the front door. I hurried downstairs and opened it, but instead of seeing him outside, I came face to face with an enormous arrangement of flowers. Multicoloured blossoms – blue irises, yellow carnations, pink and white lilies, roses and chrysanthemums – surrounded by deep green foliage and expertly arranged in a beautiful glass vase.

  Goodness lowered the flowers slightly and nodded at me over the topmost blooms.

  ‘What the …? Where did this come from?’ I stood staring at him stupidly until, realising his arms must be getting tired from holding it, I took this incredible floribunda from him. The arrangement was so large I had to back through the doorway with it before turning around.

  Goodness waited at the door, watching as I set it down on the dining-room table.

  ‘Where did these come from?’ I asked again.

  He frowned slightly. ‘The man, he brought it in the white van.’

  ‘A delivery van? When?’

  ‘Ten o’clock.’

  ‘Where? Here, to this house?’

  ‘No.’ Goodness pointed in the direction of the folly. ‘There. To that gate.’

  I turned and stared at the flowers again. ‘Are you sure they were for me, Goodness?’ I had a sudden vision of my unlikeable neighbour’s birthday surprise landing up in my living room by mistake.

  ‘It said in the book: Ms Caine.’

  ‘Oh. So they are for me.’

  ‘Yes.’ Goodness said, nodding approvingly. ‘They are for you.’

  Suddenly the day seemed a little brighter.

  Turning back to the enormous arrangement, I saw for the first time, half-buried in the blooms, a small white envelope attached to a clear plastic holder. I grabbed it out of the holder and tore it open.

  I drew out a red card with gold lettering that read, in cursive script, ‘Thank you.’

  The inside of the card was blank.

  How beautiful and amazing. How puzzling and frustrating.

  I’d had three clients so far and one of them must have sent me these flowers. A bouquet fit for royalty. Their colours sang of summer and happiness, and already their fragrance was filling the air.

  The only problem was that I had not the faintest clue who could have sent it. Had it been Lowly? The Judge? Simon?

  How on earth was I going to thank the sender when I had no idea who he was? For a bouquet this splendid, thanks were surely in order … but then again, if the sender had wanted to be thanked, he would have signed the card. Or at the very least given a hint as to his identity.

  It was a mystery. But, for a change, a good one.

  The next day, my wallet feeling bulky and unfamiliar with all the cash inside, I went shopping.

  My destination today was the closest sex shop I knew of, Adult Land, which was a twenty-minute drive away. I was shopping mainly for the Judge. This was Mission Anal Toys. But in spite of this fact, as I was driving, I didn’t find my thoughts returning to the Judge. I was not dwelling on the memory of his puckered anus and how it had stretched into a perfect ‘O’ to accommodate the candles I had slid inside.

  Nor was I drawn back to the image of Lowly, hunched on the floor, his breath coming faster and faster and the lacy panties bright white against his brown skin.

  The single memory that preoccupied me on my drive to the sex shop was the sensation of Simon’s naked backside against my hand. How his skin had felt; warm and soft. The shock I had felt when I realised I’d touched him and the speed with which I’d snatched my hand away, and then wished I had not.

  It was strange, I thought to myself as I turned right at the lights on Jan Smuts Avenue, what one’s mind latched onto. Probably, the reason that I couldn’t get that single touch out of my head was because I wasn’t ready to think about the more explicit and disturbing acts that I had performed.

  I parked outside the strip mall, which was also home to a rather dilapidated-looking grocery store, a security centre, a travel agent and a barber’s shop. Hot-footing it past the barber’s, I pushed open the solid door of Adult Land and stepped rather tentatively into the stuffy-smelling interior.

  My feet sank into soft carpet and as I stood there, blinking in the gloom, my first thought was that they should be given some kind of award for energy saving, because the place was lit with a total of about five 60-watt spotlights. Browsing amongst the shadowy interior I saw two other clients, both men.

  Both would have to leave before me, I decided. There was no way I was going to purchase multiple vibrators with anybody else watching.

  A plump, friendly looking black assistant with shoulder-length braids was perched on a high chair behind the wide glass-topped counter. She gave me a smile but said nothing. I guess ‘Can I help you?’ had its time and place in a shop like this.

  Aware that one of the other customers was glancing my way, I wandered over to the most innocuous display I could find – the rail of clothing. Here, French maid outfits and skimpy nurses’ uniforms rubbed cups and crotches with belly-dancing kits and lacy angel and devil costumes in white and red.

  I rifled through the ‘on sale’ lingerie, and realised that there were some bargains to be had. Those spangled stockings, perhaps, with this suspender belt, I thought. Both were available in extra large. They would do nicely for Lowly.

  Out of nowhere I found myself thinking of Simon’s lean, fit body and my hand hovered for a moment over the medium.

  Then, feeling foolish for having let my thoughts stray to the least successful of my sessions so far, and the only slave who hadn’t rebooked, I chose the extra large and glanced over my shoulder.

  One of the other customers was paying for his purchases now, thank God.

  I took a quick look at the magazines on offer and picked out one or two that featured black latex on the cover and would presumably appeal to my clientele. And then the other man was leaving the shop and for a while at least, it would hopefully just be myself and the assistant.

  As the door swung shut behind him I sidled up to the counter and put down the magazines and underwear.

  ‘Will that be all?’ she asked, with another friendly smile.

  ‘Actually, no.’

  The vibrators and dildos were all displayed on shelves behind the counter.

  ‘I’d like …’ I squinted through the gloom. ‘That pink curved one there and those two black ones, the medium and the large. That flexible looking green one and that orange one – oh, could you tell me how much they cost, by the way?’

  The assistant raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows slightly as she gave me the prices. Doing some hasty mental arithmetic, I worked out I could afford to buy about six. The flexible ones seemed to be more expensive.

  ‘Um …’ I said. What did I need? A range of sizes was surely the most important. Small ones for beginners, larger ones for the Judge. My eyes strayed to a massive pistachio-coloured dildo which lay on the top shelf. It must have been eighteen inches long and four wide. Undoubtedly, it would injure, if not kill, any slave unfortunate enough to receive its ministrations, but the threat of its use would certainly create the necessary fear.

  ‘How much is the giant one?’

  ‘This one?’ She turned and lifted it down.

  ‘That’s right.’

  She told me the price. Yup, just as I’d feared, this weapon of mass penetration would also be reaming a hole in my budget. Would it be worth the money?

  ‘And do you have any strap-ons in stock?’ My goodness, it was getting hot in here.

  ‘Yes, we do. We have a few different types. Would you like to see them?’

  Avoiding her curious gaze I stared down at the glass counter, frantically doing more sums in my head, noticing that underneath the glass there was a charm bracelet featuring tiny silver penises.

  ‘I don’t know. What would you recommend?’ I asked her eventually.

  ‘Um … are these for your personal use or …?’


  I decided to be frank with her.

  ‘Actually, I’ve just set up business as a dominatrix. So they are for my male clients.’

  ‘Oh!’ Her eyes grew wide. ‘A dominatrix? Really?’

  ‘Really,’ I assured her.

  ‘Where do you operate from?’

  ‘About fifteen kilometres north of here.’ I pointed in the vague direction of where I thought north was.

  ‘Do you have a business card?’

  ‘Not on me. Why?’

  ‘I sometimes get customers asking about that sort of thing.’

  ‘I’d really appreciate it if you could pass on my phone number. And when I’m in the area again I’ll bring business cards. Thank you so much.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure.’

  ‘I’m sorry – I haven’t asked your name.’

  ‘I’m Thandeka.’

  ‘Emma.’

  We shook hands.

  ‘There is another lady who does what you do, who lives in Pretoria somewhere,’ Thandeka said. ‘She’s come in here a couple of times and she left cards, but to be honest, I didn’t like her as a person. She’s not nice. And she’s very hard-core. I mean, she’s always dressed up from head to toe in black leather, and the one time she actually brought her slave in with her on a leash. He was this little shrimp of a man and his eyebrows were shaved off.’

  ‘Good heavens,’ I offered faintly.

  ‘You seem normal, though,’ Thandeka said, smiling.

  ‘Well, I think I am.’ Compared to my slaves, at any rate. And I’d never gone shopping with anybody on a leash. Nor did I want to.

  Thandeka passed me a hard-covered address book and I wrote down my name and phone number under D for Domination.

  ‘So, regarding the sex toys,’ she continued, ‘I’d take a variety – different sizes and colours, some stiff and some more flexible. Some people prefer the more flexible feel. And you could also look at these.’ She took a box off one of the shelves. ‘These are anal plugs. The lady I told you about took a set of them so I think they must be popular with clients.’

  ‘Mmm,’ I said, looking down at the box.

  ‘There are six in the box and they’re all … different sizes, you see, small to very large …’ Her voice tailed off.

  I saw. For a minute, we stared in silence at the little conversation-killers.

  ‘Right. I’ll take those, and – um – let’s take that little dildo there, a stiff and a flexible medium one, a stiff and a flexible large one, and I also want that Oh-My-God sized one. I’m not going to use it, but I want to scare people with it.’

  Thandeka laughed. ‘They will be scared when they see that monster. You mentioned you wanted to see the strap-ons?’

  ‘Next time.’ I said firmly, deciding that the Judge would have to wait until I was psychologically prepared to harness myself to an artificial penis. ‘Just those, and some lubricant, please.’

  ‘What kind would you like?’

  ‘I don’t know. What kind is the best? I’ve just been using KY Jelly.’

  On the single client so far who’d had anything pushed up his bum.

  Now Thandeka was frowning. ‘KY isn’t the best lubricant for the purposes you describe. It’s more suitable for vaginal use. The clients who use anal toys usually prefer this.’ She took down a large tube from a display on one of the side cabinets. ‘This is a silicone-based lubricant which is very effective. The only problem is that you can’t use it with silicone toys, like those two there, or you’ll end up damaging them.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ This was becoming more complicated by the minute and I was also getting the uncomfortable feeling that everyone in the world knew about silicone-based lubricants except me.

  ‘What you could do, I suppose, is what our escort agency clients do when they have to share toys. They put a condom on the toy before they use it, and then remove it afterwards. That also makes cleaning easier.’

  ‘And condoms won’t be damaged by this silicone lubricant?’

  ‘Oh, no, they’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’ll take two tubes, then, and a big box of condoms as well. Thank you so much,’ I said. ‘You’ve been so helpful. You’re very knowledgeable. I guess you must see some interesting sides of life, with all the people coming into this shop.’

  Ringing up my purchases, Thandeka laughed. ‘I’m sure you must, too, in your dungeon.’

  Chapter 14

  At lunchtime, I had another new client. The well-spoken black man who’d called me the day before had given his name as Mr Samuel Mashaba. To be truthful, after the rather eventful sessions I’d had so far and particularly following my debacle with Simon, I was far more worried than usual about being able to meet his expectations.

  What would happen if I either injured or else failed to satisfy this client, too? I might as well hang up my whip there and then, I thought.

  When I saw the dark, polished bonnet of his Toyota Prado easing through my gate, I don’t mind admitting it, but I started to pray – and my misgivings were only made worse when I met the man himself.

  Mr Mashaba exuded a quiet but tangible dignity. He was stockily built and immaculately dressed. Top brand names hugged his shoulders, encircled his waist, clasped his wrist. He greeted Goodness formally and although Goodness nodded respectfully in response, I had a feeling that inside he was saucer-eyed with incredulity.

  We sat down at the table together, Mr Mashaba and I.

  ‘Have you experienced a domination session before?’ I asked.

  Mr Mashaba was rather reticent and very polite.

  ‘Not really,’ he said, and I could see him trying to glance at the dungeon equipment to his right without making his curiosity too obvious.

  ‘Is there anything that you need or expect from the session?’

  ‘I think … just whatever usually happens.’

  Oh, Lord, where was this one going to go? I needed to get the gist across.

  ‘Let me explain what the usual involves. In my dungeon, I am in complete control and you will do whatever I tell you to. You will, in fact, be my slave.’

  I could feel my face just about glowing with embarrassment, all the more so because he was giving me his most respectful attention, his wellmanicured fingers laced together in front of him, just as he might have done if I was a would-be investment partner presenting him with a proposal in an air-conditioned boardroom.

  ‘I may ask you to put on women’s clothes. I may ask you to perform certain tasks for me. And, of course, there will be punishment. What is your tolerance for pain, Mr Mashaba?’

  He gave a tiny nod. ‘I can tolerate it.’

  I explained the use of the safe word to him and then said, ‘If you’d like to step into the bathroom now, you may strip down. Either naked or to your underpants, whichever you feel comfortable with.’

  You see, there I was, changing the rules already. Whatever you feel comfortable with. Words that I’d never thought I would utter within my dungeon walls, particularly not with regard to my clients’ choice of clothing.

  And it was just as well I did, because he came out in a pair of Calvin Klein undies which even in the muted light of my dungeon were so blindingly white that they left purple patches on my retinas when I blinked.

  ‘And now what happens?’ he asked in a surprisingly small voice. I noticed him glancing at the shelves that housed my collection of vibrators, and I thought that his eyelid might have twitched.

  ‘Now you bend over.’ I indicated the gym horse. ‘I’m going to give you a beating. We’ll start out with some light punishment and take it from there.’

  An uneasy silence filled my dungeon.

  I honestly could not insult this man. Somehow, I could not find my mistress’s voice.

  Instead, and with no preamble, I raised my right arm and brought the whip down across his white-clad buttocks with what I felt was a reasonable amount of force.

  My client’s agonised yelp filled the room. He uncurled himself from the gym horse and crabbed
away from me, staggering sideways across the grey-tiled floor while offering me a wide-eyed, incredulous stare.

  ‘Enough! Stop, please.’ And, as I took a step towards him, he leaped back, bashing his elbow against the shelf with the vibrators on and sending one of them clattering to the ground. ‘No. Help! What was that word you said I should use? Amber? Amber!’

  I lowered the whip and for one tense moment we stared at each other wordlessly.

  Then Mr Mashaba started to laugh. Softly at first, shaking his head, and then louder.

  The sound was infectious and before I knew it, I was smiling myself and then clapping my hand over my mouth to stop the giggles from escaping.

  My client was bellowing with laughter now, propping himself up on his elbows against the horse. His shoulders were heaving and tears of mirth ran in shiny streaks down his cheeks.

  He made his way over to the chair by the entrance door and collapsed down on it, flinging his head back as he tried to choke back his laughter.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said, when he could speak again.

  ‘That’s all right.’ I sat down opposite him and wiped my eyes.

  ‘You actually make money doing this?’

  ‘Well, so far, yes.’

  ‘People pay you to whip them?’

  ‘Yes, they do.’

  ‘Many of them?’

  ‘Quite a few.’

  He rubbed a hand over his forehead. ‘Not black men, surely.’

  ‘Not so far. You’re the first black man I’ve had.’

  ‘Well, I … I … All I can say is that I am embarrassed by my ignorance. I did not know … I could not believe, right until the moment when you actually hit me with that whip … that such a thing could be happening. I will try anything once. I am a divorced man, you see. But I kept on thinking – she must be joking. This cannot be true.’

  While I made him a cup of coffee, Mr Mashaba got dressed. He returned to the desk, Gucci wallet in hand. Despite my protestations he insisted on paying the full price for his session. He peeled new notes off a much bigger stack, one by one.

  ‘I have taken up your time, after all,’ he said, by way of explanation. ‘And to laugh like that … I think that in itself was worth the money. Now, every day, I am going to look at my colleagues in the boardroom and wonder to myself: Do they visit this type of place?’