It was better for everybody concerned, and more professional-sounding, if I lied by telling them a plausible story – something that they would easily be able to believe.
Originally, I’d come up with two different scenarios. The first was that I was just a bored housewife doing domination in her spare time. I’d been worried though that if I told my clients this story, they might expect an enraged spouse to come storming into the dungeon at any moment, demanding to know what his wife was up to.
So I gave Simon the story I’d decided was infinitely safer.
Forgive me, Mark … I’m telling this lie for both of us.
‘Neither of the above. I’m single, and not seeing anybody at the moment. No kids, no close family in the country. I ran a successful creative agency for years. I sold the business a while ago, and then decided to start doing this to keep me busy.’
The perfect answer, I thought. It painted the picture of me as a strong, self-sufficient, comfortably-off woman who was the mistress of her own destiny.
‘And when did you …’
Simon’s phone started ringing loudly, interrupting his question, and with a quick apology to me he picked up the plans and hurried outside to take the call. I waited a few minutes for him to return, and then I went and checked the area around the entrance to the restaurant, but there was no sign of him.
The crisis he’d been expecting had obviously descended, and a minute later, the beeping of my phone confirmed this. A message from him read: Had 2 run. Look forward 2 seeing u soon. Happy Valentine’s Day! x
I realised he’d only managed to have a few bites of his ham and Camembert croissant. If that was his breakfast and lunch combined, it was no surprise that his bum was so pleasingly lean and firm.
I picked the cherry tomatoes out of my side salad before abandoning my own meal and leaving the restaurant. As I walked back to my car, I couldn’t help thinking that Simon’s questioning, like our lunch, had been interrupted when it had only just begun.
Chapter 18
I didn’t expect to hear from Simon for at least a fortnight after our impromptu lunch, given the deadline pressure he was working under. To my surprise, however, he called me the following week in the morning, while I was unlocking the door to the folly.
‘Hello, Mistress.’
‘Hello, Simon.’ I found a silly grin had plastered itself over my face and was proving impossible to remove. ‘How’s your work going?’
‘Still hectic. The end’s in sight, though. I’m in the site office at the moment, waiting for the roofing material for the new section of the mall to be unloaded. Fascinating stuff, I know. How about you? Busy?’
‘Managing to keep out of trouble. Right now I’m waiting for a client to arrive.’
‘Have you got space for me this time next week?’
I sat down at my desk and opened my diary. ‘Next Wednesday, ninethirty? Yes, I do.’
‘Good. Book me in.’
‘It’s done.’
I thought he was going to ring off, but instead he stayed on the line. There was a short silence and then he said, ‘I was sorry to have to leave you at lunch the other day, and just when our conversation was getting interesting, too.’
‘I seem to remember it was starting to become rather personal,’ I said.
‘Oh, yes, definitely. All those questions of mine. I was well on the way to earning myself more brutal punishment, I’m sure.’
I knew he was keen to know about my lifestyle. I, on the other hand, needed to maintain the façade I’d begun to construct for him.
‘As I told you, I’m just your average dominant woman who sold her business and decided to do something she enjoyed in her free time. I, however, do have some questions for you.’
‘Fire away,’ he said, and I thought I could hear some amusement in his tone.
‘Have you ever had your eyebrows shaved?’ I was thinking of the slave Thandeka had told me about, the one who’d accompanied his mistress into Adult Land.
‘What?’ Simon squawked. ‘Eyebrows?’ He paused for a moment. ‘Tell me, is that something you want to do to me?’
‘No, stop it now.’ I found myself laughing. ‘You can’t keep doing this, Simon.’
‘Doing what?’ he replied innocently.
‘Answering questions with questions.’
‘Ah. That.’
‘Yes, that.’
‘It’s a bad habit I seem to have developed.’
‘Just one of a litany,’ I observed.
‘Mmm. You’re lucky I’m alone in this office right now,’ he said. ‘As for the eyebrows – no, never. I’ve never thought of it as being erotic. But shaving other areas … more erotic.’
His tone dropped lower and his voice was full of suggestion.
‘You’ve done that?’
‘Both given and received.’
‘What else?’ I was playing with a pencil, twirling it between my fingers, idly glancing outside at the empty driveway, feeling a sensation I couldn’t quite name uncoiling inside me.
‘Where’s your client?’ he said as if reading my mind.
‘I’m sure he’ll come soon,’ I said, and then realised my poor choice of words. ‘I mean …’
But Simon was laughing again. ‘I’m sure he will, too, if he arrives.’
‘Damn it,’ I protested. ‘No teasing, now.’
‘No teasing. Right.’
‘So, shaving. Tell me, Simon, what else have you done? What else do you like to do?’
‘Lots,’ he said softly. I felt a shiver course down my spine.
‘Give me an example.’
‘ok. Here’s one that might surprise you. I occasionally like to switch. I did that with my last serious girlfriend.’
‘Ah.’ Switch. I wasn’t sure if that meant what I thought it did, and didn’t want to reveal my ignorance by asking. I guessed it meant that once in a while, he took the dominant role. The thought unsettled me. If that was what it would take to satisfy him, I was more than willing for him to remain frustrated.
‘What was her name?’
‘Paula.’
‘Where did you meet her?’
‘In Dubai.’
‘Why did you two break up?’ I had no idea what was pushing me to ask these unprofessional questions. I hadn’t expected him to answer but, after a beat, he did.
‘I ended it with her. There was a breach of trust, Emma.’
‘Oh.’
A breach of trust? That was even more vague an explanation than ‘switch’. How had trust been breached? By not stopping when the safe word was used? In all seriousness, the worst offence I could think of was that Paula must have told somebody – a friend, a colleague – about what Simon liked to do. Perhaps that was why he’d broken up with her even though it had been a serious relationship.
It still didn’t make total sense to me, and I wanted to question him about it again at a later stage, but not now. Not when he was already saying, ‘Enough about me. Your turn.’
‘Hasn’t your roofing been unloaded yet?’
‘It weighs twenty tonnes. The crane is making its third lift as we speak. So, what does a dominatrix get up to in her spare time given that she’s free and single and romantically uninvolved?’
‘I ride my horse,’ I said.
‘Would he be one of the two handsome animals I’ve caught sight of in the field beyond your dungeon?’
Slightly taken aback he’d noticed the horses’ paddock at all, I replied, ‘Those are both mine. The one with the white stockings is retired. I ride the other one. The demented one.’
‘That explains a lot.’
‘About what? My dexterity with a whip? Or the fact I ride an insane animal?’
‘No, actually, although your whip skills are most accomplished and I’m sure your riding is too. It explains the way you carry yourself. Your beautiful posture. It’s easy to admire. Perhaps it’s because you’re a horsewoman.’
I didn’t know what to say in response
to that sincere and unexpected compliment.
An ‘Oh … thank you’ was all I could come up with. Not exactly a great contribution to our witty repartee.
‘And has anybody ever told you that you have an extremely sexy voice?’ he added, which was the kind of praise I was more used to receiving, since thousands of men had in fact told me so in the past.
‘You’re getting ahead of yourself now,’ I responded. ‘Go and pay some attention to your crane.’ I looked up as I heard the rattle of the gate opening and saw the bonnet of a Land Rover appearing through it. ‘I have to go. My client is here.’
‘See you next week.’
I hung up, but the warm feeling inside me didn’t go away. It persisted throughout the day. I felt it in the afternoon when I went for a walk, replaying the conversation in my head and smiling in a way that made the couple of pedestrians I encountered smile back. It was there when I made myself pasta with tomato-and-basil sauce in the elderly and temperamental electric wok that, since the sale of the stove, was the only cooking appliance I had left.
It was still there when I went to bed.
I told myself I was being ridiculous; that the phone call had been no more than a few minutes of idle chitchat that Simon would have forgotten about as soon as he’d put his cellphone away.
But as I curled up to go to sleep, with Bob the Cat purring loudly and kneading my pillow, I was still feeling happy inside.
Chapter 19
Simon was my best regular client so far in terms of spend, but as far as satisfying him went, I had no idea what I could be doing wrong. Certainly, he became easily aroused, but he’d sustain his raging hard-on for the duration of his torture, without touching himself, even when I hinted that he had permission to do so.
I understood that there were, theoretically, those clients who would not reach orgasm during their session but who would do so afterwards, in private, on their own, while thinking about what their mistress had inflicted upon them.
But in practice, so far every other man who had entered the doors of my domination dungeon had left having climaxed during his session.
What to do? How to help him?
I knew there was something he wanted – he’d as much as told me so, but I had no idea what it could be. Was I not doing enough? Or was I taking him too close to his limits? Simon wasn’t exactly helping things along, either. He was full of contradictions. Easy to talk to and flirtatious, but reluctant – ‘not ready’ he’d said – to voice what he needed. And I certainly hadn’t been able to beat it out of him. He’d endured everything I’d done to him, usually keeping still and silent and only occasionally letting out a sound. He had never ever used the safe word.
At the start of his third session, after standing on the scale earlier that morning had confirmed what the better fit of my clothing was already telling me, I had dared to remove my trench coat and reveal myself to Simon in my full domination regalia as he waited by the punishment horse, his wrists lashed together with my leather reins.
As I’d expected, his gaze had roamed immediately and appreciatively over my body. Those piercing eyes had taken in every detail of my appearance from head to toe before I’d yelled at him for his insolence and, as punishment, blindfolded him before setting about thrashing him.
Even then, that session had not been enough to satisfy him.
After his fourth visit, I discovered the truth.
He emerged from the bathroom wearing his customary blue jeans, this time paired with an ivory-coloured shirt with pale-blue patterns tracing their way up its weave. It looked expensive but he wore it casually, the top button undone and the sleeves rolled back a couple of turns to mid-forearm. Again I noticed his tanned wrists and somewhat lighterskinned hands. Strong-looking hands, with long, lean fingers. I couldn’t help remembering how tightly they’d gripped the chains I’d made him hold while perched in a pair of the high heels, when waiting for his punishment to start.
Refocusing my mind, I picked up my phone, which I kept muted during the sessions, and turned the ringtone on again.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ I said, putting the phone back down on the desk.
He’d asked for my banking details after his second session, and I now received emailed proof of payment the day before he arrived. So there was nothing to do, nothing to pay. He booked in again, same time next week. Now that his building deadline was over there was clearly plenty of free time in his life for extramural activities.
We stood for a moment not saying anything, just giving each other a tentative smile, and I suddenly realised that there was an element of uneasiness in the silence. My instinct was proved right when Simon cleared his throat and said, ‘Emma, could I discuss a possible additional service for my next session?’
Automatically I felt my palms go damp. This was what he had been hinting at. I was about to hear the worst.
‘Yes … yes, of course you can.’ Please, Lord, let it not be golden showers or anything worse than that … because whatever he requests, how on earth can I say no when he’s such a good client? ‘Would you like to sit down? Coffee?’
I was hoping he’d say yes; that he’d take a chair opposite me and have a drink. And that this special additional service he wanted would prove to be something that wasn’t going to either disgust or terrify me.
I should have known better from the man who’d said ‘Lots’ when I asked him what he liked to do.
He gave a small shake of his head when I mentioned the coffee, which meant I couldn’t turn away and busy myself with kettle and cups. Instead I had to stand there, feeling slightly sick with anticipation, waiting for him to get to the point.
‘Coffee would be great some other time,’ he said, ‘but I’ve got to be back into town for a site meeting in half an hour. What I wanted to ask, though … how can I put this …?’
Will you get this over with? I wanted to shout.
‘How do you keep a dominatrix in suspense?’
‘I’ll tell you tomorrow, Mistress.’
‘What?’ I asked him. My right hand found the edge of the desk. It was solid and sturdy and I rested my clammy palm on it.
‘I’ve been feeling that … you see, for me, I think you are the right person to …’ He took a deep breath, obviously having as much difficulty in choosing his words as I was in not turning into a gibbering wreck while waiting for them.
Let it be: do I travel?
Why, yes, I do. I can pack a briefcase with a few selected essentials and meet you anywhere you like. You name the venue and I’ll be there. Discreet, punctual and, as always as brutal and vicious as …
‘I’d like this to go two ways,’ he blurted out, and I felt the desk scrape backwards a few inches and bump against the wall.
He added, hurriedly, ‘Not the domination side, of course. I have no desire to inflict pain on you – well, not unless you wanted to try it. But you see, for me – and this is my experience with the relationships I’ve had – a huge part of the satisfaction I get, or can get, comes from satisfying my partner. The truth is that I don’t feel right about pleasing myself unless you are pleasured first. I’d like to be able to do that with you, Emma. Under your rules and conditions, of course, which we could discuss. I think it could be very good … for both of us.’
My mouth had dropped open. I clamped it shut and swallowed hard. My face felt hot and I knew his suggestion had caused me to turn an unbecoming shade of beetroot. For an instant I couldn’t help but wonder what the Simon Nel version of ‘very good’ might involve, given his love of extremes, and his wickedly creative imagination.
Unacceptable, of course. Completely unacceptable. What was I thinking, allowing myself to even briefly entertain the idea of becoming sexually involved with one of my clients?
‘I don’t think that’s something I would be comfortable with,’ I muttered. And then, panicking that he’d walk out and take his three-sessions-a-month business elsewhere at a stage when I couldn’t a
fford to lose it, I pulled myself together and managed to add, in more mistress-like tones, ‘I will consider your request, though, and I’ll let you know on your next visit.’
His gaze was fixed on me and I suddenly knew exactly how a deer felt when it was caught in the headlights.
‘I understand,’ he said. ‘I apologise for my shameless suggestion. I would never presume to cause my mistress discomfiture. However, I will eagerly await your final decision.’
Was he laughing at me? Did those words carry more than a hint of irony? From what I knew of Simon so far, I had a horrible suspicion that they did, but before I could mull it over any further, he continued. ‘And in the meantime …’
He stepped towards me.
‘You can punish me for my forwardness next time, if you like,’ he said in a soft voice. ‘At any rate, I trust you will.’
And then he leaned forward and brushed his lips gently against my neck, just above my collarbone. The touch was soft and warm and I could feel the tickle of his breath. While I was still paralysed with astonishment, his hands slipped under my trench coat and moved around my waist to the small of my back, resting there for just a moment before they slid lower, cupping my buttocks through the silky fabric of my panties, caressing them sensuously.
The banging of my heart was drowning out any logical thought I might have had. I was frozen into place, unable to tell him to stop, realising that if anybody were to phone in right now and interrupt us, I’d have to kill them.
His lips moved slowly, deliciously up my neck before touching the corner of my half open mouth. His hands roamed lower, the touch becoming more intimate and causing me to draw in a sudden breath. His eyes drilled into mine, but I hadn’t a hope in hell of understanding the intent behind them or, I realised, of telling him to stop.
He was violating all my dungeon rules, and I had a feeling that the rules were only the first item on a very short list of things to be violated. A list that ended with Emma Caine.
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