My bag was whisked away by the porter and I walked with Simon through the splendid lobby and into the plushly decorated dining room where a grand piano was being played and a waiter stood ready behind my comfortable, cushioned chair.
I couldn’t help feeling slightly intimidated by the splendour of this setup. And I was terrified of exactly what our night together was going to involve, especially since I’d received the proof of the payment he’d made and it was more than triple my usual fee. Just how I was expected to provide adequate value for this amount of money I had no idea.
As the waiter pulled my chair out for me, I told myself sternly not to be such a scaredy-cat but to think of the positives in this situation instead. At least, for the first time since we’d met, I was actually going to spend more time being paid to look at his face than at his bare backside.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked. ‘I couldn’t help noticing your rather wicked expression, for a moment there.’
‘I’m thinking that eye contact has its benefits,’ I said. ‘It’s difficult to have a meaningful conversation with a pair of buttocks.’
‘I suppose intelligent discussion is somewhat difficult in that situation,’ he agreed.
‘And in some cases, simply not possible at all.’
‘At least buttocks don’t answer back.’
‘If only the same could be said for their owners,’ I observed.
The sommelier then appeared with the wine list, which, to my surprise, Simon handed over to me.
‘Would you like to choose us a wine?’
‘Er …’ I said, rather nonplussed. ‘Do you prefer red or white?’
‘Either.’
Again, I had the feeling he was smiling inwardly and not quite letting it reach his lips. Still, I wasn’t going to say no to this offer. The luxury …
the joy of choosing, of feasting my eyes on the names, estates and descriptions of these award-winning wines with the sommelier hovering at my elbow ready to offer advice, and the wine list itself so gorgeously thick and detailed that I could think of about five shorter novels I’d read. And since price was clearly not a consideration this evening, I didn’t even have to worry about that.
While the sommelier was pouring a glass of Dom Perignon for each of us as an aperitif, we started chatting more easily.
Simon told me more about the firm that he’d started up and now co-owned with a black empowerment company. The firm, which he said specialised in commercial buildings and retail centres, was currently involved with a number of projects. The biggest one was the long-term upgrade, expansion and refurbishment of the Sandton shopping mall and business centre, and the other that was taking up most of his time at present was the construction of a brandnew shopping mall and commercial centre in Dubai.
‘So which of those do you enjoy more?’ I asked him. He gave my question some real thought before replying.
‘Neither. They’re both wonderful projects and I’m extremely proud to be handling them, but the one that means the most to me is a much smaller and far less lucrative one.’
‘What’s that?’ I asked, wondering for some reason if it was going to be building his house.
‘It’s in one of the former black townships. The informal settlement of Orange Farm, south of Johannesburg. It’s one of the poorest in the province, and also the most lacking in amenities.’
‘So what are you doing there?’
‘Well, our firm’s already finished a paved raised walkway that goes up over the ridge, safe and well lit. Now, people on foot no longer have to go through the muddy and dangerous area to get to the southernmost taxi rank. Phase two, which starts next month, is building a shopping mall in the township as there’s literally no formal retail activity there at the moment. It’s something that is badly needed.’
‘That sounds great,’ I said, impressed at how passionate he was about this. His eyes sparkled as he told me about it.
‘What makes this development different from any other that’s been done before is that the community itself has ownership, sixteen per cent in fact, and will receive sixteen per cent of all the rental incomes to reinvest in the settlement as they choose. That will mean that the development is truly uplifting its surroundings, and its residents.’
‘That is impressive,’ I said.
When the waiter had taken our orders and the wineglasses had been filled, this time with a crisp and aromatic local Sauvignon Blanc, the conversation changed tack and started getting a little more personal.
‘So, Emma,’ he said, ‘I was surprised when you told me you’ve never socialised with clients outside of your work.’
‘I never have done. I have strict boundaries in place. It’s safer for everyone concerned.’
‘I see,’ he nodded. ‘But … if the boundaries are so strict, then what are you doing here with me?’
Even after hours of thought about this at home, I still didn’t have a proper answer to this question, the one I knew he was going to ask me tonight.
‘You intrigue me.’ I said.
‘Interesting you should say that. The feeling is mutual,’ he responded in a low voice.
For me, it was more than that, but I certainly wasn’t going to elaborate on the ridiculous effect his physical closeness had had; how easily his touch had stripped away my Mistress persona and turned me into this unfamiliar, lustful creature who was urgently in need of some discipline and restraint herself.
‘My rules still apply, though.’ I hoped they would, at any rate.
‘Rules? Tonight?’
‘Of course. You’ll find out what they are.’
‘I look forward to obeying them then. Or, perhaps, testing them.’
At that, I breathed in deeply, praying that on this important evening, I would be able to suppress my own desire, and maintain my authority over this capricious man for as long as it took to satisfy him.
‘On the subject of rules,’ he continued, ‘when you are involved with a lover, are you always the dominant? Or are you, or have you been, a submissive at any stage?’
I stared at him in surprise. ‘Neither.’
Now it was his turn to look puzzled.
‘Neither? You mean …’
‘Plain vanilla, as the saying goes. Ordinary relationships.’
‘No.’ Simon shook his head, bemused. ‘I can’t believe that.’
‘It’s true.’
‘But you’re so good at what you do.’
‘Thank you. Complimenting the mistress is always a wise move.’
‘Seriously? Vanilla?’
‘The plainest sort. Not even Madagascan bourbon.’
He gave a rather baffled frown. ‘You are full of surprises. I’ve been thinking all along that you are just as incurably kinky as I am. And now you tell me you aren’t.’
‘Not in my personal life, no.’
‘You’ve never been drawn towards the darker side?’
‘Not for a moment,’ I answered firmly.
‘You know, when I invited you here tonight, I was looking forward to being corrupted by you. Now I’m worried that I’m going to end up doing the corrupting.’
‘You needn’t fret about that,’ I told him. ‘I do know the safe word, even if it takes me a few goes to get it right.’
He smiled, before giving me a sideways look. ‘Tell me the truth. With your oh-so-vanilla partners, don’t things get boring for you?’
I had no idea what to say in response to that. I thought about the sex Mark and I had had. Good and frequent at first, then not so frequent but still good, then after the fights started in earnest, less good and less often.
Maybe kinky sex would have spiced up our love life, although I couldn’t imagine Mark ever having agreed to it. He was far too conservative. To be honest, I didn’t think that any amount of sex, good, great or mindblowingly fantastic, could have healed the underlying issues that had surfaced during our marriage.
‘There’s more to a relationship than sex,’ I said ha
ughtily.
‘Of course there is.’ His voice was intense and his gaze held mine as he spoke. ‘There are many more important things. There is love, and trust, and respect, and loyalty. Which, incidentally, I value very highly. If I were to start dating somebody else, I’d no longer visit you.’
Upon hearing that, I had to stop my mouth from falling open in shock.
That wasn’t what I’d been expecting him to say at all. His words were a hammer blow to my chest. I was crushed by the hurt and humiliation I felt at being considered dispensable, even though I knew that it was best and safest that way.
‘Well, at least have the decency to let me know when that happens,’ I snapped.
He looked surprised. ‘ok. I will.’
I was still stinging from the effect of the unavoidable reality of his statement.
‘Where do you meet your dominant girlfriends anyway?’ I asked him, wanting to push on the pain I felt and to hear the worst.
‘Now, you can’t go asking questions like that,’ he warned, in a teasing tone that made me wonder whether he was involved in a local dom–sub dating scene that everyone except me knew about.
‘Actually,’ he continued, ‘I married a dominant woman. My wife, Julie, was killed seven years ago in a light aircraft crash.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘I’ve had a few girlfriends since then, but Paula was the only one that looked like becoming serious, and I ended it with her late last year.’
That had been as a result of the betrayal of trust he’d told me about. I wanted to ask him more, but the pain I saw in his face told me it was a subject he would prefer not to discuss.
Unsure of what to say next, I sipped my wine and wondered again what a dominant relationship involved. The concept still mystified me and I could only guess at probable scenarios.
‘What would you like for supper, love?’
‘Nnngh … Gnnnngh … Hnnghhhk.’
‘Pardon? Want me to remove the ball gag? Was that a no? Well then, I think I’ll leave you padlocked to the burglar bars and go out and get some takeaway. Chinese? Indian? Oh, never mind …’
‘Another question,’ he said. ‘If you’ve never had submissive lovers, how did you learn to dominate?’
At that moment the waiter arrived with our starters. I’d ordered a scallop tartare accompanied by a sprinkling of caviar, chives and toast points. Simon had chosen the venison carpaccio with mushrooms, asparagus and parmesan.
I took a bite of scallop, savouring the complex flavours of the finely prepared dish, and decided the truth wouldn’t hurt here. Confessions about my past could hardly have a negative bearing on the present situation. Even so, I couldn’t help feeling nervous as I spoke the words, remembering the long-term damage they had caused the last time I’d told anybody about them.
‘When I was young and silly I spent a few years working on phone sex lines,’ I admitted.
‘Really? Now that is fascinating. Will you give me a demonstration sometime?’
I took a deep breath. He wasn’t put off – of course not. Why would anybody be who’d just admitted they were incurably kinky themselves?
‘It can be arranged, I’m sure. Would you prefer straight sex talk, or some light dom?’
‘You mean you did actual domination over the phone? How did you learn to do it?’
‘I think it was a case of the clients telling me what they wanted, and me being willing and able to try. Later on, I trained other girls and taught them how.’
I found it was cathartic to be telling my story to a receptive listener – and healing, too, in a way. Unusual though my job had been, maybe it was not as shameful as I’d been made to believe. At any rate, I had learned a skill that was useful to me now, and I’d picked up a lot of insights along the way.
‘You trained other people?’
‘Only the ones who showed aptitude for it.’
‘Aptitude how?’
‘What I found was that I could take any new girl, scared to death of what she was about to do, and have her confident in sex talk within a couple of days. She’d be schooled in what to say and she’d know how to say it. The soft, whispery voice. The words to use. How to find out what the caller’s fantasy was and help describe it for him.’
I took another sip of wine. Somehow, my glass was almost empty again. As if by magic a waiter materialised to refill it and when he’d gone I continued.
‘Domination was different, though. It was harder to teach.’
‘Why?’ Simon asked.
‘Because I couldn’t make all my trainees believe they could do it. I couldn’t even persuade some to try.’
‘So you think being a submissive comes more naturally to women, then?’
‘Yes. I think society forces us into a submissive role. And it’s a pity, because the women who were brave enough to try it found it was better than the regular sex talk. More stimulating. Far less demeaning. They grew to love being in control.’
Simon nodded. ‘Speaking for my own gender, there is nothing more erotic than surrendering to a powerful woman.’
I was curious to find out when he’d discovered his need to be dominated – he must surely have had regular girlfriends at some stage in his life – but before I could ask him, the waiter arrived to clear the plates and afterwards the conversation returned briefly to food before moving on to books and movies.
I suddenly realised how much I was enjoying myself. As long as I kept in the moment, and didn’t think too hard about why we were here … or what was going to happen next … or about Mark. How could I not be happy enjoying world-class cuisine in this beautiful setting, sitting opposite a man who was clever and charming, more than easy on the eye, and who seemed to find me as stimulating a dinner partner as I found him?
Yes … the benefits of my decision were making themselves felt. In fact, we were having a brilliant evening.
By the time I’d drained the last of my coffee, having nobly refused dessert, our conversation tailed off and I realised we were one of the last people to leave the restaurant and that even the pianist was no longer playing.
‘That meal was superb,’ I said. We stood up, and I mentally girded my loins. It was time, now, to move into the unknown, and I only hoped that the wine I’d had would provide me with the courage I needed.
Simon slipped his arm around me; moved to face me. ‘The same can be said for the company.’
I looked into his eyes, my heart racing at his physical proximity, and I felt my nervousness swept away by a surge of the same desire he’d awoken inside me in my dungeon.
‘I suppose kissing you would be unwise,’ he murmured.
Kissing … oh, the thought of allowing myself to lean into him, touching him as a lover would, exploring the breadth of his shoulders, my fingers twining in his hair as I pulled him close. The thought of letting my mouth meet his. Feeling the softness of his lips on mine, warm and sensual, our mouths opening and yielding, then locking together, needing more. His tongue sliding against my own in a caress both intimate and sensual, our breath coming faster …
He’d said it would be unwise, and I supposed it would, but in the tumult of my thoughts I had no idea exactly why. Were his words a test? A veiled request? Or a simple acknowledgement of the way things were between us?
Then common sense prevailed.
I was not his lover. I was a disposable asset. I was getting paid for this night, and kissing was certainly not part of any dominatrix’s job description, whether or not she allowed her slaves sexual leeway.
‘It would be unwise,’ I said. My voice sounded hoarse but my tone was firm.
He moved back slightly and took my hand.
‘Time for play, then.’
Chapter 24
Simon and I took the lift to the first-floor suite. Before he unlocked the door he turned to me and said, ‘I thought I should discuss this at some stage with you. Whatever happens, or doesn’t, between us tonight, I’d like you to know that I
am – er – low-risk in terms of disease. I’ve never had any stds, and I had an hiv test for insurance purposes in November.’
‘I donate blood regularly.’ My face was starting to burn. Honestly, this was not a conversation I’d ever envisioned having again after I’d married Mark, let alone in these circumstances. ‘Twice in the past year, in fact. I’m O negative, a universal donor. They love my blood. And I’ve never suffered from any stds either.’
Simon opened the door and stood aside to let me to walk in, and for just a moment nervousness clenched at my stomach.
What if he ended up disappointed after investing so much in this evening?
With an effort I dismissed this worst-case scenario. Now was not the time for negative thoughts. Now was the time to immerse myself in his fantasy; to play a role I had never done before.
Once he closed the door behind us, I knew we would leave our normal personas outside and he would be expecting the session to begin.
I sashayed into the suite with my head high, taking in the enormous space, glowing wooden panelling and sumptuous wall hangings with an imperious glance, as if they were only just worthy of my calibre.
There was my bag, on the ottoman in front of the king-size, fourposter bed. And in it, just a few well-chosen items to help my client enjoy his night of sexual slavery.
‘You can start by taking off my shoes,’ I said.
I sat on the bed while he knelt on the carpet in front of me and gently removed the high-heeled fuck-me sandals that were just about killing my feet. Oh, the relief of getting them off at last, the bliss of having him rub my aching insteps gently with his warm hands – under my instruction, of course.
‘You’re inappropriately dressed for worshipping your mistress,’ I admonished him.
‘Yes, Mistress. I’m sorry.’
‘I suppose you didn’t bring any suitably feminine attire with you.’
‘You suppose correctly, Mistress.’
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