by Lucy Wild
Just to top the perfect morning for me, it began to rain, heavy splatters that made sure any part of me that wasn’t muddy was now soaking wet with rain instead. “You can change at mine,” he said, climbing onto the quad bike. “Come on, before it gets any worse.”
“I should go home,” I muttered, feeling suddenly nervous as he stared at me.
“Nonsense. You’ll be at mine quick enough on this. Get on.”
The way he said it made it impossible for me to do anything but climb onto the back of the quad. “I’m not sure about this,” I said.
“Hold on to me,” he replied. “It gets a bit bumpy.”
I put my arms round his chest, feeling the solid muscle under his shirt as he gunned the engine and we raced along the track, leaving the ditch far behind us.
I had to keep blinking as the rain continued to fall into my eyes but I didn’t mind. Nor did I mind about the mud coating my front. I should have minded. I should have cared that I was being taken back to the wolf’s lair. But instead I felt nothing but excitement mixed with tension. What was waiting for me at his house? What clothes was he going to change me into?
We got there after a couple of very rough minutes of riding, me having to cling onto him so I didn’t fall off as he tore across the fields towards his house. Once we reached his yard, he braked heavily and I was thrown against his back, close enough to smell his skin for the briefest of seconds before he was off and into the house, leaving the door open for me to follow in a daze
His house was a tip, more evidence of the eccentric playwright’s life in the overflowing boxes and bins that filled the rear porch. I kicked off my shoes but soon regretted it. A little more mud would make no difference in a place like this. The kitchen was filthy, the hallway little better. By the living room was a large portrait photo in a frame. It was of a young woman and I was just about to ask who she was when he pointed past him. “Bathroom’s up those stairs. Go get those things off and I’ll fetch you some clean clothes.”
He turned away, stamping mud down the hallway. I walked up the stairs, squeezing between the discarded things on the landing to reach the bathroom door. Inside was cold but at least there was enough floor space to peel off my filthy top. I draped it over the side of the bath before tugging down my trousers, wincing as the mud slid across my hands, oozing between my fingers. Once they were off, I turned the tap on in the sink, letting water run over my palms, not hearing the door open behind me until he spoke.
“These should do for now,” he said. I spun round to find him staring intensely at me.
I shrank under his glare, my arms folding unconsciously across my chest as he continued to look at me without a care for my modesty. “Get out,” I snapped, waving him away with my fingertips, shielding my bra as his eyes flicked down to my knickers.
“You’re welcome,” he replied sarcastically, stepping back and pulling the door closed as he went. He’d left the clothes draped over the towel rail by the door and I crossed the room quickly, wondering how the hell he ended up with such an expensive dress in his house. One of his groupies maybe?
I slipped the dress on over my head, tugging it down into place. It was far more revealing than I would have liked but it was this or the filth encrusted things on the side of the bath. The dress fitted well enough, too well in fact. It clung to me, revealing the shape of my body, the hem stopping just below my thighs. It was cut low at the chest too, enough to make me feel quite self conscious as I made my way downstairs.
He was nowhere to be seen but the fire was lit in the living room and it drew me towards it like a magnet. I stood in front of the flickering flames, warming my hands and then my feet, glad of the heat, especially in such a short dress. As I turned round to warm my back, I saw he had snuck up on me, staring in from the doorway just as he’d done in the bathroom. “It’s turned into a storm,” he said. “I found you these. They should fit.” He lifted a pair of black wellington boots in his left hand.
“Thanks,” I managed, reaching out to take them from him. “I better be getting back. I’ll bring the dress back and the wellies too.”
He looked like he was struggling with his thoughts. Was he working out the best way to politely throw me out? Then he glanced up at me and stared at me with unblinking eyes. “You stay until the storm’s over.”
NINE
GEORGE
I had to have her. I’d thought about it long enough. I’d done my best to get her to leave, to keep her away from me. But it hadn’t worked. She was sitting by the fire in one of the dresses I’d bought for the subs at the club, looking so fucking sexy I just had to have her. I’d known from the minute she climbed onto the back of the quad bike.
Up until then, I might have been able to ignore my feelings, ignore my desire, my hunger for her. But with her arms thrown around my chest and her body pressed up against mine, there was no hope of not doing it, of not making her mine. The only question left to answer was how to do it.
She was a bundle of contradictions, sitting with her hands to the fire, occasionally smiling across at me, a nervous smile, like she wasn’t sure what I had planned. She looked smug and posh, as if she’d had life handed to her for a long time. But that didn’t match that wreck of a car of hers, or the way she cowered when she thought I was angry with her. Innocent but feisty, a bit of a brat, a cheeky mouth on her but a tight ass that ached to be spanked. And it would be, soon enough.
I looked at her legs, watching them closely for a while, picturing sliding my hands up them towards her thighs. I wanted to humiliate her. I wanted to tear her knickers off and fuck her. I wanted her on her knees. My cock twitched at the thought. She was going to be mine. I just had to do things the right way. Get it wrong and she’d be gone. I’d never got it wrong before. But then, I’d never tried what I was about to do.
“Have you thought any more about the play?” she asked, turning her head slightly to one side, looking like an inquisitive puppy, awaiting a command.
“I have,” I replied, folding my arms, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice. “And I will continue to do so.”
“Well, that’s better than a no.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I didn’t say yes.”
“You didn’t say no either.”
I ignored her, standing up and throwing another log on the fire before returning to my seat. “Warming up?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Me too, I thought. I was getting hotter by the second, seeing the way the dress clung to her skin, the outline of her tits. All I had to do was cross the floor and I could grab her, take her, make her my little girl, my sweat soaked, screaming my name, ravished little girl.
“What do you think of the house?” I asked, waiting to see how she reacted to my question.
“It’s…it’s nice.” She paused for a long time. “It could do with a bit of a clean.”
It had worked. She was so predictable, it was hardly any challenge at all. “It’s funny you mention that,” I said. “Want to clean it?”
“Excuse me?”
“I will hire you as a cleaner.”
“Mr Atherton, I’m not sure I’m the right person-”
“A thousand pounds a shift.”
“What? You’re not serious.”
“I’m deadly serious. For every day you spend cleaning in my house, I will pay you a grand. Do it for a week and you’ll have enough to replace that car of yours.”
“What’s wrong with my car?”
“Nothing. If you like living dangerously. Now, what do you say?”
“Give me a minute to think.”
I watched her while she sat in silence. It was perfect. She’d come and clean the house, an excuse to keep her where I could get to work on her. Then I’d invite her to the club, maybe make her think it was her idea to go. I’d get her there and then…well, then the fun would really begin.
“I’ll do it,” she said at last.
“Good,” I said, standing up and crossing to the wi
ndow. “The rain’s stopped. I’ll give you a lift home. Come first thing tomorrow in clothes you don’t mind getting dirty in.”
“Going to make me lay on more fence posts?”
“We’ll see. Come on, let’s go.”
“Hang on, what about my clothes.”
“They will be washed. Come on, this way.”
I led her out to my car, opening the door for her to climb inside, taking another look at those legs of hers. Fuck, she was hot. Soon, she’d be mine until I was done with her. A new sub to indulge in at the club. Use her until I was done and she was hardly able to walk. I couldn’t wait.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked as I drove down the hill into town.
“What do you mean?”
“One minute, you’re hurling me off your property, the next you’re chauffeuring me around. What changed?”
I didn’t look at her, worried I might say, “I can’t resist you.” Keeping my eyes on the road, I instead replied, “One good turn deserves another. Where do you live?”
“Ten, Winfield Close. Do you know it?”
“Know it? You’re next door to the woman who steals my blackberries every year.”
“Susan? She seems nice enough.”
“You can never trust nice,” I replied, turning onto her street and bringing the car to a halt. “Bad is better. I will see you tomorrow morning, nine o’clock sharp.”
She climbed out and took a single look back at me from halfway up her path. It was only a glance but it was enough to tell me she was thinking about me. She carried on walking a second later, the wellies on her feet an amusing addition to her ensemble. I could have cleaned her shoes or made her wear them with mud still coating them. But giving her wellington boots showed me how she handled such things. Something so functional, so not her. Would she refuse them? Would she put up a fight? Nope. She had put them on without a single complaint. She was going to make the perfect submissive little girl.
The front door squealed when she opened it. It was like me, rusty. It had been a long time since I’d dealt with a woman like her in the real world, not those specially trained to be subs at the club. She was hardly a woman like them though. She was just a little girl, innocent, naive, inexperienced, too dumb to know just what the world was really like. Well, she’d learn soon enough.
TEN
GEORGE
I couldn’t hang around at her house. I had to go into the city. I usually had a single appointment with my financial adviser each month. But that was when my life was as predictable as the plays in the West End. She’d come along and changed all that. If I was going to pay her, I needed the money available to do it. I also needed to explain to Bill that I hadn’t gone mad. I really was going to pay my new cleaner a thousand a day.
I headed out of town, my head still filled with thoughts of her. I didn’t even know her name but I couldn’t stop thinking about her, about how she’d look draped over my lap, her ass pointing up at me, painted red by my hand. Or tied up in one of the private rooms at the club, waiting for whoever wanted to use her. The thought of humiliating her grew in my mind as I drove.
That had always been my problem. It was the reason why I stuck to the club, to the subs who knew the score, who had agreed to what went on there. It wasn’t enough just to dominate them. I could only get off if they were humiliated. And what better way to do that than the private rooms? Especially room three.
Anything went in there. Once the submissive agreed to enter, agreed to the terms laid down, there was no turning back. It wasn’t like the rest of the club. It was safe out there, relatively speaking. One safe word and whatever was happening stopped. Room three was different. The red room. You only went in there if you were brave or didn’t know what was going to happen. And she had absolutely no idea.
I’d been going to the club for years. I’d humiliated and hurt every single submissive there at one time or another. It would probably make grim reading to work out how much I’d spent on the privilege. But I could afford it. That was why I’d hired Bill in the first place. He had taken the fortune I’d made from writing About Last Night and turned it into two fortunes, enough to last me a lifetime, even if I spent every night in the club and won every auction that they held. He was expensive, very expensive, but he was worth every penny.
How would she fare? I thought once again. Would she be willing to go into room three? I bet I could persuade her. She was so submissive, she might just go straight in without needing any persuasion. One point of the finger and in, then I could line anyone up to take advantage of her. Watch as she was caned, whipped, whatever I wanted. But I was getting ahead of myself. First, I had to get her there.
It took an hour to get to Bill’s office. He was on the third floor of a bookkeeping and accountancy firm, an office at the back all to himself. It was a small office. He could have bought out the entire floor if he wanted but when I’d asked him why he didn’t, his response was, “I am but one man, Mr Atherton. I need but one window.”
Susan on reception nodded to me as I headed over to her. “Good afternoon, Mr Atherton.”
“Good afternoon, Susan. Could you call up to Mr Cloughton, tell him I’m on my way.”
“Of course, Mr Atherton. At once, Sir.”
I drew a lot of looks on the way to the lifts. Everyone else was smartly dressed in shining business attire and there was me in my checked shirt, tattoos visible at my neck, faded jeans and dirt covered boots. I was used to it. Just because you were rich, didn’t mean you needed to dress like a banker. Besides, a suit wouldn’t last very long when you were working the land. The only time I got dressed up was to go to the club, and even then, the formal clothes didn’t tend to stay on my body very long.
Bill was on the phone when I walked into his office. He held up a waving hand before pointing at the chair opposite his desk, returning to the caller. “I understand exactly what you’re saying, Mrs White. I just can’t do anything to help. I suggest you look into a launderette.”
He hung up, looking up at me and smiling. “Thinks I’ll help her with money laundering. Honestly, George, do I look like a criminal to you?”
“No,” I replied. “Your prices are, though.”
He frowned for a second before barking out a laugh. “Good one, George, good one. Now, what I can do for you? We’re not scheduled for another fortnight.”
“I’m hiring a cleaner.”
“Congratulations. And you’ve come all the way down her to tell me because…?”
“I’m going to pay her a grand a day.”
“Shall I fetch Jeremy?”
“If you would.”
He picked up his phone and hit a button. “Jeremy, would you mind fetching seven…no make it fourteen from the Atherton box. Thank you, Jeremy.”
He hung up. “A fortnight’s worth should do you, right? How messy is your house?”
“She might be a long term hire.”
“Then you better open a bank account.”
“You know how I feel about that.”
“Just don’t tell me you’ll keep it under your mattress. I don’t think my heart could cope.”
“No, I keep it in a pint pot on the mantelpiece.”
“That’s not funny George. Oh, while we’re waiting, there was something I wanted to talk to you about. I was going to ring you but then you’d need to have a house phone for me to do that, wouldn’t you? Or give me your mobile number, perhaps?”
“What is it?”
“He’s made another offer.”
“Has he now?”
“Twice the size of the last one.”
“I hope you told him where to shove his offer.”
“He told me you’d say that. He also told me to tell you if you refuse, he’s going into the town instead. I saw the plans, George. Half the high street gone, all that history. Is your land worth that?”
“I have as much love for Scarton as I do for the people in it. If he thinks he can blackmail me into selling
my land, he’s a bigger fool than I thought.”
“Have a look at the plans.” He walked over to his filing cabinet and pulled out a few papers. Passing them to me, he nodded. “Just don’t shoot the messenger.”
I looked down at the paper. It was a scale map of Scarton town centre. Or more accurately, it was several maps. One showed how it was at that moment, and one showed what was planned. I ran my eyes over the highlighted point, a building in the middle had been circled with black marker pen. “Notice something?” Bill asked.
“He’ll knock down the theatre?”
“So he says.”
“If he lays a finger on it, I’ll kill him.”
“I told him that too. He didn’t seem to believe me.”
Simon Green was going to knock down the theatre if I didn’t sell him my land. I’d never met a man like him. A fellow club member, he’d tried to persuade me to sell several times, kept telling me the land was ripe for a housing estate. Told me I’d make a fortune if I sold to him. I told him where to go.
So he’d changed tack. He’d submitted plans to redevelop the town centre, knock down the old buildings, replace them with soulless new ones. And with the council in his pocket, he’d probably got the consent already. Did he know what the theatre meant to me? That it was a memorial, that it meant everything? Did he care?
“Set up a meeting,” I said, gripping the plans tightly in my hand, turning to go.
“Your cleaning money,” Bill called after me. “Don’t forget that.”
“Have Jeremy meet me downstairs. Put it in an envelope.”
“Fourteen thousand in an envelope, he says. I don’t have an envelope big enough. What-”
I turned and scowled at him. He averted his eyes, looking down at the desk. “I’ll put it in two envelopes,” he muttered as I stormed off to the lifts, gripping the plans tighter.
Simon Green had backed me into a corner. He had no idea what he’d done. If you’re backed into a corner, there’s only one decision to make. Quit or fight.
Quitting wasn’t my style.
ELEVEN
DONNA
I didn’t feel like a cleaner as I walked up to his house. I felt like an imposter. Did he know I wanted far more than to clean for him? That I wanted to get on my knees for entirely different reasons?