by J Lerman
‘What is this?’ I ask, feeling scared and out of place.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ says Marc. ‘Watching can’t hurt you, I promise.’
‘What is it?’ I ask again.
‘You’ve never watched pornography before?’
I shake my head.
‘Not even with boyfriends? What about magazines – have you never had a boyfriend who read porn magazines?’
‘No, I’ve never seen anything like that,’ I say.
‘Sit here.’ He lifts me up and sits me onto his thigh. I feel the firmness of his leg muscle between my own legs. He puts his hands on my waist. ‘Watch,’ he whispers.
The schoolgirl comes to sit on a desk in front of the teacher. Her pleated micro-mini skirt rides up to show stockings and suspenders.
‘Do you want to fuck me, sir?’ she asks, batting her huge false eyelashes. She lifts up her skirt, showing crotch-less panties and bare, shaved skin.
I swallow and take another sip of beer. I’m so embarrassed watching this, and Marc must know it. But at the same time, I feel myself growing warmer and Marc’s thigh between my legs feels ever present.
The teacher paces back and forth, then takes a paddle from the rim of the blackboard. ‘How dare you behave this way in front of you teacher?’ he barks, his cape flying. ‘You deserve to be spanked.’
The girl squeals as he picks her up and puts her over his knee. He lifts her skirt and smacks her hard on the behind. ‘You bad, bad girl.’
‘How does it make you feel, watching this?’ Marc asks.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘Confused. A bit sick.’
‘It doesn’t turn you on at all?’
I blush. ‘Yes. A little. Do you watch this sort of thing often?’
‘No. I bought this just for you.’
‘Hence the teacher, student theme?’ I ask.
‘My little private joke.’
‘I guess you don’t need to watch anything like this,’ I say. ‘There are plenty of women who would do anything you want in real life.’
Marc gives a little smile. ‘True. But that doesn’t mean I always take them up on it. Life can get very boring when you can have anything you like, believe me.’
On the screen, the teacher flips the schoolgirl onto her back. ‘Please sir, please no. I’m a virgin.’
‘You should have thought of that before you acted like such a slut.’
The teacher has sex with the woman on the desk, and even though she cries, ‘no, sir, no’, when the camera films her face she starts to moan with pleasure.
I feel even more embarrassed, and don’t know where to look, but I have to be honest – watching the video really is turning me on. I wish I wasn’t here, being scrutinised by Marc. I don’t know what he wants from me. Is he doing this to humiliate me?
I feel his hands tighten around my waist, and he begins to slide me back and forth along his thigh.
Chapter 60
I try to look away from the film, but Marc turns my head back. The school girl is on her knees now, and the teacher is forcing her head into his crotch. He undoes her shirt, and her breasts are naked underneath.
I hate that Marc is watching this naked woman. It feels like an intrusion. But the friction between my legs, as he rubs me back and forth, is making me hotter and hotter. I feel like I’m burning.
‘Stop,’ I say, climbing off him. ‘I can’t watch any more of this. It’s ... it doesn’t feel right.’
‘Why not?’ Marc asks, turning off the TV. ‘Is it the teacher pupil thing?’
‘No.’ I shake my head.
‘I know that little scenario turned you on,’ says Marc. ‘I could feel your breathing getting quicker. Who’d have thought? You liking the teacher ...’ A smile grows on his face.
‘I didn’t like watching it with you. I don’t like you seeing another woman naked.’
Marc laughs. ‘That’s what it is? Jealousy?’
I smile, realising he’s right. ‘How do you feel about me watching another man like that?’
Marc shrugs. ‘It doesn’t bother me. All I care about is whether you’re turned on or not.’ He slips a hand down the back of my jeans. ‘And from what I can feel, you are.’
I squirm away from him. ‘Maybe this is all too fast for me.’
‘Mmm.’ Marc downs his beer, and puts the bottle on the floor. ‘Then I’m doing my job well. That’s my whole aim, Sophia. To open you up. To help you experience new things. That’s what a good teacher does. Wait there.’
He leaves the room, and I take hurried sips of beer. I’m feeling so self-conscious now, and so tiny in this huge place.
When he returns, he has a school uniform hanging from his fingers. ‘Put this on,’ he says.
I shake my head.
‘A good actress will try on many different costumes in her life,’ says Marc, lifting me from the sofa by my hands. ‘And I know you’re a good actress. Put it on. See how you feel.’
I hesitate. What is it about Marc that makes me do things I’d never ordinarily do? I feel safe with him, I have to admit. Even though he’s testing my boundaries, I feel as though he’d never hurt me.
‘Right here?’
Marc nods slowly. ‘Right here.’
I slip off my shoes and tight jeans, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. The room is nice and warm, but I still shiver. I take off my jumper and vest until I’m stood in the room with my underwear.
I wrap my arms around my torso, waiting for Marc to hand me the uniform.
‘Don’t cover yourself. I want to see it all.’
I let my arms fall to my sides.
‘Take off your underwear.’ His voice is stern now. ‘I won’t tell you again.’
I peel off my bra and panties and let them fall to the floor.
He holds out the school uniform, and I put on the navy blue pleated skirt, short-sleeved blouse and grey and red-striped tie.
Marc watches me for a moment without saying a word.
‘How do you feel?’ he asks.
I look down at myself. It’s been a long time since I wore a school uniform, and it’s straining in all the right places. Under the blouse, I see the shadows and fullness of my naked breasts, and my hips and rear end are tight in the skirt.
‘Good,’ I say.
‘How would you feel if I told you that, wearing that, every man in the country would want to fuck you?’
I shrug my shoulders. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Okay. Then take it off.’
I’m surprised. I’d have thought he was going to have sex with me in the uniform, and I was kind of looking forward to it.
‘You’re not going to ... do anything to me?’ I ask.
‘Do you want me to?’
I nod.
Marc shakes his head. ‘Not today. Things are getting ... too close for me, right now. You’ll have to entertain me instead.’ He pulls a drawer at the bottom of his leather sofa, and inside I see a huge black vibrator and what I can only guess are other sex toys. There are soft pink objects, and black spiked things and strings of beads.
‘Here.’ Marc hands me the vibrator.
‘What should I do with it?’ I ask, feeling self conscious.
‘I want you to put it inside you and pretend it’s me,’ says Marc. ‘And I’m going to watch.’
He clears the bottle opener and remote control from the giant glass coffee table.
‘Get up on this table.’
‘On the glass table? It’ll break.’
‘No it won’t.’ Marc shakes his head. ‘It’s specially made.’
He puts two cushions on the table, and lifts me onto it. I kneel on the cushions and take the vibrator, feeling how heavy it is. It looks and feels sort of sinister, and even holding it in my hand feels alien and strange.
Marc takes something else from the drawer, then slides under the table effortlessly, in a way that tells me he’s done it dozens of times before. I don’t like that thought at all, but seeing him benea
th the glass, those dark-blue eyes staring up at me, I can suddenly think of nothing but him.
I want to touch him, and put a hand to the glass. It’s cold.
‘Slide the vibrator inside yourself,’ says Marc pushing his palms to the glass. ‘Let me watch you.’
I slide the vibrator into myself. It’s cold and thick, and feels nothing like Marc.
As he watches, his eyes seem to cloud over. Then he snaps something in his palm and the vibrator begins to buzz.
‘Oh!’ It takes me by surprise. ‘How did you do that?’ He must have some sort of remote control.
‘Push it further inside yourself,’ Marc says.
I do, and he clicks his palm again. The buzzing grows more intense, and the vibrator begins to revolve.
‘Oh,’ I say again. ‘Oh God.’ It moves around and around and it feels so good. I look into Marc’s eyes and feel like I’m falling into them.
He clicks his palm again and the vibrator spins faster.
‘Oh!’ I nearly fall forwards, but catch myself. I come straight away, moving back and forth against the vibrator.
Marc slides out from under the table. He wraps me in a red blanket that’s laying on one of the sofas and lifts me into his arms. Then he carries me upstairs to the second floor, and into the bedroom where I found him last time.
‘Is this your bedroom?’ I murmur.
He nods.
‘You’re putting me into your bed.’
He nods again.
‘Will you get in with me?’
‘I’ll watch you until you fall asleep. Then I have work to do.’ He slides me under the silk-covered duvet, and slips under the covers with me.
My head finds a soft silk pillow, and I remember Marc’s head laying on it before, his beautiful face calm in sleep.
‘How many other girls have you done that with?’ I ask.
‘Done what with?’ Marc whispers.
‘With the coffee table.’
‘One,’ he says, and my heart sinks.
‘What about the school uniform?’
‘I bought that just for you. Again. A little private joke. I had a suspicion it would make you feel good.’
I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse. I close my eyes, feeling his arms around my shoulders. ‘Tell me about how you met Denise,’ I say. ‘She’s so fond of you.’
There’s silence, and for a moment I think Marc won’t answer. But then he says: ‘And I’m fond of her. I’d be a very different person if it wasn’t for her. She took in a young, difficult boy when no one else wanted to be anywhere near me. She was like a second mother to me.’
‘My mother passed away when I was young, just like yours,’ I say.
I hear Marc inhale a deep breath and let it all out, and I feel his chest heave into my back.
‘I know. Actually, I guessed. From reading about your family set-up on your entry form, and the way you are. Independent, but fragile.’
‘I felt really fragile today,’ I admit. ‘I feel like maybe I’m in too deep. Way over my head. You’re so experienced. And so ... the things you’re into.’
Marc laughs. ‘I’m not so unusual, believe me.’ He strokes my hair. ‘And you liked it. I knew you’d like it or I wouldn’t have tried it.’
‘Maybe,’ I murmur, feeling sleep take over me. I fight it. I don’t want to lose a moment with Marc, and this is one of the nicest moments we’ve had. I feel the bare skin of his arms against mine, and his stubble against my shoulder as he talks. ‘How did you lose your mother?’
‘Car accident,’ says Marc, but the unusual tone to his voice tells me that maybe this wasn’t the case.
‘Really?’ I ask. I remember his words from the hospital and parrot him: ‘I’m an actor too, you know. I know when someone’s lying.’
Marc laughs. ‘Okay. It wasn’t a car accident. It was a brain tumour. Long and slow and painful. I watched her go from my mother into a grey, shadow of a woman, and my father turn from a proud, controlling man into a tyrant.’
I’m wide awake suddenly. ‘That’s terrible,’ I say, turning to face him. His eyes look sad, and I throw my arms around him.
‘I always felt, as a young boy, that I could have saved her. But ... I’ve had a lot of therapy. There was nothing I could have done.’
‘Your father must have taken it very badly,’ I say. ‘I know my dad was a mess after it all happened. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. I had to make sure there was food in the house, and that all our clothes were washed.’
‘Little Cinderella,’ says Marc, stroking my hair.
‘I was happy to do it,’ I say. ‘It helped me cope.
‘I can understand that,’ says Marc.
‘What about your dad?’ I ask. ‘How did he take it?’
‘By bullying and controlling my sister and I,’ says Marc. He wraps the duvet around me. ‘Go to sleep. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.’
‘Doing what?’
‘You’ll see.’
Chapter 61
When I wake up the next morning, Marc is sitting on the end of the bed watching the sun rise out of the window.
He sees me stir, and turns around. ‘I wanted to make sure you didn’t sleep in. We have to leave soon.’
‘I never sleep in,’ I say, stretching my arms. ‘Well, hardly ever.’
‘Rodney has bought some clothes for you. They’re laid out at the end of the bed. Get dressed, then come down to the garage. Breakfast will be in the limo, on the way to the airport.’
‘Airport? But what about college?’
‘Didn’t you read any of your introductory paperwork? Today and tomorrow are for performance practise, and believe me – you’ll be practising. Don’t ask too many questions.’ He kisses me quickly on the head, then leaves the room. ‘Dress. Meet me downstairs. No arguments. Shower. Wear what I’ve given you.’ He slams the door behind him.
I look at the end of the bed, and see a light, white summer dress lying on the duvet, with a pair of strappy cork wedges underneath them. There’s a silk strapless bra with a lace-up back and a matching g-string and navy blue cardigan.
But it’s autumn, I think, examining the skimpy clothing. The dress and cardigan are by Prada, and the shoes are Kurt Geiger. The underwear is Agent Provocateur.
I shower, towel myself dry and slip on the underwear, which feels amazing. The bra seems to structure my whole body as I pull the laces tight, and the g-string disappears under the dress, making it look like I’m wearing nothing at all underneath.
I don’t usually wear heels, and teeter a little as I try to walk. By the time I reach the garage, I’ve got the hang of them, and see the limo’s lights are on.
I jump in the back of the car, and find Marc lounging in the leather interior, wearing loose, grey cargo trousers and a short-sleeved black t-shirt.
The car interior is warm. Tropical, even. It smells of fresh coffee and pastries, and I see a silver cafetiere steaming above the drinks cabinet. Next to it is a basket of fresh croissants.
Marc pours me a coffee. ‘You look absolutely beautiful.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, taking the cup. ‘Now will you tell me where we’re going? I think I’m going to freeze to death in this dress.’
‘You think I’d let you get cold?’ Marc asks.
‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t think that. I just wish I knew where you were taking me that doesn’t require warm clothing, and isn’t somewhere people are going to film and photograph us. Well. You. With me.’
‘All in good time.’
Chapter 62
We arrive at city airport, and the limo drives right up to a private jet, which sits smartly on the runway.
‘What about photographers?’ I ask.
Marc shakes his head. ‘There won’t be any here. I only use companies and locations that are discreet.’
A thought occurs to me. ‘Is that why the press always say you never have girlfriends? Because you’re so discreet?’
Keith open
s the car door and helps me out. Marc follows.
‘The press are right,’ he says, as we reach the aircraft steps. ‘I never do have girlfriends.’
I’m a little shaky in my high shoes, and Marc takes my hand.
‘Here,’ he says. ‘Let me help you.’
My insides do somersaults at the gesture, and I feel giddy as I take the steps up to the plane.
Inside the plane is all beige leather. Two frozen margaritas wait for us, decorated with lime and salt, by the luxuriously large seats.
‘It’s a little early for drinks,’ says Marc with a frown.
‘I don’t know about that,’ I say, as Marc leads me to a seat. ‘I think I might need one.’ I take a sip of the tart drink, feeling the alcohol rush into my veins.
Marc takes the drink out of my hands. ‘I told you,’ he said. ‘Too early.’ He checks his watch. ‘You can drink it in an hour. I’ll have Merile make you another one.’
‘Who’s Merile?’
‘She’ll be taking care of us while we’re on board. Serving our refreshments.’
The plane door closes and the engines start up. ‘Now will you tell me where we’re going?’ I ask. ‘And if we’re going a long way away, how am I going to survive with just one outfit?’ And one set of underwear.
‘I had Rodney buy a whole new wardrobe for you,’ says Marc. ‘A summer wardrobe. You’ll have plenty to choose from.’
‘You didn’t have to do that,’ I say.
‘While you’re with me, I’ll take care of you,’ says Marc. ‘It’s as simple as that.’
The plane jolts, and I feel it begin its drive along the runaway.
‘I’m a little scared of flying,’ I admit. ‘I’ve only ever been on a plane once before.’
‘Don’t worry,’ says Marc, leaning forward to do up my seat buckle. ‘It’s safer than driving.’
He pushes a button, and a flat screen and keyboard unfold in front of his seat from some mysterious place in the beige leather. ‘I have a little work to do before we reach where we’re going, but don’t worry –Merile will look after you.’
‘Okay,’ I say, watching him begin to tip tap on his computer. His brow is furrowed, and soon he’s deep in concentration.