The Dominatrix

by Becky Bell

  Angela found herself blushing again.

  'They're not into normal sex. They want S and M. Or B and D.'

  'What?'

  'Sadism and masochism. Bondage and domination.'

  'I still don't understand.'

  'They want to be slaves. To be completely dominated. Part of that involves being tied up. And tortured. Usually whipped.'

  'My God, really?'

  'Yes. Really.'

  Angela suddenly had a vivid image of a man tied down on the ironing board-like structure at Number 18 Park Drive, his legs doubled back over his body and his thighs and buttocks completely exposed. It would be easy to whip him, in such a position, and he would be helpless to prevent it. Angela shuddered.

  'And men pay for that?' she said.

  'You bet. It's very common.'

  'Have you ever...?'

  'I once had a man who liked to be spanked on the bum. But he was only a mild case. The sort of guys who go to Miss Stern are into it in a big way. They can't get it off unless they're really abused. It's not just the pain and the bondage. It's the humiliation, too. They like being made to crawl around on the floor and lick the girl's shoes.'

  Angela felt her heart skip a beat. A memory sprung into her mind. Like a crucial piece of a jigsaw puzzle that had been lost for a long time, suddenly what she had experienced more than a year ago began to make sense.

  'I read about it. It fascinated me. I found this book about sexual perversions. It's not only men, either. Women can get the same sort of obsession.'

  'What, needing to be whipped?'

  'Yes, and tied up. There's all sorts of kinky stuff goes on. Rubber's another one.'

  'Rubber?'

  'Wearing rubber clothes. It's something about the smell, apparently. And then there's water sports.'

  'Water sports?'

  'Being peed on.'

  'How disgusting! People find that sexy?'

  Sally nodded. 'But I think S and M is the most common.'

  'I had no idea.'

  But she had. Angela realised that she had a very good idea. She had experienced it for herself: only, up until this very moment, she had never realised what was going on.

  'Do you want another?' Angela asked, nodding at their drinks.

  'One more, then I'd better get back. Have you talked to Gary about the valuation?'

  'Not yet. It's a nice house. It should sell quickly.'

  'Who knows: the dungeon might even be a selling-point.'

  Angela got to her feet a little unsteadily. She realised she was sweating and her hand was shaking. In its way, what Sally had told her was a revelation as great as her first biology class, when she'd realised exactly what the moist, soft slit between her legs was actually for.

  She took a deep breath and marched to the bar.

  Chapter Two

  Angela Strickland lay in a hot bath. She could hardly remember what she had done for the rest of the day. Her mind had been completely preoccupied.

  Though her mother had had a large house and had managed to send her to a boarding school, when Angela had finally come home, at the age of eighteen, she soon realised that the family finances were tight. Her father had died when she was only four and the value of her widow's pension had slowly dwindled away. In order to help out, Angela had gone to work at the local stables. She'd always been good with horses and seemed to have a knack for showing others how to ride. She had taught several children and some adults, and the word soon got around that she was good. The money wasn't great but, in that part of Cornwall, there was little else to do.

  She had supplemented her income further by agreeing to act as a groom for some of the other riders, brushing down their horses and cleaning their tack after their rides.

  One of her customers had been Gregory Wilmott. He owned the largest house in the village and, though his business was based in London, he liked to ride whenever he got back from the city. He paid Angela generously for grooming his hunter and always gave her a big tip.

  Almost a year ago to the day, Gregory had arrived at the stables in his big Jaguar. He got out his hunter, a big chestnut Arab, and rode off at a canter, telling Angela that he'd be back in an hour. It was already late and the other grooms and staff of the stables had gone home. She would have gone, too, but she needed the money and didn't want to miss the opportunity of benefitting from Gregory's largesse.

  It was dark when she finally heard the horse thunder into the yard.

  Gregory Wilmott jumped from the saddle and handed her the reins.

  'Good ride, sir?' she'd asked.

  'Wonderful.' He'd headed for the showers that were provided on the side of the office block.

  She led the horse into the stables and began pulling off the saddle. It had sweated up on its shoulders and under its belly, and she had to wipe it down with a sponge before she began grooming it with a brush.

  'That looks good.' His voice startled her. He had showered and changed his clothes and was standing with wet hair, watching her work. He was an attractive man, with black hair, a rather rugged face and an athletic body. He was holding a silver flask in his right hand.

  'You gave him a good run. He likes that.'

  'And I like you. I'd like to give you a good run, too.' He took a swig from the flask.

  'And what about your wife?' she said sharply. She was used to the amorous attentions of several of the men at the stables and had never taken it seriously.

  'My wife doesn't understand me. She's a cold fish. Look at you: you're all hot and alive.'

  He took two steps towards her, wrapped his arms around her waist, laced his fingers together and kissed her neck. 'You smell wonderful. All sweaty and wet.'

  'Let go.' She struggled, trying to pull his hands apart.

  'Come on, Angie. It doesn't have to be for love, you know. How about you earn yourself a really big tip, tonight?'

  'No, thank you. Now, behave.' She managed to break out of his arms and run to the other side of the stables.

  But Wilmott was not going to take no for an answer. He rushed forward and trapped her in the corner of the stables where the straw was deepest.

  'You know you want it.'

  'I don't. Let me go.'

  He stood his ground and grinned. 'Come on, Angie; I just want to get to know you a little better.'

  Angela looked around. She saw his riding crop hanging on the hook with the rest of the tackle. She grabbed it.

  'Get away from me,' she said, brandishing the whip.

  For a second she saw a strange expression in his eye, as though accessing some memory that had flashed into his mind. Then he smiled broadly. 'I didn't think you were that sort of girl,' he said, grinning.

  He lunged forward, but his foot got caught up in the straw and he pitched headfirst into it. Angela saw her chance and tried to run round him, but Gregory was fast and caught her ankle in his left hand.

  'Come on; we can be friends,' he said, trying to pull her down into the straw beside him.

  Angela raised the whip and slashed it down on his buttocks with all her might. The small stables resounded to the sound and the horse reared and whinnied.

  Gregory's reaction was not what she had expected. He gave a loud low moan.

  'Let go of me or I'll do it again,' she said.

  His fingers gripped tighter: but he was not trying to pull her down, any more, just holding her where she was.

  She raised the whip again and cut it down across the meat of his buttocks. She saw his whole body shudder and he moaned again. But it was not a moan of pain.

  'Let go.'

  But his fingers cut into her ankle like steel claws.

  Something inside her snapped. She slashed the whip down furiously, time after time, hitting his buttocks and the tops of his thighs with real force. But this time he made only the slightest of sounds, a series of whimpers more than a moan, and she saw his body wriggling down against the straw. Suddenly his fingers released her, and he lay inert, so still that for a mome
nt she thought she had really hurt him.

  She ran to the stable door, then turned back. 'Are you all right?' she asked, feeling guilty.

  He rolled over in the hay and grinned. The front of his cream trousers was wet and stained. 'You little minx,' he said. 'I didn't know you had it in you. Here...' He pushed his hand into his pocket and pulled out a fifty-pound note. 'Take this.'

  Angela hesitated. She needed the money. On the other hand, she didn't want to be tricked into being cornered by Gregory again.

  'Go on: it's worth every penny. It's less than I normally pay.'

  She didn't know what that meant. Reluctantly she took two steps forward, snatched the money out of his hand and ran across the yard to her bicycle. She hoped he wouldn't follow her in his car, and he didn't. As she pedalled furiously up the road she realised that she was intensely aware of her sex, as it moved against the leather saddle. Though she did not understand why, what had happened with Gregory left her feeling an odd but distinct excitement.

  The bath-water was going cold. Angela washed away the soap and stood up. The memory had stayed with her vividly and it had always puzzled her. Now, for the first time since it had happened, she thought she understood why Gregory had done and said those things. He was one of those men who enjoyed being whipped: one of the men who, as Sally had said, paid women to torture and humiliate him. No wonder his trousers had been damp and stained. No wonder he had given her fifty pounds and said it was less than he normally paid. Unwittingly, Angela had given him exactly what he wanted most, when it came to sex.

  That did not explain her feelings, however. When she got home that night, she had lain in bed, totally unable to sleep. Her sex had been alive, crawling with sensation, an itch that just had to be scratched. She had rarely felt the need to masturbate and had never been very good at it: but, that night, she felt compelled to try, manipulating her clit - however clumsily - and coming in a matter of seconds.

  Wrapping herself in her towelling robe, she went back into the small bedroom of her flat. After the incident at the stables Angela had tried to avoid Gregory, but he had approached her on several occasions with a leer in his eye and his riding crop in his hand, wanting to know if she would like to earn another big tip. She'd told him to get lost and, despite the loss of income, had given one of the other girls the job of grooming his horse.

  A month later she decided to move to Truro where she could earn a proper salary. She had spent ten months working as a secretary, then landed the job as a trainee at Slaughter and Roe in London at almost twice the salary. Despite her having no experience they had given her the job. She thought of it as her lucky break.

  Angela climbed into bed and put the light out. Despite the fact that she was tired, she could not go to sleep. Like a video on an endless loop, the images of what she had done to Gregory Wilmott, that night, kept running through her mind. Gregory worked in London and it was even possible that he might have visited the house at Number 18 Park Drive, and been tied up to the rafters by those chains. The image had a strange effect on Angela, so strange that she wasn't at all sure what it was. It came as a shock to her to realise that it was, in fact, a sweet, sickly excitement.

  'Hello.' Angela answered the phone on her desk.

  'Woman wants to talk about Number 18 Park Drive,' the telephonist told her. 'Are you dealing with that?'

  Angela looked around for Sally. She was on the phone at one of the desks at the back of the office. 'I suppose I can deal with it.'

  'Putting you through.'

  'Hello. I'm interested in the property at Number 18 Park Drive.'

  'Yes, of course. Have you seen the details?'

  'Well, actually I know the house quite well. It belonged to an... acquaintance of mine.' The voice belonged to a woman. It was cultivated and precise.

  'I see.' The house had only been on the market for two days and Slaughter and Roe had already had several enquiries. 'Would you like to see it again?' Angela wondered just how well the woman knew the previous owner.

  'Yes, I would. In fact, I'm in the area this morning. Would that be possible?'

  'Of course. What time suits you?'

  'Eleven.'

  'Fine.' Angela hesitated for a moment. 'Myself or one of my colleagues will meet you there. May I take your name?'

  'It's Divine. Paula Divine.'

  'Thank you, Ms Divine.'

  Putting the phone down, Angela got up from her desk and walked over to Sally, waiting patiently until she'd finished her call.

  'I've just had a woman wanting to see Number 18,' she said, when Sally finally finished. 'Are you free at eleven?'

  'No, I've got a viewing on the flats in the Avenue. You go on your own. That's all right, isn't it, Josephine?'

  Josephine was sitting in a corner desk. 'What?' she asked.

  'Angela can show Number 18 on her own, can't she?'

  Angela had not graduated to viewings yet. She knew it was one of the most important parts of an estate agent's job.

  'Of course,' Josephine said, smiling a thin half-smile. 'I'm sure you're up to it.'

  'Fine,' Angela said, glad of the vote of confidence, though she wished that her first sole experience wasn't going to be on such a difficult property. Her prospect appeared to know all about the house, but she wondered if the woman had seen the black room upstairs.

  At quarter to eleven she booked the keys out from the locked cupboard where all the keys to empty properties were kept, and left the office for the short walk to Park Drive. The April weather had changed and the spring sun was fierce in a blue and cloudless sky, the calls of the male peacocks in Holland Park echoing around the surrounding streets.

  As she turned into the cul-de-sac, she saw a woman standing by the front door of Number 18. The woman was large, in every sense of the word. She was tall with a big frame, her well-proportioned but ample flesh outlined by a skin-tight black catsuit and tight calf-length boots, their four-inch heels adding to her already considerable height. She had soft and very shiny black hair that fell in soft waves to her shoulders, and dark eyes the colour of mahogany. Her personality was large, too; as Angela walked towards her down the street, she could feel it radiating out with an almost magnetic appeal.

  'Good morning,' Paula Divine said, extending her hand. She had very long, bony fingers and wore several expensive-looking rings on three fingers. She was holding the details of the property in her other hand, Slaughter and Roe's logo emblazoned in big red letters at the top.

  'Angela Strickland. Pleased to meet you.'

  'Strickland? That's an unusual name.'

  'Not where I come from.'

  'And where's that?'

  'Cornwall.'

  'Must be a very strict county,' Paula replied. She grinned broadly.

  Angela felt herself blushing. She had never thought of that connotation to her name before and, considering the contents of the house they were about to enter, it was extremely embarrassing. She wondered if it were just a coincidence.

  'Shall we go inside?' Paula suggested.

  'Certainly. You said that you knew the owner?' Angela asked as she opened the front door. The pile of post on the doormat had increased.

  'Yes. I met her a couple of times. I came to her house but, to tell you the truth, I don't remember a lot about it.' Paula was looking around the hall.

  'And you're looking for a house in this area?'

  'Yes. I've got a flat at the moment. But it's really too small for my needs.'

  'Look, perhaps you'd rather look around on your own: feel free.' Angela had worked that strategy out on her walk. She didn't want to be at her client's elbow when she opened the door to the black room.

  'If you don't mind...'

  'Go ahead.'

  Paula Divine wandered around the house, inspecting everything carefully and referring to the details she had brought with her. It took her at least fifteen minutes before she finished the ground floor.

  'Nice patio. Wanda had very green fingers, I seem to
remember.'

  'She certainly had a lot of plants. I suppose those pots were too heavy to move.'

  Paula mounted the stairs while Angela walked discreetly into the living room. She expected to hear a cry of surprise at any moment, and to be summoned to see the offending room, but nothing happened. After ten minutes she heard Paula's footsteps on the bare boards of the stairs.

  'Very nice,' she said. She was grinning. 'I expect it was quite a surprise for you, was it?' There was no doubt what she was referring to.

  Angela felt herself blushing again. 'You wouldn't believe the sort of things we see, in this job,' she said, trying to sound terribly worldly and sophisticated.

  'I bet. Actually, I'm surprised Wanda didn't have it redecorated. It's not to everyone's taste.'

  'It would have been a good idea,' Angela said.

  'Still, it saves me some time,' Paula said briskly. 'I'll take it. I'll get my solicitor to call you this afternoon. There's one problem, however.'

  'And that is?'

  'I want everything completed by next week. It's Wednesday today. I want to be in by next Friday, at the latest.'

  'That's very quick.'

  'But it can be done, if everyone cooperates.'

  'I'd have to consult my client.'

  'Good. Tell Wanda it's me. Tell her I agree to the asking price on that condition.'

  'Right.'

  Angela opened the front door.

  'Nice doing business with you,' Paula said. She shook Angela's hand and looked her straight in the eyes, the full force of her personality riveted on the younger woman for a moment, as if she were trying to read her innermost thoughts, then strode off down the road, the high heels of her black boots clacking on the pavement.

  Angela had made her first sale.

  Josephine stood in front of Angela's desk. She was wearing her usual twinset but this was a dark pink. Her black spectacles were rectangular and gave her nose a rather beak-like appearance. She was holding a large manila envelope in her hand.

  'Look, I don't mean to impose,' she said. 'But it looks like there's a problem with Number 18. The solicitors need to exchange in the morning, but apparently they've messed up getting the contract signed. They should have got it to Ms Divine today but they didn't. Do you think you could go and get it signed tonight?'