The Dominatrix

by Becky Bell

  'Go ahead.'

  'I wondered if you might have a friend.'

  Angela smiled to herself. 'A friend?' she asked, knowing perfectly well what was coming next. Gregory must have asked Paula the same question. It was his desire to have another woman watching him being put through his paces that had really started this whole adventure.

  Archibald blushed. 'Someone who might join you.'

  'I think I might be able to arrange that.'

  'Someone discreet, of course. Someone you could trust.'

  'Sounds like fun,' she said.

  'Really? I mean, I would only want her to watch.'

  'Oh. I thought you had something a little more interesting in mind,' Angela said, miming disappointment.

  'Interesting?' he replied in a fractured voice.

  'Yes. Would you be shocked to know that I like women, too?'

  'You do?' he said, his voice betraying his excitement.

  'Yes. I thought that's what you meant. Watching me with another woman. Wouldn't you like that? Of course, you would have to be severely restrained.'

  'Could you... would you?'

  'But you'd have to come to my flat. I want you to come there anyway, Archie. I think it's time you visited me. There's lots of new things I can do to you there.'

  'All right.'

  'Good. I'll see what I can arrange.' She hadn't seen Paula for a couple of weeks. It would be exciting to repeat the performance they had given Gregory.

  'And there's something else.' Archibald looked nervous.

  'Yes?'

  'I don't want you to be offended.'

  'I won't be, I promise.'

  'It's just that there's a colleague I work with very closely. He's a good chap but, like me, he's in the public eye. I know he has very similar tastes. I wondered...'

  'You want me to meet him?'

  'Yes.'

  Angela thought about that for a moment. With Gregory, she had always been able to kid herself that she was his mistress, set up in a little flat in the time-honoured way. And now the fact that Archibald was paying her mortgage rather than giving her money after each visit made it easy to pretend that she was not a prostitute. But if Archibald introduced her to another man, he would expect to pay her, presumably in cash, and then the fragile pretence she maintained would be shattered.

  On the other hand, she needed furniture for her flat, would have loved a larger wardrobe of clothes, as well as her ever-growing collection of lingerie, and would have liked a car. The truth was that, ever since she had walked into Archibald's house carrying her doctor's bag, she had sold her services to him, just as a prostitute would. Would it really make any difference to her if she performed for another total stranger who actually gave her money? She liked to think that if Sir Archibald Clarke had been physically repulsive or abhorrent in any other way, she would have walked straight out of his house, however much money he was offering her. As long as she used the same criteria with Archibald's friend, she decided, she couldn't see any reason to object.

  There was another element, too. In the end, despite the economic realities, she was doing this to enjoy herself. Lying upstairs this evening, with the PVC mac creaking underneath her and Archibald's eyes riveted to her sex, she had come explosively. She loved teasing and tormenting men. She loved being in control. And she saw no reason why she should restrict herself to one man.

  'All right,' she said.

  'You're not offended, are you?'

  'Of course not. When can I meet him?'

  'I'll arrange it all,' Archibald said, smiling. 'I'm sure you'll like him.'

  'I'm sure I will.'

  'Hi.'

  'Angie, how are you?'

  'I'm fine. It's not too late, is it?' Angela had called Paula the moment she got home. It was nearly midnight.

  'Of course not. I got rid of my last client half an hour ago, had a long bath and went to bed. I'm lying here, watching the late night movie. I haven't seen you for weeks.'

  'That's really why I'm calling. You remember I told you about this man Gregory had introduced me to?'

  'Yes.'

  'Well, you can guess what's coming next, can't you?'

  'He wants a threesome. Just like Gregory.'

  'Exactly.'

  'Well, that would be nice.'

  'You gave me two hundred, remember? Is that all right?'

  'As it's you, I'd do it for nothing, sweetheart. I get quite randy thinking about you.'

  'I seem to be randy all the time, these days. I've discovered a little secret about my boss.'

  'Really? More B and D?'

  'Showing all the signs. He likes being spanked. I haven't introduced him to anything stronger, yet.'

  'You have been busy. Wish you were here now. I could just do with that artful little mouth of yours doing lovely things to my pussy.' Paula's voice was suddenly low and breathy. 'Where are you?'

  'In my sitting room.'

  'Pity. I thought you'd be lying naked in bed with a nice big dildo in your hand. Are you still dressed?'

  'Yes.'

  'Blouse, bra?'

  'Yes.'

  'Are your nipples hard? Mine are.' Paula gasped. 'Just tweaked one. God, I'm getting hot.'

  Angela imagined Paula's fingers pinching her big nipple, the flesh of her breast warm and soft. She moved her hand up to her left breast. Her nipple was hardening rapidly.

  'You've got beautiful tits,' Paula told her.

  'So have you.'

  'Run your hand up your leg. Are you wearing tights?'

  'No. Hold-ups.'

  'Panties?'

  'Yes.'

  'Pull the crotch aside. Push your fingers in there.'

  Angela was sitting on her new cherry-red sofa in her sitting room. She stretched her legs out and spread them apart, running her hand up under her skirt and over her shiny stocking until it reached the creamy flesh of her thigh. She rubbed her fingers against the silky black crotch of her panties. The crotch was damp from her earlier exertions. She felt her clitoris throb. She had already come once, tonight, but it responded as if this was the first time.

  She moaned exaggeratedly, so Paula would be able to hear.

  'I've pulled all the bedclothes off. I'm lying here naked with my legs spread right out and my knees bent. I'm going to finger my clit.' Paula gave a little exclamation. 'Oh, lovely, it's so big. Wish you could suck on it for me. Can you see it, Angie?'

  Angela could see a clear picture of Paula's sex. She remembered how it had been poised above her face, Paula's thighs spread apart, her puffy labia exposing the little button of her clit.

  'Yes.' She pushed her fingers down the length of her labia until she felt the opening of her vagina. Teasing herself, she circled it with a finger but did not push inside.

  A loud humming erupted on the line. She heard Paula whimper. 'Oh, God, that feels good.'

  'Are you using a dildo?'

  'Tell you the truth, Angie, you interrupted me. I was just getting myself worked up when you rang. I've got that big black rubber vibrator right up my pussy. Oh... and I was going to use the other one on my clit.'

  'Don't let me stop you.' Angela could hear the passion in the woman's voice and it was turning her on. She thrust two and then three fingers into her own sex and that made it worse, the sticky wetness and the heat of her own sex making her whole body shudder.

  'Do it with me,' Paula said.

  'Yes.' Angela slid her fingers in and out of the slick wet tube of her vagina. She jammed the phone under her shoulder so she could use the middle finger of her other hand to frot against her clit. She squirmed her shoulders from side to side, pushing her breasts out against the black lace bra she was wearing, so her nipples rubbed against the cups.

  'What are you doing?' Paula gasped.

  'I've got my fingers in my pussy, and I'm doing my clit.'

  'Oh, yes. Oh God, Angie...' The humming noise got louder and, a few seconds later, Paula made a little high-pitched keening noise. The phone sounded as if
it had been dropped. In the distance the humming sound stopped.

  Angela's body was undulating to the same rhythm that her fingers were using to saw in and out of her body. She flicked at her clitoris, each movement producing a surge of feeling. In her mind, the image of Paula's naked body stretched out on her bed was replaced by seeing herself as if from above, her body bent over Gary's desk as he stood behind her, his cock reaming into her with seemingly impossible speed.

  'Oh yes, yes, that's just...' Her finger had found the tiniest of spots on her clit, where every sexual nerve in her body seemed to be concentrated, and rubbed it furiously. She felt her vagina clutch reflexively at her fingers and she came, a sharp, almost painful wave of ecstasy breaking over her, making her toss her head violently from side to side.

  'Are you all right?'

  Angela began to laugh. 'Jesus, you can even turn me on over the phone.'

  'It's mutual, I assure you. Mmm... my pussy feels like it just wants to curl up and go to sleep.'

  'I'll ring you tomorrow. We'll set a date.'

  'Good idea. I just want to drift off to sleep now. Sweet dreams.'

  'Somehow, tonight, I don't think I'll dream at all.'

  He was short and on the thin side of slender. His brown hair had been cut short and he wore a navy suit with a light blue shirt. Oddly he wasn't wearing a tie, though he looked as if he had only just taken it off, as if making an effort to be casual.

  Angela recognised him immediately. Like Sir Archibald Clarke, he appeared regularly in the financial pages of the newspapers, the head of some major insurance group.

  'Good evening,' he said. 'I'm Phillip Menzies.'

  The arrangement was that they should meet in the bar at the Regency Park Hotel. Angela had told him she would be wearing her white suit with a cream blouse. The blouse was tight, with a sweetheart neckline.

  'Pleased to meet you,' she said, extending her hand. He took it and shook it. He had small, almost doll-like hands that were as soft as hers. His fingernails were immaculately manicured.

  The bar at the Regency was plush and American, with deep pleated leather banquettes arranged around circular tables. Phillip Menzies squeezed behind the table and sat beside her. A waiter appeared at once.

  'What would you like, sir?' he said. He was young and effete. From the rather obvious way he was admiring Phillip, Angela thought he was probably gay.

  'Just mineral water.'

  'With gas?'

  'No. Evian still, please.'

  'Certainly, sir.'

  The waiter walked away.

  'I'm really delighted to meet you,' Phillip said. He looked nervous, his eyes not meeting hers.

  He had rested his hands on the table and Angela put hers on top of them.

  'It's all right,' she said. 'I'm not going to bite.'

  'I didn't think you'd be so young. Or so beautiful.'

  'Didn't Archie describe me?'

  'Yes. I suppose I didn't listen. Here, this is for you.' He took a plain white envelope from his jacket pocket and pushed it into her lap under the table. Angela slipped it into the black doctor's bag that was sitting on the seat beside her.

  'Your water, sir,' the waiter said, reappearing. Again he studied Phillip studiously as he unscrewed the top of the bottle and poured the water into a glass stacked with ice.

  'Thank you.' The waiter's attentions were not returned and he walked away.

  'Cheers,' Phillip said.

  Angela raised her gin and tonic. 'Cheers.'

  'Archie did explain everything?'

  'Of course. Don't look so worried, Phillip.'

  'It's been a long time. I used to know this woman. She was very understanding. Very. Then I got married and my wife... You don't mind me telling you this, do you?'

  'Of course not.'

  'I suppose I thought that, being married, I could just forget about my other urges. I really tried, too. But the more I tried to put them aside, the more they reasserted themselves. And my wife. Well, she was only into absolutely straight sex. She won't hear of anything... outré.'

  'Did you try?'

  'Oh yes, I tried. That's why we got divorced. It cost me a lot of money. She threatened to go public. The whole thing was a terrible mistake. And, like Archie, I can hardly trust a... a...'

  'A prostitute?'

  'Exactly. I've had one or two girlfriends and I've made gentle hints, but none of them ever took me up on them.'

  'So are you going to tell me?'

  'I'd rather show you, if you don't mind.'

  'Show me?'

  'I've booked a room upstairs.'

  'All right. Let's go.' Angela finished the remains of her drink. She had the feeling that Phillip was so nervous, if she didn't act quickly he was going to change his mind.

  They squeezed out from the table and Phillip signed the bill at the bar, the waiter eyeing him hopefully again.

  There was a lift on the other side of the marble foyer and Phillip led the way over to it. They travelled up to the fifth floor.

  'You could have come to my flat,' Angela said.

  'I thought this would be more discreet.'

  He took her by the elbow and led her along a wide corridor decorated with prints of the works of Constable and Turner, the windows draped with heavy flounced and tie-backed curtaining. A computer card operated the locks on the doors and Phillip took his from his wallet and slipped it into the brass lock on the door. The lock sprang open.

  'Home,' he said with a nervous smile.

  The room was large and luxurious, with a thick dark-red carpet and red-and-cream patterned wallpaper. The bed was low and wide, and covered with a counterpane that matched the checkered red curtains that had been drawn across the window.

  Angela put the doctor's bag on the bed.

  'I find this terribly embarrassing,' Philip said.

  'It doesn't have to be,' she said. 'I'm unshockable, Phillip.' She wondered if that was true. She had seen a lot in the last months, but she knew there was a lot more that she had not experienced. Paula had told her some of the more extreme things men had asked her to do and she couldn't see herself coping with them.

  'All right,' he said. 'I have to go to the bathroom. I'll leave you with this.' There was a small photo album on the bedside table. He handed it to her then almost ran into the bathroom. She could hear the door being locked behind him.

  Angela opened the album. It had about ten pages and each had a single photograph covered in glossy transparent plastic. The first was a head and shoulders of a young woman in a rather plain green dress. She had wavy brown hair and a pretty rather than a beautiful face. She was staring into the camera with an expression that suggested she found it hard to smile, despite the fact that was what the photographer was probably urging her to do. The setting, as well as the rather old-fashioned cut of the dress, and the slightly faded quality of the photograph itself, suggested that it had been taken some time ago.

  Angela turned the page. The next photograph was of the same woman in the same dress but a full-length view. She was wearing brown high heels and tan-coloured nylon sheathed her legs. On the opposite page, the dress had been removed. It was lying on an armchair to the woman's left and the woman was pictured in a lacy white bra, a wide lacy suspender belt supporting the tan stockings and old fashioned panties with wide sides that reached from her waist to the top of her thighs. Rather unusually, she was wearing the suspender belt over the briefs.

  Again Angela turned the page. The dress had been removed from the chair and the woman was kneeling in front of it, with her head bowed. In the photograph on the opposite page the woman in the white lingerie had turned to face the chair, still on her knees. Sitting in the chair now was an elegant redhead who was probably in her mid thirties. She was wearing a tight-fitting dress that looked as if it were made from burnished gold, and beige stiletto heels. She had her legs crossed and Angela thought she could glimpse a flash of thigh above the top of black stockings.

  On the next page th
e redhead was sitting in the chair again in exactly the same position, but had taken off her dress. She was now wearing a white heavily boned basque, its long suspenders stretched tautly over her slender and shapely thighs. The other woman had moved around to the side and was bent forward with her mouth pressed to one of the woman's shoes. The next photograph was identical, except that the woman's mouth had moved to the other shoe, the one that was raised in the air, and was licking it with her tongue.

  On the next page the kneeling woman was facing away from the camera. Her arms had been drawn behind her back and her wrists were crossed and bound with white rope. Rope had also been wound around her arms, just above the elbows, and pulled so tight her elbows almost touched. The woman's ankles were bound together too, and a rope from them ran up to her wrists, binding the two together and making it impossible for her to stand up. The redhead was standing beside her, also facing away from the camera, her hand on the other woman's shoulder. Angela could see that her stockings had a fully-fashioned heel and a seam. The seam was absolutely straight and seemed to emphasise the regular contours of her spectacularly long legs. She was not wearing panties and her apple-shaped buttocks jutted out under the hem of the basque. Even though her legs were closed, there was a hollow at the top of her thighs and Angela could see a wisp of hair. In the photograph on the opposite page, the redhead was sitting in the chair again. Her legs were apart but the view of her sex was obscured by the other woman's head. She was kneeling between the woman's legs and appeared to be staring at her sex.

  Angela turned the page. The bound woman had leant forward, her lips obviously pressed to the redhead's sex. The redhead had dug her fingers into the woman's hair and was clearly holding her head tightly. Her eyes were staring straight into the camera, her expression set. Angela had seen that look before; it was the look of a dominatrix. The woman was in total charge.

  The next photograph showed her with her thighs hooked over the other woman's shoulders and her head back, her creamy thighs visible on either side of the woman's cheeks. This time, Angela could not see her eyes.