Domination Inc. (8 page)

His hand rested on the swell of her stomach, the warmth of his palm radiating through her cotton dress, and for a moment she wanted him to act on his words, to lift the hem of her dress and push her knickers down, baring her fleecy mound to his and Christian's gaze. Her sex felt red-hot and swollen with need, and she knew that if Warren were to touch her, his fingertips would indeed come away coated with her juices.

As abruptly as he had caught her, Warren let her go. ‘Ah, but you're not interested in that sort of thing, are you? You should be getting home, so you can have your cocoa and sit up in bed with an improving book. Because that's what passes for fun in the Angell household, isn't it?' He glanced over at Christian. ‘Can I give you a lift, Chris?'

Christian shook his head. ‘Thanks, but I'm going south of the river.'

‘I'll see you around, then.' He paused in the doorway. ‘Laurel?' When she merely glared at him, he shrugged. ‘Perhaps some other time, then. I'll be waiting for your call – for my next assignment, naturally.'

Laurel could have screamed. The man was nothing more than an arrogant, over-confident jerk, so why did she have the urge to run after him and continue their argument until the only way it could be settled was by his hand imprinting its will on her backside? The frustration she felt at his behaviour was largely sexual, and she hated him for knowing that fact.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned round to see Christian looking at her sympathetically. ‘Don't let him get to you,' he said.

Laurel said nothing. How could she explain to him that Warren already had?

 

 

 

 

 

Alice Marber almost rang twice to cancel the appointment. Even as she waited for the fast Thameslink train to London at Harpenden station, she thought about turning back and phoning to say it had all been a terrible mistake. The idea that a respectably married forty-five-year-old woman should even be considering going to see a sex therapist was ludicrous, and yet she felt that if she did not speak to someone about her problem soon, she would surely go mad. If she had been like most of the other middle-aged housewives in this part of Hertfordshire, quietly bingeing on sherry and daytime talk shows to escape from the monotony of their daily lives, her addiction would not have been remarked upon. But if she admitted to the dark fuel of her obsessive fantasies, her behaviour would be treated with revulsion and incomprehension. However nervous she felt about seeking it, discreet professional help was the only answer.

The best part of an hour later, she was lying on a couch in a small white-painted consulting room in Harley Street, her shoes on the floor, her stomach churning in sick anticipation of the therapist's arrival. When the door finally swung open, Alice did a double-take. Instead of the sympathetic woman of her own age she had been hoping for, she was confronted by a girl who seemed barely old enough to have completed her studies, tall and stunningly pretty, with lustrous black hair hanging in a braid that reached almost to her waist. Glancing at the girl's svelte figure, which was hinted at by the clinical white coat she wore, Alice was more conscious than usual of her pendulous breasts and the rolls of fat around her stomach and hips which no amount of dieting had ever seemed to shift. The therapist smiled, acknowledging Alice, and drew a chair up to the couch. She perched on it, and consulted the manila folder she was carrying.

‘Alice Marber,' she murmured, almost to herself. ‘Thank you for coming to see me, Alice. I want you to relax and feel completely comfortable. I promise you nothing that's said will go any further than this room. Now, according to my notes, you believe you're suffering from some kind of compulsive disorder, is that right?'

Alice tried to answer, but her voice came out as nothing more than a squeak. She was aware that the button at the waistband of her navy skirt was cutting into her flesh, and wished she had thought to wear something more comfortable. She cleared her throat, and tried again. ‘I... I don't really know how else to describe it. I don't have to wash my hands a hundred times a day, or keep going back to check the front door's locked every time I leave the house – if I did, I wouldn't be seeing someone with your... specialist knowledge. Oh, I know you're going to think I'm crazy, but I have this one particular fantasy, and if I don't use it, then I can't have an orgasm.'

‘I don't think you're crazy at all, Mrs Marber. This fantasy you use – is this when you masturbate?' The word sounded shocking to Alice's ears, coming from such young lips. She looked up to see if there was any amusement or contempt on the therapist's face, but the girl's expression was studied and neutral.

‘Not just then,' Alice confessed, ‘although I have been doing that every day over the past few months, sometimes more than once if the truth be told. No, I use it when my husband makes love to me, too. Keith – that's his name – well, he doesn't realise. He doesn't know what I'm thinking about, and he puts it down to his own skills as a lover. Though if I had to rely on those–' Alice was aware of a sudden bitterness creeping into her tone ‘–I doubt if I'd have another orgasm from here to Doomsday.'

‘So does your husband not feature in this fantasy?' the therapist asked.

Alice shook her head. ‘No. And he'd be horrified if he knew I had any fantasies at all. He thinks that if a man and woman love each other, that's all that's needed, even after twenty-three years.'

‘Why don't you tell me about it? My notes are very sketchy, I'm afraid.'

Taking a deep breath, Alice began to unburden the scenario she had been acting out in her head for months. ‘It all started when Keith brought his latest golf partner home. His name's Richard, and he's the new head of the marketing department at Keith's firm. He's in his late twenties, about half the age of the man he replaced, and he fast-tracked his way to that position. I didn't like him when I first met him – he's very arrogant, a little bit too sure of himself, and from what Keith's told me, half the women in the firm were in love with him after he'd been there a couple of weeks. Richard is very good-looking, admittedly, with thick dark hair and long eyelashes, and his suits are all Italian – very flash. The problem is that he knows it; Keith said he expects women to be falling at his feet, and he goes through them very quickly. Apparently he doesn't treat them particularly well, either.

‘After he'd been round to our house a couple of times, however, I found I just couldn't stop thinking about him. For all his arrogance, he has a certain charm, and I started casting him in fantasy situations where he was in charge, and I was having to do as he told me. For instance, he'd tell me that when he next came round to the house I'd have to wear stockings and suspenders and no panties, and that he would come into the kitchen when I was making a snack for him and Keith, and feel me up to check that I'd done as he'd asked.'

‘So, would you say you have a submissive streak?' the therapist asked, making a note on a sheet of paper that was stapled into the folder.

‘I've never really thought about it until now, but I think I must have,' Alice replied, ‘especially the way the fantasy has progressed. I've refined it over the months, until it's become like a little film that I screen in my own head, for my own pleasure. What happens is that Richard makes it more and more obvious that he wants to have sex with me, and he becomes very good at touching me surreptitiously, and working me up to a state with his voice and his fingers where I think I'll burst if nothing happens between us. He tells me I have to find an excuse to go away for the weekend with him. He also makes it clear that if I do come away with him, it's on the understanding that I will have to do exactly what he tells me the whole time we're together. So I tell Keith I've been invited to stay with my sister, Gillian, in Leeds, and he seems quite happy with that.

‘Keith drops me off at Harpenden station on the Saturday morning. What he doesn't know is that, as Richard has requested, I'm wearing stockings and suspenders, and no knickers. He kisses me and waves me off on the train, telling me to have a good time, and I smile because that's exactly what I intend to do. I get off the train at the next stop down the line, where Richard is waiting for me in his silver Mercedes. The first thing he does is put his hand straight up my skirt to check that I'm dressed the way he requested. When he finds my bare sex he tells me I'm a good girl, which sounds ridiculous coming from a man who's so much younger than I am, but I still glow with pleasure at having earned his praise.

‘As we drive off he tells me he's taking me to this discreet bed and breakfast place he knows in the country. Apparently it's run by a couple who are close friends of his, and there will be two other guests staying there besides us. That's all he'll say on the subject, but I sense he has something planned for me, and that these other people are somehow involved.

‘When we arrive at the cottage we're shown to our room. It's small, but very beautifully decorated, with sloping eaves and an en suite bathroom. Richard tells me to go and shower, and says that when I come back the clothes I have to wear for the rest of the weekend will be lying on the bed. He adds that if I don't like what I find, I have the option to leave then and there, but that he will never have anything to do with me again.

‘I've waited so long for this moment that I have no intention of refusing – until I walk out of the little bathroom dressed in nothing but a towel, and see what's on the bed. All he's given me to wear is a black lycra minidress, a pair of sheer black hold-up stockings, three-inch stilettos and what appears to be a thick silver collar. Nothing else. It's a completely unsuitable outfit for a woman of my age and build, and I'm sure Richard is totally aware of that fact.

‘I look at those skimpy little things lying waiting for me, and then I look at Richard. Part of me wants to leave, but I know I've come so far that I can't. At last I reach out and pick up the dress. I make to take it into the bathroom and try it on, but he stops me. I have to drop the towel and get dressed in front of him. It's so humiliating to have him staring at my pale, flabby body, but he's in charge and I have to do as he asks.

‘When I'm dressed, the result isn't quite as bad as I feared. The dress is so very clingy, and so short it barely covers my bottom, but it has underwired cups which lift my breasts, and the high heels make my legs look longer and more shapely. If I was just wearing the outfit for Richard's eyes in the bedroom I'd be completely happy with it, but I know that won't be the case.

‘The last thing I have to do is fasten the collar around my neck. As I do I realise this is the symbol of my submission. I've become Richard's slave for the rest of the weekend. It's a frightening thought, but it excites me, too.

‘Richard tells me I look just as he'd hoped. While I'm trying to work out what he means by that remark, he orders me to get down on my knees. It's difficult in the stilettos, but I manage it. Before I realise quite what's happened, he's unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock, which looks long even though it isn't erect yet. He tells me to suck it, and obediently I reach out and take the end between my lips. As I begin to lap at it with my tongue it starts to grow and swell; it's thicker than I first thought, and I find I have to stretch my jaws really wide as Richard pushes more of its length into my mouth. I'm trying to take my time and give him pleasure, but he's impatient. He grabs hold of my head and holds it still, so that now he's thrusting hard, using my mouth as a receptacle. I can't do anything, and yet the fact that he's treating me so roughly is exciting. Though my jaw is aching I can feel myself getting wet, and know I'm turned on by what he's doing to me.

‘It's all over in a few minutes. He grunts and deposits his semen at the back of my throat in a series of salty, convulsive jerks. Then he just withdraws from my mouth, wipes his wilting cock with a tissue and zips himself up once more. All the time I've been sucking him I've been looking forward to some pleasure in return, but nothing is forthcoming.

‘Richard tells me that he's going downstairs to see his friends, as he has some arrangements to sort out, and that I'm to stay in the room. To make sure I don't masturbate in his absence he ties my hands behind my back with my own scarf and leaves me lying on the bed. He's only gone for half an hour, but it seems like a lifetime. I'm so aroused I end up rubbing my thighs together, trying to stimulate myself, but it's no good. He wants me to be frustrated and horny – and I don't know why.

‘When he comes back he tells me everything's ready, and dinner will be served in a few minutes. I'm hoping he'll unfasten my hands, but he doesn't, and when we go down together he has to guide me down the stairs. He warns that I am not allowed to speak without being given permission, and that I must remember I have agreed to do everything he tells me. The first thing I notice when I see the dining table is that it's set for five places, and that the other couple who are staying here are already seated. Like Richard, they're much younger than me, and they're casually dressed in jeans and T-shirts, which makes me feel even more out of place in my tarty dress and high heels.

‘I'm about to go and sit at the table, but Richard restrains me, and I suddenly realise that the other seats must be for the owner and his wife. Just as I work this out she comes in with a covered tureen, followed by her husband, who takes his place at the table.