His Mistress’s Voice (15 page)

Tom wasn’t used to being appraised so frankly and he was suffering from the disadvantage Harriet had mentioned a moment before. What
had
she done with his clothes? Feeling the need to assert himself before this self-confident woman, he asked, ‘Do you damn everyone who comes here with faint praise?’ Harriet looked sharply at him and he added, ‘Mistress?’ rather hastily.

‘You’re getting the idea, but much too slowly. I’m keeping score, you know. Just because you know that bit from Alexander Pope doesn’t mean you’re very intelligent. One of my lecturers at university remarked that even parrots can memorise things they hear often enough. But to answer your question, you’ll do. Now stop fishing for compliments and go have a look round. Find out what’s here and where it is. You’ll have to know all about this place if you’re to be my assistant. Questions will be asked later.’

As she turned to go back upstairs, the tight leather corselet creaked slightly. Tom’s ears were attuned to the sounds of Harriet. He felt a warm tightness in the belly as he imagined how such a garment would feel to the wearer. It was a short jump to imagining himself wearing it. Thoughts of the maid’s costume came once again to mind. The tight leather gear under it? Wouldn’t that be too hot? Would Harriet care? He pulled himself back to reality with an effort. Harriet had gone and he was on his own with orders to explore her secret place. It felt like learning the intimate secrets of a lover. Going through her bureau while she was away. Feeling eager and slightly guilty as the familiar and not-so-familiar things came to light.

Tom looked first at the two cells that flanked the stairway. They were practically identical, with doors that looked intimidating. The spyhole in each gave them a certain institutional air. Had Harriet actually got hold of real prison doors? It looked that way. The idea fitted the impression he was forming about her thoroughness. So far he had seen no half-measures in her house. He made a mental note to ask her who had helped her fit the basement out. It would have had to be someone with discretion.

Unlike the cell upstairs, these had toilets. Harriet’s remarks about luxury versus ordinary accommodation weren’t strictly accurate. The lingering odour of strong disinfectant lent a further air of authenticity to the small rooms. There were hooks in the ceilings and ringbolts in the walls and their purpose left little to the imagination. Once again he felt a tightening of his stomach muscles as he imagined these fixtures in use.

Tom turned away to explore the remainder of the basement. There were low cabinets built against the wall which looked interesting, if only because they concealed their contents. He opened the doors and found an impressive and varied collection of bondage gear. His Harriet, he smiled as he imagined her reaction to that appellation, was a serious collector of what the B&D groupies quaintly called ‘restraints’. Handcuffs of several varieties; more leg-irons of the sort he wore, plus some other types. There were gags and helmets of leather and rubber; bits and bridles; and what seemed like miles of rope of different sizes and lengths. In one cupboard he discovered a pile of light supple chain whose links were chrome-plated and half-twisted to form what is called machine chain. He recognised it from an illustration in an ironmonger’s catalogue. He suspected Harriet had seen the same catalogue, or one closely resembling it. The chain was the type used to make dog leads, but here it was in much longer lengths than the pet shops sold. From what he had seen so far, Harriet could accommodate several guests at a time and still be able to service the passing trade. If and when he became Harriet’s assistant, he would probably be using all this equipment.

Among the more mundane (if that was the word) bondage gear, Tom came across some of a different sort: this was electrical in nature, and was, he guessed, used to service the more unusual of Harriet’s guests. He’d have to ask her about it. Tom was a fair electrician, in the way that people who use computers have to be, and he usually did his own wiring at home, so he could guess in a general way what these devices were for. It was their specific uses he couldn’t fathom. One more lesson in the difference between theory and practice.

There was a less ambiguous collection of whips and straps that would be used for chastising those clients whose métier was masochism and the sexual uses of pain. The riding crop which Harriet affected, treating it as a badge of office, would sting rather than wound, but there were other sorts here that could inflict severe injury if they were wielded too enthusiastically. Tom found himself hoping that Harriet could exercise self-restraint when he was on the receiving end.

The collection, which he thought of as a couturier imagines his stock, was completed by a wardrobe filled with leather and rubber garments of various sorts, none of them suitable for street wear. They were designed to confine or restrain the wearer in varying degrees. In the same wardrobe he found a collection of straps with buckles and locks that were clearly intended to tie someone down – more restraints. Tom was impressed by the collection. If she knew how to use all this, Harriet was clearly no amateur.

As he was contemplating the uses of all this gear, her voice drifted down from above: ‘
Eh, là-bas!
Are you getting on all right down there?’ Before he could answer Tom heard her footsteps on the stairs. Shortly she stood beside him. Once again he had to admire the way she stuck out in all the right places. Her timing was good too. He had almost completed his tour and was ready to ask a few questions.

Harriet beat him to the punch. She announced, ‘I’m getting hungry. It’s well past lunch time. Come upstairs and fix me something you think I’d like. Surprise me. You can even fix enough for yourself. I’m feeling indulgent today, so take advantage of the moment while you can. Later we can chat. Or something.’

Tom felt his pulse begin to pound at the promise implied in her last remark. He found he wasn’t all that hungry as he remembered the teasing which had ended in his orgasm. He wondered if she had more of the same in mind, or if she intended to move on from that and join the fun herself.

Harriet opened one of the cupboards and took out a chrome and steel bit with a buckling strap. ‘You can have this for afters if you do well,’ she remarked as she led the way upstairs.

Tom wondered if she ever walked behind anyone, but he really didn’t mind as long as he could admire the rear view of a provocatively-clad dominatrix ascending a staircase.

Once he let his attention stray too far from the matter of treading carefully, and tripped on his chains and nearly fell. He recovered but with an audible bump. Harriet looked over her shoulder to be certain he was still coming. She smiled at his discomfiture, but seemed pleased by the compliment his mishap implied. ‘You should really be more careful,’ she told him, with more than a trace of irony.

Tom smiled to hide his chagrin. Harriet had a way of making him feel like a schoolboy caught peeking through a hole into the girls’ toilet. He reflected that all women could do this if they wanted to. It was a power built into the structure of society. As long as most people treated sex and nudity, or semi-nudity as in Harriet’s case, which he thought more provocative than all over bare skin, as dirty and refused to deal openly with the subject, women could make men feel guilty for lusting after their bodies. Men didn’t have that power. He wondered how he’d feel if some attractive female let it be known that she had the hots for him. He knew he wouldn’t dream of holding out. Probably the reverse, and if the woman in question was Harriet, most definitely the reverse. In the midst of these musings came the realisation that Harriet was deliberately playing the tease. She knew it and he knew it. It was a game whose rules they had agreed upon, at least tacitly, on his first visit to this house. It didn’t matter that she made up the rules. She could flaunt herself and he was allowed to look as much as he liked as long as he didn’t touch. If he wanted to end it, he had only to say so. He could hardly walk out dressed only in leg-irons, but she would let him go if he demanded it. Wouldn’t she? The thought that she might not gave him an added fillip of excitement. In romantic novels the sensation is described as feeling one’s heart turn over. His own heart slowly righted itself. A not-disagreeable sensation. He felt he was about to choke with suppressed desire for her. He wondered how much longer he could go on like this, and how much longer she intended to go on. That was just what they were in the process of finding out. Doubtless she would be able to outwait him. Women almost always could.

Harriet reached the top of the stairs and stood aside for him to pass. She closed and locked the door leading to her private dungeons, leaving the key in the lock. Tom went through into the kitchen to begin their meal. He heard Harriet go into the living room. The sound of the TV came back to him as he washed the vegetables for the salad. He imagined her sitting in front of the set, one smoothly-clad leg crossed over the other, as she had done so often since he had come under her influence. Did she pose like that for every one of her clients, or had Beth told her about his stocking fetish? Or did Harriet just sense his mood? He hoped so. It made the game of temptress and tempted more piquant.

Tom decided on sandwiches and salad. Although he didn’t say it to himself, he wanted to sit across from Harriet and stare. He didn’t want to spend all the time in the kitchen. Tom found a bottle of wine in the fridge and included it in his preparations. When his preparations were done he carried everything in to her on platters. Harriet nodded her acceptance as he set the food before her. When he came back with the wine and the glasses, Harriet was sitting on the edge of the chair with her thighs parted.

‘I want you to kneel there,’ she said, indicating a spot between her legs. ‘You can feed me while I tease you unbearably. Don’t lose control as you did last time, or spill anything on my outfit. I don’t like changing once I get comfortable.’ There was just the hint of a threat in her tone.

‘Yes Mistress,’ Tom replied with just the right degree of servility. He knelt between her thighs, conscious of their warmth so close alongside him.

Harriet closed her legs until the smooth dark nylon of her tights was pressed against his hips. She bent forward to take a bite of the sandwich Tom held for her. He fed her one bite at a time. She reached down between her legs and grasped his cock, which was already stiffening in response to the smooth pressure of her legs. When he jerked at the intimate contact, she murmured, ‘Careful now,’ in his ear. ‘Don’t spill anything. If you do your job well, there may just be something in it for you.’ She continued to manipulate his straining cock, running her fingers lightly up and down its length and then making a fist to grasp it more firmly. With her other hand she caressed the tip and scraped her fingernails gently up and down the underside of his shaft. As she played her maddening game with him, she gazed steadily into his face.

Whenever he looked up from feeding her, that level gaze met his. He wanted to look down to where her hands were busy on him, but Harriet shook her head minutely, forbidding him. Whenever his eyes strayed to her tits, thrust up and out by the leather bodice of her corselet, he missed his aim with the sandwich. At those times she would clamp down on his cock, making him gasp in surprise and pain. He became more diligent in feeding her, but those tits so close to his face and those legs clamped around his waist were most distracting. Not to mention the more acute distraction furnished by what she was doing between his legs. It was an interesting variation of the teasing game they had played last time, but this time he found his control being tested more severely.

Tom had had a whole week to anticipate this moment, and now it was here. He wanted her. Now. But he also wanted to show her that he could do what she wished. A lifelong believer in doing what he set out to do, at least sexually, Tom found himself wanting to demonstrate his forbearance to the woman who held him by his manhood and challenged him not to come, eveh as she did her best to force him. He felt ready to burst at any moment.

Harriet signed that she had had enough to eat by closing her mouth and shaking her head when Tom offered her another bite. She tugged him upright by the cock. He stood between her thighs looking down her cleavage (were those her nipples inside that tight sheath?). Looking up at him, she asked, ‘Aren’t you hungry? You haven’t had anything to eat yet. Eat now and I’ll try to keep you amused.’ She underlined the order by squeezing him hard. ‘Eat now.’

As he bent to take a sandwich for himself, Tom suddenly realised he was no longer hungry, but he ate anyway, mindful of her order. As he ate, sometimes choking on the food, Harriet continued to manipulate his cock. He could feel his muscles clenching as he fought down the orgasm on whose edge he was teetering. He didn’t trust himself to look down at her.

Harriet carried on a monologue as she continued to caress his straining cock. ‘Do you know the three most frequently told lies?’ she asked. When he didn’t reply she told him. ‘The first is, the cheque’s in the post; the second is, of
course
I love you; and the third is, I won’t come in your mouth. We’re about to see if you’re a liar.’ She took his cock inside her mouth and ran her tongue round it. She closed her lips around him and moved her head backward and forward so that he slid in and out of her mouth. He could feel the warmth of her breath all around him.

In order to distract himself from what she was doing to him, Tom asked, ‘How come you’re not talking any more? Cock got your tongue?’

Harriet bit him to remind him who he was dealing with. Tom let out a yelp and jerked his cock out of her mouth. There was a reddening line of teeth marks across the top of the shaft. He couldn’t see, but he knew there was a matching line around the bottom.

‘Would you rather I talked, or should we continue with the game?’ Harriet asked. ‘I could bite you again if you prefer,’ she added with an air of consideration. Again he didn’t answer. She bent forward and took him inside her mouth. Silence ensued, except for the occasional gasp from Tom as she found an unusually sensitive spot.