Sexy as Hell Box Set (50 page)

I grimaced, jealous and disliking myself for feeling that emotion. Ollie had always got what he wanted without much effort. Things fell into his lap as though a gift from the gods. Me? I had to work my arse off for every little thing. Still, it wasn’t his fault that fate had different plans for the two of us. Just because we were family didn’t mean we were entitled to the same easy road in life, and of course, there was Marie, he’d lost her.

I thought of Catherine. Yes, she’d been dumped in my lap—and wasn’t that a mean way of thinking of her?—yet she wasn’t the vibrant, sexy weight I wanted sitting on my thighs. I wanted her rampant, with a bit of go in her. Could I change her? Should I even try? Did I have the right to expect her to fit into the mould I had in my head of the perfect woman?

If only I could split her and Zara in two, then merge the best bits of both together, creating the perfect partner for me. I already knew that trying to change Zara would be a lost cause. She wouldn’t fit at the parties, the housewarmings that my clients threw as a way to show off their new homes. And, oddly, I didn’t
expect
her to change. So why was I so intent on making Catherine my ideal woman? Why was it okay to manipulate her?

I realised I was becoming someone I’d never thought I would be—greedy for what I wanted and fuck everyone else. Like Ollie. Except he’d gone the other way, prepared to do what his girlfriend wanted instead of him being the one to order her about.

What the hell had happened to the pair of us?

It was Zara’s fault. She’d changed me. Made me see there were things out there that I wanted, needed, and were mine for the taking if I only went and got them.

Damn that woman.

I went to the kitchen and sloshed some red wine into a large glass. That might not be a good idea on top of all that bloody eggnog, but I needed something to take the edge off my serrated nerves. I felt annoyed—totally and irrationally annoyed—at myself, at Zara, at Ollie and, most of all, Catherine.

She’d been particularly sweet tonight, good with the children, clearly not annoyed with them when they’d barged past and almost knocked me off my feet. She’d gazed at them longingly, and an alarm had blared inside my head that, God, she was the baby-making sort, ready to dive into motherhood at the drop of a hat. I’d been imagining a life with her, two-point-four children and a dog, but to actually see her reaction to children and know she had the same thing in mind had knocked me for six.

Made it real.

I knew, right then as a rowdy boy had clattered into me, stamping on my toe and poking his rather wet tongue out at me for good measure, that I didn’t want children. At least not yet. Not in the next ten years or so.

Fuck. I was in a quandary. Felt the need to run away and secrete myself in a remote destination, no phones, no means of contact at all. Just me and my thoughts so I could sort myself out and get back to some semblance of normality.

It had to be the alcohol making me a ball of melancholy mixed with a big helping of pissed off. What was the matter with me? Who had I become? Something was missing from my life, something I wished Catherine would give me, and I was determined to get it, come hell or high water.

Christ.

I went back into the living room area and spied my laptop on the coffee table. It called to me, whispering in a wheedling, breathy voice that I needed to wish Zara the best during this festive season. She’d be alone, and perhaps a little note from me might make her day. Be the best present she’d received. Maybe the only present.

Knowing I shouldn’t, knowing I’d be taking a walk down Disaster Street, I plonked myself on the sofa and booted up, trying to talk myself out of it yet at the same time listening to that voice urging me on. The voice won, of course it did, and I opened my email browser, put her address in the space provided, then typed Merry Christmas in the subject bar.

Dear Mistress Z,

Just a quick note to wish you all the best for the coming year. I hope Santa brought you what you wanted, and if he didn’t, you can tell him from me next time you see him that he’s an arsehole and he’d better watch his step.

I hit SEND, feeling better for having written to her, as though she were a drug much like the ones I needed to keep my ticker in good health. I was calmer now, the red mist clearing from my mind. The weight that had been on my shoulders floated off, and I slouched back, my muscles relaxed and my mind free of jealousy and anger, envy and all the other negative emotions that had washed over me since I’d got home.

Dear Ex-Student,

I have company, but lucky for you I have a few minutes to reply. Thank you for thinking of me today. Funny enough, I’ve been thinking of you, too, wondering if Catherine had given you the present of allowing you entry into her arse. Did she? Did the festivities bring out the sauce in her?

I laughed—long and loud. God, she had a way about her that had me freer than a sodding bird. Her choice of words…Christ, I could see her as she’d emailed back, the secret smile on her face, the way she’d walked away from the people she was with and…actually, knowing her, she’d probably replied without needing privacy. She didn’t care who she was with, if she wanted to do something, she did it. I loved that about her.

I wondered whose presence she was gracing, who was lucky enough to have her with them. Was she holding a party for her employees? Was Fifi there, with her ultra-sharp, pointed nails, chasing Carlos around with a flogger while a dildo half hung out of his arse? Was Julie watching them, enjoying the bite of her own flogger as she whipped herself? And the Swedes, were they the stars of the show, treating everyone to that glorious scene they were so good at, the one where Halsten sat on a glass dick and let his wife, Lovisa, sink her cunt onto his hard cock?

I smiled, recalling them all, seeing their gathering in my head as if I were there with them, standing on the fringes and taking it all in. A sudden need for such a party stole over me, and I gazed around me, seeing nothing but an empty room, hearing nothing but that god-awful kind of silence that threatened to swallow me whole. Before a touch of the
miserables could grip me again, I sat upright and began typing back.

Dear Mistress Z,

Sadly, no, she didn’t give me any such gift. I got a set of five personalised handkerchiefs, which won’t, I imagine, be used for the same thing we’d used one of mine for. That’s a sad fact of life, I’m afraid, and they’ll probably remain in the packet. She also got me a sweater with “I love Victor” on it—that’ll be consigned to the wardrobe, really not my thing. Oh, and a rather nice set of cufflinks in the shape of keys. And no, I didn’t ask what the significance was. I’ll admit that handcuffs came to mind, though.

The arse subject hasn’t been broached, more’s the pity, but I’ll save that for our trip to Tuscany. It’s booked for the end of January and, quite frankly, it can’t come soon enough. I have the urge to get away. I’m feeling hemmed in, but that’s not something I expect you to concern yourself with, or anything you want to know, so apologies for straying off topic.

So, where are you? At a mad dungeon party?

I sent the message then sat back again, wishing I could un-send it, rewrite it. I’d let myself be too familiar again, basically telling her my inner needs when perhaps I shouldn’t have. Yet she’d asked about the arse sex, and really, I’d only done the proper thing and answered. Sod it, we were friends, albeit only via email now, and friends shared things they wouldn’t with anyone else.

I was glad I had her as that kind of sounding board. Glad, even though we’d parted somewhat abruptly, that we were now back on an even keel. After all was said and done, we’d got along like a house on fire for the most part. There was no reason for that to change while we lived our separate lives.

Was it sensible for us to keep in contact? I wasn’t sure it was but didn’t care. I needed her at this time in my life, and for as long as she was willing to give me advice I’d keep asking for it.

My email chime went off, and I lurched forward, anticipating reading all about the party she was at and how much fun she was having.

Dear No-Arse-Sex-Tonight,

Your gifts sound…boring. Sorry to be blunt, but you know me. Anyway, that’s so strange, you saying about feeling hemmed in and needing to get away. I feel exactly the same, and my new student must have picked up on it. Very perceptive of him. I’ll be going away with him at the end of January, too, so perhaps, when we’re both abroad with our respective partners, we can think of one another having a lovely break and smile.

As for a mad dungeon party. No, I’m not at one but I’ll admit to you I wish I bloody well was. Although my student seems to be coming along nicely in learning his lessons, he really isn’t my cup of tea. Teaching him is tiresome, although, because he’s so…tedious, I get to take my angst out on him. Always a bonus, don’t you think? That’s what I’m doing tonight. I’m in his company, just the two of us, and I’m about to give him something he’s never had before. My little gift to him.

Do you recall me sending you that butt plug? I’m sure you do. Well, that’s what my student will be getting shortly. A big fat rubber cock shoved where the sun don’t shine.

Jealous much, Victor?

Oh, she was a bitch. A glorious, cock-teasing little bitch.

Dear Mistress Z,

Yes, very boring, and your bluntness—wouldn’t expect anything less.

Nice that you’ll be getting away too. Where are you going?

Sorry that your student annoys the hell out of you, which begs the question: Why are you persisting with him? Actually, you don’t need to answer that. I know you and your dogged determination. Always have to prove a point, make people see how right you are. I suspect he’s having the time of his life, the lucky bastard. Don’t take that the wrong way, either. I don’t wish myself in his place, not at all. You’re bad for me, woman, and he’s very welcome to you.

So you bought him a butt plug. I have to say that yes, I am jealous, as you so rightly guessed. I could do with one of those stuffed up my arse while I’m being
wanked at the same time. God, look at what you’ve created, what you’ve drawn out in me. My beast.

Now what am I meant to do with myself while you’re off having fun with his bum?

Dear Envious Eric,

Ha! Where am I going? Wouldn’t you like to know! Europe. I didn’t pay much attention to the exact destination. Just the thought of being able to get away was enough for me. I’ve been so busy these last few weeks and will be into the foreseeable future. Thank goodness for Carlos, though, who has come into his own as a manager of sorts, taking a lot of the strain off me.

As for my student, he seems to be having the time of his life, yes, although I must say he’s struggling a bit with the submissive side of it. But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you. Seems many men can’t get a handle on relinquishing control.

And as for you and what you can do with yourself. Still got the plug I sent you? Stick it up your arse and
wank yourself. Imagine Catherine’s hand on your cock. That should get you going.

I must dash. I’ve left my student trussed up in the main showroom. Told him to think about his base needs and what he really wants to achieve through our lessons. I think he’s waited long enough. I just need to pop into the supply room and get some lube, gel that plug up then give his arse a good seeing to.

Hard yet, Victor?

Off you go. Best not waste that erection.

Jesus Christ. My cock pressed against my trousers, and that little voice was back, whispering for me to do as she’d said. Get that butt plug from where I’d hidden it and shove it up my backside.
Wank, hard and fast, but I knew, even as I got up to go into my bedroom, it wouldn’t be Catherine’s hand I’d be imagining on my cock.

I closed my email browser, thinking of Victor trotting off to shove a plug up his bum. I chuckled yet at the same time was oddly bereft. That seemed a strong word, but that was exactly how I felt. He was going off to have some fun with his gorgeous self, while I had his cousin waiting for me, ready to take whatever I decided to dish out. That was a satisfying prospect, but the only enjoyment I’d be getting out of it would be pleasure in imagining it was Victor’s arse I was plugging instead. Fake sexual stimulation, not the real thing.

Still, the real thing wasn’t interested in me, and I wasn’t interested in him much beyond helping him secure the right woman. Catherine she most certainly wasn’t, it was someone else—I just had to make him see that.

Leaving my laptop on so I could check my emails after Ollie had gone home without me having to wait for the damn thing to boot up, I walked out of my office and headed for the showroom. I deliberately clacked my heels hard so he’d hear me coming. I waited outside to make him go through the agonising experience of wondering, anticipating when I’d strut inside.

After about a minute or two, I pushed the door and stepped in. There he was, handcuffed to a massage-like table, stomach to the leather, head to one side. Naked, legs splayed, his ankles also secured, he resembled a star. Shame he wasn’t one who I’d want to share my sky with for longer than necessary. As it was, I tolerated him, using him for my own ends—to have someone to take my angst out on. Oh yes, he was becoming very handy for that.