The Mammoth Book of Short Erotic Novels (24 page)

Standards of club etiquette often left a great deal to be desired, with predatory males often trying to join in on personal scenes uninvited. Some dungeon areas were often so small there was
rarely room to swing a cat – or any other implement which could cause erogenous zones to smart and tingle. Clubs were the reason why John and Amanda now selected their partners from personal
ads.

Vicki had dressed all in white: a clingy silk shirt and tight white jeans and high heels. Her cascade of blonde ringlets must have cost a lot of time and money. Her complexion was flawless and
her glistening lipstick and big blue eyes seemed likely to bewitch any man who looked in her general direction. More to the point – what John would see – was the sort of helpless,
gullible, fifties starlet vulnerability that men loved so much and modern women detested. Were men still this stupid to fall for such an obvious package? Ask a silly question.

Victoria was not especially tall, for a dancer, which was a relief to Amanda, but she was conscious that she couldn’t compete with Victoria’s flawless pink skin, her wide open smile
and her air of shy but knowing exuberance. All in all, she was enough to make builders fall off their ladders, and it was amusing for Amanda to watch John go all grave and courteous as he tried to
stop his desire showing.

After the wine had been poured and the traffic criticized, Amanda showed Vicki a new cat o’nine tails. The gleaming black handle smelt divinely of fresh leather and the tails could easily
be used gently enough to caress whoever was lucky enough to submit to her. While Amanda addressed Vicki, she ran her fingers through the strands of the cat.

“With us, once a slave is accepted – broken in, as it were – there will be times when we use this crop for punitive purposes, as opposed to mere erotic gratification. We will
be in charge; the slave’s own personal agenda comes second.”

Amanda arched an eyebrow at Vicki, who seemed unable to reply, struggling with some unresolved inner tension.

“Yeah, that’s what really gets me going,” she said finally. “It’s knowing I’ve earned it. Not, you know, just playing.”

John closed his eyes. It was better than he could have hoped for. He repeated her words silently, committing them to memory. He knew they would resound for the next few days, if not for the rest
of his life.

“After the first few sessions, we like to live in our chosen roles twenty-four hours a day,” said Amanda, who seemed taller all of a sudden. Had she taken Vicki’s statement as
a challenge? “I hate play-acting. I get awfully bored with following a prearranged script, don’t you? It has to be real, for me.”

John watched them size each other up. Vicki was looking at a taller, richer, better educated, more worldly-wise woman. But, as Amanda was well aware, Vicki was younger, cunning and, above all,
blonde. She was used to watching men fall apart as soon as she batted her eyelashes at them. She must have known John was already besotted.

“Something is troubling you,” said Amanda. “Speak.”

“You hate me because I’m younger than you,” said Vicki. “It’s not my fault.”

She looked at John, as if he would intercede in her favour, but John was working very hard at maintaining an unreadable, neutral face.

“I should put you straight over my knee for that,” snapped Amanda, who seemed genuinely annoyed. “Wait there while I decide upon your punishment.” John watched
Vicki’s face flush with excitement and felt his own body respond. Amanda looked outwardly in control but John suspected that she, too, was starting to feel the pulse of insistent desire. She
seated herself at the table where their journal lay open and started to scribble in its pages, while John contented himself with pleasant anticipation of what was to come.

Not much later, they moved into their cellar and changed into the clothes appropriate for play. Amanda wore knee-length shiny black boots, black stockings, a very small leather skirt and a
gleaming red corset which pushed her breasts up and outwards. Vicki wore panties which were transparent enough to reveal that she shaved her pubic hair. She had a small coiled whip etched on her
left buttock, a detail which was all the more powerful for being her only tattoo. He was glad she hadn’t gone overboard with the body art. Some of their recent applicants had all sorts of
junk scrawled all over them, as if their skin was of no greater value than the average municipal convenience wall.

John wore his leather trousers and waistcoat. He had been training hard to maintain his muscle tone for their new partner, even though he knew it was often only of interest to himself just how
well-defined his pectorals and biceps were. More importantly, he had to appear calm, which was difficult with Vicki looking so luscious. But, despite his poker face, Amanda could tell his pulse
rate had risen. The beast inside him was ready to prowl. He would have to ask her permission before the feast, of course, but she could hardly say no without being accused of jealousy. While John
was pouring Victoria a dry white wine spritzer, Amanda was quizzing Victoria about her recent experiences with contact ads.

“I was two years with Master George,” she said, intoning this ludicrous name as if either John or Amanda should have heard of it. “You don’t know him? He’s been on
Channel 5 a lot. He’s well known on the scene.”

John had indeed heard of Master George, an egregious figure whose hatred of women shone out of a fat face which resembled nothing more than the sort of potato which quality-conscious
supermarkets would no longer sell.

By the time they had heard Victoria say the words Master George often enough to dread their repetition, John had a sudden inspiration. “Perhaps your initiation could be a banishing of your
previous partner,” said John. “Then you could be free to start again.”

Amanda picked up on this quickly, always eager to intensify the ritual element of their sex life. It was her usual way of dragging John into her occult dabblings, without him being too aware of
what was happening. “Yes,” she said. “We could work a ceremony that would help you start a new life. You would be born again.”

The atmosphere in the room was distinctly heavier, now that they were closer to the moment of truth. Amanda dimmed the lights until there were only flickering candles to provide illumination.
They scanned each other’s faces for clues as to what might happen next.

Vicki looked apprehensive, perhaps at the sound of the words “initiation”, “ceremony” and “born again”. John offered her a reassuring smile and refilled her
glass, to help her make the transition between the world of polite conversation and the hidden depths of their shared desires.

He lit some sandalwood incense, which some thought was an aphrodisiac although, since Vicki’s arrival, such overrated herbal essences were hardly essential. Plainsong played softly on the
stereo as Amanda took up her position in the centre of the room. She looked the picture of the stark and severe dominant woman as she let the tails of the cat trail through her gloved fingers.
Almost as soon as she had established this persona, she stepped out of the role by smiling at Vicki and letting the cat’s tails trail over their guest’s hardened nipples. It was
important to establish trust before they took her on a journey through her deepest desires.

“I think you need to get rid of this ‘Master George’,” said John. “You need to banish him. Or, more accurately, you will do the hard work. We will merely set the
appropriate atmosphere.”

Vicki looked uncertain. Perhaps she liked being in thrall to the man who had dominated her for so long.

“The moon is waning,” said Amanda. “It’s a perfect time to get rid of old baggage.” She somehow managed to make it sound like an unmissable opportunity, the occult
equivalent of the January sales.

“Like an exorcism?” said Victoria, her voice hushed, her eyes wide.

“Nothing so dramatic,” said John, with a half-smile. “But we will get rid of ‘Master George’ for you, if you truly wish it.”

“Anyone calling themselves ‘Master George’ sounds like a prat,” said Amanda. John watched Vicki’s face fall and felt a twinge of sympathy for her.

“Could you not have used a more elegant phrase, my dear?” he said to Amanda, and then wished he hadn’t as he watched her eyes flicker. It was risky to continue in this vein,
but he felt that Vicki needed defending. “If ‘Master George’ had managed to captivate Vicki for so long, he cannot have been entirely devoid of merit.”

Amanda made no reply but swished her crop through the air. It wasn’t entirely clear who she would like to use it on presently. John was also undecided as to who should submit to whom. The
longer he looked at Vicki, the more he could feel some force inside himself telling him to fall to his knees.

Time stood still as they listened to the chanting of the monks and of the ageless voices inside them. Suddenly, John knelt down in front of Vicki, without losing eye contact. “I would
consider it an honour if I could massage your feet,” he said. He watched Vicki’s reaction carefully. She looked flattered but was obviously uneasy as to how to proceed.

“Don’t know what to say,” said Vicki. “I’m used to people telling me what to do.”

“I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” said Amanda, walking behind John and swishing the tails of the cat lightly across his buttocks. “Particularly not when this
one has such fine flanks. He can be disobedient, but, if you train him well, he will take you where you need to go.”

John heard the ominous undertone behind the deceptively sweet tone of Amanda’s voice and found it unbearably exciting.

“Give him a foot to play with,” ordered Amanda. “He won’t go away until you do.”

Shyly, Vicki proffered one of her small feet. She appeared uncomfortable with the situation, perhaps afraid that her battered and callused dancer’s feet would be unacceptable. If only you
knew, thought John, as he reverently dipped his head to kiss her toes, cupping her heel in his hand and stroking the underside of her feet in a slow firm motion. He was aiming to soothe her, making
sure his touch was firm enough to avoid a tickling sensation. He sought in vain to remember snippets of wisdom from guides to massage and reflexology, but then it was easier to let Vicki’s
little satisfied moans and sighs tell him whether he was on the right track or not.

When he looked upwards, he was gratified to find that Vicki’s eyes were closed and her head was thrown back. John rubbed and kneaded her feet, drawing moans of pleasure from her. For a
while, she drifted off somewhere, unable to speak as she lost herself in a world of sensation. Her eyes stayed shut as she opened her mouth to speak.

“Ooh, it’s so long since anyone’s done that. I’d forgotten . . . aaah . . . how sensitive my toes were. Yes!”

John let his tongue explore the gap between each toe in turn, teasing out tastes and flavours that were reminiscent of a really subtle mozzarella, a comparison he knew he would be keeping to
himself until he knew Vicki a great deal better than he did presently. As he worked away diligently, he tried not to think of the delights to come later, when he would run his tongue over her hot,
lightly flogged bottom. But that was pure greed. It was better to concentrate on the humbling, repetitive nature of his present task. He worked hard at keeping up a slow rhythmic stroking motion,
hoping to further intensify the mild trance the two of them were sharing.

“I hope I’m clean enough for you, master,” said Vicki, as John continued to lick and nuzzle her toes.

“You don’t have to call me ‘master’,” said John softly. Amanda raised an eyebrow and John had to suppress a smile. He felt anything but masterful, these days,
although that had been his chosen role when he had first met Amanda.

“It’s time you undressed, my dear,” said Amanda, who was clearly irritated at the pampering this supposed “slave” was receiving.

Vicki opened her eyes and immediately looked from John to Amanda, as if deciding who to obey.

“Let him indulge himself,” said Amanda. “But we have work to do.”

As soon as Vicki was naked, Amanda cuffed her wrists to a flogging post and started to whip her, very gently, as John continued to kiss her feet and calves. As Amanda increased the pace and
strength of the still gentle flogging of Vicki’s round pink bottom, John was gradually working his way up from her small, badly-callused feet. He kissed and stroked each inch of her muscular
calves, occasionally glancing up at her shaven vulva, which was now moist and glistening. As Amanda continued to flog Vicki lightly, the tails of the cat sometimes caught John’s back and
shoulders. He continued to explore the silky skin of Vicki’s thighs with his eager fingers and tongue as she shifted her weight to cope with her mounting excitement. John could feel the
tensile strength of her muscles moving underneath her silky skin.

“It is time we freed you from your so-called master,” said Amanda, in the low insistent voice she sometimes used to hypnotize the unwary. “As each stroke is delivered, I want
you to imagine that your master is yet further away from you and smaller in size. On the final stroke, we will banish him from your present life entirely. Are you ready?”

There was a pause before Vicki consented.

“Don’t be frightened,” said John. “Amanda is very careful not to damage the skin. This is more of a symbolic cleansing of your last life. Put yourself into her
hands.”

Vicki considered this for a moment, then closed her eyes. “Yes, beat him out of me. I want to be free.”

“And so you shall,” said Amanda, giving her cat a swish through the air. “Concentrate, and we will rid you of the ghost of ‘Master George’.”

Amanda used her implement with more strength now but the blows were still little more than caresses. With a long slow build-up, it was always possible for the submissive to absorb more.

“I’m going to strike harder, now,” said Amanda. “Picture ‘George’ growing smaller and smaller in your mind’s eye. Can you see him?”

Victoria moaned her assent. Amanda gently guided John to where he could kiss Vicki’s wet sex. She kneaded each of Vicki’s nipples in turn, watching her reaction carefully, then
struck once more. After the slapping sound of the impact, Vicki gasped and moaned as the hot, intense impact spread through her bottom and around her whole body. She cried out after the second of
these harder strokes, at which Amanda stroked her glowing skin.