The Ninety Days of Genevieve (29 page)

The room had stone walls and no windows. The air felt cool. There were so many pieces of equipment standing about that she did not know which one to look at first. There was a medieval rack, sitting and standing stocks, a whipping bench, a strange looking padded vaulting horse with chains and shackles attached. There were several large metal frames obviously intended to secure victims in a variety of uncomfortable positions. There was even a complicated chair that seemed to be wired up to an electric socket.

There were hooks on the ceiling, and in the walls, and racks containing an assortment of whips. Genevieve walked round the room, looking and touching, and trying to decide how anyone could find any of this sexually arousing.

'Like it?'

Sinclair's voice startled her. She had almost forgotten he was there. She had a sudden horrible feeling that he wanted to use some of this equipment. 'No,' she said. 'Not really.'

'A lot of people find this a turn-on.'

'Do you?' she challenged.

'No,' he said. 'I don't need props like these.'

He took a whip from the wall rack and showed it to her. She was amazed to see that the leather thongs had small pieces of bone and metal twisted into the end. He swung the whip suddenly. It made a vicious, swishing sound.

'These/ he said, 'are intended to hurt.'

'All this stuff is intended to hurt/ she said.

'It depends on how seriously you use it.' He put the whip back. 'But basically you're right.' He turned to the door. 'Come on. Lef s go back upstairs.'

She was glad to leave the dungeon. It had depressed her. It reminded her too much of Ricky Croff s pictures, and of sexual pathways that she did not really understand. She was very glad that Sinclair did not seem to be interested in the dungeon's dubious attractions either.

Sinclair waited while Genevieve slipped into her fur coat, then followed her up the stairs and into the street again. He took her arm.

'The car's just round the corner.' Her heels clicked on the pavement as she walked beside him, taking two or three steps to his one. He opened the car door for her. She climbed into the front passenger seat, and by the time he was sitting beside her she had removed her mask and shaken out her hair.

'You looked relieved when we left the dungeon/ he said. There was a touch of humour in his voice now. 'Did you think I was planning a session in there?'

'I thought you might be/ she admitted.

'And you'd have gone along with it?'

'We have an agreement/ she said. 'Remember?'

'How could I forget?' he said, abruptly. He turned. His face was inches from hers. 'So let's see you perform.'

She reached for him, but he pushed her hands aside and twisted his fingers in her hair, forcing her downwards.

'This way/ he instructed, hoarsely.

'If s illegal in a car/ she said demurely.

'Only if you're caught,' he said. 'Get on with it.'

She reached forward, unzipped his trousers and took him in her mouth, moving her lips over the length of his shaft. She felt him growing hard. Her position was far from comfortable and he held her head down strongly, almost roughly, pushing his hips upwards and making sure she did not loose contact.

'That's right/ he said in a voice so low she could hardly hear it. 'That's good. It's almost as good as when I'm inside you. As good as fucking you.'

She ran the edge of her teeth lightly against his sensitive skin, then flicked the ridged end of his cock with her tongue, and he groaned.

'Make it last,' he entreated. 'Do that again. With your tongue. Do it.'

For the first time she felt that he was not in control. He needed her. Or maybe, she thought, he just needs the sex. Was it stupid of her to believe that it was only her mouth, her hands, or her body that could turn him on? It could have been anyone. Black-haired, sword-swing-ing Jade Chalfont. A geisha girl. Any of the dozens of other women he had probably made love to in his life.

As usual the thought of him with anyone else made her angry. Instead of caressing him slowly, prolonging his pleasure, she worked faster. And suddenly she felt his hands pulling her away.

'I said slow down,' he said harshly. 'Haven't you learned yet to obey orders?'

He shifted back in the seat and zipped himself up. She glanced sideways at him, seeing his profile against the street lights. His face was shadowed. For all their previous intimacy, he was still a stranger. She still did not understand him. He switched on the ignition and she heard the powerful engine purring into life.

She knew he was trying to keep his temper under control but instead of taking her home he drove to his house. Once again she had to clamber awkwardly up the steps in her high heels. He let her into the hall and pointed to the first door.

'In there/ he said abruptly. 'And strip. But keep the boots and gloves on.'

The room smelled just as she remembered it, of polish and leather, a sexy masculine scent. A small table stood by one of the armchairs. There was a padded, box-shaped stool near to it, on small stubby legs. She took off the leather dress slowly. In her thigh-high boots and gloves that came up over her elbows she realised that she must have looked like a hooker. She walked carefully round the room, her heels tapping on the wooden floor. She sat in the large armchair, leaned back and closed her eyes, and remembered the feel of him in her mouth. Thought about how his mouth would feel, moving over her body, lingering wherever he sensed a reaction.

'Get up.' Sinclair's voice startled her out of her dream. He had shed his coat and looked slightly sinister in the black polo neck and black trousers. He pointed to the padded stool. 'Over there, Miss Loften.' She went to sit on the stool but he shook his head. A smile touched his mouth, briefly. 'Bend over it,' he ordered. 'And part your legs a little.'

She obeyed, feeling rather undignified. She could not see him but she heard him. A drawer opened and shut. Then he was next to her again, kneeling. Quickly he fastened her wrists to each of the stool's legs with a heavy silk cord.

'Obedience,' he said. 'That's just to remind you not to move.'

It wasn't really uncomfortable. Her knees were on one of the thick rugs. It was simply humiliating. She could hear him moving about, but could not see him. She heard the clink of a glass. She tried to twist her head, but she was tipping too far forward and the stool's enclosed sides obstructed her vision. She was certain he was looking at her, and the thought made it difficult for her to keep still.

Then she heard him walk across the room. Heard the door open and click shut. She was alone. She pulled at her bound wrists. Probably if she had really tried she could have freed herself. She waited. Nothing happened for such a long time that she began to seriously consider working her wrists free.

When he finally returned she heard the clink of cutlery and glass. Although she could see nothing, she knew that he had put a tray down on the table next to the armchair. She waited for him to untie her. Instead she heard the faint creak of the chair as he sat down. The gurgle of something she assumed to be wine being poured into a glass. The sound of a knife cutting.

'Stop wriggling/ he said, as she tried to twist round.

'You're eating,' she accused.

'How perceptive of you, Miss Loften.'

'Did it occur to you that I might be hungry too?'

She heard him stand up. The sound of his footsteps coming towards her. She saw his feet, in their elegant, handmade, black leather shoes, inches from her head. A piece of chicken dropped on the floor near her head. If she had stretched forward she could have picked it up between her teeth.

'So eat/ he said.

She stifled an impolite retort. The chicken stayed where it was.

'You're not
that
hungry/ he observed.

He picked the chicken up and went back to his chair

'It's very tasty/ he said, after a few minutes. 'You don't know what you're missing.'

By now the leather boots were beginning to feel uncomfortably tight around her knees. She tried to stretch.

'Keep still/ he said.

'How long
for?'
she asked.

'Until I'm ready for you/ he said. 'And keep your legs apart. I want to see more of what I'm getting later on.'

How much later, she thought. Now she was beginning to get cramp in her legs, and pins and needles in her arms. She heard the clink of the wine bottle again. Despite his orders to keep still, she wriggled angrily.

'Thirsty?' he asked, politely. Again she heard him coming towards her. There was a clink of china against glass and then he put a saucer filled with wine on the floor close to her head. 'Drink/ he said.

'Does it constitute a breach of our agreement if I don't?' she asked tightly.

'Certainly not/ he said, lightly. 'I'm just being a good host.'

She was tempted to lap up the wine, but her pride forbade her to do so. After a moment he picked up the saucer.

'How long would you really hold out, Miss Loften?'

'You mean you're not going to try and find out?' she challenged.

He laughed softly. 'I've got a feeling you're tougher, and more stubborn, than you look. Now if I was a lord of the manor in the old days, and you were a rebellious servant, just think how interesting that could be? I could keep you prisoner for days. Weeks, even. Until finally you'd do anything I asked. You'd beg for food and lap water from a saucer like a cat.'

He was very close to her now. His fingers smoothed over her bottom, first softly then with increasing intensity and pressure. Under the magic of his hands she forgot all about her previous discomfort. Kneeling behind her, he slid his hands up under her body and massaged her breasts with his long fingers. She could feel the silky, smooth cloth of his polo neck shirt and the hardness of his muscled chest against her back. She could feel the bulge of his cock pressing between her buttocks.

His hands moved down to stroke between her legs, his finger finding, and sliding over, the moist little bud of her clitoris, leaving it to find her breasts again, pinching her nipples into erection. He kissed the back of her neck, first lightly, then nipping her skin with his teeth.

'Want it now, do you?' His breath was soft against her skin. 'Well, you'll have to wait. Wait until I'm ready. And I like to hear you ask for it, lady. Remember that.'

Being bound no longer felt uncomfortable. Now the delicious feeling of being helpless excited her. His hands move downwards and he found her clitoris again, peeping between her outer lips, swollen now. Positioning his finger accurately on its sensitive tip, he pushed back against her pubic bone, driving her to a frenzy with strong circular movements. She made inarticulate moaning noises, deep in her throat.

'Ask me,' he murmured 'Ask me. You want me to fuck you? Ask for it nicely.'

'Fuck me,' she moaned, writhing under him.

'Louder.'

She repeated it louder. And again. Repeated it in a frenzy of frustration until he was satisfied. Swiftly he unzipped and entered her just as the waves of pleasure were beginning their unstoppable rush and her body began to shake. His thrusts suddenly became less controlled. Her orgasm overtook her. She lost herself in waves of intense sensation. When her body had stopped trembling, and relaxed, she realised that he was still close to her, holding her, although he was no longer inside her.

'Good, was it?' His voice was low and intimate.

She murmured something, afraid that forming words would break the spell.

'And for me,' he said.

She realised suddenly that this was the closest they had been. This warm afterglow, with his body covering hers, was deliciously intimate. She wanted it to last but he broke the spell by standing up. In a moment her wrists were untied. His hand on her arm helped her to stand. She felt a stab of regret.

'Have a glass of wine,' he said. 'And I'll take you home.'

When she settled into the car again she still felt comfortably at ease. She felt as if their relationship had changed. But Sinclair did not seem to feel the same way.

'Not long to go now, Miss Loften.' He sounded both cynical and amused. 'Think you'll last the distance?'

'I've lasted this far.'

'A lot can happen in a short time.'

What was that supposed to mean, she wondered, as she let herself into her flat. It almost sounded like a warning.

A note in her diary reminded Genevieve of her conversation with Georgie. She was hesitant about ringing. Did she really want a night out in a lesbian club? Would she really enjoy it? Then she remembered that apart from her activities with Sinclair she had not had a social evening out for months. Maybe it would do her good to relax, chat, drink some wine, and not have to think about the approaching end of the ninety-day agreement. She phoned Georgie, who sounded delighted, and they made arrangements to meet.

'We'll go to Goldie's,' Georgie said. 'Parking's useless, I'm afraid. Can you take a cab?'

Armed with detailed instructions, Genevieve found Goldie's without any trouble. Georgie arrived on time in another cab. The club entrance was down a steep flight of stone steps, with a discreet sign outside. A large doorman nodded to them, stone-faced.