To Seek a Master (19 page)

‘That was delicious. A coffee, perhaps, and then home.’

Laura didn’t answer, content to follow his lead. He also paid without consulting her, something he seemed to take for
granted,
and once they had finished their coffee he offered his hand. She took it, allowing him to help her to her feet and guide her from the pub, with the landlord and several of the customers wishing them goodnight in tones Laura was sure held traces of both envy and smutty amusement.

Outside the night was cool and still, the road a ribbon of dark gunmetal between high, black hedges and trees silhouetted against a starry sky. Charles put his arm around her waist, steering her back the way they had come, to where a stile led to a field now silvered by moonlight.

‘We’ll take the field path. The moon’s bright enough, and it’s a much more pleasant walk.’

Laura bunched up her dress to cross the stile, her eyes still adapting to the dim light as she started cautiously along the footpath. Charles joined her, walking a little way before stopping to kiss her, then to speak.

‘A little modification, maybe.’

He took hold of the front of her dress, tugging it down to spill out her bare breasts before adjusting each so that they sat, high and proud in a nest of cloth. The light was too dim to show the colour of her dress, but her breasts showed clearly, pale and bare, blatantly exposed if anybody happened to come the other way.

‘What if somebody sees?’

‘That’s not likely, but it is part of the fun.’

‘Shall I go naked? I’d like that, if you want me to.’

‘Best not. A bare bottom is one thing, a caned bottom quite another.’

He took her hand once more, leading her back towards the cottage, very conscious of her naked chest and the playful thrill of being exposed. It was better even than in the train, because now she had nothing to cover herself at all, her bare breasts on show to anybody who happened to pass, while she had no
say
in who saw or what they thought of her. She imagined the landlord, Jack, coming after them, perhaps because one of them had left something behind, and catching her, maybe demanding a feel, only to stop herself as she remembered why she had been caned that afternoon.

At the far side of the field a second stile led them to a grove of poplar where a narrow wooden bridge crossed a dyke. The trees hid the moon, creating a confusing pattern of shadows, so that Laura never realised that somebody was coming the other way until the wet sound of a footstep alerted her, immediately followed by a greeting and a muffled snigger as the stranger was given a full view of her bare white breasts. She paused in shock, meaning to cover herself, but Charles’ hand tightened on hers.

‘Oh no you don’t. You stay that way until we’re home.’

‘OK … I mean, yes Mr Latchley.’

‘That’s better. Now come to me, and put your hands on your head.’

Laura cast a nervous glance in the direction they had just come, but the stranger was no more than a black mark some way across the field and she knew she was hidden by the trees. Putting her back to the hand rail of the bridge, she placed her hands on her head as Charles came close, to kiss her cheek, her mouth, and her breasts as he took one in each hand. Laura closed her eyes, shivering as her nipples were brought to erection between his lips and teeth, her feelings rising quickly until she was half hoping he’d bend her over the rail and take her from behind.

‘Make love to me.’

‘No.’

He had pulled away, his hands still cupping her breasts, one thumb rubbing over each nipple.

‘Please.’

‘No. Now turn around.’

Laura obeyed, unsure what was about to be done to her as she turned to face the railing, which pressed to her hips as she was pushed forwards. Her skirt was quickly turned up and her upper body bent over the rail, her breasts lolling forwards under her chest and her bare bottom thrust out towards him.

‘Stay still.’

He moved away. Laura stayed as she was, wondering for a brief, awful moment if he might not have left her exposed for the next passer-by, only for him to return within seconds.

‘All clear. Right, stay as you are.’

She heard the faint rasp of his zip and something warm pressed into the crease of her bottom, his cock. He began to explore her, tugging at himself as he stroked and slapped her bottom.

‘I thought you said you weren’t going to make love to me?’

‘I’m not. You must understand the distinction between making love, which we do together, and a fucking, which I do to you. I’m going to fuck you.’

Laura gave a powerful shudder. What he had said might have been drawn straight from one of her favourite fantasies. She pushed her bottom out, her hands still on her head as he began to rub himself between her cheeks and fondle her breasts, amusing himself with her body as he pleased. Her cane welts ached where he was pressed to them, bringing her punishment back to mind as his cock grew slowly stiffer, her fear and the terrible pain, then the bliss that had followed.

‘In we go.’

He had moved his cock lower, still holding one breast as he guided himself deep into her until she felt his balls press to her sex. Taking her by the hips, he began to thrust deep,
making
her gasp and moan as she thought of what he’d done and what he’d said. She’d been beaten and now she was being fucked, punished and then used, as if she were his property, to do with as he pleased. That was what he wanted, to make her his completely, not in the way most people meant it, as a promise of faith, but completely, his plaything, his slave.

Laura cried out at the thought, now fighting to keep her hands on her head as he pushed into her ever faster and harder. She needed to touch her breasts, her sex if she could, but he had told her to put her hands on her head and there they would stay until he gave his permission to move. Not that he would. He was having far too much fun with her, which made her frustration and denial all the more satisfying as she was brought right up to the edge of orgasm before he came deep inside her. Even then she stayed still, holding herself in place until he was fully finished with her, and after, in the same lewd, available pose as he tidied himself up. At last she could bear it no more.

‘Can I … please can I play with myself?’

He gave a soft chuckle.

‘You want to masturbate?’

‘Please, yes.’

‘Say it.’

Despite her arousal, Laura felt herself colour at his demand, but said it anyway.

‘I want to masturbate.’

He slapped her bottom.

‘Properly, Laura.’

‘Please, Mr Latchley. I want to masturbate.’

‘Hmm … I’m not sure. You’re very sensitive to words, aren’t you?’

‘Yes … yes, Mr Latchley.’

‘OK. Ask permission to rub your cunt.’

‘Oh God. OK … OK … Please, Mr Latchley. I’d like to rub my cunt.’

Her words broke to a sob as she said it and he chuckled, a sound so wicked that she found it easy to imagine herself really being tormented by the devil.

‘Again.’

‘Please, Mr Latchley. I’d like to rub my cunt.’

‘No. I’ll do it for you.’

As he spoke he had taken hold of her, his hand between her legs. Laura gasped as two fingers slid inside her, and his thumb had begun to rub on her anus as he spoke again.

‘Tell me what I’m doing, Laura.’

‘Oh God … Charles, please … you … you’re fingering me. You’ve got your fingers in me. You’ve got your fingers in my cunt.’

‘And?’

‘And … and … I don’t know. Yes I do. You’re touching up my bottom hole, and … and now you’re rubbing me properly, rubbing my cunt, right on my clit, oh God, Charles, your thumb’s up my bottom you dirty pig. You’re rubbing me off … rubbing my cunt off with your thumb up my bottom, you dirty pig, and I’m going to come!’

Laura screamed as her orgasm hit her, scaring the birds from the trees. Charles laughed once more.

17

LAURA AWOKE WITH
her head cradled into the crook of Charles’ arm and her mind flooding with bittersweet memories of the night before. They had stayed up late, talking and sharing a bottle of wine before retiring to bed, where he had made love to her with the same affection of their first time the afternoon before and a great deal less haste.

He was still asleep, and Laura made no effort to rise, instead thinking of all the things she had experienced and learnt during their short time together. She had realised so many of her fantasies, and more importantly come to understand them and accept them as part of herself, while it was wonderful to be able to discuss things that had previously been shameful secrets with a man who understood. Never before had she felt so free and yet at the same time so much under a man’s wing.

When she finally got up she didn’t bother to put on the pyjamas she’d brought with her, but went naked to the bathroom. Her welts had faded a little, but some bruising had come up around the lines, slightly spoiling the elegance of the striping that marked her as his. She was still tender as well, something she’d found had made a pleasant addition to sex and served to keep her constantly in mind of her position as a woman subject to discipline from her lover.

Having washed, she went downstairs, intending to make coffee and bring it up to him in bed, only to find his kitchen so meticulous neat that she didn’t dare disturb anything, while
she
was sure that any attempt she made to use the new and complicated looking coffee machine would only end in disaster. There was orange juice in the fridge and she poured herself a glass, which she took out onto the lawn, enjoying the warm morning sunshine on her bare skin. It was gone eleven, bringing her a trace of regret for the first time that weekend, for the knowledge that in a few hours she would have to go home.

She began to explore the garden, admiring the way Charles had designed it to ensure that the lawn was invisible from all sides and sheltered from the wind, yet able to catch enough sun to be warm and pleasant. He had obviously thought it out in advance, while the bushes were only just tall enough to serve their purpose, presumably having been planted soon after he first moved in. One puzzling feature was a dense shrubbery at the end, where two fields came together to create a sharp angle.

A path led in beneath an archway covered in climbing rose, to a cool, dim passage flecked with sunlight. Intrigued, Laura followed the path, to find a hidden space in which a tall wrought iron structure stood on a concrete plinth, something like an aviary although the size of the door and the heavy padlock holding it shut suggested that it was not intended for birds. She reached out a hand to touch the cool hard metal, sure that it was built as a cage and wondering how it would feel to be locked within.

His voice called from the house and she started back quickly, unsure whether she was supposed to be exploring the deeper recesses of his garden. He was in the kitchen, putting breakfast together, and his eyebrows rose a fraction as he saw her. Laura laughed.

‘Sorry, I almost forgot I was naked. It seems so natural.’

‘Go as you please. The garden is designed for seclusion.’

‘So I see.’

‘Did you find my oubliette?’

‘The cage? Yes. What was that word?’

‘Oubliette, literally a “little forgotten place”, although in this case a little place of forgetting would be more accurate. It’s a French word, meaning a cell, usually underground and with only a hatch in the ceiling through which a prisoner would be lowered and then put out of mind. All very unpleasant, but it amuses me to borrow the names of real horrors, while my purposes are very different.’

‘Would you lock me in there as a punishment?’

‘No. I would lock you in to allow you to forget yourself.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You would, after a few hours, although it’s not easy to explain unless you try it. It’s also the perfect place for a girl to meditate on her behaviour, or to keep you if I need you convenient to hand. Not today though. I want you with me.’

‘I would like to try, but you’re right. Time seems rather precious.’

‘So it is, but I hope we’ll have plenty together.’

‘As much as I can spare. I need to be back by eight, or nine at the latest.’

‘Then I suggest breakfast and a walk along the cut. We’ll see what the afternoon brings. How do you like your eggs?’

‘Why do I love what I ought to hate?’

Laura had asked the question as they reached the top of the long straight bank. Ahead of them the placid water of the New Cut stretched into the distance, a set of parallel lines vanishing to haze and with not another living soul to be seen. They had walked for miles, talking of this and that, occasionally stopping to kiss or for him to lift Laura’s dress to her neck, exposing her, or for her to briefly take his cock in her hand or mouth, as if
they
were teenagers and exploring each other for the first time. Twice they had come close to being caught, helping Laura’s mood of mischievous abandon, but as they approached the Cut their conversation had grown more serious. Charles didn’t answer, but began to walk along the arrow straight path as Laura carried on.

‘Because it shouldn’t make sense, should it? I don’t like pain, but I like to be spanked, and as for the cane, I couldn’t believe how much it hurt, but afterwards, that was lovely … a really beautiful experience.’

He treated her to a smile before replying.

‘The scientific answer is that the pain makes your body produce chemicals called endorphins, which cause feelings of well being, even exhilaration. The exhilaration is sexual because it’s your bottom being smacked, which brings the blood to your genitals and stimulates the nerves that supply the area. I suppose the smacking sensation may also be like the way a man’s hips push against your buttocks when you are entered from behind, which would of course have been the normal position for sex for millions of years before we started to do it lying down.’

‘Yes, but why me? Spank most girls and you’ll end up with a knee in your groin, or in court.’

‘Very possibly both. You’re right, of course, it’s mostly in the head, but the way I see it is that you are more in touch with your primitive sexuality than most women. They have allowed social constraints to overcome their natural desires. You haven’t.’