Afghan Bound (20 page)

Emily eagerly sat astride him and eased his tool into her vagina, before rocking slowly on his lap. This time the urgency was replaced by gentle lovemaking, the violent pounding giving way to her softly swaying pelvis. David was mesmerised by the movement and sensation it brought. He caressed her breasts, flicking and teasing the uppish nipples held permanently erect by the silver pins. Her fingers twisted in his hair as his lips kissed and nipped at her flesh. His hands travelled to explore her bottom, admiring its roundness, taught and smooth. He came powerfully, feeling her jerk as she welcomed his hot elixir. She too shuddered as she urged her nipple further into his mouth and smothered him with her soft breasts. They sat quietly for some minutes, rocking gently in each other's arms.

‘May I sleep with you tonight, master?' her soft voice whispered into his shoulder. ‘So I can wake up next to you in the morning?'

‘When I want you next to me I'll let you know.' He would dearly love to sleep with Emily, but discipline needed to be maintained.

She was hurt by the rebuke. She wanted only to please him now that she had learned how. Tomorrow, she thought, she must try harder.

They had a lie in the next morning, not waking up until about eight-thirty. By nine David had her shaved and in the water. Then he told her to shower because he was going to put Simon's mark on her bottom. He had originally planned to do all the tattooing in the cavern, but once he'd purchased the new pneumatic drill he decided the comfort of the piano room was more attractive. The natural light was better for the delicate work and he wanted to see Emily up on the stool and bent over the piano. Although he had practised the art for several hours it still took some time, but the care was necessary for obvious reasons. Just like the manufacturers' claims, there were no scars and the tattoo was finished surprisingly quickly. Emily was over the moon with it, and spent a long time admiring herself in the mirror.

Emily was proving to be an ideal first student. She genuinely wanted to please her husband, and in less than two weeks she was a complete slave to her master. Eventually that would be Simon, but for now she was under the control of David, and he considered the time had come to take her out.

Between the house and Tintagel village was a large Edwardian mansion overlooking the sea. It was a hotel and restaurant, boasting authentic furniture and linen napkins. It was perfect for Emily's first night out as a slave. David telephoned his reservation and then called for a taxi, leaving instructions for the driver to wait at the garage area above the house.

By the time it arrived Emily was ready in a blue cotton suit, the skirt stopping respectably just below the knee, and her jacket sporting square padded shoulders. Her underwear consisted of a tight basque with suspenders clipped to seamed stockings, while her white blouse concealed cups that squeezed and lifted her breasts. Black stilettos, a velvet choker, jet earrings and a brooch completed her stunning appearance.

The taxi driver spent most of the precarious hilltop drive with his eyes glued firmly to the rear view mirror, prompting knowing smiles from both David and Emily, especially when he dashed around to open her door when they arrived. David gave him the time for their return journey, and then guided Emily into the elegant restaurant.

Once he'd finished ordering it was time to set Emily her first test. He excused himself and went to the toilets. Unlike the cottage, here she would have access to telephones and the opportunity to speak with other people. She did nothing but remain in her seat awaiting his return. David was pleased to find his trust was well founded. He sat at the table and told her to remove her jacket. A waiter immediately appeared and offered to take the garment to the cloakroom. While he hovered he couldn't help but notice the nipple pins distorting the line of her blouse. It ensured them first class service throughout the evening.

Towards the end of the meal, and after several glasses of excellent wine, it was Emily who needed the lavatory, and although David considered escorting her, he deemed her earlier display of loyalty should be repaid. She had been gone only a minute or two when a man approached from a nearby table to inquire politely if David had a light – his own having packed up on him. David answered in the negative and the man made to return to his dining companions, but stopped and turned back.

‘You're the chappie who bought the old sea captain's house, aren't you?' he asked. ‘Camelot, I think you've called it.'

‘Yes, that's right,' answered David, a little cautiously. ‘How would you know that?'

‘Ah ha,' said the man, trying to be enigmatic. ‘We have a mutual acquaintance. The estate agent we bought the hotel through; he's dining with us, over there.'

‘Oh,' David sighed with relief, happy there wasn't a more sinister reason. ‘So you own the hotel?'

‘Yes. Me and my business partner, Paul. My name's Marshall by the way – John Marshall. Perhaps you and your good lady wife would care to join us?'

‘David Harper.' He offered his hand. ‘She's not my wife actually. Thanks for the offer, but we're just having a quiet meal, so if you don't mind. Perhaps another time.'

John Marshall nodded. ‘Can't say as I blame you – it's a bit flat on our table. It's a sort of stag evening for Leonard, but he only wanted a quiet meal too. Wish I'd hired a strip-o-gram now though.'

There were four men sitting at their table, all easily in their fifties.

‘It's his third marriage – you'd think he'd have learnt by now,' John was still talking. ‘Well, better get back I suppose. If you fancy a drink after the meal we'll be in the residents' room.'

‘Thanks,' smiled David. ‘We might just do that.'

‘We've empty rooms upstairs, so you're welcome to stay if it drags on a bit.'

‘Thanks.'

Emily returned to find the waiter serving cheese and biscuits and a fresh bottle of wine.

The door to the resident's lounge opened with a weary groan of its iron hinges. It was a large high-ceilinged room, dimly illuminated by a pile of logs blazing on the hearth. Books crammed the shelves that lined the walls, their spines reflecting the flames onto several studded sofas and chairs whose red leather was worn and cracked. In a recess in one corner, above a snooker table, three one hundred watt bulbs cut a pyramid of light through the cigar smoke to reveal only the legs of the men who played on the baize. The sedate click of ball striking ball and the mumbled acknowledgement of a good shot were the only occasional sounds to accompany the crackling and spitting of the fire.

‘Let's watch,' urged David.

Eyes peered from the shadows beyond the pyramid of light at Emily's shapely calves and ankles. Her stockings whispered to the faceless men as she sat on a stool and crossed her legs.

‘Ah, glad you decided to join us,' welcomed the disembodied voice of John Marshall. ‘Would you care to play a few frames? Doubles. Leonard and Roger aren't having much luck. They haven't won a game yet.'

David weighed and chalked a cue, and Emily's eyes widened at the semblance it bore to the cruel sjambok that had taught her so much. ‘Love to,' he said, handing Emily a cue. She took it tentatively, thankful of the darkness beyond the boundaries of the table in which to hide; she had never played the game before in her life. She removed her jacket and hungry eyes watched her white blouse strain to contain her promising figure.

She was the last to have a shot, and used the waiting time to study their actions; the way they held the stick and sawed it between finger and thumb. The size of the table was quite daunting. Her time duly arrived. She expected David to offer advice, but he didn't. She failed to pot a red, but was only too pleased to have hit one at all. She hadn't embarrassed herself, and the game continued. Her confidence grew. She became quite enthralled in the tactics and technicalities of the contest, so much so that she failed to notice the men gathering behind her whenever it was her turn, watching her bend over the table – calves straining, bottom jutting, waist dipping, breasts brushing the baize.

As the game continued Roger nipped out to fetch a few bottles of champagne, feeling the introduction of the two newcomers had lifted an otherwise dull party. Conversation between the men began to flow, and Emily soon learned that Leonard was to be married the following Saturday.

‘We're honeymooning in Goa.'

‘That's in Italy, isn't it?' said Paul. ‘I had a friend who went there once.'

‘India, actually,' Leonard corrected. ‘West coast. All unspoiled and quiet. Daphne's into that sort of thing.'

Emily leaned across to line up a red.

‘You'll love it over there,' said David. ‘The women really know how to treat a man.' There was a lecherous cheer from the other males before David added: ‘They do, believe me. And once you've sampled it first hand you'll know what I mean.' He eased the tip of his cue between Emily's legs and slowly raised it. She remained bent over the table. Her skirt rustled enticingly. The atmosphere grew electric and fell silent as all eyes followed the cue's ascent. David inched it higher until the darker bands at the top of her stockings peeped from just below the hem of her skirt. The shadows on her inner thighs teased the open-mouthed men, and promised of secret delights just a few inches higher. The heavy cigar smoke swirled beneath the light and hovered just above the shiny balls. Emily's elbow glided forward and a red rattled around the jaws of a pocket. She moaned her disappointment that it didn't drop. David removed the cue from its snug hiding-place, and she retreated into the shadowy sanctuary without another word.

Paul slipped his chalk into his pocket and furtively adjusted the swelling in his pants so he could bend a little more comfortably to play his shot.

‘Have—' John coughed a little to clear the slight tremor in his voice. ‘Have you been to that area?'

It was David's turn at the table, and he talked while he checked his angles and looked for a snooker. ‘Not that particular place, no,' he admitted. ‘But I've travelled in both Pakistan and India where they hold certain beliefs.'

‘And what about Emily?' persisted John, turning to her. ‘Have you travelled to these places?' There was reason to his question and everyone in the room knew it.

She didn't answer, not knowing what the right thing would be to say, not knowing what David was up to, but David had set the game afoot and he made the rules.

‘She's learned a lot of their ways,' he spoke for her. ‘She's aware of their beliefs.'

The conversation was an extension of the tactical war being waged on the battlefields of the snooker table.

John leaned into the light. ‘Are they religious beliefs – solemn vows?'

‘Let's not get too deep,' said David. ‘Your shot.'

John took his go in silence, miscuing the ball totally.

‘Good shot,' chuckled David. ‘Perhaps now's the time for a little side-bet.' He gathered the balls in the triangle and began removing the balls from the side pockets. ‘What if we play you and Paul, or Roger and Leonard, in a little competition?'

‘What if we win?' said Roger. ‘How much do we get?'

‘You won't be playing for money.'

‘Well, what then?' asked John hopefully, having already guessed where this might be leading.

‘If you win, Emily will remove a piece of clothing.'

‘Sounds interesting,' said Paul. ‘And if we loose?'

‘Ay, there's the rub,' quoted David from his schoolboy Shakespeare. He became a little more serious. ‘You all look like well-heeled gentlemen. Shall we say fifty quid a piece?'

There was a brief conference, during which the huddled men peered at Emily's curves and rubbed their chins. Agreement was reached, the balls re-racked, and a coin tossed.

The only one of the group unsure of the situation was Emily herself. She whispered in David's ear: ‘Master, I'm not very good at this game. We're sure to lose.'

David smiled reassuringly. He saw this as another important piece of her learning. It was another way for him to gauge her loyalty and obedience under the most trying of conditions.

‘We'll lose, and I'll be naked amongst these strangers.'

‘Then you'd better hope to win.'

The blouse was the first to go. Soft breasts bulged over the top of the basque every time she bent to play a shot, and four men yearned to take the place of the cue; gripped in her fist and rubbed back and forth against the welcoming warmth of those breasts. Four mouths drooled and four pairs of eyes were glued to her perfumed cleavage.

David and Emily lost the second frame by forty points, and she removed her skirt.

The start of the third frame saw Emily walking around the table in basque, stockings, and high-heels. Without knickers the labial restraints were clearly visible whenever she took her turn. She was passing the test with flying colours, but David wanted to push as far as she would go. It was the only way he could know his training had really worked.

Emily's concerns had lessened, and she was definitely beginning to relax, and perhaps even enjoy herself. The initial humiliation had turned to simmering excitement. She could detect the same excitement building in her competitors. When on the opposite side of the table they were only really visible from the waist down, but secret glances told her that four pairs of expensively tailored trousers were distorted at the front. Was David excited too? How far would he take this?