Darkest Fantasies (4 page)

Esther
gingerly removed her camel coat, slipped off her flat shoes, but
balked slightly at unzipping the sensible wool dress in front of
this strange woman.

Madam Tisset
flashed her a look. 'All of it. You have to trust me or we'll get
nowhere fast.'

Esther
stalled. 'You're making it all so - so sordid and sexual. I thought
a self-confidence class would have something to do with being
assertive.'

'You mean judo
type crap? Dearie, leave the macho stuff to men. They can flex
their egos for all they're worth. We've got other weapons, and they
are sexual, make no mistake. Self-confidence is what you have
inside you, it affects how you do things, how you look, how you
feel. But it's also what other people imagine when they look at
you. You can control all of that. Take you, here and now. The image
I see is that of a housewife. It's boring. Let's get rid of it,
shall we?'

Eventually
Esther stood there in her naked glory.

'That,' Madam
Tisset said with conviction, her pale eyes widening, 'is one nice
body.' She stood up, took two steps, yanked a couple of cords, and
suddenly the room seemed to be filled with wall-to-wall mirrors.
Esther flushed bright red and instinctively tried to hide herself,
an impossibility in the circumstances, as the gyrations of the
naked woman in the multiple mirrors proved.

'Cup of tea?'
Madam Tisset asked casually, switching on a kettle. 'Don't be
afraid of yourself, dear. Lift your head up. You have a lovely
body. Flaunt it, and even when it begins to sag a bit, like mine,'
she grinned infectiously, 'still bloody flaunt it. What the hell...
Sugar?'

'Um, one
please.'

'Do you make
love in the dark?'

'I... we...
yes.' Her voice was quiet with embarrassment.

'Well don't.'
Madam Tisset handed her a steaming, flowery mug. 'If you could see
the stupid, fatuous expression on his face when he comes, you'd
have less respect for his authority. You'd also have a bit more
pleasure in the act, knowing you were the one who put it there.
Have you ever come?'

'Of course I
have!' She was indignant.

Madam Tisset
gave a lopsided smile.

'At least, I
think I have,' Esther added meekly.

'Then you
haven't. Still, first things first. Walk around a bit. Move your
hips, so. Stick out your chest. That's it. Great. Get natural. Get
used to it.' Her eyes flickered with a hint of nostalgia. 'I used
to look like that once. Oh well. Still nothing wrong with being a
female when you get old. It's what makes the world go round.'

Esther sipped
at the tea, and gradually the feeling of disquiet began to fade.
She began to look at the body displayed in the mirrors with more
interest. She was only a few years over twenty, her skin still
creamy and firm, her breasts full without the hint of sag, her
bottom well padded but not fat. Her naturally blonde hair hung in
curls to her shoulders, echoed by the delicate golden curls between
her legs, and her eyes seemed very green in the bright, artificial
light.

She was
undeniably beautiful.

Suddenly the
room began to sway a little. With alarm she demanded: 'What was in
the tea? You put something in the tea!'

'Just to help
you relax, dear. Go on, look at yourself. Study every delicious
detail. Bend over - look between your legs. That's what he
sees.'

With
surprising calm Esther did as she was told, realising that she had
never actually looked at herself intimately before. She was
surprised how large the lips of her sex looked from that angle, how
small and tight and puckered her arse was, and how long her legs.
The posture was an open invitation, and blatantly sexual.
Intrigued, she opened her legs wider. Her breasts nestled happily
between her thighs, and with her hands reaching to the floor, all
her muscles were tight, accentuating every curve and line of her
body.

Was that how
Kevin saw her?

Madam Tisset
leaned back in the sofa, put her feet up and crossed her ankles.
'Ever do that for your man?' she asked.

The upside
down mouth in the mirror curved into a smile. 'He would hate me to
be so - so coarse!'

'Because
you're his wife and not his whore?'

Esther stood
and swivelled angrily. 'Yes!'

'Men need a
whore, too. If you're not it, then someone else will be.'

'Kevin doesn't
want that kind of...' her voice petered out. She really didn't know
what Kevin did want any more, and he certainly sought favours
outside the marital bed. She hadn't needed Chrissie to tell her
that. All Chrissie had done was let her know that everyone else
knew what was going on, and that hurt.

'Stays late at
the office, does he? Have there been rumours? Because there will
be, and you can bet your bottom dollar they won't all be
fiction.'

'That's why
I'm here,' she admitted in a small voice. 'I want to tell him that
he can't have me and other women. I can't let him do that.'

'That's the
best way I know to lose him.'

'Oh...
but—'

'You see,
dear,' the woman continued, 'words are no use at all when you're
talking about sex. You have to grow with him, you have to become
what he wants, then he won't want the other women.'

'But I don't
know what he wants,' she wailed. 'I was trying to be what he wants,
and it isn't working!'

'You were
trying to be one part of what he wants, because you didn't realise
that men like everything in neat little compartments. The wife, the
whore; the work, the home. I bet he's one guy in the office,
another when he's out socialising, and something totally different
with you. So you see, you have to do the same thing. A man is a
very strange creature. He wants to be boss, but can't cope with
responsibility. He acts like he's dominating, but what he really
wants, deep inside, is to be dominated to take away some of his
stress. What you have to learn is to let him be boss but make the
decisions yourself.'

'It all sounds
very complicated,' Esther said dolefully.

'It's easy.
From what I can gather, your Kevin is a fine, strutting cockerel,
crowing and boasting and ruling the roost. I've met many like that.
For some reason they think that little bit of flesh between their
legs makes them your boss and your better, and no amount of words
will make him think any different. What you have to do is knock him
off his perch and then allow him to climb back up in easy stages,
so that once he gets there again he'll realise just what a very
unstable perch it is. Let him do all the hard work to keep
you.'

'And how do I
do that?'

Madam Tisset
smiled encouragingly at the positive question, even though it was
spoken in tones of hesitation. 'The first thing you have to do is
get him into a position of utter subservience, then you'll find
what he's really made of. Now, before that happens, you've got to
get some kind of self-respect going here. Let's sort out some
clothes for you.' She walked over to another red curtain and drew
it back to reveal a door. 'Come with me.'

The room
inside was simply a vast wardrobe, but not like any wardrobe Esther
had ever seen. She gasped. On one wall there were whips, gags, and
leather things she couldn't think of a use for, and there were
racks of garments made of leather, rubber, and studs. On the other
side was a rack of flimsy stuff with lace. It was like a vast
dressing-up box where she identified, amongst other things, outfits
resembling those of a maid, schoolgirl, nurse...

She spun
round, her eyes wide with shock. 'Good God,' she said. 'You're
a...'

Madam Tisset
was not noticeably upset or offended. 'The word is whore, dear. The
oldest profession known to man. Or woman. It's quite an art form -
if you're worth more than a quick blow-job, of course - because
when they first come to you men really don't know what they want.
The poor dears are confused, torn between their primeval needs and
the conventions of society. Deep, deep inside their heads is a
trigger for turning them to one or the other. You have to discover
this trigger because often they have no idea what it is themselves.
If your husband is knocking off other women it's because you
haven't found his trigger, and he's searching other places for it.
You have to find it before one of them does.'

'And how,'
Esther said scathingly, 'am I supposed to do that?'

'That, my
dear, is what I'm going to teach you.'

A couple of
weeks later Esther realised just how much she was changing when
Kevin breezed through the door, whistling. She could just smell
cheap perfume on him, and recognised it for what it was. 'You have
to keep up to date with things that matter to other people, dear,'
Madam Tisset had said. 'You have to know your perfumes, follow the
fashions, learn the right words. You don't have to be a fashion
bimbo, of course, there's too many of those around already. You
just have to know what's out there. It's an education. It's keeping
abreast of things so when people are being catty you can cut them
down with a couple of words. It's very effective.'

Oh yes, she
knew that perfume. And if she went into the office, ten to one she
would find out exactly who was wearing it. A small part of her
didn't want to know, and the other wanted to go in and flatten
whoever it was. She was in the kitchen with her apron on, which
would not have worried her a few weeks ago, but now she felt the
need to take it off. 'Had a good day, dear?' she asked,
smiling.

Kevin didn't
seem to notice her new dress. He gave her a perfunctory kiss and
sighed dramatically. 'Hectic,' he said, reaching for the sympathy
she could dispense so well. 'Make me a nice cup of coffee would
you, Essie, honey?'

'I went to the
class today, Kevin.'

'Class?' he
said, with little interest.

'That one
about self-confidence I told you about. The one with the French
lady.'

'Good, good.'
It was nice that she was taking the trouble to go to those classes.
He was glad Esther was doing something other than moping around.
She did seem a bit peaky lately. Perhaps it was time she had a
baby; something to keep her occupied while he was at work. He ought
to try again, tonight, only somehow he didn't think he could find
the energy. Flopping wearily into his chair he kept the calculated
expression from his face as he recalled his latest bout with
Alicia. He had been right. Somehow the novelty had worn off, even
though she'd been so anxious to please; she'd done everything he'd
demanded, and then some. 'So what did she teach you today,
honey?'

Esther smiled
grimly. He would learn in good time. 'Psychology, mostly,' she told
him as he picked up the paper and turned to page three. 'And sexual
massage.'

'That's nice
dear.' He reached absently for the mug she'd placed beside him.
'What's for dinner?'

'Your
favourite. Roast beef with Yorkshire pudding.'

'But it's not
Sunday. What will we have on Sunday if we have that tonight?' His
complacency turned to confusion for a brief moment as the
regimented order of his home life suddenly failed him. 'Did I hear
you say something about sex?'

'No, I don't
think you heard anything I said,' she muttered to herself. But she
knew a moment of triumph at her small victory. Now it was her turn
to whistle happily as she went back to the kitchen.

As far as
Melissa was concerned, Kevin discovered one evening that he was not
required to make any effort at all. Still thinking of her as a
prospective conquest, he found himself more than a little shocked
when she took the initiative. He was working late at the office
when she sidled in and locked the door behind her, giving him a
glance of pure and unadulterated lust as she did so. He flashed a
startled glance, recognised her intent, and instantly got the
biggest hard-on he'd had in a long while. Just as well the desk was
between them.

'What do you
think you're doing?' he snapped coldly, appearing suitably
unimpressed. It wasn't right that a woman should take the
initiative.

She gave him a
charming smile. 'I'm going to fuck you.'

'Indeed?'

'Indeed.'

His gaze
should have chilled her, but she echoed his word, spicing it with a
faint hint of amusement, and he saw for the first time the glint of
steel behind the green eyes and pussycat face. He had just enough
time to wonder fleetingly if this was one broad he should steer
clear of, when she strode across the room. Even as he was pushing
back the chair and rising to object she gave him a hefty shove
which slammed him back into the seat. It was a director's chair on
a five-caster base, and he sailed back towards the wall, startled,
clutching the sides. She was stronger than she looked, and had also
taken him off guard, but to his surprise a thrill of excitement
quivered through his body at her aggressive action. No woman had
ever pushed him about before. Always the dominant partner of any
sexual encounter, the thought of being dominated himself was a
scenario he'd never envisaged, and the novelty itself was an
aphrodisiac. With interest he waited to see what she would do.

Like a cat
stalking its prey she kept those green eyes on him while she
stepped forward, one foot directly before the other, causing her
hips to roll enticingly, and leaned down. Her tongue briefly lapped
his tightly sealed lips, her eyes staring into his the whole time.
As she backed away slightly he licked his lips, warmed by her
tongue, and the brazen way her eyes were caressing him right down
to his groin left him in no doubt at all as to her intention.
Something nice uncurled inside him and he began to smile craftily.
What did he have to lose? Sometimes, after all, it was better to go
with the flow.