Domination Inc. (5 page)

That's what you think, sunshine, Laurel thought, wondering how the scene was about to unfold. Would they go home and finish their game in private, or would he cause the girl to undergo the humiliation she so obviously craved right here…?

Her reverie was interrupted by a voice at her elbow. ‘Excuse me, do you have a light?' She almost jumped out of her skin at the realisation that the man who was addressing her was the dark-haired Warren.

‘No, I don't smoke,' she replied, flustered. ‘I'm sorry, I was miles away.'

‘I can see that.' He was regarding her again, but there was a different quality to his gaze now, almost as if he thought he was looking at a kindred spirit. ‘You've been listening in to what I've been saying, haven't you?'

Laurel could not prevent a guilty blush from rising to her cheeks. ‘Some of it, yes. I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself.'

He brushed her apology aside. ‘And you're not shocked?'

Quite the opposite, Laurel wanted to tell him, aware of a tell-tale pulse beating between her legs, signalling her growing excitement, an excitement which was being stoked by the man's persuasive voice and dominant aura. She shook her head. ‘I've got what you might call a professional interest.'

Warren laughed, a low, feral sound. ‘Is that a fancy way of telling me you're a voyeur? And you such a classy-looking girl, too. Well, it takes all sorts, I suppose.'

Laurel, her mind fuddled by his powerful self-assurance, briefly wondered whether to be insulted or flattered by his comments.

‘Look, join us for a moment,' he urged. ‘I've been threatening Sara that I'd invite an audience if she didn't behave, but I didn't know when I'd meet the right person – until now.'

As if in a daze, Laurel stood up and followed the stranger back to his table. The red-haired girl's eyes widened at the sight of her.

‘Sara, this is...'

‘Laurel,' Laurel supplied quickly, smiling at the girl.

‘She knows what you've been asked to do,' Warren continued. ‘And she's as eager as I am to see that you do as you're told, aren't you, Laurel?'

‘Oh, yes,' Laurel replied fervently, slipping into what she sensed was the required rôle. ‘If you've been as bad as Warren tells me you have, then I think you deserve everything that's coming to you.' She had no idea what the hapless Sara was being required to do, but she sensed it would be much more humiliating for the girl if an audience was involved.

‘But I've been good,' Sara protested. ‘Honestly, Warren, you know I have.'

‘Giving the glad eye to the barman when you think I'm not looking, refusing to do what you're told when I make a perfectly reasonable request...' Warren sighed. ‘I don't call that being a good girl, Sara.'

‘But...' The girl's voice trailed into nothing, and she glanced nervously from Warren to Laurel and back. Laurel could not help comparing her attitude to that of the feisty Cindy. Where the little blonde would fight back against a potential punishment with cheek and defiance, Sara already seemed resigned to her fate.

‘Lift your top up, Sara,' Warren ordered.

‘But someone might be looking,' Sara replied half-heartedly.

‘Ah, well, you should have thought of that,' Warren replied.

Laurel cast a quick glance over her shoulder. No one seemed to be looking in their direction, and if they had been, she suspected that she was shielding Sara from immediate view. Don, the barman, was shambling from table to table on the other side of the room, collecting empty glasses, but he seemed more engrossed in that task than anything which might be happening elsewhere in the bar.

‘Do as you're told, Sara,' Warren said.

The girl was wearing a cropped jumper in fluffy white wool. She caught hold of the hem where it rested against her bare midriff, her eyes pleading silently with Warren not to make her go any further. He stared back, enigmatic as a carved Buddha, but obviously in control of this particular battle of wills. Sara caved in, and pulled up her top. Two firm, creamy breasts, topped with nipples of the palest rose, were revealed to Laurel's gaze. Laurel could not help but notice that the girl's aureoles were already taut and crinkled, the teats standing proud from those barely-pink surrounds. The sight made her pussy clench with anticipation.

‘What do you think, Laurel?' Warren asked, his tone almost proprietorial.

‘Oh, she's got beautiful breasts,' Laurel replied sincerely.

‘Hasn't she just?' Warren said. ‘The rest of her is pretty special, too. Watch.' He turned his attention to Sara once more. ‘Lift your legs up, knees apart. I want the heels of your shoes resting on the seat.'

‘Please, Warren, don't make me do this,' Sara pleaded. ‘I haven't got any knickers on, remember?'

‘How could I forget?' Warren murmured.

‘Won't that position be uncomfortable?' Laurel asked.

‘She's got to learn,' Warren retorted. ‘Anyway, she goes to dance classes. She's so supple she could lick her own pussy if she wanted to.'

As Laurel watched, Sara raised her long legs, resting her feet on the worn plush banquette. It was a movement she could not make without giving Laurel a good flash of her wet, puffy sex, crowned with a blaze of flame-red hair. Laurel shifted in her seat, feeling the seam of her jeans cutting into her own quim, which felt hot and damp against the faded blue denim. The sensations intensified as Sara slowly let her thighs spread wide, as Warren had demanded. Laurel could imagine how shameful it would feel to have to present herself in such a way, every fold of her most intimate flesh exposed to a scrutinising gaze, with the possibility of being observed by complete strangers who would no doubt take the image home to form the basis of their own masturbatory fantasies.

Satisfied that Sara was in the required position, Warren was busily planning the next stage in her humiliation. He gestured to the empty glass on the table in front of her. It had contained tomato juice, a glutinous red residue still clinging to the sides of the glass, and a couple of partially-melted ice cubes sat in the bottom.

‘Take one of those ice cubes out of that glass,' Warren instructed Sara, ‘but don't let your top drop down.'

Mutely, Sara did as she was told, clutching the hem of the jumper in her left fist as she fished one of the sticky ice cubes out of the liquid that remained in the bottom of the glass.

‘Now, lick it clean.'

Sara parted her lips, letting her pointed pink tongue peep between them, and obediently licked the ice cube. With her breasts and sex so brazenly on display, the girl was a marvellously erotic sight, Laurel thought. She had already guessed what Warren intended Sara to do with that ice cube, but she still wanted to see the redhead's reaction as he delivered the order.

‘Okay, rub your right nipple with the ice cube,' Warren said.

Sara's eyes opened widely in surprise. Surely she must have known what Warren was leading up to? Laurel thought. Perhaps she had expected Warren to take the ice from her and apply it to her flesh himself. In other circumstances, Laurel suspected, he might well have done. But how much more degrading it was for Sara if she had to do it.

The girl closed her eyes and let the ice cube brush lightly against her nipple. She whimpered, and began to move it in small, languorous circles. The little nub of flesh, already stiff, peaked even further as the ice chilled it.

‘And the left,' Warren said. Sara followed his command automatically, pressing the slowly-melting ice to her other nipple.

Laurel looked round to see if there was any chance of their being interrupted, but Don was busy serving a customer, and the bar itself seemed to have emptied somewhat over the last few minutes. Perhaps Sara's performance had been spotted and the tables had been vacated by men eager to pile into the gents' and relieve their suddenly swelling cocks, spending their seed in a tribute to the redhead's beauty and submissive nature.

‘You're enjoying that, you slut,' Warren said. Laurel started guiltily, wondering which of them he was referring to. ‘Let's see how you feel once you've cooled that hot little cunt of yours. Come on, Sara, I want to see that ice cube sliding into your hole.'

Warren's words were almost needlessly crude, but from the way Sara whimpered, Laurel realised the girl found such earthy language a powerful turn-on. Sara needed no further encouragement to insinuate the ice cube into the opening of her sex, working it in and out of the tight, juicy orifice. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, and when the lump of ice skittered down her slippery crease and settled on her clitoris, her agonised shudders indicated that she was likely to reach orgasm within seconds.

‘That's it, Sara,' Warren crooned. ‘Come for me, you little tart.'

Sara's only answer was a low, guttural groan, as she pushed the ice cube deep into her vagina and left it there, while her middle finger rubbed frantically at her clit. Her cries as her body arched in climax were drowned by the sound of the juke box kicking into life with the opening bars of a raucous heavy metal track. Within seconds, she was subdued and still once more.

Warren reached over and planted a delicate kiss on the top of Sara's tousled red hair, the first sign of tenderness Laurel had seen him show towards the girl. Then he turned to Laurel, his eyes glittering with satisfaction.

‘So, do you fancy a turn?' he asked.

Laurel glanced at Sara's glass, registering that it still contained one ice cube. Was he wanting her to tell Sara what to do with it, or – her quim spasmed at the thought – did he want her to bare her breasts and use the ice on herself? An image flashed vividly into her mind, of Warren's fingers opening the fly of her jeans, slipping the ice down the front of her knickers, and pressing it firmly against the crevices of her sex.

‘Come back with us,' Warren urged, putting his arm round her and stroking the soft inside of her wrist with his thumb. ‘Sara's place is just round the corner. You can find out just how good she is at licking pussy. She loves that, and she loves being made to suck my cock after I've fucked another woman with it.'

For a moment Laurel leaned into his caress, severely tempted, then she shook her head. If she wanted Warren to work for her, then she had to dismiss any thoughts of becoming involved with him sexually. It just wasn't professional.

‘I'm sorry, I don't think it's a very good idea,' she told him.

‘Come on,' he said, ‘you're giving me every indication that you want my body.'

The arrogance of the man was breathtaking, Laurel thought, but she kept her tone civil as she replied, ‘I do, but not in the way you're thinking.' She pulled away from him and pressed a business card into his hand, one of a batch she'd made up herself at a vending machine on the concourse of Charing Cross station the day before. ‘I'm recruiting for my escort agency, and I thought you'd be just the man to join my staff. You're a very accomplished master, Warren, and I could put a lot of work your way. But I want you to understand that our relationship would be strictly professional. I don't mix business with pleasure.'

‘It sounds like you don't mix anything with pleasure,' he retorted, but she noticed that he slipped the card into the pocket of his leather jacket before ushering Sara out of the pub.

‘I'll wait to hear from you,' Laurel said to Warren's disappearing back, but she could not help feeling that, perfect for the agency as he would have been, she would hear nothing more from the man.

 

‘He was ideal, Joe, and I blew it,' Laurel sighed, as the two of them sat in the office the following morning. Her desk was covered with duotone images of women in submissive postures, courtesy of a photographer friend of Cindy's, which they were looking through in an attempt to find one that would be suitable for their publicity material. They needed cards to put up in the phone boxes throughout the West End – even though such flyposting was strictly illegal, it was a risk they were willing to take in their attempt to get the agency off the ground – and flyers to be distributed in clubs and the fetish clothing shops that were clustered largely around Old Compton Street.

‘So who was this bloke?' Joe asked.

‘I don't know. All I know is he's called Warren, and his girlfriend lives fairly close to me. I suppose I could keep going back to the pub, on the off-chance I'll see him again, but I doubt it.' She ran her hands through her shaggy strawberry-blonde locks. ‘I know I did the right thing by not sleeping with the guy, but—'

‘You were tempted, weren't you?' There was an edge to Joe's voice that made Laurel look up sharply.

‘How long have you known me, Joe? Am I the sort of woman who'd contemplate a threesome with a couple I'd been friendly with for ages, let alone one I'd only met five minutes earlier? But he just had something – I don't know, call it sex appeal – that I found incredibly hard to resist. And that's the sort of man we need working for us.' She slumped in her chair, suddenly eager to change the subject. ‘He's history, though. Forget him. We need to get these flyers sorted out and down to the printers' as soon as possible.'