Master of the House (18 page)

‘I’ve told you. He’s a busy man. He doesn’t care about me.’

‘I think you should tell him you’ve met someone.’

‘All right. I will. Next time he’s down.’

‘That’s in a couple of weeks, isn’t it?’

‘Uh huh. So, you’re unexpectedly free for the evening. What could we possibly think of to do?’

What we – or rather, he – thought of involved a wooden paddle, a silver chain harness, a silk blindfold, fur-lined handcuffs and a medium-sized butt plug. And lube, lots of it.

* * *

Lying on his bed in the aftermath, with stinging red rear and sticky pussy and a deep – bone-deep – sense of having been used to my limits, I asked him how his first session with the therapist had gone.

‘Oh, you know,’ he said with a yawn. He was putting his toys back in the case, save for the butt plug, which needed a wash. ‘Tell me about your childhood. All that.’

‘And did you? Tell her about it?’

‘I made a start. It was easier than I expected, actually – I think because she was a total stranger.’

‘Mum always says that. Impartial listeners are the best.’

‘I told her about you.’

‘Did you?’

‘Yeah. She asked if there’d been any catalyst for my seeking help now. I said yes, there was, and she had a name. Apparently that’s quite common.’

‘Is it?’ I was touched, almost to tears, by this piece of information. The idea of being able to change his life for the better was powerful, now it was coming to fruition.

‘So she said.’ He clicked the case shut and came to lie down beside me. ‘Fancy a bath?’

‘I could probably use one.’

‘Well, I didn’t like to say anything …’

I smacked his thigh, which reminded me of the time I’d tried to domme him, which made me laugh. What a useless dominatrix I’d make.

‘Are you sure you wanted to do that?’ he asked with flirtatious menace.

‘Sorry,
sir
,’ I said, all sass and backchat.

‘Oh, I think that tells me all I need to know. Come on, then. Let’s clean you up first.’

‘First?’

‘Before I ruin you again.’

Mm, ruination sounded good, if a little unfeasible in my condition. I’d given up trying to work out where my boundaries were, though. They didn’t seem to be at all where I thought they were. What had been a field turned out to be a prairie.

He got up and sauntered through to the dressing room-cum-en suite. I heard the taps thunder into life, then he came back, hauled me off the bed and carried me, over his shoulder, into the bathroom.

Within a few minutes, I had sunk into bubbly, steamy blissfulness. He slid in behind me and lathered me up, slowly and thoroughly, while I laid my head back against his shoulder and shut my eyes.

‘I’ll have to call Jamila and apologise,’ I said. ‘At least there were plenty of other people there. It’s not as if I’ll be missed.’

‘When’s the wedding?’

‘Weekend after next.’

‘Ah, coincides with our friend’s visit then.’ He paused. ‘Are you allowed to take a guest?’

I turned round to face him.

‘Don’t tell me you want to come? You don’t know the woman. Or the man.’

‘No, but as your partner … It’s OK. It’s too late, I expect. It would just have made a nice distraction from the goings-on here. I’ve never been to a Muslim wedding before.’

‘I’m taking mum as my plus one. It’s all RSVP’d and arranged now.’

‘It’s fine. Just a thought.’ He sighed. ‘You’ll think of me, all alone in my caravan, won’t you, while you’re living it up?’

‘We’d be the talk of the town, if we did go together, anyway.’

‘We already are, aren’t we?’

He squeezed the sponge over my shoulder and I watched as the suds on my collarbone were hastened on their watery route down into my cleavage.

‘How long do you really think all this will take?’ I asked.

‘What?’

‘Originally, you said you thought I’d be ready for this kink party thing by Christmas. Do you still think that?’

He took a deep breath and cupped my slippery breasts in his hands.

‘I’ll tell you the truth,’ he said. ‘I had no idea how long it would take when I gave you that time frame. I was so taken aback that you were up for it I wasn’t really thinking straight. You’ve got the positions and the little rites and rituals almost perfectly now. All I’m concerned about is that we haven’t tried some of the harsher implements – the cane, mainly. And we still haven’t taken the final plunge in a certain area.’ He removed one hand from a breast and tickled the furrow of my buttocks with one finger, as if I was in any doubt as to his meaning.

‘So do you think I’d pass, if he demanded our attendance next week, for instance?’

Joss pondered this. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’d be uncomfortable with it at this stage. I don’t think you’re experienced enough yet. I think you’d answer him back or refuse to do things that were expected of you. You can perform submissive
acts
, but it still takes you a while to get into subspace.’

‘It’s self-consciousness, that’s all.’

‘I know, and it’d be magnified by a factor of God knows what if you were in a room with a dozen other people. You don’t know how you’ll react.’

‘That’s true. I don’t know. I can’t imagine it, either.’

Joss massaged my shoulder blades absently for a minute or two.

‘Perhaps we should go to a club,’ he said.

‘A club? There’s nothing like that in Tylney, surely.’

‘No.’ He chuckled at the thought. ‘Apart from right here in my own home, of course. No, I mean, there’s a place in London, a fetish club. We could try it for size.’

‘Oh, God, really?’

‘Think of it as an assignment. You don’t have to show your face – they do a masked ball about four times a year. I think there’s one coming up. I’ll check my messages.’

‘You’re on their mailing list?’

‘I most certainly am. Haven’t been there for a while, but I’m still a member.’

‘What’s it like?’

He kissed the side of my neck. ‘You’ll see.’ He kissed it again and locked his hands around my stomach, keeping me close and tight.

Wet stubble was still prickly, I noted drowsily before being pulled into a full and firm snog. Our bodies slapped and sucked together, the bubbles bursting lightly against damp skin. When our tongues darted through willing lips, it only added to the sense of steamy envelopment.

He broke off – he had a talent for this – just as I was becoming desperate for more and ordered me to get out of the bath.

He was out first, and wrapped in a towel, by the time he helped me to step over the lip of the old-fashioned claw-footed tub.

For a sweet moment, I thought he was going to wrap me in a towel and a warm embrace, but instead he twirled me around, bent me over the bath and set to spanking my wet bottom with his wet hand. I was still a little tender from the paddling and it took no time at all for me to start dancing and gasping.

‘If you treat me with disrespect,’ he said, ‘you can expect to be punished.’

‘Ow, ouch, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.’

He stayed his hand, gripped my hips and eased himself inside me.

The act was unexpected, although in retrospect utterly predictable, and I lost my breath for a little while and felt, as if anew, the glorious snug fit of his cock inside my tight sleeve.

He took it slowly and I revelled in the steam beading my face, the tropical heat of us, the sensation of a well-used body put to further use. Every ache and twinge was precious because I was freeing myself again from what I had thought was possible. My capacity for sexual perversion was broader and deeper than I could ever have imagined; it had taken Joss to unlock me.

‘Down,’ he said, ploughing a slow, deep furrow. ‘Right down. Get your arse up high.’

He made me play with myself while he fucked me and when I came my knees buckled and we fell together on to the fleecy bath mat.

Between the woolly tussocks I saw grime.

‘My final condition,’ I said, in bed later, definitely fit for nothing more than profound sleep.

‘I thought we were done with those,’ he objected.

‘No, one last one. Get a cleaner.’

‘Can’t afford one.’

‘Then do it yourself. What else are you doing all day?’

‘Estate business,’ he objected. ‘I’m not getting a pinny on and dusting the cobwebs.’

‘Who else is going to do it?’

He sighed.

‘Don’t you dare look at me. I already have a full-time job.’

‘Wouldn’t your mum …?’

‘No, she bloody wouldn’t. Take it or leave it. Get this place cleaned up or I don’t spend another night here.’

‘Caravan park, then?’

‘I mean it.’

‘So do I.’

But when I came back from work the next evening, it was clear that some effort had been made. The carpets in the two rooms where we spent most time – the morning room and bedroom – had been vacuumed and the thick coatings of dust on the wooden furnishings were gone.

Joss didn’t draw attention to it, but he had this kind of falsely modest, preening air about him that made it obvious he wanted me to notice.

‘Have the fairies been here?’ I asked, bending over the table to see my face in its polished surface.

‘What do you mean? What are we doing for supper? I’ve been to Waitrose.’

‘
You’ve
been to Waitrose?’

‘I mean, I got Fran to go. She got all sorts of things. Shall I cook?’

‘
Can
you cook?’ We had lived on bacon sandwiches and porridge for about three weeks – when we could drag ourselves out of bed, that is.

‘I’ve got a recipe book,’ he said.

‘I’ll help you.’

The kitchen was a revelation. Shiny and sparkly and free of the cobwebs and grunge that had lurked in every corner.

‘You’ve been busy,’ I exclaimed, turning to him.

‘Oh, it’s easy, isn’t it? I don’t know why everyone complains about it so much. It took less than an hour.’

‘Less than an hour?’

Looking more closely, there was a certain streakiness about the metallic surfaces, and the floor had been swept but not mopped. It was better than it had looked in some time, though, it must be acknowledged.

‘This is history in the making,’ I said. ‘Lord Lethbridge turns scullery maid for his cleaner’s daughter.’

‘That’d better not be the headline in tomorrow’s
Voice
,’ he said, looking up from the cupboard he was peering into.

‘Perish the thought.’

‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘you’re doing the washing up tonight.’

‘Am I?’

‘Yes. In this.’ And he threw a white apron at me, along with a tea towel.

‘Is this vintage?’ I asked, inspecting the starchy, stiffly frilled garment.

‘I rather think it is,’ he said. ‘Can’t wait to see you in it. And nothing else.’ He winked.

‘Sounds like you’re cooking then.’

‘Yes, er …’ He wandered over to the freezer and pulled out a large foil tray with cardboard cover. ‘Cottage pie?’

‘Oh, you’ve bought a stack of ready meals! I might have known.’

‘I think they’re a brilliant idea,’ he objected. ‘Nice food without any work, and cheaper than a takeaway. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Salt. Fat,’ I said. ‘Never mind. What veg are we having with it?’

‘Veg?’

‘Yes, you know, green stuff, sometimes orange or red, often leafy …’ I left it open, eyebrows raised in question.

‘Oh. Do you know? I don’t think I bought any.’

I laughed hollowly.

‘Joss, you live in one of the most fertile arable areas in the world. And you have no veg in your larder.’

‘I’ve never had to think about that kind of thing,’ he said. ‘We had a cook until father died. And after that my only vegetable intake was fermented and distilled potato.’

‘Vodka,’ I said with a sigh. ‘Yes. Go on then. Bung it in the microwave. I’ll lay the table.’

‘Lucky table,’ he said, doing as advised.

The cottage pie was tasty, if a bit lacking in runner beans on the side. As I forked it up, Joss said, ‘I emailed Mal today.’

‘Who’s Mal?’

‘The owner of that club I was telling you about. He says there’s a Masquerade Ball next Friday.’

‘Next Friday?’ The mashed potato turned to thick wadding in my mouth.

‘Short notice, I know, but the perfect opportunity to get a bit of experience of public play under your belt.’

‘Under
your
belt, more likely.’

He liked that. ‘Yes,’ he said with a devilish smile. ‘Quite. So, how about it?’

‘What if I have to work? I don’t know when a story’s going to come up or how it’s going to play out.’

‘It’s just one night, Lulu. If Jack the Ripper comes to Tylney, we can reschedule, but I don’t think that’s on the cards, do you?’

‘You never know. OK, I have nothing to wear to a BDSM Masquerade.’

‘That’s easily fixed.’

‘What are you going to wear?’ I was curious. ‘You’d look good in leather.’

‘Actually I do have some leather trousers somewhere. They haven’t fitted me in years though.’

‘Try them on again. They might now. You’ve lost a bit of weight since you stopped drinking.’

‘I will. And we’ll need masks, of course. I’ve got several – you’ll have to order one. There’s a great website I know of.’

‘I want feathers.’

‘Then feathers you shall have. I can see you in a jewelled harness with sequinned nipple pasties and a ponytail butt plug.’

‘No chance, sunshine. I’m covering myself.’

‘Spoilsport. Never mind. There are a thousand ways of dressing that make you look more naked than if your flesh is bare. We’ll come up with one that suits you.’

‘I don’t know about that. I hate wearing a bikini at the beach.’

‘I can’t think why. You’re gorgeous. I can’t look at you without wanting to get my hands all over you.’

The cottage pie was going cold. Clearly we both had other appetites at the forefront of our mind.

‘So,’ I said, my voice coming out all husky. ‘Tell me about these balls. What happens at them?’

‘I don’t want to spoil the surprise,’ he said. ‘But at the last one I bought a slave for the night at an auction. I already knew her,’ he added hastily, seeing my wrinkled nose. ‘She was a friend’s submissive. And when I say I bought her, the money went to charity, and obviously she was fine with everything. It was her idea, in fact.’