Master of the House (19 page)

‘All right, all right, you can lay off the case for the defence. Just the word “slave” made me wince a bit. It’s not often heard in a positive context, is it?’

‘No, that’s understandable. When we’re in this BDSM world, it’s like a more innocent place. I know that sounds insane, but do you see what I mean? We shut the wicked world out and live our deviant dreams in the way we want.’

‘But don’t you get people dressing up as Nazis and whatnot?’

‘Not me personally, no. There are people that do, but not in public scenes.’

‘What about Mr Mysterious?’

‘He’s not a fan of the Nazis, I think it’s safe to say.’

‘Oh, is he Jewish?’

Joss looked away. Bingo. A clue, at last.

‘OK,’ he said, facing me again. ‘He’s not Jewish, but if I tell you, will you stay?’

‘Joss, you must know I will. You must know how much in love with you I am.’

There, I’d said it. I’d given him one painful piece of information, and now it was only fair if he told me his secret.

But my words had completely altered the atmosphere. Instead of naming his lessee, he got up and came to sit beside me and took my hands in his.

‘Darling, I didn’t dare. I could only hope. I don’t deserve it, I know, but I can at least tell you that I feel the same way. I’ll never be able to let you go – not this time, not ever again.’

‘I wish things weren’t so difficult …’

‘You mean financially? We’ll work it out. It doesn’t matter anyway – nothing matters as long as you’re with me.’

‘What about the Hall?’

‘Well, apart from the Hall, of course. But I know we’ll get it back. I know it.’

‘And then?’

‘And then?’ He made a ‘the world is our oyster’ shrugging motion. ‘All our dreams can come true,’ he said vaguely.

‘Not the one about all my teeth falling out, I hope.’

He leaned forwards and kissed me, running the tip of his tongue along my top row of pearly whites.

‘I’ll train as a dentist,’ he whispered. ‘About time I did something useful with my life.’

‘Can this really work out?’ I felt like I’d been shot up in the air and I could either float or plunge.

‘It’s up to us,’ he said. ‘If we want it to, of course it can.’ He kissed me again, then looked at our plates. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Have you finished?’

‘I think so.’

‘Good. I’ve spent the whole day wearing rubber gloves and fantasising about what I’ll do when I get to turn the tables. That time has come.’

‘Has it now?’

‘Yes, it has. Prepare to be ordered about.’

‘How do I prepare for that?’

He patted the folded apron.

‘You strip and put this on, of course. Oh, there’s a couple of other things …’ He got up and took some dark, shiny stuff out of a drawer.

When he handed it to me, it was slippery and almost liquid, sliding off my fingers.

‘What are these?’

‘Stockings and gloves,’ he said. ‘You’ll need the gloves. The stockings are just, you know … I like them.’ He winked. ‘Go on – get changed next door if you want. I’ll be waiting for you.’

It wasn’t until I had pulled on the latex elbow-length gloves and had started on the stockings, which were tight and held themselves up, that I realised he had swerved the question of Mr Mysterious’s identity. Well, to be fair, it was I who had done that, with my declaration of love. Perhaps he would have told me, without that. Or perhaps he really didn’t trust me …

I banished the thought from my mind. There was plenty of time to bring the matter up again. For now, I was all black latex and white lace, and it was more than slightly arousing to see myself in the dusty drawing-room mirror with everything exposed despite the items of clothing.

The frilly apron just about covered me in front, but from the back my bottom was completely bare, apart from the ties tickling my cheeks as they hung down from my neat bow. This looked cheeky and almost demure, but the black latex accoutrements changed me from pert to pervert as fast as the eye could move to them. Their squeeze on my skin was a permanent reminder of my condition – I was here to serve and to please him.

I cupped my bottom cheeks in rubber hands and let out a breath, shocking myself at how incredibly wicked it felt. I wondered if I could get Joss to wear some, then cupped my breasts and pinched my nipples with sheeny-shiny fingers.

It was almost too much. I had to step away from the mirror before my gloved digits went somewhere they shouldn’t.

I sauntered into the kitchen, trying to give the impression of nonchalance.

‘Stop there,’ said Joss. I could see he was impressed, though he tried to rein in the salivation. ‘Turn and face me.’

He got up and stood in front of me, looking me over from head to toe.

‘Maybe you should wear that to the Masquerade Ball,’ he said.

I shook my head and he reached out, quick as quick, and snapped my chin upwards between his fingers.

‘I hope that isn’t defiance?’ he said. How did he keep his face so poker-straight and stern? He might be another Joss entirely when he looked at me like that.

‘No, sir,’ I said.

‘Good.’ He played with my breasts for a few moments, then reached under the apron and cupped my sex. ‘Just so you know,’ he murmured, sliding a finger between my underlips, ‘these belong to me. Can’t have you forgetting that. Now, get to the sink.’

It was a bit silly really – there was hardly any washing up to be done. Two knives, two forks, two plates. But I made a show of filling the sink with soapy bubbles, bending over it on tiptoes to push out my bottom because I knew he would like that.

‘There now,’ he said with deep satisfaction, leaning on the table beside me. ‘This is what I like to see. My domestic servant, up to her elbows in hot water.’

I enjoyed watching the way the bubbles slid and popped on my latex gloves and the added glisten the water gave them. I wanted to do the same to the stockings, and I took a handful of foam and popped it on the back seam of my right leg. I couldn’t feel its drift but I knew it would be making a shiny trail on my already shiny hold-up.

‘What on earth are you doing?’ Joss was intrigued.

‘Making my wet look even wetter, sir,’ I said. ‘I like to be shiny.’

‘And you like to be
wet
, you little hussy,’ he said, striding up behind me. ‘What are you trying to do to me? Force me to fuck you here and now? Because I’ll tell you, I’m tempted.’

He pressed himself into me, his erection rubbing the bare portion of my upper thighs, and reached into the basin for a handful of soap bubbles. He stepped back and rubbed them into my bottom. They made a faint fizzy sound, like the rustling of very fine tissue paper, and dissolved on my skin, leaving it sealed in wetness.

‘I’ll get you wet,’ he said, repeating the gesture. Drips ran down my thighs and on to my stockings. ‘I’ll get you shiny.’

Once he had soaked me behind, he reached for a tea towel from the hook.

I thought he was going to dry me off, but what he did was tie a little knot in the end and then flick it at my wet bottom.

‘God! That stings!’ I jumped and held tight to the lip of the sink, glancing round to give him a look of horrified surprise that made him laugh.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘One of many things I learned at Eton.’

He flicked me again and another little snap of pain ignited my tender damp skin.

I squealed each time he repeated the operation, which he did, over and over. I counted to ten then gave up.

‘This is how we wipe the dishes,’ he told me. ‘Enough of these and you’ll be perfectly dry again, if a little warm.’

‘I’m already warm,’ I whimpered, and I was.

My bottom and thighs were going from wet with a few hotspots to hot with a few wet spots. An all-over throb was replacing the patchy beginnings and I could sense how swollen it was.

Joss put aside the tea towel just as I was on the point of begging him to stop.

‘Take a lesson, Miss Miles,’ he said, rubbing my burning cheeks. ‘You don’t want to get your bottom wet when I’m around. I
will
have to spank it.’

‘It hurts a lot more when it’s wet,’ I moaned.

‘I know. Lesson two – don’t get yourself spanked when I’m around. I
will
have to fuck you afterwards.’

I heard the rough unbuttoning almost at the same time as I felt him jolt his legs against mine and push upwards. He was inside me before I could gasp.

‘Oh, not completely dry, then,’ he taunted. I offered no resistance whatsoever, taking him all the way up with ease.

He got me by the hips and lifted me a bit higher, so I was bent right over the sink with my feet off the ground. I had to hang on to the taps so as not to hurt my hipbones. He laid into me vigorously and without quarter, grunting with each hard thrust.

‘So … good,’ he said, dabbling the fingers of one hand between my pussy lips. There was still plenty of juice there.

I wasn’t expecting him to do what he did next, but there was absolutely nothing I could do about it, bent over with my pussy full of his cock and my feet dangling off the floor.

He twisted his fingers, lubed with my own wetness, between my still throbbing bum cheeks and into my tight back hole. He managed to get two in there and he swivelled them relentlessly while he fucked me, making me feel fuller and more owned than I ever had before.

‘You need this,’ he panted. ‘Need it. I’m going to have your arse at the ball.’

The thought of it, the swirl of different, fighting, kissing, loving, hurting feelings drove me into a daze of lust. Double-filled, held, owned, pinned down, I came hard, the orgasm rushing out of me like air from a puncture.

He spurted into me, still with fingers hooked inside, swore and collapsed with his head on my shoulder.

My vision took a while to clear and it was dark outside, but the kitchen window overlooked the herb garden and I was too done for to realise at first that there was somebody out there.

I jerked to life, which was difficult with Joss’s full weight pinning me down, and whispered, ‘Joss!’

I saw a movement, and I was sure it wasn’t an animal. Whoever it was knew that he had been seen and flitted quickly away, a dark shape among dark shapes.

‘Whassup? Did I hurt you?’ He was slurring, still in the post-climactic come-down. He kissed my hair but I twisted my head away from him.

‘Someone out there,’ I whispered.

‘What? No.’

‘Yes. I saw somebody in the herb garden.’

He buried his face in my back for a few seconds before reluctantly pulling himself, fingers and all, out of me, plunged his hands in the soapy water, scrubbed them briefly, then pressed his face to the grimy glass.

‘Are you sure?’ he said, yawning. ‘Probably a fox.’

‘Definitely not a fox. Too tall.’

‘If you’re anything like me, your eyesight goes all funny when you come. Probably that.’ He caught me by the neck and kissed me, but I was shaking my head with as much vigour as I could muster and, when he let me go, I spoke up again.

‘No, seriously, it was a person. In dark clothes so their face stood out as quite pale.’

‘You saw a face?’

‘Sort of. Couldn’t make out the features, but it was a face. A person.’

Joss took me by the hand and led me over to the kitchen table, where he sat me on his knee on one of the chairs. I clung to him, hot and sticky on his thighs. His jeans were still around his ankles.

‘Well, perhaps it was a poacher,’ he said. ‘We do get them. They don’t usually come this close to the house.’

‘Poaching dead herbs,’ I said. ‘That garden hasn’t been tended in an age. I reckon it was a burglar, Joss. Scared away when he saw we were in.’

‘There’s nothing to burgle – at least, not in my part of the house.’

‘No, but in your guest’s?’

Joss sighed.

‘Most likely village kids daring each other,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to get worked up about it.’

‘But I saw a face! It’s creeped me out. I’m going to get dressed and take a look outside.’

‘No, Lulu, you are
not
,’ said Joss, and I was surprised at how readily I obeyed him. Perhaps I really was getting into this submissive mindset thing. ‘You are going to take a bath, and I’m going to make us a cup of cocoa and then we’re going to bed. No further action.’

I did as I was told but, while he took his bath and I drank my cocoa in the bedroom, I had a good look out of the window, squinting hard at the green slopes of parkland beyond the formal gardens. If there had been a trespasser, it seemed he had taken flight and was probably long gone.

All the same, the thought of him, creeping about the walls of the house, kept me awake much longer than Joss, who snored sweetly at my side pretty much the minute his head hit the feather-down.

Two days’ leave had been begged and granted and now I found myself walking up a narrow street in Shoreditch with Joss, on the lookout for anything that might conceivably be a BDSM club.

What the external appearance of a BDSM club might be, I would not have been able to tell you. I suppose I was thinking of barred windows and a generally dark aspect.

In fact, the converted warehouse wall was sprayed with rather artistic graffiti and the windows were blackout-blinded but not barred.

The fortified door was opened by a bald man in a suit, who raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak.

‘Oh, hello, you’re new,’ said Joss, in an attempt at ingratiating himself that didn’t quite work. ‘Or rather,’ he added, ‘I’m old. It’s been a while.’

‘Membership card?’ replied the man, and Joss took out a small laminated rectangle from his breast pocket. He’d dressed up to the nines in one of his few good suits for the occasion.

The bouncer checked it over, then looked at me.

‘She’s my guest. I’ve cleared it with Mal. He’s expecting us, actually. Would you take us up to the office?’

I looked at Joss’s membership card. He looked very young and wide-eyed in the photograph, but what really struck me was his full name.

‘
Wellington?
’ I said, following him up the stairs. ‘Jocelyn Montague Edward Wellington Lethbridge? You never told me that one. What a mouthful.’