The Carrot and the Stick (16 page)

He pumped back and forth, with each thrust slapping his groin against the sore cheeks of her bottom, and grinding his fingers deeper into her sex. Beth knew it could not last long. Her whole body felt like liquid; molten lava before it erupts. At the second she knew her climax was coming it would not be denied, but the vigour of his movements was such that he slipped out of her grasping insides. Beth whimpered low in her throat, feeling robbed of a precious prize. Moments later it was back, firmer and more rigid than before. Again fingers combed through her pubic hair until they found her swollen clitoris. Beth gave herself over once again to the pulsing movement in her bottom and the probing in her sex. The volcano erupted with what felt like a thunderclap, sending seismic shockwaves shooting through her body.

What seemed an eternity later - to Beth, at least - she raised her head and opened her eyes. It seemed amazing that the world was still in the same place, and she felt too drained to move from where she sprawled.

No words were spoken; none were needed. The only sound in the room was that of combined, strained breathing.

Eventually Helen Cross did disturb the heavy silence that draped across the scene. ‘I'm feeling quite jealous,' she said with a melodramatic sulk, her manicured fingers moving to the fastening of her skirt, ‘and as recompense for the use of my husband, I think it only fair that you, little missy, show your appreciation and do something about it...'

 

 

 

Beth savoured the last spoonful of her lobster bisque and daintily dabbed her lips with the crisply laundered white napkin. She looked around, admiring the trappings and pleasures of wealth, or at least of a generous expense account. The well spaced tables covered in heavy white linen and gleaming silver; the willing but not obsequious waiters; the trolleys of roasted meats and creamy puddings; the dim lighting and the well dressed clientele. And Beth did not doubt that she belonged. A year ago she would have pretended and felt uncomfortable; now she felt entitled to all this and more.

She brought her gaze back to the man across the table and found him looking at her. ‘It was very good of you to invite me to lunch, Chester,' she said sweetly. ‘I did not expect it. To be frank, I did not even expect to see you again.'

He broke some bread on his plate. ‘I'll be frank, too,' he said with a shy smile. ‘I don't like those artificial boardroom meetings, total strangers trying to impress each other - trying to impress me. I would not employ anyone for any job unless I knew him or her, personally. If I have learned nothing else in the last two or three years, I have learned that.'

‘Don't take people at face value?' Beth asked.

He nodded. ‘Something like that. Maybe I am just a bad judge of character, but I do need time to get to know someone before I can trust them.'

Beth did not need her female intuition to get the message. Over her sole Veronique and his steak and kidney pudding, she gently quizzed him about his upbringing and his private life. More than enough had already been published about the public face of Chester Hampton.

He had been born in Norwich but was taken at the age of seven by his parents to Philadelphia, where his father took up an academic post. Chester was an only child, left largely to his own devices in a strange and alien world. Even before puberty he already showed an aptitude for electronic communication, and by the age of fourteen, he boasted with a shy smile, he had hacked into the CIA's mainframe at Langley, Virginia.

‘A life of crime beckoned?' Beth teased, and was amused that Chester took her seriously. He shook his head solemnly.

‘I thought I could make more money going straight,' he said openly.

‘And you seem to have been right,' she said, refilling his glass with chilled champagne. ‘Do you get a chance to spend any of your money?'

‘I have a yacht moored on the Potomac.'

‘And a crew of six blondes, I bet,' Beth teased again.

‘One of them is blond, but he's a man. As are the other two.'

‘So there is no Mrs Hampton, or Mrs Hampton-to-be?'

He shook his head, but as Beth studied the dessert menu, the question hung in the air. He dabbed his mouth too, and then fussed with the napkin, putting it first on his lap and then beside his plate.

‘No dessert for me, thank you, Beth.' He paused while coffee cups magically appeared and coffee was poured. ‘That's what I wanted to talk to you about, why I thought we should meet alone.'

Beth looked puzzled. He fiddled with the sugar bowl and the coffee spoon and it dawned on her that he was nervous, maybe even embarrassed.

‘I don't go out much on my own because people recognise me,' Chester said. ‘I don't get a chance to meet people, just as me.'

She nodded encouragingly, whilst smiling to herself; and incredibly rich man and he needed encouragement to open his mouth and talk.

‘So, how can I help?' she prompted.

He sipped his coffee and dabbed his lips again. ‘The photographs yesterday,' he said. ‘There is a girl I would like to meet.' She smiled openly this time, and he rushed on trying to cover his embarrassment. ‘It could be the prelude to an advertising campaign,' he gabbled, ‘if I liked her...'

‘But not necessarily a prelude to an advertising campaign, hm, Chester?' Beth interrupted, still smiling.

‘Um, no, not necessarily,' he admitted. ‘More like a date at first; a blind date, if you like.'

She placed her hand on top of his on the table. ‘That might be possible,' she said gently, trying to soothe him. ‘I'll see what I can do, but no promises.'

‘Of course,' he burbled, ‘I know this is highly unorthodox, asking you, perhaps even unethical.'

She patted his hand. ‘It's okay, Chester. Really, I don't mind. No one need know. Which of the four did you like the most?'

He frowned. ‘Four?'

‘The four in the Rybix photographs,' she said patiently, teasing him without mercy. ‘Which of them did you like?'

‘Oh, no, not them,' he said, looking even more embarrassed. ‘The one in that other campaign you mentioned.' When Beth appeared confused, he added furtively, ‘The one in the photographs you dropped on the floor.'

‘Oh,' Beth said. She stared at him for a full ten seconds, and then picked up her briefcase and handbag. ‘You must excuse me, Chester; I need to powder my nose. I'll be back in a sec.'

In the toilet cubicle, with the door locked, she opened again the folder of photographs from the previous day. The two Chester Hampton had picked up should still be at the bottom of the pile. She slid them out and stared at them. One showed her standing with her back to the camera, her bottom, picked out by a spotlight, glowing a bright, rosy red, with the rest of her seductively shaded. The other showed her bottom in close-up, the marks of Celeste's spanking clearly visible. So he liked spanking, she thought, and he clearly did not realise the photographs were of her.

‘Sorry about that, Chester,' she said, back at the table. ‘Where were we?'

‘The girl in the photographs.'

Beth realised she needed to play for time, to gain time to think. ‘I don't know much about her, Chester. I could find out and let you know. How long are you in town?'

‘I leave the day after tomorrow,' he said. ‘If you do this for me, Beth, I shan't forget it.'

She shook her head. ‘I don't know, Chester. She's a top model, and very hard to get hold of.'

‘I only want a date,' he persevered. ‘One night, on her terms. And I can pay for her company.'

‘She'd be silly to say no, if she's in town,' Beth said reassuringly. ‘I'll let you know.'

Beth telephoned him late that afternoon. ‘Can I talk, Chester?' she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

‘Yes, go ahead. I'm alone.'

‘She's agreed to meet you.'

‘Good!' he enthused. ‘Excellent!'

‘I told her that you'd seen her in the photographs.'

‘Good.'

‘I told her which photographs specifically; the ones that showed her bottom. After that she sounded even more interested.'

‘Excellent! Where? When?'

‘Before we get on to that, Chester, she wants to make some conditions.'

‘Oh, yes, well as I said before, I can pay for her time.'

‘No, it's not that, Chester. She is well known and wants to remain anonymous. She does not want you to know who she is.'

‘How can we do that? She can't go out wearing a mask.'

‘That's the point. She does not want to go out. She wants to meet you in your hotel suite. You could book the suite next to you for her. Book it in my name for tomorrow evening.'

‘Yes, good, even better.'

‘I'll bring her there myself. Just to make sure you find each other.'

‘Yes, fine. Beth, I won't forget this.'

‘Oh, Chester, one other thing. I think she's quite naughty. She likes games. I didn't think you would mind. She wants to know whether you would like her in a costume.'

‘In a costume? Well, I hadn't really thought about it that—'

‘So why not think about it now? What sort of girls do you like?'

‘I... er... I have always liked cheerleaders. You know, American cheerleaders.'

‘Then I'll tell her. See you tomorrow.'

‘Oh, Beth, what do I call her?'

‘Anything you like. What would you like to call her, Chester?'

‘Um, Candy.'

‘Candy. That's cute. Candy and I will be there tomorrow at nine.'

 

On the top floor of the exclusive hotel in London's West End, the carpet in the corridor was deep and plush, and Beth approached the door of suite fifty-one without a sound. It was eerily quiet, no people, no activity at all, just the faint hum of air conditioning. Whatever was happening behind all those closed doors, Beth thought, it would not matter, no one else would hear, the walls were so reassuringly substantial.

She knocked quietly on the door, not wanting to break the quiet, and Chester Hampton opened it almost immediately. He was in shirtsleeves and trousers, but his feet were bare and his hair was wet. He had apparently just come out of the shower. He shook her by the hand and led her inside.

‘She's here, next door,' Beth said, cocking her head towards the adjoining suite.

Hampton looked pleased and excited, but most of all relieved. She realised that he probably doubted whether Candy would turn up. ‘Thank you, Beth,' he said, grasping her hand again and giving it a squeeze.

‘Remember the rules,' she went on. ‘She'll be masked and she probably won't talk. She doesn't want you to know who she is. She is doing this for me and for the excitement.' She lowered her voice. ‘She might be married for all you know, Chester. You don't want to cause her problems, do you.'

He shook his head solemnly. ‘And what can I do with her?' he asked.

Beth smiled at him, amused by his puppy-like eagerness. ‘Anything you want, within reason. She's a very naughty girl, I know that much. She likes games. Most games. If I know her, she'll leave it all up to you. She likes masterful men.'

Chester straightened his shoulders, obviously pleased by the reply.

Beth turned towards the door. ‘Give us five minutes together, Chester, and then she'll be here. Make sure that door is unlocked.' She pointed to the internal door connecting the two suites. ‘I'll be next door but don't worry; I won't interfere. I'll call back when Candy has left. You haven't got all night because she has to get home; she has a busy day tomorrow.'

Back in her own suite Beth undressed and dressed as quickly as she could while still taking pains to make everything just right. Several minutes later, she leaned over the dressing table to brush on a glossy red lipstick and to slip a white cat mask over her eyes, and then stood up to look at herself in the full length wall mirror.

She liked the look of Candy; she reminded her of an adolescent fantasy figure from her teenage years. As an English schoolgirl, she had often dreamed of being the sort of American co-ed she saw on television. Beth looked carefully at the figure in the mirror from top to toe. Candy wore white mid-calf boots but otherwise her legs were bare, almost to the tops of her thighs. Above was a very short, white pleated skirt and a loose white woollen jumper with a huge red letter A sewn on the front. Apart from the lipstick, her face looked scrubbed, pink with good health and, with the eyes masked, mischievously mysterious. Her blonde hair was caught up in two bangs on either side of her head. She twirled around, looking back over her shoulder, and caught a glimpse of the tight white knickers beneath her skirt. She smiled, showing perfect white teeth. Chester should like Candy. She picked up her hat, a white shako with a red star on the front, and tucked it under her arm. ‘Ready,' she said softly to the mirror, taking a deep breath. ‘Let's go.'