Domination Inc. Page 5

  Which you could have done with a simple phone call, Laurel thought. But no, you had to come here in person and make your presence felt. ‘Well, we negotiate a rate with a client, and you take seventy-five per cent of the fee. Everything’s decided up front – no extras. The women who are going to come to us will be in potentially a very vulnerable position: they’re taking us on trust, and we are going to do nothing to abuse that trust. It’s their scenario, and we have to stick to it.’

  ‘I don’t have a problem with that,’ Warren declared, taking the mug of coffee Joe offered him. He drank from it deeply, and signalled his approval with a nod to Joe.

  ‘And we’ll need to do some checks on your background,’ Laurel continued. ‘We need to know you haven’t got a criminal record, that sort of thing.’

  ‘I’ve done nothing wrong in my life,’ Warren said, ‘except maybe break a few more hearts than I should.’ He grinned, registering Laurel’s wince. ‘Ah, come on, Laurel, you want me to be the rogue, don’t you?’

  ‘I just want you not to let the agency down,’ Laurel said. She rose to her feet. ‘Would you mind if I had a quick word with Joe, in private?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll just wait outside,’ Warren said easily.

  When he had left the room, Laurel turned to Joe. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘You’re right. He’s full of himself, but he’s certainly got charisma. If his background checks out, we can’t afford to turn him away. Are you going to break the good news to him, or am I?’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Laurel said, and went to fetch Warren back into the office. With this last piece of the jigsaw in place, she could begin advertising the agency’s services with impunity. She only hoped that by the time she was dealing with Warren on a daily basis she would be able to keep under better control the surge of submissive desire his presence seemed guaranteed to inspire in her.

  Chapter Four

  The card was lying on the mat when Joanna Morrison came in from work, among a litter of flyers for her local curry house and boiler repair specialists, and her personal selection of numbers for the Readers’ Digest prize draw.

  The image caught her eye: a woman, pictured from behind but obviously topless, head bowed and hands cuffed behind her back. Intrigued, she studied the wording on the reverse. ‘Domination Inc. We know what you want.’ Underneath the central London phone number, it added, ‘No need too great, no desire too dark.’

  Joanna studied the card for a moment, wondering which of her friends might have mocked it up and left it with her post as a prank, then crumpled it up with the rest of the junk mail and threw it in the bin. She poured herself a glass of white wine from the fridge and flicked on the radio. It had been a rough day at work, and a blast of something loud and energetic was what she needed to help her forget the impossible deadline she was struggling to meet. But the combination of music and alcohol failed to work its usual magic; she was still aware of a nagging feeling in the back of her brain, a feeling that somehow, somewhere, she was missing out on something.

  She took a sip of her wine, savouring its icy chill. If she was honest, the only thing she was missing right now was sex. It had been eight months since Pete had left her for a temp in his office typing pool; eight long months in which to be bitter about his betrayal, to declare herself defiantly celibate and, finally, to decide that what she needed, more than anything, was a good hard fuck. However, that was proving to be more than a little elusive; she had no desire to get involved in another flirtatious series of dates which would eventually lead to the bedroom, but neither did she want to hunt the singles bars and find nothing better than an instantly forgettable one-night stand. London was not an easy place to find a new lover; single available men who were intelligent, attractive, witty and not gay were incredibly thin on the ground, and they could have their pick of the city’s women. Joanna’s standards were high, and she was reluctant to lower them simply in an attempt to ease the void between her legs.

  In the kitchen, on her way for a refill, she reached into the bin and pulled out the crumpled flyer. ‘No need too great, no desire too dark...’ The words were tantalisingly full of promise. Even if it was just a joke, it was still tempting to think that someone out there might be able to reach into her psyche, discover what she really wanted, and provide it for her. No hearts-and-flowers romance, no soppy sentimentality. Just raw, straightforward sex.

  Joanna curled up on the settee and glanced at the illustration on the flyer again. In her mind’s eye it was she who stood, cuffed and half-naked, waiting to be punished for some unspecified misdemeanour. Absent-mindedly, her fingers moved to touch her breasts, rubbing at her nipples and hardening them. Yes, she was awaiting her master. She could almost see him now: not overly tall, but powerfully-built, his dark hair short and spikily-cut, his eyes a piercing grey that saw into her soul and had no mercy for what they found there. She would keep her head down as he approached her, only raising her eyes on his command, knowing she could not speak without his permission.

  Her hands were straying lower now, raising the hem of her short, businesslike checked skirt as she imagined him easing down her knickers, leaving her utterly naked and vulnerable. With her hands restrained, she would have no way of shielding her pussy from his gaze. If he came to inspect her he would find she was already wet, her juices flowing in anticipation of the punishment she was about to receive.

  His palm was broad and slightly calloused, and she tensed herself for the feel of it against her soft, unprotected backside. And when she had taken the required number of strokes, he would push her to her knees without ceremony, unzip the fly of his tight black jeans and order her to suck his thick, straining cock.

  As she imagined taking that solid length deep into her mouth, Joanna touched her fingers lightly against her clitoris, and came…

  Joanna waited until the other girls in the office had gone to the sandwich bar across the road for lunch before she picked up the phone. There was no way she could make the call if there was even the slightest chance she would be overheard. She dialled the number with trembling fingers, and waited while it rang at the other end. Half-expecting to be greeted by the laughter of a friend, she was surprised when a soft, educated female voice said, ‘Good afternoon, Domination Inc. This is Laurel. How may I help you?’

  ‘Well, I saw your leaflet and I... er...’ She stopped, unsure of how to continue.

  ‘And you have a fantasy you’d like us to fulfil.’ The woman on the other end of the line sounded as matter-of-fact as if she was taking an order for a takeaway pizza. ‘Why don’t you tell me about it?’

  Hesitantly at first, Joanna began to outline the thoughts that had crystallised when she had seen the flyer: how she wanted to be taken out of her everyday existence and made to kneel in homage to a cruel but just master. She was not about to tell her that the scenario she had created had been so powerful she had frigged herself stupid over it, but she suspected this Laurel was astute enough to realise that had been the case.

  When she had finished, the woman quoted her what seemed a surprisingly reasonable price for providing such a service. Not that money was a problem, Joanna thought, as Laurel took her payment via credit card: eight months of staying in on her own and refusing dates had been considerably cheaper than eight months of going out with Pete, or whoever might have otherwise replaced him.

  ‘So what happens now?’ she asked.

  ‘We’ll collect you, tonight,’ Laurel told her.

  ‘When?’ she asked, amazed at the efficiency with which this mysterious outfit seemed to operate, but the woman refused to give her any further details. She simply told Joanna the code word that would be used, and wished her good day, then hung up, leaving her in a state of nervous, excited anticipation. She was still wondering whether she had done the right thing when the girls returned from lunch.

  It was raining when Joanna left the office that evening, and she turn
ed her coat collar up against the downpour. The city’s taxis always seemed to disappear with the onset of unpleasant weather, and she began to make her way towards the nearest tube station. Perhaps the man Laurel had promised to provide was already waiting at the flat for her to arrive. Perhaps her lateness would increase the length of her punishment.

  She did not notice the squat, black four-wheel drive as it came to a halt by the side of the road; the first she knew that she had company was a hand grabbing her from behind, and its twin being placed over her eyes.

  ‘What the…?’ she began, and then a voice hissed the code word in her ear, and she knew she was being collected. There was a second man driving, Joanna realised, and the four-wheel drive was pulling away even as she was bundled onto its back seat. Any number of people had been around to witness her apparent abduction, but she knew that no one who had noticed anything would be likely to raise the alarm. It was just as well, she supposed; this was hardly a matter for the police to investigate.

  She hoped the man who had hold of her would release his grip, but he clung on to her tightly as they sped through the city streets, still blocking her vision. She was trying to relax, confident that the mysterious Laurel would not have placed her in a potentially dangerous situation, but adrenaline was coursing through her body and she was finding it difficult to stay calm and quiet. The driver seemed to be taking left and right turns entirely at random, and within a couple of minutes she was completely lost and disorientated. A strange prickle of foreboding ran down her spine as she thought of what was to come.

  They eventually came to a halt and she was dragged out of the vehicle. Joanna had the briefest glimpse of the façade of what appeared to be a deserted, boarded-up warehouse, and then she was ushered through the door and down a flight of steps. Her captor pushed her into a small, cold, brick-walled room, and locked the door behind him.

  For the first time she got a good look at him. Average height and slender, with blond hair falling over one eye. Good-looking, admittedly, in a boyish way, but not the dark fantasy man she had described over the phone at all. She felt a deep pang of disappointment, which was immediately banished by his words.

  ‘You’ve got to prepare for him, you know.’

  ‘How…?’ she began.

  ‘Strip,’ he ordered her bluntly, his tone quiet and oddly polite. If he was not the cruel master she had hired, did that mean the driver would be…?

  His voice cut into her thoughts, all politeness gone. ‘I told you to strip. And when I tell you to do something, I don’t mean do it tomorrow. You’re simply earning yourself a couple of extra strokes, you know.’

  She felt a sudden, unexpected fluttering in her pussy as he mentioned her impending punishment. Shivering slightly, she shrugged off her coat and looked around for a chair, a hook, anything to hang it from. Finding nothing, she let it drop to the floor. It was swiftly followed by the charcoal-grey, box-cut jacket of her business suit, then she unzipped her smart pencil skirt, which slithered in a heap around her ankles. The blond watched her every movement, his silence indicating that he was not yet happy with her performance. Taking a deep breath, she grasped the top button on her cream blouse and unfastened it, repeating the procedure till the garment gaped open, revealing her heavy breasts in their plain white cotton bra.

  ‘That, too,’ he ordered her.

  Joanna demurred for the merest second, knowing that her hesitation would be reported to her unknown master. That would no doubt count as another slap or three on her backside, and she wondered whether a part of her secretly wanted to increase the severity of her paid-for chastisement. Her hands fumbled behind her back, then her bra joined the discarded blouse in the pile of her clothes that was forming on the floor. She was aware that her large, chocolate-coloured nipples were already stiff and heavy, announcing her obvious arousal. The blond’s eyes never left them; she felt humiliated beneath his impartial gaze, but found herself welcoming the sensation. He was not allowed to admire her; his duty was simply to prepare her for her master, and in this he was as much a chattel as she.

  She slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of her knickers, prepared to remove those, too, but he shook his head. Instead, he removed a set of handcuffs from his jeans pocket, and ordered her to place her hands behind her. Grasping her by the wrists, he slipped on the cuffs. He gave her one last, not entirely unsympathetic appraisal, then pushed her through the door and marched her down a dingy corridor to the next room.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said, and left her.

  The room was as bare and functional as the first. There was no furniture, no way in which she could make herself comfortable. She had no idea how long she stood there. Perhaps twenty minutes passed while she contemplated what was to happen next. Her breasts ached with anticipation, and there was a dull throbbing between her thighs.

  Suddenly the door flew open, and he entered. He was dressed as she had requested, in a battered biker’s jacket over a dark plain T-shirt and skin-tight black jeans. His short black hair was gelled into fashionable spikes and he had a neatly-trimmed goatee beard. His eyes were cold and hard and unforgiving, and she dropped her head before his gaze.

  He circled her slowly, taking in every inch of her bound, shapely form. She gave a gasp as he grabbed hold of her hair and yanked her face up to meet his own.

  ‘Not bad – for a wanton, idle slut,’ he conceded finally. ‘Christian tells me you need to be punished for your tardiness. Is that true?’

  So Christian must be the blond, Joanna thought to herself. ‘I – I don’t know,’ she stammered.

  ‘I don’t know – what?’ His tone was harsh.

  ‘Master.’ The unfamiliar word burned on her tongue.

  ‘That’s better.’ He circled her again as he spoke. ‘Yes, you certainly are in need of punishment. You know I’ll make you beg, don’t you, slut? When that first blow lands on that pert little backside of yours, you’ll beg me to stop, and yet, in your heart, you’ll be begging me to carry on, to give you the treatment you know you deserve.’

  His hand roamed over the cheeks of her arse, caressing the soft flesh through the thin cotton of her knickers. Without another word, he inserted his thumbs into the waistband and yanked the flimsy garment down around her ankles. Contemptuously, he pushed her legs slightly apart, and ran an inquisitive finger over her tufty blonde pubic hair and into her cleft. As they had both expected, it came away slick with her viscous, musky juices.

  ‘Bend over.’

  Quickly she obeyed, anxious to avoid any extra strokes. Her position was slightly precarious, with her hands still bound behind her back and her breasts stretched out like taut cylinders of flesh. He fondled her hanging nipples, squeezing them roughly between finger and thumb. The unexpected pain made her gasp at the same time as her pussy twitched and moistened further.

  ‘Perfect,’ he muttered, and for the first time she thought she detected a hint of approval in his voice. She had no further time to think of anything as the first slap landed, hard and stinging, on her left buttock. A second followed with alarming rapidity, this time on her right. She wanted to cry out, but she thought that might anger him and earn her a couple more blows. Her fantasies had not prepared her for the shocking pain of her initiation into spanking, nor for its twin attendant, the throbbing undercurrent of pleasure that was making a furnace of her sex.

  He was thorough in his attentions; whoever he was, this was not the first time he had doled out a spanking. His palm was covering the taut flesh of her cheeks, never seeming to settle on the same place twice, so that every centimetre of her skin was reddened and smarting.

  At last his hand was still. ‘Very good, slut,’ he muttered. ‘I never thought you’d take all that without a sound.’ He sounded almost admiring, and she wanted to turn her head and flash him a smile of gratitude. His next words pushed that thought from her mind. ‘I haven’t heard you beg, yet, have I?’
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br />   His palm smacked hard against her buttocks again. His earlier attentions had sensitised her nerve-endings, so that now she felt each blow with increased severity. When his hand moved down to tan the soft crease where the flesh of her bottom met the tops of her thighs, she could not prevent a squeal of anguish from escaping her lips. She thought that might earn her a reprieve, but the reverse seemed to be true. She shuddered, fearing she might lose her balance, but he was holding her steady, his arm around her waist and the flat of his hand pressing against her pubic mound, making her want to squirm and press herself against it. Despite the ache in her buttocks, which she was finding impossible to ignore, she was almost unbearably aroused.

  She lost count of how many slaps landed on her unprotected backside, and wondered how she looked to him, her creamy flesh mottling with a tracery of vicious scarlet prints. God only knew how she would manage to sit down in the office the following day. At last she cried out, ‘Please, I’m sorry, Master.’ Tears welled in her eyes, born as much of frustration as pain.

  And then she was aware that the spanking had stopped for a second time, and his fingers were tracing a path over his handiwork, circling her flaming buttocks and coming to rest in the crease between them. One finger moved lightly over her weeping sex and she wriggled beneath his touch, desperate to feel it inside her. But it was merely gathering her juices and smearing them, she realised with shocking clarity, over her other, forbidden entrance.

  His index finger penetrated deeply into her rosy arsehole. She tightened against the unexpected intrusion, before relaxing, realising that this was her ultimate humiliation. His thumb pressed hard against her clit, but he did not rub her, and she knew instinctively that if she wanted to come, she was going to have to do the work. She thrust against him, humping his hand, making mewling noises as she sought her release, while all the time his finger probed relentlessly inside her arse. Mere seconds later, a dizzying spasm exploded in her gut and she came, slumping against him.