Domination Inc. Read online

  He brought her gaze up to meet his own once more. His expression was unfathomable. ‘Very good, slut,’ he smiled, ‘but you aren’t finished yet.’

  She watched as he slowly unzipped his jeans, bringing his cock out into the light. It was not as long as her fantasy might have willed it, but it was thick, with a taut, glistening head and a lengthy foreskin that was already beginning to retract.

  ‘Suck it, slut,’ he ordered.

  Obediently, she dropped to her knees, and took its purplish tip between her lips. Her hands still cuffed, she was unable to cradle his taut balls as she might have liked, and she concentrated on taking his length deeper into her gullet. He tasted clean and masculine, and she licked with relish at his swollen glans. Risking a glance upwards, she saw that his eyes were half-closed in pleasure, and he was making low crooning noises in his throat.

  She lapped and nibbled at his penis, running her tongue in intricate patterns over his cock-head. A ring of her pale pink lipstick, which seemed so demure and functional in the office, was smeared around the base of his shaft, in lewd contrast to the dark, blood-engorged flesh. She felt as though she could have gone on sucking him all night.

  As his climax approached he took hold of her hair once more, so she could not pull her mouth away. He grunted and came, and deposited a wad of thick spunk into her mouth. She swallowed most of it, but a small trickle escaped from her lips and ran down her chin.

  He released his grip on her and zipped himself up once more, before taking a tiny key from his jeans pocket and unlocking her handcuffs.

  ‘Well done, slut,’ was all he said as she rubbed the feeling back into her tired wrists.

  ‘Thank you, Master,’ she replied, and then he was gone.

  Half an hour later she was standing, dressed once more in her respectable business clothes, outside a subway station a couple of stops from home, watching the four-wheel drive recede into the thinning flow of evening traffic. She thought again of her master, or the man who had played him. He had been excellent, everything she could have wanted, and yet she didn’t even know his name.

  Joanna’s sore bottom ached pleasurably as she slipped her travel pass into the slot and made her way through the barrier. She tried to analyse the feeling, knowing she would need to be in a situation like that again soon.

  There was a tatty flyer on the seat of the train when she went to sit down. All it had on it was a drawing of a set of handcuffs, the address of a club in the west of the city and the coming Friday’s date. She tucked it surreptitiously into her coat pocket, aware there was a contented smile on her face as she began her short journey home. Domination Inc. had opened the door for her, and now she was ready to step inside the secret world of submission and mastery, and explore her sexuality to the full. Joanna gave a silent thank you to Laurel, and to Christian and his dominant companion, and wondered whether, somewhere close by, someone else was receiving as fulfilling an experience as she had so recently enjoyed.

  In a small, freshly-painted office over a travel agency in Soho, three people sat round a desk, toasting each other with sparkling wine in polystyrene cups.

  ‘I can’t believe how well that went,’ Warren said, lounging back in his chair to rest his legs, crossed at the ankles, on the cluttered desktop. His grey eyes shone with self-satisfaction. ‘We gave her exactly what she asked for, and she loved it.’

  ‘It’s all right for you,’ Christian replied, reaching for the wine bottle and topping up his companions’ cups. ‘You were the one who got to spank that incredible arse of hers, while I was stuck in the next room, listening. Next time, Laurel, can you take a booking from someone who wants to be watched while they’re being punished, or preferably someone who likes blonds.’

  ‘So you think there’ll be a next time?’ Laurel asked.

  ‘Definitely,’ Warren assured her. ‘There are plenty more where Ms Morrison came from, just dying to have someone tell them what to do.’ He took a swallow of his wine, and fixed Laurel with a hard stare. ‘I’ve never found a woman who didn’t want to submit, deep down. Even the ones like Elisha, who reckon they’re pure dominants, just sometimes they feel the need to switch.’

  ‘And what about dominant men?’ Laurel replied. ‘Do they ever want to switch, too?’

  Warren shook his head. ‘I never have.’ He drained the last of his wine, crushed the cup in his fist and tossed it, without looking, towards the waste-bin. Laurel waited for it to miss its target. The fact that it didn’t increased her irritation with the man all the more.

  ‘And so, suddenly, you’ve got the authority to speak for dominant men everywhere?’ she shot back.

  ‘Come on, Laurel, if you had all the power in a situation, would you want to give it up?’

  ‘I thought it was the submissive who had all the power,’ she said. ‘I mean, look at Joanna Morrison. You might have been spanking her, but she set all the rules. She told you what her limits were, and she made you stop when she wanted to. I think that makes her pretty powerful, don’t you?’

  ‘You think so?’ Warren replied, coming to stand by her, so she had to look up at him from her seated position. ‘She set the rules because she was paying for it. And every submissive woman thinks she knows what her limits are, but I’ve never met one who wouldn’t let you bend those limits. They all love it when you push them that little bit further than they’ve ever gone before.’ He grinned, sure in the knowledge of what he was saying. ‘And if I have no power, how come Sara, or any one of a dozen girls, would drop everything and come running if I clicked my fingers and told them they deserved a good hiding?’

  ‘You don’t half fancy yourself,’ Laurel snapped.

  ‘Yeah, well, you can’t deny that you fancy me, too.’ Warren took hold of her arm and dragged her to her feet. Christian was watching the two of them with undisguised interest, wondering where this little scene was leading.

  ‘Warren, please…’ Laurel knew her response was half-hearted, but put it down to the fact that it had been a long day, and she had expended a lot of energy worrying about the success of their first job.

  ‘Please what?’ His tone was mocking. He stood behind her, pulling her on to him, so that she could feel his erection pressing into the small of her back. ‘Don’t tell me, you’ll put this down to the power of a woman, too. Oh, Christian will agree with me, you women have got the power to get us hard, sometimes without even knowing you’re doing it, but it works both ways.’ He lowered his voice, whispering sensually into her ear, ‘What would happen if I slid my hand into your little knickers now and found you were wet? Who’d be responsible for that, eh?’

  His hand rested on the swell of her stomach, the warmth of his palm radiating through her cotton dress, and for a moment she wanted him to act on his words, to lift the hem of her dress and push her knickers down, baring her fleecy mound to his and Christian’s gaze. Her sex felt red-hot and swollen with need, and she knew that if Warren were to touch her, his fingertips would indeed come away coated with her juices.

  As abruptly as he had caught her, Warren let her go. ‘Ah, but you’re not interested in that sort of thing, are you? You should be getting home, so you can have your cocoa and sit up in bed with an improving book. Because that’s what passes for fun in the Angell household, isn’t it?’ He glanced over at Christian. ‘Can I give you a lift, Chris?’

  Christian shook his head. ‘Thanks, but I’m going south of the river.’

  ‘I’ll see you around, then.’ He paused in the doorway. ‘Laurel?’ When she merely glared at him, he shrugged. ‘Perhaps some other time, then. I’ll be waiting for your call – for my next assignment, naturally.’

  Laurel could have screamed. The man was nothing more than an arrogant, over-confident jerk, so why did she have the urge to run after him and continue their argument until the only way it could be settled was by his hand imprinting its will on her backside? The frustrat
ion she felt at his behaviour was largely sexual, and she hated him for knowing that fact.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned round to see Christian looking at her sympathetically. ‘Don’t let him get to you,’ he said.

  Laurel said nothing. How could she explain to him that Warren already had?

  Chapter Five

  Alice Marber almost rang twice to cancel the appointment. Even as she waited for the fast Thameslink train to London at Harpenden station, she thought about turning back and phoning to say it had all been a terrible mistake. The idea that a respectably married forty-five-year-old woman should even be considering going to see a sex therapist was ludicrous, and yet she felt that if she did not speak to someone about her problem soon, she would surely go mad. If she had been like most of the other middle-aged housewives in this part of Hertfordshire, quietly bingeing on sherry and daytime talk shows to escape from the monotony of their daily lives, her addiction would not have been remarked upon. But if she admitted to the dark fuel of her obsessive fantasies, her behaviour would be treated with revulsion and incomprehension. However nervous she felt about seeking it, discreet professional help was the only answer.

  The best part of an hour later, she was lying on a couch in a small white-painted consulting room in Harley Street, her shoes on the floor, her stomach churning in sick anticipation of the therapist’s arrival. When the door finally swung open, Alice did a double-take. Instead of the sympathetic woman of her own age she had been hoping for, she was confronted by a girl who seemed barely old enough to have completed her studies, tall and stunningly pretty, with lustrous black hair hanging in a braid that reached almost to her waist. Glancing at the girl’s svelte figure, which was hinted at by the clinical white coat she wore, Alice was more conscious than usual of her pendulous breasts and the rolls of fat around her stomach and hips which no amount of dieting had ever seemed to shift. The therapist smiled, acknowledging Alice, and drew a chair up to the couch. She perched on it, and consulted the manila folder she was carrying.

  ‘Alice Marber,’ she murmured, almost to herself. ‘Thank you for coming to see me, Alice. I want you to relax and feel completely comfortable. I promise you nothing that’s said will go any further than this room. Now, according to my notes, you believe you’re suffering from some kind of compulsive disorder, is that right?’

  Alice tried to answer, but her voice came out as nothing more than a squeak. She was aware that the button at the waistband of her navy skirt was cutting into her flesh, and wished she had thought to wear something more comfortable. She cleared her throat, and tried again. ‘I... I don’t really know how else to describe it. I don’t have to wash my hands a hundred times a day, or keep going back to check the front door’s locked every time I leave the house – if I did, I wouldn’t be seeing someone with your... specialist knowledge. Oh, I know you’re going to think I’m crazy, but I have this one particular fantasy, and if I don’t use it, then I can’t have an orgasm.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re crazy at all, Mrs Marber. This fantasy you use – is this when you masturbate?’ The word sounded shocking to Alice’s ears, coming from such young lips. She looked up to see if there was any amusement or contempt on the therapist’s face, but the girl’s expression was studied and neutral.

  ‘Not just then,’ Alice confessed, ‘although I have been doing that every day over the past few months, sometimes more than once if the truth be told. No, I use it when my husband makes love to me, too. Keith – that’s his name – well, he doesn’t realise. He doesn’t know what I’m thinking about, and he puts it down to his own skills as a lover. Though if I had to rely on those–’ Alice was aware of a sudden bitterness creeping into her tone ‘–I doubt if I’d have another orgasm from here to Doomsday.’

  ‘So does your husband not feature in this fantasy?’ the therapist asked.

  Alice shook her head. ‘No. And he’d be horrified if he knew I had any fantasies at all. He thinks that if a man and woman love each other, that’s all that’s needed, even after twenty-three years.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me about it? My notes are very sketchy, I’m afraid.’

  Taking a deep breath, Alice began to unburden the scenario she had been acting out in her head for months. ‘It all started when Keith brought his latest golf partner home. His name’s Richard, and he’s the new head of the marketing department at Keith’s firm. He’s in his late twenties, about half the age of the man he replaced, and he fast-tracked his way to that position. I didn’t like him when I first met him – he’s very arrogant, a little bit too sure of himself, and from what Keith’s told me, half the women in the firm were in love with him after he’d been there a couple of weeks. Richard is very good-looking, admittedly, with thick dark hair and long eyelashes, and his suits are all Italian – very flash. The problem is that he knows it; Keith said he expects women to be falling at his feet, and he goes through them very quickly. Apparently he doesn’t treat them particularly well, either.

  ‘After he’d been round to our house a couple of times, however, I found I just couldn’t stop thinking about him. For all his arrogance, he has a certain charm, and I started casting him in fantasy situations where he was in charge, and I was having to do as he told me. For instance, he’d tell me that when he next came round to the house I’d have to wear stockings and suspenders and no panties, and that he would come into the kitchen when I was making a snack for him and Keith, and feel me up to check that I’d done as he’d asked.’

  ‘So, would you say you have a submissive streak?’ the therapist asked, making a note on a sheet of paper that was stapled into the folder.

  ‘I’ve never really thought about it until now, but I think I must have,’ Alice replied, ‘especially the way the fantasy has progressed. I’ve refined it over the months, until it’s become like a little film that I screen in my own head, for my own pleasure. What happens is that Richard makes it more and more obvious that he wants to have sex with me, and he becomes very good at touching me surreptitiously, and working me up to a state with his voice and his fingers where I think I’ll burst if nothing happens between us. He tells me I have to find an excuse to go away for the weekend with him. He also makes it clear that if I do come away with him, it’s on the understanding that I will have to do exactly what he tells me the whole time we’re together. So I tell Keith I’ve been invited to stay with my sister, Gillian, in Leeds, and he seems quite happy with that.

  ‘Keith drops me off at Harpenden station on the Saturday morning. What he doesn’t know is that, as Richard has requested, I’m wearing stockings and suspenders, and no knickers. He kisses me and waves me off on the train, telling me to have a good time, and I smile because that’s exactly what I intend to do. I get off the train at the next stop down the line, where Richard is waiting for me in his silver Mercedes. The first thing he does is put his hand straight up my skirt to check that I’m dressed the way he requested. When he finds my bare sex he tells me I’m a good girl, which sounds ridiculous coming from a man who’s so much younger than I am, but I still glow with pleasure at having earned his praise.

  ‘As we drive off he tells me he’s taking me to this discreet bed and breakfast place he knows in the country. Apparently it’s run by a couple who are close friends of his, and there will be two other guests staying there besides us. That’s all he’ll say on the subject, but I sense he has something planned for me, and that these other people are somehow involved.

  ‘When we arrive at the cottage we’re shown to our room. It’s small, but very beautifully decorated, with sloping eaves and an en suite bathroom. Richard tells me to go and shower, and says that when I come back the clothes I have to wear for the rest of the weekend will be lying on the bed. He adds that if I don’t like what I find, I have the option to leave then and there, but that he will never have anything to do with me again.

  ‘I’ve waited so long for this moment that I have
no intention of refusing – until I walk out of the little bathroom dressed in nothing but a towel, and see what’s on the bed. All he’s given me to wear is a black lycra minidress, a pair of sheer black hold-up stockings, three-inch stilettos and what appears to be a thick silver collar. Nothing else. It’s a completely unsuitable outfit for a woman of my age and build, and I’m sure Richard is totally aware of that fact.

  ‘I look at those skimpy little things lying waiting for me, and then I look at Richard. Part of me wants to leave, but I know I’ve come so far that I can’t. At last I reach out and pick up the dress. I make to take it into the bathroom and try it on, but he stops me. I have to drop the towel and get dressed in front of him. It’s so humiliating to have him staring at my pale, flabby body, but he’s in charge and I have to do as he asks.

  ‘When I’m dressed, the result isn’t quite as bad as I feared. The dress is so very clingy, and so short it barely covers my bottom, but it has underwired cups which lift my breasts, and the high heels make my legs look longer and more shapely. If I was just wearing the outfit for Richard’s eyes in the bedroom I’d be completely happy with it, but I know that won’t be the case.

  ‘The last thing I have to do is fasten the collar around my neck. As I do I realise this is the symbol of my submission. I’ve become Richard’s slave for the rest of the weekend. It’s a frightening thought, but it excites me, too.

  ‘Richard tells me I look just as he’d hoped. While I’m trying to work out what he means by that remark, he orders me to get down on my knees. It’s difficult in the stilettos, but I manage it. Before I realise quite what’s happened, he’s unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock, which looks long even though it isn’t erect yet. He tells me to suck it, and obediently I reach out and take the end between my lips. As I begin to lap at it with my tongue it starts to grow and swell; it’s thicker than I first thought, and I find I have to stretch my jaws really wide as Richard pushes more of its length into my mouth. I’m trying to take my time and give him pleasure, but he’s impatient. He grabs hold of my head and holds it still, so that now he’s thrusting hard, using my mouth as a receptacle. I can’t do anything, and yet the fact that he’s treating me so roughly is exciting. Though my jaw is aching I can feel myself getting wet, and know I’m turned on by what he’s doing to me.