Chapter Seven
In the morning Elizabeth rose at six and went to the bathroom, wanting to
get an early start at the office. When she came back into the bedroom, wearing
her robe, Matt called her over. With the little key he unlocked her collar. She
was sorry to see it go, though wearing it to work would have been impossible.
Think of the shame, she said to herself; then felt a warm glow deep in her
belly. What delicious humiliation it would be if one day he made her do it! My
god, she thought, I must be getting serious about this thing.
Driving to work she mentally reviewed the past week. It had been exciting;
the most exciting time she'd ever had. Yet it had been a strange time, a cocoon
in which her normal life had been suspended, in which she had lived a wholly
artificial existence. She knew now, if she had ever doubted, that she could
never be a full-time slave. She could not be one of those women she had read
about, the so-called 24/7 women whose entire lives were in thrall to their
Master. She could give totally for a limited period, and she could renounce
certain freedoms permanently. But she could never allow another to dominate her
whole life to the point where she must renounce her work, her friends, her
interests, her other loyalties.
Not that Matt had ever suggested such a thing, and she did not suspect that
it was in his mind. That he now wanted to command her, far more forcefully that
at first seemed likely, was apparent enough. She smiled as she thought back to
his first diffident efforts to subdue her, how he shied away from forcing her to
his will, held back from disciplining her rebellious nature. No longer did she
have to worry that she had to push him into taking control, no longer fear that
she was topping from the bottom, the way she had heard some subs were obliged to
do, or even allowed to do. That Matt was in charge was not in doubt.
But as she marched into her office she felt a surge of the old excitement
at taking charge herself, at ordering things. It wasn't that she enjoyed bossing
people about; but she did have ideas of how things should be run and she wasn't
afraid to put them into practice. Spending a week as Matt's house-slut had in no
way impeded her ability or desire to run things as she wished in her own
company. She spent a busy day in meetings, chiding those who needed it,
supporting those she perceived as working well, subtly yet firmly letting them
all know that she was back in control.
The question is, she thought as she drove home to her own apartment at the
end of the day, where do we go from here? Matt had subdued her, no question
about that. But she knew that the fire of rebellion still smouldered in her
heart. There was a part of her that had not surrendered, that lived to fight
another day. Matt must know that - or at least, would sooner or later discover
it. What would be his response? Would he seek to snuff out that last spark of
resistance? Even though he might not really want her a 24/7 slave, he still
might want her to concede that she must become so if he ever wished it. He might
insist that even if in practice they agreed it could never work, in theory she
must sign up to his right to impose it.
Tentatively they had discussed the possibility of a contract, a written
agreement, an actual piece of paper signed by them both, a copy held by each of
them, which specified the rights and duties each owed the other. She had said
she thought it a good idea, so long as it spelled out what Matt owed her as much
as what she owed him.
'Of course, my love,' he had said. 'It's a contract between equals. You
agree that I may use your body as I choose, and I agree that in doing so I do
nothing to harm or disadvantage you.'
'Well,' she smiled, 'it's scarcely equality as the feminists define it, but
I feel there is due reciprocity.'
He had said he would draft a form of words. She was waiting to see exactly
what the contract would say. It would be interesting to negotiate with him. She
enjoyed that sort of thing.
In the meantime, she could feel a certain resistance building within her.
Paradoxically, the week of total subjection had left her more confident about
her relationship to Matt, and thus more willing to test the limits of his
authority. Because she now knew that he had such a powerful impulse towards
dominating her, and because she knew that ultimately that fulfilled her deepest
needs, she was now minded to plan a small-scale revolt. Just to test him, just
to keep him on his toes, just to keep up her morale. And just for fun.
An opportunity soon arose. On the Thursday she had to fly to a conference
of a professional association to which she belonged. She had a long-standing
obligation to deliver an address to a plenary session. Matt was quite busy
during the week, and they only met once before she departed, a dinner date which
was perfectly pleasant and during which they talked of everything except their
extraordinary relationship. After dinner Matt came back to Elizabeth's apartment
and they made love like any respectable married couple, some oral sex followed
by intercourse, during which Elizabeth experienced a decorous orgasm.
The next day she flew to the conference, arriving just after lunch, giving
herself plenty of time to check into her hotel, take a shower, meet the
organisers of the event, go back to her room to rehearse her speech, and deliver
it at 5pm. After this she was able to relax at the cocktail party which
followed. She enjoyed meeting several old friends. Then, talking to a woman she
had known for several years, she glanced away and noticed a young man eyeing
her. She turned back to her conversation, then after a minute glanced away
again. The young man was still looking at her. Soon the party began to break up.
Elizabeth had arranged to have dinner with a group of people. It was time to go
in search of them. As she made her way to the door the young man stepped into
her path.
'You don't know me,' he said. 'My name is Gerald. I can't take my eyes off
you.'
'So I noticed,' said Elizabeth with a smile. He was a good-looking boy,
tall with dark curly hair.
'I wonder if you'd have dinner with me?' he asked.
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I have an engagement.'
'Can we have a drink later?' He seemed very much in earnest.
'Well,' said Elizabeth, 'I don't know what time -'
'Any time,' he said. 'This is my room number. Call it when you get back.
Please?'
He handed her a piece of paper with a number on it. Elizabeth took it
because it seemed rude not to, but she had no intention of calling.
Over dinner she had some more wine and flirted with an older man seated
opposite her. But she knew it meant nothing to her. She walked back alone to the
hotel, crossed the lobby and stood waiting for the lift. When the doors opened
she saw Gerald standing inside. Surprised to see her as much as she was to see
him, he stepped out just as she walked into the lift. Then, suddenly, just as
the doors were closing, he stepped back inside. As the lift ascended they were
alone. Taking a pace towards her, he caught her in his arms and pressed his
mouth to hers. For a moment she resisted, then the intensity of his kiss burned
through her inhibition. The previous week had stoked her desire to boiling
point, but in the subsequent days it had found little release. Now it
overwhelmed her, a sudden rush of lust so powerful her head swam.
The young man had his arm around her waist and was pressing his belly
against hers. She could feel him rising and swelling. The lift stopped and he
seized her by the hand. Down the corridor he opened a door, pulled her inside,
then pushed her back against it, his tongue sliding underneath hers into the
well of her mouth. His hand came up and began to stroke her belly, through the
thin crepe of her dress.
She knew there was no going back now. She let him put his hand up the
inside of her thigh, finding the soft smooth skin above the stocking top,
continuing until it brushed against the silk of her knickers. Reaching out with
one hand, she caught hold of his zipper and pulled it down, then searched inside
and found him. She resolved to dispense with modesty and formality; sinking to
her knees she took his cock in her mouth. She worked on him with all her
expertise. Somehow, perhaps because she was older than him, she wanted to
impress him with her skill and sophistication. Her head moved rhythmically up
and down, her mouth a funnel into which his cock slid easily and snugly. Soon
she sensed the ejaculation building, then it boiled over and hit the back of her
throat. Reaching into her handbag, which lay beside her on the floor, she found
a tissue into which she spat.
She stood up and slipped off her clothes, letting dress and her black silk
bra and knickers fall to the floor. The young man stood and watched, entranced
by the revelation of her body. She stepped towards him naked and removed his
clothes too. She led them to the bed.
They embraced. He moved down between her legs and licked her for a time,
but it wasn't what she wanted, and she drew him up to her, sliding her body
against him lasciviously, stroking his cock until it was hard again. She turned
him on to his back and straddled him, slowly bringing herself to orgasm by
pressing forward, his cock hard against her clit. After she had come he turned
her over, somewhat to her surprise; she had assumed he was a little more
innocent than he proved to be. As she knelt he entered her from behind, fucking
her hard and fast, the way she craved.
In the middle of the night she awoke. She reached out and felt him hard.
She drew him on top and he fucked her once more, again very hard. It was so
satisfying like that. But then she said she must leave. He said he wanted her
phone number, her email, anything to keep track of her.
'No,' she said, 'it's better like this.'
Afterwards she realised she still didn't know his full name. Back in her
room she got under the shower, then made herself come reliving the events of the
night.
She wondered on the plane home whether to tell Matt. The deed had been done
in some sense in order to defy him. What kind of defiance would it be if he
didn't even know about it? Yet she shrank from disclosure. It wasn't a fear of
punishment, though she had no doubt it would be severe. Casual sex with a
stranger was surely one of the cardinal sins for a sub, giving away to another
what was not hers to give, her mouth, her breasts, her cunt. And indulging her
lust, taking an orgasm for herself, not under Matt's instruction, must be
construed as deliberate defiance. But she knew now she could handle the beatings
and whippings. She'd taken Matt's worst and lived to tell the tale; better than
that, she'd taken them and revelled in them, taken pride in them, looked at the
marks next day with awe and satisfaction, as evident of her courage and
commitment.
What she feared was not the retribution, but Matt's opinion of her. In a
moment of licentiousness she had resolved to please herself, not him, thinking,
if she was thinking at all, so insistent was her desire, that it would be good
to show she could still act independently. A too quick, too complete
capitulation to Matt might make him think she was too easy. Better that he
should think her resistance to him an obstacle worth overcoming.
But what if he lost respect for her as a result of the act she had
committed? What if he thought she was unworthy of him because she could not
resist a pretty boy who grabbed her in a lift? What if Matt thought she was a
little tramp not worth bothering with? He'd called her his slut, called that
even in front of other men. But she believed the term had a special meaning for
him. It meant that she was not like other women, cowed by convention, prey to
the fears and inhibitions bred into them from childhood. When Matt called her
his slut it meant she was brave enough to face her dark and secret desires,
accept them for what they were, the expression of a passionate nature. It meant
she was free to be herself, and free to be whatever he wanted her to be.
But what if he should really think her a slut, a woman without control of
her appetites, a woman who could not be relied on, could not deny herself carnal
pleasures, a woman no better than an animal that rutted when it pleased? What if
that was what Matt thought?
She decided not to tell him, not now, not till she knew him better and he
knew her for what she was: not a slut but a woman who would chose her lovers,
who would chose to obey but who would free herself by such obedience, not deny
her nature. When she was sure that Matt knew this about her she would tell him
and accept her punishment. Until then she would keep silent.
The evening she got back she went round to see Matt. She hoped he would
read nothing of her adventure in her face, and she forced herself to reveal
trace of neither pride nor remorse in what she had done. But in fact she need
not have worried. Matt had news that made him oblivious to whatever might be
discerned in her face.
'I've heard from Jonathan,' he said.
'Jonathan?' For a moment she didn't know who he was talking about.
'Your former Master. He wants us to go and visit him.'
'Visit him?' She knew it sounded foolish to keep echoing him, but she was
taken off guard.
'He's invited us to stay for a weekend. I've accepted.'
'Accepted? Already?'
'Yes, I think it will be interesting.'
'You didn't ask me.'
'No, I accepted for you. Cancel anything you have for next weekend.'
She bit her lip. She'd planned to surprise him with a weekend in the
country. The hotel was already booked.
'I wish I had more notice,' she said. 'Can't we go later?'
'No,' said Matt. 'We can't. Jonathan and I have decided we need to confer.'
And so the little women have to fall into line, she thought with a touch of
bitterness. But she didn't dare let it show.
The rest of the week she was consumed by curiosity about what Matt and
Jonathan wanted to confer about. It could only be about her. While it gratified
her that she was such an object of attention to the two men, she was
apprehensive about what they might be cooking up together. Suppose Jonathan
wanted her back? Suppose Matt agreed to let him have her? It was unthinkable.
But was it impossible?
When she was not preoccupied with such thoughts, her mind reverted to the
episode with the young man in the hotel. Was it really right to keep it from
Matt? Did it really give her a feeling of independence or did it just make her
feel she had cheated on him like any other woman might? What had happened to her
vows? Didn't she owe Matt better than to deceive him? The more she thought about
it the more she felt in the wrong. With a heavy heart she decided to confess.
That there would be a severe punishment she had no doubt. A beating she could
take, no matter how hard, if she knew she deserved it. What she feared was
something much worse, that Matt would be disappointed in her, would draw away
from her, might even reject her. That was unbearable, so much so that her
resolve to come clean wavered several times.
But in the car on the way to the airport on Friday afternoon she finally
screwed up her courage.
'Matt,' she said, 'there's something I have to tell you.'
He said nothing, his eyes fixed on the road in front.
'Last week, when I was away, I slept with a guy.' She said it in a rush, to
get it over with.
'What sort of a guy?' Matt's voice had that distant sound, detached, the
sound she didn't like. But she could hardly be surprised at that.
'A young guy, just a boy really.'
'Did you pick him up?
'No, he came on to me. Grabbed me in a lift.'
'And in full view of the other guests, threw you over his shoulder and bore
you off to have his way with you, despite your cries for help?'
She hated it when he made fun of her this way. It wasn't kindly teasing. It
was cruel.
'I admit I didn't resist much. I was attracted.'
'Tell me exactly what you did. Every single thing.'
She took a deep breath. 'We went to his room. I went down on him while we
were still dressed. He came in my mouth.'
'Did you swallow?'
'You know I would do that for no other man,' she said.
'And then?'
'We undressed and fooled around. Then he fucked me,'
'In which position?'
It was so shaming to have to spell it out. Why did he need such detail? She
knew the answer: to shame her; to force her to confront her actions fully, admit
them, relive them, in a way. But was it ultimately intended to help her face up
to her guilt, and in so doing move beyond it? Or was it simply a naked assertion
of his power, to humble her in this way?
'I straddled him. I made myself come that way. Then he did it to me from
behind, while I was kneeling.'
'He came that way?'
'Yes.'
'And then?'
She hesitated. Well, best to get it over with. 'In the night we woke up and
did it again. Missionary position.'
'Did you come?'
'No.' She knew he could hear the slight hesitation in her voice.
'And then?'
'I went back to my room. I wouldn't give him my name or number.'
Matt was silent for a while. 'There's something else? A further detail
you've omitted?'
She blushed. He knew her so well. 'I masturbated in the shower.'
'Thinking of him and what you did together?'
Her face was bright red. 'Yes,' she whispered.
Matt still looked forward, eyes on the road. 'Do you feel better now you've
told me?'
'Yes,' she said, 'yes, I do.'
'You'll feel better still when you've taken your punishment,' Matt said.
They drove on in silence. But on the plane he was friendly and intimate, as
though her confession had been pigeon-holed, a subject for another day. She did
feel better, it was true. She realised now how damaging it would be to hide
things from him. And really, what was the point? She wanted him to know her,
know everything about her, and then accept her. She couldn't help wondering
about the punishment, though. What she'd done rated pretty high on the scale of
disobedience, deliberately choosing to have sex with another man, having
unsanctioned orgasms. The last orgasm would probably be considered the worst, a
moment of sheer indulgence, reliving her offences solely for the purpose of
pleasuring herself. She'd pay dearly for that.
Jonathan's house lay in an acre of ground on the outskirts of the city. As
they drove up in a cab Matt whistled softly, clearly impressed by the
spaciousness of the setting and the size of the house.
'You gave up all this for me?' he smiled.
'Never a moment's regret,' she said, kissing him on the cheek.
They were welcomed by Jonathan's housekeeper, a middle-aged woman with
greying hair tightly bound in a bun.
'Hello, Stella,' said Elizabeth brightly.
'Miss Lawrence,' the woman answered, politely nodding her head.
'This is Matt, my Master.'
Matt was surprised she should present him in this way. How much did Stella
know?
'She knows everything,' Elizabeth whispered, anticipating his question as
they walked behind Stella into the hall. Stella opened a door into a book-lined
room, evidently Jonathan's study. 'Mr Jonathan will be down shortly.'
'Can you bring in our bags, Stella,' Elizabeth said. 'Matt, give her the
keys.'
When Stella had gone Matt turned to Elizabeth. 'She knows about you and
Jonathan?'
'Of course. She's his housekeeper. You can't keep these things from your
servants. Not if you want to lead a 24/7 lifestyle.'
'But I thought you didn't do that with Jonathan?'
'Well, we came close at times. Anyway, she's the soul of discretion. Old
family retainer and all that stuff.'
Matt wasn't used to servants; not the kind you paid a salary to, anyway. He
was never comfortable round people who were employed to do things for him he
could do for himself.
The door opened and Jonathan entered. He was a large man; Elizabeth could
see he had put on extra weight since she had last seen him. And he had grown a
beard. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. But what difference did it make?
He wasn't her Master now.
Elizabeth did the introductions. Jonathan invited Matt to be seated.
Elizabeth remained standing. Jonathan pulled on a bell-rope by the fireplace and
Stella entered.
'Champagne,' said Jonathan.
When it was brought, Jonathan opened the bottle and poured two glasses,
handing one to Matt.
'A toast,' he said. 'To mastery.'
'May I have a glass?' Elizabeth asked. 'I'll drink to that.'
Both men looked at her as she stood between them.
'May she?' asked Jonathan.
'No,' said Matt firmly. The two men drank the toast. Elizabeth wished she
hadn't asked. To be refused in such a peremptory manner was insulting.
'So,' said Jonathan, settling back in his chair. 'How has she been? Have
you tamed her yet?'
'Some way to go, I fear,' said Matt. 'Though undeniably there's been
progress.'
'She's spirited,' Jonathan replied. 'Needs a firm hand. And probably more
time than I was able to give her, even if I had stayed in the area. From this
distance it was impossible. What would you say are the main difficulties?'
'Likes her own pleasure too much, I think,' said Matt ruminatively. 'And
sometimes confuses being an independent businesswoman with what's required at
home.'
'Yes,' said Jonathan. 'Never let them bring their work home. Leave their
workplace persona at the door with their clothes.' He laughed.
Elizabeth didn't care to be discussed in this manner, as if she wasn't
there at all. It reminded her of being back at school, with her father
discussing her schoolwork with the teacher. 'Elizabeth is gifted,' the teacher
would say, 'but lacks application and self-discipline. She's inclined to be
headstrong and wilful.' What prophetic words, she thought.
'I have made great progress,' Matt continued. 'When I think back to how we
started out, myself still uncertain of what I wanted, still untutored in the
practice of being a Master, and Elizabeth eager to be dominated yet not knowing
how to lead me towards such a thing, then I feel we have come a long way. I now
know what I want and how to get it. But there is still a hard core of resistance
inside her, a little knot that has yet to be untied. In truth I am still not
sure if I want to untie it. Do I want to reduce her completely, to break the
spirit that resides in her? I think not. But at the same time I feel challenged,
as if she were still leading me on to bear down on her even harder, provoking me
into making her ever more subservient.'
Jonathan laughed. 'Topping from the bottom! Elizabeth was always a bit like
that. She'd pretend to submit, but only as far as she wanted. She'd make me go
hard on her, sometimes more than I wanted to, just for her own satisfaction. You
have to watch for that, not let her get the initiative.'
'Exactly so,' said Matt. 'Well, I suppose being aware of the problem is
half the battle.'
'In a sense you don't want to snuff out the last bit of resistance,'
Jonathan said. 'Because once you've done that what is there to look forward to?
It's the challenge that keeps it exciting, the getting there, not the arriving.'
'Wise words.' Matt agreed. Not once in this conversation had either of them
so much as glanced at Elizabeth. She knew it was deliberate, a way of testing
her. Even so, it was hard not to be provoked into a response. Hey, here I am,
what about me? But she knew better than to invite what would assuredly be a
stern reaction. It wasn't that she feared a beating. It was more likely if she
tried to insist on her presence, Matt would simply order her from the room. That
would be a far worse fate than to stand here ignored.
'Would you like to see my new sub?' Jonathan suddenly.
'Oh yes, indeed,' Matt replied.
Jonathan led the way, Matt pushing Elizabeth to walk in front of him. They
climbed the stairs right to the top of the house, walking down a corridor until
they came to a door which Jonathan unlocked. Inside the room it was almost dark,
lit only by a dim light at the far end. Elizabeth saw in the corner a cage made
from strong wire mesh, about six feet long, perhaps three feet wide and two feet
high. Inside was a young woman. At first Elizabeth thought she was naked, but as
her eyes adjusted to the light she saw that the woman's groin was encased in a
sort of garment, with a belt around her hips and a shiny metal gusset fixed
between her legs.
'This is Daisy, my slave,' said Jonathan. 'She's been very disobedient and
I'm obliged to punish her.'
The name sounded familiar to Elizabeth. She peered more closely at the
girl. She was blonde and pretty, with bee-sting lips and a cute button nose.
Elizabeth now remembered when she had seen her before. She had come to
Jonathan's house several times to parties, in the company of an older man. At
that time she was barely out of high school, a pert and provocative teenager in
denim shorts so brief you could see the crease where her thighs met her ass, and
a T-shirt that seemed almost sprayed on, outlining her tight, round breasts and
prominent nipples. Elizabeth had noticed how all the men's eyes were drawn to
her, and how shamelessly she enticed them, giggling at their jokes, flashing her
blue eyes, wiggling her shapely little bottom. Once Elizabeth had seen her peel
off her clothes and jump naked into Jonathan's swimming pool, quickly followed
by half a dozen men.
When Elizabeth, trying to be friends, had engaged her in conversation,
Daisy made clear she had no time to talk to other girls, except in so far as she
might gain useful information. She had asked a number of questions about
Jonathan, which Elizabeth ceased to answer once she formed the impression that
Daisy had designs on him. And now it appeared she had got her man, though
apparently at some cost.
Jonathan unlocked the padlock that secured the cage. 'Out,' he ordered.
Daisy crawled awkwardly out of the cage.
'To the bathroom,' Jonathan said.
Daisy crawled across the floor to a door in the wall and waited. Jonathan
opened the door and switched on the light. The bathroom was simply furnished
with bath and shower, wash basin and toilet. Daisy crawled over to the toilet
and knelt.
'Up,' said Jonathan.
Daisy stood obedient while Jonathan took a small key from his pocket and
undid a lock in the belt. The metal gusset was hinged and swung open.
'Sit and pee,' said Jonathan.
Daisy sat on the toilet and lifted the metal flap. The three of them
watched her in silence, her water splashing loudly into the bowl. Daisy stared
straight ahead, not meeting their eyes. When she had finished she wiped herself
and stood. Jonathan locked her back into the chastity belt. Without being
bidden, Daisy crawled back to her cage. Elizabeth saw that her behind was marked
with a mass of red lines, some already turning purple and black, evidence of a
severe whipping.
'What is she being punished for?' Matt asked.
Daisy settled on the floor of her cage. There was just room to stretch out.
'She's a lascivious little minx,' said Jonathan. 'She'll fuck anything in
trousers, man or woman. And you only have to turn your back and she's fiddling
with her clit. Can't get enough. I found her yesterday bent over the hood of my
Mercedes being fucked by my chauffeur. It's not the first time I've caught her
in flagrante.'
Matt laughed. 'What happened to the chauffeur?'
'James? Oh, I couldn't blame him. He's only human. The problem is, when I
beat her to punish her, she just laps it up. I have to thrash her for half an
hour before I make an impression. I'm getting fed up, it's so time-consuming.
I'm thinking of selling her.'
'Selling her?' said Matt. 'Is that possible?'
'Sure,' said Jonathan. 'I belong to a society. We call ourselves The Ring.
Each member has to own at least one slave. They can be traded, just like real
slaves. But only to another member. I've had offers for Daisy already.'
Elizabeth would have loved to know how much such a slave was worth on the
open market, but she dared not speak. Jonathan led them back downstairs, having
locked the door behind him.
'Perhaps you'd like to freshen up?' Jonathan said to Matt. 'Dinner is at
7.30.'
He rang the bell and Stella appeared.
'Show Matt to his room,' Jonathan said.
'Show Matt and Elizabeth to their room,' Elizabeth said under her breath.
Being ignored in this way was beginning to get to her. Much more of this and
she'd be bound to blurt out some sort of protest, she knew, whatever the
consequences. I'm silly to let it get to me, she thought. That's what they want.
Stella led them upstairs to a spacious bedroom, elegantly furnished.
'Phew,' said Matt. 'This guy knows how to spend his money.'
Elizabeth asked if she might take a shower.
'Sure,' said Matt affably. He stood in the doorway of the bathroom and
watched her through the clear glass of the shower stall. She soaped herself
slowly, staring back at him as she smoothed the soap over her breasts, across
her belly, between her legs. When she got out he dried her.
He kissed the back of her neck. 'I'm never so aware of you as when I'm
pretending to ignore you,' he said.
She felt such a rush of warmth towards him, such an outpouring of love. She
knew she would do anything for him, anything, suffer insults or humiliations
without number for his sake.
He put his hand between her legs and felt her. 'I just dried you and you're
wet already,' he laughed.
She wanted him to fuck her but she knew he wouldn't, not with an evening's
pleasure in store. He just wanted her warmed up, primed.
Before they had left he'd emailed her with a list of what to pack. Now he
opened her suitcase and chose her clothing for the evening. A bra and knicker
set in glossy black satin with matching suspender belt, sheer black stockings
with seams, a black velvet dress cut low on the bosom, tight round the waist
with flared skirt, hemline just below the knee. It was wonderfully elegant.
Elizabeth always felt so good in it.
Matt took a shower while she dressed. When he came back in the bedroom she
was doing her make-up. When she'd finished she turned to him for inspection.
'Perfect,' he said. 'Just one thing.'
From his own suitcase he took the steel collar he'd made her wear during
her week of domestic servitude. He fastened it round her neck.
'Just in case there's any doubt about who owns you,' he smiled.
She stepped into her black high-heeled shoes, one hand at her collar,
feeling the hard steel against the soft skin. She felt reassured.
When they got back downstairs Stella showed them into the dining room.
Jonathan was there to greet them. The lighted candles on the table were
reflected in the polished wood and sparkled against the silver cutlery and
crystal glasses. Jonathan invited them to sit. Stella brought in a tureen of
soup and served. Jonathan began to chat to them and soon the three of them were
conversing like old friends. He wanted to know about Matt's painting, enquired
after the progress of Elizabeth's business, regaled them with stories of his own
business affairs. Matt replied with some stories of his own, and Elizabeth
chipped in gaily. No longer was she ignored.
The food was excellent, and the wine splendid. Stella came and went
discreetly. At last the meal was complete and they repaired to Jonathan's study,
carrying their glasses. Jonathan and Matt settled into armchairs, Elizabeth
perched on the arm of the sofa.
'You have a fine woman here,' Jonathan said. 'I'm beginning to regret I let
her go.'
'She's all I could hope for,' Matt said.
'It brings back memories,' Jonathan said, his eyes moving up and down
Elizabeth's body.
The two men sat in silence for a moment, each sipping their wine.
'I don't suppose,' Jonathan said slowly, 'she could take her dress off so I
could see her again?'
'Of course,' Matt said. 'A pleasure.'
He made a gesture to Elizabeth. She stood up and unzipped the dress,
stepped out of it and laid it on the arm of the sofa. Matt made another gesture
and she twirled round so Jonathan could see her rear view.
'Delicious,' he said. 'Just as I remembered. Such a well-toned ass, so firm
and shapely. Do you beat her often?'
'Perhaps not as often as I should,' Matt replied. 'The last time was over a
week ago.'
The two men continued sipping their wine, each looking at Elizabeth as she
stood facing them, one hand resting on the arm of the sofa.
'Perhaps,' said Jonathan, 'she might remove her knickers?'
Scarcely waiting for Matt's instruction, Elizabeth peeled her knickers down
over her hips and stepped out of them, placing them on top of her dress. Again
she twirled so that Jonathan might see her from behind.
'Perfect,' he said.
'Perhaps,' Matt said, 'you'd care to use her? If Daisy is going to be in
the cage all night?'
'That would be most agreeable,' Jonathan said. 'Just for a while. Of course
I'll return her to you when I'm finished.'
'No hurry,' said Matt. 'Take your time. We'll meet at breakfast, compare
notes.'
I might have guessed there would be something like this, Elizabeth thought.
Had Matt planned this all along? She'd been so much looking forward to being
with him later, had been rehearsing in her mind the things she would do for his
pleasure. But she should have known that would be too straightforward. Matt's
mind ran more deviously every day. Well, it would be interesting. She was aware
of something tugging at her cunt, the memory of her old desire for Jonathan
returning.
'There's just one thing,' said Matt. 'On the way here she confessed to me
she'd let some boy fuck her last week. Couldn't keep her hands off him, it
seemed. It's evident you know how to deal with that sort of thing. I haven't had
a chance to punish her yet. Perhaps you'd be good enough to take care of it?'
'Be delighted, my dear fellow,' said Jonathan cheerfully. Elizabeth was
blushing. Why did Matt have to make her sound like she and Daisy were two of a
kind? She hated the implied comparison.
Matt came over and kissed her on the cheek. 'I know you won't let me down,'
he whispered in her ear. She reached up and put her arm around his neck, drawing
him down to kiss him quickly on the mouth.
'I promise,' she said.
Matt went out, closing the door behind him.
