A Strict Seduction (29 page)

‘No, of course not,' I said uncomfortably.

We both fell silent as we watched Philipa returning. Her black high heels shaped her legs, making every sinew and muscle taut. Her arms were crossed in front of her as she clutched a black velvet handbag which matched the dress. She was smiling, her lips parted over white teeth, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

‘Are we ready?' she asked.

She took Andy's arm as we left the restaurant, holding him tight, her body close to his. They were a couple; young, happy, and a painful reminder of where I had once been. I chided myself for feeling bitter; my marriage had dissolved itself, I was at once an innocent party and an injured victim.

Her heels clicked on the pavement, echoing across dark streets as we walked back to their car. There was no conversation between us, but out in the open the silence was not as strained as it would have been in the confines of the restaurant.

‘Shall I drive?' she offered as we drew up to Andy's black BMW. The car was his pride and joy; under the streetlights it gleamed like some dark, menacing creature.

‘Let you drive this?' he asked, winking at me. ‘Come on darling, I love you deeply and all that, but no way.'

‘Huh! You'd let me drive, wouldn't you?' she asked, turning to me for support.

I smiled encouragingly. ‘Not a bloody chance,' I told her.

Andy's laughter filled the street and he was still laughing as he slipped into the driving seat. Philipa shrugged and walked over to the passenger side. I watched her get into the car, my eye drawn to the line of her breasts and to the smoothness of her soft skin. I hesitated for a moment, trying to get a grip on myself. The night air was cool and it felt good as I sucked it deep into my lungs.

‘Still with us?' Andy remarked sharply as I finally took the back seat.

‘Listen, Cole,' I snapped, ‘don't forget who signs your pay cheque at the end of the month.'

There was a stunned silence in the car for a moment, and then he started to laugh. I did too, a heartbeat later.

‘Yes, boss,' he said, gunning the car into life.

‘You don't have to sign his cheque,' Philipa told me, turning round in her seat to look at me.

‘I know I don't,' I agreed, ‘but I'm a sucker for sad cases. I think of it as charity.'

‘You could always sign the cheque to me,' she suggested sweetly.

‘I've got no problem with that,' I mused, as though giving the idea some consideration.

‘And what exactly do you propose to do to earn the dosh?' Andy asked, glancing round at the two of us. His hands were tight on the wheel, in control.

‘I'm sure we can come to some arrangement,' Philipa suggested, and then she laughed, getting an echo of it from Andy too.

‘Well, boss,' Andy said, ‘what about it? Philipa gets the wages.'

I wanted to kill the topic stone dead, there was something underlying the humour and it made me feel uncomfortable. ‘Sure,' I said finally, ‘but she gets the car too.'

‘No way!' snapped Andy. ‘The deal's off. No one drives this baby but me.'

‘Oh well,' Philipa sighed, ‘at least I don't have to sweat blood making up my commission every month.'

‘You don't have to do that,' Andy responded, our eyes meeting in the rear-view mirror.

‘Oh, yes?' she asked on cue.

‘No,' he continued expansively, ‘you just get the boss's job and make everyone else sweat blood…'

I laughed. He was a reckless bastard at times; the mood I was in it was more than likely I would have taken offence, but he didn't care. The fact that he took risks was what made him good at his job.

Their place was on one of those box-like estates of geometric houses with parking spaces out front and a square of grass masquerading as a front garden. The houses were stamped from a single template, and in the darkness it was hard to tell one bijou residence from the next. The streetlights cast a pale orange glow and my breath misted as I stepped out of the car.

It was cold, colder than it had been for a long time. Philipa shivered as Andy strode to the front door. My eyes were drawn to her as she waited in the darkness. She turned and our eyes met. She half smiled, and then the door was open and the warmth inside drew her away.

‘Come on,' Andy urged me, an outstretched arm pointing the way inside.

I entered and he followed me in, a step behind.

‘Through here,' Philipa called from the front room.

I walked along thickly carpet floor, a couple of steps through the hall and then a right turn into the room. Further along the hall there were stairs going up, and beyond that the darkness of the kitchen. Philipa was standing by the window, her back to it, her bottom pressed against a radiator. She was standing absolutely straight, her feet side by side, thighs together, arms down at her sides.

‘Nice place you've got here,' I remarked, a barefaced lie but it seemed an appropriate thing to say.

‘What're you drinking?' Andy asked me, clapping his hands together as he entered the room.

‘Anything,' I said.

‘Water, then?'

‘Only if you want me to go home now,' I said.

‘Scotch all right?'

‘I'll take it neat,' I decided.

Philipa broke away from the window. ‘I'll get it,' she said.

‘Make mine a whiskey too,' Andy told her.

She stopped in the doorway. ‘It's okay,' she told me, ‘you can sit down.'

I nodded stupidly. A three-seater sofa faced a brick fireplace, to the left of it there was a matching armchair which directly faced the TV and video. I hesitated, and then decided to go for the armchair. Andy sat on the sofa, in the place nearest to me.

‘It wasn't a bad meal, was it?' he remarked conversationally. His face was slightly flushed and his eyes darted from me to Philipa, returning with the drinks.

She came over to me first, a silver tray in her hands. I took my glass and thanked her, keeping my eyes off her as she moved to Andy. She sat beside her husband, knees together, leaning forward, drink cradled in her hands. Her long nails were painted red.

I took a sip of my drink and enjoyed the burning in the back of my throat. It was good Scotch. ‘I'm obviously paying you too much,' I said, breaking the awkward silence.

‘It's a good drop of booze,' Andy agreed, swishing his Scotch and water round his glass.

‘Is there anything I can get you?' Philipa asked softly. She looked at me coyly, her face lowered slightly and her blue eyes tilted up at me. I looked at her and my heart was pounding in my chest. There was no mistaking that look, no mistaking the allure in her voice and the slight pursing of her lips. I was erect just looking at her.

Andy slid his hand up and down her smooth thighs, stroking her soft skin as I watched. ‘Do you want her?' he asked me, his voice low, almost a whisper.

I looked at him. What the fuck was going on? He smiled but said no more. There was nothing I could say so the question hung in the air, filling the room with its tension. At last Philipa turned to Andy and kissed him softly on the mouth. She placed her drink on the carpet and then walked towards me, keeping her eyes averted.

She stopped beside the armchair. Her perfume mingled with the alcohol as I took another drink. She was so close I could feel the heat from her body. I looked up at her.

‘Let me be your slut,' she said huskily.

I moved away, looking beyond her to her husband. ‘Andy? What the—'

‘You heard her,' he said, ‘she wants to be a slut for you.'

‘Please,' she added. ‘I'll do anything you want me to.'

‘Touch her,' Andy suggested.

I stood up. ‘What sort of screwed up—'

She took my arm and kissed me softly on the cheek. It was such an innocent, chaste kiss that for a moment I was completely thrown. Then she lowered her head and started to lift the hem of her black dress. I was transfixed as inch by inch she revealed herself, exposing the curve of her upper thighs and then the swell of her sex. She was shaven, her pussy bare, bulging labia clean, a glimpse of pink flesh within.

‘I'll be your girl,' she whispered, looking up at me with pure desire in her sweet baby blue eyes.

‘Treat her badly,' Andy told me. ‘She likes it, she likes to be handled rough. Don't you?' he demanded of her, his voice a cruel sneer.

‘I want whatever you want,' she whispered, holding her dress up so I could feast my eyes on her sex.

‘And you?' I demanded, stepping away from Philipa to face Andy.

He shrugged and downed the last of his drink. ‘She's a slut who needs cock,' he said, ‘what can I do?'

It was bizarre. ‘Don't you care?'

‘I told you,' he repeated, ‘she's a slut. I give her what she needs but sometimes it's not enough. Now, you want to take her or not?'

I looked from him to her. Her eyes were full of pleading. For a moment I had no answer, but then I nodded. ‘I want her,' I whispered.

She looked happy; she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue and smiled. At last she released the dress and once more she was modest: young, pure and pretty.

‘Why don't you go upstairs and wait?' Andy suggested, speaking to his wife.

She started to go but then stopped. ‘Is that what you want me to do?' she asked me.

‘Yes, go and wait,' I told her.

Andy and I waited for her to go before speaking again.

‘I know what you're thinking,' he told me, standing up.

‘Do you? Then you know I think you're crazy.'

He shook his head sadly. ‘No, mate, you don't understand this at all.'

‘Don't I?' I hissed angrily.

‘She might look all sweet and innocent on the outside, but believe me, she's a slut. There's no other word to describe her.'

‘What does that make you then?'

He laughed derisively. ‘Look, you either want her or you don't. She wants you, that's clear enough. Take her, do what you want to her, anything.'

‘What if I beat her?' I demanded, wanting to shock some sense into him.

‘Then she'll be even wetter for you. She'll love you for it. Go on, beat her, screw her in the arse. She's yours, in any way you want.'

I sat down heavily. ‘How often do you do this?'

He swallowed the last of his drink. ‘What difference does that make? Look,' he snapped, his face reddening, ‘last year I watched her being fucked by three guys at once and she loved it. The dirty whore loved every second of it. By the time they'd finished with her she was covered in sweat and spunk. Fuck it, one of them even pissed on her, and she was delirious.'

I listened, astounded. The scenario he was describing repelled and excited me in equal measure. ‘And you watched?' I whispered.

He nodded. ‘I watched, and once they'd finished I fucked her again until she screamed her climax.'

‘It turned you on,' I said, appalled.

He laughed. ‘It did,' he admitted. ‘Now you know what a sick bastard I am what're you going to do? Go upstairs, or do I call a cab for you?'

‘You know I can't leave,' I said.

He looked relieved. ‘She wants to be your slut,' he reminded me.

I stood and walked to the door. He was pouring himself another drink when I looked back. There was nothing else for me to say. I shut the door and walked to the stairs. My mouth was suddenly dry as I headed up.

There were a number of doors at the top of the stairs, but only one of them leaked any light. I was about to knock when I stopped myself. I pushed the door open and stepped in. Philipa was sitting on the bed, wearing a pair of skimpy black knickers and a matching lacy bra. She was on her knees, tilted forward slightly so her breasts were thrust forward.

‘I'll be good for you,' she promised huskily.

‘You'd better be,' I warned her.

‘I will… I will,' she promised.

I could see that my harsh tone was exactly what she wanted. ‘And if I beat you? Will you still be good?'

She nodded eagerly. ‘If that's what you want, then I'll be good.'

I edged to the end of the bed and reached for her. She stretched forward and rubbed her face against my open palm, her lips kissing me softly. Her skin was so soft and warm. I ran my fingers through her long fine hair and she smiled. I stroked her hair and the back of her neck and she responded with an almost feline purr of pleasure.

‘Is this what you want?' I asked, taking her hand and touching it to the bulge etched in my trousers. Her fingers traced the outline of my hard cock, and then she looked up and nodded.

‘And what will you do to get it?' I whispered hoarsely.

‘Anything…'