Domination Inc. (10 page)

Alice nodded fervently. She could not deny that she did feel much better. Not only was she experiencing the glow of well-being which followed orgasm, but she had also been given the chance to come to terms with her sexuality. The therapist was right: there was no shame in her submission, only a sense of having learned something important about herself.

Only one thing remained: the matter of payment. Alice reached into her handbag and took out her purse, counting from it a number of twenty-pound notes, drawn from her private building society account. It was not conventional to pay the therapist in person, rather than a receptionist, but then nothing about this particular therapist was conventional, it seemed.

‘I can't thank you enough, Miss—' Alice hesitated. At no point had the therapist actually introduced herself formally.

‘Oh, just call me Elisha,' came the reply. ‘That way, if you feel the need for any further treatment, when you ring Domination Inc. you'll know who to ask for.'

Alice rubbed her still-glowing bottom absent-mindedly. ‘Thank you, Elisha. I might just do that.'

The two women walked together to the door of the office that had been acting as Elisha's consulting room. ‘So, it's on the train and back to the suburbs then, Mrs Marber?' Elisha asked conversationally.

Alice shook her head. ‘No, I thought I'd go and look round the shops. I – well, I don't fancy doing anything which involves sitting down for a little while. I'm sure you understand.' She paused at the top of the stairs. ‘And when you speak to that nice girl who takes the bookings, tell her that she can safely class me as a very satisfied customer.'

 

 

 

 

 

Cindy was applying a second coat of lip colour when the doorbell rang. From the way a heavy finger was stabbing on it rhythmically, she guessed it was the taxi driver. She capped the lipstick and dropped it into her bag, casting a final glance at herself in the dressing table mirror before heading for the door. Her progress was slower than usual in the four-inch heels which were a requisite part of her outfit, and she called out, ‘Just coming!' for the benefit of the cabbie as she teetered down the hall. The shoes were blood-red, with spindle heels that pushed her insteps up artificially high and made her small feet look even daintier and more vulnerable. Fuck-me shoes, Cindy thought, made all the more provocative by the wide straps that encircled her ankles, and from which little padlocks hung. A thin length of chain between those padlocks, and Cindy's progress would be slowed to a hobble, should a demanding mistress require it.

And tonight, Cindy was escorting the most demanding of mistresses. Sheena Thorn, the editor of
Sappho
magazine; the woman who had turned sadomasochistic lesbian erotica into an art form. She was holding a women-only party at
The Cage
, a regular fetish club that occupied what had once been a cinema in Stoke Newington, to celebrate
Sappho's
fifth birthday, and Cindy was to be her paid-for partner for the night. Hence the outfit, and the hideously impractical shoes.

Sheena had been incredibly specific about the clothes Cindy was to wear when she had made the booking with Domination Inc., and the whole effect had been to turn the little blonde into one of the submissive playthings from a
Sappho
centrespread. She looked every inch the willing slut, from the black roots of her peroxide hair, which Sheena had been most insistent she should not touch up for several days before the party, to the tips of her ankle-strap stilettos. Her make-up was whorishly heavy; thick black kohl circled her eyes, and her lips and cheeks were painted a vivid carmine. She was dressed in a black rubber bra top, cut so low that her pale pink nipples threatened to spill from its clinging restraint at any moment, and a matching waspie that cinched her trim waist, and to which sheer black stockings were clipped by wide suspenders. The little rubber G-string which covered her mound was so small she might as well not have been wearing it at all. The thong back snaked between her taut round buttocks, and the cotton gusset pouched her naked sex. Sheena liked her women shaved smooth, and Cindy was to be no exception.

If she had been visiting
The Cage
as a paying customer, which she had been known to do on occasions, she would have thrown her old fawn mackintosh over the skimpy outfit and hopped on public transport. Tonight, Sheena had booked her a cab to take her to North London and bring her back home, but the trade-off for this was that Cindy was not allowed to wear a coat. As she opened the front door to the taxi driver, she was aware of his eyes roaming over her barely-clad body, lingering on the tops of her breasts and the expanse of uncovered flesh between the tops of her stockings and the bottom of her waspie.

‘Cab to Stoke Newington, right?' the man said.

Cindy nodded, and followed him slowly down the path. She gave grateful thanks that at least she was behind him; if the positions had been reversed, he would have had a wonderful view of her naked backside, thrown into jutting prominence by her high heels.

As she settled herself on the back seat the cabbie asked conversationally, ‘So where are you off to?'

‘It's a friend's party,' Cindy replied, as non-committally as she could, hoping he would not press her for details.

‘Shame I don't have a few friends like yours,' he said. ‘I like parties where you get to dress up for the occasion.' She was aware of him glancing surreptitiously at her reflection in his rear-view mirror, and she studied him in return. He was, she guessed, about thirty, with streaky blond hair pushed back from his forehead in short wings. His eyes were small and blue beneath a heavy brow, and there was a light dusting of fair stubble on his chin. His plain white T-shirt was stretched tightly across a muscular chest, and his faded blue jeans drew attention to the bulge at his crotch. Good-looking enough if you liked them on the rough side, Cindy supposed, but not her type.

He turned the dial on the stereo, filling the car with pumping techno music. ‘Would you mind turning that down, please?' Cindy asked, aware that she would have to listen to the same monotonous beat for three or four hours in the club.

The driver shrugged, and lowered the volume. For a while he kept silent, content to ogle Cindy in his mirror. She, in turn, was happy to sit wrapped up in her own thoughts, subliminally aware of the car's fabric seat against her naked bottom, and the growing sense of anticipation in her lower body as she contemplated what was about to happen to her at
The Cage
.

Eventually, the cabbie asked, ‘So, does your boyfriend mind you going out dressed like that?'

It's none of your business, Cindy wanted to tell him. The only man in her life who might have qualified as her boyfriend, Tom, would more than likely be sitting at home with his wife, a woman who wouldn't even have known what a rubber waspie was, let alone how it felt to have the garment fitting snugly around your waist, the suspender straps stretching along your thighs. The cabbie was waiting eagerly for Cindy's reply: noticing the gold wedding band that circled his ring finger, she decided to tease him a little. ‘He prefers it when I stay in and wear it,' she said.

‘I'm sure he does,' the cabbie murmured. ‘And… er… what exactly happens when you stay in and wear it?' He aimed for a certain nonchalance in his tone, and missed.

‘Well, if you want to know the truth, he actually thinks that only a slut would dress up in rubber and high heels. And if I dress like a slut, then he treats me like one.' Cindy closed her eyes and settled back on the seat, an impish smile forming on her lips as she mentally created a scenario that was guaranteed to turn the taxi driver on. ‘He'll take me into the bedroom, and he'll push me down onto the bed, on my hands and knees. Then he'll get the silk rope he keeps in the bedside cabinet, and he'll tie my wrists and ankles to the bedposts – not so tightly that it hurts me, but securely enough so, no matter how much I wriggle and squirm, I just won't be able to free myself. There I am, my bottom sticking up in the air towards him, waiting for him to decide what to do with me.'

‘Does it take him long to decide?' the cabbie asked. ‘I'd have thought it would have been obvious.'

‘It can do. You see, he's got what he calls his box of tricks, and I never know what he's going to take out of it. Sometimes it's a feather, and he uses that to tickle every inch of my body – and I mean every inch. I'm incredibly ticklish, and I'll plead and I'll beg him not to tickle me, but he just keeps on and on and on. He'll even use the feather on my clit. That's the worst, because it drives me completely hysterical, until I don't know if I'm going to wet myself, or come, or both.

‘He's got a little bottle of oil in there, too,' Cindy added, eyes open now so she could watch the cabbie's reaction to her confession in his mirror. ‘When he gets the oil out and pours it over the crack of my bum, I know exactly what's going to happen. He'll spend ages smoothing it into my pussy and my other hole with his fingers until I'm absolutely wide open and dripping wet, and then he'll take me in the arse. He's got a nice sized cock for that, and he takes his time so he doesn't hurt me, and then, just before he comes, he'll pull out so he can shoot his load all over my bum cheeks.' She smiled to herself at how the strait-laced Tom would react to the picture she was painting of their sex life. Though their lovemaking together was, he claimed, kinkier than that he enjoyed with his wife, he'd only ever tied her up on one occasion, and the thought of buggering her had probably never even entered his mind. However, it suited her needs to let the taxi driver think she was telling the gospel truth. From the flush that was creeping up the man's cheeks, her tales were having the desired effect.

‘My absolute favourite thing, though, is this carved wooden dildo he's got,' she continued. ‘It's really old, and it's been worn shiny and smooth through use. It's a good ten inches long, I would have thought, and as thick round as your wrist. When that's inside you, you really know you're being stretched – especially when you're as small and tight down there as I am. I never think I'm going to be able to take it, and if I wasn't tied up I wouldn't let him near me with it. But when I can't move, and I can't do anything about it, that's when I relax enough to let him ease that obscenely fat phallus into me.'

She stopped her story, aware that the taxi had pulled up outside their destination and feeling she had teased him enough. The cabbie swivelled round in his seat. ‘Here you go. That'll be eleven pounds, please.'

Cindy gaped at him. ‘But I was told this was on Sheena Thorn's account...'

The taxi driver shrugged. ‘Sorry, darlin', if it'd been paid for they would have told me back at the office.'

‘Well, I don't have enough money on me.' There was a five-pound note nestling at the bottom of Cindy's bag, enough to pay for a couple of drinks and nothing more. ‘I don't suppose you'd let me go inside and find Sheena, ask her if she can sort this out?'

He shook his head. ‘How do I know you're not going to do a runner once you get out of the cab?'

Dressed like this? Cindy wanted to reply. Try and run down the street, I'll probably trip over a paving stone and break my neck. She looked helplessly at the cabbie, aware that he was gazing at her hungrily.

‘I'd take something else in lieu of payment,' he said, and his tone made it obvious what he was asking of her. Cindy suddenly began to regret the stories she'd spun to turn him on.

‘How about my phone number?' Cindy asked. ‘I can think of a few men who'd pay quite highly for that.'

‘Yeah, I'm sure they would, but that's not what I want. I want you up on that seat on your hands and knees. I want to see what that boyfriend of yours sees when he's got you tied up on the bed.'

‘You can't make me do this,' Cindy said, aware of a sudden traitorous dampness in her G-string as she realised that a part of her wanted desperately to do what the cabbie ordered.

‘Oh, no?' He was unbuckling his seat belt as he spoke. ‘The way you've carried on, I ought to use my belt on your backside, leading me on with those saucy stories of yours and thinking you could get away without paying your fare. Now get up on that seat.'

Meekly, Cindy unfastened her own seat belt and did as she was told, facing away from the cabbie. Her head was pressed against the padded back of the seat and the heels of her stilettos were digging slightly into the cheeks of her backside as she knelt there, waiting for whatever he might choose to do. She could imagine how she looked to him, with the tiny G-string bisecting the cheeks of her bottom and moulding to the contours of her sex-lips. And what view might she be presenting to any curious passer-by who might choose to glance in the car window? The thought brought a wave of shameful heat rushing to her pussy.

‘Part your legs more. And push the gusset of that thing to one side,' the cabbie ordered. ‘I want to see everything.'

Her fingers trembled slightly as she moved to obey him. Now he would be able to see that her labia had been denuded of hair, and that they were glistening with a telltale coating of slick moisture, the evidence of her rising excitement.