The Ninety Days of Genevieve (25 page)

'Spanking scene,' the man explained. 'The maid drops a glass and it breaks. So she gets up-ended over the horse. It's a popular act.'

Genevieve remembered her own experience of an erotic spanking. The memory excited her. The idea of Sinclair administering the slaps excited her even more.

'Come on,' the man hassled her. 'Your client's waiting.'

'Client?' Genevieve forgot all about the act that was about to begin on stage. 'What client?'

'How do I know?' He sounded annoyed now. 'You made the arrangements, not me. Table five.'

'I don't know what you're talking about/ Genevieve said firmly. She suddenly realised that her companion was not carrying her clothes. 'And where's my dress and underwear?' she added.

'The instructions said you go straight to table five,' he told her. 'They didn't say anything about wearing clothes. You'll get them back later. Your client wants you as you are.' He grinned suddenly. 'I don't blame him, either.'

'Do you know who this client is?' she asked.

'No/ he said. 'Don't you?'

Did she? She assumed it would be Sinclair, but what if it was a stranger? What if Sinclair was planning some more voyeuristic fun? Would she mind? She had already made love to Bridget while he watched, even though she had been unaware of her audience at the time. But Bridget had been a woman, which somehow made a difference. And it had been her choice. She might have made love to Zaid, if that had been what he wanted - he had reminded her strongly of Sinclair. But that would have been her choice too.

Was she going to be given a choice this time, or was she going to be pushed into someone's lap? Could she make love to a stranger while he watched? Did the business deal really mean so much to her? Once again, at the start of the ninety days she would have said: yes. Now she was not so sure.

Her mind was so busy with these thoughts that she hardly noticed the audience reaction to her progress. On stage the erotic games were beginning but heads still turned as she passed the numbered tables, although no one made any attempt to touch her.

Tables on the side of the room were set back against the wall, in shadowed cubicles. She reached number five. And gave an almost audible sigh of relief when she saw Sinclair.

'Amazing, isn't it?' he said softly. 'I've stripped you quite a few times, but seeing you do it to music still turns me on.' He shifted to one side. 'Come and sit here.'

She realised that the seat against the wall was wide enough for two. When she sat down she felt the smooth cloth of his trouser leg against her bare skin. On stage the maid had dropped the wine glass and was being ordered to take her punishment. Protesting and struggling (although not very effectively), her black dress was pushed up to reveal silk stockings, suspenders and lacy knickers that were soon down to her knees. The man bent her over the padded 'horse'.

Genevieve found the performance arousing. She could identify with the girl, and she knew both performers were enjoying the situation. The girl was certainly there from choice, her mask proved that. When the man's palm smacked on her upturned bottom Genevieve felt a thrill of excitement.

Sinclair turned towards her. His hand slid along her inner thigh. He gently eased her legs apart. His palm stroked her flesh but his eyes were on the couple on the stage.

'You might have told me that you were planning this/ she said.

'Planning what?' His fingertips moved to her kneecap. 'This?' He drew light patterns on her skin.

'For me to meet you here/ she said. The last word ended in a stifled gasp. He had traced back over the curve of her thigh and ended up between her legs again.

'Why?' He pushed his other hand round her back and under her arm, cupping her left breast, rubbing his thumb over her nipple, playing with with her for a few moments before moving his hand away. 'Did you expect to meet someone else?'

'I never know what to expect/ she said. 'You make the rules.'

He leaned over and circled her nipple with his lips. His tongue flicked insistently while his other hand continued to explore the warm centre of pleasure between her legs.

'Would you still have come, if you though you'd be meeting a stranger?'

She wriggled involuntarily. His fingers were moving faster now, expertly. 'Do I have a choice?'

'You've always got a choice,' he said.

She leaned back and stretched out her legs under the table, one leg bent outwards to give him easier access. 'I wouldn't know who I was meeting - until I got here.'

'But if you did know? If I told you to come and allow a complete stranger to enjoy you?' He entered her fully with a finger, then with two fingers. His thumb excited her swollen clitoris. 'If I told you to let a stranger do this?'

She did not want these questions. She wanted to abandon herself to the sensations that were claiming her.

'Would you have come then?' he insisted.

'I'm coming now/ she groaned.

She writhed on the seat as her orgasm shook her, pushing against his hand, trying to stifle the noises of pleasure that rose in her throat. Then she realised she need not have bothered. The stage act had finished and the audience were clapping enthusiastically. The sound would have drowned any gasps and moans she made. By the time she had recovered, the stage was blacked out again. Her legs felt sticky against the cover of the seat.

'I'm wet.' She grabbed one of the paper napkins from the table and tried to make herself more comfortable.

'You haven't answered my question,' he said, taking another napkin to wipe his own hand.

'What question?' She screwed the napkin up.

'Would you have serviced a total stranger?' he asked.

Suddenly she was angry with him. She just wanted to relax in the warm afterglow of her orgasm. She didn't need a cross examination.

'Of course I would,' she said, in an aggressive, clipped voice. 'This is
business,
isn't it?'

There was a pause. Then he smiled. 'Strictly business,' he agreed. 'I forgot.'

'And you've made me miss that act,' she added. 'I wanted to watch it.'

'You wanted to watch Miss X getting spanked, did you? Why?'

'I thought it would be a turn-on.' She turned away and peered at the darkened stage. 'Do you know who the girl was?'

He laughed. 'Yes.'

'Tell me!'

He shook his head. 'No way. But you'd be surprised if you knew.'

'If it's such a secret, how do you know?' she challenged.

'I'm a regular here/ he said. 'I can be trusted. And I can tell you that the mysterious Miss X really loves performing. Why shouldn't she enjoy herself?'

'Everyone should have a hobby/ Genevieve agreed lightly.

'Even if it's only squash/ he said dryly.

'Or collecting pictures,' she hinted.

He seemed unaffected by the reference. 'You collect pictures, do you?'

'No,' she said. 'I thought you did?'

'What makes you think that?'

She had a feeling he was going to be deliberately evasive, and decided to be blunt. 'There's an artist called Ricky Croft. He draws erotic scenes.' She waited for a response, but did not get one. 'He's always looking for customers. The last time I spoke to him he seemed interested in contacting you.'

'I know of him,' Sinclair said. His voice sounded cold. 'He deals in pornography. I don't need pictures.' His hand touched her thighs, stroked up between her legs to her moist sex. 'I can always get the real thing.'

'So you've never met him?'

The fingers on her leg tightened.

'Why are you so interested, Miss Loften?'

She was tempted to say: because I want to know if you beat him up. And why. But she knew instinctively that even if she asked the question, Sinclair was not going to give her any answers. 'Just curious,' she said flatly.

'Well stop being curious,' he said. 'You're not here to interrogate me.' His hand moved from her leg to her breast. He cupped it and squeezed gently. 'You're here to entertain me.' His fingers tightened. 'Agreed?'

'Agreed,' she said.

She felt the warmth of his skin against her flesh, and felt her nipple hardening in response to his handling. He relaxed his fingers and massaged her breast with his open palm. She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes.

'Does this turn you one?' he asked softly.

'Yes,' she murmured.

His fingers caught her erect nipple and pinched it, firmly. Startled, she opened her eyes.

'And this?' he asked. 'A little bit of erotic pain?'

'Yes,' she said.

'You like it all, don't you?' he said. He withdrew his hand. 'Spanking, too. You enjoyed it when you were tied to my motorcycle. You loved it. You'd like it to happen again. Am I right?'

'Don't jump to conclusions,' she said. 'I simply said I wanted to watch that couple on stage.'

'I've ruined your evening, have I? I'll make it up to you. I'll show you some experts at work, people who'll make those two look like amateurs.'

'When?' she asked casually. 'After you've come back from Japan?'

'I thought I told you to stop interrogating me.'

'You might have told me about it,' she said.

'Why? I knew you'd find out anyway. It's hardly a secret. It'll only be for a few days, and it makes no difference to our arrangements.'

'So it's strictly a business trip?'

'What else would it be?' he asked lightly.

'I've heard that Japanese women are very - beautiful.'

'So are English women. Are you trying to find out whether I'm going to sample any of them while I'm out there?'

'No, I'm not,' she said, quickly and untruthfully.

He laughed. 'For a moment I thought you might be jealous.' He ran his hands over her breasts, and down between her legs, touching her briefly and skilfully. 'Foolish of me, wasn't it? I'm just a business opportunity to you.'

'And I'm just an entertainment to you,' she countered.

'True,' he said. 'And the evening's not over yet. Get your coat. I'm hungry.'

'Can we eat here?' she asked.

'We can, but we're not going to. I've a good bottle of wine at home, and I've ordered a meal to go with it.' The stage darkened again.

'I'd like to watch the show,' she suggested.

'I'm tired of watching,' he said. 'And I call the shots, remember. Get your coat, but don't bother to dress.

You'll soon be performing again.'

* * *

As she got out of the car and walked to the steps to Sinclair's house, Genevieve wondered why it felt so sexy to know that you were naked under a perfectly respectable-looking fur coat. She hugged the fur to her, feeling the cool silk of the lining against her skin. She had already removed her head mask and shaken out her hair.

'The hall felt plesantly warm. Sinclair opened a door.

'In there,' he said. 'Pour yourself a drink. And take your coat off. You look over-dressed.'

It felt even more sexy to be naked in this masculine room, with its subdued lighting, polished-wood floor and leather-upholstered furniture. There were two large armchairs, and there was also a stool with a padded seat. It was smaller than the room they had used on her previous visit, and she noticed that the door was not drilled with holes. One wall was completely shelved with books.

She poured herself a glass of wine and went over to look at them, searching for the kind of titles Sinclair's reputation prompted her to believe she would find. The
Kama Sutra,
maybe?
The Story o/O?
First editions of well-known erotic novels? Privately printed books on the byways of specialised sex? Instead she found poetry and astronomy. Books on ancient history, and a shelf of science-fiction paperbacks.

She finished her wine and moved round the room, looking at the framed prints on the walls, mainly old-fashioned hunting scenes and animals, and the occasional portrait of unidentified, grim-looking elderly men in high wing collars. She was standing in front of one of these, trying to work out who it was supposed to be, when she realised she was reflected from the waist upwards in the picture glass. She placed both hands under her breasts, lifting them until her nipples were in line with the portrait's primly disapproving mouth. She giggled suddenly, and wriggled provocatively. I'll bet this never happened to you in real life, whoever you are, she thought.

'What the devil are you doing?'

The sound of Sinclair's voice made her jump. She turned, her hands still under her breasts. He was standing in the doorway. He had taken off his jacket and his formal white shirt was now open at the neck, half-unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows.

'I'm just looking at your pictures,' she said.

'It looked as if you were dancing.'

She walked across to him, her hands crossed in mock modesty over her breasts. 'I thought the poor old boy needed cheering up.'

'Oh, did you?' He was standing close to her now. The subdued light shadowed his face and made his black hair gleam. He reached out and caught her wrists, pulling her arms down to her sides. He leaned forward as if to kiss her. She moved her face towards him but he dipped his head and his lips closed over her nipple instead. His tongue circled its tip briefly, lightly, and expertly enough to send a shudder of pleasure rushing through her. 'Well,' he said, after repeating the caress once more, 'I don't think that respectable old Victorian gentleman would have appreciated seeing a wanton woman flaunting herself in the nude.'