Master of the House

It was a battered old suitcase.

‘Of course,’ he said, fiddling with the snap locks, ‘my collection has nothing on his. He has everything, the most expensive, the best, the latest. Mine is a bit of a ragbag in comparison. But …’

He opened it. It didn’t look like a ragbag, it really didn’t.

My skin prickled and I clamped my thighs together, noticing how my pussy tightened in response.

He looked up at me and his face crumpled in sympathy.

‘Oh, darling,’ he said. ‘You’re pale. Don’t be scared.’

He put out a hand. I took it and knelt down beside him.

‘I’m not scared,’ I lied. Whips and chains were all very good in principle, pretty sexy in the imagination, but when you saw them up close and full-sized it was somehow extremely intimidating.

‘Think of them as toys,’ he said, picking up a cat-o’-nine-tails-type affair with a red leather handle. ‘It’s all they are, really. Feel the strands – they’re soft as anything.’

‘You’re trying to tell me this wouldn’t hurt?’ I said, running my fingers through them. It was rather pleasurable and they felt lighter than air.

‘It depends on how it’s used,’ he said. ‘It can stroke you like a lover or it can sting. A bit of both is usually best, I find.’

‘When did you get into all this? You weren’t when …’

‘Oh, I was. But I wouldn’t have touched you, Lulu. You were far too sweet and innocent.’

‘Is that what you thought? Is that why you ended it? Is it?’

‘Perhaps it had a little to do with it.’

‘You twat. You had no idea who or what I was. I was just some kind of archetype to you – the naïve little village girl who would adore and worship you.’

He stared at me.

‘You’re still very angry about all that, aren’t you?’

‘Damn right I am.’ I took a breath. I was trembling. ‘You had no idea,’ I repeated, working hard to get myself back under control. ‘No fucking idea at all.’

‘I know. It’s OK. I know that.’

‘Because I would have … for you. For me, too. I would have done all of this, and more. You say you couldn’t have touched me – what you did to me was far worse. Infinitely more painful.’

He put the flogger into my hand and curled my fingers around the handle.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘Take it out on me.’

Suddenly I really wanted to kiss him. I wanted to offer to forget everything that had gone before and just push him down on the carpet and get him inside me. He reached a part of me nobody else ever had and I knew I would never be free of him. Why not just acknowledge it and throw my pride and all my fears to the wind?

Just as my grip loosened on the whip handle, preparatory to putting my fingertips to his cheek, he broke our eye contact and replaced it with a nervous chuckle.

‘So, how do you want me?’

‘I don’t follow. I don’t know the form – you do. You’re going to have to help me out here.’

‘The point is, Lulu, you tell me what to do.’

‘Yes, but I don’t know how to do it.’

He sighed.

‘Think of me, think of what I was like when I was nine. Be like that.’

I really wasn’t sure I could do it, then all my memories of that time came rushing in at once and I knew I could. I owed it to that shivering, scared seven-year-old girl to make her bully understand the effect he’d had on her.

‘Get on your knees,’ I said, and he dropped at my feet before I’d even finished speaking. I looked down at the crown of his head, at his luxuriant dark hair. He wouldn’t be thinning any time soon. ‘I’m going to hurt you.’

He said nothing, but bowed his head a little in acquiescence.

‘I’m going to do it,’ I continued, letting the strands drape over his shoulder before dragging them up his cheek, ‘but first I want to hear you beg me for mercy. Really beg me, even though it won’t have the slightest effect on what I do to you. I just want to hear it. No, don’t look at me,’ I said hurriedly, for he had raised his eyes to mine. ‘I can’t do this if you look at me. Keep your eyes on the floor.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said, then he cleared his throat. ‘Erm. Please spare me, ma’am,’ he said. But he wasn’t taking it seriously enough, his manner overly theatrical.

‘That won’t do,’ I told him. ‘Plead.’

‘OK.’ He seemed to steady himself, furrowing his brow in thought. ‘What about … I beg you not to hurt me. I promise I’ll be good now. I’ll behave myself. I’ll do anything you want, anything you say.’

‘You’re not feeling it yet,’ I said. ‘You’ve forgotten, I suppose, how I used to cry and beg you to let me go. Have you?’

‘No. Of course I haven’t.’

His voice was whisper-quiet.

‘So?’

‘So perhaps that place is too dark for me to go back to,’ he said.

I gasped.

‘Too … are you serious? Too dark for you to go back to? Did you actually say that? Too dark for you?’

‘OK,’ he said, standing up. ‘I’m sorry. This wasn’t a good idea. There’s too much –’

‘Shut up,’ I said, lashing out to grab him by the wrist. ‘Shut up and bend over the bed. Now.’

He thought he could get away with this, but he was dead wrong. I was going to calm my troubled spirit by thrashing his gorgeous arse until he begged me properly. I deserved this. I owed it to myself – and to him.

He obeyed straightaway, kneeling at the foot of the bed with his upper torso pressed against the mattress. The cream linen trousers strained a little over a backside slightly more generous than I remembered, but still splendidly peachy and firm.

‘I want those trousers down,’ I said.

He said nothing but his breathing was hectic as he fumbled with the fastening then lowered the trousers over his bottom.

‘Boxers too.’

‘Lulu,’ he said, and I could tell by the quiver in his voice that he hadn’t realised until now what he had let himself in for.

‘Don’t you dare call me that,’ I shouted. I brought the flogger down with a swish on his perfect buttocks and he sucked in a breath. ‘Don’t you ever!’ I lashed again. ‘Call me.’ Again. ‘By that name.’ Again. ‘Again.’ And again.

A pink glow was spreading across his skin. Men’s bottoms were too hairy for this, I thought, trying to picture mine in the same condition. It gave me a weak, dizzy feeling to imagine our roles reversed; Joss with the whip, me bent over for chastisement.

‘I’m sorry, ma’am,’ he said, sounding so subdued that my whip hand wavered.

‘You don’t flinch,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you flinch?’

‘It doesn’t really hurt,’ he said. ‘Not as much as you might think.’

This was at once both disappointing and satisfying.

‘What would I have to do to really hurt you? Use a cane or something?’

‘Yeah, the cane would hurt, but I don’t … I can’t really explain it, Lu–, sorry, ma’am, but I don’t really …’

‘What?’

‘I’m good at cutting myself off from pain,’ he said. ‘I’m good at not letting anything touch me.’

I wound a leather thong round and round my finger, taking this in.

‘That’s weird,’ I said. ‘How the hell do you do it? I wish I could.’

‘No, you don’t.’ He was still bent over the bed, talking to the pillows at its head. ‘It’s an overrated skill. But you’d have to pretty much kill me to get a real reaction from me.’

Why did this make me want to run over and hold him in my arms, why? After everything he had done, he could still wrap me round his little finger.

‘Do you have any kind of explanation for that?’ I asked, coming to sit on the side of the bed, so I could see his face. I put the flogger down. This clearly wasn’t going anywhere.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But you said you didn’t want to get involved. So it wouldn’t be fair to tell you.’

‘You’re a bastard,’ I said, outmanoeuvred again. He had made me do what I had vowed not to. He had made me care about him again.

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Don’t you want to hit me some more?’

‘No. There’s no point.’

‘But you’re still up for the collaring plan?’

‘Yes. About that … oh, for God’s sake, get up, pull your pants up. I feel like bloody Cruella de Vil.’

‘I’d never confuse the two of you.’ He hitched up his trousers and the little trace of blush on his cheeks was enchanting.

‘Great hair, though,’ I remarked.

‘I prefer yours.’

‘Shut up.’ That interval of eye contact had gone on far too long and needed a rude interruption of some kind.

‘So, anyway,’ he said, throwing himself into an armchair and inviting me to do the same in its opposite number. ‘What did you want to say to me? About the collaring?’

I took a breath.

‘I want to make sure you’re clear about what’s on the table,’ I said.

He looked over at his dressing table, as if that was what I was talking about. He had a great collection of after-shaves and colognes scattered across it, plus a not-so-impressive collection of miniature spirits bottles.

‘Not that table,’ I said, rolling my eyes.

‘Maybe the long table in the great hall?’ he suggested. ‘You can get a hell of a lot on that.’

‘No, not that one either,’ I said severely. ‘It’s a metaphorical table and it’s really rather small. More of an occasional table – the one at the bottom of the nest that you can fit maybe a cup of coffee and a small side plate on.’

‘What’s on the side plate?’

‘A scone. I don’t know. Stop it. I don’t want you making me laugh right now.’

‘Sorry. You’re making my mouth water, though. Strawberry jam and clotted cream. Could we discuss this over a cream tea?’

‘No.’

I was becoming a little agitated at his derailing of my serious conversation and he could see it. He looked down at his crossed legs then shot me a contrite look from beneath lowered lashes.

‘Sorry. You should have whipped me harder. Go on, then. The floor’s yours. And the table.’ His humble apology was spoiled somewhat by the little snort of mirth that accompanied his final words, but I chose to ignore it.

‘I want to make it crystal clear that I don’t expect us to have sex.’

That wiped the grin off his face.

‘What? But I don’t know how that’s …?’

‘Possible? Of course it is.’

‘But if we’re going to convince His Nibs that we have a true bond …’

‘Orgasm denial? Chastity devices? You must have heard of them. Tell him that’s what we practise.’

Momentarily lost for words, he merely stared at me. I began to feel intimidated.

‘No,’ he said, his senses at last catching up with his shock. ‘No, that wouldn’t work. The sub can be denied orgasms – but not the dom. Orgasm denial is a challenge – you still have to have sex with me, you just don’t get to come.’

‘How dull. Still, it takes all sorts, I suppose. Chastity belts, then?’

‘You really want to go there?’

‘No, I don’t really want to, but I don’t think you deserve to get your grubby little mitts on me and so …’

‘OK.’ He swallowed. ‘I understand why … I really do. I just don’t think this can work without sex … look, Lu, I’ve no right to ask this of you but …’

He broke off. I had a bad feeling, and I was bracing myself to shout ‘No’ over the howling gale of ‘Yes, yes, take me, yes’ that would be howling in my head.

‘Can I try and prove myself worthy of you?’

It was not what I’d expected and I sat up, a strange swoony feeling in my head.

‘Prove yourself worthy of me? How? What do you mean?’

‘Like, I don’t know, a quest. Something my mediaeval descendants might have known all about. If only I could get advice from them. But I get the feeling I’ll need to do more than slay dragons or triumph at the joust to win your favours.’

‘You’re insane,’ I said, after a pause for consideration, but I couldn’t let him see the melting core of me so I made my voice as hard as I could.

‘No, I think it would restore my sanity, actually,’ he said eagerly. ‘For example, you’ve already demanded that I deal with my drinking. That’s a hell of a quest on its own. I wouldn’t do it for anybody – but I’m prepared to do it for you.’

‘You should do it for you,’ I muttered, but this was all taking me a long way past my ability to be tough and uncompromising. It was a stretch trying to find any response that wasn’t a dreamy sigh of ‘Oh, Joss’.

‘Doing it for you is doing it for me.’ He pursued the point with bright eyes, a puppy dog jumping up at me for some positive attention. ‘You have something I want. I’ll climb mountains and cross rivers to get it. It’s pretty simple, really.’

‘You’ll … let me think about what you’re saying. You want something from me – the means to get this unwanted lodger off your back.’

‘More than that,’ he said, but I shushed him.

‘And you’re prepared to do whatever it takes to keep me.’

‘Yes.’ His nod was impatient, as if he had spent hours explaining a simple maths concept to me.

‘But then it’ll all be over. Once I get my story, I walk away. So this seems a bit over the top for such a temporary arrangement. Do you see why I’m a little … confused?’

He chewed on his lip and looked out of the window for a while.

‘Perhaps I’m hoping,’ he said with a cough, ‘for too much.’

I tried to be gentle. ‘It sounds like it.’ Inside, I screamed, No, you aren’t. You can have it.

‘But look,’ he said, driven and persuasive once more, making my every resolve bend into a dangerous shape by sheer power of eye contact. ‘Let’s take things a step at a time. I need to be convincing as your dom. Therefore I need you to commit to a bit more than a chastity belt. We can take it as slowly as you like, but we have to make progress.’

‘The trust issue,’ I faltered.

‘Yes, yes.’ He took this up enthusiastically. He had an answer for me. He wasn’t going to let me get away. I felt like a target, marked out. My defeat at his hands was inevitable. ‘That’s what all this is about. You give me tasks, I complete them, your confidence in me is raised. Little by little, perhaps, but ultimately …’

‘You think you can make me trust you?’

‘I think I can try. I think I have to try. Please, Lulu. Will you let me try?’

Chapter Six

‘What’s all this about, though, Luce?’

I checked my watch and peered across the Feathers’ garden to the lane beyond. Would he drive or walk? Either way, it was still five minutes until eight o’clock.

‘Can’t a daughter take her mum out for a nice evening drink in the countryside?’

I took a sip of my shandy while mum chugged on her pint of scrumpy and black.

‘I just don’t know why you were so anti bringing Animal along. He’s at a loose end tonight. No gigs, no rehearsals. We were going to have a night in and watch The Lost Boys on DVD.’

‘Gawd, how many times have you watched that film? I bet you could quote the script word for word.’

She grinned. ‘Probably could.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, Jason Patric. Wish he’d come to Tylney.’

‘Perhaps he will one day. Anyway, I just wanted to have a bit of time with you, just us. You worked so hard when I was a kid to get food on the table and I want to say thanks for all you did for me.’

‘Aw, babe. I wasn’t exactly the perfect parent.’

‘Who is?’

She ruffled my hair.

‘It’s good to have you back,’ she said.

That was the moment he sauntered out of the French doors, carrying a tall glass of what I hoped was lemonade.

‘Is that …?’ Mum squinted, leaning forwards.

‘Joss, yeah.’

‘Shit, he’s coming over. Babe, are you all right with this?’

‘Fine, fine,’ I said tersely.

‘’Cos I know there’s history –’

‘Shh!’

He was within hearing range now, making a beeline for us.

He stopped at the table, directed his most charming smile at mum and said, ‘Ms Miles. Would you mind awfully if I joined you?’

Mum looked so thunderstruck I wanted to laugh.

‘What’s all this “Ms Miles”?’ she said, after a moment of stunned silence. ‘You know my name’s Karen. That’s what you always called me.’

‘Yes, but I feel I ought to pay my respects to you, if that doesn’t sound too pompous. May I?’

He waved his hand at the empty seat.

‘Oh. Of course.’ Mum was still thoroughly discombobulated and she kept giving me anxious little glances.

He sat down and took a mouthful of his drink.

‘When life gives you lemons,’ he said, with a covert little half-wink at me.

Yes. Lemonade. I restrained myself from giving him the thumbs-up.

‘Sorry to hear about your dad last year,’ said Mum.

‘Thank you. But I’m the one who ought to be saying sorry.’

‘What, to Lucy?’

‘No, or rather, yes, to Lucy, but also to you.’

He launched into a very sincere-sounding apology for the way he had treated her when she had been his parents’ cleaner. He had spoken to her dismissively, often left messes for her to clear up, made the extent of his privilege and her lowliness abundantly clear in every exchange they had had. I listened, impressed at how fully he detailed his every transgression. I had feared he might try to elude responsibility by invoking his youth or his parents’ influence, but he didn’t. He accepted blame for his own behaviour and begged her forgiveness for it in the most touching terms.

He had to mean it? Didn’t he?

My mother certainly thought so.

‘Oh, look, it was years ago,’ she said warmly. ‘You were just a kid and you didn’t know any better. I thought nothing of it.’

‘Thank you,’ said Joss. ‘But I know it’s always bothered Lucy, and it was important to me that I make my peace with you, and her.’

Mum laughed. ‘Make your peace? I think you’ve got a few years in you yet.’

‘I hope so.’ He laughed back. ‘But you know what I mean, I think.’

‘Yes, I do. You’ve really changed. You’re a really decent bloke now. I hope your dad’d be proud of you.’

His smile wavered then returned to full beam.

‘Thanks.’ He finished the last of the lemonade and stood. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I’m afraid I must be going.’

‘Oh, dear, all ready?’ Mum was in two-pints-down flirtation mode and she batted her eyelashes quite shamelessly.

‘I’m afraid so. Thank you again, Ms Miles, for being so understanding. It means a great deal to me.’

With that, he left. Or rather, with a parting glance at me, the meaning of which was absolutely clear.

I’ve done what you asked. Now it’s your turn.

‘Well,’ said Mum, staring after him. ‘What a turn-up.’

‘Yes. Have you finished that? I’m ready to go.’

‘What? But the night is young.’

‘I know, but I have things I have to do.’

Back in the car on the way to drop mum in Tylney, the expected interrogation began.

‘So, tell me, Luce, you’re not getting involved with him again, are you?’

‘Not in that way.’

‘I bloody well hope not. It’s his fault you buggered off to Hungary for seven years and I only got to see you once in a blue moon.’

‘No, it isn’t. I wanted to work in Hungary.’

‘You wanted to run away from him.’

‘How could I run away from somebody who wasn’t chasing me?’

‘There was more to that than met the eye. I’d put good money on it. I don’t think he wanted to treat you the way he did.’

‘Mum, just because he’s smooth-talked you tonight doesn’t mean you can rewrite history. He treated me like a doll. No two ways about it.’

I needed to calm down a bit. I was well over the speed limit. I relaxed my foot on the pedal and tried to breathe.

‘I bet he was under pressure. Boys from his background can’t just see who they like, you know.’

‘Mum, this is the twenty-first century. Everybody can see exactly who they like. And if they can’t, then they can do the other person the favour of steering well fucking clear.’

Mum sighed and fidgeted with her friendship bands as we passed the ‘Welcome to Tylney: Historic Heart of the Vale’ signpost.

‘I wish you’d told me at the time what was going on,’ she said.

‘He made me keep it a secret. What an idiot I was. As if that didn’t tell me everything I needed to know about our future.’

‘You live, you learn,’ said Mum, but I was in no mood for philosophical insights. I stopped the car in the alleyway behind Tylney Pet Supplies.

‘Aren’t you coming in?’ she asked, halfway out of the door, having noticed that I hadn’t turned off the engine.

‘No. I’ve got to see a man about a dog.’

She gave me a long look.

‘That man wouldn’t happen to be a lord, would he?’

‘Mum, it’s OK. It’s business. He wants to work on a story with me, that’s all.’

That’s all.

I knew, and I think she knew, that there was a lot more to it than that.

But she contented herself with a ‘Be careful’ before shutting the car door and skipping up the fire escape to the flat.

When I parked the car at Willingham Hall, I could see a dark figure sitting on the front steps. He was waiting for me.

He hurried across the gravel and intercepted me before I could change my mind.

‘Was that what you wanted?’ he asked breathlessly. His shirt collar and two top buttons were undone, taunting my efforts to keep a level head.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, it was exactly right. Thank you. I just hope you meant it.’

‘I did. I do,’ he said, leading me to the door. ‘Every word. I know I used to be a dick, Lulu. It’s not pleasant to have to confess to it in public, but it’s no more than I deserve.’

‘I’m glad you see it that way.’

We were inside the house now, standing a little awkwardly in the splendid but dusty reception hall. It needed mum’s touch. Perhaps he could re-hire her.

‘So,’ he said, after a heavy pause. ‘I think we should stay out of the bedroom to begin with. My office?’

‘Where you work? Where Fran works?’

‘OK, perhaps not. The breakfast room isn’t looking too disastrous and there’s plenty of space in there.’

The breakfast room. Where he had bent me over the table and had me until the silver plate rattled on the cloth.

‘Lead on.’

His smile lingered a little too long.

‘Exactly,’ he said.

The morning room was one of my favourites in the whole house, spacious, airy and with a beautiful view out over the back terrace and the gardens beyond. Even in darkness, it had a friendly, cheerful sort of vibe for which I was grateful.

‘You’ve done a bit of research, I know,’ he said, perching his backside on the breakfast table while I took a seat by the windows. ‘So I imagine you’ve read up on submissive training. I don’t think I can proceed in the standard kind of way, though, because I don’t think you’re a submissive.’

‘Don’t you indeed?’ I was fascinated, and slightly offended by this claim. How could he say he knew me that well? ‘And why’s that then?’

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. I think you like most of the aspects of submission. But my guess is, when it comes down to it, you’re a bottom.’

‘Are you calling me an arse?’

‘Lucy,’ he said sternly. ‘I thought you said you’d researched this.’

‘OK, OK, I know what you mean. Joke. Nervous. Weirded out.’

He nodded, the steel core less in evidence. ‘I get that,’ he said. ‘And actually I don’t much care for the term “bottom” in this context. It does sound like, well, as you say …’

We both smiled at each other, conspirators caught out in low-minded thoughts.

‘The difference between the two,’ he continued, ‘is that I have full control over a scene with a submissive. But with a bottom, we have to agree what happens first. Bottoms hate not knowing what’s going to happen – submissives enjoy it. Well, that’s a bit crude, but you see what I’m driving at?’

I nodded, rather relieved by his assessment. I wasn’t ready to just place myself in his hands and let him go to town on me … yet. But if we could negotiate what he would do to me beforehand, then it wasn’t so scary.