Dirty Minds, page 9
Then he remembered the feather. He sat up and rummaged in the drawer of the bedside table until he found the seagull feather he had brought in from the lawn. He ran it through his fingers. At least it had dried out now. He slid the tip of it across her stomach. She murmured something incoherent. Her eyes were closed and she had a big, satisfied smile on her face. He ran it all over her body, the idea being that the tickling sensation would drive her mad. It had the opposite effect
‘I don’t know where you got that idea, but that’s great.’
He ran the feather down her legs and tickled the soles of her feet. No response. He snorted in annoyance and gave up. She opened her eyes.
‘Now what? Anything else in your box of tricks? Oh wait, I know what. You’re going to have to untie me, lover. I have to go to the little girls’ room. Pronto.’
He untied the ropes, still lost in his thoughts. None of this kinky stuff was working the way it was supposed to. He should have been the dominant master, her his obedient slave. When she came back, she found him still sitting there, a faraway look in his eyes. She came across and cradled his head against her.
‘What’s the matter, honey? Your little game not so good? Here, why don’t you let me do it to you?’
He hesitated. This was a new twist. After a moment’s thought, he gave in.
‘What the hell, it might be fun.’
‘Of course it will.’
She proved to be expert with ropes and knots. Catching his eye, she explained: ‘Girl guides.’
Soon he was helpless on the bed. She took up the feather.
‘Now, let me see, where shall I start?’ She ran the feather across his stomach. His body bucked.
‘Wow, that tickles.’ He panted, straining against the ropes.
She moved down to his feet, and he was soon jerking around and moaning. Running it up his legs, she concentrated on his groin and his stomach. He found himself screaming at her to stop.
Before long, Jimmy was hammering on the lounge ceiling. His voice echoed plaintively up the stairs. ‘Give it a break, Clint. I’m working down here.’
Pretty soon, the tears were running down his face and he was pleading with her to be released. Only then did she stop.
‘Now that, honey, is what BDSM is all about. Sure you like it?’
He was in no fit state to answer, only relieved that the punishment had stopped. She collected her clothes and dressed, a gentle smile on her face. Finally she bent down and kissed him tenderly.
‘I’ll be hearing from you.’ And she left.
As the door closed, he suddenly realised his predicament. He tugged at the ropes, but to no avail. He lay there fuming, until his bladder told him he needed to get up. With a very heavy heart, he cleared his throat, and called out.
‘Jimmy, can you come up here, please?’
Chapter Seventeen
After the ham and eggs, Tom and Ros decided not to read the rest of the butler’s tale. They stuck to their agreement to avoid the subject of the book. They talked about all manner of things, from his years teaching in Italy, to her years as a model.
‘Is it hard to be beautiful?’
She smiled across the table at him. ‘It’s a job. It’s quite a hard job, too. Even when I was ten or fifteen years younger, I didn’t just step out of bed and in front of the lens. I had a strict regime of exercise, diet and, of course, make-up. The most difficult look is the one where it looks as if you aren’t wearing any make up.’
He scrutinised her face. He could see no sign of make-up. Did this mean she was so well made-up, he couldn’t see it?
‘And, you can stop staring. I’m not wearing any make-up tonight. I’ve just got off a train.’ She was laughing at his discomfort. ’
Anyway, I often had to get up before dawn, so as to be ready for a car to pick me up at seven o’clock. Sometimes I wouldn’t come home till midnight. Then, six hours sleep and it all started again.’
‘And what sort of modelling did you do?’
She gave him an impish grin. ‘You wouldn’t have seen me on page three, if that’s what you’re wondering. My boobs are too small, for a start, even if I wanted to do that sort of thing. And, believe me, I didn’t.’
‘I thought your face wasn’t familiar.’
She laughed. ‘Nobody looks at page-three girls’ faces. Anyway, I was a general fashion model. I had, still have, a very good relationship with one or two fashion houses. I’m tall and I’ve got a long neck. Stuff hangs well on me. I suppose if I had a speciality it would be ball gowns, long trailing things.’
‘Velvet ones?’
‘Hardly ever. Have you started reading it yet?’
‘I haven’t dared. I kept thinking I would never see you again after you discovered I was a sexual deviant. It didn’t feel right.’
‘Well, now you know that I know that you’re not. So you can maybe give it a go. It is very much a first attempt, but I enjoyed doing it. You won’t be surprised to hear that it is set in the world of haute couture.’
‘I’m looking forward to reading it.’ He hesitated, uncertain if this was the right moment. ‘I wonder if you might want to take a look at my work some time.’
‘I was hoping you’d offer. If you haven’t got a hard copy, you could send me the file by e-mail. I can read it on my tablet. The e-mail address is in there along with my thousand words.’
Both of them felt their eyes drawn to the envelope. A frisson of sexual tension ran across the table between them. As one, they both jumped to their feet.
‘Well, I really should be going.’
‘Are you sure? Sophie hasn’t had her food yet?’
‘Sophie’s fine, thanks. She’s already eaten quite enough for today.’ She took her coat from the back of the door. ‘I think the rain has stopped.’
‘I’ll walk you to your door.’ He grabbed his coat. Noah grabbed the lead.
‘Only if you want to.’
‘I insist. There may be more than one sex fiend in the village.’
‘I’ve always had my suspicions about Reg the postman.’
They walked through the field in the light of a pale winter moon. It was clear enough to make out the path but little else. He would have taken her arm but natural caution prevented him from running the risk of rejection.
‘One thing, Tom.’ Her voice was hesitant. ‘When you get round to reading my thousand words, will you remember something? It’s all imagination. I’m writing the sort of thing I would expect to find in a book like this. I have deliberately tried to keep us, that’s you and me, out of it. I couldn’t bear it if you found yourself imagining me doing those things. It’s just a piece of writing, nothing more. Are you OK with that?’
‘I think that’s a very good idea.’ The sexual charge was back again. ‘Let’s keep this professional.’ His mouth was talking but his body wasn’t listening.
‘And I want you to know that I didn’t cheat. I know you were talking about the 1920s. Well, I haven’t set mine at that time, just so I can’t be accused of taking advantage.’
They reached her gate. The spaniel headed for the door. Noah, smelling food inside, followed.
Ros stopped and turned. ‘Thank you for–’ He leant forward and kissed her. At least, that was the intention. Such was his state of agitation he missed her almost completely. He only managed to graze her chin with his lips. To his immense relief, she did not cry rape. Instead she reached out her arms and planted the gentlest of kisses on his cheek. His heart soared.
‘Ros. Ros, you’re welcome. I mean that. Any time.’ He turned and stumbled away, his voice choked. ‘Come on, Noah. Let’s go.’
‘Good night, Tom.’
Her eyes stayed on him until he disappeared into the shadows of the trees by the river.
Chapter Eighteen
Janet watched the office junior disappear into the lift with the envelope. She had worked on her specimen piece all through Sunday, ignoring the telephone, radio or TV. She had written and rewritten it numerous times, until she felt as happy as she could with the end result. As her first attempt at erotic literature, it had been a voyage into the unknown. Sending it straightaway on Monday, first class, she hoped it would get to Devon the next day.
Midway through the morning, she received a telephone call.
‘Hi Jan. I tried a few times yesterday, but I assumed you had your head down, writing furiously.’
‘Hi, Mel. I was going to phone you, but you know how it is. So, how did it go?’
‘Very well. In fact, amazingly well.’ She sounded very upbeat. Janet was delighted for her.
‘So the leg of lamb did the trick?’
‘That and a few other things.’
‘The naughty knicker shop?’
Melissa sounded unusually coy. ‘No, I didn’t want to spoil him. At least, not yet. But things sort of turned out well on that front anyway.’
‘I want all the gory details. Research, you know.’
‘That’s why I rang. Fancy a cuppa at lunchtime?’
Janet flicked her eye over her desk diary. ‘Early lunch? Say 12.30? At our usual café?’
‘I’ll see you there.’
By the time she got to the café, Melissa was already at their table, a heap of shopping bags beside her. And they weren’t from the supermarket round the corner.
‘Been doing a bit of retail therapy, I see.’
‘Hi, Jan. Yes, I’ve had a whale of a time. Two tops, some shoes and a heap of underwear. I would show you but the boy on the table opposite might have a seizure.’
‘I can’t wait.’ She sat down and shrugged off her coat. ‘So, tell all. How did Saturday night turn out?’
‘Well.’ Melissa was bubbling over with excitement. ‘I bought in a load of food and I gave the house a spring clean. I changed the sheets, had a bath and dressed up for the occasion?’
‘Which means?’
‘No, nothing flashy or too revealing. After all, he might have been coming round to serve me with divorce papers. Just that black mohair V-neck and a pair of jeans.’
‘Mel, that black mohair V-neck goes down to your navel!’
‘It’s not that bad. Anyway, he turned up bang on the dot of eight o’clock. He had bought himself all new clothes – after all he’d left everything at home. He even had a label hanging off the collar of his jumper. He looked so sweet.’ Her voice sounded positively tender. ‘Well, as soon as he came in, the very first thing he said was that he loved me, and he didn’t want us to split up. I told him I felt the same way, and we cracked through the bottle of champagne he had brought with him. The meal went down a treat. He even complimented me on the food. He’s never done that in his life, or at least, not for three years or more. He was really hungry. I asked him where he had spent the night.’
‘Presumably not on a park bench after all?’
‘No, he went to some big hotel. They didn’t bat an eyelid that he had no luggage. But I think he must have spent all day Saturday just walking round, shopping for clothes and moping.’
‘Poor lamb.’
‘Serves him right for coming home drunk.’
‘Um, aren’t you forgetting something, Mel?’
‘All right, we were both at fault. Anyway, we settled down on the sofa afterwards and had a bit of a cuddle.’ Catching Janet’s eye, she hastened to clarify. ‘Yes, just a nice cosy cuddle while we drank a bit more wine. We talked about all sorts of things, and then I started telling him about your writing project.’
‘Oh, dear. I rather wish you hadn’t.’
‘Well, anyway, he was really interested. I told him all about the sort of sexy things you and I had been talking about. He started getting excited. Then I told him about the three girls and a boy in bed story, and he turned into a raging beast.’
‘What, angry?’
‘Oh, no, just very, very horny. I’ve never seen him like it, even back when we first started going out.’
‘And he wasn’t jealous or angry that you had been in bed with these folk?’
Melissa’s expression changed to one of remorse. ‘No, you see, I didn’t actually tell him that I was one of the group.’
‘So who did you say it was?’ As she asked, Janet felt her heart sink.
‘I’m afraid I told him it was you.’
‘Oh, Mel!’ The boy on the opposite table looked up in concern.
‘I’m sorry, Jan, but it seemed like the best thing to say at the time.’ She waved away Janet’s protests. ‘But, anyway, do you know what he did? He tore my clothes off and ravished me on the coffee table.’
‘Ravished you?’
‘Well, not that I was unwilling or anything: very much the opposite. But he did rip my pants. We shagged each other’s brains out.’ The boy across the aisle had closed his book. He was leaning so far forward, he was in danger of falling over.
‘On the coffee table?’
‘And on the big rug, and up against the radiator. I’ve still got a mark on my bum today.’ There was a tone of awe in Melissa’s voice. ‘It was amazing.’
‘So what you are saying is that you and your husband have made up your differences?
Melissa nodded vigorously.
‘You and he had sex all over the lounge?’
She nodded again.
‘And he now thinks I have been involved in group sex with two girls and some random man?’
‘Well, yes, I’m sorry, Jan.’
‘Melissa, you are incorrigible. So you realise he is probably fantasising about me now. Maybe even on Saturday night while you and he were – ’
‘Shagging each other’s brains out. I rather think you are right. Do you know what he said to me yesterday afternoon, while we were doing it in the kitchen?’
‘In the kitchen! There’s such a thing as food hygiene, you know, Mel. Go on, tell me what he said.’ As she asked, Janet had a premonition. She was not to be disappointed.
‘He asked me to ask you if you fancied a threesome.’
Chapter Nineteen
‘It’s no use, Jimmy, I can’t think what to write.’ Clinton’s muse was on strike. ‘Every time I think of our cavemen, I think of that fat American actor, the one who played Fred Flintstone. What’s his name? Anyway, it just turns me right off.’
‘John Candy, no, the other fat one, John Goodman.’ Jimmy saved the spreadsheet and closed his laptop. Enough was enough.
‘That’s the one. Nothing sexy about him. I need something exciting, something kinky, not just fat men in bearskins.’
‘I thought you were going to try a bit of sadomasochism?’ Jimmy kept his voice neutral.
‘No, I don’t think I’ll go down that road.’
‘So, your hands are tied, so to speak?’
‘Jimmy!’ He ground his teeth in annoyance.
Jimmy had no intention of letting Clinton off the hook. But, for the moment, he relented. ‘And you’ve tried the traditional caveman, clubbing over the head and dragging?’
‘Yeah, but there’s nothing particularly sexy about that.’
‘I’m with you there, Clint. So, what are you going to do?’
‘I think I’ll have to give up. At least I got as far as making this man, Marshall, think I was a girl for a while.’
‘Just answering a letter is hardly identity theft. Have you asked Dolores? She strikes me as the sort of girl to help out with a knotty problem.’ He ducked to avoid the cushion aimed at his head.
‘I told you not to mention that again.’
‘Mention what, Clint?’ Jimmy affected innocence for all of ten seconds. ‘Why not rope her in?’ This time he had to run for cover.
‘So what you doing this evening?’ He spoke from behind the kitchen door.
‘I’m going clubbing. I think Dolores might have reached her sell-by date. I feel the need for fresh meat. You coming?’
‘You know me and clubs, Clint. I haven’t got the chat or the moves like you. I’ll treat myself to a curry and a quiet night in front of the fire.’ The empty fireplace yawned at him.
‘Well, try not to spend it working. I’m worried about you, Jim. All work and no play. You know what that leads to?’ Just so Jimmy would remember, he told him. ‘Masturbation. And too much of that makes you deaf.’
‘Pardon, you’ll have to speak up.’
Clinton spent the next hour and a half in the bathroom. When he left the house, a tsunami of aftershave followed him out onto the pavement. Jimmy saw him out.
‘Have a good night. If Dolores rings, I’ll tell her you’re tied up.’ He just managed to slam the door in time. Fortunately the flowerpot was made of plastic.
He returned to the lounge and phoned through his order to the Bengal Palace. He flicked through the TV channels in vain. In the end he left it on Countryfile. That Julia Bradbury was hot.
‘Jimmy,’ his voice was rueful, ‘at this moment in time, the way things are for me, any woman would be hot. Even a cavewoman.’
That was when the idea struck him. Clinton might have decided against taking the writing project any further, but there was nothing to say he couldn’t. Come to think of it, when he wasn’t working or playing football, he spent a lot of his time reading. It couldn’t be too hard. A glance at the TV screen showed a farm dog chewing on a bone. He grabbed his laptop and opened a new document. He started writing almost immediately.
Chapter Twenty
Tom slid his finger under the flap and opened the envelope. There were three sheets of one-and-a-half-line-spaced typescript. The title leapt out at him : The New Slave. She was writing about ancient Rome. Interesting.
He slipped the pages back into the envelope and laid it on the table. Now was not the time. He would read it in the morning, when he had composed himself. His heart was still racing after their goodnight kiss. All right, he admitted to himself, it hadn’t been a serious, slobbery, passionate kiss. In fact, it hadn’t really been any more than the lightest of touches. But the result upon him had been overwhelming, all the same. This was the first time in so long.
