Eighty Days Yellow (31 page)

She was attractive enough, he supposed, in the typical sense of the word, but though his cock responded readily to the presence of her flesh, his mind was unmoved. In a physical sense, he found her dull, a doll of a woman, nothing original, unique or surprising about her. It was as if her personality had deserted her. Maybe he was just attracted to more complicated women. And her scent of cinnamon gave him a headache.

Dominik sighed. He shouldn’t be so cruel. It was not Charlotte’s fault that she was not Summer, that their sexual tastes were not fully aligned. She might have set out to light the spark that fanned their relationship, but he was as much a party to it as she was.

Charlotte turned, sighed softly in her sleep, snuggled her rump against his crotch. Dominik felt a momentary spark of affection for her. The only time that Charlotte ever seemed completely genuine, without guile, was in her sleep. He slung an arm around her and drifted into a fitful slumber.

He was haunted by the most perverse dreams. All of them involved Summer, most, Jasper too, or some other faceless man, plumbing her depths, her genitals on awful display, the shaft of a stranger’s cock pumping against the inner walls of her vagina, her face a picture of ecstasy, her body writhing in orgasm, while he watched, powerless, uninvolved, obsolete, consumed by jealousy. Sometimes he imagined her being filled by a legion of different men, one after the other, each filling her with his seed while Dominik stood back, helpless, forgotten.

He spent the mornings after these dreams wondering where she was and to what extent she was pursuing her desires without him. Dominik knew that he had started it; he had taken the lid off that simmering pool of submission, that deep well of darkness within her.

He missed her emails and text messages informing him of her adventures. True, it had been a way of taming his jealousy – he didn’t own her, though he wanted to – but it had also been a way to keep an eye on her while she was still growing into her new skin. To check that she was in control of giving away her control, that she had not been pushed too far.

How far would she go? he wondered. Would she ever draw a line in the sand? Where would Summer’s line be?

It was after one of these dreams, when he was particularly cranky, that Charlotte started on him.

‘You never come up with scenes for me,’ she said. ‘No naked concerts, no fucking for an audience, no rope, no showing me off in public. We never do anything.’

She was right. He never did any of those things for her, but she didn’t inspire him to do so, like Kathryn had, or Summer had.

He shrugged. ‘What is it that you want me to do?’

She raged. ‘Anything! Anything other than just fuck me. What kind of dom are you, anyway?’

Flecks of spittle flew across her lips as she spoke. He watched her mouth move with a curious disengagement, remembering a nature programme he had recently seen that featured an animal with an abnormally large oral cavity. It had reminded him of Charlotte.

She yelled at him often, her ready temper pushed to the surface by his apparent disinterest. Each time she lost her prized sense of composure Dominik felt a small thrill of victory, a battle won.

He had agreed, in the end, to attend a swingers club with her, partly because he had always wondered what these establishments were like. He had never had the right person to go with, except for once, years back in New York, when the etiquette of swinging was still in its infancy. Either the girl was straight-laced and would have been horrified at the idea, or his romantic feelings for her were too strong and he could not bear the thought of giving her up to another man. Perhaps Charlotte was just the right person for him to attend such an evening with.

Besides, the thought of sex in public had distracted Charlotte from her desire to have him dominate her. Dominik didn’t feel that way about Charlotte, had no desire to spank her or have her give herself to him. Charlotte was a hedonist, a player; she liked to dip a toe into whatever water she stumbled upon, just to try it out. Charlotte was indulging a whim, not submitting to him, and that didn’t inspire him. She didn’t move Dominik in the way that Summer had.

The club was in an industrial centre in South London, tucked between a series of minor factories and dated office buildings. It was discreetly signposted, the only light on the outside of the building from the headlamps of infrequent taxis, pulling in and out to deliver new patrons or take them away.

They were met at the door by the club manager, a simpering man dressed in a full suit with jacket, despite the closed heat in the small reception area. He seemed pleased with Charlotte, looking her up and down in the manner that someone might admire a racehorse, and gave Dominik a cursory glance, tolerating his presence at least.

Dominik paid the rather exorbitant entry fee and declined the offer of yearly membership, which also entitled them to early-bird tickets for a couples-only cruise around the Mediterranean the following year. He always got seasick, anyway.

He could not think of a prospect more awful than spending a week in a similar situation on board a boat, with no escape route available, other than diving overboard. An option he might actually consider, he thought, as another man, similarly suited, took their jackets and mobile phones away. Dominik was about to protest that he needed it to call a cab later when the man waved to a sign on the wall that advised that the use of any device that contained a camera was prohibited.

They were ushered through into the club proper and introduced to Suzanne, a hostess, who promised to show them round and help them settle in.

‘Hiya!’ she said, with a cheerfulness that did not seem to be forced.

Charlotte responded with an enthusiastic greeting in return. Dominik nodded an acknowledgement, once.

She was young, in her early twenties, Dominik guessed. On the short side, and a little bulky. It was unfortunate that the uniform for the hostesses was so unflattering, as the short pink crop-top and tutu-style miniskirt that Suzanne was wearing did not add to her appeal.

‘Is this your first time, guys?’ she continued, seeming uncertain now whether to direct her questions toward Dominik or Charlotte. In most situations like this, he supposed, it would be reasonably obvious which member of the couple was the driving force. Perhaps not so in their case.

‘Yes,’ replied Charlotte smoothly, saving the hostess from embarrassment. ‘We can’t wait.’

Suzanne waved a plump hand towards the bar, indicating where they could buy drinks on the lower level. They followed her as she led them upstairs, to another smaller bar, and a ‘play area’, a labyrinth of dark corridors with a series of adjoining rooms of varying sizes. Some were obviously designed for orgy-like encounters, easily holding twenty people at a time. Others were more like small booths, for two or perhaps three sets of couples, at a push. Most were entirely open, so that anyone would be able to watch, or join in, but one or two of the smaller rooms had bolts on the inside, so that a couple looking for a quiet moment could shut themselves in.

Their hostess pointed out the features of all the rooms, without a moment’s blush. She did not seem at all discomfited by her attire, or her role at the club.

Dominik’s gaze travelled around the room, noticing the poles in the bar area, inviting patrons to cavort in the manner of amateur strippers once enough alcohol had been consumed. Females, at any rate, he hoped. A series of couches lined a lounge area, alongside the bar, and in one corner a piece of equipment a bit like a swing hung from the ceiling, made from a wide mesh, allowing free roam around the body of whoever lay within, with arm and leg restraints so that an individual could be strapped inside, unable to free herself.

Each empty surface was filled with a large clear bowl of condoms with multi-coloured wrappers – enough condoms, Dominik guessed, to sustain a club full of copulating couples for a month. They gave the place a strangely cheerful look, like bowls of sweets in a doctor’s surgery.

Adjacent to the rooms was a thin, black curtain fixed to the ceiling and falling full length to the floor, with a slit in one side to form a makeshift tent. The tent was full of holes, some the size of an eye, others the size of a fist, so that spectators could peer inside at any figure or figures within, or reach an anonymous hand and grapple at whatever happened to be within reach. Dominik peered inside. It was empty.

‘It’s always quiet like this until midnight,’ Suzanne said apologetically, ‘but then it really picks up. In an hour or so, all this will be heaving.’

Dominik held back a grimace.

He had never quite understood the appeal of watching people rutting in public, and the thought of such mindless fucking reminded him of Summer and Jasper, a picture that he could not get out of his head.

Dominik’s personal brand of voyeurism required some kind of connection with the subject, an unwritten contract, an agreement of sorts that allowed or invited his stare. Without any kind of connection to the participants, he was no more moved by the spectacle they provided than he was by watching animals mating on a nature show.

Charlotte, however, held an entirely different view. She enjoyed the physical sensation of sex for its own sake, enjoyed demonstrating her daring and allure by indulging in public displays, and she liked to show off. Swinging was a favourite pastime of hers.

She had already begun to saunter over to the bar area, making eyes at the few people who gathered around the countertop: a young man and woman who were studiously avoiding eye contact with anyone besides each other, a beefy older man in a polo shirt and cheap mock-leather belt, who seemed to be alone and was leering at the hostesses in their pink tutus, and an older Indian couple, the type who looked as though they came every week.

Charlotte ordered drinks for them both, an elaborate cocktail for her and a Pepsi for him.

He sat alongside her and sipped it as she struck up an easy conversation with anyone who approached the bar.

Suzanne, the hostess, was right: the club was beginning to fill up.

So far he hadn’t noticed anyone he was attracted to. Some pretty enough girls, but most of them were decked out in ridiculously slutty clothing, cheap PVC mini-dresses and too much make-up and fake tan. No one who interested him. The other guests in attendance either bored or repulsed him.

‘Are you just going to sit there?’ Charlotte hissed in his ear.

Dominik couldn’t be bothered to listen to her. ‘Go and enjoy yourself,’ he replied. ‘I may join you later.’

She didn’t need to be told twice. Charlotte disappeared into the crowd, flashing Dominik a vision of her arse cheeks as she slipped off the high bar stool, her long, tanned legs in stark contrast to her short white dress. She had barely left his side before men began to flock to her, like flies to a honeypot.

Dominik remained silent as she glanced at him, a malevolent expression on her face, and took first one and then another man by the hand. Neither of the men was terribly attractive. One was the single man with the polo shirt and cheap belt who had been at the bar earlier. The other was younger, but turning to fat already, his face surrounded by more than one chin too many and his gut barely constrained by his shirt.

Charlotte led them both over to the swing in the corner and then proceeded to clamber onto it, lying on her back with her legs spread in the air. It became patently clear that she was not wearing any underwear, her intimacy on display to the entire occupants of the room.

Dominik moved closer, out of curiosity more than anything else.

The two men strapped Charlotte’s legs into the restraints. She wrapped her hands round the ropes that fell from the ceiling over her head. She was more than a willing participant in this.

The man in the polo shirt had unbuckled his belt now and had begun to stroke his still flaccid cock. The fat one had his out too, his trousers pooled round his ankles and his shirt tails framing his bare arse untidily. He snatched up one of the coloured wrappers and applied a condom to his shaft, then stepped forward, between Charlotte’s long legs, and pulled the swing towards him so that he could enter her.

Dominik moved nearer, observed the man’s penis enter Charlotte’s cunt. She looked up at him, her malicious expression now replaced by lust, by need, a need greater than her need to prove a point, to hurt him.

Was she hurting him? He supposed that was her intention, but he felt entirely detached from the situation, completely unmoved.

He watched as both men filled her, first one, then the next, their shafts pumping in and out, coated with Charlotte’s juices, listened to her loud moans as she made no effort at all to hide her enjoyment out of any deference to his feelings.

A crowd had gathered; several men had unbuckled their trousers and stood near her, fondling their genitals. Some moved forward to touch her, hands darting in and out wherever the owner saw an opportunity, a clear space to be groped.

Dominik made no attempt to stop them. Charlotte still had her hands free to bat away any unwanted attention, and she had a voice, could cry out if she wanted to. Besides, she appeared to be revelling in the attention, her mouth now an open O, her face a picture of lust and desire.

He conjured up an image in his head, tried to imagine Summer lying there, ignoring his desires, giving herself up to the touch of strangers, her legs spread for other men to fuck. He recalled the way that she had opened herself up to Jasper, had taken him in her mouth, how she’d kneeled on the couch with her legs spread in readiness, like an animal waiting to be mounted.

At least his thoughts of Summer made him feel something, not this dull absence of consciousness, the uncaring emptiness that filled him without her.

Dominik did not care to watch Charlotte any longer. He pushed past the eager onlookers who had gathered to catch a glimpse of the depravity and stumbled down the stairs to the lower bar, waited there for her to finish, ignoring the efforts of the hostesses to engage him in conversation and the attentions of the occasional woman looking for an easy fuck.