Going Too Far (21 page)

‘Very funny. Just the opposite. What I mean is, as long as they’re around, we’re hardly free to take advantage of this nice private garden, are we?’

‘Oh, I see. Well, Franco’s only here twice a week for a few hours; I think you’ll find he’s gone now. As for Maria, I’ve got quite a bit of entertaining to do while I’m here and it seemed a bit presumptuous to expect you to do the cooking and cleaning.’

‘Sure. But couldn’t she just come in the evening to do the cooking? She’s in and out all day.’

The chair scraped harshly on the concrete as he pushed it back and came round to stand behind me. He pulled my bikini top down and fondled my breasts with both hands. I closed my eyes and luxuriated in his attention, fantasising about where it was leading.

‘Maria!’ he shouted.

Oh, shit. He laughed and I realised I’d spoken out loud. Maria bustled out through the French doors and stood in front of the table. I saw her eyes flicker over my breasts, where Carlos was busy teasing the nipples into hard points, her coarse face impassive.

‘
Si, señor
?’

He spoke to her quickly in Spanish while I lowered my eyes. It was far too quick and informal for me to pick up on. She answered him, her voice giving no clue as to what she might be saying or thinking, but I could guess. What a shameless tart, so far sunk in depravity she didn’t think anything of being groped semi-naked in front of the staff.

I could hardly tell her how wrong that was. For a start, my Spanish wasn’t good enough to explain that although I may be a tart, I was an unpaid one. And it would have been difficult to convey that I did indeed feel shame, and in fact I was feeling it keenly right now. But what I would have had most trouble communicating was the fact that it was precisely because of the shame that I had a pulse throbbing hard between my legs.

Carlos said something else and she turned and went back into the house. He raised me out of the chair and undid my bikini top.

‘I explained your “fear” of exhibitionism,’ he said almost contemptuously, still idly toying with my breasts, ‘and that I hadn’t got round to telling you that the terms of her contract are that she may see many things of a sexual nature while she works for me. She’s indifferent and unshockable and she won’t talk.’ He smiled cynically. ‘Not as long as I keep paying her twice the going rate.’

‘So what did she say?’

‘That it’s none of her business and it doesn’t offend her in the slightest. You know, Bliss –’ he sounded thoughtful ‘– I think she rather enjoyed that little display, don’t you? I bet you did.’

His hand darted down my bikini bottoms before I had a chance to guess what he was going to do and he laughed as my wetness proved he had won his bet. His dark eyes mocked me, glinting with mischief. Then he lifted his face from mine.

‘
Gracias, Maria. Momento, por favor.
’

She was back. Holding a coil of rope, the kind we used to hang washing on when I was a kid. Standing patiently with it in one hand, a knife and bottle in the other, her narrow, glittering eyes watching Carlos’s hand moving in my pants. Watching Carlos pull them down to my knees and watching his hand move back to my blatant, wanton sex.

Her eyes didn’t move from that spot. As he rubbed my clitoris she stood there as though she was studying it until she raised her eyes to mine. Something glinted in there – insolence? jealousy? excitement? – and I think she almost smiled. I came without remembering not to make a noise, my legs buckling slightly.

‘Then I asked her to fetch the rope and knife and sunblock,’ he continued, as though there had been no gap in his explanation of their earlier conversation. He took the sunblock from her hand and rubbed it over my breasts and back, then pulled my bikini pants right off and rubbed it over my buttocks and bikini area. ‘I don’t want you to get burned.’

He sat me down on the chair and took the rope and knife. Maria went back inside and he turned back to me.

‘She was so impassive at the interview I knew she’d be perfect,’ he said conversationally as he wrapped the rope around me twice, just above my breasts, knotting it firmly at the back. My arms and body were tied tight together round the chair. Then he crossed the rope diagonally down and in between my breasts in both directions like a crossover bra, and pulled it around again underneath, winding it right down to my waist. Picking up the knife he cut the rope and knotted it once more. Then he pulled my legs slightly apart so he could lash each ankle to the chair leg.

This was different from corsets and chains and smooth black leather restraints. I’d thought he’d taught me everything I would need to know about bondage, but I realised that so far I’d only dabbled in the softcore stuff. This was the hardcore.

In black leather I’d felt sexy and desirable, which had been emphasised by the tightness of the belt or lacings. Naked and bound with washing line didn’t make me feel an object of lust, though as long as Carlos thought it did it was fine by me. At least the rope didn’t feel as rough as it looked, but he’d tied it tight enough to bite into my skin. I wondered if it would leave red marks and if that was what he wanted.

‘I hope you enjoy this as much as our previous little games,’ he said equably, sitting down at the table again and adjusting his chair for a better view of me. ‘It’s not quite as soft focus, but it’s to my taste. What do you think?’

‘I think I should have waited before I wrote my postcard to Kip,’ I said faintly. ‘Apart from that, I’ll let you know later. I’m used to thinking on my feet, not tied to a garden chair.’

He chuckled. ‘Lovely, Bliss. I’ve been dreaming about this, sitting here working with you at my side, beautifully bound. The rope is so much more real, isn’t it? Not so elegant, of course. But we’ll save elegance for the evening.’

‘Great,’ I said. ‘As long as this is only my daywear and I’m still to be dressed for dinner, I’ll survive.’

‘Talking of which, we’re entertaining some important contacts tonight,’ he added casually. ‘So you’ll definitely be dressed to impress.’

‘Let’s just get one thing straight here,’ I said warily. Being tied naked to a chair meant I didn’t have much bargaining power but I had to make sure from the start there were no misunderstandings. I wasn’t going to be gangbanged by half of Chiloe just because Carlos assumed I’d like it. ‘I didn’t come here to screw your contacts, or whatever you call them, either willingly or unwillingly. If you thought I’d be up for it you’re wrong and I’ll go now. And if you don’t give a toss and you’re going to have me raped, I’ll scream. Until I’m sick.’

He laughed. ‘I sincerely hope you don’t seriously think I’m a rapist, either in person or by proxy. And no, I’m not expecting you to screw my contacts. What I would like, if it doesn’t outrage your sense of propriety too much, is for you to be well dressed, flash a tantalising glimpse of cleavage and stocking, be as charming to my guests as your appalling Spanish will allow and generally just let them see what lovely companions can be bought if they’ll only hitch their wagon to my star.
Capisce?
’

‘That’s Italian,’ I said sulkily. ‘OK, I didn’t really see you as a rapist, but a girl has to make sure we’re all in the same ballpark. How many men have I got to flash my tits at?’

‘Only three,’ he replied. ‘Three very important men, however, as far as my project’s concerned. Two are government officials and one’s a landowner. But don’t worry, you won’t be the only girl. A friend of mine from Lima is coming as well.
She
can speak Spanish, so she’ll be more use than you.’ He looked at his watch. ‘She’ll be here pretty soon, actually.’

I had a glimmer of an idea as to who that was. ‘Susie, I presume.’

‘Jorge told me you’d seen the pictures,’ he teased. ‘Attractive, isn’t she?’

‘Stunning,’ I admitted. ‘So does that mean she’ll be the recipient of your attentions tonight?’

‘Maybe,’ he said consideringly. ‘Maybe you will. Or neither of you. Or both. Although –’ he leaned towards me ‘– if I spend the afternoon watching you motionless and helpless, that delicious juice trickling out between your parted thighs, then I don’t think I’ll be able to resist you.’

His eyes were on my pussy, displayed for him. He got off on watching me, helpless. I had an inkling of why this turned him on, and shivered myself.

Carlos came towards me again and softly fingered my wetness. I sighed. Helpless and displayed. Motionless, defenceless. I could buy into this.

‘Then again, sometimes after dinner I don’t feel very . . . active. Sometimes I like to watch. Maybe you and Susie? I know she’d like to – if you wanted?’

Not only was I
not
required to sell myself in the cause of mass tourism, not only was I being instructed in the finer, or rather rougher, points of bondage, but also I was being promised a luscious redhead
and
an audience. Didn’t I do well?

It seemed forever since I’d left Gabi and while I tried to picture myself turning down the chance of a scene with Susie I had to admit that I’d have more chance of having a shit in the Queen’s handbag, as Kip would so succinctly put it.

Six sophisticated adults sat round an elegant dinner table, laughing, eating and drinking. The women were glamorously attired and the men wore smart dark suits; the conversation was in two languages. The food was good and the wine the best Chile had to offer. On the surface it was a civilised evening.

But the guests were strangers, invited in order to assess how easily they could be bribed. The women were there to inspire lust in the guests, if only for the money that could buy them. And, as far as I was concerned, it was a prelude to lazy and luscious, or fast and furious, sex with Susie. I didn’t care which way she wanted to play it. The various undercurrents lent the evening a surreal air.

It amused me to flirt with the ‘contacts’. When Carlos had mentioned local politicians I instantly thought they’d be like some of the borough councillors I’d met through Vicki – the loud-mouthed, thick as two short planks, only elected because no one else wanted to stand variety. Mind you, if you knew the borough she works in. . .

These men were charming. I found myself thinking that I’d really been too precipitate with Carlos and I wouldn’t have minded flashing more than cleavage at Señor Riviera, or was it Ribera? I ought to find out for Red and Robbie. But I immediately erased that thought from my mind; I was turning into a really
bad
girl.

Señor R, or Miguel, as we were on first name terms, was the junior of the local government guys, slim and dark – well of course they were all dark, being Chilean – with thick eyebrows, an elegant nose and sensuous lips. Maybe I liked him best because he could manage a few words of English and seemed to understand my Spanish better than the others. His boss, Fernando, was the only tall man at the table, cadaverously thin with a wolfish face. I reckoned Carlos would be all right there; he would definitely be the type to take backhanders.

The other guest had been introduced as Raoul Delgado, but everyone called him Señor Delgado. He was obviously Mr Big, and actually he was big in the chubby sense as well. Bliss the spy deduced that he must be the landowner, and the way the others deferred to him he must own a hell of a big parcel of land. Carlos was equally affable to all three men but even he treated Raoul with special attention, discussing wine and cigars with him as a fellow man of the world. The big man was jovial and charming to me and even more so to Susie. I wondered if she’d laid down her ground rules as well?

She had arrived early and to my dismay while I was still tied to the chair, although she greeted me with a kiss on both cheeks as though she was accustomed to greeting new acquaintances roped and naked. She and Carlos talked business and I listened hard but not much came out that I didn’t know already.

I would have recognised her flaming red hair anywhere, though her face wasn’t as pale as in the clown photos. Her southern drawl was intimate and caressing. Briefly I considered whether I should be jealous of her relationship with Carlos but, hey, he was just a holiday romance.

Carlos had explained that she would be bringing clothes for me. As I knew, we were a similar size. After I was untied and showered she knocked on my door and came in with a huge suitcase.

‘Not exactly cutting-edge fashion, hon, but the standard hostess-type thing,’ she explained, pulling out half a dozen cocktail dresses, mostly low-necked and with either short or split skirts. ‘If you’re a fashion designer I guess you’ll be appalled by this.’

‘Fabric,’ I corrected. ‘It’s OK, I don’t mind dressing like a tart from time to time.’

She laughed. ‘Yeah, it’s kinda fun, isn’t it? The first time I entertained somebody for Carlos –’ she pronounced it Car-lowss ‘– I thought I looked like my mother, for heaven’s sake. But I guess it’s kinda like corsets.’ She shot a glance at me. ‘That seemed so tacky at first, but now I can’t go out in the evening without one on; I just don’t feel sexy.’

I nodded non-commitally, wondering if I too were to be corseted this evening, and whether for what she would assume to be my own benefit, for Carlos’s titillation or maybe for hers later on.

I didn’t have to wonder for long. After she’d suggested which dresses we both would wear – mine was white, with long sleeves but bare shoulders, straight and calf-length but with a crotch-high split on one side, while hers was black, short and sleeveless but deeply plunging – she brought out the appropriate underwear. I wondered if Carlos had been leading me on about her fancying me as she had me lean forward so my breasts fell into the tiny satin cups and started pulling the back together to fasten the hooks. Her eyes were as clinical as if she were a nurse bandaging a patient.

‘This is tight, hon,’ she said as she squeezed my ribs with the stiff satin. ‘He said we were identical but you’re a bit bigger than me. Never mind, it’ll be more fun.’

‘Fun for who?’ I asked, bewildered and breathless.