Master of the House (8 page)

‘I don’t know his rules,’ I remind him.

‘I know. I’ll help you. Look, what you did with the shoes and the shirt was fine, but you have to keep your eyes to the front while you take off the jeans and don’t try to hide anything. There’s more, but we’ll come to that.’

I shrugged and continued pushing the tight denim over my hips. I had to concentrate hard on not pushing my thong down with it, but I managed it somehow.

‘Look,’ I said, once they were at my knees. ‘I have to bend now, to get them off properly. Am I supposed to still keep my head up?’

‘If possible. Try it. And think graceful. Think swanlike.’

I gave a little huff of laughter at that. Swanlike I was not.

I managed to get them around my ankles without falling over, but a fit of mortified giggles was bubbling up inside me and it burst forth when I found myself hopping wildly to one side, contorted like the losing player in a hardcore game of Twister. Not so much swan as reef knot.

Joss rushed forward to catch me before I fell heavily on one side. By that time, I was squealing and cackling like a kid on a rollercoaster. He nudged me upright again. It was the lightest touch, nothing really intimate about it, but it shocked me.

‘Steady, girl,’ he said. One hand was still on my shoulder. ‘These weren’t made for stripteasing in, were they?’

He was close, warm, solid beside me. I felt the way a reformed addict might feel, presented with a handful of their former nemesis. The tiniest movement towards him could change everything …

‘I’m OK now,’ I managed to say. ‘Can we assume I won’t be wearing skinny jeans next time and just let me sit down to get them all the way off?’

‘Sure.’ His hand rested where it was for a moment, then slowly, achingly slowly, he removed it and withdrew from me.

I wrenched the damn jeans over my heels and threw their inside-out carcass aside. Now, sitting in my bra and thong, I was vulnerable and a bit chilly. I put my arms over my breasts and shivered briefly.

‘All right, stand up,’ said Joss. ‘And don’t hide any part of yourself, remember.’

I felt like running away, but I got back up, trying to pretend I wasn’t showing acres of bare flesh. It was just a body. Everyone had one. Joss had seen it all before anyway.

‘Nice bra,’ he said. ‘Take it off.’

I fumbled around the back of me, which was not my everyday manner of removing it. Usually I’d wriggle out of the straps, shove the band round until the clips were under my boobs and undo it that way – but there was something terribly un-erotic about that technique, and for some reason I wanted to do this properly.

Wanting to and being able to, were different propositions.

I fidgeted for what seemed like several days, growing steadily redder in the face and shorter of patience.

‘Fuck it!’ My exasperation reached its peak.

‘It’s OK,’ said Joss. ‘Do you want me to do it?’

‘I should learn how to –’

‘No need,’ he said, at my shoulder. ‘You won’t be wearing a bra to this do, believe me. A corset, maybe. A leather harness, even. A common or garden M&S underwired bra – no.’

‘Right. Oh. Go on then.’

The way his fingers slid inside the elastic made me catch my breath. He unhooked me neatly but he didn’t remove his hands straight away. They lingered on my skin for a moment or two, the knuckles pressing whisper-lightly into the space between my shoulder blades. I wanted them to stay there.

They didn’t.

And neither did the bra. Within seconds, it was history, a battle trophy that Joss kept in his hand when he stepped away again.

My breasts were bare now and, despite the balmy weather, the evenings were chilly and my nipples knew it.

‘What he likes,’ said Joss, in the most prayerful of whispers, ‘is for you to present your breasts to him. Hold them. Touch the nipples. Show them off.’

‘That’s what
he
likes?’ I faltered, asking for clarification.

He didn’t reply. He didn’t look as if he could. Tongue dry, eyes absolutely glued to my nipples. A slight nod was all I got.

I cupped the twin weights and lifted them, keeping my eyes on Joss. I closed my hands, tightening my hold, feeling my fingertips press into the soft tissue. My nipples stuck out ridiculously now, fat and red, little bullets aimed squarely at Joss. I pushed the mounds together, seeing the dark cleft form between them. The fashion directive ‘cleavage
or
thigh but never both’ drifted through my head. What a stupid rule; who was responsible for it? I’d show as much of my body as I felt like showing, thanks.

Joss’s eyes were beady and almost black, his cheekbones twitching. I’d seen that look before. I wanted to see what effect touching my nipples would have on it, so I put the pads of my thumbs over them and stroked.

It had an effect all right – on me as well as Joss, who half-closed his eyes and exhaled. I moved my thumbs in circles, awakening sharp spangles of sensation that tumbled from my chest to my crotch in rapid somersaults.

‘Get them really hard,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Pinch them.’

I did as I was told, ignoring the little darts of pain until they grew too insistent. I twisted them like radio dials until they throbbed and were huge and sensitive.

‘Will that do?’ I breathed.

Joss gave a slow nod, never taking his eyes from them.

‘Good. Now the rest,’ he said.

A glow at his word of approval was swiftly succeeded by irritation at myself. His opinion was not relevant. Not relevant. Not relevant.

I repeated it in my head like a mantra as I pulled down my thong. I was a little better at this than I had been with the jeans, and I stepped out of them without major incident. It was still embarrassing, though, to be standing fully nude in front of a man who looked as if he might be rethinking his promise not to touch me.

‘Show yourself to me,’ he said dreamily. ‘Turn around. Bend over.’

It was weird and shameful but strangely heady to obey his order and show him my bottom, especially when I pivoted at the waist and felt the skin tauten at my upper thighs and lower cheeks. I put my hands on my knees and kept my head up, not wanting the blood to rush to it.

‘Spread your legs,’ said Joss.

I was reluctant for a moment, then I moved my feet wider apart. It was easier to balance that way anyway. On the other hand, the rapid cooling of my lower lips, which were damp, told me that he could see them, and what lay within.

‘Good,’ he said again. I could hear that he was closer, near enough to get a serious view. ‘Push your bottom out more. Legs wider.’

My posture went from indecent to blatantly obscene. Now I felt dirty and degraded, a whore performing a trick. It made me even wetter.

‘We need to see everything,’ said Joss, in a strange tight voice. ‘Everything you’ve got.’

I strained to keep myself widespread, bottom high. I imagined what he must be seeing, then imagined him coming over and giving my bum a casual stroke then a smack. Perhaps he would do it. Perhaps I wanted him to … but I had made him promise …

He could lay claim to me. If he only knew it, he could do it any time he liked.

But he didn’t know it, and he kept his hands off.

‘We like that,’ he said. ‘We like that a lot.’

I wish he’d stop it with the ‘we’. I knew he was referring to the man he called His Nibs, keeping us focused on the task instead of carried away on the hectic tide of personal desire, but it was unsettling all the same.

‘I’m picturing you,’ he said, closer than ever, close enough that I could feel his heat on my thighs, ‘bent just like that but with pretty red lines all the way across your bottom and thighs. You’ll get them, one day, soon, and I’ll be the man to give them to you.’

I sucked in air, not sure whether I was fearful or avid for it to happen.

‘All right,’ he said, rather regretfully. ‘You can stand up again.’

I wasn’t sure I could, but I tried. My head seemed to join the rest of my body shortly afterwards, and my libido was still down there with my open sex and offered bottom. It would take some time to catch up.

‘It’s weird, having no clothes on when you’re fully dressed,’ I said, but I said it in this odd, meek voice that didn’t sound like mine. The nudity and Joss’s masterful behaviour were having their effect on me.

‘You might as well get used to it,’ he said with a sleek smile. ‘I just wish I could make it permanent.’

‘You keep saying that,’ I say, meaning to sound obstreperous, but coming out timid and respectful, ‘but I don’t think you mean it.’

‘Sh,’ he said, putting a finger to his lips. ‘Now you’re naked, you should speak only when spoken to.’

‘You did speak to me.’

He clapped his hands, then held one up to me, palm to the front.

‘This,’ he said, with heavy emphasis, ‘is my spanking hand. I wasn’t planning on introducing it to you tonight but …’ He raised an eyebrow.

Suddenly the floor was completely fascinating. I pinched my lips and swallowed the fifty or so objections that flooded on to my tongue.

‘Am I clear?’ he said after a moment’s pause.

I nodded.

‘That’s good. So. Shall we move on? Positions?’

Another nod. I was taking no more risks.

‘There are nine of these,’ he said. ‘The first one is Sit.’

‘It’s like dog training,’ I said, mildly shocked.

I was even more shocked when he held up his spanking hand again and said, ‘No more warnings, Lucy.’

‘Oh, God, this is
weird
,’ I moaned, then, ‘Sorry. I promise, no more interruptions.’

‘Thank you. I had you pegged for a fast learner, but I may be reconsidering that view. So. Sit. Go on.’

I looked around for the nearest chair.

‘No,’ he said. ‘On the floor.’

I sat down on the threadbare carpet, feeling its roughness against my buttocks. Unsure what to do with my legs, I tucked them to the side. This didn’t appear to be a problem.

‘You can sit in any stance you like,’ he said, ‘but you must lower your eyes and keep them down.’

I did so. It was strange how such simple things played with one’s perceptions. Already I felt small and powerless, unable to see anything of Joss but the toes of his shoes.

They moved, circling me.

‘Do you think you can remember that one? The eyes are the only thing to really bear in mind.’

I nodded. ‘Mm hmm.’

‘Next,’ he said, ‘is Kneel. Can you try and guess how that one looks for me?’

I knelt up, keeping my eyes down and straightening my spine as much as I could. I imagined it was all about grace and display as I pressed my palms into my flanks.

‘Close,’ he said, and the note of praise warmed me. ‘Very close. One small modification – you need to put your hands behind your back. It accentuates the breasts, you see.’

I did as I was told, blushing, but relieved at the eyes-down imperative. It would be ten times worse if I had to hold his gaze.

‘To begin with,’ said Joss, after a short pause I could only imagine was for the purposes of ogling, ‘I’ll use the commands. But in due course, I will want you to memorise these positions by number and be able to assume them accordingly. That will be your homework. Now for the third. Down.’

Down? I looked up at him for clarification.

‘It means you lie flat on your front,’ he explained. ‘Keep your hands behind your back.’

Trying to go from a kneeling to a prone position without using my hands to steady me was not that easy. In fact, I got as far as putting my forehead to the floor before giving up and appealing to Joss.

‘You can use your hands when you move,’ he said with an indulgent smile. ‘You just need to put them back behind your back once you’re on the floor. Now, that’s almost right. But your legs are together. That’s a no-no.’

Reluctantly, I parted my legs, much more conscious of my bottom and pussy than I had been. He had better not be thinking of putting anything he shouldn’t there. But of course he was, and the thought made me want to wriggle my hips.

‘The idea is,’ said Joss softly, ‘that eventually you forget that parts of your body are your private property and come to view them as the property of your master.’

That’ll never happen, I said to myself. I was going to say it to Joss, too, but not until the threat of his spanking palm had passed.

‘OK, have you got that one memorised?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I think so. Can you do me a cheat sheet?’

‘Already done. Let’s move on to number four. Bend.’

‘Is that as in “bend over”?’

‘Exactly so. Let’s see how you interpret it, then.’

I wanted to laugh. It wasn’t a dance. But perhaps it could be. It might be quite interesting to put some of these poses to music and see how it looked.

I stood straight again, then put my hands on my knees and bent over. This was by far the rudest position for me and I felt utterly exposed, as if I was making explicit my desire for punishment.

‘Legs wider,’ said Joss, and I could hear him tapping something, perhaps the edge of a desk. He was pretty excited by all this. His breath was deepening and his voice getting rougher. ‘You’ll only get asked for this one when I need to punish you,’ he said.

That was it. I had passed the boundary of common sense and was out of its range. Lust had punched me in the gut and bundled me over the border. I stood no chance. All I had to fall back on was a dwindling faith in Joss’s ability to keep his promises.

I stood there, bottom up, lips spread, breasts dangling, imagining Joss behind me with a wooden paddle or a riding crop. He would put a hand on my spine …

I nearly fell over. He
did
put a hand on my spine.

‘Just a little bit lower,’ he murmured.

I lost my footing then, and fell forwards, gasping, ‘Oh,
shit
.’

‘Lucy!’

‘Fuck. Sorry. I thought you were going to hit me.’

I was a bundle of splayed limbs on the floor. He looked at me, pensive, arms folded.

‘You know that’s going to happen, soon enough, don’t you?’ he said, with an expression of pained disappointment.

‘I’m nervous,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I like being hurt.’