I headed out of town, my head still filled with thoughts of her. I didn’t even know her name but I couldn’t stop thinking about her, about how she’d look draped over my lap, her ass pointing up at me, painted red by my hand. Or tied up in one of the private rooms at the club, waiting for whoever wanted to use her. The thought of humiliating her grew in my mind as I drove.
That had always been my problem. It was the reason why I stuck to the club, to the subs who knew the score, who had agreed to what went on there. It wasn’t enough just to dominate them. I could only get off if they were humiliated. And what better way to do that than the private rooms? Especially room three.
Anything went in there. Once the submissive agreed to enter, agreed to the terms laid down, there was no turning back. It wasn’t like the rest of the club. It was safe out there, relatively speaking. One safe word and whatever was happening stopped. Room three was different. The red room. You only went in there if you were brave or didn’t know what was going to happen. And she had absolutely no idea.
I’d been going to the club for years. I’d humiliated and hurt every single submissive there at one time or another. It would probably make grim reading to work out how much I’d spent on the privilege. But I could afford it. That was why I’d hired Bill in the first place. He had taken the fortune I’d made from writing About Last Night and turned it into two fortunes, enough to last me a lifetime, even if I spent every night in the club and won every auction that they held. He was expensive, very expensive, but he was worth every penny.
How would she fare? I thought once again. Would she be willing to go into room three? I bet I could persuade her. She was so submissive, she might just go straight in without needing any persuasion. One point of the finger and in, then I could line anyone up to take advantage of her. Watch as she was caned, whipped, whatever I wanted. But I was getting ahead of myself. First, I had to get her there.
It took an hour to get to Bill’s office. He was on the third floor of a bookkeeping and accountancy firm, an office at the back all to himself. It was a small office. He could have bought out the entire floor if he wanted but when I’d asked him why he didn’t, his response was, “I am but one man, Mr Atherton. I need but one window.”
Susan on reception nodded to me as I headed over to her. “Good afternoon, Mr Atherton.”
“Good afternoon, Susan. Could you call up to Mr Cloughton, tell him I’m on my way.”
“Of course, Mr Atherton. At once, Sir.”
I drew a lot of looks on the way to the lifts. Everyone else was smartly dressed in shining business attire and there was me in my checked shirt, tattoos visible at my neck, faded jeans and dirt covered boots. I was used to it. Just because you were rich, didn’t mean you needed to dress like a banker. Besides, a suit wouldn’t last very long when you were working the land. The only time I got dressed up was to go to the club, and even then, the formal clothes didn’t tend to stay on my body very long.
Bill was on the phone when I walked into his office. He held up a waving hand before pointing at the chair opposite his desk, returning to the caller. “I understand exactly what you’re saying, Mrs White. I just can’t do anything to help. I suggest you look into a launderette.”
He hung up, looking up at me and smiling. “Thinks I’ll help her with money laundering. Honestly, George, do I look like a criminal to you?”
“No,” I replied. “Your prices are, though.”
He frowned for a second before barking out a laugh. “Good one, George, good one. Now, what I can do for you? We’re not scheduled for another fortnight.”
“I’m hiring a cleaner.”
“Congratulations. And you’ve come all the way down her to tell me because…?”
“I’m going to pay her a grand a day.”
“Shall I fetch Jeremy?”
“If you would.”
He picked up his phone and hit a button. “Jeremy, would you mind fetching seven…no make it fourteen from the Atherton box. Thank you, Jeremy.”
He hung up. “A fortnight’s worth should do you, right? How messy is your house?”
“She might be a long term hire.”
“Then you better open a bank account.”
“You know how I feel about that.”
“Just don’t tell me you’ll keep it under your mattress. I don’t think my heart could cope.”
“No, I keep it in a pint pot on the mantelpiece.”
“That’s not funny George. Oh, while we’re waiting, there was something I wanted to talk to you about. I was going to ring you but then you’d need to have a house phone for me to do that, wouldn’t you? Or give me your mobile number, perhaps?”