Chapter 4 : Explanations

A rather distressed George Franks was sitting in Erica Wilkie's lounge drinking tea. He had been freed from his pillar and brought upstairs from the cellar.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Franks, so sorry," Erica apologised. "I can't imagine what they were thinking about. I wondered where on earth you had gone. It never occurred to me..."

George, polished his spectacles and looked bewildered.

"Do, have some more tea, Mr Franks. Are your wrists very sore? Let me explain."

"Oh, I think I understand Ms Wilkie, I think I understand very well." George might have been unsophisticated but he wasn't stupid. "You are, presumably, what I believe is called a 'dominatrix'. I imagine that this is your business rather than your hobby and I assume that you wanted me to do your accounts."

Erica nodded. "You are right of course. Well, I am sorry about what happened just now. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to proceed."

"Why wouldn't I wish to proceed, Ms. Wilkie? To the best of my knowledge a business of this kind is not illegal. Since you were so keen to ensure that your taxation affairs were in order, I have no reason to be concerned professionally. Not everyone might approve of it but I try not to make moral judgements about the business of my clients. I quite understand that your associates must have mistaken me for one of your customers. I'm sure it was an honest mistake."

"That's very refreshing Mr Franks. I only wish more people were as open minded." Erica found herself impressed by the quiet man's straightforward approach. Most people, Erica thought, would find it difficult to be as understanding.

"I am afraid that I don't make enough money from my business than to be anything other than open minded," Franks said, stuffily. "Of course I could not condone criminal activity such as prostitution but my understanding of a business like your own is that it is unlikely to transgress that law at any rate."

"Correct," said Erica, "neither I nor my fellow counsellors would countenance any direct sexual contact. Domination is most certainly not prostitution as you so rightly say. But perhaps you have had experience of similar services?"

"My word, no!" exclaimed Franks, scandalised by the suggestion.

"I'm sorry, Mr Franks, I didn't mean to offend you."

"That's quite all right, Ms Wilkie," George replied, pulling with one finger at his collar. "No offence taken, I can assure you. Now I know that you said you were hoping to show me around but, if I am honest, I think I have seen enough of the facilities to allow me to understand the accounts. I wonder if it would be convenient to run me back to town?"

"Of course," said Erica. "I'll just make sure that the girls can manage on their own and I'll be right back." She left him to finish his tea.

As George went to leave with Erica for his lift back to town he was waiting in the hall of her house. He looked down at a small stack of business cards. Unlike the one for EW Therapy Services that Andrea had given him, these carried a small logo with a riding whip and a high heeled boot, the words "Mistress Erica" and a telephone number. He picked one from the pile and dropped it into his pocket.

Later that night, George Franks lay on his bed on top of the sheets staring at the ceiling. The room was stuffy from the summer heat. Opening the windows had not had any effect. His green and white striped cotton pyjama top was buttoned up to his neck but the cord of his pyjama trousers lay untied and loose, snaking across the sheets. Franks gripped his thick, short cock in one hand and a wad of Kleenex in the other. He was pulling and stroking at his cock rhythmically but his body seemed almost rigid, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling but somehow not focussing upon it. Beside his head on the pillow were two business cards. The one that Erica had given him on their first meeting and the other that he had taken from her house. "Oh, yes," he could be heard to say quietly, "Mistress Erica. Oh yes of course, I'll obey you. Whatever it is you desire of me." His cock swelled and shuddered, spurting grey cum over his hand before he had the opportunity to catch it in the tissues. He coughed and lay still for a moment before getting to his feet, cradling his cock in a wad of Kleenex and shuffling off to the bathroom, his pyjama trousers around his knees. When he came back he fell into bed, pulling the sheet over him and trying to sleep. The business cards stayed on his pillow.