Chapter 2

The evening shift at the Ferryboat was ... interesting.

My conversation with Fi at her house had developed, for a while, exploring some of her needs and - at least on my part - my limits. Which went about as far as it could, given that we were due back at work in an hour or so, which is hardly an ideal opportunity to begin exploring the wilder aspects of human sexuality. So we chatted, really quite matter of factly, about some of her enduring fantasies - which were, I felt, helpfully detailed - and I tried to get my head around the domination and control thing. In fact, we didn't really resolve anything very much except to establish very clearly that the Game was most definitely On.

After which, I left - a little earlier than was strictly necessary - and went and sat on the harbour wall for a while, staring at the waves and wondering whether I was actually capable of following through with this. For instance, Fi had got me to tell her what to wear to work for the evening, which was in itself a weird dynamic - I mean, if she told me what to tell her to do, did that actually count? Or maybe I could just instruct her to do anything that made her happy? Again, strictly speaking that was a command, but I suspected that the semantic argument might not cut it in the circumstances. So I sat and mused for a while, trying hard to see the whole thing as an opportunity, of sorts, rather than the crushing burden that my pessimistic soul insisted on presenting it as. And then I went back to work, so that at least I'd keep my deal with Gregor, however disappointing I might turn out to be to Fiona.

In fact, I was quarter of an hour late, so that Fi had already relieved Morag, was standing behind the bar, serving a couple of early customers, who, strangely, I didn't recognise. Mind you, I hardly recognised Fi ... she was wearing the clothes I'd asked - hang on, no, the clothes I'd told her to wear - a v-necked jumper over a similarly shaped t-shirt, with nary a Victorian blouse in sight, and a below the knee denim skirt. This was a conservative sort of choice, on my part - a brief glimpse of her wardrobe had revealed a collection of clothes that made the leather micro minidress look positively conventional, not to mention some ... umm ... adaptations to her bedroom that would have her neighbours choking on their porridge should they ever come to know of them. However, the idea wasn't to humiliate the woman, now or ever, just to get her relax a bit. So I'd got her to leave her hair out of the bun and tie it in a pony tail, instead, wear the aforementioned flattering but unrevealing apparel and ... well, the effect was quite stunning. Whereas Old Fiona behind the bar had been a timid little mouse, New Fiona was chatting friendlily away to our new customers, laughing at a joke or two, enjoying herself and making them enjoy themselves.

So it was no great surprise to be told, when I got myself behind the bar, what a grand wee place we had here, how surprised they were to see it so empty. Of course, I did my (acting) landlord thing, assured them that it would get busy soon enough and hoped they'd bugger off before they realised what a blatant lie that was. Except that they didn't and, it turned out, it wasn't. Which is to say, people kept coming in and, rather than having a quick half and heading back out the door, actually staying. By about nine we had a bit of a crowd, a gathering round the bar that was at risk of becoming a full scale ceilidh - sensibly, I had a fire extinguisher to hand in case anyone actually started singing - and, well, a successful pub. There were even a couple of groups of tourists, for god's sake, but they were spending a lot of money so we put up with them.

And through it all, the centre of attention, almost literally the life and soul of the party, was, of course, Fiona. I mean, I did my bit - largely collecting glasses, reassuring some of the regulars that they weren't hallucinating, hadn't staggered into the wrong pub by mistake, that sort of thing - but it was Fi's show. By the time we'd rung the bells, and shuffled a bunch of disappointed and reluctant people out into the cold night air, the poor wee thing was near as dammit dead on her feet. Or at least she would have been if she hadn't been so elated ... really flying, in a way that I'd never seen before.

Ever the pessimist, of course, I wondered quite when the crash would come but for the moment, at least, she was happy, quite content to sit beside the bar while I counted and bagged a previously inconceivably large amount of money from the till. That essential task out of the way, I came and sat beside her, gave her a brief kiss and smiled at her. I could see anticipation in her eyes, knew that she was waiting for an Instruction or at least a guide from me and I began to feel a slight frisson of panic. I mean, it had been a bit of a strange day, all round, but I'd come to realise that this new Fi was a very lovable person - someone I could fall in love with, maybe already had done, to be scrupulously honest - and I really didn't want to abuse her ... even if she wanted to be abused.

It was a conundrum, I can tell you, but it at least prevented me from doing anything crude - like getting a quick blow job out of her, mauling her tits for the hell of it - so instead I got her to sit on my lap, which I could tell she liked, felt comfortable with, and stroked her hair and, well, yes, OK, her breasts for a while. Or, actually, until she fell asleep with her head on my shoulder. I let her rest where she was, knowing she had every right to be exhausted, really impressed with the transformation that had come over her. Eventually, I took her upstairs, very gently laid her on the bed and even more gently took her outer clothes off, leaving her the t-shirt and bra and pants - black lace, this time - while I retreated back downstairs to collect the cash for the safe, switch the lights off and that sort of thing.

When I got back upstairs she was really soundly asleep so I drew the duvet up over her and very quietly got undressed myself. Then, just before I got into bed with her, and remembering how she'd left before the dawn the last time we'd slept together, I found a piece of towelling cord and carefully, gently, tied one of her wrists to the bedframe.

She must have been really exhausted as she was still firmly asleep when I got up, pulled some clothes on and went to make us both breakfast. I wondered if I was supposed to kick her out of bed and get her to do this, but then I saw her twitch in her sleep, pull against the restraint and smile beatifically. I thought poaching an egg or two was a small price to pay for a look of such pleasure and went and did the business.

When I got back, Fi was lying on her side on the bed, one hand sensuously stroking the cord that bound her to the bed. It was a simple bowline, I knew - I'd tied it - and not hard to unravel. But she wasn't even trying to. While I watched, unseen, she pulled against the cord a time or two, fingered the knot, finally lay back with a blissed out smile, legs spread, duvet pushed aside and her free hand reaching towards and into her nether regions.

I coughed - announcing myself - and she went rigid, genuine shock crossing her features. I gave her a half laugh.

"There'll be time enough for that - or not," I said, removing her hand from its target and handing her a plate of food. She was hungry, I could tell, but poached eggs on toast are peculiarly difficult to eat one handed. I did think about feeding her from a dog bowl and all that shit, but, hey ... not me, you know? So I carefully sat on one of her legs, caught the other between my own - basically ensuring that she couldn't move or bring her knees together, then told her to untie the cord about her wrist. To reinforce the point that I was still in control, and all that, I reached forward and hooked her panties to one side. Very moist panties, I noticed, handing her some cutlery and suggesting with a nod that she might eat. Oh, and eating something myself, too.

It would have been easier if I'd let her sit up, of course, but that would have required me to let go of her legs, so I left her to it. When we'd eaten, I sat and watched her for a while. She watched me, too, a beguiling mix of fear and anticipation in her eyes. OK, I thought ... fantasies are one thing, reality quite another. How far did she want to push this? How far did I?

To give myself time to think, I told her to place her hands behind her head and stay still, at which I took the plates and stuff back to Gregor's kitchen. Then, resolved, I came back and pulled her panties yet further away from her gaping gash - not so much glistening as dripping, I noted, almost rationally - and retrieved the previous wrist tie, used it, instead, to secure an ankle to the bed, then found the tights she'd been wearing the night before, used them to secure the other leg. Her quim positively pulsed, I'm sure of it. I did my best 'command and control' voice, sure that she was into this, sure that I had a margin, told her to lose the t-shirt, the bra underneath.

And then, there she was. Not conventionally beautiful, perhaps, but a rather lovely figure of womanhood. She'd put her hands back behind her head as soon as she'd finished removing her clothes as I'd told her to, lying there quite naked but for the irrelevant panties. And, yes, she was thin - ribs and pelvic bones all too protuberant - but she was, I thought, quite beautiful. The way her breasts rose and fell with her ragged breathing, the pouting, flexing folds of her labia, the lust in her eyes as she watched me so very, very carefully...

I tickled her ribs, ran my palms gently over her nipples - she sobbed, needing more stimulation thereabouts - then I dragged my nails down her midriff, finally ploughing through her pubes and ... very lightly touching her clit with just the tip of her finger. I watched her squirm, for a moment, as her legs pulled against their ties, then withdrew.

Instantly, her hands came down from behind her head, sought relief in her thatch. I pulled them away, leaned forward so I could look her in the eye, told her that she'd get off if I wanted. She squirmed, convulsed and ... I think ... orgasmed slightly at that point.

Clearly I had things to learn about this Domination stuff. Oh, and about Fiona, too.

So I sat back down for a while, in fact I wandered around for a bit. Fi was displaying her most intimate regions, physically, her most intimate desires, facially. Not that there was much she could do about it - her hands remained clamped behind her head, her legs were splayed by virtue of both ankles being tied to the bed. I recognised the power I had, half guiltily revelled in it...

Eventually ... eventually enough, I hoped ... I put a finger where she wanted it, a thumb where she needed it and, with very little effort, brought her to an apparently mind numbing, certainly very vocally and physically impressive, orgasm. And she fell asleep again, that beautiful smile playing across her lips the while.

I went and sorted the pub out, returning after a while to find Fi awake but still restrained, despite being in quite urgent need of a piss, apparently ... it seemed there were new responsibilities I hadn't really come to terms with. Anyway, I sorted the immediate problem out - by untying her and telling her she was free to use the toilet - and then I gave her the afternoon off. I could do the lunchtime on my own, no worries, and I thought there were better ways of her spending the time. Such as carrying a couple of minor instructions which I gave her as she got dressed. She seemed to like the idea, anyway, and soon enough was on her way home.

Strangely, the lunchtime session seemed to carry on from the night before, not by being crowded or anything, but by being noticeably more relaxed than before and with more of a buzz about the place. Once again, too, people tended to stay for more than just the single drink, actual conversations were struck up between strangers - sometimes even between people who'd been drinking in the place for twenty years or more and had never found the need to exchange words before - and even I got dragged into a few discussions, shared a few jokes and generally did quite a good job on the 'genial' side of the bar persons role.

Still, I was extremely glad when Morag came in to take over - looking slightly shocked to see so many people in, so many people looking like they were enjoying themselves, might actually be planning on staying, or something - and I was out of the bar and out the back door in record time. I did feel slightly guilty about leaving her on her own - despite the time she'd worked in the bar she had virtually no experience of actually serving people - but I had much more pressing matters in mind. Specifically, getting to Fiona's place as quickly as possible.

Fi greeted me at the door dressed in a dark grey below the knee dress, armless but otherwise completely unrevealing, and ushered me into the sitting room where I took a chair and she went back up the stairs without a word. Well, you never knew when the postman or someone would call and I didn't see any reason to rink scandalising the neighbourhood - or not yet, anyway. While she was away, I made myself comfortable reclining on the couch and picked up a book - the Bloody Chamber - and flicked through it. When she came back I continued to read for a while, ignoring her, then beckoned her over.

She stood in front of me as if for an inspection, which is precisely what I'd told her to do ... because I wanted to make an inspection. And, yes, she'd done as I'd required. The dress had gone, replaced with the black leather micro-mini, knee length (leather) boots and some practical looking wrist cuffs. Her hair was tied back with, inevitably, a leather band and a choker had appeared on her throat. I sat back and looked at her for a fair while, knowing that this was what she wanted, her excitement visible in her dilated pupils, the slight tremors she gave whenever I gently adjusted her position. I found myself enjoying the situation, too, getting painfully hard as I contemplated the next stages, recalled that to date our sexual encounters had not been directly rewarding to me. So I turned her round, picked up the cuffs that she'd placed on a table and used them to secure her arms behind her back. I pulled her back into me, then, her hands caught against my dick through my jeans as I tweaked her nipples through the thin leather of her fantasy wear. Then I gave her a light slap on the bum, suggested that we should head upstairs to that ... interesting ... bedroom of hers.