Chapter 6

James purchased, on line, a few basic items as he was not sure what he was going to need ... in fact, he wasn’t sure he would need any of it. But he made plans anyway and managed to pin Beth down to a date when she could join him for a meal. It would have to be something fairly straightforward and he settled on grilled trout, new potatoes and green beans; he bought tiramisu for a dessert, and Jessica recommended a good wine that wouldn’t break the bank.

When she arrived, he sat her down with a glass of sherry and persuaded her to tell him all about her new job; she got quite animated.

“I’m loving the sailing, and I’ll have income year round, but not much time off during the season,” she commented. “They say I’ll be ready to take my master’s ticket early the year after next; I’m already working on getting the offshore Yachtmaster certificate. But what about you? What have you been up to?”

“Oh, the usual, servicing boilers is the summer thing,” he smiled, “and of course there’s the usual dripping taps. A new bathroom for one family and the plumbing part of a new kitchen for another ... that sort of thing. Taking Amy’s twins out for the day at weekends. Did you know she has a yacht? It’s been out of the water since Barry died, but we took the kids for a picnic in the Wanderer. She knows her stuff, and the kids were good as gold. Now ... would you like to sit with me in the kitchen while I deal with supper? Or would you prefer to listen to some music?”

“Why don’t I choose some music and inspect your bookshelves while you cook? I don’t like having people watch me in the kitchen, do you?”

“I don’t really mind, but I’ll probably make fewer mistakes if I concentrate.”

When they’re finished eating, they sat, sipping coffee and letting their meal settle. Beth began the conversation.

“That was a lovely meal, James. But I get the impression there was an ulterior motive behind your invitation.”

“You’re not wrong. Will you come into the lounge?”

He followed her into the room, crossing it to draw the curtains, then took a gift-wrapped box from the bureau drawer. “This is for you ... if you still want it.”

She took it, gingerly, as if she thought it might explode, and sat on the sofa.

“You could open it ... that’s sort of the idea...”

She looked up at him, then down at the box, and began to tear open the wrapping, revealing a plain black box, which she opened to reveal a broad, black leather collar, lined with velvet and with a black anodised d-ring and twin buckles. With trembling fingers she lifted it out of the box and looked up at him, twin tears tracking down her cheeks.

“Will you ... you should ... are you going to put this on me?”

“We need to talk first. I need to know what you expect from me, what the limits are. I can’t pretend to know what I’m doing, here, I just know I need to hear from you what you want.”

“I’m ... not experienced; I just played around at College. There was another girl ... do you understand? Never since have I known such satisfaction; that’s how I knew ... I want to be a, a, pet. I want to be commanded, patted and stroked when I obey, scolded and smacked when I do something wrong. I want to serve, to fetch and carry – I know dogs don’t have hands, but sometimes, perhaps I could fetch things in my mouth, on hands and knees? But I could ... be naked in the house? Cook and clean in the nude?”

“What about oral? Anal?”

“I like oral. Anal doesn’t do a thing for me, but if you wanted me to...”
“I’m not keen on the idea, myself, but I’m open to experiments. What about a name?”

“What about, ‘Pet’ when I’m good, and ‘Bitch’ when I’m not?”

“Works for me. What about safe words?”

“Safe words?”

“Do you mean I know something you don’t? If I’m, say, punishing you, it’s no good begging me to stop. You have a word that you wouldn’t normally use in a social context, which means, ‘stop, I can’t cope with it’. If you’re unsure or uncomfortable you can say ‘time out’ and we’ll talk, but...”

“Oh! That...” she smiled suddenly, “what about ‘anchor’?”

“Could work ... but what about playing if we’re on a boat?”

“Okay ... Monet, as in the impressionist painter.”

“Fine. Are we done, then? We can always revisit the contract in the future, or you can ask to be emancipated.”

“We’re done.”

“Good. Give me the collar ... okay. Stand up – stand on that rug, and strip!”

She stood, rather slowly.

“Some time today would be good, Bitch.”

She jerked and shivered and sped up noticeably until she was standing naked, her clothes piled on a nearby chair. He walked round her, looking her up and down. She really was quite attractive, he thought. Medium height, carrying a little more weight than is fashionable, but obviously quite fit. Red hair ... and the carpet matched the curtains. Curves in all the right places, breasts maybe a little small, but perfectly shaped with only a hint of sag ... and those green eyes. She blushed, the colour spreading from her face down.

“Okay, Pet ... Kneel!” When she obeyed, he snapped. “well, that was quicker, but that’s not how you kneel when you’re being Pet or Bitch. Knees apart, hands crossed in front of you, chest out, shoulders back, head up, eyes down!”

She duly adjusted her position.

“That’s better.” He moved up to her and unbuckled the collar, fitting it round her neck and buckling it to a snug, not tight, fit.

He stepped back, and eyed her up and down; she appeared to be breathing harder than usual. “I believe we have some issues to address, Pet ... I didn’t say you could look at me ... Now, then ... firstly, we have your insolence in saving my life when I was trying to die ... I think that’s worth five strokes.” There was a sound very like a whimper in her throat. “Then, there’s not trusting your friends to love you just the way you are, and assuming I would prefer Amy to you just because I spend a lot of time with her kids. Together, I reckon, another five strokes. Do you have anything to say, Pet?”

“No, Master ... you’re very fair.”

“Do I need to tie you for your punishment ... or will you willingly lay across my lap to take it?”

“Oh, Master! Whichever is your pleasure.”

“Come, now, Bitch, do you think I take pleasure in punishing you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Master!”

He fetched a chair from the kitchen and retrieved a paddle from behind the sofa. He sat down.

“Get over here! Across my lap ... no, the other way, I’m right handed. Another two strokes, I think ... one for thinking I’d enjoy this, and another for not thinking which hand I need to use. Count the strokes!”

“One!” There was a very long pause. “Oh ... thank you, Master.”

“Better. I’m beginning to think you might be trainable.”

“Two ... thank you Master.”

He was rapidly becoming hard and found it necessary to adjust himself before continuing.

After five, he was unable to resist caressing her reddening bottom, after seven to cup her breast; he became aware of the odour of female arousal. After twelve, he sent her back to kneel on the rug.

“Well, Pet ... do you think you’ve learned your lesson?”

“Yes, Master ... for now, anyway...”

“One problem, Pet. You seem to have caused something that is giving me some discomfort. What do you say to that?”

“OH! Master, may I serve you, please?”

“You may, Pet.”

She shuffled across the small intervening space on her knees and fumbled with his zip, releasing his straining erection and taking him in her mouth and causing him to groan at the sensations she produced. Esther had never sucked him, and though he’d enjoyed licking her, she’d found it embarrassing and he’d not thought it important enough to make an issue of. This was something out of his experience altogether. There was, however, something he decided was important.