Wednesday, 30 May 2012

Short Story: The Deal

First published in Dominique Deville's anthology 'Dominance and Submission'
Subsequently published on 'Scene Magazine' website.

The Deal

It had been too easy for her to break and enter.  The house squatted like a giant toad, far beyond the rush of the city and the cosy normality of the suburbs that she was used to.  A converted barn planted alone.  The mezzanine floor, where she stood was smothered in darkness without even a crack of light showing beneath the heavy doors.  No aggressive farm dogs had clattered a signal of her presence as she moved through the shadows of the courtyard.  No friendly night watchman had come to take her by the shoulder and lead her firmly to the main road.
The back of the building was glass so the clear night glistered with vertigo inspiring depth above her.  As she gazed at the only constellation she knew, which looked like a saucepan to her but was apparently a bear, she ran through the places she had searched.  There was the large leather settee of the living room and the heavy oak desk in the office that yielded only loose change and a plastic toy from a long forgotten cracker.  She had opened drawers beneath the marble work surface in the kitchen and checked the cupboards of the antique sideboard in the dining room filled chiefly with single malt whiskeys.
She could not find the stash of heroin that her employer had sent her to recover.  There was no choice but to check the upstairs rooms.  She placed her hand on the cold globe of the doorknob.  The door caught on the thick pile of the carpet.  She slipped through the gap and into what seemed to be a master bedroom, equipped with a bed so draped and massive that it appeared as if it had grown there.  At a second glance she saw that there was lump under the bedspread.  Her breath stopped in her throat and her fists clenched as she realised that she had stumbled into a thief’s worst nightmare; an occupied room.
The covers undulated as slowly as a calm sea.  She shuffled forward barely raising her feet from the carpet.  She felt her way over the surface of the dressing table, picking up objects, a lighter, a candle, a bell and a picture in a frame.  No clues to the whereabouts of the heroin, nothing useful.  Her movements became hurried.  Her hands fluttered like desperate moths at the handles of the drawers, her mouth dried.
‘The sooner I can get out of here the better.’ She muttered to herself, stirring around amongst the hard plastic, dusty clutter of a forgotten drawer.
A weight landed on her shoulder, freezing her scurrying, rodent like scrabbling to the solidity of a block of cold steel.
‘Have you lost something?’
Her shoulder was gripped, then squeezed.  He turned her to face him.  Casually, he released her shoulder and reached past her, making her stumble to one side.  She recovered herself and made for the door, her hands reaching out in front of her.
‘I’d advise you not to go back that way.’  He commented as his lighter clicked and fizzed into life.
She spun round just a step from the door and almost stamped her foot in frustration.  If only she had made less noise she could have been back in her car by now.
‘What?  Why?’ She wailed.
He lit a candle on the dressing table and placed the lighter beside it.  She was about to run again but then she couldn’t help but stare at him.  The glow of candlelight coated him on one side as if he had been dipped in gold.  His jacket caught her attention as it wrapped him in silk.  It contrasted sharply with the military crop of his dark hair.  He put out his hand to her and the sleeve of the jacket swung free, touching her wrist.  It felt so cold.
‘May not a scoundrel give another scoundrel some helpful advice?  I think we can agree that neither of us would like the authorities involved.  Please, take my hand and come this way.’
He bowed his head slightly but his hand was still unflinching and steady, waiting for her.  Her own hand came up before her face and she watched it move to rest on top of his but she did not feel as if her will had put it there.  Her feet itched to run but as their skin touched, she was beguiled by the curious sensation of warm pins and needles that trickled into her palm and crawled up her arm.  He led her to the bed and sat her on the edge before seating himself in a stiff red leather armchair.
‘I think we need to talk.  I will get us some tea brought up.’
He rang a bell on the dressing table.
She clutched at the bedspread, shifting from buttock to buttock and chewing her lip.
‘Where’s the heroin?’  She demanded.
He placed his fingers together in a steeple, resting his elbows.
‘We cannot escape the fact that you have trespassed on my property.’
If only she could seduce him, perhaps he would come out with it she told herself.
‘Where are the drugs?’  She said more sweetly,
‘I think that gives me the right to ask the questions.’
Believing his tone to be defensive, she decided to threaten,
‘If you give them to me, I’ll go.  No one gets hurt.’
‘Whatever gave you the impression that I wanted you to leave?  To continue my earlier line of argument; you have come into my house uninvited, I think that gives me all the rights and you, exactly no rights.’
He held up his finger, touching thumb in an O to illustrate his point.
There was a rattling of a tray from outside the door.
The French maid costume on the girl produced a high sheen in the soft light as it was composed entirely of latex.  Her wrists were locked in leather cuffs attached by a chain and linked to the shackles on her ankles causing her to shuffle in very high heels.  Somehow she was keeping her balance and composure despite the hood that she wore, covering her eyes and mouth and the round tray she balanced on her left hand.  The maid reached out with her tray and her master took it.  He guided her by the elbow to the space between the bed and chair.
‘Down!’ he instructed.
The maid fell on to hands and knees.  She did not know how to take the bizarre scene.  He smirked at her.
‘This girl is multi-functional, you see.  I think the Georgians called it “transformational furniture” so it’s not such a modern idea.’
He placed the tray on the maid’s back and seated himself with a sigh.
‘A tea, if you please.  Black with one sugar.’
She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her though he stared into her eyes across the unusual place setting.
‘Come along.  I’m talking to you, not to the table.’
She snorted a laugh of incredulity.
‘Are you giving me an order?’
‘I am thirsty as I’m sure you are after your adventures.  You may help yourself too.’
She raised her arms and was about to fold them, her stomach burning with defiance.  He clapped suddenly.  She started; the maid rattled the tea things on her back.  A short but awkward silence followed which he broke with a growl,
‘I do not believe that I am asking too much from you.’
She got down from the bed and onto her knees, hating herself for complying but at a loss to know what else to do.  She shuffled over to the maid taking in the willow pattern tea set with strainer and the maid beneath.  A fine strip of velvet ran across the back of the neck like a collar or choker.  She poured from the teapot and the stream splashed unevenly into the teacup.  She heard a muffled squeal from the maid as it rained onto the back of her thigh.
‘Sorry.’  She whispered to her.
‘That’s quite alright.’ He interjected, ‘It’s your first time with me and you are nervous.  No, don’t hand it to me just put it on the tray.  I wouldn’t want to risk you spilling it all over me as well.’
He clasped his hands and looked at her unblinking.  She felt stared out and so poured herself a cup of tea as well before returning to perch on the bed.  He lifted the tray from the maid’s back and placed it on the floor.  He rested his feet, the latex creased around his heels.  He slurped his tea, the cup appearing like one from a doll’s tea set in his large hands.  On this cue, she felt compelled to do the same.
‘I understand that you are searching for a batch of heroin, hidden somewhere on my premises.  What gives you reason to believe that I have drugs here?’
She choked on the mouthful of tea.  She spluttered into her hand.
‘I don’t know if I believe it myself.  I mean, I er…I looked…everywhere.’
‘Did you really?  All without being discovered?’
She ground her teeth together and swallowed down more tea.  It felt like treacle on sawdust in her mouth.  She nodded in response.
‘I suppose you thought it was quite peculiar that no one came to apprehend you.’
She looked at the tea leaves in the bottom of the cup so thoughtfully that it seemed she was trying to read them.
‘I did think that, actually.’
He transferred himself to sit beside her on the bed, setting the tea things on the floor.  The maid struggled to her feet and went to stand like an eerie mannequin in the corner of the room.  She flinched as he placed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
‘I was expecting you would have some dogs or someone patrolling the outbuildings at least.’  She stated, shuffling back from him.
‘Well, I do at the moment.’ He replied in a measured tone.
She tapped her foot nervously.  This comment struck her as ominous.  He grasped her chin.  She looked down at her jeans.
‘Who sent you?’
She shrugged and picked at a piece of hard skin that had formed on a scar in her palm for comfort.
‘Answer me.’  His tone was still cool, still inviting.
She remembered the shard of glass that had caused wound from a window that she had broken to enter but not cleared properly.
She looked into his eyes, so close and so dark they appeared like pits rather than windows to a soul.
‘That’s right, you may look at me on this one occasion.  Now answer my question.  Who sent you?’
She could see individual hairs in his beard, a dry piece of skin on his lip and the taut sinews of his neck.
‘I won’t tell you who sent me.’
He drew back from her, his eyelids half closed, his lips pursed.  She expected him to shout or to lash out.  If he had, she would have run.  When she dared to look up again, she was transfixed by the way a dimple appeared on his cheek as he smiled.  The warmth of his approval melted through her.
‘I hoped that you would say that.’
He clicked his fingers and the maid came forward from the shadows.  He lifted her and popped her onto his lap, pinning her arms by her sides.  The last thing that she saw was the maid’s plump lips as she took off the hood.  It was pulled down by both of them, over her head.  She began to struggle but they pushed her down into the bed and her arms were stretched above her head.  Then came the chill bite of metal cuffs on her wrists and ankles, the jangle of the chains and the snap of the ratchet that rendered her helpless.  He placed a warm hand on her soft belly, below her navel.
‘Be calm, my dear.’
Her mind ran back over the last hours, focusing on all the opportunities that she had, had to run but remembering that she had chosen not to.  She relaxed against the cuffs, despite herself, succumbing to his touch.
‘That’s right, you will do yourself an injury before you escape these.  Relax, I can see you are already getting some nasty bruises from your writhing.’
His fingers worked down the buttons of her shirt, probing into her.  Her bra was lifted from her breasts.
‘They are beautiful.’
His tongue so slippery and delicate rimmed her nipples.  As they hardened his tongue flicked against them.  She bucked her hips as her feelings of shame were masked with passion but he pushed her into the bed.
‘All in good time.  Maid, pass me the clamps.’
‘Don’t hurt me!’ She squealed, grappling with her restraints.
She tossed her head from side to side, trying to escape the hood.  She heard a grumble of laughter from him.  The stern clamps were fixed on her tight nipples.  A spike of pain broke through the haze that seemed to have clouded her thoughts.
‘Who sent you?’  He asked, raising his voice.
She could hear her own voice crying out incoherently but it seemed distant.
‘Very well, perhaps some pleasure to go with that pain might help you to remember.’
The sound of a zip and suddenly light.  She looked through the holes in the mask, down the milky pink of her own body.  He was holding a feather.
‘What are you doing?’  She demanded.
He ran the feather over her ribs, making her squirm.  The clamps wobbled on top of her breasts like silver beetles.
‘Enjoying myself.’ He mused, trailing the feather in a figure of eight around her tits.
The combination of warm, dulled pain from the clamps and the tease of the feather made it seem as though sparklers were lighting up just in the periphery of her vision.  She made animal sounds.  Her pussy grew and rubbed against the seam of her jeans.  He persisted, mercilessly, humming to himself.
‘Please stop.’  She cried, ‘I’ll tell you what I know.’
He removed the clamps carefully, making her sigh with relief.
‘I hoped that would take longer.’
He pulled the hood up so it strained around her forehead.
‘What would you like to say to me?’
‘I don’t know very much.  It was an anonymous caller.  I’m for hire you see, it has nothing to do with me.’
He cocked his head to one side.  She pushed herself up on her elbows, hoping that this would give her more credibility.
‘People hire me to reacquire their stolen items.  It’s what I’m good at.’
He placed his hand between her legs, sensing and feeding the heat there.  She let out a tiny mewl.
‘I have to meet her at five in the morning in town with the goods.  If you don’t let me go…’
His hand wormed its way beneath her belt, stroking over her mound and diving between her swollen labia.
‘Do you really want to go?’
He manipulated her clitoris, pinching it between his fingers, making her long for a firmer pressure.
‘Please what?’
Her wetness made his fingers skim over the hard flesh, strumming her like an oiled marble.
‘Please make me come.’
He pulled his hand away abruptly leaving her gulping down air and her heart racing.  He sniffed his fingers.
‘There’s something I must tell you before I fulfil your wish.’
The maid came to the side of the bed and started to unbuckle and unzip her jeans.  His face came close to her.
‘My maid was your anonymous caller.’
Her jeans were tugged from her hips; her panties left clinging to her dampness.  He moved down her body and scratched her clit through them, inspiring an intense tickling sensation.
‘I’m not going to make you come until you agree to be my pet.’
He stroked the grinning maid under her chin, making the bells on her fine collar jingle, ‘just like this girl, here.’
He fixed his mouth over her dampness and warmed her with his breath until he made her scream with frustration.  He raised his head.
‘You knew that was the deal, didn’t you?’

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