Silently Tom picked up the coffee pot and filled her cup, not trusting himself to say anything. He guessed his voice would have shaken with suppressed excitement, and he didn’t want to give that away. This was the moment he had been waiting for the whole week. He set the pot down and crossed to the chair. He sat down and locked the irons on his ankles as Harriet had ordered. Then he looked questioningly at her. ‘The handcuffs too?’ ‘Mistress,’ he added hastily, seeing her look of exasperation.
‘Not just yet.’ Harriet removed a light graceful chain from her neck and tossed it to him. There was a key on it with a short spike on its head. ‘Double-lock the irons, please,’ she said in her matter-of-fact way.
Tom examined the leg-irons and noticed a small button about the size of the spike on the key’s head. He used the spike to press it and found it went in with a definite click. He repeated the process on his other ankle. Then he looked questioningly at Harriet, who nodded in approval as she held out her hand for the key and chain. He guessed that she wouldn’t like him to toss it back to her as casually as she had given it to him. That would be just too cavalier and democratic a gesture. The moment seemed to require more ceremony. He stood, crossed over to the settee and handed the key on its chain back to her.
Harriet nodded once more and indicated he should clear away the coffee tray. She recrossed her legs, and Tom once more caught the hiss as she slid one over the other. Once again his heart lurched as he imagined how it would feel to run his hands over the smooth glossy material of her tights, and over what lay at the apex of her thighs. He shook his head to clear the thought away. Not yet. But soon, he hoped. Maybe this very weekend. Harriet had given him no sign that she was ready to allow greater intimacy, but he found himself hoping against the odds that she soon would.
As he washed up Tom thought he was turning into the proper domestic. Apparently this was what Harriet had in mind for him. A reversal of roles, something entirely different from what he normally thought and did. He realised he was being taught to please someone else, to think of himself later, if at all. Harriet gave no sign that she was aware of his desires and that too was part of the lesson.
Tom thought back to Harriet’s earlier remark about a uniform. Was this going to be the weekend with the maid’s costume? Had she already got it for him? So soon? Somehow he hoped not. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that yet – not that Harriet seemed to worry much about his state of readiness. A part of him wanted to save something for later. Don’t gulp it all down at once, was how he put it to himself. He had an entire two days to make discoveries about himself. And, he hoped, many more days beyond that. He was looking forward to that with anticipation and hope. He would just have to be patient and see what Harriet had in mind. She gave the impression of someone with long-term plans.
Harriet’s voice cut across his reverie. ‘When you’re done in there, please go upstairs and tidy my room. I have to make some phone calls, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t come down until I’m finished. The cleaning things are under the sink and in the pantry.’
Tom hung up the tea towel and searched around in the kitchen until he had found the furniture polish, the dusting cloths and the Hoover. With these he climbed the stairs, being careful not to trip over the chain between his ankles. Harriet had not shown him around the top floor on his first visit, but he had no trouble finding her bedroom. It was the only room with the bed unmade, and there was a pair of high-heeled leather lace-up boots beside the dresser. The curtains were drawn back and the late morning sunlight slanted in through the window.
The faint lingering odour of her perfume came to his nostrils as he fluffed the pillows and began to make the bed. Tom imagined her lying in the bed and waiting for him to caress and pleasure her. Just what would she like him to do to her? He found he had no clear idea. Harriet was different from anyone else he had ever known – truly unique. Did she want him to treat her roughly? Somehow he thought not. If anything, she would be the one to deal roughly with him, and he knew he’d let her do whatever she wished. The only question was how he should respond. He imagined he’d pick it up soon enough. And if he didn’t Harriet would be there to drive the lesson home. That thought excited him too. Tom wondered if there was anything about this experience that wouldn’t.
He put the boots in the closet, glancing through Harriet’s wardrobe as he did so. There seemed to be an awful lot of leather and rubber gear. That looked promising. No sign of the promised maid’s costume, though. A momentary disappointment was quickly overlain by an image of Harriet wearing a constricting rubber leotard and matching tights. The rubber-clad dominatrix advanced ominously as he lay helplessly bound. She had a whip in her hand. Her mouth, beneath the mask that hid her features, was twisted into a grimace – a parody of a smile – as she looked down on her victim. On her long legs she wore tight boots with stiletto heels. The image faded and he remembered that Harriet’s legs were rather short and full. Not the long-legged ones featured in the stocking adverts. He still found them entrancing, as he did the rest of her compact, well-made body.
He dusted the top of the furniture, moving her make-up items and perfume to pass the cloth under them. He tidied the top of her dressing table and closed a drawer left carelessly open before he plugged in the vacuum cleaner. As he passed near the door he heard Harriet’s voice on the telephone. The words came up in snatches. ‘He’s here now . . . busy upstairs . . . tomorrow? All right.’ Obviously she was talking about him. But to whom? And to what end? Tom briefly considered listening in, but thought better of it. It would be undignified, to say the least, to be caught eavesdropping when Harriet had told him she wanted privacy. Best get on with his work. He would find out whatever Harriet wanted him to know when she was ready to tell him.
When he switched it on, the noise from the vacuum cleaner drowned out her voice. He vacuumed the carpet and ran the machine under the bed as far as it would go, then he went out onto the landing and did the carpet there. Harriet was still on the phone when he switched off, but she was apparently talking to someone else – or at any rate she wasn’t talking about him. Tom opened the door to the second bedroom, intending to show willing by doing more than she had ordered him to do, and also wanting to keep busy until Harriet was done.
This room was fitted out as a cell. There was no handle on the inside of the door, nor was there a keyhole on that side, though there was a sturdy mortise lock with a keyhole on the outside. Like most doors, and like all cell doors, it opened into the room it served. The door stopping was unusually heavy, which would make the door difficult if not impossible to force outward. And there was nothing on the inside of the door with which to pull it inward. Even if the door were not locked, no one on the inside would be able to open it against the latch. With the door as a clue, he quickly became aware of some of the other features of the room. What appeared at first to be an ornamental column for hanging flower baskets turned out to be firmly anchored to the floor and ceiling. It could be used to truss someone up for a whipping. The bed was heavy and was bolted to the floor.
Tom crossed to the window. It looked down onto a small back garden. It was neatly kept, but seemed out of place when seen from a room such as this one. As a rule cells don’t overlook lawns and flower gardens. The nearest house, about three hundred feet away, across some waste ground, presented a blank windowless wall to his view. He touched the glass lightly, experimentally, with his fingers. There was no give to it. When he rapped it gently with his knuckles, it gave off a heavy sound.
Harriet’s voice from the doorway interrupted his exploration of the room. ‘That’s armoured glass,’ she said.
Tom jumped back from the window in surprise. He hadn’t been paying any attention to the other noises while he was surveying the room, so he hadn’t noticed that Harriet was no longer talking on the phone. Indeed she had climbed the stairs without breaking his concentration. He turned to face her, feeling suddenly even more naked and helpless before this woman. In her black tights and leather corselet she seemed very determined and severe.
‘I didn’t want anyone I put in here to be able to escape by smashing the glass,’ she continued. ‘Of course it wouldn’t hold up against a prolonged and determined attack from a hammer or an axe, but I make sure there is nothing like that in the room whenever I have a guest staying with me.’ Harriet smiled as she spoke. Apparently the idea of this as a guest room was amusing to her. She went on, ‘My guests usually aren’t wearing much more than you have on now, so any successful escape could be very embarrassing to them, but I try to make their stay here as comfortable as possible, so that they don’t really want to run away. That is a comfortable bed, and I leave a slop bucket for them in case they have to go to the toilet in the night. I hate to be wakened once I get to sleep. I can be quite unpleasant with anyone who makes a row and gets me out of a warm bed. No doubt you see my point.’
Harriet beckoned him away from the window. ‘This room is for my more privileged guests. I have other, shall we say, less salubrious quarters for others. But I see you were about to clean in here when I interrupted you. Carry on, then come downstairs when you’ve finished. I want to show you the rest of the facilities today.’ She turned and went down the stairs.
When he had vacuumed the carpet, Tom switched off the Hoover, carried the cleaning things downstairs and put them away. Then he went into the living room where Harriet waited.
She occupied the armchair again, making it look like a throne. She let him stand in the door for some minutes before she took notice of him. Tom was sure the delay was deliberate – another lesson in who was in charge. When she finally acknowledged him, she said, ‘If you think of this as a house of ill repute, you won’t be too far from what the general public would think if they knew about it. I try not to let them find out. Not that I feel ashamed of what I do. Quite the reverse. I do a good job for my clients – even if I say so myself. I prefer to think of it as a special place for people with their own special needs. I offer B&D to the discerning few rather than B&B to the masses. Not that they’d want what I offer, more’s the pity. This country would be much better off with a touch more discipline. But there you are: they don’t run things to suit me.’ Harriet smiled ironically and continued, ‘I run this place to suit myself. The people who come here do whatever I tell them to do. Once they decide to submit themselves to me, I get to make all the choices after that. It’s a heavy responsibility.’ Again the ironic smile. ‘You’d be surprised how many people want someone else to take responsibility out of their hands. Actually deprive them of choice.’
Tom wasn’t sure where all this was leading. It sounded like a confession or an apologia, and seemed out of place coming from someone he didn’t expect to explain things needlessly. His perplexity must have showed, because Harriet abruptly changed tack.
‘Yes, I imagine all this is a bit abstract. I tend to go on and on when I’m not careful. Too much philosophy and not enough practicality. Perhaps I should make things more concrete.’ She stood abruptly. ‘Come with me.’
Harriet strode purposefully out into the hall. Following, Tom admired the play of muscles in her thighs, calves and bottom. He was excited by her and her outfit, even though she gave no sign that she was aware of the effect she had on him. Or just possibly she knew that the effect could be heightened if she ignored his reaction. His reaction stood out straight in front of him. She had only to glance over her shoulder to see it. But she didn’t.
She threw a light remark his way as they passed the closet where he had spent his first night with her, ‘Relax. No need for formality or stiffness here.’ Hearing the chuckle in her voice, Tom wondered if she had eyes in the back of her head. Most likely she just knew what effect she was having on him.
Harriet led the way to the door at the back end of the hall. Tom had noticed it but hadn’t paid much attention to it. There was a key in the lock. When she turned it she pushed against the door and he could see how heavy it was by the tensing of her shoulder muscles. It resembled the door to the guest room upstairs. Like that door, it rested against heavy stopping, but there was a handle and keyhole on either side. Tom guessed this door was intended to be opened from either side so long as one had the key. Still, it looked like another cell door.
Harriet switched on a light over the landing and descended the steep stairs without pausing. ‘Mind your step,’ she cautioned him as he followed. Tom stepped very carefully. It wouldn’t do to trip over his leg-irons. At the bottom of the flight Harriet switched on the lights in the basement and stood aside for him to see. He was impressed. The basement had been transformed into a combination jail and torture chamber. Or so it would be described by anyone who didn’t know of the close relation between pain and sexual pleasure.
Harriet said, ‘These are the other quarters I mentioned. The regular guests spend their time down here. It’s comfortable enough with the central heating. It has to be since all my guests go nude. If nothing else, nudity deters escapes. Nakedness, on the other hand, tends to make one feel helpless, defensive, submissive – that sort of thing. I like everyone to be both naked and nude. I want my guests to do what I tell them to do. Their being naked while I’m not helps to define the pecking order. The ones with clothes give the orders; the naked ones take them. And there are other advantages to the system. The, er, interesting bits are readily accessible, and there is a certain aesthetic satisfaction – though not with all the people who come here.’ She glanced at Tom and continued, ‘You’re all right in that department. Actually you have a quite acceptable bod. Though I’ve seen better, so you needn’t feel too much satisfaction.’