The Accidental Call Girl (31 page)

John’s eyes dropped immediately, and he shifted position, his hands clasped behind his back. She imagined him back in his public school days for a moment, up before the beak. How adorable he must have looked back then, a golden young Adonis.

‘That’s better.’ She advanced upon him, but not too closely. Even in her heels, he was taller than her, and distance granted a better perspective. Breathing evenly, she cast around for a key, something to hang the scene on, and almost instantly it came to her.

‘You were stringing me along, weren’t you? You knew I wasn’t an escort, but you still let me believe that you bought my story.’

He nodded in answer, and she realised he was waiting for permission to speak. It was amazing how completely he’d slipped into his role. She knew he was acting, and that it was all a façade, but wasn’t that what their games were all about? She felt a momentary pang, wishing for something real amongst the theatrics, then stiffened her spine again.

‘You may speak . . . but only when you’re kneeling.’

His head shot up; there was shock in his eyes. She quelled him with a small frown, and he sank onto his knees, all grace and beauty.

‘Yes, mistress. I knew.’

A strange intoxication bubbled in her veins like the Champagne they’d drunk.

Mistress
.

Suddenly she could be her, that dominant woman.

‘For how long?’

‘For quite a while, mistress. I suspected you were inexperienced. I sensed you were acting.’

There was no trace of humour in his voice; the words were quiet and neutral. Passive.

‘Were you laughing at me, all the time?’

‘No . . . no, not at all, mistress. I was in awe of you. Filled with wonder.’

He lifted his head a moment, and his eyes were bright. She believed him. And when he shuffled just a little on his knees, his jacket slid sideways a little and she saw his erection, enormous and rampant. She glared at that then, too, even though it made lust surge in her belly; and at the same time she wanted to laugh. Good God, he was an amazing actor too. Somehow he even managed to manufacture a blush, seeing her look at his cock.

‘I didn’t give you permission to admire me, or to get hard.’ She moved in close now that he was kneeling, and stood right up against him. He barely had to sway to kiss her crotch.

‘I’m sorry, mistress,’ he whispered and, unable to resist, she let her fingers settle on his blond hair, loving its softness and silkiness. Sliding her hand down the side of his masked face, she cupped his jaw, and he turned in towards her touch, like a puppy, nuzzling for affection.

‘I just don’t know what I’m going to do with you.’

It was the literal truth, but she managed to inject a note of the weary schoolmistress into her voice. It seemed to work, because he bowed his head a little lower.

‘Any suggestions?’ She took a lock of his hair in her fingers, not pulling, but creating a bit of tension.

‘You could beat me, mistress. I saw a suitable implement on the desk.’

‘Do you want me to beat you?’ She increased the tension, just a smidgen.

‘I . . . I don’t know. Only if it’s your will, mistress.’

A sweet high thrill rushed through Lizzie’s body, whirling through her sex, her heart and her brain. That hesitation, it was like a thousand words to her. She
had
actually rattled him, she was sure of it.

‘Perhaps it is.’ She swirled the lock of hair around her fingers, then released it. ‘But first you must honour me.’ Taking a step back, she plucked at the hem of her shimmering gilded dress and inched it up, sliding it over her thighs and her stocking tops, until the silky triangle of her coffee-coloured thong of lace and satin was revealed. ‘Kiss it,’ she commanded, ‘but just a kiss. No funny stuff.’

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to her pubis, his mouth against the delicate undergarment. She felt him breath in deeply, inhaling her fragrance, the scent of her perfume and the odour of her pussy.

‘This slave begs to speak,’ he whispered against her.

‘You may, but it will cost you. And remember, my hand is not skilled with the implement. I could hurt you quite badly.’ She wouldn’t, of course, because she’d err on the side of safety, but the threat seemed effective because he gasped.

‘This slave begs to pleasure his mistress with his lips and tongue.’

Lizzie almost faltered, her senses filled with the knowledge of what John Smith could do to her with his lips and tongue. He could make her into mindless, moaning putty in the space of moments. She’d have to be careful, but the temptation was just too great.

‘Proceed.’ She adjusted her stance a little, setting her thighs further apart.

Bowing his head first, as if he were a combatant in some obscure martial art, John set to his task, hooking his thumbs in the strips of lace-covered elastic that stretched around her hips. He peeled the flimsy garment down with slow reverence, working it over the tops of her hold-up stockings, then down to her knees. Looking up to her for permission to go on, his eyes were limpid pools of midnight blue, the pupils huge.

She nodded, and he skinned the thong right down to her ankles, then held still as she leaned her weight on him, grasping his shoulders as she stepped out of the garment, first one foot, then the other.

The desk was just at her back, and Lizzie settled against it, making John shuffle forward on his knees. She parted her thighs a little, then buried her hands in his hair, urging him forward. In a weird, hysterical moment, she remembered being in a school play, years ago, and uttering the words, ‘Attend me, slave’, when she’d been cast as an exotic princess. It was a good job John was otherwise occupied, or her veneer of power would have been shattered by him seeing her fighting not to giggle.

All thoughts of past amateur dramatics fled away when he set himself to his task. His deft, gentle thumbs parted her sex lips and, his breath hot on her pussy, he began to lick her slowly and methodically. He gave the best head she’d ever had, she already knew that. But he seemed to be trying to outdo all previous performances.

He flicked, he teased, he fluttered his tongue, and he sucked. He panted against her sex, tantalising her with the flow of air, then returning to more assertive tactics. Pleasure gathered like a shimmering plasma in her loins, and without the desk against her buttocks and her grip on John’s hair, she might have tumbled to the carpet, felled by its intensity.

And yet, in the gathering euphoria, a still voice suddenly spoke.

You devil, you wicked devil . . . you’re supposed to be the submissive here, and you’re still trying to get the better of me!

She did laugh then and, despite the barrelling urge to orgasm, and orgasm hard, she gripped locks of his hair hard and tugged him off her. There was a delicious triumph in his yelp of pain and the blurred look in his eyes.

‘Not yet, you sly devil,’ she said, still holding his hair, her pussy only inches from his lips, so shiny with her moisture. ‘I know what you were doing . . . trying to make me lose it. Do you think I’m so easy to get the better of?’ He shook his head minutely, constrained by her hold on him. ‘I’ll come when I’m ready, Mr Smith, do you hear me? And not before. Now get up off your knees and stop grovelling around down there.’ She released him and, as he sprang to obey, her dress slithered down around her thighs, denying him sight of her.

John stood a few feet away, head bowed. Lizzie had a feeling he was laughing inside, just as she still was, but his deportment as a submissive was perfect.

But what to do now? She had to hold her nerve. Casting around, she saw the ruler again. Well, now was as good a time as any to give it a try. She just hoped she didn’t really, really hurt him because she didn’t have much of a clue how to wield it with precision.

‘Right. Across the desk,’ she instructed him, snatching up the whippy strip of wood.

John glanced up, eyes wide behind his mask. She wondered if he’d sensed her doubts, in the way he was so prone to, reading her. Eyeing him steadily, she schooled her own expression as best she could, glad to be masked herself, so any lack of authority wouldn’t be as apparent. John looked down again, moving to comply with her instructions.

‘Wait. Take your jacket off first.’

He slipped off the fabulous item of tailoring, and set it aside. As was his preference, his suit was a three piece, and as he leant over the front of the leather-topped desk, the trim fit of his waistcoat only seemed to emphasise the firm, muscular rounds of his buttocks beneath his perfectly cut trousers.

Bare or clothed? What to do? Acknowledging her own inexperience, Lizzie decided it was probably better to let him keep the protection of a couple of layers of clothing. This was more a symbolic act than anything else. She didn’t want to hurt him too much, or land more than a handful of blows. Her own desire was too ravenous for her to spend long on rituals. She wanted that huge erection of his inside her before too long.

John settled into his position, somehow managing to look graceful and strong even when at a disadvantage. He laid his bent arms forward out of the way, and rested his cheek against the surface of the desk, his face towards her. There was no apprehension in his expression. He was all calm. His eyes were closed, his long, thick eyelashes lying like shadows.

She didn’t have to say anything, because mistresses didn’t, but still she spoke. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes, mistress.’ His voice was soft and though without inflection, it was just as thrilling as if he’d been lying in bed with her, about to possess her and fuck her.

I’m the one who’s all nerves. I’m the one who’s scared.

Lizzie smiled to herself at the irony, but just admitting it gave her confidence. She stepped forward, and laid the ruler flat against the crown of John’s buttocks, letting it rest there a moment. With no idea quite how hard to hit, she landed a preliminary stroke, aiming for the point where the ruler had rested. He uttered not a sound, but she saw the muscles of his upper arms tense beneath the fine cotton of his shirt.

So far, so good.

It was surprisingly difficult
not
to hit hard. Lizzie let fly again, and again, with a little more force this time, focusing on the same location. It was safe. Prominent. Easier to concentrate on the centre of his gorgeous, tight bottom. She didn’t want the ruler to wander about and land a cruel stroke on his most tender zone.

She’d meant to give him a few spanks, just four or five, but the process was strangely hypnotic. There was a dark thrill in watching his response. She saw him grit his teeth. Heard him gasp out loud. A wicked devil danced inside her, fed on power.

After the tenth blow, the power grew too much to contain. Its quality changed, transmuting and gathering in her sex, demanding service. She almost growled, imagining herself clutching the sore buttocks of her lover as he plunged into her, fulfilling his mistress’s will.

‘Oh fuck this! I want you! Move yourself,’ she cried, tossing away the ruler and pushing at John’s haunch and making him gasp again. As he stood up, pushing himself away from the desk, Lizzie launched herself forward, perched herself on its surface, shuffling into position and hauling up her skirt. ‘Now make yourself useful, slave. Fuck me! Fuck me hard!’

She was laughing as she stretched her thighs open, inviting him.

‘As you wish, mistress.’ He was smiling, though. His eyes were bright and wild, and there was a dash of pink across his cheekbones. Were his other cheeks just as rosy? Lizzie sincerely hoped so.

‘Oh, bollocks to that!’ She pulled at his shirt sleeve. ‘You know you’ve really been in charge all the time, you sneaky bastard.’ She grinned at him, pleased to see him slip his hand into his waistcoat pocket and fish out a condom.

‘Not completely,’ said John, tossing the contraceptive on her bare belly as he worked on his belt and zip, and then his underwear. ‘Does this look like I was in control . . .?’ He turned away from her a moment, holding up his shirt-tails and pushing down his trousers and underwear to reveal the muscular rounds of his bottom, blotched with angry red.

‘Oh, you public school boys, you know you love that sort of thing!’ It was an impressive sight, though, bizarrely stirring her hunger for him.

‘Apparently, I do.’ He turned to face her, his hugely erect cock all the signal either of them needed. He pointed it right at her, jiggling it rudely before grabbing the condom and rolling it on in a hurry. ‘At least he does.’ He proffered his enrobed length to her, moving in close between her spread thighs.

‘Who’s in charge now?’ gasped Lizzie, pulling him closer, wiggling so he could find her entrance. As he pushed in, she let out a low, happy cry, working against him, grabbing at his punished bottom to drag him in deep, loving his gasp at the pain revisited.

‘Who the fuck cares?’ he replied, a laugh in his voice as he shoved hard, plunging in deep. ‘I think this one’s a draw. We’re both in charge. Everyone’s a winner.’

As he reached between their bodies, to find her clit, Lizzie knew she was. It took but a couple of haphazard rubs and she was coming, shouting his name.

‘Yes!’ John shouted, as if it were his own pleasure, and half out of her head in the middle of an orgasm, Lizzie’s ecstatic cries turned to laughter, just as ecstatic. The devil, the bastard, he’d got his way, exactly as he’d expected and just as she’d known he would.

Riding the delicious waves, she clutched him harder, her fingertips gouging the site of his punishment, her back arched as if compelling every inch of herself to every inch of him. She had no idea if it was the pain, or the intensity of their bodies slamming together, but as she soared again, he rewarded her with a harsh uncouth shout, and the so familiar hammer of his hips as he hit his climax inside her. The mighty old desk, solid oak or some such wood, rocked and slid slightly as they strained and bounced and pounded.

As it creaked in protest, they flew again, kissing and groaning mutual nonsense as they came.

‘God, I could do with a drink. How about you?’ said John cheerfully, straightening his clothing a little while later, and then dropping the used condom into the waste bin of whoever this great mansion belong to. Lizzie was on her hands and knees on the floor. She’d managed to retrieve her thong and wriggle into it, but she couldn’t find the ruler. They must have kicked it out of reach when they were thrashing about in passion.