Chapter 1

 

"Right, this is Goodge Street, where's the damned Hotel?"

People bustle chaos dirt. Is this really it, London, the great city of tourists and culture? And where the hell are we going, Derek?

"Derek, where are we going?"

"Come on, I'll explain when we get there."

Risking life and limb and sanity diving across the road in front of black taxis coloured cars roaring motor cycles and dangerous pedal cyclists. Exhaust fumes, dust, dirt, a strange mixture for my nose to decipher. Derek looks frantic, he's panicking, I've never known him panic before. It's catching, my heart's beating faster, my breathing rate increasing - what am I worried about?

Him. Derek. The man I love. Something - or someone - has him so wound up and worried he can't think straight.

"Where IS it?"

"What?"

"The bloody hotel!"

"Derek, what hotel?" Why am I shouting? Why is his fear infecting me in this way? "Look, there's a doorman, ask him."

"Right."

For a blessed moment of relief from the burning sun hide inside a telephone kiosk which holds a scent of dusty summer.

But the doorman is shaking his head, Derek is looking at his watch, Derek is rushing back towards me.

"Stay here."

Across the road again, looking up at the buildings, backwards and forwards, looking at his watch. 1.08. So we are obviously late for something, for someone and whoever and whatever it is, it's very important.

Pavement feels hot through the sole of my sandals, someone knocks my elbow with a briefcase, someone else collides with me. Sweat drips slowly into my eyes, blink blink and it will go. Hot tired worried thirsty. Derek holds my arm. Is he afraid I might get lost?

"Come on, someone must know." We are in front of the Greek Bank, small dark-haired woman entering revolving doors Derek risking getting crushed to rush in after her, pointing hands, nodding heads. At last.

"Come on."

Trees in tubs an awning scent of flowers uniformed doorman. We have arrived.

Coolness and blessed relief from the sun. Blinking in unaccustomed shade. Why are we here? Why is Derek clutching my elbow so tightly? Does he think I will run away?

Soft carpet underfoot, subdued murmur as people register, clink of keys, hum of elevator creak of door. Derek's panic is almost out of place in the calm that is this hotel foyer.

"So you are here." A small man, grey, all over grey. Grey hair grey clipped moustache grey suit. Do you think grey thoughts, little man? And where did you come from? I didn't see you among the shadows and corners of this shady cool elegant place.

"Had a spot of trouble, Mr. Keiller, the directions said Goodge Street, and we aren't anywhere near Goodge Street."

"No. My apologies. I keep saying that, but I meant Warren Street, of course. Still, no harm done, you are here. And this is the young lady?"

Of course I'm the young lady. Who else would be stood here somewhat resembling a lemon, wondering who the hell you are, why Derek is talking to you in that obsequious way and why you are so important my man risked life and limb and my sanity in getting to the Hotel on time to meet you.

"Come with me, my dear."

"Derek!"

"Go with Mr. Keiller, love, he'll explain everything. Listen, I'll come when you call me. Be good."

"DEREK!"

Chapter 2

 

Ignore pain and sick fear.

Cannot ignore pain and sick fear.

Try.

So many impressions, so many conflicting emotions.

Rationalise.

1. This is a hotel lounge. It has pink walls with red velvet couches and low lights and guests. It is also dirty. Why doesn't the Manager, he who paces so steadily and dignified see the crumbs on the cushion next to me, and the fingerprints on the glass topped table?

Because he is too busy seeing the red mark which is currently adorning my cheek and guessing the turmoil in which I sit here waiting for Mr. Keiller to call me.

2. My lover boyfriend my protector and guardian has left me in a strange hotel in a strange city in the care and protection of a little grey man who thought nothing of slapping my face hard in front of everyone in Reception just because I called Derek and tried to go after him.

3. I'm scared

"Come." I didn't hear the door open, which is strange; every time up to now the door has creaked open and I have jumped and looked round. But not this time.

His fingers are tight wound in my hair, painful, pulling me to my feet. I cannot resist there is no way to resist -

"You will come when I call you. Instantly."

I add the pain of pulled hair to the red burning sensation in my cheek. Add them up and feel a greater fear than before. This man is out to hurt me, and I don't understand why.

We walk soundlessly to the lift which swiftly and silently conveys us to an upper floor. A swift lift, and silent passengers. I have no choice but to follow; I am lost. Derek has left me; I could not begin to find my way out of the city and back to our home. Suddenly all-consuming homesickness blinds me. Sob is choked back; I know instinctively somehow Me. Grey Keiller here, walking so precisely and primly in front of me, Would Not Approve.

Flourish of a key, a door is unlocked, we are inside. Flowers, comfortable furniture, polished table, glimpse of a bathroom, something I desperately need more now that I have seen it. Walk to the window, look down on passing people, is Derek out there waiting, looking up, or has he gone, fled back on tube and bus to our flat? Unwanted tears prick the backs of my eyes.

"Come here." Now wanting to risk hair pulling or face slapping again I walk back to Mr. Grey and stand in front of him. My feet hurt, invite me to sit at least!

"Now, you and I have some things to get straight from the very start. Stand still! Listen! I will only say this once. Your boyfriend - yes, Derek Coates - owes me money. A considerable amount of money. He has failed to repay the money by the agreed date."

Click, click, relays jump into position, things become clear, the car, the clothes, the big talk, the worry, the questions, the requests for loans, talk of card games, talk of winning; never of losing.

"Listen! Because Derek Coates has failed to meet the terms of the agreement the forfeit clause has been invoked. You. You are mine, to do with as I wish, for as long as I wish."

"I'm getting out of here!" but the door is a long way away when someone has your arm so tight the circulation is cut off.

"You're not listening to me. You are the forfeit clause. Your boyfriend at least fulfilled that side of the bargain; he delivered you to me, well more or less on time, as we agreed. And whether you like it or not, here you stay until I say you can call him!"

"Let go my arm, you're hurting me!"

"Not until I'm sure you won't try to leave."

"I won't try to leave. I don't even know where I am."

"Good." Thank goodness for that, my fingers were going dead. This man is stronger than he looks. I shall have to be careful, time my attempts better than that.

If I can ever leave.

"I feel sick."

"You won't be sick. I said so."

"Not all bodily functions can be controlled."

"All body functions can be controlled. Right now I'm sure you wish to urinate."

Does he know everything?

"Yes."

"You will go when I say you can. Not before."

"Then I'll do it where I stand."

"Do that, and you'll be thrashed so hard you'll not be able to move."

Eyes lock in a power struggle. His eyes are so cold, why did I think they were grey? Not grey, but ice, dry ice and there is an undertone to the voice which matches the ice. He laughs as I look away; I cannot win with this man. This isn't Derek. Oh dear lord this isn't Derek.

"Go. Empty your bladder. Come back immediately afterwards."

Relief of leaving his presence coolness of bathroom relief of pouring away what I was fighting so hard to control sensation of cool water on my hands soft towel clean feeling of washed skin.

"Come here." Oh please let me sit, my feet ache so much. "Do you know what this is?"

"A school cane."

"Do you deserve punishment?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Are you not a submissive?"

"What's a submissive?"

"Do you know what I mean by cp? s/m? b/d?"

"Mr. Keiller, if you don't speak English I can't give you sensible answers to questions."

My boldness surprises me; is it my form of defence? I'm scared stiff of this little grey man, but my words are bold.

"Derek lied. All the more unfortunate for you. There are hard times ahead. Strip."

I feel silly. I feel nervous and silly and fluttery and afraid and I'm fumbling over buttons and zips, tugging at tights and tearing them. Carpet prickly underfoot. I'm shorter without my heels; for the first time Mr. Grey and I are on the same level.

"Bend over here, please, and don't move."

"No."

How fast he moves, how rapidly he drags my hands back, silk like bonds of steel I cannot move my hands where am I going?

Face pressed into the cushion sensation of dust and worn upholstery lingering scents of many guests my bottom is in the air raised unwillingly for -

Pain.

So intense so deep screaming for mercy for ease for relief.

Dripping eye makeup into the deep gold cushions and not caring. Past sobbing into fainting.

Hands untied but I can't move.

"Stand up."

Hands on arms I am standing up.

Hurting all over. He is blurred through tears he is smug and smiling and looks invigorated. Through tears he looks all those things. Moving is pain.

"Hands by your side."

Walking round eyeing all of me hands on my -

"No!"

"You -" a prodding finger dents my breast prods my quim. "You will never say no to me. No matter what I do or say. That caning was to show you what you can expect, not as a punishment for what you have done. But let us go back. When I said you could go to the bathroom, did I or did I not tell you to come straight back?"

Afraid to speak.

"I did NOT give you permission to wash your hands. Now do you begin to understand?"

Another nod.

"Right. In future you will do PRECISELY what I tell you, and no more. Understand this - you have no name until I give you one. You have no possessions unless I give them to you. Your body is not yours, but mine. If I wish to thrash you daily, I will. You will not fight but accept without screaming for mercy. You will scream, I shall not feel I have done the job properly unless you do, but you won't plead or say no. Do you understand? I cannot control your thoughts, no doubt they are full of hatred for me at the moment! You hate me all right, but in time, in time you will hate your boyfriend more, for he knew what he was handing to me when he signed the contract. He knew, for I explained it, in great detail. The fact that he lied about your involvement in the scene is your loss and my bonus. Long have I wanted to initiate someone into the joys of submission!"

I want to cry and blow my nose which is unladylike running I cannot move my hands without permission. I want to cry and think to take in this terrible situation. I want to rub the pain away that indescribable pain you have just given me. I want someone's arms around me.

I do not want to stand here hurting and hear these things.

"Here. Dry your face."

Tissues, dry sharp scratchy lifesaving.

"You will call me Master. You will do precisely what I tell you, when I tell you. Now, open your legs."

Fingers cold hard fingers. More pain, dry and frigid with fear.

"A submissive would have been flowing after that caning. You -" contemptuous flick of fingers. "You are dry. Turn around. Bend over."

Not again. Please God not again. No. Rustle of clothes touch of flesh the Master ramming so deep so deep -

Face hurts. Bottom hurts. Head hurts.

What happened? Where am I?

"Get up."

I remember. The Master sits in an armchair looking -

I cannot decide.

"You fainted. You're not used to anything, are you? Damn Derek Coates and his lies! But you'll learn. You'll come to understand the pleasure of serving a Master, the joy of pain, the thrill of true submission."