Eighty Days Blue (32 page)

‘I think most of the action will be taking place in the dungeon, and the playroom, once everyone has arrived and warmed up.' She pointed to two archways in the opposite wall, both covered by thick red velvet curtains. ‘I believe they open at midnight.'

‘A dungeon and a playroom?'

‘Yes. Victor has catered for all sorts tonight. There's a room for BDSM play with all the usual equipment, and another room for the swingers in our midst.'

‘Or the libertines, for those of us who don't like to be called swingers,' interrupted Ed. He had chocolate stuck to the bottom of his thin moustache.

‘Yes, dear,' replied Clarissa, rolling her eyes. ‘So you're new to the scene, then?'

‘I suppose you could say that.'

Dominik had never been a fan of organised swinging or BDSM parties, preferring to act out his fantasies in the privacy of either his own mind or his own home. The episodes in London when he had joined other men in evenings of excess had, in retrospect, been somewhat lacking in eroticism, just episodes of lust unbound. He'd never attended a fetish club, and had seldom watched any public fetish play besides the vision of Victor topping Miranda. At least, he had hoped that Victor was topping her, and not assaulting her. From what he knew of Victor, the reality might have been either way.

‘You're lucky that you have all this available. When we started out, we thought we were the only two kinky people in the world.'

‘You're not new to this, then? How did you discover it?'

Dominik's curiosity was piqued. Perhaps it was possible to sustain a relationship in these sorts of circumstances.

‘No, old hands, both of us. We met in high school. Been married for thirty years. Started getting dull after a while, so we tried experimenting to spice things up and one thing led to another and here we are. It was harder when the kids were still living at home. Little did they know that their parents were sneaking off to the hottest underground clubs in the New York area when we booked babysitters and told them we were off to the movies. Now we have the house to ourselves and can do whatever we like.'

‘And your children . . .' Dominik began, then swallowed his sentence back, rooting around in his mind for a polite way steer the conversation away from this uncomfortably intimate topic.

‘Did they turn out OK, you mean? Yes, they're both
lovely
, though dull as dishwater. One of them ended up working as a divorce lawyer, of all things, and moved to Wisconsin. He's back in New York now, playing trombone with an orchestra. Our daughter married the local minister's son. God knows how that happened. They disapprove of us dreadfully, though we're careful to keep the cat in the bag, so to speak, in case our daughter decides we're a bad influence on the grandchildren. People are so silly, you know.'

‘Yes, I suppose they are.'

‘Oh, here he comes, the lord of the manor. Looks a bit ridiculous, don't you think? Latex should really only be worn by the young and slender.'

Edward scowled at her. ‘Rubbish. The young and slender don't have a monopoly on glamour. We're proof of that, surely?' he added with a satisfied smile.

‘Yes, quite.'

Victor was wearing a rubber ringmaster's outfit in red, black and gold. His face had been painted like a clown's, with smeared red lipstick around his mouth in a parody of a smile. He carried a whip in one hand and had a top hat balanced on his head at a jaunty angle, which he removed when he arrived in front of them and took a low bow.

‘I'm so glad you could make it,' he said to Dominik with a snakelike smile of satisfaction.

‘Thank you for the invitation.'

‘I'm sure you will be delighted with the show I have arranged.'

‘You won't even give us a clue what's in store?'

‘And ruin the surprise? Never. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must greet the other guests. It's not easy playing host, but someone's got to do it.'

Clarissa waited until he was out of earshot before resuming their conversation. ‘He's just absurd. Quite mad. I'm going to find out what it is he's cooking up.'

‘Are you sure that's wise?' Ed asked.

‘Well, someone has to check on him. There's a difference between kinky and psychopathic, you know. We can't have the newbies thinking we're all insane if he's going to unleash some mad trick on an unwitting audience.'

She turned on her heel swiftly and disappeared through the entrance to the dungeon.

Summer had received the call from Victor four days earlier, just enough time for her to get a Brazilian-style bikini wax and have the resulting redness fade.

His timing was probably not a coincidence, she thought, as the beautician smeared the hot, thick liquid, waited a few seconds for it to dry and then tore off a strip, quickly placing her hand down on Summer's flesh to ease the sting.

She'd heard it said that there were different types of pain. Just because a person enjoys the thwack of a flogger on their bare bottom doesn't mean that they will be lining up to visit the dentist or take delight in the stubbing of a toe.

Summer was certainly not a masochist, sure, but nevertheless she found a visit to the bikini waxer one of life's little pleasures. Perhaps it was the act of peeling her knickers down for a stranger, or the light touch of the girl's soft fingers separating her lips so that she could ensure the wax went onto the right bits and didn't tear off anything important, or perhaps it was the fact that she was really very attractive, and smelled like shampoo.

Whatever the reason, Summer found the process arousing, and that night she had lain awake while Dominik slept
and
pleasured herself to orgasm. For reasons that she couldn't explain, even to herself, the thought of him lying there unaware while she masturbated gave her a thrill. It was the idea that she was doing something wrong, that she might be caught out that had turned her thoughts to sex. That and the feeling of her skin, which was now extra smooth to touch following the ministrations of the beautician.

Dominik hadn't noticed her hairlessness yet, but he would of course. She would tell him that she had fancied a change. Since that occasion at Charlotte's party when he had shaved her smooth with the razor in front of all of the party guests, he had given no indication that he preferred her to groom herself in one way or another.

He seemed to enjoy observing the way that she elected to play out her moods in her dress and hair, but he didn't suggest that she change herself one way or another to please him. Summer liked that about him. It was one freedom that she would have found difficult to relinquish.

She had told Dominik that she was meeting Cherry tonight to make things up with her, so he shouldn't be surprised if she was home late, or not home at all.

Dominik had muttered in response that he had an engagement of his own, though he hadn't elaborated. He seemed distracted and withdrawn. Maybe spending their first Saturday night together separately was a bad idea, but there was nothing to be done about it.

Summer couldn't confide Victor's plans to Dominik: it had been part of the deal that she never reveal any of it in exchange for Victor's silence. Besides, she was terrified that Dominik would despise her if he discovered the things that Summer had done. He knew her nature, to an extent, but
she
didn't think he was aware how far she had gone, what lines she had crossed without him.

Fortunately, he'd left the loft earlier that afternoon to work at the library, giving her time to finish her preparations and organise a car to the address Victor provided.

Simón called just as she was leaving.

‘How is our star? Recovered from the long journey home yet? Ready for an impromptu rehearsal tonight?'

‘Actually, I'm still not well. Can I have another day or two?'

‘Is there something that you're not telling me? Has that Englishman of yours upset you? It's not like you to turn down a rehearsal. I'm worried.'

‘No, I'm just tired. Truly.'

He didn't sound convinced.

Victor was waiting for her when the car pulled into the underground garage of the mansion that he had procured for the event.

A hideous-looking place, she thought, as the metal gates at the entrance clanged open. It had nothing of the art deco artistry of the place in New Orleans that Dominik had taken them to. This was like something that a footballer would dream up, the sort of home that was just a vehicle to display wealth ostentatiously with no thought to how it fit into its surroundings. Probably brimming with velvet and faux-gold trimmings she thought, though she wouldn't have the opportunity to check, as Victor whisked her straight indoors through a long, dark passageway and into a room fitted with dungeon equipment.

She found the paraphernalia comforting now, rather than intriguing or frightening. The presence of the padded St Andrew's Cross, a couple of spanking benches, a cage, a
metal
frame that looked a bit like a horse and the array of crops, whips and paddles on display made an unfamiliar place familiar.

In the centre of the room was a red velvet curtain, hanging on a round rail to form a tent, a bit like a miniature big top in a circus.

Victor swept the curtain aside to reveal a ceremonial dais decorated with fabric and flowers, a little like a sacrificial altar. Above the stage was a spotlight.

‘I've gone to a lot of trouble for you, my dear, as you can see. I hope you approve.'

‘I'm no stranger to the spotlight. I'm sure I'll manage.'

‘It would be my guess that you're rather looking forward to it,' he said smugly.

Summer did not reply, but his words cut her like a knife.

Was she looking forward to it?

She supposed she was. In her heart she knew that Victor was vile. But there was a part of her that responded to his commands, a darkness at her core that Victor seemed to recognise and be able to draw out and skilfully manipulate. She knew he was bad news and not a safe person to explore her sexual quirks with, but like a moth to a flame, Summer felt her resistance to Victor crumble under the strength of her desire.

She wouldn't give Victor the satisfaction of knowing that were true, though.

‘Come here,' he said.

She stood in front of him, pleased that she had worn her highest heels and was a few inches taller than him.

‘Strip.'

She had anticipated this too and had dressed in a strapless, long, black stretch-cotton dress, which she was able to
easily
slip in and out of in one move. Summer found few things more humiliating than struggling to get out of her clothes in front of an audience, particularly when that audience was Victor.

Then he produced a length of rope.

Dammit, had Victor been spying on her? He always seemed to know exactly what her trigger points were.

The rope was thick, well used and softened from frequent washes. She would likely be able to sustain the constriction for a long period of time without excessive pain, discomfort or nerve damage.

‘Kneel down.'

He motioned to the altar, which she noticed was quite comfortably padded, lined with a mattress rather than the hard stone her imagination had somehow conjured up in response to the situation. It was short, and there were steps at either end, roughly the right height for a man or woman to stand on and have easy access to the person who lay on top. Her.

Summer shuddered as she felt the length of rope gently running across her skin.

Victor chuckled in response to her involuntary sign of pleasure and she resisted the urge to kick him. That wouldn't help anything.

He bound her gently, so delicately that she began to relax despite her best intentions to the contrary.

Fuck it, she thought. After this, I will never see him again. What difference does it make?

The bindings were firm but not particularly tight, and she observed that Victor had adhered to all the rules of safer bondage, not putting pressure on any of her nerve centres and leaving a finger space between her flesh and the rope for
circulation
. He had evidently done this before, and was so far behaving true to his word that she would not sustain any permanent marks or come to any harm.

Then she tried to move her head. She wriggled, testing the sensation again, working out what he had done to her.

‘Finally,' he said softly, in a voice that brimmed with glee, ‘I've managed to get you to do something other than just lie there.'

He had tied her lower body in a harness and had fixed a knot in the rope that ran between her legs, which he had then attached to her hair, so that each time she pulled her head forward, the rope pulled tight and rubbed against her clitoris. With a little well-timed wriggling, she would be able to bring herself to climax without the aid of a helping hand, either hers or anyone else's.

‘Cat got your tongue?'

Summer tried to stay as still as possible, inwardly cursing her body for betraying her as she felt the rope between her legs begin to dampen, wet with her own juices.

Victor gave it a few hard tugs. ‘Like that, do you?' he said, as Summer tried and failed to stifle a moan. ‘Good. Now, as I promised, I'm going to slip a mask over that pretty face of yours, just to make sure that none of our guests recognises you. Keep the famous violin player anonymous, eh? You won't be able to see, I'm afraid, but knowing you as I do, I'm sure that will add to your enjoyment.'

She bowed her head to allow Victor to slip the covering over her, obscuring the top half of her face. She noted immediately that her mouth had been left unencumbered. Of course, Victor would not miss an opportunity to have one of her orifices available for use.

Satisfied with her face covering, Victor ran his hands
over
her body, in the manner that one might pet a cat. He reached for her breasts, tweaking each nipple playfully. She ignored him.