Fire After Dark (25 page)

‘So,’ he says. ‘We need to discuss our ground rules.’

‘Ground rules?’

He nods. ‘You can’t embark on a path like ours without them.’

I remember what Vanessa said:
Safety and consent is key to everything that happens in this house, Beth. Once you understand that, you’ll feel more secure about the road you’re travelling on
.

‘All right,’ I say slowly. ‘But I don’t know if we need them. I trust you.’

A smile twitches Dominic’s lips. ‘Words a man like me thrills to hear. However, ground rules are necessary. Only the most extreme of relationships function without them, and I’m not drawn to those. I may be dominant but I’m not an out-and-out sadist.’

‘I’m glad to hear you say there’s a difference,’ I say. I’m still grasping all these terms, but of course I’ve heard of sadism. A student at college had a party trick of reading out the writings of the Marquis de Sade at parties and it usually only took a few minutes before I was so sick to my stomach that I had to leave.

Dominic says, ‘I inflict pain but I have no desire for the gruesome torture of true sadism. Almost no one does.’

I don’t want to think about that, so I say a little impatiently, ‘Well, let’s agree the ground rules then, shall we?’

‘Very well.’ He leans towards me. ‘The first thing you have to understand is that the Dominic you meet in our lovemaking, or whatever you want to call it, will be the controlling master that you’ve agreed to obey. Outside that room, we function in reality where normal rules of behaviour are obeyed. Inside, things will be different. To signal that this scenario has begun, I’d like to you to wear a collar.’

‘Oh.’ I’m surprised. ‘Like bondage gear?’

He nods. ‘A collar is a very resonant symbol of submission.’

I think about it. He’s right. A collar signals possession. Animals wear collars. Slaves wear collars. It is a sign of being tamed.
Is that what I want for myself? To be tamed?

‘I’ve never considered myself needing taming,’ I say aloud, almost without thinking.

Dominic looks instantly concerned. ‘You’re missing the point,’ he says, worry in his voice. ‘It isn’t about you in your real self. It’s about your fantasy self. I don’t want to break you, or tame you in the real world. But in our special world, you’ll agree to be submissive to me. Do you understand?’

I nod slowly. It makes sense. I can see suddenly that the things I do with Dominic in our sex life won’t necessarily reflect my real self. That makes me feel relieved, though I don’t quite know why.

‘So you agree to the collar?’ he presses.

‘Yes.’

‘Good. I have a beautiful one waiting for you at the flat.’

I remember the gorgeous flat he’s made for me and something melts inside. ‘I wish we were there right now,’ I say softly.

The wind ruffles his hair. He presses his fingertips together and looks thoughtful. ‘So do I,’ he murmurs. ‘But not before we’ve worked out these boundaries . . .’

At that moment, the door to the terrace opens and a waiter comes out with what looks like a large metal cake stand except that the tiers are full of seafood.

He places it on our table and says, ‘Your
fruits de mer
, sir.’

Another waiter appears immediately, with finger bowls, tiny forks and what look like nutcrackers, as well a glass dish of mayonnaise, and another of purple liquid with chopped onion in it, lemon halves wrapped in muslin and a bottle of Tabasco.

When everything has been placed before us, one waiter tops up our glasses, and they both leave.

‘Oysters,’ Dominic says, raising one eyebrow at me. ‘Lots of selenium and zinc. Very healthy.’

But it isn’t just oysters. Each tier has a bed of ice on which lie a variety of seafood: langoustine, lobster claws, periwinkles and prawns.

Dominic sips his wine. ‘This Riesling is a perfect match for this course,’ he says, satisfied. ‘Now. I think we should begin.’

I follow his lead, using the little forks to spear out the winkles, and the crackers to snap the lobster claws, so that the sweet white meat can be pulled out with the fork and dipped in the thick mayonnaise. The shallot vinegar, sprinkled over the oysters, brings out their briny, metallic flavour as they slip down. I can understand why this is regarded as an erotic meal: the rituals of extraction and the enhancement of salty, tangy flavours, makes this a peculiarly arousing meal. I’ve never eaten oysters before, but I follow Dominic’s example and swallow down the slippery frilled ovals in their acidic bath of vinegar or lemon, or with the spicy heat of Tabasco. They’re strange – almost creamy – but delicious.

‘There’s more we need to discuss,’ Dominic says.

‘Is there?’ The pleasure of the food, the river air and the aura of luxurious indulgence has made me very relaxed – not to mention the effect of the bone-dry Riesling, which, I decide, is easily one of the nicest wines I’ve ever tasted.

‘Yes. First, I want you to understand that this is all about you. People seem to assume that this is all about the pleasure of the dom. That’s completely wrong. You will be the centre of my world when we are in it. You’ll be the focus of all my attention, and your reward will be an intensity of experience, a fulfilment of fantasy and . . .’ a smile twitches at the corner of his lips ‘. . . some very powerful orgasms.’

My stomach flutters at the thought.
Hard to say no to that.
‘But you get your pleasure too, don’t you?’

He nods. ‘It comes from mastering you, enforcing your submission. I want you in my power, doing as I please. I get my own intensity of experience through fantasy. The beauty is where our fantasies meet and enhance one another.’

‘I see.’ I really think I do see. My experience in the boudoir has already shown me how everything can be more heightened with the introduction of suspense.

Dominic dips a langoustine tail in mayonnaise and eats it slowly before continuing. ‘In the chamber, once you’re wearing your collar, you’ll have to call me sir. It’s another signal that you’re prepared to obey me.’

‘And what do you call me?’

His eyes flash a little. ‘Anything I like. That’s the point.’

I feel chastened but nevertheless say, ‘But that doesn’t sound fair.’

‘I probably won’t use your name,’ Dominic concedes, ‘but I’ll call you whatever I see fit at the time. Now, the next thing is something all relationships of this type employ. Whenever we enter the world of fantasy, there is the risk that we’ll live it so strongly we’ll get carried away. So there is something called the safe word. It means “stop, I’ve had enough”.’

‘Can’t I just say “stop, I’ve had enough”?’

‘There will be times when you say “stop” or “no” or “I can’t stand it” but you mean something else entirely. We need a word that breaks into the fantasy at once and brings it to a halt. The usual choice is the word “red” but I want something different for us, so I think we’ll go with “scarlet”. Do you think you can remember that?’

I nod. ‘Of course. “Scarlet” means stop.’ But I don’t expect to use it. I can’t imagine that I’ll ever want Dominic not to do the blissful things he does to me.

‘Now, we could also agree various limits on what you’ll do and what you won’t do, but in this instance, Beth, I want you to trust me, that I’m going to take you slowly along the path and not do anything too extreme.’

‘Like what?’ I frown. ‘You mean, like the things in the dungeon?’

He nods. ‘I have a sense of your past experience and what your nature is like already. I think you’re very open to many of the things I’d like to do for you. A great deal of my pleasure will come from introducing them to you – and if there’s anything you don’t like, the safe word is your safety net. Will you agree to that?’

I think about this for a moment. It all seems very vague, but the equipment in the boudoir was so different from what I saw in the dungeon. It was sexy, feminine, erotic. Without that unpleasant promise of agony that the tools in the dungeon held. ‘I think I will agree to that.’

‘Good.’ Dominic smiles. ‘Then there is one more thing to agree. I want you to give me three nights, for the rest of this week, starting on Thursday night. The agreement will come to an end on Saturday so you’ll have Sunday to recover, and we’ll both have the option to renegotiate our terms.’

I stare at him, surprised again. When did our relationship become a business deal like this? I thought we were moving, rather deliciously, towards being a couple. It sounds suddenly as though all that is over by the weekend with an option to renew.

‘It’s for you,’ Dominic says softly, seeing my expression. ‘It’s all for your protection. Once you agree to submit to someone, you might feel powerless, but the truth is that your power is only on hold. You still have everything you started out with. It’s important to remember that.’

‘All right,’ I whisper. I might supposedly have power, but I don’t really see how I can say no.

‘Good. Then our ground rules are established. Let’s enjoy this delicious meal. Then I’m going to send you home to get some sleep.’

Disappointment rushes through me. ‘We’re not going to spend the night together?’

He shakes his head, laughing gently. ‘Not tonight. I’ll see you on Thursday night. I think a little bit of anticipation will do us both good. Besides, I’m away on business tomorrow and I’ll be leaving before dawn.’

‘Where are you going?’ I say, interested.

‘Just to Rome.’

‘What to do?’

‘A business meeting. Very dull, I promise.’

‘Rome doesn’t sound dull,’ I say longingly.

‘It’s not Rome that’s dull. It’s the meetings.’

‘I still don’t really know what you do . . . ’

‘That’s because I can think of other things I’d rather talk about.’ He picks up his glass, and changes the subject. ‘Tell me about this new artist you’re exhibiting in the gallery. I’m very interested.’

We carry on talking as though we are just a normal couple, enjoying dinner on a terrace in the breeze of a summer evening. Not as though we’ve agreed our strange erotic contract of power exchange. But the knowledge of what awaits sends a dark snake of excitement curling round my belly.

Where will he take me? Can I really let him?

I will know all too soon.

Chapter Seventeen

I know that Dominic has gone to Rome, so the next day I’m surprised to receive a letter, hand-delivered by a courier to the gallery.

I sign for it just as James comes out from the back. ‘Is that for me?’ he asks.

‘No.’ I gaze down at the thick cream envelope with my name typed on the front. ‘It’s for me.’

‘Oh.’ James looks puzzled, then his face clears. ‘It’s from the delectable Dominic, is it?’

‘I suppose it must be.’ I open it. There’s a key and a folded piece of paper which I open and read.

Beth,

I want to you to be at the flat on Thursday evening. Here is the key. You must be freshly showered and neat. Put your hair up so your neck is bare. I wish you to wear the collar you will find beside the bed. On the bed is the underwear I have selected for you. Be ready for me when I arrive at 7. 30. I want you kneeling on the floor by the bed when I come in.

Dominic

I blush and fold the letter up again quickly.

‘A love note?’ James says. He’s on his way out to an appointment, so isn’t really paying attention, for which I’m grateful.

‘Yes . . . that’s right.’ It sounds rather ridiculous, but I suppose this strange, terse little note does have a certain tenderness to it. It certainly holds the promise of something strange and exciting.

‘How sweet,’ James says.

That’s one word for it.

I stare at the letter and realise that I’ve undertaken a serious thing. He has given me warning that I have time to prepare myself, mentally and physically. Dominic knows what he is doing.

Thursday night

I am in the flat well before the appointed time, and I’ve obeyed the instructions to the letter. I’ve scrubbed and scrubbed in the shower, and shaved my legs and armpits, oiled them with lotion until they are completely smooth. My hair is pulled back into a high, tight bun so my face and neck are clear. I feel ritually cleansed, as though I’ve been purified before this new stage in my life.

On Wednesday, I visited a discreet doctors’ surgery in Harley Street, where, in a calm and rather luxurious environment, I was given a full check up and had blood tests taken. The results were through the same day: I have a clean bill of health.

It feels appropriate somehow, as though the tests have purified me inside as well.

On the bed, which has been stripped down to one sheet, I discover a set of black underwear has been laid out for me: it looks deceptively simple, barely there, just scraps of slippery black silk. I pull on the knickers, which are made of silk and mesh, with transparent panels going over my hips, their edges making an open diamond shape over my crotch, which is exposed. When I turn to look in the mirror I see that while my buttocks are covered, the lowest part of my curves are not, and my bottom is also accessible. The cheeks peep through, white and soft against the black. The bra is little more than a set of black silk straps. The cups are shallow, made only to push and frame my breasts and not to cover them. When I’ve put it on, the effect is stunning. Slender jet-black lines run over my skin and hug my breasts, emphasising their curves and offering them up like delectable morsels.

This lingerie is certainly a cut above anything I’ve worn before, and its discreet sophistication is very sexy. There is the hint of strictness in the stark black lines, but only a hint. My eyes are drawn to the way my sex pouts through the space at the front of the knickers, and my nipples are already pink and proud. I run my hands over my stomach and breasts, shivering a little. The anticipation is already making me hot.

On the table beside the bed, I see the collar. I go over, pick it up and stare at it. This is not the studded dog collar of my imagination. It’s latex, punched with tiny holes like filigree lace, with a small latex ribbon at the front and a popping stud at the back to fasten it. I lift it up and put it around my neck.