Читать книгу Shadow Lane Volume 1 & 2: The Romance of Discipline, Spanking, Sex, B&D and Anal Eroticism in a Small New England Village - Eve Howard - Страница 11

Chapter Four Return To Random Point

October was vivid, the air cracking fresh, the skies above Manhattan gorgeously blue for days. Laura and Marguerite did not check into the Bennington Club, as originally planned, but stayed at The Plaza at the expense of Randy Price instead. Marguerite went shopping every day and lunched with a variety of interesting men in the scene.

Laura passed her days in an orgy of bittersweet remembrance, revisiting the various places in and around the city where William had disciplined and made love to her the previous spring.

If Laura’s days were moody rambles under leaf dappled skies and looming gothic spires, her nights were spent in a contrastingly high tech and blindingly glossy atmosphere, as Marguerite shepherded her through all the hottest bars and clubs in Manhattan. If Laura’s goal in coming to New York was to even the score, Marguerite helped her achieve it beyond her most decadent fantasies, arranging for a number of highly paid sessions, between a series of gentlemanly dominants, Laura and herself. “Playing” in the scene with jaded executives and lust-starved dreamers, had for years kept Marguerite in the luxuries of life, but receiving “allowance” for submitting to or administering corporal punishment was entirely new to Laura and extremely empowering.

Occasionally, the session Marguerite arranged would include an act of sex, with Laura as the object. The fact that Laura would allow any number of liberties to be taken with her charming body insured her universal popularity with players of every stamp and Marguerite felt fully justified in asking enormous allowances from some of her wealthiest admirers, in exchange for the rarified thrill of taking Laura, while Marguerite either assisted or observed.

Laura saw nothing immoral in making a few thousand dollars while evening the score with her husband. She was, in fact, beginning to feel like a very clever and independent girl.

The more men she allowed Marguerite to introduce her to, the better she felt about the whole William - Damaris situation. Once Laura realized that she’d been had by eight different men, since last seeing her husband, William’s one short-lived affair with his secretary virtually ceased to disturb her.

Hugo Sands was certain that Marguerite and Laura would return from their antics in Manhattan for his party, an annual event for which he had this year rented a mansion called The Cliff House.

He was still vaguely irritated with his favorite pet, Marguerite, for departing from town so abruptly, without even bothering to ask whether her absence would be convenient at this time. He was particularly irked at her for not calling to let him know where she had gone until three days in New York had elapsed.

However, he understood the redhead’s motives well enough and couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement when she described how perverse their Laura could be.

Hugo threw a good party, with a full bar, amply furnished buffet tables and continuous atonal music. Everyone important in Random Point showed up. The remainder of the guests were divided equally between Hugo’s associates in the antiques business and his numerous colorful and bizarre connections in the B&D scene. It made for a compatible mix. There were even crossovers. Why shouldn’t a collector of rare manuscripts also collect antique Hermes riding crops?

Marguerite and Laura sauntered in through the front door at ten, confidently leather clad and glamorously sleek. The milling throng of revelers crowding the foyer and staircase swallowed them up almost at once. Most of the women who came from the New England B&D scene wore leather, glove-tight latex or shiny PVC. Mixed in with these glamorous creatures was a traditional selection of vampires, mummies, ghouls, witches and sorcerers. There was also a small avant garde fringe who arrived dressed as five pieces of sushi, a couple that came as a plug and socket and several Easter Island statues.

“I see Marguerite’s gotten Laura into her first pair of 5” heels,” Hugo remarked to William Random, who stood beside him on the gallery above the choked hall and staircase. William made a splendid barbarian in a leather torso harness that displayed his impressive muscularity dramatically. Studded gauntlets garnished his forearms and lacing sandals latticed his massive calves. His full leather facemask might have been as menacing as its designer had intended if it were not for the horn rimmed eyeglasses, which he’d strapped on over it.

“Do you think Laura will recognize me?” William queried his companion, leaning his granite abdomen against the railing.

“Considering you have no clothes on, I wouldn’t be surprised!” replied Hugo patiently, wondering if it would really be possible to remain William Random’s friend while actively pursuing his wife.

Hugo, who considered fancy dress appropriate for everyone but himself, wore his usual well-tailored evening clothes. Like William’s, his gaze followed the forms of Marguerite and Laura, wriggling through the crowd in the foyer. “Your wife looks even cockier than Marguerite tonight,” Hugo observed at the moment eye contact was fixed between themselves and the girls. But Laura’s mien of careless defiance melted at the sight of her husband.

“Marguerite, let’s go up!” Laura touched an elbow-gloved hand to her friend’s white shoulder.

“Ouch!” Marguerite cried suddenly. Looking back over one bare shoulder she saw she had been struck upon the right cheek of her large, luscious bottom with a toy arrow, which adhered to the surface it had struck, by means of a suction cup tip. She yanked it from her leather-clad rear end as she raked the press of guests surrounding her with a glare.

“Did you see that?” Hugo laughed.

“That was priceless,” William agreed, of the minor assault on the haughty Marguerite.

“No it wasn’t, look over there,” Hugo pointed to the doorway of the cloakroom, where a tall, ruddy blonde with a thick ponytail, dressed as Robin Hood, stood laughing behind her hand.

“Who’s she?” William asked, admiring the robust good looks of the flaxen haired imp, who even now was reloading her bow from the quiver of arrows slung across her back.

“That’s Marnie Price, Randy’s little sister.”

“Why haven’t I noticed her before? She looks like a real New England girl.” William said with approval.

“Drinks like one too.”

“Doesn’t seem to impair her aim though.”

“You’d have to be legally blind to miss that target,” Hugo remarked ungallantly.

His companion agreed, while still admiring the voluptuous posterior of Marguerite, who now gave it a brief rub, after breaking the arrow in half with a toss of her glorious mane.

As the girls filtered up through the crowd on the stairs, the roar of a Harley skidding to a stop outside let everybody know that Randy Price had arrived.

Price enjoyed making an entrance. He was twenty-eight, tall, lean and swaggering. He wore a black bomber jacket, ripped tee shirt and black jeans. From his left ear an inverted cross dangled and his skull had been completely shaved, the first sight of which caused not only Laura and Marguerite, but also every other woman who recognized Randy to gasp.

The manipulative C.E.O. of Price Enterprises was William Random’s most serious competitor. He was a Harvard business school drop out, but this had not stopped him from pulling his family’s floundering land development company out of the red several years before and building it into a corporation with wide holdings all over New England and enormous liquid assets.

With his uncanny business acumen and total lack of ethics, Randy’s deals seldom blew up in his face. The incident with Damaris Perez was not typical and he was still steaming about her trading him bogus bids for genuine drugs.

He scanned the halls and stairs impatiently, ignoring all who greeted him, but acknowledging Laura Random with a smirk. Laura turned and fled up the stairs. Her violent reaction was noted by William, who now folded his arms belligerently, as he considered the immense annoyance Randall Price had become.

Even as William confronted the fact that Laura had cheated on him with his unscrupulous competitor, he found his wife especially appealing in the cherry red leather dress that clove to her buttocks, sleek thighs and firm bosom so enticingly.

“Why does Randall keep following Laura?” William suddenly demanded of Hugo. But Laura was with them before Hugo could answer, throwing her arms about William’s neck. He embraced her without hesitation, locking his arms about her so tightly that she squealed as he lifted her off the ground and swung her around.

“Well?” he demanded. “Have you decided to come home?”

“Yes,” Laura said shyly, hiding her face against his chest.

“Good!” Nothing could have been more emphatic than this pronouncement.

Laura had expected him to be stern and remote. The quality of warmth did not often emanate from William Random, but it enveloped her completely at that moment of reunion. Then Randy was upon them.

“Hi Laura! Like my haircut? Billy, how’s it going? Hugo, no costume?” Randy was bubbling with abrasive energy. William’s hands balled into fists as he let Laura go.

“A good haircut is no substitute for the frontal lobe job you really need,” William pointed out.

Before Randy could respond, Laura asked Hugo to take her to the bar.

“Don’t go, baby,” Randy said, touching Laura’s bare shoulder. “There’s so much I want to say to you.”

“Leave my wife alone,” William told him.

“She’s got a mouth,” said Randy; “And we both know she can use it. Why doesn’t she tell me herself?”

“She asked me to deliver the message, so you’d read it loud and clear,” William said, stepping aggressively in front of Laura, who took the opportunity to seize Hugo’s hand and scurry away with the amused voyeur in tow.

“If I stay they’ll come to blows,” Laura explained to Hugo, who seemed reluctant to exit.

“I should have thought you’d enjoy that,” Hugo remarked, allowing himself to be dragged down the stairs by his pretty companion. “Marguerite would be selling tickets.”

“Gee, she’s pretty,” Randy sighed, to taunt William.

“Randall, let’s go outside,” William suggested.

“When the chicks are in here? Listen, we’ll do lunch, okay? Later.” Randy had spotted Damaris Perez and the next instant he was gone.

“Believe it, asshole,” William muttered, as he too caught a glimpse of his ex-secretary, encased in a PVC jumper that glittered like black ink, clinging crustacean-like to Michael Flagg’s impressive arm.

“I’m glad you’ve left your husband,” Hugo said, when Laura had had her first drink. “That means we can finally play.”

For the first time since he’d known her, Laura looked Hugo boldly in the eye. “I haven’t left my husband. But yes, we can finally play.”

“In that case, come with me. I have everything arranged,” Hugo said, and took her by the hand. He led Laura up to the attic, where he knew there was a private little room. Earlier that day he had fitted it out with a padded leather bench and a mirror opposite. It was here that he’d intended to take her.

“Nervous?” he asked her, leading her in.

“Not at all,” she lied, tossing back her silky brown hair.

“Yes you are. Come here and sit next to me,” he told her, pulling her down on the bench. “And tell me why you’ve been so naughty lately. It really isn’t like you.”

“Hugo, I didn’t come with you to be treated like a child,” she protested.

But Hugo hadn’t waited patiently for eighteen months to treat her like an adult. “If by that you mean I’m not supposed to spank you, you should know better, Laura.”

“But why?” she cried, pulling off the domino that had covered her eyes.

“Because,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder and drawing her to him, “that’s what I’m into.”

“But I don’t want you to!”

“Look, there are all sorts of spankings. Some of them hurt a lot and some hardly hurt at all. I happen to be an expert in administering what are called erotic spankings. Now if I give you my word that I’ll only spank you in a way that will arouse you without making you kick, scream or cry, will you trust me enough to submit?”

The concept was a new one on Laura, but she liked the way Hugo’s arms felt about her, the way he smelled and the comforting firmness of his chest to lean upon. “Okay,” she told him.

“That’s a good girl,” said Hugo. “Now stand up. Right here,” he pointed at the floor in front of him. Laura obeyed after some slight hesitation. He raised her arms, which she held stiffly at her sides until one hand rested on each of his shoulders. Then, using both hands, he pushed the hobbling skirt of her expensive leather dress up, from the backs of her knees to her waist. It slid very slowly upward, and as he pushed, his fingertips caressed the backs of her thighs and the curves of her buttocks, which were finally revealed, after considerable effort.

The skirt, with its leather laces going up the back, was exceedingly tight.

Finally the dress was pushed up to her waist and Hugo confronted a ravishing black satin garter belt, with silk-satin panties to match, the suspenders holding up black nylon stockings, with seams up the back. He dropped his hands to trace her stocking seams, from ankle to thigh top and back, with a whispery touch. Laura shivered, not prepared for tenderness.

“All right,” he said, “Come here,” and pulled her down across his lap. Her sharp little intake of breath as he did was enough to let him know that nothing had changed with the doe-eyed brunette; she was as susceptible as ever to the position in which she’d been placed.

She kept her legs straight and together, with the toes of her shoes on the floor.

“You mustn’t be tense,” he told her, running his palm, for the first time, across the jutting oval contours of her bottom, through the clinging satin of her panties. Even in the low light of the little attic room, the expanse of exposed thigh she displayed above her stocking tops gleamed as white as starlight. He could not remember ever touching anything so smooth or so soft as the insides of Laura’s thighs. She shivered at his light caresses, not knowing what would come next, but felt herself relaxing more each moment that she lay across his lap. With one hand on her waist, he drew her closer. With the other, he continued to stoke her shapely buttocks and thighs.

“Do you ever pretend when you play?”

“You mean, assume a role?”

“It’s fun to do once in a while.”

“I never met anyone who wanted to pretend.”

“Sometimes I like to pretend. With the right person and at the right moment.”

“Yes,” Laura said, “I think it might be fun to pretend that I’m five or six years old.”

“That’s perverse but I can go there,” said Hugo.

“I wouldn’t admit this to everyone, but sometimes I fantasize I’m just small.” she went on.

“That’s sweet,” he told her, bringing his palm to rest on the rise of one firm cheek. Suddenly the party seemed very far away. It was so quiet in the attic that Laura could hear his watch tick. “You’re the little girl who lives down Shadow Lane,” he continued. He paused without moving his hand, to let the notion germinate. Then he went on speaking in a hypnotic tone of voice.

“Most of the time you’re a good little girl. But today you were naughty. You brought your cat into the shop. You had a ball of yarn tucked in your apron pocket. You took it out and trailed it on the floor. The kitty saw the bright blue string and leaped on it. You laughed and dragged the sting away. Again it jumped and pounced. You ran behind a corner with the string whipping after you fast. Faster and faster you ran. You became so excited while playing that you completely forgot my rule about running in the shop. At last you were totally breathless. You’d run until your little legs felt weak. No wonder you lost your balance and knocked over the lamp.”

At this pronouncement Laura, completely caught up in the story, gasped in guilty astonishment.

“Yes, it’s very sad. You broke the frosted glass shade of the lamp. It was one of those fluted monstrosities with flowers, fruit and birds worked in relief. No one with taste would have bought it, but I’d have sold it for a profit all the same. So naturally your naughtiness has made me very cross.”

Hardly conscious of what she was doing, Laura ground against his lap. Her heart was fairly pounding and the power of suggestion had planted a lump in her throat.

“After you heard the lamp crash to the ground and you saw the kitty scamper away, you knew you were in trouble. So you came up here to hide. But the blue ball of yarn left a trail plain as day, and I followed it. I found you crouched behind a dusty old trunk, pulled you straight out and gave you a shake!”

Laura actually sobbed aloud.

“I gave you a very stern scolding. And two big tears rolled down your face. That’s because you knew that you deserved a spanking. And that was what you were going to get!”

“No! Please!” she whimpered, putting her hand back to shield her upturned bottom.

“Don’t you dare, young lady,” he told her, pinning her wrist to her side. “You’ve been a very naughty little girl!” He raised his hand and began the spanking, over her black satin panties. But each spank was no more than a sharp, little slap, the sort that one would give a child of five. He alternated cheeks and skipped two beats between each swat, to draw out this quaint punishment. When he’d given her precisely fifty of these baby smacks, he stopped to tug her pretty panties down.

He’d been spanking her so lightly, her bottom was barely pink, and yet it felt quite warm beneath his hand. Again he commenced the spanking, a fraction more sharply this time, but pausing as long between smacks.

To Laura, all this was so poignant that she felt she might really cry. She was overwhelmed by Hugo’s affection. In a strange way, being spanked softly and slowly like this was much more humiliating than being spanked rapidly and hard. Because without the distraction of genuine pain to make the experience inescapably immediate and real, the childishly light little paddling ignited a lush and voluptuous shame, hitherto confined to savored threats and fantasies.