Читать книгу Shadow Lane Volume Eleven: The Venus Club A Novel of Sex, Spanking and Modern Love - Eve Howard - Страница 6

Chapter Two

Amanda Persuades Pamela to Bob her Hair

When Susan Ross brought Anthony Newton his coffee on that balmy June morning, she found him leaning on the railing of his balcony looking out over the cove, the blue of the sky deep above them, the air warm and perfumed with summer.

“Is that Amanda Sands doing yoga on our beach?” asked Newton, of the slim blonde girl far below them going through her sun salutations in a white top and white yoga pants.

“Yes. She’s going to walk up the stairs when she’s done,” said Susan, referring to the extremely long and steep stone steps that climbed up the cliff to the back of Newton’s house. “Then we’re going swimming,” Susan added. Newton grabbed a pair of binoculars off the patio table and focused in on his best friend’s eighteen-year-old daughter.

“Damn near perfect, isn’t she?” Newton commented. “Who’s going to be spanking her while she’s in town for the next month?”

“I’m not sure,” said Susan, curling up in a deck chair with her own coffee to regard her attractive older lover in the strong morning light. “Why? Would you like to?”

Newton put down the binoculars and shook his head with a smile. “Me? Want to spank such an obviously good girl? Certainly not.”

“Do you have time to meet her today?”

“Of course, she can join us for lunch.”

“She’ll be on her own here, so I expect we’ll be seeing a lot of her.”

“Lovely,” said Newton sincerely; for he had understood from Susan’s reports that Amanda was a most agreeable girl.

“I have to admit, I’m crazy about her,” said Susan of her newest friend.

“I’m glad you’re going swimming. There’s a present I’ve been meaning to give you down at the pool.”

“Oh, really?”

“And just in case you’re wondering, it’s not the pool guy, though you might think so.”

Susan went down to the kitchen to let Dennis know that Hugo Sands’ daughter, whom he had heard much about from his employer, was to join them shortly. Anthony and his servant had recently returned from a long sojourn in London and this was the first time Susan had spoken to the young Englishman, with whom she shared such a long and vivacious history, since their return. She and Dennis had been studiously avoiding each other for a number of months, since a quarrel, harsh words and more had seemed to rend for good the delicate fabric of their complex ongoing relationship. Now both Susan and Dennis appeared shyly ready to put their antipathy behind them and begin afresh on a new footing of tentative politeness and respect. And yet, Susan knew him too well not to smile at the thought of how the hitherto romantically submissive young man would react to being introduced to one as obviously goddess-like as Amanda Sands.

Dennis was unpacking the provisions he’d just purchased in the village and Susan noticed his handsome brow wrinkle when Miss Sands was mentioned.

“So I’ll lay out a lunch for three, shall I?” he asked mildly.

“Yes, please.” said Susan.

“Mr. Newton mentioned she shot a video in Random Point over Christmas,” Dennis ventured.

“Yes, she’s in the scene.”

“Susan –”

“Don’t worry, Dennis, I won’t mention anything about your orientation to Amanda. I’ll never do that again. I give you my word,” said Susan hastily, remembering how mortally offended he had been the last time she’d hinted to a pretty young woman about Dennis’ innate submissiveness. Because the fact was that he was no longer the tame foot slave he had once been and Susan herself was in part responsible for his transformation from submissive to switch to… dom? It was possible. He had turned her under his arm and spanked her, without preamble, to demonstrate his indignation at her outing him as a former sub to William Random’s pretty nanny.

“Thank you!” he breathed, his brow uncreasing.

“However, when you see this babe you’ll want to go down on your knees just like in the old days,” Susan added irreverently. “What are you making for lunch?”

“Salads and light sandwiches. And I got pounds of these Rainier cherries,” Dennis displayed a bowl of the exquisite peach and crimson colored fruit.

Just then Amanda knocked on the kitchen garden door.

“Hey Babe,” Susan said, hugging Amanda.

“Hello, my goddess,” said Amanda, returning her slightly older friend’s embrace and smiling at Dennis over Susan’s bare shoulder. The petite twenty-five year old commercial artist had swathed her small, slim, curvy form in a pair of blue denim capris and a red and white check midriff halter-top. Her hair was arranged in a thick, long blonde braid down her back and her tiny feet were shod in mahogany penny loafers and white cotton anklets.

“This is Dennis,” said Susan. Dennis smiled at Amanda shyly and nodded his head in greeting.

“Hi Dennis,” said Amanda, disengaging from Susan.

“Let’s go check out the pool, Anthony said he left me a present down there,” said Susan, relieving Amanda of her rucksack and pulling her after her by the hand.

“Who’s Dennis?” Amanda asked, happily allowing herself to be lead through the halls of the luxuriously decorated and richly furnished house belonging to Susan’s wealthy lover.

“He’s Anthony’s personal assistant. He drives, valets, shops, even prepares some meals. He’s terrifically useful.”

“Handsome too,” Amanda commented.

“Yes.”

“But I have a boyfriend now so I shouldn’t even be looking,” Amanda chided herself.

“Oh, so you intend to be well behaved this summer in Random Point?”

They exited the house from the rear and took a garden walkway to the tennis courts and indoor pool. Susan noticed upon entering that the flat roof had been replaced with a clear dome of a glasslike material and the moment she entered the hitherto unremarkable pool building she saw that it had been transformed into a tropical hothouse in her absence. The pool still ran down the middle of the hall but it now bisected a lush garden.

“This place has been completely transformed,” breathed Susan, delighted with her new private paradise.

“It smells delirious,” Amanda commented, inhaling the heavy scents of blossoms permeating the warm, moist air within the long, sun drenched room.

“It seems to have everything,” said Susan, noting with approval a large, deep, tiled Jacuzzi off to one side, a mist filled steam room opposite it and a dry sauna beside that. There were also fountains surrounding cupids and goddesses, cabanas for changing clothes, a wall of rolled towels and a wet bar. “We’ll make this our summer party headquarters. Come over whenever you can,” Susan invited Amanda.

A few minutes later, when introduced to Anthony Newton in the dining room, Amanda received a second invitation to make the house her own from her host. Seated at the head of the table, with Susan on his right and Amanda on his left, the affable Newton began handing around dishes of salad and the dainty plates of sandwich quarters that had been lovingly prepared by Dennis.

“I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get around to meeting you in person,” said Newton, “but I’ve been following your progress with interest this past year.”

“How much do you know?” Amanda asked, in slight alarm.

“Oh, he knows everything,” said Susan, with unconcern, “but don’t worry, he’s cool.”

“I meant I’d seen your clips,” Newton said to reassure her, though he did in fact know about all of the scandalous things she had done with Ambrose Bartlett the previous winter.

“Not only that, but financed them too,” said Amanda with a grin. “Thank you for that.”

“Susan said you’ve already paid her back for the model fees. I’m impressed by that.”

Amanda said, “I was lucky that Hugo told his customers to go watch my clips. That started me off. Now he says they’ll buy whatever I put up. If I ever have time to shoot again.”

“Well, you can shoot here next time if you like,” Newton offered.

“Thank you, you’re so kind!” Amanda cried, certain that nothing would be required of her in payment this time.

“I’ve always patronized the art of spanking,” he replied. “It’s my hobby.”

“I would like Susan to be the star of my next round of clips,” said Amanda.

“Do you think I should?” Susan asked her lover. Her one previous experience making a fetish video had produced a result so awkward that Anthony had felt compelled to buy the master video and lock it away to save his darling any future embarrassment. So far she hadn’t ventured in front of a camera again, but had faith that if anyone could create a charming vehicle for her, it was Amanda.

“I do,” said Newton. “I would love a perfect video of you.”

“But who would you want to sub to?” Amanda asked, selecting a piece of honeydew to sink her white teeth into.

“I don’t know. Pick someone out for me. I trust your judgment,” said Susan.

“Maybe we can do it when I come back in August,” said Amanda.

“Okay, I’ll try to get under the skin of one of the locals between now and then so they’ll be some spark when we shoot,” promised Susan. Meanwhile Anthony and Amanda were smiling at each other.

“May I ask how you met my father and how you came to be such good friends?” Amanda asked.

“We met at an estate sale about sixteen years ago. I was just hitting on Broadway and had money to buy things with. I liked the taste he showed at the auction and invited him to lunch. After which he showed me his shop. Naturally, what caught my attention above all was the rare erotica, and how much of it was corporal punishment oriented. Because I’ve been into it all my life.”

“Right, the notorious collection that’s always the tip off that Random Point is a spanking friendly zone,” said Amanda, remembering how electrified Colby had been to discover the vintage spanking books in Hugo’s print collection under glass and the readily available trove of spanking erotica placidly reposing on the third floor of Marguerite’s bookshop. It was just too large a concentration of B&D material in a one-block radius of a quaint New England village to be coincidental. A true enthusiast would know at a glance that more than one of his or her own dwelt in Random Point or its immediate environs.

“Yes,” agreed Anthony. “It’s a dead giveaway. So of course we began to talk about it and I made no secret of my interest. Then he showed me his own magazine, which I’d never heard of before but absolutely loved. So in one day I became a customer, a friend and a fan.”

“And patron,” Amanda said, with gratitude, for she knew how many generous acts Newton had performed for his scene friends.

“Get to the part about me,” said Susan, helping herself to Dennis’ array of pretty, wholesome dishes.

“Oh yes, how could I forget,” said Newton, “Hugo gave me Susan. It took a while for me to get disentangled from all of my various wives and become free to actually date a girl in the scene. As soon as that happened, Hugo said he’d like to introduce me to a cute, little submissive so I could really start living my fantasies.”

“How many wives were there?”

“Five,” Newton sighed.

“Didn’t you play with any of them?”

“Not in that same satisfying way you can with a girl who’s really into it,” Anthony replied. “So he sent Susan over to me and I don’t know about her, but for me, it was love at first sight.”

Susan started, looking at Anthony in surprise, as he had never uttered any phrase as blatantly, sentimentally romantic in her hearing since they had met.

“So, we started seeing each other right away,” he continued, “even though I was busy as hell and she was in college. Somehow it worked out okay. Then she stuck with me through design school in New York and then she started working at Chipper Knight about two years ago and we’re still together.”

“He says that like I’m doing him some favor,” said Susan, her heart swelling with affection for her lover, who obviously still valued her so highly. “The truth is he’s been spoiling me, my sister and half my friends rotten for years.”

“You’re a very good girl,” Newton assured her. “You make me smile.”

“Anthony made it so comfortable for my sister Laura after her settlementless divorce, that she was able to keep Hugo at bay for years,” Susan reported. “Hugo will confirm that.”

Anthony smiled and told Amanda, “I love how Laura draws. Of course I’ve been happy to patronize her. I’d probably do it even if she wasn’t Susan’s sister.”

“I need to get to know Laura,” said Amanda, thoughtfully. “But I don’t think she likes being around me.”

“Give her time,” said Susan. “It was a shock suddenly having to share Hugo’s attention with another girl. And then your appearance triggered his trip out west to see your mother for the first time in nineteen years, during which visit they played and made love. And on top of that, you introduced that crazy slut Thalia into our group and she wasn’t happy until she scored with Hugo. Laura intercepted one of Thalia’s emails to me and found out.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Amanda, shocked and blushing with embarrassment. “I don’t think Thalia does either.”

“No,” Susan said, “Hugo probably didn’t think it was worth making Thalia feel guilty about once the damage was done. He knows girls kiss and tell. The end result was him finally insisting that Laura marry him, if only to prove that he had no intention of chasing after nineteen-year-olds for the rest of his life.”

“Laura probably blames me for both the incident with my mother and with Thalia,” Amanda mused with a troubled expression.

“Well, if you hadn’t popped up all of a sudden, this far distant part of Hugo’s past would never have become an issue. But here you are, an extraordinary creature of the scene, with this still hot hippy chick of a mom hanging out casually on the opposite coast and slightly sexually frustrated from not getting any BDSM love in twenty years, not to mention any number of bouncy young girlfriends ready to be intrigued by your newly discovered and singularly dashing father.”

“I’m horrible,” said Amanda with conviction.

“Never think that,” Susan reassured her friend; “What’s happened since you’ve come into Hugo’s life has simply taught my sister to take nothing for granted.”

Several days later, Amanda accepted Anthony’s invitation to come and swim again, but this time Susan was away from home. It was after six in the evening but still quite light and Amanda had just come from the shop. She donned a white two-piece swimsuit with blue anchor accents and white Lycra swim cap in the cabana and dove in at the deep end. The water seemed colder than on her previous visit and Amanda shivered at the end of the lap. A lean, young Latino gardener in low rider jeans and a sleeveless white ribbed undershirt that set off his tanned, muscular torso to advantage, looked up from his Birds of Paradise and smiled.

“Is it too cold?” he asked.

“A little.”

“Go in the hot tub for a few minutes and I’ll turn up the pool,” he suggested.

Amanda warmed up nicely in the Jacuzzi beside the Aphrodite fountain for several minutes, then dove back into the pool and began swimming laps. After a few laps she floated on her back, looking up at the cloud dotted deep blue sky through the clear dome of the greenhouse. The water was perfectly warm and Amanda felt suddenly restless. It had been a week since Colby had gone back to California. She’d spent every night alone in Hugo’s house, in the guest room that looked out on the woods, a charming room, but it felt very empty without Colby there.

Amanda rolled over and over in the water, arching up her bosom and stretching out her long legs. She began stretching and twisting her lithe, small waisted form around and about in the water, staring up at the flowers and vines that intersected in a fragrant bower above the pool where she floated and dipped.

Then, the Latin boy came back into view, pushing a cart of soil and pretending not to look at Amanda. Amanda halted her shadow flirting display at once and felt herself flushing pink at having been seen behaving in such a manner by the good looking gardener. Then she swam a lap or two and covertly looked for him over her shoulder. He was pretending not to notice her but she could tell he was tracking her every stroke.

“I was just missing my boyfriend,” Amanda explained, swimming up to Jaime.

“Lucky boyfriend,” he said, with no trace of an accent.

“Thank you,” Amanda replied.

“Well, have a good swim,” he said, reluctantly attempting to avert his eyes from her lissome form in the well-behaved and thus completely obscene nautical two-piece.

“Aren’t you hot? Don’t you want to cool off in the water?” she asked absurdly, but so there could be no mistake. She patted the water with a graceful hand and pulled off her swim cap, allowing her long, blonde hair to tumble down in a single braid. She tossed the cap up on the deck and smiled at him. A second later he was in the water and she was in his arms. They clasped each other tightly, looked into each other’s eyes and kissed. He cradled the back of her head in his hand and devoured her ears and throat with his lips, his hands going from her waist to her bosom, then down to her bottom and inner thighs. There was no part of her he didn’t want to handle.

“So, are you a nice girl or a crazy bitch?” Jaime asked her.

“Nice and crazy but not a bitch. Oh please, just slip it in me for a minute, right here,” she insisted, her hand sliding across the bar of iron that had emerged to tent the front of his shorts. Jaime freed his cock with impressive speed and while doing so, slipped his finger into the front of her bikini bottom to probe her tight, velvety slit.

“You really want me to? Here and now?”

“Please! But first, tell me your name?”

“Jaime.”

“Amanda.”

Jaime pushed Amanda up against the side of the pool and pulling her bikini aside, thrust his cock into her pussy. Reaching down to spread her labia, she helped him to cram his manly member up inside her.

“I’m not a slut,” she protested, allowing his tongue into his mouth. “But it’s summer, I’m 18 - ” she added, clamping one of his hands to her bottom under the bikini. “ - And you’re such a pretty man.”

“Tell me how you want it,” he murmured against her throat.

“Just like you’re doing, slow and deep,” she urged him, pressing her bosom hard against his chest as he thrust into her under the water. She closed her eyes, but he kept his open to watch for intruders. This went on for two or three minutes before she moaned against his ear with a full body shudder and the spasmodic clenching of her vagina heralded her climax. He pulled out of her a second before his ejaculation and thus spared her a month of anxiety.

They held each other close for a couple of minutes, shared a final kiss and then he got out of the water and disappeared into one of the dressing cabanas. Amanda backstroked up and down the length of the pool until the throbbing in her clitoris began to ebb.

As she switched over from the pool to the sauna she told herself, “Who am I kidding? I am a slut.”

On the following Sunday afternoon, Pamela invited Amanda to come over to her house for lunch and to watch Pandora’s Box, which Amanda had never seen. They were sitting in a deep, butter soft camel colored leather sofa in Pamela’s bedroom suite, slowly savoring a simple meal of French rolls, cheese, fruit and wine while mesmerized by the image of Louise Brooks on the large screen opposite.

“You should cut your hair like that,” said Amanda to Pamela of Lulu’s shingle bob.

“Ambrose wouldn’t like it,” said Pamela reflexively. Her new husband was a stylistic perfectionist who clearly preferred long hair on younger women.

“Don’t you like giving him excuses to spank you?”

“No. He spanks too hard when he’s irritated.”

Amanda knew that.

“You would look adorable. It would change everything,” said Amanda “I’ll go with you and cut my hair as well,” Amanda offered impulsively.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I am. I’m just dating a jock and he couldn’t care less about my hair as long as I let him fondle my breasts. I could get an Annie Lennox cut,” said the fair-haired, soon-to-be sophomore.

“Are you insane? Cut off a beautiful head of straight, long, naturally blonde hair?”

“It’ll grow back. And it’ll be so much easier to take care of.”

Pamela looked at Louise Brooks.

“I see what you’re saying. That cut would suit my face,” Pamela said decisively.

They decided to meet on their next afternoon off, which was the following Tuesday. First they lunched at the Café in Bartlett’s, then walked out into the village. Ambrose Bartlett happened to be at the window of his office three stories above Main Street, Woodbridge when the girls exited the building. His heart contracted with a mixture of anxiety and excitement as he noticed his wife with the girl he had been so enraptured with earlier in the year. Why were they together? Where were they going?

They entered the village salon, each with long hair past their shoulders, Pamela’s silky jet black and Amanda’s ash blonde, and exited two hours later respectively sporting a geometric bob and a razor short crop. It was a late summer afternoon and the street was brightly dotted with tourists. Amanda was curious as to whether men would look at her with the same interest as formerly, when her hair was luxuriantly long. The first male to walk past them who was not the head of a vacationing family was a strikingly handsome young man in his early twenties, accompanied by two good looking girls.

“Did you see that Pamela?” Amanda whispered. “It was like the head of Ian Astbury on Danzig’s body.”

“That was Raphael Price,” Pamela whispered back.

As though he had heard his name, the tall, muscular young man in the low-rider jeans and white tee was suddenly behind them, his girls behind him.

“Excuse me, ladies,” he said, extending a strong, long fingered hand with a card. “You look like you need to go to an after hours party at an art gallery tonight.” And then, he was gone, leading one girl with each hand. Amanda turned to look at them and noted that one of the girls had a long, thick, light russet French braid down her back and the other had long, rippling, shiny, jet black Mediterranean hair down hers. Both were slender, with tiny waists and slim hipped torsos in cut off shorts and ribbed tank tops, their feet in high cork platform sandals. They’d passed by too quickly for Amanda to retain a complete imprint of their faces but she had registered two flawlessly clear complexions, one ruddy, the other olive toned, behind their sunglasses.

Amanda looked down at the card. It said Raphael Gallery with a Woodbridge village address. She showed it to Pamela who said, “That’s right, I just remembered, there’s a showing of Pascal Robbins' photos there tonight.”

Amanda got a little thrill, remembering the handsome photographer who had shot the fashion spread for the Damaris shop in Boston that Amanda and Pamela had posed for in the winter. She had liked Mr. Robbins a great deal and had seen him around Random Point recently as well. He had, in fact, come into the antiques shop while she was tending the counter to ask her to pose for him that summer if she would.

“He shot a whole book of my pictures a few years back,” said Pamela, “I wonder if any of the photos will be for sale at the showing.”

“Should we go?”

“Oh yes!” said Pamela.

“But what’s this rock star of a gallery proprietor like?” Amanda asked, deftly leading Pamela into an ice cream parlor.

“Are you serious? Ice cream?” Pamela tried to pull back in horror.

“We were so good through our haircuts. We didn’t even cry. Don’t you think we deserve a treat?” Amanda asked, pulling Pamela by the hand deep into the cool, sweet smelling shop.

“I hope you’re not going to be a bad influence on me,” Pamela said, reluctantly ordering a cherry vanilla wafer cone.

“How late is an after hours party?” asked Amanda.

“Ten, I should think.”

“Won’t Mr. Bartlett mind your not being home?”

“I don’t think he’ll notice. He pays very little attention to me,” sighed Pamela, fascinated by her own reflection in the mirror behind the ice cream bar with the silky, well cut bob. “As to Raphael Price, I do know he just moved here from New York a few months ago. His family owns half the Cape. And I think he bought a house on Shadow Lane pretty close to Hugo’s.”

“Is he married? Who were those girls?”

“I think they work for him at the gallery. I’ve seen the three of them shopping at the store together.”

“Oh, I wish I hadn’t cut my hair now!” Amanda almost sobbed, regarding her Jean Seberg cut in the mirror. “Did you see how long their hair was?”

“I begged you not to get it so short,” Pamela exclaimed. Amanda accepted a butter pecan wafer cone from the teenaged counter boy, who smiled at her with ardent admiration.

“Your hair looks great,” he said sincerely.

“Take my picture,” Amanda said to Pamela, handing Pamela her phone and licking her ice cream cone provocatively. “I want to send it to Colby.”

Pamela took the photo and Amanda sent it to her boyfriend, who was at that moment sitting in the bookkeeping office in his parents’ vineyard in Northern California filling out quarterly tax forms and thinking of Amanda and how happy he would be to rendezvous with her three weeks hence, as they had planned. Colby Hodge’s heart gave a little jump when he saw the return number was Amanda’s. She didn’t call him often and he was always startled and elated to hear from her. He didn’t recognize the girl in the photo immediately. Five seconds later, Amanda’s phone rang.

“Yes?” she answered as they continued walking down Main Street, enjoying their ice cream cones on the warm, June afternoon.

“Babe, what did you do?”

“Do you hate it?” Amanda asked.

“No. It’s cute as hell. I can’t wait to see you, Amanda,” said Colby in his husky voice.

“It’s very charming of you to mask your shock and repulsion, Colby. I didn’t credit you with so much gallantry.”

“I love you, Babe,” he said before hanging up.

Amanda shut her phone with a smile and said, “So that muscular metal god lives next door to me, on Shadow Lane?”

“Amanda, have you fallen in love with him already?” Pamela laughed.

“Well, I am on vacation.”