Seven Scarlet Tales Read online

  ‘I hope you got your marking done, young lady.’

  ‘I did, sir, don’t worry. But I had to do it standing up.’

  He snorted.

  ‘No doubt. Where did he take you? No, hang on, first of all, what car does he drive?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about cars. A Mercedes, I think. Silver, quiet as a mouse.’

  ‘Fucking stiff. If I had his wedge, I’d drive a Bugatti Veyron.’

  ‘Good for you, sir. Anyway, um, he took me to some place near the river, near Maidenhead. Very nice. Lovely food, bottle of wine I’d have to take out a second mortgage to afford.’

  Rob sniffed. ‘I’ll take you down Harvester for a carvery and half a lager top, if you like. Can’t compete with that, though.’

  ‘Sir,’ she said gently, always finding it judicious to open with an honorific if it seemed she might be overreaching herself. ‘With respect, it’s not a competition. I don’t want you to compete with him. You aren’t him. I like that you aren’t him. And I like that he isn’t you.’

  He put his head to one side, a little sheepish at being caught out in his jealousy.

  ‘I just worry that he might dazzle you, you know. Lure you away from me.’

  ‘He won’t. I’m not like that.’

  ‘I know. So, anyway. You ate the food and drank the wine and somehow your arse got covered in stripes. How did that happen?’

  ‘After the meal, he drove us to Virginia Water. We went for a walk along the shores of the lake.’

  ‘Sounds very romantic.’

  ‘It wasn’t really. You know, not self-consciously. I mean, we weren’t trying to be romantic. Just friends enjoying an afternoon together. But then we got into this quiet part of the wood, and nobody else seemed to be about, and he took out a Swiss Army knife.’

  ‘As one does, during a romantic woodland walk.’ Rob grinned. ‘Bit unnerving.’

  ‘Well, yes, a bit. But he handed it to me and pointed at a tree and said, “Cut me some switches”.’ She laughed despite herself at her impersonation of Richard’s deep, Northern tones.

  Rob laughed with her. ‘If I ever hear him talk for real … I bet he sounds nothing like that.’

  ‘He does, though! Like Sean Bean, but a bit posher. And then he said, “Supple as you can, please.” So I guess the tree was a birch, but I don’t know much about trees.’

  ‘Trees, cars. What do you know about?’

  ‘I can name you every Olympic and Paralympic sport if you like.’

  ‘Thanks but no thanks.’

  ‘Anyway, yes, the tree was a birch. I know weeping willows and oaks and conker trees.’

  ‘Horse chestnuts.’

  ‘Yeah, those. But birches just look like a lot of other ones really, don’t they. Anyway, it wasn’t really a tree, more a kind of bush.’

  ‘A shrub.’

  ‘I suppose. I cut some bits off it. Richard wanted about six. I felt really guilty and I kept thinking that some official royal gardener might catch us, and have us arrested for defacing Her Majesty’s trees or something, and we’d end up in the Tower. But nothing like that happened.’

  ‘Richard would have paid them off. He’s probably good mates with Prince Charles or something.’

  ‘I don’t think so. After I cut the little branchy things, I gave them to Richard and he made me go and stand with my arms around a tree trunk.’

  Rob’s jaw dropped. ‘He didn’t whip you in the open air, did he? The fucker. I want to do that! I’ve been waiting for the summer. The bastard.’

  ‘He didn’t do it properly. Said the switches needed trimming first and besides, I was dressed for church in a corduroy skirt, so it wasn’t going to hurt as much as he likes it to. And I was very antsy about Sunday strollers happening upon us.’

  ‘And did they?’

  ‘No, luckily. Richard just gave me a swipe across the seat of my skirt with each wand, to test them. The cord deadened the sound a bit, but it was still bloody painful. I was kind of dreading what might happen next.’

  ‘What did happen next?’

  ‘We came back here.’

  ‘You never go to his place, do you?’

  ‘He has a teenage son.’

  ‘Oh, right. I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Why would you? He doesn’t know you live in a shared house in Acton, either.’

  ‘I need to get my own place. I’ve got enough for a deposit on a flat saved. I’m going to make an appointment with the bank next week.’

  ‘Let’s not descend into mortgage chat, eh? This isn’t a dinner party.’

  ‘Oh, I’m going to enjoy thrashing you today. You’re in one of your moods.’

  Lucy cast down her eyes at once.

  ‘Sorry for disrespecting you, sir,’ she said, as ingratiatingly as she could.

  He chuckled. ‘Too late,’ he said, patting her thigh. ‘You’re going to wish you hadn’t let his Lordship go to town on your bum. Bad move, Luce. Anyway, go on. You came back here.’

  ‘Yes, we came back here and Richard made me strip to my underwear, then he sat me at the kitchen table with his knife and the birch rods, and made me cut off all the rough, sticky-out bits that might break the skin. Then I had to kind of whittle it.’

  ‘Really? Whittling? Woodland crafts?’ Rob chortled. ‘Amazing, the skills you can pick up in the course of a corporal punishment fetish.’

  ‘Yes. Then I had to tie them all together with tape, until they were in a big bunch. Well, you’ve seen them before, I’m sure.’

  ‘Not in real life.’

  ‘I’ll show you it later. Richard makes me keep them soaking in a bucket of salted water. Stops them drying out, apparently.’

  ‘Really? And how do you explain a bucket of birch rods in your bathroom to visitors?’

  ‘I don’t have visitors, apart from you and Richard.’

  ‘Just as well.’ He smiled, but then he seemed to look at her more closely, a flicker of concern in his cheery blue eyes. ‘You sounded lonely just then.’

  ‘I’m not lonely. I’m fine. Anyway.’ Lucy wanted to hurry the conversation off this track. ‘Back to last Sunday. Where was I?’

  ‘In the kitchen.’

  ‘Uh, oh yeah. So, well, he birched me, basically.’

  ‘Lucy! You can’t just leave it like that. I need details. How many? What position? How did it feel? I need to know if it’s something I should be seriously considering.’

  He put his slender fingers under her chin and tilted it, forcing her eyes up to meet his. His smile always looked so kind, Lucy thought, and yet he was capable of remorseless severity.

  ‘I had to take down my knickers and bend over the kitchen table,’ said Lucy, her voice quietening now. She still found having to vocalise her experiences difficult and embarrassing. She knew that was why both Richard and Rob always insisted on it, too. Well, partly. That, and the wisdom of knowing your opposition.

  ‘Legs together or apart?’

  ‘Together, this time. I was scared of a rod whipping somewhere it shouldn’t. Since it was my first time, Richard allowed it. Next time he’s going to make me stand with my feet hip-width apart, he says. I should trust his aim. I suppose it is pretty good, in general.’

  ‘So’s mine.’

  ‘Yes, my dear sir, so is yours.’ She gave him a cheeky smile, enjoying his little chinks of insecurity when they appeared. ‘I got twelve. I didn’t think I’d make it through. The first two or three didn’t really feel that bad, just a bit warm and stingy, but it soon got very painful.’

  ‘Did you yell?’

  ‘Yes, I did, I’m afraid. And I very nearly cried.’

  ‘Seriously? You? You only cry when I’m hideously cruel to you.’

  ‘I know. It really hurts though. It feels as if it’s getting under your skin. Reminded me of those stories of martyrs being flayed alive. When I looked at myself in the mirror, afterwards, I was quite surprised to see that there wasn’t any blood. Though there were these little red pinpoints, where
I hadn’t whittled quite as thoroughly as I should have done.’

  ‘They’re still there. It must have looked incredible, just after he finished.’

  ‘It did. A lattice of long red lines, all cross-hatched and raised, all over my skin.’

  ‘Fuck. My mouth’s watering. I’m going to have to do that one day. Show me the rods.’

  She took him through to the bathroom where they lay, looking perfectly innocuous, like those arrangements of spray-painted twigs in vases, in a corner by the shower.

  Rob picked them up, shaking the excess drops of water into the bath, and swished them through the air a few times, practising his forehand then his backhand.

  ‘This is lovely,’ he said, reverently. ‘I’m going to be obsessed with the birch now. Show me your arse again.’

  Lucy bent obediently over the sink and lifted her skirt.

  Rob put down the rods and cupped her cheeks in his hands, tracing the leftover welts with his thumbs as if reading braille.

  ‘And it’s still so sore,’ he said, in a soothing, tutting voice. ‘I know what you need.’

  He reached up to the bathroom cabinet and took out a bottle.

  Lucy gasped.

  ‘Oh, no.’

  ‘It’s good for you,’ sang Rob. ‘A little iodine on your wounds works wonders.’

  Lucy clutched the sides of the basin as the fire, only half-doused anyway, roared back into full flame at her rear.

  ‘Ohh,’ she moaned. ‘Noooo!’

  Rob continued to dab an iodine-soaked cotton wool ball over her bottom, joining little points of scorching pain up like a dot-to-dot puzzle until conflagration was achieved.

  ‘We don’t want any nasty infections, do we?’ said Rob, tossing the cotton wool in the bin and stepping back. ‘You’ve gone darker red again. Stand up and take off the dress.’

  Lucy obeyed, shifting from her left foot to her right in an attempt to distract herself from the sting. When she was naked, except for stockings and suspender belt, she put her hands by her sides, as he liked her to, and looked down at the floor.

  Later on, after a sound slippering and an exhausting session of rear entry sex, Lucy lay with her head on Rob’s chest and her bottom off the mattress, cooling in the breeze from the open bedroom window.

  She luxuriated in the throb, and the pleasant fatigue of her limbs, breathing in Rob’s scent of faded aftershave and fresh sweat, hearing his heart hammer in her ear.

  ‘I think I want to meet your Richard,’ said Rob suddenly.

  Lucy raised her head, heavy eyelids flying open.

  ‘You don’t.’

  He levelled a steady, serious gaze at her.

  ‘I do. We should definitely meet.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we have so much in common. You, in particular.’

  ‘What if I’m happy with the way things are. What if he is?’

  ‘You aren’t happy with the way things are, Lucy.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘All right, then, you are. I’m not.’

  She propped herself on an elbow, heart racing in dismay.

  ‘Rob, I can’t lose you. Please don’t—’

  ‘You’re not going to lose me.’

  ‘If you want me to choose between the two of you—’

  ‘Lucy, calm down. Lie down. Come on.’

  He snuggled her back into the crook of her arm, but she was still tense and taut with dread of what he might say next.

  ‘I’m not saying you have to choose between us. And I’m not saying what you’re doing is bad. I just think it could be better if we all knew each other, properly.’

  Lucy lay silent for a while, staring at Rob’s shoulder. Her cheek rose and fell in rhythm with his breathing. Was it such an outrageous idea?

  The thought of sitting between the pair of them on some sofa in some bar made her sex heat up again, despite its recent exhaustive use. Caught between two lovers. Two doms. Twice the kink, double the fun. Could it ever be as simple as that?

  She was sure she could never pick one over the other, if matters came to that head. Perhaps this might be a way of avoiding such a crisis? Or precipitating it?

  It was dangerous, but alluring.

  And Rob wanted it, and what Rob wanted, he generally got. It would probably save a lot of machinations and manipulations if she just gave in now.

  ‘So, you want me to, like, introduce you to Richard?’

  ‘Yeah. I think we should all spend some time together. It’s been getting on for a year, Lucy. I want to take things a step further. Don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t like making decisions.’

  ‘I know you don’t. So I’m making one for you. Talk to Richard. See what he thinks of the idea. And then perhaps we can get something off the ground.’

  Lucy had tried to mention it to Richard, but somehow it had taken her three visits – and three painful punishments from Rob for her procrastination – to finally bring the subject up.

  She expected him to reject the idea out of hand. He was a wealthy, busy man who slotted Lucy into one compartment of his life, never cross-contaminating it with the others. Richard’s life was organised in ranks: job, family, social life, sex. The first three could overlap; the fourth, never.

  Or so Lucy had always seen it.

  So when he nodded and stroked his chin and said, ‘Why not?’ she was startled.

  ‘I thought you’d hate the idea. I’ve been afraid of mentioning it.’

  ‘You’re not usually afraid of mentioning things. As these stripes on your bottom testify.’

  He was kneeling between her legs while she lay on her back with her knees bent, spread and hovering near her ears. He was inserting a butt plug. It might not be the obvious moment to discuss arrangements for meeting up with your other dom, but Lucy didn’t really understand the concept of there being a time and a place for everything.

  ‘I’m sorry I said that, sir. It was rude of me.’

  ‘Yes, it was.’ He paused in the application of lubricant to her defenceless back passage. ‘I won’t hear any more allusions to grey hairs, thank you very much.’

  ‘It was a joke.’

  ‘A bad one.’

  The plug went inside her without much finesse. Perhaps she should show more contrition, she thought, whimpering.

  ‘There’s something to remind you of your place,’ said Richard sternly, twisting the plug without mercy. ‘Now, tell me what Rob did with that dildo and the chilli flakes. He sounds highly imaginative. I’m surprised you dare suggest that we meet and compare notes.’

  ‘It is stupid of me,’ sighed Lucy. ‘I see that now.’

  Richard took hold of her hips and eased himself into her pussy, keeping her knees high and wide, his gym-flat stomach flexing in her line of vision …

  And now she was here in this miles-from-anywhere cottage, perfectly alone, waiting for them both.

  It had been Richard’s suggestion that they meet on neutral territory, somewhere without distractions, where they could get to know each other in depth. He could afford to hire anywhere, but he didn’t want to show off in front of Rob, which Lucy thought was rather sweet of him. There was a sensitivity that he kept hidden behind his layers of mannered strictness and prestige but, when it flashed a glint now and again, Lucy was deeply grateful for it. After all, Rob could be a bit chippy sometimes. So they had paid equal thirds for the rental cottage, and nobody could claim to be the biggest stakeholder in the experience.

  It was raining sincerely, and Lucy had pulled the curtains against the gathering gloom when a flare of rounded light shone through the patterned calico. A car headlamp. She put down her mug and hurried to the front door, peering out of the porch, avoiding the heavy drips from the roof.

  It wasn’t Richard’s Mercedes, but that wasn’t really the right car to be driving around here, anyway. It was a large, expensive-looking Range Rover, powering through the mud on the drive until it came to a halt in the side yard. Luckily the resident chickens
were all sheltering in the coops, so this didn’t cause a problem.

  Richard jumped out, dressed for the countryside in waxed jacket and waterproof trousers, and took his bags from the boot.

  The rain flattened his dark hair and dripped off the end of his rather prominent nose, but he was smiling as he approached Lucy.

  ‘You were expecting this weather?’ she said, watching him pull off wellington boots and put them in a rack on the porch. His feet were cocooned in thick woollen socks. He had to duck to get through the front door, and he filled the tiny front room of the cottage like a giant, making all the furniture look miniature.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It’s Wales.’ He looked around the room. ‘Cosy,’ he said with a laugh.

  ‘I don’t suppose it compares with your country estate, my Lord. I hope you didn’t forget your shooting stick.’

  ‘Don’t cheek me, or it’ll be a different kind of stick for you.’

  He put down his bags, which occupied most of the floor.

  ‘No sign of our friend yet?’ he asked, peering through the open door to the kitchen.

  ‘No, not yet. I hope he’s OK. His car’s more or less clapped-out. I did offer to give him a lift but he said he wanted to drive himself. In case he needed a quick getaway, I think. I’d try and phone him but there’s no signal here.’

  ‘No landline?’

  ‘No. Look, you’re soaked through. Take your coat off and I’ll get a towel.’

  Lucy ran up the wooden stairs to the big bedroom with its huge four-post bed. Not for the first time, she wondered about sleeping arrangements. There was only one other bedroom, more like a box room, tiny and narrow with a candlewick-covered single divan. They could, in theory, all fit into the four-poster, but would that be acceptable to all parties? Lucy rather hoped so.

  Her phone bleeped and she took it out of her pocket, bemused.

  It seemed that a weak signal was available in the upstairs rooms.

  Rob had texted her.

  ‘Punto wdnt start, abandoned at mway services, have caught train from Swindon. Can u pick up from rway station? Prob won’t get there till 10/half past.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Lucy out loud.