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“You want to come, don’t you, slave girl?”
“Oh, yes, please, Sir,” she agreed ardently, the tip of her little pink tongue visible on her lower lip.
A delicious idea slipped fully formed into his brain. He pulled his hand away and smiled a cruel smile. “You’re going to have to earn it this time.” He rolled from the bed and got to his feet.
“Let’s shower and dress. Then I’m taking you over to Lola’s.”
The briefest of mutinous expressions flashed over Cleo’s face, gone in an instant. She was too well trained to complain about being denied an orgasm. In fact, hardwired as she was, it would only serve to keep her on full arousal until she was granted release.
“Lola’s,” she echoed, her eyes now sparkling with excitement. She, too, rolled from the bed and stood. “I haven’t thought about Lola’s in ages. I absolutely love that place.”
Lola’s Secret Garden was a high-end BDSM sex boutique in Covent Garden that, along with the usual fetishwear and manufactured sex toys, also featured handmade impact toys of the highest quality.
Jack sent a text to the concierge of his building, requesting that his car be brought around from the nearby parking garage where it was stored. A half hour later, they stepped outside into another uncharacteristically sunny day.
They browsed a while in Lola’s, starting first in the clothing area. Jack picked out a few sexy pieces of lingerie for Cleo, along with a beautiful crimson satin corset complete with stays and ribbons.
They stopped to admire the dozens of unique leather, metal and jewelry slave collars displayed beneath a glass counter. Jack especially liked a collar made of very soft-looking leather dyed a rich, robin’s egg blue—the exact color of Cleo’s lovely eyes. It had an O-ring on either side and a discreet Velcro closure at the back.
One of the store’s employees approached. In his early twenties, he was dressed in a black biker’s vest and ripped jeans, his face studded with metal, his arms sleeved in tattoos. “Help you, mate?” he asked Jack.
“Oh, uh,” Jack said, turning to Cleo with a question in his eyes. Was it too soon?
But Cleo had drifted away, apparently drawn to the vast array of whips, paddles, floggers, crops and canes that covered the entire back wall of the establishment.
“Not now. Thanks, though,” Jack replied. It was probably for the best. He had promised himself not to rush her, after all.
Instead, he followed her to the whip display. He put his arm lightly around her shoulders as they perused the offerings. “Remember I said you’d have to earn your next orgasm?”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied.
“I want you to pick the whip I’m going to use on your lovely little cunt when we get home. If you take a good beating with proper grace, I might let you come afterward.”
“Oh,” Cleo replied, the word expelled in a rush of breath as her nipples perked visibly against the fabric of her sheer blouse.
They looked at several possible pieces. Cleo finally settled on an elegant mini flogger made of rich chocolate brown leather. The handle was perfectly weighted, the leather deceptively soft. Jack liked the idea of a toy that had never been used on another. It would be just for Cleo.
Next, he took her clothes shopping on Oxford Street, announcing it was his treat, and that he wanted to buy her a whole new wardrobe. At first, she resisted, assuring him she had plenty of clothes for the occasional times she wasn’t at the Masters Club. But when he put it in terms of a command—Master to slave—she acquiesced with charming, blushing grace.
He also allowed her to pick out a few things for him, dutifully modeling them for her as she made her choices. While they shopped, it occurred to him he hadn’t bought anything for himself since the accident. He hadn’t done much of anything for himself. It was as if Cleo was bringing him back to himself, after a long time away.
They had lunch at an outdoor café on the King’s Road not far from his apartment building. Once back home, they brought their packages and bags up to the bedroom. Aware he hadn’t checked his work email in several days, Jack attended to that while Cleo put away their new clothes.
“You can put it all in that closet there,” he said, indicating his closet. Annette’s was still full of her things. He regretted not having seen to them, but silently vowed that he would very soon.
He had over fifty unread emails, a couple of them from his secretary with the subject line: Very Important. Please handle ASAP. There were several issues he really should attend to, sooner than later. Tomorrow when he went into the office, he’d sort things out.
Looking up from his phone, Jack said, “Strip naked and get yourself into the new corset as best you can. When I’m done here, I’ll help tighten the sashes. You may kneel here beside me while you wait. I’ll only be another minute.”
