Chapter 6

By the end of the day I’d had eight more phone calls. Two callers, phoning from private numbers, had hung up immediately, without speaking. One woman had been looking to buy samoosas and was overcome with confusion when she realised where she’d ended up. One giggling teenage boy had yelled, ‘Whip me!’ before disconnecting. Four, though, had been genuine callers. I now had a second booking, for next Thursday afternoon, from a softly spoken man who had given his name as Lowly.

I knew now that there was a demand for my services, but there was so much still to do.

So far, my new venture had only the following:

1. A dungeon (painted black, currently occupied by Goth tenant, probably smelling of spaniel).

2. A mistress (sans outfits).

3. Credit for one classified advertisement (after I’d phoned and complained about the incorrect insertion).

I urgently needed to expand on this inventory, and with my limited budget I knew I had to try to utilise what was available. My first stop took me out of the garden gate and down to the stables.

Whips, spurs, leather. There was surely some gear in here that would be suitable.

Goodness kept the small tack room clean and tidy. Nonetheless, it was a sad place, a room full of equipment that, even before Mark’s accident, had become ever-increasingly neglected.

In an empty water bucket, I found three whips. One long and narrow, two shorter. The shorter ones were tough and sturdy with rubber handles and thick leather flaps on their ends. I also found a pair of spurs – and there, wrapped in a towel, were a pair of polished, knee-high, black leather riding boots. Those I could certainly use.

Only one saddle remained – I’d sold my other two, but I’d kept their spare stirrup leathers and the gleaming stirrup irons. They might also come in handy.

I found a set of thick black felt stable bandages once used to wrap my horses’ legs. Now thinking increasingly creatively, I realised they would be perfect as makeshift ropes for tying up my slaves. So would the reins, which could be knotted around wrists and ankles. The leather halter could be used as a body harness. I could even recycle my black suede gloves. I had visualised myself wearing shiny patent leather, elbow-length gloves, but in the meantime these would do perfectly.

My tack room had, in fact, offered up a cornucopia of domination delights. Although my shopping list was still frighteningly long, at least I now had some of the essentials.

I picked up one of the shorter whips and stared down at a folded blanket, imagining it was the naked buttocks of one of my clients.

‘You’re going to have to take some tough punishment now, you pathetic little wimp,’ I announced. I lifted the whip above my head and brought it down hard. There was a dull, thwacking sound as the heavy fabric absorbed the impact and a small cloud of dust puffed out.

I hit the blanket over and over until I was putting all my force behind the blows.

How painful would a beating like that feel if it landed on human flesh? I would have to learn to judge how hard to hit. Some clients would be able to handle more pain than others. Some would want visible marks left; others not.

As they might plead for the punishment to be stopped, there would need to be a safe word in place. Some would enjoy begging for it to end, knowing their requests would be cruelly ignored and their calls for mercy disregarded. I would need to be able to draw the line. To learn my slaves’ limits and judge how much each one of them could take.

‘Er – excuse me, ma’am?’

I spun round, realised I was still brandishing the whip, and lowered it in a hurry.

Dressed in blue overalls, work boots, and his precious yellow Kaizer Chiefs baseball cap, Goodness stood just outside the open door. He was staring at me with a worried expression, as if he was concerned about my apparent lack of anger management skills.

‘Ma’am, are you going to ride?’

Beyond him, I could see the long, brown, expectant face of Admiral, the seventeen-year-old, peering hopefully over the paddock fence.

It was clear that Admiral wanted to go for a ride.

‘Yes,’ I found myself saying. ‘Could you put his saddle on, please, Goodness?’

I rushed back to the house to get my jodhpurs. How long had it been since I’d worn them? They were right at the back of my cupboard and, when I attempted to put them on, I found they were shamefully tight; so much so that I broke out in a sweat as I wrestled the ribbed fabric up over my thighs.

A while later, red-faced, I tottered downstairs again, put on my boots and hard hat, and went over to the low wall that I used as a mounting block, where Goodness and Admiral were waiting.

I’d thought that Admiral would be as unfit as me, but it turned out that he’d done a better job of keeping himself in shape than I had, and he was desperate to show me the extent of his joy at being ridden again. He jogged and pulled and pranced, giving playful mock-shies at dangerouslooking bushes. His excitement infected Ace, the twenty-two-year-old. He came thundering down the field to join in the fun, and at the sound of his hooves, Admiral took off with me and galloped the whole way down the fence line before I was able to pull him up.

Twenty minutes later, when he’d finally calmed down and was walking sensibly, I decided to call it a day. I was feeling more refreshed and energised than I had done in a long time. I rode back up the field with a smile on my face, and as I did so, I heard my name being called.

‘Mrs Caine? Hellooo, Emma?’

Looking in the direction of the voice, I saw Gillian Bettiol, who was my neighbour on the eastern side. Wearing a large, floppy straw hat and carrying a pair of secateurs, she was standing in her immaculate garden and waving at me from behind the palisade that separated our properties.

I turned and trotted Admiral towards the fence. He stopped a few strides away and snorted suspiciously at her hat.

‘Keith and I have been needing to speak to you about the area by your tenant’s cottage,’ she said.

The tenant’s cottage, aka my future business premises. What the hell?

‘What about it?’

‘It’s very overgrown and it’s shorting out the electric fence. Plus, it looks really messy. It really is the most incredible eyesore and it’s right in front of us when we drive down our driveway. It needs tidying up.’

‘I’ll see to it,’ I said, and I’m sure she could hear in my voice exactly how empty that promise was. There was absolutely no way, at this present time, that the overgrowth concealing the entrance to the folly was going anywhere. I needed it to be there. And I didn’t need any prying eyes going near it.

‘If you could see to it, that would be great.’ Now there was steel in Gillian’s tone. ‘Perhaps Keith should speak to your husband about getting somebody in, so we can be sure it gets done. I do think that living in this area, we need to take a pride in our properties and keep them looking presentable.’

I stared down at her. This spoilt, selfish, rose-growing, pampered housewife with a filthy-rich husband. So immersed in her own little world that she hadn’t even bothered to greet me properly. Hadn’t even thought to ask how I was.

‘Thank you for your opinion, which I have noted,’ I said. ‘As far as clearing that area goes, I’ll look at doing it in winter, and not before. You obviously don’t know that my husband was badly brain-damaged in a car crash at the beginning of last year. If Keith wants to try to get hold of him he’s more than welcome, but since Mark can’t even speak or walk, I think clearing out our fence line for your aesthetic pleasure is going to be somewhat beyond him.’

Gillian’s face was frozen in shock; her mouth a perfect ‘O’ under the floppy hat. I didn’t wait for her to regroup her wits. I wheeled Admiral round and we galloped back up the hill towards home.