Chapter Nine

 

There was a white envelope sitting in the middle of her desk when she arrived for work the next morning.

She sat down and tore the envelope open. There was a postcard inside with a picture of a Chagall painting. Written in bold italic script on the reverse was the message: Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. It was signed: Gary.

Sally Fennell walked through the plate glass door a few minutes later. 'So how did it go last night?' she said, sitting beside Angela's desk.

'Fine,' Angela said, noncommittally. She hastily slid the card under a pile of papers.

'Oh, come on, let's have the dirt,' Sally said, grinning. 'Did he make a pass?'

'He was the perfect gentleman.'

'Don't believe you.'

'It's true. It was just business,' she lied. As much as she liked Sally, Angela had no intention of telling her what had happened last night. It would be as bad for her reputation in the office as it would be for Gary. She didn't want anyone accusing her of getting on by sleeping with the boss.

'Are you seeing him again?'

'If I earn the firm another bonus from Boyle Brothers Developments.'

'Boring. That's really boring. I thought you'd have snogged him, at the very least.'

'I told you, it was just business.'

Sally got up and went to her own desk and Angela began to think about work. It was a busy morning. The weather had been good for the last week, which always seemed to encourage buyers and sellers into the office, and there was a constant stream of people wanting attention.

Gary didn't emerge from his office until ten to one. Angela spotted him as he talked to Josephine, giving her a pile of papers to deal with. Then he walked across the office towards her.

'Hi,' he said.

Angela saw Sally Fennell turn to watch.

'Hello,' she said. 'The whole office is looking at us,' she warned.

'Could you come to my office?' he said in measured tones. 'There's something I'd like to discuss.'

'Certainly. What time?'

'Say, ten minutes?'

'Of course.'

Gary smiled, winked and walked back up the metal spiral staircase.

Ten minutes later, Angela followed him. She was intercepted at the bottom of the stairs by Sally.

'Where are you going?' she asked, grinning broadly.

'I'm going to talk to Gary about the new Boyle Brothers Developments project.'

'Of course you are,' Sally said.

'I am.'

'I don't believe you.'

'That's up to you,' Angela said. She walked up the stairs and knocked on his office door.

'Come in.'

She had only been into Gary's office a couple of times. It was small and crowded with filing cabinets, with a large window overlooking the almost constant traffic of Notting Hill Gate. She closed the door behind her.

'I guess we should have realised the gossips would be at work,' he said. His desktop was piled high with papers but space had been made for a bottle of white wine on his desk and two packets of sandwiches. 'I thought you might like a bit of lunch. There's tuna and mayo or crab salad. And wine?'

'Thanks.' She sat down on the chair in front of his desk and felt an odd sensation as she looked across at him. It took her a minute to recognise that it was lust.

Gary poured the wine and handed a glass across the desk. 'Cheers,' he said.

'Cheers,' she repeated. 'So why did you really ask me up here?'

'Because I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since last night. I needed to see you. I have to know whether you're going to see me again. You probably think I'm completely mad, don't you?'

'Mad? Why should I think that?'

'It's hardly normal behaviour, is it?'

'Gary, when it comes to sex, I don't really think there's such a thing as normal. We've all got our little peculiarities.'

Gary's face was racked with anxiety. 'Not like that. You were wonderful last night. You seemed to know exactly what to do. But it must have been difficult for you. The point is, I've been going over it all again and again and I think I can change, Angela, with your help. I really do.'

'Hold on a minute.' Angela sipped her wine. 'You're assuming rather a lot, aren't you?'

'I know, I know. That's why I had to see you. If you found it all too embarrassing, if you think I'm mad, I'd rather know now. I promise I'll never bother you again.'

'And if I didn't?'

'Then I was hoping you'd agree to see more of me.'

'That's not what I meant.'

'I don't understand.'

'What if I didn't find it embarrassing at all? What if it turned me on?'

Gary's expression registered astonishment.

'Didn't you notice that, Gary? Didn't you see how randy I was?'

Gary was now looking bemused. 'I just didn't...'

'You're a very naughty boy, Gary. Very naughty.' Angela stood up. What she said was true. Last night had excited her quite as much as her experiences with Gregory. Gary's predilections were much milder, but no less arousing. They appealed to Angela's desire to be dominant, after all.

She wondered whether he would respond well to the more outré pursuits available in her treatment room. He had specifically wanted to be spanked but she had the feeling that was probably only the tip of the iceberg, when it came to his sexuality. The woman who he had spoken of, who had introduced him to spanking as part of her sexual regimen, may not have shaped his sexual desires but merely uncovered them. And this seemed like a good time to put that theory to the test.

'What...?' Gary stammered.

'You heard me.'

'I thought...'

'Stand up,' Angela said, in the tone she had perfected over the last few weeks.

Gary got to his feet.

'Go to the door and lock it.'

Obediently, he did as he was told. There was a key in the lock and he turned it. She noticed he kept his eyes down, not looking at her face.

'That's better. Have you got a ruler?'

'A what?'

'A ruler? You know what a ruler is, don't you?'

'There's one in my top drawer.'

'Good. If you want to see me again, Gary, you're going to have to prove to me that you can be responsive to my needs, too.'

'Of course, I'll do anything.' The puzzlement in Gary's eyes was beginning to turn to excitement.

'I'm glad to hear it. Come here.' She pointed to a spot immediately in front of the desk. Gary stood on it. 'Now, reach over and get the ruler out of the drawer.'

Gary obeyed, stretching himself over the cluttered desktop and opening the drawer. It took some fumbling before he finally found the ruler. It was about two inches wide and made from white plastic.

Angela took the ruler from his hand. She flexed it and then slapped it into the palm of her other hand.

Gary started to straighten up.

'Did I tell you to move?'

'No.'

He flopped back onto the desktop. It was not difficult to see that all this was exciting him. He had not voiced a single word of protest.

'Naughty boys have to be punished. Don't they?'

'Yes, Angela.' His voice was breathy and shallow.

'And you have been naughty, haven't you? A dirty little boy.'

'Yes.'

'How badly do you think you should be punished?'

'Six,' he hissed.

'Six it is.'

Angela raised the ruler and slashed it down across his buttocks. There was no satisfying thwack, but a dull thud.

'That's no good, is it?'

'No.'

'Take your trousers down. Come on, quickly.'

Gary half-raised himself from the desk and unzipped his trousers. He pulled them over his hips and they dropped to his knees. He settled back on the desktop.

'And your pants, you idiot,' Angela said.

Gary quickly stripped his white briefs down too.

'That's much better.'

Angela raised the ruler and brought it down hard across his buttocks. This time, the noise of plastic on flesh was much more resonant. The stroke was so hard Gary gave a little yelp.

'Keep quiet.' Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Angela gave him three cuts in swift succession. The ruler left a large area of reddened flesh crisscrossed with thin stripes that were rapidly turning scarlet. She caressed them, the coolness of her hand against the heat of his buttocks making Gary produce an odd sobbing, choking sound.

'Two more,' she said softly. She was so excited, her nipples were as hard as pebbles, and she could actually feel her juices running down the silky walls of her vagina. Her panties and the crotch of her tights were distinctly damp.

She stroked the ruler down again. The flesh of his buttocks quivered and Gary reared up from the desktop and yelped much louder this time.

'I can see I'm going to have to gag you, if you carry on like this.'

Thwack. The final stroke was the hardest of them all but Gary managed to suppress his exclamation. He lay on the desk panting for breath, sweat running from his forehead onto a buff file, making it darker.

'Up,' Angela ordered.

'I can't,' Gary said.

'What do you mean, you can't?'

'I don't want you to see.'

'See what?'

He nodded down towards his loins.

'Get up now, Gary. I've seen your erection before.'

Gary stood up. His cock was sticking out from the top of his thighs, reddened by being trapped between his body and the desk.

'I couldn't help it,' he said, looking pathetic.

'Well, there's no point letting it go to waste,' Angela said. She was wearing a blue blouse and a dark-blue pleated skirt. She flicked the skirt up over her hips and leant over the desk, exactly as he had. 'Pull my tights and panties down, Gary.'

She looked over her shoulder to watch as he stepped forward. His hands were trembling as he gathered the waistband of her tights and panties and pulled them down over her hips.

'You know what I want now?' she said.

Gary looked as if he was in a trance. He gripped her hips and nudged his rampant cock into the cleft of her buttocks. It felt incredibly hot.

'Come on,' she urged, wriggling her buttocks from side to side.

His fingers dug into her flesh. He pulled back, then thrust forward, his cock plunging into her vagina.

Angela gasped. This was exactly what she wanted. She felt her sex clench around the hard rod of flesh.

'You're such a naughty boy,' she gasped.

'Yes, I am,' he agreed, beginning to pump into her.

She could feel his cock throbbing. For a moment she thought he was going to come, but he managed to control himself. He used all his strength to thrust right up into her. In this position, cramped over the desk, his cock seemed to go deeper than it had last night, filling her completely, his glans up hard against the neck of her womb.

'Yes...' she said.

She could see the people outside on the street and the double-decker buses going by, the passengers on the top deck on the same level as the office window. There were venetian blinds behind the glass but, from the startled expression on one woman's face as she peered in, they were not obscuring a good view of what was going on.

Angela found that, by grinding her hips slightly, she could catch the top of her labia against the edge of the desk, bringing pressure on her clitoris. It rewarded her with a huge surge of feeling. She was coming. Quickly. Intensely. Astoundingly. She had never done anything like this. Her sex life had been transformed. It was no longer on the back burner and content to remain there. She had found a way to promote it to the centre of her life. And that was where she was determined it was going to stay.

The feelings running through her body began to coalesce. She pushed her bottom back at Gary, hoping to get him a millimetre deeper, then came, the heat and hardness of his sex at the very core of all her feelings, pushing her orgasm higher and deeper. At that exact moment he came too, jets of semen spattering into her as he pumped his cock in and out, not stopping until the very last drop had been deposited.

'Oh, God,' he panted.

'Naughty boy,' she said. Even completely satiated as he was, the word caused his cock to spasm.

He stepped back, his cock flopping out of her sex. It was so wet, it was dripping. He pulled up his underpants and trousers.

'Now,' Angela said calmly, straightening up and picking up her wine glass, 'I need a drink.' She sipped the wine, then stooped to pull up her tights. 'Did that answer your question, Gary?'

'What question?' He looked completely bemused.

'About whether I wanted to see you again.'

'Yes. Yes, I suppose it did.'

'Well, at least we've got that clear.'

The door handle turned, then was rattled. 'Mr Roe, are you in there?'

'Josephine,' Gary whispered. 'She never knocks.'

'Well, that's something she's going to have to learn to do, in the future,' Angela said, sitting on the chair in front of the desk and picking up the tuna and mayo sandwich. She took a big bite, the filling dripping onto her chin. 'Don't you think?'

 

'Another glass of champagne, my dear?'

'Thank you.'

The butler poured the Dom Perignon into her tall crystal flute.

'More coffee, madam?'

'Not for me,' Angela said.

'No, thank you, Charles, I think that will be all for now.'

'Shall I tell Tom to have the car ready, sir?'

'If you would.'

Angela Strickland had visited Sir Archibald Clarke on several occasions. The routine had been exactly the same. The butler had led her up to the vast bedroom, where Archibald had awaited her in his velvet robe. Afterwards, they would retire to the dining room downstairs, where they would dine off champagne, oysters and lobsters or Dover sole. A chauffeur-driven Bentley had then taken her home.

Archibald was so pleased with her services that he had agreed to take over the payments on her mortgage, as Gregory had predicted.

'Well, here's to you my dear, and our...' he searched for the right word, '...association.'

They clinked glasses and sipped the wine.

'You really are a marvel, my dear,' he said. 'In my position I could never have risked going to... well, you know... a woman of the streets. Any publicity...'

'I understand.'

'I owe Gregory a big favour.'

And Gregory was astute enough, Angela thought, to make sure he collected on it.

'There's something I would like to ask you,' Archibald said, looking serious.

Tonight Angela had made Archibald crawl around on the floor on all fours, while she had beaten his buttocks with a school cane. It had been, she told him, a punishment for not licking her shoes properly. After eight strokes, which had left his bottom red and welted, she had tied him to the bedpost and lay on the bed in front of him and masturbated, this time still wearing the PVC mac.

'Go ahead.'

'I wondered if you might have a friend.'

Angela smiled to herself. 'A friend?' she asked, knowing perfectly well what was coming next. Gregory must have asked Paula the same question. It was his desire to have another woman watching him being put through his paces that had really started this whole adventure.

Archibald blushed. 'Someone who might join you.'

'I think I might be able to arrange that.'

'Someone discreet, of course. Someone you could trust.'

'Sounds like fun,' she said.

'Really? I mean, I would only want her to watch.'

'Oh. I thought you had something a little more interesting in mind,' Angela said, miming disappointment.

'Interesting?' he replied in a fractured voice.

'Yes. Would you be shocked to know that I like women, too?'

'You do?' he said, his voice betraying his excitement.

'Yes. I thought that's what you meant. Watching me with another woman. Wouldn't you like that? Of course, you would have to be severely restrained.'

'Could you... would you?'

'But you'd have to come to my flat. I want you to come there anyway, Archie. I think it's time you visited me. There's lots of new things I can do to you there.'

'All right.'

'Good. I'll see what I can arrange.' She hadn't seen Paula for a couple of weeks. It would be exciting to repeat the performance they had given Gregory.

'And there's something else.' Archibald looked nervous.

'Yes?'

'I don't want you to be offended.'

'I won't be, I promise.'

'It's just that there's a colleague I work with very closely. He's a good chap but, like me, he's in the public eye. I know he has very similar tastes. I wondered...'

'You want me to meet him?'

'Yes.'

Angela thought about that for a moment. With Gregory, she had always been able to kid herself that she was his mistress, set up in a little flat in the time-honoured way. And now the fact that Archibald was paying her mortgage rather than giving her money after each visit made it easy to pretend that she was not a prostitute. But if Archibald introduced her to another man, he would expect to pay her, presumably in cash, and then the fragile pretence she maintained would be shattered.

On the other hand, she needed furniture for her flat, would have loved a larger wardrobe of clothes, as well as her ever-growing collection of lingerie, and would have liked a car. The truth was that, ever since she had walked into Archibald's house carrying her doctor's bag, she had sold her services to him, just as a prostitute would. Would it really make any difference to her if she performed for another total stranger who actually gave her money? She liked to think that if Sir Archibald Clarke had been physically repulsive or abhorrent in any other way, she would have walked straight out of his house, however much money he was offering her. As long as she used the same criteria with Archibald's friend, she decided, she couldn't see any reason to object.

There was another element, too. In the end, despite the economic realities, she was doing this to enjoy herself. Lying upstairs this evening, with the PVC mac creaking underneath her and Archibald's eyes riveted to her sex, she had come explosively. She loved teasing and tormenting men. She loved being in control. And she saw no reason why she should restrict herself to one man.

'All right,' she said.

'You're not offended, are you?'

'Of course not. When can I meet him?'

'I'll arrange it all,' Archibald said, smiling. 'I'm sure you'll like him.'

'I'm sure I will.'

 

'Hi.'

'Angie, how are you?'

'I'm fine. It's not too late, is it?' Angela had called Paula the moment she got home. It was nearly midnight.

'Of course not. I got rid of my last client half an hour ago, had a long bath and went to bed. I'm lying here, watching the late night movie. I haven't seen you for weeks.'

'That's really why I'm calling. You remember I told you about this man Gregory had introduced me to?'

'Yes.'

'Well, you can guess what's coming next, can't you?'

'He wants a threesome. Just like Gregory.'

'Exactly.'

'Well, that would be nice.'

'You gave me two hundred, remember? Is that all right?'

'As it's you, I'd do it for nothing, sweetheart. I get quite randy thinking about you.'

'I seem to be randy all the time, these days. I've discovered a little secret about my boss.'

'Really? More B and D?'

'Showing all the signs. He likes being spanked. I haven't introduced him to anything stronger, yet.'

'You have been busy. Wish you were here now. I could just do with that artful little mouth of yours doing lovely things to my pussy.' Paula's voice was suddenly low and breathy. 'Where are you?'

'In my sitting room.'

'Pity. I thought you'd be lying naked in bed with a nice big dildo in your hand. Are you still dressed?'

'Yes.'

'Blouse, bra?'

'Yes.'

'Are your nipples hard? Mine are.' Paula gasped. 'Just tweaked one. God, I'm getting hot.'

Angela imagined Paula's fingers pinching her big nipple, the flesh of her breast warm and soft. She moved her hand up to her left breast. Her nipple was hardening rapidly.

'You've got beautiful tits,' Paula told her.

'So have you.'

'Run your hand up your leg. Are you wearing tights?'

'No. Hold-ups.'

'Panties?'

'Yes.'

'Pull the crotch aside. Push your fingers in there.'

Angela was sitting on her new cherry-red sofa in her sitting room. She stretched her legs out and spread them apart, running her hand up under her skirt and over her shiny stocking until it reached the creamy flesh of her thigh. She rubbed her fingers against the silky black crotch of her panties. The crotch was damp from her earlier exertions. She felt her clitoris throb. She had already come once, tonight, but it responded as if this was the first time.

She moaned exaggeratedly, so Paula would be able to hear.

'I've pulled all the bedclothes off. I'm lying here naked with my legs spread right out and my knees bent. I'm going to finger my clit.' Paula gave a little exclamation. 'Oh, lovely, it's so big. Wish you could suck on it for me. Can you see it, Angie?'

Angela could see a clear picture of Paula's sex. She remembered how it had been poised above her face, Paula's thighs spread apart, her puffy labia exposing the little button of her clit.

'Yes.' She pushed her fingers down the length of her labia until she felt the opening of her vagina. Teasing herself, she circled it with a finger but did not push inside.

A loud humming erupted on the line. She heard Paula whimper. 'Oh, God, that feels good.'

'Are you using a dildo?'

'Tell you the truth, Angie, you interrupted me. I was just getting myself worked up when you rang. I've got that big black rubber vibrator right up my pussy. Oh... and I was going to use the other one on my clit.'

'Don't let me stop you.' Angela could hear the passion in the woman's voice and it was turning her on. She thrust two and then three fingers into her own sex and that made it worse, the sticky wetness and the heat of her own sex making her whole body shudder.

'Do it with me,' Paula said.

'Yes.' Angela slid her fingers in and out of the slick wet tube of her vagina. She jammed the phone under her shoulder so she could use the middle finger of her other hand to frot against her clit. She squirmed her shoulders from side to side, pushing her breasts out against the black lace bra she was wearing, so her nipples rubbed against the cups.

'What are you doing?' Paula gasped.

'I've got my fingers in my pussy, and I'm doing my clit.'

'Oh, yes. Oh God, Angie...' The humming noise got louder and, a few seconds later, Paula made a little high-pitched keening noise. The phone sounded as if it had been dropped. In the distance the humming sound stopped.

Angela's body was undulating to the same rhythm that her fingers were using to saw in and out of her body. She flicked at her clitoris, each movement producing a surge of feeling. In her mind, the image of Paula's naked body stretched out on her bed was replaced by seeing herself as if from above, her body bent over Gary's desk as he stood behind her, his cock reaming into her with seemingly impossible speed.

'Oh yes, yes, that's just...' Her finger had found the tiniest of spots on her clit, where every sexual nerve in her body seemed to be concentrated, and rubbed it furiously. She felt her vagina clutch reflexively at her fingers and she came, a sharp, almost painful wave of ecstasy breaking over her, making her toss her head violently from side to side.

'Are you all right?'

Angela began to laugh. 'Jesus, you can even turn me on over the phone.'

'It's mutual, I assure you. Mmm... my pussy feels like it just wants to curl up and go to sleep.'

'I'll ring you tomorrow. We'll set a date.'

'Good idea. I just want to drift off to sleep now. Sweet dreams.'

'Somehow, tonight, I don't think I'll dream at all.'

 

He was short and on the thin side of slender. His brown hair had been cut short and he wore a navy suit with a light blue shirt. Oddly he wasn't wearing a tie, though he looked as if he had only just taken it off, as if making an effort to be casual.

Angela recognised him immediately. Like Sir Archibald Clarke, he appeared regularly in the financial pages of the newspapers, the head of some major insurance group.

'Good evening,' he said. 'I'm Phillip Menzies.'

The arrangement was that they should meet in the bar at the Regency Park Hotel. Angela had told him she would be wearing her white suit with a cream blouse. The blouse was tight, with a sweetheart neckline.

'Pleased to meet you,' she said, extending her hand. He took it and shook it. He had small, almost doll-like hands that were as soft as hers. His fingernails were immaculately manicured.

The bar at the Regency was plush and American, with deep pleated leather banquettes arranged around circular tables. Phillip Menzies squeezed behind the table and sat beside her. A waiter appeared at once.

'What would you like, sir?' he said. He was young and effete. From the rather obvious way he was admiring Phillip, Angela thought he was probably gay.

'Just mineral water.'

'With gas?'

'No. Evian still, please.'

'Certainly, sir.'

The waiter walked away.

'I'm really delighted to meet you,' Phillip said. He looked nervous, his eyes not meeting hers.

He had rested his hands on the table and Angela put hers on top of them.

'It's all right,' she said. 'I'm not going to bite.'

'I didn't think you'd be so young. Or so beautiful.'

'Didn't Archie describe me?'

'Yes. I suppose I didn't listen. Here, this is for you.' He took a plain white envelope from his jacket pocket and pushed it into her lap under the table. Angela slipped it into the black doctor's bag that was sitting on the seat beside her.

'Your water, sir,' the waiter said, reappearing. Again he studied Phillip studiously as he unscrewed the top of the bottle and poured the water into a glass stacked with ice.

'Thank you.' The waiter's attentions were not returned and he walked away.

'Cheers,' Phillip said.

Angela raised her gin and tonic. 'Cheers.'

'Archie did explain everything?'

'Of course. Don't look so worried, Phillip.'

'It's been a long time. I used to know this woman. She was very understanding. Very. Then I got married and my wife... You don't mind me telling you this, do you?'

'Of course not.'

'I suppose I thought that, being married, I could just forget about my other urges. I really tried, too. But the more I tried to put them aside, the more they reasserted themselves. And my wife. Well, she was only into absolutely straight sex. She won't hear of anything... outré.'

'Did you try?'

'Oh yes, I tried. That's why we got divorced. It cost me a lot of money. She threatened to go public. The whole thing was a terrible mistake. And, like Archie, I can hardly trust a... a...'

'A prostitute?'

'Exactly. I've had one or two girlfriends and I've made gentle hints, but none of them ever took me up on them.'

'So are you going to tell me?'

'I'd rather show you, if you don't mind.'

'Show me?'

'I've booked a room upstairs.'

'All right. Let's go.' Angela finished the remains of her drink. She had the feeling that Phillip was so nervous, if she didn't act quickly he was going to change his mind.

They squeezed out from the table and Phillip signed the bill at the bar, the waiter eyeing him hopefully again.

There was a lift on the other side of the marble foyer and Phillip led the way over to it. They travelled up to the fifth floor.

'You could have come to my flat,' Angela said.

'I thought this would be more discreet.'

He took her by the elbow and led her along a wide corridor decorated with prints of the works of Constable and Turner, the windows draped with heavy flounced and tie-backed curtaining. A computer card operated the locks on the doors and Phillip took his from his wallet and slipped it into the brass lock on the door. The lock sprang open.

'Home,' he said with a nervous smile.

The room was large and luxurious, with a thick dark-red carpet and red-and-cream patterned wallpaper. The bed was low and wide, and covered with a counterpane that matched the checkered red curtains that had been drawn across the window.

Angela put the doctor's bag on the bed.

'I find this terribly embarrassing,' Philip said.

'It doesn't have to be,' she said. 'I'm unshockable, Phillip.' She wondered if that was true. She had seen a lot in the last months, but she knew there was a lot more that she had not experienced. Paula had told her some of the more extreme things men had asked her to do and she couldn't see herself coping with them.

'All right,' he said. 'I have to go to the bathroom. I'll leave you with this.' There was a small photo album on the bedside table. He handed it to her then almost ran into the bathroom. She could hear the door being locked behind him.

Angela opened the album. It had about ten pages and each had a single photograph covered in glossy transparent plastic. The first was a head and shoulders of a young woman in a rather plain green dress. She had wavy brown hair and a pretty rather than a beautiful face. She was staring into the camera with an expression that suggested she found it hard to smile, despite the fact that was what the photographer was probably urging her to do. The setting, as well as the rather old-fashioned cut of the dress, and the slightly faded quality of the photograph itself, suggested that it had been taken some time ago.

Angela turned the page. The next photograph was of the same woman in the same dress but a full-length view. She was wearing brown high heels and tan-coloured nylon sheathed her legs. On the opposite page, the dress had been removed. It was lying on an armchair to the woman's left and the woman was pictured in a lacy white bra, a wide lacy suspender belt supporting the tan stockings and old fashioned panties with wide sides that reached from her waist to the top of her thighs. Rather unusually, she was wearing the suspender belt over the briefs.

Again Angela turned the page. The dress had been removed from the chair and the woman was kneeling in front of it, with her head bowed. In the photograph on the opposite page the woman in the white lingerie had turned to face the chair, still on her knees. Sitting in the chair now was an elegant redhead who was probably in her mid thirties. She was wearing a tight-fitting dress that looked as if it were made from burnished gold, and beige stiletto heels. She had her legs crossed and Angela thought she could glimpse a flash of thigh above the top of black stockings.

On the next page the redhead was sitting in the chair again in exactly the same position, but had taken off her dress. She was now wearing a white heavily boned basque, its long suspenders stretched tautly over her slender and shapely thighs. The other woman had moved around to the side and was bent forward with her mouth pressed to one of the woman's shoes. The next photograph was identical, except that the woman's mouth had moved to the other shoe, the one that was raised in the air, and was licking it with her tongue.

On the next page the kneeling woman was facing away from the camera. Her arms had been drawn behind her back and her wrists were crossed and bound with white rope. Rope had also been wound around her arms, just above the elbows, and pulled so tight her elbows almost touched. The woman's ankles were bound together too, and a rope from them ran up to her wrists, binding the two together and making it impossible for her to stand up. The redhead was standing beside her, also facing away from the camera, her hand on the other woman's shoulder. Angela could see that her stockings had a fully-fashioned heel and a seam. The seam was absolutely straight and seemed to emphasise the regular contours of her spectacularly long legs. She was not wearing panties and her apple-shaped buttocks jutted out under the hem of the basque. Even though her legs were closed, there was a hollow at the top of her thighs and Angela could see a wisp of hair. In the photograph on the opposite page, the redhead was sitting in the chair again. Her legs were apart but the view of her sex was obscured by the other woman's head. She was kneeling between the woman's legs and appeared to be staring at her sex.

Angela turned the page. The bound woman had leant forward, her lips obviously pressed to the redhead's sex. The redhead had dug her fingers into the woman's hair and was clearly holding her head tightly. Her eyes were staring straight into the camera, her expression set. Angela had seen that look before; it was the look of a dominatrix. The woman was in total charge.

The next photograph showed her with her thighs hooked over the other woman's shoulders and her head back, her creamy thighs visible on either side of the woman's cheeks. This time, Angela could not see her eyes.

And that was it. The rest of the pages of the book were empty. Twenty minutes later the bathroom door opened. A woman with brown wavy hair wearing a plain green dress, tan nylons and brown high heels walked out. Angela was not surprised. Though with full make-up, carefully drawn eyebrows, and eye shadow and mascara, the woman looked as feminine as she had in the photograph, there was no doubt that it was Phillip Menzies. The photograph album had been his way of telling her what he wanted. The redhead was no doubt the woman he had mentioned in the bar downstairs, the woman who had understood his needs.

Angela got up and opened the doctor's bag, then sat on the edge of the bed. She crossed her legs. She wondered if the woman had demanded he dress up like that or whether it had been his own idea.

'What's your name?' she asked.

'Phillipa.' Phillip stood staring at the floor.

She should have known. She thought of Harriet and Harry.

'Do you know what I am, Phillipa?'

'No, I don't.'

'The woman in the photographs. I'm like her, Phillipa. She demanded things of you, didn't she?'

'Yes.'

'How did you address her?'

'She made me call her "madam".'

'You must call me that, too. Did she make you wear these clothes?'

'Yes, madam; it pleased her.'

'Good. Because it pleases me too. I like women. I like to see you dressed as a woman.'

'Thank you, madam.'

'Get on your knees.' She changed her tone of voice and barked this command out.

Phillip fell to his knees. Angela pointed at her feet. 'You know what to do.'

'Yes, madam.'

He sunk to the floor and started licking her left shoe, which was still on the floor. He licked all around it enthusiastically, then turned to her right, which was dangling in the air.

Angela watched him. He made a pretty woman. His legs had been shaved and were shapely, his body was slight and his small-featured face could easily have been feminine. Now she knew exactly what was expected of her, she found that she could relax. She was quite happy to let this man perform as he had performed in the photographs.

'That's enough.'

Phillip stopped immediately but did not move, waiting for his orders.

'I want you to take that dress off.'

'Yes, mistress.'

Phillip struggled to unzip the dress, not as practised as a woman in such matters. Eventually he managed to grip the tongue of the zip. He grasped the hem and pulled it over his head. He was wearing the same lingerie as in the photographs. The lacy bra was stuffed with two jelly-like prosthetics, so realistic that it was difficult to distinguish them from the real thing.

'Now put your hands behind your back and turn around.'

Phillipa obeyed.

Angela reached into the doctor's bag. She did not have the white rope featured in the photograph, but she had brought the tough leather cuffs and straps she used on Archie. She wrapped one pair around Phillip's wrists and buckled them tight, then did the same with another pair just above his elbows. She took out a wide leather strap and wound it around his delicate feminine ankles, and buckled that tight too. As she got to her feet and admired her work, she felt a familiar pang of arousal. There was something about putting a man into bondage that never failed to excite her.

'Turn round again,' she ordered.

Phillip found it much more difficult to accomplish this feat with his arms and legs bound, but eventually managed to shuffle around until he was facing the bed again.

Angela unzipped her white skirt and let it slide to the floor. She stepped out of it and laid it on the bed. With the envelope of money stuffed into the doctor's bag, and the photo album telling her exactly what was required of her, there was no disguising from herself that she was behaving exactly like a prostitute. But that didn't inhibit her. She was here because she wanted to be. She had a role to play and she relished it.

'You know what I want you to do, don't you?' she said.

'Yes, mistress.'

'Good.' She pulled her jacket off, stripped the tight blouse over her head and ran her fingers through her long blonde hair. She was wearing a cream silk bra, matching thong panties and a narrow suspender belt supporting her flesh-coloured stockings. She pulled her panties down her legs, let them drop to the floor, then stooped to pick them up. She held them to Phillip's face and stroked his cheek with the silky material.

'Does that feel nice, Phillipa?'

'Yes, mistress, lovely,' he said, half-closing his eyes. She saw him inhale the scent of her perfume she had dabbed between her thighs, mixed with the musky aroma of her sex.

Angela knelt on the bed. She crawled round until she was right in front of him, then spread her knees apart. Her pubis was neatly framed by the suspender belt and stocking-tops. She began to stroke the furry hair, letting her finger drift down into her labia. Her clitoris was already swollen. It welcomed her intrusion with a little jolt of pleasure.

Phillip's eyes stared straight ahead. She could see that the old-fashioned white nylon panties were tented by the outline of his erection.

Angela unclipped her bra, cupped both her breasts in her hands, pinched her hard nipples and felt a surge of arousal. She moved closer to him, then sat on the edge of the bed. Just as the woman in the photograph had done, she reached forward and ran her fingers into the brown hair of his wig, pulling him down onto her sex.

Phillip's mouth was small and neat. She felt his tongue gently searching for her clit. When he found the little nub of nerves he pressed it back against the underlying bone, then relaxed, then pressed it back again, establishing a rhythm. At the same time his tongue seemed to slide over it in a circular motion. She had never experienced this. Her clit seemed to flutter, like a butterfly, producing a whole raft of new sensations.

Angela lay back on the bed, raising her thighs and hooking them over his shoulders, bending her knees and digging her heels into his back. Now he had access to the rest of her sex, he immediately slithered his mouth down to her vagina. His tongue played around the entrance, then began stroking up and down her sex, from her clit to the little puckered hole of her anus. At the top it paused briefly to press on her clit, producing a surge of sensation, then stroked back again with a rhythm as regular as the second hand of a clock.

Angela felt her body beginning to tremble. She had never felt anything quite like this. Instead of all her feelings being concentrated on her clit this treatment was sensitising the whole length of her pussy.

Briefly she raised her head to look down at him. For all intents and purposes it was a woman's face that was plying between her legs, and certainly he had a woman's sensitivity. Only Paula had licked and sucked her as beautifully as this.

Her head dropped back. The feelings gathering in her body were irresistible. The long trail of his tongue left an indelible impression in her. Her vagina was alive and she could feel her juices running down the inner walls. As her muscles locked in response to all this provocation and her eyes were forced closed, she arched her back up off the bed and her orgasm gushed over her. At exactly that moment, Phillip crushed his mouth to the entrance of her vagina and she felt his tongue darting inside while his nose pressed on her clit. This caused another explosion at the epicentre of her orgasm, even bigger than the first, as though she had come twice, every muscle and sinew stretched now like a piano string.

Slowly the feelings leached away. For a second, as she opened her eyes, she found it hard to remember where she was. The walls of the hotel room came into focus and she raised her head and looked down at Phillip. He was kneeling in front of her, his mouth and chin wet, his pale red lipstick smeared.

'You're very good at that,' she said.

'Thank you, madam.'

The bulge in the white nylon panties was beginning to disappear and there was a large damp stain spreading in its place.