Chapter Thirty

 

 

“Are you going to let me see any of these letters?” Alfred Wrayland handed over another packet to Annie, who slipped them unopened into her bag. She smiled at him and walked around his room, touching the bobbled tablecloth, the fraying edges to the chairs, the dropped hem of the curtains.

“You ought to tidy this place up, Alfred, get someone in, get yourself a woman to do some mending around here.”

He fowned at her. “I like it the way it is.”

“I don’t. And as I have come here -”

“No one asks you to come.”

“Oh but they do, Alfred,” she walked over to him, stood close enough to see his face go red with suppressed feeling, knew she had him where she wanted him. “You ask me to come, every time I’m here, you ask me to come back, with your gestures, you stance, the way you look at me, your whole body language cries out for me to come back. Admit it, go on.” She moved closer, knew her perfume was filling his senses, knew her personal musk was penetrating to his basic instincts.

“God, I’d give a lot to have you under my cane!” He turned away with visible effort, sat down in a chair, put his head in his hands. “However did I get mixed up with a woman like you?”

“By being weak.” She strode to the radio, turned it on, changed stations, turned it off again, touch a sepia photograph of a stern looking couple, and turned back.

“And because you’re weak, you do what I say, not what you want to do, Alfred Wrayland.” He moaned slightly, just enough for her to hear. “Incidentally, you did a first class job on the Giblings, thank you. They’ve cleaned up their act something wonderful.”

“I hated doing it.”

“I know that. It made it all the more enjoyable for me.”

The doorbell rang, stopping Annie from saying anything else. She slipped quietly into the kitchen, turning up her nose in distaste. I’ll have to do something about this, she thought, get him to spend some money on the place or something. Perhaps even find somewhere else, this is awful.

But with an ear pressed to the door, and the sound of a cane falling hard on an upturned backside, Annie forgot her distaste. There was something about the sound of punishment, the sound of cane or strap coming down on flesh, the solid THWACK of punishment instrument on living skin. The sound of a voice crying out in pain, in suffering, in terror at more to come, that underlying fear that there would be more, that the recipient would not be able to stand it, it would be terrible, fear and longing and sheer surges of need combined to make the most evocative sound in the world. For a dominant.

And for a submissive too, she thought. I’ll have Tammy here next time, see how she reacts to the sounds of a caning, a good solid caning. Instead of her being under the cane I’ll get her to listen to it, and feed on her feelings. She leaned against the door. It was a man being caned, not as interesting as a woman. Annie knew in her own heart she preferred the women being punished, they cried more, they begged for mercy more, they gave more under punishment than the stoical men.

A devil-may-care mood swept over Annie, and she giggled. She heard the man cry out as the cane whacked down again. She smiled, hitched her skirt a little higher and walked boldly into the room.

“Alfred - oh I’m sorry, were you busy?” Alfred stood, cane raised, eyes wide in shock and sheer annoyance, the man looked round and groaned. “Yes, I am busy as it happens,” Alfred Wrayland snapped. “Would you leave?”

“Well, no, I’ll just stay and watch - now I’m here,” and Annie sat on the arm of the chair, crossed her legs, letting her foot swing idly backwards and forwards.

“Excuse me!” Alfred snorted, and went on caning the man, slowly and hard. Annie watched, saw the lines being created, felt the thrill of domination. That could be me! She thought, why don’t I do that? A stranger. Yes, I’d like to do it to strangers.

The man got up, pulled up his trousers, glanced at Annie again and mumbled something as he left, leaving the usual money on the table. Alfred saw him to the door, and stormed back in, face red, eyes wild.

“Damn you! Why did you have to come in?”

“Why not? I have as much right as you to be here, don’t I?”

“Well no -” Then the anger began to drain and he smiled. “You did an excellent job on humiliating him, he’s pleading to come back and do it again!”

“We could make a good pair, Alfred, you and I together.” Annie moved close to him again, sensing his emotions as she did before. She straightened his tie, smoothed his hair, ran a finger down the side of his face. It was the first time she had ever touched him, and he reacted violently. His arms shook and his lips trembled with suppressed feelings.

“Listen,” she murmured, stepping back, surveying him from head to foot. “Let’s get this place straightened up, shall we? Get someone to come, get the curtains fixed, get the furniture polished up, get the kitchen modernised, Alfred, for God’s sake! We are in the last half of the 20th century, after all! Yours looks like something out of the 40s!”

“It is something out of the 40s,” he said calmly, tucking the money into his wallet. “But you’re right, I do need a new cleaning woman, mine’s old and tired and only just about vacuums the carpet for me.”

“Do it. And put a new ad in the magazines where you advertise, say there’s a mistress here too. I’ll deal with your wimpish men for you, you deal with the ladies. And sometimes I’ll deal with the ladies too.” She paused, waiting to see what affect her words would have. His eyes lit up, he began to look very excited by the whole idea. Then as she stood with her hand on the door ready to leave, Annie landed the knockout punch. “One day I’ll cane you, Alfred, just as you secretly want. All right?”

She turned her back and walked out.