Lucky dip

‘TELL ME AGAIN HOW long you left the email unread?’

‘Three days, sir.’

‘And tell me again why you left it unread for three days?’

‘Because I got another one two minutes later, and it was from you, so I read that and just … forgot … about the other one.’

Charlotte screwed up her face. It was hard to think on one’s feet, and even harder to think on one’s tiptoes. Especially when cuffed and strung up by the wrists to a ceiling hook. With nothing on but a shirt and shoes and socks.

‘And now,’ Collins said again, magnifying the enormity of her transgression with the weight of disapproval in his voice, ‘our customer has complained. Not only that, but she intends to withdraw the recommendations she has made to friends. And this is no ordinary customer, Charlotte, oh no. This is a very highly valued customer; a lady who has availed herself of our service no fewer than four times.’

‘I know, sir. I’m sorry, sir.’

‘Sorry doesn’t pay the bills.’ Collins ran the cold flat tip of his riding crop over Charlotte’s undefended bottom cheeks. ‘How many have you earned, Charlotte, in your estimation?’

Charlotte hated this part; having to guess how many strokes he would give her (for she was under no illusion that her hazardings were ever taken into final account when he calculated the total owing).

‘Twenty, sir? Hard?’

‘Twenty, hard. Hmm. I’d say that was the minimum. Let’s start with ten medium and then work up to … thirty. Hard.’

Oh dear. This was the worst tally yet – though Charlotte had not, thus far, committed any transgression more serious than forgetting to order new stationery, so that was hardly surprising. Lady Markham was extremely displeased, judging by the tone of her follow-up email, and Collins was correspondingly incandescent.

The medium ten were bad enough, stinging and inescapable as she struggled to keep her tippy-toes on the ground, but once he started to put the full strength of his arm into them, Charlotte knew she would not get through the first dozen without some pleading and bargaining. Pleading and bargaining never worked with Collins though. Bryant could sometimes be persuaded, but Collins was made of resolution and utterly unswerving once his course was fixed.

The cuts came hard and fast, which was one scant mercy – at least he did not draw out the agony – and pretty soon, Charlotte was almost spinning in a twisty dervish-dance, swinging on that hook like a punch bag buffeted this way and that. No matter how she tried to position herself, Collins found her bottom with the deftest, surest flick of his wrist and each stroke of the thirty found its target with ease, until she was striped and tight, burning all over from the disciplinary attention.

‘Now,’ said Collins quietly, cupping her punished globes with a considering hand, ‘I am going to uncuff you and you are going to sit on that hard wood chair and take dictation for me.’

Charlotte breathed in deeply as the cuffs clicked and she was reacquainted with her heels. Sitting on the chair was not comfortable, but at least the worst of the whipping was past and she was free to redeem herself.

‘Dear Lady Markham,’ opened Collins, standing by the window and looking out while Charlotte commenced typing. ‘Please accept my humble apologies for the oversight regarding your most recent email. My slapdash omission was inexcusable and you will be pleased to hear that I am sitting on a very sore bottom as I type this, having been soundly whipped by an irate Mr Collins. He has asked me to tell you that, if you feel my punishment insufficient, he is very happy to add to it.’

Charlotte lifted tragic eyes to her employer at this juncture. Surely this was humiliation enough? But Collins slight half-smile conveyed pleasure in her abasement, so she was sure any protestation would meet with short shrift.

‘I hope you will feel able,’ continued Collins, ‘to continue with the arrangement you sought to make in your preliminary communication. I would be very happy to offer you the scenario you outlined at fifty per cent of the usual price, for the sake of continuing goodwill. I will personally make up the shortfall by working overtime and taking on a more hands-on role from time to time. I sincerely hope this will be agreeable to you, and look forward to your reply. Abjectly, Charlotte Steele.’

‘A more hands-on role,’ said Charlotte nervously, looking up at her employer. ‘What did you mean by that, please, sir?’

‘I mean, Charlotte, that when a female player is required in these fantasies, you will have to take that part. It will save me a good deal of money. Money I cannot afford to lose.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘Good. Now come and sit your sore behind on this windowsill and show me your contrition in the usual manner, Charlotte. I haven’t got all day to deal with your misdeeds.’

‘Lady Markham isn’t quite sure how she wants this set up,’ Bryant explained, leading Charlotte and Collins through the Harley Street rooms, deserted at this time of night, but giving exactly the right atmosphere. ‘I gather from Charlotte that she is keen for some kind of quasi-medical consultation, with her as the submissive, brought to an appointment with a doctor by her exasperated husband or employer. What do you think, Charlotte? Husband or employer?’

‘I think husband,’ said Charlotte. ‘Then it’s clear that he already has a sexual relationship with her. A boss is good too, though … I don’t know.’

‘Well, you need to know,’ said Collins impatiently. ‘You’re the submissive on the payroll. This is what we pay you for.’

‘Maybe a husband then. He is taking her to the doctor to find out why she is so temperamental and disobedient. The doctor examines her … y’know … and makes his recommendations. And perhaps demonstrates a few.’

‘Good,’ said Collins. A doctor, a masterful husband and a wife who needs to be brought to submission. I like it. I think Lady Markham will like it too.’

‘It’s funny, isn’t it,’ said Charlotte, ‘how an amazingly powerful woman like Lady Markham, who has made policies and everything, likes to get spanked and ordered about. Weird.’

‘Not weird really,’ smiled Bryant. ‘I suppose it’s a release for her.’

‘I suppose so.’

They came to the top of a flight of stairs and entered a large, airy, plant-filled consultation room.

‘Well then.’ Bryant switched on the lights and drew the blinds. ‘I think this will do rather nicely.’

Collins slid himself into position behind the substantial walnut desk and took out a clipboard and fountain pen. ‘Notes,’ he explained tersely. ‘You’ll find my waiting room next door, Mr and Mrs …’

‘Masterton,’ supplied Charlotte.

‘Perfect. Well, then. Go and wait for me to admit you.’

Charlotte and Bryant walked through to an equally spacious room amply supplied with comfortable chintzy seating and copies of Country Life on the expensive antique occasional tables.

‘Well, my dear,’ said Bryant, getting into strident role, ‘I’m told that Dr Collins is the leading authority in this area. I certainly hope he will be able to help us.’

Charlotte lowered her eyes to the floor, shifting uncomfortably in her armchair. ‘Are you sure this is necessary, darling?’ she muttered.

Bryant smiled, perching on the armrest and clapping a hand of reassurance on her shoulder.

‘If you want this marriage to work, dearest Charlotte … and I know I do.’

Charlotte, momentarily transported to an alternative reality in which she was Bryant’s wife, could only stare at him, mute with the possibilities such a situation would have to offer.

‘If it’s what you want … then I will go along with it,’ she finally faltered.

She was re-anchored in the present by the click of the consulting room door and the sight of Collins’s head, spectacles lowered to the bridge of his nose, peering severely at his clients.

‘I’m ready for you now, Mr Masterton,’ he said, ignoring Charlotte and turning his back on them to return to the desk.

It was an impressive, expansive figure who greeted the couple, fingers knit in a steeple, head cocked to one curious side.

‘I note from your referral,’ opened Collins, glancing at some hastily-scribbled papers, ‘that you have been experiencing some marital difficulties. Please could you expand on these for me, Mr Masterton.’

‘Of course,’ Bryant opened enthusiastically. ‘When Charlotte and I became engaged, we made certain agreements – a contract of sorts – as to how the household would be run. She accepted that I would be master of the house in every respect and that I had the right to demand her absolute obedience. However, it seems that she was … less than honest with me when she made that agreement.’

‘Oh really?’ Charlotte felt a trickle of excitement in the face of the hard stare Collins was now subjecting her to. She shifted in her seat, causing Bryant to grasp her hand and hold it tightly.

‘Sad but true,’ continued the disappointed husband. ‘She is consistently disobedient, lazy around the house and has even begun to withhold her body from me, in direct contravention of the rules we established together.’

‘Separate beds?’ snapped Collins in disgust.

‘Upon occasion, I regret to say …’

‘But do you not insist?’

‘I have insisted. I have threatened. I have begged.’

‘Enough!’ Collins, his eyes now hardened flint, held up a hand. ‘You must never beg. She will laugh at you.’

‘Then what can I do, Doctor?’

‘Watch,’ said Collins, his voice a purr of menace, ‘and learn. I can restore to you a pliant and submissive mate who will open her legs for you at the merest suggestion of desire on your part – but you must observe and follow these techniques to the letter. Are you prepared to do this?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘And you, Mrs Masterton?’

Charlotte pursed her lips, her chest already heaving in anticipation of the dread delights to come.

‘I … oh … if it will save my marriage … then yes.’

‘Good. Masterton, ask her to do something for you. Let me see how she behaves.’

‘Very well. Er … would you care to suck my cock, darling?’

Charlotte forced the laughter down and retorted, ‘Certainly not! I’m not some whore, you know!’

‘I see,’ said Collins icily. ‘We have much work to do. Mr Masterton, may I ask you to place your chair against the wall, somewhere that will give you the optimum view, and observe how I would deal with this kind of insubordination.’

Bryant, nodding, moved away from the desk and sat, legs crossed and arms folded, ready to enjoy the spectacle.

‘Now then, Mrs Masterton, let’s try that again.’ Collins rose from his desk and came to loom behind Charlotte, his hands braced on the back of her chair. He bent and put his lips close to her ear.

‘Suck my cock,’ he hissed.

‘No!’ yelped Charlotte, bolting forwards until she almost fell off the chair, but Collins had closed his hand around her upper arm and was dragging her up and out of her seat, whisking her briskly out of the way so he could take her place and then pull her, so seamlessly that it was like a perverse ballet, back down across his lap, head and legs dangling and tight-skirted bottom vulnerable to attack.

‘I’m not sure I heard that right,’ he said, patting a hand against the swell of her buttocks with dangerous intent. ‘Did you say no?’

‘Ohhhh,’ moaned Charlotte, fully aware of her precarious position.

It seemed that Collins did not really require an answer anyway, for he addressed himself to Bryant instead.

‘My advice to you,’ he said, ‘is to put a system of consequences for disobedience in place as soon as you can, and to stick to it. This is just a suggestion – you can use other sanctions as well as, or instead of, corporal punishment; but once you have decided on your system, you must be firm and consistent in applying it. And now, with your permission, I intend to give your wife the spanking she so clearly needs.’

‘Oh, please, be my guest,’ said Bryant and then Charlotte’s squeals drowned his words, together with the salutary crack of Collins’s broad palm against the tightly-skirted rear.

‘You must judge for yourself how far and how hard you want to take it,’ said Collins, smacking away with gusto. ‘For instance, you may decide to stick to spanking her over her skirt or trousers. Or you may decide that these offer too much protection – I tend to go along with that viewpoint – in which case …’

Charlotte kicked her legs as the skirt rose up, trailing ticklishly along her thighs and revealing her high-cut French silk knickers.

‘… You might try warming her behind in underwear only. These are very nice; did you buy them for her?’

‘I did,’ said Bryant – and it was true. ‘They’re from Agent Provocateur.’

‘Oh, yes, a favourite haunt of my wife’s,’ said Collins, and Charlotte’s buttocks clenched suddenly. ‘No, Mrs Masterton, you do not clench for me, unless you want extra strokes.’

Charlotte both did and didn’t want extra strokes; but what she definitely did not want was for Collins to be married. Was the wife real, or imaginary, constructed for the furtherance of the narrative? Not sure why she should care, Charlotte endeavoured to put the thought from her mind, and she was ably assisted in this by the renewed forceful application of Collins’s hand to her silkily clad rear.

‘Do you repent your ill-mannered disobedience?’ Collins asked, whaling away. ‘Can your husband expect the submission he deserves from you in the future?’

Charlotte knew that Lady Markham would be far from ready to throw in the towel at this point, so she shook her head and blurted, ‘No, no.’

‘Very well. Then I shall have to bare your bottom.’

‘This can’t be a medical technique! I demand to see the textbook!’

‘My methods may be unorthodox, but they carry a one hundred per cent success rate.’ Collins whipped the knickers down to Charlotte’s knees and spent an agonisingly long time inspecting the state he had made of her bottom.

‘These look like the marks of a riding whip,’ he noted, pressing a thumb into the fading bruises from the cropping he had given her in the office two days earlier. ‘You have already tried this method?’

‘Tried,’ said Bryant. ‘But I can’t seem to make it sink in.’

‘Are you consistent? Does she know that any unacceptable behaviour will result in these marks of punishment?’

Bryant sighed. ‘No, I suppose I have let her get away with a great deal.’

‘There you are. You must strengthen your will, Mr Masterton; you may find that you are spanking your wife ten times a day, but eventually, the message will get through. I know it will be … unpleasant for you, at first.’

Charlotte heard the mild snuffle of repressed mirth from her play-husband. Unpleasant! Yeah. Right.

‘But it’s necessary.’ As if to reinforce this point, Collins began to spank Charlotte’s naked behind with loud, percussive, stinging smacks that made her wriggle and yelp. Although he wielded canes, crops, paddles and straps with expert accuracy, somehow his hand had a uniquely painful quality all of its own, especially on bare skin. She knew she could safeword at any time without prejudice, but it was important to Charlotte to do what Lady Markham would do. And Lady Markham had been known to wear out a variety of professional Doms, both male and female, in the past. She was obviously some kind of super-submissive, and Charlotte aspired to her high tolerance of pain and humiliation.

‘Even if your hand begins to tire,’ Collins was lecturing Bryant as he worked, ‘you must not end the punishment until it is very obvious that your wife is chastened. I see that Mrs Masterton is unusually stubborn, so she will require an unusually sore bottom. Isn’t that so, Mrs Masterton?’

‘Ouch! Please stop! This is outrageous!’ was Charlotte’s dramatic response. She knew that her bottom was radiating serious heat now, and she imagined with some satisfaction the exact shade of red it must be. All the same, the sting was beginning to build to barely bearable proportions, and she wanted to pretend to relent. Surely Collins’s hand must be swollen to about twice its natural size by now? How long could he keep this up?

‘You agree with me, then,’ he said smoothly. ‘You need particularly firm handling and severe punishment. I shall mention this on your notes.’ The scorching rain ceased for a moment of blessed relief. ‘Come and look at her bottom, Mr Masterton,’ invited the ersatz doctor. ‘This is the kind of result you need to be aiming for.’

Bryant stepped over, placing a hand on the sizzling skin.

‘Gosh, it’s awfully hot. I don’t know that I’ve ever spanked her as hard as that.’

‘Well, that is where you are going wrong, I imagine,’ said Collins grimly. ‘And we aren’t even finished yet.’

Charlotte moaned, but refused to say the words of surrender.

‘Or are we, madam? Do you want to save yourself additional chastisement by promising to serve your husband in a fitting spirit of submission?’

‘Oh … it’s not fair …’ she wailed ineffectually.

‘She isn’t ready yet,’ Collins confirmed. ‘In that case, I recommend that she spends some reflective time in the corner before we continue with the next phase of her punishment.’

Charlotte began to shift in Collins’s lap, preparing to stand, thinking that a period in the corner, dull as it was, would give her bottom some recovery time. She thought wrong.

‘Ah ah ah, not so fast, young lady,’ cautioned Collins. ‘I have something that might aid your reflections first. Mr Masterton, when your wife is in such an obstinate frame of mind that an over-the-knee hand spanking does not suffice, I recommend this little device to concentrate her mind during corner time.’

Charlotte did not know what Collins was taking out of his desk drawer, but she twitched with delicious dread, knowing it would be nothing trifling or ignorable.

‘Oh! What an interesting idea!’ Charlotte heard the poorly hidden glee in Bryant’s voice.

‘You think so? Good. Perhaps you would like to prepare her for me.’

Charlotte, so turned on that she could barely keep still, now that the spanking had ended and only its warm, fierce, arousing residual effects remained, writhed in Collins’s lap, anxious not to dampen his smart trousers.

‘Keep still,’ advised Bryant, and then she stiffened as his finger, coated in cold, wet, slippery stuff, snuck in between the scorched buttocks and began to grease up her tiny hidden anal bud. Not an enema, she hoped. She hated those. She clenched her teeth and silently prayed for a butt plug. Surely it must be a butt plug. But how big? She knew Collins was not a fan of the smaller-sized invaders.

Bryant’s forefinger was penetrating her ring now with a rude slurping sound and she was trying hard not to tense her muscles and let him prepare her most private passage for public violation by the doctor.

‘She is not a virgin in this method of intercourse, is she?’ enquired Collins casually.

‘Oh no,’ Bryant assured him with a laugh.

‘Good. Another course I recommend is to restrict her to anal sex without climax when she is behaving badly. Forbid masturbation, obviously. We have special equipment you can purchase to make her own private parts inaccessible to her, if required. I’ll show you our catalogue, while she is in the corner.’

‘I would be very interested to see it.’

Charlotte let out a low cry as the slick bulbous silicone head of a large butt plug replaced Bryant’s finger in her tender circle of muscle. At least she had escaped without an enema, she reasoned. But this plug was big, travelling slowly but inescapably up the tight channel, creating a burn that made her gasp and struggle fruitlessly, for Collins’s hand was heavy on her back and Bryant was holding her thighs straight so that she could not kick or move away.

‘Ohhhhh,’ she moaned, as the widest part of the plug arrived triumphantly at her door, stretching her almost beyond endurance. ‘No!’

Collins held it there, the sadist in him profoundly satisfied, for a full minute, before shoving the remainder up inside her and patting the wide flange that secured it in her bottom.

‘How does that feel, Mrs Masterton?’ he asked, idly twiddling the base of the plug to create a riot of pleasure-pain sensation inside his hapless client. ‘A bit difficult to be rebellious when your bottom is packed full of your master’s plug, isn’t it? Have a good long think about that while you’re in the corner.’ He gave her one last hard spank for luck, the vibrations of it causing the plug to jiggle inside her. ‘Off you go. Hands on head and spine straight, please, or there will be consequences.’

The two men spent a pleasurable few minutes of silence in contemplation of their colleague, waddling gracelessly across the room and then coming to rest, scarlet-bottomed and plugged in the corner, her long hair cascading down to the middle of her back, her arms arched pleasingly either side of her head.

‘That’s one of the finest bottoms in London,’ commented Collins at last. ‘You’re a lucky man. Or, at least, you will be, once you can get her to behave herself.’

Charlotte, cornered and feeling as meekly submissive as she ever did, listened at first to their conversation, which revolved around plugs and whips and chastity devices; gags and clamps and heated lubricants. At least they had only used plain lube today, she thought gratefully, hearing Collins extol the delights of a lubricant made with chilli oil. On the other hand, this plug was so large and solid that one could never ever forget that it was lodged there, stretching and making her passage smart.

The degrading plugging, combined with her still-throbbing bum, and the way the men were casually discussing plans for her further humiliating use made Charlotte achingly aware of her wet, hot pussy and the juices leaking down her thighs. She would give anything to be allowed to sneak a hand down between her legs just now, oh, anything at all. She tried hard to maintain her posture, but she could not help a little snaky wriggle of her hips, squeezing her cheeks together to hug the plug even tighter and try to rub her lower lips against something, anything, just the merest touch of friction would probably make her come then and there in the corner.

The only thing for it was to try and take her mind off it, she realised. Concentrate, Charlotte! Think of something mundane, or unpleasant. Oh! A flash of the earlier scene returned to her, making her feel deeply uncomfortable. The suggestion that Collins might be married had given her a real jolt, and she was still not quite sure why. Well, for one thing, she thought virtuously, she would not want to wreck some poor woman’s marriage. If someone was lucky enough to be married to Collins, presumably she would want to stay that way and not worry about him fooling around with submissive little sluts like her. Or perhaps she had no interest in BDSM, knew all about his work-related activities and fully condoned them. Perhaps she had lovers of her own. Perhaps they were polyamorists. Perhaps she was a dominatrix! Perhaps she would like to join in the games … Oh dear. Charlotte’s attempts to douse the flames in her lower regions were simply making her even more excited.

Now look here, Charlotte, she enjoined herself sternly. If Collins is married, it’s none of your business. You have no claim on him. This is work, pure and simple. But was it? Could she continue to work for these men without wanting more from them than wild kinky sex? And if she couldn’t … what then?

‘… Have you ever tried tying her to the bed and bringing her to the brink of orgasm, then denying it, repeatedly?’

Collins’s voice cut through the angst and Charlotte returned to the reality of her fantasy situation. Her arms were beginning to ache, so she must have been standing there for a good while. Her bottom was sorer than ever and she longed to expel the plug, which was sending waves of pain through her pelvic area now, though her pussy was even wetter than before.

‘No, but I’d like to try it,’ said Bryant. ‘Her sex drive is high, but she seems to delight in locking me out of the bedroom and bringing herself off, noisily. I think she does it to make me angry.’

‘Passive-aggressive,’ said Collins sagely. ‘Well, we can deal with that. I think she’s served her corner time now. Mrs Masterton, please come back here now, and we’ll deal with your defiance and disobedience.’

Charlotte both welcomed and feared her release from the corner. She knew she would be made to take more punishment, but after that, she was optimistic that she would be used hard for rough, assertive sexual release by both of her bosses. Her legs were stiff and her progress back to Collins’s desk correspondingly slow. The plug was enormous inside her now and her legs seemed made of her juices, the skin of her thighs cold and glossy.

‘I’m going to use a paddle next,’ said Collins to Bryant, and Charlotte groaned inwardly. The one thing she hated on her bottom above all others was wood. She would have to give in fairly swiftly – but she supposed this was all part of Collins’s plan. He must be impatient to move on to another activity. Well, that was fine with her!

She allowed Bryant to push her down until she was bent over a low footstool covered in rubberised coating. Presumably it must have some medical function, but she could not imagine what.

She waited, eyes screwed shut, for the removal of the plug – always somehow worse than its insertion – but it did not happen.

Instead, oval-shaped pats on her rear introduced her to the knowledge that she was about to be given a hard paddling with the butt plug still inside her.

‘This will hurt, Mrs Masterton,’ said Collins softly. ‘But it’s a necessary pain. Cruel to be kind. You must let me know when you’ve had enough by using the words “I surrender.” I shall stop immediately as soon as I hear them. But you do understand that, once spoken, those words cannot be taken back, and you will signal your willingness to serve and submit to your husband. Now then. Let us begin.’

The first stroke was fierce and Charlotte wailed aloud, feeling aftershock pains tremble through the inside as well as the outside of her bottom as the plug was driven deeper. Only a few of these could be taken before she gave in.

She made it to eight, by a combination of gripping, lip-biting, foot-lifting and hip-wriggling, but her bottom was so hot it was almost cold, so sore it was almost numb.

‘She’s a stubborn little madam,’ said Collins, rather fondly. ‘But I’ll break her.’

Charlotte heard the rustle of his shirtsleeve as he drew his arm back once more.

‘I surrender,’ she gabbled.

Bryant clapped, while Collins gave her burning cheeks a comprehensive feel with both hands.

‘You have made a wise decision,’ he said. ‘You won’t be sitting comfortably for a while all the same. Poor Mrs Masterton.’ One finger hooked itself beneath the plug flange and yanked it out in a swift, unutterably painful move. Although its absence was a relief, Charlotte could feel her muscle flaring and contracting, confused by the sudden extraction.

‘Your punishment is over,’ said Collins soothingly. ‘But we must still address another matter.’ He pulled apart her bottom cheeks, inspecting the gaping hole between them, then took hold of her arms at the elbows and helped her to stand. ‘Look at your husband. Look him in the eye.’

Charlotte, always in a small, tight space of beautiful submission after being dealt with by Collins, found it difficult and shaming to make eye contact. But she managed to lift her gaze to meet Bryant’s kind blue eyes and held them, blushing furiously all over while Collins removed her skirt for good.

‘Do you find him attractive?’

‘Yes,’ she said, her voice husky, throat uncleared. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Is he a good husband to you?’

‘Yes, he is. He is never angry or mean or rude or sulky.’

‘So he is a good man; the man for you?’

‘I … think so.’ Bryant looked as if he was accepting her words at face value. He looked somehow moved, as if he had forgotten that this was all part of a scene.

‘I see. But something troubles me, Mrs Masterton. Your husband has told me that you are in the practice of withholding sex from him. Why do you do that, when you are so obviously a wanton little slut?’

Charlotte gasped. Collins’s hand had made a lightning strike between her legs and he was fingering her soaked pussy with ruthless efficiency.

‘I’m … not …’ she said faintly.

‘How can you deny it? You’re extremely wet down here, yet all I’ve done is punish you. If you can be aroused by something as unpleasurable as a strange man’s hand spanking your bottom, then how can you claim not to want a good fucking?’

‘I …’

‘You do, don’t you, Mrs Masterton? You want a good fucking. You don’t even care who you get it from. Could be me. Could be him. Could be both of us. Could be some passer-by off the street. Couldn’t it?’

He homed in on her clit and she was beyond all resistance, leaning back against him, gyrating slowly on his fingertips, needing the release so badly, so very, very badly.

‘Mmmm,’ was her distant response.

Collins whipped his hand away, shoving the fingers with their sex-drenched aroma between her lips so she licked the evidence of her from them.

‘I need to examine you,’ he said curtly. ‘Make sure you have … normal … physiological responses to sexual stimuli. From what I’m seeing now, you are abnormally hypersexual. I may want to study you at length, if your husband is amenable. Remove all clothing, please.’

Charlotte was left to take off her blouse and bra while Collins opened the door to a small anteroom and wheeled out a medical examination bed, upholstered in black leather with adjustable sections and restraints attached to the sides.

‘Lie down on this, please,’ ordered Collins. Bryant gallantly stepped forward to help her up, lovingly strapping her wrists above her head and her ankles high up in a set of stirrups while Collins fiddled with the settings until she was half-sitting, half-lying, thighs wide and high, almost straining, everything on full show for the doctor and his client.

Collins, frowning, pulled the stirrups higher until Charlotte’s aching bottom was half-off the leather, cheeks parted and vulnerable to further rough manipulation.

‘Good,’ he approved, one finger pressed contemplatively to his chin. ‘This little slut can’t hide a thing now, can she? Do you mind awfully if I call her a slut, by the way?’

‘Be my guest. It’s what she is,’ said Bryant, beaming gently at his ‘wife’.

‘Now, I would like you to kiss her. Go on. With tongues, if you wish.’

Bryant hesitated for a moment, then stood by Charlotte’s head, twisted down and put his lips to hers, engaging her in a long, slow, sensual French kiss.

Charlotte, taking his tongue inside her mouth and shutting her eyes in helpless pleasure, almost bit down in shock when she felt a cold invasive pressure around her clit, then inside her vagina. What was that?

‘No need to tense up, Mrs Masterton,’ she heard Collins say. ‘It’s just my finger. I’ve put on some surgical gloves for this exercise. You are well lubricated, by the way. You enjoy being kissed and tongued, hard and deeply, don’t you? You needn’t answer. I know it’s rude to speak with your mouth full.’

Charlotte’s mouth was indeed very full, and she was perfectly happy for it to be so but, to her regret, the order came for the kissing to stop, and Bryant’s tongue was retracted with a sigh.

‘Fondle her breasts, Mr Masterton.’

Bryant obeyed with a will, rolling nipples between finger and thumb before applying the tip of his tongue and squeezing the soft flesh that surrounded the hard nubs. Once more, Charlotte felt Collins’s fingers, swirling and pinching her intimate lower areas.

‘I am going to take your temperature,’ he informed her, inserting a slim glass rectal thermometer, to Charlotte’s considerable shock and shame. He held the thermometer in firmly, continuing his digital manipulations of her pussy all the while, before withdrawing it and taking a reading.

‘Temperature – elevated,’ was the verdict. ‘You are hot, Mrs Masterton. Extremely so. Well, Mr Masterton, I doubt she will refuse you now. All the same, I have one final test for her. I need to time the period from first sexual contact to orgasm – first I need to lower her arousal levels a little. Could you hand me those wipes?’

Charlotte shivered as the antibacterial wipes were applied to her nether regions, sopping up the gush. Somehow she couldn’t help feeling that Collins was setting himself too tall an order, though, if he expected her to calm down now. She was right on the edge of that heightened consciousness he often brought her to; tense with need, unable to come down until one or other of her skilled employers arranged her release.

‘Hmm, well, her nipples are still erect, but perhaps we could attribute that to cold,’ mused Collins. ‘Here, Masterton.’ He handed Bryant a sleek metallic vibrator. ‘Which of her orifices will you commandeer?’

‘Oh, I think I’ll work on her cunt,’ he said. ‘This vibrator has a clitoral stimulator, does it? I’m not sure we’ll get an accurate reading without one.’

‘Oh, yes, I do beg your pardon.’ Collins replaced the no-frills vibrator with a more complicated version, complete with clitoral attachment. ‘I shall use this one in her more private passage. If I might venture a personal disclosure, I’m more of an arse man myself anyway.’

‘Please be my guest,’ said Bryant formally. ‘Now, do you want me to stand at the right or left side of her?’

‘Oh, you take the right, I think.’

So it was that Charlotte was brought to a state of full submission, by way of intense, double-plugged, overstimulating, tear-streaked and red-faced orgasm. She was made to watch as Collins and Bryant, still impeccably suited and booted, stood at either side of her hips, lazily swivelling and thrusting inside her with their humming tools, waiting for her to reach a panicked fever pitch, then smiling and clucking encouragingly as she tipped over her edge, flailing and desperate, into a black hole of deepest, most heartfelt surrender.

‘Goodness,’ remarked Collins, checking his stopwatch. ‘Only three minutes from start to finish. I think your wife needs taking firmly and frequently, Mr Masterton, if you want her to stop masturbating all the time. She seems quite unable to control her sexual urges. You need to take them into your control. If you cannot fuck her as often as she needs, perhaps we can come to some kind of clinical arrangement …’

‘What an excellent idea. Shall we say, home visits, three times weekly?’

‘I would be delighted to assist.’

Later, after several more orgasms on everybody’s part, the trio found tea-making facilities in one of the rooms along the corridor, and they sat together in the office, drinking and recovering their collective breath.

‘That examination couch is really rather remarkable,’ said Collins, caressing the stirrups. ‘I would like one myself. I wonder who makes them?’

Bryant shrugged, smiling as Collins stood and wheeled the bed back into its allotted space next door.

Charlotte took advantage of the absence, leaning towards Bryant to whisper, ‘Is he really married?’

Bryant raised an eyebrow. ‘Why would you ask me that?’

‘He said … his wife liked Agent Provocateur underwear. Is that true?’

‘Charlotte, I have no idea what anybody’s wife likes to wear under her skirts. Well, maybe some people’s wives,’ he amended.

‘Yours?’ Charlotte was struck again. ‘Are you married?’

‘No, Charlotte, I am not.’

His face, so amused and playful seconds earlier, suddenly darkened, eyes seriously intent.

‘Lady Markham would have enjoyed that,’ she said, changing the subject awkwardly on Collins’s return.

‘She most certainly would. And she will.’

‘Will you be the doctor for her?’

‘Oh no,’ said Collins, seemingly appalled. ‘I don’t mix business with pleasure!’

Charlotte laughed, stunned. ‘Um … what was that then? Just now? I mean, I thought it was research, so business, no?’

Collins looked vaguely annoyed for a second or two, as if caught out.

‘You’re special, Charlotte,’ he said. ‘We knew that from your very first email.’

She knew she was glowing; she felt golden and she could not stop smiling at Collins, until she heard Bryant cough and replace his teacup with a clatter.

‘It’s late,’ he said brusquely. ‘We’d better wash these up and go. Dr Mahmood wanted everything left the way we found it.’

But all the way back in the cab, her bruised bottom bumping over the potholes and her orifices raw with overuse, she heard those words – ‘You’re special, Charlotte’ – and the lights of the lonely London early morning seemed like magic lanterns.

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