Dirty Minds by T A Williams Page A

couldn’t try it on with some random girl on the internet, so I opted for a bit of literary transvestism. What you are doing, apart from having the best sex of your life, is helping the British legal system. Does that make you feel proud?’
    He realised that by just undoing one leg, he could pull the panties down, leaving them around her bound ankle. That would save time. In fact, he could have done the same with her bra, if he’d thought about it in time.
    ‘So who are you supposed to be, then? The Marquis de Sade?’
    ‘Something like that.’
    He stood up and surveyed her naked body. The heating really did work well in this house. There was a sheen of sweat on her stomach and below her breasts. Just then he realised that cavemen would not have had such luxuries. And surely it would have been cold.
    ‘Now here’s a thought. Were the cavemen around at the same time as the Ice Age?’
    ‘Now why would you ask a girl a damn fool question like that at a time like this?’ She wriggled her hips enticingly. ‘Pull those pants down and let’s get busy.’
    He sat down on the edge of the bed, a pensive look on his face. ‘But, seriously, would it have been cold in the caves?’
    ‘Of course it would have been cold. But I’m hot, and if you lie down here and join me, I’m going to make sure you realise just how hot I am.’
    Clint had no illusions on that score. But instead of lying down he bent over and reached under the bed. He pulled the cardboard box out.
    ‘What’ve you got in there, honey?’
    ‘All sorts of stuff.’ He reached in and scrabbled around until he found what he wanted. ‘Like this, for example.’ He produced a riding crop. It was a bit old and battered, but for five quid at Camden market, he reckoned he’d got a bargain.
    ‘And just what in the hell do you think you’re going to do with that?’ She did not sound enthusiastic.
    ‘I use it to beat you into a state where pain becomes pleasure. You girls love that. That’s what I was reading.’
    ‘Reading where?’
    ‘On the internet. It’s full of useful information.’
    ‘Well, sweetie, here’s another piece of useful information: I have no intention of being beaten by anybody. You got that?’
    ‘Yes, but you’re tied up. You are helpless in my hands. I am your master. You are my slave.’ He swished the crop against his other hand. It made a most satisfactory whacking noise. It also left a red mark across his palm, and it hurt. He did his best to hide the pain.
    ‘Clinton Jones, you lay a finger on me and I’ll scream the place down. Then I’ll call the police and get you charged with assault. Not even all your fellow lawyers will get you off that one.’ The expression on her face and the vehemence of the outburst made clear her conviction. Most scary of all was the way she suddenly reminded him of her mother, give or take about ten stone. He retreated apprehensively.
    It wasn’t like this on the websites he had consulted. She was supposed to be helpless, submissive, and quite literally open to anything. He had not expected to be threatened in his turn. He looked down at the crop in his hand and made the sensible decision.
    ‘Just joking, honey.’ He jettisoned the crop and sat back, deep in thought. He closed his eyes, mercifully banishing the image of her mother.
    ‘So what happens now?’ She wriggled. ‘Say, can you scratch my nose for me. It’s awfully itchy.’
    He reached over and absentmindedly did as bidden. He was turning over in his mind what else he was supposed to do with a helpless victim. Spanking was out, because she was lying on her back. He ran over the other options. They all seemed to involve pain and she, not unreasonably, didn’t seem to enjoy pain.
    Then he remembered the feather. He sat up and rummaged in the drawer of the bedside table until he found the seagull feather he had brought in from the lawn. He ran it through his fingers. At least it had dried out now. He slid the tip of it across her