Darkest Fantasies Page 3

  Esther was taken aback.

  'You're not the first, dearie.'

  'You make it sound awful. I should consider myself lucky that I don't have to work. He doesn't realise what he's doing, you see.' The words sounded slightly sanctimonious even to her ears, but Madam Tisset agreed without even sounding sarcastic.

  'No, of course he doesn't. He's a man, poor dear. He probably thinks he knows what's best for his little wife, and talking won't make him change his mind. He's probably got a few good points we can eventually work on. But darling, if he's a model husband he's unique.'

  As they were talking Esther followed her down the corridor, up some steps, and to another door, which opened to reveal a plush, if not over-decorated living room.

  'W-where are the others?' she asked uncertainly.

  'I don't do classes. I work with individuals.'

  She was horrified. 'But won't that cost a lot?'

  'Don't worry about it. I get paid for succeeding. You let me know if I fail.' Madam Tisset threw off her raincoat. She was wearing a sexy, red, body-hugging dress, and her bust spilled from the low top. She unlaced her ankle boots and collapsed on the worn settee with a sigh. 'God, those shoes kill me.'

  Esther smiled nervously. 'Why do you wear them, then?'

  'Image, dearie. That's one of the first lessons I'm going to teach you. Men see in a woman what that woman let's them see. It's all about image. Trust me! What I don't know about men doesn't exist. You see, this isn't only about training you, it's about training him and, believe me, ducky, he'll enjoy the experience.

  'Right,' she went on casually, 'take your clothes off.'

  'Pardon?'

  'Strip.' She crossed her legs and rubbed her foot. 'Tell me if I'm wrong, but I'd guess you never used to wear such middle-aged frumpy rags before you got married. You decided it was time to mature, to do the married lady act, and hubby encouraged it.'

  'Well, Kevin's very conscious of the image we present. He's right to be, you know.'

  'Of course he is. Even men are right sometimes, but with you it was probably downright jealousy. He was afraid of other men taking a shine to you.' Her nose wrinkled. 'And if you go out looking like that you can be sure no other man will. It strikes me he achieved his aim, only the trouble is before you know it he won't look twice, either. Very soon he'll just see a dinner-maker, vacuum cleaner and baby-making machine when he looks at you, and he'll find his bit of pussy outside the marriage chamber. Ah, I see by your face he already does. Now, don't get me wrong, you can do the motherly bit for him if you want to, but you can also play several other parts, according to the situation at hand. Bring him back into the fold, so to speak. Let him know you won't stand for any nonsense. It can be fun, believe me.'

  Esther gingerly removed her camel coat, slipped off her flat shoes, but balked slightly at unzipping the sensible wool dress in front of this strange woman.

  Madam Tisset flashed her a look. 'All of it. You have to trust me or we'll get nowhere fast.'

  Esther stalled. 'You're making it all so - so sordid and sexual. I thought a self-confidence class would have something to do with being assertive.'

  'You mean judo type crap? Dearie, leave the macho stuff to men. They can flex their egos for all they're worth. We've got other weapons, and they are sexual, make no mistake. Self-confidence is what you have inside you, it affects how you do things, how you look, how you feel. But it's also what other people imagine when they look at you. You can control all of that. Take you, here and now. The image I see is that of a housewife. It's boring. Let's get rid of it, shall we?'

  Eventually Esther stood there in her naked glory.

  'That,' Madam Tisset said with conviction, her pale eyes widening, 'is one nice body.' She stood up, took two steps, yanked a couple of cords, and suddenly the room seemed to be filled with wall-to-wall mirrors. Esther flushed bright red and instinctively tried to hide herself, an impossibility in the circumstances, as the gyrations of the naked woman in the multiple mirrors proved.

  'Cup of tea?' Madam Tisset asked casually, switching on a kettle. 'Don't be afraid of yourself, dear. Lift your head up. You have a lovely body. Flaunt it, and even when it begins to sag a bit, like mine,' she grinned infectiously, 'still bloody flaunt it. What the hell... Sugar?'

  'Um, one please.'

  'Do you make love in the dark?'

  'I... we... yes.' Her voice was quiet with embarrassment.

  'Well don't.' Madam Tisset handed her a steaming, flowery mug. 'If you could see the stupid, fatuous expression on his face when he comes, you'd have less respect for his authority. You'd also have a bit more pleasure in the act, knowing you were the one who put it there. Have you ever come?'

  'Of course I have!' She was indignant.

  Madam Tisset gave a lopsided smile.

  'At least, I think I have,' Esther added meekly.

  'Then you haven't. Still, first things first. Walk around a bit. Move your hips, so. Stick out your chest. That's it. Great. Get natural. Get used to it.' Her eyes flickered with a hint of nostalgia. 'I used to look like that once. Oh well. Still nothing wrong with being a female when you get old. It's what makes the world go round.'

  Esther sipped at the tea, and gradually the feeling of disquiet began to fade. She began to look at the body displayed in the mirrors with more interest. She was only a few years over twenty, her skin still creamy and firm, her breasts full without the hint of sag, her bottom well padded but not fat. Her naturally blonde hair hung in curls to her shoulders, echoed by the delicate golden curls between her legs, and her eyes seemed very green in the bright, artificial light.

  She was undeniably beautiful.

  Suddenly the room began to sway a little. With alarm she demanded: 'What was in the tea? You put something in the tea!'

  'Just to help you relax, dear. Go on, look at yourself. Study every delicious detail. Bend over - look between your legs. That's what he sees.'

  With surprising calm Esther did as she was told, realising that she had never actually looked at herself intimately before. She was surprised how large the lips of her sex looked from that angle, how small and tight and puckered her arse was, and how long her legs. The posture was an open invitation, and blatantly sexual. Intrigued, she opened her legs wider. Her breasts nestled happily between her thighs, and with her hands reaching to the floor, all her muscles were tight, accentuating every curve and line of her body.

  Was that how Kevin saw her?

  Madam Tisset leaned back in the sofa, put her feet up and crossed her ankles. 'Ever do that for your man?' she asked.

  The upside down mouth in the mirror curved into a smile. 'He would hate me to be so - so coarse!'

  'Because you're his wife and not his whore?'

  Esther stood and swivelled angrily. 'Yes!'

  'Men need a whore, too. If you're not it, then someone else will be.'

  'Kevin doesn't want that kind of...' her voice petered out. She really didn't know what Kevin did want any more, and he certainly sought favours outside the marital bed. She hadn't needed Chrissie to tell her that. All Chrissie had done was let her know that everyone else knew what was going on, and that hurt.

  'Stays late at the office, does he? Have there been rumours? Because there will be, and you can bet your bottom dollar they won't all be fiction.'

  'That's why I'm here,' she admitted in a small voice. 'I want to tell him that he can't have me and other women. I can't let him do that.'

  'That's the best way I know to lose him.'

  'Oh... but—'

  'You see, dear,' the woman continued, 'words are no use at all when you're talking about sex. You have to grow with him, you have to become what he wants, then he won't want the other women.'

  'But I don't know what he wants,' she wailed. 'I was trying to be what he wants, and it isn't working!'

  'You were trying to be one part of what he wants, because you didn't realise that men like everything in neat little compartments. The wife, the whore; the wo
rk, the home. I bet he's one guy in the office, another when he's out socialising, and something totally different with you. So you see, you have to do the same thing. A man is a very strange creature. He wants to be boss, but can't cope with responsibility. He acts like he's dominating, but what he really wants, deep inside, is to be dominated to take away some of his stress. What you have to learn is to let him be boss but make the decisions yourself.'

  'It all sounds very complicated,' Esther said dolefully.

  'It's easy. From what I can gather, your Kevin is a fine, strutting cockerel, crowing and boasting and ruling the roost. I've met many like that. For some reason they think that little bit of flesh between their legs makes them your boss and your better, and no amount of words will make him think any different. What you have to do is knock him off his perch and then allow him to climb back up in easy stages, so that once he gets there again he'll realise just what a very unstable perch it is. Let him do all the hard work to keep you.'

  'And how do I do that?'

  Madam Tisset smiled encouragingly at the positive question, even though it was spoken in tones of hesitation. 'The first thing you have to do is get him into a position of utter subservience, then you'll find what he's really made of. Now, before that happens, you've got to get some kind of self-respect going here. Let's sort out some clothes for you.' She walked over to another red curtain and drew it back to reveal a door. 'Come with me.'

  The room inside was simply a vast wardrobe, but not like any wardrobe Esther had ever seen. She gasped. On one wall there were whips, gags, and leather things she couldn't think of a use for, and there were racks of garments made of leather, rubber, and studs. On the other side was a rack of flimsy stuff with lace. It was like a vast dressing-up box where she identified, amongst other things, outfits resembling those of a maid, schoolgirl, nurse...

  She spun round, her eyes wide with shock. 'Good God,' she said. 'You're a...'

  Madam Tisset was not noticeably upset or offended. 'The word is whore, dear. The oldest profession known to man. Or woman. It's quite an art form - if you're worth more than a quick blow-job, of course - because when they first come to you men really don't know what they want. The poor dears are confused, torn between their primeval needs and the conventions of society. Deep, deep inside their heads is a trigger for turning them to one or the other. You have to discover this trigger because often they have no idea what it is themselves. If your husband is knocking off other women it's because you haven't found his trigger, and he's searching other places for it. You have to find it before one of them does.'

  'And how,' Esther said scathingly, 'am I supposed to do that?'

  'That, my dear, is what I'm going to teach you.'

  A couple of weeks later Esther realised just how much she was changing when Kevin breezed through the door, whistling. She could just smell cheap perfume on him, and recognised it for what it was. 'You have to keep up to date with things that matter to other people, dear,' Madam Tisset had said. 'You have to know your perfumes, follow the fashions, learn the right words. You don't have to be a fashion bimbo, of course, there's too many of those around already. You just have to know what's out there. It's an education. It's keeping abreast of things so when people are being catty you can cut them down with a couple of words. It's very effective.'

  Oh yes, she knew that perfume. And if she went into the office, ten to one she would find out exactly who was wearing it. A small part of her didn't want to know, and the other wanted to go in and flatten whoever it was. She was in the kitchen with her apron on, which would not have worried her a few weeks ago, but now she felt the need to take it off. 'Had a good day, dear?' she asked, smiling.

  Kevin didn't seem to notice her new dress. He gave her a perfunctory kiss and sighed dramatically. 'Hectic,' he said, reaching for the sympathy she could dispense so well. 'Make me a nice cup of coffee would you, Essie, honey?'

  'I went to the class today, Kevin.'

  'Class?' he said, with little interest.

  'That one about self-confidence I told you about. The one with the French lady.'

  'Good, good.' It was nice that she was taking the trouble to go to those classes. He was glad Esther was doing something other than moping around. She did seem a bit peaky lately. Perhaps it was time she had a baby; something to keep her occupied while he was at work. He ought to try again, tonight, only somehow he didn't think he could find the energy. Flopping wearily into his chair he kept the calculated expression from his face as he recalled his latest bout with Alicia. He had been right. Somehow the novelty had worn off, even though she'd been so anxious to please; she'd done everything he'd demanded, and then some. 'So what did she teach you today, honey?'

  Esther smiled grimly. He would learn in good time. 'Psychology, mostly,' she told him as he picked up the paper and turned to page three. 'And sexual massage.'

  'That's nice dear.' He reached absently for the mug she'd placed beside him. 'What's for dinner?'

  'Your favourite. Roast beef with Yorkshire pudding.'

  'But it's not Sunday. What will we have on Sunday if we have that tonight?' His complacency turned to confusion for a brief moment as the regimented order of his home life suddenly failed him. 'Did I hear you say something about sex?'

  'No, I don't think you heard anything I said,' she muttered to herself. But she knew a moment of triumph at her small victory. Now it was her turn to whistle happily as she went back to the kitchen.

  Chapter 3

  As far as Melissa was concerned, Kevin discovered one evening that he was not required to make any effort at all. Still thinking of her as a prospective conquest, he found himself more than a little shocked when she took the initiative. He was working late at the office when she sidled in and locked the door behind her, giving him a glance of pure and unadulterated lust as she did so. He flashed a startled glance, recognised her intent, and instantly got the biggest hard-on he'd had in a long while. Just as well the desk was between them.

  'What do you think you're doing?' he snapped coldly, appearing suitably unimpressed. It wasn't right that a woman should take the initiative.

  She gave him a charming smile. 'I'm going to fuck you.'

  'Indeed?'

  'Indeed.'

  His gaze should have chilled her, but she echoed his word, spicing it with a faint hint of amusement, and he saw for the first time the glint of steel behind the green eyes and pussycat face. He had just enough time to wonder fleetingly if this was one broad he should steer clear of, when she strode across the room. Even as he was pushing back the chair and rising to object she gave him a hefty shove which slammed him back into the seat. It was a director's chair on a five-caster base, and he sailed back towards the wall, startled, clutching the sides. She was stronger than she looked, and had also taken him off guard, but to his surprise a thrill of excitement quivered through his body at her aggressive action. No woman had ever pushed him about before. Always the dominant partner of any sexual encounter, the thought of being dominated himself was a scenario he'd never envisaged, and the novelty itself was an aphrodisiac. With interest he waited to see what she would do.

  Like a cat stalking its prey she kept those green eyes on him while she stepped forward, one foot directly before the other, causing her hips to roll enticingly, and leaned down. Her tongue briefly lapped his tightly sealed lips, her eyes staring into his the whole time. As she backed away slightly he licked his lips, warmed by her tongue, and the brazen way her eyes were caressing him right down to his groin left him in no doubt at all as to her intention. Something nice uncurled inside him and he began to smile craftily. What did he have to lose? Sometimes, after all, it was better to go with the flow.

  Melissa's slow smile suggested triumph, sending a small signal of warning to Kevin's brain. But he ignored it because she pushed his legs apart, knelt between them, and began to caress small circles on his shirt with a single, red-painted nail.

  'You want me, I know you do,' she purred seductively.
'You've been watching me.'

  His skin quivered beneath her touch, the finger slipping through the opening of his shirt and slipping into the hollow of his belly button. He jolted at the touch, gasping at the flood of sexual awareness generated by that simple movement. Again he saw that lurking hint of triumph, and had the unnerving suspicion that she was mocking him.

  With a grimace of lust he reached out and grabbed her hair, intending to lift her up to him, but her hand instantly turned into a vice around a good handful of tight flesh at his middle. He almost shouted as her nails seemed to dig right into his abdomen, and he freed her hair instantly.

  'Don't touch me, Kevin,' she warned. 'You wait to be asked. Understand?'

  'Jesus! What the fuck—?'

  'Good question,' she cut him off. 'The fuck is what I want it to be. How I want it to be, and when I want it to be. If you don't want that you say so right now and I'll unlock the door and walk right back out of here.'

  He was frozen in place, knowing he could knock her right across the room if he wanted, but something stopped him. This was it. There wouldn't be another chance, he sensed that, and his ego would not deny him the opportunity that had just arisen. But a warning sounded in his mind. Was she a conquest or a bloody dominant cow? He wasn't quite sure, but a little devil whispered encouragingly, 'Go with the flow, Kevin, and when the time comes show her who's boss.' It was that simple.

  They were staring at each other like two dogs about to scrap, then Melissa smiled. It was the smile that had attracted him in the first place; she really was very lovely, with a shiny crop of short chestnut hair, bow lips and neat white teeth. He had noticed that while she didn't have very much in the breast department, she did seem to be very fit and supple, which engendered further interesting speculation in his fertile imagination. To stroke his ego and take his mind off the way her nails were digging into him, he imagined her at his mercy, tied in an elaborate and intricate web of knots which left her various body parts available to him. The mental image appealed.