Swansong. GM Jordan
THREE
For two days Gill worked, ate and slept on automatic pilot, the urge she had first felt come to the surface at University was stronger now and she knew it had something to do with the punishment she had felt at the hands of the taxi driver. She just couldn’t shake the eyes of the stranger – it all seemed mixed up in one and it was driving her crazy.
Finally a card arrived at her office by messenger, it was small and a little bit bigger than a business card – she recognised Mary’s handwriting and ripped the envelope open eagerly. It was black; in the centre were simply the words ‘Master J’, a telephone number and e-mail address. Slowly she turned it over expecting more, but there was nothing.
All she could do was look at the information on the card and wonder – the mystery was getting deeper but at least she had a name to go with the face. When the phone rang she nearly jumped out of her thoughts.
“Hello, Gill,” – she recognised the voice at the end of the line instantly.
“Hi Mary, I got the card.”
“So you were attracted to him?” Mary asked, teasing her old friend.
“Not really, but there was something about him that was familiar. How do you know him?” Gill pushed, eager to learn more.
“Meet me at the Metropol Hotel, 8pm. Be prompt and I’ll leave a message at reception where you can find me,” the telephone went dead and Gill look a little surprised. She called back but got no reply.
The Metropol was quiet, although the restaurant seemed busy and a couple of American tourists checked in but the main body of the hotel seemed lifeless. Gill walked over to the reception desk and gave her name; the concierge gave her a note but said nothing. Hooked by the situation she found a seat in the reception area and opened the note, she read it twice ‘Wait for me, when you see me go to the lifts give me fifteen minutes and come to room 415, there is a key in the envelope. Come into the room, take a seat but do not say a word.’
She fished into the envelope and pulled out the cardkey. Turning it over in her hands she waited, feeling nervous and a little sick again but couldn’t leave. A little after eight she watched Mary walk from the bar, she wore a long coat, tights or stockings and black heels. The coat was tied tight at the front and she held the top protectively. Gill looked down at her watch and as Mary disappeared into the lift she made a note of the time and settled back.
The next fifteen minutes dragged and Gill found the palms of her hands were sweating – she sat with her legs crossed and gently tapped her knee. Nervously she looked around at the people coming and going and once or twice she caught the concierge looking at her but a simple smile sent him scuttling off to do something else. Eventually the watch hands told her it was time to move and she stood up, crossed the reception area and pressed the lift button. When it slid open she stepped inside quickly and selected the right floor, desperate to be the only person in the car.
She smoothed her clothes as she rode the lift up into the unknown – she crossed and uncrossed her hands and became desperate for the toilet, a ball of nerves had built up in her stomach and she wondered if she was doing the right thing. When the doors opened she nearly jumped out of her skin. She stepped onto the burgundy carpet and walked the corridor slowly until she found 415. The key slipped into the lock easily and she turned the handle.
Gill found the room to be large, almost a suite. The main area was dominated by a space of about eight square feet square, in the centre of which a chair had been placed. To one side a small table was arranged with various riding crops and paddles, chains and bars. Torquemada would have been hard pressed to find a use for some of the instruments. Her heart was in her mouth as turned to leave, her hand reaching for the door handle when a small cough span her around. The girl from the gallery stood before her, champagne in her hand.
“Please feel free to sit, a chair has been arranged for you to one side,” she stated simply. Gill followed her into the room and sat in the corner.
The entire room was visible from where she sat; she drank nervously from the glass and waited. Music played in the background and Gill took the time to look the girl over. She was dressed in much the same way as when Gill had seen her in the gallery and stood with her arms behind her back, legs apart with her head up. In the light of the room Gill could see she wore no make-up and was still beautiful – Gill could see why the men couldn’t keep their eyes off her.
Through the top it appeared her nipples were pierced, something Gill hadn’t seen in the Gallery. She wondered if this woman, girl, was ‘Master J’s’ girlfriend or wife and why she adopted such a posture of almost total submission. Before she could think of possible answers to the questions the stranger stepped into the room from the bedroom. He crossed the room almost stiffly and spoke in a whisper to the girl, who nodded her head and went into the bedroom.
“I must apologise, it would appear that Mary is a little unsure of herself tonight. Please forgive me.” His voice was deep but gentle and he seemed a little whiter than the last time she had seen him. Gill found she was unable to match the accent with the face, it seemed out of place but she smiled.
“Maybe I should leave; this is obviously a moment that needs to be private.” Gill went to stand but the bedroom door opened and Mary walked into the room. The mask she wore was made of black satin with thin threads disappearing into her red hair. She crossed the room and knelt in front of J, her legs remaining open, hands sat neatly in the small of her back.
Mary wore black stockings, a small black thong and a bodice that pushed her breasts up until they nearly spilled over the top. Her breathing was heavy and laboured and around her neck a tatty brown collar rubbed her pink skin.
J lifted her face and looked into her eyes, “Why have you come to me?”
His voice had changed, it was more commanding and stern and shivers rolled down Gill’s spine; goose bumps rose on her skin.
“I ask that you train me, guide me, make me your slave. I wish to serve you.” Mary’s voice was timid and shaky, she shook uncontrollably. Gill felt a flush of excitement run through her body.
J ran his fingers down her face, the backs of his fingers caressed her skin softly and he peered into Mary’s eyes.
“No you have come to me for absolution, for another purpose. You do not wish to serve and I cannot train you.” The softness returned to his voice and he waited for her to speak.
“Please, I need to be punished. You must punish me,” Mary begged. Gill caught her breath at the words- when she remembered to breathe again she found the girl standing by her side pouring more Champagne.
“What’s happening?” she whispered into the girl’s ear.
“Your friend is a fashion victim, the Master can feel she is no real submissive and has no tolerance for timewasters,” came the soft reply.
“Watch.”
Gill could no longer pull her eyes from the scene unfolding before her.
“Very well, you will be punished,” he walked to the chair and rested his hands on the back, Gill was sure she caught a flash of pain in his eyes for a second but then it was gone. She watched as he took a paddle in his hands and ran his palm over it.
“Crawl to me. When you reach me stand up and turn around, place your hands on the back of the seat. Keep your legs straight, knees 12inches apart and back straight.”
In horror Gill watched her friend crawl on hands and knees to J’s feet, her face inches from his shoes; she stood slowly and bent as instructed. Mary’s cheeks were round and pink, her curves highlighted by the thong that separated them.
“The bar.” He said simply. The other girl walked to the table and lifted a spreader bar, placing it between Mary’s legs and opening the recipients’ legs a little wider so it fitted.
“That was a twelve inch bar. You did not do as you were told, another three strokes,” the tip of the crop tapped a ball-gag on the table and Gill