Justine Elyot - Her World of Submission

‘Hey there.’

‘Sarah, hi, guess what, you’ll never guess what, oh, my God, you are not going to believe this.’

She sounded near-hysterical and as if she was going to burst into laughter before she got the words out.

‘What?’

‘This is the weirdest thing ever, I just can’t believe it.’

‘Rosie! Please!’

‘Your Jasper Jay –’

‘Er, yes?’ I glanced sideways at him. I didn’t know if he could hear Rosie’s words but he was certainly enjoying the high-pitched squawking.

‘– he’s only gone and offered Dimitri a job.’

‘What?’

I widened my eyes at Jasper, who widened them back, drolly.

‘He wants Dimitri to be a body double in his next film. Isn’t that just so beyond bizarre?’

‘Wow.’ I took the phone from my ear for a moment and said it again, to Jasper. ‘Wow.’

‘It’s the same Dimitri?’

‘So it seems.’

Jasper laughed and clapped his hands.

‘Tell her she’s invited too,’ he said.

I put the phone back to my ear.

‘Rosie? Did Dimitri tell you that Jasper was going to invite you down here for a couple of days?’

‘Yeah, him and bloody Trixietots.’

‘Who?’

‘The female body double.’

‘Oh, right. Well, he said you can come too.’

‘Really? Awesome! Oh, my God, this is just so …’

It certainly was just so … I could hardly put my own thoughts in order, let alone hers. A big realisation was muscling its way to the forefront of my brain, though, and I couldn’t hold it back.

‘So, Rosie, this club or café you’re at …?’

‘Ah, yeah, it’s kind of like a specialist place.’

‘I know what you mean.’

‘I thought you might.’

As if somebody had just wound us both up and taken out the key we began to laugh manically and in concert, a mixture of embarrassment and exhilaration at being able to talk openly about our taboo private lives.

‘I can’t wait to see you,’ I said, meaning it.

‘Isn’t it brilliant?’ she sighed. ‘So perfect. This is going to be the best Christmas ever.’

As best Christmases ever went, it had some catching up to do.

Driving back to Jasper’s after two and a half days of awkward silences and desperate attempts to steer the conversation away from my private life, I reflected that I’d made the effort, been the dutiful daughter and now it was time to be me. Jasper and I had two days together before Rosie, Dimitri and the mysterious Trixietots showed up and I could hardly wait to ease back into our dynamic.

Wearing normal clothes and having normal conversations seemed such an effort now. I’d forgotten how to do that kind of thing. And Mum and Dad both wanted to know about my career plans, the museum and all of that while I just wanted to switch off from the irksome necessity of thinking and eat a tin of Cadbury’s Roses in front of the Downton Christmas special.

When Jasper had phoned on Christmas Day, Mum had said, ‘That was him, was it?’ with very tight lips.

What a shame. They had seemed to come round to him on that awkward, horrible day they met him at my flat. Mum had been charmed and Dad reluctantly followed suit. But the newspaper-story affair seemed to have shoved them back to square one with Jasper as the villain of the piece.

His name wasn’t brought up, by any of us, and we skirted around the issue, being over-effusive about the food and excessively interested in what was on TV until I could pack my bags with a sigh of relief and escape to the car.

No sight had ever been more welcome than the automatic gates in front of Jasper’s drive. I entered the combination and watched them glide open, granting me access to wonderland again.

Wonderland was looking a bit brown and slushy underfoot, but the avenue of arching bare-branched trees still gladdened my heart as I passed through it, finally catching my first glimpse of the house sitting in splendour beyond the expanse of melting snow.

Downstairs lights were on and the windows glowed. I felt myself illumine in response.

I wondered if he’d hear me drive up and park. Would he come to the door to welcome me?

I leaped out on to the gravel, but it was left to me to get my case from the boot and lug it up the steps to the front door. No sign of him yet.

I thought about ringing the doorbell, but it seemed a bit silly when I had a key of my own. I opened the door and stood looking at that same Christmas tree, still gorgeously adorned and fairylit, towering over the handsome vestibule like a green bushy gatekeeper.

The tree welcomed me back, but there was still no sign of Jasper.

I pulled my suitcase on to the parquet and shut the door behind me.

‘Hello?’

Perhaps he was out. But his car was in the drive and he wouldn’t leave lights on in the house before leaving – it was just such an un-Jasper thing to do. Maybe he was chopping wood in the kitchen yard? Now that I’d like to see …

My mouth already watering, I passed through the back kitchen and looked hopefully into the yard, but there was no strapping, axe-wielding man to be seen with shirtsleeves pushed up his arms and an honest sweat gathering on his brow. Worse luck.

I returned to the hall and called out again, but without much hope of a response. As I did so, something glittering under the tree caught my eye and I noticed a parcel in holographic wrapping paper lying there.

Was this my Christmas present?

I knew I should wait until he was around to share the exchange of gifts, but I was too intrigued not to pick the box up and take a closer look.

There was a card on it. I looked for Jasper’s writing, expecting it to have the conventional ‘To Sarah, Merry Christmas, love Jasper’ format on it, but it didn’t. It said, ‘Open me now. Don’t wait.’

Ooh.

I looked around, convinced now that I must be being watched. Would Jasper have put a hidden camera somewhere? On the stairs, on the wall, in the tree?

I obeyed the directive on the tag and began to unwrap the parcel. Inside the paper was a box and the box contained a pair of brown leather cuffs with buckles and rings. Slightly disappointing, as Christmas presents go, but there was another card inside and I picked it up, my heart skippy with excitement.

‘Put on the cuffs. Find your next gift in the drawing room.’

I buckled the new cuffs around my wrists. They were comfortable and felt luxurious; obviously the best quality, which was typical of Jasper.

In the drawing room there was still no sign of the man himself but I soon found the next gift, a flat rectangular box that took up most of the chaise-longue it had been placed upon.

Inside it, wrapped in layers of silver tissue paper, was a tiny filmy black lace babydoll nightdress; more like gossamer than lace, in fact. It came with a pair of hold-up stockings and a frilly garter but nothing else. A card fluttered out when I unfolded it.

‘Put these on. Come to the office.’

Surely he had to be watching? I felt intensely self-conscious, despite the silent stillness of the room, as I pulled off my boots, stepped out of my jeans, unbuttoned my shirt. I was strongly conscious of undressing for someone, even though there was nobody there. I tried to be graceful and seductive instead of taking it quickly, imagining Jasper’s eyes, his face, his intent concentration at all times.

The babydoll was barely there against my skin, just a little gauzy web over my breasts and belly, so short that it left the lower half of my pubic triangle exposed.

I tried to smooth it down so it might cover more, but there was no point. It was supposed to be this short. I sat on a buttoned velvet stool and eased on the stockings – carefully, because they were so sheer a sharp look would probably ladder them.