Isabel/Sonia

Chapter One No One Night Stand Isabel sat on her own, with a boldness she didn’t feel, in the bar of a top London hotel. She knew that men – and perhaps women – would approach her. Not that she invited it, not explicitly. She looked down steadily, sipping her wine, catching no one’s eye. She just waited to discover whatever would happen. It was two days since she had ended it with her fiancé – two days since she’d discovered how spectacularly he’d been betraying her. And today was the day which was going to be her wedding day! Yesterday she’d been too numb to think anything coherent. Then this afternoon she’d wondered, mostly, how she’d failed to see what always should have been so obvious, given his behaviour. This evening her hard core of anger had given way to a new determination. What he could do, she could do. She was left with three months which she had arranged to take off work. She was going to fill this next three months with whatever opportunities lay open to her. “Are you meeting with someone?” a man’s voice asked. She looked up. It was a man of perhaps thirty, thirty-five maybe, tall, well dressed. Very well dressed in fact, in a suit and patterned shirt, no tie but an open neck, but that suited him better, and he had a flashy wrist watch – no, it was a mobile device, the latest thing. His dark hair was combed neatly, but not too neatly. His face was firm but not cruel, dark eyes, straight nose, lips not slight not thick. His figure was straight, well-built but lean. She could sense the muscles beneath his shirt. Everything was exactly right. A thrill went through her. She said carefully, “I’m not waiting for anyone, and wasn’t expecting anyone.” “Then you were waiting for me,” he said. He said it as if it was simple, indisputable fact. His voice was mid Atlantic, no obvious nationality, confident. Women came to him when he chose them, his voice was proclaiming. “I have waited for other men,” Isabel replied. “I should have left in time.” “I see,” he said. He obviously did see. In general terms anyway. He went on, “You have waited long enough. Your wait is over.” Isabel wanted to laugh at his brazenness, but somehow couldn’t. A magnetic force seemed to come from him, pulling her irresistibly. She said, “Who are you anyway?” “My name is Lorien le Touzel.” She tried to scoff. “What’s your real name?” “Lorien le Touzel. A very few have called me Larry, but Lorien is more suitable don’t you think?” “Maybe.” “I work for governments.” “Governments? In the plural?” “I carry out special tasks when they call upon my skills.” Again she didn’t scoff. She might not believe him, but she was willing to play along with him. He said, “I can show you that indeed you should not have waited for other men, but you were right to wait for me.” “Back at your expensive penthouse flat no doubt?” He didn’t bat an eyelid. “Of course.” “My safety comes first.” “Your safety will be paramount with me.” “You would say that wouldn’t you? As the saying goes.” “Then let me reassure you. Phone someone who knows you and tell them where you’ll be this evening. Here is my card, with my address.” He handed her a card. It gave his name, and an address which she recognised as inside a new prestige tower on the banks of the Thames. “You cannot now disappear without trace. Phone now.” He pointed to her handbag. She asserted herself. “I will go outside to phone.” “There is reception in here.” “I will phone out of your earshot.” “If you prefer, then of course.” Isabel went outside onto the pavement and phoned Christine, her neighbour in the flat beneath her, who she saw most days. It was the first person she could think of. She wasn’t due at work for three months, and she was hardly likely to phone David, her ex-fiancé. As for family and friends, they would ask too many questions afterwards, and meanwhile wonder, in a way she’d prefer them not to. She said into an answering machine, “Christine, it’s Isabel. I’ll make sure I see you tomorrow and if I do, ignore this message. If not, I’ve been at…” She read out the address on the card. She’d probably make up some explanation when she saw Christine, but Christine tended to be incurious. She ended the call and hesitated, for one moment. Was she really going to go through with this? She was acting on a fierce rebound, she understood that. But she was entitled to rebound. When she got back he gave her a nod and said, “I’ve called a taxi.” “Don’t waste time do you? Don’t you even buy me a drink first?” “I will serve cocktails in my flat. Do you prefer a drink here first?” “Not really.” “Then let us go.” Isabel took her coat up over her arm and went outside with him. He said, “I’ve given you my name. What is yours?” “Sonia Tansey.” He probably guessed that she was lying, but he nodded again. Their taxi arrived almost instantly. On the way to his home he said to her, “Do you seek new experiences and not just repeats of the familiar?” “It depends on the new experiences.” “All will be consensual.” There was no other conversation on the way, so far as Isabel ever remembered afterwards. There was only his presence, close now, soon to be intensely, thrillingly, totally closer. They reached his residential tower, a tall steeple glittering above everyday London. The entrance was opulent, lavish, hushed, and they went up in a fast lift whose subdued whirring offset the luxury around. His flat seemed huge, strangely for the inside of a slender tower, and he showed her to a lounge, with a long sofa suite, deep and cushioned. He motioned her to sit. “First a cocktail,” he said. He pressed a button and a cabinet bearing drinks swung out from the wall. He seemed to mix one in moments and brought her a cocktail. It was lavish, different colours at different levels in a tall glass. As he sat down, Lorien said, “Through there,” he motioned to one of the doors, “is a changing room. There you may remove your clothes.” “Will you undress there too?” “I will make my own arrangements.” They sipped their cocktails. The taste was sharp, fizzy and sweet, calculated, perhaps, to wake you up. Not that Isabel needed any waking up. Lorien said, “Tonight could be the start of many new things for you.” “I doubt it. I see tonight as a one night stand.” “You have been betrayed by someone I think, and you are bitter. But open your mind and ask: What do I want now?” Isabel hesitated, then told him, “I have three months to do whatever I like. Then I return to work, and my usual life.” “Then fill these months with a different life. I can open the door for you.” “Are your plans for me glamorous – or squalid?” “We will discuss some plans this evening, during the intervals.” Lorien stood up, and Isabel did likewise. He put one strong arm around her, and with his free hand he tilted back her head. He kissed her hard, probing her mouth immediately with his tongue. Isabel responded with her own tongue, and she took in her first taste of his forceful masculinity. Then he released her head and moved his hands down her, quickly, skilfully, resolutely. He grasped her at the front and at the back, causing her to fall forward onto him, and he kissed her again, even harder, with probing that augured more telling probing to come. Some moments later he let go, and said, “I would be pleased, Sonia, if you would now go to the changing room.” Isabel went to the room he’d indicated. This was tiny, little more than a clothes cupboard, with a low padded item, sort of half stool, half table, ready for a pile of clothes. Everything seemed prepared. It was as if he’d known he’d be meeting her and bringing her back here. She undressed, putting her clothes on the item, and returned to the main room. Lorien had changed into a deep red dressing gown, open at his chest. The garment was flimsy, and it was obviously his only garment. Isabel wore nothing. His chest was manly and haired. She sensed more than ever the muscles in his arms and torso. Further down was a bulge which he made no effort to hide as they stood and faced each other. Isabel was gasping with desire. Her n*****s were hard, and she was hot and moist between her legs. She saw him note all this. He put an arm round her shoulders and swung her bodily to stand side by side with him, facing another door. “That is where we’re going,” he said. He bent down and kissed her right on her crucial place, in front, on the mound. Already sensitised and hot, Isabel bucked spasmodically, pushing forward onto his mouth. A bolt from heaven seemed to have attached to her, right where it mattered most. Her hands reached out towards his body – and his erection. But he said, “Let us go.” They went together into a master bedroom, dominated by a huge round bed, Isabel stumbling. But then she cried out, and drew back. On one wall hung two chains, with leather handcuffs at the end of them. “Oh no!” she said. “No! Nothing like that!” “I think you’ll change your mind. I will place you there, and yes, I’ll chain you, but there will be no torture, I promise you. The chains are there to help you stand there and bend back while I pleasure you at the front. Then I will release you, and you will turn round, and bend over, and the chains will hold you again as I pleasure you at the rear.” “I do not want to be your helpless prisoner.” “You may call a halt at every moment. I promise you.” Isabel obeyed. She couldn’t believe that she was doing it. He was imposing an agenda. And she was choosing to submit. She stood with her back against the wall. Lorien bound her wrists and pulled a lever. The chains went tense and pulled her arms upwards above her head, and held them against the wall. He put a belt round her waist, tightened it to fit, and attached a third chain. This gently pulled her lower part forward, outwards from the wall. “Please stand with your legs apart,” he said. Isabel parted her legs. “Wider,” he said. She parted her legs as wide as she could stand on them. He bent down and bound her ankles. She stood trembling, all her private places open and inviting to his gaze, her shoulders against the wall, her crucial part thrust forward. “Are you comfortable?” Lorien asked with extreme old-fashioned courtesy. “I’ll tell you if you must stop.” “I promise you I will, if you ask me.” He stood back, and removed his dressing gown. His manhood stood huge in front of him, pointing slightly upwards, the stem looking strong as steel, the tip quivering, a promise of intensity. Isabel eyed it. If only her hands were free to take it and explore it. Not that her hands would be enough of course. There were at least three other places where she wanted it before the night was out. Lorien lent forward and took a breast into his mouth. Isabel moaned; her breasts had been so waiting for his attention. And not only her breasts… Suddenly she saw something he was holding in his hands. It was some double-pronged toy, and pointing out of it were two false p*****s, one large and one small, a calculated distance apart. The purpose was obvious. “No!” she cried. “Not in my third place. No to that! My mouth and my opening between my legs, but not that third place. I won’t be entered there.” “As you wish,” he replied, removing his mouth from her breast. He cast the toy away, throwing it to his side. Re-boldened, Isabel thrust her breast back into his mouth. She felt his hand on her lower mound. Her hot flushing desire could have made her faint. He rubbed and circled, harder and harder, on the mound and between her legs, both his hands exploring her. He could feel her heat there, and her dampness, and, Oh! He was encircling her little lump, her own hardness in that area, and the surge of ecstasy which ran through her nearly made her scream. She wanted that quivering c**k there, and now. But he was out to make her boil and boil before that stage was reached.