‘What?’
‘You’ll see.’ And he stalks off back to the kitchen door, leaving me to wonder who it was that saw Lloyd sniffing my crotch in the bin yard.
The rest of the day is accordingly uncomfortable. My clit feels like a lead weight, dragging me down wherever I go. I want to squirm and scratch when I’m seated. When I stand, I want to squish my thighs together hard.
But somehow I make it through.
It’s a relief to get back to my own flat, minus Lloyd, and even more of a relief to put on my sensible, matronly underwear the next day.
Despite the growing undertow of frustration nagging at my nethers, I stay professional, even with Lloyd, who continually hints at some dark future event every time our paths cross.
Finally, I corner him in an ill-lit corner of the cocktail lounge. ‘Go on then.’
‘What?’ He looks up from the menu he is annotating.
‘What’s today’s challenge? Hit me.’
‘That’s exactly it.’
‘You can’t. I mean, you can’t mean … you aren’t going to spank me?’
‘What else would I mean?’
‘You can’t. I don’t consent to it.’
He shrugs. ‘Fail then.’
‘No, I only fail if I have an orgasm. This is different.’
‘Excuse me.’ He looks up, eyes wide, arms folded. ‘I think I set the terms, don’t I?’
‘It doesn’t give you carte blanche to do exactly what you want.’
‘No, Sophie, because if it did, you’d be moving in with me. Tonight.’
This is where I have to back down. ‘Just give me time,’ I mutter.
‘That’s what I’m doing. So. Tonight. My place. Your arse, my lap. OK?’
‘Fine. That’s … fine.’
He nods, dismissing me.
The rest of the day passes very slowly. Time to think, time to think. The thing is, he could give me the rest of my life to think. I’d still get nowhere. I’m paralysed, deep down. Paralysed and inadequate. Perhaps I should let him go. Could I let him go?
When it comes down to it, this is the only way I can make a decision – to have it made for me, or brought down to a test or lottery of chance.
Lloyd knows this, but he doesn’t know why.
I don’t want to talk about why.
***
The spanking is given on the pretext that I ruined his suit trousers by pushing him over in the yard.
It’s long and expertly sensual and administered to my bare bottom in my favourite position – draped over his lap. It has the obvious hoped-for consequence of making me insanely horny, which he, of course, relishes.
‘There’s a correlation between the heat on your bottom and the wetness in your cunt, isn’t there?’ he says, running his hand over my throbbing skin.