My breasts were on display almost down to the nipple. Jasper applied his tit tape with expert care and assured me that nothing could slip and cause a wardrobe malfunction. The cleavage was so low it crested my navel, and there was copious side-boob on display as well. It was backless too, skimming my coccyx. If it was a fraction looser, people would be able to peer down and see my bum cheeks. That’s if they hadn’t already been treated to a flash by the swish of my severely abbreviated skirt. It wasn’t tight, but flowed in a skater style. A breath of wind would be enough to give everyone an eyeful of my upper thighs. Jasper had been careful not to apply the paddle lower than the curve of my cheeks, though, so I should just about be safe. All the same, I was going to have to exercise constant vigilance. My bright-red bottom would be at the forefront of my mind all evening – which I guess was Jasper’s intention.
‘It’ll help you behave, won’t it?’ he said, putting his hands up my skirt and patting my hot bottom. ‘Keep you nice and sweet all night. Give you something to think about.’ He kissed me hard, with tongues, then tutted at himself for smudging my lipstick. ‘Better sort that out in the taxi,’ he said. ‘Something else to think about, love, is what I’m going to do to you when I get you back here. See if you can guess. I’ll take your answers in the cab home.’
He put his thumbs over my nipples and rubbed them slowly until they swelled into hard buttons inside their thin golden covering.
‘Oh, don’t,’ I begged.
‘They’ll go down by the time we get there,’ he said, eyes gleaming. ‘Perhaps. God, we’d better go before I –’
He took my arm and yanked me to the door. The thin strappy heels I wore made me stagger like Bambi, but he held me straight.
By the time we were in the lobby, I had worked out how to walk in them. Every eye followed us, one of them perhaps belonging to the employee who had heard me being spanked, but I didn’t care about that any more. I was proud. As long as I was by Jasper’s side, I didn’t give a damn who knew what.
Chapter Nine
The dress didn’t feel like a dress. I could very easily forget that I was wearing anything at all, except when the hem brushed my thighs, tickling the sensitive skin there.
‘I’ve no idea how I’m going to get out of this cab without flashing the world,’ I said, trying to smooth it down over the tops of my legs.
Jasper crooked a finger underneath and raised it higher. If he wasn’t careful, the taxi driver would get an eyeful of my nude pussy.
‘You need lessons in deportment,’ he said, stroking my thigh. ‘How to stay classy while wearing next to nothing. If you’re going to be in my movie …’
‘Oh, but I’m not. Am I? You aren’t serious about that?’
‘Sarah, just because I haven’t mentioned it for a few hours doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten. You’re still my number-one choice for the role. But I need to discuss it with some of these industry boys I’m meeting tonight. They might well nix it. But I could always self-finance … hmm. I don’t know. It’s still on the table, though. Which is where I’d like you to be right now.’
He leant into me, puckering for a kiss, but then remembered that I’d only just reapplied my ruined lipstick and put a finger to my mouth instead.
I sucked on it, wishing it was elsewhere. Sending me out with a freshly spanked bottom and no prospect of immediate relief was cruel. I was hot and sticky, oozing on to the seat.
Yes, I’d like to be on his table, a place I had been many times. Horizontal, looking up at the light fitting, legs spread and hooked over his shoulders while he thrust, hard, hard, harder …
I had to stop. I didn’t want to smell of sexual desire on the red carpet. Thank heavens for the strong masking aroma of my perfume.
Jasper made no effort to help me with this, though, keeping one finger in my mouth while the other hand crept ever higher up my thigh.
I tried to clamp my legs together, looking meaningfully at the driver.
He conceded the point, backed off and turned to peer out at the rain-washed London streets.
‘Looks like you’ll be running up that red carpet,’ he said. ‘It’s bucketing down.’
At the venue, security guards stood at the kerb with a pot of umbrellas. Jasper opened one over us and we paraded up in true British style, watching the rain light up in the glare of the flashbulbs. Actually, flashbulb, singular. It wasn’t a big starry affair – most of the ‘celebs’ were proper artists, musicians and other creatives, with just a smattering of magazine regulars.
All the same, we had to pose under the canopy for a press shot. It was too strange and I wasn’t sure how to do it, so I just stood there while people shouted and milled around us, clinging to Jasper’s arm and tryin
g not to look terrified.
‘Would you mind telling us the lady’s name, Mr Jay, for our write-up?’
‘Certainly. This is my partner, Sarah Wells. And I don’t mean business partner.’ His voice dropped and he pulled me closer, proudly proprietorial. ‘I mean bed partner,’ he said with a devilish baring of teeth.
I was too shocked to say anything until we were inside the marquee, surrounded by clinking glasses and popping corks and acres of well-groomed flesh.
‘Why did you say that?’ I hissed, accepting a glass of champagne and knocking it back, my fingers trembling. Dutch courage.
‘Why not? Isn’t it true?’