Pleasure in the Pillory Ch. 05

Some four or five minutes into the exercise, Karla's body started to writhe in her bonds as the delights of her orgasm began their first low, slow surges, then she began to buck and heave in the flogging frame as the orgasm got closer and closer.

Finally, she could do nothing to stop the flood of orgasmic delight from engulfing her and with cries of "Yes, oh yesyesyesyes, I'm cooooming" she writhed and thrashed to a threshing, thrashing Big O.

As she calmed down, and Patricia stood up and planted a long slow kiss on her agent's mouth, Charisma and I removed her from the flogging frame.

Karla smiled at us, and in turn kissed both Charisma, then me before announcing, possibly with only some slight exaggeration: "Thank heaven we did that down in this lovely padded parlour or I'd have been heard in fucking Dover!"

The next day, Karla was off to London with the disc which she dropped off at Patricia's publisher. Some months went by, and then, in the depths of winter, my employer announced that we were off next week to The Savoy for a series of press conferences, a publisher's launch and cocktail party all to herald her latest history – Torment at Trafalgar.

"We'll stay in a suite – or rather, I will," announced Patricia. "Charisma, you and Penelope will share an adjoining bedroom. I'm sure we'll all have a lovely time."
Having checked in, Charisma and I made sure our employer's suite was fully stocked with champagne, spirits and beer to cater for the copious capacity of the press. But first there was a BBC TV crew, which drank only orange juice, followed by another from team from some commercial channel.

Next came he press and magazines, which made up for the lack of intake by the TV crews by making serious inroads into the bubbly and booze provided by myself, Charisma and a stunningly-attired Karla. Their combined thirsts, the agent assured me, was "par for the course".

By 5 o'clock Patricia announced she was "talked out about fucking Trafalgar" and took a bath, while Charisma and I had a quick, but passionate, sex session before we showered together and got ready for the publisher's launch of Torment at Trafalgar.

The function in the hotel's Siemens Room was attended by about 50 or 60 people and the man from The Times Literary Supplement immediately tried to launch himself on me. He was a tall, grey-haired and hawk-nosed old codger of about 60, but Charisma rescued me and introduced him to one of her dark-skinned lady friends. Later, I noticed he was talking intently to her in a corner, stroking her lush, leather-skirted bum.

But to be fair, The Times had been very kind to my employer's latest historical offering. The review in the TLS noted: "Her latest tome reveals a wealth of historical research which only adds to the torrid tale. Although the 'steamier' scenes were perhaps a trifle too detailed for this reviewer, they will no doubt increase the pulse rate of her many millions of fans around the world."

The Daily Telegraph, while somewhat more censorious, surely added to the book's readership when it noted: "Vivid descriptions of intensely erotic tortures for some of the male - and female – protagonists, make for somewhat disturbing reading, a comment which will make not one jot of difference to this remarkable author's huge readership."

The Sun had taken a somewhat raunchier tack. "Phew, wotta scorcha!" its reviewer had panted. "Floggings, punishments, hot sex and steamy nights as Horatio takes on the appalling Frog navy. Don't put it down – it'll burn the furniture!"

Speaking of The Sun, an oleaginous little photographer carrying what looked like to be a hugely expensive camera, persuaded Patricia to pose between me and Charisma for the paper's gossip column.

As we stood closely together on a little stage at one end of the room, he lewdly called out: "Come on, darlings, show us a bit more cleavage!"

The picture eventually appeared in one of The Sun's gossip columns – but isn't the paper one long gossip column? - under the heading "A trio of bodices we'd like to rip". But I do have to confess we appeared to have acceded to his request over the amount of cleavage on show.

Finally, the speeches had been made, the last hangers-on drifted away, including the Times Literary Supplement man cuddling up to Charisma's friend, and Charisma and I flanked Patricia as we made our way back upstairs.

Outside her suite, Patricia said: "OK, Charisma, come in with me. Penelope, I want you in my room in 10 minutes – naked."

In my room, I stripped off but kept my high heels on, checked my watch, had a quick vodka and tonic from the room bar, and opened the door to my employer's suite.

There, in the centre of the large suite, side-by-side stood Patricia and Charisma, both naked like me, both with high-heeled shoes on their feet, like me.

Patricia was holding a cruel-looking little leather lash. In her other hand was a copy of what appeared to be Torment at Trafalgar.

I moved forward and stood in front of her. Patricia gave me a broad smile and held the book out to me. "Here, my dear," she said, "this is a little gift for you."
I took the book and opened it. The inside first page had a scrawled inscription: "To my divine researcher, Penelope, all my love, Patricia."

"Turn to the dedication page," said Patricia, as she bent the lash, flexing it into a sort of u-shape.

I read the dedication: "To Penelope, without whose assistance and inspiration this story could never have been told."

It was so sweet, what could I say?

The best I could manage was a rather feeble cliche: "How can I ever thank you?"

Patricia looked at Charisma and they both smiled.

"Well," said my employer, "for starters you can get down on your knees ...."