| The card Fabienne found in Howard’s pocket, bore one word. Dominia. The print was gold and the embossed black card of good quality. She turned it over. On the reverse side was the address - 14 Rue de St. Honore. |
| So Howard did have someone. Fabienne’s chin came up. The eyes which stared back at her from the mirror were cold with fury. |
| She knew she looked good. Her face was pale under the long, stylishly-cut black hair. The subtle make-up, full lips outlined with pinkish-brown pencil, suited her. No lines on her face, breasts still high and firm, legs long and slim. Men stared at her all the time. Howard saw how they looked at her, their eyes avid, hopeful. He liked men to look at her. She was not for them. |
| Everything was for Howard. So why this ? He’d phoned earlier that evening, to cancel their date. His voice on the answerphone was falsely bright. “Sorry darling. I’ll call by the flat early tomorrow. Take you to breakfast. OK ?” |
 Fabienne scrunched the card into a ball and threw it across the bedroom. No, it bloody wasn’t ‘OK’ !
He’d be with her now. Dominia. It sounded fanciful, maybe Italian. She might be a high-class whore. Someone young, who’d flatter him and do all the things he liked. Suck his cock, moan in the right places.
Furiously she pulled a black silk sheath over the expensive underwear that Howard liked. Steady now, she didn’t want to tear the dress. Howard wasn’t worth it. She slipped her feet into zipped ankle boots, then swept her long black hair back from her face, clasping it at the nape with a velvet ribbon. Next she re-applied make-up. A different look - pale face, smudgy grey shadow and black eyeliner. She outlined her lips carefully with a deep red lipstick. Moments later she slammed the front door and ran down the steps, her black velvet cloak fanning out behind her.
As the taxi crawled through the warren of streets, Fabienne watched the traffic pass in shining streaks, headlights reflecting off the wet road. The address was in the old French quarter. Shop windows gave onto a park and there, set back from the road, were the gothic spires and turrets of the Cathedral. Howard had always fancied himself as a bohemian. This was just where he would come to meet a lover. The streets had a rundown, shabby glamour.
“Stop here,” she ordered the driver.
“You wish me to wait, mademoiselle ?”
“No. Thank you,” she said, tipping him well because he was young and handsome and thoughtful of her safety. |
| Trees lined the street. The gutters were awash with litter, crumbled cigarette packets floated like boats down the drains. The houses had narrow fronts, closed shutters. She turned into an alley, lit by a single street lamp. Half-way down, in shadow, she saw a black-painted door with number 14 in red enamel letters. Above the door was a sign. |
| It read - Dominia. |
| Fabienne laughed aloud. Dominia was a club, not a woman. Then why the secrecy ? She hesitated for a moment. What the hell, she’d come here to find out. Pushing open the door she stepped inside. |
| It was very dark. Candles in iron sconces flickered on red velvet walls. Scented smoke filled the room. Suspended from the ceiling a sequinned ball cast motes of light over the people who sat around. Men sat at the tables which were clustered around a circular shaped stage. |
 |
| Two women sat at the bar. One in fishnet and leather, the other wearing a rubber dress, so tight that it showed every line in her body. Both women were young, beautiful. They looked at her with doe eyes, smiling slightly. Fabienne liked the place, the air of expensive seediness. There would be a show later, she thought, strip-tease. Maybe a live sex act. Two people humping and sweating under harsh lights. No more a turn-on than the display on a butcher’s slab. Cheap thrills. |
| “You’re showing your age Howard...” she murmured under her breath. |
| She couldn’t wait to see his face when he saw her there. She should get plenty of mileage out of this. She’d make him grovel and beg before she forgave him this time. A couple came into the club. Fabienne smelt expensive perfume, saw the glint of jewellry. Diamonds, Emeralds. They looked real. The women wore designer clothes of leather and velvet, beautifully cut. Next came a number of men, wearing dinner jackets. Immaculate as penguins. One of the men she recognised from a magazine. |
| Not wanting Howard to see her as soon as he came in, Fabienne headed for a dark corner. Someone seized her by the arm. Amused, she turned to see a young man, dressed all in black with buckles and straps across his chest. He had a beautiful face, an elegant, toned body. Silver rings glinted at his ears and eyebrow and in his nose. |
| “You’re late,” he said, giving her no chance to speak. “Come this way, quickly.” |
| She followed him through a curtained alcove. This was even better. She could watch from back-stage as Howard incriminated himself. Explanations could come later. The beautiful young man led her down a narrow corridor. |
| “In here.” He opened the door and shouted to the person inside. “You’ve got ten minutes. Andy says to make it good tonight. There are faces with big money out there.” |
| Fabienne hesitated for just a moment. Now was the time to speak up. She kept silent. Stepping into the room, she saw a woman with full blonde hair sitting at a mirror. The woman turned as Fabienne entered. Her eyebrows arched in surprise as Fabienne took off her cloak and hung it up. |
| “Well, well. You’re not what they usually send. A bit understated aren’t you ? But I like the look. It’s classy. Different.” |
| Fabienne smiled, not yet understanding. “Yes.” Her heart was hammering with excitement. Why not ? Howard wanted thrills. She would give them to him. |
| “I’m Nancy. You wanna fluff ? I’m finished with the mirror.” |
| “Thanks. I’m Fabienne.” Fabienne sat down and began applying lipstick, powdering her nose. |
| She tried not to stare at Nancy. But it was difficult not to. Nancy was tall and strikingly beautiful. The studded collar encircling her neck threw her heart shaped face into prominence. She wore a black leather body harness that left her large breasts free and fitted tightly at the waist. A high-cut narrow strip covered her pubis. Her lips swelled out lusciously below the constriction of the belt. As Nancy raised her arms to secure a black leather mask, her exposed breasts lifted. The dark-brown nipples were erect and gleaming with some sort of sparkling powder. They jutted out pertly, as if asking to be touched. |
| Fabienne felt a jolt go straight to her stomach as Nancy’s eyes met hers in the mirror. Nancy smiled knowingly as she pulled on long black boots. Fabienne smiled back, her lips trembling slightly with unexpected anticipation. |
| “Keep that look,” Nancy said. “It suits you. Kind of innocent, but knowing. The punters’ll like that. We’re here to provide a bit of fresh colour. Some new pussy. Get’s them in the mood. After us it’s the free-for-all for the regulars.” |
| She smoothed the fingers of her elbow length gloves, until they fitted sleekly. The shiny leather creaked. Fabienne liked the sound. |
| “Ready ?” Nancy said. |
| Fabienne stood up and turned, suddenly aware that she had no idea what to do. “I’ll follow your lead,” she said with a confidence she didn’t feel. |
| “Sure,” Nancy said. “It’ll be a pleasure.” She leaned close and brushed Fabienne’s lips lightly with her own. |
| Fabienne swallowed hard. The point of Nancy’s tongue had squirmed into her mouth. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. |
| “A real pleasure,” Nancy said again grinning, as she clipped a collar and leash around Fabienne’s neck. |
 As they walked onto the darkened stage, the music began - a harsh, industrial beat. Nancy strutted along, head high, breasts thrust forward, her lovely face set in a severe expression. She jerked on the leash, almost dragging Fabienne along behind her.
Fabienne was in a state of heightened tension. this wasn’t what she’d expected. She felt afraid, but aroused at the same time. Two bullet beams of light flickered on, illuminating the centre of the stage. A smoke machine disgorged a blast towards the two women. The rest of the club was in darkness. Fabienne could not see if Howard was in the audience.
Nancy led her to centre stage, where there was a black leather chair, with deep rounded arms, and a wrought iron rack with a selection of canes, crops, and whips. Above it was a pulley, with cuffs and restraints that could be highered or lowered at will.
“Stand on that chair,” Nancy ordered, and when Fabienne was slow to obey, she produced a switch from a rack beside the chair and gave two stinging blows across Fabienne’s calves.
Fabienne gasped with shock and climbed onto the chair, the tight skirt of the silk dress making it difficult. Nancy ordered her to raise her arms and slip her wrists into the leather cuffs. Then she raised the pulley, until Fabienne’s arms were pulled tight and she was balancing on the tips of her toes. fabienne struggled to stand upright. The tension in her arms and legs became an ache. “Please. Loosen it a bit,” she whispered. |
| Nancy laughed and slid her hands up the outside of Fabienne’s thighs, raising the tight skirt of the dress as she did so. Fabienne’s shapely legs, in sheer black lace-topped stockings were revealed, then her lace garter belt, and the triangle of lace at her groin. The dress was bunched up tightly around her waist. Nancy turned Fabienne so that she faced the back of the stage, presenting the audience with a view of her taut rounded backside, bisected by the strap of her g-string. |
| Fabienne felt the anticipation in the club. She heard someone strike a match. There was a moment before she felt the slap, then her head snapped back with surprise. |
| Nancy placed another open-handed slap on Fabienne’s buttocks. Then three more, swiftly one after the other. Fabienne jerked as each slap connected. As they came faster she bit her lip, working her hips back and forth in an effort to escape. |
| She felt her buttocks tremble as Nancy struck them, concentrating on one at a time, until they burned and throbbed. The warm pain radiated through her, sending shock waves of pleasure into her groin. As Nancy continued to slap her she sagged, letting the pulley take her weight, her knees bouncing against the padded leather back of the chair. |
| Nancy paused. She bent down and took one of Fabienne’s feet in her gloved hands. She lifted it high so that Fabienne moaned at the strain in her knee and thigh, then she unzipped the ankle boot. After repeating the process with the other foot, she placed the boots carefully, side by side, next to the chair. |
| Fabienne felt the soft leather against the soles of her feet, through the silk of her stockings. It was warm and giving, like skin. The sensation sent a new spasm of pleasure through her. Nancy drew the dress up higher, pulling it over Fabienne’s head. Uncuffing her wrists briefly, she discarded the dress. Now she turned Fabienne to face the front of the stage. Pushing the lace cups of the bra aside, she pulled Fabienne’s breasts free. She left the shaped band to cup the under-swell of flesh, forcing Fabienne’s breasts to jut out and up. |
| Fabienne bit back the protest which rose to her lips, knowing that, even if she begged, Nancy would not stop. With gloved fingers, Nancy stroked the exposed breasts, murmuring compliments and bending forward to suck on the nipples. |
| Fabienne, felt heat and wetness gathering between her thighs. She could not contain a groan of pleasure. She closed her eyes briefly. Nancy’s lips were warm. The sensation of sucking, the subtle pulling, was hypnotic. The thought of all the watching eyes added to her pleasure. |
 Then her eyes snapped open as Nancy pinched her nipples cruelly with her gloved fingers. She began stroking Fabienne’s breasts lightly with a flexible crop. The strokes went back and forth, teasing her sore nipples into hard peaks. Nancy began using the crop with more force, concentrating on the nipples until they flamed a deep red and throbbed with heat.
Fabienne tried to pull away, her eyes filling, her lips twisting as she bit back tears. It was too much. She hadn’t expected things to go this far. Nancy’s lovely hard mouth curved with satisfaction at the evidence of Fabienne’s distress. her eyes gleamed cruelly through the black mask.
Nancy did not put down the crop until Fabienne was hunched over, trying to catch her breath between sobs. Reaching down to the garter belt, she slid a gloved finger into Fabienne’s groin and pushed aside the lace triangle covering her sex.
Taking hold of Fabienne’s sex-lips, she tugged at the dark pubic curls, pinching the tight little plum hard, until Fabienne winced and cried out. Then she twisted the sore nipples between gloved finger and thumb while slapping the under-swell of Fabienne’s breasts, snapping them up and letting them drop back with their own weight.
Fabienne tossed her head, whimpering with the pain. It was the most exquisite torture. She didn’t know how much more she could stand. Nancy crooned to her and stroked her wet face gently, commenting on her pretty flushed cheeks, her trembling mouth. Catching a tear on a gloved finger, she licked it. Then she smiled, broke the thin sides of Fabienne’s g-string, and tore the lacy scrap free. Adjusting the pulley, she ordered Fabienne to bend her knees, and squat down. |
| “Rest back in the chair,” Nancy said. “Right back. Now. Spread your knees and loop your legs over the arms of the chair. Come on, darling. Spread wide. Show the punters that pretty pussy.” |
| Fabienne felt her face growing hot with shame as she did as Nancy said. It was impossible. She couldn’t do this. Not even to get back at Howard. But now her thighs were wide open, her sex spread for all to see. She knew she was wet and that the inner lips were swollen. Nancy stroked the dark curls away from the neat rosy sex. Spreading her with two fingers, she began spanking the flesh-hood that covered Fabienne’s clit. |
| Fabienne was swept by a riot of emotions. She wanted so much to close her legs, to escape from the eyes which watched from the darkened, smoky area beyond the stage. It seemed terrible that they could all see her arousal, bear witness to the waves of sweet submission that made her bear down and push her sex towards Nancy’s gloved hands. |
| She thought briefly again of Howard, but she no longer cared whether he watched or not. |
| Nancy raised her glove to Fabienne’s lips. She pushed two fingers into her mouth, so that Fabienne could taste her own musky juices. Then she picked up the crop and began to beat Fabienne on the insides of her creamy thighs. The pain was so centred that it stole Fabienne’s breath. She tossed her head from side to side, moaning loudly. |
| She had found a new dimension within herself. All her senses seemed concentrated on Nancy. Nancy who was so sweetly abusing her, sending new thrills of submission and pleasure through her at every spanking blow, every touch of the crop, every caress of her gloved hands. |
| Her arms ached with tension. The leather armchair was hot and sticky against her skin. The insides of her knees, the crease of her stretched and sore buttocks was damp with sweat. She slipped against the leather as she strained towards Nancy. |
| “Don’t stop. God, don’t stop,” she murmured. |
| She felt the pleasure pooling, building. The throbbing music filled her ears. Trent Renzor’s voice was hypnotic. The light from the bullet beams blinded her. She smelt smoke and the tang of leather, Nancy’s perfume, her own arousal - salt and musk. |
| “Oh, God. Please. Nancy.....” she sobbed as the first wrenching waves rose and crested. |
| Nancy leaned over and thrust two gloved fingers deep into her. Fabienne spasmed, her hips working as she sheathed herself on Nancy’s fingers. Nancy pressed her lips to Fabienne’s mouth, kissing her hard, lashing her tongue around the inside of her mouth. Fabienne gave a final groan and felt the vibration of it in Nancy’s throat. |
| Neither of them heard the applause. In a dream Fabienne stood up. Her legs were shaky. She felt completely drained. Nancy unfastened the wrist cuffs and picked up Fabienne’s dress. She threw the crushed silk to Fabienne who caught it and held it close. |
| Nancy beckoned, “I don’t need to tether you, do I ? You’ve learned obedience. Come with me.” |
| Swinging the collar and leash against her high boots, Nancy strode from the stage. Fabienne followed head bowed. Her inner thighs still hurt. She was acutely conscious of her reddened buttocks and breasts. Her whole body felt sore and more alive than ever before. |
| In the dressing room she looked into Nancy’s eyes and smiled. Nancy smiled back, a look of complete understanding. “You need a bath and some attention, darling. My place, or yours ?” she said, taking Fabienne in her arms and kissing her thoroughly. |
| “Mine,” Fabienne replied, returning Nancy’s kiss with a new found eagerness. “I’m not expecting anyone. I had a date for breakfast. But I’ll break it. It’s not important.” |
|
 Cleo Cordell is becoming quite a name in the field of erotic fiction. Extracts of her books (somewhat censored) have been read out on the Late Show, Wire TV, GMTV and various radio stations. Many interviews and features about her have appeared in national newspapers and magazines.
Cleo’s influences include the works of Anne Rice, Tanith Lee, Storm Constantine. She is willing to take risks in her writing and, although her novels - published by Black Lace - are generally available in W H Smiths etc, they contain explicit and graphic sexual imagery; including S & M, sub dom - male and female, gay/lesbian sex, body art, watersports etc. Her writing is accomplished and sensual, the settings lush and evocative. Each book is unique and each one is a major turn-on. “Today” newspaper called her ‘queen of suburban erotica’.
The Captive Flesh
and its sequel
The Senses Bejeweled
are set around a harem, where the powerful and handsome Kasim teaches French covent girls, Marietta and Claudine, the majesty of pleasure in pain. Gabriel - perfect in his male beauty - is tortured by exquisite longings for Marietta, but Kasim too desires his male slave and is jealous of Marietta’s affections. Both books are intimate portraits of a most unusual ménage à trois. |
|
| Juliet Rising |
| has a strong gothic feel to it. The Juliet of the title is rich, wilful, beautiful. Sent to Madame Nichol’s exclusive, but strict, eighteenth century ladies’ academy, she is encouraged to explore her inner sexual nature and discovers that she harbours a streak of cruelty. The handsome and dissolute Reynard is soon willing to do anything to win Juliet’s approval; not so Andreas - the enigmatic and handsome gardener - whom Juliet cannot resist. |
| The setting and lavish descriptions of beautiful costumes are redolent of the ‘Draughtmen’s Contract’. A black and white gem of a book. |
Other titles by Cleo Cordell include,
Velvet Claws
Paths of the Tiger
Crimson Buccaneer |
| List of these and other books can be found here http://www.fantasticfiction.co.uk/c/cleo-cordell/ |
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