Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play Read online

  A friendly sounding woman with a London accent called Miss Richards, arranges to show him the property at 1300hrs. Perfect. That gives him enough time to eat, buy what he needs and to smarten himself up.

  With the pride that soars from feeling clever and disingenuous comes that same old twinge in his groin; he cannot suppress the agonising need to touch himself. Beneath Thursday’s newspaper lying across his knees, a single, hot and heavy hand tightens around his cock, the zip catching on the cuff of his black sweater, shredding the material as he fists himself. Only a couple of pumps away from ejaculation, he spots Ayden Stone smiling back at him, stops, reads the opening paragraph of the article and picks up where he left off with violent, self-abusive jerks that merge pain with pleasure. His guttural moan is drowned out by the music and he spurts into his half empty milk bottle. Not having thought to pack tissues, he uses the article to wipe himself off and tosses the crumpled image of Ayden Stone onto the back seat. Taking a lingering look at himself in the drop down mirror, he spells out exactly how he feels. “Thanks for that Stone, how does it feel to have my cum smeared across you fucking face?”

  He’s laughing and singing along to Black Sabbath, feeling satisfied and cheerful: he loves it when a plan comes together.

  I had no idea that shopping could be organised with military precision, but then I’ve never been with Ayden Stone. By 1200hrs I’m ready to go into battle, destination Bond Street. Usually, it’s my favourite place to window shop, but Ayden insists I use the visa card and I feel the need to indulge him.

  Apparently, today’s the day I’m being introduced to my personal shopper - a freelance Fashionista who writes for the broadsheets. She is going to help me match clothes and accessories. Isn’t that Charlie’s job? Why Ayden should go to the expense of employing a professional is beyond me.

  Lester pulls up on Bond Street and I’m reminded of just how high-end the clothes are in this part of the city. A striking, dark haired woman in her mid-thirties comes over to meet us. From the way she regards Ayden, I can tell she knows him quite well. I assume the worse and take an instant dislike to her. She’s all trussed up in a leather biker jacket and knee length britches and boots. I feel awkward and under-dressed in my Levis and smart white blouse. Sod it! Let’s get some retail therapy.

  My personal shopper is called Celine and she’s been working in fashion for 15 years, apparently. When I ask her if she has done this sort of thing for Mr. Stone before, she is initially hesitant but, in a typically French response, explains. “Mr. Stone has required my services before for special occasions, for his special friends.”

  As a rule I wouldn’t care either way about those words but, today, they make my skin crawl. The words ‘special’ and ‘friends,’ have all kinds of unsavoury connotations when they are used in the same sentence.

  I press her. “Often?”

  “When required. Mr. Stone has very particular tastes.” She regards me with suspicion. Has she signed a NDA? Or has it got something to do with the fact that I’m decidedly un-model like: two tall for the circus and two short for the catwalk.

  Momentarily, the judicious look fades and I see an understanding, a woman to woman thing. She guesses what I must be feeling. “If it is any consolation Miss Parker, Mr. Stone always gives me specific instructions and a limit: four thousand pounds maximum and one dress.”

  “I see.” Obviously I don’t.

  “However, today his instructions were not specific. He said ‘clothes for Rome and no limit - just buy everything and assume nothing.’” She touches my arm. “So you see, you are special Miss Parker.”

  “Beth.”

  “Beth. We should have much fun today.”

  I offer an appreciative smile but don’t expect to have much fun today at all.

  ***

  Having spent 20 minutes grappling with boredom, Ayden makes himself scarce. He’s going to wait for my call when I’m done, come and collect me; we’ll go and get something to eat and then go sight-seeing together. That’s the plan. Lester will take my purchases back to my apartment. Ayden has everything under control. Just the way he likes it.

  When he returns to collect me, there are no pleasantries between Ayden and Celine. She is an employee, I realise, and nothing more. He rattles out an order, “Bill me Celine.” His hand is on my arm. “Let’s go eat.”

  Before moving away I turn to Celine. “Je vous remercie beaucoup, vous êtes très utile.” We kiss cheeks right and left.

  “Ce fut un plaisir, Beth, Bonne chance.” She offers Ayden a respectful smile and walks away.

  “She likes you,” Ayden states, taking my elbow and leading me across the road. “I know a great French Bistro round the corner, maybe you can translate the menu for me?” He winks.

  I nod, link his arm and squeeze it with both my hands. What a great day.

  ***

  By 1500 hours we’re sipping Marques de Murrieta Capellania and enjoying Lobster with brassicas and pink grapefruit in a fashionable bistro called L’AutrePied. Ayden’s giving a master class in how to order food and I’m struck by his flamboyant confidence; it’s as if he has an aura around him that people unconsciously respond to, especially women. He orders food that isn’t even on the menu and the waitress appears hypnotised. I’m tempted to click my fingers and say, “Pull yourself together woman.” But I doubt it would make any difference.

  So this is what he meant when he said he uses his sexuality to get what he wants? He claimed not to be Prince Charming but he seems to be a pretty good imitation. It makes me wonder if he hypnotised me? Our amorous encounter at the theatre involved a steamy exchange of passionate kisses and promises, and that could hardly be classed as my usual modus operandi. Was I thinking straight, was that me? Maybe not, but my thoughts are my own now and from what I can see ...

  He notices my contemplation, thankfully unable to read my thoughts. “Assessing again Miss Parker?”

  “No, just enjoying.”

  “One of these days, you’re going to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

  “But not today.”

  He kisses me softly. “No, not today.”

  ***

  When Big Ben strikes four, we are queuing for the London Eye. The air is crisp and the sky is clear, it’s as if the sun has come out just for us. Ayden hands the student on afternoon duty £20 and guarantees us a pod to ourselves. I’ve visited the attraction before but Ayden has not, even though it’s visible from his office; these small amusements have passed him by, it seems.

  When the pod reaches the highest point, I press my nose against the glass and take in the incredible view: the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, and even Buckingham Palace: an English history lesson in a single glance. I feel Ayden standing behind me, his presence is tangible, a protective force at my rear: Master of all he surveys. Instantly, I lift up my arms into a flying position.

  “This is a Titanic moment Ayden,” I declare, without a shadow of a doubt.

  “A what?” I pick-up on an uncertain tone.

  “A Titanic moment, you know, like the film.” I turn my head to regard him over my left shoulder.

  “No, you’ve lost me.”

  I’m horrified. “You didn’t see Titanic? Kate Winslet and Leonardo Di Caprio?” I suddenly feel very foolish with my arms outstretched and begin to lower them to my sides.

  Sensing my disappointment, he places his hands beneath my forearms and outstretches them until our fingers are locked together. I lean back into him. This just became a special moment shared for posterity.

  “This is our first Titanic moment Ayden.”

  “If you say so Beth, then it must be true.” He kisses my neck and I know right there and then, this is the man I’ve been waiting for: he gets me.

  We step out of the pod, but I say nothing, even though I’m thinking I’m one step closer to love. It’s my secret.

  Dan inspects himself in the mirror over the sink in what the company likes to call their 21st century megast
ore. Overhead a female voice, much too indistinct to be taken seriously, announces two for one on Coco Pops and the deal of the week on washing powder, but to him it’s just noise. He is preoccupied with his own, less homely thoughts. He takes one last look at his checklist before giving himself the once over.

  Get petrol

  Draw £250 out of bank.

  Acquire tripod for camera.

  Buy drill, knife, wall attachment, chain, masking tape, leash and latex gloves.

  He puts the top back on his biro and folds away the grubby sheet of paper, feeling prepared and satisfied. “All present and correct,” he declares, saluting himself in the overhead mirror.

  His attention shifts to his other purchases: a new pair of jeans and a check shirt which is probably a size too small, and a white T. shirt. He’s about to meet Miss Richards from the Estate Agents, she is showing him 53c Elm Gardens, so he’s dressed to impress.

  After checking he has removed the tags, he leaves the stark lighting of the men’s lavatory and weaves his way through mothers with babies, shopping trollies piled high with washing powder and Coco Pops and the occasional lonesome shopper flying solo with no more than a microwave meal and a four pack of lager, advertising their loneliness. Dan knows only too well how that feels, but not for much longer. Soon, very soon, he’ll be shopping for two.

  ***

  Elise Richards is a thirtyish woman who looks her age; she’s around five foot six with blond hair with roots that could do with a touch-up. Dan likes what he sees. She’s not his usual pert type, but she has an innocent smile and he likes that. She’s waiting for him outside the apartment block at 1300hrs exactly, he likes that too. Be late or be warned, is one of his favourite mottos.

  “Mr. Rizler,” she reaches out her hand for him, smiling like the saleswoman she is. “Have you had a chance to check out the area?” She nods her head to one side, expecting a response.

  He plays along. “Yeah, it’s quiet, just what I’m looking for.”

  “Oh good. Let’s take a look inside shall we?”

  He follows her to the security door, using his height to look over her shoulder to read her notes. She punches in 1459.

  Good to know.

  “Has the apartment been on the market long?” He asks, knowing that’s what a prospective tenants would ask.

  “No.” She starts the climb up the stairs. “It only became available a week ago and we haven’t even produced the spec yet. So, you’re the first to see it.”

  “Great,” he replies, checking out her arse and the way her skirt lifts when she takes the next step up.

  She fusses around with a set of keys, checking the tag. “Right, here we are.” When she opens the door they walk into what could only be described as an empty shell.

  “As you can see, it has a spacious living area. The lounge is located at the front and the kitchen at the rear, with ample space for a table and chairs, ideal for breakfast or even for entertaining.”

  “So I see.” Dan suppresses a snigger. He won’t be the one doing the entertaining here.

  “And this is the bedroom.” She walks into the empty room and stretches out her arms wide to emphasis the space. “There’s room enough for a double bed and there are fitted wardrobes too.”

  Dan nods his head, seeming as if he needs persuading. In fact it’s a done deal, and it was even before she opened the front door. “How much is it a month?”

  “Just let me check.” She consults her notes and follows the line on the page with her index finger. “It’s £600 per calendar month.”

  “Ok.” He wanders into the bathroom. “It’s a little small but I’ll take it.”

  Suddenly animated, her face breaks into a broad smile. “Wonderful. When are you looking to move in?” She has her pen in her hand, making notes, maybe hoping for a signature.

  “Monday.”

  “Monday the …”

  “The 22nd, two days time?” He holds her attention with a serious stare.

  “Oh, I see, that Monday. That’s very soon?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been bunking with a mate for the past month and it’s not, well, it’s not working out.”

  “I see.”

  “Is that a problem?” He folds his arm and waits.

  “No, not necessarily. Although we will require a reference from you current landlord, and from your employer as well as carrying out a credit check, of course.”

  Fucking red tape.

  “Of course. That won’t be problem. I’ve worked at Cambridge Uni for over eight years and I was with my last landlady for over six years. I can supply references, no problem.”

  “Well …” She is wavering.

  “If you give me your email address, I’ll get them to you by Monday and then you can get on with your credit check. I just can’t face another night of Jack’s bloody partying. All I want to do is come home from work and wind down, maybe watch a film then go to bed.” He lets out a dramatic sigh. “You know what I mean?”

  “Oh yes.” She really does.

  He considers her response. He was right about her, she’s not the type to put herself about, she’s got class. Not much but some. “I suppose you’ll be wanting a deposit and a month’s rest up front?”

  “That’s usually what we ask for, and we have a small administrative charge.” She looks at him apologetically.

  “No problem.” He makes it easy for her.

  Her expression brightens when he accepts the admin charge, no questions asked. Usually she has to explain. “I’ll have the Tenancy Agreement drawn up for you.”

  “Six months.”

  “Right.”

  “I’ll probably renew after then but I’d prefer to check out the neighbours first.” He smiles at her in such a way she cannot help but respond.

  “Yes, that’s a good idea.” She’s leading him towards the door. “And, we’ll need you to come down to the office and fill out some forms, if that’s ok: name, current address, employer etcetera. Perhaps we could arrange a time for tomorrow?”

  Dan takes the initiative. “What’s wrong with today?”

  She’s taken aback. “Oh! Nothing, nothing at all.” She slams the front door behind them and side by side they descend two floors. “If you want, you can follow me back to the office.”

  “That would be my pleasure.” He holds back the security door and allows her to exit first. He’s pushing the boat out and she likes the attention, he can tell.

  “Thank you,” she smiles, unaccustomed to common courtesy. “Follow me.”

  He takes a second to look back, number 53a is only a couple of feet away. Against every impulse he has, he concludes his Oscar winning performance with a role clinching display of self-restraint and walks away from her door. But, from Monday, he will only be two floors away and, when she and he are under one roof, he’ll be able to give a blow by blow account of her submission; store it on his machine, keep a record of every whimper, every plea …

  Imagine that!

  7

  It’s 6.30, and I’m kicking shoes off aching feet. Every bag is a reminder of the money I’ve spent: DKNY, Prada, Louis Vuitton, Armani, Vivienne Westwood, Harvey Nichols and Selfridges and not forgetting Victoria’s Secret. The sexy range looks and feels delicious, and my new baby doll nighties in white and black are luxurious and indulgent. Naturally, some personal favourites have crept in like Zara, Oasis and Jimmy Choo: every girl needs accessories.

  Ayden hasn’t been shopping, he’s been working. He needs to relax, but I doubt he even knows the meaning of the word? I pull him onto the sofa.

  “I have a great idea. Why don’t I order Chinese food, put on Titanic and make some popcorn? We’ll chill and enjoy a movie together. What do you think?”

  He forces a half smile but appears disinterested. Are my Saturday nights that tedious?

  “I’m up for the Chinese food, but not too sure about the popcorn.”

  I’m aghast. “You can’t have a movie without popcorn Ayden, everyone knows t
hat.”

  “Everyone but me, it seems.” He looks away still detached from the idea, engrossed in emails on his phone.

  “I have a menu somewhere.” I scoot off into the kitchen and retrieve a battered menu from my local take away. “Let’s take a look, what do you fancy?” I shuffle closer to him and casually pull my feet under my bottom.

  “I don’t mind, anything,” he answers, still disinterested. ”I don’t want anything sweet.”

  I slither across his lap so he can’t view his phone. “But you want me?” I think I have his attention now.

  He raises his eyes so they are level with mine and I’m rewarded with a flat smile. “This is true.”

  Hello relaxation … time to play a game we’ll both enjoy. I pull my thumb nail into my mouth, anticipating a visceral response. “But sometimes, you like me sticky and hot?”

  “You got me there.” He’s beginning to thaw, so much so his phone is relegated to the sofa.

  “Then why don’t you stop ignoring me, tell me what’s on the menu for tonight and maybe I’ll be able to serve it up on a platter for you?” I trace the outline of his bottom lip with the forefinger of my right hand while my left hand teases his hair. He looks so casually coifed and yet so damn sexy. I can’t keep my hands off him.

  I grab his phone and snap a picture of him. He’s not accustomed to this kind of playfulness and that’s the look I’ve captured. “Send it to me.”

  “I will.” He takes his phone from my hand, pulls me to him so our faces are touching and stretches out his right arm. I look into the tiny lens and smile. It flashes. He looks briefly at it and then back at me. “The picture doesn’t do you justice Beth.”

  “Let me see.” I’m moved to tears, we look so close, so together so … I daren’t say the word for fear I may jinx this bud of an affair. “You can send that to me too.” I return his phone to the sofa and focus all my attention on him. “So what do you want to eat?”

  He says nothing, and he doesn’t have to, his eyes say it all. The blue-green iridescence that usually catches the light has been replaced by smouldering grey hues. This is a man who is having very wicked thoughts and that idea makes me feel extremely needy all of a sudden. His erection is stirring beneath me and making me wriggle on top of him.