CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
Paul waited in his car down a side road, away from where the Mums parked to pick up their children. Many of the girls and boys walked home or got on buses in the Fulham Road.
Paul watched her stroll up to the BMW and climb in. He leaned across to kiss her, put his arm around her and said, 'how was it, first day and all that?'
'It feels like I've taken a backward step. Like I've gone from a young woman to a school girl. Which is what I am.' She radiated a smile which burned a hole into Paul, which made him feel strangely protective.
He waited, aware she wanted to say something else.
She said, 'do you still love me?' she shrugged, 'now that I'm back at school.'
'I totally love you. No ifs or buts.' He ran his hand along the back of her neck. 'Why do you ask?'
'Oh, you know. We girls need to be told this all the time.' Katie gave him a French kiss. 'We better go and do what the therapist told us to do.'
Paul drove towards Eaton Square. He had decided he wouldn't tell Katie the news from America, the collapse of his shares and the prospect of going broke. Paul reasoned to himself that Katie would have enough to think about at the start of the new term. Besides, a greater worry just now was the challenge of meeting her parents. The so-called abduction of their daughter, the images on his laptop, and he presumed also they might know he had taken Katie's virginity away. Although the sex was up to Katie, Paul could imagine it would be another accusation thrown his way. He felt he deserved it.
-O-
Katie had determined she wouldn't tell Paul of the pregnancy. Not yet anyway. She glanced to her right to see the man who was driving her to his studio. Aged twenty-seven, rich, caring, handsome and in love with her. That made for a good daddy . . . right? But Katie could see the problems, a multitude of problems, that made her decision easier to make. She couldn't guess what Paul would want or say. And didn't want his opinion until she had thought it through; until she had made up her mind.
They parked outside the studio and went inside. There, on the studio floor, were the remains of two computers. 'What's happened?'
'The only way to make sure your images are destroyed,' he said, and took her hand to go upstairs.
'Shall we clear up the mess?'
'Nope,' he laughed, as he drew shut the curtains in the sitting room.
Katie felt the anticipation clench her insides. The school uniform didn't do her any favours and told Paul that.
He came over. 'Let me think,' he smiled, 'purple school jacket over a sensible white open-neck shirt, matching purple skirt, complimented by the long black socks and black shoes. Hmm,' he feigned deep thought. 'I think we have to discard the lot, have a shower, and tie you down.' He blinked very deliberately, slowly, and Katie experienced an adrenaline rush to her tummy.
She knew why her core was churning. It wasn't the strip to come, nor the shower in a few minutes. It was . . . she recognised her need for the specific . . . something she didn't remember telling Paul about . . . the dream she sometimes had.
Her voice nearly faltered. 'You said, tie me down.' Katie stopped, unsure how much to tell, how much to trust. 'I want to be tied and . . .'
Paul seemed to sense the embarrassment. He kissed her, his fingers held her head having penetrated deep into her hair. 'And . . . '
What to tell, thought Katie. 'Do you have a mask or blindfold?' There. She had said it, and he didn't die of shock.
'I have a Zorro mask from a party I went to a couple of years ago.'
Like yesterday, they took a shower, washed and dried each other. Katie had told him what she wanted, made her vulnerable, weak with her need, and let Paul take over. Oh, she loved him so much, as Katie watched him hold up the black mask, and pull out of his wardrobe two neck ties. In less than a minute her hands were delightfully secured to the bed head and Paul had put on the mask.
'So, darling Katie,' he tugged her legs to extend the spread-eagled body that faced him. Katie tried to remember to breathe. 'In your fantasy, you don't know who I am.'
She waited. He made her wait. Exquisite agony even more enhanced when he pulled a handkerchief from his drawer and blind folded her. Nice. In Katie's dark world she shrieked more than she could remember, lost count, as his fingers and lips took her to heaven and back.
-O-
Seven days later, Paul and Katie sat in the therapist's room on the same sofa as before, comfortable feather cushions. To the right, a desk with swivel chair on which sat the sex therapist. To the left a book case with an impressive collection of books on the subject. At the far end of the room, a window which looked out onto another similar building in Harley Street. He wondered what new instruction he would be given as Paul's mind registered that the sex therapist wore the same white high-heels as last time.
Katie's hand felt soft and gave Paul reassurance. She stayed silent as White Shoes spoke.
'And how did the exercises go?'
Paul shifted on the sofa and decided to be up front about it. After all, White Shoes was a sex expert and had presumably heard everything there was to say on the subject. Right?
Paul cleared his throat. 'Well, I think Katie enjoyed herself, but I found I got erect, sometimes slowly, but I wasn't allowed to satisfy myself.'
'Precisely, Paul. The idea is to get so aroused that outside distractions no longer affect you.' White Shoes smiled in a confident manner.
Paul's mind had wandered off to thinking about the letter he had received from his bank. They had 'reviewed' his mortgage arrangements and had decided to call in the entire loan. The bank had given him three months to repay the loan, or else they would repossess his property. Paul had phoned an estate agent who had come round and viewed the 'desirable property' that morning. Yes, the agent had said, he will sell it straight away.
White Shoes was talking, 'I believe the trauma is the reason for the problem. So, the issue is now to introduce noise and to see how far you can go.'
'All the way?' asked Paul.
'If you can, yes.' She remained serious. 'The key element is the noise, which must be loud enough to test you. I suggest you switch on Radio 4 to get conversation, not music, and turn it up.'
Paul half listened to the sex advice. He would be sorry to lose the studio and became worried how Katie would react to the news. Best not to tell her yet. After all, he would have the home for another three months. Eventually Katie would know, but would she find him less attractive because he wasn't rich any longer? Paul's confidence was at a low ebb, no job, no money, nothing to offer. He reasoned that Katie might drift away and find a young stud from school with prospects. He couldn't bear to lose her.
White Shoes was wrapping it up as Paul's concentration returned. The meeting was over.
They stood outside on the pavement and waited for an available taxi.
Katie couldn't help the remark, 'you can ejaculate now with your lovely sperm,' and giggled uncontrollably while she held her hand up to her mouth.
Paul gave a twisted smile, 'I'm not a prize bull hired to impregnate a cow.'
'The lady said you got to hold off spurting for as long as you can. No quickies.'
'I missed that.' Paul admitted to himself he had been distracted for part of the session. 'I'm sure she didn't use the word 'spurting', did she?'
'Yup. You got to pleasure me first, and again and again, before you come.'
'Liar.' He swept his arm around her waist and pulled her in.
Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. 'Let's practice, lover boy.'