Folly by Jassy Mackenzie Page A

he would have a stressful, high-level, corporate job, something in the financial sector. He’d probably be shy and furtive-looking; somebody who I could easily label as having alternative sexual desires.
    As for Simon, after speaking to him, I had no idea where the clues to his personality lay. From the assurance I’d heard in his voice, I was worried that he might prove a challenge to dominate. And why was I finding it so difficult to put a face to his voice?
    Then I told myself that it didn’t matter what he looked like, since I’d be spending far more time staring at his bum than his face in any case. And as for personality – well, the only given was that the men who hired my services would be sexual deviants, one and all.
    Rule number one of my dungeon was going to be that I did not touch my slaves, nor allow them to touch me. I was going to keep my distance. Assuming any bodily contact had to be made for the purposes of punishment, I would wear gloves.
    And what would my customers want in terms of punishment? What would satisfy them? Would it end up being closer to filth or finesse?
    Squeezing yet another dollop of spaniel-scented water into my bucket, I guessed I would soon find out.
    The only extravagance I allowed myself before my dungeon opened was to go and have my hair professionally cut and coloured at the local salon. I needed to make a powerful impression on my clients and to me, straggling ends and root growth screamed ‘poverty’ with a capital P.
    It turned out to be a good decision, because browsing in the secondhand shop next door after my appointment, I had a really lucky find. Someone had brought in a gym horse for sale; one of those old-fashioned ones made from wooden frames that slotted into each other, with a broad, padded cover of foam and thick plastic on top. Overall, it was in good condition and the plastic, though worn and roughened at the corners, was in one piece. It was an ideal piece of apparatus for slaves to bend over, in relative comfort, while being punished in other, more uncomfortable, ways.
    A quick trip to the hardware store opposite, and I was kitted out with sturdy steel handles as well as heavy-duty bolts, hooks and clips. I also bought several metres of thick, strong ropes and lengths of chain – two with the biggest links I could find, and one with the finest. I thought, with a little resourcefulness on my part, the fine chain could be made into a variation of a cat-o’-nine-tails for light yet sensual punishment.
    Attaching the equipment was not something I could do myself. I would have to get a handyman in for that. After making a few phone calls, I chose one who was cheap, sounded elderly, and who told me he didn’t normally do any work in my area.
    His grizzled eyebrows rose when I opened the door to the folly’s blackpainted interior. I told him that my children were going to use the place as a gym and adventure centre, and they’d told me exactly what equipment they wanted where. I don’t know if he quite believed me, but I hoped the solid presence of the vaulting horse went some way towards backing up my story.
    That afternoon I would have to have the conversation I had been dreading.
    Goodness was going to have to know what I was doing. There was no way I could keep it from him, because I needed him to play an active role in my business. He would have to assist at the gate, opening and closing it, and while doing so checking out the cars that arrived – any car with more than one occupant would not be a genuine client and would represent a huge security risk. Goodness, like me, would need to keep a panic button on his person and I would need to train him in how and when to use it.
    It was difficult to think of anyone in the world whom I’d be more reluctant to explain this to. This was going to be more embarrassing than ordering a pack of extra-small condoms from a deaf pharmacist. But it had to be done, and