Charlie on the Hunt: Lola

Charlie on the Hunt: Lola

I am extremely fortunate to have escaped Tier 4 in London and ended up in Tier 2 before Boris stole Xmas… I’m still diligently creating my third novel. “CHARLIE ON THE HUNT.” Each chapter is about a different character and only at the end does it all tie in…


An extract from




Lola rolled out of bed first thing that morning, raced to the shower and got ready for an internet date. Within twenty minutes of getting up, she had left her apartment, bolted down two flights of stairs, onto the street and into the taxi her date had arranged for her. The two strangers messaged each other throughout the thirty-five-minute journey from south-east London to the Churchill Hotel up west.


‘What would you like for breakfast?’ he typed.


‘What’s on the menu?’ She adjusted herself on the backseat, placing her handbag next to her.


‘Anything that takes your fancy!’


Gazing out of the window at the traffic slowly passing, she rattled off a list that included fruit, smoked salmon, Marmite and toast. ‘Oh, and a selection of jams, such as peach, if it’s not too much trouble?’


‘Not at all. Would Madame like anything to drink?’


‘Freshly squeezed mango juice please.’


She stepped out of the taxi, sidestepped the Lamborghinis and Ferraris, and glided into the hotel lobby. Scanning the spacious hall, she couldn’t spot any man of European descent. Mostly rich Arabs. She texted him. And then she looked up and almost dropped her mobile phone.


Fuck! No! Please don’t be Stu. Instead, be someone who got her name right but got the wrong woman. This beast of a man made Dara Ó Briain look like a Greek god. Tall and fat. Not “average” as his profile stated. Fat.


In greeting, Stu pecked her on the cheek. She returned the gesture with less gusto. And then she followed him to the restaurant. He led her to a large, plush sofa and suggested relaxing over breakfast. Sitting down on opposite ends of the sofa, he took up most of the three seats. The conversation flowed between them. A waiter brought two trays containing the items of food she’d ordered during the drive. Everything transferred from the tray to the table by the waiter was for her. He didn’t eat breakfast. Well then, there’s the problem, she stopped herself blurting.


After she’d devoured the fruit and salmon, washing it down with the mango juice, she sat up tall against the sofa facing him. The conversation turned fascinating.


‘The way we were while texting earlier sparked something within,’ he said.


‘You being my slave and calling me Madame?’ Speak of the devil!


‘Fuck! You’re sharp! I’ve thought about it before and often if I watch a video clip of a woman spanking another woman I could—’ He hesitated, stopping himself from finishing his sentence. ‘And now I’m thinking about it with you. You seem the dominant type.’


‘I’d quite enjoy being the Madame and you obeying my every instruction.’ Lola played into exactly what he desired… How does it come so easily to her? She’s anything a man needs her to be. If he needed her to get down on the floor and lick milk from a cat’s dish she’d do it if she felt like it and most importantly if it would turn the fatuous son-of-a-bitch on and if— It was her turn to end the secret ponderings. Sometimes they were even too wild for her mind. Why? What’s wrong with fantasy and desire and especially if no other was harmed in the process?


‘I’d like to explore it with you. I want you to humiliate me and punish me.’


He revealed more about his fantasies when in a submissive role and what punishment he’d desire. They switched back and forth between normal subjects: his ex-wife, his freedom, his sons, his high-powered position in the oil industry, everyone obeying his every instruction, her job, her passions and then back to the provocative dom/sub role.


The noisy Arabs on the next sofa had gone very quiet.


She excused herself and wandered to the ladies toilets, not giving him another glance. Once inside, she took everything in, wondering what she would desire her date to fetch. Bingo! She returned to Stu.


‘Okay, let’s try it out.’ The younger woman snapped her fingers at the stranger as she sat back down on the sofa. ‘You are to call me “My Lady” from this moment onwards. If you mess anything up then I will not hesitate to inflict punishment. Do you understand?’


‘Yes, My Lady.’


‘And if I feel you are wilfully getting things wrong then the play stops instantly. Do you understand me?’


‘Yes, My Lady,’ he repeated more confidently.


‘Okay, now go into the gents toilet, retrieve the Molton Brown moisturiser and bring it to me. Do not return until you find it.’


After acknowledging her request, he used the arm of the sofa as support and heaved himself up to his feet and off he waddled. She grabbed her mobile phone and checked her messages for anything exciting, deleting all that bored her.


A few minutes later he returned to her. Standing in front of her, he let her know he’d accomplished the mission.


She looked at his right-hand reddening as he gripped onto the small bottle of hand lotion.


‘Now, sit down next to me. Closer. Remove the ring from my right finger and moisturise my hand, gently.’


‘How is this for you, My Lady?’


‘It is good. But why are you shaking?’


‘I don’t know, My Lady.’


‘Not good enough! Do you know what needs to happen now?’


‘Yes, My Lady.’


‘How do you know?! Are you a mind reader? Lola shouted.


‘Allah! Allah!’ exclaimed the shortest Arab at the sofa next to them.


She turned briefly to look at the three Arabs glaring at the two of them, all three mouths slightly agape, as though catching their wives in public without an abaya, before turning her attention back to Stu.


‘Stand up!’ She raised her voice especially for the nosey Arabs. ‘Go to your suite. Leave the door ajar. Go to the bedroom. Remove your trousers only. Climb onto the bed on all fours and wait for me.’


She asked for his room number and then waited ten minutes, during which time the Arabs collared the concierge and complained that had not made them aware of all the colourful services the hotel had to offer…

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

%d bloggers like this: