Thoroughly Whipped

by Tillie Cole

  “Harry?” King Sinclair appeared at the door. Speak of the devil. He took one look at me, and I knew something was stirring in his brain. “The speeches are about to begin. You need to give HCS Media’s.” King addressed me. “Miss Parisi, I am sorry you had an accident.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  “I’m coming, Dad,” Harry said, as sternly as I’d ever heard him speak.

  I studied King and understood what Harry had said about his father losing his happiness after his mother died. He was like a shell of man, simply existing, like a shade. Robotically moving through life as a man of his social standing and business success was expected to.

  “Dad, give me a bloody minute!” King looked momentarily taken aback by Harry’s harshness, but he did as his son said.

  “I’ll get your friends,” Harry said.

  “Let them stay. Enjoy themselves.” I checked to see that the coast was clear and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’ll get a cab home and go to bed.” I could see that Harry wanted to come too. “Go do your speech. Knock ’em dead.”

  “Can I come to you? Later? To your home? I know we haven’t really done that yet, but—”

  “Yes,” I said immediately. This man was my personal kryptonite. “I’d love that. Text me when you’re on your way.”

  Harry raised his hand and led me to a cab that stopped at the curb. He opened the door, gave the driver my address, and kissed me on my lips. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  As the cab pulled onto the road, I closed my eyes. I had everything I needed for my big feature now. I knew who Maître was. My stomach rolled with nerves wondering what Harry would make of the feature when it was done. He would find out about my time at NOX. But he couldn’t be mad. It was before we were even a thing. But for some reason my heart was in knots the entire journey home, aching in my chest, a dull but persistent pain.

  It only worsened when Harry climbed into bed with me two hours later, slipping inside me and breaking me apart into nothing but cells that were desperate to join with his. As Harry fell asleep, holding me tightly to his chest, I knew what I had to do the next night.

  Then I’d be Harry’s. Completely. And that was the most terrifying thing of all.

  An outfit was laid out for me in my private changing room as always. Tonight’s selection was a patent leather bra and panties set with removeable cups. I ran my hand over the material and couldn’t help but smile. I had grown to love this place. It was exactly as Maître had described it, a haven where people could be free. I’d been free here. Under his commands. He had made me want him, but being with Harry, I’d realized what I thought I liked about Maître wasn’t real. I wasn’t sure if any of it had been real, or just a really kinky dream that would stay with me for a lifetime.

  Being sure to stick to the rules and understanding why anonymity had to be of the upmost importance, I wore my veil and took the elevator to the top floor. As I entered the room, the melodic sounds of Andrea Bocelli immediately serenaded me. I ran my hands over the stocks and smiled fondly at the birdcage and the St Andrew’s Cross.

  I turned to the throne and stopped just before it. I heard the door at the back open, and Maître walked through. It was strange how knowing who he was underneath had changed the dynamic between us, at least on my side. I had no idea if he even knew who I was or that he’d been talking to me last night. If he did, he was probably about to have me sectioned.

  “Mon petit chaton?” he asked, moving in front of me, lowering his silver eyes to my trench coat. “You are not wearing what was picked out for you.”

  A sense of rightness flushed through me, and I nodded. “Afraid not, Maître.” I took a deep breath. “The thing is…I’ve met someone.”

  Maître was silent for so long I didn’t know if he was offended or relieved. Finally, he bowed his head. “He is a very lucky man.” I heard genuine affection in his voice, which helped with entire situation. “And this stops our fun?”

  I envisioned bringing Harry here, to this room, and smiled, trying to hold back my laughter at how his eyes would bug out at some of these devices. It was amazing how quickly medieval torture devices could become much-loved items.

  “I’m afraid as much as our time here has been eye-opening and enjoyable, and we’ve shared many, many…many, many, many orgasms…” Maître laughed. “But I’m a one-man woman, and I’m afraid where you could stave off my orgasms with one word, my guy has consumed my heart, and that has trumped it all.”

  “You have found your gamekeeper,” Maître said. It took me a moment to understand he was referring to Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

  I huffed a laugh. “Something like that.”

  Maître came closer, his scent no longer holding the same pull for me that Harry’s cologne did. Jesus. I was cock-whipped and I knew it. But I secretly loved it, even though it felt like free falling off a cliff, praying the object of my affection was underneath with a safety net, or at least an oversized fish-net stocking.

  He pressed a kiss to my cheek, over my veil. “I will miss you. But I do understand. It is all we want in life, non? To find someone we can be ourselves with. Who loves us for us. No matter what our desires, or what secrets we may keep.” I thought that was an odd way to end things, but then again, he was French.

  “You will no doubt find another willing siren to keep your bed warm.” I frowned. “Actually, not keep the bed warm. That PVC sheet chafes, and it’s always freezing cold. Maybe think of something that’s not so hard on the ass.”

  “Your feedback is appreciated, ma chérie.” He turned to go back to his private room. “Au revoir, mon petit chaton. Bonne chance.” He disappeared into his room and left me alone in his chambre.

  I thought about his words, about what he’d said about secrets, and hoped that someday he found someone he didn’t have to hide himself from. What girl wouldn’t want to know the love of her life owned a friggin’ sex dungeon and could fuck like a god? She’d be one lucky lady.

  As I descended in the elevator and passed through the changing room for the last time, I felt sad at not seeing Bunny anymore, or Alfred and his assless pants.

  I let myself out at the underground parking lot, guessing I had quite a walk ahead of me before I got above ground and could hail a cab. Then my heart squeezed seeing my personal car already waiting for me. I turned to the camera above me and, having no idea if Maître was watching or not, I blew him a kiss of thanks and got into the car.

  I was done at NOX.

  Maître had lost a submissive, but I had gained Harry. And that, I knew, was irreplaceable.

  Chapter Sixteen

  One month later…

  “Dad, no. Don’t you dare!” My eyes fluttered open, seeing the morning sun creeping in through the curtains. I stretched out my hands and found the bedsheets cold beside me. I groaned into my pillow when I heard Harry’s voice in the front room. I thought I’d been dreaming of hearing him speaking, but as he spat out, “Dad. Dad? For Christ’s sake!” at a high volume, I knew it was him.

  Moving from the bed, I tiptoed to the living room, grabbing my robe off the door. That’s right. My robe. In a month, Harry and I had gone from close to inseparable. And it had been bliss. Not “Ask Miss Bliss,” but actual, real fairies-and-unicorn bliss.

  Last night I’d handed in my feature piece to Sally. She was taking the weekend to read it. I felt sick at the thought of her rejecting it. I also dreaded finally having to tell Harry about it all. I had decided to wait until Sally had approved it to come clean. It was an odd thing to have to explain to a lover, but I was hoping he was open-minded enough to understand. Hell, he knew Pierre Dubois; he probably knew exactly what went down there. In my defense, I’d ended it when we got together. And I hadn’t regretted a single day since. There may have been no sex toys in our bed, but Harry didn’t need them.

  As I stepped into the living room, I was rewarded with a fantastic view of Harry’s naked back and his pert ass in silk pajama bottoms. His hands were i
n his pockets and he appeared tense. I approached him, and when I wrapped my arms around him from behind, I felt how rigid he was. I pressed a kiss on his spine, and he eventually breathed out a long sigh and laid his hand over mine. He brought it to his lips, and I laid my cheek against his shoulder blade.

  “Everything okay?”

  Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times before he finally said, “My dad has flown into New York.”

  “Okay?” King Sinclair had been back in the UK since the disaster that was the charity ball. I knew Harry hadn’t been expecting to see him until the midsummer ball at their estate in a couple of weeks. “Why is he back?”

  Harry lowered his head and I felt the tension pulsing off him like sonar. “He wants to meet with me today.”

  Moving around Harry, I squeezed between him and the window. I stuck out my bottom lip. “But I thought we were going to spend the day together.” I looked up at him through my lowered lashes. “I had some really nice things planned for us.” I covered my mouth with my hands. “Oops! Did I say nice?”

  I dropped to my knees and pulled Harry’s length out of his pajamas. I burst out laughing when it began to rise, like a flag being pulled up a flagpole, before my eyes.

  When it was fully erect and swaying in my face, I gave it a firm sailor’s salute. “At ease, Captain,” I said. Obviously, it didn’t deflate so I shook my head, tutting. “Are you defying me, Private? I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson.”

  “Faith, will you please stop speaking to my penis like an errant soldier.”

  “No can do, Harry. It’s getting court-martialed, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “And pray tell, what will his punishment be?” I heard the humor in his voice and loved that I was able to bring him from his dourness.

  I winked up at Harry. “A thorough tongue lashing, that’s what.” On cue, I took Harry into my mouth, moaning at the hiss that poured from his lips and how tightly his hands threaded into my hair. I was relentless.

  “Faith,” he groaned, slamming his hips forward. My eyes watered as I struggled to take all of him. But I was a good commander in chief and got the job done with a little help from my hands. “Faith, I’m coming,” Harry said, and I tasted him on my tongue.

  After I pulled away, I pointed at his spent dick. “Let that be a lesson, Private. Now, on your way.”

  I screamed as Harry reached down and scooped me off the floor, carrying me to the closest wall. In seconds my robe was off, and in less than a minute I was stuffed full of the private who had just disobeyed me. It seemed like he didn’t like following rules.

  Harry pounded into me so hard the back of my head repeatedly hit the wall. But I wasn’t complaining. I came like a firecracker, and Harry quickly followed behind, screwing whatever issue he was having with his father out of his system. I loved it when he got all rough and domineering.

  I tried to catch my breath as Harry tucked his head into the crook of my neck, breathing hard. I pressed the edge of my hand on each of his shoulders and said, “I dub thee Sir Headbanger, of stupendous and savage wall sex.”

  “Do you ever shut up?” Harry said dryly, but I heard the teasing in his voice and lifted his head and smiled.

  “Nope!” I cupped his cheeks. I loved the rough stubble rubbing against my palms. I preferred feeling it between my thighs, but unless I straddled his shoulders right now, this would have to do.

  “And, pray tell, what authority do you have to knight me?”

  I acted affronted. “I, Henry Sinclair the Third, viscount and duke in training, am the queen of Pussytown and you will bow to me or risk having your cock severed from your groin. Do I make myself clear? I will not tolerate treason.”

  “Understood, your majesty,” he said in the poshest voice he could muster, with a slight bow of his head.

  “Your majesty. I could get used to you calling me that.” I kissed Harry’s soft lips. “Now, loyal subject, make me a coffee and tell me, what is happening with the king of my enemy’s land?”

  “God, please don’t dub him that, he already has a Messiah Complex as it is.” Harry placed me down, and I walked like a newborn foal to the kitchen. I heard Harry snigger behind me.

  “Laugh all you want, Harry. But someday I’m going to peg you with a strap-on as big as your eight-inch Private Harry there and see how well you can walk the next day.”

  “Pegging? Where do you come up with this stuff?” he asked, not really wanting an answer. I slid onto the stool, and Harry began making us coffee in his fancy-ass coffee machine, which used beans from Shangri-La or some other bougie place. In fairness, they tasted like heaven, so I allowed it.

  “He feels like he’s lost control of me, so he’s coming back to assert his authority. That’s what’s happening.”

  “He said that?” I asked as he placed the espresso in front of me. I piled my usual four teaspoons of sugar into the glass, until it resembled syrup rather than silky cream.

  “No. But that’s what he’s doing.” He caught my eye, and I could see he wanted to tell me something. I felt like he had wanted to for the past few weeks. Harry had moments of sadness, which I knew was due to his lack of family and the pressures from his father. But I felt like there was something else too. Something that held him back from giving himself to me completely. I wished he would talk to me. Then again, I was holding back a secret too.

  I’d loved this month, and the longer I failed to tell him about the big feature and NOX, the more difficult it became. I was happy, for once, and I didn’t want to burst the bubble we’d created for ourselves. But Harry seemed tortured, and I wanted him to confide in me. To trust that nothing he could say would push me away.

  “Harry, is something wrong?” I asked tentatively.

  He turned the swivel seat of the barstool I sat on, so I was between his legs. He stared at me for so long, I thought he was finally going to confess whatever was bothering him.

  He lowered his head and whispered, “I won’t give you up. I—” He closed his eyes. When they opened again, he said, “I don’t want to anger my dad. I don’t want to disappoint you. I just don’t want to lose you.” A blush burst on Harry’s cheeks, and lifting his head he rasped, “I’m falling for you, Faith. Do you know that? I’m falling so bloody hard for you.”

  Sunbeams burst inside me. “I’m falling for you too,” I said, as a butterfly decided to swoop inside my heart and add a flutter to its already stupidly fast beat.

  “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  Harry sighed a breath of relief, like my response had given him a much-needed battle shield when he’d thought all hope was lost in his inner war. Who and what he was fighting, I wasn’t sure.

  “I’m speaking to my dad today,” he said, and I felt the conviction of those words fill the air around us.

  “Get ’em cowboy,” I said, play-punching his arm but feeling nervous for the first time in a long time.

  Harry laughed, and I could breathe easy again when I saw the crinkles around his eyes. The ones that only appeared when he dropped his worries and frosty persona and let me inside, not all the way, but we were getting close. Those were my crinkles. I’d slapped a copyright on those bad boys and declared them my property.

  “Let me meet with him today, and I’ll see you tonight. Okay?”

  I saluted again. “Yes, sir!”

  “Faith, I beg of you. Never join the army. I shudder to think what would happen to the fate of the nation if they resolved things as you just did.” Harry kissed me and headed to his room to shower and change.

  “There’d be less wars and more love!” I shouted to his retreating back.

  Harry stuck his head around the doorway. “And an ungodly amount of STDs and cases of lockjaw.”

  I picked up an apple from the fruit bowl in front of me and threw it at the door, hearing Harry chuckle as it missed him completely. I drank my coffee and wondered what his father wanted. Something in my gut told me whatever it was, it wasn’t good.r />
  But Harry was falling for me. Me. And I was most certainly falling for him. I’d given him head, and he’d literally banged me against the wall. We were fine. Everything was going to be fine.

  I was sure of it.

  “I feel like a true lady in this,” I said to Sage, showing him the hat that sat regally on my head. “I’ve never had an excuse to wear it. Now I have! All thanks to your colleague getting salmonella and your boss going to marriage mediation.” I held up my hand to the blazing summer sun above us. “Bless the gods!”

  The minute I’d walked into my apartment that morning, Sage had run at me, telling me to get dressed and gather the troops (Amelia and Novah). He had scored box seats at the Belmont Park Race Track, and we were going to the races. I’d never been to see horse racing once in my life, but it had always looked like fun. And since my all-day sex plans with Harry had been thwarted by King, I was game as hell.

  “I don’t know why, but in these white gloves I walk with the confidence of Miss Universe.” Amelia held out her hands and started to wave like the queen. “I’m thinking about incorporating these into my everyday life. I’m sure the other archeologists won’t mind me digging up dirt in such exquisite lace.”

  “Never, darling,” Sage said, linking our arms. Novah linked mine on the other side. “Now giddy up, we have a private box with our names on it.”

  I opened my mouth for the inevitable joke, but Sage covered my mouth. “Today we act like a lady, Faith. Decorum in the box at all times.”

  I rolled my eyes at him, and we passed through the gates and to the main stand. Crowds of people stood waiting for the race to begin. In the distance the racing stalls opened, and people came alive, waving their bets in their hands and screaming to their horses to “go” or “run faster” as the thoroughbreds galloped toward the finish line.