Kinky

by Justine Elyot

  ‘I will do it now,’ he says. He drops his jeans quickly and rubbers up with ruthless efficiency. I watch him stroke more lube onto the tip of his latex-sheathed cock. It is coming for me, coming to get me. Against the advice, I tense.

  He obviously feels my calves and thighs tighten against his body and shakes his head at me. ‘Relax now,’ he says, gently admonitory.

  I let my shoulders drop and the rest of my body follows suit. I centre all my focus on keeping my rear muscles ready.

  Holding his cock in one hand, while the other keeps me raised at the hip, he steps forwards. The blunt tip parts my cheeks further; he rubs it up and down the cleft, gathering more lubricant. The way he looms over me, like a dark conqueror, is both scary and arousing. I sense my vulnerability and I embrace it, let it wash over me, experience it as pleasure instead of fear.

  When he lines himself up with my opening I can’t help the involuntary clench of my sphincter. He soothes me out of it, shushing and stroking until my body obeys me and my dread of the first push forwards turns to acceptance.

  ‘Oh!’ I yelp and shut my eyes, trying to process the feeling of having my arsehole stretched and filled.

  ‘Hey, hey, open them. I need to see you.’

  His insistence on this makes me want to resist and misbehave, but he holds himself perfectly still until I do as he asks and glare at him through lowered lashes.

  ‘This is hurting you now?’

  ‘Not really. I don’t know. It’s weird.’

  ‘I push some more?’

  I nod my head and turn it to the side, acutely coy. His forward motion rips through me and I can’t help but cry out and try to expel the invader. He holds me firm.

  ‘This pain is soon over, I promise.’

  ‘It’s OK, you can go on, I just … my body does things I don’t ask it to.’

  I can’t work out whether I want him to continue penetrating me or not. I just can’t seem to fix the cost/benefit analysis in place. It hurts, but it’s hot. I love the idea of being taken like this, but the reality is a little bit raw. My brain wants him in me, but my arsehole – not so much.

  I breathe through the momentary panic, then he eases slowly onwards. The spasm of revulsion my body went through passes, and the pain, so hot and sharp at first, evens out to a manageable throb.

  I start to like it.

  But I still don’t want to look at him, except from the extreme corner of my eye.

  At last he is there, all the way in. I feel distended and full to bursting, my stomach a little crampy, but the knowledge of what I have let him do to me is intoxicating and I want to float away on a wave of submission.

  ‘I am in your ass,’ he says, somewhat unnecessarily. Does he think I haven’t noticed? He’s clearly only saying it so he gets to use that victorious tone. ‘I like it here. What about you?’

  ‘I feel so full,’ I whisper.

  ‘Yeah, you are. Full of my cock. In your ass.’ I do know that, Dimitri. ‘Now, look at me in the eye.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  He does something with his hips, and I feel an extra little jab inside my darkest, deepest passage. ‘You can.’

  I do it. The enormous intimacy of the moment almost undoes me. He bends and stretches to kiss me, a feathery, gentle thing that he holds for as long as it takes me to fight back the tears.

  ‘OK,’ he whispers, moving slowly back to a straight posture. ‘Now you watch me while I fuck your ass, yes?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I sigh. I am at the point of no return. I can’t let this end now.

  He starts slowly, making me feel every millimetre of his cock as it drags itself back then returns to my tight embrace. It is such a large sensation, it completely engulfs me. I can’t possibly think of anything else while I’m being buggered except the fact of buggery. The hot, sweet, dirty truth of it. The stretch of advance, the clench of retreat, the constant sting, the intense feeling of occupation.

  My vision smudges around the edges, blurring his face. I watch his lower abdomen and pelvis rush to meet me then pull back, forwards, back. I can’t see his cock, but I can certainly feel it, and I can see him let go of my hip with one of his hands and move it to my clit.

  ‘Oh!’

  He looks like the devil, grinning through the sweat, taking his moment of triumph and drawing it out indefinitely.

  I am finished, defeated, taken, mastered. It takes no more than a cursory rub of my button to make my passage tighten and spasm around his cock – I feel the quake as a series of strong vibrations, tearing through me from the back to the front. My vagina, unoccupied, ripples in sympathy as if begging for a cock of its own.

  Dimitri yells, ‘Yes!’ and shoves himself in and out with less ceremony, his thrusts hard and almost brutal. ‘You come with me in your ass, baby! Now I give you it.’

  His speed makes me writhe and kick, but he doesn’t let up.

  ‘You get this often, believe it,’ he vows. ‘Your ass is mine now.’

  I am making incoherent little sounds, not quite words but a bit more than yelps when he digs his fingers into my hips and hisses his way through a long, apparently fierce, orgasm.

  Slapping himself once, twice, three times right up inside me while his eyes roll back, he says something in Russian then releases my hips and lets me loll against him, still impaled, while he kisses each of my calves. then rests his damp forehead against one of my legs, gathering breath.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says after a while.

  ‘You’re sorry?’ I raise my head and peer at him. He looks so sad. ‘Hey, Dimitri! What for?’

  ‘In the end, it takes over me. I forget to make sure you are OK. I think maybe I hurt you?’

  ‘No.’ I prop myself on my elbows and lock my ankles behind his neck, rubbing them into his flesh caressingly. ‘Well, yeah. A bit. But no more than I could handle. It stopped hurting after a while anyway. I got used to it, I guess. My body adjusted.’

  ‘You really are OK? You don’t think I am terrible boyfriend?’

  I laugh, slightly tearfully. ‘God, no. I think you are wonderful boyfriend. The best.’

  A watery smile turns up the corners of his lips. ‘You are the best,’ he says gallantly. He pauses to remove his softened cock, with infinite care and tenderness, from my thoroughly fucked bum. His absence feels as wrong as his presence did. My anus protests, reaching after him. I try to sit up but I’m too weak.

  He removes the condom, ties it in a knot and aims it, deadly accurate, at the wastepaper basket. Then he moves my legs down so they encircle his waist and picks me up, holding me close and tight in his arms until we both subside onto the floor in a tangle of limbs.

  It’s not comfortable down there, but we don’t care. Besides, there’s nowhere else we can do this in the austere schoolroom. The dusty floor will have to do.

  ‘You know, although that was incredibly hot and dirty and nasty and all that, there was something incredibly romantic about it too,’ I tell him.

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Yeah. Because you were so concerned about getting it right – for my sake. It was really … gah. I hate all this soppy talk. But it was really touching, you know? I felt cared for.’ Loved. But I’m not going to presume.

  ‘Well, you are, you know?’ he says, hugging the breath from my lungs. ‘You are my favourite thing in England.’

  ‘Really? You’re my favourite Russian thing. Even better than vodka.’

  ‘Wow, that is amazing compliment, I thank you.’ He kisses my brow, chuckling under his breath. ‘I take you to Moscow one day.’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘How is your ass?’

  The change of subject foxes me for a moment, until I realise he is enquiring about my recently sodomised orifice.

  ‘A bit tender,’ I tell him. ‘But I like that. I like to feel that bad things have been done to me. A reminder.’

  ‘I will remember it also,’ he says. ‘I will think of it a lot, until I see you again.’
r />   ‘Next Saturday?’

  ‘I guess. Shit. I don’t want to go to work. But I must make the money. We have to go.’

  ‘What’s next?’

  ‘I put you on that cross and I whip you, baby.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  Chapter Eight

  ‘There’s that guy again.’

  Anton is leaning against the wall, secret-agent style, looking sideways through the office window.

  ‘What guy?’

  ‘The brothel guy, or whatever that place is.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I look up from my radio ad copy and attempt to pay the increasingly irritating Anton some of the attention he clearly craves. ‘What?’

  ‘Every day this week I’ve seen the same dude go in there. Pretty early in the morning for a sex fiend. I reckon he’s a sex addict, must be.’

  ‘Why do you think it’s a brothel? Might be a crack den.’

  ‘No way, there’s no way it’s a crack den. Those people aren’t crack heads. Besides, who heard of a crack den that’s open in the morning?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s a … I dunno … creative arts space or something.’

  ‘Too many suits. This guy might fit that profile though. He definitely looks artistic. Meaning weird.’

  ‘Does he?’ I humour him, wanting to get our friendship back on its old footing. ‘What kind of weird?’

  ‘He looks like someone from the Moscow State Circus or something. And with the best porn tache I’ve ever seen.’

  I leap out of my chair and join him at the window, nausea rising in my throat.

  ‘Where? Let me see.’

  ‘He’s gone in now. I’ll let you know when he comes out.’

  ‘So you’re going to stand there all day? What about the Trufax account?’

  ‘Ah, yeah, forgot about that. Oh, and I’ve seen her before. She goes in there pretty much every day.’

  O is wearing a beige trench coat, belted at the waist, and a beret. She looks like a caricature Frenchwoman. The dark glasses, on a day of low November cloud, complete the impression.

  ‘Do you think she’s one of the hookers?’

  ‘Could be. That blonde that went in earlier deffo is. High heels, fishnets, the works, at nine fifteen in the morning.’

  I thought Trixietots had a day job. What would she be doing there? And is Dimitri with them? And if so, why hasn’t he told me about it?

  ‘Blonde?’

  ‘Yeah. Blonde. You’re interested again?’

  ‘Course I’m interested.’

  ‘It’s just that you haven’t seemed that bothered lately. Considering how obsessed you used to be with that place. Tell you what, why don’t we go down and stake it out at lunchtime? Like we did that time in the summer.’

  ‘We didn’t find anything out,’ I remind him, every fibre of my being uneasy.

  ‘Not that time.’

  ‘Nah, it’s OK. It’s too cold for hanging around the streets anyway.’

  ‘Oh! There she is again – the blonde!’

  I peer over his shoulder. Trixietots emerges from the black door, swathed in a fake-fur coat, hair swept up and full make-up in place, looking like anything but a sober-suited City worker.

  I almost want to close my eyes and pretend I haven’t seen anything.

  Especially when Dimitri follows her out.

  ‘That’s the guy I was telling you about!’

  But I can’t reply. All I can do is stare bleakly as he pauses in the covered arch above the door to light a cigarette. Trixietots turns around and says something, laughing. He inclines his head, flirtatiously if you ask me, takes a drag on the cigarette and winks at her. They turn their backs to me and disappear around the corner of the street.

  ‘Weird-looking guy, right? Who the hell has a moustache like that these days?’

  ‘I need the loo.’

  I spend ten minutes kneeling with my head over the toilet bowl, dizzy, my heart wrenched out of place.

  Why? How? Why? How? The questions keep repeating themselves in a loop while the hard tiles bruise my knees.

  Eventually the rushing, roaring sensation subsides and I am able to function, if minimally. I take my phone from my handbag and stare at it, as if I’ve forgotten what it is.

  What should I do?

  I feel I have to speak to him. Now. I dial his number, trying to work out what I’m going to say and not succeeding overmuch.

  It goes to voicemail.

  I try again.

  Voicemail again. His phone is switched off. He always switches it off for our ‘sessions’.

  My head swims with indecision. An impulse forms, quickly, and before I can question it I am heading down the back stairs and out of the building.

  I approach Kinky Cupcake from the least visible street corner, scurrying in past the lone morning bouncer, who tilts his head and looks at me with unabashed curiosity. I am hoping that Anton has relinquished his post and is actually getting some work done.

  ‘Is O in the office?’ I ask breathlessly, signing in.

  ‘She’s in the dungeon. Checking the equipment. Do you need to see her?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’

  ‘She won’t be long. Grab a coffee upstairs while you’re waiting.’

  ‘Cheers, I will.’

  But I don’t.

  The café is almost empty, just me and the barista and a guy covered in tattoos eating cupcakes in the corner.

  I order the coffee and take it to the table nearest the door to the private rooms. It’s a bit of a blind spot, invisible from the bar area, tucked in a corner. I take two sips, wait for the barista to start messing about with his phone then sneak down to the dungeon.

  Schoolroom, empty. Medical room, empty. Dungeon …

  I push the door and fit my eye to the crack.

  I nearly run back upstairs.

  O is completely naked, her arms cuffed to a wooden cross, her head thrown back, her spine rubbing against the varnished post in near ecstasy.

  After my initial pang, my eye is drawn back to her. She looks so beautiful, so wanton, so desirable. Her legs are slightly parted, exposing her shaved pussy lips and the teeny-tiny tip of her clit, which is pierced, like her nipples. Even when I watched her fucking the other day, she didn’t look this … rapt.

  I feel guilty but I can’t stop watching. My forehead nudges the door and it creaks, unexpectedly.

  ‘Is that you, Mal?’

  Her eyes have focused, snap, just like that, and she looks straight at me, expectantly.

  I want to run, but my legs have gone. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I gabble, pushing the door. ‘It’s me. I didn’t mean to spy. I just … I wanted to ask you something.’

  Her eyes widen and she stares for a silent age. ‘Rosie. Come over here.’

  I look back, still contemplating escape, but there’s no point now, so I walk over to her. What can she do to me with her arms strapped to the cross anyway?

  ‘You can see how I’m fixed,’ she drawls. ‘Mal’ll be here in a minute. He’ll be interested to see you.’

  I try to keep my eyes from dropping to her breasts and crotch. I feel a bit like a pervy old man must feel. But she’s so gorgeous, all naked and spread-eagled there.

  ‘I just wondered,’ I say, feeling ineffably stupid, ‘if you’d seen Dimitri at all this morning.’ I pause. ‘I can’t get hold of him, you see,’ I add helpfully.

  ‘Ah, Dimitri,’ she says, rolling his name around in her mouth like a fine wine. ‘Isn’t everyone trying to get hold of him?’

  She seems to enjoy my anxiety. ‘Are they? Really? Like who?’

  ‘Oh, just people in general. He’s such an attractive man, isn’t he? Seems tragic to keep him all to yourself. A man like that has so much to offer the community.’

  My admiration of her turns to dislike.

  ‘That’s rather up to him, isn’t it?’ I say tightly. ‘I like this idea that community spirit involves whipping every backside that bares itself to you. Do you
think the government would go for that idea? Beats the Big Society, doesn’t it? So to speak.’

  She laughs. ‘You’re an interesting girl too, Rosie. To be fair, a lot of the tops have their eyes on you. Including Mal.’

  ‘Well, I’m not available. Except to Dimitri. Look, do you want me to undo those cuffs?’ O is starting to look uncomfortable.

  ‘No, it’s fine. Mal won’t thank you for it. I’ve orders to stay like this until he comes back. What you said about only being available to Dimitri though … are you sure he feels that way?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He’s a free spirit, Rosie. Don’t you see that? He can’t be caged by one person’s jealousy or possessiveness. He needs his space.’

  ‘You seem to know him very well.’

  ‘We’ve spoken at length, every time he’s booked a room here. You can’t hang on to a man like that. He’s not for hanging on to. He’s for experiencing and adoring and remembering all your life. But you can’t expect to keep him.’

  ‘What the hell have you been talking about? You sound like some kind of hippy dippy sixties song lyric.’

  ‘Let’s just say I’m a good reader of people.’

  ‘Let’s just say you’re spouting all this crap because you want him for yourself.’

  ‘I certainly wouldn’t say no. But I wouldn’t try to stifle him either, or keep him from making other people happy.’

  ‘What about what makes him happy? Have you thought about that?’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘Of course … I have.’

  She catches the hesitation, a hesitation that comes of seeing him leave the building with Trixietots earlier. Does he want to spread himself around, for love as well as money? Have I just been the practice model, helping him hone his skills for the real deal?

  I really didn’t think so. I really thought there was something special between us. But what do I know?

  ‘He wants to be a pro-dom. Does that sound like a one-woman man to you?’