Going Down

by Saskia Walker

  The doubts had gone, but the nerves hadn’t. Not completely.

  Taking a deep breath, I nodded.

  “Strip for me,” he said when we went back to his apartment.

  I glanced at the glass walls. “Can people see us?”

  I’d been so caught up in the heat of the moment during our previous tryst that it hadn’t even occurred to me. But now that we were back and he stood me deliberately at the center of the room, I felt very much on display. The lights were on and the city sky was dark above the rooftops.

  “No. Only me.”

  My hands shook as I reached for the zipper on my skirt. I wanted to do it, but the concept of following a man’s instructions regarding getting undressed was something I never thought I would ever do. It felt so good, though. At that moment I was under his command and loving it for as long as it lasted.

  What did he intend to do with me? The question kept running back and forth through my mind, keeping me on edge and nervy. I took off my shirt. Kicking off my heels, I shuffled my skirt off then ran my thumb under the band on my lace undies, pausing.

  He lifted one eyebrow.

  “Will you…are you going to use the rope on me?”

  “No.” There was no hesitation in his voice. “Maybe another time,” he added and smiled indulgently. Perhaps it had pleased him that I was curious about it. “I have something else in mind for you, something that will perhaps help you overcome your shyness about displaying yourself to me.”

  My attention was locked.

  “Do you trust me to take care of you? That is very important.”

  Instinct led my judgment. “Yes, yes, I do.”

  “I am only interested in pleasure…extreme pleasure, yes, but I don’t wish to hurt you. If I do, you must say so.”

  I swallowed my nerves. “I understand.”

  He studied me a moment longer. “It is your submission, your pleasure at my hands, that pleases me. I need to push your boundaries, in order to test my own.”

  My thumb was still caught in the band of my panties, and my fingers plucked at the fabric restlessly. “What do you have in mind?”

  My voice was scarcely above a whisper.

  “You will find out, when you strip for me.” Humor lit his expression, warming me right through.

  I reached around and undid my bra, peeling it off. When I cast it aside, he gestured again at my panties.

  He wanted me there in that room again. Naked. Why in here? I was about to find out.

  When I shoved my underwear down the length of my legs and stepped out of the abandoned lace, he nodded. I went for my lace stocking top and rolled the stocking down my leg. When I changed to the other leg he strolled behind me and stroked his fingers along the underside of my exposed buttock. The brief, provocative touch sent my nerve endings crazy. It was hard to keep undressing, but I had to.

  Once entirely naked, I dropped the second stocking and presented myself.

  Armand opened a drawer in one of his cabinets, and lifted out a slender stainless steel bar. Cuffs hung at either end of it. He held the slim metal bar out in front of me, his fist wrapped around it at the center point. “Offer me your wrists.”

  I did as instructed.

  He did up the metal buckles that held the soft leather in place. I found my arms pushed apart by the object. I’d never seen anything like it and as I observed I realized I was now helpless. I couldn’t move my hands unless he allowed me to.

  When it was in place, he wrapped his fist around the middle between my hands, and lifted it, stretching my arms over my head. The movement was so sudden and so unexpected that I gasped aloud. My shoulders rolled and locked, my breasts lifting and then pushing together with the movement. Tension beaded down my spine.

  He stared at me, then ran his free hand around my breasts.

  My face heated. Unbearably self-conscious, I turned my head to one side.

  “You flush so beautifully, because your skin is so pale.”

  I squirmed. No longer sure I could do this—even though I wanted to—I had to bite my tongue to stop from replying. Then his fingers locked on my uptilted nipple, and he fondled the stiff peak. Pain rang through me, delicious pain, like a heady intoxicant that made my groin heavy with longing. If I thought I’d been his plaything before, it had been nothing on this. He had complete control of me now. My head dropped back and I cried out.

  His gaze drifted down my body and back up. “I intend to explore every part of you.”

  My skin was damp, everywhere, heat breaking out on the surface of my body. I lifted one foot, shifting my weight. I knew the look in my eyes was pleading, I meant it to be. “Please, Armand.”

  When I begged, he lowered his arm, tugged me right against him with the bar, and kissed me. Hard. Each time I felt the thrust of his tongue in my mouth my center ached for him to thrust there, too. The heat between my thighs had built, and I could feel the sticky tracts of my juices marking my inner thighs. My heart soared, the rush of raw emotion I felt for the way he handled me entwined with the real physical desire I felt. Breaking with the kiss, he led me with the bar, taking me to one corner of the room. There he lifted my arms above my head again, and latched the bar on to a hook that I had not previously noticed. I was at full stretch, my spine straight.

  The room was his arena, his play den. The solid table, the cabinets and their contests, the hook. What else hadn’t I noticed—what else was there to explore?

  Armand stroked my body, taking full advantage of my helpless state to explore me. My skin was tingling wildly, everywhere, my nerve endings ragged. Then he lowered to a squat in front of me, ran his thumbs down my pussy, opening me up. Inside a heartbeat, his mouth had covered my clit. The metal restraint creaked when my body jerked. He stroked his tongue up and down over my clit. I was so sensitive from his earlier ministrations that I felt sure I would have pushed him away with my hands on his shoulders, had I been free. It was almost too much, and when his tongue rode back up, there was nothing I could do but submit.

  “So sensitive! Armand…please…”

  Back and forth his tongue went. It was as if he loved oral sex and couldn’t get enough of me—either that or he wanted to drive me insane. My clit thrummed, and a wave of release hit me. I’d barely inhaled, and his fingers were thrusting into my sex. One of my legs lifted as I tried to pull away from the intense stimulation, my knee against the side of his head. When I glanced down I found him looking up at me with dark eyes, possessive eyes.

  My legs shuddered. For a moment I hung limp in the restraint, allowing the hook to hold me up. I didn’t care how I looked.

  “Oh, yes, you’re ready to offer yourself now.”

  Ready? Apparently he’d only just got started. How much more could I take? I’d never experienced such an intense barrage of stimulation, from pleasure to pain, desperation and embarrassment; it all hit me, tearing down my defenses and making me powerless and malleable in his hands.

  He rose to his feet and held my waist. He kissed me and the pungent taste of my own arousal in his mouth made me aware of just how horny I was. How had this happened? I wondered vaguely as I let him possess me. Sex had never been like this before.

  “The shame will soon be gone, all of it. Then you will only beg for the pleasure.”

  “Is that a threat or a promise?” I seriously wasn’t sure. My current state was a combination of bliss, acute arousal and humiliation, the latter because his mouth was so heavy with my musk.

  He gave husky laugh. “A promise.” He ran his thumb over my cheek. “Freedom from shame is a wonderful gift, you will know this soon.”

  Leaving me with that thought, he strolled off to his cabinet. When he came back he had a second slim bar in his hands.

  What the hell was he going to do with that?

  He unhooked me, lowering my arms. My shoulder ached, but it felt good, like a long workout or a sports massage.

  Armand gestured at the floor. “On your hands and knees.”

 
Swallowing my nerves, I lowered to my knees. The carpet was thick under my bare knees. I put my hands out to balance myself, moving awkwardly within the restraint.

  I saw his shirt drop to the floor. Then he squatted in front of me, and lifted my chin with one finger. With a swift move he brought a glass to my lips. I looked into his eyes as I sipped gratefully at the cold water he offered.

  “Enough?”

  I nodded. He took the glass away. When he returned he’d shed the rest of his clothing. My breath caught in my throat as I looked up at his magnificent body.

  A moment later he stepped behind me and his hands enclosed my ankles, hauling them apart. I felt him move the cold metal under my feet. He moved my legs further apart before he tied my ankles in place.

  I muttered incoherently when I realized how exposed my rear end was, every part of it on display to him. Squirming—with my head hanging down and my hair obscuring my face—my body reacted, my sex tightening. When it did, moisture ran down between my folds, which only made my situation worse. I tried to move forward to gain my equilibrium, but the friction of the carpet on my knees made me realize just how useless my attempts were. I swayed, my breasts dangling lewdly.

  “Please,” I begged, desperate for him to take control of me and bring me release.

  He walked around me, surveying the scene. At first I cared about how I must look, but then his gaze on me while I was so vulnerable and helpless made me burn up with longing, and I didn’t care anymore. I thrust my pussy out between my open legs, lifting my hips in the air, needful and restless and apparently now shameless.

  Armand whispered words of approval in French. I could scarcely breathe. When he circuited me again his cock was at full stretch, its crown gleaming. He seemed able to ignore it, while he took his time studying my body. Wasn’t that what I had wished for, though, to be lewdly displayed just like the bondage queen in the photo? Well, she’d got off lightly. He’d pushed me in a different direction altogether. Confronting my shyness about my body he’d put me in this position, arms and legs apart, every part of me exposed and vulnerable.

  He paused in front of me and when I looked up at him, curious, he rode his fist up and down his hard cock. His jaw was tight, his eyes narrowed. The tight muscles of his abs were standing out, his belly a hard rock of tension.

  My mouth watered for a taste of him. “May I…may I taste you?”

  His eyes glittered, his eyebrows drawn down as he concentrated. His only response was to direct his cock head to me. Rising up on my knees, I first rested my cheek against the hot surface of his shaft, moving my face against him adoringly. Then I licked him, eagerly absorbing the fecund taste of his cock. When I ran my tongue up and down the shaft, he growled in his throat. Taking the swollen head into my mouth, I closed my eyes and sucked, my tongue lapping around the head before I shifted and took as much length into my mouth as I could.

  “Enough.” He pulled free.

  I felt his hand on my back, directing me to my former position, on hands and knees. I wavered, panting for breath, but lit up with the knowledge that he was going to mount me now. At my back, I heard him rip open a condom packet. All of it impacted on my senses, making me restless as an animal in my restraints, my body undulating, pussy pushed back and out expectantly.

  “You want this?” He let me feel the weight of his cock against my hot niche.

  “Please,” I begged. “Desperate for you.” I hung my head.

  He entered me, giving me a couple of inches, then held back.

  Tears smarted in my eyes.

  “What do you need?”

  “You,” I whimpered, moving my hands uselessly within the restraints.

  He gave me another inch. “What do you really want…what is your most basic need at this moment?”

  “But…”

  “Say it, admit it.”

  “I need to come,” I blurted. “But only because you put me in this state!” I shot that over my shoulder. I had to say it, to blame him, because it was true.

  Armand laughed softly. He stroked me at the base of my spine, soothing me. I felt affection in his touch. Then he held my hips, and—mercifully—gave me his full length.

  He drove into me with more caution than before, seemingly aware of how sensitive I would be, but once his cock was bedded deep within me his hands roved over my buttocks and he pulled them apart, his thumbs stroking over my exposed seam.

  It drove me wild.

  Earlier on I’d reflected that I’d never been handled this way. Now I realized I’d never been treated this way, forced to address my animal need for pleasure—and Armand was right. It did feel good, desperately good.

  Armand was gentler with me. This time it was me who couldn’t hold back—it was me who worked him. He stroked my body, caressing my spine while I took what I needed, driving back on to his hard shaft. He reached around and fondled my dangling breasts, then tugged on my nipples.

  All the while I chased the prize, riding the long slick erection that he offered, working myself with the restraints to use it well. I wriggled and squirmed, my hips moving back and forth against him, mewling loudly as my sensitive flesh milked him off in rhythmic clutches.

  “Oh, yes, Jennie, it’s good, very good,” he said, his cock jerking.

  I’d made him come, and I’d reached the point of sheer ecstasy. My sex clenched over and over. My body was free from decorum, unleashed, until finally it was a blur of sensation and nothing more.

  I didn’t leave Armand’s apartment again that weekend. He told me I didn’t need to because the weekend was “ours.” He had food delivered, and he cooked for me. It was as if he was happy to keep me as his private plaything, and I was thrilled to be that. Paris could wait until another weekend.

  He went to my apartment to collect my toiletries, refusing to let me fetch them myself. While he left me alone, he handcuffed me to the wrought-iron headboard of his bed. It should have felt wrong, but it didn’t. The way he cherished me overruled any possibility of that. When he returned he claimed me back by kissing me, everywhere.

  The weekend passed in a glorious haze of sensory overload.

  On Monday morning, at seven, reality forced its way back in. I had forty-five minutes until I had to be on my way to the embassy. With regret I kissed him and climbed out of his bed, running around in my shirt and panties, barefoot, trying to find my belongings. I needed to get back to my own apartment and prepare for the working day ahead.

  When I darted into the lounge, however, I was once again frozen to the spot.

  My shoulder bag dropped from my hand as I stared at the blank place on the wall where the image of the blonde bondage queen had been. It was no longer there. I glanced around, but couldn’t see it standing anywhere. Armand must have taken it down when I was asleep.

  My heart fluttered. Why had he done that?

  He followed me in a moment later, still heavy with sleep. He wore his nakedness with complete nonchalance, prowling over to me. He arrested me in a lazy but possessive embrace, covering my face with hungry kisses.

  His large hands on my bottom pressed my hips to his, and I felt the bough of his erection against my belly.

  “Armand, please. I must go and prepare for work.”

  “You will come back to me tonight?”

  “If you want me to.” I couldn’t keep the smile from my face.

  He returned it then nodded his head back in the direction of the space on the wall where the photograph had been. “I need your help to select some new art.”

  He had taken it down for me. It was a significant gesture.

  I laced my fingers around his neck, brimming with happiness, suddenly willing to let another few moments slide away in order to give this the attention it deserved.

  “I’d love to,” I responded, and then lifted my eyebrows, “or perhaps we could make some art of our own…?”

  Armand growled as he ducked to kiss my jaw.

  Over his shoulder, I looked at the blank space on the
wall and my mind ran wild with ideas. My six months in Paris promised to be a voyage of discovery, and with Armand as my master, I was ready and willing for every moment of it.

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  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

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  Published in Great Britain 2012.

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