Hard Rain

by Melissa Vayle

  Suddenly he tugged the strap so hard she was pulled into him, her face pressed into the only place that mattered.

  ‘Get to work, you filthy whore!’

  She needed no prompting. She took his cock in her mouth and voraciously tongued and sucked its head, stretching the whole thing, playing round its sculptured tip for all it was worth. Caesar. She thought of the emperor. Roman helmet. Caesar. His Imperial Majesty. Lord of all he surveys. Master of all slaves, and she thought of chains, and captives in chains.

  ‘Get a move on, you little slut! Come on! Work me hard!’ and he slapped her arm again and tugged and tugged on the strap till she suddenly felt she was being overtaken by a roar of crazed spirits in frenzy. She realized she was groaning and the soft plastic was tight-wrapping her all over. Her crotch was wet, full and very warm, and his stiffening cock raised the temperature even more. There was a rhythm in the thrusting back and forth of her head and the jerking of the strap and the tempo took her on to another level where her groaning became pleas. Her mouth gagged with cock, her clit rubbing hard against the tight, constraining strap and her plastic-wrapped rump pumping back and forth, she thrashed herself mentally with a whip, and wallowed in a mire of secret filth, as she heaved and groaned towards the climax.

  ‘Shut up, you whore!’ and he suddenly stopped pulling on the strap. She was left teetering on the brink. Almost there! She wailed to herself silently. He jerked his stiff cock out of her mouth.

  ‘Not finished yet,’ he continued, ‘you dirty little tart’, and he sat down on the swivel chair by her desk, his manhood jutting out over the edge of the chair. ‘Lick my balls, you slut. And I want to hear you slurp.’

  Oh, God! She had never done anything like that before and it suddenly struck her as something only animals might do. Seeing him now in this light was peculiar though not without something appealingly obscene about it. She leaned forward and, taking a deep breath, began to lick his left one. She was struck by the rugged feel of this peculiar and intimate thing and closed her eyes. That dog. She was suddenly reminded of once seeing a dog, un-neutered, mooching jauntily along the high street looking quite jolly with his balls flopping left and right as he trotted along, looking a picture, if anything, of the joyful celebration of simply being alive and kicking.

  The masculine scent brought her abruptly to the present. He moaned softly and she sensed him relax and ease back more into the chair. This is filthy, she thought. All the women who suck cock, how many of them actually lick balls? She wanted to be the only one. A medal. She wondered whether she should get a medal for this.

  Oops! She had forgotten to slurp. Suddenly she realized he had stopped pulling on the strap. His eyes were closed and his features relaxed. He looked almost like a little boy, almost an angel in his benign, peaceful countenance. She had calmed down and was at perfect ease in what she was doing and in her train of thought. Stress, she thought. This is perfect for reducing stress. I could be a guru with a stress management consultancy aimed at well-paid executives. Me and Val together! Rolling in it! She couldn’t suppress the chuckle.

  He suddenly stopped his soft moaning but said nothing, his eyes still shut, only, as if a subconscious gesture, pulling the strap rather feebly and she immediately resumed her licking, varying the pressure of her tongue, the length of her lick and the area she worked on.

  Eyes still shut, he was soon softly once more in a world of his own, perhaps full of bliss instead of rampant lust, where he normally seemed to stalk. Soon she discovered the part that had the greatest effect on his groaning. I've found his G-spot! she exclaimed to herself. I've found his G-spot! And just to make sure, she worked on him more closely, logging mentally what made him writhe the most. She was forgetting about herself and the strap too and was now enjoying this new kind of fun. Part of her wanted to please him, yet part of her suddenly liked making him writhe, liked this feeling of power over him. She thought of strapping him down and actually …

  Ooh! He suddenly tugged the strap hard and his balls were nearly pushed down her mouth.

  ‘That's enough!’ he said, as if he had been reading her mind. ‘Get my cock back up, and hard!’

  That's more like it! She was back on earth and being bossed around was where she lived. And besides, she was not responsible for all that happened. Kinky, dirty, whatever! It’s his doing. It’s his world. I can’t help it if I love it! And she sucked him hard as he tugged again and again on the strap. And when he forces me to be like this. Like now! It’s sacrilege. Sex in the library!

  He moaned, long and deep. Oh, no! She was not ready for this. She was not yet there herself and the rubbing of the strap stopped abruptly as his cock suddenly jerked up inside her mouth. She instinctively pulled her head back to let it out but he grabbed her head and pulled it back, forcing his cock right back into her mouth. She spluttered something of a scream as she felt the ejaculation in the twitching of the beast but, gagged up in his crotch, her cry was stifled and, as he pumped her head back and forth onto his orgasmic cock, she was crashing around in some psychedelic maelstrom of violent jerking, vivid flashes of yellows and whites, soundless screams from deep within, outside faint cries from him, the choking from the monster battering the walls of her mouth and tongue, and the overriding sensation of being forced to gorge herself on it.

  Then it was gone. Pulled out, slipped out, shamefaced, like a naughty boy suddenly forced to behave himself and already beginning to cringe and shrink back into more seemly form as befits civilized behaviour in the presence of a lady.

  He had slumped back in the chair, eyes shut, looking tired but blissful. She knelt there, stock-still, shaken and quite shocked, saliva running down her chin and her lips and mouth feeling hot and slightly stretched. She could taste nothing, not even after being forced in the frenzy to gulp it down. Nothing at all, and was slightly disappointed as she did not know now what to think: whether she might have found it disgusting or not too bad at all. Not quite as yummy as her favourite chocolate, but not as fattening either. She was surprised at her flippancy yet disappointed, bitterly, that he was looking not in the least likely to jump up and carry on earlier where he had left off and take her to completion.

  Selfish bastard! She was shocked at the feeling but did not care. She was wasted on him. Not every woman would be prepared to put up with what she had to put up with and, looking down at herself, she surveyed the glossy mac that hugged her tightly, and the thought summed it all up: perfect for rain, sweat and tears.

  She was suddenly aware of the darkening room, and of the shut door, like a dungeon, and of a world beyond, out there in the corridor in the freedom of the light and air. She was suffocating and breathed in deeply through her mouth, and just knelt there, silent.

  The low sun beams moved across the rich deep brown of the panelling which lined the corridor and soaked up the warmth of the glow now diminishing along its length. Moments later, a car engine started up. A crunch on the gravel. The whole house was still once more. Except for the sound of a crackle, like the peeling off of PVC from cooling, clammy skin, and then the sound of something like a buckle falling to the floor.

  Clunk!

  Chapter 18. Big girl now

  The clink of the spoon on the coffee cup pierced the silence of the cafe. For a lunchtime, it was surprisingly rather empty. Catherine was looking out of the window at the people going by, tensing at the thought of broaching with Val the matter of employer-employee relationships and what advice she might have.

  ‘I met Paul yesterday,’ said Val.

  Catherine blenched.

  ‘Ah,’ she said, raising her cup and taking a gulp of her coffee. ‘I suppose he told you.’

  ‘You could at least have let him down more gently. He's a lovely guy.’

  Catherine smiled briefly, but it was a grimace inside, and looked out of the window.

  For a moment, there was silence.

  ‘And anyway,’ said Val, ‘What's all this about a new man in your life?’ The heaviness s
uddenly lifted from Catherine. Val's eyes sparkled and her incipient smile could not hold back the beaming look of expectation. ‘I’m all ears. What's he like? Who is he? Oh, go on, Cathy. Tell me all about it!’

  Her friend looked back at her, like a child on tenterhooks. Hesitant for a moment, then unable to contain her own smile, at last she said what she had found so difficult to say earlier.

  ‘It's Michael.’

  ‘Michael?’

  ‘Michael Richmond Michael. My boss.’

  ‘Michael Richmond Michael, your boss!’ and Val's voice carried all the way to the back-kitchen, and she could hardly suppress her laugh of incredulity, then glee.

  ‘Ooh, Cathy, ooh!’ and she touched Catherine's arm. ‘Your actual employer?’

  ‘Not just my employer now,’ she felt a heavy gate being flung open.

  ‘God!’ said Val, now shocked. ‘You haven't, have you? What's gone on?’

  ‘Hmm, well... I've … hmm …seen him a couple of times.’

  ‘Seen him a couple of times? Is it serious?’

  ‘Could be. He seems very keen.’

  ‘Have you, have you done it?’

  ‘What? Done what?’

  ‘You know!’ and she nudged Catherine's arm.

  ‘Hmm...sort of …ish … well, not quite … sort of.’

  ‘Sort of?’ Her face was almost a grimace.

  ‘Hmm, well …you know …lots of …hmm, foreplay.’ Like being strung up from the roof of his dungeon, that's all, though she could not say that.

  ‘Ooh, you tart!’ and she laughed. ‘Is he kind and decent? That’s the main thing.’

  She smiled. Cruel to be kind more like.

  ‘Yes, I think he is.’ The image of his balls in her face flashed up. ‘He’s very open with me.’

  ‘He'd better be,’ said Val, stabbing her finger into her forearm. ‘This changes everything! But being realistic, what happens if you don't get on?’

  ‘We do. I really like him, Val.’

  ‘I know, but what if it all goes wrong? Your career?’

  She sighed. ‘I knew you'd say that.’

  ‘That's because you know I'm right.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Val...’ Catherine was playing with her coffee spoon. ‘It is serious, and I do so much want it to work.’

  ‘So what's the problem?’

  She sighed. ‘You're right,’ she said, ‘but, boss or no boss, how do I make it work?’

  Val looked uneasy. ‘However you look at it, it's an unequal relationship.’ She did not want to hear this. ‘Even out of work, the reality of what brought you together, what sparked your relationship off, and what encircles your relationship, is work and the roles you both play in work,’ and Val was staring straight at her, ‘and whether you like it or not, if things go wrong, you will be in an impossible position. What if he's just stringing you along for his own selfish interests?’

  Catherine's mind went blank. Her earlier positive mood and feelings of optimism now suddenly evaporated. She had hoped for good, old-fashioned girl talk. On how to ensnare a man and make him love you. On the excitement and the exhilaration of the adventures of the heart, and the wild passion, and the thrill of the unknown at the start of those adventures. But that now seemed girl talk of years ago and this was now. Val was still talking.

  ‘...which, I'm sure you realize, is only a risk you yourself can decide is worth taking.’

  ‘What?’ said Catherine, suddenly listening.

  ‘Besides,’ Val went on, ‘It’s your life and no matter what anyone else says, me, him,’ pointing to a man passing by on the street, ‘whoever, it's you that will take the consequences. You're a big girl now, Cathy, only you know what's what. So…’ and she halted then finished. ‘Here endeth the sermon,’ and she drank up her cold coffee.

  Catherine felt empty. She longed to share with her close friend the intimacy of her relationship with Michael but knew the terrible constraints she was under. She could not, for the whole world, speak the words that could, might, just might, through Val's depth of understanding and deep friendship, lift the weight of guilt that now, more than ever, bore down on her. She now felt more alone, a feeling made all the more intense in the company of such a good, close friend as she had in Val.

  ‘So,’ said her friend, cup drained, ‘go for it, then. Enjoy yourself and make the most of it. You only live once, you know. And anyway,’ her face lit up, ‘chance for lots of sex. You can, at least, get that right!’ and her laugh filled the room.

  Catherine came back from her lunch-date with a heavy heart, knowing that she was condemned, now possibly for the rest of her life, to live a lie with her friend. That, and she was no nearer to knowing how she could win the heart of the man who affected her deeply. Such thoughts weighed down heavily on her and, tired, she tossed the car keys on her desk. Then she saw it.

  It was by the keyboard, in pride of place. A picture mounted in a beautiful carved frame. She picked it up and gazed upon it. It was the photograph of a woman suspended by her wrists. The red ball-gag, the glistening of the plastic, the rope that fastened the mac tightly round her belly and thighs, all lit up by the spotlight, all sharply caught on record. And there, for all to see, the full, clear face of the woman.

  She sat down, still clutching the frame and its content, lost in the silence and emptiness of the room, aware, as if she ever needed telling, of the truth of her situation.

  Chapter 19. The child within

  The next few days were uneventful and she was unbearably tense as the uncertainty was getting to her. She had seen little of Anne and, knowing that Michael was in the house, she had feared the worse. She tried hard to concentrate and keep going with her work but found it hard to breathe in the claustrophobic atmosphere of the room, even with the windows and the door all open. Suddenly the clack-clack of Anne’s heels in the foyer then on the corridor announced she was coming this way. She braced herself.

  ‘Michael wants you upstairs.’ She had not even bothered to come in but stood out there on the corridor. Her face said nothing, but the tone was full of disdain.

  ‘Michael!’ She could not hide the excitement in her voice. ‘Now?’

  ‘You know where it is,’ and with that she was gone.

  The bedroom door was slightly ajar when she got there. She took a deep breath, knocked tentatively, then walked in. There, sprawled on the king-size bed, in his shirt sleeves, was Michael, smiling warmly. The curtains were all drawn and the bedside cabinet lamps were on. It was warm and cosy, romantic even, and she immediately felt at ease and sensed sweet seduction was just around the corner. As if the Michael she felt she knew was, at last, about to get to know her for her true self. Finally, he had come to recognize her in her own right, come to move on in the relationship in a way she had already been doing for some time. She confidently returned the look, a broad smile lighting up her face. Then she spotted what was on the other side of the bed and the smile froze as her expectations and fond hopes were at once dashed.

  There, draped neatly over the end corner of the bed, was some kind of black, shiny garment, a mac, no doubt, that reflected the light differently with each step further into the room. Beside it, in contrast under the lights, were something dull, with a matt finish, what looked like several headscarves, navy or black, draped against a set of belts in a small huddle. She halted on the spot, suddenly apprehensive.

  ‘Close the door.’ he said. ‘Now then, Catherine. Such a pity to keep you chained up in the library day in, day out, without so much as a chance to stretch your legs, and such shapely legs.’

  ‘I'm all right,’ she replied, uncomfortable, knowing she was somehow missing the point. ‘I get out most lunchtimes. It's just that the shops are so far into town...’ His look was hardening. She was going adrift.

  ‘That’s why you need exercise,’ and, smiling, got up, suddenly cupped her face in his hands and gently kissed her on the lips. Taken aback, not ready for that, and Oh! So brief! She had no
response. He was walking round the back of her.

  ‘You need exercise,’ he repeated and his hand followed down along the taper of her back and the curve of her thigh to rest on her right buttock. He fondled it momentarily then patted it softly. His voice was smiling. She succumbed to the wave of relief that washed through her and, smiling equally, felt she wanted to make love.

  ‘Strip,’ he said. ‘Strip naked but leave your shoes on.’

  She was stunned.

  ‘Strip, I said. Take your clothes off but keep your shoes on,’ this time more firmly.

  Dazed and suddenly feeling tired, with an air of resignation, she sighed inwardly. Just for once, just for a little while. Why? Oh why can’t he make love to me? Soft, tender, exquisite love?

  The bedside lamps did not seem so soft now as she slowly took all her clothes off, leaving on her heels. She stood there naked, with him still standing behind her, feeling every square inch of her being mercilessly ogled.

  ‘Turn round.’

  The smile had gone. Straight-faced, he took in her naked breasts and eyed her body with a studiousness she found unnerving.

  ‘Don't move.’

  He brushed past her as he went back to the bed. She looked down over her breasts to see her shoes sunk in the plush carpet. Shag-pile, she thought, and was suddenly more awake. She fancied having sex there and then on the carpet.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ he said.

  She heard the rustle of the garment as he brought it to her. She tingled slightly, anticipating something new, soft and sensual, something, hopefully, exquisitely sexy. She peeped slightly as, from behind, he brought it round in front of her and - a flash of glossy black – she glimpsed momentarily straps with buckles dangling down the sides.

  ‘Your new dress, Catherine,’ and with that, he began the fitting.

  She felt him fasten a strap at the back of her neck and thought of a man ceremoniously fastening a gift of a necklace which he had just presented to his lover. Then he fastened a zip upwards from the small of her back, then another strap, then another further down, then another underneath her buttocks. Finally a strap round her knees. She could feel the dress drawn tighter and tighter against her skin as he buckled her into it. A surge of excitement shot through her. It was exquisitely tight. She caught her breath and a certain feeling came over her.