‘As you’re a beginner,’ he whispers harshly in my ear, ‘I’m going to let you come, but only if you come as hard as you can. Come on, give yourself up to me.’
It’s all I need. I cry out as the climax seizes me and releases me in a huge, rocking, all-encompassing orgasm.
‘Oh yes,’ he says. ‘That was what I wanted to see. Now. We’re not finished quite yet.’ He pulls the dildo from me. It slides out easily and he drags it up behind me, so that it runs between my cheeks. He holds the oiled tip at my other entrance, pressing it gently for a moment, and just as I am wondering if he is going to try and penetrate there, half worried and half curious, he takes it away.
A moment later he is untying my wrists, but if I think it is all over, I’m mistaken.
‘Lie on the floor,’ he orders. ‘Put your bottom high in the air, rest your head on your arms.’
I crawl onto the rug and obey, feeling utterly shameless as I thrust my bottom as high as I can, knowing what I’m displaying to him: my swollen lips, wet and glistening with the spending of my climax. I feel his fingertip trace around it, running over the hair there and smoothing over the slippery skin.
‘What a delightful sight,’ he says, his voice thick with desire. ‘And all mine.’
I hear him unbutton his trousers but he doesn’t take them off. Instead he kneels behind me, grips his hard erection and presses it to my entrance. ‘I’m going to fuck you very hard now,’ he says. ‘You may make a noise if you wish.’
I’m glad he says that because as he slams into me, he seems to penetrate my very core, and the cry is forced from me. I couldn’t keep it in if I wanted to. His cock thrusts hard, over and over, each time reaching that spot where the pleasure is teetering on the brink of pain, but I want more of the sweet agony. I want him to feel the kind of intense pleasure he’s given me, I want to offer myself up to him, every bit.
I feel the roughness of his trousers against my bottom as he presses against me, and that in itself feels hot. He holds my hip with one hand, seizes my breast with the other, squeezing and fondling the nipple, his breathing racing hard. In, and in again, and in, his shaft swelling further, filling me up, and then I feel the stiffness of his body as his climax begins boiling up before, and with a final thrust he explodes inside me.
We are both panting now as the effects of our activities begin to wear off. Slowly, he pulls out of me. He gets up and goes over to the bedside table where he gets a tissue and wipes himself. Once he is out of me, I fall down on the rug, still breathing fast, my heart rate slowing and the juices of our climaxes trickling down my thigh, warm and wet.
‘Dominic,’ I say, ‘that was amazing, really.’ I smile at him. I feel so close to him, and I yearn to hold him, inhale his beautiful scent and kiss his mouth tenderly.
He turns and gazes at me, almost impassively. Then he returns the smile and says, ‘Thank you, Beth. I enjoyed administering your first punishment. You took it bravely but it was just the beginning.’
I watch, surprised, as he walks over, buttoning up his jeans.
Is it because I’m still wearing the collar? I wonder, and I reach up to unbutton it.
He kneels down beside me and lifts my hand to his mouth. He kisses it. ‘Thank you,’ he says again. ‘I’m anticipating our next encounter with great pleasure.’
Then he gets up and walks out, leaving me lying there on the floor, with his semen still gushing out of me, quite alone.
I lie there astonished and hurt. Is this how it’s supposed to be? I think, horrified. I want to hold him and be held, to kiss and be tender with him.
But I promised to obey him. This is just the first night. I have to wait and see where he plans to take me. Dominic knows what he’s doing. I have to trust him.
Friday
I wake very early in Celia’s bed. It is just after four o’clock in the morning. I don’t know why I’ve sprung awake like this, I ought to be exhausted after what happened last night. It was emotionally draining as well as physically demanding. De Havilland is asleep on the bed beside me. I don’t know if Celia permits him to sleep in the bedroom but I find his nearness a comfort. I reach out and put my fingers in that soft warm fur and after a minute, he responds, his little engine running with its rolling purr.
‘You need me, don’t you,’ I whisper to him. ‘I make you happy, don’t I, pusskins, just by stroking you.’
Why is love so complicated? Why, of all the men in the world, did I have to fall for this one, the one with the tender outside and the steely core? Because I am falling in love, I know that. Only love could make me feel this desperate and confused, full of yearning and in that sweet does-he-doesn’t-he agony. I know he desires me. I know he thinks I’m beautiful and fuckable, and that I give him pleasure – so much that he’s willing to take on another flat and furnish it just for me.
How much did that cost? For a week’s worth of fucking?
Another thought slides into my mind. Unless he plans on this going on for more than a week.
I don’t know how I feel about that. I like this game so far, but I also like the fact that there’s a limit to it. I might feel very differently if this were to be our life permanently. Because . . .
Because I need love, not punishment . . .?
Because I want to give as well as receive . . .?
Because . . .
Something dark and horrible lies just outside my conscious. I sigh and turn over, disturbing De Havilland, who stretches out his limbs, and flexes his claw with a tiny mew, then curls back up to resume his purring.
I want to go back to sleep but I can’t. I stare wide-eyed at the Chinese wallpaper, counting the parrots and tracing their plumage with my gaze until my alarm goes off and it’s time to get up.
As a result of my lack of sleep, I’m groggy and tetchy during the morning.
‘Is everything all right, Beth?’ James asks, when I swear at the computer for being slow.
‘Yes, yes, sorry,’ I say, shame-faced. ‘Bad night. I couldn’t sleep.’
‘Excellent time for catching up on reading,’ he remarks lightly, but he treats me a little more gently during the morning, fetching me coffee and making sure I’ve got plenty of the thin ginger biscuits he knows I like so much.
During the morning, a courier arrives with another cream envelope addressed to me. I read the letter within.
Dear Beth
Congratulations on your initiation last night. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Tonight, you must be at the flat by 7.30 pm, ready for me. Wear what you find on the bed. Before I arrive, you must wash the implements on the table and apply lubrication, and lay out the instruments of correction. Kneel on the floor as before.
Dominic
I read the letter over twice. Excitement flutters in my stomach again but not as joyously as it did yesterday. The spanking Dominic administered to me yesterday did not hurt particularly, but I know that was because of my heightened state when he administered it. I understand that I was already in a place where pain and pleasure are close allies, and the stinging blows on my bottom were intended to enhance my enjoyment. But I’m not sure how I cope when he wants to go further.
And I’m sure he will want to go further.
‘Beth, you’re looking very pale,’ James says, coming up to my desk. ‘Are you all right?’ He inspects my face closely. ‘Is everything going well with Dominic?’
I nod.
He looks at me thoughtfully. His usual habit is to make a joke of everything and ever since I confided in about Dominic’s urges, he’s teased me all the time with small jokes and puns about bondage and punishment. I have the feeling that he would normally say something along those lines now, but something stops him. Instead he looks me straight in the eye.
‘Beth, you’re on your own, far from home. If Dominic forces you to do anything you don’t want to do, or you stop enjoying whatever it is he’s doing, then I want you to tell me. I’m your friend, and I worry about you.’ His eyes are tender. ‘
You’re just a little thing.’
His kind words send a whirl of emotion spinning inside me. Tears sting my eyes, even though I don’t want to cry.
‘Thank you,’ I say in a high, tight voice.
‘You’re very welcome, sweetheart. It’s a big bad world out there, but you don’t have to suffer alone. You can call me any time, weekend or not.’
As he walks away, I can’t help a tear trickling down my cheek. I wipe it away hastily, fold up my letter, and concentrate as best I can on my work before it’s time to keep my appointment with Dominic.
That night in the apartment, there is a new set of underwear waiting for me. This almost doesn’t qualify as a garment at all. It is a kind of harness but rather than leather, it is made of soft black elastic ribbon. It takes me a while to understand how to put it on but when I’ve worked it out, it makes a daring pattern on my white skin. Two black straps make a long V from my shoulders to my crotch, passing over my breasts and leaving them totally exposed. There is a double strap over my hips, one of which is wide and has hanging straps to attach to stocking tops. Everything connects just below my navel, where a small zip holds it on. From there two straps disappear under my crotch, one on either side of my sex, to connect the back. When I turn to look at my back reflection, I see a criss-cross effect, the straps passing round my hips with the long attachments for stockings, and the a single strap disappearing between my cheeks like a thong. Tiny black bows mark the place where the straps meet at the back. The effect is rather beautiful, in a geometric sort of way.
When the harness is on, I put on the stockings that have been left on the bed and attach them. A pair of black stilettos also sits on the bed, so I put those on too. They fit perfectly.
Then there is the collar. It is not the sweet latex affair of last night. This time it is in glossy black leather and it fastens with a buckle at the back of my neck. It is studded with shiny black raised sequins that mimic studs but are altogether more glamorous. I look at it in the mirror. The symbol of my submission.
I remember my instructions and return to the bed. A long blue latex vibrator, not quite in the shape of a phallus but close, lies on the covers next to a purple bottle. I pick up the vibrator and examine it. It’s rather beautiful with its clean lines and delicate curves, and the colour takes away the creepiness of the kind that are made to look like human flesh. At its base is a little outcrop that I guess must be intended for clitoral stimulation.
I take it to the bathroom and wash it carefully in water, though I’m certain it has never been used before. After patting it dry with a towel, I take it back to the bedroom and sit on the bed. I pour some of the oily lubrication from the purple bottle onto the palm of my hand and begin to rub it all over the blue shaft. I’m surprised to feel myself responding as I massage the oil onto the latex. This is an inanimate object and yet I find the anointing of it an intimate act, as though I’m bonding with it, getting to know it, learning to anticipate the pleasures I will experience with it. I begin to feel something like affection for its gentle curve and upward thrust, and as it becomes shiny and oily, I even feel as though it has become aroused itself, in preparation for me.
Then I glance at the clock and realise that Dominic is due here in only a few minutes. I lay the now well-oiled vibrator on a towel on the bed, and look at the other instruments of correction. Like the vibrator, they are far from the ugly torture instruments I saw in the dungeon. They are stylish and beautiful, as if meant for display rather than to be shut away. One is a kind of whip with a short, stout black leather hand, a steel ball mounted on the end of it, and a head of dozens of suede tendrils. I run my fingers through them. They are soft and remind me of the waving tentacles of a sea anemone. Beside the whip is a long slender shape of a riding crop, in black leather, with a loop at its light, springing end.
Oh. Oh my God.
I shiver. I don’t know if I can take it.
If I’m loved I can take anything. The thought springs into my mind and I have no idea where it came from. I want to show Dominic I’m worthy of his love. And I will.
Dominic is only five minutes late this time, but I have learned my lesson. I stay kneeling on the floor until he arrives, and when he comes in, I do not look up. I stare hard at the white rug, seeing his jeans and black Paul Smith shoes from the edge of my vision.
He stares at me for a while without speaking and then says softly, ‘Very good. I know you’ve obeyed me this time. You’re learning. How are you tonight, Beth?’
‘Very well, sir,’ I whisper, keeping my head down.
‘Are you looking forward to tonight? What did you think about when you cleaned the blue tool?’
I hesitate for a moment then say, ‘I thought about what it would feel like, sir, when you put it in me.’
There’s a sound like a long soft sigh. ‘Very good,’ he murmurs. ‘But don’t get too complacent. There are other surprises awaiting you too. Stand up.’
I rise to my feet, a little unsteady in my unaccustomed black stilettos. I keep my eyes lowered but I hear his ragged gasp.
‘You look amazing. Turn around.’
I turn so that he can see the criss-crossing ribbons over my back, the ribboned lattice at the base the strap that disappears between my cheeks, and the enticing stretch of white thigh between the harness and my stocking tops.
‘Beautiful,’ he says throatily. ‘Turn back. And look at me.’
I obey, lifting my eyes demurely. He’s wearing a black T-shirt that defines his muscles and the broadness of his shoulders. Is this the uniform he needs for his mastering of me? The sight of his face sends a quiver of passion through me. It’s a beloved face, not simply because it is so handsome but because it is his. I want to feel it close to me, kissing me, loving me.
He reaches out a hand and strokes the collar at my neck. ‘This one is lovely,’ he says almost meditatively. ‘It works very well.’ He hooks his finger underneath and pulls me close to him, then he put his lips on mine and kisses me hard, probing my tongue with his, pressing into my mouth.
It’s the first kiss we’ve shared for what feels like an age, but it is not as tender as the last one. He’s hard and fierce in his possession of my mouth, hardly seeming to care what I feel.
Then he pulls away, his mouth curving into a smile. ‘Now,’ he says. ‘Your first task. Take the things off the bed and put them on the bedside table. Then lie on your back with your arms above your head and your legs apart.’
I’m feeling the familiar fluttering in my belly, the quickening of my pulse. Now what? What will he make me suffer now? I fear the pain but I’m also anticipating a torrent of exquisitely agonising pleasure.
I lie on the bed as directed.
‘Close your eyes.’
I close them and he approaches. A moment later a silken blindfold goes around my eyes. I’m sightless again. My wrists are lifted and each one is placed in a kind of softly lined bracelet, then I feel them being attached to the bed railings. Handcuffs. He moves to my feet and I feel similar restraints being put on my ankles and then buckled to the foot of the bed. Ankle cuffs. I can’t help tugging lightly on them but I can barely move my arms or legs except to rock very slightly.
‘No moving,’ snaps Dominic’s stern voice. ‘This is your only warning. No movement, no sound. Or you will regret it. Now, hold still.’
He approaches me again. I can feel the warm heft of his body coming close to me and I yearn to be able to touch it. I want to feel his skin under my fingertips. The hardest part of this agreement is that he doesn’t seem to want me to love him back. I never expected this when I became submissive.
Now I feel his fingertips at my ears. He’s pressing something into them – two soft foam pads that quickly meld to the shape of my inner ear and at once the sound is blocked out. Now all I can hear is a rushing sound which comes from within my own body, the thudding of my heart and the hiss of my own breathing. This is very strange. The sounds are very loud and this makes me fearful. Will I
hear my own voice if I make a sound? I daren’t test to see, Dominic’s warning is ringing through my mind.
I’m alone in this strange dark space full of whooshing and thudding noises. Dominic’s heat and weight has moved away from me now, and I have no idea where he is. I’m not sure how long he leaves me in that place, but with each second the suspense grows greater. With each second, the sense grows that something is about to happen – some feeling, some sensation, which may be pleasure or may be pain – until I’m almost overwhelmed with the anticipation and want to cry out for something, anything to happen.
When I think I can bear it no longer but I must speak or move, I feel something. It touches my chest in a spot above my breasts and it burns. Something hot. Oh no, wait . . . it’s not burning. It’s freezing cold. My skin seems to pucker underneath it. Ice.
There is another burning sensation on my belly, which wants to contract and wiggle under the feeling. It takes all my control to stop myself. The ice makes my skin prickle and burn. I desperately want to touch it but even if I let myself I can’t move an inch. Then an unseen force moves the cube above my breasts, trailing it over them, rubbing the nipples with it. The ice performs its strange two-faced trick of freezing and burning me at the same time, but the effect on me as my nerve endings respond is acute. My belly sends a fiery message to the heat between my legs, telling it to intensify, and I can feel the wetness flooding out. All this from an ice cube.
The one on my belly is melting and it begins to slide over my skin, leaving cold trickles in its wave. It hits the strap of my silken harness and moves slowly along its edge towards my hip. It’s all I can do not to buck and arch to make it slide off entirely and stop tormenting me.
Then, very lightly, something probes at my swollen lips. I’ve felt this before, when Dominic used the dildo on me, but this is a little different. It’s warm, thick and slippery. I know it’s the vibrator. He’s going to use it on me. A tingling thrills round my groin, making my sex twitch with anticipation. I expect him to play with it at my entrance for a while, working me up, but he doesn’t. Instead, quite quickly, he pushes it into me, filling me up with it. I imagine its sweet shaft sitting neatly within me, soaking up my warmth, ready to move within me. But once it’s buried in my depths, the little outcrop nuzzled against my clit, nothing more happens. It is left there for minute after minute, until I cannot resist clenching my muscles around it, drawing it up further into me by my own efforts, but this is clearly not allowed, for a stinging slap comes down upon my belly. I freeze at once.
Fire After Dark Page 21
