Fifty Days of Sin

by Serena Dahl

  “Is it okay for me to come over like this?” he asks, clearly conscious of the fact that he didn’t contact me first.

  “It’s okay, Michael, although I’d rather you checked another time. I might be busy with something else,” I tell him gently.

  “I just wanted some kinky sex,” he says with a grin.

  I laugh. “At least you’re honest,” I tell him, shaking my head at his candour. He’s far too gorgeous for me to take offence at his forthright declaration. I’m a sucker for that sensual mouth and those chiselled cheekbones, and all that daydreaming about Adam means that I’m actually feeling rather aroused.

  “That’s all right,” I tell him, handing him a steaming cup of tea. “But text me next time, okay?”

  “Okay.” We go through to the living room and I sit down, curling my legs underneath me. He sits next to me and starts idly stroking my knee. It feels nice.

  “So how has your weekend been?” He tells me about last night’s drunken night out with his college friends and I tell him about my Sunday lunch. I mention that I went out to dinner last night, but he doesn’t ask me anything about it. He’s probably guessed I was on a date. But I think he’d prefer not to know about any time I spend with other men, so he doesn’t ask any questions.

  We chat about his studies and finish our drinks, and all the while he keeps on touching my leg. His hand starts to go further up my thigh, and we sit looking at each other in silence as he traces his fingers up and down it.

  “Justine?” he asks.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you remember what you said before, about wondering if I had a dominant streak?” I raise my eyebrows.

  “Yes...”

  “Do you think you might like to try it? You know, the other way around?” I’m really surprised. This is the last thing I would have expected from Michael.

  “You mean, you want to be the boss?”

  “I’d quite like to give it a try,” he says, smiling, a sexy gleam in his eye.

  “Really?”

  “I know it’s a probably bit of a shock,” he admits. “But I think I might enjoy it. If you think you would too.”

  “Well, it depends how far you intend to go,” I laugh nervously. In truth, I enjoy being dominated – to a certain extent. I’ve had sexual partners before who have very much wanted to take the lead. And I’ve had some nice times having sex with my hands pinned down, or tied to the bedposts. But I’ve never gone as far as the kind of things that I do to Michael, and whilst I know that I enjoy a man being masterful, I’m not sure that I could cope with anything but the mildest of pain.

  “We’d have to agree a safeword, of course,” he tells me, reaching out to my face and tucking a lock of hair behind my ear in an oddly proprietorial gesture.

  “Okay – it’s just that I’ve not done this before. So you would have to go easy on me, at least to start with – I don’t know how far I could go and still enjoy myself.”

  “That’s fine,” he says, still stroking my hair. He pulls me close and kisses me. Wondering what he’s got in mind for me is oddly exciting, and I feel myself responding to him. In the back of my mind, I feel guilty – should I be doing this with Michael when I’ve started something with Adam? But after all, Adam has only kissed me. I resolve to tell him that I don’t normally do exclusive relationships if and when it develops into something more. But in the meantime, Michael’s hand has strayed down to my breast, toying with my nipple through the fabric of my top, and there’s an answering tingling down below. I’m melting, wanting him, and there’s no way I’m stopping now.

  He pulls away. “So, you’d better tell me your safeword.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I try to think of one, but my mind has gone blank. I shake my head. “Shall we just use yours?”

  “Dalmation? Okay, if you like,” he agrees. I have no idea why he chose ‘dalmation’ as his safeword. But I guess it’s not something you would normally say in the middle of sex, so there’s no way he could mistake my meaning if I had to use it.

  Then as I watch his face I see the look in his eyes suddenly change. I tense, realising that he’s ready now to try out domination for the first time.

  “I’ve got quite a lot to pay you back for, Justine,” he says, he voice laden with promise – or is it threat?

  “Yes, I suppose you have,” I reply with a small smile, suddenly a little nervous. He looks different to the way I’ve seen him before: the idea of being in control makes him look sexier than ever. But his blue eyes are dark and the memories of all the punishments I’ve given him in the past flash through my mind. Could I cope if he did that kind of thing to me?

  “I think you’re forgetting something,” he tells me.

  I’m genuinely confused. “What?” I ask.

  “First, I think you can strip for me,” he commands. I glance towards the window. “Oh, no, we’ll keep the curtains open,” he decides. Thankfully, there are net curtains covering the window panes – the previous owner of the house left the existing curtains, and even though I’ve been living here for nearly a year now, I haven’t got round to replacing them. So no-one can see in, unless they get up close and peer into the room. I sincerely hope nobody does.

  Slowly, I peel off my top, and then fumble with the belt of my jeans. All the time Michael watches, no doubt enjoying the feeling of turning the tables. I’m not embarrassed by my body, but stripping to order feels strange and a little uncomfortable. I take off my socks and pull down my jeans, so I am standing in my bra and knickers. “That’s enough for now,” Michael stops me. “Now kneel for me.”

  Feeling slightly unreal, I do as I’m bid. He sits forward on the sofa, puts out a hand and caresses my breast through the lacy bra while I kneel subserviently at his feet. I feel my nipple harden under his touch.

  “Now, I want you address me as ‘sir’,” he commands.

  I gape slightly in incredulity. “Sir?”

  “Tsk,” he tuts, and pinches my nipple. He does it quite gently, but all the same it’s uncomfortable. “It’s not a question, Justine. Try again.”

  “Yes, sir,” I respond, frowning up at him. I’m not sure how much I’m going to enjoy this.

  He pinches my nipple again, harder this time. “Ow!”

  “That’s for the surly look on your face,” he tells me. “I expect you to look grateful, and to address me with respect. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” I mumble through clenched teeth.

  “Hmm, I think we’ll work on that later,” he decides. “For now, I’ve got plans for you.” I look at him, silently expectant. “I think I’ll fuck you first.”

  I suppress a grin. This doesn’t sound like punishment, it sounds like exactly what I want. “Yes, sir,” I answer respectfully.

  “I’m going to tie your wrists together,” he declares. “Give me your hands.” I offer him my wrists as he stands and reaches into his jeans pocket, pulling out two lengths of string.

  “You planned this!” I exclaim.

  “Very bad,” he pronounces, reaching out and tweaking my nipple painfully again.

  “Ow!”

  “I expect you to be quiet and respectful, not to comment on everything I do,” he says, binding my wrists rather tighter than he needs to. He has only used one piece of string, keeping hold of the other one in his hand. “I hope you’re going to learn to behave yourself soon.”

  “Yes, sir,” I capitulate, hoping to avoid any more nipple abuse. It’s not that it’s dreadfully painful, but it’s annoying, and a little humiliating. That said, the whole scenario of kneeling, bound, on the floor in my underwear is very arousing. I can feel how wet I am and I can’t wait for Michael to be inside me. So I’m willing to endure the irritation of Michael’s mistreatment of my breasts. For the moment.

  “Now lie down.”

  I do as I’m told, lying on the rug with my hands tied.

  “Oh, no, not there. Off the rug. It’s the floorboards for you, Justine.”

  I glower at Michael,
but comply. Slightly awkwardly, given that my hands are bound in front of me, I shift off the thick, warm, comfortable rug and onto the cold, hard wooden floor.

  “That’s much better,” he says, smiling. He kneels down next to me and takes hold of my arms, pulling them up above my head, and then I realise what the second piece of string is for. He ties it to the binding on my wrists and attaches it to the leg of my armchair. So now I’m stretched out on the floor in my bra and knickers, hands tied above my head. He eases my knickers off my hips and down the length of my legs, and now that I’m nearly naked, he softly brushes my clitoris. I give a little whimper of desire and he smiles, revelling in his power.

  Michael reaches out to touch my breasts, then instructs me to raise my back off the floor. I do so as best as I can, allowing him to undo my bra, and then he tells me I can relax again. Relax – this is hardly relaxing, lying on the wooden floor waiting to see what you’re going to do to me. He pushes the cups of my bra up so that my breasts are exposed, and leans over to kiss first one, then the other nipple, teasing them with his tongue and making them stand out hard and firm. His hand strays down and again softly grazes my clitoris. I moan again with desire.

  I am so ready for him to enter me now. He pulls away from me and I watch as he unfastens his belt and unzips his jeans, pulling them down slightly and freeing his erection from his underwear. So I’m the only one who’s going to be naked, or virtually naked, then. He’s keeping his clothes on. He takes a condom out of his jeans pocket and I watch as he rolls it all the way down his length. Then he pulls my knees up and pushes my legs apart, and he’s on top of me.

  “I’m going to fuck you hard, Justine, just the way you like it,” he tells me.

  I look up at him, panting in anticipation as he starts to rub his erection against my sex. Then he reaches his hand up and pinches my nipple.

  “Ow! What was that for?” I ask in surprise. I am finding this new version of Michael very difficult to cope with.

  “You were meant to say thank you,” he commands.

  “Thank you,” I tell him, shaking my head in exasperation.

  Then he’s inside me and I shut my eyes, revelling in the sensation of his whole length filling me. He bites me on the shoulder.

  “Thank you, sir,” he corrects.

  “Thank you, sir,” I echo, parrot-fashion, feeling a fool for agreeing to be bossed about, hurt and humiliated by him, a grown woman being commanded by someone who’s barely reached adulthood; but then I realise that I don’t care how he’s treating me because the feeling of him moving in and out of me is so pleasurable that I can put up with his instructions and little punishments if the sex is going to feel this good.

  Oh, yes, it feels good. It feels amazing.

  “You like that, don’t you, Justine?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Make sure you don’t like it too much... I don’t expect you to come, you know,” he tells me.

  “Oh,” I moan in disappointment.

  “If you come, I will be very cross with you, and you will be punished.”

  “Yes, sir,” I manage as he increases the rhythm. He’s moving faster and it feels good. Then he moves his hand to my clitoris and starts to rub me there, and the pleasure of him inside me and his hand skilfully teasing me combine to push me towards orgasm.

  “I can’t help coming if you do that,” I pant.

  “You’ll have to try, otherwise I have to punish you,” he tells me. I can tell that he’s turned on by my protests, and he continues to stroke me with his fingers as he thrusts harder and harder into me. Then with a cry, my ecstasy rises to a peak and I come - I can’t help it; and as I shudder with pleasure and my muscles tighten around him, I feel him come too and he groans as he climaxes.

  We are both still for a moment, recovering, panting, and then Michael looks at me.

  “Oh, Justine,” he says, his voice full of sinister promise. “You came.”

  “You made me,” I complain.

  He shakes his head. “You clearly have no self-control.”

  He moves off me, reaching for a box of tissues and removes the condom. He goes out of the room, leaving me nearly naked on the hard floor, then returns, his jeans pulled up again and his belt buckled. To my surprise, he kneels down and reaches up to my hands, untying me from the chair leg and releasing my wrists. I sit up and rub them with my hands, looking resentfully at the red marks where the tightly tied string pressed into my skin. Then I remember my unfastened bra, and, feeling self-conscious, I start to put it back on properly. Michael stops me, grabbing my wrist.

  “I don’t remember giving you permission to dress yourself,” he points out.

  I look him in the eye, unsure whether to just tell him to sod off. I decide to carry on playing along. After all, a part of me wants to know what this punishment will be. I’m nervous, but I wonder whether I’ll enjoy it. “Sorry, sir.”

  “That’s better,” he tells me. “Now kneel on all fours. Like an animal.”

  I raise my eyebrows at him, but do as he tells me, my unfastened bra dangling untidily. I wish I could do it up or take it off, but clearly he’s not going to let me.

  “Legs apart, I think.”

  I move my legs apart a little. Then I feel him take hold of my calves, just below the knees, and roughly, he pulls them apart a lot further.

  “Very nice,” he says appreciatively. I feel a little thrill of pleasure at the thought of him enjoying the sight of my near-naked body.

  “Now I’m going to punish you,” he says, and my tummy turns over in nervous anticipation. “Every time, I want you to count – one to twelve. And when I’m finished, I want you to say ‘thank you, sir’.”

  I look down at the floor, wondering what he’s going to spank me with. Anxiously, I remember the safeword. Dalmation. Dalmation. Don’t forget. “Yes, sir.”

  Then he stands up and goes to the sofa, picking up one of my Sunday magazines.

  “This will have to do for today,” he says, rolling it up in his fist; and then with no further warning he brings it down onto my bare bottom with a resounding whack.

  “Ow! One.” It’s more of a shock than a terrible pain – it’s uncomfortable but not unbearable. Then he does it again. “Two!” I cry out as he hits me harder. He pauses in between blows, and I can feel the warmth of the contact with the rolled up magazine spreading over my bottom cheeks. “Three!” I moan, and then, “Four!” as he continues. Then he carries on, getting into the swing of it, and I would definitely describe the experience as painful – but it’s a mixture of pleasure and pain and I don’t want to say the safeword and get him to stop. At last he delivers the final stinging blow to my behind. “Twelve! Thank you,” I remember.

  He reaches round to twist my nipple. “Thank you, what?”

  I shut my eyes and silently admonish myself for forgetting how to address him. “Thank you, sir.” He kneels down next to me.

  I’m not looking at him, but when he speaks I can hear the smile in his voice. “You know, you’re very wet,” he says, and I feel him run a finger around the entrance to my body. He bends forward to put his mouth close to my ear and whispers. “You seem to like being punished, Justine.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He gently nips my earlobe with his teeth, and then kneels up again, putting out his hand again to feel my wetness. He circles round and round, and then his fingers, lubricated by my own juices, touch my sensitive clitoris, making me gasp with enjoyment.

  “I expect you’d like to come again, wouldn’t you, Justine?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I think it’s my turn first, though, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.” I’m getting used to this now. Just agree with him, and my nipples will thank me for it.

  “You’re going to suck my cock now. Are you going to enjoy that?”

  “Yes, please, sir,” I answer, assuming this is what he wants to hear. He stands up and goes over to the sofa, sitting down.

  “I thou
ght you would, you little slut.” I suppress a scowl of annoyance at his insult. I guess putting up with verbal abuse is all part of the submission thing. “Come over here, then, and make me come in your mouth,” he instructs.

  I move over to the sofa and kneel between his legs. I glance up at his face and see a look of amusement and the enjoyment of his power. Suddenly I feel resentful, angry that he feels he can call me derogatory names and command me in this way. I consider refusing to grant his wish; but then I remember the intensity of the sex we’ve just had, with my hands tied to the armchair. And I remember that despite the pain, I enjoyed my punishment. So again, I decide to do what he wants.