Thrill Seeker

by Kristina Lloyd

  When I reached the line of desks, I rested my arse against the edge, waiting, my breath shivering in and out of me. As he drew nearer, the scent of sharp, clean sweat sparked a fierce longing for the familiarity of his body, skin against skin, cock in my cunt.

  ‘Tell me what you want,’ he said again. ‘Tell me why you’re really here. What drives you to these extremes? Why does this matter so much?’

  The air was charged, as if an electricity we exuded completed a circuit.

  ‘Doesn’t it matter to you?’ I replied.

  He took a step closer. I half-expected the space between us to crackle. He grabbed my hair at the nape, phone wire in his other hand. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It matters. We’re probably more alike than you know.’

  The closeness of his face sent my arousal several degrees higher. Lust urged me to lean forward and kiss him, to forget words and fighting so we could simply melt into each other’s mouths. But the edge of pain from his fist in my hair was a cruel reminder that in this game, my desires were portrayed as secondary to his. And therein lay the irresistible paradox. Being at the apparent mercy of his desire was, effectively, my own desire. My instinct to embrace and taste him was subdued by my yearning to submit, by my pleasure being bound up in delayed gratification, sacrifice and suffering.

  ‘But I’m asking the questions right now,’ he continued, ‘so tell me what you want. Then maybe we can discuss where we go next.’

  He tugged on my hair, making me wince. My heart was going crazy and, in a rush, I told him, my voice quivering. ‘You scare me,’ I said. ‘I like it, I liked being your prisoner. I like how you make me feel. Cheap, greedy and ashamed.’ I looked him dead in the eye, drawing on my ebbing strength. ‘But I don’t like how you vanished. You started something and now you have to finish it. Because I need this too. I need it just as bad as you.’

  For a couple of seconds he stared back at me, his eyes livid blue slits. Then he zoomed in, his lips hitting mine, and we were kissing with mad, angry excitement, trying to devour each other in a mess of wetness, lips, tongues and teeth, our vast hunger attempting to squeeze itself into the confines of a kiss. It felt less like a kiss, and more like we were trying to fuck each other with our mouths. In the cotton of my knickers I grew as messy as our mouths, my flesh wet, wide and pounding with desire. Den kept his grip on my hair, pulling with increasing pressure until my head was tipped so far back I couldn’t respond. Instead, I became the recipient of his kiss, my head held tight, hair nipping at the base of my skull.

  Slowing, Den took my bottom lip between his teeth, stretching it out until he bit so hard I yelped. We sprang apart.

  It was the nastiest, most violent kiss I’d ever known.

  ‘How badly?’ said Den.

  I was shocked to taste the coppery tang of blood in my mouth. I sucked on my lower lip, running my tongue over lumpy tenderness, assessing the damage. Before I could speak, Den spun me around by the shoulders, grabbing my hands and jerking them behind my back. Using the phone wire, he began binding my wrists, looping the squeaky, plastic length in a figure of eight around my wrists. The cool grip of the wire and the process of being bound made me weak with the need to be overtaken. It was all I could do stop myself from falling to my knees in a gesture of instant submission. People walked past the door, footsteps and chatter. I didn’t care.

  ‘How bad?’ Den repeated.

  ‘Bad,’ I croaked. ‘Bad enough for me to come here and let you do this to me. Even though you’ve been a prick. And I want it the way you want it, the way you dole it out. Hard, nasty, debasing. That’s how I want it. That’s how bad.’

  ‘You like being used?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’ My answer was an impatient syllable.

  ‘You like getting tied up?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He continued threading the phone wire into awkward manacles. ‘You like getting fucked in the mouth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Arse? Cunt?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  He finished off his tie, allowing the heavy plug to dangle behind my knees. Its weight added to the security of the bondage, reinforcing the pull I felt to sink into the blissful stupor of submission.

  ‘You like the idea of getting fucked by a bunch of guys?’ Den continued. ‘A gang of them using you, passing you around.’ Briskly, he began unbuttoning my shirt. ‘A slut. Party favour. Whore. All of them treating you like meat. Ramming their cocks into your holes, fucking you senseless. You like that?’

  He shoved my top and bra straps past my shoulders then crudely scooped my breasts from my bra. I was wired with arousal, lust shooting and simmering.

  I felt woozy. ‘Yes,’ I breathed, wondering how many times I’d fantasised about me and three or more men in a bed.

  Den reached past me to grab one of the long, plastic tables and tugged it towards the centre. Chairs clattered behind it, metal legs entangling. One chair fell to the ground, feet in the air.

  ‘Lie on the table,’ he said. ‘On your back.’

  I glanced at the door. If anyone tried to open it and push at the table behind it, we were done for. But if they merely peered in through the narrow glass panel, then we wouldn’t be seen. How badly did I want it? Badly enough to chance getting caught? Oh yes. Besides, given that Den was here in a professional capacity, the risk he took far outweighed mine.

  I hopped on the central table and swivelled into position, my cunt thick and wet for him. At last we seemed to be reconnecting, lust glowing white-hot between us. After this we couldn’t possibly go our separate ways again. Clearly, we shared something special. We were wild for each other. Den simply needed to admit that to himself and we’d be fine. I wouldn’t need to return to online dating and, with Den’s help, Baxter Logan would soon be a distant memory. I lay down, my bound wrists bulky in the small of my back, the sway of the hanging plug pulling on my bonds.

  ‘More this way.’ Den tucked his hands into my armpits and slid my body higher up the table so my head had nothing to rest on. I allowed my neck to arch back, my upside down head perfectly positioned for him to drive his cock into my mouth. ‘I’m going to make your dreams come true,’ he said.

  Confused, I gazed at the inverted classroom, table legs, window blinds and up to the cream, tiled ceiling. Which dreams? Should I check or trust him? Den moved around me with jerky aggression. I listened to him stride to the other end of the table where he shoved my skirt up to my hips. He removed my knickers in a couple of tugs. The plastic table was cool and hard beneath my buttocks. Grabbing each inner thigh, Den opened me up, forcing me apart until one leg was crooked over the table’s edge, the other angled back, my swollen wet folds on brazen display. My breathing quickened as, without complaint, I allowed him to arrange me.

  I tracked him as best I could, watching his legs stride over to a flipchart by the whiteboard. I missed what he was doing and before I knew it, he was at my side again. I caught a tiny pop then a sharp, chemical scent. He leaned over me, an uncapped marker pen in his hand. ‘You just need a couple of labels then we’re done,’ he said.

  He pressed the pen tip to one inner thigh. The soft nib tickled my skin as he wrote. I counted out four letters. He moved up my body and wrote across my chest. Again, four letters. I thought ahead, realising these words would show above my top once I was dressed. Tissues and spit. I’d be fine. Then, appallingly, Den cupped my head in one hand, supporting it as he touched the pen to my forehead.

  I cringed, pressing into his hand. ‘No,’ I whispered. ‘Not my face.’ I didn’t dare move any more in case that caused him to accidentally mark me.

  ‘Yes,’ he said calmly. ‘Your face. Keep still.’

  The marker pen moved on my skin. I forced myself to accept the touch, again telling myself tissues and spit would fix me up. Den marked my forehead with four letters. This was so much worse than him writing words on my body. I felt branded, as if he were imposing a new identity on me by changing my face.

  ‘What have you
written?’ I asked, lifting my head and craning forward.

  Den stood back, smiling. On my inner thigh, in uppercase lettering, was the word ‘cunt’. Across my chest ,the word ‘tits’. I raised my eyes to indicate my forehead. ‘What’s here?’

  ‘Lie back,’ said Den. ‘It says “hole”. That’s all you are. Cunt, tits, hole. It’s not even a mouth. It’s a hole. Nothing to do with words, your voice. Nothing to do with you. It’s all for me. Just another hole to be filled by my cock.’

  Oh, jeez, he was crude and vile. And yet I still didn’t regret pursuing him one iota. Quite the opposite. I was glad. I felt debased, humiliated and deliriously cheap. But most rare and precious of all, I felt understood and accepted. I was becoming more convinced that, with a connection such as this, maybe a relationship with Den, even a sex-based one, could help me lay to rest the ghost of Baxter. Den’s committed domination could show me Baxter wasn’t the only man capable of fulfilling my dark desires.

  Den stood by my shoulder, towering above me, his legs at the periphery of my vision if I kept my head upside down. Blood filled my face as I waited for him. What was he doing? I twisted to see him. He had his mobile phone in his hand. He raised it to his ear.

  ‘Ty,’ he said cheerfully. ‘My good man! Remember Walthamstow?’ Den laughed. ‘Yeah. Anyway, I got us another one.’ A dark, smug laugh. ‘Thought so. Room 114. Yep. See you in five.’

  I sat bolt upright, appalled and afraid. ‘Who’s that?’ I snapped. ‘What are you doing?’

  Den pushed me flat on the table.

  ‘Giving you what you want.’

  My mind raced, rushing forwards and backwards. Was this more of Den’s headfuck stuff? It had to be. He couldn’t have someone else here within five minutes, could he? Did he want to test me? See how I’d react?

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ I said. ‘You’re trying to mess with my head again. You just faked that call.’

  ‘You think so?’ Den asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered, my panic abating. I was becoming wise to his ways. He thought I was so naive he could spin me this way and that, but he couldn’t. I was starting to see through him. ‘You’re full of crap,’ I said. ‘You act like you have a grand plan and you’re in control but you’re making it up as you go along. Same as everybody.’

  ‘Of course I’m making it up,’ he said. ‘That’s why I phoned Ty. Wasn’t expecting to see you here but now you are, I’m running with it.’

  ‘I still don’t believe you.’

  ‘Well you ought,’ he said. ‘Because Ty’ll be here in a few minutes.’

  I wasn’t convinced. ‘Yeah? So who is he?’ I asked, playing along.

  ‘A colleague,’ he replied. ‘And a dom. You said you want to get fucked by a bunch of guys. Short notice, so I’m afraid the best I can do right now is two.’

  I began to fear he might be speaking the truth. ‘No,’ I said. ‘Not good. I don’t know him.’

  ‘Trust me, you soon will do. At least, the back of your throat will.’

  Again, I tried to sit up but Den pushed me down. He held me to the table, a hand on my chest. ‘Two guys, Natalie, and it’s all for you. Aren’t I kind and generous?’

  ‘I don’t know him,’ I said again. ‘You haven’t checked if it’s OK with me.’

  Den trailed his hand from my chest, across my belly, through my pubes and down between my thighs. Lust made me dizzy, all the blood in my body pumping into my engorged folds. In my groin, arousal thudded so hard I felt faint. His fingers parted my flesh and plunged into me. I groaned deeply, feeling I might expire.

  ‘It’s pouring from you, Natalie,’ said Den. ‘Don’t pretend you disapprove.’

  I fought for my voice. ‘Not fair,’ I gasped. ‘You haven’t asked if it’s OK.’

  Den withdrew his fingers from me. ‘I just asked your cunt,’ he replied. ‘And it said “yes”.’

  ‘No.’ I hardly knew what I meant. I squirmed and panted, desperate to have his fingers inside me again. The prospect of having another guy join us thrilled me from my head to my toes. Excitement made my veins swell and simmer, my entire body strung out on lust. I just wished Den had asked me before calling someone. Wished he hadn’t assumed I’d agree. Wished he hadn’t presumed to know my desire.

  ‘Yes,’ said Den. ‘Because your cunt is where we get the truth from. You can protest. You can act offended, act like you want me to respect you, but your cunt’s always going to tell a different story. It’s always going to betray you.’

  He understood me too well. He was playing along with my fantasies, knowing I would protest if I truly wasn’t keen; knowing that this game would lose its edge for us if I were to say, ‘Yes, please! Bring it on, daddio!’

  I heard a tap at the door. A pulse in my head boomed so heavily I felt my brain was expanding beyond my skull. Was this Den’s friend, or someone wanting access to the classroom?

  ‘Don’t move,’ said Den.

  I could have moved. I could have sat up and said ‘enough’. I could have wriggled my wrists free from the phone wire. I could have done many things to make it clear I didn’t want a stranger in the room. And ultimately, so there was no mistaking my wishes, I could have said, ‘safeword’. But I did none of these things because I desperately wanted him, whoever he was, wanted him with every nerve in my body. Right there and then, although I was scared of where this might lead, I wanted a second guy more than anything. I didn’t care who the newcomer might be. I wanted Den to act as if he were forcing me to take cock from someone of his choosing.

  In future, I told myself, if we repeated this sort of scene, I’d insist we negotiate first. But for now, what the Hell? Never look a gift horse in the mouth. I just hoped we wouldn’t get rumbled. Supposing this room was booked for a lecture? Oh God, I pictured being trussed up like this as bemused students drifted into their class.

  I lay stock still on the table, face flaming at the thought of being publically displayed, my body marked in ink, my acquiescence a declaration of my desire for humiliation. I listened to Den moving furniture away from the door, heard male voices and laughter.

  ‘Ohhh yes!’ came a new voice as soft footsteps fast approached me. ‘Fresh pussy.’

  I saw his lower half first, desert boots and skinny black jeans. I twisted to see more of him and when I did, I knew I was lost. I knew I would let these two guys do whatever they wanted to me. Ty was a lanky black guy with smiling eyes and long dreadlocks fastened in a fat tail. And he was a fast mover, already unzipping as he strode towards me, while Den put the table back to block the door.

  ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Ty positioned himself by my head, his erect, purplish-black length bobbing above my eyes.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I said, my voice hoarse with greedy urgency. I gaped for him.

  ‘And she’s keen,’ said Ty, voice singing with enthusiasm. He cupped my head, supporting me as he angled himself to the right height. His blunt tip nudged at my lips then, with a low noise of satisfaction, he drove into my mouth.

  After a few slow strokes, he grew rough and careless, slender hips pumping as he slammed. I tried to grip him with my lips but his aggressive rhythm made me cough and splutter. I couldn’t keep my legs still and within seconds my eyes were streaming.

  I remembered the word Baxter had taught me: irrumatio. The Latin sounded far more acceptable than ‘throat-fucking’ but whatever you called it, the action invariably got me hot, made me feel gloriously wanton and sluttish. Ty’s pounding felt like an attempt to break down my resistance, not that I had much apart from an under-active gag reflex. But I fancied that, in forcing me to submit by shattering my defences, Ty was aiming to make me game for anything. Well, I pretty much was already. I’m sure both men could see that but I wasn’t going to stop our fun by declaring that he didn’t need to be quite so rough.

  Ty popped out of me, giving me a short breather. ‘Oh man,’ he asked, ‘where d’you find her?’

  Den approached, upside down in my vision and blurred b
y my tears.

  ‘A street corner,’ said Den. ‘Plying her trade.’

  Ty held my head in both hands then, taking his time, eased his cock past my lips, gliding to the back of my mouth. ‘Take it, take it, take it,’ he urged as he pushed gently against the barrier of my throat. ‘That’s it. Make it disappear. Hold it there.’

  I kept him lodged in my throat until I couldn’t stand it any more. When I writhed and thrashed, he snatched his cock free, spilling saliva onto my face. As I gulped for breath, Ty used his cock to slap my face, bashing himself against one cheek then the other, smearing wetness over me.

  ‘How’s she doing?’ asked Den.

  ‘She’s good, man,’ said Ty. He sank his length back into my mouth, slowly this time. ‘Hold her legs still.’

  Den grabbed my thighs, pushing my legs open and flat to the table. ‘Better?’

  Ty nudged fractionally to and fro, allowing me to recover my breath and steady myself. Then for the second time, he eased himself deep into my throat, ordering me to take him. His balls rested against my nose, their velvety warmth half-smothering me while he uttered cries of ‘oh man’ and warnings of, ‘Not yet, hold it, girl.’

  When he pulled back, leaving me gasping and gulping, Den said, ‘I’m going to make her come. Make her prove to us how much she loves this.’

  ‘Good plan,’ Ty enthused. He used his cock to slap my face again. ‘You hear that, girl? We’re gonna make you come. And you’re gonna show us how much you love getting your face fucked.’

  Again, he began thrusting into my mouth. I groaned awkwardly as Den slid a bunch of fingers into my wetness, twisting and turning them. The two men drove at me, filling me at either end. The intensity rising in my cunt had me whimpering around Ty’s cock. I could hardly keep open for him, could hardly grip, but he didn’t seem to care. He just used my mouth like it meant nothing to him, as if any cocksucking skills I had were worthless.