When Den started paying attention to my clit, I knew I was moments away from coming. Ripples shivered along my thighs, reaching in deeper. I wailed around Ty’s length, gasping for breath, my nearness clutching and tightening.
Den kept up a deliberate, consistent rocking on my clit. ‘She’s nearly there,’ he said.
‘Come on, girl,’ said Ty. ‘Show us how much you love this.’ He grabbed my breasts, a hand on each, squeezed and slapped my flesh. ‘These tits,’ he said. ‘Oh yes, look at these tits.’
Calm and workmanlike, Den kept rubbing – his fingers inside me, his thumb on my clit. ‘Nearly … nearly.’
‘Oh man, yes,’ said Ty. ‘Gonna get my cock so deep in your throat when you come, girl. You won’t make a sound. Gonna fuck your cries right back inside you.’
My tightness squeezed faster, higher.
‘Here we go,’ said Den. ‘She’s nearly there. You ready, Ty?’
Ty took my head in his hands, holding me steady. I fought to regulate my breathing, on the verge of coming. Den circled my clit, his thumb rocking the tiny bud, keeping me on a plateau of nearness. I was desperate, delirious, consumed by the need to climax. Then Ty’s end was pushing at my throat and I started to come, my throat muscles softening for him.
‘There she goes,’ said Den. Ty lodged himself in the depths of my throat, blocking my cries as I tumbled into my rapturous finale. I couldn’t gasp and thrash, needing to follow a focused stillness to accommodate Ty’s cock. Every ripple, clench and shimmer of my orgasm lifted me higher. Ecstasy and my body were separate entities. I was scattering like a million stars pouring from a champagne bottle and filling up the skies.
‘Oh, wow,’ said Ty. ‘This chick’s loving my cock, ain’t she?’
Waves of bliss clutched. I had no breath left. Sensation shivered in and out, parts of me sinking, parts of me rising. Den pulled out of me, laughing softly.
‘Way to go, man!’ said Ty, snatching himself free. The two men high-fived each other over my body.
My orgasm faded, leaving me with a sudden headache and weakened legs. I gasped for air as Ty began wanking. ‘Let’s wash that nasty word off your face,’ he said.
Den laughed again. ‘Never let it be said Ty’s not a gentleman. Say “thank you”, Natalie.’
I said nothing, too stupefied to speak. Ty pumped on his cock, making rich, deep noises of pleasure, his hand a blur. He aimed himself at my face, his violet-dark tip inches away. Seconds later, with a series of groans, he unloaded his release. His come jetted onto my chin and cheek, chaotic splashes of warmth. I squeezed my lids shut, not wanting him dribbling into my eyes because experience had taught me that it stings.
With a heavy sigh, Ty stepped back. So physical, so crude. Had he seen stars as well when he’d come on my face? He smeared his fluid onto my forehead, rubbing at the inked word.
‘Say “thank you”,’ repeated Den.
I stayed silent, refusing this tiny additional humiliation. A few moments passed, nothing but the sound of our breath in the classroom.
‘If you don’t say “thank you”,’ said Den, ‘I’m going to walk out of your life once again, Natalie. All I’m asking for is a little politeness, a little bit of respect for my friend.’
My mind swam with confusion. Was he saying we were potentially back together? I was assuming that would be the case after this unexpectedly horny reunion. And yet already he was threatening to deny me that prospect.
‘Just two little words,’ continued Den, ‘to show me how badly you want this. And then maybe we can talk.’
I breathed as steadily as I could, wishing my hands were free so I could wipe the come from my face. I opened my eyes, blinking against the sting and the blob of pearly liquid resting on the lashes of my left eye. I half-wondered if the droplet were full of champagne bubbles and stars.
‘Well?’ said Den. ‘Cat got your tongue?’
I shook my head. Though my voice emerged croaky and weak, the meaning of my words rang out as clear as a bell. ‘Thank you,’ I rasped. Then, hoping to grab back my dignity by injecting a note of sarcasm, I added, ‘Thank you ever so much.’
Sixteen
And so it seemed we were back on track.
The two men waited till I’d tidied myself up, and they had to wait a while because the ink was seriously hard to remove from my skin. Den put the tables back in their correct place. In those minutes, the mood lightened to a friendly atmosphere where the three of us, on a post-sex high, were able to banter lightly. The guys, Ty in particular, were careful to check I was OK while maintaining physical distance.
‘That was great,’ I said. ‘A bit of a surprise but …’ I checked my reflection in my compact mirror. ‘Ty, don’t ever think of selling your come as ink remover. Doesn’t work.’
Ty laughed. ‘Noted. But hey, worth a shot.’ He laughed at his inadvertent pun, adding, ‘So to speak.’
I wondered if he were single, my contingency if things went nowhere with Den.
‘I’ll call you,’ said Den.
I almost laughed. It sounded like the sort of polite lie you’d give to someone at the end of a dreary date rather than a promise you’d make to a woman covered in come and ink after twenty minutes of rough, humiliating sex.
‘If you don’t,’ I said, ‘I’ll call you.’
‘New phone, new number, so no you won’t. But I’ll call, I promise.’ Den lifted my chin with one finger, inviting me to look him in the eye. ‘You’ve taken this up a notch and I respect that.’
We left the classroom and went our separate ways, me with a raw, pink forehead. I headed straight for the Ladies to do further repair work on my face. When I was presentable, I found a small cafe-bar away from the main dining area where the delegates were finishing lunch. I drank Earl Grey tea and ate a huge, restorative slice of sticky chocolate fudge cake. Replete, I sat back in my chair, steeped in the afterglow of sexual and sweet-toothed indulgence. I felt elated and untouched by guilt, feelings I wouldn’t have allowed myself to experience several years ago.
I had no further interest in the conference and would have gone home except for one thing: I didn’t want Den or Ty to think I’d run away in shame or embarrassment. So I returned to the lecture hall for the post-lunch session and made a deliberate effort to talk to a couple of people, hoping to appear relaxed and content. I left at the mid-afternoon break, overwhelmed by long words. But I didn’t merely slope off. I politely interrupted a conversation Den was having to say my goodbyes then I sought out Ty, saying, ‘Lovely to meet you’ before returning to the train station. I walked on air, proud of myself for refusing to stay home waiting for the phone to ring as if this were courtship in the 1950s.
A short while later, as the train sped towards the coast, I was gazing out at louring grey skies and velvety fields of undulating downland, cocooned by a new sense of peace. I told myself only time would tell if Den would make good on his promise to call but ironically, it no longer seemed quite so important. Rain started to fall, spattering the window. I tried to work out if I liked Den for his personality or his sexuality. But the two elements were inseparable so I had no answer. Either way, I was pleased I’d been in the driving seat for a while, obliging him to be the one reacting rather than steering. If we were to make a go of it, we had a lot to sort out first. I was still unhappy with the way he’d gone cold on me after declaring ‘one chance, one meeting’. I never did establish what that line was about. I’d ask next time, if we had a next time.
Back to everyday life in Saltbourne, I braced myself for no phone call. He might vanish on me again. Well, OK, if that happened, I would quit. No point chasing someone who either wasn’t interested or couldn’t communicate except via mixed messages. The evenings were dark, the clocks would change soon. Spring forward, fall back. It was the time of year for settling, for quietening. Maybe I’d just had a late summer of lust, no more.
As it happened, Den contacted me within a few days. I was at Liam’s workshop doing more makes
hift modelling for the leather head-harness he’d been commissioned to make. The harness was turning out to be a gorgeous piece, its ruddy brown leather, hand stitching, burnished edges and brass attachments giving it a faux-Victorian aesthetic, an object for a steampunk torture chamber, if such a thing existed.
Even though it was Liam tightening the buckles, adjusting the straps and hooking the claw gag inside my cheeks, I felt aroused as I stood on the sawdust-strewn cobbles for what felt like the umpteenth time in recent weeks. The sensation of having my head half-encased, and the objectifying thrill of the hooks denying me ownership of my mouth, got me in the groin. I could tell, too, that Liam’s relationship to me wearing the kit was changing.
Previously, his enthusiasm for seeing me in the bridle had been about an admiration for the structure he was building and a satisfaction with his own craftsmanship. He’d kept his distance from the D/S implications of the piece, treating it as something I was into while he wasn’t. I wondered if he were growing more comfortable with kink or if an unexplored aspect of his sexuality was emerging. Would it work if I tried encouraging him to be more dom? Ever since our confrontation with the security guard in the grounds of the theatre, something had shifted between us. There was a new edge, a deeper connection arising from us having shared such a dark, scary encounter. We’d seen how the other had reacted to the threat. I could still hear Liam’s groan in response to the thug calling me a greedy, cocksucking cumslut.
At the time, I imagined him regretting his expression of pleasure. He probably did even now, and I’d be the same. The words used against me weren’t our choice but sudden lust tends to short-circuit the intellect. Liam knew I’d heard him, and we both knew the other hadn’t been as fazed at being forced to perform as many others might be. That night had drawn us together in a way that couldn’t yet articulate itself.
I wondered idly if Liam could get off on games of humiliation, power play and verbal abuse. Could that work between us?
‘You know, you look strangely beautiful,’ said Liam, adjusting the final buckle. ‘Almost wish I didn’t have to sell it. And I tell you, I’ve really earned my money on this. Seriously, one of the most demanding customers I’ve ever had the misfortune to work with. Always coming up with minor changes, wanting everything done yesterday. And then all these sodding pictures we’ve had to keep sending him. Total nightmare. I’ll be glad when I’m rid of him.’
Liam stood in front of me and touched a hand to my jaw, smiling. I gazed back, struggling with the discomfort of my enforced silence, gaping wet mouth and facial immobility.
‘Weird,’ said Liam. ‘Makes me want to kiss you even though you can’t kiss back.’
Oh God, he was changing, he was definitely changing. He bent to my mouth. As he moved, I caught the scent of his copper curls, an appley hint of shampoo mixed with the freshness of new wood and an undertone of tobacco smoke, a smell so suited to his autumnal colouring it might have originated from his actual body. Gently, he nibbled on my lower lip. I closed my eyes, deeply uncomfortable and trying to slurp back saliva. Gags always embarrass me and this one was worse than usual. It made me look ugly, undignified and dumb, a borderline animal. I loathed it as much as I loved it.
With a hand on the small of my back, Liam held me, bending his knees a fraction to roll his groin against mine. The press of his erection made lust hammer between my thighs. I took him in a loose embrace, letting my hands rove over the sweep of his back before I dipped under his sweatshirt to find skin. He was cool and smooth beneath my fingers. The disparity between our mutual, tender caress and my leather-strapped head frustrated more than it excited. In the context of gentle touches, the bridle humiliated in all the wrong ways. If Liam hadn’t been quite so taken by the piece, I would have gladly removed it.
My phone beeped with a text message, momentarily snatching me from the here and now. Was it Den? Gah, I was supposed to be no longer bothered whether he called. I needed to get in the habit of putting my phone on silent when things were likely to get sexy. Little interruptions could potentially kill the mood.
I swirled my hand under Liam’s top, letting my pelvis sway with his, telling myself the message could wait. Liam drew me closer, fondling one breast while continuing to peck and lick at my fixed-open mouth. I couldn’t help but feel turned on by those half-kisses, how they gently taunted me, mocking the predicament in which the harness placed me. But also, despite myself, I couldn’t stop thinking about the text awaiting me in my bag. Old habits die hard.
I withdrew from Liam, gesturing apologetically to signal I wanted the harness removed. Liam unhooked one brass claw from my cheek while I removed the other, our knuckles knocking as I fumbled to free myself. ‘You OK?’ asked Liam, concerned.
I dabbed at my damp lips and swallowed. ‘Yes, fine,’ I said with a laugh. ‘I’m horny. Does your client need more photos of me wearing this?’
‘No. It’s practically finished. He’s picking it up this week then I get the rest of the payment. Why, what are you thinking?’
‘That we should go back to mine and do this properly?’
Liam grinned. ‘Cool,’ he said. He pushed at his ginger curls in a cute, bashful manner. ‘But do you mind if we leave the harness here? It’s really great and everything. But it just feels wrong to, you know, give it a test run when I’m making it for someone else. Shouldn’t really be messing about like this when you’re wearing it.’
I smiled, relieved we weren’t going to explore this uncertain dynamic developing between us. The prospect made me anxious, afraid it might prove awkward, embarrassing or dissatisfying.
‘No problem,’ I said. ‘You’re so principled, you know?’
Liam unbuckled the straps and lifted the soft cage from my head. ‘I know. Sometimes wish I wasn’t.’
I shook my hair out and, trying not to appear over hasty, retrieved my phone from my bag.
The text was from a number rather than a name. It read: ‘I have made mistakes. I have treated you badly. Can we meet Tuesday? Will try to explain. Make amends. Sonny’s Bar at eight? Desperate to see you.’
I laughed aloud, elated. So, I thought, he finally admits he wants me! He’s going to quit playing games and atone. Well, well, well, this was a turn-up for the books. He hadn’t been fobbing me off when he said he’d be in touch. The impact of my surprise appearance at the conference was clearly more significant than I’d realised. This was definitely going to be interesting.
‘Shall we grab some beers on the way?’ said Liam.
‘Excellent plan,’ I said. ‘Sorry, just got to reply to this then I’m good.’
I thumbed in my response, deliberately clipped: ‘Much appreciated. Let’s talk Tues. See you at eight.’
He replied: ‘Love you xx’
Sonny’s Bar had a rooftop terrace overlooking the sloping, lamp-lit sprawl of Saltbourne. In summer it was a joy, in early-November, less so, but being high above the town made me feel I could breathe. In the dark evening, the town glittered like fallen constellations, the sea shone like coal, and street lights beading the coastal road snaked into the distance. Occasional fireworks burst overhead, their jewelled colours falling over tiled roofs, and pink and gold domes.
I was early and nervous, wrapped in a fake fur jacket and determined not to appear too eager. I would listen to what Den had to say to justify his cruel disappearance after our kidnap game. I’d give him the benefit of the doubt and tell him he didn’t need to pretend he loved me to get me on side. Sweet of him to try but I wasn’t that gullible and, besides, I didn’t want his love. Our relationship wasn’t about that. Sex was our motivation and, given how well we clicked, that could carry us a long way.
I’d also mention the need for us to make a habit of negotiating scenes. Even though I fantasised about being forced, it didn’t mean I wanted to be genuinely forced, nor was I prepared to give my blanket consent to anything Den might want to do. As he got to know me better and as I learned to trust him more, then, sure, we could make
the rules less rigid. But for now, let’s tread carefully, eh?
I hoped I wasn’t expecting too much of our meeting. But if things went well and we were to resume our relationship, I also hoped we’d be able to seal the deal tonight with more than a kiss. I wasn’t planning on mentioning it to Den but, with sex in mind, I’d booked the following day off work in case we ended up at my place, fucking until dawn.
The roof terrace was a humble affair, a small stucco-walled square, bare foliage stems threaded through trellis, a few potted palms and strings of tiny lanterns. I switched on a tall patio heater and sat at a wooden table beneath the lamp’s amber warmth, my breath clouding when it met the night. I envied the only other people there, a couple huddled close and smoking in silence. They looked so relaxed and comfortable, poles apart from anxious, jittery me.
My phone beeped. I checked my messages. Den: ‘Sorry, running ten mins late. Xx’
I replied: ‘No worries. Am on rooftop.’
I lay my phone on the table and sipped my Rioja, pleased at this new, more communicative Den. Ten minutes to gather my thoughts. That was good. My phone beeped again, the screen glowing in the half-light. An unknown number rather than a name popped up. The message was a photo that threw me until I realised it was of me modelling Liam’s leather bridle, my features and hair distorted with whatever editing software he’d used. The accompanying text said: ‘Your head looks great in a cage.’
I laughed. Was Liam drunkenly sexting me? As I’d suspected, the contraption seemed to be stirring something in his loins. I wondered if he’d be interested in making another one for us to use. I replied: ‘Easy tiger! Am at Sonny’s Bar. Got a hot date! Can’t reply much.’
Liam answered: ‘Slut.’
I laughed again and set down my phone, thinking how lucky I was to know Liam and share such an easy, friends-with-benefits set-up. If he met someone else and needed to change our arrangement, I’d miss him. But hopefully, if that happened, we’d be able to remain friends.
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