Thrill Seeker

by Kristina Lloyd

  Behind us, the green man beeped in the silence. So much for me pacing myself.

  ‘Well, just say if you want out,’ Den said calmly.

  I didn’t reply save for an exasperated huff. Damn, he was infuriating. I wished I could make a snap decision and have done with it. I did and I didn’t want out, but too many strands of my choice were contingent on what might happen with Baxter. Without Baxter, Den might still be worth another chance. I’d be prepared to put the effort in to see if we could make this work. With Baxter, I had no need of him; had no need to risk getting genuinely hurt or humiliated.

  We walked past a boarded-up amusement arcade and a lairy pub where music thumped. In a narrow side street was a parked police car with only one headlight working. Jeez, what kind of night was this?

  ‘I just want us to have a straightforward conversation about what we’re doing,’ I said. ‘We talked a lot in the beginning. Well, we emailed. But it’s different now. I think we’re due a reassessment. We need a clearer idea of limits. We should negotiate and agree on how we play. And you need to stay away from my friends and butt out of my life. It was kinda flattering to start with but now – ’

  Den cut me off, jostling me into the dark, scruffy doorway of a sweet shop. I squealed as he pushed me against the wall, leaning into me with his weight.

  ‘But you don’t like having a clear idea, do you?’ His voice was amused and confident. ‘That’s the buzz for you.’ He ground his crotch against my hip, his thigh lodged between my legs. ‘That’s how you get off.’ He tried to kiss me. I turned aside, staring at peeling paint on the shop’s pink door. I didn’t protest when he stuck his hand between my thighs and groped me through my jeans, his fingers hard and punishing.

  ‘The novelty’s wearing thin,’ I said but even as I spoke I was aware of my blood rushing faster, of tiny beats of need flickering in my groin.

  ‘Yeah?’ he said. ‘How thin?’ He reached under the hem of my fur jacket, his hand latching on to one breast. As if testing me, he fondled with a strong, measured touch. A small groan of desire left my lips. I cursed to myself, wishing I could retract the sound. I looked past Den, my gaze fixed on the side of the shop window with its protective grille and garish display of confectionary. I wanted to feel nothing, but all the while I let him touch me I was liking it.

  Den withdrew, giving me a cocky grin. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get comfy and sort you out.’

  I didn’t move. Den stood, smirking. ‘Oh, give it a rest, Natalie. It’s me! You don’t need to act reluctant and respectable. I know you want it so quit with the act. I’m not going to judge you for wanting to get fucked like a whore. We’re in this together. We’re the same, you and I. We understand each other. We understand the pull. You have to cherish connections like this. They don’t come along too often in life.’

  He held out his hand, a gallant gesture as if I were about to step off a boat.

  ‘I have one condition,’ I said.

  Den raised his brows in exaggerated curiosity. ‘Do tell.’

  ‘You promise to stay away from other people in my life. From Liam and anyone else. If I want to take another chance on you, that’s my choice. I’ll handle the fallout. But stay clear of my friends or we’re through.’

  ‘OK, deal,’ he said lightly. ‘I’ve finished with Lee anyway.’

  ‘Liam.’

  ‘And he got a few hundred quid from me so I doubt he’ll complain. Great harness he made. I had him initial it. N.I.L. Natalie India Lovell.’

  ‘How do you know my middle name?’

  Den grinned. ‘I’m an academic. Good at research. Do you like it? N.I.L. Nil, zero, nothing. And nil by mouth when you’re all trussed up in the bridle, your lips stretched wide, that cruel gag hooked inside your cheeks.’ He pressed my shoulders to the wall, catching lengths of hair in his fists so my scalp pinched when I moved my head. He continued to speak, punctuating his words with small, teasing kisses.

  ‘Nothing but cock and come. That’s your food. Ah, God, I’m getting hard just thinking about it. Your head crisscrossed in leather, you on your knees, gazing up at me, ready to serve.’

  He released my shoulders and forced his fingers into my mouth, two at either side. He stretched my lips wide, his fingers rough and dry. I pressed back against the wall, rocking my head to escape him and making awkward noises of complaint.

  He laughed and removed his fingers.

  I coughed and wiped my hand across my mouth. ‘What are you all about?’ I said. ‘Why do you have to make such a song and dance about everything?’

  He looked down at me, shadows falling across his slanting face. His eyelashes were so short. I’d never noticed that before. ‘Don’t you like song and dance?’ he said, chirpily sarcastic. ‘The theatrics of fucking?’

  Noises approached and I tensed. Three skimpily dressed young women tottered by, arms linked, laughing and yelling conversation at each other. They didn’t notice us. Right then, I hated Den, hated his gloating, arrogant coolness and inability to engage. ‘“One chance, one meeting,”’ I said. ‘What was that all about? What’s the grand plan?’

  His confidence slipped from his face, his smile emptying. ‘My paper?’ he said. ‘Are you seriously asking me about my research?’

  ‘The thing you said to me when … at The Hippodrome. At the end. You said, “One chance, one meeting.” What did you mean?’

  He shook his head, genuinely baffled. ‘I said that to you?’

  ‘Yes. And then you fucked off.’

  ‘I don’t remember. Does it bother you? I was probably working on my paper and the phrase was on my mind. Don’t read anything into it. Come on.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  He shrugged. ‘What were you expecting?’

  I shook my head, wishing it would clear. Even though I was learning more about him, he still made no sense.

  ‘Any more questions?’ he asked airily.

  I sighed, frustrated by his evasiveness.

  ‘Come on, let’s give the bridle a whirl.’ He held out a chivalrous hand again. ‘I’ve been itching to see how it looks on you. And now I’m gagging – ha, forgive the pun – I’m gagging to clasp your head and ram my cock into your throat. I want to see the tears pouring down your face. Want to see how much you’re prepared to suffer in order to satisfy me.’

  I was silent for a short moment. At my core, I was wet, red and pliant. I felt such shame for still wanting him, for allowing lust to make an idiot of me. My cunt drummed with need but my motivation surpassed mere arousal. Drawing me to him was the longing to submit and surrender, to abase myself before his cruel, mean dominance.

  So with mock-ladylike delicacy, I placed my fingertips in his outstretched hand. ‘You know how to twist a girl’s arm,’ I said.

  Nineteen

  I’d vowed never to go near The Hippodrome again after my encounter with the security guard. But when I’d made that decision, I hadn’t anticipated being invited back by Den and entering the building via legitimate, albeit slightly dodgy, means.

  I enjoyed picking my way along dilapidated, torch-lit corridors, believing this time that Den and I were on a more equal footing. I had a sense of what lay ahead: some kinky sex involving a gorgeous piece of bondage gear made according to Den’s specifications. I’d take that for now. Maybe afterwards we could talk, if the mood was right. Perhaps I could start by mentioning my need for him to offer aftercare as he had done the time I’d unmasked him.

  I told myself Liam wouldn’t mind us using the harness if I didn’t. Yes, Den had conned him into making the object to fit me but now the piece existed, a waste to reject it simply because the process of creation had been comprised by deception. Desire drove me as did a longing to fly away from the drama of Baxter’s reappearance. Too many thoughts clogged my mind, too many emotions swelled my heart. I craved escape.

  The prospect of dark, dangerous sex with Den had the irresistible lure of drugs and alcohol. For a couple of hours, I could forget everyt
hing. I could put on hold all the problems that needed fixing. I would be like those swan pedalos under their tarpaulin, taking some time out. I’d put aside questions and fears, indulging instead in sensations of the flesh and temporary obliteration as Den ran the show, making me do things I longed to do. Tomorrow I would think.

  Besides, tomorrow would be better. Whatever happened with Den tonight would help clarify my feelings for him.

  When we re-entered The Hippodrome’s auditorium, I caught my breath – the crepuscular ruins igniting vivid memories of the strange, sexy time we’d shared. The mere sight of the theatre was enough to send a send a slow, swollen pulse to my groin. As we walked forward, a small feather fluttered down from the glass chandelier. The concrete floor was bigger than I recalled, a brutal contrast to the chipped gilt curlicues, fallen velvet and sweep of balconies in crimson, gold and green.

  But the details were peripheral, my attention grabbed by the sight of a fire burning merrily within a ragged ring of red brick and masonry chunks. Its existence was so preposterous I laughed. Yellow-amber flames leaped and spat, shadows trembling on surrounding surfaces. Was that sensible? Then again, health and safety regs wouldn’t count for much here. The long-forgotten theatre was virtually outdoors, birds, buddleia and ivy encroaching on its interior; broken windows and rotten woodwork welcoming in the night’s crisp chill. I shivered with excitement, inhaling deeply. The place was so cold you could practically taste the starlight, and I swear, on my tongue the taste was of pewter and diamonds.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said.

  Den led me towards the fire. Heat rose from the flames, warping the air above and making the balcony shimmer like a mirage. Still there from last time, several yards from the fire, stood the cluster of furniture representing a surreal, kinky half-home. The pine dining table was pushed aside and the birthing stool gleamed darkly, its polished oak seat cupping the fire’s glow, the rings for hands and head shining like heavy halos. The mattress, now stripped of bed linen, looked thin and dank on its platform of pallets. I could hardly believe I’d once contemplated spending the night on that thing.

  ‘Told you we’d be warm,’ said Den. ‘A cosy night in together. What do you reckon?’

  The flames’ heat intensified as we neared, wood crackling in the fire’s belly, smoke pluming towards the cavernous domed ceiling. Once again, Den was ahead of me, his outlandish scenario surpassing all my expectations. But something wasn’t right. Stupid to leave a fire unattended. If Den were part of a community venture to restore the old building, he wouldn’t risk the theatre going up in flames while he lurked outdoors, tracking me, would he?

  ‘Are we alone?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied.

  ‘Properly alone? We’re not being watched or anything?’

  ‘No,’ he said ‘Just me and you.’

  I struggled to believe him, perhaps because those rows of empty velvet seats forever suggested an audience.

  ‘Are you going to tell me what to expect?’ I asked.

  ‘Where’s the fun in that?’ he said. ‘Just trust me. Here, let me take your coat. Will you be warm enough?’

  I handed him my jacket and bag, knowing I ought to take this opportunity to insist we discuss scenes beforehand. But I didn’t tackle the issue, reluctant to spoil the mood, and I thought instead I’d take one last chance on trusting him.

  Carefully, he laid my belongings on the pine table. The opportunity to try and wheedle more out of him while he was in this unusually solicitous mood was too good to pass by.

  ‘I liked Ty,’ I ventured. ‘Your academic colleague.’

  ‘Yeah, we’re a good team, me and Ty. Go back many years. He’s one of the few people in my professional life I’m out to.’

  I recalled the two men high-fiving each other above my body when I’d climaxed. ‘So do you do that kind of thing a lot?’ I asked. ‘The two of you and other women?’

  Den rested his buttocks on the table’s edge, head tipped towards one shoulder. He seemed momentarily absorbed in assessing me, his smile small and calculating. At my side, the fire was a bank of heat. I turned, toasting my hands in front of the flames. Far away stood the decaying stage framed by cracked, big-bottomed cherubs, its collapsed canopy at an angle, the fallen green curtains spreading across the boards like pond moss.

  ‘We’ve had our share, yes,’ said Den. ‘Ty’s my partner in crime at sex parties.’

  I rubbed my hands together, arms still outstretched. I was so innocent and square. ‘You go to sex parties?’

  Den smiled, crossing to me. Gently, he drew my body to his, clutching my buttocks as he ground his hips, his groin rocking against mine. ‘Sometimes, yes. You want to come to the next one?’

  Oh, he was inviting me to a sex party, as if we might have a future beyond tonight. I smiled up at him, uncertain. Firelight flickered across his face, throwing gold on the broad sweep of his pitted cheekbones and the temples of his stubble-dark head. His narrow eyes were shadowed, chips of blue winking from the depths like forbidden treasure.

  He had the keys to a world I knew nothing about. How might that fit with me and Baxter starting over? Could Baxter come along too? No, of course not. Did I even want to get back with Baxter. Stop it, Nats. Think about the tricky stuff tomorrow. Savour the moment for what it is.

  I cupped Den’s buttocks, mirroring his stance, the two of us swaying in a crotch-centric smooch. ‘What, like an orgy?’ I said. ‘Maybe. Although I’m not sure. I like the fantasy. In reality, I dunno. I think two men at once might be my limit.’

  Den chuckled. ‘But you liked two men?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, smiling, remembering. ‘Loved it. It was amazing. I loved it when Ty was fucking my mouth and you made me come.’

  Den nudged my hair from my neck, pushing the curls over my shoulder. ‘So you liked being forced to take a big, black cock in your mouth.’

  I frowned, thinking it was a peculiar thing to say. ‘I just liked the cock,’ I said. ‘Colour wasn’t relevant. But yeah, I’d be happy to have two men again. More than happy.’

  His erection pressed against me through the bulge of his fly. ‘That’s good to know. Very good.’

  I wondered if he were being kind to me to make amends for having behaved badly. Or did he think, after I’d expressed reservations, I needed to be won over with a conventional seduction? Well, not that conventional, admittedly.

  ‘I’m not ashamed of anything we’ve done,’ I said.

  ‘No?’ He feigned surprise. ‘Then I’ll have to try harder.’

  I grinned.

  ‘So.’ He slid his hands higher, caressing my back through my layers of clothes. ‘How might I do that? How might I shame you?’ One hand stole higher and he wound a fist in my hair. Slowly, he forced back my head, exposing my neck and making my spine arch. My pulse thumped and I clung to him, gazing up at the vast chandelier.

  ‘By stripping you naked and making you beg for my cock?’ he said. ‘By spreading you over that table and fucking your arse? Or would you like that too much? Maybe I need to whip and spank you till you’re red raw and screaming. An incoherent wreck who’s too broken to beg for mercy.’ He gave a little tug of my hair. I was motionless, suspended in his embrace, balanced on his forearm. ‘Would that shame you?’ he asked. ‘Or do I need to take you to a place you profess to dislike? Say, to a sex party or a gangbang?’

  I whimpered, my desire surging and shrinking at the prospect of being forced to do something I might hate and regret.

  Den laughed. ‘See? I reckon you’d enjoy it. Imagine the scenario. I take you to a party and invite all my friends to fuck you.’ He released my hair. With steady, unrushed fingers, he unfastened the top button of my jeans. He eased down the zip. In the silence, the fire crackled and popped. Slowly, he raised my top and ran his hand over my bared belly, edging higher to fondle my breasts. I was still bowed backwards in his arm, holding on to his neck, dissolving, my bones turning to nothing, my cunt expanding to hot, tender th
ickness.

  I wished I could resist him. He nudged my bra up, underwire and lace frothing above the swell of my naked, pink-tipped flesh. His cool, controlled hands cupped and massaged. My breasts were all sinew and sensation, shifting and rippling in response to his knowing fingers. Again and again, I moaned. My sounds seemed far off, as if they weren’t made by me at all.

  ‘Yeah, I think you’d like having a dozen or so men queuing up to fuck you.’ His voice was low and intimate, rough like gravel and old records. ‘And I’d stand guard, watching, making sure you treated them well and didn’t complain. Would that make you ashamed, Natalie?’ He thumbed circles around one nipple then squeezed its crinkled point, eyes fixed on my face. My throat made another noise that didn’t belong to me. I couldn’t look at him. I was bombed out on pleasure, drifting away with his words. ‘Would it, Natalie? All those strangers using you like a whore? Let’s see, shall we?’

  Whore. He pronounced the word so elegantly. With excruciating slowness, his fingers slid past my open jeans and into my knickers, down past my pubes. He found my wetness and I groaned heavily, unable to stop the sound. He glided through my folds and I was as wet as a hundred rivers. I closed my eyes. I was fleshless, juices pouring over him. I cried out again as his fingers slipped effortlessly inside me, plugging the damn.

  ‘I think that’s my answer,’ whispered Den. ‘You’re sodden.’ He stirred his fingers. My fluids clicked, a small, sloppy sound like a faint echo of the spitting fire. His thumb brushed my clit and moved across the bud, ticking left, right, left like a metronome. ‘All those men,’ he murmured, and though my eyes were closed and I was floating away, I knew he was scrutinising every flicker on my face.