by Janey Rosen
“Fuck.”
I think that’s a good reaction.
“You like, Sir?” My slickly glossed lips form an O and my tongue licks at my top lip provocatively.
“Oh, I like very much. Fuck, what have you done to yourself?” He prowls around the kitchen, drinking me in from every angle, his eyes narrowing darkly. His breathing is laboured and the bulge at his crotch signals his arousal.
“Dinner will be served in two minutes. Please take a seat.”
Sliding off the table as elegantly as my attire will afford, I indicate to a pew. He doesn’t take his eyes off mine as he ignores my request, instead he swaggers toward me hips thrust slightly forward, making the bulge appear even more pronounced. God I want him, right here and now but I’m going to make him wait. All part of my cunning plan. Turning my back on him deliberately, I sashay to the range, scoop on the oven glove and bend forward, legs apart and straight, and peer in at the duck.
“You shouldn’t have done that Elizabeth,” he growls sexily as he moves behind me.
I thrust my backside further as I reach in to the range to lift out the sizzling tray. He waits until I put the tray down on the hot plate before reaching between my thighs - his fingers pressing against the damp lace and I gasp at his touch.
“If you play with fire,” he whispers in my ear, “you are likely to get burnt.” His lips brush my ear sending a shiver down my spine. He reaches round me and, taking the oven glove, removes the food from the hot plate placing it on the marble worktop. I’m about to protest that the food will get cold and spoil, when he takes my hand and spins me around to face him. He looks so hot - all menacing testosterone, and I’m yearning for him with every fiber of my body.
“Come with me.” He leads me from the kitchen and I think we are going upstairs to bed, instead he marches me through his study. Oh crap – the cellar, which means only one thing – the chamber of pain! He’s pulling me so firmly by the hand that it’s difficult to navigate the winding stone steps and so I keep my free hand on the cold stone wall as we descend.
“Sebastian, slow down,” I pant, heels clicking on the worn steps but he maintains his pace and we’re soon approaching the first door to the inner chamber. He lifts the latch and pushes the rickety door open, pulling my hand sharply he pulls me in to the wine cellar. He kicks the door shut so that it nearly catches my hip and I quicken my pace. At the small oak door to the far end of the wine cellar, he turns the ancient key and, oh Lord, we are inside the Chamber of Pain. He takes a box of matches from the small mosaic table and lights the incense sticks and candle, casting a warm glow on the grey cobbled walls.
“What do you have in mind for me here, Sir?” My breath catches with anticipation. He’s circling me predatorily, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Kneel on the bed.” He points to the centre of the circular bed, I stay where I am, challenging and defiant. A smile plays across his lips as his eyes darken.
“Kneel. Now.” He points again. Again I defy him, he shakes his head slowly, sucking in his breath. Fuck, he looks really mean and I’m so turned on by the unspoken threat. Before I have time to see him coming toward me, he has my arm gripped behind my back and, forcing me to turn away from him, he pushes me down over the bed by pulling up on my wrist painfully. He delivers a hard stinging slap to my right buttock.
“Ouch, you pig,” I squeal.
“Pig?” A second slap whacks across my left buttock but I can’t move without causing pain to my arm. God damn him!
“Apologise,” he says coolly, politely.
“Sor-ry,” I hiss at him. This evidently isn’t said with sufficient remorse as a third slap whips across my right thigh.
“Ouch! That bloody well stings Sebastian.” I want more! It’s the most erotic experience because I know he wouldn’t truly hurt me – he loves me, he’ll take me so far and then know the limit to my punishment. I feel sure.
“Are you sorry, Elizabeth?” He asks. “Because the palm of my hand is eager to deliver another smack to your insolent backside.” He pulls me up and releases my arm, which I rub briskly to restore the circulation.
“Yes, Sir, I’m genuinely sorry,” I smile angelically and he laughs but his eyes don’t smile.
“Good. You’re learning that your defiance will be punished. Shoes off. On the bed.” His breath comes quick as he unbuttons his shirt, revealing his muscular chest covered with thick course black hair and I long to run my hands and tongue across it. He sees me eying him hungrily but clicks his fingers and points to my shoes. I slip them off and move obediently to the bed, resting back onto my heels.
“Excellent,” he purrs as he shrugs off his shirt, letting it fall to the stone floor. He moves to a wooden chest, which had been hidden by a large floor cushion and lifts the lid. Reaching in he pulls out a length of rope and turns to face me with it, pulling it taught between his fists. My eyes widen at the sight of Sebastian’s naked torso, jeans slung low on his hips revealing a hint of pubic hair, and the way he is gripping the rope … I’m trembling with desire and carnal lust.
“I need you – so badly,” a moan passes my lips as he places a foot up on to the bed and tugs my hair, forcing me to stand.
“I know you do, my little slut, but you have to be patient,” he admonishes, kissing me hard on my glossy lips. He pulls back and places his thumb on my mouth, wiping hard he smears the lip-gloss from my pouting lips before kissing me brutally again and I respond by forcing my tongue in to meet his. He breaks away and his jaw sets as he grabs my left wrist and then my right, slipping the rope around them both and knotting it tightly. He pulls the rope upward, lifting my arms above my head, looping then knotting it over the metal hook above the bed so that my arms are suspended from the low overhead wooden beam. My breasts rise up and break free from the restraint of the basque, nipples erect and throbbing for his touch.
“So beautiful,” he trails a finger down my throat, down between my breasts and onwards to the top of my panties. Slipping his finger beneath the lace, he finds my quivering clitoris – rubbing it so exquisitely that I cry his name, as my climax is merely a single stroke away. He stops abruptly, leaving me wanting.
“Fuck, you’re dripping for me.”
“Stop teasing me,” I whine.
Ignoring my plea, he turns his attention to my suspenders and with a flick of his fingers he frees my stockings. Returning to my panties once again, he grasps the delicate lace between his thumb and forefinger, slides them down to my ankles and I obligingly step from them. Parting my legs, I wait fervently to receive the oral pleasure I feel sure will follow but he shifts from the bed and returns to the wooden chest.
“What are you doing?” I can barely contain my frustration but he seems oblivious to my needs.
“Elizabeth,” he turns, and sees that I’m scrutinising him. “Please remember the rules – you do not look me in the eye. I’ll let it go on this occasion but next time, avert your eyes or you will be blindfolded in here. Understood?”
“Yes Sir,” lowering my eyes, I see that he’s holding a length of red fabric.
“What’s that for, Sir?”
Sebastian again climbs on to the bed, standing before me and the fabric is coming toward my face.
“This is a gag which I’m going to tie across your talkative little mouth and secure behind your head. Before I do, we need to agree a signal that you will give me if you want me to stop.”
“Stop?” I ask nervously. “What will you do to me?”
“Whatever I want to do. That’s the point Elizabeth. We will have a safe word, which you’ll use when not gagged but it’s only to be used if I exceed your pain or pleasure threshold. When I say that, I mean really exceeds it, I’m going to push some boundaries with you and I don’t expect you to cry wolf.”
“Oh,” my imagination is running wild.
“Simply say STOP. If you’re gagged, as you will be shortly, turn your head left to right twice indicating NO and I’ll stop.”
“But
…” he gags me before I can continue, the red silk trapped between my lips and knotted behind my left ear.
“Ah, that’s so much better,” he grins. “Now I’m going to feed that hungry pussy.” Retrieving something from the chest, which he conceals behind his back, he resumes his position on the bed. I look down to see what he has, but he looks up and I look away compliantly. Something cold and hard is pressing against my labia. My eyes widen at the shock of it.
“Open your legs wider,” I do as he bids, the object presses harder, deeper until it penetrates me and entirely fills my hot aching vagina and begins to vibrate deep in my core.
“Aagh …” I can’t speak or beg to climax, silenced as I am by the constraints of the silk.
“That’s good, isn’t it? That’s right, take it all, good girl.” His other hand grabs a handful of buttock, his fingers probing between the cleft – just one finger probes deeper, finding my most private place and I squeeze to block his intrusion but he forces the vibrator forward against my G-spot and, involuntarily my back arches.
“Aagh …” My futile protest serves only to encourage him and his finger penetrates my anus and withdraws, then pushes again while the vibrator continues its assault. I’m bucking and writing as the tremors of ecstasy, stronger than I have ever known, course up my spine and radiate to my limbs. I’m so completely filled, and the sensation so intense that I can’t bear it. The pulsing doesn’t stop, the waves growing stronger and I’m biting down on the gag, head thrown back and still he thrusts faster, deeper until I can’t take any more, one orgasm merging with the next until, abruptly, he stops. As he withdraws his finger and vibrator, the hypersensitivity is too much. Over-stimulated I pull against the rope, which bites into my wrists painfully causing me to struggle more.
“Stop. Let me take the rope off the hook,” Sebastian tugs at the rope until it slips from the hook and I crumble, exhausted, at his feet. My arms are leaden and my wrists sore and I wait for him to untie me – he doesn’t.
“On your knees,” he growls. I am spent and can’t cope with any more stimulation but if I turn my head – left to right – I’m conceding defeat, weak and pathetic. Falling at the first hurdle. I do as he says and move to my knees - bent forward onto my elbows, my ass rising to receive more from him, reluctant and tingling. I hear his zipper and the sound of his moan as he releases his erection, and my quivering pussy responds once more. The head of his cock slides easily inside my wetness and I push my hips back to meet his thrusts, which are brutal and hurried. He takes a fistful of my long hair and tugs hard, raising my head, as he pounds into me quickening his pace, his breathing laboured.
“Fuck. You. Are. My. Whore.” He climaxes with a cry as he stills and pulses inside me. When his frenzy abates, he pulls me back into his lap and kisses my hair, removing the gag and rope. He holds me and nuzzles the back of my neck.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, “always mine.” Yes I am yours, but what are you doing to me?
19
Whoever is knocking on the front door is impatient. The grandfather clock in the hall has just chimed nine, too early in the morning for visitors.
“I’m coming,” I call, irritated that Scarlett hasn’t yet risen. Again the lion’s head knocks heavily on the iron mount.
“Alright. Wait.” Throwing the door wide, I nearly expire with shock, for Ruth is standing on the step clutching an overnight bag.
“What the hell?” I gasp as my dear friend folds me into a tight embrace.
“Surprise!” She squeals.
“Oh my God. What are you doing here?” When the shock abates I’m thrilled to see Ruth and pull her by the arm, into the house.
“I miss you Beth and I’ve been so worried about you, what with the accident and then radio silence – I thought I’d surprise you. I left at dawn, and here I am.”
I usher her through to the kitchen and place the kettle on the range.
“Wow,” she whistles, “what a pad. He really is rich this tall dark stranger of yours.” Her eyes take in the ancient kitchen with copper pans and the view of the stables from the stone mullion window.
“It’s not a bad old shack, bit droughty but it does me ok,” I tease.
“Where is he then?” Ruth places a cushion under her behind before settling down on the pew.
“Sebastian’s riding. He likes to ride most mornings unless he has an estate meeting, and since he fired the stable hand he has to saddle his own horse.” I hand Ruth a mug of coffee and take a seat opposite her.
“Why’d he fire him?”
“Because he blamed Paul for letting me ride on Zariya, the mare who threw me. It wasn’t his fault – it was Scarlett who suggested I ride that particular horse, but once Sebastian gets an idea in his head there’s no reasoning with him.” I sip my coffee contemplatively.
“He’s a prick,” she scoffs.
“Ruth!”
“Sorry Beth but you’ve hardly been in touch since you came here and that’s not like you so I presume his Lordship has you under his thumb.” She glances at me over the rim of her mug and receives a scowl in response.
“Sebastian’s been very good to Bella and I,” I rebuke.
“Did I hear my name?” Bella bounds in to the kitchen, her face lit up at the sight of her Godmother. “Ruth! OMG when did you get here?” She plants a kiss on Ruth’s cheek - she responds with a pinch to Bella’s.
“Cutie Pie! Whoa, when did you grow up so much?” Ruth admires Bella who is dressed in tight black leggings, high brown rattan mules and a leopard print dress. She twirls gracefully and Ruth wolf whistles approvingly.
“Do you like my new clothes? Scarlett chose them with me. You should see the dress Sebastian bought me for the ball,” says Bella excitedly.
“Ball?” Ruth cocks her eyebrow and waits for me to explain.
“You’re invited, Ruth. Sebastian is throwing a masked ball for my fortieth birthday. Not my scene but he insists. Please say you’ll come.”
“Try and stop me. What date?”
“June 23rd, my actual birthday.” She takes a diary from her handbag and scribbles in the date. “I’ll show you my gown, Ruth. It’s amazing but very daring so don’t be shocked.”
“Love, there’s nothing you can do to shock me these days,” she laughs.
“Come on, let’s go and find a room for you. You can take your pick – there are eleven spare rooms!” She’s clearly impressed.
“Shit Beth, I’ll have to stay eleven nights and try them all.”
Skipping from room to room, we giggle like children and after Ruth has viewed all eleven bedrooms she chooses the smallest. Located to the rear of the house, it has a spectacular vista.
“It’s fabulous Beth, I love it. Just look at that view, I can see the sea.” She presses her nose to the glass and marvels at the distant swell.
“Come on, I want to show you our room.” I tug her hand and lead her down the passage and in to our bedroom - she whistles once more when she sees the opulence.
“You like?” I grin.
“I like!” She nods vigorously as I carefully retrieve my crimson gown from the armoire. Holding the gown against my curves, I sway so that the heavy taffeta rustles and Ruth’s eyes grow wide as she looks me up and down.
“Wow,” she sighs, “it’s gorgeous. Very slutty, but bloody gorgeous.” She runs the back of her hand across the crisp fabric with a look of awe. “You lucky cow. I’d love a dress like that but I don’t think such a dress would love me.”
“Try it on, Ruth.” She shakes her head but I’m insistent so she complies. Slipping out of her jeans and sweater, she steps gingerly into the pool of taffeta. I help her to pull up the gown but she is a size larger than me and it’s a struggle.
“It’s too tight,” she protests as I tug at the laces behind her.
“Hold still, stop wriggling.” The dress is on – admittedly Ruth is barely able to breath.
“Look in the mirror,” I indicate to the full-length mirror and
admire my friend from the bathroom doorway. Neither of us is aware that Sebastian has entered the bedroom.
“What the fuck?” He growls. We both spin to face him in unison, equally stunned by his interruption.
“Sebastian, hi.” Ruth shuffles to him, kissing his right cheek then his left, her ample cleavage straining against taffeta and threatening to entirely spill forth. He eyes her assets unashamedly, before indicating with his finger that she should spin for him. She obliges and he smiles appreciatively.
“Don’t mind me, you two,” I snap, jealous of the attention he is affording my friend’s curves.
“Darling, you didn’t tell me Ruth was coming,” he says, remembering I exist.
“I didn’t know. She wanted to surprise me.”
“Sorry, Sebastian. I hope it’s not too inconvenient my turning up like this. I wanted to see Beth. It’s been too long. I’m sorry I’m wearing her dress, I’ll take it off.” She reaches behind her back in search of the laces.
“Sebastian, why don’t you go and put the kettle on, I’m sure Ruth would like another coffee. Let her get changed in private.” He can gauge from my voice that I’m not to be messed with and slinks off, taking his sordid smirk with him. I slam the door shut nearly catching his heel as he exits.
“Hey, careful!” He shouts.
“Hey, careful yourself!” I retort.
“I HEARD THAT,” he bellows and I feel sure he’ll make me sorry later.
When Ruth is dressed we go together to the kitchen where Scarlett is making a pot of coffee, she turns as we enter and eyes Ruth suspiciously.
“Scarlett, this is my dearest friend and business partner, Ruth Evershot. Ruth, this is Scarlett – Sebastian’s house keeper.” The two women size each other up before Ruth breaks the frosty silence.
“Scarlett. Lovely to meet you,” she proffers a perfectly manicured hand to Scarlett who shakes it weakly.
