Beauty and Pain

by Harlem Dae

  He stopped walking and turned to me, clearly having the same idea. “Will these do?” Lifting one hand, he gestured to the seats in turn.

  I nodded, taking the one on the right. He sat, smiled at a young man beside him, who had earbuds in and bobbed his head to music I could faintly hear, then diverted his attention to me.

  “It’s hardly going to afford us much privacy, but needs must,” he said. “The person sitting beside you has earphones in too.”

  I planted my elbow on the armrest then leaned across a bit, toward him. “I’ll take your word for it. And I suppose we could talk in code.”

  A man bustled past, his bulging bag just missing my face, catching his foot in the dangling front side of my coat and almost toppling over. He chuckled self-consciously, muttered a quick sorry, then went on his way.

  He’d done me a favor. My legs were exposed again.

  “So, what do I call you?” I asked. “Are our identities to remain secret, or shall we be honest?”

  He smiled and lifted one hand to rest a finger beneath his chin. “Honesty has served us well so far, don’t you think?”

  It had, and I smiled to show I agreed. “So your name is?”

  “Gabriel. And yours is?”

  “Isabella.”

  “Very nice. Has a sexy ring to it.”

  I hadn’t thought of my name as being sexy, but if he thought so, I’d take that. I’d take anything he cared to give me—particularly if it had the kind of bent I was after. But not everyone was into what I was. I’d have to do some gentle probing to see if he was.

  I laughed. “Oh, I don’t know, there are far more sexy things than the name Isabella.”

  “Like what? Tell me.”

  “I could, but you may not want to speak to me again. What I find sexy might not be your cup of tea.”

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  The train interrupted us again, beginning its slow glide out of the station. At this point I usually stared through the window and watched as the bridge above the train seemed to be peeled away, like a large, unseen hand was lifting it from a model railway to relocate it elsewhere. Then the daylight appeared, the sky spotted with gray-bellied clouds and a few crows coasting the airwaves. A metal stairway to the right on the opposite platform, the top of which reached a glass-enclosed bridge that joined one side to the other, came next. After that, nearly naked trees, abundant evergreen bushes, then some outskirt houses gave way to countryside.

  But this morning I didn’t see any of that. All I saw was Gabriel smiling at me, the sparkle of anticipation in his eyes. It was as though he was testing me, pushing to see if I had the courage to tell him what I thought was sexy. He had confidence, quite a bit of it from what I could gather, although it didn’t come across as arrogance. At a guess I’d say he knew what he wanted but with me he’d bided his time, made sure I was interested. A bit like I’d been with him. And he’d already said he didn’t usually touch someone he didn’t know.

  So why had I been different?

  I repeated what he’d said. “There’s only one way to find out, yes.”

  I glanced at the woman beside me then the man beside him. Both were busy looking out of the window, the woman’s tinny music just about audible over the hum of the train.

  Safe that I wouldn’t be overheard by those sitting in front and behind us, I said quietly, “What do you think of whips?”

  He sat up straighter, my question obviously startling him, and moved the finger beneath his chin up to partially cover his mouth. He appeared to be thinking, furrowing his brow and looking down at the aisle floor.

  “It depends. In what context?” he asked.

  “To use while having sex,” I said quietly but firmly.

  “I see.” He looked back up then slid his eyes from side to side before resting his gaze on me. “I enjoy them.”

  Now I was surprised. I hadn’t taken him for the sort who liked a bit of kink, even though I’d hoped he was. “And floggers? Same answer?”

  He nodded. “Yes, although I prefer the cat.”

  So he knew exactly what he was talking about, then. This was better than I’d ever dared hope.

  “It’s my favorite too.” I leaned across a bit more and whispered, “So many strands hitting all at once. It’s like a large, hot hand with a million fingers.”

  He smiled again, his eyes glazing as if he were remembering a time when he’d felt the lash or had administered it. He shook his head slightly then refocused on me. “Had we managed to find a place on here to…get to know one another better, there wouldn’t be enough room to use any of those things.”

  A bubble of excitement popped inside me that he’d been thinking along the same lines as me—fucking on a speeding train. “No. Shame, that.”

  “It is. I doubt there’s anywhere on here where we could be alone at all.”

  “Hmm.”

  I cast my mind back to when I’d been late for work a few weeks ago. I’d forgone breakfast and nipped to the buffet carriage to grab a muesli bar and a drink. Whilst paying I’d noticed there was a storeroom, tagged onto the back of the carriage, with its door wide open for anyone to just wander into and, so I’d thought, help themselves to any number of sugary snacks.

  “The toilet is far too small,” I said. “But there is one option.”

  “Go on.” A spark of interest lit his dark eyes and his brow creased.

  “No, come on. This way.” I stood. “I’ll show you.”

  My coat swept behind me as I made my way down the aisle and gripped the odd headrest for balance. I didn’t bother to turn and check whether Gabriel was following me. I knew damn well he would be.

  My strides were so long, so doggedly determined, that my stocking tops were on show with each step, my skirt having ridden up and the flap of my coat flicking at my knees.

  A couple of old codgers and a prim-looking woman stared, but only for the seconds it took me to reach the automatic door to the next carriage.

  It slid open with a swoosh, and I could tell by the amount of time it took to close again that he was right behind me. I would have loved to sneak a glance at his face, see if he held his chin high and his lips tight. Were arousal, excitement and anticipation written plainly on his handsome features, or did he simply look like he was following a stranger on his way to grab a cup of tea and a bacon butty?

  The buffet carriage was empty of customers, as was usually the case at this point of the route. The train had journeyed from much farther west and it was the early commuters who purchased their first meal of the day onboard—not so much us, with only half an hour to go into central London.

  A member of staff had his back to us, refilling a coffee machine with water, and I went onto my toes slightly so that my heels didn’t tap and alert him to my presence. Though it wouldn’t have mattered, the ever-present clack-clack, clack-clack of the rails provided an appreciated cover noise.

  I spotted the same door I’d seen previously.

  Damn, it was shut.

  I could only send a quick prayer heavenwards that it wasn’t locked. That would really scupper my plans if it was.

  The member of staff was out of view now, hidden by a thin wall that gave him privacy to sit down, wash dishes, prepare sandwiches—I didn’t know and it wasn’t any of my concern.

  I reached the handle and turned to Gabriel. He was close behind me. There was a little color on his cheeks. He tugged at his bottom lip, not the center, but to the right a bit, and as he did so he appeared to hold in a naughty smile, like a kid about to fire a catapult or cherry knock a neighbor’s front door.

  I pushed down the handle, heart hammering, pussy clenching.

  Was I really doing this?

  Fuck, yes, I was. The door was unlocked.

  I slipped in. My stranger followed.

  He shut the door quickly behind us. I heard the click of a lock.

  “How very convenient,” he said. “A private, secure place for you to tell me a little
more about your penchant for pain.”

  Just tell, not show? My stomach dropped a little. I’d been hoping for so much more than talk.

  “Turn around,” he said, gently facing me away from him by maneuvering my shoulders.

  I glanced at the small space. It wasn’t much bigger than if we had resorted to one of the toilets. But it smelled a whole lot better—chocolate, sugar and the lingering scent of coffee. There were two high windows letting in the watery autumn light, which filtered over the shelving units and a flat space covered in what appeared to be stock charts and Health and Safety notices.

  Gabriel’s body heat left me. The sense of loss was acute, but then I saw him hang his suit jacket up and hook it onto a peg holding several catering aprons.

  “Here,” he said, touching my collar. “Let me. I have a feeling it’s going to get hot in here.”

  Chapter Three

  Oh, please, Lord, if it was going to get hot in here, let it boil!

  He whispered his fingers around my neck, sending a shower of delicious sensations scattering over my scalp and along my spine. He tugged at my coat, pulling it gently off my shoulders then down my arms.

  He hung it next to his.

  “Isabella,” he said against my ear, his hands once again on my shoulders and his fingers stroking the ends of my hair. “We need to establish one thing, right here, right now.”

  I nodded.

  We did.

  “Tell me,” he said, “are you a giver or receiver?” He pressed his lips harder over my ear, his warm breath soaking into my skin, seeping to my breasts and making my nipples tighten.

  Fuck, if just his breath can do that…

  “You have no idea,” he said softly, “how badly I want you to be the opposite to what I am. No fucking idea at all.” He sounded in pain, like his want was almost too much to bear.

  I pressed my arse backwards and the top rise brushed his groin. A seriously solid wedge of flesh drove into me.

  “Oh, I think I have a fair idea,” I said, thrilled at the thought of having given him an erection so soon into our encounter—and a damn fine hard-on at that.

  He let out a soft moan and seemed to push into me just a little. “Answer the question, Isabella. Now.”

  “I’m a…”

  “Spit it out.”

  “No, I’m a swallower.”

  He kind of growled, snapped his arms around my waist and chest, then dragged me into his body. My back hit his chest and my arse got full-on connection with his cock through his trousers.

  “You are only making it worse for yourself,” he snarled.

  “Or better.”

  He stilled.

  So did I.

  Now we both knew my answer. I was a receiver. There were no two ways about it. I loved pain with my pleasure—the deep muscle sort of ache and the sharp sting. It all pressed my buttons. It all got me off.

  “Isabella,” he whispered, nuzzling into my neck. “I just knew we were compatible. That you were a masochist, a sub—”

  “I’m no one’s sub.” I curled my fingers over his forearms, wished we were naked and not in office clothes. “I just enjoy a good whipping—or a thrashing—as I come.”

  He chucked, his rising and falling chest shifting me in his arms. “Okay, if that’s how you want to play, that’s cool with me.”

  “Play? Like you said, no room for anything in here, and I don’t think banging a bar of Cadbury’s on my arse is going to cut it for me.”

  “I was a Boy Scout, you know.” Suddenly he turned me within his arms and stooped so our noses were touching.

  “Pardon?” I pressed my palms against his crisp white shirt.

  “A Boy Scout. Do you know what their motto is?”

  “Er, dib, dab, dob?” I gave a mock salute.

  He tutted. “No, it’s ‘Always be prepared’.”

  As he’d spoken the last word he’d caught my mouth with his and set up a delicious dance with his tongue as he searched for mine.

  I clung to him, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of being desired, owned, swamped by a big, strong man.

  Gabriel knew how to fire up a woman’s engines and within minutes I was panting. He had inquisitive fingers, too, exploring beneath my thin blouse, up to my breasts then brushing my nipples through my bra.

  “Please,” I said, pulling back. “I want…”

  What did I want? A quick, no-strings vanilla fuck with a stranger? An arrangement to meet some other time with a bag of toys to play with? Or perhaps just this, a swift kiss and a grope, then return to our seats and hope no one noticed our flushed faces?

  “I know exactly what you want,” he said. “If you can bring yourself to trust me, just for a few minutes.”

  Suddenly the light went. His face disappeared even though he was inches from me. The clack-clack, clack-clack seemed to intensify.

  We were in a tunnel.

  As quickly as it had gone dark in our tiny world, the light shot back in.

  I was still gripping him.

  Yes, I did trust him. For some reason I did. Oh, I wasn’t about to let him tie me up and gag me, but in here, a bit of fun? Yes.

  “What do you have in mind?” I asked.

  He unwound himself from me then reached for his jacket. “This,” he said, “requires very little room and is the perfect portable plaything.”

  From the inside lining, by the breast pocket, he pulled out a long, thin piece of what appeared to be metal, just over ten inches I would guess. It had a neat black handle on one end and reminded me of a super-thin knitting needle.

  I folded my arms. It looked pretty innocent and my brief bubble of excitement at the mention of a plaything popped. How could that give any kind of deep stimulation?

  He held it up, and with a cocky twist of his mouth showed me just how bendy it was—it could almost flex to ninety degrees.

  “Unbreakable,” he said. “And easy to carry around in the lining of a jacket.”

  “What is it?” I asked, feeling considerably more intrigued now that I’d seen its supple qualities.

  “It’s a misery stick, although I think that gives the little blighter a bad reputation, because actually it can give immense pleasure.”

  Misery stick? Okay, add nervous onto intrigue. Toys in our world didn’t get names like that for nothing.

  “You really haven’t seen one before?” he asked, licking his lips and letting his gaze drop down my body.

  I felt like he was undressing me with his eyes and already flicking that stick all over my lily-white flesh, streaking me with the red lines it would no doubt leave—if indeed that was what he planned on doing with it.

  “Yes, it does mark. Quite heavily if a Dom isn’t careful.”

  It was as though he’d read my thoughts.

  “So what do you say, Isabella?”

  I swallowed. My panties were getting damp. The need for an orgasm, an orgasm and pain, was like a sudden need to breathe when swimming under water. It was becoming the only thing I could focus on.

  “I say yes,” I said, quickly unzipping my skirt at the side and letting it fall to the floor.

  “Excellent decision,” he said, flaring his nostrils slightly and gritting his teeth. “Excellent decision and excellent choice of flesh for me to play with too.”

  “Just play with?”

  “Our type of play.” He narrowed his eyes. “This will hurt, you know?”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “It will become your worst enemy and then your best friend.”

  I shoved at my knickers, unbashful about the dot of cream on the gusset and my damp pubic curls. “I’m all about extremes,” I said, kicking them aside.

  He shoved his hand down his suit trousers, seeming to adjust himself. “Jesus Christ, you’re really hot, you know.”

  “Wanna feel?” I parted my legs, set my hands on my hips.

  He stepped up to me, eyes flashing. “Face the wall.”

  I did as he’d asked, flattening my pal
ms over a list of chocolate bars stocked and a notice about Christmas holidays.

  “Ah, fuck.”

  I jerked as he went straight for gold, delving his fingers between my cunt lips and slipping right up inside me.

  “So damn wet. You really are a pain whore, aren’t you? Just the thought of it has nearly got you coming.”

  “Yes, yes, I want it, but please. I want to come, too. At the same time as getting the pain. It’s what I need.”

  “Oh, I have got myself a greedy girl, haven’t I?” He hooked his fingers forward, stroked over the needy pressure point on the front wall of my pussy.

  “Ah, yeah, oh, that’s it, work me up a bit.”

  He bit my ear—quite hard.

  I gasped and tried to shift my head away but couldn’t move anywhere.

  “You are a terrible submissive. Stop ordering me about.”

  “I told you, I’m not a sub.” I paused, shunted my hips backwards so that I took more of his long, strong fingers. “I just like pain. It gets right to my core, makes me feel real.”

  “But perhaps I want a sub to dish out pain to.”

  “Do you?” Why was he complicating things? It was just getting good.

  “Yes. When I’m in a scene I insist on being called Sir. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, anything… Sir.” Sure I could do that. What did a word mean, after all?

  He kissed the sore spot on my ear. “If you hate anything I do, say London, okay, and it will stop, instantly.”

  “London. Yes. Okay.”

  He worked me a little more. I could hear the juicy noises of my arousal over the sound of the train. I groaned too, wanting to reach that point where pain would mix so sweetly with the precipice of bliss. I could dance there for hours if I was with the right kind of sadist. One who knew exactly how to play my instrument, sing to my tune.

  It had been so long.

  “I think you’re ready,” he said. “Ready for the gift that keeps on giving.”

  He withdrew.

  I moaned a complaint. Shut my eyes and waited for the hit.