by Jade West
“Say, Lyds. I’m off down the Dev tonight, if you fancied coming. It’s cool there, they even pour pentagrams on your Guinness.”
“Pentagrams on your Guinness? Doesn’t sound like I’d fit in too well.”
“You’d be fine.”
I pondered in the doorway, my bedroom cold and still and empty without that bloody project file to keep me occupied. “What would I wear?”
“Little black dress, I’m sure you’ve got one.”
I weighed it up, back and forth in my mind, empty room or goth pub, empty room or goth pub. “I could come for a bit.”
The smile on her face told me she hadn’t expected it. Was I really that dull? Maybe I was.
Time to put dull, boring Lydia in the bin where she belonged.
***
Bex had a nudity habit: the constant desire to wander around with little to no clothes on without even the slightest hint of self-consciousness. I’d grown surprisingly used to it, and didn’t even flinch when she appeared stark naked and dripping wet, holding up two almost identical looking dresses for my opinion. Her tattoos stopped at her shoulders, leaving her pale skin untouched and unblemished to the belly button, where a Celtic pattern swirled down to her pubic hair, if she’d had any. She didn’t. I pointed to the dress on the left, a black PVC number with spikes all down the front.
“You sure?” she said. “Spikes not buckles?”
“Spikes. Definitely. You wore buckles last week.”
“Well remembered.” She looked me up and down, then scowled at my feet. “Lovely dress, wrecked by the footwear. What size are you?”
I looked at my cute little heels, wondering how they could possibly be so offensive. “Seven.” She threw me over a pair of obscenely tall knee-highs. “Really?! I’ll fall.”
“I’ll hold you up. Trust me, you’ll look hot.”
“You going to try and set me up with some sexy, goth stud?” I laughed.
“If you want.”
I sighed, bending down to zip up the new boots. “I’m not sure quite what I want.”
“You want sex. A filthy fuck is a tonic for almost anything, I find.”
“I wouldn’t know. Things went a little stale with Stu after a few years.”
“Then you definitely want sex.” She shimmied into her dress, pulling it up tight. Her cleavage looked amazing, like some kind of porn star rack. She layered on her make-up and laced up her boots, then checked and re-checked herself in the mirror from every angle. The doorbell rang, a noise I’d never actually heard. “That’ll be Cara.”
“Your girlfriend?”
“My sub. She’s heard all about you. I’ll leave her waiting awhile, she knows the drill.”
“Your sub?”
“Submissive. She’s kind of like a girlfriend without the girlfriend bit. Sex, basically. She likes me to hurt her.”
My mouth turned dry, images of her bedroom flashing before my eyes. “Hurt her, like spank her?”
“Spank her, whip her, paddle her... make her cry then kiss it all better again,” she laughed. “Never tried it?”
I shook my head. “Stuart wasn’t really that way inclined.”
“And what about you?”
“The avenue never really presented itself.”
“Shame.” She waited a few more seconds, fastened up a studded collar. “Oh, by the way, Cara calls me Raven. Most people do.”
“Raven... right.” I assigned it to memory.
“You can be Cat. You have cat’s eyes.”
“Can’t I just use my own name?” I said. “Is it some kind of special code or something? Is Cara’s name really Cara?”
“No, it’s Penelope, but don’t tell her I told you. You’ll soon get into the name thing. Cat suits you anyway.”
My stomach lurched as I recalled where I’d heard that before.
***
Cara was pretty little creature, with gorgeous dark hair and chocolate brown eyes. She stood waiting in the doorway, knees tight together and head slightly bowed. She had stockings on under her black dress, high enough to see the lace tops. Her skin was goose-pimpled from the cold, arms wrapped tight together under her bolero.
“Cara, you can look up now. This is Cat. Cat, this is Cara.”
“Pleased to meet you, Cat.” Cara pulled me in for a hug, delicate and light, as she was herself. I smiled at her, trying to think about anything other than her naked ass getting a spanking. I joined them on their way down the street. Rebecca took hold of Cara’s hand, a possessive gesture with rough twisting fingers. I couldn’t take my eyes off the way they moved together, Cara drifting along so meekly at her side.
The Devonshire Arms was a teeming sea of black. We eased our way to the bar, and while Rebecca whispered not-so-sweet somethings in Cara’s ear I stared up at the mosaic of band posters on the ceiling, a mass of colour at odds with the rest of the place. I laughed at the idea of Steph and Stuart finding me in here. Straight-laced Lydia, workaholic, hanging out in a goth bar with two fetish-loving bi girls.
“What’s so funny?” Rebecca asked, leaning in close over the music.
“I can’t even imagine Stu’s face if he saw me now.”
“Would you swap? Old life for new?” she asked, fluttering long fake lashes at me.
I pictured myself back in my old apartment, curled up on the sofa in front of the TV, psyching myself up for the weekly, lights-off sex session.
“You know what?” I said. “I’m not so sure I would.”
***
I relaxed into the ambience of the pounding tunes and the theatrics. Hair and make-up I’d never seen before, Mohicans and back-combing, and crimping and undercuts. Piercings and extensions and white, white faces. Rebecca disappeared to the bar to catch up with friends and Cara sidled a little closer, pulling me to her by my elbow.
“What do you think?”
I nodded. “It’s pretty cool.”
“We love it here,” she smiled. “Are you a sub, too?”
I felt the first blooms of a flush. “No... well... I don’t know...”
“Never tried?”
“My ex wouldn’t have been up for it...”
“You got stuck with vanilla, hey? SUCKS!”
I turned to her, wine-confident and curious. “How long have you been into this stuff?”
“About six months serious. I met Raven in here, and she took me to Explicit. She introduced me to the scene.”
“Explicit?”
“Our scene club in Soho. We go every week.” Her eyes shone full of enthusiasm, and mischief. “You should come! You HAVE to! You can see for yourself!”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I laughed. “What is it? Some kind of sex club?”
“A BDSM club, and yeah, people have sex, you know, but it’s not creepy or anything, I promise, nobody’s going to hit on you if you don’t want it. Come on! Say you’ll come!”
I remained non-committal. “Why do you do it? The pain thing I mean.”
“Endorphins... adrenaline... fear... trust... the pleasure in letting go... submitting totally to another person. There’s nothing else in the world... just you... and them. It’s hard to explain. The right dom will know you better than you know yourself, like a God, playing you right on the edge, in the beautiful part of pain. There’s this rush, when it hurts, and then a peace. It’s so beautiful.” Her eyes glazed over as she spoke, disappearing into another world. “Sorry, I’m probably making no sense. You’d have to try it to understand.”
It made more sense than I’d like it to. Spidery itches and razorblade kisses. I took another swig of wine. “So Raven’s your dominant?”
“She’s my mistress, yeah. There are a few others in Explicit I play with, but I belong to her.”
Rebecca appeared behind Cara, wrapping her in possessive arms, and I watched transfixed as Cara turned to her, opening her mouth to welcome Rebecca’s tongue. Their kiss was deep and wet, the dominant woman yanking Cara’s hair until she melted to her touch, her back arching as Rebecc
a claimed more and more of her.
“Good girl, Cara,” Rebecca purred. “I’ll think you’ll get the paddle this evening, make your pretty little ass all pink for me.”
“Thank you, Mistress,” Cara smiled. “I was just telling Cat about Explicit. She should come.”
“I’m not sure Explicit is Cat’s scene,” Rebecca said. I caught the reluctance in her eyes.
“She won’t know if she doesn’t try.”
“Enough now, Cara. Know your manners.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
It seemed the conversation was officially over. My regret at that fact surprised me.
***
I lay in bed, as wide awake as I could ever be. I’d made my excuses, vanishing out of sight while my housemate mauled her girlfriend just feet away. She’d pinned her the minute we landed through the door, forcing Cara over the kitchen worktops and hitching her dress up all the way to the waist. I’d seen a lot more than I probably should have, but neither seemed to give a shit, oblivious to my presence as Cara bucked against Rebecca’s advances, yelping little whines as slaps landed hard in tender places.
Noises cut loud through the closed bedroom door. Still. Quiet. Lower, Cara, bend fucking lower. Hold out your tits, Cara, nice and still. Those nipples need pain, baby, they need so much pain. I tried not to listen, tried not to wonder what the hell was really happening in there, tried to think about anything but violent sex and how it would feel to be in Cara’s shoes. I told myself I wouldn’t like it, that Lydia Marsh is no submissive, she’s too goddamn rigid for all that shit. I told myself I’d be too reserved, too self-conscious, too uptight. I told myself I didn’t want to try it at all, but it was a lie. It had to be a lie, because I was burning up in my bed, clammy with nerves and adrenaline, and although I didn’t want to face it, I was horny as hell.
Spread it for me, Cara, show me your tasty little slit. Yeah, sweet girl, that’s it, look how swollen you are. I’m gonna make you feel so good.
I kicked the covers away and stared at the ceiling. It didn’t work. Nothing I did felt comfortable, not until I gave in to the urge and let my fingers wander between my thighs. I was wet, sodden through my knickers. I pulled the fabric aside enough to reach my clit and it felt so goddamn tender it took my breath away. I played quickly, desperate to orgasm, strumming my fingers as fast as I could just to lurch myself over the edge. I came harder than I had in years, jerking and wheezing out expletive streams of pent-up frustration. It felt raw, it felt right. It felt crazy fucking good.
I came down slowly, orgasm-high and floaty, ragged breath loud in the silence.
The silence.
Shit.
It was quiet enough to hear the footsteps outside my door.
***
Lydia
Cara had gone in the morning. I wrapped my satin robe tight around my waist and met Rebecca in the kitchen. She made me a coffee without prompting.
“Crazy night, huh?”
I smiled. “A little crazier than I’m used to.”
“It gets a whole lot crazier than that.”
She was already dressed for work, skinny black jeans and a tight red t-shirt. Queen Bitch, it said. She sure was.
“Cara didn’t stay?”
She shook her head. “We rarely do the whole cuddle-through-the-night thing.”
“I hope I didn’t piss on your parade. You know, by being here.”
“You can piss on my parade any day, baby. Just say the word.” She cackled her trademark cackle.
“She seems nice.”
“She’s sweet... cute... uber-fuckable. Low tolerance though, life’s a bitch.”
“Low tolerance?”
“Can’t take much of a beating. More a slap and tickle, it’s nice, but sometimes a girl needs a little more from her sub.”
I grinned at her. “Sounded more than a slap and tickle to me.”
She put down her coffee, stared me out straight. “So, what did it sound like?”
I looked away, caught out. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. It just carried, you know¸ through the wall.”
“And how did it sound... through the wall?”
“It sounded pretty rough.”
She stepped closer, and instinctively I shuffled back, bracing myself against the worktop. “The bed squeaks, by the way, in your room.”
I’m sure I flushed crimson. “I.. um...”
She closed the gap, pushing against me to pin me to the counter. “We were right here, Cara arched back right where you are now while I sucked her little clit sore. Did you hear her cum?”
“No...” I mumbled, eyes anywhere but on Rebecca.
“Shame,” she breathed. “I heard you.” Long fingers on my thigh, teasing at the hem of my robe. I could hardly breathe. “What were you thinking about?”
“I wasn’t... I don’t know...” I said.
Her fingers burned my skin. “Do you wonder what it feels like?” She smiled, mischievous.
“Maybe,” I admitted, daring to laugh a bit. “Shit, sorry, how embarrassing. I’m not used to this stuff.”
She stepped away, clearing a space. “Turn around and bend over.”
My stomach lurched. “Sorry?”
“Bend over, hands flat on the side.”
My eyes must have been huge, boring into hers, but she didn’t flinch or falter, just shifted position so her weight was all on one hip. My mouth turned dry, nerves sizzling. “I don’t know...”
“Bend over, Lydia, stop being so fucking reserved.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. My body moved, unwilled, and suddenly my chest was flat to the worktop, palms against the tiles. I heard her position herself to my rear. It tickled as she raised the hem of my robe, hitching it up over my hips. I bit my lip, scorching with self-consciousness... and something else. She ran her fingernails over my ass.
“Ready?” she asked. Her tone was low, insistent. I nodded.
She slapped me hard and I jumped a little, settling down just before she landed another. It sounded worse than it felt, the bite of her palm morphing quickly into a gentle burn. She hit me quick, fast slaps over and over, and soon I stopped jumping and just felt. My breath quickened, the burning of my skin seeming to bloom under her touch. It felt good... great... it felt amazing.
She stopped a moment, long enough to trail a finger down the crease of my ass. “Want more?”
I nodded again, gritting my teeth through the embarrassment.
“I knew it. You’re a submissive, alright. Only I don’t think a slap’s enough for you.”
I wrenched my head back over my shoulder in time to see her delve into a drawer. She pulled out a fish slice, and slapped it against her palm over and over; a strange metallic thwack.
“I’m not sure about this...” I said, shifting on my feet but not breaking position.
“I am.”
My heart raced, brain pleading no, while my body pleaded yes. I didn’t move.
She hit me fucking hard. I leapt up, jigging around with a smarting ass.
“Settle down,” she said, simply.
I looked back at her like she was crazy, right until the pain smoothed into a tingle, a really nice tingle, like spidery itches in satin boots, dripping warm treacle over my skin, and there beyond the pain I got a glimpse of the calm place... the place the itches lead to. I settled back against the worktop, hands back against the tiles.
“I fucking knew it,” she said, and landed me another. This time I flinched but didn’t jump up, and she hit me again, and again after that in the same spot. Pain then tingle, pain then tingle, over and over, and soon I was groaning and whimpering and lost in this crazy sea of self-consciousness and confusion, where the only thing I really knew was that I didn’t want to move, not for anything, I just wanted more.
She ran her fingers over me, squeezing tender flesh. I wriggled at her touch, fighting the urge to spread my legs and show her how wet I was. I don’t think I needed to. I’m pretty sure Rebecca already knew, well before I did.<
br />
“Beautiful,” she said. “Shit, I’ve gotta go to work.”
She dropped the fish slice on the side and gave me a pinch, leaving me bent-over, bare-assed and totally shell-shocked, with a face that most likely matched the scarlet of the kitchen. I pulled myself together, yanking down my robe and choking back the shock like it never happened.
Rebecca grabbed her bag and keys and checked her make-up one last time, and I watched her as though she was some strange alien creature that I hadn’t spent the past month living with. She turned in the doorway before she left, a huge grin lighting up her face.
“Lydia Marsh, I think we have us a pain slut. Maybe Cinderella shall go to the ball after all.”
***
Chapter Seven
James
My mobile buzzed in my pocket. Text message.
“Do you want her or not? Last call.”
Writing my response was easy. Sending not so much. “Not.”
I counted the down the seconds until the second buzz.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Believe whatever you want.”
I cast the phone aside and returned to the paperwork in front of me. Lydia’s proposal was virtually faultless. The girl had skill. The phone started up again, rattling against the desk top. It disturbed my pen alignment. I put them straight again before viewing the message.
“Will I see you tonight?”
“No.”
“Definitely not?”
“Definitely not.”
“Positive?”
“Fucking hell, Rebecca. NO, you will not see me tonight.”
A few minutes delay.
“Spoilsport. Cara says she’s forgotten what your palm feels like.”
“I very much doubt that.”
I needed out of this Lydia Marsh shit. The suggestion that she move in with Rebecca had been a bad one, a rash decision made purely by my cock. Now she was there to stay, holed in tight with the only person I called a friend. I’d shit my own bed by courting a ridiculous fantasy. Bad form, James, bad fucking form.
Fuck no-one you know, and know no-one you fuck. I held on to my mantra daily, gripping it in white knuckles every time she entered my room, every time the ping of my email sounded with her name, every time she crossed my path in the fucking corridor.
