The House of Pain

by Tara Crescent

  “Tell me about yourself,” Doug prompts, as we wander in the streets of Rosedale. But this is precisely what I don’t want to do. My resolve to not get involved with Doug means that I have to keep our relationship purely sexual.

  “There’s not a lot to tell,” I say evasively. It strikes me that I do actually have to tell him something though. He doesn’t know I’ve given my two weeks’ notice. I tell him.

  “Where are you going to be working, what are you going to be doing?” he asks me. He’s genuinely interested. Crap. Sex, Doug, let’s keep this about sex.

  I name my new employer. They are a small, but very well-regarded marketing agency, one of the few harnessing old-media and new-media effectively. He nods appreciatively as I name them. “Good place to work for,” he says. “I went to college with the COO – James Milner. He’s a good guy; you’ll enjoy working there.”

  Damn him. I’m unprepared for his warmth and interest. I mumble something and turn the conversation to his neighborhood, to the beautifully landscaped gardens we walk past. We chat about flowers and herbs, and the challenges of growing tomatoes and basil on a balcony, and other such things for the next half-hour.

  ***

  We are back at Doug’s dungeon. I can see why he used the word ironically. There’s even a fireplace on one wall.

  “Let’s up the intensity, okay?” His voice is relaxed. I’m not. I’m instantly nervous, though I’m not sure why.

  He leans forward, kisses me. “Relax, baby,” he chides gently.

  He removes my clothing swiftly. No torturous, drawn-out teasing this time. I’m naked, and he’s gazing at me with heat in his eyes.

  “So when John bent you over the sawhorse that first time,” he starts, conversationally.

  Whoa. “You were there the first time?” I ask. That was before he met me at the work meet-and-greet. “I met you at a work meet-and-greet, did you recognize me then?”

  He shrugs. “I wasn’t entirely sure it was you. I was sure after the second show.”

  Oh. I’m not sure how to react to this and so I say nothing.

  “So when John bent you over the sawhorse,” he continues. “I thought, what a waste. Sure, I’d spank that ass.” He runs his hands over my ass, kneading them slightly. “But then, that beautiful pussy is on display, that pretty little ass… so many other things you can do.”

  He opens a closet I haven’t noticed, pulls out a sawhorse. “You already know how this works, Sara,” he says to me. “Bend over, please.”

  Oh, but this is so different from the House of Pain. That experience, while arousing, was also impersonal. John’s touch was professional, indifferent.

  This is not the House of Pain. There’s intimacy in the air. I’ve very aware that I slept with Doug earlier today. Doug’s touch is different too. It’s more real somehow. My body is not responding to a fantasy this time. No, my body is responding to Doug, and what Doug’s going to do to me.

  Doug buckles my arms in. He takes his time, draws it out, strokes me gently as he ties me down. “So pretty, Sara,” he mutters, as he takes the sight of me in. I feel the heat rise in the room as my gaze meets his.

  He comes around, runs his hands over my naked ass. “So nice,” he says again. I flush.

  “Part your legs, Sara,” he instructs. He has a spreader bar in his hand and he cuffs me into it.

  I take stock of my position. I’m bent over at the waist. I’m completely naked. My legs are spread wide and my ass is in the air. My pussy is moist. It is responding to my immobility. Doug moves in front of me, looks into my eyes. “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I reply. In a way, there’s reassurance in the sawhorse. I’ve done this before; I’ve been spanked hard in front of an audience. I can handle the sawhorse.

  Or so I think. As Doug kneels behind me, his tongue licking my pussy, I realize I might not be able to handle the sawhorse at all.

  So good. So very, very good. His tongue laps me slowly, deliberately. I squirm in my bindings as every little sensation runs through me. I clench my fists as little waves of pleasure run through me at the feel of his mouth on my pussy. He’s very, very good and he’s in absolutely no hurry. His licks are long, leisurely.

  I groan. Tied as I am, I don’t have any traction to push back, to thrust my hips into his mouth. I can only feel. I close my eyes and let the sensations course through me. The slight ache in my shoulders, the clenched muscles of my inner thighs, spread wide open. Doug’s tongue, tracing idle paths in my pussy.

  Suddenly, smack. His hand has spanked my right butt, hard. I groan again. His mouth is still on my pussy, with his maddeningly slow exploration of my body. His hand is stroking my ass, soothing the spot where he’s smacked me.

  Now, he’s sucking my pussy lips into my mouth, and I can’t take this pace. “Doug, please,” I beg.

  “Patience, baby.” His voice is muffled. “Mmm, you are so tasty…”

  I cream even more at his words. My pussy is dripping, and he’s lapping up every little bit. His hands are on my inside thighs, pushing them further apart, his hands are spanking me gently, his hands are running small circles around my puckered asshole, and I’m coming undone at this overload of sensation.

  “Want to come, Sara?” he asks me.

  “Please,” I half-sob. I can hear the quiver of need in my voice.

  “Mmm. Let’s see,” His voice is thoughtful. His fingers have replaced his tongue in my pussy; three of his fingers are in my pussy, and he’s slowly moving them in and out, and I can only squirm in response.

  “Please,” I beg again.

  “Please what, baby? What would you like me to do?”

  “Please Doug, I want to come,” I beg.

  “I’m not stopping you, Sara,” he points out. His fingers are in and out of my pussy, sending pulse-waves of pleasure running through my body, but I need his fingers on my clitoris.

  “Doug please, touch me,” I plead.

  “Touch you where, Sara?” His voice is calm.

  I flush. I’m not typically shy, but this control he’s displaying is making me shy. I’m unraveling in front of him and he’s still fully clothed and in perfect charge, while I’m reduced to begging him for release.

  “Please touch my clitoris, Doug,” I mumble, blushing all over my body.

  “Like this?” Doug’s thumb brushes across my clitoris. I moan. It feels so good. But his thumb leaves my clitoris, and I groan.

  “Doug, please,” I beg again. I want this so much.

  “Sweet Sara,” he says. He gets to his feet, kisses my back. “Have you ever had a butt plug in your ass, Sara?”

  “No.” My voice is wary now.

  He moves away for a minute, comes back with a bulb-shaped plug in his hands. It looks like it is made of stainless steel. Probably one of the House of Pain editions. “I’ll be very, very gentle, ok, baby?” He waits for my assent.

  I take a deep breath. “Will it hurt?” I ask, my trepidation clearly audible in my voice.

  “A little. You’ve experienced far more pain at the House of Pain, though, if that helps. I’m pretty sure you can handle this.”

  I take a deep breath. I’ve let him tie me up, so clearly, there’s some level of trust. Now, I just need to take one little step further.

  “I have a safeword, right?” Again, I hear the tremor in my voice.

  “Always.” He kneels, looks into my eyes. “Baby, you never need to be afraid of me. I will stop if you want me to at any point. But give it a try; I think you’ll enjoy it.”

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  “Good girl,” he says, swiftly kissing me on the lips. He moves behind me. He kisses my back again. There’s reassurance in his gesture and I feel myself begin to calm.

  His fingers are stroking my asshole, spreading lube into it. He inserts a finger in and I do my best to relax my anal muscles. He notices.

  “Good girl,” he says, his voice warm. He pushes lube into my puckered asshole, slowly, and then, very, very ge
ntly, pumps his finger in and out of my ass.

  It feels… different. The sensation isn’t unpleasant; he’s used plenty of lube, and there’s no pain. It just feels different.

  He adds another finger, and now he’s stretching me open. “Relax your muscles,” he tells me. I do my best. I take a deep breath and try to relax. Now, he removes his fingers and I feel the butt plug at the entrance to my ass.

  “You are doing so well, baby,” Doug’s voice is approving. I feel myself respond to that tone; I want to please Doug. I can feel the plug’s insistent push and I relax my muscles as best I can. But even with me doing my best, it still hurts. I whimper a little.

  Doug slows down instantly. I can feel him trickle more lube onto the plug, I can feel him rub it into my tight asshole. His fingers feel good. I moan, this time with need.

  His fingers move to my pussy and find it drenched. Despite the pain, or is it because of the pain? I am dripping wet.

  Doug groans. “So wet, Sara. do you like what I’m doing to you?”

  “Yes,” I murmur, longing etched in my voice. He is pushing the plug into me again, and this time, the additional lube does the trick. There’s a brief instant of pain, as my ass stretches against the widest part of the plug, but then, the plug is buried in me, and the base is nestled in the folds of my ass cheeks.

  I feel full. Very, very full. I’m not sure whether it’s a good feeling or not.

  His fingers trace the base of the plug. “You are being such a good girl, Sara,” he says, again with that tone of approval. I shiver a little, flickers of pleasure cascading through me at his tone. “Good girls deserve a reward, don’t you think?”

  I don’t reply. I can’t. His fingers have found my pussy, and he’s thrusting fingers in and out of me, flicking my clitoris at the same time, and I’ve lost the ability to form words. I whimper in pleasure. All I can do is feel the heat rise in me, the impossible flames that won’t be kept at bay, and then, in a rush of sensation, I come undone, flailing in my bonds, as my orgasm rips through me.

  I slowly float back to earth. I feel Doug loosen my bonds and unbuckle my feet from the spreader bar. And then he carries me over to bed, tosses me on it. The movement jostles the butt plug, threatening to send another wave of pleasure cascading through me. I bite my lips and whimper.

  Lust is blazing in his eyes. I sense his control is about to give. “Part your legs, Sara,” he says tersely, rolling on a condom. And then he is on top of me, and he thrusts into me in one hard, powerful stroke.

  The way he feels in me is sweet pleasure. He is powerful. All male. I move my hips to receive his thrusts, arousal rising in me yet again. My nails dig into his back. I cling to him, moaning. I can feel the butt plug with every one of Doug’s thrusts. I am filled to overflowing and I love it.

  He’s moving fast, his strokes deep. He’s hitting a spot in my pussy that has me clench in deep pleasure-pain, as I angle my hips to make sure he hits that spot again. My pussy is quivering, I’m clenching around his cock, and he groans as he feels me tighten my muscles.

  He moves my legs so that they rest on his shoulders. At this angle, he’s deeper still, and I groan in lust. I grip his forearms, my nails digging into his flesh and I moan in utter abandon. His fingers find my clitoris, rub it surely as he thrusts into me.

  I’m rising, rising, lifted by the waves of lust and longing roiling through me. And, just when I feel like I’m going to drown in the sweetness of it all, Doug’s fingers pinch my clitoris, and I’m screaming in orgasm, and I can feel him erupt in me with a groan.

  ***

  It is now 7pm, and I must go.

  “Stay for dinner,” Doug urges. I shake my head. “I can’t, I’m sorry – I’ve got to do laundry and get ready for tomorrow.”

  There is a piece of me that wants badly to stay, to eat dinner with Doug, and then, maybe, fall asleep in his arms. I quell that bit of me down ruthlessly.

  “Do you want to do this again?” he asks quietly.

  “Do you?” I counter with a question.

  “Absolutely.” There’s no hesitation in his answer. Warmth runs through me at that. Doug is very, very likable. Dangerous.

  “When?” he continues, his voice brisk. He pulls out his phone and I pull out mine. Modern lives, with all the attendant demands on our times. I’m busy Monday and Wednesday evenings and Doug’s busy Thursday.

  “How about Friday?” he asks me.

  I hesitate. “I might go out with coworkers after work,” I say. “My last day is Friday.”

  “Right. Ok, Saturday then?”

  I check my calendar. I had tentative plans to go see a movie with Amanda, but she’ll understand if I reschedule. “Saturday works,” I say.

  “6pm? And plan on spending the night,” he says.

  Doubt flashes in my eyes, but I don’t protest. Let’s be honest here; I want to spend the night. We hug goodbye. I refuse his offer to drive me home and I leave.

  ***

  Although I have both a messy apartment, and a sad lack of clean clothes, I sit on my bed instead of cleaning, hug a pillow, and stare at the wall. My pussy feels slightly sore. The kind of sore that comes with incredibly good sex.

  I’d like to keep everything nice and tidy and contained with Doug, but I sense that it is going to spill over into my life. At the same time, I’m terrified that Doug is going to erode who I am. I’m unconvinced that I can be submissive and I’m reasonably sure that’s what Doug wants.

  I ignore my laundry, eat leftovers and fall asleep.

  ***

  Monday evening, right after French class, I get a call from John.

  “Sara, I was wondering if you can do a show Wednesday,” he asks.

  “Wednesday? You do mid-week shows?”

  “It’s more like a workshop,” he says. “I walk a group through how to whip, cane, stuff like that. My usual girl is still sick. I’ll pay you $400 for an hour and a half of work, and you get to keep any opened toys.”

  Ooh. I’m intrigued by that.

  “I have to work on Thursday,” I say. “Will I be able to sit down?”

  John laughs. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to be hitting you very hard.”

  “Ok, sure, that sounds fun,” I say. Amanda’s waiting for me; we are going to grab a drink after class so she can quiz me on yesterday’s activities, so I tell John I’ll be at the House of Pain at 10.00pm, and hang up.

  Somewhere over the course of the evening, it occurs to me that Doug is not necessarily going to like this.

  I don’t care, I tell myself defiantly. He can’t tell me what to do.

  There’s a voice in my head reminding me that I broke up with Colin because I thought the House of Pain was tantamount to cheating. I ignore that voice. I know I’m behaving badly. I’m deliberately pushing the boundaries here. But I am convinced I need to fight to maintain my identity with Doug, in ways I didn’t have to with other boyfriends.

  ***

  Right before the show on Wednesday, I realize I haven’t seen the list of names. I ask John, who disappears to the front of the store to find it. I scan the list, and my heart stops. There’s a name there that I was dreading. Doug Patterson.

  I am in so much trouble.

  John has wandered to the front of the stage. I hear his voice.

  “Gentlemen, let’s give a warm round of applause to Sara, who will be assisting with today’s demonstration.”

  I hear the applause. It’s too late to flee. I straighten my shoulders, walk out on the stage.

  Chapter 7

  The stage is different this time. It is better lit and there’s no music playing.

  “Gentlemen – in today’s demonstration we are going to talk about how you can whip your submissive in such a way so she is in plenty of pain, but can still be available for play the next day.”

  I keep my eyes lowered. Somewhere in the audience is Doug, and because I know that, I can’t tune the audience out.

  I’m wearing black panties, a black b
ra. Nothing fancy; there’s no theatre to this event.

  “First, up, the flogger.”

  John pushes my panties down my hips efficiently, removes my bra, and loads me into a St. Andrews Cross. I consider the position I’m in. I’m facing the audience. My arms and legs are spread apart and tied. I’m completely immobile. John’s saying something to the audience, something about the virtues of a submissive that can’t move. On that ominous note, he pulls out a pair of nipple clamps.

  “Nipple clamps don’t always have to be stainless steel,” he says conversationally to the audience. “We’ve received a line of handcrafted nipple clamps that really resemble jewelry – they’ll make a perfect Christmas present for your sub.”

  The nipple clamps pinch at my nipples painfully. The pain throbs through me and I can’t focus on anything else. I squirm a little.

  The flogging starts. At first, the strokes are light, sending more heat than pain through me. My skin reddens. I feel the familiar arousal run through me, but it doesn’t give me the same satisfaction it’s given me in the past. I can’t imagine Doug’s going to be pleased with me.

  Now, the strokes are harder, and red lines appear on my skin. John’s saying something about wrist movement and distance, but I am not listening. I focus on the sensation of the flogger striking me, but inside me, there’s dread as well, and it isn’t because of the pain of the flogger.

  The flogger rains its blows on my breasts, setting them jiggling. Each jiggle causes the nipple clamp to move, and I hiss and squirm in pain. John notices my squirm and laughs and points it out to the audience. “No damage,” he says, “but plenty of pain. My favourite combination.”

  He moves in front of me, changes the angle of the flogger. Now the strokes are striking my pussy, from beneath my parted legs. I squirm yet again. This feels good. The warmth of the flogger heats my already wet pussy.

  John switches tools, picks up the crop. He says something to the audience, something I miss, because I’m now wondering if Doug is going to be so angry with me that he won’t want to have sex again. He doesn’t control me, I say to myself defiantly, but my defiance is only skin-deep. I realize that I do want to see him again. Sigh.