Broken Blue: The Complete Series

by Amy Cross

  He enters the room, walking over to the chair opposite the sofa. "I need to be very clear," he explains as he sits down, "that there can be no negotiation, no debate, about any of these things. That document was not the work of a moment. It was carefully written so that it covers all the bases, and it represents my attempt to be totally open and honest with you right at the start. You are free to accept or reject the document, but I'm afraid that nothing can be changed". He pauses for a moment. "Do you have any questions, Elly?"

  I take a deep breath. Frankly, I have millions of questions, but I guess they can all be summed up in one. "Yeah," I say. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

  He stares at me. "I wasn't expecting that..."

  "I mean, this?" I say, placing the document on the coffee table between us. "Why couldn't you just talk to me about all of this, instead of writing it up like some kind of essay?"

  "For the sake of clarity -"

  "For the sake of bullshit," I say, interrupting him. "I mean, I'm totally not the most communicative or expressive person in the world, but even I wouldn't resort to something like this. The stuff you've written here..." I pause for a moment, trying to wrap my head around how monumentally strange this whole situation has become. "The stuff you've written here is stuff you have to say to someone in person, face to face. You don't write it down and hand it to them, hoping they'll sign it".

  He looks genuinely lost for a moment. "For the avoidance of doubt..."

  "What are you scared of?" I ask, really starting to warm to my topic. I've tip-toed around Mark for days, and now I feel as if he's drawn me close only to erect a wall of bullshit around himself. "Is it me? Or are you like this with everyone?" I look at the piece of paper. "Do you give this thing to every girl you bring up here?"

  "Yes," he says after a short pause.

  "And do they sign it?"

  "Yes," he says. "But I don't know if they all necessarily read it properly. Certainly none of them have ever questioned its contents quite so vehemently".

  I swallow hard, trying to work out what to do. After building up to this moment for so long, I'd be crazy to just turn around and walk away. Still, I'd been expecting tonight to be about fun, casual sex, and suddenly I find that it's the least casual situation I've ever encountered. Mark has written up a list of three things with which I have to agree before he'll take me to bed. As he's already made very clear, I'm completely free to turn down any of these things, but by doing so I'll be ending the encounter. Normally, I'd laugh and walk out, but there's something about Mark that's making me stay. It's not just the fact that I'm still incredibly turned on by him; it's also a kind of curiosity, as if I feel I'm tantalizingly close to getting through - finally - to the real Mark Douglas.

  "So the first thing," I say, picking up the document. "I have to agree that everything that happens between us, stays between us. I have to confirm that I won't discuss any of this with anyone. Ever".

  "Can you make that promise?" he asks.

  "Of course I can," I reply, feeling sorry for Mark. "It's a given. I mean, what do you think I'm going to do. Write a blog about sleeping with you?" I stare at him, trying to imagine what kind of betrayal must have left him in such a paranoid state. "People don't go around telling other people about their sex lives," I say eventually, slightly shocked to realize that I even have a sex life these days. "I mean, some people do, but not me. What..." I turn and look over at the bedroom door. "What happens in there between us, stays in there between us. It's private and personal and intimate, and I like it like that. I'd never tell anyone about it".

  "So you'll sign the document?" Mark asks.

  I sigh, choosing to re-read the next part of the document rather than answering him directly. "The second thing is that I must acknowledge my total choice in the matter. I must confirm that I understand I can tell you to stop at any moment, but that by doing so I'll be ending the encounter permanently". Again, I'm struck by how bizarre this whole situation has become. "Mark, I'd already kind of assumed that you'd stop doing something if I didn't like it. I mean, it's not like you're trying to torture me, is it?"

  "Of course not," he replies, his gaze fixed on me.

  "The third part, though," I say, looking down at the document. "This is the real doozy". I pause, feeling a shiver of excitement run through my body. "I have to accept that you're in control. I have to acknowledge that you might choose to do things that would shock me, that would..." I pause for a moment. "Things that might be outside my comfort zone". I look over at him. "You don't give any examples, but I'm thinking you maybe mean... handcuffs? Whips?" I take a deep breath. I've never really thought about bondage or submissive sex roles before, and the thought of venturing into that kind of territory is kind of scary. At the same time, I'm more than willing to try new things, and I'm sure I can handle anything Mark throws at me. Just because I'm inexperienced, I don't have to be naive or scared. I doubt Mark can shock me too much.

  "I'd prefer not to be specific," Mark explains. "I'd prefer to leave the definitions are broad and as vague as possible, for obvious reasons".

  "Obvious reasons, huh?" I reply. "Would there be pain?"

  "That depends very much upon how you define pain," he replies.

  I stare at him for a moment, not sure if he's being serious. "I want to stay tonight," I say finally. "I want to sleep with you. But..." I slowly slide the document across the coffee table. "I'm not going to sign some kind of form. I'll accept everything we've just discussed. I'll promise not to ever tell anyone what we do here, and I'll promise that I understand I can withdraw my consent at any moment, and I'll promise to understand that you're in control and that things might get a little kinky. I'll accept all these things, and I'll look you in the eye and give you anything you want. But the one thing I won't do is sign that document, because I don't think two people who are about to make love need to sign anything". I take a deep breath. My heart is pounding, and I'm terrified that he's going to tell me to leave. At the same time, I feel more adult than ever before. The old Elly would never have stood up for herself like this.

  "I see," he replies, staring at me.

  "So..." After a moment, I stand up and walk over to his chair, kneeling in front of him. I wait for him to say something, but he just seems to be content to look at me. Deciding I should perhaps give him something to look at, I reach up and slip the dress-strap off my left shoulder, lowering it until the left side of my bra is exposed. After a moment, I slip the bra-strap away as well, and then I put my hand under the fabric in order to cup my breast. Finally, I drop the bra away, so that the entire left side of my chest is exposed, with the breast covered only by my fingers. I wait for him to do or say something, anything, and then I move my hand away so he can see the breast. Looking down, I see that my nipple is rock-hard.

  "Are you going to say anything?" I ask after a moment.

  He doesn't reply; he merely looks down at my breast.

  Taking his hand in mine, I brush the tips of his fingers against my nipple. I gently force him to feel how hard the tip has become, and after a moment I take one of the fingers and run the tip around my areola before once again brushing the very tip of the nipple. I feel an intense tingling sensation in the skin, and I want nothing more than to feel his lips on my breast. Unfortunately, when I let go of his hand, he stops touching me.

  "Okay," I mutter, deciding to try another approach. I stand up and climb onto the chair, straddling him as I carefully slip my dress all the way down to my waist. Removing my bra and dropping it onto the floor, I finally sit topless on his lap, my breasts right at his eye-line. I squeeze his waist between my knees and put a hand on the back of his head, tousling his hair. Finally, starting to wonder if he's ever going to respond to my efforts, I lean close to him, burying his face in my cleavage. I feel his hot breath against my skin, and I wait for him to start doing... something... anything. Shifting my weight a little, I feel a bulge in his trousers. It's clear that he wants me, but at the same time he seems
to be holding back. Maybe I've underestimated Mark; maybe he's far more messed up and damage than I ever realized.

  "Do you want me to tell you what I want?" I ask after a moment.

  He doesn't reply.

  I sit back a little, so he can see my breasts again. Turning slightly, I present my hard right nipple to him, keeping it just an inch from his lips. "I really like having my nipples sucked," I say, feeling myself get wetter and wetter. "Not too hard," I continue. "Just start gently". I reach down and use my fingers to softly squeeze the nipple, stretching it just a little. "I like to feel a guy's tongue against the tip," I continue, running my finger over the very end of the nipple. "I like to feel it in a guy's mouth". As if to prove my point, I give the tip a gentle flick, and a shiver runs through my body. I don't think I've ever been so aroused, and I feel as if Mark is going to respond at any moment. To give him another hint, I lean forward a little and carefully let the tip of the nipple brush against his lips.

  "Elly..." he starts to say.

  "It's okay," I say softly. "Do you have any idea how wet I am right now?"

  "You haven't signed the document," he says.

  "I don't need to," I reply, reaching up and putting my hands on my breasts before cupping them and squeezing them together, allowing the nipples to point out straight at Mark's face. "We've gone beyond all that," I tell him.

  "You need to sign the document," he replies, looking up at me.

  "Relax," I say, letting go of my breasts and leaning back a little. I take one of his hands and run it up my belly and over my chest, feeling his soft palm against my nipples. Just as I feel another tingle running down to my crotch, he pulls his hand away and fixes me with a determined stare.

  "You need to sign the document," he says firmly.

  Sighing, I climb off the chair and kneel next to him, reaching out to unzip his trousers.

  "You need to sign it," he says, pushing my hand away.

  "Why?" I ask, sitting back. "Mark, what's wrong with you?"

  "You need to sign," he says.

  "I get it!" I reply, grabbing the document from the coffee table. I quickly read it again, starting to get angry at the way he's fixated on this damn thing.

  "Sign it," he says.

  "Or what?" Suddenly I rip the document in half before placing the two pieces back on the coffee table. "It's just a piece of paper," I continue. "It's not important. What's important is that I'm willing to do this on your terms. I don't need to sign a piece of paper to prove anything to you".

  "It's one of the rules," he replies. "You have to sign".

  "What rules?" I ask.

  "Just sign".

  I stare at him for a moment. "No," I say finally.

  "This is non-negotiable," he replies.

  "It sure is," I say, standing up. I'm still topless, my bare breasts showing over the tip of my hitched-down black dress. "You need to get over this piece of paper, Mark. We could already be in the bedroom by now. Please, just forget about everything else". I reach out a hand, waiting for him to come with me. "I'll do anything you want," I tell him. "Let's just do it".

  "You need to sign the document," he says.

  I sigh, turning and walking over to the window. I stare at my own reflection for a moment. How the hell did I end up in this situation?

  "You need to sign the document," Mark says yet again.

  "No!" I say, turning to look at him. "I'm not signing anything!" As my anger builds, I pull my dress back up, covering my breasts, and then I walk quickly over to the door that leads back out of the penthouse. "If you can't get over this stupid document," I say as I pull my coat off the hanger, "I might as well just go". I pause, waiting for him to say something, but he just remains in the chair. Is this really happening? Is this guy about to let me walk out of here simply because I won't sign a stupid piece of paper?

  "Mark?" I say after a moment, desperately hoping to get some kind of response from him.

  "I've already told you what you need to do," he says calmly. "It's a rule".

  "What rule?" I ask, placing my hand on the door handle. I'm this close to walking out of here and going back to my mother's house. "You make it sound like it's all a game".

  "The word game can mean a lot of different things," he says. "The games played by children are very, very different to the games played by adults".

  "You think this is a game?" I ask, my heart pounding in my chest. It feels so strange, being both aroused and angry at the same time. I've never had two such conflicting emotions sharing my body before, but in some weird way they seem to be connected, as if they're feeding one another.

  "I don't want you to go," he says finally.

  "I don't want to go either," I reply, "but I'm not signing that document".

  He pauses for a moment. "I think I've made the situation clear," he says eventually. "You have to make your own decision".

  I turn the handle and open the door, stepping out into the corridor. I can see the elevator door at the far end, but I still can't quite bring myself to leave. "There's no way I'm signing that document," I say, my voice faltering a little. "Why can't you just -"

  "It's the rule," he says again.

  I pause for a moment, almost trembling with rage. "Fine," I say suddenly, surprising even myself as I walk back into the room, pushing the door shut behind me as I hurry across the room and kneel by the coffee table. I grab the two halves of the document and take a pen from the table, hurriedly signing my name. "Done. Are you happy now?" I say, pushing the document back over toward him.

  "Thank you," he says, standing up and taking the pieces of paper over to the writing desk.

  "Now what?" I ask, getting to my feet.

  He carefully places the pieces of paper into a folder, before turning and walking back toward me.

  "Mark, now -"

  Before I can finish, he pushes me back against the wall and kisses me, thrusting his tongue into my mouth and pressing his the bulging front of his trousers against the crotch of my dress. Unable to control myself, I squirming against him slightly as I desperately force the bulge against my body. I kiss him back, our mouths moving as one. I feel his hand on my shoulder, and he quickly pulls my dress back down to my waist, once again exposing my breasts. The kiss continues as he runs his hands over my nipples, squeezing my breasts together. We break from the kiss for a moment and he leans down, licking the nipple of my right breast and then sucking gently on the tip. I let out a gasp of pleasure and put my hands on the back of his head, holding him in place while he teases the nipple some more. After a moment, I glance over at the window and see my reflection, and for a few seconds I'm completely shocked to see mirror image of myself having my breasts sucked by this gorgeous guy. Suddenly Mark stands up, reaches around and picks me up, cradling me in his arms as he turns and carries me toward the bedroom. I put my arms around his neck, shocked and excited at the same time. Looking ahead, I see the bedroom door and the looming darkness within. Mark doesn't turn on the lights as we walk through the door. He simply carries me into the darkness and sets me down on the bed.

  Six

  1896

  I wait outside the hotel for almost an hour, but finally I spot the familiar figure of Vincent D'Oyly emerging into the night air. He pauses for a moment to light a cigarette, and I can't help but note that he cuts a rather serpentine figure: a tall, thin man with greased-back hair, he has vicious eyes and a cruel, determined stare. I keep out of sight, making sure he doesn't spot me, and finally he climbs into a waiting carriage. Stepping further back into the shadows, I watch the carriage pull away and head along the street. With no time to lose, I hurry over to the hotel's door and enter the lobby, making immediately for the elevators at the far end. Although I have every right to be here, as an officer of Her Majesty's Constabulary, I would prefer to attract as little attention as possible.

  "Penthouse," I say as I step into the elevator.

  "Very good, Sir," says the bellboy as the elevator doors close and the chamber st
arts to rise. "Penthouse coming up, Sir".

  There's a moment's awkward pause. I'm quite sure the bellboy knows that D'Oyly just left, in which case he must be wondering why I am here. Fortunately, he has clearly been taught to not ask questions, although I must be careful to ensure that he does not inform the hotel's management of my presence.

  "Penthouse, Sir," says the bellboy as the elevator comes to a halt and the doors open to reveal a short corridor.

  "Thank you," I reply, stepping out of the chamber. I turn to the boy and hand him a handsome tip. "For your discretion," I tell him, before showing him my police insignia.

  "Of course, Sir," he says. "For your information, I'm not sure that there is anyone in the room at present. I believe Mr. D'Oyly has gone out for the evening".

  "Very good," I reply, turning and heading to the door. As I hear the elevator descend, I retrieve a small knife from my pocket and get to work on the lock. It takes but a moment for me to spring the mechanism, and the doors opens with a satisfying click. Taking one final glance along the corridor to make sure there's no-one around, I step into the penthouse suite.

  The place is stunning, like nothing I've ever seen before. I'd always heard that the upper classes lived in luxury, but it's something else to actually experience such things. There are numerous striking items of furniture, including a rather large golden eagle on a pedestal. No wonder these people lose touch with reality; after all, they live in such gilded cages, they have no idea what it's like to be part of the real world. A man who lives in a place such as this is probably able to look at common girls and think of them purely as objects. As I walk across the room, I try to imagine what it would be like to live in this kind of world, and I realize I have no idea. Eventually I reach the large window at the far end, and I open the door before stepping out onto a balcony that overlooks a stunning view of the city.

  Although it's a little cold up here, I stay on the balcony for a few minutes, shocked to see so many lights down below. It's hard not to feel as if I'm above the entire world, and somehow detached from the people in the streets. Even Her Majesty Queen Victoria cannot possibly have such a wonderful view. Far, far below, people move through the street like ants. No wonder men such as Edward Lockhart and Vincent D'Oyly have developed such an awful disregard for the value of human life. From up here, everyone looks exactly the same, and the death of a fellow human being might seem no more important than the death of an insect.