“I’ll be good if you’ll move your hand up about another two inches, Professor,” I tried to joke. He pulled his hand away so fast I could almost hear a swish in the air as it moved. But his voice remained calm, smooth. In control. I felt him get up from the bed, and then footsteps as he walked around.
“No. It isn’t a negotiation. Once we’re in a scene, once we’re doing…this, the time for negotiation and bargaining is over. Which means that now, trying to talk me into giving you pleasure any sooner than I intended to makes you a bad girl, and a little slut. Do you know what happens to little sluts?”
“S-spankings, Professor?” Woohoo!
“No. No, I think this is more serious than that. I think this calls for flogging.”
Something smooth and soft flapped over my ass and dragged up my back, tickling along my spine. It took me a second to identify it, even after what Ivan had said. Flogging. It was a flogger. A whip. He was talking about literally whipping my ass.
“Since this is your first time,” he went on before I could form a protest, “we’ll begin very slowly.”
It was very slow indeed. So soft it was almost a caress, those first few slaps against my butt. The wide leather strips were surprisingly gentle, almost a tease, and before long I found myself almost wishing for more contact. That wish was granted only in tiny increments, with Ivan always waiting for me to show signs of acceptance before he ramped up the strength of the blows another notch.
Later, when I knew more about it, I would consider the utter mastery of his performance with something like awe. He led me, in the space of a few minutes, from fear of the flogger to craving more of it. By his slow, measured tactics, he guided me through that same change of mind a dozen or more times, until I was tugging on my tethers and leaning hard into each sharp, biting snap of the tails against my ass and thighs. When he stopped I cried out in frustration, only to yelp when the whip snapped up sharply against my drenched pussy.
Then it was over, and I felt the bed dip under Ivan’s weight again. “That’s better. You seem a little more compliant now. Are you going to behave, and stop trying to make deals?”
“Yes, Professor.” I turned my head, even though I couldn’t see him, but he was already moving away down the bed. I wanted him back, wanted him to touch me some more. But I knew what would happen if I asked. Maybe I could be sneaky about it.
Moaning softly, as though still overcome by the flogging and the general lustiness, I slowly lowered my shoulders down until I was in that same humiliating but oddly compelling position he’d put me in last night. Presenting myself. Offering myself. I felt the caveman appeal of it, the mindless and ancient allure in such a blatant display of arousal and willingness.
“Bad girl. Back on all fours.”
He didn’t even raise his voice. If anything, he sounded amused. With a sigh, I pushed against the bed to lift myself again and was startled by a cold touch against one nipple.
“This will hurt a bit, but it will make your nipple very sensitive, both during and after the time that it’s on. The pain will generate arousal in the same places as if you were fondled there. More, possibly.”
He clipped something onto my left nipple and I tried to pull away. With soothing touches and a low, calm voice he convinced me to remain still long enough to allow the sensation to settle in. The initial pinch was sharp but receded to an ache. As Ivan brushed his fingers around the tightening skin and over the plump tag of tender flesh caught in the clamp, I was blindsided by a wave of searing pleasure-pain. The heat spread through my body like a blush and intensified when he affixed the second clamp.
I felt hot and cold and sore and tingly, all at once. My body was as confused as my brain, and only the strong undercurrent of pleasure kept me from trying to bolt. The clamps were heavy enough to drag down slightly, stimulating my nipples continuously, swaying and causing chills to race through me with each ragged breath I took. I couldn’t resist the dark glow of pleasure that had started its slow burn between my legs. Whimpering, I tried to no avail to pull my thighs together, to squeeze the needy ache into something manageable.
Ivan stroked my back, rubbed my neck with one gentle hand. He sounded so considerate, so concerned, as he was doing these deliciously awful things to me. “Easy. It’s a lot to take, isn’t it?”
Gulping, I gasped out an affirmative, only to receive a swift and sharp pop on the tush.
“Yes, what?”
“Professor! Oh, God…”
“Shh.” The warm hand on my neck again, massaging tenderly, and then another hand slipping beneath me to slide down my abdomen. I tried to buck toward it, craving his touch, but the tethers kept me from moving as far as I would have liked. “Be still. I’ll take care of you, Camilla. Trust me.”
When I stopped moving, he began stroking me, petting, dipping in and out of me. He was thorough and methodical, as though he were attempting to learn the geography of my pussy by feel. And always he talked, reassuring me.
In the absolute darkness, I clutched at his words like a lifeline. I reminded myself I’d chosen to try this, that I could stop if I wanted to. Only then did I realize it might well be an addiction in the making, because although I told myself I could stop, I knew I didn’t want to get to that point. I would let it continue because now I wanted to see what came next. Whether it was the science, or the sex, or simply the sheer weirdness of it all, I was hooked. It was something I had needed, without knowing it.
As Ivan’s questing fingers placed another clamp, sweet pain lanced through my clit. He chuckled when I gasped, and patted my butt. “And just think, these clamps don’t even have weights on them. This time. Now let’s warm that ass back up.”
I groaned as the flogger snapped against my skin, a deep guttural noise I didn’t even recognize as coming from myself. My whole body throbbed with the need for release, and the hot lash of leather served only to heighten that need. It was only a few strokes, though, and then it stopped. Ivan ran his hands over the marks, raking his fingernails delicately against my hypersensitive skin and murmuring in approval when I shuddered. When he flicked the clamp on my clit, I almost came, an instant rush of sensation that waned only a bit when the little charm I could feel swinging around finally stopped moving.
Hands, parting my labia, holding me wide open. I wanted to beg, to scream at Ivan to do it, just fuck me, make me come. I had never said such a thing in my life, never known I could be that person. But with wanting came the knowledge that he would only “punish” me, prolonging my sweet agony, if I did that. So I bit my lip and strained to be still as he did what he liked.
One finger, one long finger, dipped inside my pussy. I couldn’t stop a shiver, and the quick clench of my body around that welcome intruder. Then it was out again, traveling upward. Ivan teased his slick fingertip into my ass, and then flicked the clit clamp again. Crying out, I pushed back toward him, wedging his finger a tiny bit deeper in the process.
My orgasm hovered like a shimmering entity, surrounding my clit and pussy but not quite connecting. The added pressure in my ass sent a new batch of sensations romping up my spine, but got me no closer to coming.
“Not until I say so, Camilla. Or it will be your last one for the day.”
“Oh, God. Please!” I couldn’t help myself.
“No. Not yet. I want to be inside you, so I can feel you come on my cock.”
But he had some mercy after all, because the next thing I knew he was there, sliding into me in one hot, thick rush. I could feel the blood thumping through my body, pounding across every overheated inch of me. The friction was almost unbearably good, and I gasped with each slow slide of his cock in and out. So slow. Too slow. I pounded the mattress, tears of frustration soaking the bottom of the mask.
Ivan slid deep and then stopped, leaning his spare frame over mine and reaching under my chest with one hand. “This will hurt for a few seconds,” he warned, and released the clip from one nipple.
Many, many profanities came out o
f my mouth that I didn’t even know I knew. And many more when he repeated the strange reverse-torture on the other side. The pain was so sharp, and lingered longer than a few seconds. Far worse than when the clamps had been applied, which I didn’t understand. But when I said so, Ivan grunted and then gave a terse, “Explain it to you later.”
Right before his hand moved again I realized where he had to be headed next, and I couldn’t restrain my protest. “No, not that one. No, no no no, don’t do that yet. Please, no—”
“Shh. It’s okay. It isn’t coming off right this second. But you might not be able to come if it’s still on. And I know you want to come, don’t you, Camilla?”
“Why wouldn’t I be able to?”
He resumed his slow, even push and pull, coaxing my arousal back to the fever pitch I’d been at earlier. “Blood flow. Nerve pressure. Some people can, some can’t. It also depends on the clamp style and other things. But I don’t want to chance it, because I want you to come while I’m in you. I want you to come for me.”
I was still catching my breath from the nipple clamps coming off, and the insistent tug of the remaining clamp as Ivan worked his cock inside me was already pulling me back toward the edge. But he was right, and I could feel it now. Primed though I was, the little metal clip would keep me from getting there, to where I had to go. And he could tell.
“You’re close, aren’t you, Camilla? You’re starting to tighten around me, but you need that clamp off in order to come, I think. Do you want me to take it off?”
Defeated, in an anguish of want, I finally nodded only to hear his evil chuckle.
“If you want it off, Camilla, you’re going to have to ask more nicely than that.”
“Please? Please, Professor?” Was that my shrill little voice? I was practically shrieking.
“No, that won’t do. I need to hear you say, ‘Please take the clamp off my clit, so I can come for you, Professor.’”
My head shook back and forth violently. There was no way. Tremors racked my body, my brain was soaring, and there was no way I could form all those words.
Then he started stroking my clit, teasing around the clamp as he pistoned in and out of my swollen pussy. I felt like things were on fire. Like things might fall off. Like I didn’t know what was pleasure and what was pain anymore, and didn’t care as long as I got to come. And somehow I shaped the words, blurting them out on a single wailing breath.
“PleasepleasetaketheclampoffmyclitsoIcancomeforyouProfessorfuckfuckfuck!”
Silently, he slipped his fingers around the tiny metal wings and pressed, releasing the pressure, and for a second or so I thought I’d been reprieved. The relief was so great, the building pleasure heightened to a breathtaking intensity by the returning sensation. I started to come, feeling the inexorable wave hit just as the searing pain did. Bound, defenseless, beaten, my body no longer knew what to accept, what to deny. The filter was gone, it was all sensation to me, and it was all as terrible as it was exquisite. On and on, seemingly forever, the throbbing finally subsiding into a dull, rhythmic ache as the last filaments of excruciating pleasure trailed through me, drawing my energy out with them as they went.
I could feel Ivan tensing, growing even fuller inside me, and he growled like a wild thing as he came. Animals together, we gasped out the end of our pleasures in unison before collapsing, utterly spent, onto the cool and welcoming sheets.
Chapter Seven
Before my foray into etiquette instruction, I considered myself an expert on searching the internet. But try as I might, I was unable to find a web page or other resource that covered how to teach your kinky lover who lived next door how to get people to give him money so he could build a better rocket.
Not that I didn’t find a host of interesting stuff along the way. The public domain is filled with etiquette manuals from the late eighteenth through early twentieth centuries, and I now knew where to look should I ever need to know when and how a gentleman uses a formal or informal bow, or whose box one may visit during the entr’acte at the opera, or in which order to place the salad, meat and fish forks for a multi-course dinner.
Sadly, bowing was out of fashion in Houston these days, and there would probably only be hors d’oeuvres at the fundraiser. So I’d decided to take a different approach and narrow down my focus to a few simple concepts for Ivan to remember throughout the evening. Guiding principles, instead of too many specific rules.
“Okay, first thing. You need a pause button.”
“Do I get to stop time for everybody else, while I can still move around? I’ve wanted one of those for a long time.”
“Focus, please.” I gestured with my hamburger and a tomato slice threatened to slip out the side. “Before you even open your mouth to talk, you need to say ‘pause’ in your head, and apply a quick test to whatever answer you’ve thought up.”
“Usually I’m thinking about my answer before the other person is through talking. So I’m ready to speak once they’ve stopped.”
In the flickering light of the tiki torch, Ivan’s handsome face took on a slightly demonic cast. I thought back to how we’d spent most of the day and shivered. Maybe I could get him to light a few candles later when we went back upstairs.
“Maybe that’s part of the problem. Let’s do an experiment. I’m talking now, and you’re already formulating what you’re going to say. So what part of what I just said are you going to—”
“I don’t think the problem is on my end. I’m only responding rationally to whatever’s being said.”
“Aha!” This time, the tomato squirted out to land with a wet plop on my paper plate. I picked it up and carefully re-inserted it. “That’s exactly it. This explains so much. You’re not listening to the whole thing. You latch on to the first thing being said and don’t even pay attention to the rest. You interrupt because you want to stop all that noise and respond to what you’re thinking about.”
“Yes. Exactly. Isn’t that what I said?” He took a bite of his own burger, looking a little grumpy and defensive. But not nearly as grumpy as he would have been a day ago.
“That’s the problem, don’t you see? You have to listen to the whole thing. Not just listen, understand it. All of what the other person is saying. Before you decide how to answer.”
He shook his head. “That would take forever. Nobody would ever be done talking if we did it like that.”
I bit back a smile. “Honey, it doesn’t take forever. It takes practice. And it takes a willingness to see something from another person’s point of view. Maybe you should try it right now. Get some practice in.”
I nodded toward the little group clustered in lawn chairs near the grill. Dinesh and Julia of course, along with Ed, Lin and two other tenants. One of them, I saw, had brought his girlfriend along. This was surprising as we had all suspected the girlfriend was fictional. But there she was in the flesh, a nice-enough-looking young woman who seemed to be getting along with everybody.
From where we sat on the low wall at the edge of the patio, Ivan and I had a good view of everything without having to participate. I knew that was his preference, but he needed to practice, and this was a particularly good opportunity as there was a stranger in the group.
“Remember, listen first to all of what they’re saying before you think up your answer. I think the pause button goes on your brain, more than your mouth. The second thing is, run everything through a filter before you say it. Is it true, is it necessary, is it kind? If it isn’t at least two of those, don’t say it, and cruel-to-be-kind doesn’t count.”
“Is that a Buddhist thing?”
“I think maybe it’s a Catholic thing. Really not sure. It was something from the internet. And now it’s your second rule.”
“I thought my second rule was to transition out of a long silence.”
Sighing, I downed the last of my burger before answering. “These are the rules for tonight. I’m trying to simplify so you don’t feel like you need to whip out the in
dex cards. Pause button. True, necessary, kind. Try those two things, and we’ll see how that works out.”
Grumbling, Ivan reached for my plate and took our trash to the big garbage can next to the carport. Then he swung by the group as if he were just stopping on his way back to me. I wandered over to my roses and fiddled with them, surreptitiously watching as Ivan lingered to work his way into the conversation.
At first, I saw a lot of false starts. His mouth would flap open then clamp shut so quickly I could practically hear the snap of his teeth. But after a few minutes, he got a thoughtful look on his long, lean face as he leaned in to hear our neighbor Ben’s girlfriend discuss her recent trip to Costa Rica.
If I hadn’t known better, I might have been jealous. Because Ivan wasn’t merely paying attention. He was devoting his attention, bestowing it all on the speaker, taking in not only her words but her gestures and body language as well. And when she paused, he said something that startled her.
“You didn’t actually like it there.”
“I…didn’t say that. It was a great opportunity. And I’d always wanted to go.”
He ignored the slightly frantic slashing gesture I was making across my throat, and pressed her further in a soft, insistent voice I recognized from earlier, in his bedroom. It was hypnotic, that tone. “Tell me what you didn’t like about it.”
Like a bird seduced by a cobra’s hypnotic swaying, the girl started describing not flowers and colorful birds, but oppressive heat and insects large and small. And disappointment. When she finally stopped, Ivan nodded thoughtfully but said nothing, and a lull fell over the group until Dinesh broke it by offering another round of burgers.
The Theory of Attraction Page 9
