Fast and Loose

by Justine Elyot

  ‘You know, I think I might book a room here.’

  ‘Can you afford it?’

  ‘No. But I can bung it on the credit card.’

  ‘You’ll be paying it off till Doomsday.’

  ‘Well, Doomsday might be tomorrow, for all we know. Go on. I’ll cane the plastic and then I’ll cane you. Well, not cane, because I haven’t got one, but…’

  Ah, there was the wink.

  I was all out of objections. In theory, there were many: it was too expensive, I ought to get back to the flat since Mehra was cooking for us all, this hotel could be riddled with Maria’s spies and/or friends, I should take it easy with Tom anyway…

  In practice, they melted away behind the heat haze of my lust for Tom.

  ‘You’re awful,’ I said, but I was seduced, and he knew it.

  ‘And you need to learn when to hold that tongue of yours,’ he said. ‘I’m going to teach you. Come on, drink up.’ He drained the last of his cocktail and fished out his wallet. ‘Might as well get our money’s worth, if we’re going to do this.’

  ‘Hang on.’ I texted Mehra an apology, making up some old nonsense about bumping into friends in town, and finished the last delicious mouthful of my drink.

  ‘Don’t make me wait,’ warned Tom.

  I slid off my barstool as if lubricated, which I pretty much was. What was it about this man? Why did I find him so irresistible? It was maddening, but it was too strong to fight. All I could do was bob along like a cork in the tide.

  At Reception, a woman with a bun so tight her face seemed stretched sat starchily behind the old oak desk. What if she was a friend of Maria’s? A colleague?

  I loitered by a bookcase, keeping my face turned away from her, as Tom went through the booking process. My stomach fluttered. This was not a situation a sensible, well-behaved girl would find herself in. I felt like a whore, being paid for and taken to a hotel room by her client. It turned me on, even when I wondered if the receptionist would see it that way.

  ‘Come on then, Foxstress,’ said Tom breezily, turning from the desk and waving a key card at me. ‘Up those stairs.’ He slid a hand under my flippy skirt as we began to ascend the grand old staircase. If the receptionist hadn’t had an inkling before, she certainly would now. I tried to wriggle away from him, but he was having none of it, curling his hand around my hip to keep me tight by his side.

  ‘Make it obvious, why don’t you?’ I hissed.

  ‘Why not? Why lie?’ he replied blithely. ‘I’m afraid we’re on the top floor – only room they had left.’

  ‘Couldn’t we have taken the lift?’

  ‘No. I want to use the stairs.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To make you even madder. You’re so cute when you’re all embarrassed and mad.’ He rubbed my bottom through the sexy silky underwear. I had a horrible feeling that this had made my skirt rise high enough to flash my stocking tops and suspenders to the entire population of the lobby. ‘Anyway, you little devil, don’t pretend you weren’t planning this. You’ve got those sexy stockings on. You know how wild they drive me.’

  ‘I just thought…’ I gasped, but actually I didn’t just think anything. Everything was pure feeling with not an ounce of brain input involved. Embarrassment, shame, frustration and sheer, throat-parching horniness.

  Once we made the first landing, we ran the rest of the way, taking the stairs at a headlong gallop until we arrived, laughing and sweating and panting, outside the door of our little attic eyrie.

  ‘After you,’ said Tom, sliding the key card into its slot so that the door clicked open.

  ‘Wow!’

  Despite being one of the smaller, cheaper rooms, it was still stunning, with a four-poster bed and everything swagged. It felt like one of Marie Antoinette’s antechambers, crossed with a Victorian brothel. It was heavenly.

  I had barely had time to look away from the bed before Tom slammed the door behind him, grabbed me by the hips and shoved me forward until I stumbled and fell over a padded ottoman beneath the sash window.

  ‘Hey,’ I protested, trying to restore a semblance of dignity as I stood back up, but he simply got hold of the ottoman and pulled it out into the centre of the room before replacing me across it, this time with my skirt flipped over my bum.

  ‘What are you…?’ I spluttered, but I knew the answer to the question before it was framed.

  ‘So, then,’ he said, and I heard the unmistakable sound of belt unbuckling and parting company with jean loops. ‘You think you can abuse me in a public bar? Think again.’

  ‘Oh, my God, are you serious?’ I muttered, but I made no move to avoid my predicament. The only move I made was the clamping together of my thighs in a pathetic attempt to preserve modesty.

  ‘Yeah, I’m serious,’ he replied, and I heard him slap the leather into his palm. ‘So serious I think we ought to discuss a safeword.’

  ‘Oh…yes,’ I said, twisting my head to look at him.

  What a vision. His ever-present attractions were amplified a hundredfold by the way he tapped his doubled belt in his hand with that piercingly intent expression.

  ‘What do you think?’ he said. ‘What’s your safe word?’

  ‘Oh…Mia Culpa,’ I said, off the top of my head.

  ‘Good one!’ he said, with a brief but dazzling smile. Then the piercingly intent stuff started all over again. ‘Remember it.’

  I cringed as the loopy end of the leather gave my bare thighs a cold caress. He stroked them from stocking tops to knicker edges until I was squirming with the kinky ticklishness of it.

  ‘Just one thing…’ he murmured, withdrawing the belt and moving to the window. From my prostrate position over the ottoman, I could see only the outline of the building opposite through the thick net curtain, but Tom pulled it aside so that the tall Georgian town house across the way was clearly visible, its own attic windows facing our room.

  I panicked for a second, then remembered that this house belonged to the university – one of the more obscure departments was housed there – and as such would undoubtedly be unoccupied on a Saturday evening. Or would it? Was there some harried, overworked graduate student in there, making the finishing touches to a research project? No, no, no. It would be locked. They would have to use the bloody library.

  But no matter how many times I told myself this, I couldn’t help feeling watched. Which was exactly why Tom had done it.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said, turning to me. ‘There won’t be anybody in there. But let’s pretend there is. Let’s pretend they’re all crowded round the window, watching us, jostling for the best position to see what’s going to happen to you.’

  ‘Tom, you’re freaking me out,’ I complained.

  ‘This is good practice,’ he said. ‘For our date with the Dungeon Mistress. Who knows how that might turn out?’

  ‘You think she’ll want to…do stuff…to us?’

  ‘I think it might end up in some form of practical demonstration, yes. Anyway, you aren’t getting a choice today. The curtains are staying open. Remind me of your safeword?’

  I duly reminded him.

  ‘Are we bending comfortably?’ he asked archly, moving back behind me. ‘Then we’ll begin.’

  And we did. Goodness, a leather belt was a whole different proposition. Where his hand had been warm and firm and conferred a pain that sank into my flesh, this was lithe and snappy. The sting was more concentrated, but it soon faded, until Tom found his rhythm and began to lay them on faster and harder. I gripped the edge of the ottoman, my lower half performing a St Vitus dance of discomfort, but through the mist of increasing heat and pain I remained in position. As for my safeword, I had no desire to use it. I wanted to take as much as I could of this interesting sensation. I wanted to make him proud.

  ‘You’re doing so well,’ he said, after about thirty strokes. ‘You’re made of strong stuff.’

  I was gasping too much to answer, and besides, I was in a kind of trance. The imagi
nary audience across the way was large in my consciousness, and adding to the delirious humiliation of it all. It was keener than the pain, and more pleasurable. I twisted and grunted, but I was determined to maintain the fantasy that I couldn’t stop this with a safeword, and my punishment would end only when Tom decided.

  ‘Are you sorry yet?’ he demanded, stopping for a breather. ‘Are you still pretending to hate me?’

  ‘I hate you even more now,’ I panted, smiling to myself at the reaction I hoped my words would provoke.

  ‘Oh!’ He tried to sound shocked, but there was clear delight behind it. ‘You little…Well, you know what this calls for.’

  I didn’t, but I was soon made aware of it when Tom wrenched my lacy black knickers down to my stocking tops.

  ‘Bare bottom,’ he gloated. ‘Nice and pink already. Imagine all those people across the road, getting a good eyeful.’

  I did, although I think the positioning meant that they wouldn’t see much of it. My face, yes. Tom laying on the strokes, yes. But I could pretend that there were more people, standing by the bed, casting fascinated eyes over my exposed rump and thighs.

  ‘Right then,’ he said. ‘No more Mr Nice Guy.’

  ‘Owww!’

  It was my first loud exclamation, and I hadn’t been able to suppress it. The stroke was a real stinger, swung from further away and landing with a cracking splat across the middle of both cheeks.

  ‘Taking me seriously now, are we?’ he said, laying on another, just as hard, directly below. ‘I should think so too.’

  I tried every trick I could think of to stave off the safeword. I wriggled and jiggled, I rocked over the ottoman, I kicked up my legs, I bit my arm, I pressed my mouth against the stuffed silk upholstery and howled.

  At last, after almost rocking the ottoman on to its side, I conceded.

  ‘Mia Culpaaaaa,’ I wailed, putting my hands over my bottom to shield it. Unluckily, my fingers caught the final swing of the belt, initiated just before I invoked the word of power.

  ‘Fuck!’ I hissed, whipping them away and holding them in front of me. They were pink and they throbbed, but I would survive.

  ‘Sorry,’ cried Tom, throwing down the belt and rushing to kneel in front of me. He seized my fingers and kissed them one by one. ‘God, so sorry, El. I couldn’t stop the stroke…’

  ‘It’s OK, it’s OK,’ I breathed, tears coming to my eyes at such sudden kindness after the onslaught. ‘I know.’ I caught a breath and laughed it out. ‘I feel like a wuss.’

  ‘Good God, why?’ He stretched his eyes at me, then took my face in his hands and kissed me with all the passion in the world. ‘You were so brave. I kept thinking I ought to stop, but I was waiting for you…’

  ‘I wanted to impress you,’ I sniffed.

  ‘Oh, you silly fox,’ he said. ‘Come on. Come and lie down.’

  He helped me over to the bed. It reminded me of turning my ankle, that night of the subterranean bar date. Was that really only a few days ago? I couldn’t quite believe it.

  I flumped on to the bed on my stomach and lay there, trying to lure cold air on to my bottom by the power of my will while Tom fussed over my hair and kissed my neck. His free hand found my hot, sore skin and he laid his palm flat, absorbing some of its warmth.

  ‘You could fry an egg on this,’ he observed. ‘It looks amazing though. Proper deep crimson, just like in the…’ He stopped himself.

  ‘In the what?’ I gave him a crooked look.

  ‘In the spanking movies,’ he admitted. ‘I have a bit of a habit.’

  ‘It shows,’ I croaked. ‘You sure seem to know what you’re doing.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ he said, preening slightly. ‘Perhaps there’s nothing Maria can teach me after all.’

  ‘Oh, I pity anyone who tries to teach you anything,’ I said.

  ‘Is it very sore?’ he asked, rubbing my bottom in a way that half-soothed, half-tormented me.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It feels tight. Kind of like sunburn.’

  He stood abruptly and headed for the en suite bathroom. Was it something I said? Apparently it was, because seconds later he re-emerged, holding up a little white bottle with a triumphant air.

  ‘God save fancy hotels,’ he said, sitting down beside me and uncapping the bottle. ‘Moisturiser,’ he explained.

  ‘Mmmm.’ That was the extent of my conversational power for the next five minutes, while Tom massaged the cool, rose-scented lotion all over my buttocks and thighs, making sure it soaked right into my burning skin. The hand that had hurt now healed. He was a contradiction, all right.

  ‘Haven’t you always wanted an arse that smells of roses?’ he said, lowering his nose to one of my rear cheeks and taking a deep sniff. ‘Lovely.’

  ‘Oh God, I feel so relaxed,’ I said dreamily. I was sinking into the top-of-the-range mattress, feeling that wonderful exhaustion brisk exercise can bestow. ‘How can getting thrashed until I can’t bear it be so…mmm?’

  ‘You can’t go to sleep now,’ said Tom, patting my bottom to wake me up.

  It worked – and it reminded me of the insistent tingling between my legs.

  ‘Why not?’ I asked, with a catlike smile. I knew why not.

  In reply, he pushed his fingers between my thighs and dabbled them in the wetness he found there.

  ‘Because this,’ he whispered.

  I rotated my hips and sighed deeply.

  ‘Get up on your knees,’ he whispered. ‘And take that bloody dress off.’

  I managed to remove the damp tangle of clothing and knelt in just my bra, stockings, suspenders and lowered knickers, twisting my neck to get a glimpse of myself in the mantel mirror.

  Tom noticed and smirked.

  ‘Want to see yourself, do you?’ He finished taking off his top and positioned me so that my profile faced the mirror. ‘Now you can.’

  The deep red stain on my bottom was outrageous and captivated my attention until Tom, now fully undressed, came to kneel in front of me.

  ‘Keep your eye on us,’ he whispered, wrapping me in his arms and kissing me hard, pushing his tongue into my mouth while his hands cupped my bottom. I couldn’t resist the temptation of a sidelong glance or two and what I saw will stay in my memory for ever. Nothing so hot has been seen, before or since, as Tom, all over me, while I kneel in supplication in my whorish underwear, giving myself up to him. If I never have anything like this in my life again, I thought, at least I’ve had this.

  ‘God, you’re hot,’ he whispered, breaking the kiss and burying his face in my breasts. ‘I want to see you suck me. Will you?’

  I could refuse him nothing. I bobbed down straight away and took his cock in my hands, stroked and touched it, enjoying its velvety steel before putting my lips to it. The bedroom mirror showed what I was doing in unflinching detail. I watched myself bend in submission while he slid deeper and deeper into my mouth. I watched his face contort into a spectrum of expressions, ending in slack-jawed, eyelash-fluttering wonder, while his hand took a grip on my hair, his fist clenching and unclenching with each little pulse of his arousal.

  ‘Jesus,’ he whimpered. ‘No, stop now. Ah, I can’t believe I’m letting you stop now…oh, God.’

  I knelt back up, wiping my mouth, questioning him with my eyes.

  ‘Wasn’t it working for you?’

  ‘Quite the fucking opposite,’ he growled. ‘But I want to come inside you. Get your head down and your arse up.’

  I obeyed instantly, regretting that this put me out of the mirror’s range, but I imagined there would be compensations for this.

  And there surely were. He was swift and sure, entering me like a blade into a sheath. I gasped and felt myself stretch, then relaxed into the grip of his hands on my hips and his painstaking rhythm. The bed, despite its expense, creaked with every stroke and now I had to imagine people listening in to us, as well as watching from across the way.

  ‘You…asked for this…’ he gasped, slamming into me. My bo
ttom, still very warm, heated back up at the frequent contact with his loins, and the tingle flooded into my lower belly and beyond.

  ‘Just wish…I’d tied you up…first…’

  And then no more words, though I did wonder why he hadn’t. I suppose nature had taken over.

  I was expecting the coupling to be fast and furious and soon finished, given the state of arousal I’d sucked him into, but Tom lasted a surprisingly long time. He interrupted our rutting to move me into different positions, ending up crouching over me entering me from the side, which gave him the advantage of being able to stare down at me with an almost cruel intensity.

  By the time I came for the second time and he for his first, I was pretty sure every muscle in my body had been used to the full, and our skin shone all over.

  He clamped my shoulder and pumped into me, his face an inch from mine, breathing hot breath on me before taking my mouth and savaging it with a kiss.

  We lay entwined, rolling from side to side, still joined at our cores, until our hearts began to slow and we slipped sweatily from each other’s grasp.

  The room was darker now and the time seemed to stretch along with our exhausted bodies. We lay in silent shellshock, waiting for words or thoughts to form.

  Tom found speech first.

  ‘Room service, then?’ he croaked.

  I tried to reply, but my throat had been lined with sandpaper. Instead I reached for the bottled water on the bedside table and uncapped it.

  Once we had drunk deep and studied the room service menu before ordering, we lay back against the pillows and Tom put the covers over me.

  ‘Are you sure you can afford it?’ I said, putting the menu away. ‘Those prices are steep.’

  ‘In for a penny,’ he shrugged.

  ‘That’s reckless talk.’

  ‘And you’re not reckless?’

  ‘No, not as a rule. I’m pretty cautious, actually. And I don’t like to go off-plan. You seem to have found this hidden side of me.’

  He grinned and leaned in for a kiss, then laughed as he withdrew.

  ‘You look absolutely shagged out,’ he said.

  ‘There’s a reason for that.’

  ‘Let’s eat and then have a bath,’ he suggested. ‘I took a look at the tub while I was in there earlier. It’s got jets.’