by Tara Jones
I blushed slightly and smiled with unhidden amusement at her, until I noticed Kithira’s dark eyes watching me.
I was suddenly acutely aware of the discussion she had had with Eleanor the first time I met her when they casually discussed whether or not they should share me and I blushed deeper.
Kithira’s dark, unreadable eyes would haunt me for days to come.
Before they left Kithira extended her hand towards me.
“Thank you for saving Eleanor’s life,” she said stiffly and shook my hand firmly, not noticing that she pressed the needle that was connected to the back of my hand in a rather painful way.
“It was nothing,” I mumbled, suddenly quite embarrassed about the whole situation.
“You’re wrong, Peter Thompson,” she replied slowly before she released my hand. “But now you need to rest.”
“Wait… Are you… Are you really authorized to do that? Shouldn’t the nurse do that?” I asked when I saw her meddling with the device that was attached to the thin plastic tube that was connected to the transparent bag that hung above my head on a metal frame and the needle in my arm.
I never heard her reply or noticed when they left the room, because the morphine kicked in instantly and efficiently swept me away.
I slept long and dreamlessly.
I spent the following days under the annoyingly close observation of a horde of doctors and nurses, all of them disturbing me frequently to carry out various examinations or tell me that I needed to rest as much as possible if I wanted to recover.
My friend Dave, who worked as a programmer, came by with his new girlfriend the following day. I was quite touched that he had taken the trouble to buy an oversized box of chocolate and a balloon with Winnie the Pooh saying ‘get well soon’ on it. It was clearly aimed towards children, and although it was rather silly, it nevertheless made me quite touched.
I had met his girlfriend before under deeply embarrassing circumstances, since she worked in a sophisticated sex shop in Camden, where I had bought a several intimate items following Eleanor’s instructions.
Dave’s new girlfriend, whose name I couldn’t remember, seemed to be quite attached to him. However, before they left she casually let her finger trail along my wrist, where the handcuffs that Eleanor had forced me to wear had left red marks.
She didn’t comment, only smiled and raised an eyebrow inquiringly at me.
A week ago I would probably have blushed myself to an early death at her silent remark, but this time I matched her with an arched eyebrow of my own and a secret smile.
She smiled back at me encouragingly in a way that I had no idea how to reply to and to be honest I was a little bit relieved when she finally left. She had an unsettling way of making me feel deeply guilty, although I was quite convinced that she and Dave most certainly had explored the enjoyment of bondage too, after a couple of half-disguised insinuations that Dave had managed to slip into earlier conversations.
They stayed long after the visiting time was over, until they were noticed by the chubby nurse, who seemed to be working 24/7, and who whisked them out.
As they left, I realized that I felt very happy that Dave had finally had met someone and I smiled to myself when I saw them walking along the hospital corridor arm in arm chatting together; my short, charming Scottish friend and his tall, beautiful‒but unnerving‒girlfriend.
Eleanor and Kithira came by every day and I had a couple more visitors, who dropped by.
It took me almost an entire week before the hospital released me, after finally deciding that they were finished prodding me and taking unnecessarily blood tests just for the fun of stabbing me repeatedly with their needles. I really didn’t enjoy hospitals and all I wanted was to go home to my own small flat and curl up on the sofa, re-watching old series in front of the telly.
The whole incident at Eleanor’s underground garage had been covered up as an ‘act of terror’ or was possibly ‘gang-related’; I read when I was catching up with the news.
Clearly Kithira’s connection with British media was somewhat unsettling, but like everything else, it was soon forgotten by everyone, except the ones involved. My shot wound healed pretty well and although the scar was smaller than I had expected, I found myself every now and then touching the pinkish skin, thinking about how lucky I was to be alive at all.
But eventually everything went back to normal.
Well, sort of.
There was one exception: Eleanor was leaving London.
She didn’t tell me until two weeks after I had left the hospital.
It was evening, and we were sitting comfortably on a rather worn burgundy leather sofa, which didn’t match her luxurious penthouse apartment in any kind of way, sipping red wine and talking together after a nice dinner at a French pop-up restaurant that had remarkably good food and was nearby her apartment.
The restaurant had been trendy, but low-key. However Eleanor had dressed up and was wearing a peach-coloured, bell-shaped dress that made her look more than Marilyn Monroe than ever. The dress, in combination with her classic hourglass body, earned her a couple of catcalls both on the way to the restaurant and on our way back, despite the fact that she was walking arm in arm with me. It made me frown, but she only laughed at it and accused me of being grumpy, which I thought was deeply unfair.
Kithira had joined us all the time, but she kept her distance, giving us a reasonable amount of privacy and said goodbye once we had entered the apartment.
Outside the enormous window, the view of London’s skyline and Tower Bridge met my eyes. We were surrounded by Eleanor’s impressive book collection and her two Siamese cats prowled the area. The cats would every now and then stroke their heads lovingly against my knees, in an attempt to trick me into petting them.
But I had learned my lesson.
They only wanted an excuse to sink their razor-sharp claws into my hand, so I plainly ignored them, despite their false, affectionate behaviour. The cats were called Cadbury and Twix, but I had silently renamed them to the more fitting names of Hannibal and Dexter.
“There’s…” Eleanor said slowly, “There’s something I need to tell you, Peter.”
As soon as the words had left her lips I knew that she was going to say something important. She didn’t meet my eyes, but instead she seemed to enjoy the view.
“Tell me what?” I asked, trying to sound casual and without thinking of what I was doing, I stroke one of the cats behind the ears.
It purred loudly with feline friendliness for a moment before it viciously buried both of its claws deep into my forearm.
I flinched, but I forgot all about the pain and the cats when Eleanor said, “I’m leaving London.”
Her words seemed to echo in the room, temporary silencing the classical music that played in the background.
“Oh,” I said, and sipped my wine so I could hide my expression and feelings. Despite what had happened, I had secretly hoped that she would stay in London. And with me, I thought and felt a stab of disappointment. “So… Where are you going?”
“I…I don’t know yet,” Eleanor answered. “I’d like to go somewhere sunny and Kithira has suggested Florida. But perhaps we’ll go to L.A.… I haven’t decided yet.”
“I see,” I said slowly.
And I did.
I saw it crystal clear: She was breaking up with me.
I had no part in her life, no claim and no future. She was the daughter of a multi-billionaire, and I was… what exactly? An average graphic designer from London who filled his life with pointless projects and lonely evenings with fast food and Youtube clips?
I didn’t know what to say really, but for a crazy moment I just wanted to pour out everything and plainly tell her that I didn’t want her to leave. That I liked her more than I ever thought was possible and not only because I enjoyed submitting to her in bed. I loved the way she wore her red hair with silly girly headbands that reminded me of Alice in Wonderland. I liked her quirky, dry sense o
f humour and even her odd fashion sense, which seemed to only consist of clothes from the middle of the last century, including old-fashioned tweed jackets, knee length skirts, and horrible frilly blouses.
But no.
There’s no reason to tell her all that, I thought. I’ll only make a fool out of myself.
“Well,” I said instead and kept my voice steady and tried to sound as normal as possible, “It has been fun,” I added, which was by far the lamest way of summarizing our relationship, if it had ever been a relationship at all.
A flash of an emotion I couldn’t read crossed her ice-blue eyes and for a short moment I imagined that I saw a brief expression of sadness, but it could have been my wounded ego that made that up.
“Yes,” she agreed and repeated somewhat tonelessly, “Fun.”
The silence that followed was more than awkward, and suddenly I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Well,” I said and stood up. “I should be going, I need to be at work early tomorrow.”
“I thought Kithira had arranged for you to have the rest of the month off with a paid leave?”
“Ah. Yes, she did, but you know… I’ve the possibility to get promoted to senior designer, so I think I should chip in some extra time. And the new project we’re working with is quite exciting.”
“Okay,” she said and followed me to the door, apparently believing my weak lie, “Well, see you around then?”
“Of course,” I said and bent down to kiss her.
I closed my eyes, enjoying the bittersweet sensation of her curved, soft lips against mine for the last time, before I broke the kiss, reluctant to remove my hand from her cheek and curly, red hair.
I wanted to say something, to explain to her that I didn’t want her to go.
I want to stay with you. In my mind the words formed. I want to be with you forever and I think I that I love‒
But perhaps I was too afraid of getting hurt or acting like an idiot, because the words never crossed my lips and instead I reached for the button to the lift that would take me back to London’s normal hectic life.
I was just about to press the round, metal button when Eleanor’s smaller hand closed around my wrist.
We both went perfectly still, frozen in time, before I turned around and met her ice-blue large eyes.
I think she wanted to say something, only she didn’t. Instead she reached up, placed a hand around my neck, and almost forcefully pulled me down to her level, crushing her lips against mine in a deep and desperate kiss.
At first I thought that she would only kiss me, but she didn’t stop and instead I felt her hands travel all over my body, desperately tugging at my clothes.
My body reacted instantly to her eager and demanding hands, and I felt myself stiffening as I moaned quietly in response.
If this is the last time we’ll be together, then so be it, I thought distantly, as she pressed herself closer to me, kissing me deeply and passionately. I thing that in that moment I wouldn’t have been able to stop her, even I wanted to.
Willingly, I let her tear the clothes from my body, not caring that she ripped out a couple of buttons from my new designer shirt or that she tousled my brown hair beyond recognition. All I could think of was what it felt like to let my hands glide over the thin material of her dress and the feeling of her soft, large breasts and sensual thighs underneath it.
My fingertips tried to memorize the sensation of her pale, warm skin. The knowledge that this may very well be the last time we were together made me want her more than ever and I grew almost frantic with desire for her.
I heard Eleanor let out a small sigh when I undid the zip at the back of her dress, pulled down the strap to her white bra, and cupped her breasts in my hands. They were too large to fit properly in my palms, and I felt her nipples grow small and hard under my touch.
I moved myself closer to her, pressing her up against the wall. She kissed me deeply again, whispering my name over and over in between kisses.
Suddenly I needed her desperately and acutely, in a way that I had never experienced before. I was so hard it hurt, and I struggled with my belt. I finally managed to pull down my trousers and hitch up the hem of her wide dress, letting my hard erection press against her naked soft thighs so she could feel how ready I was.
It was all I needed to do. Her grip around my neck hardened and I felt her spread her legs apart for me.
With a half-strangled snarl, she tried to wrestle me towards the nearby sofa and although she was much shorter than me and not nearly as strong, I passively let her push me down on my back on the sofa, not caring about the sound of breaking glass as one of the wine glasses fell to the floor.
And then she was over me, straddling me.
I tried to stop her, tried to tell her to be careful and that perhaps she wasn’t ready yet, but she didn’t listen.
“Shut up, Peter,” she growled and kissed me thoroughly as I felt her reach down. Her fingers surrounded my erection as she helped me enter her.
I cried out when I finally penetrated her and arched my back, meeting her movement with thrusts of my own. I let my hands glide over her full breasts and follow her generous curves until they settled on her hips, trying to prevent her from riding me too fast.
“Wait,” I tried to say, my breathing ragged and unsteady, “I won’t be able to keep up…”
I tried to warn her, but she effectively silenced me by letting her small hand release her hard grip around my neck, and instead her fingers glided around to rest lightly around my throat.
The movement was so deliberately dominant that I instantly felt myself grow perfectly still, like a kitten being lifted by the neck skin by its mother.
Logically, I knew that she wouldn’t strangle me and that I could easily fend her off if I wanted to, but involuntarily I went absolutely motionless, submitting immediately and without question to her superior dominance over me, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Good,” I heard her mumble and saw her smile lazily.
Her eyelids were half-closed with pleasure and her mouth a little bit open. The fact that I submitted to her so willingly and naturally clearly turned her on.
Her smile broadened and she moaned with unhidden desire as she rode me mercilessly, while I helplessly let her do whatever she wanted to me.
I had never felt more captive or submissive than in that moment and I yielded readily to her as her hips moved against me with an increasingly pace.
As she was getting closer and closer to coming, she leaned over me, kissing me roughly while rubbing one of her stiff nipples between her fingers. I felt the muscles underneath her thigh harden, and heard her breathing becoming shallow and uneven. I let her wet tongue enter my mouth and felt her press her body uncompromisingly against me.
And all the time her hand rested against my throat, while I nearly groaned with pleasure at this new kind of experience.
“Come, Peter,” she ordered in a whisper while she took me, “Come now, come inside of me!”
As soon as her words had left her lips, I felt my body react to her command, before I even had time to question what happened.
I cried out hoarsely as I felt her press herself against me, letting her penetrate herself deeper than before, all the way down to the base. She threw her head back, her beautiful, curly red hair tumbling down her waist and sticking to her sweaty skin, and I felt my release leave me and fill her deep inside as she climaxed almost violently. Her hand left my throat and I felt her nails rake my shoulders, but by then I was far beyond caring.
Afterwards I held her soft, warm body close to me. I buried my face in her red hair, inhaling the smell of her and fervently wishing that this moment would never go away.
But it did, of course.
All sweet things must have an ending, everyone knows that.
And as I left the penthouse apartment, after a new set of polite goodbyes despite the fact that my clothes were torn and my hair tousled beyond recognit
ion, I couldn’t help but wished that I had tried to say something different.
London’s cold autumn rain greeted me solemnly and as I walked slowly to the closest underground station, I wondered quietly to myself if I would ever see her again...
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Dominated by the Librarian
(Male Submission)
Part #6: Surrender Forever
by Tara Jones
Of all the times I had broken up with someone or gotten dumped, it had never hurt the way it did when Eleanor told me she was leaving London and me. In fact, it hurt worse than when I had managed to get myself shot in the chest a couple of weeks earlier; a bloody and violent accident which I personally hoped I would never have to experience again.
What had started as a whimsical‒and failed‒flirting attempt with the local librarian had developed into a sexual BDSM relationship of the kind I never had experienced or could have imagined. Eleanor was curvy and sensual and she dominated me completely in bed, something which I had both learnt to enjoy and accept.
But apparently somewhere along the way it seemed that I had also fallen in love with her, however unlikely that may sound.
I think I was still half in shock, as it felt like I was staggering towards the nearest underground station from Eleanor’s penthouse apartment and I missed changing trains to the Central line twice on my way back home.
I didn’t cry of course, because I hadn’t cried since my dad passed away due to cancer when I was fourteen. But I had a strange constricted feeling in my throat that somehow made it worse.
When I got off at my station, I wandered aimlessly around the neighbourhood until I ended up in the park by the local library where I first had met Eleanor.
Autumn had claimed London fully and the evening was cold and windy. The leaves had left the trees naked and the branches bare. A thin layer of frost covered the grass, and as I walked across the lawn it made a dry, muffled sound under my feet. In the distance I could hear the traffic, but otherwise it was quiet. The park was deserted, with the exception of a lonely dog owner, who most likely regretted his previous decision to buy a cute little puppy.
