by Q. Zayne
I held myself, suspecting the bullet train rush of my life sped faster because my longing filled every moment with such potency. The world had to split us apart before I transmogrified into the kind of woman I’d never been and could never be out of longing for him. The kind of woman Mom raised to meet the dictates of the Egypt that formed her and her mother before her.
I wanted to slap myself, snap out of it. Instead, I hugged the luxurious pillow with its fine Egyptian cotton slip and cried some more.
Damn it, damn it, damn it.
The next morning, I felt renewed. Sunlight made the high-ceilinged room and fresh sheets glow. Nothing like being cried out to make life look better. Orchids I hadn’t noticed the previous day adorned the dresser. Life here was too luxurious to allow wallowing in sadness.
I got out of bed and showered. The big massaging shower head brought me back to life. I started with warm water to melt my knotted muscles. My long-unused belly dance muscles griped at me. Time to dance more in my life. I’d missed it, without knowing it. Maybe Jen would join me for a class. We might be able to fit one in before I took a job offer in a more affordable country and left California forever. I turned the water to cold to refresh myself before facing the day.
The plush towels were one of many things I’d miss. I luxuriated in drying off, feeling like I was patting myself with a big powder puff. I padded into the bedroom in the nude and rifled through my cosmetics.
With a light touch, I made up my face. The climate made makeup slide off, and kept my cheeks pink. I skipped everything except kohl, waterproof mascara, and long-lasting scarlet lipstick. I censored my usual assessment of age signs. As much as mine bothered me, Marcus must not be immune to musing on the effects of time.
I suspected, though he didn’t say it right out, that Marcus was sensitive about the difference in our ages. It didn’t bother me, but he was of a different generation. While some people might applaud him, others were likely to mistake me for his daughter or be critical of him. At least I was out of college. My 28 to his—I wasn’t sure how old he was, 40s probably—wasn’t as potentially problematic than if I were younger. No doubt some people would cast him as a dirty old man even so.
I shook myself. I was thinking of us as though we had a future. It was the seduction of the island. It kept creeping over me and convincing me things were real when they couldn’t be. Against all odds, Marcus seemed to have feelings for me, a genuine regard, an unfaked sexual response. He gave me credit for opening his heart after his devastating loss of his wife and daughter. But that was all here and now.
Basking in his mastery and praise for the time we had together would have to be enough. ‘I treasure the gift of your submission.’ I wanted to write Jen, gush about how amazing it felt to be cherished, to feel beautiful to a man. The lack of wifi grated on me. Maybe it was best not to admit even to Jen how taken in I was, how gone over this man.
I wound my hair up and pinned it, taking care to get all the strands that would otherwise stick to my neck like water snakes.
This was a travel romance. An affair that existed in its place and time but could no more continue in the reality of those separate lives than the timeless woman of James Hilton’s Shangri La could survive outside its walls.
I stuck the last pin in too hard and winced.
I needed Marcus, I wanted him, but life wasn’t fair. Whatever his life was outside of the island, there’d be no place in it for me. The sooner I accepted that, the less devastated I’d be when we parted. My time at Submission Island would be over all too soon.
I made myself straighten up and stop fussing with my hair. I wasn’t going to spend my last days in paradise mourning a relationship I was blessed to have for the short term. I caressed my dress over my hips, adjusted the wrap to reveal more cleavage. Many people lived their entire lives without feeling so treasured, especially people who fall outside the limited range of what’s considered attractive in mass media. I wasn’t supposed to be one of the fortunate ones anyone would love, unless I paired up with someone else considered undesirable. I took a deep breath. For these halcyon days, I got to feel loved by a stunning and worthy man. I needed to enjoy it with every cell of my being.
I stepped into my favorite high heel sandals and headed for the Mansion of Desire.
Return to The Spanker
Start where the last scene ends
[he blindfolds her, binds her. He feeds her cock. He eats her out, he fucks her ass]
He was there waiting for me, but didn’t act aloof. He rose when I entered and swept me into his arms. I clung to him as he swung me in a circle, my body light as air. He spun me dizzy. I dropped my fears and laughed. The man was magic. He knew just how to make me feel better.
In the dim room, neither of us looked our ages.
“Who are you? Why did you come here?” His piercing dark eyes compelled me. He lifted my chin and kissed me before I could answer. His lips tasted mine, savored them, licking and seducing my mouth so I opened for him. Caressing my face with both hands he gave me the deep, claiming kiss only he could give. My world spun. He released me. I rocked back onto my heels, gasping.
The corner of his mouth rose.
“Sadist.”
“Yes.” He laughed. “Now answer.”
It took me a moment to recall the question. I knew he didn’t want my name or a mundane line. I plumbed for the truth.
“I’m an explorer. A researcher. I feel more connected to the past than the present, the ancient dead than the living. I don’t belong here and in this time. I’ve had a deep disconnection since early in life. I sensed my parents weren’t my parents.” I took a breath and rushed on. “If you’re asking why I came to Submission Island, I came to escape my life. And I suppose to become more of myself, go deeper into what I want. In a sense, desire defines us. I’ve been working at a job I barely tolerate, surrounded by morons. Aside from a couple of friends who find humor sanity-saving, I have no social life. I stopped dating months ago. Most of my time, my real life, is spent daydreaming and studying ancient stories.” I stared at him, noticing my old defiance from the few occasions I was really me with my parents. Did I see Marcus as an authority because he was older? Were my feelings for him transference, not love? Years of therapy left me questioning everything. Having a suicide mom did that.
“Good. Good answers.” He steepled his fingers, his brows raised. He looked surprised and pleased, as though I were a student who exceeded expectations. I treasured the comfort of the student-professor relationship. It was the only kind of connection with other human beings that made sense to me. Marcus could be my master in so many things if he wanted to be. I’d teach him things, too.
He smiled. I had the disquieting sense that he saw right into me. I blushed.
“You’re perceptive and self-aware. To move forward, you’ll need to release some of your self-consciousness. One of the most difficult things about maturing is realizing that many things aren’t about us. We start our lives being mainly aware of ourselves, our needs, me, me, me. Our culture has veered to a sickening extent into prolonging the most selfish ego state, so that people stay fixated on oral wants and the desire for immediate gratification. It’s the foundation of consumer culture. People become uncritical, accepting absurd commercial messages and social media manipulation, buying into nonsense such as ‘reality’ TV. Morons is too mild a word for the present and future generations of the U.S. It’s pathetic. Each year education becomes poorer. People who can think for themselves aren’t an asset.” He waved his hand. “Ugly times we’re living in. I don’t blame you for spending as much time as possible else-when.”
Else-when. I took the term like a magpie, to enjoy its shine later.
“You understand.”
“Don’t be so surprised. I’m not a total fossil.”
“I never thought—.” I blushed. I did think of our age difference. I thought of him too much entirely. I sat back farther, looking up at him, longing for another kiss. I felt
exposed, vulnerable, talking to another person about such private things.
“Are you finding what you wanted here?”
I bit my lip. “Yes.”
“That sounds, like ‘yes but.’”
What could I say, that it was going to be over too soon? That I wanted it to continue, especially that I wanted him to still be part of my life?
“It’s going to be hard to leave.” That was as close as I could get to the truth without gutting myself. Marcus could be many things to me, but I couldn’t let him grab my still beating heart and hold it up over me like the sacrificing priest. I couldn’t admit how I felt.
“You don’t have to leave. Not yet. Why not extend your stay? I’m sure Isabella would love to have you.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. “But, um—.”
“You aren’t going back to that job.” He chuckled.
Busted. He was right about that. So why did I hesitate?
“Don’t worry, Cleo. You don’t have to decide right now. Instead, get undressed and come wriggle your pretty ass over my lap. You’ve done plenty of thinking for today. I want to get you back in your body, and get your body feeling hot. Once your ass turns red and your pussy is wet, I want to fuck you hard and make you cry. Are you up for that?”
“Yes, Master.” He was a mind reader. He knew just what I needed.
I stood, stretched, and gathered my dress in my hands. I hadn’t bothered to wear panties. My thighs felt slick already. I loved how he talked to me.
Tapping my foot to the swell of desire between us, I swayed, holding my bunched skirt to my thighs. He wanted to see my desire. He wanted my dance. I’d give him everything.
Training
Training
Power play
[add more things from her list
He blindfolds her to make her more secure
Add sucking lesson]
“I could employ a paddle, a riding crop, whips... but I relish the feel of your flesh, your full, resilient ass.
Will you be disappointed if I don’t use these toys today?”
“No, Master.” His eyes were kind, yet his commanding presence made me shake.
“I want to you learn obedience. This is not saying 'yes master’ by rote. This is reaching into yourself and behaving from your desire to please me. Some people might enjoy resistance and attitude. I don't. Unless you’re willing to serve me, you have no purpose in this room. I will respect your limits, and you needn't fear negative fallout for taking care of yourself. That's a different matter from doing what I tell you to do within a scene. What do you think I mean by that?”
I swallowed, descending into student mode. "You mean that I can use a safe word or tell you if something is wrong for me and you won't punish me for that."
"Yes. Excellent. You don't give up you to serve me. You go deeper into you. This is where Cleo blossoms. I want to see who you are when you aren't afraid."
I nodded. I wanted to protest that I wasn't afraid, but he saw too much. He knew I feared him. He sensed my many restrictions. He had tremendous power in his ability to cut through them and make me writhe with lust in defiance of every inhibition I carried. I sensed him waiting for me to respond.
"Yes, Master."
He rose and stood over me, slid his fingers up the back of my skull. I shuddered.
"Rise."
He offered his hand and I got to my feet.
"I want you to suck me. This time, blindfolded, and with your hands bound behind your back. All of your senses and attention will focus in your mouth, in your tongue and lips pleasuring my cock."
"Yes, Master." My eagerness came through my voice and he smiled.
He reached into a black bag and pulled out padded restraints. He buckled them on each wrist. I smelled the leather, felt its supple grasp on my flesh. My nipples hardened. Holding my arms behind my back, he clipped my wrists together. He'd be able to let me loose fast. I took comfort in that. Being naked and unable to shield all my tender parts made me aware of my vulnerability. For all his finesse, Marcus was a stranger. I was putting myself in his power. I noticed the intentness and tenderness on his face. I was putting myself in his care. I trusted him. More than I expected to trust any man after Josh.
I shook my head and banished my ex from the room.
Marcus grasped my face in both hands and kissed me. His lips brought me all the way back to him.
He hadn't had to do anything to me. It was as though I was waiting for him, all this time, waiting to be his. The fantasy of belonging to him, the real longing, blurred reality for me. I didn't want to feel so much for him.
I kissed him back, pressing against him, surrendering. This was what he wanted wasn't it? Not playacting obedience, the real me, so open to him, it hurt.
"I'm here, Marcus. I want you."
"Good Cleo, so good. You're beautiful, made for this, made to give and receive pleasure."
He slid a silk scarf from his pocket and wrapped it around my face. I inhaled his scent. He adjusted it over my eyes and tied it behind my head. I felt his deft fingers taking care not to pull my hair. A master in all things, my Marcus. If only he could be mine. This must be acting. He must be an amazing actor, even saying he couldn’t think of anything but me. I loved hearing it, but couldn’t allow myself to believe it—in that direction, madness lies. And heartbreak.
The stab of Josh’s betrayal hit me low in the belly. I’d put it out of my mind for so long. I didn’t want it here with me on Submission Island, and especially not in this sacred room with Marcus. I shut my eyes tight behind the blindfold and banished Josh and his cheater’s panties trophy from my heart. That was over.
I inhaled again. Teasing out the scent of Marcus from the blindfold. I couldn’t define it. It reminded me of the woods where I grew up after a rain, fresh, yet with a deep under note, earthy and primal.
I loved him, that was all. A whiff of him brought me to attention like a dog happy her human came home. Damn. I had it bad.
His hand slid down my back from the nape of my neck to my tail bone. His finger nestled between my ass cheeks and slid lower. I froze. I stopped breathing. He wasn’t going to touch me there.
His finger stopped just short of my asshole.
“Relax. You have nothing to fear from me.”
I took another deep breath and rolled my eyes to the ceiling under the blindfold. Why was I having such a hard time with this? I wanted to be here. This was my dream come true.
His finger slid lower. Oh, no. He was going to—yes. He touched my asshole. His finger stopped there and stayed. I wasn’t breathing. I remembered to, and hitched a hard breath that brought my shoulders up to my ears. I was not relaxed.
Marcus chuckled, but not in a mean way. He sounded like he was enjoying himself, not as though he was making fun of me.
By force of will, I unclenched my butt cheeks from his finger.
“That’s it. Right here, Cleo. Bring your attention right here to the tip of my finger on your ass. Don’t worry. I’m not going to fuck your ass. Not today, anyway.” His low voice resonated in my belly, in my bones.
I breathed easier. Without the explicit thought surfacing, ‘Oh no, he’s going to fuck my ass,’ that’s what I’d tightened against as soon as his finger slid between my cheeks. Was the man really a mind reader, or was my body so easy to read?
“Calm, Cleo. Be calm.”
I heard a whisper of friction and smelled a mild anti-bacterial scent. Thoughtful Master, keeping his hands sanitary. He guided me closer to him and pressed on my shoulders. His hands slid under my arms to steady me.
“On your knees, beautiful.”
I lowered myself to my knees, quivering at the command in his voice. He called me beautiful. Had anyone ever called me beautiful and sounded so sincere? My eyes prickled. This was a happy time. Yes, yes, yes.
His hands caressed my face. I wouldn’t cry again, I wouldn’t. Why did this man make me feel so much? Who the hell was he to get so deep inside me so fast? I
flashed on his cock filling me like no one had before. Damn. A sexual shudder went through me so hard my head rocked back.
“What was that?” He stroked his beard. His eyes gleamed.
“I remembered your cock in me, Master,” I whispered, mortified my desire for him was so intense and apparent.
“You delight me, Cleo. Sexual response is nothing of which to be ashamed. You’re delicious.” He slid his fingers under my chin, raised my face and pressed his lips to mine, taking me slow, so slow. The hot hard pressure intensified as my heart beat like a train. Oh, Marcus.
Leather creaked. His arms wrapped me close. He’d crouched down to reassure me. What kind of man was he? Like no other I knew. I was going to miss him every day for the rest of my life. One tear slid free. I was grateful to the blindfold for catching it so he wouldn’t see. I was happy to be with him, I really was. I just didn’t know how I’d live without him after I had to leave.
I kissed him back. Right here, right now. This is what I had with Marcus. I’d obey. I’d behave. I’d show him with all of me how much I wanted him, how much I wanted to please him. I arched against his body, my mouth surrendering, my hard nipples tender against his supple leather vest, my pussy releasing my heat scent into the room. My body quaked, the deep sexual shudder rising low in my belly to the crown of my head. The kundalini serpent shook me full force. The man had me. He had me with his hot lips and broad knowing hands. He didn’t have to take out his cock to shake me with mini comes. No one ever had such an effect on me.
He wrapped his hand in my hair and pulled. I jolted from my pussy. I opened my mouth to his tongue. He teased me, he fucked me with his tongue, every push slamming right to my clit. I juddered out of control. His hard arm pulled me against him. I tightened, gave in, swaying on my knees, heady, yet solid in the protection of his body. His arm anchored me to the earth. Dizziness and swirling color engulfed me. He was my tether. The raw sensations he aroused all though me took me to the verge of flight. I was a helium balloon and Marcus held my string.
