by Dae, Harlem
I started up my paddling again, arousal spinning in my brain, tugging my sex and making my panties damper. I knew Victor was turned on, he was just fighting it.
His beaten arse was a glorious shade of scarlet, the skin rippling on each strike. His cock held a drip of pre-cum, and he was panting through the pain. I had him on the edge of his boundary. I was pretty damn sure I had.
The Harlequin’s orgasm arrived, the shrieks of pleasure swirling into our small room.
“Oh, God,” Victor groaned.
“That’s it,” I said, “come, come for me now and take all this pain with you.”
But he didn’t come, he just kept on taking the slaps as The Harlequin stood, removed the costume and raised the snake in the air.
“She’s a fucking man!” Victor said, dropping his hands and stepping backwards. “Jesus Christ, a man with tits like that. And what the hell just happened, he came with the snake around his cock, fucking hell, too bloody freaky…”
“Yeah, but look at your dick.” I chucked the paddle onto the chair, gripped his chin and harnessed his attention. “He turned you on. Did you ever think a spank and a bloke would get the great Victor Partridge just about coming all over the wall in a sex den?”
He gripped my wrists, hard, yanked them upwards, towards his chest. My whole body jerked into his, our chests colliding.
A wild, feral flash seared over his white-hot eyes as he forced me backwards, up against the wall, his movements swift and strong.
Finally, I could see what I’d been searching for.
Chapter Nineteen
A red fog descended. Redder than my poor sodding arse. Zara had known full well she was making me imagine I was fucking a man, getting off on a bloke’s freaky false tits, and she’d bloody well strung me along for the ride.
And that paddle, on my backside. That was supposed to feel good?
Sure, my cock was as hard as wood, my guts ached for release, but still…
And the damn gleeful look on her face.
My heart thumped, and my focus went, my peripheral vision blurring. All I could see was her. All I could think of was proving that it was her who turned me on. Not a beating and a bloke. I’d done it all for her, to play her stupid game.
The air whooshed from Zara’s lungs as I backed her into the wall. A smidgen of the cockiness left her expression. For a moment I wondered if I saw fear.
I didn’t care.
“You turn me on,” I said through gritted teeth. “Not the stupid fucking show, or the damn pain on my arse. You, Zara, get that? Do you?” I shook her slightly.
“Victor, how dare you speak to your Mistress like this?” She tugged at her arms, tried to shake me off. A frown slashed across her smooth brow, and her pupils widened to deep, dark pools.
It was a paltry escape effort, and I dragged her arms over her head, trapped both wrists in one hand and stared down at her.
Her lips parted, she was breathing fast, her tits straining against her low black vest top. The expelled air from her nose whooshed onto my bare chest.
Every muscle in my body felt on high alert. My arse hurt, but my cock hurt more, my need for release verging on agony.
“Why?” I asked, shoving my body into hers and sucking in a tortured breath as I ground my cock over her belly. God, I’d never been so hard.
“Why what?” She squirmed.
I held her tight. There was no substance to her small muscles; she was taut and trim but had no underlying strength, I could feel that now. She’d be easy to pick up, carry away and keep as mine, forever. Who would ever know?
But damn, little or not, she could bloody well use a paddle.
“Why do you want me to feel small, helpless all the time?” I asked, my jaw so tense I could hardly speak.
“I don’t, Victor, not at all.”
I dropped my head to hers, spoke onto her lips, “Yeah, you do. Is it to make you feel big? Is that it? Has someone made you feel worthless and used and now you’re compelled to do the same to me?”
She twisted her head, shut her eyes. I heard the curtains come across the window. The room fell a shade darker.
She turned back to me, tilted her jaunty little chin. “You don’t feel worthless, Victor. Fucking hell, see what’s going on, why don’t you? You have me pinned to the wall. You want to screw me into oblivion, out of anger, frustration, passion and desire. Could those emotions be any further from feeling worthless? Could you feel any more alive than you do at this moment in your life?”
Damn it!
I hoisted her right leg in the crook of my elbow, wrapped it around my waist and sought the gusset of her panties. Dragged them to one side and shoved my cock as deep inside her as I could go.
She cried out. So did I.
Her pussy was unprepared, but she was wet enough and hot too.
I kept my grip on her wrists, holding her hostage. Pulled out and forged in again, slamming her body against the wall with mine.
I groaned and took possession of her mouth with a furious, desperate kiss.
My cock burned with need. The tautness of her pussy barely sated its ravenous hunger. I needed to get closer, deeper, become a part of her. Show her this was who I was, not some guy she could play with, treat as a hobby.
“Oh, yes, that’s it,” she panted into my mouth. “That’s fucking, Victor.” Her words were staccato. “That’s so different to how…you make love…this is fucking.” She paused and groaned as I ground extra hard over her clit. “Ah, yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”
“I am, you little bitch.” As the words had spilled from my mouth I knew I’d meant them. Said in the heat of the moment, in the heat of her, it was how I felt. She was a temptress and a trickster and she needed a damn good seeing to by a real man.
A man like me.
I was getting close. I could hardly breathe, hardly stand. The force of my lust had driven me crazy. Zara was clinging to me with both her legs around my waist. I released her wrists, gripped her arse with one hand and the nape of her neck with the other. Didn’t let up with my frenetic devouring of her mouth, biting her lips as I came hard and deep inside her.
The pleasure went on and on. I was oblivious to whether or not she, too, had claimed an orgasm. This was all about me. Taking what I was due from the woman who’d made me her project.
She’d wish she fucking hadn’t.
Eventually, my cock eased its spasming and I slowed my hips.
Sanity began to trickle back into my brain like a mountain spring growing from a stream to a river to an ocean.
I shivered.
“Fucking hell. Zara, I’m really sorry.” I withdrew, released her and stepped backwards, to the other side of the room. Shame gripped my chest. Horror stabbed at my guts.
Had I just raped her?
“I’m so sorry. So sorry.” My knees went weak. I leaned into the wall, dropped my head in my hands. The plasterboard was cool on my hot arse, but that was nothing compared to the chill that flooded my veins.
“What for?” She straightened her skirt and pushed her hair behind her ears.
“Jesus, I was so rough, I didn’t ask. Just grabbed you.” I wasn’t sure my knees would continue to hold me. They were watery; my hips hurt too. My cock was softening rapidly, my nakedness making me feel even more wretched.
“Victor?” she said quietly. “Why are you so upset?”
I lifted my face. Stared at her standing in the middle of the room. She was gasping for breath, her tits shifting rapidly. Her cheeks were red, her lips swollen and pink from my kisses and bites. She was beautiful beyond belief, and I’d just gone and shoved my greedy cock into her with no thought for her feelings, no respect for her experience.
I’d never been so ashamed of myself.
“Victor?” She stepped close, concern slicing through her eyes. She wrapped her hands around my clenched fists which were locked beneath my chin. “Please, you’re worrying me.”
“You should go,” I said and swallowed do
wn a bite of bile. “I’ll wait here if you want to report me to the police.”
“The police?” Her eyes widened. “What the fucking hell are you talking about?”
“The police. I just raped you. That’s a criminal offence. Jesus, I’m so sorry.” A sob was growing in my chest. My heart was flipping about like I was on the dodgems. I could visualise my life going down the pan, being flushed away. The shock on Mary’s face. My partners slinking off to find new jobs in respectful establishments with decent citizens and non-rapist bosses.
“You didn’t rape me.” Zara frowned and shook her head.
“But I did. I just grabbed you, fucked you…” My chest juddered, quite pathetically, but I couldn’t help it. “I just took what I wanted, it was like I was consumed with lust or something. I had to have you.”
A slow smile spread on her face. “Oh, Victor. Don’t you see? That’s what I was working you up to! That was the plan.”
Confusion swam through my mind. “You were? It was?”
“Yes.” She released one of my hands, stroked her fingers through my hair. A soft, intimate, comforting gesture, and one I certainly didn’t deserve. “Today’s lesson was about letting go. Submitting to me, doing as I told you, certainly. But using the show and the pain on your buttocks to drive you to a point of lust where only that existed. Nothing else. It was what I was hoping would happen.”
A modicum of calm steadied my heart rate. “I…I don’t understand.”
“Victor, you control every aspect of your life, every minute of every day. What you must realise is that desire is a basic instinct not just in animals but also in humans. It rules the world, keeps species from going extinct. And you, Victor, are an animal. You have to know that you have that passion in you, that instinct is vital to the human race.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that.” She pressed close, kissed me sweetly. “Because I’m not. That was bloody wonderful. Do you have any idea how much I’ve wanted to see you lose it? Just throw everything out of the window, all of your gentlemanly ways, your crap about making love, and just fuck? Fuck until you just about kill the both of us with your urgency?”
“Did I nearly kill you? Shit. I’m sorry.”
“Stop it.” She slapped the side of my buttock. Not hard, but enough for me to flinch. “No more apologising. That will not earn you Brownie points.” She stepped away and stooped for my boxers, flashing me the sopping wet gusset of her panties as she did so.
“Oh, God, I didn’t use a condom.” I rubbed at my face. My stomach lurched. Could I have behaved any more horrifically this evening?
She shrugged. “I’m clean and I’ve got contraception covered.” She passed me my underwear. “You?”
“Er, yeah, clean, and apart from Helen, which was ages ago, I’ve never not used a condom.
“Helen?”
I couldn’t think about Helen right now. Throwing her into the casserole pot of emotions that were boiling inside me might just induce a meltdown. “Yeah, I’m clean. But I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” It had sounded pathetic, but it was the truth.
“That bloody ‘s’ word. Zip it, Victor.” She hoisted her enormous handbag onto the chair, shoved the paddle into it, pulled out a wedge of tissues, and began to scoop my cum from her inner thighs.
I stared at her bustling actions for a moment, wondering how she wasn’t madder at me for slamming her against the wall and filling her with my spunk. But it seemed she wasn’t. If anything I was making her mad by being remorseful. Quickly I began to dress. The soft material of my shirt and suit offered me a shield, turning me back into the polite, efficient businessman I was used to being and not a Neanderthal hell bent on fucking his woman.
“So you see,” she said when I was dressed and she’d straightened her clothes, re-applied perfume and lipstick. “There’s a plan behind all my lessons.”
“I don’t quite see it, though.”
She reached for my hand, brought my knuckles to her lips the way I had hers earlier. “I know you don’t, but you will. You’re doing so well.”
I stared into her eyes. They held a softness that hadn’t been there before.
“Did you come?” I asked. “Just then, against the…” I nodded at the wall.
“Do you even need to ask?”
“That’s why I’m asking.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, twice. You were amazing, Victor.”
A glut of male prowess rolled through me and the see-saw of my emotions caused my stomach to flip. “Really?”
“Yes, really. I may have to paddle your arse again if it turns you into a sex-crazed beast.”
I raised my eyebrows. Sex-crazed beast. I supposed I couldn’t argue.
She smiled wickedly. “I can’t wait to see what you’ll become with the whip.”
“Mmm.” I titled her chin with the crook of my index finger. My arse was still an inferno, more so now I was dressed and the material was rubbing against it. “I think I may need to recover before you even suggest that.”
Although the idea didn’t totally turn me off. But it wasn’t the pain that I liked, that just hurt. It was having Zara do her dominant thing, because I had to admit, that was what had got me so riled, so fucking stiff. The show hadn’t done much; pissed me off because of its weirdness really. But Zara, dressed and me naked, her adoring my body, ordering me about, making me take whatever she doled out. Yes, that was new, that was interesting, and it had certainly pressed some buttons inside me I hadn’t even known were there.
“You’ll recover. Rub some oil or cream on your cute little tush when you get home, that will sort you.”
“Why don’t you do it for me?”
“What do you mean?” She stiffened, her shoulders rising a little.
“Come back to my place. Stay the night.” I touched the tip of my nose to hers. “Rub the cream into my arse and kiss it better.”
She shook her head and pulled away. “No. I can’t. I have to go home.”
“You do?” I couldn’t explain the sagging feeling that went through me. Sure, she infuriated me, wound me up until I didn’t even recognise myself, but still, that didn’t mean I wanted to be without her this evening.
“Yes, I have things to do, Victor, at home. Believe it or not you are not the only thing I have going on in my life.”
“I never said you were.” So what else did she have? I didn’t dare ask.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night. For your next lesson.”
“Ah, yes, about tomorrow,” I said.
She tipped her head, tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth. “Don’t tell me you can’t make it. I have another lesson for you.”
“Put it on hold. I told you, I need to recover.” My heart chose that moment to fire out five extra beats in a row. That always made me a little dizzy and I paused and pulled in a deep breath. Closed my eyes for a couple of seconds as I expanded my chest.
“You okay, Victor?”
“Fine.” I opened my eyes and smiled, let the air seep from my lungs. “I’m taking you to see my kind of show tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at six.”
“That’s a bit early.”
“It’s traditional in the West End to have a pre-theatre meal. I’ve booked us in at The Savoy for dinner and then I have a surprise for you.”
Chapter Twenty
Me, Zara Watson, at The Savoy. Again. I hadn’t wanted to tell Victor that I really couldn’t go. That Man had invited me here on occasion, and to be honest I didn’t want to dredge up all the memories about our time together that I’d safely stored away. But I hadn’t been able to deny Victor’s request. The look in his eyes as he’d asked me had melted my reservations, and I’d agreed solely because I didn’t want to upset him. He was a nice man, and, well, it didn’t hurt to return that niceness once in a while, did it? That was another first for me since That Man. I didn’t usually care who got upset. I took what I wanted and had fun while doing it, never a thought for the other pe
rson.
Similar to That Man.
I disliked myself a tad for becoming a female version of him, of them too, but I didn’t ever think of them.
So here I was, standing in the foyer of one of the plushest places I’d ever been in, waiting for Victor, who’d nipped to the restroom. I battled off images of That Man waiting upstairs in his room the way he used to—waiting for me to turn up and beat him, fuck him and make him feel all the things he needed to feel. I could see now I’d been nothing more than a prostitute to him, a young woman he could buy with casually tossed affection and wise words that had been designed to keep me coming back until he’d got bored of me six months after he’d moved out of the city and into his gorgeous barn conversion. Oh, and he’d helped me to cope with what they had done to me. Mustn’t forget that. So he’d been good for something, then.
To make the unsettling visuals go away, I glanced around. Yes, everything was exactly the same, from the black-and-white tiled floor to the beautiful, highly varnished wooden walls. Everything appeared to gleam, especially the floor, the suspended ceiling lights—wood-encased, circular full-moon faces—reflected in it. I leaned against one of the white pillars in the centre of the room and glanced down at the shiny black panels surrounding the bottom. My red dress and seven-inch-high scarlet shoes were mirrored there. I stared at my shoes and imagined pressing the heels into Victor’s arse cheeks, his skin dipping from the pressure, a horseshoe-like shape remaining even after I’d taken my sole away. Men seemed to like that, I wasn’t sure why.
I shook my head and looked about, wondering whether to go to the desk and announce I was having dinner with a Mr Partridge so I could go to our table rather than wait for him to reappear. To my right, sitting on a light blue fabric sofa, side-on to me, was a woman with long black hair much like my own. She was laughing, her head thrown back, her slender neck exposed should her male companion wish to lean across from his gold-and-burgundy brocade-covered chair and kiss it. He had one elbow digging into the armrest, his chin sitting snugly in his hand, fingers splayed over his cheek, their tips reaching above his eyebrows. With his face so obscured, I couldn’t see his full expression, but his lips were parted in a smile—one, I suddenly realised, he had bestowed on me from time to time. I froze, widening my eyes as my heartbeat skittered.
