by Dae, Harlem
I leant down and placed the collar about her neck, going by feel alone while buckling it. Once I was done, she raised her head and stared right at me again, and despite the darkness, that collar stood out against the whiteness of her neck.
And it looked damn fine there. Suited her. Suited me. My collar, on Zara.
“How do you feel now?” I traced the shape of her cool cheek with my fingertips.
“Good, Sir.”
“Just good?”
“Different, Sir.”
“Anything else?”
“I’m fighting it, trying to understand why this isn’t…why it doesn’t feel horribly wrong. I never would have thought I could just…” She shrugged, her arms floppy, rag-doll-like. “But with you…”
I waited for more, but she didn’t continue. “Now do you understand how you’ve been making me feel? I’m not saying that as a negative, by the way, just a question. All this time you’ve been teaching me what I didn’t know was inside, and all along it was there… Talk to me.”
“It’s strange but liberating, Sir. But I’m afraid—not afraid in a scared sense—of what you’re going to ask me to do. Whether I can take orders without wanting to throw some back at you. Switching requires a lot of self-discipline, I see that now. The line between roles may become blurred.”
“So tell yourself to keep away from that line, then. Imagine one in your head like I’ve learned to do.”
“You have?” She blinked rapidly, shivered a little.
“Of course. During the day I’m a CEO, in charge, making snap decisions, multi-million-pound snap decisions, and creating structures that could cause a lot of harm if they’re not sound. Don’t you think I’ve had to scrub a line through that to be with you in the evening? To let you take that weight off of me and then submit, obey?” I paused, watching my words settle on her, then, “Are you ready to continue?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Now shuffle along and sit on your backside, against the wall, so you can see what those two over there are doing.”
I glanced in the direction of the barn. Things had changed since I’d last looked. Helen was now chained to an X cross, her back towards Geoffrey, bottom jutting out. The man himself was pounding into her—cunt or arse I couldn’t tell—at the same time whipping her thigh with what appeared to be a flogger.
“Watch them and make yourself come,” I said.
I recalled the bastard implying he’d been to watch Zara’s shows at Eden Street, and how the colour had drained from her cheeks. Well, now we were going to even up the score. “It’s your turn to see a show and allow yourself to be turned on. Tonight you’re in the audience.”
She seemed to want to say something again.
“Speak,” I said.
“I don’t think I can do this, Sir.”
I smiled, knowing what I was about to say would ensure she did as I’d asked. “Ah, so who is the virgin now?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Victor had certainly turned the tables. At first, I’d decided to indulge him. Play along with his little request so I could prove that he was born to be a sub just as I was born to be a Dominant. But what he’d said had hit a raw nerve. Him pointing out my double standards had rankled—actually, not him pointing it out, but that it had been there in the first place. My hurt at being used—no, I wasn’t hurt—my disgust at being used and that Geoffrey had lied to me all that time. He’d prevented me from seeing the bigger picture, the way I prided myself in being able to do so.
Now, with the heel of my hand pressed to my clit and three of my fingers firmly entrenched in my hole…now I could see why Geoffrey had switched. In my eyes, he was too much of a sub to be able to do Mastering full time, but perhaps he and Helen changed roles every so often? A bit like what Victor and I were doing now. Just for the fun of it. Maybe Geoffrey wasn’t a Dom at all, but a switch—there was a difference. A bloody big difference. It was as short-term as wearing someone else’s clothes, the way I was draped in Helen’s right now.
In the short time I’d been sitting here frigging my cunt, I realised that letting go of responsibility, of allowing Victor to call the shots, was as freeing as me being the one to issue orders. I wouldn’t want things to be this way all the time—no, the Domme in me just wouldn’t allow it—but once in a while? Yes, I thought I could stretch to that. I‘d just have to hope Victor felt the same way—that he could only handle being Master every so often during our time together. But what about afterwards, when went our separate ways, would he find a girl and want to dominate? Damn, if she was vanilla he’d scare the shit out of her.
Oh, why was I thinking like that? It didn’t matter what he wanted in the future—it was none of my business how other women he met felt about his new sexual tastes. We were just exploring the here and now.
I stared at Geoffrey and Helen. He thrashed her as soundly as I’d once thrashed him, and I wondered whether he was tripping on bliss.
“Faster,” Victor said, coming to kneel in front of me, between my splayed legs. “Tilt your head so you can still see them around me.”
I did as he’d asked, yet my curiosity to watch him instead was strong and torrid. I wanted to know what he was going to do, but conversely, not knowing was turning me on more.
Geoffrey dropped the flogger, hitting her instead with the flat of his hand. Oh, he’d learned well from our time together. How different objects created different genres of pain and layered on top of each other to create a sublime sting.
Victor unzipped his trousers then tugged out his cock. He began a slow rhythm, at odds with the speed of mine, and it made me go faster—made me want some form of control even now, to see if he went faster.
He didn’t.
Damn, he was more on the ball than I’d thought.
Helen bucked, as much as she was able, chained up as she was. Geoffrey seemed to surge into her in slow motion, the length of him disappearing at an excruciatingly erotic pace. I wanted to be closer, to be right in that room with them, or watch them through the glass at Eden Street. All I was getting was a suggestion of what they were doing, not the real, in-my-face-in-glorious-detail experience.
“What are they doing, sub?” Victor asked.
“He’s smacking her buttock with his hand, Sir,” I said, my voice breathy.
“Is he still fucking her?”
“Yes, Sir. Hard.”
“How do you feel watching them? Does it make you more excited to know they have no clue that we’re here, and not only that, you’re ramming your fingers inside yourself and I’m wanking as you watch?”
“Yes…Sir.” And I didn’t feel ashamed, either. I’d long ago realised that taking pleasure through voyeurism wasn’t something dirty, not for me. It was an aide, a visual aide that enhanced my ecstasy and gave me mind-blowing orgasms. Tonight wouldn’t be any different. To know I didn’t feel anything for Geoffrey now was an absolute relief. If I did, how would I be able to stand watching him fuck someone else? No, those two were just actors in a porn movie—one I was enjoying watching.
“The same goes for me, slave,” Victor panted out. “Except I just have to imagine what they’re doing, because my main focus is on you. I want…ah, fuck…I want to watch your every single movement, see your face when you come, but I’ll have to imagine that too. The darkness…I hate the darkness.”
I smiled. Would he have said that before meeting me? I imagined he would have been more comfortable in obscurity. And now listen to him, wishing it was light so he could see what I was doing.
“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he said. “If I can’t see it—oh, Christ Almighty my cock’s hard—I want to know it.”
“I’m going to come soon, Sir. And it isn’t really them I want to watch, but you said I had to, so I must obey, Sir.”
“Who do you want to watch?”
“You. I want to stare at you while you come all over my tits. I want…fuck, Sir, it’s coming…”
“Look at me,” he near s
houted. “Fucking look at me.”
Desire was raging inside me, pushing and pulsing, building to a level I hadn’t felt in a while. I stared at him, seeing nothing but his silhouette and wishing the moon was brighter, that it would give me some light in which to study him. I could just make out his hand going up and down his cock, speedier now. He moved closer, pointing his cock-tip to my chest. It came into contact with my skin, and the judders of him wanking transferred into me. I couldn’t hold back and lifted my chin, half-closing my eyes, trying to see his face but failing. All that was on offer was the dark grey shape of his head and the blurred tableau of Geoffrey and Helen to the right of it. But I could imagine what Victor looked like—eyes narrowed, his face taut with his concentration, jaw clenched, lips pulled back—and that visual sent me over the edge.
I came, muffled wails stuttering with my breaths. Victor raised his free hand and slapped me across my face, the shock of it—and the pleasure that he’d brought himself to do such a thing—sent spears of knife-sharp bliss through my clit. Oh, fuck, he had a good slap on him, and I opened my mouth to order him to do it again, but was prevented from doing so by a force of sensation so massive it left me speechless.
He obliged my silent request with another ringing smack—same strength, same place. My head jerked to the side from the impact, and I released a quiet cry of delight at how much it hurt yet pleased me at the same time. Easing my fingers out of my cunt, I finished off by furiously going at my clit, my wetness making it a slippery and oh-so-divine rub that had me arching my back. Victor’s cock-tip slid just below my shoulder with pre-cum, and I held my breath for the real deal.
It spurted, hot, searing, Victor gripping the collar and yanking me forward until my brow rested by his navel. I had the brief thought of whether him pushing his cock downwards like that had given him different kinds of feelings, a different feel to coming.
“Oh, yes!” he hissed. “Fucking yes!”
My cheek burned, and as it grew hotter, my orgasm waned. I panted through the aftershocks, each exhalation matching the shove of Victor’s cock into the hollow above my collarbone. He slid it in his cum, and I resisted the urge to turn my head away from him to open my mouth and lick him clean.
“God, Zara, my God…”
I knew what he’d meant, that he couldn’t find the words to express how he felt. My mind was a whirl of questions, me trying to come to terms with the fact that I’d switched—and enjoyed it. The loss of control had brought something new to the equation, and Victor had been so…so damn masterful. And that slap. My cheek was still humming. The glut of shame and surprise at being hit around the face had catapulted me to a new high I wouldn’t say no to if offered it again.
I remained where I was as Victor eased away and returned his cock inside his underwear. Zipped up then stood, looking down at me as I looked up at him. I had to agree with him—damn the darkness.
“Stand,” he said.
I obeyed, my back to the wall. A violent shiver attacked me, rattling up my spine, rippling around my ribs and rising to my jaw.
“Come to me?” he asked.
Not a command. He needed to remember to state that he was coming out of his role, so that I understood that I could come out of mine. I wasn’t sure whether to speak or not.
“Zara, talk to me, be your normal self.”
I walked into his arms, pressed my face to his chest, and wondered whether, due to the naturalness of how I’d accepted his embrace, I was actually being my normal self now. I didn’t feel Domme or sub. I didn’t feel anything but a woman who wanted closeness, warm, strong arms around me, and a steady heart beating beneath my ear.
Things were getting dangerous.
“Thank you,” he said, pulling out a white handkerchief to wipe his cum from my skin. “For doing that.”
I didn’t reply.
“Talk to me. I said you can be you now, Zara.”
“I am, I think.”
I felt his jolt of surprise.
Laughing lightly, I lifted my head from his chest and reached up to cup his face. “I don’t have to be a domineering bitch all the time, you know. I’ve just always preferred to be.”
“But what about now?” He trailed his thumb across my chin.
“I don’t know. I need to sleep on things. Somehow I feel…softer. That sounds stupid, doesn’t it? I don’t even know what I’m saying.”
“I think I understand.” He pushed me back gently, one hand on my shoulder, fiddling with the collar with his other.
“Leave it,” I said, surprising myself. Confusing myself. “I need to digest what happened. I think it will help if I keep it on.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel so—”
“No,” I said, pressing one finger to his lips. “You were right to give me a taste of my own medicine. How did I ever think I could draw a person out of themselves if I hadn’t fully been drawn out of myself? I thought I had, with him teaching me to be a Domme, but you’ve taught me something new. Much as I don’t do sorry or thanks, I have to thank you for that.” I smiled, feeling a bit of my usual snarky self filtering back. “Besides, it’d be rude of me not to be polite.” Again I shivered; this time it tapped my teeth together in an uncontrollable chatter.
“Maybe life is just one long string of lessons,” he said, bending down to collect my clothes.
“Perhaps it is. Thanks.” I took my things and dressed hurriedly, glad to cover my chilled skin and thinking we ought to get out of here before Geoffrey and Helen finished their session. They had served a purpose, and although it hadn’t been the one I’d intended, all was well that ended well, and I could certainly do without them knowing we’d enjoyed their show. “We need to go, Victor.”
“Yes, we do.”
We stepped out into the night and began walking off towards the gates, being sure to keep to the shadows. Our breath hung mistily in our wake and the grass crunched beneath our feet, frost having a tight grip on the night.
After a few strides he caught up with me, slid his hand into mine, and I was surprised, again, that I didn’t mind. The dynamics had changed between us today, and it seemed we’d become friends of a sort, two people who had switched together, knowing that no one else need know. I squeezed his fingers a bit, grinning at his squeeze in return, and, as we reached the gate, I jabbed in the numbers to open it and walked through them a changed woman.
One I needed to get to know all over again.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I drove. Zara was shivering so much—despite the heater on full blast and my coat over her knees—that I wasn’t sure how well she’d concentrate on motorway traffic. Every judder of her body and rattle of her teeth made me feel wretched, like I hadn’t done my job as Dom properly by letting her get so cold.
My first time and I’d royally stuffed up!
There’d been me all snug in my clothes, only my cock exposed, and she’d been naked. Not only that, I’d covered her in my spunk which had, I was sure, quickly cooled. Then I’d taken my sweet time reminding her to get dressed again.
I shook my head, cross with myself, and held her hand when traffic allowed, imagining some of my warmth flowing into her. When we arrived at the end of the M1 and entered the city, I reached over and stroked the back of my finger down her cheek, hoping to find heat in her flesh. There was some, but not much.
She smiled at me, her eyes soft. Something momentous had changed between us. Oh, she was still Zara—feisty, infuriating, bossy, extreme Zara—but that moment of her being obedient, seeing me as the one in charge, had shifted a screen and shown a new dimension to our relationship. It was a dimension I’d enjoyed visiting, very much. I only hoped she had too. Enough to want to do it again before our time was up.
Navigating through Hampstead, I didn’t bother to ask her if she wanted to stay at mine, preferring to take the plunge and just take her to my home. As the late radio show delivered a gentle tune, I pulled into the underground car park.
; “Here we are,” I said, turning off the Mini’s engine.
She didn’t answer. Her eyes were closed.
Something inside me melted. The feeling of relief was acute, ridiculous and certainly not expected. She’d obviously become warm and comfortable enough to sleep. That was a good sign.
I turned off the lights, got out of the car, and went around to her side and opened the door.
“Zara,” I whispered, smoothing a thick strand of hair that had wound loose from her ponytail. “We’re home.”
“Mmm?” She shifted and appeared to snuggle even deeper into my coat.
“Zara, wake up.”
Nothing.
“Zara.”
She opened her eyes, looked at me, the grey wall in front of the car, and then down at my coat. “Oh, yes, okay.” She yawned, screwing her eyes up tight again.
“Come on, let’s go.” I didn’t want to give her time to demand to be taken to her place. The thought of not being with her all night wasn’t one I was prepared to contemplate. After what we’d just been through, I needed her with me.
Luckily she didn’t object, and within a few minutes we were riding the elevator to the penthouse level.
“We got here quickly,” she said, tilting her head onto my shoulder and letting out another yawn.
“You must have slept the whole way across London.”
“Yes, I must have.”
“Do you feel warmer now?”
She held out her hand. I took it in mine. Still several degrees lower than my skin temperature.
The elevator doors slid open.
“Not much warmer,” I said, wrapping an arm round her waist and guiding her to my front door. “But we’ll soon sort that.”
She nodded, and in spite of her doze appeared sleepier than ever. I realised that I‘d never seen Zara so acquiescent and pliable. I liked it, this gentle way for us to be; it was softer on the edges, the barbed wire removed, the delicate centre of what we had, for once revealed.
Walking into my apartment was like walking into the tropics despite the cold outside. The solar panels and the state-of-the-art insulating technology meant the place was cool in the summer and warm in the winter. Tonight my innovative design was working to perfection.
