by Desiree Holt
Taking pity on me, Marcus strode over to the door, turning the sign to ‘Closed’. Then he led me through to the back of the café. Sitting on the couch that had been occupied by the two blondes, so recently that traces of their perfume still lingered in the air, Marcus unzipped his fly and brought out his cock.
“There’s a condom in my wallet, girl. You know what to do.”
Fishing in his pocket brought me in such close proximity to his cock I had to fight the urge not to swipe its length with my tongue. Fumbling with the wallet, I found a condom, unwrapped it and rolled it down his thick shaft.
Sheathed cock jutting rudely from his trousers, Marcus was thoroughly at home in what I’d always regarded as my domain. Patting his thigh, he indicated I should get on top of him.
Before I did, I shimmied out of my tight pencil skirt. When Marcus caught sight of the crotch of my panties, so wet it was a couple of shades darker than the rest of the fabric, he smirked in satisfaction.
Discarding my underwear, I clambered on to his lap. Grasping him by the base of his cock, I registered the heat of his flesh even through the latex, and I felt my pussy give a lustful little squeeze at the prospect of having him inside me. Still, fucking Marcus took our relationship to a new level. Until now, he’d only filled me with his fingers, or used a vibrator on me. This was so much more intimate—like lovers, rather than master and slave.
As I eased down onto Marcus’ bulging cockhead, a thought I’d never expected struck me. This feels right. He fit so perfectly inside me, and, when I looked into his eyes, for a moment it seemed he’d realised the same thing. I held steady, letting my muscles ripple gently round his shaft in a way that drove the men who’d been lucky enough to experience it wild. Then I couldn’t tease him any longer, beginning to shift up and down on his shaft in earnest.
“Oh, Selina.” Marcus’ eyes were half closed with lust. Gripping me by the hips, he responded by pushing up hard into me, so we moved in rhythm, spurring the other on to a shared climax that threatened to tear us both apart.
Strands of hair came loose from the knot I’d tied it in, tumbling down over my face. Marcus pushed one away, nipping at my earlobe. I whimpered, grinding myself down on his cock.
“I love it when you’re out of control,” he murmured. “You look so hot.” His voice cracked, but not before I’d heard him say something that sounded very like, “I’m really falling in love with you.” The words sent an electric jolt through me, almost as though I’d been waiting for him to speak them.
He groaned, clutching me harder, and I knew he was coming, filling the condom with his seed. He bit down on my neck, claiming me as his. Clinging to him as though I couldn’t bear to let him go, I felt my body dissolve in the sweetest of orgasms.
It took a moment before I was able to lift myself off Marcus’ lap, standing on shaky legs to dress myself again.
As he tidied himself up, he said, “You’re going to Club Severe tomorrow night?”
It sounded more like an instruction than a question, and I nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Good. I’ve booked a room at the Barbican Court Hotel for the night. Saves me having to get a cab back to Hertfordshire in the early hours. I want you to be there at nine. Whatever you were planning to wear, don’t. I’ll have everything you need waiting for you.”
Chapter Four
Designed for business travellers, the Barbican Court Hotel could pass as the dictionary definition of ‘bland’. Stepping into the lobby, with its mushroom-coloured walls and grey carpet embossed with the hotel’s logo, I wondered whether Marcus had chosen to stay here purely because it was close to Club Severe, or whether he liked the idea of preparing for an evening of delicious perversity in such dull, corporate surroundings.
Approaching the front desk, I waited till the receptionist had finished tapping something into her computer. Looking up, she fixed me with a practiced smile. “May I help you, madam?”
“Selina Kyte. I’m here to see Marcus Woods.”
“Ah, yes. Mr Woods is in room two-fifteen. Go straight up. He’s expecting you.”
I’d deliberately given myself plenty of time to reach my destination, so I took the stairs to the second floor, not wanting to arrive too early. Even so, I paced the carpet outside Marcus’ room for a good couple of minutes before finally knocking on the door at the stroke of nine.
“Selina. Right on time, I see. Do come in.” Marcus ushered me inside. Already dressed in a short-sleeved, fine mesh shirt and leather jeans in matching black, he looked elegant and relaxed. A half-bottle of champagne stood on the dresser, and he poured us both a glass. Handing me one, he chinked his own glass against it. “So this is it. The last night of your month of submission. A chance for you to really go out with a bang.” He took a long swallow of his drink, watching me over the rim of his glass with amusement in his eyes. “I picked out what I thought was the appropriate outfit to emphasise your new status.”
Picking the garment up off the bed, I studied it. A halter-necked PVC bodysuit, with thin mesh inserts designed to cover both breasts—if ‘cover’ was the correct word under the circumstances. Thin lengths of chain had been strung across each insert, and a ring to which a collar could be attached hung from the neckline. I’d never worn anything so revealing to a club. As a mistress, my clothing was designed to conceal, reinforcing my aura of control. In this suit, my tits would be on display to anyone who cared to look, while the thong back would expose more of my cheeks than it covered. Along with the bodysuit, Marcus had laid out a pair of crotchless fishnet tights and black patent platform heels that could, I noticed with a thrill of fear and anticipation, be fastened together to hobble my walk. No underwear, but that came as no surprise.
“I’ll just go and change,” I said, wondering for a moment whether Marcus would order me to strip where I stood. He merely nodded, too busy checking some message on his smartphone to pay me full attention. For someone who only worked in a consultancy role these days, he certainly put the hours in.
I took the skimpy outfit, along with my make-up bag, into the bathroom. At least Marcus hadn’t chosen anything that required help to squeeze into. Even the shoes were a decent fit, and I wondered when he’d found the time to make a mental note of my size. Gazing into the mirror, applying a second coat of mascara, I pondered the reactions of my scene friends when I walked into Club Severe. No one knew about the bet I’d made with Marcus, and seeing me in such a provocative outfit couldn’t fail to surprise them. No doubt my temporary master would take great pleasure in letting them know how Mistress Selina had learnt to submit to him.
When I went back into the bedroom, Marcus’ eyes widened approvingly. “Selina, you look incredible. If I didn’t want to show you off so badly, I’d be very tempted to stay here all night just fucking your brains out.” He glanced at his watch. “Come on, let’s go.”
As we walked through the lobby, I wondered whether anyone had the faintest idea just how little I wore beneath my knee-length coat, and how they’d react if they did. Visions danced in my mind of Marcus asking me to prove my submission to him by sucking the cock of the businessman who stood by the front desk, waiting to check in, or going down on the prim blonde receptionist, licking her cunt till she came all over my face. Heat flooded my pussy, and I clung on to Marcus’ arm.
“Whoever would have thought submitting would make you quite so horny?” He pushed the revolving door open, guiding me out into the crisp autumn night.
“Well, enjoy it while it lasts,” I retorted. “After all, as you pointed out, this is the last night.”
It was only a short walk to Club Severe’s current premises, a converted warehouse close to Smithfield meat market. A stocky, black-clad bouncer checked our tickets on the door, then wished us a pleasant evening as she returned them to us.
Checking my coat caused me a moment of anxiety like I’d never known. Taking it off to reveal a custom-made catsuit or form-fitting mistress dress was one thing—unc
overing an outfit that consisted mostly of fishnet and chains quite another. The cloakroom attendant said nothing as I handed my coat to him, but his eyes lingered on my breasts long after he should have been looking at my face.
“Don’t forget,” Marcus said, as I rejoined him, “the rules of the bet still apply. You’re to do whatever you’re told.” He plucked his wallet from his pocket, and extracted a ten-pound note. “And you can start by getting me a bottle of beer, and an orange juice for yourself.”
I’d have liked something stronger—the champagne we’d drunk in Marcus’ hotel room hadn’t been nearly enough to get me in the relaxed mood that would ease me through this evening. But Marcus was in charge. He decided what I wore, what I drank, maybe even who I spoke to—or who was allowed to punish me. I’d earned plenty of demerit points over the last few weeks, and I couldn’t help feeling that tonight they would all be paid for.
When I returned to Marcus, a drink in each hand, he’d made himself comfortable on a grey leather sofa and was deep in conversation with Lady Barbara, a domme we’d both known for years. A young, blond man knelt at Lady Barbara’s feet, naked but for a pair of white Lycra cycling shorts, licking one of her spike-heeled boots with rapt attention.
“Ah, and here’s my slave now,” I heard Marcus say as I approached.
Lady Barbara gave me a cursory once-over, then looked more closely. “Selina? Is that really you?”
“Yes, mistress.” I handed Marcus his beer, then stood, with eyes downcast as a good slave’s should be, awaiting further instructions.
“Yes, Selina’s decided to try life on the submissive side of the fence,” Marcus explained. “She’s taken to it like a natural, as you can see.”
“How interesting! Might I be allowed to borrow her?” I didn’t need to look up to know Lady Barbara’s eyes would be shining. Unashamedly bisexual, she liked to have both male and female slaves to pleasure her. I could quite easily see myself being ordered down to the floor to worship her right boot while Blondie continued to work on her left.
“Only if you’re very good,” Marcus replied.
“Darling, I’m not just good. I’m the best.”
Marcus and Lady Barbara chatted for a good fifteen minutes, while I sipped at my drink. On any other occasion I’d have joined in as they discussed mutual friends and the details of a weekend Lady Barbara had spent in a West Country bed, breakfast and dungeon establishment with Slave Jay, as she referred to the man crouching at her feet. But tonight I had the same status as Slave Jay, and could only listen in silence while waiting for my next instructions. A couple of people wandered past, doing double takes when they realised the identity of Marcus’ latest slave. At last, he set down his empty bottle.
“Come on, Selina, let’s go and check out the playrooms.”
Taking a thin black leash from his jeans pocket, Marcus clipped it to the ring at my neck before leading me through the club to the playrooms at the far end. Aware of curious eyes on me as we passed, I was glad my curtain of dark hair helped to hide my face. I didn’t want anyone to see how my cheeks burned at the humiliation of being treated as Marcus’ pet, or how my pussy tingled with pure, unabashed lust.
In the first of the playrooms we came to, the St Andrew’s cross was already occupied. A man in a pair of tight-fitting leather briefs had been strapped to it, facing out into the room, and his mistress used a soft, many-tailed suede flogger to beat his bare chest and the fronts of his thighs. His skin had the pinkish hue that came from prolonged punishment and stimulation, his nipples were tight points and the briefs struggled to contain a prominent bulge.
Marcus didn’t let me watch this thrilling spectacle for too long. After hauling me over a whipping stool with a thickly padded leather top, he used the attached Velcro straps to secure my wrists and ankles in place. I could have resisted this indignity if I’d wanted to, but I remembered his tale of how he’d been thrashed by Mistress Garnet all those years ago, discovering so much about himself and his own desires in the process. He’d taught me how to obey. Now I needed to learn how to take a punishment.
Not that I would have done this for anyone other than Marcus, I realised with a jolt as he came to stand in my eye line, holding a heavy black rubber paddle. This was no longer just about taking the dominant or submissive role, switching from one to the other in a crazy game. I thought back to his words the previous afternoon, spoken in the heat of passion and carrying utter conviction. ‘I’m really falling in love with you.’ Those words echoed exactly how I felt. Deep down, I knew I was in love with Marcus, and I couldn’t deny it any longer. But how could two dominants have a successful relationship? Surely you needed the ice to your fire, the yin to your yang, the bottom to your top, otherwise you’d always be fighting to have the upper hand?
Marcus’ voice brought me sharply back to the reality of my predicament. “You’ve done pretty well over the last month, Selina,” he said. “Much better than I ever expected. If I’m honest, I expected you to tell me where to go that first Sunday, when I ordered you to strip. But instead you’ve been my perfect submissive—apart from the thirteen demerit points you’ve racked up.”
I almost wanted to laugh. How could I, proudly dominant Selina, have become Marcus’ perfect sub? But somehow I’d managed it—and loved every moment, however much my body had burned with shame and humiliation at the outrageous things I’d been made to do. But still Marcus held the paddle aloft, his expression stern.
“Thirteen times you’ve let me down, girl, and for that you have to be punished. A blow for every point is fair, don’t you think?”
“Yes, sir.” No other response would satisfy him.
“Good. And if it all gets too much for you, just say ‘horse race’.”
His choice of safe word was designed to remind me exactly how I’d come to find myself shackled to a whipping stool, awaiting my first ever punishment. At least he’d selected an implement that, while undeniably painful, would be bearable as it landed on my backside thirteen times. The surface of the paddle might cover a larger area than a whip or a crop, but it produced a dull pain that built slowly, not a sharp, vicious sting. Even so, as the first swat landed, I let out an anguished cry and writhed against the top of the stool.
“Easy, Selina. Still another dozen to go,” Marcus said, not unkindly.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Oh, I like the way you say that. Repeat it after every blow.”
So I did. Another twelve times the paddle landed, my thin fishnet tights no protection from the force of its blows, and another twelve times I thanked Marcus for punishing me so beautifully. Each time it became a little harder to shape the words, my arse a fiery ball of pain that felt twice its usual size. After the first couple of swats, we’d acquired an audience, and the thought that some, if not all, of the watching crowd knew exactly who was squealing and sobbing and fighting to retain the last shreds of her dignity as she was soundly beaten only added to my embarrassment. How could I face these people at the next club night, when they’d openly witnessed the haughty dominatrix being brought low?
Except that, sometime around the tenth stroke, it no longer seemed to matter. So what if they saw me begging for mercy, my backside a red, blotchy mess and my make-up smeared across my face? I was taking everything Marcus had to give me, and I hadn’t once thought about resorting to my safe word.
He seemed to respect that, too, though he didn’t ease up on the last couple of swats, bringing the paddle down hard on the sweet spot where the curves of my cheeks met my thighs. Those were the most painful of the lot and, if I hadn’t been secured in place, I would have jumped up to try to rub my poor, sore bottom. Instead, I thanked Marcus again and, when he presented the paddle to my lips, I gave it a lingering kiss of gratitude.
“Well done.” The words, as he released me from my bonds, meant more to me than I could have ever imagined. I felt proud of myself for having passed this final test, of breaking out of my comfort zone into a place whe
re all I knew was the acceptance of punishment and pain. Marcus could no longer tell me I didn’t know what it meant to submit. I’d obeyed his commands, I’d deferred to him in public and I’d let him thrash my arse with his paddle.
“Thank you, sir.” Tonight, I suddenly realised, was the last time I’d call him that. From tomorrow, we’d be equals once more.
“You know what I want to do right now?” Marcus’ voice held the low, lustful edge I recalled from our encounter in the Lapsang Lounge the day before. “I want to fuck that punished arse of yours.”
Just the image his words created, of Marcus sliding his cock deep into my tight rear passage, fucking the hole that was forbidden to my slave boys, made me groan. I wanted it just as much as he did, but Club Severe had a strict policy. No sex on the premises.
“Are you ready to go back to the hotel, Selina?” Marcus asked.
“Yes, sir.” Playtime was over, though for most of the clubgoers around us the evening had barely begun. Now to get down to the serious business of surrendering my arse to my master.
We left the club in a blur of goodbyes, bidding farewell to people we might otherwise have spent the night chatting to. Marcus retrieved my coat from the cloakroom and ushered me outside. Hand in hand, we almost ran back to the hotel, my cumbersome heels clattering on the pavement.
The lobby was deserted, all the guests already safely tucked up in bed. Even the receptionist had briefly disappeared. Marcus pulled the coat off my shoulders as we waited for the lift, revealing me in my fetish finery. I didn’t object, so horny I would happily have let him strip it all off me where I stood.
In the lift, he attacked me with a flurry of kisses, nibbling at my earlobes and the hollow of my throat. As our bodies pressed together, I could feel his cock, hard and jabbing at me through his leather trousers.
