But afterwards, lying together, limp and immobile, it seems different. Then it seems that sex is linked with everything else in the world, a sense I’ve never had before. It had been a recreation, a pleasure, something cordoned off and hidden from all other aspects of life, separate and yet all-consuming. I had been a train spotter of sex.
Now, with the most minimal physical alteration of my circumstances, I could see it differently.
It was not just about pleasure gained, but pleasure given. My loves and desires informed all areas of life, flowing in and enhancing the most mundane of experiences. The sight of Lloyd’s worn-out, sweat-sheened face was all part of it, as was my desire to make a sandwich and run a bath. The universal web, with love at its heart, was almost understandable now, in the aftermath.
Almost.
I could reduce it to this: live well; love well.
It couldn’t really be that easy, could it?
The cod philosophy faded once I’d eaten my sandwich.
‘We should have a house-warming,’ said Lloyd, trying to catch drips of fried egg yolk on his plate.
‘We don’t live in a house.’
‘A flat-warming, then. Yeah?’
‘What do you have in mind? Canapés and wine?’
‘We should invite all our friends. You know, our close friends.’
‘Oh, right. An orgy then.’
‘Don’t you think?’
‘How fitting.’
‘Start as we mean to go on. Or go on as we started. Or something.’
‘Yeah.’
***
So, an orgy.
On the guest list: Lincoln, Jake, Mal, O, Rachael, Jade. We could, if so minded, dance an eightsome reel. But somehow I don’t think that’s going to be on tonight’s agenda.
What actually is on the agenda is a moot point. Lloyd is worried about balancing vanilla and kink, wondering if we should go overboard on bondage furniture or just let our guests improvise at will.
‘I think we should just go with the flow,’ I say, chopping up celery and peppers for crudités. ‘Hand them a drink, direct them to the food table and let them get on with it.’
All the same, Lloyd is whizzing to and fro, pondering new cocktail recipes, spraying fragrance on all the bedding and constructing an elaborate table centrepiece out of sex toys. I hadn’t realised we owned so many dildos.
‘You’re so creative,’ I say, admiring his handiwork as I plonk plates of canapés down all around it. ‘You could be a florist.’ I turn to watch him plumping up sofa cushions. ‘Actually, we’re short of a chambermaid just now.’
‘Shut up, Sophie,’ he growls. ‘I want everything just so.’
‘This is a big deal to you, isn’t it?’
He leaves the cushions alone and stands straight, looking me in the eye. ‘Yes. Isn’t it to you?’
I shrug, not wanting to admit it. Old habits die hard. ‘It’s just a party.’
‘It’s more than a party and you know it.’
‘What is it then?’
He beckons me over and catches me before I reach him, holding me close, tucking my head under his chin. ‘It’s the closest we’ll probably ever come to a wedding,’ he says.
I stiffen, the word ‘wedding’ making me want to wheeze.
‘Yeah, I know.’ He sighs. ‘It takes time to overcome a phobia, and commitment phobia’s no different. But this is a commitment ceremony, of a sort. It’s you and I, standing up in front of witnesses and telling them that we are together, by choice. Partners as well as lovers.’
‘And we’ll register our commitment by shagging everyone in sight.’
Lloyd pats my bottom. ‘It’s unconventional,’ he admits. ‘But we don’t have to do things by the book. There isn’t a book, is there? Not for us.’
‘Unless it’s a dirty one.’
He squeezes me. ‘Right. But you do see what I’m saying, don’t you?’
‘This is a commitment.’
‘Yes. And a statement of intent. Something that says who we are and how we want to live. It’s important to get this into the open. It is to me, anyway.’
I look up at him, his creased brow, his anxious eyes, and kiss him. ‘I get that. You want to make a declaration.’
‘Don’t you?’
‘Well, if I say I’m quite a private person it’ll sound weird, but … oh, why not? I’ve got nothing to hide. I don’t care who knows I want to be with you.’
‘Thanks. That means a lot to me. But are you wearing that?’
I’m in Capri pants and a washed-out vest for the purposes of housekeeping and vegetable chopping.
‘No. I don’t suppose you’re going to get much action in that shirt either.’
‘Even from you?’
‘Especially from me. Better get ready.’
I can’t decide what’s best for the purposes of an orgy. Fancy underwear and nothing else? Sophisticated evening wear? A rubber dress? Most erotically charged types of clothing are well represented in my wardrobe, but I can’t seem to make the decision.
I get Lloyd to wear the black outfit he wore at the fetish club, complete with eye mask and gloves, but I still can’t make my own mind up.
In the end, I leave it to him. He slips my bathrobe down over my arms until I am naked and decides on body glitter and a wet-look bikini. It’s not as if we’re going out, I suppose, but I still feel a little underdressed in my shiny green thong and halter bra with silver shimmers all over my skin.
Lloyd applies the sparkling gel with a generous hand and plenty of enthusiasm. I think quite a lot of people will be going home with silver scales on their bodies. Finishing up at my upper thighs and buttocks he takes me over to the full-length mirror to take in the effect. I look like a weird hybrid mermaid thing, almost naked in front of his sombre black attire.
We watch ourselves kissing and petting for a while, almost tempted to abandon the plan and just go to bed, but we manage to split for a final tweak and tidy up of the scene of debauchery before the first guests arrive.
Mal, O and Rachael arrive together, splendidly dressed for sex. Mal is in a proper suit – the first time I’ve seen him out of leather and, I must admit, I’m much more taken with him in this guise. O, at his side, is wearing a tiny dress made of stretch lace with hold-up stockings and towering pumps. At her throat is her collar, a ring of locked steel with a tiny padlock at the back. Her hair is in a sleek, severe bun, in order to accentuate this.
Rachael has on a burlesque outfit I’ve seen her in before – a Victorian-style affair in pink and black with a velvet choker and a cunning little hat tipped to the side of her head. Fishnetted legs end in lace-up ankle boots and she is carrying a huge feathered fan.
‘Are you going to dance for us?’ I ask her, kissing her cheeks and escorting her into the room.
‘I might. I’ve just started moonlighting at a club in Spitalfields. I’m Madam Mouffe. I’ll show you my moves later on.’
‘Please do. Maybe we’ll hire you for some of our conferences.’
‘The Worshipful Company of Fishmongers are staying at the moment,’ adds Lloyd helpfully. ‘Do you think they’d like it?’
‘Fishmongers.’ Rachael laughs. ‘I’m gutted they can’t be here.’
We laugh politely, hiding our grimaces, while the guests help themselves to carrot sticks.
Are carrot sticks usual at an orgy? I can’t help fretting about doing everything all wrong, feeling that the kinky contingent will know the correct etiquette and find me lacking.
The hotel-worker gang barrel in five minutes later and reassure me by devouring everything indiscriminately and voraciously.
‘Nice dips,’ says Lincoln, scooping up a ridiculous amount of salsa on some celery.
‘Nice … shorts.’ I return the compliment, staring at the very tight running shorts he has chosen to wear, inside of which his famous equipment appears to be in perfect working order.
‘Yeah? You sure you mean the shorts?’ He grins frankly a
t me. ‘They’re a real fine weave. Come and have a feel.’
‘Don’t mind if I do.’
I nudge up next to him and put my hand over the satiny bulge. Lincoln is one of the biggest men I’ve ever had, and my fingers seem tiny and insignificant against the weight and bulk of his cock.
‘You want some of that?’ he says, charming as ever. ‘You want that in your hot sweet pussy, babe? Cos I can give it to you.’
‘Shall we, uh, finish our drinks first?’
I scope the room. Jake and Jade are hanging around in a corner, slightly intimidated by our kinky friends, I think.
Lloyd steps forward in mine host mode and introduces everybody. There are hellos and how-are-yous and a bit of dry chitchat about the hotel, and then everything goes quiet.
Lloyd grabs a bottle of champagne and pops the cork. ‘I want to propose a toast,’ he says, pouring the froth carefully into eight crystal flutes, liberated from the cocktail bar for the evening. ‘As you know, Sophie and I have been involved with each other for a while now. She’s the perfect woman for me – bright, independent, adventurous and great company. We’ve had the time of our lives over this past year, though not always together. She gives me my freedom and I give her hers. We’ve found a balance that suits us both, and that’s what we’re celebrating tonight. We’re going to live in an open marriage, without the marriage. And an open marriage that isn’t really a marriage needs an open wedding that isn’t really a wedding. And that’s what this is. So I’d like you to charge your glasses and join me in a toast to the non-bride and the non-groom.’
‘The non-bride and non-groom.’ The room is full of warmth and good wishes and I feel a little bit the way a real bride might feel, maybe.
I tap the side of my glass, suddenly inspired. ‘If Lloyd gets a speech, I want one too.’
‘That’s Sophie all over,’ says Jake. ‘She’s the same with orgasms.’
General laughter.
‘No, listen. I want to propose a toast to Lloyd. He has given me something I never thought I’d have – understanding and tolerance and, uh, love. I love him. I just wanted you to know that. That’s all. You can drink now.’
We drain our glasses, then Lincoln slams his down on the coffee table and says, ‘OK, guys. Sex. Do we split off and go into different rooms, or what?’
Lloyd takes on the role of orgy facilitator. ‘What I’ve done,’ he says, ‘is put all the kinky stuff in our bedroom. So if you want a spot of kink, you can take yourself in there. If you don’t, you can use the guestroom, or the living room. What I’m hoping for is a bit of cross-pollination, though – people trying out new things with different partners. There are bowls of condoms scattered around the place, along with lubricants and other stuff. If anyone wants anything, just ask me or Soph. So, I think I’d quite like a blow job from Jade, if she’s up for it. How about you, Sophie?’
‘We get to choose?’
‘Of course. We’re the bride and groom. It’s our special day.’
I like this way of looking at it. ‘I’m open to suggestion,’ I say, looking around the room. ‘Who wants to go first?’
I deliberately avoid catching Lincoln’s eye, because I have him in mind for the grand finale. A man of Lincoln’s size needs some working up to.
Mal steps forwards and beckons. ‘I’ve wanted a piece of you for some time,’ he says.
He is the only man I haven’t fucked yet, so it seems only polite to give him first dibs. ‘Which piece?’ I grin.
‘The cheekiest,’ he says, reaching around me to pinch my sparkling bum.
‘You doms are all the same,’ I drawl. ‘Arse men through and through.’
‘That’s a very daring tone to take with me,’ he says, leaning down and speaking into my ear. His dove-grey silk tie nestles in my cleavage. ‘Brave girl.’
‘What are you going to do about it?’
He steers me around by my shoulder and marches me to the kink bedroom. O and Rachael trot after us, apparently stricken by Vanilla Fear. To my surprise, Lincoln and Jake follow on, experiencing the opposite effect – Kink Curiosity.
Only Lloyd and Jade are left to get down to straightforward oral sex in the living room.
In the bedroom I am made to kneel by the bed with my hands behind my back while Mal ransacks the baskets of toys, looking for his favourites.
In the background, I hear Jake complimenting Rachael on her outfit. I hope this will lead to something steamier in due course.
Meanwhile, I have my own fate to contemplate. Mal has found a butt plug and some soft plaited rope, not to mention a really unpleasant plastic fly-swatter thing that Lloyd customised into a spanking implement.
‘Good,’ says Mal, putting all his treasures down beside him on the bed. ‘Up you get, Sophie, and over my knee, for starters.’
‘I’m not keen on that fly swatter,’ I mention.
‘Did I give you permission to speak?’
I shake my head at him. ‘Actually, Mal, I’m not your submissive, and I don’t really want to be. Can we just make the dynamic “Sophie wants a spanking so Mal gives her one”? Would that be too strange for you?’
Mal blinks. ‘Not at all. Just … obviously I’m used to dominating.’
‘I know you are. Try something new, eh? You never know – you might like it.’
‘Well, why not? It’s your night, after all. But I would like to get you over my knee, so …?’
‘I can oblige.’ I bend over his lap, settling myself comfortably into the good wool of his trousers, relieved that he isn’t wearing cold, slippery leather tonight. ‘I still don’t like the fly swatter.’
‘I’m afraid the fly swatter is non-negotiable.’
‘Mm, well, at least it isn’t the … no, I won’t say. Might give you ideas.’
‘I do have an idea, as it happens. I’d like to bind your wrists with my silk tie. What do you say to that?’
‘I wouldn’t be able to defend myself at all.’
‘No. Exactly. Well, you could use your safe word, I suppose. Do you remember your safe word?’
‘I think I’ll just tell you to stop, if that’s OK.’
‘That’s fine. And the tie?’
‘Go for it.’
I offer up my wrists, enjoying the way he wraps the material round and round then pulls it tight, but not so tight that it hurts, then knots me into place.
My physical powerlessness lends that thrill of erotic fear to the scenario and I start to edge into the headspace of safe submission. Even with my legs dangling and my bottom up, I feel I want to play the rebel, though, and I kick my feet.
‘You can’t get away with this,’ I say through clenched teeth.
Mal takes to the role-play with a will. ‘I think you’ll find I can. Your behaviour is unacceptable, Sophie. The others in the room need you as an example. Watch and learn.’
He addresses the other four people in the room. From the corner of my eye, I can see that Jake and Rachael are snogging, while O sits on Lincoln’s lap in the armchair, watching us.
‘This is what happens to girls who get out of control.’
Mal’s hand cups my bum, his palm grazing the glitter, which has lent a slightly rougher texture to my skin. ‘This is going to be a lesson to you, Sophie.’
Get on with it.
The first collision of palm and bottom is swift and loud but not too painful. I purr contentedly and wiggle my arse for more.
‘Cheeky,’ warns Mal, and he starts to spank harder, slapping his hand all over my flesh, methodically. No patch is left untended, from the tops of my thighs to the centre of my buttocks. His scholarly and thorough approach soon has me squirming and trying to avoid the rhythmic fall of his arm.
He deals with this by speeding up and varying the pattern of the smacks so that I gasp and kick under a veritable onslaught.
The warmth turns to raging heat and I start to howl continuously, no longer able to take a breather in between strokes.
‘Oh, poor thing,�
�� exclaims Rachael, breaking off from winding herself around Jake like a burlesque vine. ‘Look how red she’s getting.’
‘Perhaps it’s time for the swatter,’ says Mal diabolically.
I shout, ‘Oh God!’ and everyone laughs.
Everyone except me, that is. I am too busy clenching jaws and fists and muscles. The plastic tip of the thing makes the areas it hits break into a sweat and then the next strokes sting even more, mixing in with the salty damp to create an exquisite pain cocktail.
I buck and yelp my way through about twenty swats before having to call time. ‘Please, please, no more, I’m burning.’
The second he hangs fire, the blissful afterburn makes its effects felt, the most substantial of these being the wanton wetness at my pussy.
‘Was that a good lesson?’ Mal runs his hands over my hot cheeks, squeezing and pinching them.
‘Very. Very good.’
‘I think you need more, though,’ he whispers.
I clench my buttocks. I think not.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he says. Chuckling, he reaches into the cleft and pulls out the strip of thong buried within. ‘The spanking’s over. I have something else in mind now.’
He pulls the thong down to my knees and pushes one finger into the vacated space, running it down the crack so that I shiver with arousal.
‘Oh yes,’ I whisper.
With his other hand he homes in on my clit, spreading my pussy lips wide to get a good feel of it.
‘That spanking made you wet,’ he comments. ‘Nice and wet.’ Slowly, he massages the area, spearing thick fingers into my cunt. ‘This is going to be very ready for my cock, when I decide to fuck you.’
I twitch over his lap, wanting that decision to be made now.
But he takes his time and then, with his other hand, he takes a bottle of lubricant and uncaps it with his teeth. Blunt stubs of fingertips, slippery with grease, dig into the cleft of my bottom, making it soft and yielding and pliant, ready to be violated. I feel the pressure bear down on my anus, feel the give and the surrender when his thumb breaks through.
‘Nice and relaxed,’ he says under his breath. ‘Are you watching closely, you others? Watching what I’m doing to her? O, what size plug do you think she needs?’
Game Page 23
