Fifty Days of Sin (13 page)

He takes off my blindfold and I
blink at him, taking in the sight of him in all his beautiful,
naked glory. Then he releases my hands. Looking round, I can see
that he tied them to a heavy chair and I laugh. “I was wondering
how you’d done that. Very ingenious.”

“Are you okay?” he asks as I sit
up on the edge of the bed. He sits next to me and takes me in his
arms. “Did I hurt you too much?”

“No, you didn’t hurt me too
much. It was a shock at first, because I couldn’t see you. But I
think you noticed what my reaction was.” He smiles, and I smile a
little shyly back at him, slightly embarrassed at the recollection
of how wet his beating made me. “What was it you used?”

He picks up a thick brown
leather belt from the bedside table. “This.”

“Oh, my God. Adam, that could
really hurt if you hit me with all your strength.”

“I tried not to. But you seemed
okay, so I carried on.”

“Yes, I was okay. I just can’t
believe I’ve got through my first ever twenty lashes with a leather
belt.”

He smiles at that. “Your first?
Looking forward to more?”

“Maybe.”

He kisses me and cradles me in
his arms. “You were amazing, Justine.” He brushes some hair away
from my face. “How do you feel now?”

I consider this. “Happy. But
tired.” I lie back on the bed, and turn on my side, my preferred
position for sleep, resting my head on the pillow.

Adam stands and picks up the
duvet from where it ended up on the floor earlier. He tucks it
tenderly around me. “I think you’re allowed a sleep now,” he says,
and climbs in next to me. I feel his warm body against my back and
smile as he puts his arms around me, holding me close. “I’m glad
you’re happy,” he tells me. “And I’m glad you enjoyed it. I want to
make all your fantasies come true, Justine.”

It’s crazy how I feel so safe
when he’s just whacked my behind twenty times with a leather belt.
But that’s exactly how I feel. I trust him completely; and the sex
we just had was amazing. I’m very experienced, but when Adam made
me come a few minutes ago it was fantastic. And now I feel like I
belong here in his arms, warm and happy. In love.

I want to tell him. My mind is
crying out for me to say, “I love you, Adam.” The words are going
round my head like a mantra. But I daren’t say them. I want to tell
him that I’m no longer sleeping with anyone else; that I don’t even
look at anyone else now that I have him. If I could know that he
felt the same, it would make my world complete. But it’s such a
massive change for someone who’s never wanted commitment before.
How can I tell him that I feel so strongly, so early on in our
relationship? I’m longing to tell him everything about how I feel,
but I’m so frightened of scaring him off. Yes, I’m confident that
he really likes me – I know he thinks I’m interesting, fun to be
with, sexy and beautiful. The knowledge warms my heart. But how
serious is he? If I tell him how strong my feelings are for him
after such a short time, will I scare him off?

Considerations like these have
never been a problem for me before. Never wanting commitment, I’ve
never had strong feelings to deal with, let alone worries about
scaring off a partner by declaring my love for him.

So I lie in Adam’s bed,
luxuriating in the feel of his warm arms around me, falling deeper
in love with him every minute. And I don’t say a word.

Friday, 4 May

A STEADY RAIN IS FALLING AS I
drive home from work. It’s Friday night and I am more than usually
glad to see the end of the working week. I’m cooking dinner for
Adam – and wondering what he’s got in mind for afterwards.

As I pull into my road, the rain
eases up to a light drizzle and I switch my wiper speed to
intermittent. I pull up outside my house and switch off the engine,
picking up my handbag and climbing out of my Nissan Micra. The
drizzle is gentle enough now that I don’t bother putting up the
hood on my coat. I press the button on the keys and see the
answering wink of the indicators, then reach into my bag to hunt
for my house keys.

Then I see a shadow, and it
makes me shiver.

“Justine.”

I know the voice at once. I
breathe a sigh of relief. It’s only Michael.

“Michael, what are you doing
here?”

“I had to see you,” he says. I
see, inconsequentially, that he’s not wearing a coat and his hair
and jumper have been soaked in the rain.

“You can’t stand out here in the
wet,” I chide him. “Michael, I’m sorry you came all this way to see
me. I don’t think we’ve got anything to say to each other that
hasn’t already been said.”

“But you’ve got to listen,” he
pleads. “I’m missing you so much, Justine. Don’t you know how much
you’ve hurt me?”

I feel a pang of sympathy, but
there’s no room in my heart or my life for a relationship with
Michael now. “I’m so sorry, Michael. I never planned it this way,
and I didn’t want to hurt you. But I’ve moved on, and you have to,
too.” The raindrops are starting to permeate my hair now and I’m
getting cold. I’ve found my keys.

“I can’t,” he states. “I need
you, Justine. Please...”

“Goodbye, Michael,” I tell him
firmly and stride to my door. He follows me.

“Can I come in? Can we
talk?”

“I don’t think that would be a
good idea, Michael,” I reply, turning the key in the lock, and to
my relief he doesn’t try to follow me into the house. I shut the
door with relief.

I lean my back onto the door,
shaking my head. Poor Michael. I never thought it would turn out
this way. I’ve inadvertently hurt people before, it’s inevitable
sometimes when a relationship ends. I’ve been hurt too, so I know
what it’s like. Of course, I wouldn’t say that I’ve been in love
before I met Adam, so any painful breakups have been bearable for
me. But when I’ve been the one to break things off, my exes don’t
normally follow me home and stand around in the rain for me,
imploring me to talk things over.

But then I look at my watch, and
I can easily push Michael out of my mind, because Adam will be here
in less than an hour. I’ve been looking forward to this since the
moment I kissed him goodbye last time, and I’m not going to let my
ex get in the way of enjoying myself with Adam. It’s time to make
myself look beautiful.

******

I LICK THE LAST OF MY chocolate
dessert off the spoon.

“You look like you enjoyed
that,” says Adam, still eating his.

“Mmm.”

“Here.” He offers me a spoonful
of his. I open my mouth and he feeds me.

“Mmm. Oh, that’s lovely.” I
smile to myself. I hope I’ll be saying the same thing later on, for
an entirely different reason.

Adam seems to be reading my mind
because there’s a wicked glint in his eye. He gazes at me a few
moments longer than really necessary, before scraping the last
little bits of chocolate out of the little bowl and feeding me
again. I give another murmur of appreciation.

Then I feel his hand on my
knee.

I’m not one for wearing tights.
I don’t like the way they constrict my tummy; and moreover, they’re
really not sexy. For a long time, every time I put on a skirt, I’ve
had either bare legs or holdups.

But normally I go for the subtly
tanned type, sheer and matt and as close to bare legs as possible.
A hint of sexiness because of the lace tops, but nothing too fancy.
And when I wore a skirt the last time I saw Adam, I went
bare-legged. So in theory, he doesn’t know whether I’m wearing
tights or something a little more racy.

But I know, I just know, that
he’s guessed that the black hosiery he can see adorning my legs
under this black pencil skirt is a pair of sheer black stockings
held up by a suspender belt.

After our conversation in Adam’s
bed about my fantasies, I’ve been eager to dress up in the bra,
knickers and suspenders that I told him about. The idea of him
taking off those knickers, tying me up and doing whatever he
pleases with me is indescribably arousing.

So when he takes my hand and
leads me to the bedroom my heart is racing with anticipation.
Especially as he picks up a rucksack that he brought with him, and
takes it upstairs too. I’m desperate to know what’s inside.

I go into the bedroom, Adam
following, and he shuts the door behind us.

“So, Justine,” he begins, his
voice full of erotic promise. “What am I going to do with you
now?”

I don’t answer. I just look at
him, a half-smile on my lips.

He reaches out and gently
caresses my cheek in a gesture of complete tenderness. “So
beautiful,” he says. “And so obstinate. When I ask you a question,
Justine, you’re supposed to answer me.”

So we’re in
character already.
“Yes, sir,” I
answer.

“So? What am I going to do with
you now?” he demands.

“Fuck me, please, sir.”

“Oh, no, Justine. I know you’d
like that,” he replies, his face full of amusement, “but I think
you have to earn the right. Don’t you?”

“Sorry, sir. Yes, sir.”

“And what are you going to do to
earn the right?”

“Whatever you tell me, sir.”

“That’s a good answer. I like
that.” He smiles, considering his next move. “Take off your
top.”

I look into his eyes as I pull
off the camisole I’m wearing, exposing my black bra to Adam.

“This is nice,” he says,
touching the fabric of my bra. It’s sheer over my nipple, and as
his fingers brush over it I feel it harden under his touch. “What
else have you got under here? Take off your skirt now.”

I reach for the zip and pull it
open. I let the skirt fall to the floor, and step out of it. I’m
standing in front of him now in my black underwear, bra, suspender
belt, lace-top stockings, and knickers.

But they’re not just any
knickers: these ones are special. Instead of the usual elastic at
the sides, they’re held up with satin ties. So all Adam has to do
is pull gently at the fabric at each of my hips, and they’ll come
off completely.

He stands there, looking at me
appreciatively. “Now, Justine, it’s time for you to do exactly what
I tell you.”

I look at him expectantly. Tall,
handsome, kind, gentle, sensitive, funny Adam – now completely
transformed into a new Adam. One who wields the power of pain and
pleasure, the keeper of my heart and of the deepest secrets of my
psyche. I shiver. He smiles, and walks past me around behind my
back. I keep still, afraid to move without permission.

“Stand against the door, and put
your hands up to the top of the door frame.”

I walk forwards and stand as
near to the door as I can. I put my hands above my head and reach
up. I am tall enough to touch the doorframe at the top, and I hold
onto it with my fingers.

“Now I’m going to beat you,” he
states baldly. “And I want you to stay like that right up to
twenty. Count for me, Justine, and I want you to show your
gratitude afterwards.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

I look round as I hear him pick
up the rucksack and open the zip. “Eyes on the door,” he warns me.
I turn my head back and shut my eyes, leaning my forehead against
the wood. My breath is a little ragged now with a mixture of fear
and desire.

Then he touches me. But it’s not
his hand. Something travels from the nape of my neck down my spine
and down to my bottom. Try as I might, I can’t work out what it is.
I open my eyes, still keeping my face turned to the door.

“I like these,” he says, moving
whatever it is over the silky fabric of my knickers. “But I think,”
he continues as he moves it round to the side of my hip, “they’re
going to have to come off.”

Out of the corner of my eye, as
I strain to look round and see what he’s touching me with, all the
time without moving my head, I get a glimpse of what he’s holding.
I gasp; it’s a leather riding crop.

“I said eyes to the front,” he
reprimands me, and suddenly he delivers a stinging blow to my
bottom. I wince and stifle a cry. “Not a good start, Justine. We’re
going to have to go up to thirty now.”

I am about to protest, but I
realise it might make things worse for me. Suddenly I wonder what
on earth I am doing, standing here willingly allowing a man to beat
me. Wanting him to do it. Am I completely mad?

It’s not like I’m sure that it’s
hardly going to hurt – in actual fact, I suspect it’s going to hurt
a lot. I’m genuinely afraid. But despite this, I want it. It’s
making Adam turned on, and more than anything I want him to want
me. I know he wants me in any case – even if we don’t do anything
kinky. But I remember the way his breathing quickened when I told
him about my fantasies and the urgency I could feel in him when he
fucked me before, tied up and blindfolded. I know how this affects
him – and it’s affecting me in the same way. Although I’m trembling
slightly at the thought of the pain he’s going to inflict on me,
the wetness between my legs is betraying me. It’s not just fear
that’s making the adrenaline course through my body.

Yes, perhaps I am completely
mad. But I want more. So I close my eyes and wait for the next
blow.

Nothing happens.

“You’re forgetting,” he says.
“You’re supposed to count.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. One. Sir.”

“That’s better.” Then I feel a
movement as he pulls at the ties at the sides of my knickers, and
easily pulls them off me.

My bottom is completely exposed
to Adam now, ready for the next twenty-nine blows. I brace myself
for the onslaught to start. But first he has another order for me
to follow. “Move your legs apart,” he instructs.

I move them.

“Further.”

I do as I’m told. Now I really
do feel exposed: all the bare flesh of my bottom and even my sex is
accessible to the riding crop. Suddenly he touches me, sliding his
finger inside me. I whimper as he touches my wetness and moves
inside me.