Fifty Days of Sin (8 page)

Then he’s inside me and I shut
my eyes, revelling in the sensation of his whole length filling me.
He bites me on the shoulder.

“Thank you, sir,” he
corrects.

“Thank you, sir,” I echo,
parrot-fashion, feeling a fool for agreeing to be bossed about,
hurt and humiliated by him, a grown woman being commanded by
someone who’s barely reached adulthood; but then I realise that I
don’t care how he’s treating me because the feeling of him moving
in and out of me is so pleasurable that I can put up with his
instructions and little punishments if the sex is going to feel
this good.

Oh, yes, it feels good. It feels
amazing.

“You like that, don’t you,
Justine?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Make sure you don’t like it too
much... I don’t expect you to come, you know,” he tells me.

“Oh,” I moan in
disappointment.

“If you come, I will be very
cross with you, and you will be punished.”

“Yes, sir,” I manage as he
increases the rhythm. He’s moving faster and it feels good. Then he
moves his hand to my clitoris and starts to rub me there, and the
pleasure of him inside me and his hand skilfully teasing me combine
to push me towards orgasm.

“I can’t help coming if you do
that,” I pant.

“You’ll have to try, otherwise I
have to punish you,” he tells me. I can tell that he’s turned on by
my protests, and he continues to stroke me with his fingers as he
thrusts harder and harder into me. Then with a cry, my ecstasy
rises to a peak and I come - I can’t help it; and as I shudder with
pleasure and my muscles tighten around him, I feel him come too and
he groans as he climaxes.

We are both still for a moment,
recovering, panting, and then Michael looks at me.

“Oh, Justine,” he says, his
voice full of sinister promise. “You came.”

“You made me,” I complain.

He shakes his head. “You clearly
have no self-control.”

He moves off me, reaching for a
box of tissues and removes the condom. He goes out of the room,
leaving me nearly naked on the hard floor, then returns, his jeans
pulled up again and his belt buckled. To my surprise, he kneels
down and reaches up to my hands, untying me from the chair leg and
releasing my wrists. I sit up and rub them with my hands, looking
resentfully at the red marks where the tightly tied string pressed
into my skin. Then I remember my unfastened bra, and, feeling
self-conscious, I start to put it back on properly. Michael stops
me, grabbing my wrist.

“I don’t remember giving you
permission to dress yourself,” he points out.

I look him in the eye, unsure
whether to just tell him to sod off. I decide to carry on playing
along. After all, a part of me wants to know what this punishment
will be. I’m nervous, but I wonder whether I’ll enjoy it. “Sorry,
sir.”

“That’s better,” he tells me.
“Now kneel on all fours. Like an animal.”

I raise my eyebrows at him, but
do as he tells me, my unfastened bra dangling untidily. I wish I
could do it up or take it off, but clearly he’s not going to let
me.

“Legs apart, I think.”

I move my legs apart a little.
Then I feel him take hold of my calves, just below the knees, and
roughly, he pulls them apart a lot further.

“Very nice,” he says
appreciatively. I feel a little thrill of pleasure at the thought
of him enjoying the sight of my near-naked body.

“Now I’m going to punish you,”
he says, and my tummy turns over in nervous anticipation. “Every
time, I want you to count – one to twelve. And when I’m finished, I
want you to say ‘thank you, sir’.”

I look down at the floor,
wondering what he’s going to spank me with. Anxiously, I remember
the safeword. Dalmation. Dalmation. Don’t forget. “Yes, sir.”

Then he stands up and goes to
the sofa, picking up one of my Sunday magazines.

“This will have to do for
today,” he says, rolling it up in his fist; and then with no
further warning he brings it down onto my bare bottom with a
resounding whack.

“Ow! One.” It’s more of a shock
than a terrible pain – it’s uncomfortable but not unbearable. Then
he does it again. “Two!” I cry out as he hits me harder. He pauses
in between blows, and I can feel the warmth of the contact with the
rolled up magazine spreading over my bottom cheeks. “Three!” I
moan, and then, “Four!” as he continues. Then he carries on,
getting into the swing of it, and I would definitely describe the
experience as painful – but it’s a mixture of pleasure and pain and
I don’t want to say the safeword and get him to stop. At last he
delivers the final stinging blow to my behind. “Twelve! Thank you,”
I remember.

He reaches round to twist my
nipple. “Thank you, what?”

I shut my eyes and silently
admonish myself for forgetting how to address him. “Thank you,
sir.” He kneels down next to me.

I’m not looking at him, but when
he speaks I can hear the smile in his voice. “You know, you’re very
wet,” he says, and I feel him run a finger around the entrance to
my body. He bends forward to put his mouth close to my ear and
whispers. “You seem to like being punished, Justine.”

“Yes, sir.”

He gently nips my earlobe with
his teeth, and then kneels up again, putting out his hand again to
feel my wetness. He circles round and round, and then his fingers,
lubricated by my own juices, touch my sensitive clitoris, making me
gasp with enjoyment.

“I expect you’d like to come
again, wouldn’t you, Justine?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I think it’s my turn first,
though, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” I’m getting used to
this now. Just agree with him, and my nipples will thank me for
it.

“You’re going to suck my cock
now. Are you going to enjoy that?”

“Yes, please, sir,” I answer,
assuming this is what he wants to hear. He stands up and goes over
to the sofa, sitting down.

“I thought you would, you little
slut.” I suppress a scowl of annoyance at his insult. I guess
putting up with verbal abuse is all part of the submission thing.
“Come over here, then, and make me come in your mouth,” he
instructs.

I move over to the sofa and
kneel between his legs. I glance up at his face and see a look of
amusement and the enjoyment of his power. Suddenly I feel
resentful, angry that he feels he can call me derogatory names and
command me in this way. I consider refusing to grant his wish; but
then I remember the intensity of the sex we’ve just had, with my
hands tied to the armchair. And I remember that despite the pain, I
enjoyed my punishment. So again, I decide to do what he wants.

He makes no move to unfasten his
jeans, so first I reach out and undo his belt again, unzipping the
fly and putting my hand into his underwear to free his rock-hard
erection. I take it in my hand and start to move, and to my
satisfaction I hear him groan with pleasure.

Then I lick my lips and watch
his face, seeing a flicker of desire in his eyes, and I take the
full length of him in my mouth.

At last I feel I have some
power, as it’s up to me to dictate the pace and bring him to
ecstasy in my own time. I suck hard, and move up and down on him,
still keeping my hand moving on the shaft. I start to move faster,
sucking harder and taking him as far as I can into my mouth.

I keep up the same pace, deep
and steady, and then as I feel him drawing nearer to climax I
increase the rhythm. Then with a deep thrust he comes, moaning
incoherently, and I lean back and look up into his face. I feel
triumphant, pleased that I’ve elicited such pleasure and obeyed his
instructions at the same time.

“I think you have something to
say,” he says, looking down at me. For a moment I don’t know what
he means. Then I remember what I always tell him to say to me.

“Thank you for letting me make
you come, sir,” I reply with a raised eyebrow.

I flinch as he reaches out and
pinches my nipple again. “Right words, but wrong facial
expression,” he dictates. I can feel myself pouting with annoyance,
but try to school my features into a mask of politeness. After all,
from what he said earlier, he seemed to be promising me that I
would get to come again next. He rearranges himself and fastens the
fly of his jeans, once again leaving me nearly naked and him fully
clothed.

He reaches out and I am
surprised as he gently caresses my cheek. “I think you’ve earned
the right to come now,” he tells me, smiling.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Lie down on the floor.”

I do as I’m told.

“Now you can make yourself
come.” I look up sharply, surprised, but then remember that he’s
only getting his own back for what I made him do in my room in
college a few weeks ago. Tentatively, I put my hand down to my
clitoris and start to rub it.

“Come on, my dirty little bitch.
I know you do this to yourself. Show me exactly how you do it when
you’re on your own,” he commands.

I am burning with resentment but
paradoxically, I’m turned on by the pain he’s inflicted on me and
the humiliation he’s putting me through. “Yes, sir,” I answer
through gritted teeth, as the thought occurs to me that perhaps I
need to see a psychiatrist.

I stop rubbing, and open my
legs, putting my fingers between them to wet them with my own
juices. I start to touch my clitoris again, staring at Michael as
he watches me intently, still feeling embarrassed and exposed.

Then I close my eyes and start
to forget my awkwardness as I edge closer and closer to the peak of
my pleasure. Unbidden, the thought of Adam kissing me last night
comes into my mind; it’s as if I can feel his hands on me again and
feel his kiss claiming my mouth. The thought pushes me over the
edge into ecstasy and suddenly I’m coming, rubbing myself just the
right way as I thrust my hips forwards as far as I can and the
sweet sensation of my climax floods through me.

I look up at Michael, sated.
“Thank you for letting me come, sir,” I tell him.

“Come here,” he says, his face
softened, smiling. I get up and curl into his lap. He holds me and
kisses me softly on my forehead in a surprisingly tender
gesture.

“Was that okay?” he asks,
brushing my hair from my face and looking into my eyes.

“It was weird,” I tell him. “It
might take a bit of getting used to.”

“But it made you wet,” he points
out with a conspiratorial smile.

“Yes, it did,” I admit. “I liked
the being tied up bit. Although you didn’t have to tie the string
so tight!” I look at my wrists. The red marks have still not
faded.

“Sorry,” he says ruefully.

I get up and start to fasten my
bra. “I take it I’m allowed to put this back on properly now?” I
ask sarcastically.

“You can do what you like now,”
he grins. I shake my head at him with a half-smile and retrieve my
knickers, putting them on, and then I get dressed completely.

“I’m surprised how tired I am
now,” I tell him, sitting down on the sofa again next to him. “Go
and make me a cup of tea now, there’s a love.”

“I guess I owe you that,” he
admits and I watch him, bemused at the sudden switch back to his
normal self, as he goes obediently to the kitchen. It’s almost like
a split personality. I hear him boiling the kettle and smile,
thinking of the great sex we’ve just had. I was completely shocked
by his declaration that he’d like to try being the dominant one,
and surprised again at my enjoyment of the pain of being whacked on
the bottom with a Sunday supplement. I pick up the magazine he used
and see that there’s a place on the back cover that’s glistening
with my body’s juices. I must have been so wet that it got onto the
magazine when he hit me. Feeling myself blush, and then feeling
foolish for blushing when I’ve just acted so brazenly with Michael,
I pull a tissue out of the box and wipe it off.

And then I think of Adam, and
how the thought of his kiss was the trigger for my climax as
Michael watched me touch myself. As I hear Michael busy himself in
the kitchen, I feel guilty again.

I haven’t promised anything to
Adam, but all the same, he probably assumes that I’m single. Not
that my relationship with Michael is a traditional boyfriend and
girlfriend arrangement, but it’s unusual for me to get involved
with anyone without being straight with them about my multiple
partners, right from the start. I usually find it an easy
conversation to have – but that’s when I start out with a new
partner like Edward, and I know I can take him or leave him. It’s
not like that with Adam. In the short time I’ve known him he’s
already become really important to me. So I don’t relish raising
the subject with him at all.

And despite the physical
connection I feel with Michael, I know I will only ever be
attracted to and fond of him – nothing more intense than that. The
feelings I’m developing for Adam threaten to be something much
deeper, so I wonder if the step I took with Michael today was
unwise.

Perhaps, given my feelings for
Adam, I should be backing off and ending my relationship with
Michael. Instead, we’ve just taken it to a new, more pleasurable
level.

And because of that, I can’t
help feeling a little uneasy.

Friday, 13 April

I’M DESPERATE TO HEAR FROM ADAM.
Every day, I expect a text message or an email, or to answer the
phone and hear his voice. When the doorbell rings, I keep on
half-expecting to see that’s he’s turned up on my doorstep; but
it’s the window cleaner asking for his payment, or a neighbour
bringing a parcel that the postman left while I was out at
work.

So I deliver my lectures, run my
tutorials, come home at night and eat alone in front of the TV. I
don’t plan any nights out in case Adam gets in contact and asks me
for another date. But he doesn’t.

I’m beset by anxiety. Has he had
second thoughts about me? I thought we got on so well last Saturday
night. I thought he was attracted to me too – he certainly seemed
to be when he kissed me. Has he changed his mind, or met someone
else and fallen headlong in love? Has he somehow found out about
Michael and I, and counted it as cheating on him?