His House of Submission (13 page)

‘Ow, oh, that's too hot,' I complained, shimmying my hips wildly.

‘I want you to feel it,' he said, patting my bottom.

Between my legs, his semen trickled out of me, staining the material and demanding my attention. I was squishy and hot and damp and sore and incredibly turned on again. He pulled me up straight and fondled my breasts, my stiff little nipples telling him what he needed to know.

‘I can be as cruel as I like to you, can't I?' he said, biting my earlobe. ‘You love it. Now I'm going to be even crueller.'

He pinched my nipples, walked back to the horse and tacked it up properly this time.

‘Over here,' he said, extending a hand.

‘I can't ride it,' I exclaimed. ‘Not now!'

The thought of sitting on that unforgiving leather, bobbing up and down in the saddle on my tender, smarting, bruised bottom was quite horrible. And yet fascinatingly irresistible.

‘You'll do as you're told, Sarah,' he said, reaching for the whip again.

I trotted over, post-haste, and let him hand me up on to the ludicrously tall beast until I sat uncertainly on top of it.

‘Lean forward,' he said, and I did, feeling my pussy lips and clit crush up against the saddle, soaked in spunk. Meanwhile, my arse was on fire, throbbing like fury. I wanted to come again.

‘I'll take the rein,' he said. ‘I'm just going to take you on a nice long walk around the estate. All you need to do is hold on.'

I endured the maddening arousal all the way around the edges of the grounds, trying as hard as I could not to rub myself against the saddle, but my seat made it inevitable that certain kinds of friction were experienced and somewhere near the lake I lost control and clutched at the reins, whimpering.

Jasper, who had been recounting a long story about learning to ride for a swashbuckling movie he filmed in the forests of Slovakia, stopped in mid-sentence and watched me, smiling widely.

‘Poor thing,' he said. ‘You've really lost control of yourself, haven't you? I think we'll need a few more training sessions this week.'

‘I'm sorry, Sir,' I wailed, not wanting to go back to lying on my back with my legs spread in the air while Jasper used all kinds of vibrating and stimulating toys on me, withholding permission to come until the very last.

‘I'm sure you are,' he said. ‘OK, shuffle right forward. I'm going to get on behind you.'

I leaned right down, hanging on to the reins for dear life, while Jasper mounted at my rear. He pulled the reins tighter, dug in his heels and the horse set off at a pace I hadn't expected.

‘Oh, God!' I jolted up and down, feeling every movement right down inside me.

Jasper had the horse canter all the way back to the stables, making me bump up and down and squeal with breathless fear.

I had never been more thankful to end a journey in my life. I was saddle-sore now, as well as whip-sore, and my jodhpurs felt like a horrible kind of heated second skin. My clit was raw and swollen from all the friction, and sweat trickled down the back of my neck.

Jasper took me back to the house and bathed me, then I was allowed to lie on my stomach on his bed while he fed me cold cuts and salad and fruit before rubbing heavenly cool lotion on to my still pulsing welts.

‘I enjoyed that,' he said, a little unnecessarily, coming to lie beside me. ‘Perhaps we should go riding more often.'

‘I'm not sure I could cope with that every day,' I cautioned him.

‘No, not every day,' he agreed. ‘But next time I'd use a butt plug on you. I bet that'd be an interesting experience on horseback.'

I winced at the thought. We hadn't done butt plugs yet, but I was pretty sure that the day was close.

‘Yes,' he said, after a moment's thought. ‘I think butt plugs come next. Tomorrow. How do you feel about that?'

‘How am I supposed to feel?'

‘Apprehensive? Excited? Turned on?'

‘That's how I feel all the time now.'

‘Same here, Sarah. Same here.'

The sun went in, the week after that, but the ground was still warm and the air still just this side of overripe on the day we made the film.

He promised me nobody would ever see it but, as we crossed towards the wood, him with camera and tripod, me carrying the box of props, I still had a few reservations.

‘Are you sure nobody ever comes down here? Dog walkers? Poachers? Lost hikers?' Again I thought about telling him about Will, and again I chickened out.

‘I've never seen or heard a soul,' he said. ‘A few birds might witness your shame, but that's about it.'

‘What are you going to do to me?'

‘I'm not telling you. I want your reactions to be natural.'

We arrived in the glade and he started setting up. I put down my box and wandered around, peering between each tree, checking for telltale signs of hidden voyeurs.

I was still thus engaged when he called me back over.

‘Right,' he said, holding the camera up to his eye. ‘I want you to strip. You aren't wearing much so it won't take long.'

I grimaced and looked off to the side again, then pulled my T-shirt over my head, revealing my perennially bra-less breasts.

‘Play with them,' he said. ‘Touch your nipples.'

I cupped them in my hands and stroked my nipples with my thumbs. I couldn't look at the camera for this, until he commanded me to do so in a voice that brooked no refusal. So I gave him my sulkiest under-eyelid glare and carried on.

‘Would you ever get your nipples pierced?' he asked.

I winced.

‘I can't imagine it.'

‘It would make them even more sensitive. And you could have little rings and I could put a chain through them and pull you along by it.'

I sucked air through my teeth. It all sounded very worrying. But if he wanted me to do it, I probably would.

‘Or you could have little studs with my initials,' he said idly. ‘Because they're mine, aren't they?'

‘Yes, Sir.'

‘Right, off with your skirt.'

It was a tiny mini anyway, barely covering anything. I slipped it down over my newly shaved pussy. I hoped he wasn't going to ask me about piercing
that
.

I stood back up in only stockings, suspenders and high heels and twisted my body round to the left, trying to get my face right out of shot.

‘Are you hiding from me?' he asked in a teasing sing-song. ‘Hide and seek. OK. Turn around then.'

I presented my back to him with some relief.

‘I can see some little bruises on your bottom, Sarah. Some fading marks. I'm zooming in on them … nice and close up. Can you tell me when you got those?'

‘You know when.'

‘For the camera.'

‘Three days ago.'

‘And how did you get them?'

‘I, uh, you did it.'

‘I'm aware of that. How did I do it?'

‘With a cane, Sir.'

‘That's right. You got a good caning, didn't you? How many strokes?'

‘Six, Sir.'

‘Would you say they were six of the best?'

Unconsciously, I let my hands stray around to touch my bottom, reliving the hellish smart.

‘No, I would say they were six of the worst.'

He laughed.

‘Oh, that was nothing,' he promised. ‘Nothing at all. Do they still hurt a little?'

‘A little. I can sit down again.'

‘For now.'

I sighed. ‘Yes, Sir. For now.'

‘It's a shame for your bottom that you can't keep out of trouble, isn't it, Sarah?'

‘Yes, Sir.'

‘Turn back round. No, don't put your hands there. Keep them at your sides. Spread your legs, wider. What have we here? Touch it.'

I put a fingertip on my clit, looking straight downwards.

‘Let's play a guessing game,' he suggested. ‘You've been here, what, six weeks?'

‘Seven.'

‘Seven weeks. Forty-nine days or so. How many times has that pussy been fucked in those seven weeks? What's your guess?'

‘Oh, I don't know. Maybe …' I tried a quick mental calculation. It was going to be a lot. Twice a day was slow. Sometimes he made it four or five.

‘A hundred and fifty,' I guessed, as a safe average.

‘Wow. You think that pussy has been fucked a hundred and fifty times since you got here. That's a hard-working pussy, isn't it? A greedy, rapacious but very hard-working little pussy. And I bet it isn't even tired, is it? I bet it wants more.'

‘Maybe, Sir.'

He chuckled. ‘Maybe? No two ways about it. I can see it glistening from here. How can we take your mind off it? Do some exercises. Star jumps. Go on. Give me twenty.'

Star jumps were not comfortable with no bra and my tits soon began to ache.

‘OK, good. Now I want you to touch your toes, left to right, right to left, twenty times. Actually, turn around to do this. I want to watch your arse.'

I plunged down, ten times either side, watching the breeze in the trees, trying to pretend there was no camera.

‘Now get down on the grass and give me ten sit-ups. With your hands behind your head. Spread your legs a bit, let me see if you're still wet. Oh dear, Sarah. What will it take? You're insatiable, aren't you? Get up then.'

I stood up, breathless and warmed up, my body tingling.

‘I know you like things old school, love, and so do I. So I'm going to give you a penknife and ask you to cut yourself a nice switch. A good whippy one. Make sure it's got some staying power. If it breaks, you'll have to cut another and start all over again.'

He pulled a Swiss Army knife from his pocket – vintage, of course – and threw it at my feet. He followed me around the copse, camera in hand, while I tried to select a good switch. I knew it had to be flexible, not too brittle, which was difficult at this time of year. Most of the sap had dried out and the branches were snappy instead of swingy. But eventually I found a good birch rod, in one of the shadiest parts of the grove, and I sawed it off and cut away any knobbly bits or buds, just as Jasper had taught me.

All the while, his camera hovered at my shoulder and he asked me sly little questions. ‘Why are you doing that? How will it affect the sensation? What's worse – a switch or a cane?'

I couldn't answer the last one. The cane laid ice that turned to fire and made ridges across my flesh, but the switch could make my bottom feel as if something hot and sharp had been embedded inside it for days on end.

‘Now then,' he said. ‘Carry on preparing that rod while I put the camera on the tripod. I'm in the next few scenes.'

I chipped away at my instrument of punishment until the camera angle was right and he had rolled up his shirtsleeves, ready. I loved that shirtsleeve moment; it never failed to make my heart flutter and my pussy clench.

‘Hand me the switch,' he said grimly.

When I did so, he swished it through the air, nodded approvingly, then laid it aside, turning instead to the prop box. He took a length of rope, walked to a spreading chestnut tree and threw the rope over a low-hanging branch, securing it there with a complicated fastening. Then he beckoned me over.

He looped and knotted rope around both my wrists, shortening its length until my arms were raised and my hands rested just under the branch.

I stood, in my stockings, suspenders and heels, back to the camera, tethered to the tree. I could move about a foot in any direction, but no further.

‘OK, now I've got you safe and secure,' he said, moving back to the prop box. I looked over my shoulder and saw that he held a squeezy tube of lubricant in one hand. I knew what was going to happen next, then.

I screwed up my face and waited.

He came close behind me and kissed the back of my neck, so softly, so gently, while his hand stroked my bottom, one finger travelling up and down the cleft, a little deeper each time, opening it with practised assurance.

‘Do you know what's coming?' he whispered.

He stood a little to my side – that would be for the camera's benefit, so it could pick up a good clear shot of my spread cheeks.

‘A plug?' I hazarded, hardly audibly.

‘Clever girl.'

I heard him uncap the lubricant, then his finger disappeared and, when it came back, it was cold and slippery and probed much more deeply and firmly. I remembered what to do, kept my muscles loose, let his fingertip enter the ring, up to the knuckle, and prepare me.

He narrated for the camera once it was inside, loudly and confidently.

‘Sarah's relatively new to anal play,' he said, ‘but she's learned to give her back passage up to me whenever I require it of her. I've trained her on different sized plugs and she can take quite a big one now. Like this one.'

Another pause for lubrication, then his finger popped out and a new, bigger, broader invader took its place. Now I really needed to keep calm, but I clenched my fists and curled my toes as my ring widened, and widened until the quick, fierce pain came. For a second it seemed unbearable, as it always did, and then the widest part was inside me and the flare receded and I felt only full and small and very humiliated.