His House of Submission (8 page)

He helped me remove the trousers and underwear from shot, leaving them somewhere in the region of his ankles, then he slid the condom over his erection. No kisses yet, or, at least, not of that nature. He pulled me astride him and caught my lips with his, holding me tightly by the shoulders until he broke off.

‘You need to come, don't you?' he whispered. Feathery fingers drifted down my spine, then the hand they belonged to stroked my still warm bottom.

‘Yes, Sir.'

‘I think you deserve a little treat,' he said. ‘But not until I say so.'

I could only blink, uncertain what he might mean by this.

He nudged at my hip, gently directing me towards the tip of his cock. I tried to lower myself, but he held me just a whisker above it, so near, yet so far.

‘What I mean is that you have to ask me for your orgasm, love. No, not ask. Ask isn't right. Beg for it.'

He smiled, playfully wicked, nuzzling my hair.

‘And you wait for my permission. Can you do that?'

‘I'm … not sure.'

‘Can you try for me?'

‘Yes, Sir.'

He let me circle his cock head with my pussy, occasionally rubbing at the very tip.

‘Good. Now, how much do you want it?'

‘Oh, a lot. Please let me have it.'

‘Have what?'

‘Your cock, Sir.'

‘Beautifully spoken.'

The words had sounded rough and foreign to me, but his opinion made my scalp tingle with pride.

He let me take the first inch of him inside me. I could feel how slick and wet I was but even so I was highly conscious of how his initial foray stretched me wide. I gasped with the sudden invasion and felt myself strain.

‘You're feeling that, hmm?' He kissed my forehead, rubbed his nose against mine.

‘Oh … yes.'

‘I'm trying to take this slowly but I just want more of you. You're tight … no, it's no use. I can't wait.'

He loosened his grip on my hips and let me rock my way down his hard shaft, taking him in by delicious increments, feeling every captivated moment of my penetration.

‘You can't wait either, eh?' My enthusiasm was difficult to mask and he crooned, ‘Ohhhh yes,' as I sank still further.

I reached a point beyond which it didn't seem possible to take any more and tightened my muscles nervously.

‘It's OK,' he said, patting my bottom. ‘It's all in. All the way. How does it feel?'

‘So full,' I whispered. ‘I can't believe I took it all.'

‘Oh, you know all the right things to say,' he said with a little darting kiss. ‘Are you sure you haven't done this before?'

I shook my head and laid it on his shoulder, overwhelmed with the position I found myself in. How had I arrived here, on the end of this man's cock, ready to beg him for my release?

‘So, what are you waiting for?' he said. ‘Show me how you grind those hips.'

I was painfully aware that I had been hovering on the tip of orgasm for a long time already. I would have to take this quite slowly and try to fix my mind on his pleasure. The closer I could get him to his orgasm, the more kindly disposed he would be towards granting mine. At least, it seemed a sensible equation.

So I made a study of the feel of his cock in me and the reactions each little move I made brought from him. He liked me to rock forward until my breasts were almost in his face, presented for his delectation, and he also liked me to straighten my spine and jolt and pant like a rodeo cowgirl. He liked to hold me by the elbows and restrict my movements when I broke the speed limit, shaking his head, warning me not to rush.

‘I'm enjoying this too much,' he said. ‘Let's make it last.'

Oh, but I didn't want to hear those words. I wanted to come. I could feel my climax bubbling underneath, rising with every tiny spark of friction.

I tried all the nefarious means I could. I sucked at his nipples. I licked beneath his earlobe. I kissed him like a drunken fool, all tongues and biting until he smacked my bum and made me stop.

‘You only have to ask,' he reminded me.

But I didn't want to ask! I wanted him to come, then I could just follow along in his wake, surfing the remains of his wave.

‘I'm asking now,' I wailed. Dear God. It was so close. I was going to start coming mid-sentence.

‘Nicely,' he insisted, pushing four fingers into the furrow of my arse.

Why did he have to do that? The gesture, of such implicit ownership, threw me into a madness of sensation.

‘Please, Sir, may I come?' I gibbered.

‘I'm going to have to say yes, aren't I?' he sighed, and he was, because I was already there.

‘Uh huh,' I said, or an approximation thereof.

‘Yes, go on, then.' He tutted and rolled his eyes, but there was humour behind it all, and fond indulgence.

At last I could give myself over to the shooting sparks that heralded my orgasm. No more cruel ruination. I immersed myself in the centrifugal rush, the spread and reach of it, roaring in my ears, taking me into its vortex.

‘Thank me for it,' he said, seemingly from some distance away.

‘Thank you, Sir,' I said, through the aftershocks.

‘Right. Now hold on tight.'

He stood up, then, with me still attached, and lowered me on to the hearthrug. I wrapped my legs around his back and lay, floating happily, while he thrust away, good, hard strokes that almost built me up to another peak. But not quite, because he grabbed my wrists and pinned them over my head before his face contorted and his panting jerked all over the place. That moment of blissful helplessness touched me more than I could say; so uncharacteristic of him, and yet so telling. Underneath the effortlessly dominant veneer, he needed the love, needed the validation, just like everyone else.

‘Your face,' he said, minutes later, lying beside me. ‘You have the best range of expressions when you're being fucked. I'd love to film you.'

‘Oh, God, no,' I said instinctively. I'd always been camera-shy. Everything-shy, if I'm honest.

‘Why not?'

‘You're a professional filmmaker. You wouldn't be able to resist showing it to somebody.'

He raised his eyebrows, as if disappointed in my low opinion of him, then he seemed to accept it.

‘You're probably right,' he said. ‘I'm a big show-off. Or, the term I prefer, an artist.'

I smiled. ‘An
auteur
,' I said.

‘That's right.' He tweaked my nose. ‘Or are you teasing me? I hope you're not teasing me.'

‘I wouldn't dare.'

‘I should think not. What if I promised, solemnly and faithfully, not to show anyone?'

‘It would still exist. And, some day in the future, somebody would find it in your archive and it would be exhibited as a lost treasure. Jasper Jay's secret porn stash.'

He chuckled and kissed me.

‘So what? We'd both be long gone. Why not brighten up somebody's drab future with a moment of joy, captured for all time?'

‘You're very persuasive.'

‘I know.'

We both stared up at the light patterns on the ceiling for a few moments.

‘So can I persuade you into my bed?' he asked, yawning.

‘I think you just did.'

The morning was a strange time of half-light, sleeping and fucking, the swish of rain falling into the lush lawns outside. By the time the rain stopped, Jasper and I knew a great deal about each other's bodies, and my cunt had been fully acquainted with his cock on three further occasions.

After the last time, he went down to the kitchen to get coffee. I lay on my stomach and drowsed until he came back, sat beside me on the bed and ran his hand over my bottom.

‘Bruises,' he said. ‘I shouldn't have started you with the strop. It's too heavy for a novice.'

I snorted at the word ‘novice', thinking of nuns.

‘It doesn't hurt,' I said, and it didn't particularly, even when he pushed down with his thumb. I was more concerned about the fiery sting in my pussy.

‘Doesn't it? Damn. Losing my touch. Sit up then, and have some coffee.'

I rolled over and shifted to a sitting position. Actually, when I'd said it didn't hurt … it did. A little bit. I liked the pain, though, and would have felt disappointed with a full and swift recovery. I needed the reminder, the proof that it had actually happened. I felt wild with sensuality, as if the more he took from me, the more I had to give.

He looked pale and tired but endlessly, ridiculously desirable to me. He smiled that open-mouthed, insolent, almost-sneer of a smile, and I was wet again, instantly. I gripped the handle of my coffee mug until it wore a groove into my finger and tried to keep my breathing even.

‘So how does this work?' I asked.

‘How does what work?'

‘You and me. Us. Here.'

‘How do you want it to work?'

‘Is it up to me?'

‘Of course.'

I was stumped for a moment. How could it be up to me?

‘I mean … this is real? Is it?'

He reached over and pinched me, quite hard.

‘You're not dreaming,' he said.

‘Ouch! I didn't think I was. I mean … this is a thing. You and me. A …'

‘Relationship?'

‘Not a one-night stand?'

‘Do you want it to be?'

Oh God, stop asking me what I want!

‘No. I mean, no. I want … more.'

‘Good. So do I.'

‘But …' I paused to sip delicately at my coffee. ‘I'm not sure how it works.'

‘So you said. Well, Sarah, I'll try and help you.' He leaned closer to me, whispering into my ear. ‘You see, in nature, there are two sexes, one is male – that's me – and one is female – that's you …'

‘Oh, stop it.' I jogged his elbow and he almost spilled his coffee, which, I gathered from his frown, would have landed me in a whole heap of trouble. ‘Sorry. I mean, this whole, uh, kinky thing. How does it work? Am I, like, your servant at your beck and call all day long? Or … not?'

‘Oh, Sarah.' He raised his eyes to heaven and slid his free arm around my shoulder. ‘There are no rules. There is no one way to have a D/s relationship.'

‘D/s?'

‘Dominant and submissive. You tailor it to your own needs. Whatever you want it to be, it can be, as long as both parties are in agreement. So, the real question is, what do you want it to be?'

‘I don't know enough about it.'

He shrugged. ‘That's a fair point. You're one of those people who needs to know everything about everything, aren't you?'

I blushed. ‘Guilty as charged.'

‘Well, rather than spend a month trawling the internet for all the information that's out there – most of it conflicting – why don't you just go with the flow? Do you want me to take the lead?'

‘Well, yeah.
I
can't. Besides, isn't that the whole point?'

‘It's the role I play. But you write the script, essentially. You make the cuts. Anything you don't want in there is out. You're the Lord Chamberlain and his censors.'

I laughed. ‘So I have ultimate power over your production?'

‘You could put it like that.'

‘So, with this, then – with us – can I just do what you say? And if I don't like what you say …'

‘Say no? Sure. But sometimes saying no is part of the game. I feel that this is especially so with you, because sometimes it's hard for you to admit what you want. So instead of saying no, you can use the safeword. Do you remember the safeword?'

‘Pax,' I said.

‘Ten out of ten.'

I glowed.

‘You like that, don't you?' he said. ‘You like getting the answers right. You like getting full marks on your tests. I think I'll have to work with that tendency … we could have some interesting scenes.'

I drank the dregs of my coffee.

‘Aren't you going back to France?'

‘Not for six weeks.'

‘Six weeks. And you're going to be here all that time?'

‘Yes. I've got things I can work on. I might have to go to the odd meeting or ceremony or …' He sighed. ‘I owe myself a break. I've worked flat-out for the last three years. I need some quiet time to empty my head, make some space for new project ideas.'

‘A holiday.'

‘A retreat.' He held up his hand, forbidding my further utterance. ‘Do you hear that?' he whispered.

I couldn't hear anything. Even the rain had stopped. I shook my head.

‘That's what I mean. Silence. I never hear it. There's always a ringing phone or traffic outside or cheering or oceans of flattery or …' He sighed. ‘I forget how much I like silence.'

I took a breath, about to speak, but he cut over me.

‘So you aren't speaking today,' he said. ‘Not a word, until I say so. Well, except that one word. You're allowed that. Do you understand? Nod for yes.'