Three and a Half Weeks (4 page)

“Yes,” I whispered, “I feel it, too.”

“Now wouldn’t it be foolish to cast aside such a gift without further exploration?”

I nodded, wanting nothing more than to throw my arms around him and snuggle into that delicious-smelling chest.

“Then don’t,” he growled, “it’s really quite simple.”

Then he tore o
ff my clothes, throwing me on the bed to ravish me and lay waste to my objections. It’s amazing how agreeable I am after two consecutive orgasms. So, yes, I agreed to dinner and more discussion. I wanted to meet at a neutral place, say a restaurant; he wanted me to come over to his house. We compromised and I went over to his house—I didn’t say it was a
good
compromise.

Again I sat in his palace of a home, requisite wine glass in hand and a tad intoxicated, queasy even, still trying to digest the whole thing—that which he’d hoped to induct me into that very night. The delicious dinner I’d just consumed was being curdled by more detailed information about his… implements. During my last visit, when I’d endured his eye-opening lecture on the delights of BDSM and a guided tour of his dungeon, he’d mentioned a virtual cornucopia of deviant sex acts associated with each piece of equipment. Now he was telling me what he expected to use on me right away and what would come later, as I became more experienced.

And, honest, he looks so damn normal!

This was our third discussion on the subject. But familiarity was not breeding comfort here. Not in the least.

“I think I now understand why you had me sign those papers. Protection from sexual exposure?”

“It could be,” he answered cryptically. Probably seeing my confusion, he elaborated. “I don’t like the press,
Ariel. I try to keep my life private and they do their utmost to thwart me—apparently I make good tabloid fodder.” He shrugged. “It’s a game: sometimes I win and sometimes I don’t, but I try to never make it easy. Let’s leave it at that.”

“If I agreed…
if
… am I allowed to change my mind mid-game?”

Exasperated, he’d snapped, “You’re not going to be imprisoned,
Ariel.” His face then split into a disarming smile. “Well, perhaps I should amend that to, you won’t be imprisoned
all
of the time.”

Od
dly, those words didn’t go far in reassuring me. “I’m not a brave individual, you know. I’ve never even gone bungee jumping due to trust issues.”

He shook his head in dismissal of my feeble attempt at humor. “This is just sex on steroids,
Ariel. What’s more, based on the little I know I about you, I can almost guarantee you’ll like it.”

Though I offered him my most suspicious look, his smile continued to widen. Uh-oh.

It
happened that very night; patience wasn’t among Mr. Blackmon’s many virtues, I concluded. He took me into the dungeon for the first time and I had to admit…
I did like it.
Or at least my body did.

On our first night together, he’d made love to me—no question about it. He’d taken his time, tried to make me feel comfortable, and was exceedingly gentle. Seeing him without clothes made me pant so enthusiastically I nearly hyperventilated. The man was an exquisite specimen of the human male, from his luxuriant head of hair down to his beautiful, masculine feet. Believe me, I searched for at least one imperfection, scouring him with enthusiastic eyes, but there was nothing to mar Mr. Gorgeous, just a big, fat zero.

And I? Instead of being nervous, I found myself eager to get things going, but he took his sweet time, slowly removing my clothes first and only later his own. In fact, he left his jeans on until the very last minute, a subtle reminder to me of the power exchange underway here, and where I was going to fit into his life—under him in more ways than one. By the time he was actually where I needed him to be—between my legs, ready to take my long-held virginity—I was beyond coherence and I’m pretty damn sure he knew it. I begged him to sully my virtue—and quickly. He finally did but though he was gentle, there was nothing quick about it. The next day, walking was a challenge for me.

I wrote the book because it ended far too soon, when I refused to agree to his terms, to become essentially a slave to his every whim. I wanted him on my terms; he wanted me on his—and never the twain shall meet.

My book was jokingly called
Three and a Half Weeks
, after the movie
Nine and a Half Weeks
, but modified since that’s how long our relationship limped along, propelled by nothing more than unadulterated lust. I briefly considered calling it
The Story of A
but that would have been too obvious, I think.

Even though he was always so supremely confident of himself, when I agreed to try doing this thing with him, he looked somewhat taken aback, as if he weren’t expecting it. Why not? He’d told me he wouldn’t give up on me easily.

“You’re agreeing?”

“Yes,” I replied, my voice sounding hoarse and alien to me.

He stood up and extended his hand toward me. “Well, then. No time like the present. Come.”

I gave him my hand and he pulled me to my feet. Walking ahead of me, he held onto my hand, nearly dragging me behind him. I thought it was a fitting metaphor for the whole experience. Too soon, we reached the door of the dungeon. Naturally, it was in the basement of the house, next to the wine cellar.

“Ian,” I croaked out, “just in case you’re a serial killer, I should tell you that both Mariah and my mother know I’m here with you.”

He turned around and gifted me with the most delighted grin. “I’ll bear that in mind, Ariel. Ready?”

“As much as I’ll ever be.”

“Good.” He opened the door and urged me inside with his hand on my back.

I stepped in as if walking to my own doom. Sort of octagonal in shape, the room was dim and cool and smelled like cinnamon or something similar. As soon as we were inside, he closed the door.

“Ariel?” His voice was so soft.

I turned to peek at him and as soon as I caught his eye he issued a terse command.

“Strip.”

What? I paused for, like, a millisecond and it annoyed him. Talk about impatient!

“I resent having to repeat myself, Ariel.”

I was wearing fitted trousers with a silk
tee. I started with my top, quickly lifting the hem up and over my head. He watched, his lips tight with impatience, I think. I hurried to unzip my pants and shimmy out of them, kicking off my shoes when my pants dropped to my ankles. Now I was in only my lingerie and I assumed it would be enough, at least for a few minutes. It wasn’t.

He strode over to where I stood and pulled something out of his pocket. Before I knew it, he’d cut off my bra and panties with a utility tool. I gasped in horror.

“Why did you do that?”

His face softened slightly, probably because of the appalled expression on mine. “One of the most basic but important lessons for you to learn is that actions or inactions have consequences, Ariel. I issued a simple command. First, you hesitated—transgression number one. Then you complied but only partially, a more serious misstep. As a result you lost your drawers. Next time I tell you to strip, I do believe you will divest yourself of everything you don’t want to lose. Am I correct?”

I quickly realized that the man in this room was decidedly different than the civilized man in the library. In here, all of his potency and character traits (both dubious and admirable) were magnified tenfold: his bearing, his facial expression—everything announced his unquestionable dominance.

I nodded
, desperately wanting to stick out my tongue at him but repressing the urge.

“Good.” He lightly grasped my wrist and led me to a dark corner. “Whenever you enter this room, you will kneel in this corner, face cast down, your hands palm up on your thighs. Is that clear, Ariel?”

“Please, call me Ella. People call me Ariel when they’re angry with me.”

“All the better in here. When you agree to enter this room with me, you are relinquishing your autonomy and giving me full authority over you. Formality will help put you into the correct frame of mind.” He paused for a long moment. “I don’t want to overwhelm you with too much at once but you really should be addressing me as Master within these walls.”

“Master?” I sputtered. “I don’t think I can do that.”

He smiled tightly. “Fine. You may use Sir, if that’s easier.”

“That’s just as creepy. If formality is what you desire, may I call you Mr. Blackmon?”

He nodded curtly. “For now it will suffice.” He pointed toward the floor. “Kneel.”

Feeling like a German shepherd, I dropped to my knees. He bent down and went about repositioning me. His body was so close that I could smell his cologne and it made me want to fling myself on him. I’ve never had an overactive libido—just the opposite, hence my long-held virtue—but Mr. Blackmon seemed to bring out the wild child in me. Hmm. And all it took was a ridiculously handsome, young billionaire to do it. That thought hit me sideways and led to hysterical giggles bubbling up in my chest and I knew instinctively it would be a very bad thing to let loose in here. Immediately, I conjured up a vision of a natural disaster and rescue dogs poring through rubble in search of survivors, to push it away.

“I’ve explained to you about reward and punishment. I believe you understand that punishment will usually be corporal. I do have other methods, however, that I will employ from time to time.”

Corporal punishment meant physical pain, right? So what other kind of punishments could he mete out? Psychological torture? Sleep deprivation? Extreme tickling?
What?
I couldn’t imagine so I had to ask. “Might I know what those are?”

“Oh, Ariel, you will find out soon enough. Being new, you’re bound to make mistakes.”

I was too terrified to appreciate word play but I asked anyway, “Was that pun intended?”

“No. Remember, whenever you address me
, you must use a term of deference to rank. As I stated a few moments ago, I would prefer Master but for now I will settle for Mr. Blackmon. If you forget to use it, you’ll be reminded.”

“Behavior modification?”

The modification came instantly. I didn’t see what he used to slap me but it wasn’t his hand and it stung so much that I squealed.

“Excuse me?” his voice was thunderous.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Blackmon.” And I
was
sorry—truly—for my butt was burning.

He stood up. “Remain in position
until I instruct you otherwise,” he said sternly, and left the room.

I couldn’t tell how long he was gone. Time is elastic and can stretch or contract, depending on one’s state of mind. Heightened anticipation makes time stretch into oblivion so it seemed an eternity before he came back. By then I was intensely anxious but also brimming with excitement. I wondered about my sexuality, then: why
was this so damn exciting? Was I some kind of pervert?

He walked over to me. I remembered to keep my eyes down so I could see only his lower legs and feet. He lifted me up by my elbow. I let myself go limp so I could allow him to guide me. He brought me to a wooden thing, about hip high and covered in leather.

“I’m mindful that this time will be only your third time out, sexually speaking, so I don’t want to go too far in this room tonight. We’ll take things slowly. But I’d like you to become familiar and relatively comfortable with the equipment. This,” he patted the leather-covered wood thing, “is a sawhorse. Normally you’d lie on this bench, face down and straddle the end with your legs, your bottom hanging over the edge by a few inches. However, because you’re so green, I’m going to put you on it on your back.”

I didn’t respond
so as to avoid using any of those terms of address that made me squeamish. Placing his large hands around my waist, he lifted me onto the horse.

“Lay down and d
raw your knees up,” his instructions were swift and terse, as if we weren’t in this compromising position together—clinical, I suppose would be an apt description for his attitude. Where was the charming man I met in my shop?

It’s not that I didn’t appreciate this dark, exotic male in front of me. I was just confused by him.

He buckled cuffs on my wrists and ankles and chained each wrist to the corresponding ankle so that I was on my back, all fours in the air, in a fetal position. Then he reached for a strap on the side of the horse, pulling it over my abdomen and securing it on the other side so I was held tightly in place.

He was wearing black: a black silk shirt and black trousers. Shit,
that’s where he went—to change into his Satan outfit. Without removing a single article of his own clothing while I was stark naked, he calmly unzipped his fly and unfurled a condom over his impressive erection. There wasn’t even a trace of good humor on his face; his countenance was sternly arrogant. I couldn’t take my eyes off the transformation in him.

“Do you recall, Ariel, that I instructed you not to look at me while we assume these roles?”

Oops, I forgot. I quickly averted my eyes but I heard a bitter chuckle. “Too little, too late, I’m afraid. You’ve already seen too much.”

Nervously I glanced back, just in time to see his hands reach toward my face and slide a blindfold over my eyes. As soon as I lost my sight, everything else became instantly more intense: the music playing, the sounds of him moving and breathing, and even the cinnamon
y scent of the room. In that moment I knew that when he began to touch me, that sense would be magnified too. My innards instantly contracted sharply in anticipation.

I
swear I almost came the moment his warm hands touched my legs. He pulled my knees apart so that I was in a most unladylike position. Almost simultaneously the music became louder, with the booming bass resonating through my body, pumping through and with my heart.

His hands skimmed over my skin lightly, giving me goosebumps
, and then landed on my breasts. I felt his fingers circling my nips and in response they began to tingle and burn. What the hell? He must have put something on them. The sensation grew more intense—almost uncomfortable. Next, his hands moved lower and other things began to tingle and burn. I squirmed, trying to evade the sensation but I couldn’t move much: not only was the strap pinning me down but he was now holding both my knees and my limbs were chained together. With no warning, he thrust himself fully into me, while at the same time sliding a hand down to pinch my backside: pain and pleasure merged, hot and instant, and I climaxed immediately. I heard his deep-throated laughter then but he was just beginning the ride. By the time he was through with me, I couldn’t easily close my legs nor could I walk very gracefully.

Good times.

Afterward, as we lay in his understated but still sumptuously comfortable bedroom, I asked him about his past.

“Have you ever had a normal relationship?”

He
was back to his charming self and kissed the tip of my nose. “This kind of relationship
is
normal to me.”

“You know what I mean.”

He reared his head back in irritation. “Ella, I’m nearing thirty years old. Of course I’ve had relationships. It’s just that I prefer this type of one. Let’s move on.” He looked at me from down his nose and I quickly averted my eyes. His hand reached over and grasped my chin, turning it toward him. “I’m uncomfortable speaking of other women to you, Ariel, but if you must know, I had a bad experience when I was young. I prefer relationships with some emotional distance, but I’m not willing to give up the physical intimacy. Does that answer your question?”

I nodded, now more addled than ever. What kind of bad experience did he have?

“For what it’s worth, I will admit to one little concession:
you
are special. I’ve never had to pursue a woman as I’ve pursued you, but I think you’re very much worth it.” He rubbed the end of my nose with his and kissed me again.

Those
few sweet words of his proved stowaways on my eventual flight to the UK, staying with me for weeks afterward as I tried to muddle through the motivations and feelings of this most frustrating man.

On the second visit to his dungeon, we had more fun. At least
he
thought it was fun. That time, he used toys: a vibrator he called a butterfly—I was rather fond of that one and I wouldn’t mind getting one for my very own—a type of fluffy feather, a vibrating thing that looked like a massager, and tiny metal balls that are strung together and are inserted into various orifices and pulled out slowly during climax. He also used a flogger on me. Over our last two encounters, he gifted me with multiple orgasms. This time he denied me even one.

I was so frustrated
, I was whimpering. Ian just watched me closely, occasionally offering me a wicked grin. I couldn’t believe he was being so mean. Sexual frustration is cruel and it had been going on for what seemed like hours. I was about to really lose it when he finally gave in.

My wrists were restrained to a chain that dangled from the headboard
on the dungeon bed. He flipped me over onto my stomach so suddenly that I screamed out loud but the loss of balance caused my face to smush (that’s smash and mush) into the pillow, muffling it. He didn’t stop there: he slid both of my knees up the bed until my backside was up in the air and then he slapped me so hard, once, twice, and then a third time, pinching my nip before slamming himself into me. I came so hard and so instantly (and so amazingly) that I managed to scrounge up enough humanity to forgive him the previous torment. But he kept pounding into me, right through my orgasm, and, exhausted, I realized he wanted me to come again.

“I can’t,” I whined.

“You can,” he snarled, “and you will, Ariel. I want you to give me more…now!” He leaned over, pulled my head back by my hair, and bit my neck as he hammered at me and his fingers did a reach around.