Dirty Bad Wrong (20 page)

Not on her fucking life. I stayed in the bathroom until I heard the door slam behind her.

***

“Jaz was here?” Bex snapped. “On her own?”

“Yep, bold as brass,” I said, pouring a wine. “She seems quite a character.”

“She’s a character, alright. She shouldn’t be in our fucking flat, I want that fucking key back off her.”

“She is the landlady, I guess.”

“Even so, she’s taking the fucking piss.” Rebecca kicked off her boots and sprawled on the sofa, wine in hand. “So, what did she have to say?”

“More important is what I said to her,” I said. “I thought it was you on the balcony. I told her,
you
, that James fucked my ass over his desk at work.”

“Fuck,” she said, eyes darkening. “And what did she say to that?”

“She said a lot.” I sat down opposite. “You didn’t tell me about Rachel, that you split them up.”

“I did
not
split them up, that’s fucking bullshit.”

“That’s not what Jaz said.”

“That bitch needs to stop with the shit-stirring.” Rebecca sighed, leaning forward. “Rachel was on her final warning, she’d already fucked James over with a whole host of fucking men. He’d been more than fair, I mean seriously, she had way more than enough chances. I told her I’d tell him the truth, if she kept on, but she didn’t listen. One night she was at Explicit, and she didn’t know I was in the next cubicle. I heard every fucking word she said.”

The hairs on my arms bristled. “What did she say?”

“She was planning another fling, talking it up with one of the regulars, Davey, one of their mutual friends. It wasn’t the first time they were getting it on, and it sure as shit wasn’t going to be the last. Jaz can say whatever the hell she wants about Rachel mending her ways, but the bitch was a slut. She tramped her way around the whole pissing club, and would have gone round for a second circuit if I hadn’t blown her cover.”

“So, you told him?”

Her eyes were heavy, boring into mine. “Yes, I told him, and he was grateful for it. Jaz and Rachel not so much.”

“Jaz didn’t agree with you, then?”

“Jaz and Rachel were thick as thieves. No, Jaz didn’t agree with me, said I should mind my own and let Rachel get on with it. It was the beginning of the end for us, that whole affair, but James was my friend and he would have done the same for me. I didn’t want her making more of a fool out of him than she had already.”

“Must have been tough.”

“Wasn’t much fun, no.” She drank her wine. “Look, this whole thing was going on for about six months before I blabbed my mouth off. He knew about her flings, she promised she’d stop, that she’d get some therapy, sort her shit out. Only she didn’t, she didn’t stop at all.”

“Why do you think she was fucking around that much?”

“Rachel lives for attention. She’s lived her entire life for attention. James’ attention wasn’t enough, she wanted adoration from the whole male populous beside him. They came to Explicit to spice things up, figured they could open their horizons as a couple, you know? Only Rachel opened her horizons a damn sight more than he did, and opened her legs with them. She was fucking more outside of Explicit than she was in it, and James knew, he’s no idiot. He gave her a lot of warnings, a lot of chances. Hell, she’d fuck them in front of him, Christ knows why she was so bothered about fucking them behind his back as well.”

“And you telling him, that was the final straw?”

She sighed. “Yeah, that was the end.”

“Hard being a good friend, isn’t it?”

“The hardest. I’d tell him over again in a heartbeat. He’s a good guy, Lyds. A fucked-up guy, a brutal guy, a strange, private weirdo kind of guy, but he’s straight. He wouldn’t fuck people around. Fuck them
up
, for sure,” she laughed. “But not around.”

“Jaz said Rachel wants him back, said she still loves him and he still loves her.”

“Jaz is full of shit,” Rebecca said. “Rachel may still want James, but he’s well done with that crap. Hell would freeze over before they got back together, regardless of how he felt about her.”

My heart was dancing in my ribcage. “Do you think he does still love her?”

She sighed. “I dunno. He did. I’m not sure about now.” She met my eyes. “I’m sorry, Lyds, I’m not sure how he really feels about her, that’s the honest truth.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologise to me for,” I said. “I’m not his girlfriend.” The words churned in my gut.

“Maybe,” she smiled. “Maybe not.”

“It’s casual,” I protested. “Really, as casual as it gets.”

“Oh yeah, so what’s with the sex at work shit? That really isn’t his style by the way, so either he’s lost his mind, or he’s got a major crush going down on our cute little Lyddie Marsh.”

I felt my face burn up. “Lost his mind, I think.”

“I don’t,” she beamed. “And I know you’re feeling it too. Don’t think I haven’t noticed it, the spring in your step. The way you look at him when you’re at Explicit.”

“Now
you’v
e lost your mind,” I laughed. “We fuck at a sex club while he’s wearing a mask, that’s it.”

“Yeah yeah, and I don’t like hot, wet snatch.” She poked her tongue out. “Did he hit you, over his desk?”

“Did he ever. Metal ruler.”

“Fucking ow. Right on the clit, I’ll bet.”

I grinned. “You know him so well.”

“Yes, I do.” She raised her empty glass and made after the rest of the bottle. “And I’m telling you, Lydia Marsh, that James Clarke has many habits, but screwing at the office isn’t one of them. It can only mean one thing,” she said, topping up my glass.

“And what’s that?” I smiled.

“The man’s in love, Lydia. He’s in love with you.”

I found myself wishing I believed her.

***

Lydia

“So, tonight’s the night?” Rebecca dropped her cigarette and stubbed it out with the toe of her stiletto. “Will there be tears?”

I looked towards the wooden doors across the street. “I don’t know
how
to cry, Bex.”

She wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “It’s easy, baby, let it all go and those tears will flow.”

“So I keep hearing.” I watched Cara totter on ahead, waving at some other regulars just arriving.

Rebecca pulled my attention back to her, tapping my forehead with a long, red fingernail. “Whatever’s in here, Lyds, all your reservations, all your pride, all your self-control. You’ve got to give it all up. Let yourself break for him, and he’ll love you for it.” She took my hand and led me to where Cara was waiting. “Believe me, baby, cry for him and he’s yours.”

I took a breath as we made our way inside. Cry for him, sure, no big deal. Like I hadn’t been trying for weeks.

Masque was already at the bar; the sculpted muscle of his shoulders glowing blue under the neons. I took a seat next to him, smiling as he ordered me a wine.
Cry for him and he’s yours.
If only that one tiny statement didn’t mean so much.

I made no time for small talk, leaning straight into the musky warmth of his neck. “Cane me, tonight. Please, Masque.”

He turned to me, the line of his mouth deadly serious. “What’s with the urgency, Kitty Cat?”

I sighed. “I want to cry.”

His mouth curled into a smile. “The tears I want from you are an
emotional
release, Cat. The cane will hurt like a motherfucker, I promise you, but there’s more to it than that.”

“Yeah, I know. I have to
let go
. I’m trying,” I sulked.

He brooded awhile, shadowy eyes staring me out. “If you’re serious about this, you’ll need a safeword.”

“Doesn’t that kind of defeat the object?”

“Not at all.”

I sipped my wine. “I’m not going to use the safeword, Masque.”

“Then there will be tears,” he said simply.

“Promise me you won’t stop,” I said. “Not before it’s done.”

He pulled me in close until his breath tickled my mouth. “You don’t need to worry about that, my pretty little Cat’s eyes. Your safeword is Paris.”

***

Paris, Paris, Paris.
I swore to myself I wouldn’t need it, but standing there, naked, under the dark gaze of the chimera in playroom one, I wasn’t quite so confident. I turned my back to the faces at the window, blanking out everything but the man before me. He gestured to the flogging bench, and I took up position on all fours, my breasts mashing tight against the bench’s contoured padding. Masque buckled my ankles into the cuffs, leaving me spread wide open for him.

“You’ve healed well,” he said, stroking my ass. “A nice fresh canvas for stripes.” He fastened my wrists, pulling my chin up towards him. “Last call, Cat. Do you want this?” He brandished the cane before my face, letting rip with a healthy swish. I flinched but didn’t falter.

“Yes, sir. Please.”

I couldn’t read his expression, just took comfort in the soft caress of his thumb against my lips. He disappeared from my eyeline, taking the cane with him. “Only use the safeword if you really have to,” he said. I nodded, straining to keep him in sight as he walked around me. “Look straight ahead, relax.”

I did as he asked, twitching in my bonds involuntarily. They held firm. I jumped as warm breath teased my pussy lips, and groaned like a whore as he buried his face. He bit me as he pulled away, hard enough to make me whine.

“Such a sweet juicy cunt,” he growled. “I love how wet you are for pain.”

I heard the familiar swish of the flogger, but kept my eyes straight ahead. The tails pinched at my back, a frenzied assault of tiny bites which ramped up with every circuit. He aimed hard for my thighs, curling around my hips to snap at tender skin. I rolled into it, sinking into the sensation, breathing evening out as the endorphins began to rise.

“Good girl, Cat,” he said. “Nice and pink.”

I gasped as he worked me with the tip of the cane, poking hard against my pussy. “Yes!” I groaned. “Fuck me!”

He pressed harder, skewering me in one slick motion. “Dirty bitch,” he growled. “So fucking dirty.”

“Please, Masque, sir, make it hurt,” I wheezed, floating into the warm arms of subspace. My throat was dry, fists clenched tight, every sliver of my attention on the sharp point of the cane inside me. I pictured him flipping me over, just like on his desk, forcing my thighs wide open to receive his pain.

“I’m going to hurt you so much, Cat, so fucking much...” No sooner had the intrusion disappeared than I heard the swish in the air. The first strike took my breath, all of it. It hurt more than my very worst expectation, skin searing on contact and wrenching me forward in my restraints.

“Shit!” I wheezed. “Ow, ow, shit!”

On the second stroke my body moved without bidding, rocking back on my knees as far as movement would allow. I spluttered out expletives, one long breath of crass relief.

He landed the third across my thighs and I howled like a banshee, gripping for the edge of the bench and clenching my legs as tight as they’d go. Number four landed harder, and I slammed my forehead hard into the padding, no breath left to exhale.

I found more breath through five and six, squealing without reservation. My head flew back, eyes desperate to keep the cane in sight, animal fear thundering through my ribcage. This wasn’t like I imagined. He came to my side, smoothing down my hair with his fingers.

“Cry for me, Cat, cry and it will stop.”

My eyes were wide and frantic. “I can’t!”

He retreated for another stroke, and this time the tip of the cane curled around my ass, savage on untouched flesh.

“OWW!” I screamed. “FUCKING HELL!”

“CRY FOR ME!” he thundered. “LET IT GO!”

I spluttered through the next few, until they became a blur of agony. My thighs were trembling, mouth bone dry, every nerve screaming for release. There was only pain. Pain and Masque, his low groan loud in the air.

“FUCKING HELL, CAT, LET IT GO!”

He landed a stripe on the tender line where my ass met my thighs, and I wailed like a wounded animal. I felt sick, teeth chattering, the adrenalin spike rushing through my limbs. My throes became less frenetic, morphing instead into a slow rhythmic sway, back and forth as far as the bench would allow. My ears began to ring.

His growl snared my senses. “Cry for me, Cat, show me your fucking tears.”

He changed position and the cruel tip of the cane bit the inside of my thigh. I heard myself wheezing, but it felt so far away.

My heart was hammering, nerves on fire, muscles twitching for escape, but there
was
no escape. Only him, only Masque. I heard myself whimpering, acceptance of my bonds stealing my fight.

He pressed the cane against my ass, poking at the ridged flesh.

“More, Cat, I’m going to give you so much more.”

I shook my head, resolve breaking. “No.”

“No? You want to use the safeword?”

My mind cracked open, adrenaline rising to new heights. “No.”

“Which is it to be?” he pushed.

My breath hitched, pooling in my throat, toes curling. I couldn’t use the safeword, I just couldn’t. “More.”

“More what?”

“More pain, please, sir,” I wheezed.

“Good girl.” He didn’t let up, landing three in quick succession. I spluttered incomprehensible words, choking as they forced their way out, and there underneath were tears. I could feel them welling up, feel the lump tight in my throat. I crested my tolerance, every nerve crying for release. He hit me again and I coughed out a sob, chest heaving. I heard the lust in his voice, the soft groan of need. “That’s it, Cat, that’s it...”

I closed my eyes, ready to give it all up, ready to cry for him, but no sooner had the tears risen than they eased away again, retreating behind the wall of self-restraint. Masque must have witnessed the change; the way my body turned tense and rigid.

“No, Cat, no, no, no. Don’t close up on me now.”

The cane was more savage than ever, blow after blow without pause, and I screamed and screamed and screamed.

“NO! PLEASE, NO!”

“CRY FOR ME!” he screamed back. “FOR FUCK’S SAKE, CAT, CRY FOR ME!”

But I couldn’t cry. There were no tears left for me, and right there, bound and bruised, I realised I was
scared
, not of the cane, or of Masque, or of the strangers at the windows. I was scared of crying, scared of breaking. I was absolutely fucking petrified of letting it all go. I was shouting before I registered my own voice. “PARIS! PARIS, PARIS, PARIS!”

There was instant silence, only the ringing of my ears in the stillness. Then there was him, his fingers at my ankles, my bindings undone in a heartbeat. He freed my wrists and then I was off the bench, in warm arms, cradled between his thighs as he rocked me on the floor.

“Jesus, Lydia, I’m so fucking sorry.” I caught my breath, feeling his heartbeat almost as fast as my own. “It was too much,” he said. “Much too much.”

But it wasn’t. That wasn’t it. “No,” I said. “It wasn’t you.” I raised my eyes to his and started in shock. “Your mask!”

“Shh,” he said, stroking my cheek. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But they can see you!” I turned to the window, finding everyone else as shocked as I was.

“Just tell me you’re ok.”

I managed a smile. “I’m ok. I’m fine, now. I’m fine.”

He kissed my eyes and I wished beyond wished there were tears for him. “We’ll stop now, let me get your clothes.”

He made to move but I held him tight, snaking my arms around his neck. “No,” I said. “Please, don’t go.”

“Only for a second,” he appeased.

“No,” I hissed. “Please. I want
you
.”

He raised his eyebrows. “
Me?
Here? Now? Right now?”

I pulled his fingers down between my legs. “Now. Right now.”

“Shit, Lydia, you’re still wet.”

I lay back as he pulled his mask on, gasping at the cold press of the floor against my bruises. He followed me, covering my body with his, but I didn’t want that. I wriggled out from under him, rolling until he was pressed hard into my back. My eyes fixed on the faces at the window, at their gaping expressions. I was no longer scared of them, no longer embarrassed. I met their gaze with my own, rocking my hips back to coax Masque into me. He pulled my leg back over his, spreading me wide for their viewing. I groaned my approval.

“You like this now, hey, you dirty little bitch? Like their hungry eyes on your snatch? Look at them, hard for you, Lydia. They’re all hard for you.”

I turned my head to face him, pressing my mouth into his. “That’s not it,” I wheezed, bucking back against the thrust of his hips. His cock spread me open, forced its way right inside. “I don’t want them to see
me
, Masque, I don’t care if they’re hard for me.” I pulled his hand around to my breast, moaning as he twisted my nipple.

“Tell me,” he hissed. “What do you want them to see?” His hips slammed into my bruises and it felt so fucking good. “Tell me, Lydia. Look at them and tell me what makes you wet.”

He changed his angle, and his cock strained inside me, pressing on all the right places.

“I want them to see
this
,” I moaned. “I want them to see
you
inside
me.
Show them how I belong to you...”

He wrapped his hand around my throat, pressing his mouth into my ear as he slammed me harder and harder. “I’ll show them, Lydia. I’ll show them who owns this tight little cunt.” His fingers were on my clit, working me for just a second before he hooked two fingers inside, forcing them in alongside his cock. I whimpered, my pussy on fire. “Take it, Lydia, fucking take it.”

He wriggled his way in further, pushing a third finger in alongside, and it hurt, it really fucking hurt. “Shit, Masque, shit...”

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured. “Tell me to stop.”

“No,” I breathed. “Stretch me, Masque, please God, fucking stretch me! I want it!”

He was lost to me, grunting and thrusting and pounding his way inside. I arched my back and hissed for more, clenching my teeth until the brutal pulse of orgasm ripped through my senses. We were animals, beasts, and I clawed at his arms as he savaged my insides, loving the bellow of his eruption. He came inside me, a juddering rack of muscle and sin, breathing hot in my ear and pulling me tight.

“Fucking hell, Lydia, fucking hell...” he groaned. “Jesus fucking Christ, that was good.”

“Ow,” I laughed, flinching as he pulled himself out of me. I kissed him hard, sucking his tongue into my mouth like I’d never get enough of him. “What are you doing to me?” I giggled, high on endorphins. “This is crazy.”