Fifty Days of Sin (12 page)

“I want to see inside your
mind,” he tells me. “When you were recovering from the accident, I
used to think of you every night. I used to wonder what it would be
like to kiss you, touch you... fuck you. And I imagined what you
would look like touching yourself. Making yourself come. I wondered
what you thought about when you did that.”

“You have a very dirty mind,
Adam Benedict.”

“I think you have too, Justine
Gardiner.”

“You might be right there,” I
admit with a little grin.

“So are you going to tell
me?”

“If you really want me to.”

“Go on.”

“Well, since I met you... when
I’m touching myself, I tend to think of you.”

“That’s very nice to know,” he
tells me, “but it’s really not enough detail.” He runs a finger
down the length of my neck down to my collarbone, pauses, and then
moves it slowly and deliberately down to the curve of my breast
where the sheet is covering me. He pushes it down, exposing my body
to his touch, and strokes my nipple, circling it and caressing the
tip, sending shivers of pleasure down to my sex.

“Okay... sometimes I’ve been
thinking of when you first kissed me, and then after we went to bed
together... I’ve been replaying it in my mind.”

“You liked it?”

“Mmm, I liked it. And sometimes
I imagine you’re doing something else to me. Like tying me up.”

“Really? And what do I do to you
when I’ve tied you up?”

“You fuck me. And you tell me
that I’m not allowed to come. But then you make me come, and I
can’t help it. So then you punish me.”

“I rather like the sound of
this,” he smiles. “I have to tell you, I’ve done this kind of thing
before.”

“Oh, really?” The thought of
Adam with another woman is unsettling. It shouldn’t be – after all,
I can’t expect him not to have had other lovers when I’ve had so
many myself. But I’m getting my first taste of jealousy with
Adam.

“It sounds a bit like you and I
might be made for each other,” he says in a low voice. “Now tell me
- what do I do to punish you?”

“You spank me,” I tell him,
replaying my fantasies in my head. It’s strange opening up my
innermost thoughts to Adam, but I trust him; and just talking about
this is making me aroused. “And in between the times you hit me
with your hand, you touch me. Tease me. Or you make me get down on
my knees and suck you. Or you hit me with something, a riding crop
or a whip or something, and make me say thank you afterwards, and
then you fuck me again.”

“I’m starting to see a pattern
here,” he grins. “I gather that you like it when I fuck you.”

“Yes, you could say that,” I
smile back. “Sometimes you strip me naked. But quite often I’m
wearing some kind of special underwear. Like a nice black bra and
black knickers with stockings and suspenders. Of course, you don’t
let me keep my knickers on for very long.”

“Does it make you feel special
to dress like that?”

“Yes... I guess I like the idea
of looking sexy for you. I like the idea of turning you on. I like
it when I make you hard.” I move my hand down and touch him and
he’s erect again. We smile at each other.

“I like it when
you make me hard, too.” He shuts his eyes as I move, starting to
gently give him pleasure. Then he takes my hand and moves it away.
I give a little
harrumph
of impatience and I see amusement flit across his
face. But he hasn’t finished talking yet.

“Is that everything?” he asks.
“What about other people?”

“What do you mean, other
people?”

“Well, you’ve told me all about
what you fantasize about when you think about me,” he explains.
“What about before you met me?”

“Well, I used to think about
other people too,” I admit. “Or I would just think about a certain
situation – like being tied up – but I wouldn’t picture the other
person fully. I’d just imagine what it was like having it done to
me.”

“Is it always just one man?”

“No,” I confess. “Sometimes I
imagine being shared between two guys, or even three. Being spanked
or whatever while they all watch. Or they’d get a woman to do
it.”

“Really?” Adam’s breathing is
getting heavier. Reliving my fantasies is making me aroused, and
it’s turning him on just as much as me.

“Yes... I think it’s the idea of
them watching me that’s important. Watching what’s happening,
what’s being done to my body, and knowing that they all get their
turn to fuck me afterwards.”

“And is that all the other woman
ever does to you – punish you?”

“No,” I breathe. “She’s there to
do as the man tells her – or as the men tell her; if they decide
they want her to make me come, she does that too. And they all
watch.”

“While you’re tied up?”

“Mmm,” I confirm.

“In your stockings and
suspenders. And bra. And no knickers.”

I know he’s picturing it as he
speaks. It’s very sexy knowing what’s going on in his mind and
knowing how it’s making him feel. “Yeah,” I agree.

“And then they all fuck you
afterwards.”

“Yes... although by that time
I’ve usually already finished touching myself, so I never actually
go through all of that in my mind, because I just go to sleep after
that. To be honest, as I actually reach orgasm, I’m usually
imagining that I’m on all fours, and you, or some other imaginary
man is just starting to fuck me, just entering me for the first
time, and that’s what’s in my mind as I come.” I’ve never discussed
this before with anyone; but I’m happy for Adam to know about my
most private sexual feelings. I’ve always been sexually confident,
but now I feel so much closer to Adam emotionally than any other
previous lover; and so why shouldn’t he know these things about me?
I can see how it’s affecting him; his erection is rock-hard
listening to my fantasies, and I love making him hard.

He laughs. Then as he looks at
me, his expression changes, and it’s like he’s flicked a switch.
His eyes are full of purpose. I catch my breath.

“Don’t move.” He gets out of bed
and crosses to the wardrobe. Then he pulls out a burgundy scarf.
“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

“Should we have a safeword, do
you think?”

“I suppose so.”

“Okay. Tell me.”

I rack my brain, but all I can
think of is the one I used with Michael. “Dalmation.”

“Dalmation?” he says, evidently
trying not to laugh. “Okay, ‘dalmation’ it is.”

He walks over to the bed. “Lean
forward a little for me.” I do as I’m told and he deftly wraps the
scarf over my eyes, blindfolding me. He ties it tightly around the
back of my head. I’m tingling all over with anticipation, and then
I feel him pull the duvet away from my body, stripping it away from
the bed. I feel vulnerable and exposed, unsure of myself and
wondering what he’ll do next.

I feel the bed move as he gets
onto it.

“I think I’m going to enjoy
this,” I hear him say. My heart is beating wildly, then I feel him
take hold of my shoulders and move me forwards on the bed. “Kneel,”
he instructs me. “You’re going to make me come inside your mouth.
And I want you to drink it. All of it.”

Trembling slightly, I move
gingerly on the bed, disorientated without the advantage of sight,
and as I kneel I feel him firmly grasping me and pushing my head
downwards. I gasp at his strong grip and feel his erection against
my cheek, and move my head, opening my mouth and taking it
inside.

I start to move. Sucking, moving
my tongue up and down the shaft and up to the head to lick the very
end, taking him deep into my mouth, I put all my effort into making
him feel good. I hear him moan, I feel him mesh his hand into my
hair, pushing my head down harder, faster. I feel him thicken in my
mouth, realise I’m getting wetter with the knowledge of the
pleasure I’m giving him, and as I go down over and over again,
faster still, he’s touching one of my breasts, kneading it firmly.
Then I feel him come, tasting the salty fluid on my tongue and
swallowing it, and pull my head back, but still I can’t see
anything. I kneel up and wait for his orders.

“Justine,” I hear him say. “You
were supposed to swallow it all.” His voice is completely different
to the easygoing tone I’m used to. It’s a little weird to hear him
talking like this. But I know it’s all a game; a very arousing
game. And I have a safeword. He knows I don’t think I can take a
lot of pain. And I know how much it turns me on to be spanked, or
lightly beaten. This will be fine. This will be a wonderful erotic
experience. Won’t it?

“I did swallow it!” I
protest.

“You spilt some,” he tells me,
with disapproval in his voice.

“Sorry,” I reply hesitatingly. A
little voice in my head questions whether he’s telling the truth.
I’m sure I swallowed it all. But I don’t think it would be a good
idea to argue.

“Sorry, sir,” he corrects
me.

“Sorry, sir.”

“I think I’d better chastise
you, Justine. So that you remember to do it better next time.”

“Yes, sir.”

I feel him get up off the bed.
“Get on all fours, Justine.”

I obey him, kneeling on the
sheets, naked and blindfolded. He’s doing something, making a
noise, and I’m try to work out what it means. Is he fetching
something – something to beat me with?

That’s when I feel him hit
me.

I can’t help it – I give out a
little scream. It’s not any harder than I’ve been hit before, by
Michael; but the noise is so loud, a really resounding slap, and I
didn’t realise he was going to start so soon. I don’t even know
what he’s hit me with – but it’s not his hand.

“I hope you’re not going to be
as noisy as that all the way through,” he tuts. “I’ve only hit you
once, and you’re screaming like a child. You’ll have to try and
bite your tongue. Otherwise I might double your sentence.”

“What is my sentence?” I
ask.

“Twenty strokes,” he pronounces.
“Count them for me.”

Twenty?
I’ve only ever endured twelve before. I bite my
lip, ready to try to keep quiet. “Yes, sir. One.”

Then he starts again, hitting
the left cheek of my bottom, still not hard, but it stings – oh,
yes, it hurts all right, but as the pain of each blow disperses it
leaves me with a flush of warmth spreading through my body, and a
tingling and a pooling of wetness between my legs. Obediently, I
count the blows, managing not to cry out again, and when after he
has completed ten strokes he switches to my right cheek the new
centre of pain makes me gasp and catch my breath before I can
count, “Eleven.”

Again and again he beats me, and
as I feel my limbs start to tremble with the effort of holding
myself up against Adam’s onslaught at last we get to the final
stroke. “Twenty,” I pant. “Thank you, sir.”

I hear him put down whatever it
is that he’s been using to hit me. Then I feel him touch me. His
hand caresses my bottom where he’s inflicted the blows, now
stinging and burning as a result of his chastisement. He caresses
my cheeks, my thighs, and then strokes my sex. “Oh, Justine, you’re
so wet now,” he says. “I’m glad you appreciated my guidance so
much.”

He slides his finger inside me
and I can’t help writhing against him as he moves it in and out.
“You’re so ready.” Then he stops.

I can hear him cross the room
and open the wardrobe again. What now? Then he commands me,
“Sit.”

Gratefully, I obey him, my limbs
tired from holding the kneeling position, and sit on the edge of
the bed. I feel him brush his hand across my breast, making my
nipple tingle, and then he’s grasped my hands and he’s binding them
together in front of me with some kind of soft fabric. Another
scarf?

I feel him push me backwards and
he moves my arms up above my head so they are resting against the
bed. I’m lying on my back sideways across the bed, arms up above my
head, still blindfolded, with my legs off the bed and my feet
touching the floor. I hear him walk around the edge of the bed and
then there is a noise as if he’s moving something. Then I feel him
pulling at the fabric that’s restraining my hands, and I realise
he’s tying them to something next to the bed so that I can’t move
them.

He crosses the room back to
where he was, standing over me, and runs a finger down my body,
along my breast and over one erect nipple, slowly down my torso and
past my navel and then he brushes my clitoris with his finger. I
part my legs further. Then I feel his tongue on me.

Delicately, he licks me, first
around the entrance to my body and then he moves, probing and
teasing my clitoris. I moan and writhe underneath him as he
pleasures me, already edging close to orgasm as he thrills me with
expert, soft, teasing flicks of his tongue. I know it can’t be long
until I come but suddenly he stops, leaving me gasping and aching
for more, then I hear the unmistakeable sound of him taking out a
condom and tearing the foil packet.

There is a slight pause while he
must be rolling it on, and then he’s got hold of my legs, lifting
them off the floor and pushing them high in the air, resting them
on his body and then he thrusts into me. The sudden deep
penetration makes me cry out, nearly scream, but it’s a cry of
pleasure. He’s moving in and out of me hard and fast now, slamming
into me mercilessly despite my moans and cries and I strain against
the bonds holding my arms in place, but he’s tied me tight and I’m
helpless under him. One hand moves to my clitoris, wet from his
tongue and from my own juices, and his touch sends me over the
edge, spiralling into a forceful climax, pulsating with ecstasy as
I come. Then I feel him reach his orgasm too, responding to my own
body as he finds his release.

We catch our breath, and then I
feel him gently stroking my face. “Justine,” he breathes. “Oh,
Justine.”