His Mistress’s Voice (18 page)

Tom heard her footsteps as she moved about the house. He guessed she was gathering her things for the shopping trip. Then her footsteps moved purposefully away from him. He heard the door open and then close, admitting a gust of air. There was the sound of the key in the lock. Harriet was being thorough as always. Then silence. He was alone in the house and completely immobilised. He shifted slightly on the seat and felt the stir of the plug inside him. The tug of the tie wrap on his balls warned him not to move too much. This must be what Beth had felt in those hours alone in her flat: the faint apprehension, a prickling compounded of worry, fear and excitement. And a sense of utter helplessness. No control over your own body. Unable to stir hand or foot. A feeling of total dependence. No choices to make. A paradoxical freedom to which he surrendered.

With the sense of freedom came a sense of detachment. Unable to move, he began to feel detached from his body, except when he tugged at the ropes or shifted on the chair. Since he couldn’t see, he was cut off from the usual things that help us to measure time and its passage. The shifting shadows as the sun changed position; the very quality of the light that told you what time of day it was, even if you had just woken from an unplanned nap. Without these visual clues, which we all take for granted to give order to the hours, he felt cut off, adrift in the stream of time. It was curiously restful to be freed from the tyranny of the clock. He wondered briefly why Tchaikovsky had called it ‘The Dance of the Hours’. They didn’t dance. They merely passed. Now he was unable to measure even their passage.

He couldn’t speak, even if there had been someone there to listen to him. Another of the ties to the ordinary world severed.

His ears brought him the noises of traffic and of pedestrians from the street, but even these sounds were muted. Tom fancied he could tell the difference between men and women from their footsteps, and he bent his efforts to distinguishing their sounds. But none of them stopped or paused by the door. He was alone in a way that few people who live in large cities ever are.

No one knew he was behind that door except Harriet, and only she knew when she was coming back, if indeed she had set herself a time. Some women, he knew, were content to spend the entire day at the shops. The presence of her DIY catheter reminded him that she had allowed herself considerable time to manoeuvre. Her return was not controlled by his bodily needs. She was clearly intending to take her time.

From nowhere another thought came to disturb him. Harriet might have an accident and be taken to hospital. No one would come back for him. It would be days before he was missed. Did Harriet have a note in her handbag saying her assistant was helplessly bound in her house: finder please go release him? He doubted it. But there was nothing he could do.

This train of thought was broken by a noise at the door. Tom sat up in alarm, giving a sharp jerk to the tie wrap around his balls. The sound of the letter box closing told him it must be the postman. He hadn’t heard the mail drop onto the mat. He reminded himself to expect the milkman. Perhaps a friend or neighbour of Harriet’s as well. When no one answered the door, they would conclude that she was out and go away. They couldn’t know he was there. He doubted if the strangled noises which were all he could make would carry as far as the door. No help would come.

Tom found he could only strain his hearing and stay alert for so long. Then his attention would wander. He found himself nodding off from time to time despite having slept most of the night. He lost track of the time. Once he recalled waking and having to pee badly. He had to force himself to go, being unused to the position and the catheter. Eventually he managed. He dozed again. The next thing to wake him was the sound of the front door opening. He felt a gust of cool air sweep through the room. He jerked from sleep to consciousness in alarm. He grunted. There was no reply, but footsteps approached him. A woman, by the sound of them. But Harriet? No way to tell. He smelled a faint perfume but couldn’t say if it was hers. He hadn’t paid much attention to her scent that morning. Now he wished he had.

Tom felt a faint movement of air against his face and body, as if someone were moving quite near to him. Perhaps even breathing on him. He strained to hear anything that would give him a clue to the identity and, more important, the intentions of whoever it was with him. No use; he was not a trained listener. He couldn’t mask out the street sounds and concentrate on nearby noise. Tom was discovering the difficulties that came from being deprived of one of his primary senses, nevertheless, he could feel himself tingling with tension and alarm. And anticipation. Was this the surprise Harriet had arranged?

He grunted again. Still there was no reply. Then a hand touched his shoulder and he jumped in surprise, pulling sharply at the tie wrap. He gasped in pain. The hand continued its silent exploration of his body, moving down to his chest and gently stroking his stomach. By now he was sure that his visitor was a woman. The hands were not the hands of a man, and the perfume was definitely feminine. Tom relaxed slightly, for no reason he could put a name to. It only occurred to him later that the sex of the person with him didn’t matter. If he was powerless to resist or escape, a person of either sex could do whatever they wanted to him. Still, he felt better after concluding that his visitor was a woman. He assumed, on no real evidence and in the face of several recent incidents which showed otherwise, that a woman would necessarily be gentle with him.

She was standing behind him, because the hand that had first touched him was joined by another from the other side, and he was pulled back against her body. His fingers brushed a silky fabric that had to be a dress or skirt and he explored further and touched her knee. A short skirt, then. And she was wearing tights or stockings, that pleased him. He felt the soft brush of her hair on his shoulder as she leaned over to explore his groin with those delicate fingers. She got full marks for getting straight to the point. A cloud of perfume now enveloped him as she rubbed and stroked his cock.

It responded predictably, even through the condom. He was glad of that. At least they both knew now that he could get it up. It would have been embarrassing and disappointing if he couldn’t. Tom took pride in his company manners, they were especially important with strange females, and yet there was something familiar about her. It was most definitely not Harriet. While the manner was all wrong to be her, he had the feeling that he should know who it was. She was evidently the surprise Harriet had referred to, and a nice surprise she was. A part of him wished he could see her, but a different part of him was excited at the idea of being manipulated by this faceless woman.

She was removing the tape and condom from his cock, which was by now standing up on its own. There were sharp tugs as she peeled the tape away steadily and firmly. Next she stripped away the rubber sheath and he was bare beneath her fingers. She touched him lightly on the head of the cock and ran her fingers up and down its length. Suddenly she flicked a finger hard into the side of the shaft. He drew in a sharp breath but remembered not to jerk away. That was doubtless why Harriet had arranged him as she had. She struck him repeatedly from various angles, his cock bobbing at each blow. It began to feel warm and tingly. Tom guessed it was also red. It certainly felt red but it stayed hard.

The blows stopped as abruptly as they had begun. Her hands resumed fondling him. The alternation of mild pain and erotic massage was something new as well. He liked it. The world got fuller every day with things he had never tried. The memory of last night with Harriet came back to him. As then, he tried now not to come too soon, without knowing how soon was too soon. He had no way of guessing this stranger’s predilections. So he resolved to hold on as long as possible, if for no other reason than to prolong his own pleasure. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy. The combination of sensations sweeping over him were as difficult to resist as Harriet’s prolonged teasing had been.

Fortunately for his self-control, the strange woman stopped caressing him. Tom heard the floor boards creak slightly as she stepped away, then there came the rustling sound of cloth nearby. He guessed she was removing her clothing. He found that encouraging, even though he had no way of guessing what she was going to do next. The fact that she was getting undressed suggested that she had something in mind that required them both to be naked. In the present situation there was only one thing he could think of that required nudity.

Which only showed him how wrong a person could be. Nothing happened for some time – more time than was required for her to get undressed and climb aboard, that being the only possible position, unless she untied him, that he could think of. A line of pain was suddenly drawn across his abdomen. It felt like a hot wire had been applied, but then resolved itself into a stinging rather than a burning. Tom realised she had struck him with a lash of some sort. She struck again, lower down, dangerously close to the family jewels. ‘Aaarrgghhh,’ he said, expostulated rather. The gag prevented further dialogue. She continued to strike him, criss-crossing the blows up and down his stomach and the tops of his thighs. It was all he could do to hold still, but he knew he had to. There were more inarticulate grunts and cries which could only be his own. She must be using a leather thong or a length of rope. The painful blows registered as thin lines of fire on his nerve endings, and there was a low but distinct hiss before they landed. He was breathing heavily and squirmed on the seat. Then everything stopped again.

The sound of her rapid breathing told him she was out of breath from her efforts. Perhaps she had only stopped to recover. The inability to respond or influence what she would do intrigued him, as Harriet had guessed it might. Tom wondered fleetingly how many other people enjoyed this sense of release. It wasn’t something people would discuss openly, but he knew he couldn’t be the only one to feel this way. There was Beth, for one. She had seemed to enjoy the same sense of freedom while bound.

Then there was no more time for thought. He felt her warm breath on his stiff cock, and then he was engulfed. There was a tongue coiling around his prick, and gentle nips as she used her teeth to arouse him still further. This bondage game certainly got one used to oral sex. Not that it took much getting used to unless one were really uptight, which described many of the people he knew, Tom thought. There were certain notable exceptions, one of them not a million miles away, and another one out shopping, but present company was too present to be ignored. Tom found himself clenching his stomach muscles to hold back. Was this what rape was like – one person helpless while the other did whatever they wished? But this was entirely too enjoyable to be called rape. No resistance was necessary. There was only the minor problem of delaying orgasm.

Even as he thought this, the problem became major. The strange mouth withdrew with a final lingering caress. A fragrant weight as she lowered herself onto him. He felt himself once more taken in hand and guided into a much tighter orifice. A warmer one, too. The strange woman began to raise and lower herself on his shaft, shifting deliciously from side to side for variation. The plug inside him shifted as she did. The sense of being stuffed full while he filled her at the same time was almost unbearable. Tom realised he was
being
fucked. It was an entirely new experience which he could do nothing to aid or counter. Once more he relished the novelty of being entirely in the control of another.

The woman put her arms around him and pulled her breasts against his chest. Tom felt her hair brush his face as she leaned over to nibble at his earlobe. He could feel her tits moving against him, the nipples hard with her arousal. She must have aroused herself by arousing him. It wasn’t likely that the mere sight of his body was enough to make her breathe heavily, however nice it might be to think so. In this respect Tom was modest, though he had no use for modesty in its other senses. Luckily, neither did this strange woman.

She was pulling herself strongly against him, and he could tell from her rapid breathing and the low whimpers in his ear that she was about to come. Tom felt as if his prick was engulfed in liquid fire as she slid up and down on it, grinding her hips against him. Knowing that she was close to the edge pushed him closer too. They came almost simultaneously, her cries mingling with his own strangled grunts. The sense of release was wonderful after holding back for so long. He hoped it was as good for her, but couldn’t tell from where he sat.

But she wasn’t done. Even as he started to come down she began again to move against him. Her low cries continued in his ear and he realised she was going to come again. He tried to keep up. If he had been free he would have used his hands and mouth on her tits. Or would have continued to plunge in and out. As it was he could do neither of these things. But the strange woman riding him didn’t seem to mind. Tom concentrated on staying inside her and she pulled herself more tightly against him. He could feel her body quivering as her excitement built up to bursting point. Her cries and gasps of pleasure were loud in his ear. ‘Aahhh! Ahhh! Ahhahhh! Aieee!’ This last was a shriek as she came again, shuddering against him. From what he could tell she had several more orgasms before she slumped and became a dead weight in his lap. He was reminded disturbingly of the way Beth had enjoyed multiple orgasms like this.

Tom was glad she had enjoyed the ride. And glad and surprised at the strength of his own reaction. He felt a sneaking sense of relief at not having to do anything after that performance. It would have been a hard act to follow, and the usual words would have made it seem banal. He had often found these moments after a good satisfying fuck rather awkward. After the passion there was always a sense of anticlimax. Some women expected more, but he could never figure out what it was, nor summon up the desire to supply it. Declarations of undying love seemed to work for some, but they sounded hollow and insincere to him. It was as if the sexual encounter were not enough, or not proof of some sort of affection. He could just come to like this bondage if it freed him from having to think of what to do next.