Master of the House (13 page)

I sat on the made bed and drew my knees to my chin. My heart felt hectic and bumpy in my chest. Whatever else this was – sick, mad, ill-advised, damaging – it was certainly exciting.

Was I quivering or was it just the familiar feeling of the van shaking as another person walked across it? I’d forgotten about that, and about how loud it sounded when a bird landed on the roof. The thud of it made me jump so that my heart pattered even faster. Jingling sounds came from the living-room. He had mentioned rope, but did he have chains?

‘Lie down on your front,’ he called from the end of the passage. ‘Oh, make sure you’re naked first. Give me a shout when you’re ready.’

I threw off the T-shirt dress and underwear and placed myself flat and face down on the duvet. My nipples were squashed into the cold, puffy cotton and I kept my thighs clamped tight together. I rested my forehead on my clasped hands and waited.

‘I’m ready,’ I said, feeling too foolish to add the ‘sir’ he probably wanted from me.

I heard the door click and the sound of pipes clinking gently together as he placed his possessions on the foot of the bed. Something silky brushed my calf – perhaps the rope.

‘I want you to keep your eyes shut for this,’ he said. ‘If you think you’ll struggle to do that, I have a blindfold. Do you think you’ll need it?’

This sounded like trouble.

‘What are you going to do?’ I asked.

‘The point is, my love, that you don’t know. But you trust me. You have to learn to trust me. Even if it’s only in my role as your fake dom. It has to look real, and to look real it has to be real. That’s my experience.’

I lifted my neck but didn’t look round at him.

‘That’s a lot to ask.’

‘I know. But are you willing to try?’

I nodded.

‘Don’t blame me if I can’t do it, though.’

‘I won’t blame you. We can stop at any time. But we’ll have to try again later. We have to keep trying. Is that understood?’

I said, ‘Yes, sir,’ without even baulking at the ‘sir’. It just came out, its passage eased by his serious and authoritative manner.

‘So, do you want the blindfold or not?’

‘I’ll try and keep my eyes shut,’ I said, lowering my head again.

‘Good. OK.’

I felt the mattress top lift and I could hear something being slid underneath it, next to the wall.

‘I miss my four-post bed in situations like this,’ sighed Joss. ‘So perfectly functional when it comes to bondage.’

Next the process was repeated with the bottom of the mattress, and something heavy was shoved at the foot of the bed, presumably to keep it in place.

He came to my side and gently tugged my right arm out and straight, so that it pointed upwards. He wound a silky-feeling band around my wrist until it was immobile, then he secured it in a way I couldn’t work out. He didn’t tie a knot, nor did he turn a key. It was attached to something, presumably whatever it was he had placed under the mattress. He did the same thing to my left wrist. I could not move my arms now. The feeling of helplessness made my breath shorten and my head start to spin.

Already, there was so little I could do to defend myself.

Should I have refused to do this? Should I have stayed at home and abandoned this whole crazy scheme? My head said yes. My heart … the jury was out.

He took my right ankle and bound it too, pulling my leg into a diagonal angle from my torso so that my pussy was exposed. It was even more open once my other ankle was pulled wide. My bonds were taut and I was held close in them. Now he could do what he wanted with me. It only remained to see what that might be.

‘Can you move?’ he asked quietly. ‘Try and move.’

I wriggled a bit but the effort was too much and I soon gave up.

I heard him take the pillows from above my head and, before I could wonder what he meant to do with them, he was shoving them under my stomach, raising me higher and tightening my tethers so that my bottom stuck out and my pussy felt even more vulnerable. Now I couldn’t even wriggle. I was absolutely restrained.

‘That’s nice,’ he said unevenly. ‘No, what am I saying? Nice? It’s fucking perfect. I could just look at you … for hours. All trussed up and ready for me. Are you ready for me, little Lucy? Ready for a ride?’

‘I’m not sure, sir,’ I said, my mouth stuffed into the duvet so I wasn’t sure he could make out the words.

His throaty little chuckle suggested that he had.

‘I expect you’re feeling a little bit vulnerable. A little bit helpless. Maybe even a little bit anxious?’

‘Well …’ It was obvious. Who wouldn’t be?

‘Don’t worry, Lulu.’ I registered his weight drawing the mattress downwards at my right side. ‘Because actually you aren’t as helpless as you think. No, don’t look up. But give one of your wrists a sharp
upward
tug.’

I did as he suggested and, for a moment, the tearing sound that ensued made me panic even more. But when the cuff fell away, releasing my wrist, I understood.

‘Oh. It’s Velcro.’

‘That’s right. So you can wriggle out of bondage any time you like, by striking upwards with the relevant limb. Does that make you feel better?’

He wrapped the cuff back round my wrist, good and tight. I relished the feeling this time.

‘A bit,’ I admitted. ‘Quite a lot, actually.’

‘Good. But don’t think you’ll have this easy escape every time. Only until you feel safe with me. Then I’ll move on to the real stuff.’

This made me wonder – would that time come? Would I ever feel safe with him? And, if I did, what were the implications of that?

Luckily, he didn’t give me too long to think, because within seconds he was on his feet again.

I let out a squeal as something cold and smooth landed on the back of my left knee, but I couldn’t squirm away because I was tied too fast.

‘What do you think this is?’ he asked softly, dragging it up the back of my thigh. It was light and flexible and felt like leather.

‘I think … the riding crop. The bendy bit at the end.’

‘You think right.’

He ran it down my other leg, all the way to my heel this time, then into my sole, tickling it. I could crumple my toes but no more.

‘Nooo, no tickling,’ I begged, my insides convulsing on behalf of my outsides.

He tapped the crop sharply on my foot.

‘Er, who gives the orders here?’ he asked imperiously.

I sighed. ‘You, sir. But it wasn’t an order. It was a request.’

‘Oh, well, requests are sometimes acceptable,’ he said, stroking my legs with the little leather rectangle again. ‘But they must be properly and respectfully made.’

‘Please don’t tickle me, sir.’

‘Well, you’re no fun,’ he said, tapping the crop lightly against my inner thighs, flicking it from right to left. It left tiny little bites of sting on my skin that didn’t have time to fade before the next nip. ‘But if I can’t tickle, you must let me do other things.’

‘Anything,’ I said. ‘Just not tickling. Sir.’

He laughed and pressed the flat leather against my parted pussy lips. I inhaled a breath of pure dread.

‘Anything?’

‘Can I trust you, sir?’

Those were the magic words. He removed the crop from the danger zone and rubbed my inner thighs with it again.

‘Yes, of course,’ he said, a mite tetchily. ‘I hope I’ll be able to surprise you, though. I hope you’re going to be open to new experiences and new pleasures. I want to make you feel things you’ve never felt before.’

‘As long as you don’t … go too far.’ Was it safe to leave this to his discretion? I could ask him to stop at any time, after all, and he had promised he would. Plus, I could release myself from the Velcro cuffs if he forgot himself.

It was OK. It would be OK and I should stop trying to direct him, difficult as it was.

‘You can always tell me to stop,’ he reminded me, a reinforcement I needed to hear.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘You’re doing well,’ he said. ‘You haven’t tried to look up yet. That’s good, Lucy. Keep it up.’

The praise did a lot to calm my nerves and steady me for whatever might come. He began the flicking motion between my thighs again. He kept it up until they felt warm and a little throbby. I imagined their tender paleness was now pink. It made me wet.

‘How does that feel?’ he whispered.

‘I feel a bit stingy. I want to squirm but I can’t.’

I wanted him to snap that little leather flap against my pussy. I actually wanted him to.

But he didn’t.

Instead he rubbed it, so that the glorious coldness mixed with my heat. I wanted to push myself on it, to force it squarely on to me, but of course I couldn’t, and he made the most of his freedom to tease.

He lifted it, trailed it so gently over my sex, never giving me the pressure I craved until I was tickled and tormented into moaning protest.

‘You rev up quickly, don’t you?’ he said, sounding very pleased with himself. ‘That didn’t take much. Just a little attention to your thighs and you’re desperate. Oh, yes. I like this. Very promising indeed.’

Push it. Push it harder.

But he took it away and whipped it down, so suddenly I hardly knew what had happened, until my bottom was scorched with a bar of pain that must have made a welt.

‘Jesus!’ I sang. ‘Ow!’

‘Lovely,’ he said, rubbing the mark with his hand. ‘You have such a gorgeously spankable arse, you know? I can’t stop thinking about it.’

‘I didn’t know, but thanks for telling me.’ I had a feeling this was one physical attribute I might come to regret. Could one reduce the ‘spankability’ of a backside? Was there a fitness DVD for it?

‘I’m going to give it lashings and lashings of attention,’ he said, and I could hear the incipient drool in his voice. He laid another stroke, so hard I yelped.

‘Lashings,’ he repeated.

Another, right across the rounds of my bum. I could almost see the red raised rectangle it must have left.

‘And lashings,’ he said.

He put the crop back against my sex.

‘You’re very brave today,’ he murmured, moving it slowly up and down. I wanted to hump it. I wanted to gyrate my hips on its brutal black leather. Even better, I wanted Joss to climb up between my legs and fuck me until I had a mouthful of duvet and a red raw sex. Everything from my waist to my knees was hot as fire and my legs were shaking already.

‘Thanks.’ I could barely form the word. It was more like a panting breath.

‘Those were hard strokes,’ he said. ‘But you took them like an experienced submissive. Did they hurt?’

‘Yes, but …’ I tried to get my thoughts together so I could articulate more than a long plea to come.

‘But?’

He tapped the crop, lightly but sharply, over my buttocks, waking up a wonderful world of stinging heat, moving right down across my thighs then inside again. I held my breath, hoping he’d strike my pussy.

He did, very lightly.

‘But?’ he repeated.

‘Oh. There’s something … nice … about the pain. Something that makes it more than pain.’

He struck again, sharply against my lips.

‘You forgot something,’ he said sternly.

I let the shock of that burst of fire directly on my clit pulse through my lower body until it was absorbed, then I spoke again, very meekly. ‘Sir. Sorry, sir.’

‘I should think so.’

He patted my pussy this time, and it was both blissful and torturing. Each stroke was like a caress, making my clitoris bigger and rounder and needier, but it wasn’t hard enough to cancel the need or long enough to let me come.

I really wanted to come.

‘You like this, don’t you?’ he said, withdrawing the whip, to my intense disappointment.

‘It’s … oh, God, please don’t stop … it’s so interesting. Sir.’

‘Interesting?’ he repeated with a chuckle. ‘What’s interesting for me is how you’ve taken to it. Duck to water. Sub to bondage. I think you really are kinkier than I ever imagined, which is the most delightful revelation. Stay still.’

It was a tease. I couldn’t do otherwise.

I made an incoherent little noise of desperate need, aware of nothing more than the seemingly giant size and glaring heat of my clit.

‘Would you like to come?’ he asked, bending low to whisper it into my ear.

‘Yes, please, sir.’

‘Poor Lulu. You’re going to have to wait. I want to spank you some more first.’

‘Oh.’ It was a sound of pure anguish.

He laid on the crop, not hard, but it was thorough and long, and by the time he had finished I was burning up all over my poor tight skin. I imagined it to be as shiny and red as a boiled lobster, and he took a photograph on his phone to show me later.

‘If only it never faded,’ he said. ‘I’d like to keep your arse that colour on a permanent basis. I wonder if it could be done.’

I was chewing on the duvet by now, my brain fried along with my bum. I had been straining at the bonds so hard that I thought I’d have marks on my wrists for days.

He tapped the crop against my pussy again, making the strokes short and light, but my clit was so tender by now that the slightest touch was intense. He made them harder by degrees, waiting for me to say the word, but I didn’t say the word. I wanted it harder and harder. I thought if he kept it up, I could come, and the shameful idea of coming while he spanked my pussy turned me on even more and made me want to beg and cry and say the most debased, degraded things to him.

‘You really are loving this, aren’t you?’ he said with wonder.

The crop was slap-slap-slapping at my lips now, and I was getting the leather slippery with my essences.

‘You’ll get much more of this,’ he said. ‘But I think you’re getting close. So let’s hold it there.’

He stopped and I made a raging sound. I was turning into an animal, a creature of low lust and nothing else. How did he do this to me?

He spanked my bottom again, for a minute or two, but I barely registered it, enjoying the flaring up of the fading heat.

When he stopped, I tensed, waiting for more pussy-spanking, but it didn’t come. Instead, there was a blunt pressure at my exposed opening, and then something cold and thick and very hard was being pushed inside me.