Switch - a full length bdsm erotic novel (7 page)

I hitched myself up so my buttocks were caressed with the heat and pulled him between my legs.

He stared at himself in the mirror as he fucked me.

I giggled. ‘You vain bastard.’

He smiled. ‘I’m looking at myself, not believing that you and I are doing what we’re doing. It’s good all this stopping and starting you’re doing, otherwise I’d have come in about a minute.’

‘Let’s have one last change of scene, then.’ I wiggled away, splashing him with water as I moved. ‘I’ve always fantasised about having sex in the conference room.’

A lie. Half a lie. Not one that mattered. In the most boring parts of long meetings, I’d fantasised about being tied across the middle of the table with my lover teasing my cunt with toys of ever-increasing size, and all the graphs and talks would be an examination of how wide I could be spread, how much pain I could take.

Joe jogged after me. ‘Whenever you speak I can’t concentrate on anything else but your breasts. Have you seen me looking at you?’

I avoided his question by climbing onto a chair and then the polished table, turning clumsy, dizzy pirouettes until he leapt up beside me and caught me in his arms. His hair grazed against the ceiling.

‘Before I discovered sex, my wildest fantasy was to be a Prima Ballerina Assoluta.’

He looked blankly at me.

‘You know, like Margot Fonteyn.’

He gave me a confused smile.

Mentally I slapped myself. It was me who’d said no to the whole “getting to know you” thing, yet here I was at the end of a marathon sex session, us both dripping with sweat and the smell of sex even managing to overpower his aftershave, talking about stupid childhood daydreams.

I jumped at him, wrapping my legs around him, not even considering that he wouldn’t catch me and support my whole weight. I found his cock, or his cock found me, and I pressed down onto him.

Joe groaned. ‘I can’t last much longer, honey.’

The “honey” stung me. It slipped so naturally from his lips. It was probably meaningless, something every guy said to every random girl they fucked. I drove it out of my mind and ignored it.

I concentrated on grinding against him and sucking every iota of pleasure I could from him. I covered his neck and chest in bites that left red and purple bruises. I pinched his nipples and clawed his back.

‘I’m coming. I’m coming,’ he panted.

I might have felt the throb of his cock before he shot his load, but I can’t say for certain as his legs gave out and we crashed down onto the table.

‘Sorry. I’m so sorry. Are you OK? Are you hurt?’

I shrugged off his solicitations with a laugh. My back did feel like it’d shattered into a million pieces, but I could move and nothing was wrong. Pain I was familiar with, pain I knew and understood.

‘Let me help you. God, I’m so, so sorry.’

‘I can’t speak for the big guy upstairs, but I forgive you.’

Joe frowned at me.

‘You said, “God, I’m so, so sorry,” and I was trying to be light and witty in return.’

‘I’m sorry. I hope this won’t put you off. This has been so amazing, I really want this to continue into something more.’

I smoothed my skirt down; it was still wet from the sink and stuck to my thighs. I went on a hunt for the rest of my clothes, which were scattered over the office.

Joe reached out and grabbed my arm.

Now you get assertive, I thought.

‘Please, I’ve never felt like I do with you. I mean, I’ve not got much experience with women. I thought I was gay for a while.’ He stared into my eyes as he spoke, leaving me no mental room to escape from his emotion. ‘But since meeting you I’ve never once questioned what or who I want to be with.’

‘You’re probably bi, which is cool, as it gives you the whole world to choose from.’ I pulled away from his grip. ‘But you can’t choose me. I told you that I’m not in a place where I want to be in a relationship. This was just fun, Joe. And it was fun, even the bit when you crushed me on top of the table.’ I smiled at him.

He stared back at me with an expression I knew too well, the way you look when you realise how brittle the human heart is, and you know that life will go on and you can find your broken pieces and glue, tape, weld them together, but there will always be cracks. And there’ll always be the parts you can never find again. Ever.

I patted him on the arm, a gesture that made me cringe inside even before I’d completed it. ‘I’m sorry, Joe. The timing is right for fun. Nothing more.’

Joe stood where he was and I skittered away and found my clothes as quickly as I could. I didn’t discover my knickers, but Joe had come into the main office and at the time it felt easier to leave my underwear on public display than to face him. Besides, if I couldn’t see them it was unlikely anyone else would, and I could always come into work on Sunday to retrieve them.

‘Bye, Joe.’ I felt I had to say something before I left. ‘That was really nice. Thanks. See you Monday.’

I left the office and almost ran out of the building into the fresh air.

When I got home I rang my lover straight away. It hit the answer machine.

‘Pick up, I want to speak to you.’

I counted five. Tore my clothes off and flung them into the corner of the room and rang again. And got the answer machine again.

‘Pick up, I need to speak to you.’

I counted five, put the phone down and dialled again.

Two hours later, when I was crying at some sappy Hugh Grant rom com on telly with the phone clutched in my hand, he answered.

‘My dear, have you heard of the word harassment?’ His voice was a fine meal accompanied with the perfect wine.

I had to take a deep breath and brush the remaining tears away before I could speak. ‘I’m coming back. Break over.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘I’ve done what you asked. I had sex with another man.’

A pause. ‘I didn’t ask you to have sex with another man.’

‘Oh, don’t play semantics with me. You did. Why else would I be doing it?’ I was surprised at the anger in my voice. I didn’t get angry with my lover. I didn’t snap at my master.

‘I gave you space to discover what you want for yourself. I told you when you were ready we’d talk.’

‘I’m ready. For more than talking. I’ve chatted to some people on an internet sex site, including a poor, desperate guy who wanted to be my slave. Can you imagine that, me a mistress? And I had sex with a guy at work today.’

‘You were working on a Saturday?’ His voice was so calm, as if he wasn’t actually hearing the words I was saying.

‘I’ve got nothing better to do, have I?’ Oh fuck, don’t sound like a bitter, twisted cow. Please don’t.

‘Was the sex good?’ The same calm, mild interest.

‘He had a massive cock. And an unbelievable body. We fucked all over the office. Tons of different positions. It was like making rock cakes, though. You’ve got all the basic ingredients, but without the pinch of spice, it’s just flour and butter.’
Rock cakes?
Why the hell was I talking about rock cakes? My tone of voice was better, but the words were babble.

‘Rock cakes? All our time together and I never knew you liked baking.’

‘I’ve made you cakes before!’ My voice came out all high-pitched and defensive.

‘Because I’ve ordered you to.’

‘I always want to serve you and make you happy, that makes me happy.’ I sighed, deep and heavy, as if I was exhaling my actual life essence. ‘You know me. I don’t like baking. It’s just something from my childhood. Something my gran used to say. Her secret recipe for rock cakes. I don’t know why I mentioned it. It has no relevance. I’m all over the place at the moment.’ I stroked my fingers over the part of the phone which was delivering his voice to me. ‘I don’t like the world without you by my side, without knowing that you’re there when I need you. The guy I had sex with, he wanted more. He said he was in love with me and it was so horrible telling him I wasn’t interested. He’s just a work colleague, someone I hardly give a passing thought to. How can you do it to me? How? When we’re so close, so the same, when my heart beats to please you, how can you say that you don’t want to see me?’

‘I do want to see you.’ His voice was soft. I was scared I’d imagined his words.

‘Then see me. I’ll be with you straight away.’ My own voice came out strangely soft and fragile. ‘I was so lucky that we met when I was young, that I didn’t have to struggle through all this meeting people thing, hoping and praying that you somehow match up with a near stranger and keep on matching each other through your lives and your personalities don’t twist in different directions. Just one night on the internet and I can see how difficult and painful dating is. And the guy who fucked me, he didn’t do it how I wanted, how I like it with you, but for some reason I couldn’t tell him to fuck me harder, or spank me. I don’t want to be so vulnerable with anyone else. You’ve been through it all with your wife; you know better than me what it’s like. And you saved me from all this, so why are you throwing me back into it now?’

‘You don’t understand yet. It’s not a good reason to stay with me, sweetheart, because you’re scared of the rest of the world.’

For a moment I thought he’d gone. I pressed my ear against the phone until it hurt. There were tears in my eyes that had nothing to do with Hugh Grant finally kissing the women of his dreams on the television screen.

I heard my lover’s breathing. He was still there. He was still with me.

I had a chance; I just needed the right words. My mind was blank.

Silence.

‘Be a good girl and look after yourself, be safe.’

The phone went dead.

This time he was gone.

I stared at the phone for a while, feeling I’d been cruelly betrayed by an inanimate object. I threw it in the direction of the perfect people celebrating their perfect happy ending in their perfect film-scripted world. It bounced off Hugh Grant’s charming, smiling face and landed with a clunk on the floor.

I tried to remember exactly what I had said to my lover.

The wrong thing.

The wrong thing.

The wrong thing.

Had it sounded like I only wanted to be with him because I was too shy to tell a man with a huge cock to fuck me harder?

And I’d mentioned his wife. I’d actually mentioned his fricking wife. Way to go in convincing a man to commit to you by making him think about the woman he’d completely trusted who’d almost succeeded in completely breaking him.

Why couldn’t I have explained it right? Told him in a way he could believe in that I loved him, that I was lost without him, that I hadn’t truly wanted Joe to spank me, that I wanted the things I did with my lover to remain unique and special. I wanted to belong to him and him only.

I retrieved the phone and took several deep breaths. But I couldn’t dial the number. What if I did say it right and he still rejected me? What could I do then?

I placed the phone carefully on the side, switched the television off, and switched my laptop on.

Our relationship made most sense when I didn’t think about it, when my brain was calm and my spirit was free and I just knew that everything was how it was supposed to be. So I wouldn’t think, I would do. I wouldn’t analyse, I would flirt and fuck with more people. I wouldn’t worry, I would return to my lover and tell him I understood, I’d experienced enough of the world and I wasn’t scared of it, I just didn’t want it. I wanted him. I always wanted him, for ever and ever until death us do part. And it would work. If I didn’t think.

I went to the website that I’d made a profile on. A message flashed up in my inbox. I clicked it open.

It started “Dear Mistress” and ended, after reams of words in one block paragraph, “with much respect from your pathetic slave”.

It was from slavetothee; the name that had made me think of my master.

What had I said to him? I barely remembered the details of our conversation. I noticed the chat history button and scanned through what I’d said. The last thing being
tell me everything about you and I’ll decide whether you’re worthy.

Why had I said that? I hadn’t had any intention of speaking to him again. Had I? Fuck knows.

But he had responded to me. I started to read through his clunky sentences and bad spelling and was going to give up before I recalled he was dyslexic and I felt guilty again for mentally tiring of his mistakes.

He told me that his mother had died when he was a child, immediately dipping into the natural empathy I felt for anyone who had lost a parent.

He said his dad had quickly remarried a woman slavetothee suspected he was seeing while his mother was still alive. She didn’t like children, so eventually him and his brothers and sisters had been separated and sent off to live with various relatives. He’d ended up in Devon with grandparents – well, at least Devon was pretty, but that was the only tiny positive. Who could resist such a tragic childhood story? Not a girl like me who was already so emotionally sad that she cried at predictable, manipulative romantic comedies.

Then it got confusing as he started to write about his sexual experience. I didn’t quite get how many mistresses he’d had. One seemed to have finished with him for little reason, leaving him empty and disappointed.
Empty and disappointed
. Unfortunately, there was nothing confusing about those words.

He said he liked having cigarettes put out on him and something about masturbating in front of mistresses.

I paused for a moment, then flicked to his profile. I could only see his photo when I added him to my contacts, but there was nothing obscene or private about it. He was wearing a shirt and tie with jeans, sitting on a nondescript bench with nondescript countryside in the background. He was smiling, but it was the kind of smile you gave when you were posing for some work photo and someone had told you to look relaxed and happy. He was of slim build, very white, nothing remarkable about him. Examining the photo, I thought that maybe his nose was slightly too big, or slightly too angular for his oval face, but it was a small thing. He was average-looking, non-threatening, perhaps approachable, perhaps friendly.

I imagined him naked in front of me, me pressing a cigarette into the pale flesh of his cock. Could I do that? Did I want to do that?