Thrill Seeker (27 page)

Back to everyday life in Saltbourne, I braced myself for no phone call. He might vanish on me again. Well, OK, if that happened, I would quit. No point chasing someone who either wasn’t interested or couldn’t communicate except via mixed messages. The evenings were dark, the clocks would change soon. Spring forward, fall back. It was the time of year for settling, for quietening. Maybe I’d just had a late summer of lust, no more.

As it happened, Den contacted me within a few days. I was at Liam’s workshop doing more makeshift modelling for the leather head-harness he’d been commissioned to make. The harness was turning out to be a gorgeous piece, its ruddy brown leather, hand stitching, burnished edges and brass attachments giving it a faux-Victorian aesthetic, an object for a steampunk torture chamber, if such a thing existed.

Even though it was Liam tightening the buckles, adjusting the straps and hooking the claw gag inside my cheeks, I felt aroused as I stood on the sawdust-strewn cobbles for what felt like the umpteenth time in recent weeks. The sensation of having my head half-encased, and the objectifying thrill of the hooks denying me ownership of my mouth, got me
in the groin. I could tell, too, that Liam’s relationship to me wearing the kit was changing.

Previously, his enthusiasm for seeing me in the bridle had been about an admiration for the structure he was building and a satisfaction with his own craftsmanship. He’d kept his distance from the D/S implications of the piece, treating it as something I was into while he wasn’t. I wondered if he were growing more comfortable with kink or if an unexplored aspect of his sexuality was emerging. Would it work if I tried encouraging him to be more dom? Ever since our confrontation with the security guard in the grounds of the theatre, something had shifted between us. There was a new edge, a deeper connection arising from us having shared such a dark, scary encounter. We’d seen how the other had reacted to the threat. I could still hear Liam’s groan in response to the thug calling me a greedy, cocksucking cumslut.

At the time, I imagined him regretting his expression of pleasure. He probably did even now, and I’d be the same. The words used against me weren’t our choice but sudden lust tends to short-circuit the intellect. Liam knew I’d heard him, and we both knew the other hadn’t been as fazed at being forced to perform as many others might be. That night had drawn us together in a way that couldn’t yet articulate itself.

I wondered idly if Liam could get off on games of humiliation, power play and verbal abuse. Could that work between us?

‘You know, you look strangely beautiful,’ said Liam, adjusting the final buckle. ‘Almost wish I didn’t have to sell it. And I tell you, I’ve really earned my money on this. Seriously, one of the most demanding customers I’ve ever had the misfortune to work with. Always coming up with minor changes, wanting everything done yesterday. And then
all these sodding pictures we’ve had to keep sending him. Total nightmare. I’ll be glad when I’m rid of him.’

Liam stood in front of me and touched a hand to my jaw, smiling. I gazed back, struggling with the discomfort of my enforced silence, gaping wet mouth and facial immobility.

‘Weird,’ said Liam. ‘Makes me want to kiss you even though you can’t kiss back.’

Oh God, he
was
changing, he was definitely changing. He bent to my mouth. As he moved, I caught the scent of his copper curls, an appley hint of shampoo mixed with the freshness of new wood and an undertone of tobacco smoke, a smell so suited to his autumnal colouring it might have originated from his actual body. Gently, he nibbled on my lower lip. I closed my eyes, deeply uncomfortable and trying to slurp back saliva. Gags always embarrass me and this one was worse than usual. It made me look ugly, undignified and dumb, a borderline animal. I loathed it as much as I loved it.

With a hand on the small of my back, Liam held me, bending his knees a fraction to roll his groin against mine. The press of his erection made lust hammer between my thighs. I took him in a loose embrace, letting my hands rove over the sweep of his back before I dipped under his sweatshirt to find skin. He was cool and smooth beneath my fingers. The disparity between our mutual, tender caress and my leather-strapped head frustrated more than it excited. In the context of gentle touches, the bridle humiliated in all the wrong ways. If Liam hadn’t been quite so taken by the piece, I would have gladly removed it.

My phone beeped with a text message, momentarily snatching me from the here and now. Was it Den? Gah, I was supposed to be no longer bothered whether he called. I needed to get in the habit of putting my phone on silent
when things were likely to get sexy. Little interruptions could potentially kill the mood.

I swirled my hand under Liam’s top, letting my pelvis sway with his, telling myself the message could wait. Liam drew me closer, fondling one breast while continuing to peck and lick at my fixed-open mouth. I couldn’t help but feel turned on by those half-kisses, how they gently taunted me, mocking the predicament in which the harness placed me. But also, despite myself, I couldn’t stop thinking about the text awaiting me in my bag. Old habits die hard.

I withdrew from Liam, gesturing apologetically to signal I wanted the harness removed. Liam unhooked one brass claw from my cheek while I removed the other, our knuckles knocking as I fumbled to free myself. ‘You OK?’ asked Liam, concerned.

I dabbed at my damp lips and swallowed. ‘Yes, fine,’ I said with a laugh. ‘I’m horny. Does your client need more photos of me wearing this?’

‘No. It’s practically finished. He’s picking it up this week then I get the rest of the payment. Why, what are you thinking?’

‘That we should go back to mine and do this properly?’

Liam grinned. ‘Cool,’ he said. He pushed at his ginger curls in a cute, bashful manner. ‘But do you mind if we leave the harness here? It’s really great and everything. But it just feels wrong to, you know, give it a test run when I’m making it for someone else. Shouldn’t really be messing about like this when you’re wearing it.’

I smiled, relieved we weren’t going to explore this uncertain dynamic developing between us. The prospect made me anxious, afraid it might prove awkward, embarrassing or dissatisfying.

‘No problem,’ I said. ‘You’re so principled, you know?’

Liam unbuckled the straps and lifted the soft cage from my head. ‘I know. Sometimes wish I wasn’t.’

I shook my hair out and, trying not to appear over hasty, retrieved my phone from my bag.

The text was from a number rather than a name. It read: ‘
I have made mistakes. I have treated you badly. Can we meet Tuesday? Will try to explain. Make amends. Sonny’s Bar at eight? Desperate to see you.’

I laughed aloud, elated. So, I thought, he finally admits he wants me! He’s going to quit playing games and atone. Well, well, well, this was a turn-up for the books. He hadn’t been fobbing me off when he said he’d be in touch. The impact of my surprise appearance at the conference was clearly more significant than I’d realised. This was definitely going to be interesting.

‘Shall we grab some beers on the way?’ said Liam.

‘Excellent plan,’ I said. ‘Sorry, just got to reply to this then I’m good.’

I thumbed in my response, deliberately clipped: ‘
Much appreciated. Let’s talk Tues. See you at eight.’

He replied: ‘
Love you xx’

Sonny’s Bar had a rooftop terrace overlooking the sloping, lamp-lit sprawl of Saltbourne. In summer it was a joy, in early-November, less so, but being high above the town made me feel I could breathe. In the dark evening, the town glittered like fallen constellations, the sea shone like coal, and street lights beading the coastal road snaked into the distance. Occasional fireworks burst overhead, their jewelled colours falling over tiled roofs, and pink and gold domes.

I was early and nervous, wrapped in a fake fur jacket and
determined not to appear too eager. I would listen to what Den had to say to justify his cruel disappearance after our kidnap game. I’d give him the benefit of the doubt and tell him he didn’t need to pretend he loved me to get me on side. Sweet of him to try but I wasn’t that gullible and, besides, I didn’t want his love. Our relationship wasn’t about that. Sex was our motivation and, given how well we clicked, that could carry us a long way.

I’d also mention the need for us to make a habit of negotiating scenes. Even though I fantasised about being forced, it didn’t mean I wanted to be genuinely forced, nor was I prepared to give my blanket consent to anything Den might want to do. As he got to know me better and as I learned to trust him more, then, sure, we could make the rules less rigid. But for now, let’s tread carefully, eh?

I hoped I wasn’t expecting too much of our meeting. But if things went well and we were to resume our relationship, I also hoped we’d be able to seal the deal tonight with more than a kiss. I wasn’t planning on mentioning it to Den but, with sex in mind, I’d booked the following day off work in case we ended up at my place, fucking until dawn.

The roof terrace was a humble affair, a small stucco-walled square, bare foliage stems threaded through trellis, a few potted palms and strings of tiny lanterns. I switched on a tall patio heater and sat at a wooden table beneath the lamp’s amber warmth, my breath clouding when it met the night. I envied the only other people there, a couple huddled close and smoking in silence. They looked so relaxed and comfortable, poles apart from anxious, jittery me.

My phone beeped. I checked my messages. Den: ‘
Sorry, running ten mins late. Xx’

I replied:
‘No worries. Am on rooftop.’

I lay my phone on the table and sipped my Rioja, pleased at this new, more communicative Den. Ten minutes to gather my thoughts. That was good. My phone beeped again, the screen glowing in the half-light. An unknown number rather than a name popped up. The message was a photo that threw me until I realised it was of me modelling Liam’s leather bridle, my features and hair distorted with whatever editing software he’d used. The accompanying text said: ‘
Your head looks great in a cage.’

I laughed. Was Liam drunkenly sexting me? As I’d suspected, the contraption seemed to be stirring something in his loins. I wondered if he’d be interested in making another one for us to use. I replied: ‘
Easy tiger! Am at Sonny’s Bar. Got a hot date! Can’t reply much.’

Liam answered:
‘Slut.’

I laughed again and set down my phone, thinking how lucky I was to know Liam and share such an easy, friends-with-benefits set-up. If he met someone else and needed to change our arrangement, I’d miss him. But hopefully, if that happened, we’d be able to remain friends.

I checked the time, my nerves returning. I glanced at the doorway where narrow steps led down to the pub below. Having a civilised drink with Den would be a peculiar experience but if we were to continue this relationship, a conversation about our expectations was vital. I began to question the wisdom of taking the following day off work and making it as easy as possible for us to have crazy, late-night sex. More sensible, surely, to make it inconvenient then we could demonstrate our commitment to this relationship with a discussion unaffected by twitchy fingers and an urge to tear each other’s clothes off.

The two smokers left, returning downstairs. The patio
heater by my table timed out so I tugged on its string. The lamp’s fierce warmth filtered my view of Saltbourne through a smudged, orange lens, the town’s shimmering streets suspended in pale fire, white surf on the distant black sea licking at its edges. A firework screeched and shattered, the reflection of its cascading beads fluttering in the corner of my phone screen. I sensed change, a movement in my life. This was one of those golden nights I would look back on in years to come. Whatever conclusions Den and I reached would tell me something about myself.

Impossible to know how badly you want something until you’re tested. And the test here wasn’t simply of how badly I wanted him or the dark sex he could offer, but how much I needed to stay true to myself. Years ago, I’d vowed to take my sexuality into my own hands. The goal, my Northern Lights, was to become a fully-realised woman, comfortable with her sexuality. Was I there yet or was I about to screw up?

Easy enough to promise yourself you won’t compromise your self-respect in pursuit of a valued end. But when your kink entails someone pretending to strip you of your dignity and worth, then distinguishing damaging compromises from actions pursued for kicks can be tricky. It wasn’t as simple as marking out a metaphorical bedroom territory; as giving the thumbs up for whatever happened there and thumbs down for bad behaviour beyond that. Reality wasn’t so clearly demarcated. With experience, I’d get better at this, I was sure.

The trouble was, I’d embarked on a sexual relationship with a man who liked blurring the boundaries between reality and fantasy. Unfortunately, I liked that too. I might insist on a need to negotiate and be clear about where a scene stopped and started but, deep down, I knew the thrill for me
lay in walking the margins, in testing the imprecision of ‘safe’ with edgeplay.

I got off on being taken to the limit in games of force and non-consent, yes. I loved the murky borders of danger, especially when the lure of uncertainty could help stave off heartache. And I liked feeling used, cheap, worthless, sure I did.

However, the trouble with Den, I began to realise, was he left me feeling valueless afterwards. Being rendered whorishly disposable as a fantasy and sexual practice worked for fucking because it meant I got a lot of cock, a thing I’m rather fond of. The nice-guy Grants of the world who were super attentive and unremittingly selfless in the sack failed to move me. I wanted to see a man’s unchecked lust and passion; wanted to see him with a big, determined boner, a man driven half-insane with a need that returned and returned, and every time I benefited.

But I had no taste for the reality of feeling bereft, humiliated and cockless because a man I’d fucked had then proceeded to ignore me. I didn’t enjoy him acting as if I didn’t matter because I was merely a single transaction and he’d somehow pretend-paid me. Worthless in the game, worthless out of it. No thanks.