Bound to You (27 page)

Sebastian grabbed hold of my hair and used it to twist me around, still on my knees, to face him. ‘Are you going to suck me off really nicely now? To say thank you for that spanking?’

I nodded frantically and looked up at his eyes, seeking his approval, then started kissing my way up his cock, losing myself in the task of licking and sucking him to oblivion. Soon Sebastian was thrusting into my mouth, with increasing urgency. Momentarily I wrenched myself off him, ‘I want you to cum in my mouth. Please. I want to taste you,’ I begged. He shook his head defiantly.

‘Oh, no, that’s not how it’s going to happen. Up you get.’ Sebastian wrenched me to my feet by a fistful of my hair then pushed me back on to the bed.

I reached out to his cock again.

‘But I want –’

With no warning, Sebastian clamped his hand over my mouth. The sheer eroticism of his overpowering me like that was almost too much to bear, and my body seemed to crumple into the bed in compliant lust. I had wondered when he might eventually gag me.

‘Don’t say another word, Nichi. Or you’re not going to get an ounce of pleasure yourself.’

Then without releasing his hand, he slid down the sheets and began to lick me out. Of all the men I had ever known, Sebastian gave the most exquisite head. He buried his face into my pussy with a reckless fervour, tongue-fucking me and dancing his fingers over my clitoris until I was bucking up to meet his mouth, desperate to cum.

But before I let myself there was something else I wanted him to do. The way he had clamped me quiet had unleashed my need for it.

‘Sebastian!’ He brought his dripping mouth away from me, and looked up into my face earnestly.

‘Will you slap me?’ His electric blues eyes sparked up, initiated into a darker kind of sexual service. He rose to his knees, bore over me. ‘So you know what you deserve after all,’ he leered, then whispered huskily up into my face, ‘you little bitch,’ and struck me lightly across the bottom of first one cheek, then the other. Then he did it again, more rapidly, returning one hand in between my legs to tease my clitoris as he continued insulting me and striking my face with light slaps.

After that, it was as if Sebastian had created a direct line between the two. Every time his fingers slapped down hard on my cheek, I felt a yearning for him deep inside my increasingly wet pussy. This lasted for no more than five minutes before he’d brought me rapidly, rabidly, to the edge of my orgasm. Just as I was about to climax I cried out ‘harder!’ and for the first time, Sebastian struck me fully across the face as I began to rock around his other hand, crying out in abandon and trembling with obscene pleasure. As my breath settled itself, Sebastian kissed my burning cheeks tenderly.

Afterwards, I went to the bathroom to examine my cheek. It felt far redder than it looked. I knew from slapping the clients how quickly surface colouring went down. Sebastian really was so good at this.

I went back into the bedroom and climbed into bed beside Sebastian. We lay there stroking one another’s shoulders and chatting about the worst sexual experiences we’d ever had with people.

‘Do clients count?’ I asked him.

‘Sure!’

I told him about the old gent I’d once dominated who shouted ‘fiddlesticks!’ when he ejaculated. Sebastian convulsed with laughter and pulled me in tightly to him with affection.

‘What about you?’ I asked him.

‘Oh, well, you know me, I’m always very appreciative of getting laid!’ He patted my hair. I playfully hit away his hand.

‘So rude!’

‘But I’d say probably all the times when women have said things like, “Make love to me!” or “Tell me I’m beautiful!”’ He burst out laughing.

I winced. What? Did Sebastian really find it funny that the women he’d slept with might want to be considered attractive by him? I mean, sure, people fishing for compliments could be a little bit of a turn-off but wasn’t that just indicative of human vulnerability? I wanted to say something but I didn’t know what.

Sebastian interrupted my thoughts. ‘I’m going to brush my teeth. Do you mind if I borrow your robe?’ he gestured to an embroidered satin kimono hung on the outside of the wardrobe door. He got up, put it on, and gave me a mock bow. Then before I’d had a chance to make a joke, he shook a finger at me. ‘Don’t think I’m into dress up though! My ex tried that on with me and she got nothing but the back of my hand for it!’

The next morning Sebastian and I woke for our usual second sex session then promptly fell back asleep. When I woke again, Sebastian was still dozing. I carefully slid out of the bed, trying not to disturb him. I must have fallen asleep last night before he’d made it back into bed. My kimono was hung up on the wardrobe door, arranged perfectly, with the belt tied in an elaborate knot. I smiled at the care Sebastian had taken in rearranging it.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘To get some water. To have a shower. Is that against the rules?’

I stretched, then went over to my drawers and began fiddling about for a white lace negligee I had spent a ridiculous amount of money on a couple of weeks earlier, partly, I hated to admit to myself, in a bid to please Sebastian. As I slipped the nightie over my head, Sebastian paid no attention to it whatsoever and instead grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me back towards the bed, allowing him to catch hold of the other wrist too, and from there, roll me onto the duvet and then into him. He held me, arms twisted behind me, my head face down in the pillow for a few moments then bent down to kiss my bottom. Then he smacked it sharply. ‘You know, I don’t exploit your ass enough.’

What did he just say? Ha! Finally!

‘Wow. Careful there, Sebastian,’ I said. ‘That was almost your first compliment.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You know, you nearly paid me a compliment. Or did you perhaps mean that my ass is only worth exploiting?’

‘What? Of course I’ve paid you compliments!’ He looked uneasy and genuinely shocked. Did that mean he’d thought things he’d not expressed? I hoped so. But he needed calling out on this.

‘No you haven’t,’ I retorted. The conversation last night, his mocking the women he’d slept with, had been the first thing I’d thought about when I woke up, and I still felt troubled by it.

He stared at me stubbornly. Then he shrugged his shoulders. ‘Anyway, compliments are overrated. You never get the compliments you want in life.’

What an odd thing to say. Weren’t all compliments gratefully received? They certainly were by me.

‘Fine, I’ll remember not to pay you any from now on!’ I teased.

For the first time after one of our dates, I decided not to text him that afternoon. I realised that while he replied to any text message or email I sent, always conscientiously and with verve and affection, he never initiated contact, unless it was to fix up the next time we were going to have sex again. We’d been dating for several months now. Wasn’t it a little weird to hear absolutely nothing from someone you had such a connection with, from week to week? This time, I had to wait.

Monday came and went. On Tuesday, there was still no text from Sebastian. At work I switched my phone off until lunch in a bid to stop me from constantly checking it. In the afternoon, I was fact-checking a piece about artistic censorship in China, and was sure Sebastian would know the answer to an ambiguity I was puzzling over. I thought about texting him to ask his expert opinion, but stopped myself. That evening Gina called me to ask how the art gallery date had gone. I told her.

‘Lady, you need to relax. That sounds emotionally sound and mighty hot. I can’t believe you went out
sans
knickers! Actually, knowing you, I totally can. Very sad about Juliet’s mother though. So what’s the deal? Does he see Juliet now?’

‘I don’t think so. His ex is married to someone else, has other children with him, and they’re seriously difficult about Sebastian seeing her. They Skype but what’s that compared to spending quality time with your daughter? He’s missed out on so much of her life, I can’t imagine how guilty he must feel. But Gina, I have to tell you something . . .’

‘Uh oh. You’re not pregnant are you?’

‘God, no!! But . . . but . . . I don’t know how to say this, and I don’t even know where it’s come from, but for the first time in my life, I actually feel like contemplating that kind of long-term future with someone . . .’

‘Nichi!’

‘I know, I know . . .’

‘You barely know the guy!’

‘I KNOW. But I can’t help it. It’s chemical. There’s something about his whole body that just makes me relinquish a part of me to him. And when I hear him speak about Juliet it just tugs at my heart strings.’

‘Well, all I can say is that I hope to God this guy pulls his finger out and starts texting you. I’ve just heard something I never thought would come out of your mouth! You’ve got it bad!’

On Wednesday morning there was no text. Work was quiet and so I raked through every one of my email folders on the off-chance that a missive from Sebastian might have made its way into one or other of them by mistake.

On Wednesday evening I walked home and found myself fighting hard to swallow the hint of a lump that rose in my throat as I passed the Tate, where we’d spent such a beautiful evening the previous Saturday.

On Thursday I had managed to channel some of my old domme power and felt withering towards Sebastian. If he texted now I was going to make him wait for it.

On Friday morning, at around 11.32 a.m., finally, there it was. No explanation. No apology. Just his usual ‘Hey, hope you’re well! Are you free to meet up next Wednesday? Sx’

My heart heaved with relief. I made him wait a whole seven hours for a reply. ‘Hello. Wednesday. Not sure yet. x’

Immediately he responded. ‘OK, well, when might you know? Perhaps it’s time you crossed my threshold?’

Wow. So he was really pressing this issue of me going to his. That must be a good sign, right?

‘We’ll see. I’ll let you know tomorrow.’

‘Be sure to! Xxx’ came the reply. Good.

The following Wednesday, Sebastian met me after work at the tube station nearest his flat. I’d had the afternoon off and had taken even more care with my appearance than usual, exfoliating and moisturising every inch of myself, selecting a low-cut black netted top and a tight plum skirt that zipped down or up the front, according to your intentions. Purple suede skyscraper heels completed the outfit. My nails were a deep damson. It was getting too warm now for stockings but still I wore them.

I had perfected my lipstick by using the darkened train window as a mirror, but I was less nervous this time, for some reason. I had decided that Sebastian had something to prove to me, and this, combined with the rather more vampish outfit choice, was filling me with a rare forthrightness. In fact, I felt more as though I were off to meet an old client than Sebastian.

Sebastian was waiting at the other side of the barriers for me, and lunged lightly forward as I passed through, placing a hand on the small of my back as he came in to give me a long, deep kiss. I pulled away first and gave him a cool stare. For a moment, Sebastian looked almost nervous. But perhaps that was just the novelty of his pale eyes peering warily at me from behind his glasses.

As we walked out of the station, Sebastian looked unsure as to whether he should take my hand or not. I didn’t offer it, and purposefully kept a few feet between us as we made our way along the main road.

Suddenly, a gaunt woman in her early thirties looking slightly the worse for wear came up to me. ‘That’s a lovely skirt you’re wearing!’

‘Oh!’ I laughed a little and blushed. ‘That’s kind, thank you.’ Compliments were compliments, even if they did come from passing inebriated strangers.

Then she gestured to Sebastian. ‘Does he tell you you’re beautiful?’ Sebastian looked at first embarrassed and then rueful. Ha! The domme in me shook her head with laugher. I glared right at him, sucking in my cheeks. ‘No, he doesn’t!’

Sebastian, surely, had to take the point this time. We continued to walk down the road, at least two arm’s lengths apart. Then Sebastian spoke. ‘I was just about to say you looked gorgeous.’

We had dinner at one of Sebastian’s favourite local Turkish haunts before heading back to his. The terrace of the restaurant was decorated with coloured glass hookahs. I hadn’t had once since that night Christos and I had dined with Layla. For the first time, I spoke vividly about Christos, and Sebastian told me about his Greek ex.

‘Do you know much of the language?’ I asked him.

‘Hmm,’ he pursed his sumptuous lips, ‘just
malaka
!’ He made the appropriate offensive hand gesture and I started to giggle.

‘What about you?’

‘Well, I was pretty good, I guess. Not fluent by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s a beautiful language. Underrated, in fact. I do miss being called Nichi
mou
!’

‘Nichi
mou
?’

‘You know, it’s just an endearment. Means “my Nichi.”’

‘Oh,
mou
like that! Of course.’

I was beginning to thaw now. There was no way I could keep up the domme act with Sebastian. I craved his company when we weren’t together. He started telling me a ridiculous story about a friend of his that made robots and had wondered if he could make his own living doll, one of those life-size Barbie-alikes that people use as sex toys. He mimicked his friend agonising over the ethics of using his technical skills to satisfy his lust. The animation in his handsome face was utterly comedic. I loved so much how Sebastian’s mind worked. It was so similar to mine.

‘What have you been working on?’ I asked him.

‘Oh, nothing much. I’m struggling to get funding for one particular project I really want to get off the ground. Any idea how I can raise a grand at short notice?’

It was a rhetorical question but still I gave it real consideration. I did know. Of course I knew. The quickest way to get money was still the quickest way. I placed the tip of my tongue behind my teeth for a moment to slow me down before I spoke. And then I offered up my suggestion. ‘Well, I could tap up some of my old clients for you.’