Fifty Days of Sin (4 page)

“Mum said it’s been two days,” I
reply. “I can’t believe I’ve been drifting in and out of
consciousness for so long. Oh, by the way, thank you for the
flowers.” I can’t hide a shy smile; then I realise this is new for
me. I never feel shy. Perhaps I’ve sustained some brain damage.
“They’re absolutely lovely; I’ve never seen flowers like that
before.”

“I’m glad you like them. But I
have to go – your Mum gave me strict instructions not to tire you
out.”

“Oh...” I don’t want to ask him
to stay – I’m too embarrassed. And I’m acutely aware that whilst he
looks amazing, I am unlikely to be looking my best right now tucked
up in this hospital bed. Despite this, more than anything I want to
keep him talking, prolong the conversation so I can look at him for
a little bit longer before he disappears out of my life. Then I
remember the ambulance and my Mum’s story about Adam picking me up
and putting me in his car. I feel myself blush again at the thought
of lying in his arms. If only I’d been conscious. It’s something I
would have liked to experience. “I’m told I have to say thank you
for something else too. For taking me to hospital.”

“Oh, I’m not sure I did the
right thing, to be honest,” he tells me. “The police were extremely
unimpressed. And apparently the ambulance arrived two minutes after
I drove away with you in the back of my car. But I was worried
about you lying there.”

“Well it seems I’m going to
recover, so I don’t think you’ve done me any harm. And it was nice
of you to be worried about me.”

“Talking of which, you need to
rest,” he says firmly. “Get some sleep; I have to go.”

I look at him silently, then
whisper, “Okay.”

He must know I am disappointed
to see him go, because he says, “Is it okay for me to come and see
you tomorrow? When you’re a bit better rested?”

My face lights up. I try not to
grin too widely. “That would be nice.”

“Okay. Tomorrow then.” Really,
he has the most beautiful smile.

“Tomorrow.” And as he leaves, at
last I allow myself drift into sleep.

Tuesday, 27 March

“
SO YOU’RE FINE
NOW,” SAYS MICHAEL, a smile playing at the corners of his
mouth.

“Fighting fit,” I agree with a
raised eyebrow.

“I’m glad to see you better at
last.” He kisses me lightly on the lips.

“Thank you for these,” I tell
him, taking the pretty bunch of red roses from his hand. “Come on
into the kitchen, I’ve got a lasagne in the oven.”

“Smells great. I’m
starving.”

“Of course you’re starving,
you’re a student. You live on pot noodles and pints of Guinness.
Glass of wine?” I brandish a corkscrew at him.

“Well, if you don’t have any
Guinness, I suppose so.”

“It’s lovely to hear you being
so gracious about it,” I tell him sarcastically. “This is a very
nice bottle of Montepulciano. If you’re not fussed, you can have a
can of Tennants Super or something.”

“Do you have a can of Tennants
Super?” he asks incredulously.

“No, but you’re welcome to pop
to the corner shop.”

“I’ll settle for the nice bottle
of Montepulciano,” he smiles, grabbing the bottle and somewhat
inexpertly trying to open it with the corkscrew.

“Sorry, should have got you a
screw top,” I tease him, getting the big steaming dish of lasagne
out of the oven and ladling a generous helping out onto his
plate.

“Don’t talk to me about
screwing,” he retorts. “You’ve been laid up for the last
month.”

“Aw, you’ve been missing a bit
of bedroom action, have you? There must have been some nice girl
students you found to relieve the sexual tension?” I can’t believe
Michael has kept himself chaste just for me. If he has, it’s a bit
alarming.

“It’s not quite the same,” he
mumbles.

I set down the plates of lasagne
and side-salad on the table. “Surely I’m not the only one who knows
what you really like to do?” I am surprised, and curious. Michael
was confident enough to tell me about his kinks; I would have
thought he could talk to any of his girlfriends about it.

“It’s a bit different with you,
Justine. You’re so... confident. You know what you want and you
don’t mind talking about it. It’s not how things work with a twenty
year old girl.”

“So at least you’ve had someone
to cheer you up while I’ve been out of action?” I sit down opposite
him, looking at his handsome face – which looks rather sheepish
right now – with concern.

“
Not really,”
he admits.

“Oh, Michael,” I chide him
gently, and I put out my hand across the table, laying it on his.
“I hope you’re not getting all hung up on me. Believe me, I am
really not the right woman for you. Not in the long term.” He knew
from day one that I didn’t intend our relationship to be exclusive.
I look for fun and good sex, not commitment. I don’t want him to
start hoping for more from me, because he’s going to be
disappointed.

“No, I know,” he agrees, a
little unconvincingly, but he does smile at me. Then he tucks into
his dinner as if he hasn’t eaten for a week – and I’m somewhat
reassured; at least he’s not in any danger of wasting away.

Our conversation turns to
neutral topics – his studies, my recovery, his favourite band who
are touring right now – and soon the plates are cleared and we are
on our second glass of wine. Then I realise I haven’t given him any
orders yet, and I can tell he’s expecting me to make my move
soon.

“Thanks, that was lovely,” he
says.

“Thanks, that was lovely, what?”
I upbraid him, trying to look stern.

His face changes. He knows it’s
time now.

“Thanks. That was lovely. Dr
Gardiner.”

“That’s better. Now be a good
boy and clear the plates away and put them in the dishwasher.”

He does as he’s told. This
domination malarkey has its advantages.

“You’ll need to soak that
lasagne dish, it’s filthy. Put it in the sink and run some warm
water in. With some washing up liquid.”

Michael obeys, then looks round
at me expectantly.

“That dish isn’t the only thing
round here that’s filthy,” I tell him. “I know how your dirty mind
works. So I think you could do with a little discipline, don’t you?
Now get up to the bedroom and strip. And wait for me.”

“Yes, Dr Gardiner,” he says, as
eager as a puppy. I watch his retreating back, checking out his
rather lovely bottom tightly encased in his jeans, smiling, but
shaking my head at the strange role this young man likes me to
play. I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling slightly bemused by his
particular kink.

I drink a little more wine and
after a minute or two has elapsed, I follow Michael upstairs. As
instructed, he’s stripped himself completely and is standing naked
in my bedroom. I notice that he’s closed my bedroom curtains while
I was out of the room. Perhaps he wasn’t keen on the remote
possibility of being seen, just like that last time we were
together in my room in college.

I stand looking him up and down,
one hand on my hip. He does have a lovely body, this young man, and
for a moment I feel a pang of regret that he won’t just accept
normal, straightforward sex. Things would be so much simpler if we
could just go to bed together like an ordinary couple. But he’s
come to expect the dominatrix side of Dr Gardiner, so that’s what I
have to give him.

“Down on your knees,” I instruct
him.

He sinks down to his knees,
looking up expectantly at me.

“You’re going to make me come
first.” I’m wearing a knee-length olive green skirt and a black
top, with black underwear underneath and sheer holdups. I pull the
top off over my head and throw it on the floor, take my phone out
of my skirt pocket and put it on the bedside table, unzip the skirt
and then step out it, kicking off my shoes too. “Take my knickers
off, Michael, and use your tongue on me.”

He shuffles forwards on his
knees, and I can see he’s started to become semi-erect even before
he’s touched me. I shiver at his touch as he takes hold of both
sides of my underwear, and pulls the knickers down. I step out of
them, still standing in front of him in my black balconette bra and
holdups, legs parted slightly. He runs his hands up the sides of my
legs.

“Did I tell you to touch my
legs, Michael?” I demand.

“No, Dr Gardiner,” he
admits.

“I’ll deal with this
misdemeanour later,” I promise him. “For now, you need to follow my
instructions.”

“Yes, Dr Gardiner.”

Keeping his hands carefully away
from my body, he moves his face closer and starts to lick at my
clitoris. I gasp and shiver at the sensation, and I stroke his hair
as he teases me with his tongue. He’s very practised at this, and
he knows just the right pressure to exert to pleasure me how I want
him to. I keep on fondling his hair and put my hands further down
to stroke along the muscles of his shoulders as the sensation
builds, the wet tip of his tongue sweetly caressing me intimately
as he increases the pressure and speed of his movements. I start to
moan softly with enjoyment, shutting my eyes and straining as I
push my hips forward, and then I’m filled with that most delicious
feeling of ecstasy as I reach climax, exploding into orgasm with
another groan. I open my eyes, realising that I’ve knotted my fists
into Michael’s hair. I let him go and smile down at him.

“Thank you for letting me make
you come,” he says huskily. I can see that he’s fully erect now,
turned on by the pleasure he’s given me.

“We mustn’t forget your
disobedience earlier,” I tell him, trying my best to look stern.
“You touched my legs without permission.”

“I’m very sorry, Dr
Gardiner.”

“I don’t think you’re sorry at
all, Michael,” I reply. “I don’t think you’ll be sorry until I’ve
punished you severely. So I think you need to kneel on all fours
now on the bed.”

He glances up at me, and his
blue eyes are filled with erotic anticipation. “Yes, Dr Gardiner.”
He gets up onto the bed and kneels like I told him, leaning on his
arms, ready for me to hurt him.

First, I take down a silky
dressing gown from the peg on my bedroom door and put it on. I
don’t feel sufficiently in control dressed in a bra, holdups and
nothing else. It’s a plain black, soft, sensual dressing gown and
it makes me feel sexy. Once I’m covered up a little, I walk to the
wardrobe and pull out a long wooden cane.

Michael bought the cane himself
for me to use on him. I would never have bought it myself such a
thing – for one thing, I wouldn’t know where to get one. It’s a
fearsome looking thing, and I’m not sure how I’d stand up to the
pain if someone took to my bottom. But for now, I need to use it on
Michael.

“A dozen strokes,” I tell him as
he continues to kneel on all fours obediently on the bed, his
erection standing ramrod-straight underneath him. “Count them for
me.”

“Yes, Dr Gardiner.”

I bring the cane down on his
behind for the first time. The noise is terrible; but Michael
doesn’t make the slightest whimper. “One,” he counts.

I bring it down again. “Two.”
And again. “Three.” I can see him bracing himself hard for each
impact. “Four,” he counts as I hit him again. The cane is starting
to paint pink strokes on his bottom. “Five.”

He’s clearly fine, and I know he
wants this to really hurt, so I move my arm back further for the
next few strokes, bringing the cane down harder on his flesh. I can
see sweat start to trickle down the side of his forehead and by
stroke nine he is trembling all over and crying out with each
impact. Still I have to finish it, so I carry on, but I can’t help
holding back a little – it’s so against my nature to hurt another
human being so badly, even though I know he’s loving every minute
of it, and if he didn’t like it he could easily use his
safeword.

Then my phone rings.

Clearly, I
can’t answer it. I’m in the middle of a sadomasochistic sex session
with Michael. But I can’t help glancing at the display.
Adam.
It’s Adam calling.
Oh, no, how I want to answer the phone; but I have to leave it. I’m
gutted.

I know I have to carry on as if
nothing had happened, but I can’t help wishing I’d been able to
take the call.

I give Michael his last
punishment. “Twelve,” he pants at last, and I drop the cane. “Thank
you,” he adds finally.

“Good boy,” I tell him. “Now
stand.”

He does as he’s told, getting
off the bed and waiting for what’s coming next. I take a condom out
of the bedside drawer and roll it onto his big, hard erection. “I’m
going to kneel on the bed now, and you’re going to fuck me. Nice
and hard.”

“Yes, Dr Gardiner.”

I get onto the bed on all fours,
still in my bra, holdups and dressing gown, and then Michael is
behind me, pushing my dressing gown up out of the way and my legs
further apart, touching me between my legs with his hands, feeling
how wet I am from the orgasm he gave me earlier. I think of Adam
again and for a moment I imagine that it’s him touching me there;
and then Michael rams himself hard inside me, and I gasp with the
impact.

He props
himself up with one hand as he holds my breast with the other. It’s
like he’s consumed by pent-up sexual energy, given an outlet at
last, slamming hard into me again and again. I cry out as his whole
length rams in and out of me. His hand on my breast is not a
caress, it’s a grip, almost painful. But the savagery of his
thrusts is so exciting, it speaks so clearly of his desperate need
to fill me over and over again, his ungovernable desire for me,
that I revel in the feel of it.
Oh,
Adam,
what would it feel like if it was you
doing this to me?

All I can feel
is Michael mercilessly slamming into me again and again, and all I
can see in my mind’s eye is Adam. The first time I saw him across
the street; his mesmerising grey eyes, his lean, muscular body
under a slim-fitting T-shirt, the mouth I long to kiss. I can feel
Michael, but in my head it’s Adam.
Oh Adam,
Adam, I love it when you fuck me hard.