His House of Submission (7 page)

Without further explanation, he pasted the oozing strawberries into my lower lips, some of them shoved up inside me, others pressed between his palm and my clit. He pushed and smashed and rubbed them to pulp, then he dropped to his knees and began to feast.

I raised my neck, helpless and half-aghast, half-enraptured by his move.

I saw his head of dark hair and his eyelids, lowered, the lashes fluttering as he licked and lapped and sucked me all over. My clit was bigger and fatter than any strawberry, slipping wantonly into his mouth, begging for his hot breath and his wicked tongue. But it was wrong of it to beg, because I had to somehow rise above this riot of erotic sensation and batten down the initial stirrings of climax.

How was this even going to be possible?

He pushed his tongue up inside me, swirling it around to catch every last trace of the mingled juices – strawberries and sex. He smacked his lips and moaned with arousal and devoured me as if I were the proverbial manna in the desert.

And that's what he seemed like to me, in that instant. Manna in my desert.

He held my lips apart with his thumbs and moved in even deeper. I was not going to be able to hold out … I could feel a treacherous little flutter somewhere at the base of my bum cheeks, spiralling back and joining up with my cunt. Everything began to connect in a terrible, unstoppable game of join-the-dots, coming together with alarming magnitude. I was not going to be able to stop it. I had to stop it. I couldn't stop it.

‘Oh dear,' he said, long and low, once I'd spilled my strawberry orgasm into his mouth. He took some time to relish the flavour of my undoing, rolling his tongue around his cheeks, smacking his lips. His thumbs retained their positions on my labia.

‘I tried not to.'

‘I know,' he said, and he released my pussy lips, bent over me and kissed me for such a long time that I thought I might drown in the sensual, berry-scented lusciousness of it. ‘It's an acquired skill,' he said, pulling me up by my fingers. ‘And you're going to acquire it. Though I don't think it'll be easy for you.'

‘Don't you? Why not?'

‘Because you're a very responsive little bunny, aren't you?' He tangled his fingers in my hair and pulled it, making me fall into his kiss again. ‘You want it pretty badly, hmm?'

I felt hot and prickly and ashamed at my obvious readable lustfulness. He knew I would spread my legs for him at the drop of an antique gag. It was entirely possible that he could make me come just by looking at me. I was annoyingly transparent, and powerless in the face of his perception.

‘Don't worry, Sarah,' he whispered into my ear. ‘I'm going to train you well.'

He sat back down in his chair, leaving me leaning my bare bottom on the edge of the table, and smiled at me.

‘What a mess,' he said. ‘I'll have to have that tablecloth laundered. And as for my shirt …' He frowned down at the pink-splodged cotton. ‘Tell you what. Why don't you go and grab a shower and come back down to the drawing room?'

‘Oh, OK.' A shower sounded good. I almost thanked him, then caught myself. What did I have to thank him for? If I wanted to take a shower, I was free to take a shower. He wasn't my drill sergeant, for pity's sake.

I was obviously falling deeper into the submissive mindset, I thought with an impulse of fear. Perhaps I should try to check my descent, just a little, even if it might mean missing out on what promised to be the most mind-blowing sex imaginable.

As I arrived at the door, he stopped me.

‘Oh, Sarah.'

I turned.

‘Yes?'

‘When you come back down,' he said, ‘I want you naked.'

He had changed his shirt by the time I came back down to the drawing room, but he still wore the black dress trousers and the shinier-than-shiny shoes. His clean shirt was more relaxed, open at the neck, exposing his Adam's apple and a patch of chest, tan and sparsely scattered with hair.

He sat by the fireplace, accessorising nicely with the black cast-iron mouldings of the surround. I didn't think my pale, unclothed skin would blend quite so well.

I don't know why I found the nakedness so challenging. He had, after all, caught me in post-coital disarray at our first meeting, and the bodystocking had hardly provided a decent level of coverage. It felt awkward and unnatural to be completely bare, though, and I could not for a moment forget the fact that every part of me was vulnerable and on show to him.

Instinctively, I put my hands over my pubic triangle, protecting my breasts with my upper arms.

He shook his head.

‘Move your hands,' he said. ‘Are you embarrassed?'

‘A bit.' I pouted for a moment then clenched my fists at my side.

‘I like embarrassment. It suits you. Your little rosy cheeks. Come over here.'

I stalked forward and stood, hunched and shivering a little, in front of him.

‘Get that footstool and bring it here.'

I picked it up – rosewood with dark-green velvet upholstery, elegant carving on the legs – and set it down by his chair.

‘Right. Now kneel on it. But spread your legs wider … that's it.'

I felt like an exhibit and I couldn't face him. What should I do with my hands? They hung there uselessly while I endured the unforgiving laser of his attention.

‘I need you to look at me, Sarah.'

I did as he told me, but kept my eyelids low. My whole face twitched with the effort of not looking away.

‘I told you earlier not to come while I was licking that juicy little cunt of yours, didn't I? But you came anyway. Right?'

‘Yeah.'

‘What's that you say?' He cupped a hand behind his ear, his voice suddenly hard-edged.

‘Yes, Sir.' The words came as easily as breathing, surprising me. I was meant to say them.

‘Why did you do that?'

‘I couldn't help myself.' I paused and waited for it to say itself. ‘Sir.'

‘Right. And why couldn't you help yourself?'

‘Because what you were doing to me … it was very … it made me … lose control.'

He smiled but his eyes were flints.

‘
I
made you lose control? Well, then, if you can't control yourself, you're going to need me to do it for you. Aren't you?'

‘Yes, Sir.'

‘I can do that.'

‘I know you can.'

He raised the leg that was crossed over the other, waving his polished shoe in the air beneath my nose.

‘Look at my shoe, Sarah. It's got a kind of white patch on it. Do you know what that is?'

Yes, I knew what that was. I swallowed guiltily, remembering how he had played footsie with my pussy under the table.

‘Yes, Sir.'

He waited for me to elaborate.

‘It's, er, from me. When I was wet.'

‘When you were wet. You were very wet, weren't you?'

‘Yes, Sir.'

‘Are you wet now?'

‘I … don't know.' I did know. I was soaking.

‘I don't tolerate lying, you know, Sarah. But I'll give you another chance. Are you wet now?'

I heaved the words out. ‘I think so, Sir.'

‘You'd better make sure.'

I blinked.

He raised his eyebrows and nodded downwards.

‘Yes. You know what to do. Go on.'

I flapped for a second before touching my fingertip, as quickly and lightly as I could, to my vagina.

‘Well? Show me.'

I held out my hand, the finger pointing upwards. He took me by the wrist, bent forward and sniffed.

‘You are,' he said. ‘That's good. We can move on to the next stage.'

‘Oh. Can we, Sir?'

‘Yes. Open your lips and show me your clit. I want to see it.'

I couldn't help a sigh and a grimace.

‘Another thing you're going to have to learn, Sarah, is a quick and graceful response to my commands. I think we'll try that next.'

I leaned back on my calves, trying to angle my pussy towards his view, and splayed the lips with my fingers. He leaned forward, frowning over his inspection, which seemed to last a long time.

‘You're definitely ready,' he diagnosed. ‘Why are you wet again, Sarah? I haven't touched you. Is it because you're naked?'

‘Partly, I think. And just … you. Being you. The way you are.'

‘The way I am?'

‘So … confident. And, like, just assuming that I'm going to do as you say. I imagined doms to be … shoutier. And like, you know, you smile a lot. I didn't think they smiled. For some reason. Not sure why.'

‘Everyone's different, Sarah. That's humanity for you.'

‘I know. I feel a bit stupid, actually, but that stereotype had popped up in my fantasy life for so long, it became a kind of dom avatar.'

He nodded sagely.

‘So we've established that you find me incredibly sexy. This is worth knowing.'

I smirked at him, half-annoyed, all-attracted.

Without warning, he pushed his toecap between my thighs again and rubbed his shoe in my juices. The cold, smooth leather on my clit made me let out a tiny moan. I tried to get it away, but he shook his head.

‘Keep it there,' he said. ‘Hold on to my leg if you need to. You're going to masturbate on my shoe, Sarah, and when you can feel your orgasm coming, you're going to tell me.'

‘I can't do that!' I said aghast.

‘You can. You're going to. Look, you've already started.'

He was right. I'd gripped his calf and was rocking along in rhythm with his slow rotations from the ankle. My thighs flexed and relaxed, my bottom pumping in small but agitated motions, while I painted the leather with my streaming juices.

My breasts swung to and fro and I stared down at the dark cloth of Jasper's trousers while he issued periodic words of encouragement.

‘Faster than that, Sarah. Really get stuck in. Feel it building up. You want it.'

I felt dirty and sordid, disgusted with myself, bringing myself off on a man's shoe, but my arousal fed on those feelings and flowered all the more.

‘Touch your nipples,' he said.

I let go of his leg with one hand and obeyed without question, stroking them mindlessly while the room faded out and became one giant dark mass of erotic concentration.

‘Look at you. One, two, hump my shoe. What a gorgeous little slut you are.'

I opened one eye. The word ‘slut' had sounded oddly soft, an endearment, not an insult. His expression backed my perception up; his pupils were giant in his eyes.

‘Do you like it when I call you a slut, Sarah? Some girls don't. If you don't like it, I won't say it.'

‘'S OK,' I panted.

‘Good. Slutty little piece, rubbing her pussy all over my bloody expensive shoe … are you nearly there yet?'

‘Nearly … nearly …'

I dug my fingers into his calf. It was coming. I had to tell him, but if I told him … No, I had to tell him.

‘I'm going to come,' I wailed, and he yanked his foot away so hard and fast that I almost fell off the stool, having to steady myself by lunging for his knee.

The first little spasms of climax flickered uselessly and then died, denied their moment. I wanted to order him to put his foot back, now.

‘Poor Sarah,' he crooned. ‘She wanted it but she couldn't have it. Take a few deep breaths, girl, and I'll put it back there.'

I inhaled all the air in the room, levelling my head. Then his foot was back between my legs, taking all my frustrated lust up a notch, holding it there, keeping me on the brink with the slow teasing of my clit until I seized him and bucked on his shoe with my teeth gritted and my hair flying everywhere.

‘Don't you dare come,' he said, and I held myself still.

I can't believe I held myself still. I was so close, and I'd spoiled my own orgasm again. But I wanted to please him, very much, and that seemed more important than my moment of fleeting pleasure.

‘Good girl,' he said. He gave my clit one last prod and took his foot away. ‘That was good. Come and sit with me.'

I hoped that might be a euphemism for ‘come and have wild sex with me'.

I shambled forwards into his waiting arms and curled up on his lap, my head on his shoulder, my thigh pressing into one almighty erection.

He tilted my chin for a kiss, holding the back of my neck while he played on my unsatisfied, pulsing desire. He kissed with unbearable depth and sensuality while my poor pussy begged for some attention.

‘Do you want to come?' he whispered.

I nodded, burying my face in his neck.

He reached out to the occasional table beside him, on which stood a chinoiserie casket, and plucked out a cellophane square.

Oh, a condom. Everything clenched with excitement. We were going to fuck after all.

He unbuckled his belt, then moved my hand to his crotch, wordlessly instructing me to continue while he dealt with the wrapper.

I worked at the buttons, my face aflame, my eyes directed downward, not daring to look up in case he saw the full force of my desire for him.

‘You understand, Sarah, that if you are my lover, you have to be mine alone?'

I wrenched the fly apart and tried to ease the trousers over Jasper's behind, with his assistance.

‘That's fine,' I muttered.

‘No more Will,' he elucidated.

‘Oh. God. No.' I'd forgotten all about him. My greedy fingers reached for the waistband of his boxers. Silk. It was warm from him.

‘I don't share,' he said. ‘Not unless I'm in the mood.'

My eyelids flickered upwards, checking his face for signs of casual humour. There weren't any. He was absolutely focused on me, eyes signalling his intent better than the finger and thumb fidgeting with the condom.

I unveiled his cock. I'd like to say I did it with a flourish, but it was more a guilty, furtive kind of motion. As soon as I saw it, I had this mad craving to bend and kiss it.