Safe Word: An Erotic S/M Novel (6 page)

Carrie scanned his face.

"He didn't say anything else about you," she assured him, a
small, opaque smile on her lips.

A girl who's read so many books. I didn't usually associate
the bookish side of myself with the outrageously got-up girl
who'd allowed herself to be sold to the highest bidder. But
maybe there was a connection. Enthrallment to narrative, the
joy of being ravished by the text. Interesting. And interesting that he knew it about me. It gave me the courage, during
dessert, to check up on something. It was in my contract, but
you couldn't be too sure.

"Mr. Constant, I will get some time to read, won't I?"

"An hour or so," he answered, "most afternoons. There's
a small library, and we can download books from Project
Gutenberg."

"Thank you, Mr. Constant. And will Stefan be training
me?"

He laughed. "Stefan? What gave you that idea? Oh, the
punishment today. Nice job, don't you think? But no, he's my
secretary. He works for me on the financial end-well, that's
what I hired him for. But he also does chores for me, when
I don't have time for them. Bright boy" He shrugged, bored
with the question, pausing before he added, "You've never
had a trainer, so you don't really understand what it's about."

I hoped he might describe it. But he just sipped his
coffee, leaning back comfortably in his chair, and smiling at
my respectful posture and bare breasts. And at my eagerness,
my ignorance, my naivete, I thought.

The polite waiter asked if we'd like more coffee. Mr.
Constant shook his head. He stood up, and told me to stand
up, too.

"Pull up your skirt," he added. "That's right, all the way
up, and bend over the table."

He pushed my waist down, so that my ass was in the air
and my breasts were crushed against the table beneath me.
They felt sticky-raspberry sauce, perhaps. I heard the waiter
draw in his breath and mumble something.

"Have them add the upholstery costs to my bill," Mr.
Constant added, chuckling at the stain I'd left on my chair.

"Yes, of course, go ahead," he continued hospitably, and
I felt a hand, I guess the waiter's, tracing my butt, following
the red lines from Stefan's switch. Mr. Constant explained
why I'd been punished, and how well I had responded.
I wasn't much now, he continued, while I felt a deliberate
finger move up into my cunt, but he was confident of my
potential, and of my ability to learn. The finger slid delicately
over my wet, sensitive insides and then moved slowly out
again. I bit my lip.

Mr. Constant grasped my shoulders and turned me over,
so that I was lying on the table, the light shining in my eyes,
the two men darkly silhouetted against it.

"Just bought her today, after all," Mr. Constant concluded. "So she's got a long way to go. Well, you'll see-I'll let
you have her next time, as a tip. But tonight, well, here, the
service was excellent."

As my eyes adjusted to the light shining into them,
I began to make out details. The waiter was about my age.
He was slight, with wavy black hair, a delicate, aquiline
nose, and gold-rimmed glasses, cute in a nerdy sort of way.
Studious-looking, like somebody I might have hung out with
in Berkeley. And he was looking at me intently, his lips parted,
so that I could see the little gap between his front teeth. I
couldn't help wondering whether there would really be a next
time.

He helped me up, deftly brushing crumbs off me and
wiping off my sticky tits, and then regretfully (or did I imagine that?) putting them back into my dress. He picked up
my cloak and I could see that he wasn't sure whom to give
it to.

"Mr. Constant," I said, very softly. He turned, surprised
and almost angry, and I could see him wondering if I were up
to this after all.

"Please, Mr. Constant," I said, "may I carry my own
cloak?"

He nodded, and the waiter handed it to me, and as we
walked back through the restaurant, past the staring diners
at their tables, I swept it behind me, like a train, feeling
myself grow proud of and almost intoxicated by the spectacle I knew I was creating. You once asked me whether I
liked to be looked at, Jonathan. Well, I guess you knew, even
if I didn't really, until that evening.

He smiled. "Of course I knew."

He'd shut the door of the hotel room behind us and cut the
laces of my dress with a pocket knife. I was kneeling now, at his feet, wearing only my shoes and stockings. The leash I'd
worn that afternoon was a shiny pile of links under a bright
lamp on the table at his elbow, next to an old leather casket
that looked like it might originally have held jewels or coins.

I watched his large hands select items-shiny metal,
dark leather, matte rubber-from the casket, arranging them
on the table's lacquered top as though he were preparing for
surgery. Finally a riding crop, next to a slender whip coiled
like a watchful black snake at the table's edge. He buckled the
casket shut and put it on the floor.

He considered the hardware he'd chosen for a minute,
then picked out a brass clamp to bind my cuffs together
behind my back. And now a pair of nipple clips. They were
pretty, actually, shaped like silvery little seashells.

"Good," he murmured, fingering my right nipple, which
had stiffened when he'd run the palm of his hand lightly
across it, "very good, very obedient little body." He opened
a clip and closed it painfully on me. I kept silent, as tears
started their mascaraed paths down my cheeks. I breathed
hard, leaning into the pain, as it bit into my other nipple,
tugged at my other breast.

The clips were attached by a silver chain. He tugged at
the chain, lightly, this way and that. My breathing became
tremulous, sobbing moans bubbling out of me, ebbing and
flowing with the awful pulling at my breasts. He kissed
me-light kisses on my cheeks, my eyelids, the underside of
my chin near the collar. He picked up another of the shiny
objects from the table and hung it from the chain between
my nipples. A weight. No, not just a weight, a bell. It tinkled
gaily. He took it off, substituted a heavier one, with a deeper
sound, and unhooked my wrists.

"Hands and knees," he said, slapping my ass lightly.
"Head up," he continued, "and crawl around the perimeter of
the room. Quickly. I want to hear the bell jingle loudly"

I bet he did. He knew the pure chiming sound made
the pain seem rougher. I circled the room, hoping he'd tell
me to stop, and then I just started around again. "Head
up, Carrie," he called. "Keep that bell visible, or I'll hide it
inside of you. And then you'd have to work much harder to
make it jingle, wouldn't you?"

So I arched my back as I crawled, leading with my
breasts, like the figurehead of a ship.

"Better," he said, as I finished the second circuit of the
room, staying on my hands and knees at his feet, "but you
need a little help."

"Turn around," he continued, "stand up and show me
your ass." I obeyed, bending slightly at the waist, opening for
the dildo that I knew was coming, shivering at its hardness,
moaning at the feel of his hands on my hips as he belted it
into place. He pushed me back onto my hands and knees,
still facing away from him, and I felt something cold running
down the center of my back. A chain. It went from the ring at
the back of the collar to what I guessed was another ring, at
the back of the dildo. He pulled it tightly, so that I had to hold
my head even higher, showing more of my breasts. It pulled
at the tightly wedged dildo, too.

He told me to turn around again and face him; I shuffled
around on my knees. He considered me for a minuteI could tell he enjoyed these little decision points-before
he hung another bell between my breasts. He picked up
the whip.

"Around again," he said, cracking it against my ass,
"quickly"

It was more painful this time, keeping my back arched
so extremely, pain now coming from my asshole as well as
my nipples, the bells discordant with each other. I had to
figure out a new, twisting motion to keep both bells sounding, even though every twist pulled the chains tighter. And
when I didn't move fast enough, the whip would catch me,
while he tugged at the leash. When I'd completed that circuit
of the room, he pulled me to him by the ring in my collar and
stroked my face. I kissed his hand.

He tapped the bells, making them ring again. He traced
the outline of my mouth with the riding crop. "I look forward,"
he said, "to coming by and watching them work you in the
corral."

Yes, I thought, come and watch. Please.

"And just the mouth, too," he mused, "for a bit and
bridle. And next time ...hmmm, perhaps I'll attach a leash to
your nipples, and direct you from there. Or your labia." He
stroked my belly and squeezed my ass. And then he yawned
contentedly.

"The possibilities," he said, "are not infinite. One comes
to the end of them in about a year's time. But at the beginning, it's always a great pleasure to contemplate them, in their
variety. Undress me."

I was a little dazed, though, I guess by the variety of possibilities ahead of us, and I hesitated for a moment. He laughed
and hit my thigh with the crop. "You can use your hands," he
said, a rough edge to his voice cutting through his amusement.
"And hurry up," adding another stripe to my thigh.

He leaned back while I fumbled with buttons, zippers.
He was patient, as I suppose people who always have things
done for them must be. And I did hurry, because I wanted to
see him. He had a broad chest, slightly short legs. Muscular
shoulders that his suit had emphasized, and a slight curve
outward at the belly, which it had hidden.

He stood up, naked, his cock erect. "On the bed," he
said, "hands and knees." He examined the whip marks on me
("Good, good," I heard him murmur again). And then he took
the dildo out of me and fucked me up the ass. Deeply, but
almost pulling out from time to time, repeating the moment
of entry as many times as he could. He ran a blunt hand over
my front, my neck and throat, slapping my breasts to keep
the bells jingling.

And then he did pull out, leaving me empty and gasping. "Come on," he whispered, leading me by the hand to the
bathroom, where he sat down on a marble bench that made
one of the sides of the sunken bathtub.

"Wash me," he said, nodding to the piles of snowy
towels and washcloths. I knelt before him; his cock was shiny,
purple, the skin stretched taut. I was very careful, very gentle,
very thorough. I felt like I was performing a ritual from some
early half-forgotten Mediterranean religion. My belly trembled, my breath was shallow.

I put down the towel and took the tip of his cock into
my mouth. Then I licked the seam along its back, my lips
reaching his balls....

He pulled me up so that I was kneeling between his legs,
his bent knees tight around my torso. He took the clips off
my nipples, and I blinked, in the bright white light, while he
kissed my face, my neck, waiting for the pain to subside. He picked up another of the washcloths and carefully cleaned
the runny makeup off my face. And then he led me back to
bed, gently pushing me back onto it, kissing me all over, and
licking my bruised nipples. He took off my shoes and stockings, which, of course, were down around my ankles by now.
And he took off his glasses for the first time. His eyes, I just
had time to notice, were large and hooded, a light, greenish hazel in the dark. I looked at him for a moment as he
raised his head, shifting his weight, pushing his cock into me.
And then it was pure indulgence, just the lovely simple hard
stroking, a treat for me, the only treat I'd ever get from him.
I accepted it happily-kicking and coming until I was
exhausted. He raised himself higher on his knees then, lifting
my ass in his hands, coming and fucking me deeply.

I wondered if I should slip out of bed, to sleep on the
pallet on the floor. But his arms were tight around my waist.

"It won't be like this after tonight," he said, his voice sounding loud in the darkness. "Not at all." I moved a little closer
to him. To show him that I understood what he was saying.

"But tonight I wanted to make love to the girl I spoke to
at dinner. That nice, eager..." His voice trailed off into a yawn.

Clueless, I thought, as he turned onto his back and fell
serenely to sleep. Clueless is the word I believe you're looking for, Mr. Constant, to describe me. The cold metal ring
dangling from the front of my collar bumped against my
breastbone as I curled up into a more comfortable position.
I crossed my arms lightly across my chest, being careful not to
touch the ring. He hadn't forbidden me to, but I didn't think
it was mine to touch.

She took a deep breath and stopped.

"Oh, yes," Jonathan said happily, "I've missed your stories."

He lay on his back, pleasantly buzzed, his mind's eye
reviewing the procession of images. Unpleasant guy, Constant,
but hardly stupid. Nouveau riche, a little crude perhaps, but
there was substance there-well, he'd chosen her at the auction, hadn't he? Tacky though, showing her off to that kid, that
waiter, like that-and I would have punished her for so evidently
enjoying his hand on her. And in her, too, jeez. I like the hotel
part though, lovely, all the fetishes, the tears. I look forward to
watching them work you. Oh, yes, please.

I'll make love to her now, or in a moment, he thought. She
deserves it. Although usually he masturbated to her stories. Or
thrust himself into her mouth, sometimes just before she finished
the last words. But he was feeling pleasantly affectionate at the
moment-and anyway, they'd fucked so hard earlier that this
time he'd been able to let the buzz build slowly, free of urgency.
But it was getting on time, now, he thought lazily....

So he didn't comprehend at first when she informed him that
now she'd like a story in return, please.