The House of Pain (10 page)

His mouth had stilled momentarily, when I started nibbling at his thighs, but he’s resumed his assault on my pussy. His tongue traces idle circles around my clitoris. I can feel my hips grind against his mouth, smearing my juices all over his face. My need is rising, and I’m helpless to resist.

In desperation, I bend my mouth to his inner thighs again and I rub my face all over his cock, savouring his hardness. Doug groans, a helpless sound ripped from his mouth. “Tease,” he growls, nipping the inside of my thighs in warning. “Put my cock in your mouth, baby, please.”

Triumph. I don’t wait to be asked a second time. My mouth descends on his hard cock and I swirl my tongue around his head, licking up the precum that has formed, shivering in lust and arousal as I savour the taste of him in my mouth.

I hear him groan and my arousal builds as I hear the impact I have on him. He chuckles as my pussy gushes. “Such sweetness, Sara,” he mutters, and his voice is hoarse and aroused. He redoubles his assault on my clitoris, sucking it in his mouth, sending the most delicious pleasure-pain shooting through me.

“Doug,” I stop sucking him and beg, and my voice is keening now and I hear the helplessness in it, the out-of-control lust that is soon going to overflow into orgasm. “Doug, please…”

His fingers pump into my pussy. He pulls his mouth away from my clitoris for just an instant, to give one more order. “Come for me, sweet Sara,” he orders, and his mouth is back on my clitoris, and I explode in instants, falling apart under his skilled mouth.

As the quivers die down, I reach for a condom and move on top of Doug, giving him a silent look of inquiry. I’m waiting for him to protest but he doesn’t. He smiles at me, there’s warmth and passion in his eyes, and he reaches out and holds my hands in his. It’s an oddly tender gesture, and I struggle not to melt into him; struggle to keep it just about the sex.

I start moving. His hands clutch at my hips and his eyes stay on mine. “Sweet Sara,” he says softly as I grind against him. I raise and lower onto his hard length, going faster as he makes contact with my g-spot, biting my lips as pleasure courses through me again, and then he erupts once more in me with a shouted groan.

***

I’m in my apartment Sunday evening ironing my clothes for the first day of the new job. I’m a little nervous; I wish I was staying at Doug’s, where I’d be pleasurably distracted.

There’s a knock on the door. “Delivery,” a voice yells out.

I furrow my brow. I didn’t order anything. I open the door, keeping the safety latch on. There’s a guy there, holding a giant bunch of flowers. Lilies, orchids and roses dance together in a symphony of colour and fragrance. I open the door, transfixed.

“Sara White?” the guy asks me. I nod, sign his slip and take the flowers. They are already in a large ceramic container of the brightest turquoise blue. A riot of glorious colour, purples, blues, pale pink, white. Gorgeous.

I pull out the note that came with the flowers. “Best of luck on your first day, Sara. You’ll be awesome. Doug.” The note is hand-written, not printed.

I gulp. My heart is melting. This is a lovely gesture. I need to thank Doug but I don’t trust my voice. The flowers have weakened my resolve to keep him at a distance. I want more.

But I am a coward and I’m afraid of getting hurt. Maybe not today or not this week/month/year, but one day, it’ll happen. I’ll end up loving Doug far more than he loves me, and he’ll walk away. This is the pattern of my life. Colin was the first guy I’ve ever broken up with. All the others have broken up with me; leaving sadness in their wake.

I pull out my phone and text Doug a thank you.

And so it continues, this thing with Doug. We’ve switched days – we meet Friday nights, not Saturdays. Saturdays are too difficult to coordinate. He always makes dinner. I find out he’s actually a fairly good cook. Some days, I even get there in time to help. I perch myself on the kitchen island, and chop vegetables. Dinner is always companionable, he’s always entertaining company.

Outside of the Friday night dinners, and the Saturday night breakfasts, I’ve steadfastly refused to date him. He’s asked me out, more than once, but I’m scared to date him. Already, I think I’m getting too close, getting too attached to Doug. I need to keep my distance.

I’m not sure what he thinks of my continuing refusals. I have felt his eyes on me, studying me; but whatever conclusions he’s reached; he’s kept to himself.

The sex? The sex is always incredible.

Over time, my concerns about submission to Doug have eased. He rarely offers an unasked opinion outside the dungeon. I’ve never been told what to wear. I’m rarely told not to talk during a scene. I find the lighter the control, the more I’m convinced I want it. Had Doug been the kind of guy who would have ordered me around a lot, I doubt if we’d have made it past the first month; incredible sex or not.

Instead, Doug’s control is more subtle, more insidious. I wear the kind of lingerie that causes heat to rise in his eyes. I behave the kind of way that has him look at me with warmth and approval. I’m doing this because it makes me happy that I make him happy.

It’s all very scary. But yet, I continue. Week after week, I give myself to Doug, entirely, in his dungeon.

***

It’s early-November. It’s freezing outside. Cold and damp, it’s been raining all afternoon. I can’t stop shivering as I climb on the streetcar.

People give me a wide berth as I start coughing. All week, my throat has hurt. I’ve been drinking hot tea, and swallowing pills to ease the pain. It doesn’t seem to have worked.

If I had any sense at all, I would have called Doug and cancelled. But I’ve missed him. I ache to feel him next to me. I haven’t seen him for over ten days, he’s had to travel for work, and my body is craving his touch.

By the time I get off the subway and walk to Doug’s, I’m shivering near constantly, and I can hear my teeth chattering. I lean against the doorway in utter misery, feeling dreadful. I ring the doorbell and while I wait for Doug to open the door, I close my eyes.

“Sara, what the heck?” Doug’s voice is worried. I haven’t realized that the door has opened. He steps aside and eyes me with concern.

The hallway is warm but I can’t seem to stop shivering. “Hello,” I say, but then I’m shaken by a coughing fit. I struggle to form words, but I can’t seem to breathe.

Doug now looks alarmed. He places an arm around me to support me, pulls me into the living room, and settles me on the couch. He feels my forehead. My skin feels like it is on fire.

“Sara, you are burning up,” he says. “What are you doing traipsing around in the cold if you are sick?”

He tucks a blanket around me. Alia comes over to stand watch at the foot of the couch. I smile at her weakly. Alia is always adorable.

“Want some green tea?” he asks me. He sounds concerned.

I nod. My throat feels raw. It hurts to swallow. “I’ll be right back,” he says, goes towards the kitchen. I can hear him on the phone.

“Patrick – hey, it’s Doug. Listen, can I beg a favour?” The sound of the running tap cuts off what he’s going to say next. His house is warm and cosy, and I drift asleep.

The sound of the doorbell wakes me up. I can hear Doug open the door. I can hear a male voice chat with Doug. I try to sit up. I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep.

Doug walks into the room. “Sara, this is Patrick Anderson. Patrick’s a doctor. He’s just going to take a look at you, okay sweetie?” His voice is caring, warm. I swallow a lump in my throat and blink back the tears from my eyes.

“I’m okay,” I mumble to Patrick. He’s about Doug’s height; thin, with laughing black eyes.  

“Mmm-hmm.” Patrick makes a totally non-committal noise. “Here, open your mouth,” he says. His voice is relaxed. He examines my mouth and my eyes, feels my throat and takes my temperature.

“Just a bad fever/cough/cold combo,” he says. “Nothing to get too worried about, but you must rest, Sara, and drink lots of fluid.” He eyes Doug, writes a prescription down and hands it to him. “She shouldn’t need prescription drugs, but if the fever doesn’t come down by tomorrow afternoon, call me.”

Doug nods. “Thanks, Patrick.” he says. “I owe you one.”

They move into the hallway and continue their conversation. I try to listen, but I’m drifting off again. I fall asleep on Doug’s couch.

***

It is pitch dark when I wake up, and I’m not in the living room anymore. I’m lying on a large bed, and there’s someone next to me. Doug.

My stirring wakes him up. “Hey sweetie,” he says, softly. “How’s the fever?” He places a palm against my forehead and on my neck, checking how warm I feel.

“Better,” he says, slight satisfaction in his voice. “Good. You want something to drink? Or eat?”

“You,” I say promptly. It’s been ten long days.

He laughs. “Sweet Sara, let’s take a rain check, baby? You need to rest. Patrick warned me to leave you alone tonight.”

I blush. “Don’t I get a say in the matter?” I pout. Unfortunately, I ruin it by breaking into a coughing fit again.

Doug gets up and goes into the bathroom. I can hear a tap running, and he comes out with a glass of water in his hand. “Here,” he says, handing it to me. I take a grateful sip.

“Where are we?” I whisper.

“My bedroom.”

For the last two months, I’ve resisted sleeping in Doug’s bedroom, asking to always just sleep in the dungeon. It’s another of the ways I’ve tried to keep this thing with Doug purely sexual. I don’t go on dates with him and I don’t sleep in his bedroom. Except, evidently, tonight.

I’m too tired to protest, even if I want to, and I don’t want to. I’m exhausted and this room is beautifully warm. I curve into Doug’s body, and I fall back asleep.

***

The sun is shining through the window when I wake up again. I can hear movement downstairs and I can smell coffee wafting through the house. I try to stand up. It doesn’t go so well. I’m pretty weak.

I hear steps and Doug comes in the room. “Stay in bed, Sara,” he orders. He’s got a cup of coffee in his hands and he hands it to me. I take a sip. Perfection.

“Thanks,” I mumble. “Listen, I’m sorry about last night. I’ll just catch a cab home, okay?”

“No, not okay.” He sounds seriously irritated. “For fuck’s sake, Sara, you are sick. Can you just, for once in your life, let me take care of you, please?”

Let me take care of you. Those words melt my heart. I look at him. “Okay,” I whisper. “Sorry.”

“You should be.” His voice is even. Is he annoyed with me? I can’t tell. “Drink your coffee,” he says, “I’ll bring you some breakfast.”

I start to protest the inconvenience, but think better of it quickly, after taking a look at his face.

Breakfast is scrambled eggs, bacon and toast on a tray, brought up to the bed. There’s even jam in a little dish on the side. I look up at Doug. “This is pretty impressive,” I remark.

He grins at me. If he’s still irritated, he’s hiding it. “Wait till you taste it before you get too free with the compliments,” he says. But he’s being modest. Everything is really tasty, and I polish off every last bit on the plate.

He’s brought me more coffee, and well as a mug for himself. He gets on the bed next to me and sips his coffee as I eat. He’s reading something on his phone and he doesn’t look too happy at the contents.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Just work,” he says. He doesn’t elaborate.

***

I fall back asleep after breakfast. Doug has insisted on it. He’s drawn the shades, kissed my forehead and tucked me in. I feel special. Cared for. I want him to stay and sleep next to me, but I’m probably contagious, and he’s still frowning at his phone. I just drift off to sleep instead.

***

It must be past lunchtime when I wake up again. I feel much better. Doug is in the room. He’s sitting in a chair, his laptop balanced on his lap. When he sees me stir, he closes it and comes over to me. He places a hand on my forehead, checking my temperature. “Better,” he says with satisfaction. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” I say, and it’s true. “I’d like to take a shower.”

Doug nods. “Feel like company?” he asks mildly.

I thought he’d never ask. “Yes please,” I say happily.

***

He’s refusing to fuck me in the shower. Instead, he’s washing me, lathering the sponge all over my body in slow spirals. Heat rises in me. I moan. “Doug, please,” I beg.

“Please what, Sara?” His voice is teasing.

“Please. I need you in me,” I plead. I know he wants it to. His erection is obvious; his cock so very beautiful. I lick my lips in longing and moan a little.

“Mmm. You are feeling better,” he thinks aloud. “But then again, I’m sure Patrick will disapprove.”

“I won’t tell him if you won’t,” I reply, with more than a hint of sass. I really want Doug. It’s been ten days. I reach for his cock, but his hand playfully swats me out of the way.

“You don’t set the rules, Sara,” Doug says with some amusement, as I pout in response. He reaches over, and turns off the shower. He grabs a towel. Towels me off, softly, lingeringly. By the time he’s done, I’m soaked. My knees are weak with arousal and little flames of desire are running up and down my body.

He pulls me back to the bedroom. “Doug,” I beg again. My body is now burning with a different kind of fever; one only he can satisfy.

“Patience, baby,” he mutters. He opens a drawer, grabs a condom. He picks me up and positions me on the bed, and he lies next to me. His hand snakes down my body, tracing idle circles around my nipples. They swell on his touch, pebbling in his hands.

“Such a tasty treat,” he says, as he lowers his mouth on them. His hands push my breasts together, and his tongue flicks from one nipple to another, awakening a frenzy of need in me. I groan. “Doug please, I just need to feel you in me,” I beg.

“Clasp your hands behind your head, Sara,” he says mildly. We aren’t in the dungeon, and his tone is different. In the dungeon, his tone is usually crisp, he expects to be obeyed. Here, in his bedroom, he sounds like my lover. His voice is husky, and his words are a request.

I make the slightest noise of protest but I do as he asks. I want to touch Dou. I’ve missed him. I want to run my hands and mouth down his body, I want to run the back of my hand against his cheek, and feel the scratch of his stubble grazing me, feel the muscles in his forearms as I pull him into my body.

“Baby,” he grates, registering my protest. “I’m so hot for you right now, if you touch me, I’m going to explode.”

Ooh. I smile at that, a pleased smile, like a cat that’s swallowed some cream.

“Minx,” he laughs at my satisfied expression. He leans in and kisses me thoroughly. He sucks my lower lip into his mouth, nibbles it gently, in a way that sends pulse-waves of pleasure shooting through my body. And then, he’s back at my breasts again, one hand pulling my left nipple in the air, stretching it impossibly in a move that’s oh-so-close-to-pain, while his mouth pulls my right nipple in, his tongue lapping at it, his teeth grazing at it.

I arch my body, pushing my breasts into him. I’m shaking with need. Behind my head, my hands are balled into fists. But he doesn’t relent and mount me. He is now sliding my left nipple between his fingers, and I’m in a frenzy of need and want, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

His mouth trails hot kisses down my body, his tongue dips into my belly button in a swoop that makes me grit my teeth as a hot wave of arousal knives through me. “Doug,” I groan. “Please, I can’t, it’s too much.”

“You can and you will.” His voice is calm, almost meditative. He moves lower and parts my thighs. He’s raining kisses up my inner thighs now, and I arch my hips, thrusting my pussy in his face. He chuckles at that, but otherwise ignores the movement. He’ll get to my pussy when he feels like it, and there’s nothing I can do or say that will make any difference. My pussy gushes again. I can feel my juices trickle down and stain the bed.

“Your pussy is dripping,” Doug says, male satisfaction in his voice. “I love seeing you like this, Sara, helpless, squirming with longing. I love knowing that I do this to you…”

His kisses turn into little bites now, tender nibbles at my inner thighs. His hands hold my legs apart and the softness of his mouth contrasts with the steel of his hands on my knees and I am powerless to resist. I feel feverish with lust. All thought has left me, and my world is reduced to the feel of him against me.

“Such a good girl,” he says, as his mouth descends on my pussy. He licks me, careful to avoid my throbbing clitoris. His fingers tug at my inner pussy lips, parting them for his plundering mouth. I arch again, unable to hold still, desperate for the feel of his tongue on my clitoris.

“Please,” I beg again. My voice is breathy with arousal, I can hear the ragged edge in it. I am so close to an orgasm; I’m almost sobbing with need.