The House of Pain (8 page)

The tempo of the music rises. The strokes are falling swifter now, harder. Doug whips my breasts, and my body is dancing in pain; experiencing pure pleasure. Between strokes, he lowers his mouth onto my nipples, sucking the reddened skin, grazing his teeth against the sensitive nub, and I push myself towards him in a mute plea to please, please continue.

The strokes continue as I embrace the delightful torment of my body. Everything is arousal and lust. My pussy is grinding on the giant dildo in me. The fullness of the butt plug feels like pleasure. I’m dancing towards Doug, silently pleading to be whipped harder, faster. My orgasm is just out of reach. I am tormented by my lust and aching, and I groan with the excruciating intensity of it all.

“Touch yourself.” Doug’s voice is ragged. His erection is very visible through his jeans but despite all that, the flogger rises and falls steadily. “I want to you to make yourself come while I whip you.”

I’m too close to the edge to experience embarrassment. I bring a hand forward, part my pussy lips, find my clitoris. I close my eyes. The music is rising and the strokes are raining down on my reddened, swollen breasts. My fingers dance over my clitoris, and it doesn’t take me long at all to find sweet, shattering release.

I slump in my bindings a little, but Doug’s having none of it. “Nope. I didn’t tell you to stop touching yourself. Keep going, Sara.”

I bite my lower lip. My clitoris is painfully sensitive; I’ve just come. But I obey. My pussy is still slick with my juices, and I rub myself softly, as arousal impossibly once again begins to rise in me.

The flogger rises and falls on my breasts. I push them out towards Doug. This time around, I keep my eyes open, look at him as I touch myself. Imagine it is him touching me. Our eyes are locked on each other, my desire mirrored in his, and as the music rises to its final thundering crescendo, Doug hits me hard, and I orgasm again in a shuddering wave of release.

I don’t need to slump this time. Doug’s arms are around me, and I draw him close. We stay like that for an instant as my body luxuriates in the feel of his body next to me. He kisses me gently, undoes the neck cuff; then disengages from my hug, removes the rope and the dildo, and undoes the ankle cuffs.

I stagger, but he is there to catch me.

***

We lie on the bed. The butt plug is still in me. I wriggle a little as I feel it. I’m not sure if I’m hoping Doug will remove it or leave it in me.

“Ok, you can talk now,” Doug says, his lips twitching.

“Good,” I say in relief. It’s been harder to obey that rule than I would have thought. I had no problems keeping quiet in the House of Pain, but it’s different with Doug; one experience is fantasy, and the other is very, very real.

“Doug,” I start. I’ve been aching for the feel of his cock in my mouth. “Please, can I go down on you?”

Doug smiles at me. “Sara, you won’t hear me refuse that offer very often.” He throws a pillow on the floor. “On your knees, please. Hands behind your back; just use your mouth.”

I comply with all his orders as he slides out of his jeans; lick my lips as his cock comes into view. The head of his cock has precum glistening on it, and I lick it off gently, savouring the taste of him. My tongue slathers his cock with attention. And then, because I can’t wait anymore, I take his head in my mouth.

His cock is long and thick, and my mouth is stretched wide around his head. Juices drip from my pussy down my thighs as I react to the feel of him in my mouth, to the way he makes me feel when he controls me. My hands are interlocked behind me, and my submissiveness to him makes me cream still further.

I slowly slide my mouth down his length while my tongue traces circles on his cock. I set a rhythm going. I’m not going too fast, and I’m not trying to deep-throat him either. I take maybe half his length in my mouth, and just suck him steadily, moving my head up and down his cock, sucking my cheeks in and tightening my lips around his length.

I’m paying homage, in a way, worshipping this beautiful cock as a way to thank him for his masterful control of me, for the mind-numbing orgasms that have shuddered through my body.

“Sara,” Doug warns, his hands in my hair. “I’m not going to last very long.”

I redouble my efforts. I want him to come in my mouth and I want to taste his essence. My tongue slides over the sensitive underside of his cock, causing him to groan and tighten his grip of my hair. He starts thrusting, sliding his hard length in and out of my mouth. I moan. My hands are still interlocked behind my back, and I want to touch myself again as I react to Doug.

With a groan, he explodes in my mouth, and I swallow his hot, gushing essence. I keep my mouth on him as he softens, I lick his head one more time.

Doug pulls me back up to bed and removes the butt plug. I fall asleep a silly grin on my face, and with one thought in my mind. “He is so tasty.”

We wake up twice during the night and make love.

The first time, I wake up and Doug is sleeping next to me. The fire has died down and the basement is slightly chilly. Goose bumps gather on my skin. I shiver slightly and the movement wakes him up.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You cold?”

I nod. He gets up, gets the fire going again, and climbs back into bed. His body is warm. My skin feels icy by comparison. He pulls me into his body, spooning me and I luxuriate in his warmth.  He is naked, as am I, and as I feel his hardening cock against my butt, I feel the familiar stirrings of desire.

His hand comes around, rubs a nipple. I arch my back so I’m pushing my breasts into his hand, a mute plea to continue.

He moves and looks into my eyes. “This is going to be hard and fast, baby,” he rasps.

“I like hard and fast,” I say.

He smiles at that. He reaches for a condom and rolls it on. He positions me on my knees; my face buried in the pillows. He mounts me. There’s no foreplay; he’s hard and ready to go. I move my hips in invitation. I want him inside me.

He thrusts in me. I groan. He feels so good. He doesn’t speak. He moves in me, he is deep in me, and it is intense as he takes his pleasure. My hands close around the pillow, I clench and hold on for the ride. Sweet lightning bolts of lust are running through me. His hand reaches around my hip and finds my clitoris, and he is rubbing my clitoris in a pattern that is as old as time, and we erupt within seconds of each other.

***

Before I fall back asleep, Doug pulls me in to him. His mouth is at my ear.

“Sara,” he whispers, “When you wake up next, you are going to be tied up, baby.” He isn’t asking me, but he is waiting for my acknowledgement, and I’m grateful for the warning. I nod my consent and drift asleep in his arms.

***

I don’t know how long I sleep this time, but when I wake up, I find my arms are tied up on either side of the headboard and my legs are spread wide open, tethered to the footboard. I panic instinctively, struggling in my bindings for a few seconds, till the veils of sleep fall away, and I remember what Doug has said to me.

I force myself to relax but my heart is pounding. I search for Doug. He is nowhere to be seen.

“Relax.” His voice comes out of the darkness. He sounds calm. He moves forward so I can see him. He’s holding a glass of wine and watching me.  

“Is this what you get your kicks out of, watching me panic?” My voice comes out harsher than I intended but I can still feel my heart beat.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is very soft. “I get my kick out of watching you making yourself relax, remembering you do this because I asked you to.”

I gulp. The air is charged between us. I’m uncertain of his mood. “Are you angry?” My voice is small.

He counters with a question. “Why should I be angry?”

“Because I panicked, because I yelled,” I mumble. I’m slightly sheepish. I’m more awake now, and I feel a bit silly about my reaction.

“No,” he says, and his voice sounds indulgent, not irritated. “You are new to this. Your reaction is fairly normal.”

“If you knew I’d panic, why’d you tie me up?” I ask. This is important to me.

“I need you to learn to trust me. I will never hurt you, and you need to be completely, utterly certain of that.”

A surreal conversation to have at two in the morning.  

“I don’t know you well enough for that, not yet,” I mumble. He wants honesty in the dungeon; he’s going to get it.

Doug nods. “I agree with you,” he says. “In fact, you’d be stupid not to be cautious. But this,” he gestures to my bindings, “This should be helpful. It should remind you that you’ve chosen this. At any point, you can safeword. But you haven’t. You are still here; you are choosing to obey.”

He comes over to the bed and places the glass of wine at the side table.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Sara.” His voice is even. “If you don’t want me to do so, say so now.” 

I look at him. I’m not certain of many things but I know the need that runs through me, the need that has arisen even through my initial panic at being tied up. My need to place myself in Doug’s hands and to cede control to him. Here, now, in this moment, I acknowledge that need within myself, and I give myself permission to explore that need.

I look into Doug’s eyes. My voice is absolutely steady. “I want you to fuck me,” I say.

He moves so his weight is on me and I feel every inch of his body imprinted on mine.

He smiles at me. “Look at me; don’t close your eyes,” he says quietly, as he plunges inside me in one hard stroke.

I obey, but it is hard. I want to close my eyes as the feeling of him inside me intensifies. I feel his warmth all over me and I look into his eyes. This feels… intimate.

I can’t look away. I gaze into his eyes as his arousal builds and mine with it. He is thrusting inside me, and it is hard and fast and so toe-curling good. Then his eyes widen, and I can feel his body stiffen, and he is erupting into orgasm, and I am filled with a primal satisfaction that I caused this.

He rolls off me; his fingers find my clitoris; bring me to orgasm. As the pulsing pleasure washes over me, I moan out his name, and I can hear the need and longing in my voice.

I inwardly tense. I am unprepared to let him become important to me.

***

Things are a little weird the morning after. Not in anything Doug is doing or saying. No, he is the essence of consideration. He’s made me coffee and breakfast.

No, things are weird because I’m torn. I don’t know what to say to Doug. I could get to know him better, or I can try to keep what we are doing here as a purely sexual thing. I eat my breakfast in relative silence as I contemplate this.

“So you like classical music?” Doug’s voice interrupts my meditations.

I nod. I love classical music; I always have. I was the weird teenager who saw Amadeus a million times, and who had a crush on Mozart. As an adult, I try to go to as many concerts in Toronto as my budget allows.

“I have tickets to the symphony Friday night,” he says. “Would you like to come?” His eyes are on mine.

I gulp. Clearly, Doug’s in favour of getting to know me better. He’s just asked me out on a date. And I adore the symphony and I can’t often afford to go.

But yet I hesitate. I have a pattern with guys. I always fall in love with them. I always want to be with them far more than they want to be with me. Yearning has defined my life. I’ve pined for boyfriend after boyfriend, and I’m warier nowadays; more cautious with my heart.

And then there’s the submission. I’ve heard what Doug has said about the submission staying in the dungeon. I’m just not sure if I entirely believe it.

To top it all off, Doug’s dangerously out of my league. He’s rich and successful and gorgeous. I only have to look at his house and at my studio apartment to see the contrast. Doug’s not the person worrying about dragging his clothes to the Laundromat and planning his life around subway construction delays; I am. He has symphony tickets Friday night; I’m usually hanging out in my local dive bar. We don’t belong together.

I don’t say all of that. Instead, I keep my reply simple and polite. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Inside, there’s an odd ache in me, a wish that all of my arguments didn’t matter. But I’m not twenty-one anymore, and where my heart is involved, I don’t jump without a safety net. Doug could easily break my heart. I won’t let that happen.

Doug eyes me expressionlessly, but he doesn’t pursue the discussion further.

***

“Do you start work tomorrow at your new job?” Doug asks me.

“No, I’m going to take a week off. Go up to visit my parents for a couple of days – they live in Tobermory.”

“Nice,” he says appreciatively. “I go every summer, it is beautiful there. Are your parents retired there?”

“No, they run a bar in town,” I mumble. As before, I’m unprepared for his warm interest. He’s making it difficult for me to keep my shields up.

“Are you driving?” he asks me.

“Yeah, I have to pick up the rental car at the airport tomorrow,” I mutter. Doug wanders over for a coffee refill; refills my cup as well. I take a sip. Good, strong, hot. Words I could use about Doug as well.

“In the morning? Are you taking transit to get to the airport?” he asks me. “I can give you a ride, I don’t have anything in my calendar until 11am.”

Again, I’m seriously tempted. It’ll take me an hour and a half to get to the airport from my house. But I shake my head again. “I really appreciate the offer,” I say, “but I’ll be fine on transit.”

Again, he eyes me expressionlessly. He’s not an idiot; he knows I’m deliberately maintaining a distance. But as before, he doesn’t say anything.

***

I take my leave right after breakfast. Doug has friends coming over to watch the football game just after lunch. He’s invited me to stay. I’ve declined. For the third time. We make plans to see each other next Saturday, and I run away.

***

Sunday night, I fall asleep in my bed, already missing the feel of Doug against me. And I dream.

I’m back in the House of Pain. I’m on the stage. There’s music playing and it feels ominous. The hairs on the back of my neck rise.

The stage is cold. My arms are tied above my head and I’m suspended onto a sawhorse. The knife edge of the sawhorse is grinding into my pussy and it is painful. My clitoris is raw. Every move grinds it even further on the edge, sending me into agony.

Doug moves in front of me. There’s no warmth in his face. He is cold and rigid. He has a whip in his hands and he whips me without a word, hard and fast. I’m shrieking in pain, but he is unmoved by my tears. There is no tenderness in this. No sexual pleasure. This is pain. Raw, agonizing pain.

I scream. I’m writhing in my bindings; and each move of my body grinds my pussy into the sawhorse; my clitoris is burning in agony. Tears run down my cheeks…

“Doug, please,” I beg.

I start awake thankfully. There are tracks of tears down my cheeks.

***

“It’s just a stupid nightmare,” I tell myself, sitting at my little table, drinking a cup of green tea. I’m avoiding going back to sleep. It was so real. So vivid. I can still see the look on Doug’s face. Hard and cold; absolutely no pity. A look I’ve never seen on his face in real life.

I wonder if my dream is a premonition.

***

Tobermory is thankfully devoid of tourists. It’s early days of fall, and the traffic dies down after September. My mother feeds me well; my dad and I play pool in the bar. I even beat him once or twice, which I brag about for the rest of the trip.

My mom asks about Colin. The last time I was home, I mentioned I was dating someone.

“We broke up,” I say, keeping the answer short. How do I explain everything?

“Are you seeing someone else?” my mom asks. I ponder Doug, this thing that we are doing, my nightmare. “Not really,” I mumble, and change the topic.

***

It is 6pm Saturday, and I’m at Doug’s door. I hesitate. My thoughts go back to my nightmare. Even six days later, I’m shaken by how vivid the dream was. I knock on his door.