The House of Pain (9 page)

Alia’s familiar volley of barks greets my knock. Doug opens the door. He’s on the phone. He gestures for me to come in, waves in the direction of the refrigerator and mimes a drink. I’m assuming he’s telling me to help myself to a drink, and so I do.

I drink him in. I haven’t seen him in a week. He looks hot. Right now, he’s looking slightly annoyed at the progress of his phone conversation. “Sorry,” he mouths my way.

“Mmm.” He says into the phone. “Yes, George, I get the implications. Let’s continue this discussion on Monday? I’ll send Maija a note. She can book us an early morning meeting. Okay?”

He listens to the person on the other end. “Agreed,” he says finally. “Look, George, it’s Saturday night. Why don’t we knock off? I’ll see you Monday. Have a good weekend – what’s left of it.”

He hangs up. “Sorry,” he apologises. “Work. It’s been hell all week.”

I’m slightly curious. This is the place I used to work at until last week, and many of my good friends still work there. But I don’t probe. I doubt he’ll tell me anything, in any case.

He walks towards me, pulls me in his arms and kisses me. I melt instantly, kissing him back. He feels good, strong and warm, and I’ve missed the feel of him against me. I lean into him and nestle into his body.

“How was Tobermory?” he asks, when he finally pulls away.

“Good,” I say.

We chat as we eat pizza, and I finish up my glass of wine. I realize that I like chatting with him. He’s smart and funny and he’s easy to talk to. We chat about Tobermory and tourists, then our conversation moves on to vacations, where I learn Doug loves to travel. We compare favourite travel destinations. Not surprisingly, my list is a lot shorter than his. But he’s genuinely interested in my favourite destinations. He hasn’t travelled around in the province as much as I have, and I tell him stories of the road trips I would go on with my parents when I was growing up.

***

I’m in the dungeon. Doug’s seated himself on an armchair, his drink in his hand.

“Take off your clothes, please, Sara.” His eyes are on me, and heat blazes in them. An answering heat rises in me. I wink at Doug. He looks slightly startled, then his mouth curves into a smile of pure amusement.

“Tsk, tsk, Sara, I’d try for obedience, if I were you,” he says. His voice is still tinged with amusement but there’s a shade of threat in it, and my body responds to the heat in his voice. I feel my insides tighten and my nipples swell and harden.

I try for obedience. I take of my clothes. But I’m teasing at the same time, drawing out the process, watching the arousal rise in his eyes as I do my best to be seductive. I unclasp my bra, push my panties down my hips, wiggling my hips as I disrobe.

“Little minx,” he says, but he’s aroused not angry. “Come here, the teasing is going to get you punished.”

His voice is indulgent and relaxed. He winks at me, laughter in his eyes. He’s in a playful mood now. I like playful Doug.

I sashay over. The chair is only big enough for one person, but it has padded arms. “Where would you like me to sit?”

Doug laughs. He gets up and stretches. I eye him, watching with lust as his muscles ripple with the motion. “Kneel on the chair, Sara,” he instructs. His voice is still amused. He positions me. I’m facing the back of the chair, and my butt is sticking out towards Doug.

“Very nice.” Doug’s voice is appreciative, his hands roving over my ass. I bite my lips, resist the desire to push my hips into his hands.

I feel his fingers move towards my asshole. He’s playing with me, rubbing me. Then he inserts a finger in, and wiggles it around. I tense. He’s used no lube. But it’s only a finger, and he’s both firm and gentle at the same time. Without the lube, this feels different. More intimate somehow. I moan. This time, I can’t help myself. I push back against him.

“Tsk, tsk, Sara, you know to hold still, don’t you?” Doug chides me. There’s laughter in his voice again.

He removes his finger and walks away. He returns with cuffs and ties. My hands are quickly cuffed, then tied to the back legs of the chair. My ankles are spread wide, cuffed, and tethered to the front legs. I try the bindings. I can move but not much.

Doug winks at me as I tug on the bindings. “Going somewhere, sweetie?” he asks, his voice amused. I laugh. Here, now, confronted with the reality of his presence, the warmth and good-humour of him, my fears about my nightmare recede. I’m in Doug’s hands, and I trust him.

He’s gone again, and when he returns this time, he holds a crop in his hand. He shows it to me, a silently raised eyebrow. He’s waiting to see if I’d protest. I don’t protest. I thrust my ass out towards him in mute invitation.

I can feel Doug tracing a path down my upper back with the crop. He pushes my hair out of the way, sends it cascading over my shoulder and kisses my exposed neck. I moan. His breath is hot against my neck, his mouth is nibbling my tender skin, and I feel my nipples harden against the back of the chair. Arousal pulses through my body.

The crop resumes its lazy path down my back and traces gentle circles on my butt. I thrust my ass out again, and am rewarded with Doug’s quiet chuckle.

“So eager to get punished, baby,” he mutters. I flush. He’s right, and it is embarrassing. At the House of Pain, I liked the pain, but here, I like that Doug is doing the punishing. My mind flashes back to the last time when he put me over his lap and spanked me soundly, and another pulsing wave of arousal tingles through my body.

All this from a gentle trace of a crop down my skin.

Whap. The crop swings down on my butt. It stings a little, but I welcome the distraction.

The crop whistles through the air again and down on my skin. I hiss in pain, but once again, I’m thrusting my butt towards Doug, silently begging for more.

The room is utterly quiet; no sound in the air except for the whack of the crop, and the easy cadence of Doug’s breathing. I moan into that quiet, and my sound is music. Even I feel the erotic edge of it and hear the desperate need in my voice. I feel the warmth flood from my ass to the rest of my body. I feel the wetness in my pussy trickle down to my upper thighs. My nipples chafe against the back of the chair, and I clench my hands as the crop keeps descending on me.

I cannot see Doug. He is behind me, but every so often, he stops, and his fingernails scratch at my heated skin. I moan in reaction. His nails are slightly painful against my throbbing ass, and arousal shoots through me as his hands knead my bottom.

I’m in a world of painful pleasure. I cease to think. I only feel. Is this punishment? I know, in this moment, with complete and utter certainty, that Doug was right in what he said, that he’d never touch me in anger. For someone like me, someone who is aroused by the flogger, this is complete, utter pleasure. The crop, interspersed with his fingernails, the feel of his mouth on my neck, the exploration of his fingers as he thrusts a finger into my sopping pussy - this is pure, concentrated arousal, and I feel the shudders run through my body as I accept his control over me and accept my need to surrender to him. And as the crop descends on me yet again, I explode in orgasm, screaming his name.

***

When awareness slowly returns, I’m still tied to the chair, but Doug has stopped cropping me.

He sounds amused as he addresses me. “Technically, I didn’t actually forbid you to orgasm,” he says mildly, “but I didn’t think you were that close.”

He hasn’t said I can’t talk, so I do. “It all was suddenly too much,” I confess. “All too erotic, all at once.”

His hand is running down my back, following the contours of my spine.

“I think more punishment is called for,” he says, his voice easy and indulgent. “You are very, very sexy when you come, sweet Sara, and if you are going to come when I spank you, well, I think I’m going to have to keep spanking you.”

He unties me, helps me off the chair and pulls me towards the St. Andrews Cross. He straps me in the device in such a way that I’m facing him. It appears that my breasts and thighs are going to get punished.

Although not right away. First, he looks into my eyes. I’m immobilized and I can’t squirm away.

“You are very, very beautiful, Sara,” he says, his voice quiet. “So very responsive. I’m incredibly glad you are here.”

My heart pounds. Doug’s openness frightens me. I struggle to keep my mind here, in Doug’s dungeon, not in the messiness of my previous relationships, where declarations of love and need were easy, but so fleeting, where my first boyfriend asked me to marry him, but left when the going got tough.

Something of the emotional roller coaster must be visible in my face, because I feel Doug still next to me. “What’s wrong?” His voice is quiet.

I shrug, uncomfortable to start this discussion now. I want the moment to stay purely sexual.

“Sara.” A note of warning in his voice.

I ponder what to say and how to get past this. “Just the ghosts of relationships past,” I say finally. “Can we please let it go? I’d really like to stay in the here and now.”

I can see Doug look at me. He’s giving me the same look he gave me last week, when I declined his invitation to the symphony and his offer of a ride to the airport. It’s expressionless, and for the moment, he’s willing to let me dictate this. But I can sense that his patience is not never-ending.

A moment of silence, then another one passes. Finally, Doug speaks, his voice intentionally light. “Ready to be flogged, Sara?”

I sigh in relief. There’s gratitude in my eyes that he’s acceded to my wishes. “Thanks, Doug,” I say softly.

In response, he winks at me, as he’s done before. And he brings the flogger to my lips, and I kiss it, to thank it in advance, and then, I dance in pleasure-pain, as the strokes rain down on my thighs, my stomach and the tails of the flogger wrap around the sensitive underside of my breasts.

I’m helpless to move, but I don’t want to move. I can writhe in my bindings, and I do, though I don’t mean to. My body is dancing and reacting to the pain, but I’m secure and happy, knowing that I’m exactly where I want to be.

I slip into that place where the boundaries between pleasure and pain meld; and before I know it, the flogger finds my pussy, and I’m orgasming, once again screaming out Doug’s name as I come.

***

He is not gentle with me. He has undone the bindings with speed and efficiency and he tosses me on the bed, rolls on a condom, and takes me, hard. My pussy is slick, and I can hear the squishing sound as my pussy clamps around his throbbing cock. His hands are on my nipples, pinching them almost cruelly, and I groan in a sound that is almost agony, as the pain courses through me, a sweet contrast to the pleasure his pounding cock is causing.

Again, I moan his name. “Doug,” I beg, unaware of what I’m begging for. My hands are on his forearms, and I can feel the steel of his muscles as he pushes into me, slamming into my dripping vagina. I move my hips, frantic in my own building need. He is thrusting impossibly deep, and I’m gripping his forearms as the waves of pleasure build in me, and then, I can feel him stiffen, and he explodes in me with a muffled groan.

It’s late enough. I think we are done. I haven’t orgasmed this time. Doug gets up, I can hear the tap run as he disposes of the condom, and then, he is back on the bed with me.

“Move,” he orders, and positions me so that I am lying on top of him, my pussy in his face; his cock near my mouth. He isn’t erect, but I instinctively reach for him, open my mouth to feel his cock in me. He smacks my ass.

“Wait awhile,” he orders again. “First, baby, I want to taste your sweetness.”

“And Sara,” he continues, and there’s laughter in his voice. “No orgasms without permission, baby.”

I groan and hold on for the ride. His tongue is skillful. This is only the third night we’ve spent together, but he already knows where to lick me to drive me wild. I moan and shiver, as his tongue licks me up and down my slit, flicking my clitoris in a sure stroke that has me groaning into his crotch as I struggle to hold back my orgasm.

“Doug,” I beg, “please, I can’t hold on, please can I come?”

“Nope.” His reply is prompt, his voice amused. “Not just yet, baby.” His fingers join his mouth. He’s teasing apart my pussy lips, leaving the inside open to the plunder of his mouth, his tongue dipping into my slit, over and over, lapping up the moisture within.

I groan. I don’t think I can do this. But I want to. I desperately want to please Doug, to do as he asks. I need to obey him.

To distract myself from the feel of his tongue flicking at my clitoris, I focus on him. I rain little kisses on his inner thighs, run my fingertips down his legs, marveling at how cherished his strength makes me feel. I inhale, burying my nose in his crotch, smelling the smell that is pure Doug goodness; and I’m rewarded by a rapidly engorging cock.

“Minx,” he mutters, his voice vibrating in my pussy.

Following his earlier instructions, I stay away from his cock, though I really want to feel him in my mouth. I want him to ask though. He has me helpless with longing, firmly in his control, and I need him to ask me to take him in my mouth.

My tongue laps little circles on his inner thighs. His cock brushes against my cheek. He’s hard, ready, and it’s all I can do to not engulf him with my mouth, and suck him like my life depends on it.