Читать книгу Forever Bound - Elizabeth Coldwell - Страница 6

Madeline chain-smoked two packs a day. Used to be three, but she cut down because she didn’t want her skin to start looking like a catcher’s mitt.

She reminded me of a white witch. Her hair was long and straggly, and she always had on wispy skirts that brushed her ankles. She usually wore white or grey, or shades of blue and green. Never black, except on stage, which struck me as strange because she was famous for writing requiems.

To look at her, you’d never guess Madeline was a world-famous composer. But I guess people have outdated ideas of what composers look like. The first year our choir collaborated with Madeline, I remember the other sopranos asking, ‘How does such beautiful music come out of such a hag?’ That hurt me, right to my core, because I thought Madeline was gorgeous.

For four years she’d been writing original choral music for us to premiere at our annual Christmas concert. Having the words ‘World Premiere’ on the programme certainly helped to put bums in the seats, but I knew she only helped us along because she was sleeping with our choirmaster Diana. Their relationship was brutally obvious.

But something was different this year. When Madeline arrived to hear how we were faring with the new piece, she seemed even more aloof than usual. She swept down the centre aisle of the creepy old church where we rehearsed and threw her purse and her bags on the front pew. She didn’t give Diana the usual big hug and kiss. In fact, she didn’t so much as glance in our choirmaster’s direction.

Something was very, very different. Had they broken up? Oh, the thought made my belly flip. Right away, my mind shot to the possibility of being Madeline’s next conquest.

My hands were shaking as I took Madeline’s original setting of ‘Balulalow’ from my music folder. The piece hadn’t yet been published, and the vocal score was handwritten. So were the words:

Oh my dere hert, young Jesu sweit,

Prepare thy creddil in thy spreit,

And I sall rock thee to my hert,

To my hert …

And never mair from thee depart.

Oh, Madeline’s handwriting! Madeline’s fingers had penned this music, written out those words. Everything that came from her was special and exciting, even a song that had been set famously by Britten and God knows how many other composers.

She sat like a bag lady in the front pew as we sang her work back to her. It was magic. I felt that way about most Christmas songs, but Madeline’s new creations brought me to a higher plane of existence. I’d never been a super-religious person, but I’d always loved the focus on music that came about this time of year. The old songs were my favourites, and Madeline’s always sounded old even though they were new.

My heart raced as we closed off that final melancholy chord. This wasn’t a happy song. Moving, yes, but not celebratory. There was a sense of devotion, of submission. We singers gave ourselves over to the piece as it became a part of us. It was truly an experience of giving in, handing ourselves to Madeline and letting ourselves belong to her.

But what did she think of our performance?

For a moment, she said nothing, did nothing. And then she brought her hands together. She stood and bowed to us, saying, ‘Thank you all.’

Her voice was deep and husky from all the years of smoking. She was a choral composer who couldn’t sing her own music.

She gave us a few corrections. Some of our pronunciations were too modern but that wouldn’t be difficult to change. The main difference was that she wanted to make ‘And never mair from thee depart’ into a solo soprano line, underscored by the basses and tenors.

‘Eva can do it,’ Diana offered, and my spine stiffened when I heard my name.

‘OK,’ I said, feeling the other sopranos sneer. ‘I’d love to.’

We all changed our scores. I sang for Madeline and when my voice rang out over the rest of the choir, she smiled. I’d done it. She’d noticed me. We made a connection in that moment, eye to eye, mouth to ear. That moment changed everything.

I stuck around after rehearsal, trying to work up the courage to congratulate Madeline on such a glorious piece. The thought of actually talking to her made me so nervous I had to run to the bathroom. When I returned, my fellow choristers were gone, but I heard two raised voices coming from the room where the church stored choir robes and old furniture, stuff like that. I knew those voices.

Madeline was shouting, ‘Take it! I don’t want it any more!’

‘I bought all that for us,’ Diana cried. ‘If there is no us, I don’t want it either.’

I couldn’t help wondering what they were fighting over. My curiosity got the best of me, I suppose, because I came so close to the door I wound up pressing it open with my chest.

Madeline and Diana both looked up when the door squeaked. There was nowhere to hide. They’d seen me.

Diana shook her head and stormed past me, yelling, ‘Keep it all or burn it. What do I care?’

I hoped Madeline wasn’t mad at me for breaking up their spat. Some people really got off on arguing. But she didn’t seem upset. She stared right through me, standing perfectly still except for her thumb, which rolled a silver ring in circles around her middle finger.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I just wanted to tell you how much I love your music.’

She looked up and jolted a bit, like she was surprised to see me there. ‘Oh. Thank you.’

‘It’s an honour to be given a solo.’

‘Good.’ Madeline looked frazzled and frail, and I wished I could do something about that. When she looked at me, I felt like she was staring at a painting, not a person. Finally, she shook her head and her hair exploded around her face. ‘I’m sorry. Where are my manners? It’s very nice to meet you.’

She extended her hand and I whispered, ‘Eva.’ There was more silver than flesh on her fingers, but her palm was smooth and cool. Mine was clammy, but she didn’t react. ‘I always look forward to our Christmas concert because I know I’ll get to see you again.’

At first, she didn’t react except to nod slowly. Even when she said thank you, I wasn’t sure if she’d heard me.

‘The Christmas songs you write for us are magnificent,’ I said, still hoping to get some reaction. Most women would have given up by now, but Madeline was worth the persistence.

I thought she might say thank you again, but instead she dropped one hand into a bag and pulled out a length of thick black rope. ‘Have you ever been tied up?’

That question threw me for a loop, but I answered truthfully. ‘Well … yes.’

‘In a church?’ she asked.

‘Oh. Well … no.’

‘Come here,’ she said, wriggling one silver-ringed finger at me. ‘Take off your clothes and get up on this desk.’

I’d thought maybe I hadn’t communicated how much of a crush I had on her, but she obviously knew. She knew I’d do anything to make her happy, especially when she wore her melancholy like a veil. I stepped out of my frumpy corduroy pants.

‘Festive,’ Madeline said as I tore off my holly-patterned turtleneck. I felt a little silly, wearing cheery Christmas clothes while Madeline was draped in grey. I felt a lot less silly once I was naked. There’s something very serious about nudity, especially when you’re in a church.

‘Use “yellow light” for slow down, “red light” to stop,’ she instructed as I climbed up on the big wooden desk. ‘You know it’s not smart to give yourself to strangers, don’t you?’

‘You don’t feel like a stranger,’ I told her. ‘Your music’s already inside me.’

She didn’t smile, not with her mouth, but a flash of light blazed across her eyes. She told me what to do: sit with both feet up on the desk. Bring my heels in nice and close to my butt cheeks. Place my wrists next to my ankles.

I did everything she asked without question, and I waited patiently as she sorted through the lengths of silky black rope. When they met my skin, I shuddered internally. It felt so good, not only the sensation of rope on flesh, but the knowledge that Madeline was looking at my naked body and thinking about where to tie, where to create those bonds.

She started by securing my wrists to my ankles, then wrapping that lovely rope around my calf, around my thigh, keeping my knees bent. But how to keep my legs apart? I’m sure that’s what she was thinking, because the next thing she did was tie another rope around my lower thigh and weave it behind my shoulder, then down my other arm to secure it just above the knee. Now my legs were open for her, and the more I leaned back, the wider they spread.

‘Can you move?’ she asked.

‘No.’ I really couldn’t. I could wriggle my fingers and my toes, but that was it. ‘Thank you.’

‘Ahh,’ Madeline cooed, finally breaking a slight smile. ‘The pleasure is mine.’

I wished I could see myself from her perspective: bound on a desk, legs spread wide, naked pussy drooling and exposed. Did I look too hairy? It had certainly been a while since I’d trimmed down there. And what about my breasts? The right nipple always got much harder than the left one. Would Madeline care that I was so … imperfect?

‘I’m glad you enjoy my music,’ Madeline said.

‘I’m glad you create it.’ Stupid thing to say, but it was hard to think on my feet when they were tied to my wrists. ‘Can I sing it for you?’

She laughed and pulled a strip of black fabric from one of her break-up bags. ‘Why not?’

I sang her setting of ‘Balulalow’ while she blindfolded me. It didn’t have the same effect without the whole choir, but the soprano line carried the melody. Strangely, I felt more naked singing for Madeline than I felt being naked, or being tied up with ropes for that matter. Music was such a brutal art. Vocal music, especially. Even when it was desperately beautiful, it still tore through your body like lightning.

‘Do you trust me?’ she asked when I’d finished her song.

‘Yes.’ No hesitation.

‘God only knows why,’ she said. ‘But you truly do trust me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then drink this.’

She held a bottle to my lip, but didn’t tilt it right away. She gave me a chance to ask what it was, but I didn’t. In this game, if you trusted your partner you didn’t question their actions or requests. You did as you were told.

I drank, and my throat flooded with fresh water. It soothed more than just my vocal cords. That simple action told me Madeline took her duty of care seriously. She would not hurt me, though I couldn’t move or see. I already trusted her. Now I knew that trust was not misplaced.

‘It’s important for a singer to keep hydrated,’ she told me. ‘And never, never smoke. Do you smoke?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘That’s good. It probably costs me a thousand dollars in cigarettes to write one opus. And it’ll kill me one day. Never start, because once you start you can’t stop.’

‘Just like this,’ I said, hoping she’d know I meant the power exchange, domination and submission.

Of course she understood. She chuckled deeply and said, ‘This I wouldn’t give up for the world.’

‘Me neither.’

The scent of smoked cigarettes on her skin struck me more deeply now that I couldn’t see. Blindfolds always augmented my sense of smell, not to mention my sense of anticipation. I could hear her rifling around in those bags, but I couldn’t see what she had in hand. Even as she pulled a chair in close and sat between my legs, I couldn’t guess what she was about to do.

Would she lick me? Would she shove something in my pussy? What was she planning?

‘Your nipples,’ she asked. ‘Are they sensitive?’

I gulped. ‘Yes.’

‘One is harder than the other.’

Of course she had to notice that. ‘I know.’

‘Do they enjoy being clamped?’

‘I don’t know if they do,’ I said. ‘But I certainly enjoy it.’

I laughed, but she didn’t.

The clamps met my nipples at exactly the same time, squeezing my poor tits with dull metal teeth. Every sensation was sharper, crisper than when I could see. My temporary blindness brought out beauty in pain.

‘How’s that?’ she asked. ‘Not too much?’

‘Not too much.’ Not yet, anyway.

‘How sensitive is your clit?’ she asked.

Oh, God! I could already feel the pain from my nipples streaking down between my legs, glowing at the apex of my pussy.

‘It’s always more sensitive when I’ve got clamps on my nipples,’ I said.

She chuckled, and it sounded like a deep feline purr. ‘Good.’

I heard the mechanical whirr of a vibrator and seconds later it was teasing my pussy lips. Oh, she was good. She knew not to start with my clit. It would have been too much of a shock. Instead she worked her way all around my pussy, stopping just short of my throbbing bud every time.

The vibrator felt super-smooth, and it picked up pussy juice as it circled me, spreading that slick stuff all around. I couldn’t believe how wet I’d become, but bondage always did that for me. The second I felt a smooth, thick rope against my flesh, I was ready. My breasts tingled and my pussy throbbed.

‘You should see how red your clit looks right now.’ Madeline pressed the head of her fake cock just inside my hole, just enough that I could feel its vibrations riding up toward my apex. If I hadn’t been tied in knots, I would have thrashed about, maybe even knocked myself off the desk.

There were so many reasons to love being bound. One of the best, aside from giving over personal power to another human being, was the sensation in my muscles when I fought my ties and lost.

‘Is your pussy tight?’ Madeline asked. She could obviously feel my resistance.

‘Yes.’ I hugged the vibe with my pussy muscles to show her just how tight I was.

‘And how does your pussy taste?’ she asked as she forced the fake cock deep inside my cunt. ‘Is your pussy sweet?’

Was Madeline going to try it? Oh, I’d give anything to be licked by that woman!

‘It’s sweet,’ I said. ‘Sweet like honey. Want a taste?’

Something smacked my breast – an open hand? – and my nipple clamps dug into my flesh. My body sizzled, inside and out. I shrieked. I couldn’t help it.

‘I’m sorry,’ I told her. ‘I shouldn’t have offered. I shouldn’t have assumed.’

She chuckled, and it put me at ease that Madeline hadn’t spanked my tits in anger. It was simply a punishment, and one I rightly deserved.

‘I’m not going to taste your pussy,’ she said.

I couldn’t mask my disappointment, and I earned myself another tit-slap that way. The clamps bit down on my nipples, and that pain throbbed in my clit. It hurt so much I screamed, but not so much that I gave her the red light.

Suddenly my pussy was empty and the vibrator was forcing its way between my lips. I’d never had a vibe in my mouth before. I’d sucked a strap-on dildo once, down on my knees, giving it the best blowjob I could manage, but this was different. The strong vibrations made my teeth rattle, but I sucked until my lips went numb.

‘Tell me how your pussy tastes,’ Madeline cooed. Her deep, sensual voice was one of her most attractive features. It tied my belly in knots.

‘Tastes good,’ I said around the thick vibe.

She shoved the cock in a little deeper, coating my throat with the heavy musk of my pussy. I tried not to gag. I wanted her to know I could take just about anything.

That’s when I heard the squeal of the door. On a gust of wind, I could smell Diana’s lilac perfume and without thinking I blurted her name. Of course, my voice was muffled by the vibrating cock lodged in my throat, but I could feel Madeline’s tension as she turned.

Even blindfolded, I could see everything that passed between them. I felt every little moment, every drop of pain and desperation. Poor Diana! I felt just awful that she’d walked in on this scene. Even if their relationship was well and truly over, they obviously still loved each other.

‘I’m sorry!’ I cried around the buzzing cock, but the door closed and there was only quiet. When Madeline took the clamps off my nipples and the vibrator out of my mouth, I said it again. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘There’s no need,’ Diana said, and I would have jumped if I hadn’t been bound at every angle. She’d closed the door, but stayed in the room. Of course – I could smell her perfume, even sweeter now.

Madeline told her to sit, and I felt Diana’s energy move lower. Her knees cracked as she bent all the way down. ‘Stay silent,’ Madeline said. ‘Be good and I’ll give you a treat.’

It was strange, imagining my strict choirmaster under anyone’s thumb, but there she was on the floor, playing puppy to Madeline. I hadn’t felt weird about Madeline seeing me naked, but my tummy tossed when I pictured Diana staring up at my body bound in black ropes. Was she looking between my legs, or gawking at my tits? Or was she gazing adoringly at Madeline? That’s what I’d have been doing, if it were me.

‘Have you ever used a pussy pump, Eva?’

A pussy pump? ‘No, never.’

‘Diana,’ she said. ‘Find it.’

While my choirmaster hunted through the bags, Madeline filled my throat with more soothing water. I loved this part of submission. I loved being able to count on someone to take care of my basic needs, physical and emotional.

Diana pulled something from a bag and Madeline gasped. ‘Ooh, yes, put that on, Diana. Did you find the pump?’

‘Right here.’

Madeline made a sound like ‘mmmm’ and I got so excited my muscles all started to twitch. She laughed, throaty and dark, as she cupped the pussy pump over my mound.

‘This usually works better on a shaved pussy, but we’ll try it out just to see.’

Diana chuckled in the background, and I felt so ashamed of my hair I wanted to run and hide. No luck. I was stuck there on that desk. I’d given myself over to Madeline and she could do whatever she wanted with me now.

‘What does it look like?’ I asked, because I knew so little about pussy pumps.

‘The cup looks quite like an anaesthetist’s mask, except the plastic is entirely clear and it covers your cunt, not your mouth.’ Madeline’s frigid lust filled me as she spoke. ‘Diana will hold it in place while I pump, and that will draw your flesh into the cup like a vacuum.’

I heard the pump wheeze in Madeline’s hand a few times before I felt any suction. My knees were beginning to ache from being locked in this awkward position, but I wouldn’t complain. I focused on the pressure my favourite composer was generating between my open legs. It seemed more like a dream than real life.

Either my choirmaster was pressing the cup harder against my mound, or the suction from the pump was taking hold. Ooh, yes, I could feel it now. Every time Madeline squeezed the pump and it made that stifled wheezing sound, my pussy felt more pressurised. It was sort of like getting my clit sucked, except the pump acted on more than just my clit. The cup encompassed my entire mound, all the way around my fleshy pussy lips. I imagined this was how it felt to get sucked by an Amazon, one so huge she could stretch her lips all the way over my cunt.

‘Her pussy’s getting so red!’ Diana cried, even though Madeline had told her to stay silent.

Madeline didn’t chastise her for speaking, but merely asked, ‘Can you feel it, Eva? Does it feel good?’

‘Yes,’ I panted. The slow sucking was catching up with me, and I could feel an orgasm swirling at the base of my belly. The pump wasn’t familiar, but it was certainly effective.

‘Tell Eva how her pussy looks now,’ Madeline told Diana.

The suction grew so strong my pussy lips felt huge inside the pump cup.

‘It’s swollen,’ Diana said. ‘Her pussy is almost purple. Her clit’s like a cherry.’

Those words made me writhe against my bindings, but there was no escape. I wanted to fuck something, grind on something. The pump made me hot and horny and super-sensitive, but it wouldn’t let me come. God, I wanted to come!

‘Take off her blindfold, Diana.’

When Diana removed the satin slip from my eyes, I gasped at what she was wearing: no frumpy choir conductor outfit, not any more. She’d changed into leather pants and a black bustier that scarcely concealed her striking breasts. Diana always wore vests to choir rehearsals. I’d never really thought of her as having breasts at all.

Madeline was still pumping me, and every squeeze was now intolerably tight. My pussy lips felt huge enough to break the plastic cup, and when she removed it Diana held a mirror between my legs so I could see.

‘That’s me?’ I asked, as if it could be anyone else.

‘That’s you,’ Madeline answered.

My pussy lips looked enormous, and they really were swollen and reddish-purple, just like Diana had said. They didn’t look real. In fact, the sight of my pussy like that, all distended and huge, made me feel a little squeamish. Madeline must have seen it in my face, because she asked if I’d like my blindfold back on.

‘Yes,’ I said without hesitation. I could handle the sensation, just maybe not the sight.

Diana tied the blindfold over my eyes, looser than Madeline had, but it still did the job. Once I was back in my world of darkness, I felt much more comfortable. I was all sensation, all lust and desire, and Madeline knew just how to satisfy it.

‘Lick her,’ she instructed Diana. ‘Gently, gently. She’s going to be very sensitive.’

My heart raced when I felt my choirmaster’s breath on my hot, swollen cunt. I’d wanted Madeline to lick me, but I was so overwhelmingly horny I’d have let anyone get me off.

The moment Diana’s tongue met my pussy lips, I arched back with a violence that surprised me. Every time Diana licked my huge clit, I jerked back even harder, and every time I jerked back my thighs spread farther apart. It was hard to imagine my choirmaster’s face between my legs. I’d fantasised about Madeline licking my clit, but there was something even more twisted and exciting about Diana doing it at her command.

I fought my ties, screaming as my leather-clad choirmaster lapped my pussy. Her wet tongue sizzled against my skin. The pump had made my lips monstrous and so sensitive that I wanted to buck and writhe, but Madeline’s ties held fast. I couldn’t move and I couldn’t see, and that made me so claustrophobic I started struggling even harder.

Diana’s tongue lashed my fat clit hard enough to transform me from a demure chorister to a wild beast. I gripped my ankles, pressing the ropes into my flesh, feeling them bite into my skin. My heart pounded in my ears. The explosions between my legs travelled through my core, and when Madeline placed those metal clamps back on my tits the fireworks were everywhere. Sheer pleasure-pain burst from my nipples to my clit, where Diana worked hard for my exultation.

‘Enough,’ Madeline instructed, drawing Diana away from my tender pumped-up pussy. I was panting and ecstatic when I felt Madeline’s water bottle against my lips. ‘Here, baby. Drink up. Drink some water.’

Her deep voice soothed me just like the tepid water soothed my throat. She was taking care of me, petting my hair, speaking kind words, giving me drink. The care was as good as the pain, but only in conjunction with the pain. For me, one without the other seemed sadly incomplete.

Once Diana had removed my blindfold, both women untied my bonds. My knees ached, locked into the position they’d held far too long. Madeline rubbed her hands together and pressed her hands to my knees, relieving the ache. Her silver rings were hot on my skin, and I almost wished they were hot enough to burn me. I would love to be branded by her.

They let me lie on the desk, creating a makeshift pillow out of my clothes. They kissed my blazing skin with their fingertips. For a while, I listened to them talking about music, performances, nothing in particular. Their voices were the white noise of a relationship in recovery.

I didn’t know then that I would fit into their joint existence. I’d placed Madeline on a pedestal and barely noticed Diana, but together as a couple they gave me everything I needed … and so much more.