Читать книгу Submitting: A Mischief Erotica Collection - Justine Elyot, Alegra Verde - Страница 5

I feel like I’m on the deck of a ship in a storm. The floor pitches and twists, rolling with the ceaseless motion of crashing waves. It’s all I can do to keep my balance as I rise to my feet.

Except I know it’s only me that’s moving. Everything around me is perfectly still. Terrifyingly still. And silent.

I need a few moments to prepare myself, and it feels like a small lifetime. I take some deep breaths and the hammering of my heart finally begins to slow. My hands don’t entirely stop trembling, but at least I am able to respond when my name is called. Slowly I begin to make my way to the door at the end of the corridor. I may as well be crossing the ocean for all the time it takes me to cover the distance, reassuring myself along the way that the floor isn’t really undulating beneath me. My legs barely feel up to the task of supporting me, let alone carrying me any distance.

I reach the end of the hallway all too quickly, however. And once there, I hesitate, trying to collect myself. I can’t put it off any longer. I grasp the door handle with a clammy palm. It doesn’t seem to want to turn and for a moment I am irrationally relieved, as though I might escape my fate after all. As though I might be spared.

But no. The knob turns when I twist it in the other direction and the door opens with a little click. A tiny rush of air escapes, like an icy breath.

The room beyond is dark, and it remains dark even once I pull the door open. Just enough to permit me to slip inside. I step across the threshold and feel the transition from hard floor to soft carpet beneath my shoes. This room will swallow my sounds. All my sounds.

‘Close the door.’

It might be the voice of the shadows themselves, for I can see nothing in the darkened chamber. It gathers all around me, swelling, a wall of imposing silence. I do as I am told, turning the knob as I push the door into the frame to keep it quiet. I don’t think I can bear to hear the click as it shuts. It would sound too serious, too final.

My small task completed, I stand and await further instructions, my hands clasped behind my back. Time crawls by while I wait and every second makes my heart beat faster. I try to calm myself again, but this time I can’t seem to control my breathing. The silence builds, a vast, terrible emptiness that threatens to consume me. I could almost believe I am being erased, heartbeat by heartbeat.

The darkness is unbearable and I close my eyes so I can pretend it’s my choice to stand here, lost in shadow, unseeing and unseen.

No, not unseen. I know from the prickling of my skin that I am not alone, that I am being watched. That he is here with me.

When the voice comes again, it makes me jump.

‘Remove your clothes.’

I open my eyes, startled to find that I am no longer in darkness. A spotlight has appeared. I stand inside it like an animal in a circular cage, suddenly missing the shadows. I even miss the storm-tossed corridor.

There is no question of my obedience. My fingers tremble as I slide my clasped hands apart, uncertain where to begin. I am dressed in what I was told to wear – a smart skirt and blouse. The jacket is first. I can just about manage the single button in the centre and I slip it off. For a moment I stand holding it, looking around for somewhere to put it. But I am given no guidance.

I fold it carefully and lay it on the floor at my feet, just outside the circle of light. Then I focus on the skirt. It feels good to have a task, to have something – anything – to focus on doing, even if I am only delaying the inevitable. It’s very hard to fit my fingers around the tiny button at the waist, and the zip sounds to me like a predator licking its lips.

I step out of the skirt and lay it on top of the jacket. The long hem of the blouse hangs down, covering me. I am still decent for the moment, if that’s the word, and some part of me wishes for this to be as far as it goes. I imagine hearing the voice again, softer this time. A gentle laugh and a smiling tone as he tells me that is all, that I may go.

But the silence is as good as a command. I swallow hard and set about the challenge of unfastening each button of my blouse. At last I manage to peel it open. Gooseflesh stands out all over my body and I feel my nipples pucker as the thin material of my bra is exposed to the chill of the room.

It’s easy enough to slip off my shoes, and the stockings come down one at a time with a silky hiss. I hesitate again, raising my hands to the middle of my back, willing them to unhook my bra. It’s as though I am separate from my body, telling it what to do from somewhere else. The illusion fades once the hooks are undone and my breasts tumble free. My natural instinct is to cover myself with my hands, but I stop myself in time. I know that isn’t permitted. Instead I busy myself with folding the bra, as though presenting it as a gift.

My panties are all that cover me now, and the tiny scrap of silk only seems to enhance my sense of exposure. They are easier to manage than the bra. I slide them down over my bottom and thighs and crouch down to place them on top of the rest of my clothes. Then I rise unsteadily to my feet. And wait.

I clasp my hands behind my back again, grateful for the submissive posture. I couldn’t bear having to keep them at my sides and inside I plead not to have to.

Now there is the creak of a chair and a hint of movement in the shadows. The room grows a little brighter and I can make out the silhouette of a man as he stands and moves towards me. He is tall and intimidating.

I lower my head, keeping my eyes down as I’ve been taught. I have no control over what will happen next.

‘It’s time,’ he says. His voice is deep and resonant. It makes me weak. I feel lightheaded, as though I might faint.

‘Put your hands on your head.’

It’s a simple command, one I can easily obey. Gratitude washes over me as I lace my fingers on top of my hair. The position forces me to raise my head and I see him for the first time. His eyes are dark and brooding, his expression inscrutable. I can’t bear the eye contact, so I drop my gaze. Before I can focus on the floor, I see what he is holding. It’s a small whip. A dozen red and black tails hang from a braided handle.

He notices me noticing and brings the whip up to my eye level. Then he slaps it against his palm. The sound makes me jump, and I sense that my nervousness gives him pleasure.

‘Do you know why you’re here?’ he asks, his voice low and silky, full of authority.

I open my mouth to speak, but at first nothing comes out but a little squeak. I clear my throat and try again. ‘Yes, Sir.’

His expectant silence prompts me for more.

‘My Master sent me to you.’ I can barely bring myself to speak the words, but I manage to force them out. ‘To test me.’

‘You know of my reputation, then?’

Oh, yes. Who doesn’t? I am overwhelmed by the reality that I am here. Actually here. With him. My head is spinning with the impossibility.

‘Hmm? I didn’t hear you.’

‘Yes, Sir,’ I say, my own voice barely a whisper. ‘I do.’

He nods, seeming pleased – both by my answer and by my obvious fear. He looks like a judge about to don a black cap and sentence me to the gallows.

‘Very well, then,’ he says. ‘Stand still and straight. Arch your back.’

I had been expecting him to tell me to turn around. Instead, he stays in front of me and merely takes a step back. I feel my entire body begin to tremble as I realise what he intends. I lock my knees and inhale deeply.

The first stroke falls, striking my right breast. The soft leather tails impart a sharp kiss to the nipple, making my skin tingle. I close my eyes as the stinging sensation swells, gritting my teeth to keep from whimpering.

The wait is torture. My arms are already beginning to ache from their position on top of my head and my legs have felt in danger of turning to liquid ever since I got here.

He doesn’t keep me in suspense for long. The whip comes down on the other side, bringing pain to the delicate skin there as well. My nipples burn and it takes all my willpower not to press my cold fingers against them to soothe it away.

But I know better.

I picture myself in my Master’s arms, wrapped in his embrace and comforted after a challenging session. I hear his voice praising me, telling me I’ve been a good girl and made him proud. I feel his lips as he kisses mine, taste his tongue as I press myself against his hard cock and his hands explore every inch of my punished flesh. I sigh at the vision, knowing it will be my reward if I am good for this man.

The whip falls again, and again, the tails fanning out over each breast in turn, spreading their bright little kisses all across my chest. My skin feels alive, every nerve tingling. The stimulation is having an effect all over.

The pain builds in a wild crescendo, finally reaching a peak where it begins to blur into pleasure. Like a developing photograph, wonderful sensations come into focus, exploding throughout my entire body. My sex pulses in response, conditioned both to fear and to want what is coming.

When the whipping stops, he tells me to lower my arms. I do so, my shoulders flaring at the sudden return of blood. I flex my fingers to encourage the sensation.

‘Kneel,’ he says.

I sink to my knees, grateful not to have to stand any longer.

‘Right down.’

It’s as though I’m melting into the carpet. I bend my knees all the way, until I’m sitting on my calves. Then I fold my body, sliding my arms out in front of me like a sphinx and lowering my forehead until it touches the carpet. I love the position. It deepens my feeling of submission, liberating me further from the confines of reality.

I sense movement, feel the stirring of air as he walks around me, inspecting me. I know he intends to whip me more, and I’m not surprised when I feel the tails flick against my bottom. He directs me to adjust my position.

‘Present yourself for me,’ he says.

I have been well trained and I know exactly what he expects. I lift my bottom, raising it up in the air. At the same time, I curl my spine forwards, cat-like, tucking my head under. My breasts still burn and tingle, radiating warmth from the punished skin.

The whip finds my back, caressing, tickling, as he draws the tails over my waiting flesh. The first strokes are gentle, almost sensual. Each unerringly finds its mark with a resounding slap in the small room. I can feel my skin reddening beneath the slow, steady onslaught, building until I can’t restrain my little gasps and yelps.

A particularly hard stroke between my shoulder blades makes me cry out and for a moment I dip my back, as if I can escape the pain that already sings through me. I gather myself at once and resume the position, hoping he isn’t disappointed in my momentary weakness.

He says nothing, just continues to lay on, the soft leather tails painting stripes all along my exposed body. His aim is flawless.

He walks slowly around me as he whips me, circling me like a shark. Now the whip finds my bottom, and he brings it down hard on the more resilient flesh of my cheeks. I open my eyes to peek, watching him out of the corner of one eye. He gathers the tails in his left hand before releasing them as he swings the implement down, striking precisely where he aims.

These strokes are deeper and more penetrating, designed to push me. I can no longer control my cries and it’s all I can do not to writhe and struggle and try to escape the whipping. But I imagine my Master watching. I desperately want to please him, to make him proud of me. I must take this. I must endure what I am given. It’s what I want too.

The tails lick between my thighs, striking the delicate folds of my sex. I hiss with pain, sucking air in through my teeth. A few lighter strokes follow, peppering my bottom with leather kisses. Then he delivers another sharp stroke to my sex. This time I scream.

The pain is intense, but it’s also exquisite. I blush to imagine how wet the tails of the whip will be after a few more of those strokes. I can feel the sticky dampness between my legs. I am forbidden to come, but if he continues like this my body may betray me. He is testing me.

Again and again he punishes my bottom, wrenching wild cries from me. I clutch the carpet, digging into its soft loops with my fingers to draw the focus away from my sex. It doesn’t work.

My nipples are still sore from the breast whipping, hard and erect. Painfully aroused. An image flashes into my mind of being kissed there. A warm, wet tongue flicking over each burning little pebble of skin. It makes my sex pulse and another well-aimed stroke inflames the delicate nerve endings there. My entire body is throbbing, desperate for release. But if I come, I will fail the test. And I will be punished.

It takes all my willpower to hold back my climax. My thighs are soaked with wetness. I hold them far enough apart that nothing makes contact with my clit. One touch would be all it took. I focus on my submission instead. My obedience. I am a good little slave. I will hold my position and take whatever I am given, whether it be pain or pleasure. For they are not my master.

After a while he eases back, slowing the strokes and laying them on with less and less force, fading the sensations. Now it feels more like a sensual massage. I sigh as the tails flick lightly over my back again, my burning cheeks, then once more kissing my nether lips. Sensations wash over me, but I am not at their mercy. I feel like I have weathered a storm.

When he stops, he stands in silence for several moments. The only sound is the blood pounding in my ears, the pulsing of my skin as heat and desire consume me. I am flying.

‘Good girl,’ he says.

The words bring tears to my eyes. I could let go and melt into the floor now, dissolve into a quivering puddle at his praise.

Only I know this isn’t the end. I am here to be tested, after all, not merely tasted.

‘Raise your right foot.’

My entire lower half trembles as I obey. I bend my knee and lift the leg just enough to hold my foot up, parallel to the floor.

He dangles the whip over it, teasing it with the tails. I shudder, but manage to hold still. When I feel the whip lift away, I brace myself. Then I cry out as he brings it down sharply across the tender flesh of my sole. Heat flares across the skin and I point and flex my toes over and over until it becomes bearable. The feeling travels along all the nerve endings in my leg, all the way up to my sex. A second stroke wrenches another cry from me, but by the third I am succumbing to the pleasure. I lose count after that.

I hear him laugh softly, as though amused by my obvious arousal. ‘Now your other foot,’ he tells me.

I do as he orders, offering up my other delicate bare foot like a sacrifice. It receives the same treatment, first a series of gentle flicks and then proper stinging strokes. Both feet feel like I’ve walked on hot coals, the soles pulsing hotly in concert with the throbbing of my sex.

When he is done he orders me to put my leg down and kneel up. Gratitude floods me as I do it, swimming in sensation. I am slightly dazed and euphoric, my entire body excited and stimulated. My sex pounds in time with my throbbing heart. He has made my entire body an erogenous zone.

‘You’ve been very good,’ he tells me, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

‘Thank you, Sir,’ I whisper.

‘And you’ve earned a reward.’

I wait for him to continue, but it seems he wants to tease me. I resist the temptation to speak.

‘What would you like now, little one?’

It’s all I can do to choke out the words. ‘Please, Sir. Please may I come?’

He takes my chin in his hand and raises my head to meet his eyes. I blush furiously at the eye contact, delirious with arousal, drowning in shameless lust. For a long moment he peers deep into my face and suddenly I fear he’ll say no. I can already feel the tears of frustration pricking at my eyes.

‘Yes,’ he says at last. ‘But you must do it twice.’

I blink in confusion. ‘Sir?’

He smiles and strokes my face. Then he slides his hand into my hair and winds it around his fist. I gasp as he pulls my head back, forcing my body with it until I am lying flat on my back, the carpet prickling my whipped back and bottom. Only then does he let go. I don’t know if I’ve displeased him or if this is another test, and he leaves me in suspense for several agonising seconds.

Then I hear the door open. For a moment the room floods with light from the outside world and I close my eyes to shield them. Someone else enters the room and I recognise my Master’s cologne. I can’t prevent the smile that spreads across my face.

‘Hello, Keri,’ he says, bending down to kiss me. His hand trails down my throat and over one punished breast, gently tweaking the nipple and making me gasp. ‘I enjoyed watching you.’

He tweaks the other nipple and I whimper as his touch reawakens the pain. The idea that he watched as another man punished me makes me feel faint and I am grateful for my position on the floor.

‘You made me very proud.’

I melt at his words, desperate for his hands to move lower. Instead, another pair of hands grips my ankles, firmly drawing my legs apart until they are spread wide. I writhe in delicious humiliation at the exposure, my sex aching for release. My punisher draws his fingers up along my inner thighs until they reach my shaved pussy.

‘She was a very good girl,’ he says.

I gasp out a thank-you to both of them. My eyes are still shut tight and I abandon myself to the exquisite sensations as one pair of hands kneads my breasts while the other teases the slick folds of my sex.

‘She’s very wet.’

My Master laughs softly at that. ‘Yes, punishment excites her.’

‘Ah, but today she’s been a good girl, hasn’t she?’

I’m not sure if the question is directed at me or not. In any case, they seem pleased by the breathless little moan I offer by way of response.

My punisher slips one finger inside me and I cry out, writhing on the floor. My Master lowers his mouth to my chest, kissing each taut nipple in turn, flicking the other with his thumb.

I feel another finger inserted, then another. I long to close my legs, to clench them around that hand, but I know I must maintain my lascivious position for them. I arch my back, offering my breasts to one man while the other fucks me with his hand. My Master’s tongue flutters against my nipple and I toss my head from side to side. I can feel the climax coming, rising like a tidal wave to flood the world, to drown me and everything in it. The hand between my legs begins to move faster and faster, harder and rougher, the palm slapping against my clit with every thrust. Finally I can’t stand it any longer and I surrender to an overwhelming orgasm that makes me scream and convulse. They continue to play with me for its entire duration, heightening every sensation. I never want it to end.

Lights sparkle behind my eyes and I collapse, lost on a raging sea of pleasure, at the mercy of a kind of bliss I have never experienced before.

I have no idea how long I lie there, racked with euphoria, but when I finally drift back to earth, both men are smiling down at me. My cheeks flood with heat and I cover my face with my hands, embarrassed by my wanton display.

My Master laughs. ‘Don’t be silly. It was beautiful. I’ve never seen you like that before.’

I smile in spite of my embarrassment. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to do anything that might break the spell. Most of all, I don’t want to have to get up, get dressed and leave this room. Ever. The tears I had withheld earlier suddenly start to flow.

My Master understands at once and gathers me in his arms, rocking me as he whispers soothing words in my ear. It feels good to cry, to purge the stress and frustration of reality here, where it’s safe. It’s terrifying and exhilarating, but it’s still the safest place in the whole world.

‘If you can handle this,’ he tells me, ‘you can handle anything.’

And I know he’s right. Life in the real world sometimes gets too hard. And sometimes it becomes unbearable. Visiting a place where all that’s expected of me is obedience makes it all go away for a little while. It also makes me stronger. When I do finally leave this room, dressed like a normal person again, one whose partner isn’t addressed as ‘Master’, I will be more resilient than the trembling girl who entered. I will be braver.

This time was different, though. This time was both a challenge and a treat. And not just for me. My Master said he had always wanted to watch me with another man, someone well known and respected. Someone he trusted.

‘Thank you,’ I murmur, at last finding the courage to look my punisher in the eye.

‘It was my pleasure,’ he says. There is a gleam in his eye, although none of the authority has gone from his voice. ‘But haven’t you forgotten something?’

My stomach flutters nervously. I look to my Master for guidance, but he moves away, into the shadows. After a moment I hear the musical clink of soft chains from there.

My punisher stands over me and holds out his hand and my Master places something in it. I shudder when I see the nipple clamps.

‘Back on your knees,’ he orders, and I obey without a second thought. ‘I gave you permission to come, but I did say you must do it twice. Didn’t I?’

I blush deeply. ‘Yes, Sir.’ Then I arch my back, presenting my breasts for him while my Master watches, looking pleased.