Читать книгу Bonds of Love - Sarah K - Страница 7

Alex and I arrived at the hotel in the middle of the afternoon. It was in an old country house a few miles outside Whitby and was beyond fabulous. With the house set in a great stand of trees and tucked up among acres of rolling parkland, the hotel owners had managed to keep the feel of old-fashioned genteel splendour and faded glamour alongside twenty-first-century convenience.

The entrance hall was like something from a movie set – The Great Gatsby or maybe something by Agatha Christie – with great sofas and fireplaces, crystal chandeliers and ornate side tables, and the centrepiece being a grand staircase that swept up from a black-and-white tiled floor to Lord only knew where. The reception desk was set discreetly to one side and staffed by a bevy of smiling, efficient young women in uniform.

As Alex was booking us in a gaggle of wedding guests appeared from nowhere and practically mugged him with their sheer exuberance. It struck me that in some ways this was the perfect way to find out about anyone; there really is no hiding place at a family wedding, and any lingering concerns I might have had about Alex were rapidly snuffed out by the obvious delight the other wedding guests took in seeing him.

There were several couples, single girls and small children and a couple of elderly grannies. Alex made the introductions, though the names came and went; this one was a long-lost friend of the family, this one a cousin from Australia, this someone’s best friend from childhood. It seemed that they were all heading into the sitting room for afternoon tea and they were very keen for us to join them.

Alex smiled at me. ‘We’d love to but it’s been a really long drive, and Sarah and I need to get unpacked and settled in.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We’ve got a few things to do. We’re probably going to be tied up for an hour or two – maybe we could meet up for dinner?’

The play on words wasn’t lost on me, nor was the look Alex gave me.

As Alex said his farewells and made promises to meet up later, the porter took our bags and we headed up the impressive staircase into the main hotel.

‘Aren’t you taking a risk bringing someone you don’t know to something like this?’ I said, sotto voce. ‘I mean, I could be a real liability – mad or a drinker or anything.’

‘Are you?’ he asked.

‘Well, no, but –’

Alex laughed. ‘I didn’t think so, and anyway it was a risk I was prepared to take. I wanted to spend some real time with you.’

‘Even if it meant me kicking off in front of the bride and groom?’

Alex laughed and took my arm. ‘I think I can probably handle it.’

Beyond the vast lobby and the first-floor landing the hotel was a complete rabbit warren. Within moments of getting upstairs I was not only lost, but totally disorientated – all the busy sounds from the reception area were completely deadened by miles of flock wallpaper and deep-pile carpets and the hallways were long, silent and stately. The walls were hung with magnificent paintings, there were fabulous flower arrangements and statuary in niches all along the walls and antique furniture that looked as if it had been there forever.

‘This way, sir, madam,’ said our guide, as after what seemed like a long hike he finally opened the doors to our room. The suite was in one corner of the hotel in a turret, with mullioned windows that overlooked a carefully manicured knot garden. There was a Jack and Jill bathroom between the two large airy bedrooms. The main room had a huge four-poster bed and antique furniture, while the smaller room had a queen-sized bed and looked like a typical boutique hotel room with cushions and throws and contemporary art. Both rooms were stylish and luxurious enough to pull off the contrast.

As the man deposited our bags, Alex looked long and hard at the four-poster, and then at me, and raised his eyebrows in unspoken invitation as we both took in the very thing that had first sparked his fantasies. The porter left with a healthy tip.

‘Let’s start nice and slowly,’ Alex said, as soon as the doors were closed and we were alone. ‘Take off your clothes.’

‘That counts as slowly, does it?’ I said with amusement.

‘Does it, Sir,’ said Alex.

I laughed again; this was horribly familiar territory for me. I’m not good at remembering to call anyone Sir, and Max had taken great pleasure in punishing me every time I forgot.

‘And while we’re playing you will only speak when spoken to. Do you understand?’ Alex asked.

Only too well. I nodded.

‘Now, undress for me.’

Alex settled himself down into one of the leather armchairs in the bay window of the turret. His expression was fixed and neutral. He was waiting to see what I would do and I knew in some ways that this was the first test. The room was totally silent now except for the tick-tick-tick of a long-case clock that was standing against one wall. It seemed like time slowed as I lifted my fingers to the buttons of my jacket.

I am not by nature any kind of exhibitionist; the idea of undressing in front of someone I barely know comes with all kinds of fears and anxieties, and the added frisson of embarrassment and self-consciousness in many ways adds to the intensity of the moment. Submission is about embracing all those feelings and letting them feed your arousal. I was trembling, excited, anxious – awash with a whole raft of adrenaline-fuelled emotions as I let my jacket drop to the floor. Under the jacket I was wearing a fitted floral dress that buttoned all the way down the front. The buttons were tiny, and under Alex’s penetrating gaze my fingers seemed too big, too clumsy to deal with them. One by one they gave way. I could feel him watching me, watching my progress, button by button, until finally the dress fell open.

As I slipped it back off my shoulders I heard the breath catch in his throat. I knew without a doubt that I had every molecule of his attention. I smiled inwardly; Max had been the first one to point out to me that in reality it was often the sub who wielded the most power. Alex was just as hooked on this moment as I was. Under my dress I was wearing a black lacy bra, matching knickers and stockings and suspenders, along with black court shoes. I let the dress drop to the floor.

‘God, you are lovely,’ Alex murmured, getting to his feet. I felt myself blush. ‘Turn around for me. I want to look at you,’ he continued.

I did as I was told. He walked around me as I turned, his eyes working their way hungrily over my body, inspecting me, taking in every inch of me. His gaze was as exciting and invasive as any caress. His attention, his obvious desire and pleasure were intoxicating.

‘Very nice,’ he said, in a voice barely above a whisper. ‘Now take off your bra.’

I fumbled with the catch. Alex waited. As it gave way I slipped off the shoulder straps, instinctively holding the flimsy fabric in place in front of my body, a nod towards modesty.

‘Here,’ he said, holding out his hand towards me. ‘I want to look at your breasts. I want to look at all of you.’

I dropped the bra into his open palm while I covered my breasts with my forearm.

‘Put your hands on top of your head.’ He spoke with a quiet assurance. This was an order, not a request. I did as he told me. My nipples hardened in the cool air. Alex smiled. ‘Wonderful. You are exquisite. This is going to be so much fun, Sarah. I’ve been thinking about this moment since I met you. Come here.’

He beckoned me over. ‘You are beautiful,’ he murmured.

I am neither exquisite nor beautiful, but it seems to me that men are so much less critical than we women and see so much more in us than we do in ourselves. They see beauty and loveliness where we only see lumps and bumps and cellulite.

I stepped towards him and he cupped my breasts, his thumbs working back and forth across the hard, dark buds of my nipples. He bent down and took first one and then the other into his mouth, sucking gently. I closed my eyes, my body soaking up the sensations. I groaned softly. I heard him chuckle as he pulled away.

‘Seems like I’m not the only one who needs this,’ he said.

I opened my eyes. He was so close that I could see the stubble on the side of his face where he hadn’t quite caught it with the razor and smell the soft scent of his body and hair. He made my mouth water.

‘Are you okay?’ He whispered, tipping my face up towards him.

I nodded.

‘Tell me,’ he said.

I smiled. ‘I’m fine. Nervous, excited, but fine.’

‘Good. Because I want you to enjoy every second of this. I’m going to beat you and then I am going to fuck you,’ he said, in an undertone. ‘And I need to know that that is what you want. Is that what you want, Sarah?’

I stared at him. ‘We haven’t got a safe word,’ I began.

‘“Whitby”. If you want me to stop say “Whitby”. Now tell me that you want me to beat you.’

Our eyes met. It was the moment when we both stepped from what might be considered acceptable into the realms of otherness that BDSM occupies. Before I had given him my answer Alex stepped away from me and unfastened one of the cases that the porter had set down on an ottoman at the end of the bed. He took out a riding crop.

I watched him, hypnotised, entranced, torn between how much I longed to feel the sensations and the rush of endorphins that I knew followed the bite of the crop as it hit home and knowing just how much being cropped hurt.

Alex flexed the plaited leather shaft, his eyes not leaving mine as he did it. The crop was new, unyielding. I swallowed hard.

‘I need you to tell me that this is what you want, Sarah, or we don’t go any further. And if that is the case, it’s fine, but I need to know. What do you want?’

I had been here before with Max. My throat was dry, the words wouldn’t come.

Alex waited. ‘Well?’ he said quietly. ‘What do you say?’

‘Yes, please,’ I murmured, ever polite.

He smiled. ‘Good. Get hold of the arms of the chair and bend over.’

I stepped towards the chair, taking a deep breath, preparing myself for what was to come.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Take off your knickers.’

With my back to him, I slipped them down over my hips and let them fall to the floor, imagining the view of my lily-white bum framed by black suspenders and the tops of my stockings.

‘Very nice,’ Alex purred, as he ran a hand appreciatively over the curve of my backside and then, with his palm on the small of my back, guided me down over the leather armchair. The only way to do it and be comfortable was to open my legs.

As I did Alex’s hand slipped down over my tailbone, down lower, caressing all my most intimate places, working towards the delicate folds of my sex, his nimble fingers exploring, dipping into me. Alex didn’t need to tell me that I was wet. He made a little sound of pleasure as he took the time to explore my compliant, hungry body. I shivered as his fingers opened me, stroking and teasing. I pressed back onto him, pushing his fingers deeper.

‘Bad girl, bad girl,’ he said, stepping away from me. ‘You know how this works. You have to wait until later, until you’ve earned it. First the pain and then the pleasure.’

I guessed what was coming next. I closed my eyes and waited, trying hard not to tense up, which I knew would only make the pain more intense.

Alex’s first stroke with the crop was tentative, almost gentle, barely more than a tap. It made me wonder if he had ever cropped someone before, but actually I was glad that the blow was so gentle. It had been so long since I had played with anyone. After all the anticipation I’d been feeling over the last few days I wanted to relish it. I certainly didn’t want to shriek and frighten Alex off or use the safe word if I could possibly help it. The second stroke was a little harder, but not much.

‘We’ll take this slowly,’ he said, almost as if he could read my thoughts. There was the slightest tremor in his voice. I wasn’t sure if it was nerves or excitement. ‘We’ll build it up gradually, a little at a time. I’ve brought a whole bag full of toys with me,’ said Alex. ‘Next time you can choose.’

I laughed and he hit me again, a little harder this time.

‘Count,’ he said.

‘Three,’ I said.

‘Well done,’ he said, and hit me again.

‘Four.’ This one was lower down, catching the top of my thighs. It stung like crazy and made me gasp, and as I gasped the crop found its mark again.

I stamped my feet, an involuntary reaction to the pain, as my hands flew round to rub the back of my thighs and the weal that rose within seconds. ‘Five,’ I said, through gritted teeth.

Alex teased the end of the crop backwards and forwards over my fingertips, guiding them away. ‘Put your hands back on the arms of the chair and stay still,’ ordered Alex. ‘Now.’

It is very hard to just let someone hit you with a crop. Very hard to obey when you know that it will hurt. And sometimes the sensations create something like a tidal wave, a sensory overload, so it’s hard to back down from them and tolerate any more. The stinging snap across my thighs was one of those sensations. I was trembling, suffused by a rolling heat and pain.

‘Now,’ he repeated more crisply.

I was close to that place. I slowly put my hands back, taking a deep breath, letting the tension ease away. Crazy as it might sound, I wanted this. I needed it. The last thing I wanted was to call a halt. I took another deep breath.

The next blow was squarely across my bum and though it made me gasp it was more bearable.

‘How many is that?’ Alex said.

‘Six,’ I hissed. I had forgotten that I was meant to count.

‘Good girl.’ The next blow made me cry out and realise how naïve I had been thinking the first few strokes had been too soft or that Alex didn’t know what he was doing. He knew. He knew very, very well.

‘Seven.’

I sucked in a ragged breath. My pulse was racing. I felt as if I was drowning in the rush of sensations as Alex hit me again.

‘Eight.’

As the pain rippled through me I realised that I had forgotten just how much I love and hate this feeling. I swallowed hard. I had missed this so much and yet I was struggling with just how intense, how overwhelming it felt.

‘Nine.’ And I am consumed by the sensations, falling, falling into the void, my voice sounds a long, long way off; the pain is not.

‘Ten.’ I wonder fleetingly if Alex will stop at ten as I close my eyes tightly. Behind my closed eyes I can see the pain roaring through me like a coloured flare.

‘Eleven.’

I have my answer.

‘Twelve.’

And then there’s a moment’s stillness. Alex drops the crop onto the floor alongside the chair, takes my hands and leads me over to the bed. Eyes dark with desire he lifts me up and sets me down on the huge four-poster, in among the cushions and bolsters. He is breathing fast and heavy. I can sense his excitement, matching my own, as he kisses my neck, my throat, my breasts, my belly.

I moan with pure pleasure. Without pulling away he starts to unbutton his shirt and, desperate not to lose the moment, I am with him, undressing him too. We are both so hungry for this. His body is strong and muscular, the muscles clearly defined; his chest is broad and hairy, every inch a man. His hands work on his belt, freeing his cock, erect and full. He is beautiful. I reach out to touch him but he hasn’t done with me yet.

Alex’s hands explore every last inch of me, and where his fingers lead his tongue follows. As his tongue works lower and lower, moving down, down over my breasts and belly I am completely lost, lifting myself up towards him, eager and brazen. As his tongue finds the hard, throbbing bud of my clitoris I cry out in delight, demanding more as he licks and laps and sucks, his hands under my buttocks lifting me onto his tongue. God, he is good. I’m sobbing with pure ecstasy.

I can feel the storm building, feel the pleasure arcing, feel myself about to tumble over the edge, and then Alex is pulling away and I am begging for him to finish what he started – not leave me hanging – and then I realise that he is putting on a condom and as I reach out towards him, he eases himself slowly into me. I feel my body opening under him, feel his beautiful cock slide slowly deeper and deeper.

Buried to the hilt, he fills me to the brim. I fit tight around him and he starts to move, oh so slowly, with magnificent control, angling his pelvis so that he brushes up against the rise of my sex, brushing my clitoris with every stroke, the lightest touch of his skin against mine. I can’t believe how good it feels. It is amazing, all-engulfing. I hold my breath as he moves again and then finally, blissfully let go, relishing the feelings as he oh-so-slowly fucks me.

I suspect that Alex won’t be able to hang on for much longer; his breath is ragged and shallow, and I am as close to the edge as he is. He pushes deeper, I move with him, and I feel my body responding, arching up to meet his. And then, just as I feel the first white-hot ripples of orgasm, Alex looks into my eyes. His are dark with hunger and need and things that have no words, only feelings, and I am falling over the edge into the void. As I begin to come, I feel the first mesmerising pulse of his orgasm deep inside me, feel my sex close tight around him, feel the heat and the waves rolling through us both, making my body arch and stiffen under his, driving on and on until finally we are both totally spent and we collapse, breathing hard, falling down onto the bed, all passion expended, all tension gone.

Alex slides out of me and after a moment or two we curl up together, my back to his belly, his arms tight around me. I shiver with a mixture of cold and the remnants of excitement. In response he drags the corner of the bedcover up over both of us, and within seconds I am asleep in his arms, totally exhausted, utterly drained and blissfully content.

‘So,’ said Lisa, that night over dinner, ‘how did you two meet?’ She was looking at Alex, but the question was aimed fair and square at me. Lisa was the bride’s youngest sister. She was slim, dark haired, dressed to kill, and was somewhere in her late teens or early twenties. According to the rest of the diners at our table, Lisa was the noisiest and nosiest of the family’s six children. It was a close-run thing though; they were all noisy and funny, and full of stories and nonsense. Everyone, including me, was having a great time.

‘Lisa, will you just stop it,’ said Cathie, the bride’s mother, in mock exasperation. All of the girls bore a striking resemblance to her, and I’d liked Cathie as soon as we were introduced. Sitting alongside her, the bride, Carol, rolled her eyes.

‘You can’t take her anywhere. It’s none of your business, nosey,’ Cathie chided.

The wedding party had taken over most of the hotel and we had been invited to join what turned out to be a table of twelve, made up of the family of the bride, who was presently sitting between Cathie, her mum and her aunty. Carol was all beautifully spray-tanned, eyebrows plucked, looking sparkly, fresh and gorgeous, all ready for the big day.

In the bar, when Alex had tried to buy them a drink, the girls had all agreed that no one should drink too much, and then as soon as we sat down had ordered champagne, which was currently flowing like water.

‘Oh, come on,’ said Lisa. ‘You know you’re dying to find out, Mum. You’re just too polite to ask. Be honest, you’re glad you’ve got me to do your dirty work for you. So how did you and Alex meet?’

‘Ignore my daughter,’ said Cathie, handing me a glass of champagne. ‘We already threatened to leave her at home if she didn’t behave herself.’

‘But I’m chief bridesmaid,’ said Lisa indignantly. ‘Who is going to keep the rug-rags in line if I’m not here? We only want to know because we love him and we’ve been trying to get him fixed up for ages. He’s way too cute to be on his own.’

Alex laughed, and I’m sure he blushed just a little bit.

‘You’ve got to be something special. He’s so bloody picky,’ said one of the other girls.

Now it was my turn to redden.

Since waking up Alex and I had shared a shower together, and it would be fair to say that both of us were ravenous, so we had mooted plans to grab a bite to eat and then maybe repeat the afternoon’s performance. I had more or less completely forgotten that we were meant to be there for a wedding and so was surprised when, around seven o’clock, someone knocked on our door.

‘Helloooo,’ called a female voice. ‘Alex? Are you in there, darling?’

Alex and I were both still in hotel bathrobes and, having discussed whether it was too early to crack open the mini-bar, were both drinking tea while eating our way through the complimentary biscuits and peanuts and picking over the events of our first afternoon together as Dom and sub.

We had also had a good look at the marks left by the riding crop – in my case in the bathroom mirror. At first Alex had been concerned about them, and asked whether he had hit me too hard. When I said he hadn’t and I was fine with them, he was amused and proud by turns about how evenly spaced they were. It had to be a boy thing. He turned me over on the bed onto my stomach and very carefully traced each one with his fingers.

Curled up on the bed together, it was interesting how comfortable I felt with him. Part of me was pleased about that; part of me was wary. I was supposed to be taking this slowly, I reminded myself – although it was probably too late for that.

‘Hang on,’ Alex called, heading for the door as the woman called again and glancing back over his shoulder towards me, presumably to make sure I was decent. ‘You okay?’ he mouthed. I nodded. I was more than okay. I plumped up the pillows, poured another cup of tea and helped myself to the last shortbread.

Alex stepped out into a little hallway area that divided the suite from the door to the corridor and pulled the door to behind him, cutting off any view his visitor might have into our room.

‘Oh, you are in there,’ said a disembodied voice. Whoever it was sounded warm and friendly and genuinely pleased to see him. ‘We’re all going down to dinner in a little while and wondered if you’d like to come and eat with us.’

‘That would be great, thank you, Cathie. We’re starving.’

‘Good. I’m so glad you could make it.’ There was a pause. ‘Terry told me that you’d brought a plus one. We’re starving?’ She laughed.

‘News travels fast round these parts,’ Alex said, though I could hear the amusement in his voice.

‘So, do I get to meet her?’

‘Last time I saw her she wasn’t dressed,’ said Alex.

I was glad he had the gumption to keep whoever it was out; I’d rather have my clothes on when I was introduced to his vanilla friends. I glanced round the room; it was strewn with our clothes, not to mention a crop and an open bag with ropes, gags and various other toys in it.

‘Oh well, I suppose we’ll see her downstairs. I’m glad you’ve found someone nice, Alex. It’s been far too long.’

He laughed. ‘What makes you think she’s nice?’

The woman laughed too, and from the sound I guessed that she slapped him playfully.

‘I’m sure she’s lovely. See you in the bar. We said we’d be down at half seven. Is that okay?’

‘It’s fine. See you down there,’ Alex said. ‘And it’s great to see you, Cathie. You look amazing in that dress.’

‘Flatterer,’ giggled the woman, evidently delighted with the compliment, and with that Alex closed the door.

Which was how I came to be sitting next to Lisa on a huge table in among a sea of people I didn’t know. Lisa wasn’t going to be put off the scent. She might as well have had me under a lamp with thumbscrews.

‘We met on a dating website,’ I said casually, helping myself to more vegetables. The food was fabulous and I could have eaten a horse – maybe two horses. I’d forgotten that BDSM made me hungry.

‘Really?’ Lisa pulled a face. ‘Online dating? I’ve never tried it. It can be a bit iffy, can’t it?’

‘You just have to be sensible and not do anything silly,’ I said. Like going away for a weekend with a complete stranger, my brain offered helpfully.

‘That’s right, and I know lots of people who do it,’ said Cathie, not quite meeting anyone’s eye. The way she said it made me think that she might be one of them. Apparently the bride’s father was a bit of a lad and was driving up the following day with his new wife, number three or four, who was twenty-two. Cathie hadn’t brought a plus one, but kept checking her phone, which made me think there was someone in the wings somewhere.

‘You read so many things in the papers about all that online stuff – you can meet some seriously weird people,’ said the bride’s uncle, Harry, who was sitting further around the table.

‘Only if you’re lucky,’ said Alex, lifting a glass towards me in a silent toast.

I smiled. You most certainly could, I thought, as I shuffled my chair in a little closer to the table, trying to ignore the pain from the weals across my bum.