Infidelity

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  Maybe because it’s midnight, because it’s our second bottle of wine and I’m feeling so pleasantly relaxed that my questions start to take a different turn.

  “How long has it been since you broke up with Delia?”

  “She left almost a year ago.”

  “My, a year. Is there a new woman?”

  “No.”

  “I find that hard to believe. You’ve always had someone in your bed.”

  “I got burned, Anna,” he says, his voice unusually soft.

  I can tell. This isn’t the Heinrich I remember—admissions as small as this one would be impossible in the past. I want to look in his eyes, but I’m afraid.

  “Burned in what way?”

  “I sent her to Calvin because she clung to me like a weeping vine and it was smothering me. But after she returned, she only stayed a few weeks. Then she left, her choice, because I didn’t have a heart open or big enough for her. Apparently Calvin did.”

  I finally turn to him. “And it hurt?”

  He turns to me. “Yes, it did. Like the past coming back to haunt me.”

  “The past?”

  “It hurt when I found you in bed with a lover, and it hurt when you left.”

  There’s something strange going on between us, I almost want to cry. “You never said things like this before.”

  “I guess I’ve become more vulnerable.” He paused. “I suppose that’s what a woman wants—even a submissive woman?”

  He touches me inside myself—like his hand is reaching in, and my heart feels the gentle massage.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve been numb, and angry and pretty sad for months—in no place to think about another woman.”

  “And no scenes at Tethers?”

  “No scenes.”

  “Not a single one?”

  “None.”

  “You miss that?”

  “Maybe. But I’m not racing down that road again.”

  “So what would make you start over?”

  He shrugs. “I’m not sure. The right woman, I suppose.”

  We remain silent while I get used to all he’s said. Heinrich seems curiously peaceful.

  “You’ve changed, Heinrich,” I tell him.

  “Is that good?”

  “You’re softer, and kinder and more open.”

  “Not the hard ass I used to be, huh?” he looks amused. “You suppose that’s all gone?”

  “Oh, I hope not. I mean…” I blush again, and try to hide my face. I feel myself flirting with a man I once loved—and maybe still do. Certainly the lust remains. I’m hot everywhere, a million desires surfacing all at once. I look back at him, straight into the deep blue of his eyes. “Would you do a scene with me?” I wonder. My lips part as I lick them wet. I’m breathing heavier and there’s a sharp spasm in my belly, my cunt clutching. As I wait for him to answer, I’m afraid he’ll say no.

  “Bernard tells me you were with Lowell Lockhart,” he alters the mood with the comment.

  “Yes, as his house slave and stable pony,” the admission seems embarrassingly self-revealing.

  “Tell me how he trained you.”

  It’s a simple request. I’m under no obligation to honor it, and yet I begin the story as though both of us know I’ll tell him everything. “He was strict, methodical and there were million rules to follow. I was punished often, even for the smallest things. I gave to him and little to myself. Frankly, there wasn’t anytime for that. His world consumed mine and he consumed me. He owned me. I suppose when he thought I was ready—what made me ready I’m not sure—he finally began the training with harness and bridle. I learned to prance proudly, to wear my bit with determination and humility. He practiced me endlessly.”

  “I’d like to see that.”

  And I’d like to show him, but I don’t say so. I can’t tell him, not yet.

  “I took a great deal of punishment for any error and I learned how to follow the discipline rigorously.”

  “And did you like that life?” he asks.

  “No, I didn’t like it. But I needed it. Excuse the pun, it reined me in.” I try to laugh, but Heinrich looks so serious. “I’ve been writing and painting more because of it.”

  “He took away the edge in you,” he says. “You’re a more peaceful woman, Anna.”

  I want to cry again.

  “So, does that mean you’ll do a scene with me?” I’m still hoping.

  “And pick up where we left off? No.” He shakes his head.

  “No?”

  “A scene? No, Anna.”

  “Ah…” How do I hold in my disappointment?

  “But maybe we can start over. I’m not good at being intimate like this, but I know I don’t want a lot of meaningless scenes with subs that come and go.”

  “I like that. I don’t want it meaningless between you and me. I know it wouldn’t be easy, it might even be the stupidest thing we’ve ever thought of… “

  “But we could try,” he finishes my thought.

  “Yes, we could,” I agree. “I can be less sniveling and selfish and testy. I don’t feel that way anymore.”

  He nods as though he believes me. “And I hope I’m not as remote, Anna. Getting sideswiped by Delia taught me something.”

  ***

  The shop is closed for the night. I’m working with a single light on in the back. It’s hardly visible from the street. I hear his footsteps somewhere behind me, and my body bristles, the hair on the back of my neck tingling—, as does my pussy below. I gave him a key a week ago but had no idea when he’d come to me. I’ve waited expectantly for him each night, and gone to bed disappointed but still apprehensive and hopeful. He could show up anytime, or perhaps, not at all. That would bother me most.

  I know him now, by the soft footfalls, the scent of him, the way my breathing changes, the sixth sense I have to know that Heinrich’s near.

  By the light over my desk, I finally see an alteration in the shadows around me. I stop my pen mid-stroke waiting for his next move, staring ahead into the dark.

  Suddenly a whip hits the chair beside me, talons flying. I jump, then settle back eyeing at the slender thongs of leather that are scattered over the wooden seat. He’s still not said a word, and I feel commanded to silence. I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I want Heinrich. I want him again as my master, and I want the love my dreams promise—from him.

  He draws the end of a cane down my back. My body jumps, twitching everywhere. Then he draws closer, tossing a collar on my desk. I reach for it hesitantly and because he doesn’t stop me, my nervous hands draw it around my neck and buckle it tightly. Though before I finish, he speaks, “Don’t do this, Anna, unless you really want it all.”

  “I do want it, love.”

  “I don’t want the hurt again. If you accept this now, you commit everything. You make promises to me that you won’t break. They’ll be no other men but me and you will not leave.”

  “You’re the one I want,” I tell him.

  “I love you, Anna.”

  “And I love you, Heinrich.” My voice is barely a whisper, though my soul sings loudly.

  He comes so close; I can feel his chest against my back, his breath going in and out in an easy rhythm. He clutches my neck where the collar fits snugly, and with a simple movement of his hand, he indicates I rise.

  Cameron’s gallery could not be more perfect for an S&M scene—all the shiny metal, the ring bolts and eyehooks, even pulley’s. It’s a fascinating fabrication, a cozy warehouse style, if that makes sense at all, where shelves hang suspended, and dividers make alcoves, and modern divans are interspersed amid the exhibits for guests to lounge on while they observe the artwork we display. Paintings hang on partitions, or are simply suspended in the air. Endless possibilities stir the imagination of a sub or dom, and Heinrich is as inspired as I am. I know how his mind works, though I don’t know the exact method he’ll use to bind me.

  “Take off your clothes,” he tells me.
I still haven’t seen his face, or how he’s dressed. I find this thrilling, as if a stranger is mastering me. The fear rises steadily and the excitement makes my belly churn.

  I’m soon nude, standing in an alcove made of several partitions, an unused pulley and ropes dangling overhead. Cameron and I just changed the design this morning, eliminating the suspended shelf that once floated in this spot. We left the rope to hang because we were too tired to take it down. How convenient for my master.

  When it’s time to bind my hands, I’m turned around, given my first glimpse of Heinrich in six days. I look for distinguishing features on his face that might tell me if the man that came to dinner a week ago is still the one that will dominate me tonight. Giving him back my life, I want to be sure of what I do. In his eyes there is the dark cold I know well—what thrills me, drives me and keeps me content. His jaw is firm and the coldness of his dominant mien flows around me in the icy silence we share. He binds my hands with rope—carefully, his movement skilled from much experience. I think I could sink into him now and simply disappear.

  Attached to the dangling rope with a clamp, he then draws down on the end and my body pulls up tight until I’m on tiptoe.

  “Rings are nice touch,” he says as he toys with the tiny baubles that pierce my nipples. He twists them gently until I wince.

  I’ve almost forgotten them; they are so much a part of me now. I think briefly of Lockhart, but I can’t remember his face. I focus on Heinrich, watching as he meticulously threads smaller ropes through the rings, at the nipples and my clit and labia. Drawing the loose ends together, he tugs down.

  I gasp

  “Hurt?”

  “No, sir.”

  He tugs again.

  I gasp louder.

  “Hurt now?”

  “Yes, sir,” my pained response.

  My husband walks away, out of my view. Returning he holds a music stand in his hand which he sets directly in front of me. Raising the height of it to just above my chest, he then draws the ropes over the top, and ties the ends to a loose metal pulley. When he lets go, the weight drops, swinging six inches above the floor. A shriek escapes my lips as my nipples and pussy are jerked taut and painfully stretched before my eyes. I hold back my cries because I know he wouldn’t be happy hearing me protest. Letting the pain move in me, it soon spreads beyond the tightness I feel. I think I can manage this feat without a great cry of protest, but when he comes at me from behind with his multi-taloned whip, I’m jerked back and forth, each movement rudely awakening new pain throughout my body. The lashes excite me, but the jerking to my rings drives me mad. I want to be lifted from this scene, transported elsewhere, there’s too much to handle all at once.

  ***

  Anna writhes for me struggling with the pain she feels. That pain gets inside me, making my cock respond with a vigorous pulse. It jolts against my jeans. I see she’s beginning to panic as she teeters at an uncertain precipice. I climb in her mind knowing how she wants more—and less—at the same time. If I can take her further, I will.

  Her backside reddens a deeper and deeper crimson with a beautiful rash of stripes and welts, and her ass looking wicked as the skin darkens and her inner heat climbs.

  Just as I think I need to stop, when she shrieks loud enough to worry me, I then hear her voice draw back inside her. She reaches the edge in pain, and the ecstasy begins. Her voice drifts and turns into a delicate whimper. She moans, as her whole body sighs. She begs for more, so I continue. And with more, she stays high; the natural drug flowing through her veins won’t quit.

  I feel her fire and need her. But how time has changed me too. I need more than just the sight of her punished flesh, or the sound of her agony, or the arousal I get from connecting a whip with her ass and shoulders. Her soul’s in my blood and won’t let go. I know now that I’m in hers, and we will not let this love go.

  ***

  I feel myself coming down from somewhere. Heinrich’s squats in front of me, detaches the ropes from the weighty pulley, and the pain eases. In its place, there’s the hot sensation of my punished body. He kisses me and I kiss back. He runs his hand lovingly on my skin and I think I could faint into him, into his beauty and his resolve, his mastery, and the love I feel from him pour out to me.

  He massages my arms as he removes them from bondage, then we move up the stairs to my loft, and into my bed.

  We dive inside the messy sheets, his cock quickly swelling as it pulses strongly in me. This passion makes me breathe again—as though I’ve been holding my breath for weeks. I can’t clutch him hard enough, hold him tight enough, and kiss him deep enough. I need to climb inside his skin and become him, take away the hurt we shared and the emptiness that remained.

  He is my master, the one that matters, and yet, he’s still like a child at times—just as I am.

  I awaken in the morning, and he’s sitting in a chair across from me staring into my sleepy eyes. Heinrich’s dressed—black suit, crisp white shirt, red tie. ‘What a hot stud,’ my friends said when I first showed up with him when I was twenty-three. In seven years, he’s hardly changed. His good looks melt me, his smile arouses my crotch, his body brings out pure lust, and now there seems to be more than that.

  “Are you leaving?” I’m almost feeling desperate because I don’t want him to go.

  “I have work to do,” he looks at me a little coldly and I worry.

  “Yes, of course. And you’ll come back tonight?”

  “I’ll come back when I feel like it,” he says, as a good dominant would, with a hint of irritation in his voice. And, yet, I see a little twinkle in his eye.

  I feel like a playful kid with my heart suddenly bounding and rebounding.

  “I need a good dominant, Heinrich. But more importantly, I need you.” I reach out my hand and he stands. Moving closer,he takes my palm in his.

  “I know that, Anna. I’m afraid Bernard was right again,” he muses whimsically.

  “If we’d only listened before.”

  “No, dear. Now’s the time to be together. We needed to live through other worlds so we’d understand the one we have. It may be rough for both of us for a while, but this time we’ll get it right.”

  I believe him. I believe in his vulnerability and mine, the tentativeness, the caution and fear we feel right now. I am not the same person anymore, and neither is he. We seem like old friends and brand new lovers, and the world is fresh and life is new and ready for us.

  “Better behave yourself while I’m gone, or I’ll have to punish you tonight,” he tells me in his most austere voice.

  “Oh, you are coming back tonight,” I giggle happily as I pull up on the bed and give him a hug.

  “Watch yourself, Anna,” he says as he pushes me back, “Don’t get too haughty.”

  “Oh, never,” I assure him.

  “Remember, I have a year’s worth of dominant lust to satisfy. It’s been a long time.”

  “Oh, my, I am in for a treat.”

  After we kiss, he’s gone, leaving his scent on the sheets and in my living room and beside my desk, and in my hair and on my skin. His indelible imprint just won’t fade away. It once grew faint. But it will never disappear.

  More Fiction by Lizbeth Dusseau

  Silence In The Cellar — Widowed young, inheriting a grand estate, Bella Fauré wants only to run her beloved inn and enjoy the men that come to her. Her favorite, Daniel, listens to her carnal tales and takes notes for an erotic book he’ll some day write. But there’s a dark side to Bella’s life—a reckless past and a dual nature to this passionate woman. Blackmailed by her husband’s brother, Claude, she plummets into his world, unthinkingly submitting to his wrathful vengeance, driven by a body that enjoys the extremes of lust. While her surrender brings physical satisfaction, she’s left with secrets and threats, and desire she can’t understand—fearful of Claude’s controlling schemes. Used and tortured in cellars and attics and ancient boathouses, with whips and rope and the exhilaration of pain,
her sex life overwhelms the imagination. This novel is brimming with tender sensuality as well as the extremes of sadomasochism and dominance/submission. (With anal sex, female bisexuality, spanking and multiple partners)

  In Chains — A ruthless scoundrel, an affectionate lover, and an inventive sexual master, Billy Fitzgerald seeks not just a wife, but a woman daring enough to choose sexual servitude. Kirsten Cates, fresh out of college, willingly falls into his masterful hands, accompanying him on a summer cruise and tour of Europe. Billy agrees to love her, marry her and sexually dominant her, making this romantic submissive believe that all she has ever desired is about to come true. In Chains is a unique story seen through the eyes of Kirsten, Billy, a fellow master, Derek, Derek’s submissive wife, Hope, and Tony Fynn—a maverick filmmaker who intends to break Billy’s fierce grip on Kirsten’s body and soul. This intense and honest look at masters and slaves, and the unusual arrangements they create, includes bondage, discipline, slave training, spanking (including fem/fem spanking), chains, dungeons, female bisexuality and anal eroticism.

  Summer of Love — He is as mysterious as his tormented past and as skilled as Susana’s dreams imagine a dominant lover. Susana’s first sexual master, J.T. Greenway, is an imposing, artful and hard-edged man who insists on training this young poet in strict obedience, submissive discipline and the passionate pleasures of sexual surrender. Against the backdrop of the free-love 1960’s, this scatterbrained hippie finds her sexual liberation becoming J.T.’s dutiful slave. Despite his ruthless tactics, his creative genius leaves her begging at his feet for more. Brimming with corsets, ropes, birches, canes and graphic spanking, plus Dom/sub including bondage, anal sex and exhibitionism.

  Chaos In Paradise — A riveting exploration of dominant/submissive lust and the wondrously terrifying acts that define this brand of sex between two people in love. In this futuristic tale, Teagan wanders from the crude anarchy of the South to the pristine Utopian north, a place that promises peace and justice. She soon discovers, however, this world has a menacing dark side as lust-filled as her homeland. Unwittingly falling in love with a high priest, she’s swept into the beauty and treachery of an unrelenting master. Surrender is inevitable. Though she tries to flee, he has her bound by a desire for the extremes of sexual pleasure. A story with the darkest of S&M passions, and sensuous magic. With graphic spanking, bondage, whipping, branding, piercing, anal sex and lushly told female bisexuality.