“Simon. This is like a dream. Can I wander around for a minute?” she asked.
“Of course, but before you do there’s something else I must tell you.”
“What?”
“You see those?” he said, standing her in front of him and pointing to row of floggers hanging in a line on the wall.
“Yes, what about them?”
“On Sunday night, I will be dancing one of them, perhaps two, across your perfectly lovely bottom.”
Belle felt a heavy twist in her stomach, and eyes wide, stared up at him.
“You will?” she managed.
“Yes, I will, and I will not be spanking you between now and then. I’ll be doing other things, but not spanking you. I want you to think about that, and the loving tendrils that will lash your sweet, tender skin.”
Having no idea how to respond, she leaned back into him, resting against his chest. Placing his arms around her shoulders he pulled her close, and they stood silent as Belle processed the heavy, exciting and somewhat frightening information he’d just delivered. Finally, turning her around, Simon dropped his head down and kissed her gently.
“Let’s walk,” he offered, sensing she had changed her mind and wanted to stay close to him.
Holding her hand he moved her through the room explaining the various pieces of equipment, and she discovered they weren’t as complicated or fearsome as they looked. When they reached the wall with the implements of corporal punishment, she ran her fingers over the long, leather tongues of the flogger.
“It’s not about the tools,” he commented as she touched them. “It’s about the person using them. You trust me, don’t you?”
Raising her gaze to meet his, she whispered,
“More than I’ve trusted anyone, ever.”
Belle’s eyes captured his, and he saw the truth behind her words. A rush of emotion filled his heart.
“Belle, I–”
Say it. You’re in love with her, say it.
“I-I’m really happy to be sharing this place you.”
Really happy to be sharing this place with you? Seriously? Can’t you do better than that? he cursed himself.
I love you too, she thought back at him, but said,
“I’m really happy you are too.”
“I need to show you the other exit,” he announced mysteriously, and walked towards the bed. “I told you this place has secret passageways, and you’re about to see one.”
“This is so exciting,” she exclaimed. “I can’t wait.”
“You don’t have to,” he smiled. “If the electricity ever dies, there is an emergency generator that would kick in automatically, but here’s the emergency escape hatch,” he grinned. “Put yourself between the headboard and side of the bookcase.”
Belle sidled into the small space and waited expectantly.
“Now push the bookcase. It moves quite easily.”
Putting her hands against the sides she drove the case away from her, and was surprised with the ease at which it glided across the floor, revealing an opening in the wall.
“If you look inside you’ll see a flashlight on the floor to the right.”
Bending down, she saw the silver cylinder and picked it up, sliding the button to flick it on. A wide, powerful beam shone through the darkness, and she saw concrete steps winding upward.
“I’ll follow you. Go ahead, it’s safe,” he assured her, reaching under the bed retrieving an LED lantern. It was kept there at all times, along with similar lanterns in other areas throughout the dungeon, another safety net in case of emergences.
“I don’t mean to be redundant, but this is just so exciting,” she repeated, climbing the staircase as it spiraled upward.
“When you reach the landing, stand aside and wait.”
She flashed the light ahead, and saw she was approaching the top of the stairs.
“Okay. I can see it,” she announced, moving hastily up the last few steps.
Reaching the landing, she scanned the area with the light. It appeared to be a dead end.
“Don’t worry,” he said easily as he joined her. “Be prepared to be amazed. I don’t know how the stone masons who built these places worked their magic, but...”
Walking to the far side of the small area, he held up the lantern illuminating a black lever, to the side of which was a large, metal hook. She watched as Simon hung the lantern, then gripped the lever tightly and pulled down. A deep creaking sound echoed through the tiny space as the wall in front of her swung away.
“Oh my gosh!”
“I told you to be prepared to be amazed,” he chuckled, moving past her into the dark room beyond.
Following behind him, she found herself in a small chamber with two doors, one on either side.
“Behind that door is a passage that leads outside, and this one takes you up all three flights to the master bedroom, with branches that lead to other rooms on either side of this wing of the house.”
“Why don’t they build houses like this anymore?” she asked.
“I do,” he grinned, “and when I have time I’ll show you what I’ve done in London.”
“Please do. I love this stuff.” she declared. “So the secret passages all connect?”
“This one does for this wing, but I suspect there are others we’ve not found because it doesn’t reach the other two wings. One of these weekends you and I will have to go on a serious hunt and see if we can find them. Now, however,” he said, dropping his voice and looking down at her, “I trust you are wearing one of your naughty pieces of lingerie under that dress.”
“I am,” she smiled, greatly relieved that she’d thought to put on the lacy bra, garter belt and stockings, before donning her casual dress for their early dinner.
“Just as well. After you,” he said, gesturing back to the large opening in the wall they’d just walked through, “back to the dungeon.”
Butterflies springing to life she headed out, and as she started down the steps, she heard the rumbling of the secret door as it creaked back into place.
Reaching the bottom of the stairwell, she turned off the flashlight sitting it back by the door, then stepping back into the dungeon, stood aside as Simon returned the lantern under the bed and pulled the bookcase back in place.
He turned to look at her, and Belle felt a rush of energy. His eyes were talking to her, warning her, embracing her, preparing her. She felt like a deer in headlights, and when he stepped forward and grabbed her by the elbow, the butterflies transformed into dust devils, and she felt her legs turn to jelly. Supporting her firmly, he walked her briskly to a large wheel secured on the wall, beside which was a large throne-like chair on a riser. Releasing her, he stepped up and sat down.
“Take off your clothes, please, slowly,” he instructed, his voice heavy. “Unwrap yourself. Show me how sexy you can be.”
How did I get here? she thought. This is all so surreal.
“It would be advisable not to keep me waiting,” he suggested. “Perhaps this will help you.”
His hand moved down the outside of the chair, and she saw a small wooden compartment. Flipping open the top, he pulled out an iPad, and a moment later, a saxophone delivering a haunting, sensuous, slow melody filled the air, and the lights began to slowly dim.
Closing her eyes she felt the music and its seductive pulse, allowing it to flow through her mind and touch her soul. She pulled down the side zipper of her dress, slipped off one shoulder strap, then the next, and the garment slithered down her body as she swayed and moved, finally puddling on the floor. She twirled in front of him, then fell to her knees at his feet and there remained completely still.
Eyes still closed she felt him stand, and let herself fall limp as he lifted her into his arms, willingly his to do with as he wished.
“The wheel can wait,” he whispered, carrying her to a padded bench, shaped like an X, with a supportive center.
Spreading her legs and arms, he cuffed her wrists and ankle
s, draping a blindfold across her eyes. The saxophone was rising and falling in its song, a deep bass filling the sound. Something cool, thin and hard slid under the center of her bra, and a second later, she felt a blade cut through the fine fabric, snapping it open. She had been lulled and tranquil, and a deep, wanting, dew had grown between her legs, but the slicing of her bra startled her awake, her nerves springing to life with a fevered apprehension. A warning finger touched her lips, insisting she remain mute.
The bra cups were pulled aside, his fingers lightly circled her nipples, touring around and over, then disappeared. An unfamiliar prick touched behind her ear. Gasping, she attempted to determine its source. Sharp, not uncomfortable but sharp. It traveled down, a regular pattern of prick after prick, a scintillating sensation demanding her focus. Was it the knife? Surely a knifepoint could not be landing so precisely second after second?
She moaned as it fueled the fire between her legs, then caught her breath as the honed point moved threateningly towards her breasts.
“Keep breathing,” he whispered in her ear.
Exhaling, she did as he said, but panting breaths of tingling fear, mixed with an erotic thrill that was sparking her sex. The pricks reached her delectable mounds, circling in a figure eight, moving slowly and assuredly inward, the target evident as it closed in.
Simon gazed at the pretty pink dotted lines the spike wheel had left on her skin. His sweet girl was moaning and gasping, her thighs were tensing and releasing, and he knew the gusset of her panties would be drenched. As he circled her areola, the puckered buds stiffened even more, and his cock agreed, rubbing angrily against its confinement. Moving from nipple to nipple, he continued until her gentle mewing had grown into a soft wail, then placing the implement aside he let her rest while he removed his clothes.
Standing over her, massaging his cock, he thought there must be very little in the world that could compare to the sight before him. Dropping his head, he blew on her breasts, one then the other, then sent his mouth to work, sucking deeply, engulfing slowly, offering long, arduous attention to each of the twins.
He gave no thought to time. There was no time. There was just the two of them in this sacred place, where all things were possible. How long he sucked and played and toyed with her nipples he couldn’t even guess, nor did he care. His only guide was the sweetness and pitch of her utterances of pleasure and pain, and his own desires and needs.
Lifting his head, he moved his attention to the crimson panties still intact. Reaching for his blade, he slipped it under one side, watching with pleasure as it sliced through the wispy material. She let out a startled cry, but none when he repeated the act on the opposite side. Picking them up at the center, he dropped them between her spread legs, then slid his fingers firmly into her cunt.
She wailed and writhed, completely lost in her hunger, her full, drenched, yearning pussy begging for mercy. Massaging his cock, hungering for his own release, he unshackled her right wrist.
“Listen very carefully,” he said, lowering his mouth to her ear. “Can you do that?”
“Yes, Sir,” she murmured.
“Drop your hand into your cunt and come for me. Ride the wave all the way to the end. I’ll be watching every single twitch. I’ll be watching your tits rise and fall. I’ll be watching your lips as you gasp. Do you understand?”
“Oooh, yes, Sir, thank you, Sir,” she whimpered, and slowly moved her arm down, dropping her hand upon her sex.
Simon stepped aside, walking into the center of the X. Her pussy was full and swollen, and for a moment he was tempted to plunge into her depths and ride her to his climax, but when her fingers began their dance, and her moans began to grow in pitch and intensity, his cock demanded he finish with his fervent rubbing, and there was no turning back.
Her pink spotted tits with their cherry mountain tops seemed rounder and more delectable than ever. Glancing back at her busy fingers and drooling pussy, her tits looked neglected, as if they were aching for attention, and he had an overwhelming need to pull them into his mouth.
Continuing to aggressively rub his cock, he stretched over her, his knuckles scraping the top of her hand as he lowered himself across her to attend to her begging breasts. Sucking hungrily, he drew them in, and abruptly he felt her body grow taut, her chest lifting as much as her binds would allow, in a sudden and unexpected surge.
Belle knew she was about to explode and shatter into a thousand pieces. She had known the moment her fingers had touched her clit, and as much as she wanted to prolong the delicious, tingling, sparkling moment, when Simon leaned over her and consumed her tits, it was impossible. There was nothing to be done but surrender to the white wash and tumble through the swirling, thrilling waves of euphoria.
Lifting his mouth from her breast and rising above her, Simon groaned with his own riveting ride, and watched his essence squirt forward, falling with abandon across her belly. The elegiac saxophone played harmony to their cries until they faded away, leaving the soulful instrument and its friend the bass, alone with their song.
Sleeping late, they woke and cuddled and kissed and made easy love, before languidly making their way downstairs. As they left the bedroom, Simon pulled a long, thick rope that hung from the ceiling. It rested against the wall by the fireplace, a left-over from a bygone era. It would signal the kitchen they were on their way down and breakfast should be readied.
“The phone doesn’t work?” she giggled.
“I like the whole, ‘pull the rope’ thing,” he chuckled. “There’s something wonderfully civil about it, and it’s nice to think he once may have done it as well,” Simon finished, gesturing up to the portrait of the Duke above the fireplace.
As they ate the traditional breakfast of eggs and bacon, and consumed gallons of tea, Belle stared out the leaded windows, her gaze taking her over the green fields and gently rolling meadows.
“It’s so beautiful here,” she remarked. “I could stay here forever and be perfectly happy. Can we take a walk?”
“I was planning on it,” Simon replied, “though it looks as if there might be some weather brewing. We’re approaching that time of year. The lush green is due to all the wet stuff. Probably should get moving before it comes in.”
“Yes, definitely,” she agreed.
Donning warm parkas and taking umbrellas just in case, they headed out across the fields, walking at a brisk pace towards a cluster of trees.
“It’s like a mini-forest,” she remarked, walking under a lush verdant canopy of intertwined branches. “There should be dogs running around with us.”
“You’re right, there should. The caretaker has two chocolate labs that I just love. They usually bound up to the house when I’m here. Don’t know why I haven’t seen them. He lives just at the clearing further on. I’ll knock on his door and make sure everything’s all right.”
“Wait,” Belle said abruptly as she stopped.
“What is it?”
“Look.”
Before them, breathtaking shards of light pierced the treetops, huge golden swords crossing their path. Twittering birds filled the silence, the occasional splashing of wings on air adding chords to their song.
“Simon, we’re standing in a painting.”
Holding her hand he soaked in the sight. How many times he had walked through the wood, enjoying its allure, but not fully appreciating the true magnificence on offer. He was seeing it for the first time, through Belle’s admiring eyes. Casting his gaze over the tree-trunks and foliage, he lifted her hand, kissing her fingers.
“I want to spank you out here. I want to tie you to a tree and raise your skirt, and slap your perfect bottom. I want to spank you softly, then harder, then softly again. I want to fuck you as your tits are pressed against the trunk.”
“Simon,” she breathed, “I think my legs are buckling.”
“Next weekend we’re returning, and I promise you, that will happen.”
“Why not this trip?”
“Because this trip you will learn about the flogger. So many things to teach you, share with you,” he sighed.
Still holding her hand, he started forward into the flaxen rays of sunlight. A short time later they reached the clearing, the caretaker’s cottage coming into view, its thatched roof and white picket fence enchanting Belle the moment her eyes fell upon it.
“Another postcard,” she smiled.
“Bailey,” Simon called, and a happy brown dog bounded forward. “Where have you been, buddy? No welcome for me this trip?”
The door of the cottage opened, and a grizzled, middle-aged man in overalls stepped into the garden.
“Mr. Sinclair. You have great timing.”
“I do? Bert, this is Belle Somers. Belle, this is Bert Walker. He and his fathers before him have kept this place going for decades,” Simon announced.
“Decades? More like centuries,” the man replied, in an almost reprimanding tone.
“Yes, of course,” Simon apologized, and Belle was impressed with the respect Simon was according the man whose blood ran through the dirt of the estate. “Why do I have such great timing?”
“If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you,” he grinned. “You’ll have to excuse the mess. Missus is away in town taking care of her sick sister.”
Completely mesmerized by the cottage, the man, the dog, and the entire scene, Belle followed the two men inside the charming gingerbread house, immediately seeing generations of Walker life in the bric-a-brac and photographs scattered around the small living room.
“Just through here,” he continued, walking into a hallway and through a door to a back room. Bailey, panting happily, trotted along beside them.
“You’ve really got my curiosity piqued,” Simon remarked, “and where’s Bonny.”
“Bailey’s girlfriend?” Belle asked.
“Sister actually,” Simon replied.
“That’s what you’re about to find out,” Bert declared, and stepping aside, ushered them into a tiny room, clearly once a storage area.
In a large wicker basket, laying on more blankets and towels than Belle could count, was Bonny, a litter of brown pups squirming and whining against her, with one pale tan blob in the center.
The British Billionaire Bachelor, Act Two Page 9