Kinky

by Justine Elyot

  One of his hands reaches down to my bottom and cups it. ‘How is this?’ he asks, breaking the kiss.

  ‘Oh, fine,’ I whisper. ‘Just a few tiny bruises left now.’

  ‘Today, no pain,’ he promises. ‘Only pleasure.’

  I squirm against him, wondering how the pleasure will be delivered.

  ‘Now, on to this table.’

  Not sure whether to put myself face down or up, I perch on the edge of the thing, hands clasped tightly in my lap.

  He lifts the neck and ankle arches and instructs me to lie down on my back, which I do. The leather is cold and clammy against my back, bottom and thighs. The narrowness of the table makes me clamp my legs together.

  Dimitri lowers the neck arch, securing my head, but he removes the one lower down and places my ankles in the side-attached cuffs instead. When they are secure, but not too tight, he pulls them out, notch by notch, until my legs are well spread. This process is repeated with my wrists, so that I am a secured starfish, unable to move or raise my head. The neck arch prevents me from seeing what is actually happening lower down my body. If Dimitri moves beyond my hips, or crouches down, I can’t see what he is doing to me. He could do anything. I wouldn’t know until he was doing it.

  My cunt spasms and I know I am wet and ready. There is nothing I can do but stare at the ceiling. At the hooks attached to beams that run beneath the ceiling. Interesting.

  I hear his footsteps. He is back at that cupboard. There is much metallic rattling and some ruminative tutting.

  I don’t see him walk back, I just hear him. His footsteps stop somewhere near my left set of toes.

  ‘What are you going to do to me?’ I have to ask.

  ‘Something really terrible,’ he says.

  A barely there ticklish sensation wisps over my toes. I wiggle them and flex my foot. The ticklishness re-sites itself to my instep and I gasp, trying in vain to yank my foot away.

  ‘No!’ I squeal. ‘You can’t do this!’

  He appears by my head, brandishing a black marabou feather duster. ‘Oh yes I can. I can do anything. You can’t stop me.’

  He sings the words, then glides back down, dusting me thoroughly and maddeningly, up my legs to the knees, then across my convulsing stomach, beneath my helpless armpits, over my stiffening nipples. Then over them again. And again.

  He flutters those feathers so teasingly and so well that I feel my spine twist like an angry snake, working so hard and so pointlessly at removing me from the source of my aggravation.

  ‘Oh, Dimitri, noooo.’ The duster is swishing along my inner thighs. I jolt up and down, lifting my bottom from the leather, but he just darts the feathers underneath and the tickle trickles along the crack of my arse instead. I lower it abruptly, hoping to trap the damn thing, but he whips it out and reapplies it to my spread and juicy pussy lips.

  ‘I hope that thing’s clean,’ I say, suddenly panicked.

  ‘Relax, it’s cool. We put all the used toys in a bag and take them to reception after. They are good with cleanness.’

  ‘Cleanliness.’

  ‘Yes, that. You correct me, you get extra tickle.’

  I scream as he flicks the thing from side to side of my pussy lips, rapidly and without mercy. My clit must be enormous by now; I picture it catching the feathers with its sticky juices, so they are stuck fast and can’t tickle me any more.

  But before that can happen, the feather duster is discarded.

  ‘Did that feel nice?’ he wants to know, but his tone is devilish.

  ‘I hate tickling!’ I pout. ‘Thanks for stopping though.’

  ‘You hate it?’ I feel his fingers splay high up on my inner thigh, almost on my outer labia. ‘Not so much. This is very wet here.’

  ‘It’s not.’ I don’t know why I feel compelled to lie. Something about being so helpless and restrained makes me want to assert myself by being contrary.

  Dimitri simply laughs. ‘OK, it’s not. If you say so. What is next? You are wondering?’

  ‘Of course. What is it? Is it nice?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  I hear a squirting sound, and then his fingers rubbing something into my breasts and around my nipples and …

  ‘Oh God, that’s freezing cold! Oh God! So cold it burns!’ I feel my nipples contract and my whole body shiver under his touch. ‘You aren’t going to put it …?’

  A dot of it lands on my clit, travelling by fingertip.

  The icy torment spreads from that tiny apex outwards until eventually there is a blessed numbing.

  But not for long. A second lubricant or lotion is introduced, my clitoris circled with the stuff, warming it up, and up and up.

  ‘It’s getting hotter,’ I pant. ‘Much hotter now. Really warm. Tingly. Actually, it’s nice.’ My cunt feels glowy and expanded, a real hot spot. My nipples receive the same treatment and they return to throbbing life.

  ‘You like that?’

  ‘It’s kind of intense. I feel really … mmmm.’

  My nonsensical ramblings bring his smiling face to where I can see it. He holds up another tub. ‘This one I have not used. I think it can be too cruel for today.’

  It looks like some kind of hot pepper cream for the treatment of arthritis.

  ‘O say it is good after a spanking. Or bad. It is very painful, she say.’

  I stiffen. ‘When did you talk to O?’

  ‘When I book the room. Hey, don’t look at me like that!’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I make you sorry.’ He pretends to open the lid and I repeat my apology, more urgently this time. He puts the tub aside.

  My pussy still feels melty-warm and full of need. I hope something very satisfying comes next.

  But Dimitri has not tired of teasing me yet. He rubs my nipples with his open palms, very lightly, so that they seem to try to grow to reach him, to climb up to him. Once I am whimpering with need, he moves away and spends ages, real ages, just stroking two fingertips from my breasts to the top of my pubic triangle, over and over and over again, until the magic word is uttered.

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Please? Is something I can do for you?’

  ‘Please don’t tease,’ I whine.

  ‘No? So what to do instead?’

  ‘Please fuck me.’

  ‘Well, I don’t fuck my clients.’

  ‘I’m not your client!’

  ‘I know, but I need to practise for them. So I don’t fuck you. But I can do other things.’

  ‘Other …?’

  Something starts buzzing. Now I am grateful for the earlier information about Kinky Cupcake’s devotion to toy hygiene. All the same, I can’t help blurting, ‘Is that thing clean?’

  ‘Rosie, it is brand new. Every member has their own labelled vibrator, right? Same with anything that goes inside.’

  ‘Oh, good. Ohhhhh. Goooooood.’

  For he has applied the tip to my clit, glancingly at first, then giving it a proper vibration. Deep, deep satisfaction loosens my muscles and sinks into my bones. No more teasing. Proper working to orgasm now.

  Except not.

  He makes the vibrator perform a delicate dance along the ridges and folds of my labia, never staying in the same place for too long.

  I tighten the muscles in my legs, the closest thing to a kick of frustration I can manage in my trussed-up state.

  Dimitri laughs and teases, teases and laughs.

  ‘Oh, closer, closer, oh.’

  ‘Like this?’ He touches the tip of the vibrator to my clit, so briefly that I almost don’t register it, then removes it again.

  ‘No, longer! Keep it there.’

  ‘You are telling me what to do.’ He tuts.

  ‘I need you to … please.’

  ‘I like to hear you beg. Can you beg some more?’

  The vibrator buzzes, infuriatingly lightly, along my perineum, twirling for one swift revolution in the shallows of my vagina before moving forwards again.

  ‘Please ple
ase please please please please.’

  The bastard just runs it laconically along the crease of my thighs, close enough for its vibrations to make my labia and clit tingle, but nowhere near close enough to take any of the edge off my desperation.

  My voice climbs higher, shriller. ‘Dimitriiiii.’ It almost cracks.

  ‘You want something?’

  ‘Please let me come.’

  ‘I can do that. If I decide.’

  The warmed-up silicone kisses my vagina. It moves down, about half an inch, ready to effect full penetration.

  I moan.

  He flicks a switch and increases the vibrations. I prepare myself for the big push forwards.

  It doesn’t happen.

  He takes the vibrator back out, leans down and spreads my labia with his finger and thumb so that they are wide apart. He blows a gentle breath on to my clit.

  I convulse, spasm with the maddening closeness of my orgasm. ‘Noooo.’

  He repeats this little torture routine eight times. Eight times. My body is weak as water, my legs numb, my wrists sore from the struggle against the cuffs.

  I spout a stream of gibberish. ‘You can’t … no … please … I need to … please let me …’

  I am close to tears when he finally shoves the vibrator right inside, adding a thumb to my clit. Three firm thrusts are all it takes to bring me storming into a stars-and-planets blinder of an orgasm.

  ‘Oh God, so cruel, so fucking cruel,’ I rave, letting it all gush forth while he holds the buzzing phallus deep inside me and watches.

  ‘OK, nice,’ he says, once I’ve twitched to a halt. ‘I make you beg to come. Now I make you beg to stop coming. What about that?’

  ‘What?’ I try to raise my head.

  He pulls out the vibrator, but it is still on its highest setting, vrooming away. He applies it to my clit until it sparks back into life and I can’t help trying to grind on it, greedy for my second coming. Once it is fat and full and my vagina sucks hungrily on three of his fingers, he swaps them around, filling my cunt with the smooth, thick silicone cock, pumping it up and down, frigging me with his fingers at the same time. The second climax is even harder than the first and I scream until my voice gives out, stilling to a ragged pant.

  ‘You like this, hmm?’

  He doesn’t stop fucking me with the vibrator but keeps a smooth pace, slicking it in and out. I feel his hot breath, then his tongue, lapping at my overworked clit. I feel too sensitive there and my thighs try to clamp together, but of course they can’t.

  ‘Oh no, it’s too much,’ I whimper. ‘Please stop.’

  ‘Too much?’ The words drift over my sex. ‘That is for me to say. It is too much when I have enough. I want more of your cunt.’

  His mouth closes again over my soaked, over stimulated ripples. He licks and bullies me to a third orgasm, then punishes me with a fourth.

  My head disintegrates and my whole body is a marshmallow. I am hot and cold at the same time, my skin slick and clammy. It’s like having the flu. He is going to kill me with orgasms.

  ‘You think people will pay for this?’

  His voice comes from far away. I can’t formulate words. I just grunt.

  He pulls out the vibrator from my distended cunt and puts it down.

  Next his voice is in my ear and he strokes my hair. ‘Rosie. Rosie, are you there?’

  I manage to turn my head to him, but my eyelids are heavy and fluttering. I feel drugged.

  ‘Come back, come back.’ He brings me slowly into a more recognisable state of consciousness, away from the margins of sleep and dreams. ‘Talk to me. Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m OK. So tired. I could sleep – right here.’

  ‘I think this service can be popular,’ he says. ‘I put it on my menu.’

  The word ‘menu’ is like a finger snapping in my face – it jolts me back into reality. ‘Menu? You’re like a chef of sex?’

  ‘Yeah, like that. You don’t think so? Only one problem I have with this service.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  He rises from his crouching position, bringing his crotch to my eye level. It bulges to an uncomfortable degree, its denim hardness brushing my cheek.

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, I guess your clients might be OK with helping you out with that.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘This one might.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘Really.’

  He smiles down at me and starts unbuckling the belts. When his jeans are unbuttoned, his bulge escapes, cock springing out, pointing an accusation at my mouth.

  Despite my tethers, I open wide and let the head glide across my cheek and into my mouth via the side of my lips. I can’t quite manage the classic blow-job angle from this laid-flat position, but Dimitri slips it in and out of my open orifice while I use my tongue to curl around the tip and tease the sensitive underside.

  ‘Mmm,’ he says, taking hold of it at the root and beginning to wank himself into my mouth. I lick and slurp and sometimes succeed in a suck or two, while he bumps against my lips and teeth, moving deeper, deeper, down inside.

  Hot salt liquid spurts down my throat and he pumps fast, hips bucking into the side of my head. I swallow his load and lick his shaft clean, worshipping him in the only way I physically can.

  He pulls out and drops down to kiss me, long and hard, tongue down where his cock has been, licking and exploring the taste of him.

  ‘You are something,’ he says, coming up for air. ‘Really something.’

  ‘So are you.’

  He unlocks me, lets my boneless legs and arms rest for a while before lifting me off the table and sitting with me on his lap in some kind of bondage chair next to it.

  ‘So then,’ he says, after kissing the top of my head. ‘You want to try that cross thing next?’

  Wheezy laughter pours out of me. ‘Maybe next year,’ I say.

  ‘Our time is up. We need to put the things we use in a bag and take them to the office.’

  I cringe at the thought of handing over our used vibrator and feather tickler to some functionary. ‘Can’t I take them home and clean them myself?’

  ‘No, they say all toys stay in the building.’

  Once my legs work, I dress and leave the dungeon hand in hand with Dimitri, who swings a black plastic bag containing our ‘stuff’ all the way up the stairs and across the café to the office.

  When we knock on the door, the mellifluous tones of O bid us enter. I am a little in awe of her, and I avoid her eye when we walk in.

  ‘Oh, lovely, it’s you,’ she says with genuine warmth. ‘Our two newest members. How did you enjoy your dungeon session? Do sit down, please. If you can.’

  She winks at me. I blush and sit heavily on the nearest chair, as if to prove a point.

  Dimitri drops the black bag gingerly on her desk. She writes out a tag for it, ties it round the neck and stows it away in a big box.

  ‘All ready for the washer,’ she explains. ‘So? Do I have to use my imagination about you two in the dungeon? What did you try?’

  ‘A table,’ says Dimitri. ‘Very interesting design.’

  ‘Well, we do trawl all the best bondage furniture-makers. I like to think we have the most comprehensive stock of any club out there.’

  ‘There is a lot. I hope we try it all.’

  ‘I hope you do,’ she says, her smile lingering all over Dimitri’s oversized jumper. ‘Tell me, do you ever use the café, or come for our social events?’

  ‘I work in evenings,’ Dimitri explains. ‘Rosie work in daytime.’

  ‘Oh dear, ships that pass in the night. But there’s nothing to stop you coming here alone. You’re both members. Why not join in and meet a few like-minded people? I’d hate to think you weren’t getting the most from your membership here.’

  ‘Oh, I just prefer to be with Dimitri,’ I mumble, looking at him sideways to see if he is tempted by this idea. Anton’s description of a Dimitri-like man coming out of the
door has been drifting around in my head ever since he said the words.

  ‘We are busy people,’ he adds, to my distinct pleasure and relief. ‘I try to make career as actor, plus I must learn my English to make it better.’

  ‘What better way to improve your English than by making conversation with native speakers? At social events?’

  ‘Like I say, I am mostly busy. I try to make time, perhaps.’

  ‘Please do. We’d love to see you at one of our group play sessions, for instance. We’re all dying to see you in action.’

  ‘Uh-huh, right, well, thank you. Good afternoon.’

  He makes his escape, with me in tow, back to the café area, where we buy restorative caffeinated beverages and subside on to the least visible couches.

  ‘We’re all dying to see you in action.’ I mimic O’s nakedly salacious tone, curling my lip. ‘Ugh.’

  ‘Is very strange, this O. She make me feel like piece of meat.’

  ‘Poor Dimitri. You’re being objectified. Just make sure you don’t get exploited next.’

  ‘I think she have plans for us.’

  ‘Plans for you.’

  ‘I don’t do no plans without you.’

  I glow and melt into the cappuccino froth. ‘Aww, really?’

  Before he can expand on this statement, a pair of tits with a dog leash dangling in between shoves itself rudely into my line of sight.

  It’s Turkey Twizzler, and now she’s topless, wearing nothing but a teeny latex micro-mini and aforementioned dog leash.

  ‘You really aren’t coming to the orgy?’ She pouts at Dimitri. ‘I’ve told my handlers you might come. I’ve wanted to be topped by three men for such a long time. It’d be a dream come true.’

  ‘Handlers?’ Dimitri’s tone is blank and mystified.

  ‘Tops, you know. Doms. Where are you from? You have the sexiest accent.’

  ‘Moscow,’ he says, then picks up his coffee and takes a sip.

  ‘Mmm, so cool. Please come to the orgy. You too.’ She turns to me for about a millisecond and casts flat, bored eyes over me.

  ‘Thanks for the invitation,’ I reply, unable to keep the sardonic edge out of my voice. ‘But no thanks.’

  ‘I don’t want group sex,’ says Dimitri. ‘But thanks also.’