‘John,’ she said, ‘you’re obviously very bright. What sort of work do you do? I’m sure it’s fascinating.’
‘I’m contemplating a career change,’ he told her. ‘In fact, I committed myself to that, this very afternoon.’
‘Doing?’
‘Sarah, I’m not going to discuss it. How about you? Do you have a life outside of being an escort?’
Hmm! She couldn’t very well tell him she was a student, could she? He’d be able to guess which university she was at, and that’d never do. Would it? She said, ‘I’m a student of life. Let’s talk about something else.’
‘Good idea. Such as?’
The only topics she knew really well were her major and minor courses, so she said, ‘Philosophy?’
He chuckled. ‘Of the boudoir?’
‘Is there such a thing?’
‘A man wrote extensively on the topic. You might have heard of him – the Marquis de Sade?’
She shivered. ‘Yes, I’ve heard of him. He’s the man that “sadism” is named for. From what I’ve heard, he went far too far and he liked some pretty icky stuff.’
‘Agreed. Carefully and lovingly administered pain is one thing, whipping someone’s flesh to bloody shreds is quite another.’
‘We think alike,’ Sarah ventured.
‘On that topic, from opposite sides of the fence, but yes, our tastes seem to match beautifully.’
Sarah snuggled closer. ‘He hurt women for his own pleasure, with no consideration of theirs. You give pain-sluts what, um, what we want and no more, right?’
‘Not even that much sometimes.’
‘I get excited by being spanked and so on, but I wouldn’t want a lover to actually harm me.’
‘In the BDSM world, the rule is “Safe, Sane and Consensual”.’
‘That sounds like a good rule.’
‘It’s the one I follow, assiduously.’
‘You’re an expert, aren’t you, when it comes to giving loving pain but doing no damage?’
‘I try to be.’
‘Show me?’ she challenged.
‘I thought we’d agreed we’d try some good old-fashioned missionary sex next.’
‘But until then?’
‘What did you have in mind? Remember, I told you no more spanking until tomorrow.’
Sarah turned her face up towards his. ‘Kiss me, please, John, and torment my nipples as we kiss. I think that’d get me very, very hot.’
‘You’ve never experienced nipple torture?’
‘You’re my first … my first … master … is it? The first man to spank me or to really understand what I need. Or to care, come to that. I didn’t really understand it myself, before today. I suspected I’d enjoy pain and submission but I think I denied it because it seemed perverse, unnatural.’
‘It’s perfectly natural, if what animals do is your standard of natural behaviour. A bitch wolf won’t give herself to a dog wolf until he’s shown his mastery, usually by holding her throat between his jaws. A vixen won’t lift her tail for a dog fox until he grips the scruff of her neck between his teeth.’
Sarah snuggled closer. The way the conversation was heading was giving her that ghost of a tingle. ‘Which am I, John?’ she asked. ‘A bitch or a vixen?’
‘Let’s see, shall we?’ He took hold of her ponytail and pulled her head back to expose her throat. His jaws descended until he had her larynx gripped lightly between them.
Sarah purred, knowing that his lips would feel her words vibrate in her throat. ‘You can mount me, anytime, Mr Wolf.’
John released her, bent her head forwards and nipped her nape somewhat harder than he had her throat. It was the first time Sarah had been bitten there, and she liked it. She shivered. No wonder geishas showed the backs of their necks off as erogenous zones. ‘Oh, Mr Fox, I’d be honoured to lift my bushy little tail for you. Your choice of which entrance you decide to use.’
‘Vixen wins, by a shiver,’ John declared.
‘And this vixen made a request. Please?’
‘Of course.’ He moved her head by her hair, which was something else she was discovering she liked.
With her face tilted up towards his, at the exact angle and position that suited him, he lowered his lips to hers. At first they brushed, gently, just lip on lip, though hers were soft and parted in invitation. He mumbled on her lower lip. Sarah was very aware that his big warm palm was resting on her ribcage, an inch below her left breast. John pulled her hair slightly, tipping her head back further. His tongue ran across her lower lip. She was so glad she’d changed her lipstick from the candy-flavoured one. She didn’t want to be the schoolgirl he was debauching any more. She needed to feel like a sophisticated but submissive real woman – one who knew exactly what she was doing, not one who was innocent and being seduced into depravity.
His tongue accepted her open mouth’s invitation. As it passed between her lips, his hand slid upwards to hold her entire breast in its grasp. Sarah sucked a deep breath, lifting her breast, reminding him of her need for pain.
A finger and a thumb closed on her nipple. It was rolled, too gently, as his tongue explored the sweet wetness of her mouth. Sarah wriggled. Yes, he had an erection. It lay along his leg, under her thigh. She shifted her weight, rolling his shaft beneath her.
His tongue thrust into her mouth, pulled back, then thrust again. His fingers tightened on her nipple. Tiny pangs radiated from her breast’s nub. Sarah pushed a hand down her belly, dislodging her towel. She need skin on skin, more than she had. Her hand beneath her parted John’s robe. She hitched towards his knees, allowing his shaft to slap up against his flat belly. A hitch back again trapped it between him and her naked hip.
John kept kissing her, at the same time twisting and pinching her nipple. The pangs became white-hot streaks of pleasure/pain that bordered on the unbearable. Her fingers worked between her own thighs, found her button and pinch-pulled its sheath back.
She was panting, panting into his mouth. Somehow, she managed a mangled, ‘Other nipple, please?’
John released her tongue, and her hair. One big hand clamped over her mouth and pushed her back, and back, until she was bent straining over the broad arm of the chair, her hair dangling almost to the floor. She could breathe. Her nose was uncovered. Even so, it felt like she could only suck in as much air as he allowed.
His free hand gave her left nipple one last vicious twist before darting to her right breast, to crush it between his fingers, squeezing so hard that her nipple extruded between his knuckles, which clamped on it. Sarah wanted to beg, though she didn’t know what for. The way he was abusing her was exactly what she craved but somehow it seemed right that she should plead with him, either for mercy or for more intense torment. It was the act of pleading that she needed. Perhaps, later, he’d make her crawl to him on her hands and knees, make her grovel.
She had a vision of his foot on the back of her neck that made her moan. She adored him and desperately needed to tell him so. He was the primal male, elemental, controlling. She was the essential female, totally under his control and loving it.
What could she do to show the depth of her surrender when he’d already overpowered her? Sarah threw her thighs wide apart and lifted her hips, presenting her sex, her womanhood, her sacred profanity, offering it to him to use or abuse, or just to amuse himself with. The way he was mauling her breast was agonising; the pain intoxicating. Sarah forgot to breathe. Doubled backwards and splayed across his lap, she was open to his every whim. Her arms were free but they couldn’t defend her. She could have been beyond his reach and she’d still have been defenceless. His will bound her more surely than the power of his arms and hands.
Then he was lifting her up and carrying her to the bed. She was tossed onto it, on her back. Instinctively, she raised her arms above her head and spread her legs wide.
He knelt between her thighs and leant over her on one elbow. She looked up into his eyes, pleading for it. He sheathed his cock
with latex and directed it with his hand until its bulbous head nudged the slick lips of her sex.
Right. He’d promised he’d fuck her missionary style, and John was a man of his word. That hot hard plum slithered upwards between her pussy lips until it found the tiny engorged nub of her clit. He rubbed it there, round and round, up and down, as if trying to insert her tiny pink pearl into the eye of his cock.
‘Fuck me,’ she begged. ‘I need it, John.’
He grinned down at her, the teasing bastard. No, she shouldn’t think that. If he wanted to tease her, that was his right.
He moved his cock lower. It parted her outer lips, then her inner ones, and paused in the quivering softness of her vestibule. John smiled and asked, ‘Now?’
She wanted to lift herself up to him, to take his cock, but he was in charge. Sarah nodded, biting her lip.
He eased an inch deeper, then thrust. His magnificence dilated her, filling her, forcing her inner convolutions to straighten and conform to its shape. John paused once more, buried deep inside her. He hitched forwards as if trying to bend his shaft but only succeeded in pressing it hard against her clit. There, watching her eyes with amusement, he rocked slowly, then fast, then slowly. His hips swivelled, aiming his column into her at a different angle, then rocked again. He changed angles a dozen times, always slowing his thrusts as she felt herself rising towards a climax.
Gazing up into his eyes, Sarah told him, I really need an orgasm, please, John.’
‘Do you now?’
‘I said “Please”.’
‘I know you did, but “please” isn’t enough, is it?’ He dipped his head and sucked her nipple into his mouth without breaking the rhythm of his thrusts.
‘What do you want me to say?’
He released her nipple. ‘What do you need to say?’
‘Need?’
‘I know your needs, sweet little Sarah. You need the right sort of pain. You need to submit. Then there’s the other thing. Confess, Sarah. Tell me what the other thing is.’
‘To be fucked?’
‘Apart from that.’
‘I …’ Not long before she’d fantasised about his foot pressing on her neck. That was submission, but more. A submissive obeys her master and that’s one level of descent. She’d never so much as considered it before today, before John, but now that she realised that there was something lower than submission, she also understood that she craved those depths.
‘I think I need to be humiliated and degraded, John.’
‘Good girl. Or should I say, bad girl? Now humiliate yourself, Sarah. Beg me to let you come. Acknowledge the reality. You can’t climax until I give you my permission, can you?’
And she couldn’t have. Now that he’d explained it, it was obvious. With other men, she’d probably be able to get there normally, but John had somehow taken control of her lust and it wouldn’t be assuaged until he said it might.
Although lust confused her mind, Sarah ordered her thoughts, composing her words carefully. ‘John, my master, my climaxes are yours to give me or deny me. Your humble slave is begging you, pleading, please, please, have mercy on your little bitch, your sex slave. Grant my wish as only you can do; let me fucking well come!’
‘As you ask so nicely. On ten, then. One, two …’
The arrogant bastard! He thought he had that much control over her, did he? He actually thought that he could launch her orgasm like some fucking rocket? Still, she found his arrogance exciting. He ground into her, crushing her clit with each deep and deliberate stroke. She was so fucking close to coming. So goddam fucking close …
‘Eight, nine, ten!’
The climax hit hard. Her eyes opened wide as her hot tunnel gripped and released his cock, squeezing a surprised ‘yip’ from her lips. It kept coming, rolling through her from the paroxysms in her pussy up the back of her spine, blowing her mind and making her yelp over and over again. ‘Yip, yip, yip, yip.’
He thrust hard and stayed buried inside her, his moan building to a great leonine roar.
15
IT WAS TEN in the morning when Sarah woke. John was still asleep, with his arm a welcome but heavy weight across her body. She eased out from under it and out of bed. In the bathroom, she checked her bum. It was fully healed, or almost. There was just a faint trace of deeper pink on the underside of its left cheek.
She showered on ‘gentle’ to minimise the noise. Once she was dry, she padded softly back into the bedroom. He slept on. Kilt or no kilt? No kilt. Wearing it would be a return to her ‘schoolgirl’ persona.
His flannels had been discarded, tossed across the back of a straight chair. Moving carefully so as not to jingle any change in its pockets, Sarah eased his belt from its loops. His right hand was still flung out. She sat on the bed, lifted his wrist gently onto her lap, and pressed the buckle end of his belt into his palm. John snuffled and shifted. Sarah froze until he settled down once more. With infinite care, she wrapped the leather strap round his hand until just eighteen inches dangled free.
How to wake him? How else? She lifted the bedclothes and exposed his naked body. His left leg was forwards of his right. The soft length of his shaft lay along his thigh. Sarah moved lower down the bed, curled up and rested her cheek on his leg. A tender finger lifted his cock. Her head moved forwards, mouth wide open. With the head of John’s cock in her mouth, Sarah settled down to wait, but not for long. Her lips felt a pulse. The head of his cock lifted off her tongue a fraction. She closed her lips around its shaft in case it tried to escape.
John yawned and said, ‘Good morning, slut Sarah.’
Sarah gurgled a, Good morning,’ around his shaft.
‘By what you’ve done with my belt, I guess you’re after something harder than a spanking.’
She nodded.
‘Show me your bottom.’
Sarah swivelled round without losing his cock.
His palm smoothed over her cheeks. ‘You heal well.’
‘ ’hank ’ou.’
‘Do you have a date for tomorrow?’
She shook her head, moving his cock head from inside one cheek to inside the other.
‘So if you were marked for a day or two, it wouldn’t be awkward for you?’
Sarah shook her head again.
‘You do understand that a beating with a belt is far more severe than a spanking by hand, don’t you?’
She nodded.
‘But you’re ready for that?’
Sarah took his cock from her mouth but held onto it. I’m ready, John. I’d be able to stop you if it was more than I could stand, wouldn’t I?’ She took his cock back between her lips and gave it a long suck.
‘Of course you would.’
Once more, she released him to the open air. I’m going to get strapped someday, John. I’d rather it was by you than by some amateur.’
‘Good point. Very well, you shall have your beating, but after breakfast. What would you like? Better keep it light.’
‘A fruit salad, please, John, and maybe some toast?’
‘Good choices.’ He ordered a small steak with a fried egg on top for himself, with a side of hash browns, a pot of Blue Mountain coffee and a carafe of Buck’s Fizz.
‘What’s Buck’s Fizz?’ Sarah asked.
‘Champagne and orange juice, sometimes served with a float of grenadine.’
Sarah grinned. ‘That sounds lovely and decadent, for a breakfast drink.’
His face took on a concerned look. ‘You’re obsessing about “decadence”, Sarah.’
‘Is that bad?’
‘Not with the right people, but not everyone follows the “Safe, Sane, Consensual” rule. You will be careful who you submit to in future, won’t you?’
Sarah’s heart lifted. He cared, really cared, what became of her after their date.
They wore their robes for the benefit of room service. Sarah shed hers the moment the boy left their suite. Being stark naked while John was still at least partly dressed somehow s
eemed appropriate for a good little sex slave.
John ate a little awkwardly, with his belt still wrapped around his fist. As Sarah picked at her salad, every sway of the free-hanging end drew her eyes, like a rabbit following the movements of a cobra. But this rabbit couldn’t wait to feel the cobra’s bite. Or could she? It was going to hurt, really hurt. She could beg off. John would allow that, she knew. But if she did, she’d be showing cowardice, and she needed his respect. Undecided, Sarah did what she always did when in a serious quandary, she made her mind go blank and let whatever was going to happen, happen.
Her mind still in a fog, she was led to the bed and spreadeagled once more. John secured her wrists to the brass scrolls. Seemingly without effort, he lifted her bottom off the bed, lifted it high, right over her head, and manacled her ankles, wide apart, to the top of the bedhead. A pile of pillows under her shoulders made the awkward position more comfortable. Nice man. Sarah gazed up at her delta from only a foot beneath it. Pretty pussy.
John made a few adjustments to her bonds and her legs, so that her thighs were perfectly horizontal, parallel to the bed. ‘Ready?’ he asked.
‘Hmm?’
‘Are you ready?’
She couldn’t really nod, not folded like that, so Sarah was forced to vocalise her affirmative, though not in articulate words, even though she wasn’t sure what he was asking her. When you don’t quite understand what’s going on, ‘yes’ is best, or at least, easiest.
John stroked the undersides of her thighs. Nice. That wasn’t why she was contorted like that, though, was it? He rested the loose end of his belt across her legs, halfway between her knees and her upturned bottom, then moved it a little higher.
‘This is above where the hem of your skirts usually come to, isn’t it?’
Why was that significant? Whatever, she made another ‘yes’ sound.
The leather strap lifted. That meant something, something frightening but thrilling, she didn’t think about what. The belt came down, hard. Sarah yelped involuntarily. A line of fire burnt across the backs of her thighs.
‘You still want it? You can still change your mind.’
Sarah's Education Page 17