by Flora Dain
Now the examination resumes and it drives me wild.
He runs his hands over me—pressing, feeling, squeezing. He lingers on my breasts, checking carefully, squeezing my nipples until I cry out then squeezing again, raising them to hard points and checking my expression for signs of stress. “Tell me if anything hurts. I have to know.”
“Is that why you wanted me this week? Just to whip?” The thought is chilling, but this is something I have to know.
He frowns. “I wanted you for this particular week because I’m over here to see my family. At this time of year I usually I fit in some visits. I thought it might be fun to take you along.”
He wants me to meet his family? How exciting. But from the heat in his eyes, I can see that his mind’s on other things—me.
I’ll have wait to find out more.
I empty my mind and focus on his fingers, now moving south toward my clenched navel. I smile at his close, intimate inspection, thrilling to his touch as his strong, gentle hands caress me and search me. Apart from my wrists, still pink from the cuffs, I feel fine. “I love it when you do that. It’s like electricity.”
He pauses, a new glint in his eyes. “I can tell. When I touch you like this, your skin ripples. Now turn over. I’ll check your back.”
This time his touch is even more sensuous. As he examines the swell of my bottom and eases between my curves, I moan softly.
“You’ve a mark here. Does it hurt?” His voice is low but his tone is worried, almost fearful.
I moan again as wetness pools between my legs. In seconds he discovers this. Instantly I feel his breath on the back of my neck. “Is this arousing? Tell me.”
I clench my teeth. “You think? Do I pass the inspection…Sir?”
He rolls me over onto my side and pulls my hips tight against his, nipping my earlobe with his teeth. “Yep, you pass. For the rest of the week, we’ll have some fun. No dungeon, so we’ll have to get creative. But your defiant response during inspection suggests to me that you’re already in need of some discipline. Put your feet on the floor and your head on the bed.”
Heat flares. I grin over my shoulder. “What, here? But…suppose the crew hears us?”
He reaches under the bed for a moment and leans up again with a smile. He dangles a scary-looking contraption in front of my face, all black leather and studs. I shrink back as a jutting, fearsome object halfway along jolts at me. “What’s that?”
He pushes me off the edge of the bed and taps the back of my legs with his hand to get me into position, pushing my feet wide apart with his shoe. “It’s a gag, with a dildo instead of a ball. Very effective in small spaces. Open wide.”
He slides the obscene thing into my mouth and I feel the strap being fastened at the back of my head. After the loose ball I’m used to, it feels horrible. It fills my mouth, reaching almost to the back of my throat.
It’s humiliating and to my shame, it’s also hot. Now I’m securely trapped. And with my legs splayed wide and my bottom high in the air, I’m also very exposed.
“And for some extra spice, maybe we’ll try some nipple clamps this time. These are light, perfect for a beginner. Try them for size.”
He teases and pinches my nipples to raise them and snaps the clamps into place.
They sting and pinch as I breathe, my chest heaving with surprise and emotion then the feeling wears off as my swollen nipples slowly grow numb.
My head spins. Why this sudden need to punish me? Or is it punishment? I want this too…badly. Maybe punishment’s the wrong word for it.
So what can I call it? I’m confused. All I know is I’m burning, and eager—and scared.
“Now push your head right down onto the bed. Hands behind your back.”
He hardly waits for me to reach the position before the first slap lands. It takes me by surprise and it stings. I yelp against the gag, but the sound dies in my throat.
Noise is pointless. Curiously, the thought makes me relax.
I can hardly move. I can make no sound. I can only endure, sucking on the dildo like it’s a pacifier.
It’s deeply humiliating, wildly arousing. Strangely soothing.
The blows keep coming—just the flat of his hand, slap after slap. Soon I’m glowing and hot. The impact jolts through me, hauling at my clamped nipples, jerking repeatedly along my wet, swollen slit.
I’m used and invaded at one end, on fire at the other.
At last he pauses and curves over me, his fly rasping on my fiery bottom. “I’m going to fuck you until you’re close then pull off the clamps. Ready?”
I nod. I’m already pulsing for him, craving his entry. I close my eyes as I hear the rip of foil then buck as he launches into me, his length filling me in a long, slick thrust that sends a loud, ecstatic cry into the unyielding leather tool filling my mouth, so frustratingly unlike his living, pulsing erection.
I feel his breath hot on my neck as he leans over me, his hands gripping my breasts. My nipples are numb now, the initial ache a mere echo though my jutting, swollen aureoles.
He growls against my neck like his panther namesake. “Grip me. Pull me in. Haul me deeper.”
I tense my muscles, arch my feet and flex my thighs, straining to match the power of his thrusts. I fight to maintain position, pinned and bound with the awful gag and the clamps, held in place by his will.
He caresses my belly, his fingers sliding round to ease between my legs and deep into my dripping slit, pressing and circling in time with his thrusts.
It’s everything I need. As my climax builds, I scream against the gag.
He hears me and slows, holding me at my peak for what seems like endless seconds then he jerks away the clamps with a single tug on the chain looping them together. A rush of feeling shoots back to my trapped nipples with an explosion of mingled pain and pleasure, mega pins and needles, fire and ice.
It fires my climax in a violent eruption that propels me forward onto the bed. He lands on top of me, pumping into me as I writhe beneath him, trapped, helpless and gorgeously filled.
* * * *
The Mile High club’s a long way up—but afterward it’s a long way down.
As we lie together, glowing and content, I recall Mel’s sudden, startling announcement. Should I tell him?
Last time I kept her plans a secret, she and Ben were planning that awful raid and nearly got us all the sack. And that was just one night. Goodness knows what they’ll get up to in a week. This time I’d better warn him.
“Mel thinks there’s no footage of you from the club that night.”
I’m lying across him as he strokes my hair. Now I feel him stiffen. To my dismay, the temperature seems to plummet several degrees.
Why did I have to open my mouth?
“She does?” His tone could cut glass.
I bite my lip and force myself on. I’ve learned my lesson. Last time was a fiasco. Maybe this time he can do something about it before they make trouble.
“She thinks there was somebody else in charge that night. That’s all.” I falter as I speak. It sounds so trivial, but I can tell he’s irritated. The rigid muscles below me warn me he’s angry.
Why?
He leans up on one elbow, his face serious. “There’s not much we can do. We’ll have to leave them to it. Look, Tunis. This project’s nearly complete. All I want from you now is assurance that you’ll do a voiceover on the finished report, you’ll fit in a statement somewhere to the effect that the Panther is a nicer guy than you thought and you’ll turn up to the premiere. Will you do that?”
“Landing in approximately thirty minutes, Mr. Fitzlean.” The voice from the cockpit murmurs around the cabin, blending with the dying notes of Tchaikovsky’s ballet. With an angry gesture, he flicks the remote to switch it off.
“Well?” He’s still glaring at me.
I take a deep breath and nod. “Okay. I can do all that.”
We dress at opposite sides of the bed without speaking, the hum of the engin
es menacing and low.
* * * *
“Here we are. Millin Island.”
Cade nods toward the view and I gaze out of the windows as we come in to land. The rocky island below us looks wild and rugged, the sea stretching away in a wide, wrinkly expanse of dark blue, little wavelets sparkling along the edge of the cliffs in the slanting afternoon sun.
There are very few trees here, just rolling hills and deep valleys, patchy with colored heather. Low stone buildings lie in clusters along thin, spidery roads. Along one of them a Jeep so tiny it looks like a toy is heading for the little patchwork airfield.
As we emerge from the jet, Cade shakes hands with Lisa and the crew then leads me quickly over the tarmac to the shelter of a low stone building. The air up here is sharp and cold after the soft Devon heatwave. I shiver in the wind, wishing I’d brought something thicker than a thin linen jacket.
As we reach the building, he hurries me inside. “This is our visitors’ center. It’s also a store for the residents.”
Across the airfield, the tiny Jeep’s waiting, now magically full size. The doors are flung open, and I can see the driver waving.
Cade waves back and turns to me with a grin. “There’s our transport, but he’ll have to wait. First we’re going shopping.”
“Sending Nera a postcard?”
He grins. “I might. Show her there’s no hard feelings.”
“Lucky her.” I color slightly. My rear’s on fire and everywhere down south is still aglow with my orgasm. Walking gracefully is a real effort.
He gives my bottom a cheeky pat. “Lively down there? Good. What clothes did you bring?”
I stare at him. “Linen crops, swimming costume, heels and sandals. Nera lent me some costumes. Why?”
“No stormproof? Thought not. We’ll get you something here. You can’t watch seals in heels.”
I flash him a grateful look. This wind will finish me off.
I ransack the rail of anoraks and refuse the offer of a fitting room from the flustered assistant. Cade pays at the till and soon we’re out in the wind again and heading for the Jeep.
“Mr. Fitzlean? Welcome back, sir.” A rugged individual with a sandy beard and very blue eyes grins a greeting and takes the driver’s seat as we clamber in.
I look around eagerly as Cade chats to the driver, asking him about his family and how the weather’s shaping up.
Soon we pull into the entrance of a long, low stone building. A man and a woman come out to greet us, both wearing jeans. The man has a long beard and an earring, the woman tiny braids holding back her long blonde hair. She’s serene and rather beautiful in trainers, jeans, a woolly poncho and several strings of heavy wooden beads.
“Hi, Cade. Treat to see you. So this is Tunis? Wow.” They lead us through the low, rambling rooms, and I gather this is where we’ll stay.
The interior’s a strange mixture of polished granite, clean modern lines and outrageous pop kitsch. In the largest room, a vast area with a wide stone fireplace and long, low sofas in white leather, I see an original Lichtenstein, the giant comic book face, teardrop and speech bubble a dramatic note in the calm, peaceful room. On the opposite wall stand a couple of garish jukeboxes.
Cades murmurs close to my ear. “Maybe I don’t need to tell you—the décor may have done that already—but this is Izzy’s place. We’re staying here for a couple of nights before we fly south to visit my father.” He turns to the woman with one eyebrow arched. “My usual room?”
“Sure. It’s all ready. You’re still in the Walrus suite. We thought you’d like that. Supper at nine?”
Cade eyes me with the ghost of a wink. “Perfect. I guess we’ll be tied up till then.”
* * * *
Food has been thoughtfully placed in our rooms. After a beer and a sandwich, I’m keen to explore. The rooms all have low ceilings, sleek leather furniture and fabulous views over the low, rocky landscape leading down to the sea. Everywhere there’s a clean, crisp smell of pine and polish.
“Has Izzy always lived here?”
“On and off. The island comes with the Beat Hall estate. It was the holiday retreat of the family who lived there. My mother loved it. She used to come here when she wanted time on her own. Later she brought her hippy friends with her. They founded a commune here and started the craft workshops. When she met Izzy, he used it as a base when he was touring Europe. After she died, he stayed on. Now he manages the workshops and the music studios.”
“A lot goes on here, then? It seems so peaceful.”
He grins. “You’d be surprised. It may have a sleepy feel to it, but this place is a positive powerhouse. We’ll look round tomorrow. Just now I’ve got other plans. Shower first.”
He undresses me slowly, deliberately fondling my tender bottom, his eyes gleaming when I wince. “We’ll go easy on those for a while. Now the shower. Let’s see if I can make up for the indignities of mile-high discipline.”
Once again he soothes and teases with the gel, arouses and torments with the jet until I ache from laughing. When I’ve taken my own revenge with the jet, surprising him with some unusual flicks of the douche, he wraps me in a towel and pulls me into his arms. “Now I want to see you come.”
He lays me down on the bed like a precious object, strips the towel away and spreads my legs wide. “Lean back and grip the bed head. Don’t let go till I tell you.”
Slowly, deliberately, he begins to caress the insides of my thighs, leaving a trail of kisses with tiny touches of his lips. He works his way slowly up my body, lingering on my tender nipples, sucking hard then nipping them with his teeth, laughing against my breasts as I cry out.
“Now for a bit more discipline.” He grins at my outraged expression and his voice lowers to a murmur. “Relax. Good for you.”
From his case he pulls out an object I’ve never seen in real life, but I know what it is and I feel myself go tense. A butt plug.
He grins at my horrified expression. “I mean to claim all of you, even your delicious ass. But first we have to prepare it. And it’ll take a while, so we’ll start now.” He produces a canister of lube. “We’ll need plenty of this, but first you can salute it with a polite kiss. Take it in your mouth.”
“Must I?”
I catch a glint of anger.
“Yes, you must.” His voice is low. “It’s okay. It’s clean and new, and it’s the smallest size. Perfect for a beginner. Open.”
I shudder at the thought of the enormity he’s planning. The sheer wickedness of it sends a flare of arousal through me. He slides it deep into my mouth, his gaze locked on mine, his expression intent. “Now suck. Keep it in.”
He fondles me as I suckle, his look full of heat, his hand easing into me, pushing deep and making my muscles ripple and haul at his fingers. He warms a handful of lube and smears it around my tight little opening, smiling as I clench. “Hey, relax. It’s going in whether you like it or not.”
His eyes gleam as he slides the plug out of my mouth and pushes the smooth, tapered end of it into me inch by inch.
I whimper as it fills me, part ashamed, part excited. At last it’s in place and the wide base presses snugly against me. I’m filled, invaded and desperately aroused.
Within minutes his fingers are busy again as he gazes deep into my eyes. As my climax builds, he leans over me, his eyes dark and watchful. “You’re so beautiful, especially like this. Now look at me. I want to watch.”
He moves gently over me, his erection, huge and hard, pressing against his fly and jutting against me. His gaze burns into me, sending tremors through me while his fingers probe and tease. The weight of his hips forces me hard against the unforgiving plug.
Helpless in his grasp, imprisoned by his amused gaze and at the mercy of the unfamiliar pressures down below, I soon peak, tip and cascade into an abyss of pleasure as he captures my mouth, his tongue invading and controlling, filling me with honey and spice all his own.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When we finally make it to supper, the room is crowded and the jukeboxes are busy. Low tables are set out with dishes of food—mostly vegetarian, some with chicken. It smells heavenly. There’s a large tureen of soup, a basket heaped with sourdough breads and piles of clean pottery platters, bowls and spoons.
No knives, I notice, and no formalities like napkins. On another table is an assortment of beer and homemade wine. Life here is casual and relaxed.
“Are you a musician too, Tunis?” “You known Cade long?” Their curious, quiet voices and their slow drawl remind me of Izzy.
The women wear no cosmetics and homespun clothes. All the men have beards. Both men and women wear their hair long, tied back with Indian-style bands or Celtic braids. Their calm air is misleading—their eyes are sharp and their comments witty. After about twenty minutes I’m surprised at how well informed they are about life in the wider world.
Cade mentions I’m on TV. I see no screens here but they exchange looks and the conversation is quietly steered toward what interests me. One of the women knows someone from my time with the ballet. One of the men recently saw Jake’s photographs in an exhibition on a rare trip to the capital.
Cade keeps close, letting me talk but saying little himself.
It’s clear he knows them well.
“Hey, Cade, you taking Tunis on the tour? She ought to see what we do.” The rugged six-footer with a ginger beard who drove us from the airfield is introduced as Barney. He’s delighted to see us again. “I’m free till noon tomorrow. Got a shipment to take to the airfield after that.”
There are murmurs from the others. A regal blonde with wispy golden braids and a bright patchwork skirt lays a thin hand on Cade’s arm. “You must show her round the workshops. We’re just finishing off an order for Italy.”
She’s very attractive. In her late forties, I’d guess. Her voice is low and musical.