Fifty Days of Sin

by Serena Dahl

  “They don’t know for sure, dear, but they said once you’d regained full consciousness you should be out of here within a week or so.”

  “And I’ve been out for the count for two days already? The students! Has someone delivered my lectures for me?”

  “Don’t worry about your lectures, Justine! For crying out loud, you’re only just waking up from a car accident. I’m sure the university will have found someone to replace you for a couple of days!”

  “I bloody well hope they haven’t,” I mumble grumpily.

  “Language, dear,” says my mother. She doesn’t even like the mildest swearing coming from my lips. I would have thought that she could have let me off today though, when I’m prostrate in a hospital bed.

  “I don’t want someone else doing my work,” I complain. “I’ll give extra tuition when I’m out of hospital.”

  “There were lots of people who saw the accident,” Mum continues, ignoring me. “It looks like you just stepped out in front of a car. Everybody said that the driver wasn’t to blame. How could you not see the car when you were crossing? Darling, you might have been killed.”

  “I have no idea,” I say truthfully. “I always check it’s clear when I cross the road. I don’t understand it.”

  I look around, taking care only to move my eyes whilst keeping my neck completely still, and see several lovely bunches of flowers. “Oh, they’re beautiful,” I smile.

  “You’ve had lots of flowers, dear,” says Mum. “These ones are from me and your Dad, one of the secretaries at the university brought these from your colleagues, these are from a nice young man called Michael.” I feel myself blush – although I’m open and forthright about my adventurous sex life with my friends, I find it best to spare my parents the details. So they have no idea what sort of a young man Michael really is, and would be shocked to the core to learn that I’ve spent many happy moments with a cane, turning his firm bottom a delicate shade of pink.

  “And this one is from Adam.” She’s pointing out a gorgeous bouquet of delicate flowers with two sets of petals, cornflower-blue on the outside and a pale blue, nearly white, on the inside. I’ve never seen them before I think they’re quite possibly the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen.

  “Adam?” I ask, puzzled. “Who’s Adam?”

  “He’s a very nice young man,” she says firmly. “We have him to thank for getting you here. He saw the accident and called the ambulance. He said you were out cold on the ground, and he went to help you. He stayed with you and the driver of the car while they waited for the ambulance to arrive. But fifteen minutes went and still there was no sign of the ambulance, so he picked you up off the road and put you in his car, and drove you here to the Radcliffe.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m not, and he got into trouble for it too. One of the doctors here told him he should never have done such a thing, and I think the police were close to giving him a caution, but I can’t blame him. He was worried that you needed to see a doctor. And he’s been here to see you yesterday while you were sleeping. Your Dad and I met him. He seems very nice.”

  “Uhh.” This is all too much. A car accident, a neck that will hardly move, a body filled with pain, and some random bloke picking me up bodily and taking me to hospital then coming in to visit me when I’m still unconscious. This is not how I was expecting the week to pan out.

  “Are you tired, darling? You need to rest and get your strength up. Oh, look, here’s your father.”

  I smile weakly at Dad as he enters the room with two cups of coffee. “Oh, Justine, you’re awake at last,” he says, beaming. He hands a drink to Mum and sits down on the other side of the bed to my mother. Once he’s settled his considerable bulk into the too-small chair, he takes my hand and reiterates Mum’s telling-off for crossing the road without due care and attention. “Honestly, Justine,” he shakes his head, “you’re such an intelligent girl. How can you be stupid enough not to know how to cross the road?”

  “All right, Frank,” scolds Mum gently. “I think she’s tired now, we should let her be.” She’s right; my vision is starting to swim and I’m having difficulty concentrating on their words. “Oh! Justine, I was just telling you about Adam, wasn’t I?” She gets up and crosses to the door, where in my peripheral vision I can see a figure entering the room. I still can’t move my neck though, so I can’t see him properly at all. “She’s very tired, you’ll have to just have two minutes with her,” I hear her say to the visitor. Then she comes over and kisses me on the cheek. “We’ll leave you now, darling. Mind you only talk for two minutes and then you need to rest. But as Adam’s here, we won’t send him away straight away.”

  “Okay, Mum,” I agree, wanting more than anything to sink into sleep and wake up when the pain has gone away.

  “See you tomorrow. Be good,” says Dad, kissing my forehead, and then they’re gone.

  Adam is by the bed now and a sharp intake of breath causes me to wince in fresh pain as the movement of my chest causes a sharp stab beneath my ribcage. “You!”

  “Yes, me,” replies Adam. He has a deep, very sexy voice. It’s the guy who caught my eye across the road, and he has a rueful look on his face.

  Oh, that face. I’m not surprised that I was bowled over when I saw him walking down the street two days ago. I’m a little surprised that I was sufficiently impressed to take leave of my senses and step out in front of a car, but looking at him now, I have to admit that it doesn’t seem a particularly over-the-top reaction.

  He’s tall and dark, with just slightly tousled hair, the kind of hair that I want to reach out and run my fingers through. His grey eyes are the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen in a human face. And as he breaks into a smile it makes a dimple appear in his cheek. It looks completely irresistible.

  “I think I owe you an apology,” he continues in that wonderful, sexy voice. Oh, my God, this man is gorgeous. It’s just a shame that I’m in no fit condition to do anything about it. “I didn’t mean to distract you so much that you tried to kill yourself.”

  “It’s not something I make a habit of,” I tell him dryly. “I don’t normally have any problem co-ordinating my feet and my brain.”

  “Well, then I’m truly sorry to have caused this malfunction.”

  “It wasn’t you!” I protest. I am lying through my teeth. Of course it was him. How could I think about a little thing like traffic when I was being irresistibly drawn to the most attractive man I’d ever seen?

  “Oh, okay. But anyway, I was worried about you, so I’m glad to see you’re awake at last.”

  “Mum said it’s been two days,” I reply. “I can’t believe I’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness for so long. Oh, by the way, thank you for the flowers.” I can’t hide a shy smile; then I realise this is new for me. I never feel shy. Perhaps I’ve sustained some brain damage. “They’re absolutely lovely; I’ve never seen flowers like that before.”

  “I’m glad you like them. But I have to go – your Mum gave me strict instructions not to tire you out.”

  “Oh...” I don’t want to ask him to stay – I’m too embarrassed. And I’m acutely aware that whilst he looks amazing, I am unlikely to be looking my best right now tucked up in this hospital bed. Despite this, more than anything I want to keep him talking, prolong the conversation so I can look at him for a little bit longer before he disappears out of my life. Then I remember the ambulance and my Mum’s story about Adam picking me up and putting me in his car. I feel myself blush again at the thought of lying in his arms. If only I’d been conscious. It’s something I would have liked to experience. “I’m told I have to say thank you for something else too. For taking me to hospital.”

  “Oh, I’m not sure I did the right thing, to be honest,” he tells me. “The police were extremely unimpressed. And apparently the ambulance arrived two minutes after I drove away with you in the back of my car. But I was worried about you lying there.”

  “Wel
l it seems I’m going to recover, so I don’t think you’ve done me any harm. And it was nice of you to be worried about me.”

  “Talking of which, you need to rest,” he says firmly. “Get some sleep; I have to go.”

  I look at him silently, then whisper, “Okay.”

  He must know I am disappointed to see him go, because he says, “Is it okay for me to come and see you tomorrow? When you’re a bit better rested?”

  My face lights up. I try not to grin too widely. “That would be nice.”

  “Okay. Tomorrow then.” Really, he has the most beautiful smile.

  “Tomorrow.” And as he leaves, at last I allow myself drift into sleep.

  Four

  Tuesday, 27 March

  “SO YOU’RE FINE NOW,” SAYS MICHAEL, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  “Fighting fit,” I agree with a raised eyebrow.

  “I’m glad to see you better at last.” He kisses me lightly on the lips.

  “Thank you for these,” I tell him, taking the pretty bunch of red roses from his hand. “Come on into the kitchen, I’ve got a lasagne in the oven.”

  “Smells great. I’m starving.”

  “Of course you’re starving, you’re a student. You live on pot noodles and pints of Guinness. Glass of wine?” I brandish a corkscrew at him.

  “Well, if you don’t have any Guinness, I suppose so.”

  “It’s lovely to hear you being so gracious about it,” I tell him sarcastically. “This is a very nice bottle of Montepulciano. If you’re not fussed, you can have a can of Tennants Super or something.”

  “Do you have a can of Tennants Super?” he asks incredulously.

  “No, but you’re welcome to pop to the corner shop.”

  “I’ll settle for the nice bottle of Montepulciano,” he smiles, grabbing the bottle and somewhat inexpertly trying to open it with the corkscrew.

  “Sorry, should have got you a screw top,” I tease him, getting the big steaming dish of lasagne out of the oven and ladling a generous helping out onto his plate.

  “Don’t talk to me about screwing,” he retorts. “You’ve been laid up for the last month.”

  “Aw, you’ve been missing a bit of bedroom action, have you? There must have been some nice girl students you found to relieve the sexual tension?” I can’t believe Michael has kept himself chaste just for me. If he has, it’s a bit alarming.

  “It’s not quite the same,” he mumbles.

  I set down the plates of lasagne and side-salad on the table. “Surely I’m not the only one who knows what you really like to do?” I am surprised, and curious. Michael was confident enough to tell me about his kinks; I would have thought he could talk to any of his girlfriends about it.

  “It’s a bit different with you, Justine. You’re so... confident. You know what you want and you don’t mind talking about it. It’s not how things work with a twenty year old girl.”

  “So at least you’ve had someone to cheer you up while I’ve been out of action?” I sit down opposite him, looking at his handsome face – which looks rather sheepish right now – with concern.

  “Not really,” he admits.

  “Oh, Michael,” I chide him gently, and I put out my hand across the table, laying it on his. “I hope you’re not getting all hung up on me. Believe me, I am really not the right woman for you. Not in the long term.” He knew from day one that I didn’t intend our relationship to be exclusive. I look for fun and good sex, not commitment. I don’t want him to start hoping for more from me, because he’s going to be disappointed.

  “No, I know,” he agrees, a little unconvincingly, but he does smile at me. Then he tucks into his dinner as if he hasn’t eaten for a week – and I’m somewhat reassured; at least he’s not in any danger of wasting away.

  Our conversation turns to neutral topics – his studies, my recovery, his favourite band who are touring right now – and soon the plates are cleared and we are on our second glass of wine. Then I realise I haven’t given him any orders yet, and I can tell he’s expecting me to make my move soon.

  “Thanks, that was lovely,” he says.

  “Thanks, that was lovely, what?” I upbraid him, trying to look stern.

  His face changes. He knows it’s time now.

  “Thanks. That was lovely. Dr Gardiner.”

  “That’s better. Now be a good boy and clear the plates away and put them in the dishwasher.”

  He does as he’s told. This domination malarkey has its advantages.

  “You’ll need to soak that lasagne dish, it’s filthy. Put it in the sink and run some warm water in. With some washing up liquid.”

  Michael obeys, then looks round at me expectantly.

  “That dish isn’t the only thing round here that’s filthy,” I tell him. “I know how your dirty mind works. So I think you could do with a little discipline, don’t you? Now get up to the bedroom and strip. And wait for me.”

  “Yes, Dr Gardiner,” he says, as eager as a puppy. I watch his retreating back, checking out his rather lovely bottom tightly encased in his jeans, smiling, but shaking my head at the strange role this young man likes me to play. I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling slightly bemused by his particular kink.

  I drink a little more wine and after a minute or two has elapsed, I follow Michael upstairs. As instructed, he’s stripped himself completely and is standing naked in my bedroom. I notice that he’s closed my bedroom curtains while I was out of the room. Perhaps he wasn’t keen on the remote possibility of being seen, just like that last time we were together in my room in college.

  I stand looking him up and down, one hand on my hip. He does have a lovely body, this young man, and for a moment I feel a pang of regret that he won’t just accept normal, straightforward sex. Things would be so much simpler if we could just go to bed together like an ordinary couple. But he’s come to expect the dominatrix side of Dr Gardiner, so that’s what I have to give him.

  “Down on your knees,” I instruct him.

  He sinks down to his knees, looking up expectantly at me.

  “You’re going to make me come first.” I’m wearing a knee-length olive green skirt and a black top, with black underwear underneath and sheer holdups. I pull the top off over my head and throw it on the floor, take my phone out of my skirt pocket and put it on the bedside table, unzip the skirt and then step out it, kicking off my shoes too. “Take my knickers off, Michael, and use your tongue on me.”

  He shuffles forwards on his knees, and I can see he’s started to become semi-erect even before he’s touched me. I shiver at his touch as he takes hold of both sides of my underwear, and pulls the knickers down. I step out of them, still standing in front of him in my black balconette bra and holdups, legs parted slightly. He runs his hands up the sides of my legs.

  “Did I tell you to touch my legs, Michael?” I demand.

  “No, Dr Gardiner,” he admits.

  “I’ll deal with this misdemeanour later,” I promise him. “For now, you need to follow my instructions.”

  “Yes, Dr Gardiner.”

  Keeping his hands carefully away from my body, he moves his face closer and starts to lick at my clitoris. I gasp and shiver at the sensation, and I stroke his hair as he teases me with his tongue. He’s very practised at this, and he knows just the right pressure to exert to pleasure me how I want him to. I keep on fondling his hair and put my hands further down to stroke along the muscles of his shoulders as the sensation builds, the wet tip of his tongue sweetly caressing me intimately as he increases the pressure and speed of his movements. I start to moan softly with enjoyment, shutting my eyes and straining as I push my hips forward, and then I’m filled with that most delicious feeling of ecstasy as I reach climax, exploding into orgasm with another groan. I open my eyes, realising that I’ve knotted my fists into Michael’s hair. I let him go and smile down at him.

  “Thank you for letting me make you come,” he says huskily. I can see that he’s fully erect
now, turned on by the pleasure he’s given me.

  “We mustn’t forget your disobedience earlier,” I tell him, trying my best to look stern. “You touched my legs without permission.”

  “I’m very sorry, Dr Gardiner.”

  “I don’t think you’re sorry at all, Michael,” I reply. “I don’t think you’ll be sorry until I’ve punished you severely. So I think you need to kneel on all fours now on the bed.”

  He glances up at me, and his blue eyes are filled with erotic anticipation. “Yes, Dr Gardiner.” He gets up onto the bed and kneels like I told him, leaning on his arms, ready for me to hurt him.

  First, I take down a silky dressing gown from the peg on my bedroom door and put it on. I don’t feel sufficiently in control dressed in a bra, holdups and nothing else. It’s a plain black, soft, sensual dressing gown and it makes me feel sexy. Once I’m covered up a little, I walk to the wardrobe and pull out a long wooden cane.