Fifty Days of Sin

by Serena Dahl

  “Oh, really?” The thought of Adam with another woman is unsettling. It shouldn’t be – after all, I can’t expect him not to have had other lovers when I’ve had so many myself. But I’m getting my first taste of jealousy with Adam.

  “It sounds a bit like you and I might be made for each other,” he says in a low voice. “Now tell me - what do I do to punish you?”

  “You spank me,” I tell him, replaying my fantasies in my head. It’s strange opening up my innermost thoughts to Adam, but I trust him; and just talking about this is making me aroused. “And in between the times you hit me with your hand, you touch me. Tease me. Or you make me get down on my knees and suck you. Or you hit me with something, a riding crop or a whip or something, and make me say thank you afterwards, and then you fuck me again.”

  “I’m starting to see a pattern here,” he grins. “I gather that you like it when I fuck you.”

  “Yes, you could say that,” I smile back. “Sometimes you strip me naked. But quite often I’m wearing some kind of special underwear. Like a nice black bra and black knickers with stockings and suspenders. Of course, you don’t let me keep my knickers on for very long.”

  “Does it make you feel special to dress like that?”

  “Yes... I guess I like the idea of looking sexy for you. I like the idea of turning you on. I like it when I make you hard.” I move my hand down and touch him and he’s erect again. We smile at each other.

  “I like it when you make me hard, too.” He shuts his eyes as I move, starting to gently give him pleasure. Then he takes my hand and moves it away. I give a little harrumph of impatience and I see amusement flit across his face. But he hasn’t finished talking yet.

  “Is that everything?” he asks. “What about other people?”

  “What do you mean, other people?”

  “Well, you’ve told me all about what you fantasize about when you think about me,” he explains. “What about before you met me?”

  “Well, I used to think about other people too,” I admit. “Or I would just think about a certain situation – like being tied up – but I wouldn’t picture the other person fully. I’d just imagine what it was like having it done to me.”

  “Is it always just one man?”

  “No,” I confess. “Sometimes I imagine being shared between two guys, or even three. Being spanked or whatever while they all watch. Or they’d get a woman to do it.”

  “Really?” Adam’s breathing is getting heavier. Reliving my fantasies is making me aroused, and it’s turning him on just as much as me.

  “Yes... I think it’s the idea of them watching me that’s important. Watching what’s happening, what’s being done to my body, and knowing that they all get their turn to fuck me afterwards.”

  “And is that all the other woman ever does to you – punish you?”

  “No,” I breathe. “She’s there to do as the man tells her – or as the men tell her; if they decide they want her to make me come, she does that too. And they all watch.”

  “While you’re tied up?”

  “Mmm,” I confirm.

  “In your stockings and suspenders. And bra. And no knickers.”

  I know he’s picturing it as he speaks. It’s very sexy knowing what’s going on in his mind and knowing how it’s making him feel. “Yeah,” I agree.

  “And then they all fuck you afterwards.”

  “Yes... although by that time I’ve usually already finished touching myself, so I never actually go through all of that in my mind, because I just go to sleep after that. To be honest, as I actually reach orgasm, I’m usually imagining that I’m on all fours, and you, or some other imaginary man is just starting to fuck me, just entering me for the first time, and that’s what’s in my mind as I come.” I’ve never discussed this before with anyone; but I’m happy for Adam to know about my most private sexual feelings. I’ve always been sexually confident, but now I feel so much closer to Adam emotionally than any other previous lover; and so why shouldn’t he know these things about me? I can see how it’s affecting him; his erection is rock-hard listening to my fantasies, and I love making him hard.

  He laughs. Then as he looks at me, his expression changes, and it’s like he’s flicked a switch. His eyes are full of purpose. I catch my breath.

  “Don’t move.” He gets out of bed and crosses to the wardrobe. Then he pulls out a burgundy scarf. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “Sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Should we have a safeword, do you think?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Okay. Tell me.”

  I rack my brain, but all I can think of is the one I used with Michael. “Dalmation.”

  “Dalmation?” he says, evidently trying not to laugh. “Okay, ‘dalmation’ it is.”

  He walks over to the bed. “Lean forward a little for me.” I do as I’m told and he deftly wraps the scarf over my eyes, blindfolding me. He ties it tightly around the back of my head. I’m tingling all over with anticipation, and then I feel him pull the duvet away from my body, stripping it away from the bed. I feel vulnerable and exposed, unsure of myself and wondering what he’ll do next.

  I feel the bed move as he gets onto it.

  “I think I’m going to enjoy this,” I hear him say. My heart is beating wildly, then I feel him take hold of my shoulders and move me forwards on the bed. “Kneel,” he instructs me. “You’re going to make me come inside your mouth. And I want you to drink it. All of it.”

  Trembling slightly, I move gingerly on the bed, disorientated without the advantage of sight, and as I kneel I feel him firmly grasping me and pushing my head downwards. I gasp at his strong grip and feel his erection against my cheek, and move my head, opening my mouth and taking it inside.

  I start to move. Sucking, moving my tongue up and down the shaft and up to the head to lick the very end, taking him deep into my mouth, I put all my effort into making him feel good. I hear him moan, I feel him mesh his hand into my hair, pushing my head down harder, faster. I feel him thicken in my mouth, realise I’m getting wetter with the knowledge of the pleasure I’m giving him, and as I go down over and over again, faster still, he’s touching one of my breasts, kneading it firmly. Then I feel him come, tasting the salty fluid on my tongue and swallowing it, and pull my head back, but still I can’t see anything. I kneel up and wait for his orders.

  “Justine,” I hear him say. “You were supposed to swallow it all.” His voice is completely different to the easygoing tone I’m used to. It’s a little weird to hear him talking like this. But I know it’s all a game; a very arousing game. And I have a safeword. He knows I don’t think I can take a lot of pain. And I know how much it turns me on to be spanked, or lightly beaten. This will be fine. This will be a wonderful erotic experience. Won’t it?

  “I did swallow it!” I protest.

  “You spilt some,” he tells me, with disapproval in his voice.

  “Sorry,” I reply hesitatingly. A little voice in my head questions whether he’s telling the truth. I’m sure I swallowed it all. But I don’t think it would be a good idea to argue.

  “Sorry, sir,” he corrects me.

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “I think I’d better chastise you, Justine. So that you remember to do it better next time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I feel him get up off the bed. “Get on all fours, Justine.”

  I obey him, kneeling on the sheets, naked and blindfolded. He’s doing something, making a noise, and I’m try to work out what it means. Is he fetching something – something to beat me with?

  That’s when I feel him hit me.

  I can’t help it – I give out a little scream. It’s not any harder than I’ve been hit before, by Michael; but the noise is so loud, a really resounding slap, and I didn’t realise he was going to start so soon. I don’t even know what he’s hit me with – but it’s not his hand.

  “I hope you’re
not going to be as noisy as that all the way through,” he tuts. “I’ve only hit you once, and you’re screaming like a child. You’ll have to try and bite your tongue. Otherwise I might double your sentence.”

  “What is my sentence?” I ask.

  “Twenty strokes,” he pronounces. “Count them for me.”

  Twenty? I’ve only ever endured twelve before. I bite my lip, ready to try to keep quiet. “Yes, sir. One.”

  Then he starts again, hitting the left cheek of my bottom, still not hard, but it stings – oh, yes, it hurts all right, but as the pain of each blow disperses it leaves me with a flush of warmth spreading through my body, and a tingling and a pooling of wetness between my legs. Obediently, I count the blows, managing not to cry out again, and when after he has completed ten strokes he switches to my right cheek the new centre of pain makes me gasp and catch my breath before I can count, “Eleven.”

  Again and again he beats me, and as I feel my limbs start to tremble with the effort of holding myself up against Adam’s onslaught at last we get to the final stroke. “Twenty,” I pant. “Thank you, sir.”

  I hear him put down whatever it is that he’s been using to hit me. Then I feel him touch me. His hand caresses my bottom where he’s inflicted the blows, now stinging and burning as a result of his chastisement. He caresses my cheeks, my thighs, and then strokes my sex. “Oh, Justine, you’re so wet now,” he says. “I’m glad you appreciated my guidance so much.”

  He slides his finger inside me and I can’t help writhing against him as he moves it in and out. “You’re so ready.” Then he stops.

  I can hear him cross the room and open the wardrobe again. What now? Then he commands me, “Sit.”

  Gratefully, I obey him, my limbs tired from holding the kneeling position, and sit on the edge of the bed. I feel him brush his hand across my breast, making my nipple tingle, and then he’s grasped my hands and he’s binding them together in front of me with some kind of soft fabric. Another scarf?

  I feel him push me backwards and he moves my arms up above my head so they are resting against the bed. I’m lying on my back sideways across the bed, arms up above my head, still blindfolded, with my legs off the bed and my feet touching the floor. I hear him walk around the edge of the bed and then there is a noise as if he’s moving something. Then I feel him pulling at the fabric that’s restraining my hands, and I realise he’s tying them to something next to the bed so that I can’t move them.

  He crosses the room back to where he was, standing over me, and runs a finger down my body, along my breast and over one erect nipple, slowly down my torso and past my navel and then he brushes my clitoris with his finger. I part my legs further. Then I feel his tongue on me.

  Delicately, he licks me, first around the entrance to my body and then he moves, probing and teasing my clitoris. I moan and writhe underneath him as he pleasures me, already edging close to orgasm as he thrills me with expert, soft, teasing flicks of his tongue. I know it can’t be long until I come but suddenly he stops, leaving me gasping and aching for more, then I hear the unmistakeable sound of him taking out a condom and tearing the foil packet.

  There is a slight pause while he must be rolling it on, and then he’s got hold of my legs, lifting them off the floor and pushing them high in the air, resting them on his body and then he thrusts into me. The sudden deep penetration makes me cry out, nearly scream, but it’s a cry of pleasure. He’s moving in and out of me hard and fast now, slamming into me mercilessly despite my moans and cries and I strain against the bonds holding my arms in place, but he’s tied me tight and I’m helpless under him. One hand moves to my clitoris, wet from his tongue and from my own juices, and his touch sends me over the edge, spiralling into a forceful climax, pulsating with ecstasy as I come. Then I feel him reach his orgasm too, responding to my own body as he finds his release.

  We catch our breath, and then I feel him gently stroking my face. “Justine,” he breathes. “Oh, Justine.”

  He takes off my blindfold and I blink at him, taking in the sight of him in all his beautiful, naked glory. Then he releases my hands. Looking round, I can see that he tied them to a heavy chair and I laugh. “I was wondering how you’d done that. Very ingenious.”

  “Are you okay?” he asks as I sit up on the edge of the bed. He sits next to me and takes me in his arms. “Did I hurt you too much?”

  “No, you didn’t hurt me too much. It was a shock at first, because I couldn’t see you. But I think you noticed what my reaction was.” He smiles, and I smile a little shyly back at him, slightly embarrassed at the recollection of how wet his beating made me. “What was it you used?”

  He picks up a thick brown leather belt from the bedside table. “This.”

  “Oh, my God. Adam, that could really hurt if you hit me with all your strength.”

  “I tried not to. But you seemed okay, so I carried on.”

  “Yes, I was okay. I just can’t believe I’ve got through my first ever twenty lashes with a leather belt.”

  He smiles at that. “Your first? Looking forward to more?”

  “Maybe.”

  He kisses me and cradles me in his arms. “You were amazing, Justine.” He brushes some hair away from my face. “How do you feel now?”

  I consider this. “Happy. But tired.” I lie back on the bed, and turn on my side, my preferred position for sleep, resting my head on the pillow.

  Adam stands and picks up the duvet from where it ended up on the floor earlier. He tucks it tenderly around me. “I think you’re allowed a sleep now,” he says, and climbs in next to me. I feel his warm body against my back and smile as he puts his arms around me, holding me close. “I’m glad you’re happy,” he tells me. “And I’m glad you enjoyed it. I want to make all your fantasies come true, Justine.”

  It’s crazy how I feel so safe when he’s just whacked my behind twenty times with a leather belt. But that’s exactly how I feel. I trust him completely; and the sex we just had was amazing. I’m very experienced, but when Adam made me come a few minutes ago it was fantastic. And now I feel like I belong here in his arms, warm and happy. In love.

  I want to tell him. My mind is crying out for me to say, “I love you, Adam.” The words are going round my head like a mantra. But I daren’t say them. I want to tell him that I’m no longer sleeping with anyone else; that I don’t even look at anyone else now that I have him. If I could know that he felt the same, it would make my world complete. But it’s such a massive change for someone who’s never wanted commitment before. How can I tell him that I feel so strongly, so early on in our relationship? I’m longing to tell him everything about how I feel, but I’m so frightened of scaring him off. Yes, I’m confident that he really likes me – I know he thinks I’m interesting, fun to be with, sexy and beautiful. The knowledge warms my heart. But how serious is he? If I tell him how strong my feelings are for him after such a short time, will I scare him off?

  Considerations like these have never been a problem for me before. Never wanting commitment, I’ve never had strong feelings to deal with, let alone worries about scaring off a partner by declaring my love for him.

  So I lie in Adam’s bed, luxuriating in the feel of his warm arms around me, falling deeper in love with him every minute. And I don’t say a word.

  Ten

  Friday, 4 May

  A STEADY RAIN IS FALLING AS I drive home from work. It’s Friday night and I am more than usually glad to see the end of the working week. I’m cooking dinner for Adam – and wondering what he’s got in mind for afterwards.

  As I pull into my road, the rain eases up to a light drizzle and I switch my wiper speed to intermittent. I pull up outside my house and switch off the engine, picking up my handbag and climbing out of my Nissan Micra. The drizzle is gentle enough now that I don’t bother putting up the hood on my coat. I press the button on the keys and see the answering wink of the indicators, then reach into my bag to hunt for my house keys.

  Then I see
a shadow, and it makes me shiver.

  “Justine.”

  I know the voice at once. I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s only Michael.

  “Michael, what are you doing here?”

  “I had to see you,” he says. I see, inconsequentially, that he’s not wearing a coat and his hair and jumper have been soaked in the rain.

  “You can’t stand out here in the wet,” I chide him. “Michael, I’m sorry you came all this way to see me. I don’t think we’ve got anything to say to each other that hasn’t already been said.”

  “But you’ve got to listen,” he pleads. “I’m missing you so much, Justine. Don’t you know how much you’ve hurt me?”