‘I don’t think I’m going to last very long. Watching you with Sam has got me all worked up.’ Jo wriggled her hips.
‘Me too. I’m fit to burst. And you look so horny in just your corset and stockings.’ Adam ran his hands along her thighs.
‘Thanks. But I’m not sure you deserve to come, actually.’
‘Don’t be cruel . . .’ He rubbed her nipples.
‘Why not? We both know it’s what you like.’ Jo rocked her hips, riding his cock.
Jo’s crotch felt liquid and tight. Adam’s cock stretched and filled her. She could feel his thighs, hard and thick between her legs. The corset clasped her middle in its firm grip.
Adam stroked his fingertips up and down her thighs. She bent forwards and kissed him. His mouth was hot and wet. She could feel his beard stubble against her skin. Her breasts were squashed inside the corset. Her nipples tingled. Adam put his hands on her buttocks. He rocked his hips up to meet her thrusts.
Heat and arousal pumped round her bloodstream. His mouth was meltingly soft and fiery hot. His stubble rasped her skin. She rode his cock.
Wet skin slid against wet skin. Adam’s fingers dug into her buttocks. She gave him a final kiss and sat up. She pushed down the front of her corset, freeing her breasts. She grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands up to her chest. His fingers found her nipples.
She gasped as he began to pinch. Her nipples burned with pleasure and pain. Every sensation seemed to be instantly transmitted directly to her crotch.
‘That looks like fun.’ Sam came out of the bedroom and sat down on the bed. ‘I’ll have to try it myself later.’ She slid across and knelt beside Jo. She ran her fingers up and down Jo’s back. Jo sighed.
She moved slowly up and down. Adam’s thick cock slid inside her. He pinched her nipples hard, pulling on them and elongating her breasts. She was tingling all over. Sam’s fingers stroked her back, barely making contact. It felt shivery and tingly and intense. Her nipples prickled in response.
Jo’s crotch felt hot and tight. Her clit was sensitive and hard. She tilted her hips backwards and forwards as she rode him, causing delicious friction.
Adam rotated his hips up to meet her, following her rhythm. He looked up at her, his eyes shining and intense. Her breasts bounced. Adam gave her nipples a final squeeze and put his hands back on her hips. She felt him bending his knees. He brought his hips up hard, meeting her thrusts.
Sam’s hand slid down her spine and onto her buttocks. She ran a fingertip down the cleft between Jo’s cheeks, making her moan. She stroked each buttock with the flat of her hand. She kneaded and squeezed.
‘Does that feel good?’ Sam’s voice was thick with arousal. She slid her hand underneath. Jo felt Sam’s fingertips on her cunt. She gasped. She felt Sam’s fingers circling the edge of Adam’s cock. Jo’s body quivered. Sam’s fingers explored the cleft between her buttocks. They teased the margin of her arsehole.
Jo was trembling all over. She was breathing in huge noisy gulps. Her nipples ached. Adam’s cock felt huge and hot and hard inside her.
She felt Sam’s slender fingertip sliding past her sphincter. She let out a long strangled sob. Her clit instantly responded. It tingled and burned. She leaned forwards and gripped the top of the bed’s iron rails.
Adam looked up into her face. She ground her crotch against his, pulling on the rails for leverage. The bed creaked and rattled. Sam’s finger fucked her arse. She could feel Adam’s balls against her buttocks.
Her long hair fell forwards into Adam’s face. A strand went into his mouth and he turned his head to free it. He looked up at her, his eyes narrowed and his lids gleaming in the light.
She was tingling all over. Her hips hammered. She felt Sam slide a second finger into her arsehole. Her back arched, her body bucked. The headboard banged against the wall.
Adam was grunting and panting. His eyes glittered. His fingers dug into her flesh. His cock was rigid inside her.
Her breasts bounced. She pulled hard on the rails, grinding her crotch against his. Sam’s fingers fucked her arsehole, matching the rhythm of Adam’s cock. She was vibrating with pleasure and excitement.
Jo was sobbing and moaning. The bed clanged against the wall. Adam’s hands pulled her onto him. His hips pumped. She rode his cock. Sam’s fingers slid in and out. The dam burst.
She pulled hard on the rails. She ground her crotch against his. Adam gripped her buttocks, his hands locked and rigid. He gave a final deep thrust and circled his hips, pumping out hot sperm. She quivered and shook.
‘I can feel you coming . . .’ Sam circled her fingers inside Jo.
Adam gazed up at Jo, his eyes wide and glassy. Wave after wave of pleasure gripped her, each more intense than the last. Tingles rocketed up and down her spine. Her muscles gripped his cock.
A final intense wave of pleasure gripped her. She gazed down at Adam. Her hair covered his face and he was glistening with sweat.
‘I love it when you come for me . . .’ His voice was hoarse and breathless. He circled his hips.
She collapsed on top of him. He reached up and pushed her hair out of her eyes. He wiped her damp face with his fingers. She bent her head and kissed him softly on the mouth then slid off his cock. Sam lay down beside them.
‘Well. Don’t you look a happy boy?’ Jo kissed Adam’s nipple. ‘Like a cat with two tails.’
‘No . . . more like a tail –’ Sam stroked his softening cock ‘– with two cats.’
Six
On Saturday while Jo was eating breakfast Costas let himself into the flat.
‘I’ve brought up the post. You’ve got an interesting-looking parcel.’ He put the mail on the table and went over to the cupboard for a cup. He poured himself a coffee and sat down.
Jo picked up the package and turned it over in her hands. ‘I think I know what it is . . .’ She slit the padded envelope open with her knife and tipped out the contents. A pile of novels slid onto the table.
Costas picked up one of the books. ‘Oh, it’s your author’s copies of your latest book. It looks good.’
Jo had been writing erotica since her teens and had been published in Forum, For Women and a couple of specialised fetish magazines. Five years ago, Costas had suggested that she have a go at writing a novel. At first, it had seemed an impossible task but, after a couple of chapters, she seemed to find her voice.
It was liberating and exciting to be able to describe human sexuality in more depth than a six-thousand-word story normally allowed. She could give her characters real depth and complexity. She could explore the erotic journey that they made together and show how each step of the voyage brought them closer to the terrifying bottomless intimacy which, Jo knew, lay at the heart of kinky relationships.
Her first book had been a modest success and, with each successive novel, her popularity had increased. Rosalind Quirt, as she called herself, had a dedicated and growing group of fans.
Jo often wondered if any of the parents or governors had read her books. She imagined them being aroused by her words, maybe even masturbating as a result, never even knowing that it was Jo’s writing that was turning them on. It gave her an illicit thrill and delicious feeling of power.
She drained her coffee cup and picked up a book. On the cover, a woman stood with her back towards the camera. Only her parted legs and bottom were in the picture. She wore long shiny boots and a tiny pair of leather shorts. Her hands were behind her back and she was holding a vicious-looking riding crop in both hands. Between the A of her parted legs could be seen the figure of a shackled hooded man on his knees.
‘You’re right. It looks great. Pass me that pen and I’ll sign one for you.’ Jo ate the last bite of toast and wiped her fingers clean on her napkin.
‘Thanks. I always find your books . . . inspiring.’ He passed her the pen.
She opened the book and leafed through it until she found the dedication page. She signed it and handed it to Costas.
‘Oh, you’ve
dedicated it to me! Thanks.’ He smiled at her. ‘I had no idea you’d done that . . . “for Costas Metaxas, my friend and muse”. I really am honoured.’
A few days later Dan and the crew turned up at Sadie’s house to film one of her sessions. Dan had tried not to have any preconceptions about the day, but, as they turned into her street in a quiet suburb of Wembley and drove slowly along trying to read the numbers on the doors, the well-kept Victorian terraced houses gave no hint that one of them housed a modern dungeon.
When they found the right number they parked the van and Dan got out and walked up the path, leaving the crew to unload the gear. Because space was tight in Sadie’s dungeon they’d decided to use a single camera, rather than the usual two. You got better coverage with two cameras and didn’t have to spend time doing cutaways, but a single operator and soundman would be less intrusive and wouldn’t interfere with the flow of the session.
He rang the bell and almost immediately he saw a dark figure approaching down the hall. The image was indistinct and distorted by the frosted glass of the front door, but he didn’t think it was Sadie. The figure was too broad and it seemed to have an odd lumbering gait.
The door opened. Dan was right; it wasn’t Sadie. It was a tall chubby middle-aged man dressed in a pair of black rubber shorts and an upper-body harness. Around his ankles he wore metal shackles connected by eighteen inches of sturdy chain. No doubt that explained his unusual walk, Dan thought. Though he couldn’t have explained why, the sight of the man’s get-up quickened Dan’s heart and made his cock tingle.
‘Good morning, Mr Elliot. Mistress Sadie has instructed me to take you to her dungeon.’
‘OK.’ Dan looked back down the path to the van. ‘I don’t think my colleagues are quite ready, though.’
‘I’ll come back for them, sir. My orders are to take you directly to the mistress.’
Dan stepped into the hall. The man turned and walked towards the back of the house and Dan immediately realised that two round panels had been cut out at the back of his shorts, exposing a circle of pale hairy buttock on each side. His ankle chain clanked as he moved and he was forced to walk in short shuffling steps.
The man opened a door under the stairs and motioned Dan to go through. Inside there was a steep flight of steps. Dan held onto the handrail and walked down carefully and the man followed after him. At the bottom there was a closed door. Dan tried the handle but it appeared to be locked.
‘It’s got an electronic lock . . . let me.’ The man reached forwards and punched a six-digit code into a numerical keypad. Dan heard the lock click open and the man turned the handle. ‘Mistress Sadie is waiting for you in the room at the far end. I’ll go and get your crew.’
Dan stepped through the door. Inside it was dimly lit by wall sconces that mimicked flaming medieval torches. The walls had been painted to resemble stone and the floor had heavy rough flagstones. He could smell something perfumed and exotic, incense probably, or scented oil. He began to walk along the short corridor and was surprised by how loud his feet sounded.
There was a door on either side of the hall, the first was ajar and Dan could see that it was a changing room, like in a sports club with lockers and benches. He opened the other door and saw a basic bathroom, with a sink and separate shower and toilet cubicles and a pile of fluffy towels in a rack.
The door at the end of the corridor was wooden and heavy with black wrought-iron banding and studs, like an ancient door to a church or castle. Dan wouldn’t have been the slightest bit surprised if it creaked like a sound effect from a Hammer horror movie when you opened it. Ever since he’d passed through the electronic door his heart had been beating double time and his mouth had gone dry.
He stood in front of the door, suddenly apprehensive. Barging straight in seemed insensitive and presumptuous but knocking and waiting seemed timid and unmanly. He didn’t want to make the wrong impression before he’d even got to the dungeon. He knocked on the door, rapping it hard with his knuckles in what he hoped was an authoritative fashion and immediately opened it.
‘Come in, Dan. I’ve been waiting for you.’ Sadie got up from her seat and walked towards him. She was wearing a long flowing black dress. He noticed that she’d been sitting on a sort of throne, with a padded red leather seat, carved wooden arms and a high back.
The room’s walls had been painted in the same stone effect as the hall. Here and there, huge iron rings had been set into the wall, reminding Dan of the kind of prison you saw in old movies where the unfortunate starving bearded inmates were shackled by their elevated wrists.
One wall was completely concealed by red velvet curtains. Dan assumed this was where the window must be and he could understand that the ingress of natural light would totally ruin the mood. On the wall opposite the curtains there was a St Andrew’s cross and row upon row of vicious-looking implements: whips, crops, chains and pieces of equipment Dan wouldn’t even have been able to name hanging on hooks.
In the centre of the room there was an enormous piece of furniture that he couldn’t immediately identify. The main body of the item was of padded leather. Halfway down the front legs there was a smaller padded platform. Straps and buckles seemed to dangle from every part of the piece.
Dan tried to work out how they all worked and eventually realised that it must be a whipping bench. The victim lay over the bench with his knees supported by the smaller platform and the straps were used to fasten him in place. He allowed himself to imagine himself bent over it with his naked arse thrust high into the air and his belly gave a little involuntary lurch and his cock twitched.
‘This is fascinating.’ He looked around the room. ‘It’s very atmospheric, I must say. It definitely puts you in the mood.’
‘I’m glad you think so because I’ve got a proposition to make.’ Sadie smiled at him and, though it seemed warm enough, there was something in her eyes that made him feel like a fly caught in the spider’s web.
‘That sounds ominous . . .’
She smiled again. ‘I hope not. I’m sorry to spring this on you at the last minute, but you remember you agreed to filming a session as my client?’
Dan nodded. His heart was pounding and a small vein in his temple had begun to twitch.
‘Well, I’ve been thinking and, if you agree, I think it would be a good idea if you also undergo a private session with me. No cameras, no one else, just you and me and our imaginations.’
‘But I’ve already agreed to let you dominate me, what difference does it make if we film it or not?’
‘All the difference in the world. The cameras will make you feel safe. You’ll put on your charming boyish persona and none of it will be real. I want you to know what it feels like to really surrender – to submit to me and to my desires. I want you to taste your own fear and to learn how exciting that is.’ She gazed at him, her dark eyes shining. ‘It’s not too much to ask surely?’
Dan stared back at her. His stomach felt fluttery. He could hear his own heart beating. ‘OK. Why not?’
‘Excellent . . .’
The door opened and Dave and Dennis came in carrying their kit.
‘Good morning, gentlemen. I’ll leave you to set up while I get changed. I’m expecting our guests at noon. I hope that gives you enough time?’
‘Should do. Can you just walk me through which bits of . . . er . . . equipment you’ll be using so I know what to light?’ Dave, the cameraman, looked around the room.
‘Of course. Normally we keep the lighting quite atmospheric in here but Dan’s explained that the cameras need plenty of light. We’ll be using the whipping bench, of course, and the St Andrew’s cross. During the second session I’ll be using the examination chair.’ She pointed to the corner where there was a huge medical-type chair with straps and leg stirrups. ‘And for general stuff we tend to use that space over there.’ She pointed to an empty space in front of the curtains. ‘Is that all right?’
‘Sure. I can use a redhead and a couple o
f dedos and I’ll use some spun to diffuse the light. Should be fairly straightforward and won’t take me too long. Thanks.’ Dave went over to the equipment and began to erect a light stand.
An hour later the cameras were ready to roll and Sadie’s slave had informed them that the clients had arrived and were waiting in the changing room.
Dan always felt psyched up and excited before a shoot, as if anything might happen, and he’d never felt that more than today. He’d never thought of himself as narrow-minded or innocent, but since he’d started working with Hellfire 2000 he’d found himself permanently wide-eyed and perpetually aroused.
Dan was already wearing his radio mike and Dennis, the sound engineer, was fitting Sadie’s. She’d got changed and was wearing a skin-tight leather cat suit and clinging pointy-heeled boots. The suit had a long zip up the front and it was undone almost to her waist. Around her hips was a thick leather belt from which hung half a dozen whips and crops. It reminded Dan of Batman’s utility belt. Dennis fixed the radio mike’s transmitter to the back of the belt and clipped the mike itself to the top of her cat suit.
‘Right. Can you just say a few words – to give me a bit of level?’ Dennis went over to his portable mixer. ‘Just tell me what you had for breakfast, or recite a bit of poetry, anything you like.’
‘There is a young woman named Sadie,
Whose tastes are decidedly shady,
She’ll often enjoy
An obedient boy
To dress up and pretend he’s a lady . . .
Will that do?’
Dennis laughed. ‘Fabulous, thanks. Right, I think we’re ready when you are now, Dan.’
‘Thanks.’ Dan stood in front of the camera. ‘OK, Sadie. I’d like to do a piece to camera first, if you don’t mind, then we can begin?’
‘Sure. What do you want me to do while you’re doing that?’
‘How about if we bring the clients in and you’re doing something with them in the background? It’ll add atmosphere.’
A Talent for Surrender Page 8