‘I asked you to tie the knots tighter and tighter. It was painful but, strangely, the pain did something to me and I liked it. Do you think that makes me sound odd?’
‘No, Emile, I don’t.’
‘Then, after tying me, you left me for ages alone and straining for relief. You said it was medicine and that you were taming my cock into submission. However, this treatment only conspired to make it longer and stiffer.’
Eliza raised an eyebrow. She found this story very tantalizing.
‘I really must be a depraved individual because, in the next fantasy, you tied me up but I persuaded you to wind a larger piece of black lace around my chest, covering my nipples. It had to be of a particular type – one of those wide, embroidered pieces which are very rough. The lace kept rubbing my nipples until they were burning and you had to lick them better with your tongue.’ Emile shot her a sideways glance at this point. ‘I liked it, it did things to me. The sensation of your cool, slippery tongue in contrast to the rough lace, well. The binding forced me into a place of divine happiness and scintillating sensations once I rose above the pain.
Eliza, fascinated and repelled at the same time, was clenching her thigh muscles as waves of pleasure flooded over her. She could associate with this, because she had the same fascinations herself. Why, even now she could imagine Emile beneath her skirts as he held her open and licked her, his smooth, dextrous tongue soothing all those sore places the lace and buttons had rubbed.
‘Ah, these fantasies are the most sublime bliss. Your satins and laces torture my cock. Not to say, the expert way you bind me, yes, bind me mercilessly and tightly. The first time you did it, it was just the base of my cock, but the next time you did it all the way up so that only the head was showing and then – well then, you did a naughty thing. You whipped me with a knotted whip of lace and ribbons and you did it very hard, so my legs and cock were pink all over. And you kept changing costumes and caressing me with your sleeves, the hem of your skirt, even the tip of your little pointed toe.’
Eliza shuddered; she was giddy and her eyes were blazing with tortured passion.
‘I have just one more story and then that’s enough for today.’
‘But this one’s even worse, isn’t it?’ Eliza licked her fingers. She could guess what was coming. ‘Tell me, Emile, or I fear I’ll get dreadfully bored.’
‘You tied me as usual and bound my cock. Then, fluffing out an amazing diaphanous skirt of sheerest voile, you sat on my face, while I licked your delicious, plump little sex lips which, on this occasion, you had tied up in an elaborate harness of lace, buttons, and ribbons. It was incredible. I was suffocated and yet quite euphoric as you bent forward and tickled my cock.’
Eliza’s toes curled into claws and her quim felt like an army of ants had come to life in it. There was no possible way Emile could know about her little fetish, was there?
‘That’s enough,’ Eliza said, springing to her feet so she could excuse herself and go into her cabinet de toilette, where she jerked the lace into her tender places so aggressively, she screeched with delight.
When she returned, Emile was lying on her bed with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. ‘Now, I ask myself, would you ever be brave enough to play along with those particular fantasies, Eliza?’
His glance was one of light-hearted flirtatiousness, and yet rippling beneath the surface was a liquid river of bubbling male magma which would one day, she was sure, explode with violent consequences if she could find the key to vent it.
Chapter Nine
He was perfect, Eliza mused the next morning as she stared at her croissants and cup of coffee, and realised for the first time in ages she’d lost her appetite. Emile had turned the lessons into a battle of wits. Never had she met such a cunningly delectable man, one who stirred all the necessary instincts in her and mirrored her quirks exactly.
Eliza had decided to wear the birthday ensemble and, that afternoon when Emile arrived, she teased open the first bow on the corset, circling the small expanse of exposed pink flesh with her finger as he stripped without further ado.
‘Come and sit here on the bed,’ Emile commanded.
Eliza sat on the edge of the bed as requested, raising her leg and straightening it provocatively. ‘Can I add to this game, Emile, by asking you to unfasten the ribbons around my ankles?’ Holding up her skirt, she placed her leg on his knees, so that Emile could unfasten the ribbons he liked Eliza to wear. She whipped the ribbons out of his fingers and, pushing him back on the bed, straddled his hips. ‘You wanted a little pinch of spice so you shall have it.’ She passed the ribbons across her lips.
‘What are you doing, Eliza?’
‘I’m your confessor and teacher and I know best how to cure you, Emile. Since you’re so determined with your little stories I’ve decided to try an experiment.’
Eliza could hardly drag her gaze away from his firm, muscular torso, flat belly, and cheeky, erect cock. Indeed, she was becoming a seething cauldron and droplets of her juices were kissing her thighs. Grabbing the ramrod hard shaft, she tied the ribbon around the base, twisting it cruelly.
‘No, Eliza, not that, I can’t bear it.’
‘But we must explore. Besides which you’re becoming far too bossy and disobedient. A student never takes matters into his own hands and you’re doing far too much of that.’
Emile was peering at her bodice. He lifted a ribbon with the corner of his nail and then proceeded to untie it, revealing the tempting crescent of Eliza’s nipple. ‘How naughty you are, Eliza. Sometimes your ingenuity knows no bounds. Seeing as I’m conceding to the cock torture, move your corset around, make your nipple poke through this little hole.’
‘I don’t know why I should, but seeing as this is in the nature of an experiment …’ Wriggling her torso, Eliza began teasing her tender flesh through the aperture.
‘And what’s this?’ He lifted a ruffle. ‘You have a tear in your skirt.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Eliza said, biting the end of her finger in frustration. She wanted to feel Emile’s finger on her skin and have him kiss and accost her as a lover would. Really, she chided herself. She must get a hold of her emotions.
‘And here’s another. You need another dressmaker, I think?’ he taunted.
Eliza couldn’t help herself. She placed her hands on his cheeks. ‘Emile, I’m a most proficient tease, but a tease, you understand, of the most innocent nature.’
As she leant forward, the clever boning in the corset thrust Eliza’s breasts out so the tips of her nipples grazed his chest.
Emile grabbed her and, tumbling her onto her back, he reached beneath her skirt and began stroking the insides of her thighs. His fingers grazed her sensitive sex, inching closer to the lace and button ensemble. Eliza clasped her thigh muscles around his hand in warning, eliciting a groan of surprise form Emile, who tried to extend his finger further so he could tickle the viscous folds. A bolt of electricity passed through her body as the button continued to rub.
Eliza was intoxicated by this bold youth and she was now wondering if he might make the perfect lover. She realised with a pang that Emile was special, very special; a unique blend of innocent, playmate, and romantic. How could she let a man like this slink away from her clutches and into the hands of someone like Penelope Carter?
‘Kiss me with feeling, as you would Penelope,’ she taunted, trailing the long gauze sleeve of her corset over his bare nipples and smiling in amusement as they hardened to peaks. ‘And I’ll give you a reward.’
‘You will.’ Grasping her curls, he kissed her, his impertinent tongue flicking back and forth over her lips and teeth. Eliza sunk her hands into his hair and held him close as her own riposted greedily. She could only hazard a guess that if his cock behaved in the same fashion she was in for a treat.
Emile sprawled back loose-limbed on the bed, a spectacular picture of libidinous manhood with his erect penis as hard as a hawser, peeping from within tightly bound silk, yet st
ill stubbornly resisting the yielding of its load.
Eliza would have been quite happy carrying on with their explorations as they were, if something had not happened one day to change the dynamics of the situation. She was about to discover something which made her at first very angry and then exceedingly shocked in equal proportions.
They often spent long afternoons playing card games and reading, and sometimes the both of them would fall into a somnolent sleep. On this particular day, Eliza woke up on the couch in the parlour, though, and found Emile gone. She had a fairly good idea where he was.
Emile would frequently creep upstairs and, once there, would open her drawers and one of the many wardrobes and stare at her clothing. She knew this was his little secret because she’d detected the evidence. Eliza was terribly neat and tidy with everything she did and she could instantly tell if a ribbon had been rewound in a different fashion, her shoes placed out of order, or even if her beautiful ball gowns were slightly in disarray. But never had she been able to catch him red-handed, doing something – well, something despicable. She ought to have guessed because Emile’s fetish now had such a grip on him he was becoming hungrier and more careless as his confidence increased. He’d begged Eliza to wear no end of different costumes and he would sit between her legs, tasting her clothes like he’d taste different courses on a menu. He liked to rub his cock against satin, silk, and lace and sometimes his lust would reach such heights he’d start moaning and groaning as if he was in pain.
Sitting up, she cocked her head to one side. The house was as silent as a tomb, the open windows emitting somnolent birdsong and the droning of insects. Yawning and getting to her feet, Eliza crept upstairs on her bare feet and over to her bedroom door.
Oh, the shock of it, although deep down she’d already suspected. The dog was lost in a world of his own, playing with her clothes. He’d heavily bound his splendid cock in a contraption of ribbons and bows and was parading up and down like a proud tribal chieftain, hips outthrust, while beating the recalcitrant organ with her hairbrush. It seemed he was even more ingenious than she was, since he’d fastened two of her broad silk ribbons around his waist, threaded them around his groins, and then fastened his cock with a further strip of lace to the belt so it was held at an impossibly upright angle, the only exposed part of it its glistening tip.
With a rising feeling of annoyance she realised Emile was dangling the key to the wardrobe in his hand. Damn, she’d been getting too careless lately and it was her own fault. Evidently he’d been biding his time and noticed she’d left it on top of the cupboard. She couldn’t believe her eyes. As macabre as the scene was, though, she was violently excited and her hands strayed beneath her afternoon tea gown, under which – of course – she wore nothing.
What was he doing now? Heaven forfend, he had taken one of her naughtiest skirts – a particular favourite – out of the closet, whimpering as he smoothed it against his body. The rascal, he’d better not mark it. Mystified, Eliza’s legs were weak and she crouched against the door, steadying herself by bracing her hands on the wall.
Emile was poking his fingers through the customary holes beneath the frills and his cheeks were becoming pinker and pinker as he ran his tongue over his lips. For a moment he seemed to be contemplating something, and then – oh my Lord. Eliza watched him grip his swollen cock. In a paroxysm of sheer delight, his face a contortion of lust, he began pumping his monstrous appendage back and forth through the aperture. How dare he? Eliza felt furious that he could use her clothes in such a manner, but as she sunk back on the floor with her legs spread, her loose ringlets sticking wetly to her face, she felt euphoric because she realised she wanted him so much she could almost feel that cock working in and out of her. Instantly, her own fingers began working in tune with every frantic thrust. Emile was a priapic God, and his cock, well, that was perfect.
Eliza fantasised over an exquisitely proportioned man who would be able to fill her completely, but she’d never thought she would actually meet one in the flesh. Such heroes surely belonged between the pages of books. Gritting her teeth, she aggressively circled her clitoris, determined to fulfil her craving as one orgasm after another wracked her body. Ooh, she could practically feel that thick organ plundering her.
Emile had not finished cavorting. Throwing a thickly embroidered lace dress and blouse onto the bed, he leapt on top of them, moaning and rubbing his body on the stiff lace and cool satin, bows and ruffles, before grabbing his cock – every muscle and sinew bulging and as tight as a bow string. He jerked up his hips, impaling her skirt through one of the carefully placed openings. Next, he grappled in a frenzy with the knots and lace as he tried to tear his grossly distended cock loose of its cage, his body quaking as, in wonderment, he ejaculated so prodigiously he gave a cry like a wounded animal. Even that wasn’t the end of it. He then began writhing and crying like a wild creature as, unable to stop his damned outpouring, he gave in to a pagan display of unadulterated lust, biting his fist and bellowing her name.
Eliza held her knuckles to her mouth as, stimulated by the sight of so much wanton lust and Emile’s heathen convulsions, her body tensed and rose with him. What to do? She sunk back against the wall. If she confronted him imminently, Emile might never liberate himself again as such strongly entrenched fetishistic desires were a deeply psychological complaint and required the walking of a tightrope if the situation was not to be made any worse. She should know; she’d studied the philosophy of sex intently enough. As angry as she was, and as much as she wanted to dash into that room and whip him hard to teach him a thing or two about true obedience – yes, tether that disobedient organ in such stiff lace that he screamed with the agony – she must bide her time and wait for revenge.
After a while, Emile stretched and, looking like the cat that got the cream, stood up. She was amazed to see his cock was ramrod hard again and it appeared he hadn’t yet finished. He wandered over to her trinket box and took out the pair of tiny ornamental scissors she used for cutting her fine silk ribbon, lace, and cottons. Her rage bubbled up again. He was bending over and turning her skirt inside out – and now what was he doing? Eliza clapped her hands to her mouth. He was snipping off a small length of the fabric, granted a tiny piece, but how dare he? Well, this certainly changed things. She’d make him pay for that.
Chapter Ten
‘Eliza.’ Eliza feigned sleep as Emile rocked her gently by the shoulder. Dressed in one of her caftans, he was perched on the edge of the couch holding a bunch of roses he’d cut from the garden, their petals sparkling with raindrops. Outside, thunder rumbled and hardly a breath disturbed the curtains.
‘Emile, how lovely.’ Eliza lazily opened an eye. She’d have to be careful to disguise her newfound knowledge. ‘What are those for?’
‘Eliza darling, do I need a reason?’ The expression on his face might be termed newfound confidence. And no wonder, Eliza mused, the anger bubbling up again.
‘I had a curious dream,’ she said carefully. ‘It makes me consider a new direction, the fact I ought to take a sterner hand with you. After all, we’re in the midst of an experiment and I’m making some interesting discoveries. Already I see in you a budding Casanova, and although I realise you’re an innocent, I don’t think you have an innocent soul in the least. I think you wear the disguise of a devil.’
Emile smiled. ‘I told you so. It appears that Mama was right.’
Eliza peered down at Emile’s cock. Having been subjected to the torture of her clothing, it now reared forward angrily through a gap in the fabric.
‘If I’m the devil you’re a wicked demoness with your frills and bows, Eliza Pinch. For never did a woman wear such naughty clothing in such a delightful manner. For instance, what’s this?’ Frowning, he lifted her skirt up off the floor, poking his finger through one of the holes. ‘I see a daring casket for my cock which has been expertly disguised. Now, what does this sterner hand entail? Are you going to chain me or tie me up, tighter and firmer than
before?’
‘Yes, I shall, and that’s only the beginning. You’ll submit to my every wish if you want to be cured. And the cure’s long overdue.’
Emile objected as, grabbing him by the hand, Eliza led him upstairs, but she wouldn’t be deterred. Going to her chest of drawers, she tugged out her scarves and ribbons, her mouth watering. The possibilities were almost too numerous to contemplate but she had to start somewhere. Taking a pair of her finest stockings, she bound Emile’s wrists and ankles and tied them to the bedposts. He could, she thought with a toss of her head, at least put up a fight.
‘I begin to think you’re a fraud of the meanest kind and you want to procure carnal excitement.’
‘What, me?’ Emile raised an eyebrow teasingly.
Eliza had never tied a man up and it gave her an immense thrill. She ran her hand over his nipples and flat belly, feeling his muscles tense beneath her hand and that impertinent cock jerk even more fully to attention. She then tied together lace and silk and satin and made him a harness. Why, she thought indulgently, as she slid the contraption under his torso and began nimbly fashioning knots and nooses, she could spend ages fiddling with his balls and cock, it was so delicious.
‘Oh Emile, I do wish you wouldn’t look at me like that. I won’t have it.’ Eliza snatched her velvet sleeping mask off her bedside table and, before he could object, snuggled it over his eyes.
‘Eliza, you’re being far too harsh. What’s come over you?’
Eliza didn’t think she was being harsh at all. Her fingers were amazingly steady as she continued to fashion the harness. It wouldn’t be dissimilar to her own except Eliza attached more lace to the strips around his groin so she could slide a satin ribbon under his balls and neatly truss them up so they pouted cheekily. Then she turned her attention to his cock, wrapping it in ribbons, but this time fastening it with slipknots all the way up so she could tighten and release them at will. The key to Emile was lace and satin, ruffles and silks, but also, as she now knew, pain. She couldn’t resist a tweak of a ribbon which effectively squeezed the head of Emile’s cock, eliciting a groan. Finally Eliza laid out more fripperies and, one by one, trailed them over Emile’s distended organ. ‘You must guess what each one is,’ she commanded, dangling a fragment of lace so it just touched his tip.
A Pinch of Spice Page 5