by Lucia Jordan
Copyright © 2012 by KO Books
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Dedication
Thank you to all my readers and fans. Your loyalty and support has meant everything to me since the beginning. I hope you enjoy the story.
I couldn’t write it without you.
Thank you!
Chapter One
Lydia could feel the man beneath her weakening and he was silently mouthing at her to stop – wait, to give him a minute, but she couldn’t – not when she was so close to her own climax. Just five more minutes and she would come, please don’t make it stop she thought as she squeezed her thighs tighter around him – she could feel the man’s cock twitching and threatening to spill inside her.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” she snarled from above him. She flicked her long dark hair over her shoulder and bared her teeth. “I’m so fucking close, don’t you even-” but her words came too late as Andy moaned and grabbed her hips as his orgasm came. Irritated, Lydia batted his hands away and dismounted him even before he had finished ejaculating.
“You fucking idiot,” she said, throwing her silk kimono on as she slipped off the bed. “You selfish fucking twat,” and fuming she stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door on her lover.
In the privacy of the en suite, Lydia fell to the floor and leaned against the sink and let her own fingers explore herself. She was wet with semen and her own juices, and she lubed up her clitoris expertly. Using the tiniest pressure and slick rhythm, she brought herself off in the bathroom, making no effort to disguise her orgasmic cries. Let him hear. It was his own fault he couldn’t bring her off. None of them could… they all finished too soon.
Lydia slumped against the sink and sighed as her pleasure died. As always when she pleasured herself, it was short lived but powerful. She considered going back in and telling Andy to ready himself for another round, but as she exited the en suite, her short and slightly portly lover had his clothes on and was making for the door. He stopped as she came out in her unfastened kimono and rolled her eyes.
“You can’t speak to me like that,” he said quietly. “I’ve had enough, Lyd. See you around,” and he went out, down the steps and out of the front door. Lydia heard tqhe lock click as the door shut and she sat down wearily on the bed.
“What’s wrong with me?” she said out loud. No one answered, and she slept alone that night.
*
“So he left, that’s it, really,” Lydia explained to her friend Carol through a mouthful of apple pie. “Good riddance, really.”
“Jesus, Lyds, you get through more men!” Carol grinned over her coffee. They were at their favourite coffee shop after a mornings shopping and bitching. Lydia had just told the story of Andy’s departure, not leaving out any juicy details. Why should she? She and Carol were best friends since high school, and there was no shame in admitting that her lover hadn’t had it in him to get her off.
“They’re all shit,” Lydia replied. “Find me a man, Carol. One who won’t fucking spunk all over the bed sheets before I’ve even started to enjoy myself.”
“If I find him, I’m having him first,” Carol laughed. “Maybe you need to try something different,” she suggested. “Are you still just doing vanilla sex?”
“Depends what you mean,” Lydia said. “I’ve used handcuffs and dildos and stuff before.”
“I’m talking really hardcore. You know, whips, chains, bondage, BDSM,” Carol stirred her drink wistfully. “You remember Ben? He was into all that. I had some orgasms, I can tell you.”
“So how do you get into that stuff?” Lydia pushed her plate away. “Are there clubs and stuff?”
“They generally don’t admit newbies like you or me… Why not go on a site and ask for a fuck-buddy? Someone who can show you the ropes, so to speak?”
“I hate internet dating.”
“This is more like internet fucking,” Carol laughed. “Come on, I know you went on that swingers site once.”
“Which was a total disaster,” Lydia grinned. “He brought his wife with him, which I totally didn’t expect, so I had to get rid of them both before someone saw!” she roared with laughter.
“So did you fuck them?”
“That’d be telling.”
“I bet you did, you slut!”
“If I’m a slut, then I got it from you,” Lydia smirked. “Oh, god, Carol has it really come to this? BDSM? Should I buy a leather catsuit?”
“Ask your fuck-buddy,” Carol drained her coffee. “He might have some recommendations.”
The two friends parted company and the conversation left Lydia wondering. She was a prolific sex-seeker, but Carol was right… She was a vanilla woman at the end of the day. She imagined being tied up and whipped with a stick, but it didn’t seem to be turning her on. Maybe she did need someone to introduce her into this new world, someone who could teach her and show her how it was done. She raced to the bus and got straight onto her smartphone to check out the sites. She had to shield her phone from the other passengers, and when she got home, she had joined ‘BDSM Life Online’, placed an advert for a ‘partner’ and had listed her credentials.
As she cooked her dinner she kept refreshing the connection on the phone, eager to see if anyone had yet replied to her ad. There was a tingling in her stomach as her anxiety increased. She was still unsure if she would reply even is she did get a message. She kept checking but drew nothing but a blank screen and eventually she just gave up.
There were no replies that night, and Lydia went to sleep in her clean white bed feeling ever so slightly disappointed.
Chapter Two
Lydia woke early and began her usual morning routine. She went for a light jog, showered, got ready for work and ate her breakfast. As she sat at the table she kept thinking of the dream she had that night. It had been both a little frightening and slightly erotic. She remembered vaguely that a dark, handsome and mysterious man had kidnapped her and taken her to a huge room in some strange building.
She had been blindfolded and tied to a chair however the more she tried to recall what had happened next, the more hazy it got. This train of thought reminded her of the ad she had placed the previous day and she stared at the screen excitedly as she switched on her phone.
There was one single message and she put her glasses on to read it.
Dear Lydia,
My name is Jack Riding. I am a professional, lifestyle dominant male, and I was interested to read your advertisement.
I specialise in introducing newbies and vanilla lifestyles to our darker, forbidden world. I refuse to switch to a submissive role, something people often find difficult to deal with; I hope you are more understanding.
If you wish to discuss a potential partnership, please meet me at the Coffee Shop Corner at noon. I am there most days. I will be wearing a pair of blue glasses – they are quite distinctive.
Looking forward to our potential relationship,
Jack Riding.
Lydia took a deep breath and read the email several times. It was an internet dating nightmare all over again. Meet me here; I’ll be wearing that. Typical. She closed her phone down and lay staring at the ceiling, tempted to ignore the message and carry on hunting for that pleasure-giver in the flesh. Then th
e words of Carol floated back into her mind.
“I am too vanilla,” she said to herself. “Fuck it, I’ll go. If he’s not what I’m looking for I can always leave – pretend I never saw him. After all, he doesn’t know what I look like,” she threw back the covers and stood naked in front of the full-length mirror. She tilted her dark head on one side as she assessed her body.
She was a short woman, and had worked hard to maintain a slender physique. She kept her hair long to make herself look taller, and wore clothes that accentuated her breasts – in her opinion, they were her best asset. She smiled. She would blow him away, whoever he was.
Lydia picked out a pair of her skinny jeans and a logo-splattered t-shirt. She had no intention of ‘trying too hard’, and the twenty-six year old knew that formal clothes would age her, so she dressed casually. The time was right and she went out, walking with her head held high and her conscience clear. She was Lydia Westwood and she was unstoppable.
“Can I get a latte and a muffin, please?” she waited at the counter and scanned the seated customers. No one with blue glasses was in, but then she was a little early. Taking her order, she chose a seat in the window and watched the passers-by.
I wonder how many of them have had a proper orgasm? She thought as she watched the woman trit-trotting past her in their heels. And how many of these men are capable of giving me one? She looked at the suits, t-shirts and vests as they patrolled past, with bags or carriers or envelopes. They were all headed somewhere, why wasn’t she?
“Lydia Westwood?” a deep, accented voice came from above her. She looked up, surprised that she hadn’t noticed anyone approach, and her grey eyes locked onto a tall, suited man’s big set of blue ones. He was wearing electric blue spectacles and had the nicest shade of blonde hair Lydia had ever seen on a man. He was smiling in a bemused kind of way and carrying two lattes to go.
“Yes, hello,” she started to rise to shake his hand and instead of shaking it, the man helped her to her feet.
“Get your bag, let’s go,” he indicated the take-away coffees, and Lydia was too surprised to say ‘no’. She grabbed her things and followed him out of the shop and stood as he hailed a cab.
“Jack Riding?” she asked, still unsure.
“Who else would it be?” he grinned as a cab pulled up. He held the door open. “Ladies’ first,” he said and got in after her. The cab pulled off and Jack gave an address in central London.
“Where are we going?” Lydia asked, watching familiar streets turn to unfamiliar ones.
“Back to my place, if you don’t mind,” he replied, handing her one of the coffees. She sipped it gratefully. “It’s easier to do these things in a familiar place,” he brought out a piece of paper and handed it to her. “This is a contract,” he explained. “You’ll want to read it and sign it. I’ve taken the liberty of signing it already,” he pointed to a swirling, artistic scrawl at the bottom of the page.
Lydia read through the page, raising her eyebrows several times as she did so.
The binding contact between Lydia Westwood (sub) and Jack Riding (dom) hereby states that the sub will at all times adhere to any and all instructions given by the dom. The sub has no right to end the scene, except through statement of the Safe Word, hereby designated as Coffee.
The scene may include but is not limited to the following activities…
There followed a list ranging from spanking to fisting that made Lydia’s eyebrows shoot up in horror. She decided that safe word would be on the tip of her tongue at all times, as the cab pulled up outside a large, three-storey terraced house in the heart of London.
“Are you rich?” she asked as she got out of the vehicle.
“Well, yes, actually,” Jack knocked on the door once and a man in a suit answered the door.
“Good afternoon, Sir,” he said, opening the door to let his employer in. “Will you be requiring anything?”
“Just the third floor, Brown, thank you,” Jack handed his coat to the butler and indicated Lydia should do the same. With a slight incline of the head, the man called ‘Brown’ disappeared into a different room.
“Should I take my shoes off?” Lydia asked, feeling stupid.
“Yes, that will save some time,” Jack smiled. “We’ll take the third floor. I hope you are prepared,” and he indicated she should lead the way up the oak staircase, smiling politely at her confusion. With each step she was getting closer and closer to something new, something exciting with this man who she could feel following her from behind; his eyes soaking in her body with each and every step. The dream she had remembered earlier that morning popped into her head in its entirety and she smiled as she recalled the images, hoping that dreams really do come true.
Chapter Three
Lydia stood, stripped naked, her arms wrapped protectively around herself in the centre of a large room which was painted a dark, seductive blue. Around her seemed to be weapons of various degrees of distress.
There was a strange seat, like a pommel-horse; a large ‘X’ shape, complete with buckles at the end of each line; a curved table-like object and an assortment of whips, buckles, chains, straps and handcuffs. Lydia was overcome with curiosity and went to examine the enormous ‘X’ on the wall. She had just reached up to touch one of the buckles, running her fingers over it when the door to the room opened and shut.
“That’s a St. Andrew’s Cross,” Jack’s voice said helpfully. “Would you like to try it?”
“Um,” Lydia’s hands moved to cover her naked body and she blushed outwardly while inside she burned with excitement. “No, not right now,” and she remembered that ‘no’ wasn’t an accepted form of refusal here. But Jack smiled and stepped into the light, so she could see he was entirely naked, too.
He had the toned body of someone who works out but not obsessively. His dark blond hair turned to curls on his breastbone and even darker around his currently flaccid, yet still impressive prick.
“Then we shall start at the beginning, as is correct,” he said, as he pointed towards the strange curved table. “Drape yourself over that,” he said. “Bottom up.”
Lydia crossed the room self-consciously to the soft, padded table and rested her toned stomach over the curve. It was surprisingly comfortable and she felt no muscle strains at all leaning over it. She had just allowed herself to relax when Jack’s hand came down upon her with the force of an express train and smacked her on the backside.
“Ow!” she cried reacting without even meaning to. She couldn’t believe how much that hurt. She fought to gather herself as a second blow, on the other cheek slapped her back into shock and pain radiated across her buttocks. Then came both hands at once, making hot contact with her sore skin, following the smacks with squeezes that would at any other time be sensual.
It was this moulding of her flesh that made Lydia pause. The heat of the pain was transforming. As her backside was warmed, tiny nerve pulses seemed to be travelling from her wounded flesh to her sex, and she gasped in surprise.
“Shall I go on?” a sarcastic voice above her said.
“Yes,” she nodded, and immediately the spanking became harder, faster, almost frenzied. Pain rained down on her backside, but even as it did so, the blossoming feeling turned from pain to all-consuming warmth. She felt her sex open slightly as if in response to the feeling, and the more Jack touched her, even though it was intended to hurt her, made her want him all the more. Gradually, the slaps stopped, as if Jack’s arm was tiring.
“How does that feel?” he asked, massaging her buttocks with both hands – avoiding her sex completely.
“Nice… Nicer than I expected,” she replied, wondering if it was all over.
“Good,” he said. “Then you’ll be fine with what comes next,” and he walked over to a wall where he kept various restraints and whips. Lydia craned her head and saw that Jack’s penis had sprung to life during her beating. It was now engorged and inviting – the glowing pinkness of his glans made her think of sucki
ng candy. He came back, though Lydia could not see what he carried.
The dark-haired woman flinched as she felt buckles fasten around her ankles – first right, then the left. She tried to move her feet, but found she could not.
“There’s a solid bar between your legs to hold them open,” Jack explained, tracing a line of fiery desire up her calf, thigh and buttock. “I want to see everything you have,” and the fingers traced this time down the valley between her buttocks, over her pink, puckered anus, down her perineum and graced tantalisingly over her sex, which was wet and opening in response to his touch.
“That’s… ah,” she trembled as his fingers opened the folds of her sex, exposing the entrance to her vagina.
“Soon,” he said, pressing a fingertip against her opening. There was a pause, and Lydia wondered what was to happen as she heard a loud ‘crack’ sound. There was a second where nothing happened at all, and then fire like nothing Lydia had ever felt shot from the back of her thighs, up towards her brain. She did not scream, just moaned as she reached around to try and comfort her legs. Jack batted her hands away and struck her with the riding crop again.
CRACK. All the blood in Lydia’s legs went rushing to the injured spot and set alight, burning her skin so she cried. She braced herself for another blow and it came – whipping down with precision aim directly on top of her already scalded flesh. She squealed and wriggled helplessly on the padded table, aware that as she struggled, her sex was betraying her – the warmth from her pain was making her ready, willing and desperate to be filled by her pain-giver.
Lydia could feel her wetness growing and the swell of her clitoris as she moved on the table. Jack delivered less painful but still stinging strikes to the backs of her legs as she wormed about, trying to deny her arousal and escape the burn of the riding crop.