Irresistible

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  We had discussed this. When I felt safe, when the time was right, when the trust was there, perhaps we could dip our toes into the “scene”—although, in reality, it would only be me doing the toe-dipping. Before we met, Matthew had been an accomplished scene player, in great demand wherever his international conducting career took him. He had belonged to an exclusive members’ club, discretion assured, global contacts and all that. In my mind, it was all terribly glamorous, but also extremely intimidating. The women were sophisticated beauties. The men were power brokers and business magnates. Everything took place in gigantic drawing rooms full of dark wood and oxblood leather. And they all sipped brandy all the time.

  I thought back to what Matthew had told me about Jan and Karin, but I couldn’t remember much. Karin liked to switch… was that her? Or was that the one in Hamburg? I often asked him about his adventures in BDSM, usually while we were in the bath and, while he never avoided the issue, he always did his best to ensure that I wasn’t left feeling inadequate or second best. “You have to remember, Loveday, that none of those women were really ‘mine’ in the way that you are. Having you, the way I do, is what I have always wanted. I wouldn’t swap it for all the scenes in the world.”

  I glowed at the memory, smiling as Matthew nudged me down on to a bench.

  “So what do you think?” he said.

  “Of?”

  “The Night Watch.”

  I realized for the first time that we were seated directly in front of Rembrandt’s huge masterpiece.

  “Oh! Yes, it’s…big, isn’t it?”

  He snorted, then took my hand and placed it in his lap, stroking it.

  “We don’t have to go. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll fob them off and take you on a canal boat instead…”

  “No, I…” I looked away from the ruffed and feather-hatted Dutchmen and up to my suited and booted choirmaster. “I think I want to meet them. I think I could give it a go.”

  He looked at me for a long time. I think the other people in the gallery must have wondered why we’d bothered to pay the entrance fee.

  “If you’re sure,” he said at last. “And only if you’re sure. The minute you aren’t happy, we can leave.”

  I nodded. “I know. I trust you, see.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “I’ll try to be worthy of it. Shall we come back here tomorrow? I want to take you back to the hotel and dress you for the occasion.”

  The look on his face was worth the trepidation. I had handed him a key and now he was ready to dive into the treasure box. It would be all right. If I was with him, it would be all right.

  Jan and Karin lived in one of the tall, narrow old merchants’ houses facing onto the Prinsengracht canal.

  “They can’t be short of a bob or two,” I shivered to Matthew, looking up at the huge windows, like mournful cartoon eyes with flower tubs rimming the lower lids. “Dressing me for the occasion” had not been synonymous with “dressing me for the weather.” Beneath my long wool coat, I wore my evening concert dress—a long silk sheath with crystal beading—and beneath that only stockings and suspenders. My high heels were not suitable for either the early hour or the cobbled towpath, so I drew plenty of attention on our short journey, mostly of the nudge-wink-whisper variety. Matthew seemed splendidly happy with this, so I worked it, tottering proudly in my stilettos, hand in hand with my adored master. I imagined myself being brought as a gift, which I was, in a way. I was wrapped up and ribbon-tied in my submission before we even arrived.

  “They’re well off,” Matthew confirmed, ringing the doorbell. “I told you Karin was a film producer, didn’t I?”

  “No!”

  “Oh, sorry, thought I did.”

  “Maybe you did.” I wrung my hands, nervous enough to vomit on the doormat. “It’s all a blur. All these people. All these stories.”

  He put a reassuring hand on the small of my back.

  “You’re shaking. You don’t have to worry. Just follow my lead. You can say no at any time. There won’t be any judgment or any more said about it.”

  The door was opened by a woman. I registered a bright white smile and even brighter red hair, and that was all I could hang my focus on as she chatted to Matthew, leading us along a dark wood corridor and up some stairs.

  I concentrated on the warmth and familiarity of his hand on mine, leading me upward, as Karin told us how much she and Jan were looking forward to this and how happy they were for Matthew that he had found what she called a “soul mate.” My nerves dissolved a little at that. It was a sweet thing to say.

  The upstairs room in which we were to take our lunch was…normal. I flicked my eyes to its four corners while Jan and Matthew clapped backs and hailed each other in a hearty, mannish way, but there was no sign of a whip or a chain. Not even a bottle of brandy.

  “And you must be Loveday?” Jan had one of those booming, jovial voices, accent thicker than lard. I could not imagine it giving the sex orders in Matthew’s precise and unequivocal fashion. He had kind blue eyes that crinkled at the corners, thinning blond hair and that hulking all-shoulders build. In his leather waistcoat and thong necklaces, he looked like an aging hippie, more at home smoking a joint in one of the red-light district cafés than orchestrating and fine-tuning a submissive’s exquisite humiliation. Still, if Matthew rated him…

  He almost shook my hand off. I could only smile and nod.

  He knows what I am. They both know. Everyone knows here. Everyone knows what I like to have done to me.

  The thought was a rush, an unexpected wave of lust knocking me off my skyscraper heels. Even if none of them touched me today, the fact that they knew how I liked to be touched in advance was a concept more erotically potent than anything I had faced before.

  “Matthew says you sing like an angel.” Karin smiled. She had a warm smile that shone right through my unease and melted it.

  “Oh, y’know…” I did the usual modest shruggy thing.

  “I would love to hear you sing,” said Jan.

  “Oh, I don’t know…”

  “Yes,” said Matthew, incisive, cutting through my fluster. “Sing for us.”

  There was my answer. Matthew said sing. I would sing.

  “What shall I do?” I asked him, following him to an upright piano tucked into an alcove.

  “Something you feel,” he said.

  I sang Gounod’s “Serenade.” At first there was a perceptual dissonance in singing this beautiful, sensual song in this high-windowed Dutch apartment for an audience of kinksters, but Matthew’s rippling piano accompaniment and the loving words pulled me into the music’s magic and I began to revel in that symbiotic relationship of singer and accompanist, picking up and playing off each other’s energies, just as we did outside our musical lives.

  Jan and Karin applauded and showered me with embarrassingly fulsome praise while Matthew stood behind me, his hands on my shoulders, as if afraid I might fly up to the ceiling like a helium balloon. I’ll admit, I might well have done. Singing always has that effect on me.

  “She is amazing, Matthew,” said Jan, and suddenly I was aware of the switch. They were not going to talk to me anymore. From now on, I was to be talked about.

  “What a wonderful choice you have made. But the lunch is almost ready and I am wondering whether she will eat with us, or would she prefer to serve?”

  Matthew’s fingers tightened on my shoulders. The word “serve” had precipitated a stomach flutter and I wanted to press my thighs together, to catch the melting dew settling upon them.

  “Well?” Matthew bent to whisper the word in my ear. I knew what he wanted. And I wanted it, too. Jan and Karin looked so touchingly excited. Matthew would be so proud of me. And I would enjoy it! The decision went from complex to elegantly simple in one moment.

  “I would like to serve,” I said softly.

  Karin beamed from ear to ear, extended her hand and led me away into the kitchen.

  Over my shoulder, I caugh
t sight of Matthew sinking down into a leather armchair opposite Jan. Time for the brandy to come out, I thought with a giddy thrill.

  “Okay, so, Loveday,” said Karin, shutting the kitchen door behind us. “I haven’t heard that name before.”

  “I’m from Cornwall.”

  “Oh, yes, Lands End, right?”

  “Near there.”

  The counter was loaded with plates of cold meats, cheeses, dark breads and crackers, pickled fish and varied condiments.

  “It’s a simple lunch, you see,” she said. “And your job is simple. You just bring in the food, pour the drinks and do as you’re told.” She grinned and squeezed my hand. “You like to do as you’re told, right?”

  “Some of the time,” I said nervously. It was odd to be standing in a kitchen chatting about submission with a total stranger. My skin prickled.

  “Well, I know Matthew likes to give orders all of the time, so if you’re with him…” She winked and that toothpaste-bright smile flashed again.

  “How well do you know him? Have you…?”

  “We’ve played together a couple times.” She sounded offhand about it all. “He is one of my favorite doms to play with, actually. He’s taught Jan a few things.”

  “That’s one thing he’s good at,” I said with feeling. “Teaching.”

  “Just one?”

  “Well, he’s good at lots of things, of course. But that one in particular.”

  “Listen, before I go back out there, I need to know you are comfortable with this. Are you?”

  “Aren’t you serving, too?”

  “No, I’m a switch. Today I want to enjoy my lunch and have some fun with you. Is that okay?”

  I drew a few breaths. Was it okay for this vibrant, confident woman to have fun with me? Yes. Yes, it was.

  “So…I just take out the plates and, like, obey orders?”

  “That’s about it. Oh, and one more thing. You should take off your dress.”

  My dropped jaw was wasted on her. She had breezed out of the kitchen, leaving me to slip out of the concert gown and stand, nipples to attention, in the middle of the tiled floor. There was no mirror in there, so I leant over and checked myself in the few chrome fittings I could find. I looked flushed and scared. My fingers twisted the silver knot at the center of my choker—more elegant than a collar, but no different in its significance. Engraved on the inside were the words PROPERTY OF M J HARDY.

  The food stood silently, forcing its presence on me, reminding me what I was to do. I held myself straight and picked up two platters, balancing them on my palms the way I learned to that summer I waitressed at the bay.

  I opened the kitchen door with my bare bottom and spun around to face the audience, who were seated at a long table at the back of the room, blessedly far away from the floor-to-ceiling windows, chatting. They didn’t stop when I entered the room. They didn’t even look at me until I placed the food down in front of them, and then it was only to cast their eyes up and down me and watch casually while I returned for the remainder of the repast.

  I had to pass the platters around while they took what they wanted, still ignoring me, and refill their glasses. I was so intent on doing a good job that I forgot I was naked, until they had all been served and I was instructed by Karin to stand at the end of the table with my hands by my sides and wait until I was needed.

  Waiting isn’t easy for me. I want to know what is coming, whether it’s a whipping or an orgasm. Anticipation treads a fine line between pleasure and torment. I kept trying to catch Matthew’s eye, and I managed it a couple of times, but he looked away immediately and talked more about people they knew, places they’d been, things they’d bought.

  I stood there for ten minutes, chest out, thighs clamped together, before Karin took pity on me.

  “Come over here,” she ordered. “Kneel.”

  I fell to my knees beside her chair.

  “You like cheese? Eat.”

  She hand-fed me scraps from her plate, pushing her fingers inside my mouth with each morsel, then she made me lick the salty juices from them.

  “She’s hungry. Greedy girl,” she mocked. “Is she a greedy girl, Matthew?”

  “Not just for food,” he said.

  I bowed my head, not wanting Karin to see the rush of red to my cheeks, but she took my chin and forced it up, smiling down delightedly.

  “That’s great,” she said. “She needs a lot of attention. Well, we can give that, can’t we?”

  “Indeed.” I could see Matthew from the corner of my eye, and he was smiling. Beaming, in fact.

  Jan wiped his mouth and fingers with a paper napkin, then beckoned me.

  “Send her over, Karin,” he said. “I want to have a good look at her.”

  He looked briefly over at Matthew, as if seeking permission, but Matthew didn’t flinch. Permission was implicit. They could all do what they wanted with me.

  I trotted over to Jan’s side; he reached up and tweaked the knot of my choker.

  “Is she collared?” he asked Matthew.

  “Six months ago.”

  “Lovely tits. I don’t like this silicone thing, do you? I prefer them natural. I always think those silicone tits would be no fun to slap.”

  Jan demonstrated with a breathtakingly quick sideways swipe, causing my left breast to swing.

  “These, on the other hand…” he said, and chuckled. He pinched my nipples, just because it seemed the thing to do, then moved his palm down to cover my shaved mons. “Do you shave her, Matthew? Or does she do it?”

  “She usually goes and gets it done professionally. I did it the first time, though.”

  “It’s nice. Turn around.”

  It took me a second or two to realize I was being directly addressed. A slap to my bare thigh woke me up, and I turned my back to him.

  I felt rough hands cup my buttocks, squeezing into them with the thumbs. I sucked in my breath a little; I had leftover bruises from a paddling a couple of days back.

  “You had to punish her, Matthew?”

  “I’m afraid so. She isn’t always this docile, you know.”

  “Tut tut. What did you use?”

  “Wooden hairbrush.”

  “Hers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah, I always think that’s a nice touch. She’ll think of it every time she brushes her hair.”

  “That’s the reasoning behind it, certainly.”

  Matthew’s voice was very low, lower than usual, and slightly hoarse. I smiled to myself, knowing that this was driving him wild.

  “And between those legs…” pondered Jan. “Do you mind?”

  “Be my guest.” Matthew could barely form words.

  Jan’s hand parted my thighs.

  “Bend over,” he ordered roughly, then he pressed hard fingers between my lower lips, swishing them around in my incriminating wetness.

  “God, she is very wet,” he informed the room.

  “Can I see?” Karin rose from her chair and crouched behind me. I felt her warm breath travel over my clit. Jan’s fingers prodded and pressed and I bore down on them, looking for the firmest of touches. He took the fingers away and smacked my bum instead.

  “Dirty girl,” laughed Karin. “You are right, Matthew, she has a greedy pussy.”

  “Okay.” Jan pulled me upright by an elbow. “We have had lunch. Now, dessert. Clear the table, then come back and lie down on it.”

  My walk back to the kitchen with the empty plates was a tottery one. My thighs were steaming wet and I tingled from head to toe. It was like standing at the top of a very tall slide, wondering if you dare let go and take that ride. I’d let go, I was on the ride and now I couldn’t stop until I hit the bottom.

  When I came back, I wanted Matthew to help me onto the table, and that familiar contact, his hand on my arm, strengthened me. He felt so sure, so free of doubt. The confidence was infectious, and when I lay flat, legs parted, arms over my head, and looked up at him, I couldn’t help but sm
ile into his intense gaze.

  He stroked my hair then stood back, waiting for Jan or Karin to dictate the next move.

  “I want my dessert,” said Karin. “How does she taste?”

  “Why don’t you sample her?” suggested Matthew. He and Jan moved to the head of the table and held me down, staring into my eyes while Karin bent over the foot end and slid her face farther and farther toward my widespread cunt.

  When her tongue hit my split, I squirmed and sighed, and the men’s grip on me tightened accordingly. Karin scooped her tongue around my clit, feathering and dabbing, knowing how to eat me, and Jan was inspired to take advantage of his positioning to give my left breast some of the same treatment. Matthew followed his lead and did the same to my right, still pinning me down at the wrist.

  The sensations were exquisite; I felt like I was being devoured from the outside in, and I bucked hard, or as hard as I could while restrained by four strong hands.

  The tip of Karin’s tongue poked itself inside my cunt while her busy fingers strummed on my clit; the men nipped and chewed at my nipples.

  “Oh, please, may I come?” I wailed, remembering just in time the necessity for permission.

  There was no answer. It seemed Jan and Karin were waiting for Matthew.

  I tried to convey the urgency of my request by pushing my nipple farther into his mouth. He released it and said, “No,” quite distinctly, before taking my mouth in a ravenous kiss, drowning out my moan of despair.

  “I don’t think she’s happy with that.” Karin was laughing, moving around the table, waiting for Matthew to free my lips so she could replace his with hers.

  She plunged her tongue deep inside me, giving me that taste of myself.

  “Poor thing,” she crooned, stroking my breasts. “She needs it.”

  “Let’s flog her,” said Jan hopefully, looking at Matthew, who nodded.

  While Karin went off to fetch the instruments of my discipline, Matthew climbed onto the table and positioned himself so that he knelt behind my head, his knees touching my ears. As Karin returned, he leant forward over my body and grabbed my calves, lifting them, pulling them back until he held me by the ankles, keeping me spread open, my bottom cheeks raised off the table so that my coccyx remained in contact with the wood.