by Jade West
I watched over her shoulder as she enlarged a thumbnail, and there he was. My heart pounded at the sight of his perfect chest, the chimera dancing on his skin. There was a blonde stood facing away from the camera. Her back was a mess, red-raw welts criss-crossed over each other, and below that her ass was purple. Literally purple. Bruises like I’d never seen before.
“He did that?”
“The welts are fresh, the bruising is days old. You want to look like that when he’s finished with you? You’ll hardly be able to sit down for a week. That’s what redhead is feeling right now, don’t doubt it.”
“That’s supposed to put me off, is it?” I asked, crossing my arms.
She spun back in her seat to face me. “Doesn’t it?”
“No.”
“Sure, well how about these?” She flicked through some more until she found what she was looking for. On this one the blonde’s face was cut off, the picture stopped at her shoulders. Her breasts were bound and swollen, blotchy with deep red bruising. She had needles threaded under her skin, rows of them leading right up to her nipples.
I felt the pulse in my temples. “What else does he do?”
She shrugged and exhaled all her breath. “Fucking hell, Lyds.” On the next the woman was spread-eagled, bound tight to a wrought-iron bed like the one in my room. Again I couldn’t see her face. The picture was focused on her pussy, red and puffy, between purple-streaked thighs. Masque was knelt over her, ready to strike her again. On this one he was naked. I felt my cheeks burn. His stiff cock was as threatening was the rest of him, a weapon in its own right. His implement of choice in this picture was a metal ruler, his target her poor swollen clitoris. “You can’t even imagine how much that hurts.”
I recalled the thump as James Clarke had landed one on his desk. Ow wouldn’t even begin to cut it. I stared at the image, willing it to burn into my memory forever since I doubted I’d ever get to see it again.
“I shouldn’t be showing you these, Lyds, it’s purely to knock some sense into you. Most doms stick to the ass or the thighs, the fleshier parts, you know?”
“But not him?”
“Masque isn’t most doms. He’s dirty...”
“I know, dirty bad and wrong.”
“Yes, dirty bad and wrong.” She slapped my arm. “You’re getting too bloody cocky.”
“Maybe,” I smiled. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here.”
“Clearly you don’t,” she said. “He gets off on your pain, Lyds, proper pain. He craves submission, like all doms, but it’s more than that with Masque. He needs you to break, that’s what gets him off. Could you break for him? Would you cry? Beg him to stop? Let him lick your tears? Would you fall apart enough to sob in his arms like a broken little doll?”
I felt my heartbeat between my thighs. “I don’t cry...”
“He’d make you cry, Lyds, trust me.”
“Maybe that’s what I need,” I spoke aloud.
“Or maybe Explicit has sent you round the twist.”
“I need to find out.”
“Don’t do this!” she said. “Don’t put me in this position.”
“Please, Bex. Just give me a chance!” I yanked the arm of her chair until she was facing me, forcing her to meet my eyes. “Just one chance. If I get hurt, it’s my own fault.”
“You will get hurt. It would be irresponsible and downright fucking stupid.” She crossed her arms, resolute.
I paced away from her, Masque’s image burning at the corner of my vision. “You took these, right?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Why?”
“So, you must know him pretty well, yes?”
She paused awhile, eyeing me suspiciously. “Yes, I know him well. He’s the only dom to ever leave me with scars. I’ll show you them, if you like.”
“He’s hit you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, he’s hit me. Hard. I’ve subbed for him a few times, when the mood takes me. Occasionally, I’ll add, it’s very occasional.”
“So, you’d know if I could cope with him, right?”
“Just where the fuck are you going with this?”
She knew damn well where this was going; I could see the spark in her eyes. “We have a month, yes? Until you can take me as a guest again, I mean.”
“Yes...”
“So, use it! Test me! Train me or something, whatever you call it. If I can convince you in one month that I’ve got what it takes to cope, then take me back to Explicit. If not, then I’ll forget all about him and never mention him again. I promise.”
A sly grin crept across her lips. “Are you propositioning me, Cat?”
I’m sure I was the colour of beetroot but I kept going. “I want to prove I can cope. Please, Bex.”
She stood up from her chair, closing the distance between us. My heart raced so hard I could have sworn she could hear it. “It’s Raven. Have you ever been with a girl, Lydia?”
I shook my head. “Not yet.”
“Good answer,” she smiled. “On your knees.”
“Now?”
She took my chin in her hand, gripped me rough. This wasn’t the Rebecca I knew, but it wouldn’t be, because this wasn’t Rebecca at all. This was Raven. Mistress Raven.
“Don’t ever question me again. I speak, you obey.”
I dropped to my knees without hesitation. “Sorry, Raven.”
“Mistress,” she hissed. “You’ll call me Mistress.”
“Sorry, Mistress.” My pulse raced like a jackhammer, nerves on fire.
She hitched her skirt, bunching it high around her waist to reveal just a tiny pair of lace panties. She swept the hair back from my face, holding a hand possessively against my scalp. “You’re going to eat my pussy now, Cat, and if you want any fucking chance of this plan of yours working out, I’d better believe you’re fucking hungry for it.” She spread her legs, and yanked my head towards her. I breathed her in, a musky smell of sex so familiar and yet so alien. “Pull my panties to the side.”
I did as she asked. Her mound was smooth against my fingers. “Do you want this, Cat?”
My throat made a strange moan as I answered. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Good girl. Now lick my fucking pussy.”
I licked her fucking pussy.
***
I braced myself as I took a seat, tender flesh keen to remind me of Raven’s paddle. She’d hit me good. She’d hit me hard. And I’d loved every single minute of it. I brushed my fingers across my nostrils. I could still smell her. I smiled to myself.
“You seem happy today, Cat’s eyes,” James said, handing me the itinerary ahead of Thursday’s meeting. “If you can think of anything to add, now’s the time to say.”
I scanned through it, leaning back into the leather chair I’d been spending more and more time in of late. “Looks good to me.”
“Fine. I think it’s all there from our end, I’ll send it over to Trevor White for his final approval.”
“This is really it, huh? Stage one sign-off looming, the minute all our work becomes worthwhile.”
“I never took you for such a sentimentalist, Lydia,” he said. “Anyway, don’t get too carried away, we’ve still got stages two and three to pull off. Plenty can go wrong yet.”
“I think it will go great,” I said, idly.
“That kind of assumption leads to complacency. We need to stay on the boil.”
“Yes, sir,” I smiled. “Lydia Marsh on the boil, sir.”
His look was stern, but there was amusement behind it, I could tell. His eyes glittered like black diamonds, and I fought the urge to poke my tongue out at him, revelling in a high I’d never felt before. Cara hadn’t been wrong. There’s this rush, when it hurts, and then a peace. It’s so beautiful. She’d missed out the euphoric afterglow, the excitement, as though your soul is bursting through your skin.
“Are you mocking me, Miss Marsh? I don’t take well to mockery.”
“I’m not mocking you,” I said.
“I’m just happy.”
“And what can have possibly made you so happy between Monday evening and Tuesday morning?” he asked, leaning forwards with his elbows on the desk.
My eyes glanced to his metal ruler, just to the side of him. Images of Masque flashed into my mind all over again.
“I guess I’m finding a whole new me. A happier me.”
“Nothing like a break-up to aid a little self-reinvention.”
“Seems not,” I grinned. “I’m beginning to think maybe Carly Winters did me a favour after all.”
“That’s a bold statement for such early days.”
“Sure is.” I turned the pages of the itinerary, scouting the notes beyond. An email from Trevor White with some earlier amendments. A suggestion of a management round-up after lunch and a proposed evening meal. The evening meal had been crossed out in biro. “Was this you?” I asked, holding it out for him to view.
“Yes.”
“So, we aren’t doing the social with WHM?”
“No. Is that a problem?”
I shrugged. “No, not at all. Just curious.”
“Trevor White was keen to take us out, but I think we’ll have had enough of the corporate face by that point, don’t you?”
“I guess,” I said. “Whatever you think.”
“It’s been taken off the agenda anyway. I said we’d be busy catching up on other project updates.”
“Sure,” I smiled. “That’s fine. I’m sure we’ll catch them again.”
“We’ll have enough to discuss amongst ourselves, without Trevor White trailing you around all evening.”
“I’m sorry?”
“He likes you, Lydia. Professionally and personally.”
I flushed. “I don’t think you can say that based on a few calls to my direct line number, I’m his project manager.”
“I’m not basing it on a few calls to your direct line number, I’m basing it on a few emails he sent to my inbox yesterday afternoon.”
“What emails? What did he say?”
“Never mind what he said. I just don’t want him creeping around.”
“You don’t need to worry about me, I’d be very professional,” I said. “I’m not going to be flirting with clients. Work and play don’t mix.”
He leant forwards even closer, until musk and vanilla danced across the desk to me. “No. They don’t. Just so long as you remember that.”
“I think I’d find it hard not to remember that in light of recent circumstances, thanks very much.”
His eyes softened. “I’m just being cautious, Lydia.”
“It’s fine.” But it wasn’t. My hackles were up, my foot twitching under his desk.
“We’ll still get a social, a treat on me. You deserve it after everything you’ve put in. I really do appreciate it.”
Too little, too late. “Was there anything else?” I handed him back his itinerary, and got to my feet.
“Well, I was thinking we could go through the...” he paused, weighing me up. “No, there’s nothing else.”
“Then I’ll see you in Brighton,” I said. “I’ve got a lot to prepare over the next few days.”
“Of course.”
I didn’t linger.
The ping of my email sounded as soon as I was back in my seat.
From: James Clarke
Subject: Professionalism
Lydia, I’ve offended you. It was unintentional, and I assure you it’s much more about Trevor White than it is about you. I would never question your professional integrity. You conduct yourself faultlessly.
James Clarke
CTO, Trial Run Software Group.
Flawless instinct all over again.
To: James Clarke
Subject: Re: Professionalism.
Do you mean ‘sorry’?
Lydia
Lydia Marsh
Senior Project Co-ordinator, Trial Run Software Group.
I waited.
From: James Clarke
Subject: Re: re: Professionalism
Yes. I mean sorry.
Nothing like making someone work for it. I’ll remember this should the boot ever be on the other foot.
James Clarke
CTO, Trial Run Software Group.
His awkwardness made me smile. Maybe James Clarke was human after all.
To: James Clarke
Subject: Re: re: re: Professionalism.
Apology accepted.
Lydia
Lydia Marsh
Senior Project Co-ordinator, Trial Run Software Group.
I didn’t hear from him again, and the day was much worse for it.
I guess a girl can always make room for two crushes in her life.
Masque or James, James or Masque. I found myself hoping I’d never have to choose, but then scrapped the silly thought pretty damned quickly.
I breathed in the scent of Rebecca on my fingers. Just what the hell was happening to little old Lydia Marsh?
***
My heels scuffed against the leather sofa, struggling for grip as I bucked up against Rebecca’s mouth. Her fingers were still inside me, her lips still tight around my clit as I tumbled over the edge of orgasm. A proper orgasm, not like the ones I’d faked with Stu after every half-arsed effort he’d ever made. It felt so good. Bex kissed my stomach on her way back up, lingering long enough to flick at a nipple. I struggled to catch my breath, mouth still open as she assaulted me with her tongue. I could taste myself on her.
She draped her arm across my chest, the lively colours of her tats matching the mottled shades of my bruises. I looked down at myself, admiring the welts of my punishment. Just three nights in and I was already getting better at this, a ripe canvas for her abuse. She was colouring me in so pretty.
“You taste seriously fucking good, Cat,” she husked. “I could lick your sweet little slit all day long.”
“And you, Mistress Raven,” I whispered.
“Oh yeah?” she asked, dipping her fingers back inside me. “So, you like pussy, do you?”
I grinned. “Yes, I like pussy.”
“Good.” She kissed the corner of my mouth. “You’re turning out to be quite the little pain slut, baby. I’m impressed.”
I felt a bloom of pride in my chest. My descent into insanity really knew no bounds. I rolled into her, until we were eye to eye. “You think I could handle Masque now?”
“We’re a way off establishing that, sweet thing,” she said. My heart dropped and I collapsed onto my back, struggling to hide my disappointment. “Hey, don’t take it so bad. We’re only three fucking days in.”
“I just want to know I can see him again, that’s all.”
“Ok, ok,” she said, nuzzling my neck. Her lips drove me crazy, trailing their way up to my ear. “I get it, he’s driving you loopy, you need to see him again, yada yada fucking yada. So how about we up the stakes?”
“How?”
“Well...” Her fingers teased at me all over again, working their way back inside. I groaned as she pushed all the way in, my tender clit craving both more and less at the same time. “I think you need to get back on the horse, show me you’re ready for cock again. Real cock, not the plastic shit I’ve been giving you these past few days.”
“I’m ready,” I said. “Ready for his cock, anyway.”
“Your tight little cunt needs cock now, Cat, not in a month.” She smiled at me, a smile full of deviance and sin. “Show me you’re ready for him. Show me how well you’ll convince him to fuck you.”
I moved against her fingers. “How can I do that?”
“Let’s set a challenge. Pass it and I’ll introduce you to Masque, no more tests, no more games, no Explicit even, just you and him and whatever the hell becomes of it.”
My eyes widened, and I squirmed to check if she was being serious. She was. Her eyes were hooded, high-on-sex and sparkling with mischief. “What do you want me to do?”
“Tomorrow night, in Brighton. I want you to seduce a man, t
ake him to your bed, and make him fuck you senseless. I want you to ride his cock all fucking night long.”
“Tomorrow night?! But it’s work!” My stomach churned as I ran through my options. Trevor White flashed before my eyes, but that would be so unprofessional. Shit. Maybe a barman after James had gone to bed, maybe some random in a club. My head swam with nerves. “I’ve never picked up a stranger before. I don’t even know if I can.”
She rolled onto me, pinning my arms above my head. “Not a stranger, my sweet little Lydia. I want you to seduce James Clarke.”
My breath caught in my chest for one long second before I sighed in her face. “James?! You want me to seduce James Clarke? Mr Mysterious? You said it yourself, getting anything out of him’s like milking a rock. How on earth would I initiate that kind of shit? He’ll blow me straight out the water.”
“But you don’t object in principle?”
I looked away from her, cheeks on fire. “James is very attractive. He’s hot, he’s strong, he’s clever and driven... he’s goddamn gorgeous,” I admitted.
“Yes, he is.”
“But he doesn’t want me.”
She pulled my face back to hers. “What the hell makes you say that?”
Embarrassment burnt, and I craved the safety of my bed, hidden under the duvet away from all this craziness. “I asked him over last week. He said no.”
“You asked James Clarke on a date?” she grinned. “You kept that quiet.”
“Don’t I always? And no. I asked him over here, to hang out with both of us and check my project file.”
She laughed, and it sliced like razors. I pushed her off me and she took it in good humour. “Jesus, Lyds, you asked him to come check out your project file? That’s a new name for it.”