by Olivia Fox
“Now, I promised Ana, no blemishes - so bare in mind this’ll sting more bit tomorrow, when you don’t have your panties on -” he began, and the confidence in his voice took me aback.
“But I didn’t agree to -” SLAP. I gasped. He’d driven the blow down hard on my backside, and the shock of it stunned me to instant silence. The slightest little tingle of excitement sparked across my clit.
“Not yet, you haven’t,” he said. “I’m talking hypothetically, sweetheart.”
SLAP
I gasped again - it’s almost impossible not to when your butt’s getting whooped. I spun round to see him standing there, poised to go again, with a look of unabashed mischief written across his face.
SLAP
“You can watch me if you like, honey, but I’ll only smack you harder,” he said, then slapped me again in quick succession, for good measure.
Much as I hate to admit it, something was definitely stirring down below, and his words were like an aphrodisiac. I wanted it harder. I almost wanted him to pull my knickers down and go for broke, but I wasn’t going to say so. I watched, panting as he cocked an eyebrow as if to tell me ‘don’t say I didn’t warn you’…
SLAP
That time I cried out. OK - so if that was what harder felt like, maybe I didn’t want it after all. I hastily turned back around and held my breath, waiting for the next strike. It didn’t come. The next thing I knew, Grayson was up close behind me reaching round to unchain my wrists.
“Was that ten? That wasn’t ten.” I said, embarrassed by how disappointed I probably sounded.
“I changed my mind,” he said. “You’re turning me on. It’s hard to hold back when you’re so receptive. And I promised Ana, no marks.” He kissed my neck gently as he felt for the chains and my breathing grew lewd and loud and embarrassingly wanton. “Of course, if you’d like me to leave you chained up a little longer…”
I didn’t reply, but instinctively my eyes closed and I leaned back into him, exposing my neck to his lips, allowing myself to go with my desires. He trailed the tip of his tongue from my jaw slowly down to the base of my neck. It was unexpected and ridiculously sensuous; like he wanted to devour me. His hands reached down to my waist and unpopped the buttons of my fly, then, pressing his rigid cock against my butt, he slid his hand down the front of my knickers.
His fingers moved gently against my clit at first, then slid inside me. Each thrust of his cock against my butt drove his fingers in deeper. Unable to move my hands, my body had to guide him, and I rocked back against him, loving the feel of him; suddenly wishing he’d go that extra step and whip his pants off.
He started laughing. He had me totally at his mercy, and there he was barely able to contain himself. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just, you’re so funny - you really have no idea what floats y’ boat do you. All that ‘one slap, that’s it- I’m shattered’ bullshit. Got to love that naivete.”
“Cocky - bastard -” I panted.
He laughed some more. “I’m the cocky bastard who’s going to make you come, sweetheart.” And his fingers picked up a pace, fucking me faster, firmer, but just as smooth, his other arm looped around my waist, pulling me back against the tight bulge of his dick.
And he was dead right. I was so on the verge of coming that it was all I could do not to rip the hitching post out of its base to free my hands. I tugged against the chains in utter frustration; wanting him inside me.
His lips grazed my ear. “Oh my God, Christoph is gonna just love you,” he laughed, and pushed in deep, one final time, pulsing his middle finger at 100mph and massaging my soaking wet g-spot. He nipped at my ear while I came, my thighs locking his hand in place as I groaned uncontrollably, releasing him only once the last little tide of orgasm had subsided.
Then, as my body gave way to gravity and collapsed around the base of the hitching post, I found myself laughing too. “Christ. Er… thanks for that,” I said, cheeks on fire, feeling both totally ridiculous and elated simultaneously.
“Any time, princess,” he said with his most devilish grin. I asked if he - erm - wanted any help with his - erm - package (well it seemed like the polite thing to do!), and he told me I could owe him one. Just as well. I was too burnt out to do anything else right then.
So there we have it; at least, those were the highlights. The rest of my evening largely consisted of a shamefaced ride back to St Albans Station, alongside Mr Lines, who (thankfully) always acts oblivious to Hatherly’s goings on, followed by an uneventful train/tube journey, followed by a trip to Tesco for milk, pizza and toothpaste; thank God for the mundane things in life. After today’s craziness, ‘mundane’ equals ‘sane’ as far as I’m concerned.
L x
FROM: Lily Wilde / TO: [email protected] / Feb 19 / 01:04
Can’t sleep. What is it - 8ish in NYC? So right now you’ll be soaking up the love at your exhibition opening I imagine - hope all’s going well. I did some stuff with Grayson today. Not much I guess, but I can’t not tell you - so there it is. I can’t entirely get my head around this being OK with you, but I’m trying. Also, I wanted to ask you something before tomorrow night: What are your thoughts on Christoph Yale? He wants to meet me. Should I be scared?? Chat soon I hope.
L xx
FROM: Seb Harper / TO: [email protected] / Feb 19 / 01:12
Yeah, it’s all happening as I write. Lots of drunk, rich buyers. Anyhow, Christoph Yale… I’m not surprised he wants to meet you. Quick low-down on Christoph (pseudonym BTW): billionaire, v experienced and skilled Dom, cut-throat and totally uncompromising businessman. He’s a man with extreme tastes, and he likes his sexual partners wide-eyed and naive. Not meaning to offend. Ana’s ‘loyals’ usually meet his needs but we’ve had some big issues here. I don’t like the guy. Blunt but true. Tread carefully. I’m not going to tell you what to do, and if you hit it off, you could probably have some fun together, but ONLY with Grayson or Ana right there with you the whole time. Otherwise, please just don’t go there. And you don’t need to tell me about any stuff with Grayson- the next 5 and a half months are yours to do whatever with whoever. Phone you tomorrow.
Seb x
19
Lily had spent her Saturday packing then repacking her overnight bag, ready for the masquerade. She'd almost cancelled on more than one occasion. If she'd thought she could've convincingly pulled off an I'm-doh-dorry-bud-eye-dot-derry-dell phone call to Hatherly she'd have done it, make no mistake. But she was a shocking liar, and would never hear the end of it from Ana or Grayson. Now, just as she was pulling on her boots, ready (as she’d ever be) to meet her fate in this prematurely dark, fog-smothered evening, her phone rang. Seb.
“How’s it going? Just wanted to make sure you’re still OK about this thing tonight,” came his slightly distorted voice.
She wouldn’t exactly have said she was OK. On some level she was hyped; excited to let loose a little with a degree of anonymity. Not that the mask actually covered much of her face. Not that she even wanted to hide. But something about the mask gave her an extra layer of psychological protection. This ‘excitement’, unfortunately, was not the predominant emotion of the hour; in fact her excitement was buried under so much anxiety and self-doubt that Lily had to keep reminding herself it was there it at all.
“Yeah - I’m fine I guess - bit nervous. Just hope I don’t pee my pants when I meet this Christoph bloke.” Seb’s email had pretty much made the idea of doing anything with this guy a no-no. What was the phrase Seb had used? - extreme tastes? - well in Lily’s book that meant one thing and one thing only: pain. But she’d have to meet him none the less, and aimed to hold her own; none of this ‘wide-eyed and naive’ nonsense.
“You won’t pee your pants, gorgeous. You won’t be wearing any,” he told her, less than helpfully. “Just remember, you’ve got as much right to a good time as he does - if your needs don’t match then you just smile and say no thanks. Simple as that.”
“Simple.”
�
��Lily, I’m serious; Grayson and Ana will watch your back but I need to know you’re not going to agree to anything you don’t want to do. If you can’t promise me that, then please, just stay home.”
Jesus, talk about not helping. His concern did nothing to calm her nerves. Quite the opposite; she now had his stresses to contend with as well as her own. She took a calming breath before answering. “Of course I’m not going to do anything I don’t want to. I’m polite - I’m not a doormat,” she said, switching hands to pull on boot number two.
A pause from Seb’s end had Lily wondering if they’d been cut off. “I know,” he said finally, more measured in his tone. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just he can be persuasive when he wants to be.”
“Like you?” she said, before she had time to think about what she was saying.
“And some.” Far from taking offense, Seb was stone-cold serious.
“Is that even possible?!” She said, trying to make light of the situation.
Again, for a moment there was no response. “Yes,” he said, at last. His voice was different. If he wanted to scare Lily off Christoph, he was doing a fine old job of it. “He’s offered money to Ana’s girls a couple of times. That’s a persuasion tactic too far as far as I’m concerned. Ana sees it as a grey issue, conveniently for her. But I’ve told him straight out that it’s not to happen again. I just - I don’t know - I don’t entirely trust the guy. So, as I said, if you do get involved, Grayson or Ana tag along. I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to oblige.” If there was any jealousy in his voice he hid it well.
It was Lily’s turn to pause. She sighed, closed her eyes, and promised him, “I’m a big girl. If I don’t like what’s happening, I’ll deal with it. But if, on some crazy off-chance, I do decide to hang out with this Christoph bloke, I’ll make sure I’ve got an escort handy. OK?”
“That’s all I ask.”
Silence. Why couldn’t his stupid, bastard exhibition have been in London for God’s sake, she thought. Talking about this stuff over the phone or in emails was near impossible; it just felt so damned stinted and awkward.
It was like he’d read her mind; or, more likely, he’d also been grown weary of the uncomfortable silences. “I’m thinking maybe I’ll come home before my show comes down,” he said. “I don’t really need to be here the whole time anyway. I miss you. I think I thought it’d be easier to keep my distance while you’re - well - not entirely seeing just me; but I was wrong.”
An unexpected heat flooded Lily’s eyes and all at once she was fighting to hold back tears. She held her eyes closed tight and smiled. “Seb Harper, wrong? I guess it had to happen sooner or later,” she said. “I miss you too.”
“Glad to hear it.” It was like a lead weight had been lifted from Lily’s chest. So why was she about to ruin it by acting heroic? Lily sodding Wilde, always trying to do the right sodding thing. She sighed, then forced herself to speak. “It’s just a couple more weeks. I miss you too, but this is important, Seb. Your first big show. I’ll still be here when you get back. You should stay.” There. Said it. Now to go polish my halo.
“I don’t want to stay.”
“Good. But do it anyway.”
Seb laughed; it felt like the first time in a long while. “Are you telling me what to do, Lily Wilde?”
“No way. Wouldn’t dare.”
The hall clock ticked on relentlessly as Seb sighed down the phone. “You’re probably right. I just…”
“- wish I wasn’t?”
He sighed again. “Precisely.”
Yep. She wished that too.
As she left her flat, marching out into the gloomy February evening, it was with a lighter heart than she’d had in days; whatever lay ahead tonight, she could handle it. Seb missed her; that was the headline here.
20
He misses me. The sense of wellbeing this knowledge brought, lasted for much of Lily’s journey, But as she dismounted her cab at the gates of Hatherly’s twinkling driveway, a knot of anxiety re-established itself in her gut. Mr Lines hurried to greet her, chatting as they walked, with pleasantries which, to an outsider, would suggest she’d been invited to join the baronesa for high-tea rather than high-jinks. Though, as they entered through Hatherly’s main doors, a certain unease seemed to overcome the buttler-ish gent. He glanced surreptitiously up stairs, and hearing a distant trace of voices, directed Lily to the office. “Would you care to wait here, my dear?” He asked, though it was clearly more an instruction.
The knot in Lily’s stomach tightened. “I can't go up to Seb's room?” The last time she’d stayed over at Hatherly, she’d been encouraged to treat Seb’s quarters as her own. Yet here she was being treated as a client - which, in one sense, she was - but still, it felt strange.
Lines looked at his watch, then looked down at his trousers and brushed off some non-existent dirt; basically looking anywhere but at Lily, or so it seemed to her. “It's being cleaned,” he said, growing visibly more anxious as those voices grew louder. There was no hiding the voices’ identities. Ana and Grayson were evidently coming downstairs and neither seemed too thrilled.
Ana sounded like she was cursing in Spanish, and Grayson was perhaps trying to appease her, though he too sounded miffed. “It's him, not her, just try for both our sakes but especially yours,” he said. Lily heard that clear as a bell.
Mr Lines excused himself, nearly tripping over a chair leg in his panic to leave the room, and called back to Lily, asking her to please wait there for just a moment. Not likely.
Lily’s heart was racing; Grayson’s words totally unnerved her, and if Ana’s problem was related to her and Seb, then she needed to know - and, if not, well - Ana was a friend - she couldn’t just sit back and wait while her friend had a mini breakdown, could she?!
Mr Lines, realizing Lily had followed him from the room, merely offered Ana and Grayson a perfunctory nod, and walked back in the direction of the entrance. If he’d been meaning to warn them of Lily’s presence, he’d failed.
“Ana, are you OK? What’s happened?!” Lily asked, her arms folding across her front, instinctively defending herself. Though the stress of the situation was undeniable, a detached part of Lily couldn’t help but wonder at the oddness of these two fully costumed Venetian masqueraders, standing hands on hips in front of her.
Ana didn’t look at Lily. She merely stared at Grayson, her mouth set in a grim line, as though urging him to read her thoughts. Then, when he gave no response, she shook her head, gathered up her skirts and told him, “If you need me, ring me.” Then she took off, past the office, past the drawing room, out of sight.
Lily, half stunned, and half wondering where on Ana’s person she might have stashed her mobile, looked to Grayson in nervous bewilderment. “What happened?”
“Don't take it personally honey, she gets like this,” he shrugged, taking Lily’s hand and leading her towards the stairs. “It's her family; they wind her up. And anyone in the line of fire when she gets off that phone...” he started mimicking machine gun fire.
“You're sure? It's just - she wouldn't even look at me,” Lily said. “And I heard what you said… what was it? It's him not her? If it's something to do with Seb you should tell me.”
They’d begun climbing the stairs, with Lily only vaguely aware that her feet were even moving, so wrapped up was she in the conversation. Grayson stopped mid-step and looked at her. “God, no. Nothing like that. It's her dad; he can be such an ass,” he said. “Lily, sweetheart, trust me, we've been here a thousand times before and you'd be wasting precious energy getting involved.”
“You’re positive? There’s nothing I’ve done - or…”
“Positive. Come on, honey. Let’s get you to Seb’s room so you can get ready, huh?”
A frown knotted between Lily’s eyebrows, a miniature version of the one still clenching her tummy. “It's being cleaned, so I'm told,” she said.
“Right. Well it's probably done by now I’d have thought, so...”
>
She resisted the gentle pull of Grayson’s hand, and stayed right where she was, halfway up the stairs, half tempted to turn right round and go back the way she came. Grayson cocked his head and ceased pulling. “Hey,” he said, “I just remembered, I’ve got something to give you.”
Lily’s lips twisted to match her frown.
“It might help get you in the mood?” he offered. “Or it might do diddly squat. But some women seem to think they help, at least, so… what d’ya say? Wanna split a little blue pill?”
“Oh God. Thanks, but - sorry - I’m starting to think this is all just a bad idea. I’m sorry. I’m just not in the mood tonight. I’d better go.” Lily’s conviction was growing. It was fight or flight, and right now her limbic system was telling her to get the hell out of there.
Grayson’s grip tightened. “Whoa! Honey, what’s wrong? No pill, OK. Bad idea. Come and talk to me; tell me what’s up. No funny business, I promise.”
“I don’t kn-”
“Sweety, Seb’s paid for you to stay in five star luxury, so, at the very least, take a bath, drink our wine, eat some fancy food, OK?” he urged, and though Lily’s instinct was to get back home to the bliss of her one star apartment, she saw the sense in what he was saying.
With a sigh, and with surprising effort, she willed her frown back into submission and trudged onward. Grayson was right. She’d feel mega-guilty if she walked out and wasted Seb’s money. No point in squandering God knows how much dosh on a simple case of cold feet. She’d been thrown a bit by Ana’s mood, that was all - no need to overreact.
“That’s ma’girl,” Grayson said with a smile, giving her hand a little reassuring squeeze as they reached the top step. “Now, let’s go check out that dress of yours. And if you decide you wanna stay up here and chill, that’s fine. Use the intercom. Call down for whatever you want. Hatherly’s your oyster, so to speak -” He was clearly busting a gut to make her feel at ease, and Lily resigned herself to making his job easier. She wasn’t going to haul herself away up here all evening - she’d go through the motions of dressing up, and she’d venture down to the party - that much she knew. Whether or not she’d do anything there, well that was another thing entirely. But she was tired of her own timidity. She’d told Seb she could handle herself - though she was pretty sure her actual words had been a little less euphemistic - and, as she followed Grayson into Seb’s room, she swore to herself that she wouldn’t chicken out.