by Harlem Dae
Me.
“Ah, you’re seeing it.” He licked his bottom lip.
“Seeing what?”
“Seeing what’s inside you.”
“And what’s that?”
He flipped me over, trapping me between his body and the bed. My breath huffed out as he pressed his chest down on mine.
“That you like to be controlled. Not just when it comes to satisfying the pain-whore in you, but also when it comes to satisfying the sexual woman in you. You like not having to think about anything and just feel.”
I pondered on his words for a moment. One thing was certain, I couldn’t deny the thrill I’d gotten from letting Gabriel fuck my mouth exactly how he’d wanted to. “Perhaps I do, for some things.”
“I think you do for more than you know, and what’s more, soon you’ll see the truth.”
“I will?”
“Yeah, because dirty sluts that like to be screwed in back alleys get exactly what their Master wants from them.”
He could have anything I had to give as far as I was concerned. He was rapidly wheedling his way into my soul.
I hooked my legs over the backs of his and kissed him again.
In a swift movement that yanked my hip, he pulled my left leg up high, almost to his shoulder, then swept his hand over my buttock to my pussy.
“Oh… Sir!” I gasped onto his lips when he slid his fingers through my slit. Was I going to get more? I wouldn’t complain. I could always handle more.
“And,” he said. “Since I’ve fucked your pussy and your mouth, maybe there is something else I want. And if you are really mine, you will give it to me.” He slipped his finger lower, until it rested over my anus. “And it will hurt, sub, but of course, in the best possible way.”
Chapter Two
I didn’t get more. Gabriel insisted we’d had enough, and if we were going to go for it in the alley, we’d be better off abstaining until then. Although I could have done with staying in his bed all day, exploring his body as he explored mine, I also saw the sense in what he’d said. Anticipation would be high, growing taller by the minute as our alley encounter drew closer. That would mean I’d get an earth-shattering orgasm as opposed to a pleasing mind-blower.
Showered and dressed in my new white knickers and yesterday’s tarty clothes—sans makeup, hair in disarray—I stood in the town center beside the clock that resembled a grandfather, albeit made of stone instead of shiny mahogany. The hands pointed to eleven and two, and our appointed meeting was destined for eleven-thirty. I had to find something to do to make the minutes tick by faster.
I drew my jacket fronts together then zipped them up, the wind rather ripe this morning and intent on scaring any lingering cobwebs away. I felt refreshed, invigorated and more than ready to play out my third fantasy. It was like all my birthdays and Christmases had come along at once, each present more spectacular than the last. At this rate I’d have to think up some new scenarios, and tonight would be the perfect opportunity before I drifted off to sleep.
But would I be in my bed or his?
Receiving more than one or two glances from passers-by, all staring at me as though I were the filthiest woman on the planet, I smiled back at them with the saucy knowledge that they had no clue what I was about to experience. And what I’d just been thinking about.
There they were, struggling along with their heavy shopping bags, wearing clean, pressed clothes and proper shoes, and probably smelling of roses. The term ‘Their shit don’t stink!’ came to mind, and I knew that many of these people would turn their noses up at my thoughts. No doubt they’d proclaim me to be a dirty, nasty little whore who lived for nothing but sex when there were other, more important things going on in the world. I wasn’t unaware of what was on the news, just that I preferred to spend my life filling it with goodness—the kind of goodness that had me coming hard and fast.
Each to their own.
What a stark contrast we made while I stood there in my slutty outfit—Gabriel had been insistent about that—knowing within half an hour I’d be being getting fucked against a grimy, mildew-ridden wall. What did these women have to look forward to? I hoped for their sakes it was more than going home to put their shopping away then doing the housework. Had any of them tapped into their desires or had they hidden them away? Did they reserve sex for high days and holidays?
I couldn’t imagine a life like that, not now that I’d found Gabriel.
I moved away from the clock and headed toward the jewelry shop. I wasn’t going there to browse the rings—I didn’t want marriage or anything like that—not yet anyway—but I’d grown fond of those bracelets that were all the rage, the ones with tiny trinkets hanging off them. Only I didn’t think the kind of trinkets I’d want were readily available. A whip, a flogger, Gabriel’s mean little stick, a mini cage and a depiction of a filthy alley. And if they were, wouldn’t that just set up a whole new level of conversation at work beside the coffeemaker in the kitchen?
“What on earth is that, Isabella?” That would be Patty, the elderly receptionist.
“What?” That would be me, feigning nonchalance while knowing exactly what had been referred to—and with horror, I’d bet.
“Is that a…a whip on there?” And that would be Bernice, the middle-aged accountant who was shocked by a door closing more loudly than usual, let alone seeing a silver whip dangling from a bracelet. She’d have her hand slapped to her chest, her mouth hanging open and a violent red flush to her cheeks.
I smiled at the idea of freaking my work colleagues out then explaining that I liked a goodly dose of pain mixed in with my pleasure. That I’d met a man who seemed to want everything I did and knew how to administer it, how to get me off. How often did people meet their absolute perfect partner? How many people were truly lucky to find everything they’d dreamed of? How many people hadn’t found it?
At the jewelry shop window, I stared at rings and watches that didn’t particularly attract. My attention was drawn to the necklaces, except they weren’t quite what I’d wear either. The chains were too dainty, with heart pendants or keys—although the latter would be significant for me. Like I held the key to what I wanted, no one else.
That brought me up short. Wasn’t that way of thinking something a sub would entertain? Subs were the real ones in control, or so I’d heard. And where had I heard that? I must have read it somewhere—and why would I have been reading something like that if I wasn’t what Gabriel had said I was?
A sub deep inside.
I frowned, not wanting to go down that road, yet at the same time it beckoned, as though I’d been traveling through the desert all this time and at last there was an oasis at the end of a long road, in the form of Gabriel. He’d slake my thirst and keep me as wet as I wanted to be. Or shaded from others under cooling—or stinging—palms, keeping me safe and feeling wanted, attending to my every need.
That’s what he’d said he was prepared to give, wasn’t it?
The only thing left was for me to either accept what he’d offered or reject it. Already I couldn’t imagine not having his hands on me, not hearing his commands, not having him giving me everything I’d ever wished for. I’d become addicted to him long before the moment he’d swept my hair from my face at the train station. Had it been just three days? Really? Had I been fucked in ways I’d never imagined I would be, all in such a short space of time?
I wouldn’t be rejecting his offer, and if it meant learning how to be a sub, I’d do it. Just to be with him—and, I lightly acknowledged, because it was deep inside me.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
I’d need to learn so much, but this morning was a lesson I’d caught on to very quickly. Lose the belligerence. Express my needs in a way that showed I was grateful, not expectant.
I could do that.
“Those necklaces,” Gabriel said behind me. “They’re not what I had in mind for you.”
My stomach churned with excitement. Oh, God. Was it e
leven-thirty already? I shifted my gaze to one of the watches behind the glass—all of them were set to the correct time. Eleven-twenty. Was he early because he couldn’t wait?
“What did you have in mind?” I asked, breathless, my heart clattering. I didn’t turn to look at him, keeping my sights on the watches instead. If I did turn, if I stared at him, I’d want to get down that alley as quickly as possible. No, I had to let him lead, let him show me what him, being a true Master was like—what me, being a sub could be like if I learnt all the rules.
“Something like that one, Isabella.”
His hand came over my shoulder, and he pointed to a diamond choker. Ah, I knew exactly what that piece of jewelry signified, but for him to have highlighted that one, one that was so close to being a collar…
Oh, God, he’s serious about this. About me.
I swallowed. “That’s…that’s very pretty.” My hands were shaking.
“It is. It also hides the true purpose,” he said. “Although we shouldn’t be ashamed to wear our collars, it’s sometimes easier, what with people not understanding what we do and why we like it, to disguise a few things. Take that choker, for instance.”
I riveted my attention to it, imagined it around my neck. It was chunky, so far along the scale from the other, more delicate necklaces, and very much the kind of thing I would have chosen for myself.
“To others it just looks like a choker, wouldn’t you say?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“But it means so much more. Do you know anything about the lifestyle, my Isabella?”
My Isabella…
“Enough to know that wearing one of those means you belong to a Master.”
“Yes.” He paused, then, “And would you want to belong to a Master?”
“Only you,” I blurted and blushed, feeling I’d shown him exactly what he’d said I was. And free, so bloody free that I’d said it out loud and had acknowledged it properly to myself. That I was sub material. How come I’d denied it for so long? Had I just been waiting for the right partner to arrive, was that it?
“That’s nice to hear,” he said. “Perhaps I might buy it for you at some point. But it’s early days yet, and you have many things to consider, many rules you need to know about, many scenes you need to participate in to know whether the lifestyle really is for you.”
“But if you’re willing to teach me…”
“Oh, I am. Fuck, yes, I am.”
I felt his presence leave. I caught sight of his reflection in the window and watched him make his way toward Millets, just as we’d agreed. He leaned against the shop door jamb, one leg straight, the other bent at the knee, the toe of his shoe kissing the pavers. He’d worn a suit, as I’d requested, and the red tie.
That tie. I want it around my wrists, so tight that it burns.
I took a moment to consider what he’d said. He’d been deadly serious, and I had to take some time over the next few days to think about the enormous step I knew I would be taking—one I wanted to take more than anything. It meant a hell of a lot of change, but I had it in me to soak it all up—to enjoy it all, every bit of it—and become who I really was.
Gabriel lifted his hand to his mouth and formed a fist, as though he was coughing, chivvying me along. I turned and purposely didn’t look at him while strolling across to Millets, pretending something in the window held my full attention. Once there, I stopped within a few feet of him and gazed at the goods on display. Camping gear mainly—a rolled-up sleeping bag complete with holdall, a pop-up tent, a range of brightly colored drinking flasks and, rather oddly I thought, a black T-shirt with a yellow smiley face on it that didn’t seem to gel with the other things the store sold.
“A smiley face means a happy person,” Gabriel said, coming to stand a person’s width beside me.
I reminded myself he was supposed to be a stranger, that I didn’t know him from Adam, and considered how I would have reacted if that were true. I stiffened my shoulders and refrained from looking at him.
“Are you a happy person?” he asked.
At this point, had a man asked me that out of the blue, I’d have deemed him off his rocker and would have made a hasty retreat. However, I decided to play the unhappy person card to see what he’d say.
“No. I’m very sad. I’m all alone in this world with no one to take care of me.” I almost laughed at how B-movie I sounded, how 1900s. I turned my head so I was looking up at him and batted my eyelashes for good measure.
His mouth twitched and his eyes seemed to sparkle. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” He looked me up and down, as though appraising meat in a butcher shop.
I loved that look.
He cleared his throat. “I’d have presumed a woman like yourself would be very happy, what with all the cock you must get.”
I widened my eyes in shock then remembered how I was dressed. “What do you mean?”
“Well, a woman of the night—or the day, as it were—should be happy considering she rakes in cash from servicing men. That is what you do, isn’t it?” He raised his eyebrows and stared at me, daring me to answer otherwise.
“Yes, I’m a slut. A take-money-for-sex slut. What about it?” I cocked my hip, really getting into role, evicting that B-movie girl-next-door and moving in the sassy harlot. “Do you want what’s on offer? Do you like what you see?”
“I do,” he said, squeezing closer so he stood an inch or so from me. “But I’m willing to bet I’ll like what I can’t see more.” He raised his hand and brushed his fingertips down my jacket zip. “Like your tits. I think they’d be just what I want to touch.”
I was getting wet now, his words, the change in mood turning this meeting into the very thing I’d wanted it to be. Dirty. Brazen. Rude.
He lowered his hand farther, hovering his fingers over my pelvis. “And your cunt—I’d like to see that. To touch it, slide my fingers inside it, feel how wet you are. And you are wet, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you want me to do those things to you, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then I have the perfect place for someone like you.”
A shiver of delight went through me. “And where would that be?”
“Somewhere that fits in with what and who you are.” He appraised me some more, lowering his hand to his side and licking his lips. “Rubbish.”
“Rubbish?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Yes, and where I’d take you there’ll be plenty of it.”
“So take me there,” I said, lifting my chin. “Take me there and let me fit in with the surroundings. Make me feel right at home.”
Chapter Three
“Down here,” he said, pushing me into the mouth of the narrow alley. “Go to the end, and be quick about it.”
I wasn’t quick. I wanted to stand there and look down it, to take in every aspect of it so that when he was fucking me and I had my eyes closed, I could recall every decrepit inch of it. I stopped abruptly and he bumped into the back of me.
“What are you waiting for, slut?”
I ignored him. There seemed to be more rubbish on the ground compared to the last time I’d glanced down here. Had he brought some extra? Strewn it on the floor knowing I wanted it as dirty as it could be? Yes, there were the Burger King wrappers and Coke cans I’d mentioned when describing this fantasy to him, and the crumpled newspaper pages that had once been flat and unwrinkled, possibly spread on someone’s breakfast table while they’d read it and munched on their bacon and eggs.
I wanted Gabriel to munch on me, to stick that long tongue of his inside my folds and find my clit, circle around it while the knees of his suit trousers got dirty, damp from the ground. While my arse got cold and numb from me leaning against the wall, scraped from the rough knobbles on the bricks.
There was a ceiling, and I knew the building above was the reason. Why had someone even created an alley here? What was its purpose? I glanced around again and noted th
at added to the usual rubbish was a porn magazine, right by my feet, the pages open on an image of a woman with her legs wide open. It was new, recently discarded and, I presumed, placed there, with that page showing, for a very good reason.
She had a butt plug inserted into her arse.
‘Since I’ve fucked your pussy and your mouth, maybe there is something else I want. And if you are really mine, you will give it to me.’
That’s what Gabriel had said earlier this morning, and he’d been referring to anal sex, of that much I was certain. I’d indulged in anal play before, but with slim vibrators or a finger. Gabriel had said it would hurt, and I could imagine it would, considering the girth of his cock. But pain was the name of my game—I craved it—and if he were prepared to give me the burning, eye-watering agony I was prepared to take, then he was definitely the man for me.
“That woman,” he said, putting his face close to mine over my shoulder. “She’s loving that being up her arse.”
“She is.”
“Do you want something up your arse?”
“I do.”
“Then you’ll get it. Tell me”—he licked my earlobe—“what is the thickest thing you’ve had up there?”
“A finger.”
“Do you think you can handle more?” He licked down my jaw then reached round to take my chin between his finger and thumb. He turned my head to the side and kissed my mouth, long and hard and wet, then released me, staring into my eyes. “Do you think you could take a cock up there?”
“I could.” My heart was pattering so wildly, and my knees—God, they’d turned to jelly. “I can take anything you want to give me. I’ll do anything you want.”
“First, slut, I want you to call me Sir, and I will call you sub.”
“Yes.” I blew out a rush of air.
“Then I’m going to check with you every step of the way as to whether you’re all right.”
He’d gone into Master mode, out of his other character of picking up a strange woman for sex. I admired him for not forgetting the rules, the real rules.