The Virgin - Book #1 in the Sexy as Hell Trilogy (Erotic BDSM)

by Dae, Harlem

  Reaching for my phone from the kitchen counter, I brought up Carlos’ number. He answered on the fourth ring.

  “Hey, it’s me,” I said.

  “I know, Mistress Zara, I have caller ID.” He paused to yawn. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Did I wake you?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No problem. How can I serve you, Mistress?”

  “I need your help.”

  “Then it’s yours.”

  “I’m going to text you an address in the city, near Tower Bridge. Can you be here in an hour?”

  “Of course.”

  I thought of the paddle in my handbag. “And can you bring a flogger?”

  “Yes indeed, Mistress.”

  There had been a note of excitement in his voice. I almost felt bad. He thought he was going to get some, but he wasn’t.

  “Good, see you soon. Oh, and don’t bother with breakfast. I’ll have some waiting for you.”

  “Yes, Mistress, I’m looking forward to it very much.”

  “Me too.”

  I hung up and quickly sent him Victor’s address. My plan should work fine. I’d experiment with pain this afternoon, make Carlos beat me while I wanked, and see how it worked for my body. Discover whether the paddle or the flogger gave me the most satisfaction.

  Staring around the apartment at the swanky TV, the posh leather couch and the shiny furniture, I wondered about the politeness of inviting a guest to a home that wasn’t my own. I shrugged, pushed the thought from my mind. It’d be okay. It was only Carlos, and he wouldn’t stay long. Besides, Carlos only did what I told him to. It had always been that way. And I was a teacher preparing for a lesson. It would be unprofessional of me not to be organised.

  The bell rang just before the hour was up. I adjusted Victor’s navy cashmere scarf around my neck, which hid the collar, and opened the door. Reginald, the butler bloke, was standing there with his lips in a stern line. Carlos lurked several paces behind him.

  “This man says he’s here to visit you,” Reginald said. “Just wanted to check that was okay, Miss.”

  I glanced at Carlos. His bulk was at least twice that of the old man and he was easily a head taller. But he looked like a kid who’d been dragged to the headmaster’s office by the scruff of his neck. His mouth was downturned, his eyes sad.

  “Yes, I was expecting him, he’s a friend.” I smiled at Reginald. “But thanks so much for making sure everything was as it should be. There are some strange folks around these days.”

  He touched the peak of his cap. “There are, Miss, and I wouldn’t like to think one had got up here on my watch.”

  I touched the top of his arm and stroked down to his elbow. “You’re very sweet.”

  He breathed deep, tilted his chin, and his eyes sparkled. “Just doing my job.”

  “And I’m very grateful.” I broadened my smile, beckoning Carlos with a nod. “Come in.”

  Carlos scooted around Reginald and into the hallway.

  I shut the door.

  “This is very nice.” Carlos said, glancing around.

  “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

  “Have you found yourself a millionaire, Mistress?”

  I shrugged. “I suppose so, for a while, at least.”

  Carlos toed off his trainers and then wandered into the main room. “Fuck,” he said, “that’s a very expensive view of London.”

  “I suppose it is.” I didn’t think I’d ever tire of London’s skyline and I’d miss it when my time with Victor was up. “I’ve made you a bacon sandwich. You want a drink to go with it?”

  “Coffee, please.”

  “There’s only decaff, is that okay?”

  “It’ll have to be.” He placed a soft leather bag on the barstool.

  For a moment I stared at it. In there was the flogger I’d instructed him to bring. Soon I’d make him beat me with it. But it was all right, I could do this.

  Quickly, I busied myself with making Carlos a coffee while he sat at the island and munched his breakfast. I was anxious and excited all at the same time. I felt sexy but also a little clinical, like I was about to take part in an experiment, which in a way, I was.

  “Carlos,” I said as he pushed his empty plate and mug aside.

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  I walked behind him, pressed my hands onto the black sweater covering his shoulders. Damn, the guy had some big, beefy muscles going on. I hoped he knew how strong he was. “Today we’re going to do something a bit different.”

  “Yes, Mistress. Whatever you wish, Mistress.”

  I rubbed over the balls of his shoulders, gripped his biceps, and leaned close to his ear. “Today, for a change, you’re going to beat me.”

  I felt and heard his intake of breath. “What?”

  Flicking my wrist, I slapped his arm. “What, Mistress.”

  “Sorry, sorry, Mistress. But…you want me to hit you?”

  “Yes.” I straightened.

  He was silent, and I stared at the back of his head, at his scalp that could be made out through his super-short hair.

  “Do you think you’ll be able to do it?” I asked. He was my sub, this was something new—it would be remiss of me not to make sure it wasn’t totally out of his comfort zone.

  “I’ll do whatever you ask of me, forever and always.”

  “Good.” I leant forward and pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck.

  He sighed and a tremble went through his body. But I knew he didn’t love me. We’d had the conversation; he just liked how I treated him, dominated him, made him come. I also knew that one day a woman would make him feel the same way and he’d love her too. That would be the day our relationship would end…but for now…for now ours was a symbiotic partnership and one that had never reached full intercourse.

  “Did you bring the flogger?” I asked, walking to the hall table.

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “Good, get it out.”

  I retrieved my paddle, though I wasn’t sure how well it would work on my shoulders; maybe a few slaps on my buttocks if I needed it. My idea, though, was to just have Carlos deliver the pain to my shoulders. That way if I had red marks when Victor got home tonight, I could keep a T-shirt on, or, if necessary, say I’d done it to myself. He wouldn’t find it unusual that I might try something like that, given that Julie did it all the time.

  Walking to the rug in front of the fire, I dropped to my knees, pulled Helen’s jumper off then tossed it and the paddle aside. I’d worn no bra and my breasts hung heavy and aroused, the ends of the scarf dangling between them.

  I took a deep breath and visualised how it would be later with Victor, not here, now, with Carlos. My arse would be there for his taking. Naked and vulnerable. My pussy would be wet with my wanting, each rush of the paddle taking me higher.

  Or so I hoped.

  Hurriedly, I shoved my hand down the front of my jeans, strummed my clit and caught that first spark of interest.

  “Mistress,” Carlos said from above me. “Please instruct me.”

  “I need you to use the flogger on me. My shoulders only.”

  “But…?”

  “Just do it. Hard.”

  “But, what’s your safe word?”

  Damn, of course. “It’s smitten, okay, smitten.” I went forwards onto my knees and one hand, bowed my back and my hair fell around my face. Access to my clit was better like this, and I fretted and fingered myself, picturing Victor behind me, holding that flogger above his head. His eyes flashing with excitement, his breaths coming quick, and that little muscle in his jaw flexing the way it did when he was concentrating. He wouldn’t let me move, he’d have me pinned down either physically or with words.

  “Now, damn it,” I said. “Fucking hit me, slave.”

  Searing heat broke across my shoulders, the pain hotter, harder than I’d expected. I grunted in discomfort and clenched my teeth. Let the hurt spread through my body.


  “Again, again,” I said, when the next strike didn’t come.

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  Another blow, as firm as the first and in the same place.

  Licks of blistering heat spread over my skin. My pussy spasmed, my thighs tensed, and my dangling breasts jerked as I flinched.

  “For fuck’s sake, Carlos, hit me again, and then again.” I paused to pant, the pain in my shoulders turning to a dull sting. “Hit me the way I hit you. Beat me until I come. I want this, I need it. I command you to flog me until I orgasm, and if you stop before then, Lord help me, I’ll punish you so harshly you won’t be able to walk until after bloody Christmas.”

  He grunted, muttered, and then the pain began. Swipe after swipe of leather against my flesh. Each hit hurt to hell and back, my body responding by shuddering and twitching.

  It didn’t take long for the agony to become a boiling hot cauldron of sensation. The strikes all blurred into one, an indistinguishable medley of pain that I forced myself to channel to my clit and pussy.

  Part of me wanted to scream smitten, the other half of me wouldn’t, not until I came.

  My wrist ached, my masturbating reaching violent levels. Tears filled my eyes, overspilt and fell onto the rug. Cries caught in my throat, strangling me, gagging me.

  The pressure was so great. Not just in my pussy, but throughout my whole body. It was as if I were truly alive, every nerve stimulated, hyper-stimulated. Soon my orgasm would be there, soon, very soon. I prayed for it to take me swiftly, then the pain would stop. But so would my high. This dizzy, reckless, submissive state would end and I’d be Zara, Carlos and Victor’s Mistress again. My responsibilities would return, my need to be in control would surface.

  Suddenly the additional stripes of pain stopped. The flogger was no longer beating down on me. I think it must have taken a few seconds for me to realise because I was such a bubbling mass of need and hurt anyway.

  “Carlos,” I hissed, aware that my mouth was wet with saliva, drooling almost. “Don’t stop, you bastard.”

  Nothing.

  I fretted my clit, cursing the fact that my orgasm was retreating before it had bloomed. “Hit me or I swear I’ll shove not one but two mega-plugs up your arse, side by side.”

  Still nothing.

  Exasperated, I sat back on my heels then turned, still tweaking my clit and hoping to re-gather the lost pulses of an orgasm.

  Staring down at me were two men.

  Carlos and Victor.

  Victor held Carlos’ arm aloft. The arm that held the now limp flogger.

  Carlos’ cheeks were red. He was breathing hard through his nose, like a bull, and his mouth was set in a tight, straight line.

  Victor was staring at me, unblinking, his brow creased, his lips parted and his emerald-green tie skewwhiff.

  “What the fucking hell…” Victor said in a strained, shocked voice. “What the fucking hell in God’s name is going on here?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I stared at Zara, who sat there with my cashmere scarf around her neck, her tits on show, and her hand shoved down the front of her jeans. I felt as though all my innards had evaporated, just leaving me as a body shape made of skin. I’d experienced fear before and knew that’s what I was going through now—fear that I’d definitely lose her at the end of our time together if she could do what she’d been doing with Carlos. Why had I begun to think that we might go on for longer? Hope was a bitch on sexy legs, and she was here before me now, mouth an ‘o’, her cheeks flushing.

  “Victor! You’re back early!” She looked at me, assessing my mood, I suspected, then switched her attention to Carlos. “That will be all, slave, thank you very much. I’m aware of how hard to strike now. You can leave.”

  She glared at me—hard—and I obeyed her silent command, damn it!—letting go of Carlos’ arm, resisting the urge to break the bloody thing. I couldn’t take my anger, my bewilderment, out on him. She’d reminded me just then, using the term ‘slave’, that he had obviously just been doing as she’d instructed.

  But what had happened to us being exclusive?

  Then I recalled she’d said she wouldn’t fuck anyone else while she was teaching me…hadn’t she? She’d never said she wouldn’t play with them.

  What I found confusing was the fact she’d wanted to do something with him when she had me to mess around with. He’d been flogging her, for fuck’s sake! Flogging a woman who usually did the flogging. Christ, I’d had the idea our switching of roles was a private thing, something no one else would know anything about. Something she wouldn’t have wanted to share with anyone else. Yet she had. As soon as my back had been turned, she’d well and truly embraced her submissive side.

  Carlos walked towards the hallway with his head down, flogger tails swinging by his side, bag in the other hand. A true submissive, I thought—but then he hadn’t adopted that pose when we’d seen him outside the building in Eden Street. Perhaps he was ashamed today, or maybe… Why did I care what he thought anyway? I had my own emotions to deal with.

  After the click of the front door closing echoed through to me, I took a second to gather my thoughts, then said, “What were you doing?”

  She casually withdrew her hand out of her jeans and stood. “What did it bloody look like?” She reached down for a discarded jumper and stuffed her head through the neck hole.

  “It looked like you were being flogged.”

  “And,” she said, jamming her arms into the sleeves then pulling the scarf out so it sat above the jumper, “that’s exactly what was happening. I don’t have to explain myself to you, Victor.”

  I bristled at that. “You do when you’ve got some bulky bloke laying into you in my home!”

  “Ah, I see.” She planted her hands on her hips. “I’m supposed to have asked if Carlos could come over, is that it? Okay, I can understand that, and I apologise, but I still have to work, Victor. You telling me to stay here and masturbate all day…well, I suspect it didn’t enter your head that I might have to practise some of my routines during the day, did it? When the hell do you think we work out what we’re going to do in our shows?”

  She widened her eyes, which seemed to blaze with all manner of emotions—annoyance, anger, lots of that—and a touch of incredulity. My cheeks were going to get hot; they already tingled. My heart did a couple of heavy pounds, just to remind me that I’d forgotten my damn pill again that morning. That was Zara’s fault—I’d been lingering, watching her sleep. The woman was bad for my health.

  “Well?” she demanded. “Did you think the routines just happened? That they’re off the cuff?”

  “So…” What was she saying? Her next show would be having Carlos flogging her? It didn’t make sense, not when men went to watch her being the dominant one. “So you’ve decided to embrace this new side of yourself and incorporate it into your work, is that it?”

  She rolled her eyes. “No! Not that I have to explain anything to you, but I had Carlos flog me to show me how hard I should be doing it to him in order for him to say his safe word. I had it in mind to do a show where he was in such pain he couldn’t take any more. I needed to feel what he would feel, to know how it had to be done.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have done it here, should have gone home or worked it out in Eden Street, but it’s happened now and I can’t change the past.”

  I felt a bastard for doubting her. But I did. From what she’d said last night she’d never felt the need to put herself through what she subjected subs to. My thoughts were scattering, though, like snooker balls at the break, so I let that one bounce against the side of the table to be deciphered another time, while others were potted, out of view.

  “Right, well…it was just a shock, that’s all, coming home and seeing you like that. With him.”

  “He’s a work colleague as well as a slave, Victor. I can’t just ignore him while you’re in my life.” She paused, staring at the ceiling. “I could, actually, but I won’t.” She looked
at me again. “We have our jobs to do, me and him, and what you and I have going…that has to be fitted around it. I can’t just stop working. I have rent to pay.”

  She glanced around the room, making it clear she’d correctly guessed I didn’t have any such bill to pay.

  “I understand.” And I did, but I didn’t have to like it. For a moment, when I’d come home, I’d quite forgotten what she did for a living. I didn’t have to like that either, but it was a part of her and something I’d have to learn to accept when…if we ever got together in the longer term. Yet all I’d seen upon my arrival was my woman with another man. Jealousy, envy, and a host of other negative emotions had swamped me, and everything in front of me had been tinted red by a rage I hadn’t felt in a long time. I’d learnt to keep those rages in check, reactions like that, again, bad for my health.

  “Do you, though?” she asked, swinging her gaze back to me. “As you’re the boss, you can take time off as and when you like. Delegate jobs to your employees without ever worrying where the next pay cheque is coming from.”

  “But that isn’t my fault, Zara, and I won’t apologise for what I have. I worked for it, gave up most of my adult life drowning in overtime and lack of sleep to get it. There have been times in my past that I haven’t been able to make the rent and have been tossed out of digs. I won’t forget that, either.”

  She inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring. Had she assumed I’d been born with a silver spoon in my mouth? Her resentment didn’t tally with who I was—who I’d thought she knew me to be.

  “I built my business up,” I said. “It wasn’t handed down to me by my father. He’s an engineer, worked for a telecommunication company, as an employee, never his own boss, never owning his own—”

  “That’s none of my concern.” She wafted one hand at me as though what I’d said was boring. “The point I’m trying to make is that I can’t skive from work and wank all day just because you told me to. Understand?”

  I nodded. “I wish you didn’t have to do that job.” Shit. It had come out before the words had been a fully formed thought. “Sorry. That’s none of my concern—what you do, I mean.”