by Dae, Harlem
“Zara,” he gasped, one-handedly shoving at his sweats.
“Yes, Sir?”
“I’m going to fuck you now.”
“Yes, yes please, Sir.”
He hesitated. “Can you take me, at the same time as that?”
I caught his cheeks in my palms, spread my legs wider for him to settle between. His need to ask was endearing. Even at the height of his domination over me, he thought to check my boundaries. He was learning well. I was so proud of him in that moment.
“We’ll soon find out,” I said, “but switch the damn thing on so you can feel the vibrations too. Sir.”
He propped himself on one arm. His chest muscles were defined and tense. A few beads of sweat sat in the centre of his sternum. I wanted to lick them off but didn’t have the energy. I was weak yet alive, full to bursting but wanting to be filled. Victor was with me, over me, yet still I wanted more. I wanted him in me, to crawl beneath my skin and become part of me.
Suddenly the vibrator flooded my body with a new, deep and mind-blowing sensation.
“Oh, oh…” My arms went weak, so did my legs, and I flopped, only arching my back because of an acute need to tip my pelvis.
“Let me in,” Victor said against my mouth as he forced his dick into my pussy.
I couldn’t answer. The fast tremors in my back passage travelling to my clit were holding cognitive thought hostage.
“Ah, fuck yeah, I can feel it too,” Victor gasped and tunnelled deeper into me.
He was kissing me but I couldn’t kiss back, my mouth limp, my body his to do with as he pleased.
“Ah, yeah, yeah, so good,” he groaned, sinking balls deep. “Yes, that’s it. Fuck, come whenever you can, baby, I’m not going to last. So fucking hot and tight, and those vibrations, those little ears are touching my balls, ah, ah…”
I heard his words but I was already coming, it was too much. Pleasure gripped me in a strangulating fist. Never before had I felt so owned, so completely surrendered to another person, and it was Victor owning me, possessing my body with his. Inside I wailed, screamed, cried with delight, with awe-inspiring gratitude for the place he’d taken me to. But no sound would come out—I was silent, catatonic. I belonged to him, and without him I had no idea how to come down from this high and be Zara again.
“Baby, shh, it’s okay.” Victor’s voice. Victor’s kisses.
I realised I was crying, tears dripping down my cheeks and soaking onto soft chest hairs and warm skin.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Fuck, please, forgive me.” A kiss pressed onto my scalp.
I became aware of where I was, who I was.
The vibrator had gone. Victor was next to me, holding me against his body, with my head tucked beneath his chin. We were wrapped in a soft blanket, meshed as one, legs tangled, arms entwined. I realised I was on a bed, Victor’s bed. I was in Victor’s penthouse and he’d spanked and fucked me into sub space.
He kissed my head again, stroked my hair. I was aware of his heart beat tripping against his ribcage; it was still fast, though mine felt slow, like my body had returned to normal after the amazing orgasms. Fuck yeah, bloody amazing orgasms.
“Hey,” I said, testing my voice and control over my arm. “It’s all right, I’m all right.” I looked up at him and cupped his cheek. It was dark but the lights of London filtered in through the window, creating a sparkling glow.
He frowned down at me. “I didn’t mean to hurt you in a bad way.”
“You didn’t, it was amazing.”
He studied my eyes, as though looking to see if I was telling the truth or not. “Are you sure?”
“Jesus, do you even need to ask? You fucked me into unconsciousness and that’s never happened to me before. Ever.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
I partly dreaded what Zara had in store for me within the next hour.
She’d left earlier this morning—I’d insisted she borrowed some of my boxer shorts—saying she had a full day planned. Something about practising with Carlos. I’d been hard pressed not to balk at that, not to say, in my new Master voice, that no, she was forbidden to mess around with him until we were over. Of course, by the time daylight had slanted through the bedroom windows, bathing her goddamned gorgeous face in an almost white glow, our roles had reversed. She’d become the Dominant, and by the set of her jaw I’d been able to tell that there would be no way she’d accept me dishing out orders.
She further confirmed this by turning, hair scooped up and presenting me with the collar’s buckle which had slipped to the back of her neck.
“What are you going to do with this?” she’d asked snappily.
“What do you want me to do?” I’d stared at it, thinking how much it suited her. How much I liked her wearing ‘my’ collar.
She’d sighed, dramatically, loudly, and I took that to mean it was time for me to remove it. Why she couldn’t just take it off herself, I didn’t know.
I’d done it slowly, wishing, somewhere in my core, that I wasn’t. That I was leaving it on for Carlos, Fifi, everyone else at the club to see. They called me Virgin, but last night I had been the great Mistress Zara’s Master—what would they make of that?
Work had been…trying. Mary, although in a better mood than she had been lately, had eyed me with suspicion again. It had felt as though she’d known what I’d been up to last night. Had I displayed the sated male look? There was no doubt in my mind she had plans for me and her niece—saving me from Zara’s clutches, I suspected—so if I’d exuded any I’ve-been-well-and-truly-fucked airs she’d have had something to mull over.
Still, Mary wasn’t my concern—nor was her opinion of me. My only concern was where I was about to go and what Zara would expect of me once I got there. A show, she’d texted earlier, one that would “knock my socks off”. If it was anything like the ones I’d witnessed so far, I’d be barefooted within seconds, and although apprehensive, I couldn’t deny my excitement. This journey with Zara had been one wild ride so far, and even though at times it had been a never-stopping roller coaster, I found I didn’t want to get off.
Would I be left with shaking limbs, the feeling of my heart being in my throat when the thrilling ride did come to a stop? I didn’t want to think about that—couldn’t. My heart and mind were leaning heavily towards making Zara mine over Christmas, after the New Year, well into the spring, summer…but her behaviour warned that me asking such a thing of her would be too much. Scare her away.
I shook my head and straightened the collar of my black polo shirt then glanced down at my matching skinny jeans—did I look stupid in them? Was I too old to wear them? I’d purchased them on a whim during my lunch break earlier, and now, like a teenager going out on his first proper date, I had second thoughts. Also, I couldn’t erase the feeling that tonight was going to be momentous in some way, life-changing—and not necessarily for the good. Perhaps it was the not knowing what the show was going to be that was wreaking havoc with my emotions, but whatever it was, the sense of finality wasn’t sitting too comfortably on my shoulders.
“You’re being a dick, as Ollie would say,” I muttered.
And I was.
I couldn’t predict the future any better than a caravan-dwelling, toothless old woman on the seafront.
Eden Street looked particularly seedy tonight. A few pieces of litter danced along the ground, tossed and urged on by a stiff wind that cut into my face and had me hunching my shoulders, burying my cheeks deeper into my upstanding jacket collar. I spotted a decorated Christmas tree in someone’s window, the curtains bunched up against it. Another home had bravely displayed a wreath on the front door, no doubt hoping it was too cold for anyone to be bothered to take their hands from their pockets and pinch it. It wasn’t a night to be out and about, that much was certain, but I’d soon be warmed up—either by the heat inside the building or the burn of lust inside me. It had been such an extraordinary week, the start with me shocked by the world Zara had revealed, the end
with me wanting to know more about it. To dig deeper into that sleaziness and roll around in it. I contented myself with the fact that I had three weeks left of this exploration and, judging by how much I’d learned so far, there was no way Zara would be able to continue calling me The Virgin.
As I reached up to knock on the door, I chuckled at the cheek of her. She was so…so bloody infuriatingly wonderful in every way, from her usual annoying things-must-be-my-way-or-else attitude to her, at times, surprising vulnerability. I would never have guessed she’d had it in her to back down, to become submissive, and I felt more than a little pleased that I’d been the one who’d instigated a couple of firsts for her. First time being a sub, first time ever being fucked unconscious. She’d never forget me because of that, and in the weeks, months and years ahead when we were no longer together, I could hold on tight to that knowledge and hope that sometimes she’d be thinking of me.
The door clicked, eased open an inch or two, and the time for feeling good about what I had made happen was over. I pushed through into the building, glancing around for Zara, only to find Fifi sitting behind the desk in the otherwise empty reception. My heart sank a little, but I managed a smile as I closed the door behind me.
“Well hello, Virgin,” Fifi said, leaning back in her chair and running one fingernail over her bottom lip.
She was another who was self-assured, I’d bet. She exuded I-know-what-I-want-and-I’ll-always-get-it—something that would have been off-putting to me this time last week. Now, though, now I was attracted—not to her, but to that attitude.
Zara had fairly ruined me for any delicate women—then again, that was my submissive side talking. The Master…well, he wanted something altogether different.
“Hello,” I said, ignoring the pet name which, I suspected, they all used when or if they discussed me. “Zara about?”
Fifi nodded. “She is, but she said for you to go straight to room four.”
“Is that because it’s the only empty one, or does she always prefer her men to use it?” I had no idea where that had come from, or why I needed to know the answer.
“She doesn’t usually bring anyone she sleeps with here. But if I were to guess, I’d say because four and five are the rooms in the centre of the row. Best seats in the house, so to speak.”
She smiled and appeared to be examining me from head to toe. I thought of my skinny jeans and wondered if she was laughing inside about them.
“On you go, then,” she said. “Doesn’t do to keep her waiting.”
“No,” I said, “quite.”
I left reception and, in the corridor, took a moment to steady my breathing. My cheeks raged hot—Fifi’s scrutiny had got to me more than I would have liked—and I battled the urge to quickly go home and change. Then a wave of assuredness went through me. No, it didn’t matter what I was wearing. The room would be dark anyway and Zara might not even notice.
I knocked on door four and waited for her call.
“Enter,” she said, her voice stern.
Oh. She was in one of those moods, was she?
I took a deep breath and went inside, my hand still on the handle, the door still open.
She stood with her back to me, staring at the closed-off viewing window. Via the light from the corridor spilling in, I got a muted vision of her—but I’d know her even in pitch darkness. She seemed a bit…tense; I felt it coming off her, surrounding me and giving me thoughts that she was unhappy. I didn’t like it so opened my mouth to ask her if anything was wrong, but she beat me to it by raising her hand.
“Tonight is special, Victor,” she said, too briskly for my liking.
Had there been a knife-sharp edge to her tone then, or had it been my imagination? I frowned, almost let the door close then changed my mind. If she turned, I wanted to be able to see her face, to read the expression there.
“Tonight’s show is…” She sighed. “Is the final curtain.”
What did she mean? Was this the last show I’d have to watch before she taught me other things on a one-to-one basis? Again I opened my mouth to ask her, but she snapped out, “Oh, shut the bloody door!”
I released it, the click of it closing bringing the darkness I’d wanted in which to hide my jeans—and what I hadn’t wanted to hide her face. I blinked, waiting for my eyes to adjust—that one wall light with the reddish glow didn’t give much illumination—and she swivelled to face me. Walked around one of the bucket chairs to stand in front of me. Placed her little hands on my shoulders, the heat from them sending sexual messages to my cock.
“So,” she said, pushing down on my shoulders. “I suggest you get on your knees. We have a few moments before the show starts.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I said, lowering, wondering what on earth she was going to do to me.
“I had wanted to save this until the very last, Victor, but things have changed—we’ve changed—and I really do think you’re in the right frame of mind now to obey the very first instruction I ever gave you.”
I stared at her naked mid-section. The hem of her top reached just above her navel, and her short skirt waistband hung low on her hips. I resisted the need to dash my tongue out and lick her skin.
“Do you think you’re ready?” she asked.
I looked up at her face, her skin rosy-hued from the lighting. A tiny smile played on her lips—wistful, I would call it—or it could be taken another way…that she cared about me. As I stared up at her I had nothing on my mind except drinking in the sight of her, so her first ever instruction didn’t enter my mind.
“Lick my cunt,” she said.
And then it all came tumbling back. My shock and horror when she’d said it back then, how I hadn’t been able to stand her bluntness, her raw sexuality. Now, though, now was a different matter. My cock hardened, and I was more than ready to obey.
I slid my hands up her legs and beneath her skirt, pushing the fabric high so it exposed her naked cunt. Splaying my fingers over her arse cheeks, I looked down to see her pussy was lit only on one side, the other in darkness. My imagination had no trouble working these days, so I could see the whole of it in my mind’s eye. I dipped my head, the scent of her growing stronger the lower I went, and pressed my mouth to the fleshy pad above her slit. Breathed deeply. She smelt divine, my Zara, and it was an aroma I never wanted to forget. Brushing my mouth downwards until my lips covered hers, I slid my tongue out, laving from the bottom to the top. Her clit was soft yet hard, and as I dragged my tongue down again I couldn’t wait to lick back up to tease her clit for longer. Make her come, bucking against my face.
“That’s enough,” she said, stepping back so I had no choice but to let go of her arse.
Confused, and with the taste of her still popping on my tongue, I reached out to pull her to me. She took another step away.
“Oh, come on,” I said, needing to plant my mouth back on her wet slit. “Don’t be a tease.”
“I can be whatever I want to be,” she said. “After all, I’m your Mistress, and you will do what I want. If I say that’s enough, then it’s enough.”
“But I—”
“Quiet,” she said. “I only wanted to see if you would obey.”
I remained on my knees, even though I wanted to get up, to tower over her to regain some dignity. She’d given then denied, but if I questioned her decision further she’d no doubt go on about it being a Mistress’ right.
“I obeyed, but I wish, Mistress, that you would let me finish what I’d barely started. I’ve been wanting to do that for ages now, knew you’d been keeping the pleasure from me out of some kind of lesson…” I smiled then laughed a bit. “That’s what’s going on, isn’t it. You’re teaching me another lesson.”
“Something like that,” she said, “although if you’d carried on… Tonight isn’t about my pleasure, it’s about yours. And, as I’ve said, we only had a few moments. Get up. We need to be in our seats.”
I stood, took the same seat as I’d occupied before, Zara t
ugging down her skirt then sitting beside me. It was all very well allowing me one little taste, but wasn’t she desperate for my tongue down there again? If she took my cock in her mouth right now and only gave it one suck, I didn’t think I’d be able to concentrate on anything else until she’d plunged it into her mouth again and sucked me dry.
The curtain to the viewing window opened, preventing any more discussion or thoughts on the matter. A man and a woman stood on the other side of the glass in front of a floor-to-ceiling red curtain that obscured the back half of the room. He was over six feet easy, her around five. The man, with his long, wavy blond hair and scrubby beard brought to mind a Viking, and I supposed his outfit helped give that illusion.
He had on some kind of bronze-coloured metal plating, a waistcoat of sorts, and a shiny gold chain was slung around his waist, another length of it dangling by his side. A circlet of metal was on the end, reminding me of old-fashioned manacles. I frowned at his get-up, wondering if he felt manly with his lower half on show like it was. If I owned such an impressive cock, I’d feel bloody manly. It appeared as if it would be heavy to hold—not that I wanted to hold it—that it would expand to eye-watering thickness once he got hard. His balls hung low, the sacs defined as two rather than one fleshy pouch. A dark-blond halo of curls surrounded his root, thick and growing upwards, thinning a little as the mat covered his lower abdomen. I could only assume his chest was a riot of hairiness too, but the bronze plating hid it.
His partner, one hell of a petite thing, was also blonde, except she’d be described as more flaxen. Pixie-like, she was, everything about her delicate, very much the same as Zara. She had on some white transparent fabric—it could hardly be called a dress—that seemed to float around her as though it was tangible air. Her large breasts didn’t seem in keeping with the rest of her—they looked paid-for to me—and the darkness of her perky nipples tented the material.