Game

by Justine Elyot

  ‘Who was the Mistress?’

  ‘You’ll meet her, I expect. Danuta, she’s one of many here. She bent us all over the end of the bed in a row, took down our knickers and flogged us, one at a time. Then we all had to stand in the corner while she got the Master – that was Mal – to come and join in. He caned us, then I had to stand in the corner while O and the other girl carried on. I think they had to do oral sex on each other again, then Mal fucked one while Danuta did the other with a strap-on. Something like that.’

  ‘Blimey.’ I’m impressed. ‘It sounds quite complicated. It must be planned out in advance then?’

  ‘Yes. You’ll need an idea of how you want things to go.’ She addresses herself to Lloyd.

  ‘I can see that. So, you didn’t get involved in the sex, your first time?’

  ‘No. The second time I didn’t have so many inhibitions to lose though. It all got easier after that.’

  ‘What do you think, Soph?’ Lloyd turns to me. ‘Would you want to go a bit further? Are you shy? Retiring?’ His sharky smirk makes me flap a hand at him.

  ‘You know I’m not.’

  ‘But I shouldn’t be discussing this with you. Why don’t you, uh, go and buy us a cupcake each while I have a quick word with Rachael. Here.’

  He hands over a ten-pound note.

  I linger over the glass-fronted counter, admiring a cake which features a naked body made of chocolate buttons. Liquorice bootlaces trail from a Twix whip handle. How inventive. I peek over my shoulder every now and then, to watch Lloyd and Rachael, deep in confabulation about what sinful things will be done to me tomorrow night.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’

  The barista, handsome and obsequious in an apron and a black silk shirt beneath, gives me what seems like a knowing look. I wonder if he’s a sub. Does getting ordered around the coffee machine turn him on? Are there people who work in service industries because they love to serve so much that they get a thrill out of it? I grin to myself, imagining an alternative workforce, role-playing the country back to economic ascendancy.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I tell him.

  ‘When you’ve identified your whim, please let me satisfy it,’ he flirts.

  ‘Oh, aren’t you precious? I’ll take three of those flapjacks, ta. Have you ever considered hotel work?’

  He blinks.

  ‘Never mind.’

  He puts the flapjacks on a tray, gives me my change.

  ‘Is it safe to come back?’ I hover around Lloyd and Rachael’s vicinity, not wanting to interrupt them mid-plot.

  ‘I think we’ve got everything covered,’ says Lloyd.

  ‘Unlike your thighs,’ comments Rachael. ‘Great boots. Where did you get them?’

  We lapse into chat until the last flapjack crumb is consumed and Rachael confesses that she is late for her date in the dungeon and scurries away, though scurrying isn’t easy on six-inch heels.

  ‘I guess we go back to the hotel and wait for tomorrow night,’ says Lloyd, rising to his feet.

  But he missed something out of his guess, because the moment we are out of the building and back in the dingy backstreets, he finds the first disused side alley he can and pushes me up against the wall. He parts my coat with urgent hands and presses himself into my rubber curves.

  ‘Do you really think,’ he whispers in my ear, ‘you can get a man all hot and worked up, showing yourself off in front of strangers, and expect to get away with it?’

  I bite my lip, grind into the hardness he must have been nursing for at least half an hour. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Three guesses.’ His hands are at my hem, yanking at the latex. The wool of his suit trousers chafes my thighs.

  ‘OK.’ I dart out my tongue and flick it along his lower lip. He catches it for a moment, sucking it in, then releases it so I can speak. ‘Guess one: pick me up and spread my legs.’

  ‘That’ll do for starters.’ He jolts me upwards so I have to cling to his neck, my breasts pushed into his chest, my legs wrapped tight around his hips. The wall is hard and uncompromising against my spine, but I don’t care, caught in a forceful kiss that knocks my senses sideways.

  ‘Next?’ he demands, drawing away with a bite of my lip.

  ‘Guess two: get your cock out of your trousers.’

  His hand bears my theory out, fiddling with belt buckle and zip for an intense moment, while I start to wonder how secluded this spot really is. It’s getting late. Soon the offices will release the workers and they will flow and flood through the streets, bound for stations and bus stops all over town. Maybe this alley is a cut-through.

  ‘Guess three,’ I rasp, more urgently. ‘Fuck me into the wall.’

  ‘Oh, you’re a mind-reader,’ he says, nipping my ear.

  He gets his cock gets into position underneath me, holds me up by the undersides of my naked thighs and enters me. It’s a quick and effortless first stroke, impaling me without fuss or struggle. He pushes in to the hilt and stands, crushing me in place, still for a moment. I can tell by his breathing and the twitching of his face that he won’t be able to hold himself in for long. He’s already close.

  I want to unhook an arm from his neck and touch my clit, catch up with him before he streaks ahead and leaves me behind. He helps me, bracing one of his forearms underneath me while he releases my arm. I tense for a moment, feeling my body drop an inch, my coat scraping against the cold brick, but then I am hoisted back into position, with my hand free to self-pleasure.

  For the second time that afternoon, I start to rub my clit. I love the feel of his thick hard stalk underneath, keeping me filled and tight while I finger myself.

  ‘Don’t take too long,’ he gasps. ‘I don’t know if I can …’

  ‘It turned me on,’ I tell him in brief bursts, panting in between, ‘when you made me show myself to those people. Doing what you told me … having to do it … knowing they thought I belonged to you … it got me off … oh God, it did.’

  ‘You like people to think you belong to me? You do. You do belong to me. This hot, wet little cunt I’m in is mine. Do you get that?’

  ‘Yeah. I get that.’ I begin to wriggle, trying to provoke him into a thrust.

  ‘Patience, sweetheart. You made me wait. I’m returning the favour.’

  ‘Nooo, I can’t. Can’t wait. Do it. Fuck me.’

  He won’t be able to resist it. He can’t resist it. He screws his eyes shut and gets to work. My back will bear the bruises, my cunt will sting and simmer with sweet remembrance for the rest of the day and night.

  You are his, it says, when I lie in bed feeling the burn. Why do you fight it?

  Chapter Seven

  Lloyd leaves me in the café with a shot glass of Dutch courage while Rachael and O whisk him off to ‘set up’.

  The party doesn’t start for two hours yet. How much setting up do they need?

  The people all around me are preparing to party, in hilarious high spirits, brandishing their riding crops and dog leashes while they down expensive bottled beers. None of them seem nervous. I guess they are all old hands at this kind of thing.

  ‘You look lonely,’ says one man, his bare chest strapped up in some kind of harness. ‘Want to join us?’

  His coterie stops behind him – three girls wearing tiny leather miniskirts and very little else.

  ‘I’m waiting for someone,’ I tell him, crossing my legs. I’m still dressed for work – Rachael promised to help me get changed in the office later.

  ‘Are you sure you’re in the right place?’

  Am I? Good question.

  ‘Quite sure, thanks.’

  ‘OK, well, enjoy your play.’ He drifts off towards the bar with his acolytes in tow.

  Rachael appears from the stairway door and waves her hand, gesturing me away. I am to be prepared.

  In the office, she takes a bag from under O’s desk and rummages through it.

  ‘So,’ I say, faux-casually, ‘is the set up all do
ne?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Where’s Lloyd? What’s he doing?’

  ‘Mal’s lent him some gear. He’s getting dressed. I think Mal was going to give him a few pointers about tonight too.’

  ‘Pointers? He’s not doing knife play, is he?’

  Rachael laughs, emptying the bag so that the contents jingle and clink on the desk. ‘Don’t be daft. I might do a bit though.’

  ‘Really? You’re into that?’

  ‘Only with one dom. I wouldn’t let just anyone near me with a blade. Don’t look so scared, Soph. It’s all about limits. Mine might be a bit further out there than yours.’

  ‘Blimey, no one’s ever said that to me before.’

  ‘There are all sorts of things you might do that I wouldn’t be comfortable with either. It isn’t like “Oh, she’s into BDSM so she must want to do x, y and z.” It’s different for everyone.’

  ‘Do you like being watched?’

  ‘Honestly? Not really. I’m self-conscious about my looks. I don’t enjoy it, but I enjoy the feeling of doing something that scares me, for my dom, to please him.’

  ‘I don’t really get that.’

  ‘You’re in a different headspace than me. You play the way you do because it’s what you want. If Lloyd wanted it and you didn’t, it wouldn’t happen, would it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Because you don’t have that kind of relationship. I get off on the idea of service, of subordinating my own desires to somebody else’s.’

  I pause for a moment, unsure what to say. ‘Each to their own,’ is my lame conclusion.

  ‘Exactly. Each to their own. Now look, are you going to get dressed or are we going to stand here debating kink psychology all night?’

  ‘Sorry. I’m nervous. Love your outfit, by the way.’

  Rachael is wearing a black velvet number featuring a cleavage with more plunge than a bungee jumper and a huge slit up both sides of the long skirt. She appears to be nude underneath.

  ‘Thanks. Get a shimmy on then.’

  I begin to rid myself of the sharp trouser suit, inspecting the contents of the desk while I unbutton.

  It looks like a corset.

  ‘Is it a corset?’

  ‘Yes, and I hope it fits you. Really, they should be custom-made. But I reckon we’re about the same size, even though I’m taller, so I thought it was worth a try.’

  ‘What if it doesn’t fit?’

  Rachael shrugs. ‘There’s a load of costume gear in that cupboard over there. Something will.’

  As it happens, the corset is hideously uncomfortable, but for reasons that are nothing to do with the fit, which is fine.

  ‘Not so tight,’ I gasp as Rachael reins me in so fiercely I expect to hear the cracking of bones.

  She relents and lets the laces out a bit. I breathe again.

  ‘I forget sometimes that you aren’t a veteran at all this,’ she says. ‘Sorry.’

  I look down at myself. I seem to nip in and flare out much more than usual, in a sleek black and red satiny kind of way. My breasts spill up and over the cups, two indecent pale pillows, thrust out and ready for handling.

  ‘It’s like my rubber dress,’ I tell her. ‘But more so.’

  ‘You could try a rubber corset. They’re awesome. Now, I have this skirt thing for you.’

  The skirt thing is a tiny lacy scrap that barely covers my arse. Not that it matters. I can’t imagine that my arse is going to stay under wraps for long tonight. Suspenders emerge from the high-set hem to link up with lacy stocking tops.

  Looking at myself in the mirror, I see the classic saucy sexy minx. I practise a look of wide-eyed innocence, a pout, a wiggle of the bottom.

  ‘Do you think Lloyd will like it?’ asks Rachael, grinning.

  ‘Are you kidding? Lloyd likes anything and everything. A hairy gorilla suit would turn Lloyd on.’

  ‘Only if you were wearing it.’

  I tut. ‘Nah, I don’t think so. He’s just a horny bastard.’

  ‘No, I think you’re wrong. I think it’d have to be you in the gorilla suit. I even think it’d have to be you in the sexy corset.’

  I turn away from the mirror and put my hands over my exposed collarbones, my throat suddenly tight. ‘D’you really think so?’

  ‘God, yes. Don’t you?’

  I wander over to the desk again, not trusting myself to answer. Wrist cuffs. ‘Do I have to put these on?’

  ‘I would, since they’re there. I guess it’s for a reason.’

  She buckles them on for me, nice and tight. The leather is heavy, which is both sexy and reassuring. Instantly, I feel closer to the headspace I’m aiming for.

  I pull on high strappy shoes and then I’m left with the last thing: a collar, with dog leash attached.

  ‘I don’t know about this,’ I say, picking it up.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it makes me think of dogs, and dogs don’t turn me on. I don’t really want to be treated like an animal.’

  ‘I guess I won’t invite you to the pony farm then.’

  ‘I guess you won’t.’ I snort. ‘You’re serious? That place really exists?’

  ‘I’ve told you! I went there the other month. I had a brilliant weekend. Look, put the collar on. Don’t think of it in relation to dogs. Think of it as a slave collar.’

  Slaves? Isn’t that worse?

  Rachael puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘It doesn’t symbolise anything you don’t want it to. It’s just a weird-looking necklace. It’s a piece of leather with some metal links attached. Whatever you want to make it, that’s what it is. And it’s a damn sight less uncomfortable than that corset.’

  ‘Where’s Lloyd? Is he coming to fetch me?’

  ‘Yeah, he’ll be here soon.’

  I pick up the collar, weigh it in my hands. It’s just a thing. It can mean what I want it to mean. I’m not a dog, not a slave, I don’t belong to anyone. I do what I want, because I want to do it.

  I put it on. It’s supple, the leather moulding itself to the contours of my neck. The chain dangles between my breasts, chilling them.

  Rachael picks up the end of the leash and tugs on it playfully. ‘How does it feel?’

  ‘It’s OK. It’s good. Where’s Lloyd?’

  ‘Here’s Lloyd.’

  He stands in the doorway – I pivot on my teeteringly high heels and look him up and down.

  ‘Wow. It’s a dom makeover.’

  He looks like a sexed-up cat burglar, in black leather trousers (Mal’s?) and a black silk shirt, billowing and open to about halfway down his chest. Most fun of all, he is wearing an eye mask and a flogger in his belt. And shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather. His hair is slicked back and his smile is deadly.

  I put a hand on a jutting hip and ask in my best husky purr, ‘Who’s this?’

  He shuts the door behind him and crooks a finger. ‘Let me look at you.’

  I swing the leash, burlesque-style, as I approach him, but he grabs it as soon as it’s within reach and uses it to hold me still and close, the length of chain wrapped around his fist.

  ‘Gorgeous,’ he says, putting his other hand to my neck, sliding it down over my bare shoulders. The intensity of his attention makes me want to step back, to make a jocular remark, to puncture the moment. Something stops me, though, holds me still just as the leash does. ‘Turn around.’

  His hand on my shoulder steers me lightly. He lifts my skirt, the two pathetic flounces of frothy net, and checks that I am naked underneath. I look at the ground, conscious of Rachael watching us, conscious of Lloyd’s eyes on my bottom and pussy. There will be more eyes than his later, but I don’t think I could feel so naked if a million eyes were trained on my sex. I have never felt more laid bare.

  With a tug of the leash, I am facing him again.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he says softly.

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Not sure. Shall we skip all this and go home?’ His fingers caress my jawbo
ne, his thumb drifting over my cheek.

  ‘Would that be a fail?’

  I don’t even care. I don’t even care about the silly game. I want to tell him, yes, let’s abandon this, let’s go, let’s be lovers.

  But when it comes down to it, I just can’t.

  ‘I suppose,’ he says. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘No, let’s do this.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I want to. I’m sure.’

  He pulls me tight, really tight, into his chest and whispers in my ear, ‘I’m going to make you beg tonight. One way or another.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ I whisper back.

  O and Mal arrive, cooing and smiling at our little tableau.

  ‘Getting into the mood?’ enquires Mal, searching the cupboard for his Dracula cloak. ‘It’s going to be a hot one tonight. Very well attended. Lots of the top players in.’

  ‘Who’s domming you, Rachael?’ asks O. ‘Won’t they be wondering where you are?’

  ‘Oh! Yes.’ Rachael gives her hair one final primp in the mirror and dashes off. ‘See you later. Good luck.’

  Mal pours us all a glass of port and we stand around, slightly awkward, O and I baring expanses of flesh that seem to preclude polite chitchat. It’s left to Mal and Lloyd to banter self-consciously about fire regulations and door policy.

  Mal raises his glass. ‘Well, I think a toast is in order,’ he says. ‘To beautiful submission. And the two very fine examples of it here in this room.’

  Lloyd echoes the toast while O and I simper.

  ‘First night nerves, Lloyd?’ asks Mal.

  ‘Yeah, a few,’ he admits.

  Mal slaps him on the back. ‘You’ll ace it, bud,’ he says. ‘Just remember what I taught you.’

  ‘And what was that?’ I ask, but Mal taps his nose.

  ‘Curiosity killed the cat. And did quite a lot of damage to the pussy too.’

  He laughs uproariously. O shoots me an apologetic eyebrow raise. Life with the Benny Hill of bondage must be wearisome sometimes.

  Our drinks consumed, our inhibitions mildly lowered, we prepare to enter the circus ring.

  I reach for Lloyd’s hand and squeeze it, the squeeze lasting a little longer and ending up a little tighter than I intended. I want to tell him to break a leg, or something. Should I be wishing luck to a man whose immediate future involves visiting intense pain on my backside? All the same, I prefer my position to his. I don’t have to exude confidence or authority. I just have to obey orders.