That Filthy Book

by Lily Harlem

He stared at me, seeming to see right into my soul, as though he knew exactly what I’d planned to discuss. Was I that transparent? Did he know me that well? I supposed he might, us having been together for so long, and if that look was anything to go by, he was more than willing to play the game.

  I’d underestimated him.

  I stood there, staring back at him, the gap between us too wide even though it was merely inches. I wanted to breach it, close it so nothing was between us except our clothes, but something was happening to prevent it. One of those looks, where speech isn’t necessary, where touching isn’t important. A meeting of two souls in complete understanding of one another. It touched me so deeply I snatched a breath and heard the soft hitch of a sob brewing. Relief poured into me, because damn, I’d begun to think it was all about sex, that we had become crazed, only wanting one another for pleasure. That wasn’t the case, I saw that now, and I couldn’t help myself. I darted forward, pressed myself against him, never wanting to let him go.

  “Hey, what’s the matter?” He circled his arms about me, crushing me to him, and kissed the top of my head. “Did something happen?”

  “No. Yes. But nothing bad. I just love you, that’s all. I just wanted…”

  The rest of my sentence failed to emerge. I didn’t need to say anything more, really. He knew.

  Jacob stroked my back, the heat from his hands drawing out every bit of anxiety. He always did that, had the ability to make even the worst days seem better. I belonged with him, couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.

  “You look lovely. Smell lovely,” he said, lifting one hand from my back to slip his fingers beneath my chin and tilt my head up. He looked into my eyes, stared for long moments. “I love you.”

  He said it so easily, so simply, the words full of much more than what he had actually said. He cradled my head, thumb gently brushing my cheek, and a soft smile stretched his lips. I knew what he was thinking—I was thinking the same things myself. That we were lucky to have one another; that our love was real, and I thanked God for the day he’d sent Jacob to me.

  He broke the spell. “So, other than eating, did you have anything else in mind?”

  “I did, but if you’re thinking of sex, if we indulge now it won’t be one of our mad efforts.”

  “No.” He paused to look at me some more, gaze probing, loving. “It wouldn’t.”

  It would be a gentle exploration, all slow touches and long, soul-searching kisses. But we had yet to discuss his fantasies, and if they were hot, who knew how the sex would be then?

  Who was I kidding? It would be searing, rampant.

  Filthy.

  I broke away before we gave in to temptation. If we did, I imagined we’d eat in the living room afterwards, ignoring the beautiful table, snuggling beside one another in that sated way we had when sex became lovemaking. I’d possibly coax words out of him, but there was the chance he’d laugh them off, diverting my attention with kisses and strokes, him letting me know he was ready for round two.

  No, I had to find out what he wanted.

  I walked to stand in front of the oven, smiling at the fact that the oven gloves I slid over my hands were hardly what anyone would call sexy. I must appear incongruous to him, a woman in a cock-hardening negligee, the image spoilt by huge, quilted red mittens. I went through the motions of serving dinner. Heard him pull out a chair, the scrape of the feet dulled by the rug. Knew he was sitting from the creak of wood and shuffle of clothing, and watching me.

  “That nightie is see-through.”

  “I know.”

  “Is that why you put it on?”

  “Might have been.” I smiled, adding roasted potatoes to our plates.

  “I can see your arse. Your whole body.”

  “I imagine you can.” Here was my opportunity. “What does it make you want to do?”

  A few beats of silence followed that question. Had I blown it?

  “Makes me want to watch you when you wear it.”

  “Does it make you want to touch?” I carried the plates to the table and placed them on the mats as though what we were discussing was an average couple’s dinnertime conversation.

  “Yes, but no.”

  I tried to hide a frown, I really did, but it came all the same. “Oh?” I sat, not opposite, that was too far away, but on the other side of the table corner from him. It would be easy for me to reach across and hold his hand that way if he needed assurance, or rub my foot over his.

  He picked up his knife and fork. “I like the way…” He sighed. “I like the way your body moves under it. And I want to umm, want to see…want to not be able to, uh… You know what I’m trying to say, don’t you?”

  “Sort of.” I knew exactly what he meant, but wanted him to tell me. I cut into my chicken, popped a piece into my mouth, busied myself with eating so he wouldn’t think I was hanging on his next words. I longed to look at him, but if he was about to go into detail, giving him my full attention wasn’t going to work.

  “Like…like a ‘look but don’t touch’ thing.”

  I lifted my eyes a bit, watched him cut a potato in half. Steam rose from the creamy flesh inside the crispy outer casing. He moved on to cut his chicken, pushed a few mushrooms around. He was nervous and I wanted to make it all go away, but if I could reveal my secrets, he’d have to learn to reveal his. I felt cruel, remaining quiet.

  “Can’t touch,” he said quickly.

  Heat pooled between my legs. Was he suggesting what I thought he was?

  I swallowed my food. “Oh, right.” It came out blasé, as though he wasn’t trying to tell me something he’d never spoken about before. Like it didn’t matter. That was an understatement. It mattered—more than he realised. It was important to me that we were back to the sharing thing, taking it in turns. If I pushed it, asked questions that sounded too direct, he’d back off.

  He released a long breath. “You ever…you ever wanted…”

  I felt for him, struggling like this, and it took every bit of willpower I possessed not to say it for him. I speared a mushroom, ate it. Speared another as he toyed with his food. Poured wine, red and rich. Pushed the stopper back into the top and swirled it around my glass, pretending to be fascinated by the burgundy stain it left just below the rim.

  “D’you like being tied up?”

  There, he’d said it. Got it out. And I knew I had to act fast before he burnt up with shame. I looked up, spotted his rigidity, how uncomfortable he was.

  I grinned. “Damn right I do. Think you’d like it?”

  Relief bled from him, shoulders relaxing, his blush searing hotter in spite of his obvious discharge of tension. “I’ve wondered what it’d be like.”

  Finally, he ate some food.

  “I did too. The not being in control. Not being able to touch. It sounded exciting—and it is.” I sipped some wine, eyeing him over the rim of the glass.

  He nodded. “Never thought you’d want to try that, though. On me, I mean.” He rushed on. “Knew you’d like being tied, but…”

  If that food danced about beneath his fork any longer…

  “You want to try it? See if you like it?” I laughed, easing the tangible strain in the air. “We’ve tried my ideas, why not yours?”

  “It doesn’t sound…unmanly to you?” Another potato cut in half. More steam.

  “God, no. Sounds sexy as fuck.”

  He smiled then, the use of a dirty word clearly making him feel better. “What, you into being dominant too?”

  “I could try. We might see another side of me.”

  “I like these sides.” He looked at me, lopsided grin reaching his eyes.

  “Me too. So, you want to try this when we go away?”

  “We could do.” He shrugged.

  Now who was feigning nonchalance!

  “We could do? Is that it? All you can say?” I laughed lightly. “I may as well get into my role now, try it on for size. Could do.” I smiled, a sexy one that didn’t need any practice.
“We will do.”

  Chapter Ten

  I splashed out on our anniversary weekend away. It hadn’t been intentional, but when collecting Tess’ prescription in town, I saw an advert for a package trip to Amsterdam in the window of the travel agents. Half price from our local airport, room upgrade, transfers and breakfasts thrown in. It hadn’t taken me more than thirty seconds to make my decision.

  Amsterdam was somewhere I’d always wanted to go. The lure of the art museums and the romance of walking along the canals was strong, but now there was also the thought of venturing into the red light district, seeing whores sitting in windows offering their services to punters. Or, and this was something I really fancied, perusing sex shops without worrying that I would bump into someone I knew—something that had kept me from the blacked-out-windowed shop on the edge of town.

  My curiosity had become burning of late as to what was held on the sex shop shelves. Jacob’s confession that he wanted me to dominate him, tie him up and do whatever I chose to his big, gorgeous body was becoming more appealing by the hour. My mind was full of new thoughts, new decisions. What should I wear? Should I stock up on extra secure handcuffs? My man was strong, and if teased, heaven only knew what he would be able to break out of. Should I slip into role before tying him up? Make him crawl around our hotel room and kiss my toes, lick the arches of my feet?

  It had all been hypothetical, but now, on the morning of our first full day in Amsterdam, I was ready to put my plans into action.

  The Rijksmuseum was stunning. The Rembrandts everything I’d hoped they would be. Jacob held my hand and patiently waited at my side as I read the details of each masterpiece. But although I looked calm and studious on the outside, inside my stomach was tight and my heart fluttered.

  When we’d arrived, tired and hungry late last night, I’d spotted a shop down a backstreet near to our hotel. The garish purple lights around the window and the flashing sign above the door—Male and Female Play—had me angling to go and check it out. Okay, so it wasn’t cultural or educational, but for me, and what I had planned for Jacob, it would, I hoped, be perfect.

  Eventually, after a delicious lunch in a small cafe, me salad, Jacob burger, I declared that I was tired and could we head back to the hotel for an afternoon nap?

  “Sure, love.” He gestured to the bottle of beer he’d washed his burger down with. “I’m not used to having a drink at lunchtime. We could go and lie down.”

  His cheeky smile reassured me he wasn’t all that sleepy. Perhaps he had the same thing in mind as me—making the most of once again having kid-free hours and a nice hotel room. Only this time it was Jacob’s turn. I was going to fulfil his fantasy the way he’d so expertly and graciously delivered mine.

  Linking arms, we stepped out into the cool but sunny day. Jacob chatted about work for a few minutes, then I switched the subject to our surroundings. The glistening canal, the medley of house boats complete with potted plant gardens, the locals whizzing past on their bikes and the grand houses standing tall and proud around us.

  As we neared the hotel, I started to panic that we’d gone past the sex shop. I glanced down several alley-sized passageways, desperately searching for the sign again.

  Finally, I found it.

  “Jacob,” I said, halting. “Shall we just have a look down here?”

  He frowned and peered into the shadows of the narrow, cobbled street. “Why? Doesn’t look like there’s much down there.”

  “Please, just for a minute.”

  He shrugged, and when I tugged his hand he stepped in line with me.

  As we drew level with the shop I glanced at his face.

  He raised his brows and turned to me. “You are a very naughty girl when let loose,” he said with a wry grin.

  “I know, and it’s you who’s let me loose.”

  He gave a deep, rumbling chuckle.

  “It looks open,” I said, indicating the lights around the window, which, although not as bright as last night, were definitely on. “Can you wait here a minute. I need to get some stuff. Alone.”

  “Well, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” He frowned. “We don’t know who’s in there or what it’s like.”

  “It’ll be fine and I really need to do a bit of shopping for…you know.”

  He shifted from foot to foot, his shoulders tensed.

  “Jacob…” I brushed my lips over his. “Wait here, five minutes, ten max, and then I promise you,” I lowered my voice and pressed my body to his, “I’ll be all set to give you the time of your life.”

  He hardened his jaw and his eyes flashed. “Five minutes. Be quick and don’t spend too much.”

  I grinned. “I will, I won’t.” Quickly I stepped away and, before he could change his mind, pushed into the shop.

  The bell above the door announced my arrival and the warm, oil-infused heat surrounded me. I was shopping.

  My sort of shopping.

  * * * *

  Okay, so I blew my entire budget. Who knew this stuff would be so expensive? I’d been secreting away housekeeping for several weeks and had dug into my emergency jar, but it still didn’t buy everything I wanted. Enough, but not everything I’d had in mind.

  But now, standing in the hotel en suite, I skimmed my hands down the smooth PVC corset I’d bought and felt satisfied with my purchases. The corset had a thick silver zip at the front and the tight bones nipped and trimmed my waist dramatically. It was unusual in that it had a halter-neck attached and the thin material over my breasts was black fishnet. It felt lovely over my areolae, ever so slightly scratchy, as if the very point of my nipple might poke through. My breasts were certainly visible, heavy and creamy beneath the black criss-cross.

  I’d found long fingerless gloves in the same fishnet material in a bargain bin along with black, silky crotchless panties with tiny zip details over the hips. I didn’t really have the sort of arse for such high-legged, skimpy sexiness, but I didn’t think that would bother Jacob. He’d seemed particularly keen on my arse these last few months, giving it extra attention whether I was standing at the sink or if he was making love to me. Yes, the panties would work, especially since I’d pulled them on over fishnet tights, also crotchless—I had themes going on; crotchless, fishnet.

  My legs looked longer than they ever had before, not least because of my most expensive purchase. My most lavish extravagance—knee-length boots with spiked silver heels. They were without a doubt the most erotic footwear I’d ever bought. I’d loved them instantly, and straight away an image of Jacob lying on the floor, me standing next to him in those boots, trailing a whip over his chest had flown into my mind.

  I had to have them.

  I pulled in a deep breath, leaned towards the mirror and finalised my look with ‘Vamp Red’ lippy and a squirt of heavily spiced ‘Decadent’.

  Jacob was in the bedroom, waiting for me. I hadn’t shown him any of my purchases when we’d arrived back at the hotel room, simply told him to shut the curtains, strip off all his clothes and wait for me.

  It had felt good, trying out my dominant side, even if I’d added ‘please’ at the end of the sentence.

  But not anymore.

  When I stepped out now as Mistress Karen, I would not be asking, I would be telling. If I desired Jacob to do something, I would expect to be obeyed.

  I reached for the bag of purchases that weren’t for me. They were all for his entertainment.

  Pulling open the door, I was pleased to see Jacob had drawn the curtains on the two narrow windows that overlooked the Skinny Bridge. The muted glow in the room was provided by one bedside lamp and shards of daylight from the outer edges of the curtains.

  Jacob sat naked in the chair, his hands curled over the arms. He widened his eyes and swept his tongue over his bottom lip as his gaze trawled my sexy new outfit.

  I strolled towards him, rolling my hips with each step and delighting at the way my spiked heels sank into the plush carpet. Cool air washed over my pussy and my
labia felt engorged with arousal even before we’d begun. I’d never felt so feminine, so in control, and despite the nerves in my belly, a surge of confidence rippled through me. I knew what I wanted to do, and I knew that Jacob wanted it too. There was no need to be nervous.

  “On your knees,” I ordered, dumping the bag on the table, covering a magazine about Amsterdam’s entertainment and the room service menu.

  He slid to the floor, folding his legs beneath him. His engorged cock was heavy and bobbed as he moved. As he sank, his broad shoulders were suddenly highlighted by a slim streak of light coming through a gap in the curtains. I thought about drawing them tighter, but the sight of the dust motes dancing around his flesh was almost ethereal and I couldn’t bring myself to change the moment.

  “Today I am in charge of your pleasure,” I said, delving into the bag. “Which means there are three rules. You will do as I say. You only look directly at me when I allow you to, and, most importantly, you will only come when I give you permission. Do you understand?”

  I pulled a black and red flogger from the bag. The leather handle was smooth and had a domed end that reminded me of the head of a cock. The fifty tails were made of thin suede and swished softly as it moved. Like the boots, the flogger had called to me from amidst a huge selection of paddles, bullwhips and crops. I reckoned it would suit my needs. Jacob hadn’t asked for erotic pain the way I had with the branch, but I thought its tickling ends would be a great way to tease and titillate my captive. Make him a little unsure of my moves and increase the anticipation.

  “Karen—?”

  “Did I say you could speak?”

  I used a harsh tone and flicked the tails of my flogger at the ball of his shoulder. They flew through the air and connected a little harder than I’d intended, giving a sharp slap as they struck.

  But he didn’t wince or jerk even a fraction, just swallowed tightly and gave a stiff shake of his head. His cock twitched.

  Ah, so he liked the flogger inflicting a little pain.

  As I stepped around him in a complete circle, I ran the tails over his chest, upper right arm, and back, swaying my hips and exaggerating every movement of my legs and arms.