His House of Submission Page 8

  ‘I promise. Oh.’

  His fingers slipped inside me, testing my readiness.

  ‘I guess this isn’t feeling wrong, though,’ he said. ‘Judging by how wet you are. Punishment turns you on, I see. I’ll make it harder next time.’

  He pulled out his fingers and displaced me from his lap.

  ‘OK, kitten,’ he said. ‘On all fours now.’

  A light breeze blew over me, making my nipples throb, as I positioned myself according to his requirements. I was facing the lake, and I pushed out my rear, imagining Will’s eyes upon it, watching from the trees. He would know what was about to happen to me. He would see Jasper, getting the condom out of his jacket pocket, then unbuckling his belt, lowering his trousers, all the things he was doing that I could only hear and infer.

  He would see Jasper’s erect cock, see the condom going on, see my thighs spread wide and ready, see my scarlet bottom cheeks thrust out so Jasper could admire his handiwork while he rode me.

  My lover’s hands took my hips, then the rounded, wide head of his cock pushed at my cunt.

  ‘I’m going to make you feel this,’ he said. ‘It’s going deep.’

  He screwed it into me, and he was right. He seemed to plumb depths previously unreached, stretching me to my limit.

  Every thrust made me release a small moan, as if I was surprised, but I was not. It was simply that I had to do it, had to express some reaction to the intensity of the experience, had to make him know the effect he had on me.

  The angle of penetration caused each forward sweep to glance upon my G-spot and the tight knot in my lower stomach soon began to unravel, gathering momentum with each hard impalement, each whispered obscenity, each grab of breast or bite of shoulder.

  It was almost too late when I remembered I was supposed to ask permission for my orgasm.

  ‘Are you feeling it?’ Jasper’s voice was hot and evil in my ear.

  ‘God, yes, I’m going to … may I …?’

  ‘Come.’

  Oh, thank God. I fell forward, but he held me up, one hand on my shoulder, another around my waist, supporting me through the showers of stars and sparks. As it hit me, I remembered my manners and I howled, ‘Thank you, Sir,’ over and over again.

  This pleased him; I could tell by the way he began slamming into me, whispering things I could barely make out, pinching his fingers down hard on my shoulder and then roaring over the lake, sending the waterfowl into another flapping panic.

  We fell forward in a tangled crush of bodies. His weight pinned me to the rug and I felt his breath, rushes of heat on the back of my neck that grew longer and lighter over time.

  ‘You must be starving,’ he said eventually, rising slowly to his knees and reaching for the picnic basket. ‘I know I am.’

  He pulled out a bottle of champagne and got to work on the cork.

  I wasn’t sure I could move, so I stayed prone, resting my head on my hands, trying to work out if my bottom was still sore. I couldn’t really tell. It seemed he was right about it fading fast.

  ‘You look wrecked,’ commented Jasper.

  The cork popped.

  ‘I am wrecked,’ I said.

  ‘After one go? That’s no good. You need to get into training, my dear. Build up your stamina. Perhaps you should come running with me.’

  Ugh. No thanks.

  ‘I always hated PE at school,’ I said. ‘Nobody ever picked me because I was so weedy and badly co-ordinated. Terrible ball skills.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that.’ He grinned cheesily. ‘I’m sure we can sort something out. Turn over, on to your back. Go on.’

  I braved my protesting muscles and rolled myself over. Before I could sit up or register what was happening, Jasper had splashed champagne all over my breasts. I squealed and flapped my hands, but I was too late, for he had bent over me to lick it up. I had no idea how it would taste mixed with sun lotion – presumably not very nice, because he was grimacing when he raised his head again.

  ‘Forgot about the lotion,’ he said, wiping his mouth with his hand. ‘I need something to take the taste away now.’

  I laughed and laughed as he scrabbled through the picnic box looking for something to alleviate his flavour-related distress. He was habitually so cool and suave, it was really cheering to see him at a disadvantage for once.

  ‘Are you laughing at me, Sarah?’ He took a large bite of a pork pie.

  I shook my head overdramatically.

  ‘I would never laugh at you,’ I lied.

  He smacked at my thigh, just hard enough to get my attention and turn my laugh into a squeak.

  ‘That’s not true, is it? I thought we talked about honesty.’

  ‘OK. I was laughing at you. It was funny, though.’

  ‘I’ll let you off this once.’ He passed me the basket. ‘Come on, get some meat in you.’ He winked salaciously.

  ‘You should direct a Carry On film,’ I said, sitting up. ‘And write the script. You seem to have all the innuendoes covered.’

  ‘You know, I like that idea.’ He took another bite of his pie and looked out to the lake, eyes narrowed. ‘Bit of a departure from my normal style but I think it could work. Carry On Boffing.’

  I snorted. ‘Carry On Thrashing.’

  ‘Carry On meets Fifty Shades of Grey.’

  ‘Oh God. Have you read it?’

  ‘Read it? She wrote it about me, didn’t she? I’m a mysterious billionaire. Well, I’m not a billionaire, to be honest, but that was just a bit of artistic licence. She meant me really.’

  ‘You …’ Perhaps I shouldn’t call him a knob. Might be construed as disrespectful. I still struggled with his switches in tone, from dominant to playful in the blink of an eye.

  ‘Don’t you believe me?’

  ‘You don’t have a helipad on the roof,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Ah. Busted.’

  ‘Do you have the dark, tormented past, though?’

  ‘Yeah, I do, as it happens.’ He paused and gave me a troubled look. My fingers tightened around my sausage roll. ‘I once played a junior houseman in Broken Heart Surgery. Don’t you remember?’

  I burst out laughing and threw my sausage roll at him.

  ‘Oh, why did you have to do that, my bad little kitten, oh, why?’ He crawled towards me, his eyes gleaming, ready to pounce. I leaped to my feet and ran towards the lake, still laughing, squealing every now and then when I looked back to find him that little bit closer.

  He lifted me clear of the ground and flung me over his shoulder. He was still naked from the waist down and he waded into the lake with me while I yelped and tried to catch my breath, boundlessly exhilarated.

  ‘Don’t throw me in,’ I pleaded.

  ‘Is that an order?’ he asked, wheeling around so I nearly slid off his shoulder and had to clutch at his shirt collar. ‘I don’t take kindly to those.’

  My only reply was a scream. I was sure I was about to fall.

  ‘What’s the matter? The water’s lovely,’ he teased.

  ‘It’s full of weeds,’ I gasped.

  ‘What are weeds going to do to you? Wrap themselves around you and tie you up? Actually … I like that image. Maybe I’ll get a big handful of weeds and bind you tight with them. Bindweed.’

  ‘They’re slimy. No! Don’t drop me!’

  Too late. He bent forward and tipped me off him so I fell back into the shallow, muddy water with a splash and a spluttery yelp. At least I managed to soak his shirt, which gave me a small element of satisfaction.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you a head start. I’ll count to twenty. You have to get as far away from me as you can.’

  I answered as best I could with my nose full of water.

  I said, ‘Nnrught,’ and I began wading towards the shore, cursing the water’s weight against my thighs, wanting to take off into the air.

  I heard his counting, calm and slow, and it made me rush so that I stumbled and lost time. I grabbed at the rushes, but they s
lid through my hands, and then one of them cut me. All I could do was rely on my feet, squelching through the sucking mud.

  I was at the shore by the time he reached twenty, and then I realised I’d done it all wrong. I would never be able to beat him on land. The water was my only chance.

  I began to skirt the edge of the lake, but he was on his way over, smiling in premature victory.

  ‘Run, little rabbit, run,’ he goaded, reaching out for me.

  I tried, scooping up handfuls of water and splashing them towards him, but they all fell short of his advancing figure. He was going to get me. I might as well accept it.

  And besides … I wanted him to.

  But he mustn’t know it. It wouldn’t be so much fun if he knew it.

  Soon enough, he was close enough to reach out for me. We twisted and flailed in a complicated waterlogged ballet, him lunging, me ducking, until an overhead bramble caught his hair and held him back for valuable seconds.

  Making good my advantage, I scrambled through the reeds and up to the shore, where I hid on the far side of the thicket that had slowed him down. A weeping willow hung over the bank and I snapped off a wand of it, thinking that a weapon might come in handy.

  Rustling and snapping of twigs heralded his return to the fray. I tried to conceal myself deep in the undergrowth, but he must have seen me, because his creeping footsteps were most definitely heading in my direction.

  I leaped to my feet and brandished my willow wand, swooshing it about in the air. The noise triggered a spark of arousal, and I realised it would make rather a fiendish whip. And if I’d realised that, then Jasper …

  He laughed.

  ‘Bad mistake, Sarah,’ he said. ‘Very, very bad.’

  I cracked it towards him. He wouldn’t dare come too near, especially with his lower half completely naked.

  He held up his hands.

  ‘I don’t think you want to do that,’ he cautioned. ‘Put it down.’

  I waved it desperately.

  He stepped closer, holding out his hand.

  ‘Give it to me.’

  I shook my head and leaped back.

  ‘Give it to me now and I’ll go easy on you.’

  I simply lashed the air with it and took to my heels, up the grassy slopes, away from the trees, towards the picnic rug.

  My breath was painful in my chest and my thighs were starting to give up the ghost when he caught me, less than halfway up the hill, grabbing at my upper arm. I tried to flick the willow back at him, but he got hold of that too and wrested it away from me with insulting ease.

  ‘Oh dear,’ he gloated into my ear, wrapping his arm around my stomach and clamping me against him. ‘I thought you’d make more of an effort. You definitely need to come running with me.’

  ‘It’s not fair,’ I moaned, making feeble token attempts to extricate myself. ‘I stood no chance.’

  ‘I know.’ He kissed the hollow beneath my earlobe. ‘Poor Sarah. Now you’re my prisoner. What shall I do with you?’

  ‘I suppose you’ll do whatever you want.’

  ‘I suppose I will. Come on then.’

  He marched me back to the picnic blanket and made me get on all fours, head down between my elbows, back sloping up from my neck so that my bottom was pushed right out.

  ‘This is quite a weapon.’ He swished the willow wand through the air. The sound, so invigorating when it came from my own hand, was now terrifying. ‘A slash across the face could have been very nasty. And I’m sure you’ve no idea how to wield it. Have you?’

  ‘Not really,’ I admitted. ‘Are you going to …?’

  ‘I think I’m going to have to, aren’t I? Or how are you ever going to learn your lesson?’

  ‘Oh.’

  I think he must have picked up the fear in my voice, because he brushed the switch over my bottom, quite gently.

  ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said. ‘I’m an expert. I won’t go too far.’

  How far was too far?

  He performed the merest flick of the wrist and the end of the wand snapped sweetly on to my rear. It was a sizzling caress, nothing more, and it made me sigh.

  ‘More of that, eh?’ he said.

  ‘Mmm.’

  But more of that wasn’t on the agenda. Instead he drew his arm much further back and whipped me properly, drawing a glowing line on my bum.

  I jolted forward and screeched. It really, really hurt.

  ‘Not what you expected?’ he asked smoothly.

  ‘It burns.’

  ‘A nice, lasting burn. How many do you think you can take?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Now the immediate shock was past, I found myself enjoying the residual throb. ‘Maybe you could try another.’

  He snorted. ‘Maybe I could.’

  He did. It sliced across the top of the previous stripe, convincing me that I had made the wrong decision.

  And yet, I kept on making that wrong decision. I kept bringing the safeword to the tip of my tongue, then swallowing it.

  No matter how many times I sucked in my breath and gripped at the rug and wobbled on my knees, I went back for more, pushing my bum back out, doing what he wanted me to do.

  Somehow I suffered through ten strokes of fiendish, furious pain before begging for mercy.

  He threw the switch aside, pulled me up to a kneeling position and kissed me so fervently that I forgot all about the pulsing and the heat behind. Or at least, I did until its effects bled into my clit and my pussy, combining with the kiss to set me aflame. He cupped my arse cheeks, squeezing and running his thumbs over the welts, while his tongue plunged further.

  ‘Want you,’ he gasped, breaking free. ‘Here.’

  He lay back, dealt with the rubber and moved me over his upright cock, lowering me down with teasing slowness until I had him exactly where I wanted him, right up inside me. I began to grind slowly, bending low to brush my nipples against his wet shirt, and he let me for a little while before pinching my hips to make me stop.

  ‘Turn around,’ he whispered. ‘I want to see your marks while I’m fucking you.’

  Oh God. I was so stuffed full of delirious, submissive lust that I would have done anything he asked, but this was a gymnastic move beyond my capability. Or so I thought.

  I worked, slowly and carefully, at rotating myself one hundred and eighty degrees, his cock the screw, my cunt the nut. Never was a tool more delicately secured.

  Finally, after much balancing of limbs, I found myself facing his feet. His cock felt strange at this angle – upside-down. I felt I ought to lean back or I might warp it out of shape.

  But he seemed happy enough. Instead, at his behest, I bent forward and he kept his hold of my hips.

  ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘I can see them all now. Ten red stripes. That must hurt.’

  He pressed his finger into one and I winced.

  ‘It’s … really … sore,’ I gasped, feeling his cock, thick and fat, stretching my boundaries.

  ‘Good,’ he said, long and low, almost orgasmically. ‘You don’t know how much that turns me on. Come on. Work that cunt, Sarah.’

  My thighs were starting to ache but I kept a rhythmic pressure on his shaft, back and forth, bearing down where it crossed my G-spot.

  He prodded and pinched at my arse while he screwed me, as if trying to push me through my barriers, on to a higher level of physical fitness. The idea that he was some kind of kinky personal trainer flashed into my mind, and I imagined myself on a treadmill, panting and sweating just as I was now, while he whipped me into shape.

  The need to ask permission for my orgasm was becoming urgent. I braced my palms flat between his legs, holding myself up while I edged towards the point of no return.

  ‘You’re getting it now,’ he said. ‘Getting what you asked for.’

  ‘Please, Sir,’ I squeaked.

  ‘No,’ he said, thrusting harder.

  ‘Oh, pleeeease.’ I smacked at the ground, not sure it was possible to obey him.


  ‘You don’t deserve it,’ he panted. ‘Running away from me like that.’

  ‘Oh, but it was a game. Please! Let me come.’

  ‘It’s all a game, Sarah. And I make the rules.’

  I nearly screamed with frustration and laid my head on the ground. Behind me, he gathered pace and stormed into his climax, digging his fingers hard into my upper thighs and bottom.

  I wriggled futilely on his still hard cock. He laughed and slapped my bum.

  ‘Poor Sarah,’ he said. Then, ‘Off you pop.’

  My cunt raging, I disengaged and wiped my eyes and brow. The sweat was running into my switch marks, making the burn double in intensity. My clit felt so big I could barely press my thighs together. I was a melting, stinging, pulsing mess.

  Jasper lay, recovering, for a little while, eyes shut, infuriatingly relaxed and at peace. I wanted to kick him.

  His eyes opened again.

  ‘Pack the basket,’ he said. ‘Picnic’s over.’

  I tried not to look too overtly rebellious, but I might have flung the items into the hamper a little more roughly than necessary.

  Jasper put his trousers back on, though my clothes were packed up with the plates and glasses, and picked up the switch.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said, flicking it at my upper thighs so I jumped forward, startled.

  We walked back to the house like this, me naked and in front, while he chivvied me on with little cuts to my legs and bottom, holding the picnic basket in his other arm. When we passed through the wooded area where I’d encountered Will, I wanted to cover myself, and looked furtively to either side for signs of an observer. I saw nobody, but every little noise made my heart flip.

  Back at the house, Jasper took pity on me. He made me bend over the arm of a chair while he used a dildo, sliding it in and out and over my slippery clit with tight control until I came, hard, saying his name.

  He made me spend the rest of the afternoon in the corner of his study with my hands on my head while he dealt with correspondence and phone calls.

  I could see through the window if I moved my eyes to the right and, at one point, I thought I detected movements, out by the old stables.