The House of Pain (11 page)

“No,” he says, there’s an answering edge in his voice; arousal is coursing through him as well. “No, baby, I want you to come when my cock’s buried in your pussy, not before.”

“I can’t hold on,” I beg. “Doug, please.”

He takes pity on me, stops licking me. He moves next to me, slides on the condom. One hand is on my thigh, and he pulls my hips into him, and positions my pussy so that his cock is at the entrance, waiting, waiting…

“Doug,” I beg. And he slides his hot, hard length into me, and his hand finds my clitoris in a sure, steady movement, and I explode almost instantly into orgasm, shockwaves running through me, my muscles clenching and pulsing around his cock.

He’s held still as I’ve orgasmed, and his fingers are still on my clitoris. He gives me a minute to recover, as he slowly, deliberately thrusts in me. I groan. In this position, he’s hitting my g-spot on every thrust, and his fingers are now moving on my clitoris again, and I can feel impossible waves of arousal build within me again.

I moan aloud. I’ve missed this; the hot hard feel of him in me. He thrusts, I move my hips into him, meeting his motion with my own rapidly growing need. My clitoris is pulsing, aroused, and his fingers are spreading the slickness from my pussy onto my clitoris, rubbing my throbbing nub in a movement that is, initially a mere feather touch. I respond, I move my hips to try to get him to thrust harder.

His free hand moves, grabs my hair, tightens around it. I dance at the edge of pleasure-pain. His hand is pulling at my hair, tugging me towards him. His fingers move again, faster on my clitoris, more insistent. I bite my lips. I am once again at the edge of orgasm. I grind my hips into him so that his thrusting cock again finds my g-spot, and I fall apart, yet again, screaming his name as I come.

His fingers have once again stilled, but he hasn’t moved his hand away. He makes a sound in his throat, a primal sound of male satisfaction. “You feel so good, baby,” he mutters. “So very responsive.”

I moan. His hand is still in my hair, holding it painfully tight as he moves in me. And now, his fingers are moving, yet again on my clitoris, slowly building me up as he strokes in me. I whimper. I’m not sure if I can do this again.

“Once more,” I feel him whisper in my ear. “Once more for me, Sara.”

He thrusts in me, harder, faster, hitting my g-spot with each thrust; his fingers dance on my sensitive, pulsing clitoris, engorged with need. His hand yanks at my hair, and I walk on that edge of pleasure-pain till only pleasure is left. I explode, the room going dark around me, fireworks popping behind my closed eyelids, and I feel him stiffen, and thrust hard one final time, as he too explodes in orgasm.

When the world finally rights itself, I move my hands from behind my head, straighten them out to ease the stiffness a bit. Doug notices, and his strong hands find my neck and shoulders, and he massages them till feeling returns to them.

“Mmm.” I make a noise of utter content. I drift back asleep, nestled in Doug’s arms.

Early-December, and my birthday is approaching. My thirtieth birthday. A big deal.

I’m at Doug’s house. It is Saturday morning. Soon, we’ll have sex once more, and then I’ll take my leave. He’ll drive me home. He’s started doing this ever since I was sick in November, and he just ignores my protests. I can sense he’d like me to invite him up, but I’ve never done so. I’m trying desperately to keep Doug in a tidy box, even more so after he took care of me when I was sick.

My birthday is on Friday, the night we typically spend together. But Amanda is throwing me a party and a whole bunch of my friends are going.

I eye Doug. I’m debating whether to invite him. I’m sure he’d like to be there. But it feels like a big step.

I wish I wasn’t such a chicken shit. But, as my concern about the submission has eased, my fear about entanglement has grown. I want to keep Doug at a distance, for fear that if I let him in, and fall in love with him, I’m going to get my heart broken when he wants to leave. The old pattern.

I am a chicken shit.

But it is my thirtieth birthday and we’ve been sleeping together for almost four months. I know what the right thing to do here is. And it is the thing I want to do as well, but am terrified to do.

Jump in, Sara, I urge myself. This feels like the same voice that made me call John at the House of Pain, all those months ago. The better-version of me. The one that is more daring, more spontaneous.

“Doug,” I start. My voice sounds hesitant.

He’s refilling his coffee cup, but he turns and looks at me. Eyebrow raised. Anymore, I don’t typically sound hesitant when I talk to him. He can tell the difference in my tone, and knows something is up.

“Friday night – it’s my birthday. My friends are throwing me a party, would you like to come?”

A smile breaks out on Doug’s face, a warm smile, echoed in his eyes. “Why, Sara White,” he drawls, and his voice is teasing. “Are you finally ready to let me out of the closet then?”

***

Friday morning, I wake up in my bed, feeling oddly alone. I wish, not for the first time, that Doug was next to me. Sigh. I think I’m in trouble.

With all that, I’m running late to work. I’m rushing around my shoebox of an apartment, looking for my keys, when there’s a knock at my door. It’s the flower delivery guy again, and he’s holding a massive arrangement of yellow roses, dotted with baby’s breath, nestled in a green ceramic container.

I sign for the roses; find the card accompanying them. Doug’s writing again. A simple note. “Happy birthday, sweetie. See you tonight.”

I sigh. The roses are beautiful and I’m oddly teary-eyed.

***

Friday afternoon, and I’m regretting inviting him. There’s a hard knot of nervousness in my stomach.

Some of my former coworkers are going to be at this party and they all know Doug from work. There’ll be gossip and speculation. They’ll ask me questions that I won’t want to answer. My non-work friends will be intensely interested too. They always are. I’m one of the last single people in my group of friends, and I swear a bunch of my married friends are living vicariously through me. Either that, or they are solidly interested in seeing me married.

Too late to do anything about it. I brace myself for the evening ahead.

***

Okay. I’m having a lovely time.

We are at one of my favorite Toronto bars. Pitchers of beer are cheap. The platters of nachos are huge, and it’s always a fun place to hang out. I debated going somewhere fancier, but then I figured I’d rather spend my birthday in my favourite place. I did dress up though, since you only turn thirty once. I’m wearing a low cut black dress. It hugs my breasts and fits me closely on top, and drapes into an elegant flared skirt. Underneath, I’ve splurged on some gorgeous plum-coloured lingerie. I can’t wait for Doug’s reaction to that, later tonight.

I was intensely curious how Doug would fit in this place. I couldn’t picture him here. He’s got a fancy house and a fancy car. His refrigerator and cellar are loaded with expensive French wine. But he’s earned the approval of my friends by buying the first pitcher, and he’s chatting amiably with my friend Tom about football. He looks comfortable and relaxed. He fits in.

When he came in, he just brushed his lips against my cheek. “Happy birthday, Sara,” he muttered. And since then, he’s kept slightly apart. I appreciate what he’s doing. His consideration is seriously thoughtful. He’s letting me decide how much I want to announce to my friends, whether I want to claim him as the guy I’m dating, or if I want to keep it under wraps.

Amanda eyes Doug with open interest. She’s the only one who knows I’ve been sleeping with him. When I walk over to the bar to get a drink, she follows me. “Sara, what a hottie,” she drawls. “And, he seems like a really nice guy to boot. Why don’t you bring him out more often?”

How do I explain? I mumble something vague. Thankfully, at this point, my former coworkers Toni and Adam arrive at this point, and I go to greet them, perform introductions.

Toni recognises Doug, gawks at him, then swivels around, looks at me. No hiding the surprise there, her eyes are narrow as she takes us in. I sigh. I’ll be getting a phone call from Toni tomorrow, no doubt.

All of a sudden, I find out I don’t care. Doug sent me flowers this morning. He’s being super-thoughtful right now, keeping his distance, and I find I don’t want him to. I want to claim him. I walk over and sit next to him.

“Having fun?” I ask. I hold his hand, a clear sign that he’s mine. My gesture is noticed, and a few eyebrows are raised, especially by Toni and Adam. But I’m more interested in Doug’s reaction.

He recognises what I’ve done. He smiles at me easily, his eyes are warm, laughing, and attractive. His fingers squeeze mine gently, and he winks at me.

***

Back at his house, in the living room, he hands me a small wrapped box. I raise my eyebrows at him. “You already sent me flowers, you didn’t have to get me anything,” I mumble.

“I wanted to,” he says simply. “Open it,” he encourages.

I had once mentioned, almost in passing, that I spent a fair bit of my Saturdays, prior to Doug, exploring antique stores and flea markets, searching for little interesting bits of inexpensive jewelry. He’s listened, but the earrings and pendant I find in the box don’t look inexpensive at all. The pendant and earrings consist of delicate emeralds set in a gold filigree; a large uncut emerald dangles underneath. My fingers reach out, trace the pendant. It is stunningly beautiful and I am transfixed.

I look at him. “Doug,” I start, protest in my voice. “I can’t accept this, this looks really expensive.”

He ignores me. “Try it on,” he says. He takes the pendant in his hands, puts it on my neck and turns me around so he’s at my back. I move my hair out of the way as he does up the clasp of the necklace.

I can feel his fingers at my neck, and I arch my head back. I want to feel his mouth on my neck. He bends forward and obliges. His kisses turn to nibbles. My knees go weak. “Doug,” I protest faintly, trying desperately to keep my mind on the jewelry.

“Wear the earrings too,” he says. I remove the simple gold hoops I’m wearing and put this pair on. His hands are leading me to the mirror in the bathroom. He flicks the light on, I gaze at the woman in the mirror and gulp. The pendant accentuates my cleavage beautifully. The dangling emerald dips in the swell between my breasts. The earrings provide a brilliant contrast to my dark hair. I look lush. Desirable.

“Doug,” I groan helplessly. “The jewelry is lovely, but I really can’t keep it.” I’m lying. I love the way this looks on me, love the blazing heat that has risen in Doug’s eyes as he looks at me. His finger traces the side of the emerald, making contact with the swell of my breasts.

I swallow. A simple motion but so very erotic.

“Let’s go downstairs,” he mutters.

***

“One final birthday present,” Doug says, sounding amused. “Although, this time, I think it’s as much a present for me. I want to take you in your ass.”

I nod. He has been preparing me for this the last few months and I’ve been surprised he’s waited this long.

I’m standing in the centre of the dungeon. Doug’s lounging on the armchair a drink in his hand. My drink sits on the side table next to him, temporarily forgotten.

This is part of the power dynamic in this room. Doug lounges. I stand, obedient and compliant. I mould myself to his needs, and in return for my absolute submission, he gives me his absolute control. A gift on both sides. In this room, I crave his control more than I can explain.

“Take your dress off,” he says to me. His voice is relaxed, but I can see the heat in his eyes.

I obey, reaching around and unzipping the dress, sliding it off my shoulders, exposing my breasts in my lacy bra, and then wiggling out of the dress, letting it pool around my ankles.

Doug’s sharp indrawn breath as my lingerie comes into view is music to my ears.  “Baby, you are so sexy,” he says, his voice hoarse with need. “So very tempting, I just want to throw you on the bed, and push into that sweet little asshole; claim what’s mine.”

I shiver at his words and at the image they conjure. A spike of arousal shudders through my body as I picture myself, bound face down on the bed, as Doug takes me. My eyes are on his, and I can see the heat in his eyes and there is an answering blaze in mine.

“Tempting as that is,” Doug says softly, “that’s not quite what I had in mind for tonight.”

I pout a little at him and he laughs at me. “Do you want to be taken, hard, Sara?” he asks, with a twitch of his lips. I nod. “Claim me,” I beg.

His eyes darken and lust rises in them. I can see him shudder. But then his control reasserts itself. He takes a deep breath and steadies himself.

He smiles at me. “I want your first time to be amazing, baby,” he says gently.

“It will be.” My voice is unwavering. Doug is always generous in ensuring my pleasure.

Doug moves away, and returns with the sawhorse. I’m bent over it, my arms secured to the legs of the sawhorse. A spreader bar spreads my feet, wide, wider still, and just like that, I can’t move, and I’m in Doug’s control.

“First things first, a birthday spanking,” he says, his voice dripping with anticipation. I grin. His voice promises pleasure. “Count them for me, Sara,” he orders.

“Yes, Doug,” I say, my voice compliant. How quickly he has me in that space, that space where the only thing that matters is that I do as he instructs. Where his pleasure is my pleasure, and I ache to serve him.

Whap. His firm hand descends on my tender ass and I jump a little in my bindings. “One,” I count, while his hands run all over my behind, stroking it, parting the cheeks so my twinkling asshole is exposed.

His hand descends again, and pleasure courses through me. “Two,” I moan, a sound of longing and arousal. Now his finger is in my ass, and he wiggles it around, widening the passage. I will myself to relax my muscles. In this, in the dungeon, I trust Doug absolutely. He knows what I need, and how much to push me.

His palm meets my ass again and I count. The spanks slowly increase in intensity, and they straddle the line of pleasure-pain. But his hands always stroke me, his fingers tease my tightly clenched asshole, soothing me into relaxation, and by the time we are done, two of his fingers are deep in my ass, and I am pushing against his hand, craving for more.

I feel lube trickle down. His fingers rub it in and I groan. I’ve come to love the feeling of fullness when Doug places a plug in my ass and I can’t wait to feel Doug in me.

I can feel him undress and then, I feel the head of his cock at my anal opening. “Sara,” Doug says, and I hear the forced calm in his voice. “I want you to push back against me.”

I am happy to obey. I want this. I want him in me. I want to give this to him, to yield completely for him. I push back, ignoring the slight pain, willing myself to relax my muscles.

Doug groans, a primal, animalistic sound. “Baby, you are so tight,” he mutters. I feel him push, and I feel my asshole surrender to his invasion, and his head is in. More steady pushing, and he is buried in me, deep in my body, and he pauses, giving me time to get used to the feeling of him.

I can feel my pussy drip, rejoicing in my surrender. I’ve never been wetter in my life. Never been more aroused. I feel utterly submissive, yet totally powerful as Doug claims my ass and marks him mine.

I move my hips, pleading with him to move, to take me the way he wants. He chuckles, a quiet sound in the dungeon. “Sara,” he mutters, “you never hesitate to astonish me.” He begins moving in me, his strokes initially restrained, but then, as I thrust back at him, meeting every stroke of his with a movement of my hips, he thrusts harder, faster, until he finally erupts in me with a choked-off shout.

His hands are at my clitoris, urging me to my own orgasm, and I shatter while he is still buried in my ass, and I scream out his name as I come hard.

He has claimed me, and I have yielded to him, and there is happiness and contentment in me.