Chambers of Desire: Opus 1 (24 page)

“Getting a bit restless? Let’s see if we can’t do anything about that,” he said and removed a black cloth from his robe’s pocket. I recognized it immediately—he’d blindfolded me with it so long ago. My eyes went wide. He wasn’t going to— He did.

I tried to fight, but he tied it easily around my head. Suddenly, the world was black. I knew how amazing pleasure was when you didn’t see it coming, but this was too much. I couldn’t writhe, grab him, kiss him, or anything. Seeing him was my last refuge of sanity.

“What is that?” I asked, as
something
touched my leg. It felt like… I didn’t really know. It felt a bit like my collar.

“Riding crop,” he said before smacking it against my thigh. I cried out. Like the wax, the pain was minimal. The surprise was not. Where had he gotten a riding crop? Was he going to hit me again? Where? Obsessing over it was all I could do. Without sight or movement, all I had in my arsenal was moaning and thinking. That was the brilliance of it all. The rope, the cloth over my eyes—it all left me helpless in my mind.

Alone with my thoughts and his teasing torture, I could only feel and obsess over the feeling. There was no release, no reciprocation. I was a thing used to gratify my master. My little yelps and twitches were no doubt making him hard as a rock. Was it mad that all I could think of was how great it felt to be used? No, it wasn’t mad; it was exactly what I’d come for. I wanted to be that thing in Calvin’s life he could use, the woman on which he could let himself free.

Another smack. Another gasp. He kept hitting the same spot, and each light tap stung a bit more than the last. With such little effort, I felt my will breaking. I wouldn’t say the safe word, though. I wouldn’t bend to him so quickly. It was his role to use me; it was mine to be used. I wouldn’t give it up for anything.

“You like the riding crop?” he asked seductively.

“Yes, master. More please?” I answered. Repeatedly, he slapped my leg with the leather. Repeatedly, I twitched and pulled against the ropes. I felt them tighten around my skin, squeeze my breasts, rub the inside of my thigh. Soon enough, I was panting. It was like being slowly choked by a snake—I was a victim, and the more I tried to struggle, the easier it was to keep me trapped.

“Enough of the crop, I think,” he finally said. I sighed in relief. I felt his hands reach behind me and untie the ropes. I stood and stretched my limbs. It felt so good to move. His hands guided me to a wall. He pressed my face against it. He made me spread my legs and push out my ass. He put my hands flay against the wall.

“Don’t move.” With the blindfold still on, I had no idea where he was going, but I had some idea of what was coming next. When it came, I took it with a stoic grunt. The slap on my ass reverberated through the room. The sound of skin on skin sounded so good, so right. Our bodies made the same sound when he fucked me. I loved that sound.

“Does it feel good?” he asked, “Do you want more?”

“Yes, sir,” I whined, “More, please.”

He gave it to me. Each slap sent my skin shaking. Each hit made the warmth between my legs grow. I felt bad, terrible, dirty—I felt like a whore, a slave. The primal feeling of pain was so exhilarating that I found, surprisingly quickly, that I shook with anticipation after each spanking.

“Please, more!” I cried out when he paused. I was surprised by how enthusiastic I sounded. I got what I asked for. But after, I felt him wrap his arms around my body. I didn’t move. He hadn’t told me to move. Instead, I stood there with my hands on the wall and my ass jutting as he squeezed my breasts and kissed my neck. I felt his manhood sliding between my ass cheeks, rubbing its length up and down between them. Wetness trickled down my thigh. I pushed back against him and felt him rub against me harder for it. He was so warm and so stiff.

“Please, sir…” I moaned, as his fingers pulled my nipple.

“What do you want, slave?” he whispered, though kindly.

“Please fuck me,” I begged.

I felt his cock slide from between my cheeks and aim for my soaked pussy. I felt an explosion of warmth as he slid himself inside me. My breath fell into tattered gasps as he slid his length inside me. A strong hand grabbed a thick tangle of my hair and pulled my head back. I felt his teeth on my ear as he bucked his cock deeper. I struggled to bow my back to accommodate him. His hand slid from my sore nipple down the side of my body to grip my ass. He grunted as he thrust into me and let his thumb press against my hole.

I felt him work his way inside my ass as he fucked me, and the sensation of being penetrated in both holes drove me wild. Soon, I was pushing off the wall like an animal, leaning my body as far away as his hand in my hair allowed. He returned my enthusiasm with roughness, punishing me with each long thrust, until my insides felt almost numb from the overabundance of pleasure. I was faintly aware that I was screaming by that point. Begging was long since something I’d forgotten how to do. All I could think about was the hot wax sending my skin alight, the riding crop punishing my sore thigh, or his hand slapping my ass. All I could imagine was his cock deeper, harder.

Without warning, he ripped himself out from me. I gasped at the friction and balked as he spun me. I felt my feet leave the ground and my back rest on the stone wall. I couldn’t see, but I could feel his arms loop under my thighs and his cock touch my wet lips. He kissed my mouth and penetrated me at the same time. I groaned. My hands looped around his neck. Not seeing made everything so vivid. Each strong push of his cock inside me spread me around him so wonderfully. I could feel his head flare when he finished his thrusts; I could feel the smooth skin of his manhood rub against every inch of me. I squeezed him inside me, and he moaned with satisfaction.

Why I didn’t expect him to pull out of me then, I couldn’t say. Perhaps I was so wild with lust, perhaps his cock felt so good I just refused to believe it would end. It did end, though. He withdrew himself from me and dropped me to my feet. I wanted to hate him for not letting go inside me, but that was, as always, impossible.

“Thank you, sir.” I whispered, and he swept me into his arms and into a passionate kiss.

“You’re doing well. But we’re not done yet,” he said, somewhat out of breath. I kept my hands on his shoulders, so as not to lose him. He guided me back to the chair and sat me down. He, however, did not tie me up again.

“What else is there?” I asked.

“Oh, you have no idea.
So
much. Tonight, though, just one more thing.” He said, “This is a bit advanced, so we’re going to go lightly. It’s called breath control. I’m going to squeeze your throat and pleasure you. Don’t try to moan, and don’t panic. You’ll feel lightheaded, and when you orgasm—well, you’ll see. If you feel uncomfortable, tap on my arm, and I’ll stop.”

“OK,” I replied, and he leaned me back against the seat. I rested my arms on the chair.

“Take a shallow breath,” he said. When I did, his hand slowly closed over my throat. I felt tightness, and when I tried to swallow, I found I couldn’t. It was frightening, but it didn’t hurt. It was like someone holding my breath for me. That was OK, and it got better when his fingers began to tease the lips of my womanhood.

My mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Despite this, it felt no better or worse than when he fingered me otherwise. I let him continue, though, perfectly content to let his hand bring me to the sort of orgasm he had made me his with repeatedly. I shivered under his touch as his pointer found my clit. His hand felt right on my throat, strong and commanding. It belonged there, and much like the collar crushing around my throat, it reminded me of how weak I felt around him.

As his fingers pushed into me, mine gripped the chair’s arms. Something in me stirred, but it wasn’t between my legs. My chest felt odd. My stomach felt full of butterflies. Forgetting where I was, I tried to inhale and realized I couldn’t. Of course, I couldn’t.

His fingers rubbed me harder as my throat began to pulse with my slowly out-of-control efforts to fill itself with air. I didn’t want to tap Calvin’s arm. I didn’t want to give up. The worst that would happen was that I would pass out, right? My body clearly didn’t take it so lightly. My muscles began to flex. My tongue rubbed against the roof of my mouth. Calvin’s hand slid its fingers in and out of me. I felt the friction, and it sent pleasure burning through my thighs. Yet, I felt panic in the back of my mind. My body didn’t like being choked, but it loved being fucked. I wanted to reach up for his arm, but I knew he’d stop fingering me.

“Ride it,” he said. Ride what? The feeling? The panic? I was losing control. It was like riding a roller coaster, but I could see a few feet ahead that the tracks just stopped. Ride it? How could I?

Then, I began to feel faint. My head began to feel heavy and my limbs too. The sensation between my legs, however, became only more intense. I felt my hips push into his hand, despite feeling a hundred times heavier. I imagine if I hadn’t been blindfolded, the world might have gone black. Instead, I just felt limp.

“Mast—,” I croaked. I didn’t want to tap on his arm. I didn’t want to give up, and something amazing was happening between my legs.

“Tap,” he ordered. I did. His hand left my neck, but the wooziness stayed. For long moments, I just felt his fingers inside me and my body slouching. The effect refused to go away, and I really began to panic. Was I dying? Had he crushed something?

“I feel weak.”

“I know,” he said.

Yet, how could I explain the feeling inside me? His hand worked hard into me, and it kept feeling more and more intense. Despite my breathlessness and the lack of oxygen to my brain, I’d never felt so good being fingered. I moaned weakly. If this was just a hand, imagine what I‘d feel like with his cock.

“Tell me when you feel right again.”

It took about five minutes. As my head began to clear, the sensation became normal again. It still felt good, but there was no edge to it like before. When I told him, he smiled and placed his hand around my throat again. I took a shallow breath. His hand began to work in me again harder.

It didn’t take nearly as long this time. I found myself at the edge of passion and panic, on a precipice between strangulation and orgasm. Yet now, something was different. I knew what was going on. I rode it. I rode the waves of panic; I let the pleasure overwhelm my limited senses. I let tears fall down my cheeks and wetness slide over my thighs. I gripped the seat and held on for dear life. My hips bucked, even as my body began to fade. I was close. The warmth in my pussy felt hotter than it ever had. The jolts of excitement that coursed up my spine felt more powerful, shook me harder. I tapped his arm. The feeling stayed. I struggled to breathe, and he sped up his hand.

“Yes…,” I whispered. I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab him. I wanted to stand. I couldn’t move. I could hardly speak. But God, could I feel! When it hit me, I felt as if I was high on some drug. The pleasure was soul shaking. The feeling nearly sent me into convulsions. I gasped and whined as he stepped back to watch, shaking my chair as I came hard.

“M-master!” I managed. He pulled off the blindfold. I looked into his eyes. He smiled and watched, and I wondered how I would ever go on if I didn’t have his touch.

Chapter 14

In the last twenty-four hours, it became clear to me that I didn’t just want to stay in New York for a few more weeks; I wanted to stay here permanently.
I was getting more and more attached to Calvin and the kinky sex I’d never dreamed I’d have was not hurting either.

Because I still had two more years of undergrad left, the easiest way to finish school was to transfer to a university in New York. When the idea occurred to me, it felt as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. If I could complete my major at a school such as NYU, I’d have an even better chance of getting into Boston’s dance program when I applied.

I was so smitten with the idea that I spent the morning touring NYU’s campus and looking for apartments on the Upper East Side. It was thrilling, peeking into vacant apartments, imagining myself at home in this bustling city.

When I returned to my hotel, I stepped into the lobby feeling optimistic, giddy almost. As I always did, I looked toward the front desk to wave hello to the manager. Catching his eye, I started to raise my hand, and then did a double take. Time slammed to a halt. Standing in front of the desk was an all too familiar face. It took a moment to register—he wasn’t supposed to be here; it didn’t make any sense. For a split second, I contemplated turning around, shoving through the hotel doors, and slipping back into the anonymity of the New York crowd. Then, he saw me.

“Sabrina!” he called, rushing toward me. I couldn’t read the look in his eye, something between panic and elation.

I took a step back when he approached, and he slowed, sensing my apprehension. “
Brandon? What are you doing here?” I asked evenly.

“What am
I
doing here?” he shot back, trying to reach for my arm.

I yanked my shoulder back. “Don’t touch me.”

“What am I doing here?” he repeated. “What the hell are
you
doing here? Enough is enough, Sabrina. You need to come home.” Brandon pushed at a brown curl that flopped into his eyes. He looked younger than I remembered, boyish, like a kid about to throw a tantrum.

Was he nuts? What was it going to take him to realize that I had no plans to go back to Dallas? I stared at him blankly.

“I’m serious, Sabs. Pack your bags.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Brandon,” I hissed. “You don’t get to march in here and dictate what I’m going to do. That’s not how this works.”

He blinked, breathing heavily, before reaching out again, slowly this time. “Look,” he said, tone softening. “I know I made a terrible mistake, but I can make it right. I’m truly sorry and I’ll do anything to get you back. What more do you want, Sabrina? Whatever it is, I’ll do it. I need you.”

I shook my head. “This isn’t about how sorry you are. I’m not going back.”

“Please, Sabrina. I swear; I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” Brandon’s voice rose several octaves, sounding as if he was fighting back tears.

When I didn’t respond, he continued. “Look, I know all about Chambers. I’m not angry. I just don’t want him to manipulate you anymore. He doesn’t care about you like I do.”

“How do you know about Calvin?” I demanded.

“We all know, Sabrina. Aren’t your twenty-one days almost up? You don’t have to stay for the whole thing—he can’t make you.”

“Where did you find that out, Brandon?” I asked quietly.

He ignored the question. “Listen to me, Sabrina. I love you.”

I was sick of his empty declarations of love. “Stop saying that!” I erupted. “If you loved me, you shouldn’t have fucked that slut!” My voice reverberated off the marble ceiling and several people turned their heads.

Momentarily, I closed my eyes, willing myself to be calm. Lowering my voice, I went on. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Brandon. You and I—we’re over. I’m with Calvin now. And what we have, it’s…” I struggled to put it into words. “
What you and I had was real too, but you destroyed that with your actions.”

Brandon’s face darkened. “Real?” he spit out. “Good one, Sabrina. You think this guy gives a shit about you? You call lying to someone real? Using someone? Open your eyes; he’s just another asshole looking to take advantage of you.”

“You mean like
you
?”

“I made a
mistake
, Sabrina! I fucked up; I admit it. But it was a split second decision. Yes, the
wrong
decision, but I didn’t intentionally deceive you. Unlike this Chambers guy who’s been lying to you from the start!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I retorted angrily. “You don’t know anything about Calvin or what we have.”
“Look, I’m willing to forgive you for this if you promise to forget what I did.” His face had reddened and glowed with fury.

“
Forgive
me
? It’s
over
, Brandon!” I said, shoving at him furiously. “Stay the hell away from me.”

I spun around, headed toward the exit, wishing I’d done that the second I set eyes on him.

“Wait!” Brandon called, and I heard footsteps bounding after me. “Sabrina, there’s something else I hadn’t told you about. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I just want to come clean completely so that you know I confessed everything. Please. Listen to me for two minutes.  Then… then I’ll leave you alone, okay?”

Against my better
judgment I paused. 

“What, Brandon?” I said, my voice cold, without turning around. I felt numb all over. I just wanted to get away from him. 

“Sabrina… it wasn’t… it wasn’t Caitlin.”

“So what?” I yelled, whirling around to face him again. “So the fuck what? What does it matter who it was? Do you just want to torture me now? Who cares about the details?”

“No… no… but you should know. If you’re really dropping me like this, forever… you should at least know who you can trust.  Sabs, it was Chloe,” he said, his voice thick with tears now.

I couldn’t get my breath. I couldn’t believe my ears. My best friend?
Chloe?

I couldn’t speak.

“Brandon? Are you making this up?”

“Sabrina, God, I’m so sorry. She convinced me… she said it would only hurt you more if you knew… and I know she was right… but you can’t trust her, I had to tell you. Seeing how bad it was that I cheated on you at all… seeing what it did to you, Sabrina… I know you don’t believe me, but I do love you.  God, so much. And I
knew, I knew I couldn’t let her… her keep pretending to be your friend. She started it, Sabs, she came after me…”

I stared him in the eye waiting for some clue that he was just trying to get a reaction out of me. But the second I did that, I knew: it was true.

“Shut up!”
I screamed. People were staring; it didn’t matter to me. 
“Shut up.
I don’t want to… I can’t hear this! Get the fuck out. I hope I never see you again!”

I ran, ducking
into the first cab I saw.  I didn’t look back.

“Where to, miss?” the cab driver asked gruffly, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

“I don’t know; give me a minute,” I said, trying to organize the jumble of thoughts. “Actually, can you take me to Chambers Funds?” I asked. “On Greenwich.” The cabby nodded, swerving back into traffic.

Betrayed, betrayed. It was bad enough that Brandon cheated on me but with Chloe? It just didn’t get much worse than that. Erratically, I dial
ed her number, but it went straight to voicemail. I had to see Calvin, I decided. He was in a meeting for the next two hours, but I could wait. Grab a latte in the café; calm down. When he was out, I’d tell him about Brandon’s crazy accusations, Chloe and maybe I’d move to a different hotel. We’d sort this out together.

When I reached into my purse to text him, let him know that I’d be waiting for him in the lobby, I discovered my phone was off. How long had it been since I’d used it? Several days at least. The moment I turned it on, it buzzed loudly, continuously, signaling my mailbox was full.

Grudgingly, I dialed into my voicemail—it had been a long time since I’d received a pleasant message from anyone. As soon as the first message started, it was clear things hadn’t changed.

“Sabrina Clarke!” my dad’s voice boomed in my ear. “When I get my hands on Chambers, he’s a dead man. Dead!” he roared. How the hell did everyone know about Calvin? “This wasn’t part of the agreement, Sabrina. He wasn’t allowed to touch you!”
I looked at my phone suspiciously, as if it were playing a trick on me. This was getting ridiculous; my parents would say anything to get me to come home. There was no way they could know what had happened between Calvin and me.
Right?

The message disappeared from my inbox as I hit the delete button forcefully, skipping to my next message.

“Don’t make me get on a plane and bring you home myself, Sabrina!” my dad continued. “Tell her not to trust that man!” my mother screeched in the background.

What the hell?
They must have sent Brandon too.

“Call me back when you get this message,” he yelled. “I’ll be speaking with Chambers to let him know that if you’re not back in Dallas within the next twenty-four hours, I’m suing him for everything he’s got!” Click.

Was he for real? Sue him for
what?
When the cab driver let me out, I decided that I needed to tell Calvin now. Screw his meeting; this was more important. If my dad was crazy enough to try to sue him, I wasn’t going to wait in the lobby sipping on a latte; I had to let him know.

I punched at the elevator button impatiently, willing the car to arrive.
Come on; come on.
I didn’t believe a word my parents said, but something about it struck a chord, and I needed to hear Calvin tell me that they were all crazy.

When I strode past the pointy-nosed receptionist, she stood, looking at me over her glasses. “Mr. Chambers is on a call, Ms. Clarke. I’m going to have to ask you to wait out here until he’s off.”

Pausing, I turned back to her, feeling the eyes in the paintings watching my every move. “I’m afraid this can’t wait, Marjorie. I’m sure Mr. Chambers will understand.”

“I have to insist, Ms. Clarke—”

“No,
I
have to insist,” I said coldly. It wasn’t her fault, I suppose. She was just doing her job, but I was sick of her condescending attitude and too flustered by my dad’s voicemail to care.

She stood, mouth open, as I marched through the double doors down the long corridor to Calvin’s office. As I approached the door, his booming voice filled the hall, arguing loudly, heatedly. I hesitated, ear pressed to the door.

“We had a deal, you bastard!” a voice yelled from the speakerphone. “This is not what we agreed!”

I knew that voice. I’d heard it moments earlier on my phone—why was my dad yelling at Calvin?

“George—,” Calvin interrupted, “I stand by what I said; circumstances have changed.”

“This is my daughter we’re talking about, Chambers!” my dad growled. “I’m not just going to sit back and let you ruin her!”

A wave of dizziness left me gripping the door, black spots in front of my eyes. What the hell was going on? What deal did Calvin have with my dad? Clarity began to set in, and I realized that chance hadn’t caused Calvin to bid on me.

I couldn’t wait any longer, pushing open his office door. Calvin looked up like a deer in headlights, dark eyes frozen, not blinking.

“Calvin?” I asked, voice shaking. “Are you—” I paused, unable to finish the sentence.

“Is that you, Sabrina!” my dad yelled through the phone. “Sabrina, you had better—”

Calvin’s finger shot out, ending the call. Silence filled the room as we stared at each other, my heart thumping erratically.

“Sabrina, just sit down.” He broke the silence, calmly, coolly.

“I will not just
sit down
,” I shrieked. “What the fuck is going on! Please tell me that after the last few weeks of my pouring my heart out to you,
trusting
you, that you weren’t in on some
deal
with my
parents
!” I knew I sounded hysterical, but I didn’t care. It made no difference to me who heard.

“Let me explain,” Calvin said. His eyes probed mine, willing me to stay.

I nodded, trembling. What else could I do?

“OK, I know your father; I have for some time. We’ve done business together in the past. When he found out about the auction, he called me and asked for a favor.”

My legs locked, and I gripped the side of the chair, lowering myself into it. He
knew
my father? My parents knew I was with Calvin all along?

“What did he ask you?” I managed hoarsely.

“He said he’d put up the money if I kept an eye on you for a few weeks. No sex, just companionship, like the contract initially outlined. He thought that you’d realize what a mistake it was and return home as soon as the contract was up. Wanted me to talk you out of it.”

Outrage bubbled in my stomach. “The money’s from my parents? Did he pay you to fuck me like that last night, too, Calvin?” I yelled.