Kinky (9 page)

My pussy still feels melty-warm and full of need. I hope something very satisfying comes next.

But Dimitri has not tired of teasing me yet. He rubs my nipples with his open palms, very lightly, so that they seem to try to grow to reach him, to climb up to him. Once I am whimpering with need, he moves away and spends ages, real ages, just stroking two fingertips from my breasts to the top of my pubic triangle, over and over and over again, until the magic word is uttered.

‘Please.’

‘Please? Is something I can do for you?’

‘Please don’t tease,’ I whine.

‘No? So what to do instead?’

‘Please fuck me.’

‘Well, I don’t fuck my clients.’

‘I’m not your client!’

‘I know, but I need to practise for them. So I don’t fuck you. But I can do other things.’

‘Other …?’

Something starts buzzing. Now I am grateful for the earlier information about Kinky Cupcake’s devotion to toy hygiene. All the same, I can’t help blurting, ‘Is that thing clean?’

‘Rosie, it is brand new. Every member has their own labelled vibrator, right? Same with anything that goes inside.’

‘Oh, good. Ohhhhh. Goooooood.’

For he has applied the tip to my clit, glancingly at first, then giving it a proper vibration. Deep, deep satisfaction loosens my muscles and sinks into my bones. No more teasing. Proper working to orgasm now.

Except not.

He makes the vibrator perform a delicate dance along the ridges and folds of my labia, never staying in the same place for too long.

I tighten the muscles in my legs, the closest thing to a kick of frustration I can manage in my trussed-up state.

Dimitri laughs and teases, teases and laughs.

‘Oh, closer, closer, oh.’

‘Like this?’ He touches the tip of the vibrator to my clit, so briefly that I almost don’t register it, then removes it again.

‘No, longer! Keep it there.’

‘You are telling me what to do.’ He tuts.

‘I need you to … please.’

‘I like to hear you beg. Can you beg some more?’

The vibrator buzzes, infuriatingly lightly, along my perineum, twirling for one swift revolution in the shallows of my vagina before moving forwards again.

‘Please please please please please please.’

The bastard just runs it laconically along the crease of my thighs, close enough for its vibrations to make my labia and clit tingle, but nowhere near close enough to take any of the edge off my desperation.

My voice climbs higher, shriller. ‘Dimitriiiii.’ It almost cracks.

‘You want something?’

‘Please let me come.’

‘I can do that. If I decide.’

The warmed-up silicone kisses my vagina. It moves down, about half an inch, ready to effect full penetration.

I moan.

He flicks a switch and increases the vibrations. I prepare myself for the big push forwards.

It doesn’t happen.

He takes the vibrator back out, leans down and spreads my labia with his finger and thumb so that they are wide apart. He blows a gentle breath on to my clit.

I convulse, spasm with the maddening closeness of my orgasm. ‘Noooo.’

He repeats this little torture routine eight times.
Eight times.
My body is weak as water, my legs numb, my wrists sore from the struggle against the cuffs.

I spout a stream of gibberish. ‘You can’t … no … please … I need to … please let me …’

I am close to tears when he finally shoves the vibrator right inside, adding a thumb to my clit. Three firm thrusts are all it takes to bring me storming into a stars-and-planets blinder of an orgasm.

‘Oh God, so cruel, so fucking cruel,’ I rave, letting it all gush forth while he holds the buzzing phallus deep inside me and watches.

‘OK, nice,’ he says, once I’ve twitched to a halt. ‘I make you beg to come. Now I make you beg to stop coming. What about that?’

‘What?’ I try to raise my head.

He pulls out the vibrator, but it is still on its highest setting,
vrooming
away. He applies it to my clit until it sparks back into life and I can’t help trying to grind on it, greedy for my second coming. Once it is fat and full and my vagina sucks hungrily on three of his fingers, he swaps them around, filling my cunt with the smooth, thick silicone cock, pumping it up and down, frigging me with his fingers at the same time. The second climax is even harder than the first and I scream until my voice gives out, stilling to a ragged pant.

‘You like this, hmm?’

He doesn’t stop fucking me with the vibrator but keeps a smooth pace, slicking it in and out. I feel his hot breath, then his tongue, lapping at my overworked clit. I feel too sensitive there and my thighs try to clamp together, but of course they can’t.

‘Oh no, it’s too much,’ I whimper. ‘Please stop.’

‘Too much?’ The words drift over my sex. ‘That is for me to say. It is too much when I have enough. I want more of your cunt.’

His mouth closes again over my soaked, over stimulated ripples. He licks and bullies me to a third orgasm, then punishes me with a fourth.

My head disintegrates and my whole body is a marshmallow. I am hot and cold at the same time, my skin slick and clammy. It’s like having the flu. He is going to kill me with orgasms.

‘You think people will pay for this?’

His voice comes from far away. I can’t formulate words. I just grunt.

He pulls out the vibrator from my distended cunt and puts it down.

Next his voice is in my ear and he strokes my hair. ‘Rosie. Rosie, are you there?’

I manage to turn my head to him, but my eyelids are heavy and fluttering. I feel drugged.

‘Come back, come back.’ He brings me slowly into a more recognisable state of consciousness, away from the margins of sleep and dreams. ‘Talk to me. Are you OK?’

‘I’m OK. So tired. I could sleep – right here.’

‘I think this service can be popular,’ he says. ‘I put it on my menu.’

The word ‘menu’ is like a finger snapping in my face – it jolts me back into reality. ‘Menu? You’re like a chef of sex?’

‘Yeah, like that. You don’t think so? Only one problem I have with this service.’

‘What’s that?’

He rises from his crouching position, bringing his crotch to my eye level. It bulges to an uncomfortable degree, its denim hardness brushing my cheek.

‘Oh, I see. Well, I guess your clients might be OK with helping you out with that.’

‘You think?’

‘This one might.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Really.’

He smiles down at me and starts unbuckling the belts. When his jeans are unbuttoned, his bulge escapes, cock springing out, pointing an accusation at my mouth.

Despite my tethers, I open wide and let the head glide across my cheek and into my mouth via the side of my lips. I can’t quite manage the classic blow-job angle from this laid-flat position, but Dimitri slips it in and out of my open orifice while I use my tongue to curl around the tip and tease the sensitive underside.

‘Mmm,’ he says, taking hold of it at the root and beginning to wank himself into my mouth. I lick and slurp and sometimes succeed in a suck or two, while he bumps against my lips and teeth, moving deeper, deeper, down inside.

Hot salt liquid spurts down my throat and he pumps fast, hips bucking into the side of my head. I swallow his load and lick his shaft clean, worshipping him in the only way I physically can.

He pulls out and drops down to kiss me, long and hard, tongue down where his cock has been, licking and exploring the taste of him.

‘You are something,’ he says, coming up for air. ‘Really something.’

‘So are you.’

He unlocks me, lets my boneless legs and arms rest for a while before lifting me off the table and sitting with me on his lap in some kind of bondage chair next to it.

‘So then,’ he says, after kissing the top of my head. ‘You want to try that cross thing next?’

Wheezy laughter pours out of me. ‘Maybe next year,’ I say.

‘Our time is up. We need to put the things we use in a bag and take them to the office.’

I cringe at the thought of handing over our used vibrator and feather tickler to some functionary. ‘Can’t I take them home and clean them myself?’

‘No, they say all toys stay in the building.’

Once my legs work, I dress and leave the dungeon hand in hand with Dimitri, who swings a black plastic bag containing our ‘stuff’ all the way up the stairs and across the café to the office.

When we knock on the door, the mellifluous tones of O bid us enter. I am a little in awe of her, and I avoid her eye when we walk in.

‘Oh, lovely, it’s you,’ she says with genuine warmth. ‘Our two newest members. How did you enjoy your dungeon session? Do sit down, please. If you can.’

She winks at me. I blush and sit heavily on the nearest chair, as if to prove a point.

Dimitri drops the black bag gingerly on her desk. She writes out a tag for it, ties it round the neck and stows it away in a big box.

‘All ready for the washer,’ she explains. ‘So? Do I have to use my imagination about you two in the dungeon? What did you try?’

‘A table,’ says Dimitri. ‘Very interesting design.’

‘Well, we do trawl all the best bondage furniture-makers. I like to think we have the most comprehensive stock of any club out there.’

‘There is a lot. I hope we try it all.’

‘I hope you do,’ she says, her smile lingering all over Dimitri’s oversized jumper. ‘Tell me, do you ever use the café, or come for our social events?’

‘I work in evenings,’ Dimitri explains. ‘Rosie work in daytime.’

‘Oh dear, ships that pass in the night. But there’s nothing to stop you coming here alone. You’re both members. Why not join in and meet a few like-minded people? I’d hate to think you weren’t getting the most from your membership here.’

‘Oh, I just prefer to be with Dimitri,’ I mumble, looking at him sideways to see if he is tempted by this idea. Anton’s description of a Dimitri-like man coming out of the door has been drifting around in my head ever since he said the words.

‘We are busy people,’ he adds, to my distinct pleasure and relief. ‘I try to make career as actor, plus I must learn my English to make it better.’

‘What better way to improve your English than by making conversation with native speakers? At social events?’

‘Like I say, I am mostly busy. I try to make time, perhaps.’

‘Please do. We’d love to see you at one of our group play sessions, for instance. We’re all dying to see you in action.’

‘Uh-huh, right, well, thank you. Good afternoon.’

He makes his escape, with me in tow, back to the café area, where we buy restorative caffeinated beverages and subside on to the least visible couches.

‘We’re all dying to see you in action.’ I mimic O’s nakedly salacious tone, curling my lip. ‘Ugh.’

‘Is very strange, this O. She make me feel like piece of meat.’

‘Poor Dimitri. You’re being objectified. Just make sure you don’t get exploited next.’

‘I think she have plans for us.’

‘Plans for you.’

‘I don’t do no plans without you.’

I glow and melt into the cappuccino froth. ‘Aww, really?’

Before he can expand on this statement, a pair of tits with a dog leash dangling in between shoves itself rudely into my line of sight.

It’s Turkey Twizzler, and now she’s topless, wearing nothing but a teeny latex micro-mini and aforementioned dog leash.

‘You really aren’t coming to the orgy?’ She pouts at Dimitri. ‘I’ve told my handlers you might come. I’ve wanted to be topped by three men for such a long time. It’d be a dream come true.’

‘Handlers?’ Dimitri’s tone is blank and mystified.

‘Tops, you know. Doms. Where are you from? You have the sexiest accent.’

‘Moscow,’ he says, then picks up his coffee and takes a sip.

‘Mmm, so cool. Please come to the orgy. You too.’ She turns to me for about a millisecond and casts flat, bored eyes over me.

‘Thanks for the invitation,’ I reply, unable to keep the sardonic edge out of my voice. ‘But no thanks.’

‘I don’t want group sex,’ says Dimitri. ‘But thanks also.’

I want to kiss him. In fact, after she shrugs, says, ‘Pity,’ and turns around to reveal that her skirt has no back other than a wide strap crossing the tops of her thighs, I do.

‘That was a very gentlemanly refusal,’ I say, staring after her naked arse as it sashays over to the coffee bar where her ‘handlers’ are waiting for her. ‘Most men would want to fuck that.’

‘With two others? Not for me. I like a one on one.’

‘I thought guys dreamed of having two women at once.’

‘Oh well, that’s different.’

I elbow him in the ribs. ‘How so?’

He ruffles my hair. ‘I’m joking. And I am late for work. Come on. I book a room for next Saturday, yes?’

‘Of course. Yes.’

‘You’re such an enigma these days. It’s like I never know what you’re thinking about any more.’

‘You never did.’

‘I thought I did. You thought about the same things I did – music, style, games, films, fun stuff, yeah?’

‘Maybe my idea of fun has changed.’

‘Has it though? Has it? How?’

Anton leans forwards, his Friday treat gastropub lunch forgotten as he hangs on my next utterance.

‘Oh, I dunno. It hasn’t really. I can’t do tomorrow though. Going to a wedding.’

‘Whose?’

‘Distant cousin.’ My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. Someone I recognise has just entered the pub.

Anton twists his head round, following my line of vision. ‘Who’s she?’

‘Oh, nobody. Who?’

‘That woman. Don’t pretend you don’t know! Your face!’

I shrug and drop my head, hoping that O won’t see me.

‘Go on – who is she? She’s buff.’

‘I don’t know.’

I can’t disguise the wave of visceral loathing that takes me over when Trixietots rocks up at the bar with her, though. I suck my teeth and stab at my pan-fried salmon fillet.

‘This is bogus, man,’ moans Anton, pushing his plate away. ‘You don’t talk to me no more. I’m going outside for a smoke, innit. Let me know when you want to be my friend again.’