Pain and Pleasure
A Totally Bound Publication
Pain and Pleasure
ISBN #
978-0-85715-680-8
©Copyright Harlem Dae 2014
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright March 2014
Edited by Sarah Smeaton
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2014 by Totally Bound Publishing,
Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
heat rating
of
Totally Taboo
and a
Sexometer
of
3.
A Bit of Strange
PAIN AND PLEASURE
Harlem Dae
Book two in the A Bit of Strange serial
Shopping for pleasure can be a risky business, especially when you want a bit of pain thrown into your cage.
Isabella can’t help but throw another fantasy Gabriel’s way. It’s risky, it’s kinky but it’s something she just can’t get out of her head.
But will he go for it, or is it pushing his boundaries too far?
Luckily for Isabella the dominance that runs thick and vital in her stranger’s blood is heating up to boiling point. Before she knows it, the most innocent of places becomes completely thrilling in the middle of the night.
She’s caged, expertly tortured and brought to a place where only pleasure and pain exist. Her head is dizzy, her heart beating only for him, but will she ever come down from the high? More importantly, does she want to?
Dedication
To Dillon and Jose and the wonderful job they do!
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Millets: Blacks Outdoor Retail Ltd.
Coke: The Coca-Cola Company
Burger King: Burger King Corporation
Volkswagen: Volkswagen Group
Chapter One
I paced the living room floor. No, paced wasn’t the right word, stomped was better. I stomped impatiently in high-heeled boots, black and so shiny they looked like liquid. They were tight, too, as snug as a latex glove, and creaked in the silence when I moved. I would have liked them to rise to my thighs, but just above the knee would have to do.
And, besides, I was only going to the supermarket.
The little brass clock on the mantel struck one a.m. and the single sound echoed around in my head, increasing my irritation.
Damn it. Two hours to go.
I really should have taken my own advice and tried to get some sleep. It would have passed the time. But how the hell could I go to bed? All day at work I’d been looking forward to my next meeting with Gabriel. Thinking about the dark promises in his eyes and the sinful suggestions his words held had kept me highly aroused.
Promises, yes, promises that I would bet a year’s salary he could deliver. And not just deliver, but give to me with a hefty dose of expertise and experience.
Hell, this was a guy who carried an implement of BDSM sexual torture around in the lining of his suit jacket. What else should I think? Admittedly, the misery stick was small, easy to conceal, but my God it could pack a punch, and my arse still had the evidence to prove it.
I swiped my hands over the back of the short black skirt I wore—yes I had a black theme going on—and was relieved when spikes of pain darted through my buttocks.
The welts he’d delivered so skillfully to my bum on the train that morning during our first stolen meeting were as raw as ever, not least because I’d squirmed on my seat most of the day, enjoying the erotic memories they’d induced. I’d probably made them worse by doing that, increasing the swelling and irritating them.
In fact, I’d wriggled so much my boss had asked me if I was okay. I’d blushed furiously, knowing that the state of my makeup had only added to his concern. But he was an old man, like a father figure, kind and with a greying mustache. If he knew his secretary had snuck into a store cupboard on the train with a stranger on her way to work, been brought to a pain-laced orgasm then fucked hard by a man who’d insisted she’d called him Sir, he’d no doubt block off one of his coronary arteries in shock, or stroke out at the very least.
No, I couldn’t tell anyone about my liaison with Gabriel. Ours was a very unique relationship.
I flicked on the TV, whizzed through the channels, jammed a hand on my hip and tapped my foot, then tossed the remote aside. Nothing on—nothing that could hold my interest anyway.
The kitchen beckoned, or, rather, a glass of wine did. I clacked to the fridge, yanked at the door then studied the contents. I didn’t need to go to the supermarket in Bridgewater. I had plenty of fresh veg and salad, some cooked chicken, organic yoghurts and a punnet of cherries. There was a thick slice of quiche leftover from my dinner, and I cut myself a wedge, figuring I would need the energy for later.
Quiche eaten and glass of merlot in my hand, I moved to the window. I parted the blind and looked out. The rest of my small cul-de-sac was sleeping. The glow from a couple of upstairs hall windows mixed in with the amber light of the street lamps. It was odd, this all-night opening at the supermarkets. Was it really worth the shop’s while? Especially in a quiet, commuter belt residential area like this where sleep was high on everyone’s list of priorities before they joined the rat race the next morning.
What did I care?
The fact that the supermarket was open—open with skeleton staff—gave my fantasies fodder. I’d been thinking about those big cages for weeks. Ones I’d seen being pushed around the store full of stock. They looked so sinister if one imagined being imprisoned within, like an animal or a showgirl, but not a showgirl with feathers in her hair and a sequin bikini—no, a showgirl from my world. My black, sordid fantasy world where pain ruled, exhibitionism scored points and Gabriel—my fantasy man had a name and a face now—doled out delicious torture.
I could picture it—me in the cage, scantily clad in my black lacy best, my crotchless knickers rudely showing off my plump cunt lips. I’d grip the sides, curling my fingers around the metal, pressing my face up against the hard wire mesh. I’d be a prisoner, and he’d be able to do what he wanted with me, tie me up, whip me, beat me, fuck me—oh yeah, fuck me hard as he delivered delicious sensations that had me high on endorphins, flying with the painful stimuli that always went straight to my clit.
It was my preferred way to come, in pain. Oh, not stubbed toe pain or the misery of a headache—I liked sensual pain. And Gabriel, it seemed, loved to dish it out.
We were a match made in heaven and I couldn’t wait for him to take me there, even though to many it would look like he’d sent me to hell.
A shiver of longing went through me. My clit tingled and I squeezed my legs together. For a brief moment I considered masturbating, shoving my fingers up through the gap in my underwear and filling myself, perhaps rubbing against the kitchen counter at the same time, applying pressure to my mound. But I soon scrubbed away the idea. The trouble with enjoying painful rides to orgasm was that it was very hard to administer them to yourself. I’d tried, of course I had, but I’d always ended up feeling like a failure and completely unsatisfied. No, I would wait, wait until Gabriel could see to my needs and hope to fuck we could find a quiet corner at the supermarket with one of those cages to play in.
Three a.m. couldn’t come soon enough.
* * * *
Fifteen minutes before our meeting, I drove the short distance to the supermarket. I reckoned I would be okay after just one merlot, and besides, it was creepy walking out when the streets were so deserted, the night so black and still. I really hadn’t fancied it.
After clicking my VW locked, I glanced around the car park. There were six vehicles there, not including mine. I had no idea what Gabriel drove, but I hoped his was one of them so we only had five staff to contend with. Sounded about right—one on tills, a security man at the front door and a few stacking shelves or cleaning.
I tugged my leather jacket shut, dragged up the zip then shoved my keys into my pocket. It was pretty damn cold, especially when not wearing much.
Luckily, as I stepped into Bestco a blast of hot air hit me and the automatic doors slid shut, trapping the warmth inside.
An overweight security bloke sat at a small station that held a gray monitor. He glanced up at me.
“Hi,” I said, smiling.
His gaze dropped down my body. He nodded, once, then went back to reading a paperback. I didn’t think he’d give me any cause for concern. I’d hazard a guess he only moved from where he sat to go and grab pies from the canteen.
The lights were dazzling after being outside, full-on fluorescent. Gabriel had instructed me to leave my mascara streaked after our morning fuck, said he wanted me looking like a ‘little slut’. I wasn’t into taking orders, but when he’d said I’d tapped into him pretty well that had given me a good measure of him—oh yeah, I was efficient at that. He liked the slut thing as much as he enjoyed being called Sir.
Well, I could do slut. I could be his slutty butterfly all night and all fucking day if that was what he wanted.
There were two ladies on the tills, sitting next to each other, chatting. I couldn’t hear what they were saying and they took no notice of me. I wondered if maybe there were more customers in the shop and I wasn’t such an oddity. Two cashiers seemed excessive when no one was paying for anything. Maybe they were just getting away with it, being paid for gossiping.
Good for them if they were.
The magazine aisle called me first, and knowing I had a few minutes to spare I perused the racks of glossy covers. The men’s one piqued my interest. I liked the words on the front, the enticements, headlines to make men curious enough to pick up the goods. Was that really what men wanted to read?
Six pack in six days. What does her sleeping position tell you about what she ‘really’ wants in bed? Protein diets are the new must-do.
How dull. I was sure men really wanted to read things like
Get her to suck your cock the way a man would
, because surely men ‘got’ exactly how to do it, and
Drive her so wild with your box of toys she’ll still be screaming your name when the sun comes up
or
Want anal? Teach her to love it
.
I laughed a little at my own silly headlines. I was sure they’d sell more magazines, though.