What I Did for Love (18 page)

I was throbbing, biting my lower lip, feeling his heart pounding. He backed out of me slowly, pulling me down from the stool as he did so. He slipped his hand into my panties and pressed and played with me, a painful pleasure for my own swollen sex. I could hardly stand, and he pressed me close to him, drawing me over to the high bedstead. I was still breathing hard. He leaned me against the bed.

“Lift up your skirt,” he ordered. I did so, controlling my shaking hands. The skirt had an elastic band, and he tucked the hem into the band so that the front of the skirt was completely raised. “Now the slip,” and I lifted it. “Tuck it into the waist,” and I did that.

“Now pull your panties down, slowly.”

I reached up to the thick waistband of the panties, starting to
lower them, and when I got them to the tops of my thighs I was about to bend to continue to lower them, but he stopped me, holding my hands. He reached down and pulled the panties to the middle of my thighs. He ran a finger along the crease of my sex, and then he ran his hand over the smoothness of me. Taking one of the hand towels from the bedside table, he passed it between my legs, catching the wetness that had now flowed out of me from his coming. He rubbed at the stickiness on my thighs, grinning, giving my clitoris little pinches between towel strokes. My knees were weak from the pinches.

Next to the hand towels on the table were other things, some I recognized from last time, some new. He saw me look at them, and nodded a few times.

“Yes, I think before we go any further, you are going to need a good spanking again. I didn’t really spank you properly last time. This time, we’ll be thorough.” He turned me around and pulled my skirt and slip up. “Assume the position, as they say,” he told me, and he guided me to bend and lie face down on the bed, my buttocks bare, my feet no longer touching the floor. He had the skirt completely up, the panties still around my thighs.

“We can start this way,” he said nonchalantly, and I saw him take a bottle and drop some liquid into his hand, then passing it over my bare behind. “Oil,” he said. “No permanent marks. And more chastisement,” he said the word lingeringly, mockingly. He ran the oil between my buttocks, and quickly slipped a finger into me, shocking me with its effect. “Narrow and tight as ever,” he said, his voice amused. He reached over and took a small object from the night table – a flexible rubber penis. I could see him flex it, and then he took a tube of lubricant from the table. He pressed its cold gel between my buttocks, and then slowly inserted the rubber penis. It felt strange but was unusually soft. It had a long leather string attached to it. “A new kind of butt plug,” he said in a half mumble, and eased it into me.

Wiping the oil and lubricant off his hands, he took a little
whip, leather handle and long leather strips. “Now we can begin,” he said, and I tried not to tense, knowing that tense flesh feels a blow more smartly than relaxed flesh does. He felt along the band of flesh where my buttocks rose from the back of my thighs. “The ideal place to begin a good spanking,” he said, and used the whip sharply, quickly, once, twice, three times. It stung, the effect lingering when he stopped. Then he used the whip again, this time higher, where my buttocks curved more roundly, two smart lashings.

“And now, to be sure the spanking is thorough.” He gently withdrew the dildo and tossed it onto the bed. He bent and pulled my panties off, and pushed my knees and thighs wide apart. He took a little cat o’nine tails off the stand, and holding one cheek of my buttocks aside, he flicked the cat between my buttocks, the tender flesh stinging. Then he took a thick flat strap that was maybe a foot long, and he said, “This will make you properly red and sensitive,” and he used the strap across my buttocks once. He touched them, and I could feel the soreness. He put some more oil on my buttocks and said, “One more, for good measure.” And he gave me another well-placed lashing, just under the middle of my buttocks.

“Now when you sit down you will remember what happens to bad girls,” he said in a mocking taunt. He wiped off the oil with a towel, which hurt as he rubbed, but he left the wet lubricant between my buttocks.

He turned me over, again making sure my thighs were wide apart, and taking the little cat, he flicked it along my crotch, then caressing the bareness, then flicking it sharply again between my open legs. He took a small vibrator and placed it over my clitoris, and took another dildo that had a vibrator and slipped it into my vagina. He watched me, amused, as he wiped his hands and unbuttoned my blouse. He could see me struggling to control my movements, pressing my lips together not to moan or cry out.

He unbuttoned my blouse and pushed it apart, open. Then he
lay across the bed from the other side, and took each breast in turn in his mouth, sucking and gently biting the nipple each time. I could not move, between the pain and the pleasure, the vibrator tormenting me, my buttocks burning, the sensation from my breasts seeming to run in a straight line downward, making me want to writhe.

He saw my reaction, and with a look of stern satisfaction, he removed the vibrators, and rolled me about to get my clothes completely off, pulling me up onto the bed so that I lay there naked. Pushing my knees apart again, he bent this time to tongue my clitoris, sucking on it and then flicking his tongue across it. I thought I would pass out with the pleasure of it.

Then in no time he was on top of me, pinning me, entering me urgently, his own moaning making me wilder, and with a half dozen thrusts he had come again, and lay there exhausted, summoning enough energy not to collapse on top of me, to let me breathe, and he rolled to the side, but still pinning half my body under his.

I was throbbing everywhere, my eyes closed, and I was about to press my thighs together when I felt his hand on my thigh. “Stay still,” he ordered. Then he slowly, insistently, rubbed my clitoris, moving his fingers down to my vagina, inserting a finger quickly and then withdrawing it. He flung one leg across my thighs to hold me in place, put a small vibrating dildo in my vagina, and continued to rub my clitoris slowly with one hand, the other hand holding my hands above my head.

I wanted to mewl or moan and only barely controlled myself when he stopped and changed position, using his tongue to lick slowly the way his finger had moved over my clitoris.

“You are delicious, you bad and naughty girl,” he mumbled, and wiping his wet face, he came up to face me and covered my lips in a deep kiss, moving inside me as he did so, rocking back and forth slowly so that I was in agony, and when he could not take it any longer, quick thrusts and he had come again. I was
half faint from my orgasm. But he would not let up, pressing my swollen clitoris with his fingers, working me, the painful pleasure of the aftermath washing over me.

I knew he wanted to sleep. I did too. He was fighting it, not wanting to lose any time before the early summer dawn. But he could not resist, and we drifted into sleep, my last thought that it would have been so sweet without this enmity and punishment.

This time we slept barely an hour. Perhaps we were both aware that this was the final night, nervous, each of us, in different ways. He caressed my body everywhere, and put my hand on his penis, moving it so that I was pleasuring him, raising and lowering the foreskin over the shaft of him, sticky and wet, both of us. Another deep kiss and he was drawing me up from the bed, opening the door to the bathroom. This time the air and water were scented with lavender, the water warm as he led me into the tub, quickly dipping each of us, the water stinging my buttocks, then leading me out, covering me with the thick terry spa robe that also dried me off. He pulled a robe on, using it to dab himself dry, all the while leading me back into the other room.

There was a high table against one wall which I did not remember seeing last time. Rand put a stool near it, and got me up onto the table, laying me face up, the robe open around me. The table extended under my thighs, so that my knees hung off, and he pushed my thighs far apart. Pulling a padded bench from under the table he sat and pulled me toward him, entering me with his tongue, pressing inward and then withdrawing, his tongue rising each time to nibble my clitoris, a wild sensation. He could hear my ragged breath as pleasure washed over me. I opened my eyes just enough to see his satisfied look, his possessiveness. He owned my sex, and would use me however he wanted.

He brought me down from the table, and quickly got me onto the bed, and with rapid thrusts, entered me, a few quick thrusts,
and he came. I was limp.

“And now you’ll see what this is for,” he said, pulling me up, and moving me over to the strange half-pear that jutted up from the floor. He lowered me and turned me face downward, bending me over it, and the shape of this strange object perfectly fit me, my buttocks raised, the pillow at my head holding my forehead so that I was prone.

“Must I tie you in place?” he said, almost cheerfully, not expecting an answer. “Well, we’ll have to see.” He placed my hands so that each one held a post, then came behind me, and I felt the cold of lubricant being pressed between my buttocks and pressed into me, his fingers moving inside.

“How tight you are,” he said, with a kind of indifferent pleasantness, a sadistic tone. I felt the soft dildo entering me, and being withdrawn, then another inserted, larger, uncomfortable, and withdrawn.

Rand was kneeling behind me now. He wiped away some of the lubricant and I felt another substance being rubbed against me. “This is supposed to relax the muscle,” he said.

I bit my lip as I felt his penis pressing slowly, its tip beginning to penetrate me. He held it there, and I felt him slip a vibrator under me, against my clitoris. My buttocks were sore from his spanking, and he parted them slightly, then closed them over him as he worked the tip of his penis back and forth, starting to penetrate me, the pressure very strong, and painful as he began to press inward. I wanted to cry or scream, and I was perspiring with the effort to keep silent and bear what I knew would be even worse in a minute.

But he went no further. He simply, abruptly stopped, pulled back and stood up.

“Get up,” he said, pulling me upward, though I could hardly stand. He led me back to the bed. “Lay face down,” he commanded. I did, and he covered my body with his, and then he lifted me slightly, and he was inside me, but in my vagina. He
pinned me as he rocked lazily and then roughly, and came with a groan. I was no more than a rag beneath him, and wondered if I’d ever move normally again.

I was so grateful to have been spared anal sex, and so wild with soreness everywhere, I was all confusion and exhaustion. I must have fallen asleep for an hour. I don’t know if he slept or how long, but it was just past four in the morning, and I could hear him moving about in the sitting room. Why didn’t he finish it, I wondered. Did some spark of pity finally overcome his anger at me? Whatever the reason, I was so relieved, and also hungry and dizzy, having had only juices and tea since yesterday.

The sun was starting to come up, and I was quick with washing and pulling on my own clothes from my tote bag. I did not know what to do with the Balthus outfit. My preference was to burn it, so I stuffed it into the bag. I would find an incinerator somewhere that would turn everything to ash.

As I made for the door, he was standing in the entry room, chino slacks and a shirt half buttoned, a small blue check that was the stylish casual wear for men this year. He was barefoot, and had obviously been waiting for me to emerge from the bathroom. Our bargain said silence, so I waited for him to say whatever he looked ready to say.

“I should have made our bargain include a third time,” he said in a cold voice. I glanced at my phone, not trusting his clocks, careful of the terms of our bargain. It was almost six. I held the phone up and pointed at the time.

“Yes, it’s over,” he said. “No more silence.” Then, harshly, sarcastically, he said, “I wonder what would happen if I told your brother about our bargain.”

He taunted me with the casual disdain of the bully, playing on my fear of Bredon’s humiliation if he found out that I had sold my body for his money. But hearing Rand make that threat, I felt my anger surge in a renewed determination to protect Bredon.

Years ago I read an interview of a Jewish man speaking of the
Holocaust, and of the relatives he tried in vain to save. Most of his family had died in the ovens, or slower deaths of starvation and abuse. His anger and bitterness were just under his words, like a creature pressing upward, trying to escape confinement. He looked self-possessed, but when he was asked to sum up his feelings, he said that if someone licked his heart, they would die of the poison. I understand that man.

Rand was watching me, anger and mockery in his face, provoking me. I just stared at him silently and coldly, but he repeated his threat.

“What if I told Bredon that you had sex with me for money, that I had taken you in every way imaginable, that I had spanked you, that I had deflowered you, that I had sodomized you?” He watched me as he spoke, looking for a reaction. I simply looked at a far wall until he was done. He had not realized how hardened I had learned to be, living with the injustice of a world that had robbed me of my parents, and almost of my sanity.

Maybe it
had
robbed me of sanity, because I felt my heart chill with calculated vengeance. If Rand thought he was taking revenge using my body, he had no idea of the fury he could unleash in me when it came to Bredon.

“If you break our bargain,” I said in a pleasant voice that startled him, “if you tell, then I will tell.”

He looked at me incredulously, wanting to disbelieve me, but I set my face into a grim, deadly sweetness, and said, “I will go to your parents and tell them in detail about this bargain we made. I will tell them explicitly what happened here. I would explain how your tongue explored me, and how you had raw sex with me over and over. In this house. In that tub.”

I had stunned him into silence. The ring of truth is unmistakable. His face showed a mixture of anger and uncertainty. “You wouldn’t,” he said, his voice knife-edged.