“He wants to see you. Downstairs.”
Grace’s tone is ominous, a current of dark humour running beneath the surface, echoing the red trim on her gleaming black PVC catsuit. ‘Downstairs’ means the cellar, a tiny windowless room that he and I spent several sweat-soaked and dusty weekends converting for our particular entertainment purposes. Now, with black gloss on the brickwork and foam tiles on the floor, it’s the perfect home for our favourite toys.
She runs a hand up my spine, clasping the back of my neck. “Come on. He’s waiting.” Her long purple nails rake my scalp. “And so am I.”
Down the steep, narrow steps, a flutter of perverted excitement stirring within me. The cellar is lit in red, a single white spotlight pointing down from the centre of the low ceiling. He’s sitting in the corner on the black-pleather office chair, smirking. One of his hands is idly rubbing at the swelling front of his jeans, the other is holding something I can’t quite see. He grins at me.
“Are you going to be a good girl?”
Now there’s a question. Am I? Do I feel like being bratty and truculent? I’m excited, turned on, eager; I want to be used but do I want to submit with serenity or fight to lose?
He watches me consider my answer, exchanges amused glances with Grace over my head.
“Yes.” I murmur. “I’ll be good.”
She steps forward, holds me by the throat and gives my left nipple a vicious tweak. “That’s ‘I’ll be good, Sir’” she admonishes. “Show some respect.”
Respect. Yes, I can do that. I sink to my knees, press my forehead to the floor. “I apologise, Sir. Ma’am. Please forgive my mistake. I’ll try harder. I’ll do better. Please don’t punish me.” My position hides the grin of delighted joy that keeps sneaking across my face but I’m sure they can hear it in my voice.
“You’ll have to earn my forgiveness.” he says. “By doing exactly as you are told. Stand up.” He nods to Grace. “Make her ready for me.”
Oh. His words light a fire within me. He likes to fuck me when I’m passive and helpless, overwhelmed and overcome; unable to muster the will or energy to do anything but take what he has to give, and enjoy it. It’s Grace’s job to bring me to this state, ready to receive him. Grace the sadist, the pro Domme, the skilled and savage mistress of pain and pleasure.
“Keep still. Eyes on the floor. No talking.” she murmurs into my ear, one hand sliding into my bra, the other circling my butt, before unzipping, tugging, dragging my clothes from me. Naked, I stand, still looking downwards although I yearn to sneak a glimpse of him, see how pleased he is, how turned-on.
Grace is whispering into my ear. “Look at you, you little slut. You love this, don’t you? I can see how turned on you are,-“ she inhales deeply “-mmm I can smell your eager cunt. You want a good fucking, you greedy girl. And you’ll get one. But not until I’ve finished with you. Kneel down now.”
Cuffs on my wrists, a rope drawn through the loop in ceiling, drawn tight and fastened, pulling my arms over my head. She kicks gently at my knees. “Open them. As wide as you can. Show him what you’re offering.
He likes what he sees, judging by the grunt of appreciation that greets the view. I wish I could see his hungry expression, but I keep my eyes lowered. Today is not a bratting day. Today is a day for taking pain and humiliation with grace. And from Grace, who is wrapping rope around my thighs and ankles to hold me in place. The thought makes the corner of my mouth twitch.
She picks up a suede flogger from the selection on the corner table, begins with light flicks and caressing strokes; warming up my skin in preparation, gradually increasing the weight of the blows. Before long, my tits are reddened, my nipples swollen. Ready for the clamps. Screwed down tightly enough to make me whimper, joined by a slim silver chain, every impact of Grace’s flogger causes them to swing and tug on my tender nipples.
“Sit up” she snaps, and when I do, her hand snakes between my thighs, cupping something unseen which nudges at my slick, twitching cunt before being pushed inside me, filling me with egg-shaped silicone. I think I know where the control unit is.
He goes straight for the pattern I like best, a strong, pulsing vibration in short intervals. A loud humming sound starts up outside my field of vision. Grace has the wand.
The first orgasm takes less than five minutes, with the wand jammed against my clit and the egg inside me, I have little choice in the matter, writhing and shaking helplessly in my bonds.
I’ve lost count of the number of orgasms they’ve dragged out of my limp and sweating body. I’ve screamed for mercy, screamed in desperate, overwhelming need, screamed for more, and for less, and now I can only hang, wrung-out, from the cuffs, twitching and moaning softly, welts blooming on my skin from the flogger’s sharp bite.
“I think she’s ready.” observes Grace sardonically, untying the ropes and helping me to my unsteady feet.
“Thank you.” he says politely. “Good work.”
She leaves quietly, mounting the steps and closing the door softly behind her. What will she do next? Shower briskly and head off to the next job, or have a cup of tea and relax while we finish? Will she listen at the door, one hand cupping her ear, the other delving into her unzipped catsuit; enjoying our finale?
I have no further opportunity to wonder, as he wraps me in his strong arms and buries his mouth onto mine. “You’re such a good girl, you did so well, you’re fucking gorgeous.” he tells me when we both come up for air. I smile blissfully, incapable of coherent speech, glowing with endorphins and his affection.
“Now.” he says, unzipping and stepping out of his jeans “My turn. Take that egg out and spread yourself wide.”
I sink to the floor and follow instructions, parting my thighs and holding my labia out like angel wings, ready for him. With my need – or ability – to orgasm exhausted, I can focus entirely on him; his weight pressing me to the floor tiles, the movement of his sturdy cock in my twitching and come-flooded cunt, the taste of his mouth and the smell of his hair. Clinging to him as he drives himself hard and deep within me, my favourite part of this game is when I can let go of me and exist only for him.
“Mine.” he declares, guiding his cock inside me.
“Yours”, I agree with a smile, and an involuntary welcoming twitch of my cunt muscles. “All yours.”