He shakes his head, mock-mystified. “You want me to chain you up to the office wall and whip you unconscious?”
“NO! You know what I mean…”
“You want me to…put a collar and leash on you and take you for a walk on the Downs?”
“For fuck’s sake, Sinclair! Stop it!”
He laughs. “Well, come on, then. A clue, at least. And don’t think you’ve got away with swearing at me either.”
A clue. Hmmm. I wriggle round to face away from him – this kind of thing is much easier out of range of his penetrating eye contact – then I reach back for his hand and brush the fingers delicately up and down the crack of my behind, dropping it when he seems keen to continue the motion alone. He presses his thumb gently against the tight ring of muscle.
“Really, Beth?” he murmurs, holding it there.
I nod vigorously, my eyes tight shut, hoping against hope that he does not want me to say it in words.
“Tell me.” Fucker!
“You can…if you want you can…oh…please be careful though….oh…youcantakemeupthearse.”
I hear his satisfied exhalation at the same time as a cracker of a slap lands on my right bum cheek. What was that for? The sheer hell of it, no doubt.
“I think we’ll continue proceedings the in the bedroom,” he decrees, nudging me off the sofa with his knee, then taking me by a handful of hair (ouch!) and marching me out of the room while his unbuckled belt jingles and flaps about en route.
“Get undressed,” he orders, moving a quartet of pillows to the centre of the bed, as he did yesterday when he was about to strap me. Eek. Not that again, I hope. I shimmy out of my already-severely-compromised outfit and stand fidgeting while he arranges the scene to his satisfaction. “I want you over these cushions, on all fours now,” he says.
“You aren’t going to…?”
“Just do it.”
I position myself as required, finding myself admiring the view of the heavy cotton duvet cover once more, thinking that very soon I’ll be able to reproduce from memory every single thread. Sinclair kneels on the bed beside me, puts his fingers on the back of my neck and starts…oh, heaven…massaging it, quite gently, moving on to my shoulders.
“You need to be relaxed for this,” he says softly. “No tension, no anxiety. You will enjoy it if you can let go of your fears.” He drops a kiss on to the nape of my neck, then starts sucking at the flesh around it while his hands brush up and down the curve of my spine. At some point he starts using some scented oil, warming it in his palm before drip-drip-dripping it on to my skin. When he moves down from my back, over my tailbone and into the area of interest, I do feel my muscles stiffen involuntarily, knowing what it is in store for them. I get two strong smacks to each cheek for my trouble and a stern warning to stop clenching. “Trust me, Beth. You said you trusted me. Open up to me.” The skin is stretched taut in this position, and I feel as if there are handprints glowing on it, even as he rubs the oil diligently over every square millimetre of my bottom, down to my inner thighs, then back up, moving inwards, inexorably inwards. God, it is hard not to tense up again as I sense the progress of his fingers. It is tickly and I feel skittish, starting to squirm and rotate my ankles until he deems me too restless and spanks me again, a good half dozen this time. I decide to concentrate on breathing…in…out…in…out…in…oh, lubricant, oh God, he is greasing up the tiny pucker and it feels obscenely invasive; it is all I can do not to clench and try to pull away from him, but I will breathe…I trust….in….out…and after all, the idea that he will take me there is fantastically sexy in a taboo, forbidden kind of way. I will belong to him completely, and I am ready to belong to him in that way. I am ready to let him all the way in, as he has let me.
“I’m going to start with a finger, Beth,” he says, his mouth down close to my ear. “Just let it happen…just…that’s it…” There is a soft splurt of lubricant as his finger breaks the ring, which I have managed not to clench by some form of superhuman endeavour. “That’s good, Beth, you’re doing well.” It is not painful, just peculiar. The feel of it wiggling and pushing against the sides, testing their flexibility, is so odd I am helpfully transfixed with my attempts to describe in words in my head. What word would describe this feeling? Squishy, squirmy, wormy…squirmishy perhaps. Squirmishy, yeah.
But when Sinclair asks me how it feels, I just say, “Fine”.
“Fine?” he queries in a knitted-brow tone. “Are you understating, or are you trying to please me? How does it really feel?”
“Well….just…interesting, I suppose.”
“Good. Interesting is good. I’m going to add another finger then.”
He retracts the exploratory digit then forges forward again with its neighbour in tandem. This time it is a little harder to accept; there is a chafey kind of soreness on entry but he moves his wrist so that they slide in with relative ease, though he takes it slowly, very slowly, conscious of my screwed up face and stored-up breath.
“You can breathe out, you know,” he reminds me. “Probably a good idea. Keep relaxed and open, love. You’re doing very well. I’m almost all the way in now.” He moves his fingers back and forth, pushing them in right up to the knuckles, keeping his other hand on my neck, stroking it calmingly. “Brave girl,” he whispers. “Are you ready?”
I make a small noise at the back of my throat; I am still afraid, but I do not want to let him down. And I have to admit, it does feel almost nice now.
The fingers pop out, a little more lube is smeared outside and up around the entrance and then…oh….his hands are on my hips and I can feel him push, God, it’s enormously wide and thick, surely it will not…ah. I yelp a little and try to elude his grip, but he holds firm. “Don’t be afraid, Beth, you can take this. Come on, stop tensing. Just stay open…yes.”
I can feel the flesh yield, but it is far from painless. A sharp stinging at first, then a panic-inducing pang and I am sure he is going to damage me so try hard to push him out. But oddly, that just makes it easier for him to move further up. “That’s right,” he says approving
ly. “I know it hurts at first, love, but it will pass. Oh, God, so tight, oh God.”
This evidence of his extreme pleasure is enough to dispel the anxiety. It does hurt, but the worst seems to be over now and I’m fairly sure I’m not torn. Now the pain seems sweet, erotic even, like the aftermath of a spanking, and the sensation of stretched fullness is doubly so. He edges further and further up, Christ, he’s crammed inside, I’m sure I can’t take any more, I’m sure this can’t be good for me…I think he’s all the way in now; I can feel his pelvis pressing against my bum; his rather bruising grip on my hips has relaxed a little. He is jiggling his cock around inside me, accustoming me to the extraordinary weirdness of it.
“Your tight little arse is stuffed full of my cock now, Beth,” he informs me. “How do you feel about that?”