His House of Submission (House of Submission 1)

Once I lay in my place, looking up at the chandelier and the plaster ceiling rose, he stood between my knees and leaned over me to reach for a dish of strawberries. He took one, dipped it in cream, and put it to my lips. Some dim remembrance of being told never to eat in this position lurked at the fringes of my mind, but the cream was slick and the fruit smelled full and ripe and I opened my mouth for it.

Jasper wiped it along my lips until they were coated in cream, then he pushed it towards my teeth, crushing it there until I took a bite.

‘Mmm,’ he said, his face low over mine. I could feel the lump of his erection, inside his dress trousers, pressing into my exposed pussy. ‘Is that sweet?’

‘Mmm,’ I replied in kind, sucking on the pink flesh.

‘Let me taste,’ he whispered and he dropped still lower and his mouth clamped down on mind so that we both licked at the strawberry simultaneously, its mushed pulp spread by our tongues into the far corners.

He repeated this with a number of soft fruits, plunging us again and again into this messy, juicy, creamy version of a kiss until I felt utterly abandoned to sensuality. I twitched my groin against his, rubbing my pussy up and down his trouser-covered bulge, taking his tongue deep inside my throat, pushing back into his mouth with mine.

‘You’ve had yours,’ he murmured, pushing the last remnants of a strawberry on to my tongue and lifting his head a little. ‘Now I want mine.’

I don’t know what I hoped he meant by this, but he could have meant anything at all and I’d have consented to it like a shot. My body wanted him to do things to it that it had never heard of, my mind having conveniently located its off-switch at some point during the preceding events.

He picked up a fistful of strawberries and stood up, spreading my thighs wide with his free hand.

‘There are rules for this game,’ he told me. I watched his fingers close around the fat red fruits, mashing them a little, pink juice dribbling on to his skin. I wanted to lick it off him. ‘I’m going to eat these off of you. You’re going to like it, I promise

you. You’re going to like it a lot. But you aren’t going to come. Because I don’t want you to, not yet. Let’s see how you do with that, shall we?’

Without further explanation, he pasted the oozing strawberries into my lower lips, some of them shoved up inside me, others pressed between his palm and my clit. He pushed and smashed and rubbed them to pulp, then he dropped to his knees and began to feast.

I raised my neck, helpless and half-aghast, half-enraptured by his move.

I saw his head of dark hair and his eyelids, lowered, the lashes fluttering as he licked and lapped and sucked me all over. My clit was bigger and fatter than any strawberry, slipping wantonly into his mouth, begging for his hot breath and his wicked tongue. But it was wrong of it to beg, because I had to somehow rise above this riot of erotic sensation and batten down the initial stirrings of climax.

How was this even going to be possible?

He pushed his tongue up inside me, swirling it around to catch every last trace of the mingled juices – strawberries and sex. He smacked his lips and moaned with arousal and devoured me as if I were the proverbial manna in the desert.

And that’s what he seemed like to me, in that instant. Manna in my desert.

He held my lips apart with his thumbs and moved in even deeper. I was not going to be able to hold out … I could feel a treacherous little flutter somewhere at the base of my bum cheeks, spiralling back and joining up with my cunt. Everything began to connect in a terrible, unstoppable game of join-the-dots, coming together with alarming magnitude. I was not going to be able to stop it. I had to stop it. I couldn’t stop it.

‘Oh dear,’ he said, long and low, once I’d spilled my strawberry orgasm into his mouth. He took some time to relish the flavour of my undoing, rolling his tongue around his cheeks, smacking his lips. His thumbs retained their positions on my labia.

‘I tried not to.’

‘I know,’ he said, and he released my pussy lips, bent over me and kissed me for such a long time that I thought I might drown in the sensual, berry-scented lusciousness of it. ‘It’s an acquired skill,’ he said, pulling me up by my fingers. ‘And you’re going to acquire it. Though I don’t think it’ll be easy for you.’

‘Don’t you? Why not?’

‘Because you’re a very responsive little bunny, aren’t you?’ He tangled his fingers in my hair and pulled it, making me fall into his kiss again. ‘You want it pretty badly, hmm?’

I felt hot and prickly and ashamed at my obvious readable lustfulness. He knew I would spread my legs for him at the drop of an antique gag. It was entirely possible that he could make me come just by looking at me. I was annoyingly transparent, and powerless in the face of his perception.

‘Don’t worry, Sarah,’ he whispered into my ear. ‘I’m going to train you well.’

He sat back down in his chair, leaving me leaning my bare bottom on the edge of the table, and smiled at me.

‘What a mess,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to have that tablecloth laundered. And as for my shirt …’ He frowned down at the pink-splodged cotton. ‘Tell you what. Why don’t you go and grab a shower and come back down to the drawing room?’

‘Oh, OK.’ A shower sounded good. I almost thanked him, then caught myself. What did I have to thank him for? If I wanted to take a shower, I was free to take a shower. He wasn’t my drill sergeant, for pity’s sake.

I was obviously falling deeper into the submissive mindset, I thought with an impulse of fear. Perhaps I should try to check my descent, just a little, even if it might mean missing out on what promised to be the most mind-blowing sex imaginable.

As I arrived at the door, he stopped me.