His House of Submission (House of Submission 1)

‘I want you to come with me in your arse,’ he said. ‘I want you to. You have my permission. Whenever you have to …’

Climaxing with him inside my bottom seemed somehow like the most potently submissive act the universe had to offer – a true stripping down of all my pretences. An admission that I loved to be shamed and humiliated and used like a slut, and the more he did it, the harder I came.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ he hissed. ‘Feel that now.’

The orgasm seemed to go on and on, aftershocks and vibrations continuing to inhabit my senses. When he came, pumping into my back passage like a man possessed, I almost experienced a second wave.

It was perfect. My life, here, with him, was perfect. He knew what I was, and only he could nourish that part of me.

I was only semi-conscious when he pulled out and untied me, then laid me on the bed. I was trembling all over and aching and sore and just, oh, it was the best feeling. I was floating.

He took off the period costume and lay with me in his arms, cradling me, making soothing noises and stroking my hair.

‘When do you have to start your job?’ he whispered.

‘End of September. Four weeks.’

‘Come to France with me.’

‘I can’t …’

‘Surely you can spare a couple of weeks?’

Actually, I could. There was nothing to stop me going for a short holiday.

‘I’d need to … tickets and passports and all that. And I’m supposed to be spending some time with my family …’

‘You can spare a couple of weeks,’ he repeated. ‘If we part company now, you’re going to have the worst sub drop of all time. I’d be neglecting to care for you properly. Come on. Have a fortnight’s holiday in France. After that … we’ll see.’

‘Well, I suppose …’ I thought about this. I was desperate to stay with him, on so many levels, but also afraid of leaving this place. It was as if we only existed here and our dynamic couldn’t translate to the real world. And France was in the real world, or so I’d been told. I loved him here, with all my heart, but would I love him there? And there would be people everywhere, curious colleagues and beautiful actresses and clamorous paparazzi.

‘Say yes. You have to say yes. I’m not leaving you like this.’

‘Do you really want me in your real life?’ It seemed absurd, too much to hope for.

‘I want you. There aren’t any conditions to it. I just want you. But you don’t feel the same?’

No. I did. I felt exactly the same.

‘I’ll come,’ I said. ‘But I’m still taking that job.’

‘Of course. Now get in the shower and I’ll drive you up to get your passport. There’s a lot of packing to do.’