Master of the House

‘Oh, God.’

I shouldn’t let him. I shouldn’t let this become a full-blown affair. But my body wouldn’t listen to reason and I let him do exactly as he promised.

My eyes were blurred at first and his face above me was a cartoonish collection of focal points – semi-beard, nose, high forehead, dark, dark eyes.

My arms and legs were stiff, my hands and feet pins-and-needly at first. But it was nice to move and to see again, and especially nice to have Joss’s quickly stripped body on top of mine and to be able to hold it close.

He was warm and supple against me and I could feel his heart pound at my breast. He kissed me hard and long, then pulled the whip out of me and replaced it with his own cock, thicker and hotter and much more vigorous than the inert handle.

I put my hand on his buttocks, loving the way they flexed and moved so furiously beneath my palm. He thrust in me, as if it would kill him to stop, or even slow down, and I opened wide and accepted everything he did to me gratefully.

Why did it have to feel so good? Why did it have to feel so right?

He kept at me until I came again, a much weaker version than the first, but still a delicious creeping warmth that bonded me to him and made me wish he would stay in me always.

He stayed until he came, his head raised to the ceiling, his hands gripping my shoulders, his cry surely audible to the entire caravan site. Then he fell upon me and half-sobbed, ‘Oh, God, Lulu.’

We lay like that, used up and wrung out, until we both drifted into sleep.

I was woken up by a rattling at the toughened plastic door.

‘Yer lordship? Yer lordship?’

I was too dazed and sticky to sit up properly and besides, Joss weighed me down with one arm and one leg. He snored sweetly on until I woke him with a pinch to his arm.

‘Joss. Mrs Wragg. At the door.’

‘What the hell?’ He yawned and sat slowly up. ‘What is it?’ he shouted.

‘I’ve got that power cable you wanted.’

‘What … oh. Yeah. Hang on.’

He pulled on his shorts and went, bare-chested, barefoot and still shiny with sex, to the door.

If Mrs Wragg understood that she had disturbed something, she didn’t say so.

‘See? I’ll come in and sort it out for you, shall I?’

‘Oh, no, I can …’

But she was in.

I heard the hurried zipping up of a bag – Joss’s bag of BDSM tricks, no doubt – underneath her attempts to make conversation.

‘So you’re cut off for the weekend?’ she said. ‘Must be a big job up at the Hall.’

Oh, that was what he’d told her, was it?

‘Complete rewiring,’ he said. ‘Thanks, but I can do that perfectly well … all right? It was very kind of you to go to all this trouble, Mrs Wragg, but I think I can take it from here.’

I had to use the toilet. There was no way I could hang on.

I grabbed the duvet, wrapped it round me and made a break for the tiny bathroom. Unfortunately, Mrs Wragg was right by the door and got a full eyeful of my dishevelled dash.

‘Oh,’ she said, stopping dead while I banged the bathroom door behind me. ‘That’s …’

‘Thank you, Mrs Wragg.’ I could hear Joss at the door by now. He was probably ushering our visitor out.