Master of the House

‘There,’ he said with thick satisfaction. ‘All the way in.’

He began to twist it round and push at the boundaries, all the while keeping up his stroking of my clit. I felt like a helpless animal, caught up in the snares of his domination and my own dirty desires.

‘You’re a very good girl,’ he said, which was the opposite of how I was viewing myself just now. ‘You’re doing very well.’

Something big was gathering beneath my solar plexus, getting ready to race down and blow me apart.

‘Would you like to come? Shall I see if I can make you come like this, with my finger in your bottom?’

I made a strangled sound. It meant yes.

‘But surely a nice girl like you wouldn’t come with a man’s finger in her bottom? Surely you’re not such a slut as all that? Eh?’

His digging and grinding had me wiggling my hips, begging for it.

‘Mmm, please,’ I muttered.

‘Oh, you are, are you? Good. Come on then. Nearly there.’

My bottom, full and stretched and feeling so wrong and yet so right, sent the message to my soaked and fingered clit and the gathering just inside splintered apart and sent rushes of sensation everywhere, so that they streamed out through every one of the usual orifices.

Joss enjoyed my orgasm, taking me through it with a satisfied chuckle, still plying me with both hands.

I slumped on the bed and yelped when he pulled out his finger. My bottom seemed to want to keep it in, tightening around it so he had to make the motion swift, almost a pop.

He left me to wash his hands in the minuscule bathroom, and I realised I had shed tears on to the duvet.

That was intense. Mind-blowing.

I could do it again, any time he liked.

Chapter Fourteen

Things seemed to speed up exponentially after that weekend.

The emotional exchange, coupled with Joss’s refusal to let me withdraw from him, body, heart or soul, meant that new tricks were quickly learned, new games mastered. There was nothing he could not make me do, and he knew it.

Back at the Hall, once the guests had dispersed, we experimented with shackles, blindfolds, advanced positions, sex toys and spanking implements. It was done in the spirit of love and desire at first, but eventually Joss would become strict and test me. If I were found wanting, there would be a punishment.

I liked it, though. It was a good game, with passion at its core. It was very easy to get carried away in the current of that heady, giddy time.

I forgot to be cautious until I went out for a meal to celebrate Jamila’s forthcoming marriage and met lots of old-school-types I hadn’t seen in years.

Jamila sat several seats away with her sisters and mother, so I was barracked into conversation with two girls from my GCSE maths class whose names I barely remembered.

‘I know who you are now,’ exclaimed one of them. ‘Couldn’t place you at the bar. Lucy, yeah?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Do you remember me? Kylie Maxwell? It’s Vine now.’

‘Did you marry Tim Vine?’

‘For my sins.’ She and her friend laughed loudly.

‘That’s right. You got off with him at the Year Ten disco. In the caretaker’s cupboard. And he found you in there.’

More paroxysms of laughter followed.