Her words were nectar. Her authoritarian expectation my solace. I gratefully dropped to my hands and knees and began crawling across the cold wooden floor with Keira’s instructions echoing theatrically through my mind as if my psyche was wallowing in the sentiment.
‘I can see why you caught my husband’s eye.’ The older woman opined, spreading her legs in such a manner as to provide the most glorious vision of her flower as each thick, fleshy petal began unfurling around her protruding pistil, ‘You’re quite the fulsome provocateur, aren’t you.’
Ought I say thank you? The observation appeared rhetorical, but so much of me revelled in her praise that I wanted to cry out with delight. Yet the moment passed before I had the chance. This was Keira’s court, and the Queen was dispensing her expectations.
‘One thing I intend for you to learn is that I’ll tolerate your intrusions into my marital bed, but there’ll always be a price, and it’s I who decides the toll to be paid.’
Turns out the levy would be recompensed in pain, mine. For her pleasure.
Keira liked hurting me. She called it a beautiful catharsis as she lashed a nine tails across my bare buttocks with whirring precision. Perhaps she was spurred on by the sight of her husband’s semen caked to my butt cheeks and inner thighs.
‘You’re the perfect canvas!’ She hissed, pacing to and fro behind me, ‘A young slut who thought it acceptable to screw my husband in my house, behind my back!’
Erm, yeah, guilty as.
The searing bite of the tails tearing into my flesh felt exquisite. This was where I belonged, this was what I’d craved for so long. Yet I could never have dreamt of it being played out in such bohemian wonderment. Freshly lit candles flickered from the bedside table, illuminating my reflection in a mirror stretching the length and breadth of the wall in front of which the ornate four poster stood so proud. Incense danced up my nostrils from a burner somewhere behind me.
Keira’s inclination towards sadism danced with the sensual. She’d bound my wrists and ankles to the posts at the foot of her bed, splaying me into a prone star shape, with that gloriously large mirror reflecting every wonderful moment we would share together.
To watch the reflection of her arm guiding the nine tails into a whirring frenzy was the most glorious vision, yet bracing myself for the pain with a grimace and a fixed stare at the pristine white mattress held its own peculiar charms too, for not quite knowing when the next biting moment would arrive.
In the interludes she held me, wrapping her slender, willowy arms around my bound figure and working her lips across my earlobe and down my neck as her fingers reached around and worked my soaking sex.
‘You’re my toy now, and I’ll treat you however I please.’ She elucidated with husky authority.
I pleaded for it to be so, which seemed to endear me to the sadistic Domina. My prize was to be relentlessly edged with deft fingers and beautiful promises as I stood bound to her marital bed.
‘Do my bidding in all things, without questioning what I ask, and I will let you serve my household in the capacity you crave, but fail me and you will be cast out forever.’
‘I won’t fail you! I won’t!’
There were rules. Keira owned my orgasms, she explained. I would climax only when she said it was acceptable to do so.
‘That includes any sex with your boyfriend, what’s his name?…Jason wasn’t it? With him you must suppress your pleasure.’
‘That won’t be a problem, he never makes me cum.’ I confessed, ‘I do love him though.’
Keira looked ebullient.
I was to be available at the drop of a hat, she continued. The ability to travel whenever, wherever, was a necessity. And, aside from Jason, whom, upon hearing my admission, she considered ‘of no consequence’, I was to be beholden to her and Arlo, and there could be no fraternising with anyone else.
‘I want only to be here, serving you, whenever you choose.’ I replied keenly, as another snapping whiplash of the tails dug deep into the weeping welts spreading in crimson tributaries across my buttocks.
‘Then it shall be so.’ Keira replied, the weapon that had lashed me suddenly clattering to the wooden floor, ‘You belong to me now. You are part of my family.’
It felt symbolic to feel the blood rush explosion in my wrists and ankles as she released me from my rope shackles – as if it mirrored the onrushing thrill of my senses as I digested what had just transpired between us.
Afterwards we cuddled, or rather, Keira held me close. I told her about my love of writing poetry and prose, which she praised me for.
‘Creativity is the oxygen to an embraced and wholly lived existence.’ She enthused.
She read from the faded copy of Anne Sexton that I’d seen on her side table, and then I went down on her as the first shards of light broke through the sash windows, hinting at the beginning of a new day. I felt the most incomprehensible elation when she squirted her orgasm into my mouth and told me what a ‘good girl’ I’d been.
That’s how it all began. I’d been lured into their world, the naive fool thinking I was the puppet master when nothing could have been further from the truth.
But the seeds had actually been sown a few weeks earlier. My parents had thrown a house party to celebrate their thirtieth wedding anniversary. It was the usual obscenely drunken affair where the oldies got more wasted than us twenty-something’s and somehow looked down on us for our more responsible behaviour.
I hadn’t wanted to attend, but one has to when it’s one’s parents, for they’re such jolly good fellows, so said all of them. I dragged Jason along and we endured the booze addled mayhem with the assistance of Mary Jane, whom the two of us frequently stepped out to fraternise with during the soirée.
I knew Arlo as an old friend of my dad’s, but he and Keira had only just moved back after living abroad for many years, so I hadn’t seen him since I was knee high to a grasshopper.
The frock I’d worn was daring, paying homage to fifties frills at the hem, but with the sort of plunging décolletage befitting less puritanical times. I suppose it was a kind of coming out for me, a statement that I wished to be seen as a woman, not the little girl that most of my parents party guests had never allowed to grow up.
Arlo definitely got the memo. He muttered something about how I’d ‘filled out’ since he’d last seen me, and peered salaciously at my barely contained cleavage as he said it. I remember thinking that I ought to slap him, but I liked the sleazy glint in his eye as he visually undressed me, so I just stood there and encouraged him with a smile and a jarringly loud riposte of delighted silence.
It was towards the end of the evening when I stumbled across Arlo and Keira in the garden. Jason and I had snuck out for another spliff. The older couple had evidently done likewise, only for entirely amorous reasons.
They were oblivious to our presence, so my beau and I sparked up a joint and watched them through the rose bushes as they passionately went at it from behind the old apple tree.
Jason seemed apathetic to the riotous rutting, whereas I was transfixed. I couldn’t take my eyes off Arlo as he forced Keira onto all fours with a clump of her blonde hair in his fist and then fucked her like a savage viking plundering the spoils of victory.
It was sex, Jim, but not as I’d known it.
What captivated me was how Arlo mounted his wife so fucking disdainfully, with his thick prick pushing deep inside her glistening wet sex as if the goal was to wreck and ruin. It was delightfully primal, dare I say, roughhousing, and Keira hollered with understandable appreciation, matching her husband’s thumping pumps with shrieks of defiant encouragement.
‘Fuck me harder! Fuck me harder! C’mon, show me you deserve to own my cunt!’ She hollered, the drunken pair so enraptured with each other that they never thought to wonder if anyone might be watching them.
I’d never heard a woman use that word before. I’d always been told it was unladylike. Keira screamed it like a banshee, and Arlo seemed to revel in her doing so. He called her a dirty slut and slapped her buttocks. She whinnied with delight, so he did it again, before reaching around and doing likewise to her tiny sagging boobs. They went at it like that for about twenty minutes.
Jason and I had never gotten beyond ninety seconds of soft, tender thrusting culminating in a painfully early denouement (his). I suddenly felt rather shortchanged.
Through the darkness I’d seen a new dawn.
Keira and Arlo were my fucking inspiration, I felt sure that their lovemaking would be forever etched in my mind, replayed over and over again with each intricate detail poured over, contemplated and perused.
They even looked the perfect aesthetic match. Arlo, with his country strong physique and giant hands, managed to effortlessly bear down and overpower Keira’s tall, super skinny, elegantly sexy figure.
I remember gazing at her soft pink areola when she veered around, après-fuck, looking for a cigarette, and of how beautiful the stretch marks were that ran across her bosoms and tummy in mumsy streaks.
Arlo, a towering six foot something, all broad shoulders, long hair, and ever present stubble was as handsome as his wife was beautiful. And through rose bushes I did peek, rather in awe.
In the days that followed I couldn’t shake the simmering envy I felt over how Keira had been fucked so rigorously. The image never seemed to fade away. I tried to encourage Jason to screw me similarly, but the boy had long proved in deference that his was the way of the submissive. And that’s fine, I love him, and it’s not like I haven’t always been the one squishing spiders that appear in the bath tub whilst he shrieks in terror from somewhere behind me.
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