A fortnight later, when the worst and most ghastly symptoms of my illness have abated and I’m contemplating returning to work, Lloyd shimmies up behind me at the bathroom sink and takes the toothbrush from my hand.
‘Would it be fair to say that you’re feeling much better, Soph?’
I look at him warily, my mouth full of toothpaste. ‘What do you mean?’ I try saying, but it comes out as if through a gag. I swallow and try again.
‘I mean,’ he says, bending to kiss my shoulder, watching himself in the mirror, ‘do you remember a certain deflowered princess, and the appointment she had with the Dark Prince that time?’
I don’t know what he’s talking about for a moment, then I remember our hot scene in the forest, way back when Lloyd set his challenge. My toes curl and I grin up at him. ‘Oh, that deflowered princess. That was a hot scene.’
‘Hottest scene ever. I’m thinking I might be in the mood for a reprise.’
‘Now?’
‘Well, I’m thinking that the temp I hired to stand in for you can work to the end of the week. And I’m not due in for another two hours. So …’
‘I see. Do I need to get ready?’
‘I’ve laid some stuff out for you on the bed. I’ll get ready in the living room.’
‘Get ready.’ I bounce on my feet, excited already. ‘What are you getting ready for?’
‘Ohhh, you really don’t want to know.’ He puts his hands around my neck and presses his thumbs deep into my shoulder blades, then he walks out, leaving me on high alert.
I finish my ablutions in record time and make my way into the bedroom, where a medieval-ish fancy dress kit is spread across the covers. It’s a long red and gold thing with a V-shaped belt, low-cut with bell sleeves and a ribbon bodice. There don’t appear to be any knickers or bra, though I do have a pair of red velvet slippers for my feet.
The dress fits snugly and I admire my curvaceous silhouette in the mirror, plaiting my hair in fantasy-princess style, all the better for Lloyd to pull later on. I add a few dabs of make-up and then I stand by the door, getting into role, imagining myself as the trepidatious princess, about to have her plans comprehensively scuppered.
She’d put on a brave face. She’s not about to give in to the Dark Prince without a struggle. That evil, nasty man … shame he’s so attractive … never mind.
I open the door to find Lloyd dressed in an imaginative rendering of an old-school villain. He has some kind of long black tunic on, belted at the waist with a child’s toy sword and a riding crop dangling from the side. I’m pretty sure that’s a pair of my leggings too that he’s stretching way out of shape, but I’m not about to quibble. With the riding boots and the drawn-on pointy beard and moustache combo, he looks really a lot better than I expected.
All the same, it’s hard not to laugh when he wheels around and says, ‘Ah, my bride,’ with a histrionic sneer.
‘I fear not, my lord,’ having decided that Your Highness is less sexy a moniker.
‘What do you mean? The match is arranged. Your little adventure in the forest is over and you are delivered to me for our wedding.’
‘My little adventure in the forest had consequences that may well cause you to abandon the marriage.’
He comes closer, takes my face in his hand and holds it firm. ‘Oh? Pray tell.’
‘There was a brigand of the forest. He came upon me in the night-time. He … beguiled me.’
Lloyd’s grip on my chin tightens. ‘Beguiled you? You mean, you willingly …?’
‘I gave him my maidenhead. No force was used.’
He drops my chin, claps his arms to his sides, staring at me. He is so convincing, I could really think he is shocked and stunned. ‘Willingly?’ he repeats in a whisper.
‘Willingly. So, you see, you will not wish to wed a whore like me. I shall prepare for the journey home.’
I turn to the bedroom door, but he lunges for my elbow and pulls me up close.
‘You think I will relinquish my claim on your father’s lands and your dowry so easily? You think I will let you go, just because you have sullied yourself with a brigand?’
‘You won’t? You cannot still want to wed!’
‘Oh, yes I can.’
‘I am not a virgin.’
‘I need not take so much care in the marriage bed then. No, we will wed. But first there is a lesson for you.’
Measureless excitement as he draws the riding crop from his belt and hustles me over to the sofa, bending me over the arm.
‘Can you guess what the lesson might be?’ he taunts, pulling my skirt up over my bare bottom.
Imagining that the princess might be regretting her rash behaviour in no small measure, I bleat, ‘Forgive me, my lord, I beg your indulgence, I have made a mistake but I have learned my lesson now.’
‘You beg my indulgence? When you have whored yourself out to a brigand and come to me to confess that you gave in to him with a will? That you are wanton and governed by your lusts? Oh no, you need this lesson, and it shall be given.’
‘Oh dear.’ I quiver, suppressing a giggle.
He lays the tip of the riding crop against my bottom. How cold and cruel it feels, and he hasn’t even struck me with it yet.
‘I have instructed the bishop and he awaits us in the chapel. We may be a little late, and you may thank your stars that you are permitted to kneel instead of sitting on a hard wooden pew, Your Highness. Now I shall give you twenty strokes, and I don’t intend to spare you.’
He doesn’t either, the first brisk swipe landing with eye-watering impact in the broad centre of my bottom.
I moan a long, ‘Oh,’ and grip the cushion below.
‘Regretting your moment of beguilement now?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Your arse shall suffer for your cunt’s transgression.’
What a turn of phrase he has! I think he hears my snickering, because the second stroke is sudden and swift, catching me right below the first.
‘Eek!’
‘I’ll wager there aren’t many royal brides who speak their vows while nursing a striped, sore bum,’ he says.
I wriggle luxuriously, turned on amidst the throbbing.
‘I shall see that everybody knows it,’ he whispers, then he lays the third, good and hard, at the top of my thighs.
‘My guards are watching,’ he mentions, piling on the lusciousness. ‘They are at the door, watching you getting whipped. They are going to tell all and sundry that you have been punished for wantonness and your bottom is as red as that bridal gown you are wearing.’
I kick my legs, wanting another stroke, which falls like doom, reverberating around the room.
Slowly and patiently, pacing himself, he applies the whip to my rear, interspersing each stroke with inflammatory comments about my whorish lusts and how I’d better get used to the rod because he will be bringing it out at the slightest excuse now he’s seen how good my bottom looks underneath it.
By the time he reaches twenty, I am squirming violently, desperate for it to both end and continue, embracing the way the burn gains depth and intensity with each stroke.
He puts the crop down in front of me. ‘This will suffice for now,’ he says ominously. ‘Now there is a wedding to attend.’
He pulls me up and makes me kneel on the rug opposite him, holding my hands, while he mutters, ‘Wedding, wedding, yadda yadda yadda.’ I am trembling from the force of the whipping and he has to more or less prop me up.
‘I now pronounce us man and wife and all that,’ he says, pulling me back up. ‘Now for the feast.’
He pops a grape in my mouth as we pass the fruit bowl at high speed en route for the bedroom.
‘And now that’s done – it’s the wedding night!’ He opens the bedroom door and flings me inside, then slams the door behind him. ‘Get your robe off and get on the bed, my lady, on your hands and knees.’
I sink down onto the floor, needing a moment’s breather before continuing, wrestling the velveteen fabric from underneath me. Once I have revived, I remove the dress in one move and am instantly nude. I crawl onto the bed, watching Lloyd disrobe from the corner of my eye.
When he is naked, he takes the lube from the bedside drawer and I clench all over, knowing what is coming. After all, it was my idea.
‘Let me look at that arse,’ he says roughly, taking handfuls of my hot rump and squeezing. ‘I suppose you’d like some cream to relieve the sting?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Well, you’re out of luck. I have some ointment here, but it won’t help the pain from the whip.’
‘What … what is it for then?’
‘You cheated me of your virginity. Some other man got inside your cunt before I did. But I’ll wager he didn’t get inside every part of you.’ He parts my cheeks and starts to apply lubricant between them, leaving me in no doubt as to his intentions.
As a medieval princess, however, perhaps I would have doubts. ‘What do you mean? You cannot mean to … this is not a place for … you can’t!’
‘Don’t fret, my lady, this can be done and has been done on many occasions. It will neither kill nor maim you. You may even enjoy it.’
‘Enjoy it?’
His finger goes deeper, further, troubling my ring with its slippery invasive presence.
‘I think you might. Given your whorish proclivities.’
Sophie wouldn’t tense up and try to expel him, but perhaps the medieval princess would, so I feign resistance for a moment. He simply waits, patiently, for the moment to pass then slips the finger in as soon as I relax my guard.
I wiggle my bum and squeal, then breathe deeply, trying to remember how this felt the first time, eager to authenticate my response. I recall a low-level panic that this could and would never feel right or pleasurable, even amidst the luscious sense of takenness and I try to replicate it. I attempt to pull away from Lloyd’s intruding finger, but he braces an arm beneath my ribcage, obviating any further disobedience.
‘No, you don’t,’ he says under his breath. ‘You’re going nowhere.’
A second finger joins the first in its explorations. I rock gently back and forth while the probe gathers in intensity.
‘Feeling it now, Princess?’
‘It’s uncomfortable,’ I wail.
‘Not for long.’
He withdraws his fingers, then he shuffles up closer behind me, spreading my cheeks, lubricating my anus within an inch of its life before placing the head of his cock right up against it.
‘Oh.’ I hold my breath.
‘Didn’t any of your ladies-in-waiting tell you about this?’
‘No, never.’
‘Perhaps it’s the knights you need to be talking to. I’ll wager there are more than a few of those …’
He moves forwards, suddenly but infinitesimally, so that my ring quivers and considers protest. I hold my nerve, though, accustoming myself to the wider stretching without true penetration as yet.
‘Easy, now, Princess,’ he whispers. ‘Take a hold of yourself. I’m going to take your arse, right now.’
He pushes so slowly that it’s almost crueller than one swift move. He makes me feel it in its entire length and width, the sensations creeping through my body, making my toes curl and my hair stand on end.
It doesn’t really hurt me and I know there will be that split second of pain that passes once he is fully sheathed, so I am able to concentrate on my role-playing, pretending to fluster and howl at the indignity of it all. ‘You are no gentleman,’ I dredge up from some memory of foot-stamping historical characters.
Lloyd laughs. ‘This isn’t Regency romance, love. I think you’ve got a bit mixed up.’
‘Ohhh, well, you’re a villain with a heart as black as pitch, then. Did they have pitch in those days? Not quite sure what pitch is, to be honest.’
‘Stop wittering. I can’t bugger you if you’re going to witter on. In fact …’
He lets go of one of my hips to reach an arm forwards and cover my mouth with the palm of his hand. Oh, I love that. Might make the hair pulling difficult later on, but still, so worth it.
‘Should have got a gag,’ he mutters, then he sets to work, taking me to my limit, reaming me out with a ferocious will.
I pant and moan into his palm, shutting my eyes, feeling the beads of sweat form on my brow and the slippery passage begin to sting.
He is an expert, knowing my body as if he has made a study of it, which in a way he has. With one hand gripping my waist, he jolts back and forth, making me feel the full impact, holding nothing back.
Once he is sure the wittering-menace is past, he takes his hand from my mouth and moves his fingers below, to my swollen, needy clit.
He presses on it and circles it, keeping up the pressure of his cock in my bum all along, never letting up for an instant. He knows when I am about to come; he is familiar with the signs, and that is the moment he chooses to grab my plait and yank it hard.
Oh, the endorphins surround and imprison me. I have no escape from them as they ping-pong around me like a force field. And then comes the deeper pleasure, building from below, spreading through my cunt and my arse before transforming into blinding climax. I am a channel through which the violence and emotion of sex is transmitted. Its primal urgency is what I am made for, and what I live for.
In that moment, at least, it always seems so.
In that moment when Lloyd fills my most private parts with his semen, it seems so, and when he wraps my hair around his fist and holds it there, keeping my neck held back. When he puts his fingers to my mouth again, so I can smell myself and taste myself on them, I know I have fulfilled my purpose. I have done what I am here for.
But afterwards, lying together, limp and immobile, it seems different. Then it seems that sex is linked with everything else in the world, a sense I’ve never had before. It had been a recreation, a pleasure, something cordoned off and hidden from all other aspects of life, separate and yet all-consuming. I had been a train spotter of sex.
Now, with the most minimal physical alteration of my circumstances, I could see it differently.
It was not just about pleasure gained, but pleasure given. My loves and desires informed all areas of life, flowing in and enhancing the most mundane of experiences. The sight of Lloyd’s worn-out, sweat-sheened face was all part of it, as was my desire to make a sandwich and run a bath. The universal web, with love at its heart, was almost understandable now, in the aftermath.
Almost.
I could reduce it to this: live well; love well.
It couldn’t really be that easy, could it?
The cod philosophy faded once I’d eaten my sandwich.
‘We should have a house-warming,’ said Lloyd, trying to catch drips of fried egg yolk on his plate.
‘We don’t live in a house.’
‘A flat-warming, then. Yeah?’
‘What do you have in mind? Canapés and wine?’
‘We should invite all our friends. You know, our close friends.’
‘Oh, right. An orgy then.’
‘Don’t you think?’
‘How fitting.’
‘Start as we mean to go on. Or go on as we started. Or something.’
‘Yeah.’
***
So, an orgy.
On the guest list: Lincoln, Jake, Mal, O, Rachael, Jade. We could, if so minded, dance an eightsome reel. But somehow I don’t think that’s going to be on tonight’s agenda.
What actually is on the agenda is a moot point. Lloyd is worried about balancing vanilla and kink, wondering if we should go overboard on bondage furniture or just let our guests improvise at will.
‘I think we should just go with the flow,’ I say, chopping up celery and peppers for crudités. ‘Hand them a drink, direct them to the food table and let them get on with it.’
All the same, Lloyd is whizzing to and fro, pondering new cocktail recipes, spraying fragrance on all the bedding and constructing an elaborate table centrepiece out of sex toys. I hadn’t realised we owned so many dildos.
‘You’re so creative,’ I say, admiring his handiwork as I plonk plates of canapés down all around it. ‘You could be a florist.’ I turn to watch him plumping up sofa cushions. ‘Actually, we’re short of a chambermaid just now.’
‘Shut up, Sophie,’ he growls. ‘I want everything just so.’
‘This is a big deal to you, isn’t it?’
He leaves the cushions alone and stands straight, looking me in the eye. ‘Yes. Isn’t it to you?’
I shrug, not wanting to admit it. Old habits die hard. ‘It’s just a party.’
‘It’s more than a party and you know it.’
‘What is it then?’
He beckons me over and catches me before I reach him, holding me close, tucking my head under his chin. ‘It’s the closest we’ll probably ever come to a wedding,’ he says.
I stiffen, the word ‘wedding’ making me want to wheeze.
‘Yeah, I know.’ He sighs. ‘It takes time to overcome a phobia, and commitment phobia’s no different. But this is a commitment ceremony, of a sort. It’s you and I, standing up in front of witnesses and telling them that we are together, by choice. Partners as well as lovers.’
‘And we’ll register our commitment by shagging everyone in sight.’
Lloyd pats my bottom. ‘It’s unconventional,’ he admits. ‘But we don’t have to do things by the book. There isn’t a book, is there? Not for us.’
‘Unless it’s a dirty one.’
He squeezes me. ‘Right. But you do see what I’m saying, don’t you?’
‘This is a commitment.’
‘Yes. And a statement of intent. Something that says who we are and how we want to live. It’s important to get this into the open. It is to me, anyway.’
I look up at him, his creased brow, his anxious eyes, and kiss him. ‘I get that. You want to make a declaration.’
‘Don’t you?’
‘Well, if I say I’m quite a private person it’ll sound weird, but … oh, why not? I’ve got nothing to hide. I don’t care who knows I want to be with you.’
‘Thanks. That means a lot to me. But are you wearing that?’
I’m in Capri pants and a washed-out vest for the purposes of housekeeping and vegetable chopping.
‘No. I don’t suppose you’re going to get much action in that shirt either.’
‘Even from you?’
‘Especially from me. Better get ready.’
I can’t decide what’s best for the purposes of an orgy. Fancy underwear and nothing else? Sophisticated evening wear? A rubber dress? Most erotically charged types of clothing are well represented in my wardrobe, but I can’t seem to make the decision.
I get Lloyd to wear the black outfit he wore at the fetish club, complete with eye mask and gloves, but I still can’t make my own mind up.
In the end, I leave it to him. He slips my bathrobe down over my arms until I am naked and decides on body glitter and a wet-look bikini. It’s not as if we’re going out, I suppose, but I still feel a little underdressed in my shiny green thong and halter bra with silver shimmers all over my skin.
Lloyd applies the sparkling gel with a generous hand and plenty of enthusiasm. I think quite a lot of people will be going home with silver scales on their bodies. Finishing up at my upper thighs and buttocks he takes me over to the full-length mirror to take in the effect. I look like a weird hybrid mermaid thing, almost naked in front of his sombre black attire.
We watch ourselves kissing and petting for a while, almost tempted to abandon the plan and just go to bed, but we manage to split for a final tweak and tidy up of the scene of debauchery before the first guests arrive.
Mal, O and Rachael arrive together, splendidly dressed for sex. Mal is in a proper suit – the first time I’ve seen him out of leather and, I must admit, I’m much more taken with him in this guise. O, at his side, is wearing a tiny dress made of stretch lace with hold-up stockings and towering pumps. At her throat is her collar, a ring of locked steel with a tiny padlock at the back. Her hair is in a sleek, severe bun, in order to accentuate this.
Rachael has on a burlesque outfit I’ve seen her in before – a Victorian-style affair in pink and black with a velvet choker and a cunning little hat tipped to the side of her head. Fishnetted legs end in lace-up ankle boots and she is carrying a huge feathered fan.
‘Are you going to dance for us?’ I ask her, kissing her cheeks and escorting her into the room.
‘I might. I’ve just started moonlighting at a club in Spitalfields. I’m Madam Mouffe. I’ll show you my moves later on.’
‘Please do. Maybe we’ll hire you for some of our conferences.’
‘The Worshipful Company of Fishmongers are staying at the moment,’ adds Lloyd helpfully. ‘Do you think they’d like it?’
‘Fishmongers.’ Rachael laughs. ‘I’m gutted they can’t be here.’
We laugh politely, hiding our grimaces, while the guests help themselves to carrot sticks.
Are carrot sticks usual at an orgy? I can’t help fretting about doing everything all wrong, feeling that the kinky contingent will know the correct etiquette and find me lacking.
The hotel-worker gang barrel in five minutes later and reassure me by devouring everything indiscriminately and voraciously.
‘Nice dips,’ says Lincoln, scooping up a ridiculous amount of salsa on some celery.
‘Nice … shorts.’ I return the compliment, staring at the very tight running shorts he has chosen to wear, inside of which his famous equipment appears to be in perfect working order.
‘Yeah? You sure you mean the shorts?’ He grins frankly at me. ‘They’re a real fine weave. Come and have a feel.’
‘Don’t mind if I do.’
I nudge up next to him and put my hand over the satiny bulge. Lincoln is one of the biggest men I’ve ever had, and my fingers seem tiny and insignificant against the weight and bulk of his cock.
‘You want some of that?’ he says, charming as ever. ‘You want that in your hot sweet pussy, babe? Cos I can give it to you.’
‘Shall we, uh, finish our drinks first?’
I scope the room. Jake and Jade are hanging around in a corner, slightly intimidated by our kinky friends, I think.
Lloyd steps forward in mine host mode and introduces everybody. There are hellos and how-are-yous and a bit of dry chitchat about the hotel, and then everything goes quiet.
Lloyd grabs a bottle of champagne and pops the cork. ‘I want to propose a toast,’ he says, pouring the froth carefully into eight crystal flutes, liberated from the cocktail bar for the evening. ‘As you know, Sophie and I have been involved with each other for a while now. She’s the perfect woman for me – bright, independent, adventurous and great company. We’ve had the time of our lives over this past year, though not always together. She gives me my freedom and I give her hers. We’ve found a balance that suits us both, and that’s what we’re celebrating tonight. We’re going to live in an open marriage, without the marriage. And an open marriage that isn’t really a marriage needs an open wedding that isn’t really a wedding. And that’s what this is. So I’d like you to charge your glasses and join me in a toast to the non-bride and the non-groom.’
‘The non-bride and non-groom.’ The room is full of warmth and good wishes and I feel a little bit the way a real bride might feel, maybe.
I tap the side of my glass, suddenly inspired. ‘If Lloyd gets a speech, I want one too.’
‘That’s Sophie all over,’ says Jake. ‘She’s the same with orgasms.’
General laughter.
‘No, listen. I want to propose a toast to Lloyd. He has given me something I never thought I’d have – understanding and tolerance and, uh, love. I love him. I just wanted you to know that. That’s all. You can drink now.’
We drain our glasses, then Lincoln slams his down on the coffee table and says, ‘OK, guys. Sex. Do we split off and go into different rooms, or what?’
Lloyd takes on the role of orgy facilitator. ‘What I’ve done,’ he says, ‘is put all the kinky stuff in our bedroom. So if you want a spot of kink, you can take yourself in there. If you don’t, you can use the guestroom, or the living room. What I’m hoping for is a bit of cross-pollination, though – people trying out new things with different partners. There are bowls of condoms scattered around the place, along with lubricants and other stuff. If anyone wants anything, just ask me or Soph. So, I think I’d quite like a blow job from Jade, if she’s up for it. How about you, Sophie?’
‘We get to choose?’
‘Of course. We’re the bride and groom. It’s our special day.’
I like this way of looking at it. ‘I’m open to suggestion,’ I say, looking around the room. ‘Who wants to go first?’
I deliberately avoid catching Lincoln’s eye, because I have him in mind for the grand finale. A man of Lincoln’s size needs some working up to.
Mal steps forwards and beckons. ‘I’ve wanted a piece of you for some time,’ he says.
He is the only man I haven’t fucked yet, so it seems only polite to give him first dibs. ‘Which piece?’ I grin.
‘The cheekiest,’ he says, reaching around me to pinch my sparkling bum.
‘You doms are all the same,’ I drawl. ‘Arse men through and through.’
‘That’s a very daring tone to take with me,’ he says, leaning down and speaking into my ear. His dove-grey silk tie nestles in my cleavage. ‘Brave girl.’
‘What are you going to do about it?’
He steers me around by my shoulder and marches me to the kink bedroom. O and Rachael trot after us, apparently stricken by Vanilla Fear. To my surprise, Lincoln and Jake follow on, experiencing the opposite effect – Kink Curiosity.
Only Lloyd and Jade are left to get down to straightforward oral sex in the living room.
In the bedroom I am made to kneel by the bed with my hands behind my back while Mal ransacks the baskets of toys, looking for his favourites.
In the background, I hear Jake complimenting Rachael on her outfit. I hope this will lead to something steamier in due course.
Meanwhile, I have my own fate to contemplate. Mal has found a butt plug and some soft plaited rope, not to mention a really unpleasant plastic fly-swatter thing that Lloyd customised into a spanking implement.
‘Good,’ says Mal, putting all his treasures down beside him on the bed. ‘Up you get, Sophie, and over my knee, for starters.’
‘I’m not keen on that fly swatter,’ I mention.
‘Did I give you permission to speak?’
I shake my head at him. ‘Actually, Mal, I’m not your submissive, and I don’t really want to be. Can we just make the dynamic “Sophie wants a spanking so Mal gives her one”? Would that be too strange for you?’
Mal blinks. ‘Not at all. Just … obviously I’m used to dominating.’
‘I know you are. Try something new, eh? You never know – you might like it.’
‘Well, why not? It’s your night, after all. But I would like to get you over my knee, so …?’
‘I can oblige.’ I bend over his lap, settling myself comfortably into the good wool of his trousers, relieved that he isn’t wearing cold, slippery leather tonight. ‘I still don’t like the fly swatter.’
‘I’m afraid the fly swatter is non-negotiable.’
‘Mm, well, at least it isn’t the … no, I won’t say. Might give you ideas.’
‘I do have an idea, as it happens. I’d like to bind your wrists with my silk tie. What do you say to that?’
‘I wouldn’t be able to defend myself at all.’
‘No. Exactly. Well, you could use your safe word, I suppose. Do you remember your safe word?’
‘I think I’ll just tell you to stop, if that’s OK.’
‘That’s fine. And the tie?’
‘Go for it.’
I offer up my wrists, enjoying the way he wraps the material round and round then pulls it tight, but not so tight that it hurts, then knots me into place.
My physical powerlessness lends that thrill of erotic fear to the scenario and I start to edge into the headspace of safe submission. Even with my legs dangling and my bottom up, I feel I want to play the rebel, though, and I kick my feet.
‘You can’t get away with this,’ I say through clenched teeth.
Mal takes to the role-play with a will. ‘I think you’ll find I can. Your behaviour is unacceptable, Sophie. The others in the room need you as an example. Watch and learn.’
He addresses the other four people in the room. From the corner of my eye, I can see that Jake and Rachael are snogging, while O sits on Lincoln’s lap in the armchair, watching us.
‘This is what happens to girls who get out of control.’
Mal’s hand cups my bum, his palm grazing the glitter, which has lent a slightly rougher texture to my skin. ‘This is going to be a lesson to you, Sophie.’
Get on with it.
The first collision of palm and bottom is swift and loud but not too painful. I purr contentedly and wiggle my arse for more.
‘Cheeky,’ warns Mal, and he starts to spank harder, slapping his hand all over my flesh, methodically. No patch is left untended, from the tops of my thighs to the centre of my buttocks. His scholarly and thorough approach soon has me squirming and trying to avoid the rhythmic fall of his arm.
He deals with this by speeding up and varying the pattern of the smacks so that I gasp and kick under a veritable onslaught.
The warmth turns to raging heat and I start to howl continuously, no longer able to take a breather in between strokes.
‘Oh, poor thing,’ exclaims Rachael, breaking off from winding herself around Jake like a burlesque vine. ‘Look how red she’s getting.’
‘Perhaps it’s time for the swatter,’ says Mal diabolically.
I shout, ‘Oh God!’ and everyone laughs.
Everyone except me, that is. I am too busy clenching jaws and fists and muscles. The plastic tip of the thing makes the areas it hits break into a sweat and then the next strokes sting even more, mixing in with the salty damp to create an exquisite pain cocktail.
I buck and yelp my way through about twenty swats before having to call time. ‘Please, please, no more, I’m burning.’
The second he hangs fire, the blissful afterburn makes its effects felt, the most substantial of these being the wanton wetness at my pussy.
‘Was that a good lesson?’ Mal runs his hands over my hot cheeks, squeezing and pinching them.
‘Very. Very good.’
‘I think you need more, though,’ he whispers.
I clench my buttocks. I think not.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he says. Chuckling, he reaches into the cleft and pulls out the strip of thong buried within. ‘The spanking’s over. I have something else in mind now.’
He pulls the thong down to my knees and pushes one finger into the vacated space, running it down the crack so that I shiver with arousal.
‘Oh yes,’ I whisper.
With his other hand he homes in on my clit, spreading my pussy lips wide to get a good feel of it.
‘That spanking made you wet,’ he comments. ‘Nice and wet.’ Slowly, he massages the area, spearing thick fingers into my cunt. ‘This is going to be very ready for my cock, when I decide to fuck you.’
I twitch over his lap, wanting that decision to be made now.
But he takes his time and then, with his other hand, he takes a bottle of lubricant and uncaps it with his teeth. Blunt stubs of fingertips, slippery with grease, dig into the cleft of my bottom, making it soft and yielding and pliant, ready to be violated. I feel the pressure bear down on my anus, feel the give and the surrender when his thumb breaks through.
‘Nice and relaxed,’ he says under his breath. ‘Are you watching closely, you others? Watching what I’m doing to her? O, what size plug do you think she needs?’
‘A good big one,’ says O maliciously, the cow. ‘Like that one you’ve got there. I think Sophie’s well used to taking things up there.’
‘I think you’re right. Is she right, Sophie?’
‘Yes.’ I jerk my pelvis trying to get the fingers that are resting on my clit back into action.
It gets a consolatory pat, then he releases his thumb from my bum and picks up the plug.
Its lubricated tip glides into the crevice and sits at the twisted knot of flesh it is designed to breach. While it rests there, Mal returns to work on my cunt, stroking my clit with an unbearably gentle touch.
‘Oh.’ A wavelet of panic washes over me as the plug makes its first ease forwards, opening me just a little bit.
‘It’s going in, Sophie. It’s going all the way in. Don’t fight it.’
Fighting it is the last thing on my mind. I embrace the plug; I want to feel that unfeasible stretch, that obscene fullness. I want all of that and more.
The first inch tests my sphincter muscles and doesn’t find them wanting. They retract and grant access, twitching involuntarily.
Mal presses harder on my clit, maintaining a rhythmic stroke. ‘You can take this,’ he says.
‘I know.’
‘Good. You’re doing very well.’
At the pit of my stomach I feel a sharp tug towards orgasm. I work at heading it off – it feels too soon, stimulated though I am. I want to hold on, wait till the plug is in, then get the full sensation all the way through my lower half.
Mal pushes it further but he is excruciatingly slow. When he gets to the painful point, with the widest part of the plug right there at my entrance, he starts to twist it. I go a bit crazy and start humping his fingers. He keeps twisting, keeps twisting while I make incoherent noises of helpless dismay.
‘You don’t get to control this, Sophie,’ he reminds me gleefully. ‘I’m setting the pace. I’m giving you what I think you deserve.’
But he relents and pushes it along, letting my sphincter seal up by increments until the flange rests against it and I am filled. Only then do I let myself sink into the pleasure on offer. His fingers draw out a flood of white heat, lighting up my cunt, and the presence of the plug in my rear enhances the feeling to almost unbearable dimensions.
‘Now, now,’ he mutters, lifting his legs and rolling with me on to the bed. ‘I want you now.’
The sensible arrangement of limbs is too difficult for me in my lust-weakened state. I lie there and let Mal pose me to his satisfaction, finding myself eventually on my stomach with my legs apart and my arms still tied behind my back.
Mal climbs on top, trousers discarded, and pushes his rubbered cock up between my thighs and then into the target. Once he is inside, he closes my thighs again and pushes himself back and forth in the tightness, his balls bumping gently against my skin. Double-penetrated, I slip into bliss, having no other responsibility than to just lie there and take it. Take it, take it, take it.
His abdomen covers my sore, plugged bottom, pressing down on it as he makes his stealthy thrusts. I am a vessel, a receptacle, made to accept cock.
Another one, the last in a long line. How many cocks has it been now?
It’s easily in the hundreds; perhaps I have passed the one thousand mark. If so, I’ll never know, because I don’t keep score. But the thought of all those satisfied cocks pleases me. Fat and thin, long and short, curved and stumpy, all lining up to shoot their loads into my tight dark cavern. They have taught me so much about myself. They have taught me that I need them.
But I never needed the men attached to them, never a one, until now.
When Mal finishes fucking me I will thank him politely and we will part as friends. And then I will want Lloyd. He is the cock-attachment for me.
Mal plays with the plug in my bottom while he fucks me until I roar into a second orgasm, a total wipeout that erases the memories from my brain.
He comes himself and lies down flat on my back, kissing my damp neck.
‘You’re a good girl, Sophie,’ he says. ‘You really work that cunt of yours.’
‘Thanks.’
We lie there yawning for a bit longer while I feel my back passage contracting and cramping around the plug. Mal pulls out and smacks my bum, making the silicone invader jolt upwards again.
The removal of the plug is a long and arduous affair. He makes me feel every tiny speck of it, unravelling me with spectacular effect until I am whimpering and begging for mercy. I always hate this bit.
‘Do you feel you’ve been properly punished?’ he asks me.
‘Well and truly.’ The plug pops out. My anus gapes and twitches, missing it already.
‘What next?’
‘I’m going to lie down. I fancy a show, actually. Mal, could you wash that plug while Jake and Rachael give us something to look at?’
Jake’s tongue slips out of Rachael’s mouth and hangs out of his own, joining his popping eyes in an expression of general gormlessness. ‘Eh? You want to watch me?’
‘Yeah. I want to see you get your kink on.’
‘I’ve never done this kind of thing.’
‘No, but Rachael’s an expert. She knows her stuff. She’ll help you out. Won’t you, Rach?’
‘If you want me to,’ she says. ‘I’ll do whatever you want.’
‘Anything?’ Jake asks.
‘Most things. You just have to give the order.’
‘I’m not used to giving orders. Apart from “stop running by the pool”, that kind of thing.’
‘You’ll get the hang of it. Guys usually do.’
She puts her hands on his arms and begins to lower herself to her knees, letting her palms run along the sides of Jake’s body as she bobs down.
She looks so gorgeous on her knees. I love her profile with its lush curves, its spillage of flesh, its tight lacing and soft lips. I can’t wait to see what Jake will do with her.
‘How can I please you, sir?’ she says softly.
Jake looks terrified. Then he takes a breath, pushes back his shoulders and says, ‘Suck it.’
‘Would you like me to take it out first, sir?’
Jake shrugs. ‘I would have thought that was obvious.’ He’s taking to the sarcastic tone beloved of some masters.
She pulls down his jeans and boxers and falls to worshipping the erect cock they reveal. He puts a hand behind him on the chest of drawers for support, impressed by her repertoire of skills. She caresses his balls and breathes a gentle path up his shaft, occasionally allowing her tongue tip to dart out along the way.
Jake arches his spine backwards, both hands on the chest now, eyes tending to heaven. Rachael’s parted lips close over his cock and his fingers grip tight. She holds it still in her mouth, waiting for his instruction.
‘I said,’ he gasps, ‘suck it.’
I admire the smooth and effortless rhythm she establishes, her head bobbing back and forth. Jake finds his inner dom and begins to thrust in time with her. Lesser submissives might gag. Rachael never does. I’d call her a mistress of the art, but she wouldn’t like that.
Her impeccable technique brings Jake to his knees in just a couple of minutes. He slides down the chest of drawers, taking Rachael on to the floor with him, groaning mightily.
Once she has licked off every last drop of his semen, she turns around on her hands and knees, pulls up her burlesque skirt and presents her naked rump.
‘If I did not please you, please punish me, sir,’ she says.
Jake, goggle-eyed and still a bit floppy, just stares for a moment or two. ‘Is that what you want?’ he asks uncertainly.
Mal laughs from the bed. ‘You know she does. Get your belt out of your jeans and give her a warm-up.’
Jake pulls out the brown leather strap and rises to his knees. He looks from the belt to Rachael’s bum, back and forth, as if assessing his capacity for the job.
Eventually, he wraps the belt around his hand and gives her the lightest little flick, hardly using any of his wrist in the motion.
‘Harder, please,’ she says respectfully.
‘I don’t think I can,’ he apologises. ‘No offence to Mal, but I don’t really get the thing about hurting girls. What if I just spank you with my hand a bit?’
‘That’s perfectly acceptable, sir.’
He is the limpest spanker I’ve ever seen, but he falls into his stride after a few floundering taps and I can see that Rachael is getting into it too. We cheer him along from the sidelines until he is grinning and confident, and he begins to make serious palm prints.
‘Nothing like a good spanking is there?’ I say idly to Mal, who agrees, of course.
Lincoln and O join us on the bed, and then we fall into a delicious sticky mess of body parts, joining and disconnecting, his, hers, theirs. Sometimes we don’t know which bit belongs to whom, and the joy is in not caring. Jake and Rachael pile on at some point and, eventually, so do Lloyd and Jade.
I mash my face into widespread pussies while somebody’s cock bangs at me from behind, or I ease another prick into my arse while a delicate female tongue laps at my clit or my nipples. I get stretched and slapped, kissed and caressed, frigged and fucked until my skin is rubbed raw and my breath runs out.
Somebody pulls a muscle and somebody else falls off the bed. A spring goes in the mattress and we all have to slide onto the floor. Through the thicket of limbs and cocks and tits, I make my way, slowly but inexorably, to Lloyd.
And that’s where I end up. It’s where I think I’ll always end up.
At 3 a.m. we all don complimentary bathrobes and go to the fitness suite, where Jake unlocks the hot tub. The hot tub where Lloyd and I first made out.
We sit in the bubbles, sipping fizzy wine and letting our bodies uncoil and recover from the feast of sex. Jake has reinvented himself as a dom – I rather think he fancies himself as Rachael’s dom – and he sits with his arm around her, asking her endless questions about what she has done in her life. It’s cute and perhaps it would work, but I’m not sure Jake has the imagination to take it as far as Rachael would want him to. Perhaps she’s best sticking with her regular roster of casual masters.
Lincoln and Jade sit side by side, in heavy-lidded trances, listening to the conversations around them. Lincoln might meet somebody one day. Well, to be fair, he already has. He meets somebody every day. But perhaps one day the somebody will tempt him to stick around instead of moving on to the next tight Lycra-clad bum.
As for Jade, she loves her flings. Especially flinging herself at every Big Name that ever books out the top floor. She has a list of starry conquests as long as her arm – in fact, some of them are tattooed on it. She enjoys herself. They enjoy themselves. Who could ask for anything more?
As for Mal and O, linked together by arms and legs, they are a couple whose symbiosis pleases me. His dominance, her submission, their steadfast loyalty and harmonious energy – these seem like things to aspire to. Like Lloyd and I, they flow in and out of other people’s sex lives, leaving only enrichment and happy memories in their wake. None of the debris of jealousy or insecurity floats in their slipstream. I wonder how they do it. I shall ask them.
And that just leaves Lloyd and I. We are together, but we are inclusive. We love life, we love sex, and we want to share our love with other people. It’s not traditional and it’s not for everyone but it’s right for us. Whatever opprobrium society wants to level at us we can handle as long as we are with each other.
And really, what are we doing wrong?