“It must get so complicated being you, so many lives...” she mocked. “One day you’ll wear the mask to the office and the suit to the club, you know that right?”
“And that’s the day I quit town and start all over again.”
“Such a drama queen...”
“Anonymity suits me.”
“Control suits you, Masque,” she grinned. “I think you were born with a crop in your hand.”
“It was a cane, actually,” I smiled. “And I hope I die with one in my hand, too.”
She leant in close, her hand still pressed to my chest. The deep plum notes of Poison kissed my nostrils as I breathed her in. She slid her hand down my stomach to the bulge in my jeans, and whispered so softly into my ear I could hardly hear her.
“You didn’t cum, did you? I know you didn’t. You need a proper scene, James, without holding back. Tame doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m not tame.”
“You were a pussycat with Cara, she won’t even bruise.”
“Cara is the pussycat, Bex. I hope for her sake she doesn’t say yes to moving into yours, you’d break her in a week. You and I both know she wouldn’t cope with the hard stuff.”
“You’d better get it on with someone who would then.” I felt her lips against my ear.
“Is that a hint? You priming me for your bi-annual foray into the world of submission?”
She squeezed my cock. “Nah. Anyway, you don’t have a pussy.” She let me go and walked away, tossing me a smile over her shoulder.
“Since when has that been a deal breaker?” I called after her.
“Since tonight.” She blew me a kiss.
***
I’m always the only one in the office at 6am. I love the quiet, before the place fills up with people and the general office bullshit that comes along with them. I made myself a coffee in silence, pondering my workload for the coming week. Sales had just landed a big deal, a bespoke solution for White Hastings McCarthy, one of the top five law firms in the country; a seven hundred seat initial installation across three branches, with seven case management worktypes to scope out. The whole thing was ripe for my desk.
My mind began to assemble the potential project outline. This one would take a lot of co-ordination. A lot of people. I hate all that shit.
I leant back against the worktop to sip my coffee. Black, no sugar, just the way I like it. Just how Lydia Marsh had made it. My mind bailed without warning; thoughts unravelling and skittering away. There, in their stead, was a full colour rerun of my Friday morning peepshow. Lydia Marsh’s tear-streaked face in full focus, and her eyes, so fucking green. Jesus.
Bex was right. I did need a proper scene. The need to dominate pulsed in my temples; thick with the craving for tears and pain and the total surrender of a body underneath mine. Cara had scratched an itch, but the real beast raged on unchecked.
I headed to the men’s room, resigned to an early morning hand-job. I pressed my forehead against the tiles as I worked my cock, eyes screwed shut as I summoned up a lightning-quick montage of memories. Women bound tight by their wrists, arching their backs into the pain as the cane strikes. Tears of surrender, and release, and abandon through pain. Their quivering legs as the adrenaline spikes... then the endorphin rush, the point where their bodies turn limp and their eyes glaze in lust. Quiet tears. Acceptance. Absolute, total submission. All for me.
Come on.
Another montage, this one of Bex. She’d fight against her surrender, writhing, kicking and screaming, to the edge of release. Spitting curses and fighting against her bonds, until she’d break apart and go toppling into the abyss beyond, screaming out tears and begging for more. She morphed into my Kitty Kat, my Katreya. Her bruised shins running away from me through long grass, begging me to chase her… begging me to hurt her… hurt her in her most tender places.
Jesus fucking Christ, James, just fucking cum.
In desperation I let myself go there. Lydia Marsh, bound at my feet. Staring up at me through watery eyes. Her tits are so fucking pretty, tied up tight in bondage rope, marks of her punishment savage against pale skin. Her mouth is open, ready. Her eyes begging me to take her. I force myself in, and she gags on me. I love the noises her throat makes.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I sprayed my load all over the wall, hissing out a string of expletives and already forcing Lydia from my mind. Colleagues were no go. An absolute no-fucking-way.
I had one golden rule. The one I’d never break again.
Fuck no-one you know, and know no-one you fuck.
It was a whole lot fucking safer that way, but damn what I’d give to see her cry again.