Agony Aunt (4 page)

‘Do I have to tie your ankles to the bedposts?’ Tom asked.

With a start Harriet realised her legs were pressed tightly together. It was purely reflexive. And pointless. If she resisted, he could simply subdue her with more rope. Harriet thought fleetingly that it would be nice to feel herself spread helplessly for him, but she allowed her legs to part slightly.

Tom spread them wider, then she felt the bed sag as he positioned himself between her. He lowered himself until the tip of his erect cock touched her labia. No foreplay this time. He eased inside her and she felt the warmth of him slowly penetrate her, filling her full, and then she was wet, welcoming him inside her. Harriet bit back a moan as he slid home. There was no hiding her other reactions.

Once inside her Tom made no further move. She looked at him and realised that he was going to force her to react. All right, she thought, clamping down on him as she tightened her vaginal muscles. He smiled down at her and held still. He was going to make her do the work, but luckily, it was not in Harriet’s nature to play dead during the sex act. She moved her hips ever so slightly, enjoying the first slow slidings the motion gave to their joined bodies. She felt him tighten himself in response. This was going to be a slow fuck then, she realised.

Tom bent his face close to her, kissing her eyes and cheeks and ears. Then he found her parted lips and kissed her mouth, pushing his tongue inside there as well. Her breath grew ragged with rising excitement as she felt him move for the first time. Short in-and-out motions, sliding deliciously as she held him tightly. If her hands had been free she would have pulled him down against her fiercely. She wanted him to do some of the work, not force her to give herself to him utterly. A girl’s got to have some dignity, she told herself, even though she knew she was going to have a hard time holding on to any of it.

She felt herself shudder with the first signs of her arousal. Tom must have felt it too. It began in her belly and spread slowly to her legs. She felt herself opening widely to him, her legs parting further to allow him full access. He was taking his weight on his forearms to spare her, but he managed to get his hands to her nipples. Harriet gasped as he touched her there, knowing she was going to lose control at any moment. Then she did, coming in spasms that drove the breath from her, which was just as well because it prevented her from shouting his name. Mistresses, even when in the throes of orgasm, are not supposed to go that far. It might give the other an exaggerated sense of their worth or prowess.

Tom paused while she recovered, then resumed the slow in-and-out motion while continuing to tease her nipples. She could sense him trying to hold back, and she decided that she would work on him as he was working on her. She tightened and relaxed around him as he probed her, feeling the contractions in his cock as he pulled himself back from the verge several times.

She was satisfied that she could give him as good a ride as she was getting, and that was very good indeed. She wondered why she had held back so long from trying this man out, realising that she had missed a great deal by holding on to her position of dominance. She felt him tense inside her and knew he was about to come. Her own orgasm had crept up on her as well, and they finished almost together, Tom’s breath hot against her face as he hunched himself, driving deeply into her. Her own cries were forced from her as she came, jerking wildly at the ropes that bound her wrists to the headboard.

Afterwards he lay beside her, holding her in his arms with his face buried in her hair, letting her come down gradually. Harriet was glad he didn’t speak. There weren’t that many things one could say, and speech, she felt, would somehow diminish the event. Also, she might blurt out something she’d rather not have him know. It was going to be hard to go back to the game of slave and mistress after this, but she had nothing else to offer at the moment. Time, that’s what they needed. Time to get used to being lovers. Maybe she would relax a bit . . .

Of course she wouldn’t, Harriet told herself firmly. Tom would pay for this later. This was a breach of all the rules she had imposed at their first session – rules he’d agreed to. Until now he’d given every sign of enjoying the game of mistress and slave, and that wasn’t something that could change overnight. Her whole life, her livelihood even, was based on being the decisive one, the dominant one. If she surrendered to anyone, her clients were bound to notice the change in her, and she would lose them. So Tom would have to be put in his place as soon as she had the opportunity.

Harriet was honest enough with herself to realise that she had been the indirect cause of Tom’s actions. She had taunted him and beaten him, and forced him to look at her while denying his obvious desire to touch her and have sex with her. Despite the arrangement they had, he was still a normal man, with normal desires and tolerances. She had been intent on driving him to those tolerances, and then deliberately going beyond them. She herself didn’t know when – or even if – she had planned to let him have her. She had been too wrapped up in the game of power to think of ending it, and her clients returned to her for her decisiveness and self-control. Tom had stayed with her for the same reason. She had exceeded his limits without thinking of him, and this was the result.

Despite her own enjoyment, she still wasn’t ready to give up her position of dominance, although she had been made newly aware of what she had been denying herself. Now they would have to evolve a new relationship, and that might not be easy, at least not for her.

Later, she told herself, postponing the difficult decision. Harriet wondered if he would have her again. She didn’t know if she had the strength left for that – or if he had enough nerve. But as long as Tom kept her bound, she didn’t have to make any decisions. She warned herself that that could become a habit all too easily. It was the attitude she inculcated in her clients, so that they allowed her to do what she liked to them without demur. But just now she was tired. Sleep seemed like a good idea. If nothing else it was an escape from the need to decide her future course of action. As she drifted off she was pleasantly aware of the warmth of Tom’s breath on her face and of his hands on her body.

Harriet woke as Tom was untying her hands. She knew from the shadows in the room that she had been asleep for several hours. She rubbed her wrists when the ropes came off. There were red marks in the flesh where she had jerked at the cords during the hours she had been bound. Thinking back to the last evening, she judged she had been tied up for the better part of fourteen hours. She stretched her arms behind her and over her head, her breasts moving as she did so, and she noticed Tom watching. Was he regretting the end of his brief period of truancy? For now it was over. Harriet was free again and she had to reassert her control over him – but she felt curiously reluctant to resume making all the decisions for them both.

Tom left the room without saying anything, and Harriet was grateful for his tact. She heard him go down the stairs as she entered the bathroom. Turning on the shower, she stripped off her damp stockings and suspenders and waited for the water to warm. As she washed she was conscious once more of how tired she was. Sex, she reflected, took a great deal of energy, even when one was the more or less passive partner. The water was relaxing, and she took her time. She washed her hair and took a long time drying off. She realised she was delaying the moment when she had to face Tom, something she had never bothered about before. She felt awkward. If it were possible, she would have said she was shy after their sexual adventure.

But there was nothing for it but to take matters into her hands once again, so she belted her dressing gown and went downstairs to find him. In the front room she found him waiting with a tray of coffee and sandwiches. She was relieved that he had resumed his role of servant without further instructions from her. He was making it as easy as possible for her, she realised. He said nothing, waiting for her to speak as he had done in the past. But Harriet had nothing to say yet. She merely nodded her thanks and poured a cup of coffee.

As she drank, Tom went back into the kitchen, as she had trained him to do. He had clearly realised that the moment was over and had slipped back into the role she had assigned him, although Harriet wondered if he would be able to stay in character after their morning’s encounter. She had the steadying effect of long habit and would find it easier to resume the dominant role, but Tom’s experience as the submissive partner was not so lengthy and he might not find it so easy to go back to. And the role might not be as satisfying to him now as it had been.

Harriet decided to say nothing about her feelings yet. She would have to speak in time, but she thought her silence might intimidate him. And when she had not yet made up her mind about her own course of action, it was better to keep silent and let the other side think you were in control rather than speak prematurely and look indecisive.

Tom kept himself busy and out of the way without being told what to do. Harriet heard him moving about the house, tidying up. The sound of the vacuum cleaner came from the top floor, and presently he passed through on his way to the cellar to put away the things that had been in use the previous evening. Evidently, he was as reluctant to face her as she was to deal directly with him. The only words Harriet exchanged with him had to do with the housework. She read the Sunday papers then picked up the novel she had been reading. As the afternoon wore on she began to feel more her old self – more relaxed and in control – and so she went upstairs to change into her leather corselet, the ‘uniform’ she wore whenever she wanted to emphasise her dominance. Tom had told her that he always associated the corselet with her dominance.

Putting on a pair of sheer black tights first, she eased herself into the tight leather panty-corselet, zipping it up the back before settling her full breasts into the cups. It was as if she had grown a second skin. The tight leather gleamed with dull highlights; outlining and confining her body; flattening her stomach and clinging to the flare of her hips; emphasising her shape while simultaneously making her inaccessible. The tightly fitting crotch pressed against her sex, making her conscious of it as it rubbed against her skin. So long as she wore her armour she would be safe – if that was the word – from Tom. Or from anyone else. Lastly, Harriet put on a pair of black high-heeled shoes, liking the way they brought out the shape of her legs and ankles. She remembered that Tom had said he liked the effect too.

Thus armoured, she went back downstairs to deal with Tom. She seated herself and called him into the front room.

He came reluctantly, reminding her of a schoolboy called to the headmaster’s study. He must have known it was back to business as usual when he saw how she was dressed, and something resembling relief showed in his face. Whatever Harriet might ultimately do to him, both of them were still playing their familiar roles, and would probably continue to do so. That was assurance of a sort that he would not be banished, even if staying might be painful.

Harriet also felt happier, and the familiarity of the scene had a calming effect on her. They had done this many times before, she in her figure-hugging ‘uniform’ and he naked before her.

‘Go to the cellar and fetch your chains and a leather strap,’ Harriet ordered him without preamble. She crossed her legs, feeling the sensuous slide of the smooth nylon as she did so and knowing that Tom found the pose exciting. But she was inaccessible, and he was going to be disciplined rather than rewarded.

He turned away without a word to do as she had commanded. He would know what she intended for him, but her training held him silent even in the face of imminent pain.

While he was away, Harriet considered what she would do to him, both now and in the future. For now, there was the matter of a beating to remind him that he had broken training and had taken unallowable liberties with her. Later, there would be more pain and humiliation and fruitless desire to remind him further. But at the same time, Harriet was considering when she might next allow him access so that she might feel again the peculiar satisfaction of a woman who knows unequivocally that she is wanted. That was a new posture for her. Her strong reaction to today’s sexual act made her wonder if perhaps her entire approach to the matter of sex and intimacy had not been wrong – if maybe she had been too ready to stand aside and watch others. And had her standoffishness been caused in part by her fear of involvement?

Tom returned, interrupting this uncomfortable train of thought and forcing her to do something which looked like being just as uncomfortable in her present indecisive state. The rules she had established dictated that she must show him the folly of disobedience. She felt constrained by her character to act in a way she was beginning to reexamine. So it was with something like reluctance that she signed for Tom to kneel over the coffee table with his bottom in the air. She picked up the leather strap he had laid on the sofa and took up her position behind him.

He gripped the edge of the table tightly, waiting for the first blow. Harriet took aim and struck him just below the gluteal fold, lifting the cheeks slightly with the force of the blow. Tom grunted and gripped the table more tightly, but he made no protest. A red mark sprang up where the strap had fallen. Harriet drew back her arm and struck again. Once more the dull crack of leather on flesh resounded in the room, but if she had been hoping he would beg her to stop, she was disappointed. He had never asked her to stop, and had always managed to avoid any outcry no matter how severe the beating. She had thought that a virtue in the past, but now she found herself wishing he would at least cry out when she struck him. She wanted to hurt him in retaliation for making her doubt her own motives and desires. That motive had never been part of their relationship before. But he remained stubbornly silent as she continued to lash him, making a ladder of red marks over his bottom and down the backs of his thighs. The marks began to overlap, and soon covered the exposed parts of his body.