Giving In (4 page)

In the entryway to the villa, Stefan caught Sasha in his arms and kissed her.

Everything else felt like fairy-tale fluff, but the jealousy I felt watching Stefan kiss Sasha was real.

Bonnie pushed my hair out of my eyes. “You’ve been sad lately, haven’t you?”

“Sad doesn’t even begin to describe it,” I told her, as I saw Stefan and Sasha continue on their way. Why not be honest? I had nothing to lose. Plus the champagne helped make the words easier to accept.

“Stefan wants me to take care of you,” she said.

“Take care…”

“You’ll see.” She put her hand in mine and led me into the house. She didn’t lead me upstairs to my room but down a hallway. I noticed the art on the walls—barely. I saw the rich furnishings, knew the wealth that went into decorating a place this posh. But the chef took me to a small room in the back. The bedroom was simply outfitted—a bed that nearly filled the space, a vase on the small dresser overflowing with sweet peas, their fragrance lighting up the room. White sheets. Silver handcuffs.

I looked at her.

“You don’t have to do a thing,” she said. “Let me.”

“I’ve never been with a woman,” I lied. Why wasn’t I telling her the truth? I’d dabbled in college when I thought that’s what you were supposed to do.

“Liar.”

I stared at her.

“Sasha told us your past. I know who you are.”

“Who am I?”

“You’ll find out.”

She started to undress me. I was so shocked by her words that I let her, let her position me on her bed on my stomach. Let her cuff my wrists over my head.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“Everything you’ve ever wanted.”

My pussy was so wet that I was embarrassed. I knew I’d be making a puddle on her white sheets. “What do I want?” I asked into the pillow. The champagne seemed to have finally kicked in, and I felt lazy and slow. When Bonnie began to stroke her hands along my back, I sighed and arched my hips.

“You want me to spank your bare bottom. And then you want me to get between your legs and lick your sweet slit until you come. After that, you want me to tongue your asshole. You’ve never had that before, and you want to know what being rimmed properly feels like.”

I groaned.

“Stefan is going to fuck you there. You know that, right? He is going to take your ass the way other men have fucked your pussy. He’s big, so he’s going to stretch you open. But not until you’re ready. Not until you’re begging.”

I shut my eyes as she started to finger my pussy. Nobody had ever spoken to me like this before. I thought of my last boyfriend. The only kink in his makeup was the fact that he liked me to wear my shoes in bed: high heels, the one good pair I had. No man had ever talked as dirty as Bonnie was. She worked her fingers in and out of me, and then she brought her hand up and smacked my ass. I thought of the way Stefan had spanked Sasha—both in her room and out on the balcony. Where were they? What were they doing now?

She spanked me again, and I forgot to worry about Sasha.

“Have you been punished before?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“But you want to be, don’t you?”

It was as if she knew about the books I kept hidden under my bed. Or I had kept hidden, when I’d had a bed of my own. Books I’d gotten rid of when I moved in with my cousin. I couldn’t stand the thought of her finding my secret stash, so I’d put them, one by one, into recycling bins that I passed on the street.

“Yes,” I said into the pillow.

“Tell me,” Bonnie instructed.

Facing away from her made saying the words easier. “I’ve always wanted to be with a lover who was…” I didn’t know how to describe what I desired.

“Who was…” Bonnie prompted, her hand landing another stinging blow on my ass.

“In charge,” I said.

“Good girl.” She sounded just like Stefan. Bonnie spanked harder and faster now, and I groaned again and arched my body on the mattress. In between smacks, she used her fingers as if to test for wetness, and I could feel my juices spreading.

“You’re like a little lake,” she said, “here between your thighs. I can’t wait to taste you.”

I shivered as she climbed onto the bed and moved my body so that I was half on my knees, a bastardized yoga position. She squirmed beneath me, her mouth to my pussy, and then she began to trick her tongue in magical circles. “Oh, god,” I moaned, “that feels so good.” I wished I could say something more eloquent than that. Bonnie licked and sucked, and then suddenly she stopped. I pushed downward, unable to stop myself, wanting the sensation to continue, bucking my pussy against her mouth. She gripped my hips and held me firmly in place. Her tongue was out of reach.

“You have to earn your climax,” she said.

“What,” I panted, “what do you mean?”

“Ten strokes on your ass will equal the sweetest fucking climax you’ve ever felt.”

What did that mean? Ten strokes of what?

She wriggled from between my legs and I watched, eyes huge and desperate, as she opened up the tiny closet. Within, I saw the tools and toys I’d fantasized about for years. She had paddles and crops, a whippet-thin cane, bondage devices. But Bonnie was a tease. Before I could focus on each one, Bonnie grabbed what she wanted and then shut the door. I wished I could spend hours looking at each of her possessions, running my fingers over the handles, inspecting every angle.

“This is a crop,” she said, bringing the weapon in front of my eyes. I stared. She pushed me so that I was prone on the bed once more, wrists over my head. “This is going to hurt,” she said next. I swallowed hard. I wanted to look away, but I was mesmerized. “I expect you to count for me. Ten strokes. Can you do that?”

I nodded.

“Good girl,” she said again, sounding so much like Stefan I blinked at her. “We’ve been together a long, long time,” she said with a smile, as if reading the thought as it passed through my mind.

I didn’t know what to do next. Did I stare at her, push my head into the pillow, look at the wall, gaze at the flowers…? She struck the first blow, and the worries evaporated, replaced by a pure sensation of pain. I hadn’t known what to expect. The burning of the stroke made me forget my job. I was to count. But I didn’t. “That’s one,” Bonnie said for me.

“One,” I echoed hollowly.

She struck a second time; I managed to squeak out a “two.” I could not believe the intensity of the pain—but I also could not fully process the explosion of pleasure that followed each stroke. Bonnie landed number three. My pussy contracted with a force that surprised me. The pain was turning me on. There was no doubt.

“Four.” I thought that I might actually come with no other stimulation. Bonnie was an expert. She lined the blows up neatly next to each other. She took a breath after five, and I felt her hands on my ass, stroking the places that hurt the most. I wanted her to…

Oh, she was. Kissing me. Kissing the welts. Touching my pussy as she licked the stripes of fire on my skin. “You’re doing so well,” she said softly, “better than I would have expected. And see how wet your slit is?” She dipped her fingers inside of me, brought the gloss she gathered up to my lips. She spread my own juices on my lips and then kissed them clean. “Like honey,” she said.

I groaned. I was lost. She was hurting me, helping me, touching me so fucking sweetly that I didn’t know which way was up.

“When I reach ten,” she said, “I am going to lick your pussy until you come.” She stood and struck the sixth blow. “And then,” she continued, “I’m going to put on a strap-on, and fuck you until you come again.” Oh, god, I wanted that. I wanted to feel her pound into me. She landed seven and eight quickly, and I bucked and writhed on the bed. She took the handle of the crop then, and she slowly, gently, slid the molded tip inside of me. I almost started to cry. I wanted to be fucked. It had been months since my last hook-up. I’d almost managed to forget how important sex could be.

She let me bask in the sensation of having that handle up inside me, and then she pulled it out and landed the ninth blow. I shuddered all over. I hadn’t started crying. Bonnie seemed impressed. “You know the tenth is going to be the worst,” she said, “it has to be. But in a way, that’s the best, isn’t it? You need this.”

I did. Why? I don’t know. But she spoke the truth. I wanted everything she was doing to me. I shut my eyes as she raised her arm up. I held myself entirely still. She slammed into me and said, “Ten,” and then I heard the clatter as she dropped the crop, felt the bed shift as she moved me, flipping me onto my back, handcuff chain rattling, getting in between my legs and starting to suck my clit.

Yes, I’ve had lovers go down on me before. I haven’t been with men so uptight they couldn’t tongue a girl’s snatch. But nobody had ever made me feel the way Bonnie did. She used her fingers to spread open my nether lips. She pinched my clit between her thumb and finger and I began to moan and beg. “Let me come. Please…” The way she touched me was taunting and rough, and then right when I could take no more, she changed to gentle and soft, so that I missed the way she’d manhandled me only seconds before.

“You don’t know what you want,” she said, and she was right. I didn’t.

“Stop thinking,” she said. “Don’t concentrate. Don’t try so hard. Let go.”

She licked and sucked with such obvious pleasure that I couldn’t feel embarrassed or concerned that I wasn’t coming fast enough. Worries that I usually feel melted away until there was only her mouth and my pussy in my world. That’s the size of what mattered.

I would have come anyway. But it was Stefan standing in the doorway, staring in at us, that took me over the edge.

How long had he been there? I didn’t know. He leaned against the door frame, casually watching. I would have covered my eyes with my hands, but my wrists were still cuffed and useless. I thought of looking away, but his gaze held me firmly. Last night, I’d been the voyeur. This morning, I was the show.

Bonnie didn’t seem aware of our audience. She kept her mouth between my thighs and plunged her tongue inside of me as I started to come. I couldn’t stay quiet any longer. Even with Stefan watching, so intently, I moaned and sighed, my breathing coming faster as I reached climax. Bonnie let me ride out the waves of the orgasm, and then she reached for a key on a chain around her neck and set me free.

“No strap-on today, I guess,” she said to me as she rubbed my wrists. “She’s a sweet girl,” she said to Stefan—letting me know that she knew he was standing there. “Look at this.” She motioned and, mortified, I rolled over, so that she could show him the welts on my ass.

I heard his footsteps as he approached the bed. “Very nice,” he said. I felt his warm hand on my skin. His hand moved lower, between my thighs, feeling how wet I was. He could have been checking produce in the market with how indifferently he caressed me. And then he ordered, “Get her dressed and send her to my room. I have something to talk to her about.”

How odd, I thought, even in my hazy, postcoital state. Odd how he talked to Bonnie instead of me. But somehow I didn’t mind. There was a formality to the tone of his voice, one that turned me on.

* * *

“You and I are close to the same size,” Bonnie said, opening the second wardrobe in the room. “Do you want to choose something of mine?” I was surprised to see so many different dresses, opulent colors, gauzy fabrics. “I’m not only the chef,” she explained in answer to my unspoken query. “Stefan likes to dress me different ways for this and that.” Clearly. There were costumes of all sorts on the racks: drum majorette, schoolgirl skirt, headmistress attire.

She pulled out a cashmere turtleneck the color of ripe peaches and a flirty short skirt that looked as if it had been made of layers of translucent scarves. “These will look lovely on you.”

I started dressing. The clothes were so rich, I wanted to take my time. I’d been accustomed over the past few years to try to dress expensively without actually having money. I was focused on how luxurious the fabrics felt against my skin, when she added, “Don’t worry about wearing knickers.”

The worry was instantaneous.

“His room is at the end of the hall that yours is on,” she said. “He’s waiting.”

I slid into my shoes—the only part of the outfit that looked sad now—and walked down the long hall. I wondered where Sasha was, where Lou was, wondered what Stefan wanted to tell me. Tell. That wasn’t the right word at all, was it? Should I feel bad that I’d been invited to Venice as a sex toy? I couldn’t manage to feel unhappy about that at all. The attention made me feel beautiful, and when I glanced into a mirror, I saw a warmth to my cheeks, to my eyes, that had been missing for longer than I could remember. Fear can turn a person cold inside.

I climbed the stairs, headed down the hall I’d walked the previous evening. Stefan was waiting, sitting in a deep leather chair, sipping from a cut-crystal glass. I entered the room and then stood, not knowing what to do, where to go, how to act. His room was twice the size of the one I was staying in. I felt as I always did when I’d been summoned to yet another boss’s office after yet another merger—one that meant my job was redundant.

He smiled at me, and I felt myself begin to melt. “You know, you are exactly as Sasha described,” he said.

I didn’t know how to respond. How had Sasha described me?

“Hungry,” he said. “Get your jacket and meet me downstairs. I’ll take you out.”

I hurried back to my room, wondering if my battered old jacket would make the outfit look cheap. The first thing I saw was a typewriter on the desk. I’d always preferred working on a typewriter—and my old one had been the first beloved material object I’d jettisoned when I’d lost my apartment. This was identical to mine, a Remington. I’d sold mine for $500—trading a piece of myself for money I needed. And here was the twin, with the colored glass keys in mint, turquoise, yellow and red. Sasha must have told Stefan. There was no other way he could know. I had an urge to sit at the desk and start writing, but Stefan called out for me. I turned to grab my coat from the bed where I’d left it, but the coat was gone.

On the mattress was a raspberry-hued woven shawl, like tapestry. I wrapped the shawl around my body the way I’d seen Sasha do, and then I caught site of the little box on the pillow. When I took off the lid, I saw a glittering rhinestone broach, obviously antique, perfect for pinning the fabric in place. I was about to snag a pair of knickers from the drawer in my dresser, when I heard Bonnie calling. “Stefan’s ready, El. Come on!”