MasterStroke (22 page)

The apprehension certainly took its toll on her body and it did so in a most unexpected way. She was aroused, as she generally was when her thoughts turned to Jack; he didn’t have to do much at all to satisfy her. He easily made her climax then built on that, teasing, withholding, expertly building the pressure until she had the most amazing orgasms. But the terror she began to feel about the Games Room, which she tried hard to suppress, paradoxically made her incredibly horny.

As she knelt before him, her face buried deep into the darkness below his hanging, twitching penis, inhaling its intoxicating perfume, she was aware of the hot bubbling intensity within her stomach. The arousal just kept heightening. She slipped a hand between her legs, pressing on the pubic bone, slipping the middle finger inside her, shocked by the sopping slipperiness, the velvet slickness as her muscles clenched involuntarily.

Sandrine looked up at him. He returned the gaze, intense, almost haughty.

“Use your hands on me, please. Hold my head. Be rough. I want to feel your passion, how much you want me.”

His strong hands gripped her head, fingers interlacing with her hair, pulling gently, then harder.

She whimpered as he jerked her head back at the same time he thrust his hips forward. His hard cock was now angled deeper into her mouth, aimed for her throat, and he pulled her closer to him, slowly, fractionally, inch by inch until her nose was buried in his pubic hair. The head of his cock, that beautiful knob of smooth flesh atop the thick shaft, was blocking her windpipe.

She tried not to think about the intrusion but started to panic. As she attempted to move her head back, she found it held tightly, unable to move. There was panic in her eyes as she looked imploringly up at Jack. His face was impassive, a mask of extreme control, He was breathing hard, almost hyperventilating.

“Relax. Breathe through your nose. This is what you wanted, darling. If you want me to stop, squeeze my thigh.”

Her hands ran up his legs, grabbing him just above the knees. She willed herself to relax but her heart was thumping crazily inside her chest. Panic was forming. She didn’t want to give up; Jack was right. This is precisely what she’d begged him to do and she wasn’t going to back out now.

She stopped, took a deep breath through her nose, then another. The jagged edge of panic began to dull. She thought of Jack’s cock, of the pleasure it gave her and how much she wanted to give him pleasure as well. She wished there was a mirror close by so she could see the magnificent image of her worshipping his body so, instead, she imagined herself as an observer, sitting to one side, watching herself being the object of Jack’s passion. How she looked kneeling, sitting back on her high heels, the corset constricting her waist, her breasts pushed high, the nipples pink and hard as pebbles, her mouth opened as wide as possible, wrapped around Jack’s engorged penis.

Her clit was engorged as well, slick and slippery, and she circled the sensitive skin with a fingertip, releasing waves of pleasure. The dark fear of being choked abated as she relaxed.

“That’s it, darling. Don’t fight me.”

Jack held her head steady, twisting her hair to keep her in place, then started to move his hips, slowly at first. His cock was working in and out of her mouth, thickening as it did so. Sandrine could feel the tension vibrating within him. He was getting more excited, on the verge on losing control.

She was intent on getting him to do exactly that. A throaty bass-filled moan slipped from her and she tried to thrust forward, get more of his cock down her throat. It was frustrating, disturbingly so, but his strong hands wouldn’t let her move.

“Keep still. You move when I want you to. I control you.” It was a voice, with its underlying tone of steely harshness, that she hadn’t heard before and it drove her even crazier. “Your body is mine. Do you understand?”

She couldn’t say anything. A stifled moan emanated from deep within her. Her muscles clenched over and over around her finger, which she moved faster, reaching the sensitive ridge of her G-spot. The finger-fucking was driving her mad.
This is crazy
, she thought.
I never imagined it could feel like this. I’m hornier than I’ve ever been before.

“Stop playing with yourself,” he ordered. “You’ll touch yourself only when I tell you. You won’t come until I say so.”

With extreme reluctance, she removed her finger, giving her clit one last flick as she did. Her muscles continue to clench. She was so close and she longed to gain release but the expectation of Jack’s wrath gave her a renewed thrill.

The pulse of Jack’s cock at it savagely fucked her mouth became the focus of her existence. She concentrated totally on it, feeling his thickness increase. The head was threatening to wedge tightly into her throat. She imagined it would be just seconds before his cock erupted, gushing forth a spray of the thickest, milkiest juice.

Then, just as suddenly, he released her hair and withdrew his hips. His penis slid from her lips and, unbalanced, she fell back against the table. He held himself in one hand, pumping it tantalisingly. The head was enormous and it looked like the skin would burst.

“It’s not time yet. You wanted to experience the Games Room. Get on your feet, please.”

Sandrine stood. He pulled her close, grabbed her wrists and held them behind her back with one hand while he used the other to caress her breasts. He kissed her deeply.

“You smell of my cock, darling. Did you enjoy that?”

“Yes. Yes, I did. It was heavenly. I want more,” Sandrine spluttered.

“You will. Soon. Please go upstairs and wait for me. Kneel in front of the bed. Do not touch yourself. Just wait. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“Then go.”

Sandrine walked quickly from the room, not looking back. When she entered the Games Room she found it had been thoroughly cleaned. New black satin sheets had been fitted to the bed. The leather had been oiled, the stainless steel burnished until it gleamed in the overhead lights. The room smelt of little more than polish. The air-conditioning was a little too low for comfort and goosebumps crept across her skin.

She ran her hand along the diamond-buttoned black leather of the cabinet, feeling the cool slickness. It, too, smelt wonderful. She opened the doors wide, folded them back to the sides and slid a few drawers out, inspecting the items arranged so artfully inside.
So much here. What will Jack choose? What will he want to use on me?

There were all manner of whips and paddles, some with long tongues of what looked like leather or suede fringing. Riding crops, of the kind used by horse riders, came in varying lengths. She took one out, slapped the leather tongue across the palm of her hand. It stung and she jumped slightly. Another drawer held silver clamps, some joined together with short lengths of chain. Sandrine clipped one to the tip of her finger and winced.
No way is that going anywhere near my nipples
, she thought.
Unless Jack demands it
, another voice impishly suggested.
You won’t have any say in it
.

Vibrators and dildos filled other drawers, only some of which were smaller than Jack’s cock. They would never fit inside me. Shorter, thicker examples, she decided, were butt plugs.
No way, no way at all
.

Never say never. Wait till Jack arrives. You’ll find out what he wants then.

Sandrine pushed back the drawers but left the doors to the cabinet open. She walked to the bed, turned to face the door and knelt on a cushioned mat. Shoulders and back straight, head held high, she waited. Minutes passed but she didn’t relax, knowing that the central part of her role was to do exactly as told.

The silence in the room, the chill, the smell of leather, the stark brightness of the lighting put her nerves on edge. Her nipples were straining and the dampness between her legs was a constant irritation, a disconcerting reminder of arousal that refused to abate. After a time, she could take it no more and her hand wandered between her legs. It felt good, soothing even, to stroke the wetness. The edginess was returning, the pressing need to feel a physical release but she dared not. Jack had told her not to touch herself and certainly not to come before he approved it. To do what she was doing now was certain to result in punishment if caught but she didn’t care at that moment. Her body was making demands that her mind simply couldn’t refuse.

When he walked through the door fifteen minutes later, he found her still kneeling, her head inclined as if praying, her hands placed lightly on her thighs, legs opened wide, breasts full and pushed high in greeting, nipples firm.

Sandrine was lost in thought. She had felt the ghost in the room and images of that other woman splayed naked across the bed or fastened by the wrists to one of the hanging cross-frames filled her mind. She tried to imagine what Jack had done to her and the dark things she demanded but he refused. Had he whipped or beaten her, sodomised her, made her scream, cry out until her voice was hoarse? Had he left scars on her body like she’d left scars on his soul?

She fully intended to become the focus of Jack’s passions, no matter what it took. Fear began to bubble up inside her. The unknown was now a powerful enemy.

Jack was wearing a pair of tight black leather pants, no shirt and bare feet. She watched him closely as he approached, trying to gauge his mood. He gave nothing away, neither smiling nor frowning, merely a neutral expression that would have not looked out of place on a trip to the supermarket.

He stood a few feet away from her.

“Are you scared?” he asked softly but with a harsh gravelly timbre to his voice.

“Yes.”

“It’s often not the bite of the whip that hurts the most.” He smiled suddenly and warmly, and something akin to optimism flooded her heart. “It’s the waiting, the apprehension of what it might feel like. The mind plays games and expects the worse. But, on the other hand, fear can be a powerful aphrodisiac. Did you wait patiently?”

“Yes.”

“Did you play with yourself?”

A second of hesitation. Sandrine’s gaze flicked briefly away and when it returned Jack’s smile had fled. His lips narrowed and his eyes were ice.

“Yes.”

“Do you remember what I said?”

“Yes. You told me not to play with myself.”

“But you did so knowing you may be punished.”

“Yes.” Her head was swimming. The tension in the room was palpable. She gulped and felt a warm flush spreading across her skin. The feeling that this was all a carefree sex game, playing roles, that she was in control as much as Jack, was slipping away. Storm clouds were gathering on what had, seconds before, been a bright sunny day. The situation was turning and she began to fear Jack’s anger and the repercussions of disobeying him. “I’m sorry. I had to. I’m so horny, Jack. I need to feel your body. I need you inside me, please.”

She was aware she was babbling but couldn’t stop.

Jack held up a hand. She fell silent.

“You want to know what this room is all about?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think you want to be here. But if you really want to learn, I will be your teacher. I have the feeling that, ultimately, you will like what you find here. There are depths to your sexuality that you don’t yet comprehend,” he smiled in a way Sandrine found deeply enigmatic. “There are rules here and they must be followed. Discipline is paramount. To flout them is unwise.”

Jack came close to her. He brushed the hair from her forehead with affection then guided her head until her nose was against his crotch.

“Breathe deeply. Tell me what you smell.”

The dark musty tones of sweat, the heat of his genitals, so immediately familiar to her, and something else she strained to identify. Sex, it was the smell of sex. Old sex ingrained deep into the leather, cum melding with a woman’s intimate juices. It was a heady combination and she breathed it in hungrily as if she wanted it implanted on her brain forever. That it wasn’t their sex made it so much more dirty, tawdry and extremely arousing.

“You like that?”

“Yes.” Her voice was vibrating under the strain.

“Good. Please stand up. Keep your hands behind your back.”

Jack led her to the front of the cabinet.

“Have you looked in here?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything you’d like me to use on you or shall I choose myself?”

“You choose. I’m not sure what a lot of that stuff is,” she answered truthfully.

He opened one drawer after another. “Not these,” he said as he regarded a selection of vibrators and dildos of varying shapes and sizes, some crafted as exact replicas of an uncircumcised penis, down to a thick ribbing of veins, others having a sleek, futuristic look. “Not yet, maybe later,” he said as he looked at the butt plugs, again in a variety of sizes. “You’re not ready for these,” as the full range of nipples clamps and rings was presented.

After a while, it occurred to Sandrine that Jack was merely playing out a part, drawing the selection process into something resembling a ceremony, building drama, making her squirm with apprehension. At least she hoped that was the case. He was giving nothing away. The tone of voice he adopted was that of stern teacher faced with a recalcitrant pupil. There was a harshness there with shadings of malicious enjoyment. His eyes were bright and glittered with power. This wasn’t the Jack she thought she knew. It was someone else entirely.

“Ah, I think these will make a fine introduction.” He’d pulled out the drawer containing the short-handled whips with the leather strands. Now she was examining them more closely, she realised they all pretty much looked the same.

“Do you know what these are?”

Sandrine shook her head.

“They are known as floggers, variations on the cat o’ nine tails used to punish sailors in the British Navy in the nineteenth century. While they may all seem similar, there are minor variations that affect the way they feel.”

The handles were works of art in themselves, leather and suede braided in a multitude of colours and patterns. It intrigued her that these things of beauty were used to inflict pain. Words from a song illogically jumped into her head.