I drive like a bat out of hell back to my apartment. Elena doesn’t do waiting. I wonder what she’s doing here. She hadn’t said she was coming East. But I know she likes to make unexpected visits to keep me off balance: she rarely lets me knows when she’s on her way. This is the first time in two years she hasn’t found me where I’m supposed to be.
Her eyes are furious and icy when I climb out of my car.
“Where were you?” she hisses.
“I was studying.”
“Man or woman?”
Oh shit, shit, shit.
She doesn’t give me a chance to finish my sentence before she slaps me hard across my cheek and then backhands me, her knuckles splitting my lip. Then she grabs hold of my head and pulls me down, kissing me brutally. I can taste blood in my mouth. Desire pulses through me and I kiss her back and I can feel her tongue probing the cut she’s made. But then she pushes me away and slaps me hard again. My ears are ringing.
“I don’t like to share, Christian,” she snarls. “I think you’ve been misbehaving while you’ve been away this time. I’ll have to do something about that. Get in the car.”
Silently I walk round to the passenger door of her rental and do as I’m told. I don’t know where she’s taking me but she’s in a furious mood, so it’ll probably be something vicious. As usual, the thought arouses me and my cock starts to strain against my jeans. God, she’s so beautiful when she’s angry, her cold blue eyes narrowed in fury. I haven’t seen her in three weeks and I’m as horny as hell. But suddenly I think of Shelly and her warm hazel eyes. The thought unnerves me. What? This is so confusing.
I want to ask where we’re going but Elena is in no mood for conversation. I know it’s going to be bad.
So I’m surprised when she drives us to a relatively seedy area and parks the car on a side street.
“Out,” she commands.
I slide out of the car and follow her two steps behind as is the proper demeanour for a submissive. I thought she was going to take me to a cheap motel where nobody would hear us – or if they did, they wouldn’t care – but instead I can tell by the pounding music that it’s a nightclub. My breathing slows a notch: maybe she just wants to dance first and fuck later. She stops at the entrance and snakes her arm around my waist, pushing her hand into the back pocket of my jeans and squeezing hard. She’s letting me know that she’s in charge – as if there were any doubt about that.
The street is full of various clubs and drinking dives with dirty windows. Opposite there’s a scene where a group of rowdy women spill onto the street, laughing and talking. From the look of it I’m guessing it’s a lesbian hang-out. For a second I’m diverted by the idea that it would be a place of sanctuary for me. I smile without permission and I can see that Elena’s fury has just spiked up another notch. The smile falls from my face. I’m not ready for this; I’m so ready for this: my cock twitches with anticipation again.
It takes just seconds for me to realise that this is a BDSM club. The door supervisor looks askance at my casual jeans and T-shirt but Elena’s unwavering gaze and Domme stance persuade him to let us in.
She hasn’t taken me to many clubs: once in Seattle and a couple of times in Portland. We’ve never been to one out East; well, I haven’t. I don’t know about Elena. I don’t even know who introduced her to all this. She’s never said. It sure as hell wasn’t Linc, her husband. He doesn’t have a clue what she really likes. Or who. Thank fuck.
The music is pounding, too loud to talk, but Elena isn’t interested in talking to me – not tonight. She pulls me onto the dance floor and we start to move. Elena sure can dance and she’s taught me well. Suddenly she grips the hem of my T-shirt and pulls it over my head, shoving it into the back pocket of my jeans. I know my eyes have widened in apprehension; I’m afraid she’s going to touch me.
She knows how I feel about that – and, exposed like this, somebody else might touch me. Christ – she’s really angry with me. My mouth goes dry and my heart rate spikes.
She glares at me, a triumphant and cruel look on her face. I can guess what’s coming next.
She grabs my wrist and drags me with her across the dance floor, then speaks rapidly to one of the staff, a blonde-haired woman dressed in a shiny, red leather bondage outfit.
We’re taken up the backstairs and I guess that Elena’s booked a private room – a fully equipped private room. The blonde gives Elena a key, throws a cool, calculating look at me, and leaves.
I know what I have to do. I remove my jeans and boxer briefs while she watches me and kneel by the door, eyes down, hands on thighs, knees apart, erection growing.
“You’ve seriously displeased me,” she says softly. “Now, what am I going to do about that?”
The question is rhetorical: we both know what she’s going to do.
“Go and stand by the wall,” she says.
I stand swiftly and walk to the wall decorated with shackles and face away from her, my breathing shallow. Not seeing what she’s going to do scares me and turns me on.
She chooses the metal handcuffs – the most brutal restraining devices. Shit. I’m going to have to wear long sleeves for the next fortnight. She secures my wrists and ankles, tightening the chains, until I’m spread-eagled against the wall – I’ve got the mother of all erections.
I can hear Elena undressing behind me. I hope she’s wearing her sexy-as-fuck, satin and leather bondage corset. She takes something off the wall. I can’t tell if it’s a riding crop, paddle or flogger. But when she swishes it through the air, I can tell it’s a cane. Fuck. This is going to hurt.
She starts raining down blows on my back, shoulders, buttocks and legs. I force my mind empty, going to a dark place where the pain doesn’t reach me. I can take this sort of touching. But the blows go on and on and on. Only once before has she beaten me this hard, and that was early on in our relationship when she’d caught me drinking.
My mind snaps back into my body. If this doesn’t stop soon, I’m going to have to safe-word. It’s been a point of pride that I haven’t safe-worded with her since I was sixteen.
I realise that I’m gasping for breath and my face is screwed up from the pain. My legs are starting to tremble and the cuffs are cutting into my wrists and ankles.
“You. Are. Mine,” she snarls as the blows continue.
I think I’m going to pass out. But suddenly the crack of the cane ceases. She lays her hands on my upper back and I cry out. I can’t bear to be touched – I can’t bear it. She runs her hands round to my chest and it’s excruciating.
I want to beg: no, please! Not there! But I don’t. She knows what she’s doing.
Suddenly she shoves a butt plug up my ass. It’s larger than usual – fuck! It hurts. The breath hisses through my teeth. She pulls me round on the chains, so I’m facing her. She drops to her knees and begins to suck me. Christ! I don’t know how long I can hold on. I try not to come because she hasn’t given me permission. But it’s close – really close. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands to distract myself.
She stops abruptly and when she grabs me by my hips I know she wants me to fuck her. Hard. She pulls herself onto me and my reaction almost finishes me but I manage to hold back, thrusting hard, until I feel her body quickening around me. When she screams into my chest I thankfully let myself go. She collapses slowly to the floor leaving me gasping, still hanging.
Eventually she recovers enough to sit up. Her face is hard and unforgiving. I know I’ve taken a punishment fuck but I’m not sure what for. Ok, that’s disingenuous: it’s for having spent time with Shelly, even though it was work and nothing else. Elena doesn’t like to share – I know that. She stands and roughly yanks out the butt plug. Christ, that’s sore. But for the first time I feel… I’m not sure what I feel. Anger, maybe? I know I don’t want to be hanging here like this anymore, but Elena doesn’t show any signs of intending to free me. Shit. How long is she going to leave me here?
Without speaking she stands and unlocks the door to our room. To my horror, the woman in red enters. Elena has never, ever done this to me before: she’s never invited anyone to join our sessions. And I know why she’s done it – to humiliate me. It’s working – but I feel fucking furious, too.
The woman in red prowls around me. Surely Elena is going to let her touch me. But she does. She runs a sharp, red fingernail down my chest and I can’t help myself – I scream.
The woman in red blinks and looks at Elena but there’s no change in her expression so the woman continues, touching me everywhere, running her hands over the marks of the cane. Elena knows where I can be touched but this stranger doesn’t. My heart is beating so hard I think I’m going to pass out. I can’t take anymore. I scream again as she runs her hand around the base of my neck and upper back.
“Red! Red! Red!”
The woman looks puzzled as I hang limply, my body trembling, my eyes screwed shut.
“Is that your safe word?”
I can’t speak and Elena gives a small smile. “Don’t worry about it.”
I’m begging now, my voice weak and shaky, all pride torn away.
“He’s safe-worded, hasn’t he?” the woman demands. She crosses her arms. “I’m not gonna touch him if he’s safe-worded. You’re one tough bitch, you know that?” she says to Elena accusingly. She starts to unshackle me.
“Leave him alone!” spits Elena.
“No. You leave him alone,” says the woman firmly. “There are rules here: you should know that – you do know that. Either I let the kid go or I’m throwing you out. Got it?”
Elena gets it and stands hard-faced as the woman releases me.
I sink to the floor, unable to look at either of them. After a pause, the woman leaves the room.
Elena throws my jeans and T-shirt at me.
Numb, I pull on my clothes. My muscles are sore from hanging for so long and I have deep welts on my ankles and wrists from the cuffs. God knows what my back looks like. I don’t care about that. I do care that she let that woman touch me.
Elena waits for me to climb to my feet. Christ, everything hurts and my ass is on fire. Walking hurts. I follow her down the stairs and back through the dance floor in silence. When we get out of the club I pull in lungfuls of cool, night air.
Too late, I realise that one of the women from the bar across the street is staring at me. As my eyes slowly focus, I see that it’s Professor Mathers. She looks horrified. I must look bad.
Shit. I don’t need this.
Elena hasn’t noticed. “Car,” she intones.
But Professor Mathers has a determined look in her eye and she crosses the street towards us.
“Mr Grey! Christian!”
Elena’s head whips towards her.
“Who the fuck is that?” she hisses.
“One of my teachers,” I say. My voice sounds low and hoarse.
“Are you alright, Christian?” Professor Mathers’ voice is full of concern. It reminds me of the way my mom used to speak to me after I’d got into yet another fight.
“He’s fine,” says Elena coolly.
“I wasn’t asking you,” replies Professor Mathers in a clipped tone. “Christian?”
“I’m fine,” I whisper. I can’t meet her eyes.
She puts her hand on my arm and I flinch away, blinking up at her. She stares at the raw, raised welts on wrist and I can tell that she gets it. She knows what I am.
I drag my eyes away from the Professor and gingerly get into Elena’s car. The last thing I see as we drive away is the pity on my teacher’s face.
Elena drops me at my apartment.
“Next time I expect you to fucking be here,” she snarls. “I know your schedule: don’t fuck up again.”
She accelerates off into the night. I have no idea if she’s staying in the area or catching a plane back to Seattle tonight. Right now I’m too tired to care. I drag myself upstairs and collapse onto my bed. I don’t bother to undress.