‘Like it hard, eh?’ Dimitri grunts. My back is stuck to the couch so his ferocious fucking is inescapable. ‘Like it hard and in public, being watched. How does she look, India?’
‘Like a dirty fucking whore,’ says India, and that’s when I come, whimpering into Dimitri’s laughing face, into India’s disgusted titter, into Dale’s long-drawn-out ‘Yeeeeaaaaahhhhh.’
Dimitri carries on, though, drawing yet another climax from me before he is ready for the ‘money shot’. He shoots all over my tits and belly, and his face is no disappointment, crumpled and vulnerable, beautifully shocked for those few fragile seconds.
Then he is Dimitri again, sweating and puffing, but the lanky love god I have come to know, just a little.
‘Sweet,’ he says, brushing a plastered hair from my forehead. ‘Nice one. Did you get that, Dale?’
Dale is busy filming my jizz-gleaming breasts and the flush that spreads from my collarbone to my hairline.
‘OK, cut,’ he says. And that’s when I remember. It’s not even over yet.
‘What do you think of the show so far?’ whispers Dimitri, leaning over to my ear and offering me some more popcorn.
‘Rubbish,’ I mug, but then I smile at him. ‘No. I love it. It’s so much better than I ever expected.’
We are in the same living room we made the film in, sitting on that same cream leather couch, with all the blinds drawn down, all the lights off, and the film running on a huge, wall-mounted TV screen. Dale and India are either side of us, making comments at key intervals.
‘Your cock looks better than ever, D,’ says Dale dispassionately. ‘You keep it in good nick.’
‘Do other porn actors let themselves go, then?’ I ask, amused. ‘Let their cocks get fat and hairy and dress them in dowdy boxers?’
Dimitri snuffles with mirth, chewing contentedly on his popcorn.
‘Something like that,’ he says.
‘Nah, I mean it still gets hard really quickly and stays hard for ages,’ says a mildly affronted Dale. ‘It’s a gift, man.’
‘Some of us are born with it,’ says Dimitri, ‘some achieve it, and some have it thrust upon them. Like you.’ He nudges me and we giggle like pathetic schoolchildren.
‘Look, it’s getting to the good part,’ says India sulkily. ‘Stop mucking about and let’s watch the anal scene. That’s my favourite.’
‘Mine too,’ I agree. Dimitri puts an arm around me and I lay my head on his shoulder.
It is so odd to see what we did this way. I can’t keep my eyes off my face, which does not seem like
my
face. It seems alien, as if there is nothing of me behind the avid eyes. Is this what I look like to Dimitri, to others? Five feet six, one hundred and thirty-five pounds of sex. My voice is all wrong too. Do I really moan in that ridiculous drama-school way? Do I really sound that posh?
It is lovely, though, to see Dimitri’s hands on me, and to see the way his body combines and flows with mine. The dance is intricate, compelling, almost beautiful to watch in a way – a bizarre performance art.
I watch myself bent over the arm of the couch, legs in a V, camera shooting me in profile while Dimitri, with cock rigid once more, fucks me standing up behind. During this scene, India was given a camcorder to use, and scenes of Dimitri pumping away are intercut with images of my screwed up, puffing face, or his hands, fingers splayed over my tits, squeezing them as he thrusts.
‘Do you ever get enough?’ he grinds out, spearing me up against the leather, holding me firm for a moment, waiting for my answer before he will start again.
‘Never,’ I vow, and I’m impressed with how genuinely deranged with lust I sound as I say the word. This is one hell of a sexy film. ‘I need it all the time.’
‘That can be arranged,’ says Dimitri, resuming his rhythm. Off camera, India hands him a bottle of lube. My body stiffens – at the time, I could hear him unscrewing the cap, and I knew what was coming. ‘But you’ll get a very sore pussy, won’t you? Perhaps we should give it a break. Try something else.’
I begin to whimper like a kicked puppy; his finger is so swift and smooth, the lubricant cold as it is spread between my cheeks with no-nonsense professionalism.
‘This is what you need,’ he says, softly, just loud enough for the microphone to pick up. I can see what he is doing, see my split cheeks, see his finger working the little twisted opening, making it shiny sheeny with lubricant. It looks so obscene, but I cannot look away. I think I will be rewinding this scene, quite often.
The camera pans out a little, making it clear that the root of Dimitri’s cock is still buried inside me; he is swivelling his hips in small rotations, just enough to ensure I still feel it there in full effect. Another close-up – Dimitri’s finger, breaking the seal, sneaking up inside to the knuckle. My face, damp and gasping, eyes tight shut.
‘I hope there’s room for me up here. What do you think?’
‘I don’t know,’ I whisper.
‘Better find out then.’ Dimitri’s finger is two fingers now, and they are squelching lubriciously back and forth, widening the tiny aperture to suit his purpose. ‘My guess is … yes.’
The hard, gleaming cock pulls slowly out of its sheath and places itself at the tiny hole vacated by Dimitri’s fingers. It is slow, excruciatingly but very arousingly slow, watching the blunt round head push, push, push until it begins to stretch the arsehole enough to take it in.
On the couch, transfixed, I don’t hear Dimitri’s words at first.
‘You like this bit, don’t you?’ he says, his fingers finding the dimple in my sweater caused by a hardened nipple. ‘I can tell.’
Without looking away from the screen, I nod. ‘Wow,’ is all I can say.
‘Dirty girl,’ he teases, but I don’t stop him pulling up my jumper and playing with the nipple, chafing it with the lace of my bra cup. ‘You aren’t the only one.’ He pulls one of my hands over to his crotch, the fabric of which is straining with the force of his erection.
On screen, Dimitri’s cock – the very cock I can feel right now – is edging onward. His cock, my face – looking astounded, my mouth and eyes wide open – then his cock again, further up now, getting to the point where I start to squirm and try to thrash.
‘Your face,’ chuckles off-screen Dimitri. I am starting to look very alarmed – I remember this bit being painfully tight. ‘That hurt you, didn’t it?’
‘You’re so big!’ I excuse myself. ‘I don’t think I’ve had one that big before.’
He grunts with satisfaction, then pulls me on to his lap, making my skirt ride up in the process so he can get one big hand inside my knickers with ease. My bottom is on the zip of his trousers, the cheeks rudely bisected by the hard lump within. He begins to finger me, lazily, while the four of us continue to watch me getting buggered on the screen.
Dimitri in the film is all the way up now. I try to recall the feeling: stuffed to bursting, stretched and a little sore, wondering if he had gone too far, but also revelling in my filthy sluttiness, loving that I was caught on camera with a big fat cock up my arse. He draws back – that part felt so strangely wrong that I began to wring my hands, which looks quite comical on the film – then slams, hard, so that his pelvis slaps my bum cheeks with a resounding crack. I cry out.
The audience laughs. Dimitri’s fingers twiddle my clit and my nipples simultaneously. I wriggle on his rock-hard cock. We carry on that way, watching me get sodomised, the cock in, the cock out, my face, his face, fingers up me, on my clit, everywhere, his stiffness between my bum cheeks, in, out, in, out.
The woman in the film comes first, the camera catching that shameful rapture in its full no-holds-barred glory; then film Dimitri whips himself as quickly as he can out of my arse and splashes his spunk all over my red rear cheeks, painting it on so it covers them. I am next, jiggling all over Dimitri’s lap while Dale and India cheer and express their intention of going to the bedroom.
‘Good,’ says Dimitri, no longer interested in the fucked-out couple on the screen, collapsing down on the sofa. ‘Get on your knees on the floor. I’m going to fuck you again.’
It was worth every penny. I have my lovely secret tape to watch whenever I like now. Dimitri asks me now and then to star in one of his films, but of course, I can’t say yes to that. There have been a few more private productions since then, though … Jazzy Jewel has gone on to more mainstream porn fame now. When she is interviewed in
Forum
or
Penthouse
she always acknowledges the role Dimitri played in her career, and wishes him well with his new relationship.
‘T
ELL ME AGAIN HOW
long you left the email unread?’
‘Three days, sir.’
‘And tell me again
why
you left it unread for three days?’
‘Because I got another one two minutes later, and it was from you, so I read that and just … forgot … about the other one.’
Charlotte screwed up her face. It was hard to think on one’s feet, and even harder to think on one’s tiptoes. Especially when cuffed and strung up by the wrists to a ceiling hook. With nothing on but a shirt and shoes and socks.
‘And now,’ Collins said again, magnifying the enormity of her transgression with the weight of disapproval in his voice, ‘our customer has complained. Not only that, but she intends to withdraw the recommendations she has made to friends. And this is no ordinary customer, Charlotte, oh no. This is a very highly valued customer; a lady who has availed herself of our service no fewer than four times.’
‘I know, sir. I’m sorry, sir.’
‘Sorry doesn’t pay the bills.’ Collins ran the cold flat tip of his riding crop over Charlotte’s undefended bottom cheeks. ‘How many have you earned, Charlotte, in your estimation?’
Charlotte hated this part; having to guess how many strokes he would give her (for she was under no illusion that her hazardings were ever taken into final account when he calculated the total owing).
‘Twenty, sir? Hard?’
‘Twenty, hard. Hmm. I’d say that was the minimum. Let’s start with ten medium and then work up to … thirty. Hard.’
Oh dear. This was the worst tally yet – though Charlotte had not, thus far, committed any transgression more serious than forgetting to order new stationery, so that was hardly surprising. Lady Markham was extremely displeased, judging by the tone of her follow-up email, and Collins was correspondingly incandescent.
The medium ten were bad enough, stinging and inescapable as she struggled to keep her tippy-toes on the ground, but once he started to put the full strength of his arm into them, Charlotte knew she would not get through the first dozen without some pleading and bargaining. Pleading and bargaining never worked with Collins though. Bryant could sometimes be persuaded, but Collins was made of resolution and utterly unswerving once his course was fixed.
The cuts came hard and fast, which was one scant mercy – at least he did not draw out the agony – and pretty soon, Charlotte was almost spinning in a twisty dervish-dance, swinging on that hook like a punch bag buffeted this way and that. No matter how she tried to position herself, Collins found her bottom with the deftest, surest flick of his wrist and each stroke of the thirty found its target with ease, until she was striped and tight, burning all over from the disciplinary attention.
‘Now,’ said Collins quietly, cupping her punished globes with a considering hand, ‘I am going to uncuff you and you are going to sit on that hard wood chair and take dictation for me.’
Charlotte breathed in deeply as the cuffs clicked and she was reacquainted with her heels. Sitting on the chair was not comfortable, but at least the worst of the whipping was past and she was free to redeem herself.
‘Dear Lady Markham,’ opened Collins, standing by the window and looking out while Charlotte commenced typing. ‘Please accept my humble apologies for the oversight regarding your most recent email. My slapdash omission was inexcusable and you will be pleased to hear that I am sitting on a very sore bottom as I type this, having been soundly whipped by an irate Mr Collins. He has asked me to tell you that, if you feel my punishment insufficient, he is very happy to add to it.’
Charlotte lifted tragic eyes to her employer at this juncture. Surely this was humiliation enough? But Collins slight half-smile conveyed pleasure in her abasement, so she was sure any protestation would meet with short shrift.
‘I hope you will feel able,’ continued Collins, ‘to continue with the arrangement you sought to make in your preliminary communication. I would be very happy to offer you the scenario you outlined at fifty per cent of the usual price, for the sake of continuing goodwill. I will personally make up the shortfall by working overtime and taking on a more hands-on role from time to time. I sincerely hope this will be agreeable to you, and look forward to your reply. Abjectly, Charlotte Steele.’
‘A more hands-on role,’ said Charlotte nervously, looking up at her employer. ‘What did you mean by that, please, sir?’
‘I mean, Charlotte, that when a female player is required in these fantasies, you will have to take that part. It will save me a good deal of money. Money I cannot afford to lose.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘Good. Now come and sit your sore behind on this windowsill and show me your contrition in the usual manner, Charlotte. I haven’t got all day to deal with your misdeeds.’
‘Lady Markham isn’t quite sure how she wants this set up,’ Bryant explained, leading Charlotte and Collins through the Harley Street rooms, deserted at this time of night, but giving exactly the right atmosphere. ‘I gather from Charlotte that she is keen for some kind of quasi-medical consultation, with her as the submissive, brought to an appointment with a doctor by her exasperated husband or employer. What do you think, Charlotte? Husband or employer?’
‘I think husband,’ said Charlotte. ‘Then it’s clear that he already has a sexual relationship with her. A boss is good too, though … I don’t know.’
‘Well, you need to know,’ said Collins impatiently. ‘You’re the submissive on the payroll. This is what we pay you for.’
‘Maybe a husband then. He is taking her to the doctor to find out why she is so temperamental and disobedient. The doctor examines her … y’know … and makes his recommendations. And perhaps demonstrates a few.’
‘Good,’ said Collins. A doctor, a masterful husband and a wife who needs to be brought to submission. I like it. I think Lady Markham will like it too.’
‘It’s funny, isn’t it,’ said Charlotte, ‘how an amazingly powerful woman like Lady Markham, who has made policies and everything, likes to get spanked and ordered about. Weird.’
‘Not weird really,’ smiled Bryant. ‘I suppose it’s a release for her.’
‘I suppose so.’
They came to the top of a flight of stairs and entered a large, airy, plant-filled consultation room.
‘Well then.’ Bryant switched on the lights and drew the blinds. ‘I think this will do rather nicely.’
Collins slid himself into position behind the substantial walnut desk and took out a clipboard and fountain pen. ‘Notes,’ he explained tersely. ‘You’ll find my waiting room next door, Mr and Mrs …’
‘Masterton,’ supplied Charlotte.
‘Perfect. Well, then. Go and wait for me to admit you.’
Charlotte and Bryant walked through to an equally spacious room amply supplied with comfortable chintzy seating and copies of
Country Life
on the expensive antique occasional tables.
‘Well, my dear,’ said Bryant, getting into strident role, ‘I’m told that Dr Collins is the leading authority in this area. I certainly hope he will be able to help us.’
Charlotte lowered her eyes to the floor, shifting uncomfortably in her armchair. ‘Are you sure this is necessary, darling?’ she muttered.
Bryant smiled, perching on the armrest and clapping a hand of reassurance on her shoulder.
‘If you want this marriage to work, dearest Charlotte … and I know I do.’
Charlotte, momentarily transported to an alternative reality in which she was Bryant’s wife, could only stare at him, mute with the possibilities such a situation would have to offer.
‘If it’s what you want … then I will go along with it,’ she finally faltered.
She was re-anchored in the present by the click of the consulting room door and the sight of Collins’s head, spectacles lowered to the bridge of his nose, peering severely at his clients.
‘I’m ready for you now, Mr Masterton,’ he said, ignoring Charlotte and turning his back on them to return to the desk.
It was an impressive, expansive figure who greeted the couple, fingers knit in a steeple, head cocked to one curious side.
‘I note from your referral,’ opened Collins, glancing at some hastily-scribbled papers, ‘that you have been experiencing some marital difficulties. Please could you expand on these for me, Mr Masterton.’
‘Of course,’ Bryant opened enthusiastically. ‘When Charlotte and I became engaged, we made certain agreements – a contract of sorts – as to how the household would be run. She accepted that I would be master of the house in every respect and that I had the right to demand her absolute obedience. However, it seems that she was … less than honest with me when she made that agreement.’
‘Oh really?’ Charlotte felt a trickle of excitement in the face of the hard stare Collins was now subjecting her to. She shifted in her seat, causing Bryant to grasp her hand and hold it tightly.
‘Sad but true,’ continued the disappointed husband. ‘She is consistently disobedient, lazy around the house and has even begun to withhold her body from me, in direct contravention of the rules we established together.’
‘Separate beds?’ snapped Collins in disgust.
‘Upon occasion, I regret to say …’
‘But do you not insist?’
‘I have insisted. I have threatened. I have begged.’
‘Enough!’ Collins, his eyes now hardened flint, held up a hand. ‘You must
never
beg. She will laugh at you.’
‘Then what can I do, Doctor?’
‘Watch,’ said Collins, his voice a purr of menace, ‘and learn. I can restore to you a pliant and submissive mate who will open her legs for you at the merest suggestion of desire on your part – but you must observe and follow these techniques to the letter. Are you prepared to do this?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘And you, Mrs Masterton?’
Charlotte pursed her lips, her chest already heaving in anticipation of the dread delights to come.
‘I … oh … if it will save my marriage … then yes.’
‘Good. Masterton, ask her to do something for you. Let me see how she behaves.’
‘Very well. Er … would you care to suck my cock, darling?’
Charlotte forced the laughter down and retorted, ‘Certainly not! I’m not some whore, you know!’
‘I see,’ said Collins icily. ‘We have much work to do. Mr Masterton, may I ask you to place your chair against the wall, somewhere that will give you the optimum view, and observe how I would deal with this kind of insubordination.’
Bryant, nodding, moved away from the desk and sat, legs crossed and arms folded, ready to enjoy the spectacle.
‘Now then, Mrs Masterton, let’s try that again.’ Collins rose from his desk and came to loom behind Charlotte, his hands braced on the back of her chair. He bent and put his lips close to her ear.
‘Suck my cock,’ he hissed.
‘No!’ yelped Charlotte, bolting forwards until she almost fell off the chair, but Collins had closed his hand around her upper arm and was dragging her up and out of her seat, whisking her briskly out of the way so he could take her place and then pull her, so seamlessly that it was like a perverse ballet, back down across his lap, head and legs dangling and tight-skirted bottom vulnerable to attack.
‘I’m not sure I heard that right,’ he said, patting a hand against the swell of her buttocks with dangerous intent. ‘Did you say no?’
‘Ohhhh,’ moaned Charlotte, fully aware of her precarious position.
It seemed that Collins did not really require an answer anyway, for he addressed himself to Bryant instead.
‘My advice to you,’ he said, ‘is to put a system of consequences for disobedience in place as soon as you can, and to stick to it. This is just a suggestion – you can use other sanctions as well as, or instead of, corporal punishment; but once you have decided on your system, you must be firm and consistent in applying it. And now, with your permission, I intend to give your wife the spanking she so clearly needs.’
‘Oh, please, be my guest,’ said Bryant and then Charlotte’s squeals drowned his words, together with the salutary crack of Collins’s broad palm against the tightly-skirted rear.
‘You must judge for yourself how far and how hard you want to take it,’ said Collins, smacking away with gusto. ‘For instance, you may decide to stick to spanking her over her skirt or trousers. Or you may decide that these offer too much protection – I tend to go along with that viewpoint – in which case …’
Charlotte kicked her legs as the skirt rose up, trailing ticklishly along her thighs and revealing her high-cut French silk knickers.
‘… You might try warming her behind in underwear only. These are very nice; did you buy them for her?’
‘I did,’ said Bryant – and it was true. ‘They’re from Agent Provocateur.’
‘Oh, yes, a favourite haunt of my wife’s,’ said Collins, and Charlotte’s buttocks clenched suddenly. ‘No, Mrs Masterton, you do not clench for me, unless you want extra strokes.’
Charlotte both did and didn’t want extra strokes; but what she definitely did not want was for Collins to be married. Was the wife real, or imaginary, constructed for the furtherance of the narrative? Not sure why she should care, Charlotte endeavoured to put the thought from her mind, and she was ably assisted in this by the renewed forceful application of Collins’s hand to her silkily clad rear.
‘Do you repent your ill-mannered disobedience?’ Collins asked, whaling away. ‘Can your husband expect the submission he deserves from you in the future?’
Charlotte knew that Lady Markham would be far from ready to throw in the towel at this point, so she shook her head and blurted, ‘No, no.’
‘Very well. Then I shall have to bare your bottom.’
‘This can’t be a medical technique! I demand to see the textbook!’
‘My methods may be unorthodox, but they carry a one hundred per cent success rate.’ Collins whipped the knickers down to Charlotte’s knees and spent an agonisingly long time inspecting the state he had made of her bottom.
‘These look like the marks of a riding whip,’ he noted, pressing a thumb into the fading bruises from the cropping he had given her in the office two days earlier. ‘You have already tried this method?’
‘Tried,’ said Bryant. ‘But I can’t seem to make it sink in.’