Thrill Seeker (25 page)

My nerves got the better of me and I retreated, edging back towards the blocked door, trailing my fingers along the row of chairs. ‘Well,’ I said. ‘Now you know how it feels.’

When I reached the gap in the oblong of desks, I moved into the central space, putting a row of tables between us. Den leaned forwards, hands on the table-top, the dark hair on his bared forearms making me ache for his body. He fixed me with a fierce stare, his black brows furrowing over his shallow-lidded eyes, the wings of those scar-raddled
cheekbones somehow underscoring his fury. At times, I’d seen a peaceful quality in his wide, angular face but when he glowered, all the sloping planes became slash marks of rage.

‘I didn’t fucking stalk you,’ he said, ‘I observed from a distance a couple of times. And I broke into your house once to give you a quick thrill. It was practically an arrangement we’d agreed upon. This. Fucking. Isn’t.’

He gave a small lurch forward as if attempting to peck me. I darted back, fearing he were about to vault over the desks. Straightening, he continued his leisurely pursuit until he was standing squarely in the gap he’d made, trapping me in the frame of desks. Even while he was doing his best to unnerve me, and succeeding very well, I couldn’t help but take pleasure in the sight of his lean hips, his low-slung leather belt with its big, macho buckle, and the muscular thighs beneath his jeans. He was hard too, the bar of his cock visible among the folds of worn denim. Anger and desire. Not a great combination. But then I was feeling much the same so who could blame him?

‘Why did you do that and vanish?’ My voice shook with emotion. ‘Is that what you do? Meet women and discard them? Is that how you get your rocks off?’

Den’s eyes flickered around the room then landed on a nearby clutter of equipment. He didn’t move but I could tell he’d registered something of significance.

‘Shall we play another game, Natalie?’

I drew a deep breath, trying to steel myself. ‘Dunno. What’s this one called? Acting like a cunt, part two?’

Den crossed to the stack of equipment and rummaged among a tangle of wires. ‘It’s called “Tying you up and fucking you”,’ he said. A beep sounded as he unplugged a couple of sockets. My heart galloped, heat flushing my cheeks. He
wouldn’t attempt to do that here, would he? Was he testing to see if I was hypothetically up for it?

He faced me again, standing in the gap of the square of desks into which I’d backed myself. He was a human gate, blocking the exit of my pen, a length of telephone wire in his hands, its black plug dangling. He gave the wire a deliberate tug.

A surge of lust nearly knocked me off my feet. His threatening bondage and the evident pleasure he took in tormenting me inspired a clawing, maddening hunger. Memories of our time in the theatre flooded my mind and my groin. I wanted him. Here, elsewhere, anywhere. I didn’t care about the risks or consequences. We were so good together, so hot. My heart thundered and I was swamped by a flurry of desperate urges. I wanted him to fuck me till I could barely breathe, wanted him to use and abuse me, to claim me by hurting me.

Right then, nothing else mattered. I knew I’d been right to seek him out. Neither of us had been expecting this: mouse had turned cat, the hunted was now the hunter. My heart kept racing and my cunt throbbed as he strode into the pen of desks. I backed away, arousal and fear battling for precedence in my roaring blood. Between my thighs, I was wet and bloated, the ferocity of my desire rendering me muddled and weak. Was he pursuing me or was I luring him into my trap so I could get what I wanted?

When I reached the line of desks, I rested my arse against the edge, waiting, my breath shivering in and out of me. As he drew nearer, the scent of sharp, clean sweat sparked a fierce longing for the familiarity of his body, skin against skin, cock in my cunt.

‘Tell me what you want,’ he said again. ‘Tell me why
you’re really here. What drives you to these extremes? Why does this matter so much?’

The air was charged, as if an electricity we exuded completed a circuit.

‘Doesn’t it matter to you?’ I replied.

He took a step closer. I half-expected the space between us to crackle. He grabbed my hair at the nape, phone wire in his other hand. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It matters. We’re probably more alike than you know.’

The closeness of his face sent my arousal several degrees higher. Lust urged me to lean forward and kiss him, to forget words and fighting so we could simply melt into each other’s mouths. But the edge of pain from his fist in my hair was a cruel reminder that in this game, my desires were portrayed as secondary to his. And therein lay the irresistible paradox. Being at the apparent mercy of his desire was, effectively, my own desire. My instinct to embrace and taste him was subdued by my yearning to submit, by my pleasure being bound up in delayed gratification, sacrifice and suffering.

‘But I’m asking the questions right now,’ he continued, ‘so tell me what you want. Then maybe we can discuss where we go next.’

He tugged on my hair, making me wince. My heart was going crazy and, in a rush, I told him, my voice quivering. ‘You scare me,’ I said. ‘I like it, I liked being your prisoner. I like how you make me feel. Cheap, greedy and ashamed.’ I looked him dead in the eye, drawing on my ebbing strength. ‘But I don’t like how you vanished. You started something and now you have to finish it. Because I need this too. I need it just as bad as you.’

For a couple of seconds he stared back at me, his eyes livid blue slits. Then he zoomed in, his lips hitting mine,
and we were kissing with mad, angry excitement, trying to devour each other in a mess of wetness, lips, tongues and teeth, our vast hunger attempting to squeeze itself into the confines of a kiss. It felt less like a kiss, and more like we were trying to fuck each other with our mouths. In the cotton of my knickers I grew as messy as our mouths, my flesh wet, wide and pounding with desire. Den kept his grip on my hair, pulling with increasing pressure until my head was tipped so far back I couldn’t respond. Instead, I became the recipient of his kiss, my head held tight, hair nipping at the base of my skull.

Slowing, Den took my bottom lip between his teeth, stretching it out until he bit so hard I yelped. We sprang apart.

It was the nastiest, most violent kiss I’d ever known.

‘How badly?’ said Den.

I was shocked to taste the coppery tang of blood in my mouth. I sucked on my lower lip, running my tongue over lumpy tenderness, assessing the damage. Before I could speak, Den spun me around by the shoulders, grabbing my hands and jerking them behind my back. Using the phone wire, he began binding my wrists, looping the squeaky, plastic length in a figure of eight around my wrists. The cool grip of the wire and the process of being bound made me weak with the need to be overtaken. It was all I could do stop myself from falling to my knees in a gesture of instant submission. People walked past the door, footsteps and chatter. I didn’t care.

‘How bad?’ Den repeated.

‘Bad,’ I croaked. ‘Bad enough for me to come here and let you do this to me. Even though you’ve been a prick. And I want it the way you want it, the way you dole it out. Hard, nasty, debasing. That’s how I want it. That’s how bad.’

‘You like being used?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ My answer was an impatient syllable.

‘You like getting tied up?’

‘Yes.’

He continued threading the phone wire into awkward manacles. ‘You like getting fucked in the mouth?’

‘Yes.’

‘Arse? Cunt?’

‘Yes, yes.’

He finished off his tie, allowing the heavy plug to dangle behind my knees. Its weight added to the security of the bondage, reinforcing the pull I felt to sink into the blissful stupor of submission.

‘You like the idea of getting fucked by a bunch of guys?’ Den continued. ‘A gang of them using you, passing you around.’ Briskly, he began unbuttoning my shirt. ‘A slut. Party favour. Whore. All of them treating you like meat. Ramming their cocks into your holes, fucking you senseless. You like that?’

He shoved my top and bra straps past my shoulders then crudely scooped my breasts from my bra. I was wired with arousal, lust shooting and simmering.

I felt woozy. ‘Yes,’ I breathed, wondering how many times I’d fantasised about me and three or more men in a bed.

Den reached past me to grab one of the long, plastic tables and tugged it towards the centre. Chairs clattered behind it, metal legs entangling. One chair fell to the ground, feet in the air.

‘Lie on the table,’ he said. ‘On your back.’

I glanced at the door. If anyone tried to open it and push at the table behind it, we were done for. But if they merely peered in through the narrow glass panel, then we wouldn’t
be seen. How badly did I want it? Badly enough to chance getting caught? Oh yes. Besides, given that Den was here in a professional capacity, the risk he took far outweighed mine.

I hopped on the central table and swivelled into position, my cunt thick and wet for him. At last we seemed to be reconnecting, lust glowing white-hot between us. After this we couldn’t possibly go our separate ways again. Clearly, we shared something special. We were wild for each other. Den simply needed to admit that to himself and we’d be fine. I wouldn’t need to return to online dating and, with Den’s help, Baxter Logan would soon be a distant memory. I lay down, my bound wrists bulky in the small of my back, the sway of the hanging plug pulling on my bonds.

‘More this way.’ Den tucked his hands into my armpits and slid my body higher up the table so my head had nothing to rest on. I allowed my neck to arch back, my upside down head perfectly positioned for him to drive his cock into my mouth. ‘I’m going to make your dreams come true,’ he said.

Confused, I gazed at the inverted classroom, table legs, window blinds and up to the cream, tiled ceiling. Which dreams? Should I check or trust him? Den moved around me with jerky aggression. I listened to him stride to the other end of the table where he shoved my skirt up to my hips. He removed my knickers in a couple of tugs. The plastic table was cool and hard beneath my buttocks. Grabbing each inner thigh, Den opened me up, forcing me apart until one leg was crooked over the table’s edge, the other angled back, my swollen wet folds on brazen display. My breathing quickened as, without complaint, I allowed him to arrange me.

I tracked him as best I could, watching his legs stride over to a flipchart by the whiteboard. I missed what he was doing and before I knew it, he was at my side again. I caught a
tiny pop then a sharp, chemical scent. He leaned over me, an uncapped marker pen in his hand. ‘You just need a couple of labels then we’re done,’ he said.

He pressed the pen tip to one inner thigh. The soft nib tickled my skin as he wrote. I counted out four letters. He moved up my body and wrote across my chest. Again, four letters. I thought ahead, realising these words would show above my top once I was dressed. Tissues and spit. I’d be fine. Then, appallingly, Den cupped my head in one hand, supporting it as he touched the pen to my forehead.

I cringed, pressing into his hand. ‘No,’ I whispered. ‘Not my face.’ I didn’t dare move any more in case that caused him to accidentally mark me.

‘Yes,’ he said calmly. ‘Your face. Keep still.’

The marker pen moved on my skin. I forced myself to accept the touch, again telling myself tissues and spit would fix me up. Den marked my forehead with four letters. This was so much worse than him writing words on my body. I felt branded, as if he were imposing a new identity on me by changing my face.

‘What have you written?’ I asked, lifting my head and craning forward.

Den stood back, smiling. On my inner thigh, in uppercase lettering, was the word ‘cunt’. Across my chest ,the word ‘tits’. I raised my eyes to indicate my forehead. ‘What’s here?’

‘Lie back,’ said Den. ‘It says “hole”. That’s all you are. Cunt, tits, hole. It’s not even a mouth. It’s a hole. Nothing to do with words, your voice. Nothing to do with you. It’s all for me. Just another hole to be filled by my cock.’

Oh, jeez, he was crude and vile. And yet I still didn’t regret pursuing him one iota. Quite the opposite. I was glad. I felt debased, humiliated and deliriously cheap. But most rare and
precious of all, I felt understood and accepted. I was becoming more convinced that, with a connection such as this, maybe a relationship with Den, even a sex-based one, could help me lay to rest the ghost of Baxter. Den’s committed domination could show me Baxter wasn’t the only man capable of fulfilling my dark desires.

Den stood by my shoulder, towering above me, his legs at the periphery of my vision if I kept my head upside down. Blood filled my face as I waited for him. What was he doing? I twisted to see him. He had his mobile phone in his hand. He raised it to his ear.

‘Ty,’ he said cheerfully. ‘My good man! Remember Walthamstow?’ Den laughed. ‘Yeah. Anyway, I got us another one.’ A dark, smug laugh. ‘Thought so. Room 114. Yep. See you in five.’

I sat bolt upright, appalled and afraid. ‘Who’s that?’ I snapped. ‘What are you doing?’

Den pushed me flat on the table.

‘Giving you what you want.’

My mind raced, rushing forwards and backwards. Was this more of Den’s headfuck stuff? It had to be. He couldn’t have someone else here within five minutes, could he? Did he want to test me? See how I’d react?

‘I don’t believe you,’ I said. ‘You’re trying to mess with my head again. You just faked that call.’

‘You think so?’ Den asked.

‘Yes,’ I whispered, my panic abating. I was becoming wise to his ways. He thought I was so naive he could spin me this way and that, but he couldn’t. I was starting to see through him. ‘You’re full of crap,’ I said. ‘You act like you have a grand plan and you’re in control but you’re making it up as you go along. Same as everybody.’

‘Of course I’m making it up,’ he said. ‘That’s why I phoned Ty. Wasn’t expecting to see you here but now you are, I’m running with it.’

‘I still don’t believe you.’

‘Well you ought,’ he said. ‘Because Ty’ll be here in a few minutes.’

I wasn’t convinced. ‘Yeah? So who is he?’ I asked, playing along.