Carrion: A Story of Passion Page 4

  Her comments were surprising considering what I knew of Alexander’s dominant nature. But then, in reality, I barely knew him. I blushed. The times I had spent with Alexander had been fuelled mainly by wine and candlelight. The evening with Celia and the making of Bohemia had been the result of nothing more than having momentarily fallen through the rabbit hole into Wonderland. It had been the substance of a dream. My fingers traced the bruises on my neck. What exactly had happened that evening? I had refused to fully acknowledge the fear – or the desire the incident had triggered in me – that shattering collision of death and life that had ripped through my body and left me in a place on the other side of la petit mort. All I knew is that since that night, my mind had replayed the scene over and over, catching me at unexpected moments with recollections played out, or in fragments, and with each image, my body responded against my will and the world somehow, magically had become laced with a shimmering veil that made everything more beautiful or sublime – even the ugly.

  “Please, help yourself to cake.”

  Arabella’s invite drew me back from my drifting. I smiled and offered thanks but didn’t take the cake – my appetite had fled.

  “So Alexander made the appointment for you?” she asked in a tone that only just covered a certain amount of disapproval.

  “Yes. I … I guess he must have done.”

  I pulled the card from my pocket and put it on the table.

  “And you have talked about this?” Her question was more rhetorical than it suggested. Arabella was clearly a skilled reader of people.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Oh – and how does that make you feel?”

  Suddenly, I’m not so sure what I was here for and I’m confused by how the session is playing out – I feel tricked into some kind of counselling session.

  “Well I don’t know,” I flustered, embarrassed and strangely defensive. “I guess Alexander thought it might make for an interesting gift.”

  “For whom?”

  I went to offer the obvious and then stopped. The conversation closed and there was an awkward silence. Arabella stood.

  “I guess we should get started then.”

  I eyed up my coat and bag, but I was too embarrassed to put an end to the situation. I scolded myself internally for being so compliant. I followed Arabella deeper into the house and its secrets. We arrived at a dressing room, which was classically and luxuriously furnished. Everything was cream, and gold, and French blue. Crystal shimmered everywhere, creating a slightly dizzying effect.

  “Are you comfortable here, Charlotte?”

  I looked around and nodded. I couldn’t imagine being hurt in such a pretty world. A large mirror was covered with a dust cloth and a chair sat in front of it, resting a large pink and black box. I knew from the similar boxes that sat in the bottom of Alexander’s wardrobe, that the box contains a selection of expensive underwear.

  “Today, Charlotte, it is about helping you to adjust to ideas. Nobody is going to ask you to go beyond your own limitations.”

  I smile at the thought that maybe I want to go way beyond my own limitations.

  *

  It was Thursday afternoon, and I was back at Mistress Arabella’s London Academy of Punishment and Desire. Yesterday afternoon still felt like a bizarre daydream, and as I stood on the doorstep once more, I had the strange feeling of standing outside of a portal to a different, secret dimension. Our session had been brief, just over an hour from start to finish. It had mainly involved Arabella dressing me and asking me to watch my transformation in the large French mirror. I admit, part of me was disappointed that after all the nervous fear and build up, the limits we courted were a corset and a lace mask – which admittedly gave me the look of some exotic sex goddess – the costume of a character I was clearly intended to play.

  Today, I refused Arabella’s offer of tea and cake, which I think was expected. Arabella had a very specific lesson plan in mind. I walked through to the French room carelessly, comfortable that I was safe. I made small talk about the weather and the tube, which is why I didn’t see the young man at first. I turned my head and gasped. My conversation was cut dead – replaced by a blush. Arabella was amused by my reaction and she fought the smile that flirted on her lips.

  “Charlotte, meet Daniel.”

  He was about the same age as me, give or take a year, and he was knelt on the floor, his hands held behind his back tied with a large black, satin ribbon. He was blindfolded and naked. My eyes drank in his muscular body. Right in front of me the, ‘How I’d Fuck You’ Game had come to life.

  Daniel didn’t move. I wasn’t sure what the socially polite form of greeting was in this situation, so I relied on convention.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Daniel.”

  “I’ve refused him permission to speak this afternoon,” Arabella informed me. “Actually, he’s on mute – he’s not aloud to make a sound. Not . a . sound.”

  “Oh,” I offered.

  “You approve?”

  I blustered a laugh. “Well… yes! He’s very…” I nodded my head and smiled, searching for a word that didn’t betray my instantly sparked interest. “…pretty.”

  “Pretty,” Arabella repeated, letting the word dissolve into the air.

  She approached him and put her hand on his shoulder. “Please sit, Charlotte.” She instructed me to the chair that sat opposite the bound Daniel. “I’m going to leave you both to get acquainted for a few minutes. Charlotte, I don’t want you to take your eyes off him for a moment.”

  There was little danger of that. I was like a child enraptured by the discovery of a pretty insect.

  “And remember, he’s not got permission to make a sound – and you do not have permission to touch.”

  She arched her eyebrow and I couldn’t help but think maybe she had just issued an invite to play as soon as her back was turned. I listened to her heels click down the parquet floor in the direction of the Salon. I turned back to Daniel and watched as the muscle at the corner of his mouth twitched. He was undeniably handsome, and I could tell from that minute muscle movement, that under the blindfold, his eyes twinkled.

  “So, Daniel,” I whispered, leaning forward. “This is all a little weird for me. I’m sort of new at all of this.” I winced and admonished myself for sounding like such a prat. I fell back into the chair and explored his body with my eyes, starting at his bent kneecaps, then over his thighs and to the dark thatch of hair that half concealed his manhood. I looked at his flaccid cock curiously, thinking that I hadn’t ever taken the time to just sit and look at one before. In my head, they were attached to ideas of movement and force. Seeing Daniel’s cock just hanging there with all that latent energy, sent a ripple of excitement through the base of my spine. I wondered what action of mine it would take to suddenly spring that piston into action.

  I leaned forward, looked up over his muscled chest and over his sharp jaw line, but my eyes refused to give up their prize for long. What would happen if I just reached out my fingers and let them…?

  “I thought I said, no touching, Charlotte.” Arabella’s clipped schoolmistress voice came from the doorway, leaving me to question how long she’d actually been standing there, watching me.

  “I wasn’t going to… I mean, I didn’t… sorry.”

  “Untie his mask.”

  Eager to make up for my poor manners, I stood up and stepped behind him.

  “Stand in front of him. Make yourself tall,” Arabella instructed.

  I reached around, somewhat awkwardly and untied his mask. Daniel’s eyes, blinked with the sudden onslaught of light and bodily proximity, and then he tilted his head towards me. His blue eyes danced beneath his dark eyelashes giving the effect of a devout worshipper at the feet of an idol.

  “Doesn’t he look small and insignificant? Arabella’s voice travelled across the room with a playful tone. “Undo the buttons of your blouse. Let him see what he is not worthy of possessing.”

  I glanced
back over my shoulder, surprised at the rapidity of the situation. Clumsily I undid the top button and scrabbled for the second.

  “Slow down,” she whispered in my ear. She had moved impossibly silent across the floor. My eyes fell to the look of expectation on Daniel’s face. He clearly desired to see beneath my clothes, and I had the power to show him. I also understood that I had the power to deny him. With the last button undone, I turned back to Arabella to await my next instruction.

  “Now slap him – hit him hard across the cheek,” she offered.

  Daniel’s bottom lip disappeared and I watched as his teeth pulled at it with anticipation. A smile flitted through his eyes.

  “Hit him?” I croaked. My throat thickened with desire.

  Arabella’s voice was barely a whisper in my ear. “Punish him for looking at you. How dare he look at you like that – like he could have you if he but clicked his fingers.”

  I raised my hand but it felt disconnected and unreal. “But…” I stopped and inhaled deeply. I’d never hit somebody before – not ever – not even in childhood. Being an only child, the daily acceptable level of sibling violence had never blurred the boundaries.

  The sound of Daniel’s voice startled me. “Please mistress, punish me.”

  Arabella struck out the palm of her hand reminding me of a striking cobra. “How dare you speak in front of me, slave.” The crack of skin against his cheek sent shivers through me and I felt the pulse of blood rushing to my sex. Daniel recoiled from the slap, and adjusted his jaw. Clearly, the slap had produced some level of pain, and yet, his cock stirred, and sprang to attention.

  Arabella looked down at it disapprovingly. “Really? So little resolve? So little control?” She grabbed him by the hair and held his head back so that his neck strained painfully. “You really are very pathetic.”

  Daniel turned his face away from her and a look, which might have been read as shame, flitted across his pretty cheekbones. Arabella turned her attention towards me and explained, “Daniel is a new initiate – he’s still little more than a puppy still in training.” She let go of his head roughly, nearly throwing him off balance.

  My eyes roamed over the muscles of his shoulders, and the quivering girth of his thighs, and then there was his cock, which ill disciplined or not, was far from pathetic.

  I felt my lips thicken, my eyes widen, my whole body opening and responding to the sight of him.

  “Hit him.” Arabella commanded.

  And I did. My hand slapped into the hard contours of his cheek, leaving a stinging, spreading web of jangled nerves up my hand. His head snapped to the side with the force of the blow – an angry red mark spread over his cheek. As if sensing my concern at the sight of the physical harm I had inflicted, Arabella said, “It will soon fade – as if none of this has ever happened. Once more, please, Charlotte. With the other hand. And this time, use your right to cradle his balls. Give them a gentle squeeze on impact.”

  I blushed and glanced down at his straining cock before using my left right hand to cup the velvet pouch in my hand. I looked into his eyes, determined to feel no embarrassment about such intimacy with a complete stranger. I focused on the sensation of the soft furred skin against my palm, and the feeling of his balls held within. I slid my palm around, relishing the sensation of their sliding movement. They tightened with the slightest pressure. I raised my hand, slapped and squeezed simultaneously, causing Daniel to emit a soft deep groan from the base of his throat. His cock strained forward.

  “See how the blending of pleasure and pain creates a unique effect,” Arabella said, cupping Daniel’s head tenderly between her hands. She moved her hand down over his torso and took his cock in her hand, stroking it backwards and forwards along the shaft with almost clinical precision. The other hand she had clamped firmly over his mouth and nose – stopping him from making a sound and restricting the amount of oxygen to his lungs. As Daniel writhed against the bondage and Arabella’s carefully administered hands, which allowed him small intermittent respites of air, I watched on with fascination. Every nerve of my body was awake to the slightest stimulant of sight or touch.

  Arabella sensed Daniel’s mounting orgasm and abruptly stopped, interrupting his rhythmic journey towards release with a sharp slap across his buttocks. It did nothing to calm his erection – if anything it left the poor boy in even more torment. Arabella stooped down, picked up the blindfold off the floor and tied it back around Daniels eyes, signalling his job was done.

  “Right. Get dressed, Charlotte. Lesson is over for today.”

  Instinctively, I looked at my watch; disappointed that Arabella had cut our session short. She continued, “Alexander has scheduled a weekly appointment, so I’ll see you same day, same time next week.” As she offered these clipped directives she turned to the jug and water bowl, and undertook the washing of her hands with efficient professionalism.

  I looked at Arabella, then to Daniel and then back to her. My cheeks were flushed; my sex was slick and ached with excruciating need. All I wanted to do was push Daniel to the floor and fuck him hard until we were both satisfied.

  “But…” I protested.

  She looked at me sympathetically. “Sorry, Charlotte, I understand, but I really don’t think Alexander would approve of that kind of extra-curricular without his permission, do you?”

  I gasped in indignation. That wasn’t Alexander’s place to decide.

  “Besides, Daniel is a slave, not a whore.” Arabella said before leaving the room to take a call that had come in on the land phone.

  I looked down on Daniel and wondered how long his mistress would keep him tormented. Where was the line when play became cruelty? Was there a line? Reluctantly, I did up my buttons and readjusted my skirt. I let my hands linger longer than necessary as they stroked the fabric over my thighs. My sex was a tightening bud, desperate for the slightest touch. As I walked, every footstep teased me more, until by the time I reached the door, tears of frustration slipped down my cheek.

  Arabella didn’t stop her conversation but seeing me leave, offered me a smile and a cheery wave. I wondered if she realised what ravaging storm was raging through my body.

  At Alexander’s, I sat on the sofa. My legs primly set in front of me. I waited for his arrival, measuring the endless anticipation by the tick of the old grandfather clock. The passing of the day did little to calm the heat of my sex, and tempted as I was to go to bed and gift myself, Arabella’s lesson had been well learned. So I sat with patience and sufferance until the room turned dark and finally, I heard Alexander’s key in the lock.

  No sooner had he put down his case and taken of his coat, then I dragged him to the bedroom where I fucked him like he were nothing more than one hard, all consuming cock, whilst I imagined Daniel’s beautiful masked face.

  Chapter Four: Taxidermy

  After work, I meet Alexander in Starbucks. By the time I arrive, he has nearly finished his coffee so I don't bother ordering, even though after the day I’ve had with Lucy, a good shot of caffeine would be appreciated. I would tell Alexander about it but he’s made it quite clear that the moment-by-moment intricacies of my life in the office are of no interest to him. He never talks about his work and I’m not expected to talk about mine.

  Our taxidermy class is this evening and we have to be at the The Olde Curiosity Shoppe for seven-thirty, leaving us just over an hour to get something to eat. We head towards Covent Garden with the plan of stopping off at a little Italian place on the way where we can grab a quick bowl of pasta and down a rough bottle of red.

  On Shaftsbury Avenue, we pass an astrology shop and I stop, pulling Alexander over to the window. The blue shop front is painted with the signs of the Zodiac in yellow. It's hardly inconspicuous, but strangely I've never noticed it before, despite having walked this way many times. There's a chalkboard outside with a tarot illustration and notice of a fifteen-pound special deal. I glance down at my watch and see that I really don't have time to act on the whim. The s
hop doorbell tinkles and a woman comes out in a waft of incense and mystical music. Alexander is already walking away, my arm stretched out behind him.

  “Come on, we’re cutting it late if we want to eat.”

  I skip after him. I'm only looking for someone to say that Alexander and I are meant to be. If she’d turned around and said the opposite, I would have felt sore about losing fifteen quid. ‘It’s only a five minute walk from the office anyway,’ I reason. ‘I could come one lunchtime.’

  We are the first people in the Italian and the host is overly keen to make us welcome. He ushers us to one of the red and white checked tables, pulling out a seat for me. Alexander waves away the leatherette menu book and orders us two bowls of Whore’s Pasta and a bottle of Chianti, which comes quaintly wrapped in rattan. The pasta is on our table in less than ten minutes.

  "Is there any chance that you can book this Friday and Monday off?" he asks.

  I look up at him and grin. "Why?"

  "Answer my question first!" He's smiling in a way that tells me he is concocting wicked plans.

  "It's a bit late notice, but I don’t think it will be a problem. My targets are already met and Lucy is heading off to the States tomorrow, so the office is going to be on play mode."

  "Great."

  "Why?" I ask again.

  "Surprises."

  "I hate surprises!" I say.

  "No you don't."

  He's right, I don't hate surprises.

  We eat the rest of our dinner mostly in efficient silence. The wine is rough and Alexander grimaces his way through the first glass. By the second glass, the wine tastes considerably better. He doesn’t bother to ask for a bill, he drops fifty pound in notes onto the table and starts to put on his coat. The host hurries after us but we are already gone.

  We turn down a left alley and then down a right. There are a collection of small independent coffee shops, a few books shops and a gallery selling ethnic art and then, there at the end of the row, is 'The Olde Curiosity Shoppe’, a perfect simulacrum of Dickens' imagination. It is painted black and overlaid with hand-painted signs and symbols, tendrils of flowers and skulls. The window is decorated with flowing script, denoting the types of wares; Juvenalia, Erotica, Naturalia, Fossils & Minerals, Taxidermy, Entomology, Skeletons.