All the while we dance I presuming he’s going to take me home to his ‘dungeon’ for sex after. The thought of it makes my skin prickle. Everything feels like it’s moving towards that point at the speed of light. A dilemma indeed when I both want to stay in this moment and enjoy it but want to be alone and at his mercy too.
My aim was to thoroughly turn him on as he did me in my art studio but I can detect no arousal to speak of. Just playful happiness and a little visual intensity. I’ve glanced at his cock twice. I know he saw. Not very subtle Sheba. Not much going on there either.
The music stops and the staff inform us that it’s closing time as they gather and stack up glasses and sweep beneath tables and chairs.
‘I’ll take you home now,’ Nathaniel says.
He drapes my jacket over my shoulders and we step out into the night.
‘I really want to call Georgie and make sure she got home ok,’ I tell him.
‘Sure,’ he shrugs. ‘You should.’
Turns out she’s fine of course and wants to know all about me and Nathaniel. I hiss down the phone that he’s right beside me and that all he is doing is innocently walking me home. She laughs as if in disbelief.
‘Sure hun. You have a nice time then and I’ll text you tomorrow.’
I’m right though. He doesn’t ask to come in at all when we arrive at the little sliding gate leading to the complex. All he says is;
‘Give me your phone and unlock it.’
For some mad reason I do although my arms are crossed in annoyance at his demands. Unmoved by my displeasure he calls himself on it.
‘There. You’ve got my number now. Text me when you get in safe.’
My vagina isn’t happy.
I stumble along the gravel path and arrive uneventfully outside my door. I can’t help but think this is a backward step. Yesterday I arrived home with the distinct scent of his dna on me. Tonight all I’ve got is a faint whiff of aftershave.
‘I’m home,’ I text him. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, pretty lady. I’ll see you in the morning. Breakfast will be waiting 9:30am at my place. Be on time.’
Arm flung out above my head, stretched out on top of the duvet already, I look at his text in sleepy confusion. Then I am gone, swirling into a featureless sleep like water down a plug hole.
Next thing I know my phone is ringing. I fumble for it and pick it up.
‘You are late!’ Nathaniel growls at the other end.
Somethings vaguely resembling words fall from my dry mouth.
‘The morning is nearly gone, Bathsheba. I’ve a good mind to cancel the whole damn thing.’
‘What whole damn thing? Wait…hold on.’
‘You’ve one hour. We will make it brunch.’
The phone goes dead and I quickly google the address he sent. Shit. It’s miles away.
I’ve got time for fuck all. I order an uber. Take a two minute shower. Teeth. Mascara. Blush. Perfume. Dress. Thong, shoes and…
Beep Beep.
Your driver has arrived.
‘What’s this then? The walk of shame?’ says my balding driver.
I pretend I haven’t heard him and repeat the address I’m going to.
He glances at me knowingly and sets off. I’ve far too long to become nervous since the journey is across town. Brunch? Why brunch? Will it be brunch and another semi voyeuristic wank? I think I kind of hope so.
I squeeze my knees together as we pull into the massive drive way.
*Well Sheba, you knew he was loaded…get over it…*
He greets me at the door strangely enough. I was genuinely expecting a butler.
‘You look fresh, all things considered,’ he says, looking me up and down.
I smirk. ‘So do you.’
Something dangerous flashes across his eyes. An equally dangerous smile rivals it. I’m in his territory here.
‘We are heading this way,’ he says, nodding towards the lengthy corridor.
The artwork on the walls catches my eye but before I can examine it more closely, he smacks my ass and throws me over his shoulder.
‘No one said anything about you walking Miss Everdene.’
I am speechless.
My bum is right next to his face and just as a horrified maid appears from a side door, he turns and sinks his teeth into my exposed ass!
I start to kick. My right shoe flies off.
‘Put me down! Georgie knows where I am. She will call my Dad and he’s a cop!’
He just laughs and plants a kiss on the admittedly very slight bite mark as he strides down the hall.
We enter a room and he sets me down in the centre. The walls have me stunned. He has what appears to be every painting I’ve ever sold over the last five years hanging on the walls between implements that quite frankly scare me.
*What? How? How has he acquired all these?*
‘You are safe,’ he says, raising his hands. ‘I absolutely promise. All I wanted was to have breakfast with you and show you this…my room of joy.’
I turn slowly, ignoring the fact I am still wearing only one shoe.
‘Mr Collins, you are a very strange man and I’m not sure I like you.’
‘So that’s a yes then? You will stay for a bite to eat and chat?’
I scowl at him.
‘I think you’ve already had a bite to bloody well eat! But yes. I’ll stay. I want to know all about this. And why you have my paintings’
Too bad my anger is not genuine.
‘You’re probably wondering why I have so many,’ he says, as he spoons fresh fruit salad into little crystal bowls. He waves the spoon at the walls. ‘Your paintings, I mean.’
I blow on my coffee.
‘I knew what you meant. It does seem a bit stalkerish.’
He smiles and adds greek yoghurt to our fruit.
‘You don’t like your work being appreciated or having a private collector following your work?’
We both know that’s a trick question.
‘What were you doing on that train? Millionaires don’t take trains.’
He looks irritatingly amused. Irritatingly handsome. Being in this room, so close to him, to the body I’ve seen and touched is electrifying. Somehow the act of eating in here, with him, sat at this medieval looking table, surrounded by BDSM ‘things’ and my art is triggering my reptilian brain – my primitive side. Instead of making me comfortable, I feel defensive, like I’ve been hunted, tricked.
The small silver spoon in his hand digs amongst the fruit for what are presumably his favourite bits and then slides the juicy, shining morsels into his mouth. His lips close around the spoon and my mind instantly visualises the act of sexual penetration. There’s a smile at the corners of his eyes like he knows. They are so full of cleverness but I can still see a little grain of doubt and unsurety there too.
He slices a croissant and his expression turns serious.
‘I wasn’t on that train for you.’
He cuts a croissant for me too. That is a nice touch.
‘Why then?’
He sighs. Not a bold exhale. It’s raw. Painful.
‘I’m only going to say this once and you are not allowed to ask me any questions. Ok?’
A piece of croissant goes the wrong way and I cough.
‘Ok.’
His hands fiddle with the crisp white napkin, smoothing it. Soothing himself.
‘For the past eight years I’ve taken that train on that exact date and time; well, near enough. From Campsey to Eppington. That’s the journey my sister took the day she vanished. Eppington was where she was last seen. I know I won’t see her on it or see her in Eppington but it makes the hurt less. I feel close to some kind of echo left over. A thread in time and space. It’s not something I expect others to understand. It is deeply personal. Which is why I never talk about it.’
‘But your eyes talked to me that day. I saw your feelings.’
‘And that’s why I love your paintings. Words without words.’
The feeling of defensiveness within me recedes.
‘And what of all this?’ I ask, nodding at the equipment on the walls etc.
‘It’s also words without words. They are descriptors. My paint brushes to communicate and express, to evoke feelings in others.’
What he says is making sense. I feel curious.
‘Let me show you around,’ he says, extending a beautiful hand to take mine.
I can’t help but feel weak kneed at the way he switches between gentlemanly and primal. I let him show me. He describes each article of his choice or that I ask about. He does not seem aroused exactly. He seems more than that. Hungry. A little desperate to convince me that his predilections are marvelous and not to be feared.
I choose a simple medium sized paddle to lift and inspect. Obviously I know what it is but I play dumb.
‘So you play ping pong in here do you?’
He laughs and takes it from me and gently spins me around.
‘There are some things that go on in here with ping pong balls actually, yes…but this is for spanking naughty females arses,’ he growls in my ear.
A shudder runs through me.
‘Why don’t you show me then?’ I tease. And I actually grind my ass into his crotch.
He releases a growl even louder than the last. More like a bellow.
‘I thought you’d never fucking ask!’
And he lifts me bodily, my legs instinctively wrapping round his waist, taking me over to a firm yet comfortable bed covered in soft linens and furs. Draping me over his knee, he throws the fabric of my dress up above my waist and palms both my ass cheeks like they are his property. My thunderously beating heart gives away my excitement. No doubt he can feel it throbbing against his knee.
Having never been spanked, you might think I wouldn’t know what to expect. But I’ve read books and I’ve spoken to those who have. What I don’t realise is that it’s an experience that provokes different reactions in different people.
My first reaction is to very nearly cum.
The heated sting of my cheeks is there on the periphery of my awareness. But the collision of the paddle makes my clit pulse at two hundred miles an hour. I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling exposed and so very personal with this man. I am letting him see all. Letting him do things no one had done. I’ve sucked him off and swallowed his cum.
Without realising what I’m doing, I push my ass up towards him.
‘Needy?’ he says softly, stroking my skin and planting a kiss there.
I murmur, feeling suddenly subservient. And yes, in need of him.
He lands three more blows. I take these better. When he stops, my disappointment shows.
‘I think you must have liked that.’
I nod almost shyly.
‘Show me something you like,’ I tell him. ‘Something you’d like to do to me.’
Lord. I just went from shy to bold in ten seconds.
‘I would but I don’t think you are ready for it yet. I’d like to show you this though.’
He takes me over to the corner where a strange contraption is hanging from the ceiling. I’ve a feeling I know what it is.
‘A sex swing?’
‘Very good. It is indeed. A favourite of mine. It can be used for all sorts of fun.’
He smiles as my eyes light up.
‘Show me. Please Sir.’
Before the words scarcely leave my mouth he reaches for me to help me into the thing. But I’m still wearing my clothes, such as they are.
‘No. Not like this,’ I protest.
He stands back as I strip off leaving my clothes in a heap on the walnut wood floor. Gaze burning, his eyes zone in on my little landing strip and the ivory lips beneath. Collecting himself, he helps me in and spreads my legs, fastening them carefully into the stirrups. Quite frankly, I’m a little horrified at myself but that is fully eclipsed by the euphoria of being so filthily and fully on display for him. My mind starts to wonder of all the other things he mentioned that could be used in conjunction with this piece of equipment.
‘You are wet,’ he croaks.
The realisation of the effect this is having on him makes the situation worse. I feel a trickle. God this is fucking lewd. I think he can see it.
‘If I’d known you’d be open to this I’d have put you in here and eaten my breakfast off you.’
I laugh.
It looks like we aren’t going to hold back much. I don’t want to. I lower my eyes and try to speak without words. He runs a hand down my leg, eyes fixed on my warm, willing centre.
‘Do what you want to me, please Sir.’
For once Mr Mystery seems speechless.
I have stole his words.
Such a naughty thief.
For the preceding parts of the story and playlists go to https://samanthajwright.com/2022/07/13/mr-mystery-part-1/
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/w5yu8g/mr_mystery_part_5_and_6