Her World of Submission. Justine Elyot
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be found and touched and caressed. I clung to it, pushing my body into his cold façade, knowing that heat lay behind the sodden wool.
This was the essence of Jasper. Contradiction. Heat and chill, playfulness and severity, boyishness and authoritativeness, all in one attractive package. I had known him half a year now and my fascination hadn’t abated one little bit.
‘Naughty fingers,’ he admonished, reaching behind him to remove my hands where they tried to push their way down inside his jeans. ‘I’m supposed to be seeing to this tree, not you. You’ll have to wait your turn.’
I pouted as he gently prised me off him, and hugged my own scandalously attired body instead.
He unwound his scarf from his neck and shrugged off the long coat before shutting the door against the snowflakes that threatened to blow in and powder the mat.
‘OK, we have the tub,’ he said, surveying it, his head on one side. ‘What we need is stones and earth to pack in it before we pot the tree. You really aren’t dressed for that. Why don’t you go and put some outdoor clothes on?’
Mildly disappointed, I ascended the staircase, my mule heels clacking on the highly polished wood.
My disappointment didn’t last long. Jasper’s heavy tread pursued me. I looked over my shoulder, squealed and picked up my pace. He was chasing me.
‘It’s just occurred to me,’ he said, panting heavily as he shut the bedroom door behind him, trapping me inside, ‘that you put that gorgeous underwear on for nothing. And I can’t have that. Such a shame.’
‘I put this underwear on because I haven’t got much else,’ I said, whooping a little as he took a stride nearer. I backed away, past the bed. ‘You keep buying me the stuff. And everything else I own is old and past it.’
‘Are you saying,’ he said in a soft undertone, prowling ever closer while I skipped manically from defensive position to defensive position, ‘that I’m deliberately making sure that you’re always dressed for filthy, kinky sex?’
‘Well … aren’t you?’ I uttered a screaming laugh as he caught my elbow and pulled me hard into him.
He tumbled me without ceremony on to the still rumpled bed, manoeuvred himself over me and pinned me at the wrists.
‘Yes,’ he confessed, hissing it into my ear. ‘I am.’
‘You’re not in denial, then?’ I teased, jerking up my pelvis, making as convincing a pretence as I could of trying to get away from him.
‘Oh, Sarah, you know as well as I do that denial isn’t in my repertoire.’
Yes, I knew that. Jasper denied himself nothing – nor did I, when it came to it. Except …
‘You liar,’ I said, biting his lip. ‘What about orgasm denial?’
‘Oh, well, that’s different,’ he said. ‘That’s fun.’
‘For you, you bastard.’
‘Oh, now, did somebody use some disrespectful language just then? Oh, dear. Someone was very, very foolish, weren’t they?’
He clamped his knees either side of my hips in order to keep me restrained while he let go of my wrists and removed his chunky Arran sweater.
I mildly regretted this; he looked so good in that outdoorsy, rugged kind of way when he wore it, but now he was down to the plaid shirt beneath, and the deliberation with which he unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled the sleeves up his forearms made me melt into wetness between my thighs.
This meant only one thing …
‘I didn’t mean it,’ I wheedled. ‘It just slipped out.’
‘As the bishop said to the actress,’ said Jasper with a smirk. ‘Come on.’ He smacked at my thigh. ‘Turn over.’
I rolled my eyes but there was no getting away from what was coming – and that was the way I wanted it. A relenting Jasper would not be the man I knew and loved, and I would spend the rest of the day craving that spanking that had never been.
He loosened his knee-grip on me, in order to let me roll on to my stomach. I lay there, my flaming face buried in the duvet, while he stood and went over to a large lockable chest beneath the window. The chest that had led to all this …
I wondered, as I lay in my basque, thong and suspenders with the silky robe whispering over the cheeks of my bottom, what he would choose.
An impromptu playful scene meant nothing too heavy. No canes or whips. Something leathery, perhaps. Hopefully not a wooden paddle. I hated those.
I kept my eyes stubbornly off him, not wanting to know until he chose to reveal it.
Rummage, rummage, rummage, then a low chuckle.
Oh, God, what did that mean?
‘OK, naughty girl,’ he said. ‘Get up on your knees. Let’s see that arse nice and high in the air.’
I drew my legs up until I was on all fours, then pushed up my bottom, leaving my elbows on the duvet and my hands flat in front – a position of obeisance, of humility. It was a position that never failed to shame and arouse me. As I perfected my attitude, the short silky gown lifted clear of my thighs, its hem rising to bring what lay between them into view.
Jasper pushed it higher still, crumpling it around my waist so that my bottom was bare, unless you counted the narrow strip of black lace bisecting my cheeks.
‘I like this outfit,’ he said quietly, running a palm up and down the back of one thigh top, ‘because it’s so practical for punishment. The parts it leaves uncovered are the parts one wants and needs to redden. It’s so wonderfully functional. Look … here.’ He rubbed the back and inside of one thigh, then the other, before raising his hand to my quivering cheeks. ‘And here. All black and white now, but it’ll be black and red by the time I’ve finished with you.’
He put a finger inside the lacy strip of thong and used it to pull it suddenly upwards, so that it lodged rather painfully tight inside my crease. The gusset stretched around my mons and started to work its way into my pussy lips. The friction was welcome in a way, but also uncomfortably scratchy.
Jasper held the thong taut, almost to snapping point, until I began to whimper and squirm, then he let it ping back down. I breathed out.
‘This can stay for now,’ he said. ‘But I have a feeling it might outlive its practicality, once I’ve dealt with your bottom. Speaking of which … up. It’s not high enough. I want it high and ready as you can get it. I want those little cheeks to beg me for the strap.’
Ah, the strap. I felt a twinge in my shoulder blades, a slight relaxation. The strap was good. Sharp at first, but its bark was worse than its bite and it always ended up giving more pleasure than pain.
‘That’s better.’ Jasper approved. ‘But I want your legs wider than that. I want to see what that lacy little scrap is hiding.’
I widened the gap between my thighs, knowing that he would want them well clear of each other so he could flick the leather over my tender inner skin. Perhaps he would aim a couple of snaps at my pussy. The lace might protect it a little, but not much. I wiggled, remembering the delicious fire a previous attempt at this had sparked. I had been so wet, so hot …
‘Now that’s a view,’ said Jasper, appreciative as ever. ‘What a still that would make. I’d have it for the poster. What’s the movie title? Hmm. “Sarah’s Submissions”. And on every billboard, every bus, along the sidebar of everyone’s facebook page, there you’d be, in this position, and maybe the strap would be laid across your bottom just to make it absolutely clear what’s happening to you in this film. What do you think? Shall I approach some backers?’
‘No, thank you, sir.’
The ‘sir’ came out easily now, no longer a painful prickly thing staining