Fifty Days of Sin Read online

  Moving inwards, he strokes my inner thigh, sending ripples coursing through my body to my sex, completely exposed to his sight while I’m restrained in this position. I’m already wet from earlier, but I can feel more juices forming in between my legs as Adam touches and caresses me. I look up at him, in control once more, intent on his task of teasing the maximum pleasure from my submissive body. He looks so sexy, so powerful. I am mesmerised.

  With both hands now, he works his way slowly round and round in circles on my parted thighs, so close to where I want him to touch but not close enough. Then he brushes the lips of my sex with one of his fingers and I writhe underneath his touch.

  Immediately, he moves his focus and starts to fondle my breasts again. Sighing in frustration, I watch him as he toys with both my nipples, circling the aureolae with his fingers and using his thumbs to tease the tips. My clitoris is aching with need as he leans over and licks my nipple again, then, still caressing one breast with his hand, he moves his mouth down, licking delicately all the way down my body, but then frustratingly over to one side, down my hip and then tickling my inner thigh with his tongue.

  I am longing now for him to touch me more intimately, and then he moves, and suddenly I feel his tongue make contact with my sex, tasting me. I push my hips up and moan softly. He continues to lick gently and I writhe under the sensation, my little bud, just a fraction away from his tongue, still throbbing with need. I gasp as he licks upwards and hits the very spot where I desperately want the touch of his tongue, but then sigh again as he takes it away and kisses my sex again. It’s pleasurable, yes, but I’m desperate for the feel of him on my clitoris. I pull at my restraints but he’s tied them too tight for me to move.

  Then he moves again, slowly travelling back up my body to kiss one of my nipples. His hand touches my thigh and he starts to intermittently brush between my legs with his finger: first my sex, then my clitoris, sending waves of pleasure through me, delicious but all too brief.

  “Adam,” I moan at last in a half-whisper. “Oh, Adam, please.”

  He looks up at me. “Please, what?”

  “Please, let me come.”

  “Are you begging me, Justine?”

  I shut my eyes and sigh. “Yes, Adam,” I groan, “I’m begging you. Please, will you make me come?”

  He smiles a wicked little smile and very deliberately brushes his finger against my clitoris again, briefly and teasingly. “I think you’ve forgotten how to address me respectfully, Justine.”

  God give me strength. “Please, sir.”

  “Good girl. Now do you wish you hadn’t teased me like that earlier?”

  “I didn’t realise you’d be looking to get your own back,” I reply with a frown.

  He smiles, relishing the control he has over me. “Now all you have to do,” he says, touching me again momentarily, between my legs, making me shiver, “is put all of the words together.”

  “Please, sir, will you let me come? I’m begging you, I really am. Please. Sir.”

  “Well, as you asked me so nicely,” he grins. And then he kisses my mouth, a sensuous, deep kiss. He’s fully erect again now and I can tell how aroused he is from the urgency of his tongue probing inside my mouth. Then he lets his tongue travel down my body again, and this time, he doesn’t move to one side to lick down the side of my hip. Then I feel the wetness of his tongue on my sex again, and when he moves to lick my clitoris, this time he doesn’t take it away.

  I push my hips up as far as I can to meet him as he alternates between light, teasing licks and greater pressure, still making me wait as he controls my path towards orgasm, making my pleasure build and then abate again. Then at last, as I edge inexorably towards orgasm and I feel him slide his finger inside me underneath where he’s licking me, I feel the forceful pressure of his tongue and I climb higher and higher to the peak of sensation, and then I’m coming, coming hard and long under his tongue and then shuddering with the force of it.

  My eyes are still shut and I’m still panting, trying to recover, as dimly in the back of my mind I hear the rip of a foil packet and all at once he’s back inside me, pushing hard into my wet centre, piercing me with his hard thrusts, and as he slams into me and kneads my breasts, I look up at him, his beautiful face dark and sensual, his defences down as he quickly builds towards climax and then groans as he comes, finding his release inside me.

  “Oh, Adam, please untie me now, I want to hold you,” I whisper and he quickly releases first my arms and then my legs. Then we climb under the duvet, and lie in the bed, arms wrapped around each other, tired and sated.

  “I was impressed,” he murmurs. “Hardly any noise at all.”

  “I was just terrified of waking my parents,” I tell him, giving him a little slap.

  “Watch what you’re doing,” he warns. “You’ve found out what I’m like when it comes to taking revenge.”

  “Sorry,” I apologise with a smile. “Sir,” I add for good measure.

  “You’re learning.”

  “I’m just being cautious. I really don’t want you taking any revenge tomorrow morning when my parents are up and about.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll behave tomorrow. I promise.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief and drift off to sleep.

  Twelve

  Tuesday, 29 May

  THE AIR IS UNUSUALLY CALM AND STILL. The leaves on the trees don’t even stir. It’s warm, even for May, and I head out of the restaurant hand-in-hand with Adam to walk back to his car.

  I love the touch of his skin on mine, and we’ve had a delicious meal. I’ve also had three glasses of wine, probably a little more than I ought to drink on a week night, and the warmth and intoxication of the alcohol has suffused through me.

  A familiar excitement is building inside me as I wonder what Adam has planned for me when we get back to his place.

  That’s when I spot the dark green V-reg Volkswagen Golf. I feel a shiver as if someone has dropped ice down the back of my top.

  I know that car. I know who it belongs to. And then I see its owner walking towards me. Michael.

  “Justine,” he calls out. I feel Adam’s hand grip mine tighter and he looks at me.

  I stop walking. I don’t want to get any closer to my ex.

  “Michael, will you give it a rest? Go home,” I tell him.

  He looks at me, blue eyes boring into mine with an expression of deep resentment.

  “I have to talk to you,” says Michael imploringly. “Please...”

  Then I hear Adam’s voice. “I don’t know who you are,” he starts, “but Justine doesn’t want to talk to you. So you’d better just fuck off home. Okay?” He steps forwards, his body braced for conflict.

  “Adam, it’s all right,” I sigh. “Michael, you just need to forget about me. I’m sorry if I hurt you, I didn’t mean to, but it’s all over now. Go home. Please.”

  Michael stares hard at me and for a moment I feel a flicker of fear, glad that Adam is here to protect me. I see him glance at Adam and back at me, then he turns and walks to his car, getting in and slamming the door.

  He just sits there, resting his head on the steering wheel. “Come on, let’s get home,” urges Adam. “Your ex, I gather.”

  “Yes. Don’t worry, he’s harmless. He’s just a boy really. He’ll be all right in a while. I’m surprised he’s taking so long to get over me.”

  Adam just looks at me and doesn’t say anything. We reach his Mercedes and climb in.

  “Really,” I reiterate, putting my hand on Adam’s thigh. “I’m sure I can handle Michael. You don’t need to worry about him.”

  “Has he done this before?”

  “He’s sent me a couple of texts asking to meet up. And he waited for me one time when I got back from work. But I asked him to go and he just left. I’m sure he’ll give up soon enough, Adam.”

  “He lives in Oxford then?”

  “Yes, in Jericho. He’s studying English Literature here.”

  “I d
on’t like it,” he responds, turning on the engine and then we’re on our way back to his place. The comfortable, happy atmosphere between us when we left the restaurant has disappeared and we drive home in silence.

  ******

  “HAVE A DRINK, ADAM,” I URGE him, pouring him a glass of wine. “Forget about Michael. Don’t let him spoil our evening.”

  “You’re right.” He picks up his glass and takes a sip, and sits down with me at his kitchen table.

  I deliberately change the subject, asking him about work. He chats about a problem client he’s having to deal with, and then mentions Matt, Kathy’s little brother.

  “So do you work with Matt a lot then?” I ask, interested.

  “Yes, and I’ve seen more of him outside of work since you asked me to come and meet him with his sister and Simon. You know the drinks I went to last week? I spent most of the time talking to Matt. He’s a nice lad.”

  “He seems to think highly of you,” I tell him, remembering Matt’s whispered confidences about Adam’s position and job prospects at Grantham and James.

  He laughs. “What did he tell you?”

  I decide to be honest. “He seemed to think you’d be a multi-millionaire by the time you’re thirty,” I confide. “He was enthusing about how quickly you’d risen to the top and saying you were tipped to be the youngest partner ever.”

  “Well, there are two partners due to retire in my department within the next three or four of years, and someone needs to fill their shoes. So on paper, it’s possible. And I’ve been at director level for two years now, so I’m senior enough to progress further upwards.” He has another sip of wine. “I’m not sure about being a multi-millionaire though. I don’t know what the most junior partners are on, to be honest, but I don’t think it’s all that much of a significant step up from my current earnings package.”

  “You seem to be doing okay already, though,” I tell him, looking around at the immaculate, spacious kitchen. “By the looks of this place, and your car.” Then I stop. “Sorry, it’s none of my business. I’m not fishing for information, really. You don’t have to tell me about any of this.”

  “It’s fine. I don’t mind talking about it. Anyway, yes, you’re right. I’m doing okay. I feel very lucky to be earning what I’m earning at my age. My father never got to this level after forty-odd years of hard work.”

  “At least you’re someone who appreciates their good fortune.”

  “It’s not my only piece of good fortune,” he says, reaching out to tenderly touch my cheek. I smile into his eyes.

  “And now,” he continues, “I’ve got to decide what to do with you tonight.” I catch my breath at the promise in his words.

  He stands up and moves over to the window, closing the blinds. “Strip for me, Justine,” he commands. I’m holding my wine glass, so I take a last gulp to bolster my courage and put it down. Then I kick off my shoes, take off the sheer cream-coloured blouse I’m wearing and remove my jeans, hanging the clothes on the back of a kitchen chair. He doesn’t tell me to stop, so I reach around to my back and unhook my white bra, removing it and placing it on top of the other clothes. I’m down to my white lacy knickers, and I look into Adam’s eyes as he watches me pull them down and off, standing naked in front of him.

  I’m turned on just by the promise of what’s to come, and I note the flicker of amusement in his face as he looks at my nipples and sees that they’re already hard.

  “Looking forward to this, Justine?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Come over here then. Kneel. And suck me.”

  I walk gingerly towards him and kneel on the hard kitchen floor. I look up, completely subservient before him, and see in his face how he’s relishing his control of me. He unfastens his jeans and I put my hands in and pull out his erection. I hold him in my hand and then quickly take the tip into my mouth.

  At once I start to suck hard, moving up and down, with my hand still holding his shaft. I feel the wetness of my saliva under my fingers coat his length and I move and suck, deep and steady, and then I increase the pace, knowing he needs a faster rhythm to achieve his climax. As I feel him thicken in my mouth, I draw him deeper back into my throat, speeding up further and sucking harder, and then with a deep thrust into my throat I feel him comes with a groan, and I swallow, drinking it all in. I look up into his face, confident that I’ve passed the first test.

  “Thank you for letting me make you come, sir,” I say, like the good little submissive I’ve become.

  “Did I tell you to make me come?” he asks unexpectedly.

  I rack my brain and my heart sinks. “No, sir,” I realise.

  “If I wanted to come in your mouth I’d have told you. I only said ‘suck me’.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “So, I think you need to learn to listen more carefully, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, I’m going to teach you now. Stand up.” I do as he bids, and watch, wondering what’s going to happen, as he pulls up two straight-backed kitchen chairs and stands them next to each other, about a foot apart. The he crosses and delves into a drawer, pulling out kitchen scissors and a ball of string.

  “Kneel on the chairs for me now, Justine,” he instructs. My eyes widen and for a moment I wonder what he means. “One knee on each chair,” he explains. “You can put your leg through the gap at the back of the chairs.”

  I realise what he means now, and I clamber awkwardly onto the chairs, trying my best to position my knees how he’s told me, my heart hammering in my chest. He comes over to me and adjusts my position, so that I’m kneeling up with one leg on each seat and a gap underneath my naked parted legs. He takes two pieces of string and ties my legs to both the chairs, and then ties two more lengths around my arms, securing them to the back of each chair.

  And once again I’m helpless before him.

  It’s not the first time Adam’s tied me up, so I’m not sure why, but in this position I feel infinitely more vulnerable than ever before. Perhaps it’s because I feel so precarious, balanced on these two chairs. I’m afraid that whatever he might do to me could make them topple over onto the floor. And it’s not just the string that’s keeping me in place; the shape of the chairs means that I have to stay kneeling up, which is already starting to make my knees feel sore. If I try to sit down on my heels my bottom will make contact with the chair back and I won’t be able to do it. Besides, I’m afraid of unbalancing the chairs, so I want to stay as still as possible.

  “Stay right where you are,” he says with a grin. I scowl and roll my eyes at him – he knows perfectly well that I can’t go anywhere – and he stops in his tracks. “Did you make a face at me, Justine?”

  I consider denying it, but decide that he might be even less lenient if I try to defy him. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  “Good girl. I’m glad you admitted your fault. I was considering doubling your punishment if you’d denied it.” He pauses, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Only twenty today then. But then he continues. “I’m going to be nice instead. I’m only going to add ten.”

  Then he leaves the room and I’m left uncomfortably tethered to the chairs, tingling with nerves but at the same time, as ever, I can feel how wet the anticipation is making me.

  Adam returns and I see that he’s holding something new. Something he hasn’t used on me before.

  “What do you think, Justine? Looks good, doesn’t it?” he asks, showing it to me. “It’s a paddle.”

  I stare at it in a mixture of fascination and horror. A foot long, made of thick black leather with a sturdy handle, it looks capable of inflicting a serious amount of pain. I swallow, and Adam moves around behind me where my bare buttocks are in full view between the two chairs and easily accessible for his blows.

  And then he starts. The first slap makes a resounding noise and knocks the air out of my lungs. I cry out. Then, panting to get my breath back, I start to count. “One!”

  More blows fol
low relentlessly onto my naked bottom. “Two,” I count, “Three,” and then “Four,” “Five,” “Six,” each time the pain of the paddle hitting my tender flesh sending heat coursing through my body.

  But then I realise he was just warming up. The blows become more vicious, and I realise that he’s using one hand to hold one of the chairs steady as he brings the paddle hard into contact with my behind every time. Again and again I cry out, and I start to wonder whether I’m going to be able to take this punishment, the harshest Adam has ever meted out to me. “Fifteen,” I pant, my head drooping. I can feel sweat beads on my forehead, travelling down my face with the exertion of withstanding the blows.

  That’s when he stops.