Fifty Days of Sin Read online

  We dress. He kisses me deeply again, and we hold each other. I like the feeling of being wrapped in his arms. I’m glad he’s happy to give normal affection sometimes, without the kinky element; I would find it too weird if he was submissive all the time. Eventually we say goodbye, as we both have work to do.

  Then I sit down at my desk. I have a stack of papers to read through. I can’t help wondering, though, what I should think up for the next time he comes round to my place. As enjoyable as the sex is with Michael, I get the feeling that he’s disappointed when I don’t hurt him enough. I think there’s going to come a point when he’s pushing for more and more punishment, and I just won’t feel comfortable giving it to him.

  Still, I’m accustomed to short relationships – if ‘relationships’ is even the right word. I like a little variety, and Michael knows that I don’t see him exclusively. Before his next punishment session I have a very hot date lined up with a certain tall, handsome twenty-three year old called Edward. I met him at a friend’s wedding recently. We chatted and immediately found that we had a connection. By mutual consent, we decided that it would be a good idea to go for a little wander, and ended up having a very nice time indeed in his hotel room before heading back to rejoin the other guests, trying our best to look innocent.

  But for now I have more essays to mark on working class life in Britain in the late nineteenth century. So with a sigh, I push my pleasant thoughts about Edward to the back of my mind, and get down to some work.

  Two

  Friday, 24 February

  “WELL, IT’S GREAT TO SEE YOU AGAIN,” says Edward. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since Ben and Angela’s wedding and I’d forgotten how good looking he was. A little above medium height, he has a long, angular face with high cheekbones and a shock of very cute blonde hair. His eyes are a piercing green. He has a nice body, just on the skinny side of muscular, my type without a shadow of a doubt.

  “You too,” I agree. I’ve come to meet him in a wine bar and although I was on time, he was there early, waiting for me. That was nice of him – I don’t like to be hanging around on my own waiting for a date to turn up.

  “What are you drinking?”

  “Well, the last time I saw you it was champagne,” I answer with a grin, “but this time I think I fancy a gin and tonic for a change.”

  “Oh, not your usual drink?”

  “No, red wine is my usual drink. How about you?”

  “I’m a lager man. But the question is, what do I fancy this evening?” He has a wicked gleam in his eye.

  “Yes, what do you fancy this evening?”

  “Hmm. I could mention something... but I’ll stick to drinks. I’ll join you in a gin and tonic.”

  “Ha, here we are in a wine bar and neither of us is drinking wine.”

  He orders our drinks and we take them over to a small table.

  “So, did you have a good time at the wedding?” he asks, still with that twinkle in his eye.

  “I seem to recall I enjoyed myself quite a lot,” I grin. “Have you seen Ben and Angela’s honeymoon pictures on Facebook?”

  “Yeah, their safari looks amazing. I think that’s such a great idea, not your usual lying around on the beach. I’ll have to bear that in mind for the future.”

  “What, for your honeymoon? You’re planning ahead, aren’t you? You must have years of being young, free and single before you yet.”

  “I guess.” He takes a sip of his drink. “So how have things been with you since the wedding?”

  I tell him about what’s been going on in my life, omitting any mention of Michael. I’ve already told Edward about my dating habits and he seems comfortable with the life I lead, with more than one boyfriend on the go at a time. But that doesn’t mean I have to tell him every detail of my love life.

  Soon we are laughing and chatting just like we did at the wedding and I find myself really enjoying the company of this handsome, interesting, amusing young man. There’s still a spark there between us. I buy a second round of drinks and then Edward buys a third, and as the evening goes on it seems clear where we’re going to end up.

  “So,” Edward says, leaning in close to speak in a low voice, “your place or mine?” He grins.

  “You have such a way with words, Edward. I don’t mind. Where do you want to go?”

  “You’re welcome to come round to mine,” he tells me.

  “Well, as it’s Friday night.”

  “What difference does that make?” he asks.

  “Well, imagine if I stay over at yours on a weeknight and have to turn up to work in these clothes,” I point out, indicating my nearly see-through blouse and Diesel jeans. “I’m not sure my colleagues would be very impressed. Although I’m sure my students would be intrigued at the change in my appearance. They’d probably guess the reason, and I’d never live it down.”

  “So you’re staying over?” he asks in mock seriousness. “I just wondered if you wanted a coffee, that’s all.”

  “Oh, fine, coffee’s good, and then I’ll call a taxi if you like,” I call his bluff breezily. He takes my hand and squeezes it as we stand up to leave.

  “I’ll run you home,” he promises. “In the morning.”

  Edward’s flat is small but surprisingly chic. It’s spotless – I bet he has a cleaner, I think, not believing that he would keep it as spick and span as this without one – and it’s the tidiest place I’ve ever seen. Without any preamble, he leads me straight to the bedroom where his neatly made bed awaits us.

  “What, no coffee?” I ask innocently.

  “Later,” he growls, and starts to unbutton my blouse. I bite my lip to stifle a grin and reciprocate, reaching for his t-shirt and lifting it up. He stops what he’s doing to help me get him undressed and once his top is discarded on the floor, I stop to admire the firm muscles of his chest. Then he’s pushing my blouse away from my shoulders and pulling it off my arms, flinging it to the ground and attacking the buckle of the belt holding up my jeans. I help him, pulling off my jeans and socks and then he does the same.

  We’re facing each other in our underwear now, him in a tight pair of navy blue boxers and me in a black bra and knickers.

  “My God, you’re so gorgeous,” he says thickly.

  “You’re not too bad yourself,” I grin at him.

  He pulls me towards him, gripping my head to pull me into a hard, urgent kiss. His other hand moves to my breast and pushes inside the cup of my bra. I can already feel his erection as it strains against the fabric of his underwear.

  I run my hand through the curls of his chest hair, feeling the taut muscles underneath, and then let both hands travel down to caress his behind. I can’t resist, I have to move round to the front to feel that bulging package in his boxer shorts. “Oh, Edward,” I breathe. “You’re so lovely and hard for me.”

  Then we’re manoeuvring towards the bed, and I push him down on his back so he’s lying flat, and straddle him. He makes no attempt to resist. I lean down to kiss him and he grips my hips. We move together and I can feel his erection rubbing against my clitoris. I want him badly now as we kiss deeply and his hands massage my breasts, making the nipples hard underneath his thumbs. Hurriedly, I move off him and reach down to pull down my knickers and he follows suit, pulling off his boxers to free his erection. He reaches over to his bedside table and I see him pick up a packet of condoms. He takes one out and quickly rolls it all the way down his length.

  “I see you were ready for me,” I smile, straddling him again.

  He reaches out to touch me between my legs and feels the wetness that’s already there. “You seem to be ready for me, too,” he breathes, his green eyes bright with desire.

  “I am, Edward.” I start to move again on top of him, my sex making contact with his shaft now, my juices spreading along its length as I rub up and down his erection. My clitoris tingles with the pleasure and I’m gratified to hear Edward’s answering groan.

  “Oh, Justine, I’ve got
to be inside you,” he tells me, taking hold of my hips and positioning me ready to sink down onto him.

  I want him too, badly now, and as he enters my body I feel a surge of the sweetest sensation. I moan loudly as I start to move, savouring the feeling of him deep inside me. I lean back and put my hands on his thighs, stretching back and arching so that my pleasure is increased as I move, still slowly and steadily. He starts to touch my wet, sensitive clitoris with his fingers and I breathe a deep sigh of contentment as I revel in the delicious feeling.

  My pleasure starts to build and I move faster, up and down on his shaft as he continues to rub my sensitive little bud. Then I shift my position, leaning forward and down to kiss him, and he pulls down one of my bra straps with his free hand to liberate my breast from the cup. He does the same on the other side and I feel my tingling nipples brush the skin of his chest, then he kneads my breast with his hand as I increase the pace, urgency rising.

  I sit upright again as I feel that I’m nearing my climax, closing my eyes and giving myself up to the delirium of the moment as we move together faster, faster, his hand still pleasuring me, until at last I cry out loudly, moaning out the ecstasy of my orgasm as he comes too inside me, groaning my name and panting until I relax on top of him, spent and damp with perspiration, sated.

  I move off him to lie next to him, and we move onto our sides to hold each other. He strokes my hair tenderly. “Happy?” he asks.

  “Yes. Very. That was lovely.”

  “Good. Yes, it was.”

  “You don’t mind that I messed up your perfect sheets?”

  “I think I can forgive you. As long as you make the bed afterwards.”

  I reach down to give his bottom a playful whack. “Ow!”

  “Don’t give me orders,” I tell him.

  “I’ll remember that, Miss Dominatrix.”

  You don’t know the half of it, I think to myself with an inner smile.

  He strokes my back and we lie in each other’s arms contentedly for a few more minutes, then he says, “I suppose I ought to get up and make that coffee I promised you.”

  “Yes, you should,” I agree with a grin. “Black mark for poor hospitality.”

  As he gets up and pulls on his underwear, then pads into the kitchen to switch on the kettle, I pull the duvet over me and shut my eyes, snuggling contentedly in the warm bed. And I muse on the differences between Edward and Michael. The roleplay that Michael likes to indulge in brings that extra degree of intensity when I finally allow him to come inside me. Dominating him makes for great sex. But I’ve had a really good time with Edward tonight.

  I guess that’s why I’ve stuck with my current lifestyle for so long: it really does give me the best of both worlds.

  Three

  Monday, 27 February

  I PUSH OPEN THE DOOR TO leave LK Bennett, loaded down with bags from a number of shops, after a very productive spree around the centre of Oxford. My biggest package is a huge shoe box containing a sexy but classy pair of very high heels for which I’ve just handed over a three figure sum. Extravagant, but beautiful.

  I know what you’re probably thinking. Sexy but classy? Really? You already know I have a lot of flings with younger men and I’m currently trying out my first experience as a dominatrix. You were expecting me to dress like a porn star.

  I can’t blame you for this – society has conditioned you to assume that because I enjoy lots of sex with a variety of men I must be a slut.

  Well, I like to see the way I live my life as a kind of advertisement for modern feminism. I love sex and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I know that in recent years it’s become much more acceptable for women to have a varied love life. The stigma of having a string of different partners has receded considerably. But most women would still baulk at admitting that they’ve completely lost count of the number of lovers they’ve had. And few would be happy to reveal that they don’t have monogamous sexual relationships, regularly dating several men at a time.

  Not me. It’s something I can – and do – cheerfully acknowledge. Sometimes my friends wince at my lifestyle, but I just don’t see a problem with it. I’m open and honest with the men I’m involved with. I don’t ask them for exclusivity, just safe sex. And I don’t expect them to demand more from me in return.

  Of course, I have periods of being single, and there are times when I’m seeing only one person. But it’s not deliberate. Since I was in my late teens I’ve been open with my partners, telling them that I’ll never rule out starting a relationship with someone else while I’m dating them. Often it scares them off. Well, when it does there are plenty more men out there. When it doesn’t, fine – we have some fun together.

  It helps that I’m an intelligent woman and I know it. Sorry, I’m supposed to be feminine and modest about it – but I would be lying if I said anything different; and I would never have ended up as a history lecturer at this historic university, in this beautiful old city, without brains. But proving that a woman can work her way regularly through lots of non-meaningful but very pleasurable relationships without detriment to her self-esteem or the regard of her contemporaries is easier when you’re demonstrably intelligent and successful. It makes the social experiment that is my lifestyle all the more gratifying when I consider how thoroughly I’m smashing the stereotype of a dried-up, sexless Oxford bluestocking.

  So I have a swing in my step as I leave the shop, armed with several new purchases including my new high heels. Then I notice a few spots of rain. As I didn’t anticipate it I haven’t brought an umbrella. We’ve had an amazing period of mild, sunny weather in the previous few days, considering what February is normally like in England, and I’m wearing a coat with no hood. So I quicken my pace, hoping to reach the car before the downpour that seems to be threatened by the glowering sky.

  That’s when I see him.

  I’m looking down the road to see if it’s clear to cross when a stranger across the street catches my eye. He’s tall, with tousled light brown hair and a face that makes me stop in my tracks. A little younger than me, he’s strolling casually past the shop windows, glancing in but without the appearance of much interest – but then he sees me looking at him.

  I’m not sure what it is about him that’s so arresting. Yes, he’s handsome. I think any woman walking down the street would notice him and give him a second glance. Yes, it looks like he’s got a nice body under his casual dark blue t-shirt and jeans. Perhaps it’s the expression of his face that makes me stop and stare – a keen, intelligent glance, full of masculine self-assurance.

  All of this happens in an instant. I see him, I notice his handsomeness, his physical attractiveness, and in that split second I’m irresistibly drawn to the personality and charisma that shines out of his face. I nearly forget to put one foot in front of the other, then I remember what I’m doing and step out to cross the road.

  Then somewhere in my mind, a screech of brakes dimly registers, and with a sickening thud my world goes black.

  ******

  Wednesday, 29 February

  “JUSTINE,” SAYS A FAMILIAR VOICE. “ARE you awake now, darling?”

  “Mum?” I try to move my neck to look where I can hear her voice coming from, but an acute shaft of pain from my skull down to my chest prevents me and I cry out at the shock of it. Then I see her above me, looking down at me where I am lying.

  “Does it hurt? Oh, poor Justine. Shall I call the doctor?”

  “No, I don’t need the doctor.... what happened?” I’m in a hospital room, grey and clinical, tucked under a stiff National Health Service sheet and one of those horrible cotton blankets with holes in. I look down at my arm, resting on top of the covers, and see an IV drip feeding into my wrist. The agony of trying to move has eased, but my whole body seems filled with a dull pain. Mum touches my hand.

  “Oh, it’s so good to see you awake, dear. We’ve been so worried. You were hit by a car crossing the road. Do you remember any of it?”

  I c
ast my mind back and try to remember, but I can’t. LK Bennet – my new shoes – those are imprinted in my memory. But a car accident? I frown with the effort of frustrated recollection.

  “When? How long have I been asleep?”

  “You’ve been in and out of consciousness for a couple of days.” This is news to me. I had no idea I’d been waking and drifting off again. “Don’t worry, the doctors have said that you’ve got a couple of broken ribs, but apart from that, it’s mainly bruising. The car was slowing down anyway, because it was driving towards a red light. And the driver slammed his brakes on as soon as he saw you step out, so the impact apparently wasn’t as hard as it might have been.”

  “So how long will it take until I’m better?”